Zellohar

by Chris A. Jackson

  "Perhaps you could pull Shay and me through the snow," Avari said, returning to her work and trying not to smile. "After all, you've the shoulders of a draft horse."

  "And the sense of a mule, I fear," he snorted, shaking his head in disgust. "Pