Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  At last she sucked in a long, rasping chestful of air, and then began coughing violently. Still, she rose to her feet and staggered toward the giant, readying a charge if only to distract the ancient wyrm.

  What she saw when she reached the clearing stopped her in her tracks. Golnvangr’s coils were indeed wrapped around the boy, but he had his hands clamped to the roof of Golnvangr’s upper jaw. His right foot was pressing down on the lower, and he was straining, muscles taut, body shaking, trying to rip the wyrm’s mouth wide open.

  Golnvangr hissed. The white coils squeezed. But the giant raged, releasing a cry to the sky that sounded little different than the rockslide that had freed him two days earlier. And then a sickening crunch filled the air.

  Golnvangr’s long form went limp. The giant’s grip slipped in that moment, and Golnvangr slung him away. But the wyrm was terribly wounded. He slithered slowly toward deeper forest, lower jaw limp and bloody and dragging along the ground. As Golnvangr’s head slipped from view behind a stand of ferns, the giant returned, bearing a large boulder he’d ripped free from the ground. He trailed after Golnvangr. In the dimness, Eiren could see only his silhouette, his arms lifting the boulder high and bringing it down over and over again, each one yielding a dull thump until at last another crunch sounded and Golnvangr went still.

  Eiren stood as the giant staggered back into the clearing. His breath came in great gasps, much like Eiren’s. His body was riddled with cuts both large and small. A deep, crimson-colored blood seeped from his wounds. He studied her for long moments, and such was the rage on his dark face that Eiren was unsure whether he would do to her as he had to Golnvangr. But slowly his expression of anger subsided and turned to one of study, of consideration.

  “Hljóta,” he said.

  She shook her head, unsure what the word meant.

  He took one step forward and took one knee. With deliberate care he reached one massive hand forward and touched her cheek. “Hljóta,” he said, placing the hand with which he’d touched her cheek over his heart.

  “Takk,” she replied, Thank you, one of the few words she knew in the old tongue.

  He stood then and looked through the dim trees. He began walking toward the standing stones, and Eiren followed. It took them little time to reach the clearing, and once they had, he stepped inside the circle and looked up. Above, Eiren could see Skolnir approaching its zenith once more. The giant moved to each of the stones, touching them, tracing them in a way not so different from how Eiren herself had done when she’d first found this place.

  And when he touched the last of them he stepped toward the center of the stones. For a moment his form was hidden from Eiren behind one of the stones.

  She stepped to one side, looking for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. She walked inside the stones themselves. He was gone, taken to Skolnir by the ancient magics of this place.

  “Eiren!” Solveig called for her deeper in the holt.

  Eiren ignored the druinad, looking up to that twinkling world, wondering if he was doing the same from within a similar circle of stones. She tried to picture what it would be like, but in the end decided it didn’t matter.

  He was home, and for today, that was enough.

  Standing on the wooden walkway built around the trunk of one of the oldest citadels in Hrindegaard, Eiren knocked on the well-weathered door before her.

  “Come,” came a croaking voice from within.

  Eiren opened the creaking door and stepped inside.

  Sitting at a table was Kaisa, her wrinkled hands working black powder with a mortar and pestle. She glanced up, but then continued her work, grinding the contents mercilessly. “What is it, child?”

  Eiren cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. “I wish to learn more of runes.”

  Her mortar-work paused momentarily before resuming. “You’ve shown little enough interest before now, dear Eiren.”

  “True enough, Elder Kaisa.”

  “Then begone. I’ve no time to waste with butterflies.”

  “I’m no butterfly. I want to learn.”

  Kaisa stopped her churning and looked Eiren in the eyes. “Why? Because you’ve seen the standing stones? Because you saw one of the old folk?”

  Eiren nodded, granting her the point. “That, and because these are things I must know. I owe it to Caudlyn.”

  “To Caudlyn?”

  “And myself. And Hrindegaard.” Eiren paused, wondering how to approach this new subject. “There’s something coming, isn’t there?”

  “What do you mean?” Kaisa snapped, her diamond eyes suddenly fierce.

  “I heard Solveig talking to my grandper when they thought I was asleep. There’s change coming to the holt. That’s what Solveig said.”

  Kaisa’s jaw worked, the wrinkled skin over her cheek pulsing from the effort. “Take up the axe if you’re so worried. Have Solveig take you beneath her wing and teach you the craft of bough and branch. I’ve no time for you.”

  Kaisa picked up her mortar and continued to work, but Eiren refused to move until she’d looked up once more. “I felt them, Elder Kaisa.”

  “Felt what, child?”

  “The stones. Before the quake. Before the giant returned to Skolnir.”

  “Explain.”

  Eiren touched her chest, over her heart. “Here. Deep within me. Not a rumbling like the quake but a warmth, something like fear and love mixed.”

  Kaisa went completely still. The air in this place, Kaisa’s home, went still, and the dimness seemed to press in on Eiren. Not so different than within the lower canopy, she thought.

  “Did someone tell you to say these things?”

  “No,” Eiren said, confused.

  Old Kaisa’s eyes became like flitting bees, moving here and there, trying to see the truth behind Eiren’s words. “You wish to learn?”

  “I do, Elder.”

  Kaisa began working her mortar once more. “Then bring me the book on the shelf behind you. The one with the red binding.”

  Eiren smiled.

  And did as Kaisa asked.

  Flotsam

  Strange how one can be so close to freedom, yet still wish for death. Freedom: the water below the bowsprit I rested on; water that would welcome me with open arms had I so chose; water that I had loved so much, but now found to be mocking, perhaps more so among the closeness of the harbor.

  I began to shift backwards to escape the water’s call when two sets of footsteps crept onto the forecastle deck behind me. I shrugged my shoulders tight, wishing them to be gone, anticipating the humiliation to come.

  “It doesn’t wear clothes,” a young male said.

  “Yes, never has.” This, the captain’s niece, present from the moment we docked to the moment we left again.

  The boy giggled. “You can see its poop-hole.”

  “I told you!”

  I despised that the humans’ sense of decency had worn off on me, but still I turned to hide my privates from them. Twenty years with another culture would do this to even the most antithetical society.

  The boy gasped, and his heart beat faster. “What happened to its eyes?”

  “They’re just glossed over, see? He’s a shaman. They’re born with no eyesight.”

  Not strictly true, I thought, but close enough to the truth.

  The boy’s footsteps came closer. “Looks like rotted cheese.”

  “Told you.” The girl came closer as well. Though she feigned confidence, I could hear her heartbeat catching up to her brother’s. The coarse skin of her hand ran along the smoothness of mine. Her touch brought some feelings of resentment, but the simple reminder of youth and its innocence shadowed such thoughts.

  “Come here,” she said. “His skin’s like an eel.”

  The boy’s sweat mingled with the dead-fish smell of the harbor. His footsteps receded.

  “Scared as a mouse,” the girl said with feigned disgust, yet she backed away quickly, too.

  From the quarterdeck, a liquid vo
ice rose above the gulls and creaking wood of ships at dock. “Neera. What are you doing?” Captain Hoevin’s long stride echoed over the main deck towards us.

  The children scuttled to one side. “Nothing, Uncle Hoevin,” the girl said.

  His steps halted a few paces short of me. “Nothing indeed. The yeavanni are not pets, least of all Khren here.”

  “Yes, Uncle.”

  “Off with you now. We’re nearly ready to depart.”

  Just then, a thundering crack pealed over the harbor. The concussion struck a moment later—long before I had a chance to cover my ear-pads. The pain of it coursed through me, and only long breaths later did it recede to a dull pain.

  “Go, I said!”

  The children’s scattered footsteps left the forecastle deck and diffused into the maelstrom of other sounds and the ringing in my own ears. The captain shifted slowly to the gunwale.

  He didn’t speak for some time. “We need to talk, Khren.”

  “Perhaps we do, Captain.”

  “You’ve heard the cannons, no doubt.”

  He knew that I did, so I said nothing.

  “The new sightings are nearly complete, and the fleet’s ready to set sail. Tonight.”

  Still I said nothing. I was unsure where the human wished to take the conversation.

  “You’re ... race. You’ve been an immense help to us over the years. And despite whatever advantage the king may have taken, I appreciate it. You’ve saved my men a dozen times. More.”

  His words shed from me like water slipping over yeavanni skin.

  “Well. The king decided to wait until now to give his latest request. We’re to fight through the blockade to the south. They’re ready to tear down the walls of Trilliar, and we cannot allow it.”

  A low laugh escaped my throat. As with most humans that hear such sounds, the captain’s heart quickened. “You mean you will fight, Captain.”

  “No, Khren. You will fight, too.”

  “I will not. Our atonement does not include battle.”

  The captain’s fingers drummed against the wooden railing. He smelled of rum and garlic. “He’s offered to free you of your commitment if you do this.”

  My response died in my throat. What simple words Hoevin had spoken ... but what promise they held. “The king would forgive us?” My own question barely made sense to me.

  “Yes. One battle—provided we win—is the last service he shall require from you. From all of you.”

  I turned from the captain, unable to be near him any longer, and crawled further up the bowsprit. I opened my mind to the water; how I longed to drop into its arms and return to my people, return to those I had come to believe were lost to me forever. But at what price? The king would have us kill when death is what delivered us to him in the first place.

  Behind me, the captain shuffled some steps away. “Think on it, Khren. Think of your home, your people.”

  Waves lapped against the hull of the ship. The sounds beckoned me, begged me to join them among the waters, to swim with them and follow my brothers home. But my stomach soured at the captain’s words—they had the taint of deception and corruption upon them. Fight for us, and be freed, they said. But kill, and lose our eternal salvation. Such urges tempted while trapped within this mortal shroud.

  With a broken heart, I turned from the water and shimmied up the jib-line to the foremast. I stayed as far away from the water as I could, for I didn’t know if I could resist the calls of the sea much longer.

  I felt the night breeze as it tugged the ship against the ocean current below. A school of dolphin splashed through the waves on the portside; a few strays played to starboard as well. I leapt free of the bowsprit and dove into the water, unable to resist its call any longer.

  The cool water met me, and I rejoiced in a deep dive below the ship’s keel. A large dolphin nudged my back. I could feel the waves of its escape before me. I pursued, catching up easily until the beast tired of my simple chase and sped off into the deep. In my prime, I could keep up with schools of dolphin, but as twilight touched the ocean of my life, I could only rely on their sympathy.

  The ship’s motion, ahead and above, washed over me. The trickle of the dolphin pod did the same, but it came staccato, as opposed to the deep bass of the ship.

  Something else lingered nearby—behind and below. I turned and felt for the presence, unsure of the source—but I had an inkling. I sent a bellowing call through the water; a moment later, a haunting reply was returned. Another yeavanni, and this one I was not so sure I wanted to speak to.

  I felt the yeavanni swim nearer, heard the trickle of its movement through the deeps. He stopped nearby and performed a slow pirouette. At least he still shows respect, I thought.

  “Khrentophar,” he began, “it is good to have you near.”

  “And you, Iulaja.”

  We swam together, trailing the ship by a half-league.

  “I bring news,” Iulaja said, “though I’m sure you’ve heard some of it already.”

  I was pleased to feel the link between us build. I could feel his concern over the humans’ battle. “Of the war? Yes, I know of it.”

  “I’ve come from the other ships, and the queen before that.” An eagerness overcame Iulaja then. A joy.

  “The queen wishes us back, does she?”

  Confusion touched him for only a moment. “Yes, as do the other shaman. They have agreed to fight this human battle, and be done with them.”

  Sorrow overcame my heart. “They have all agreed?”

  “Yes, all of them, Khrentophar. All but you.”

  I couldn’t speak for a moment. All of them? “You asked them before coming to me.”

  Iulaja’s mind echoed his embarrassment. “You would have convinced them otherwise, Khrentophar. Our villages would have you back home. I would step down so that you might return to your proper place.”

  We swam in silence for a time, catching up to the ship. A school of greyridge whales harrooned their song into the night. Iulaja drove before me and brought me to a halt. His anger soured the water between us.

  “Do you wish to talk like the humans, still and unmoving? Have you become so like them that you wish to stay until your dying day?”

  “In truth, Iulaja, I would welcome my dying day. These humans lay foul on my tongue, ring with clangor in my ears, drive coral under my skin. If Yeavan, in her divine guidance, would summon me to the depths, I would rejoice and sing so that all the yeavanni could hear.” I began swimming again, forcing Iulaja to keep pace. “Yet I will not lose my place in her land to further the goals of these land-ridden beasts.”

  The water turned colder.

  “You have paid a score times the deathbond price. Twenty years, Khrentophar! The sinking of their ship was an accident. They stumbled onto our lands in a hurricane.”

  “A hurricane we summoned.”

  “As a ritual to our Goddess! I don’t understand why, but I believe she wanted them dead. Those humans care nothing for Yeavan; they don’t bow to her will, nor does she have dominion over them or we would have had you back long before now. Do you truly think she wished for this to happen after Khuum Livva, her holiest day?”

  “I think, Iulaja, shaman of our people, keeper of her faith, that she will guide us as she sees fit. I cannot willingly murder for them. I will not.”

  Iulaja turned away in heat and anger. He swam to one side and turned back. “Then you can stay with them, Khrentophar, though it rots my heart to see it so. Farewell.”

  “Begone, traitor,” I said to him.

  Iulaja’s echoes trailed off and were lost among the din of the dolphin pod.

  “Begone, dear Iulaja,” I said to the sea. “May she keep you well.”

  The ship had pulled ahead, but I caught up to it quickly. I dove up from beneath the prow and leapt from the water to grasp the bowsprit and swing around. I dropped down to my typical, folded pose, hating the simple fact that I had one.

  A heartbeat from behind s
tartled me. The distinctly human rhythm was small, frail. No human man had such a signature. I could not at first remember who it belonged to, but it came to me shortly.

  “Come out, girl. It’s no use hiding from someone blind to the world.”

  After a moment, I heard her tentative footsteps sidle up the gunwale.

  “I don’t think your uncle would approve.”

  Her heartbeat sped up. So impressionable, these humans.

  “Please don’t tell him. I wanted to go to war. I wanted to help fight the enemy.”

  She wanted to? My heart wept at such a statement. How can they still live when even their children hunger to kill?

  “What would make you want such a thing, child?”

  “They killed my father. He was a captain, like Uncle Hoevin.”

  “Why don’t you search for a way to reconcile instead?”

  The girl seemed taken aback, for she said nothing for a long time. “Because they killed him.” Her voice was tentative, but it grew stronger the more she talked. “They killed everyone on the ship, even those they took hostage.”

  “And peace? When will that come?”

  “When I have revenge. Then we can have peace.”

  I laughed; again the girl’s heart raced as she stepped away. “Yes, child. That is the way of your world, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. I should call your uncle.” Before she could plea for my silence, I continued. “Go. I won’t tell. Perhaps if you see war with your own eyes, you won’t be so quick to embrace it. Go.”

  She took two steps back, but then her feet turned. “Can I talk to you more? Will you tell me what you meant?”

  Tell her? Among the rotted places of my heart, a clear note rang out. Teach a human child. Is this what Yeavan had in store for me? Have I endured twenty years of heartache to bring them into her fold? As quickly as the note had sung out, it was smothered by the drums of war.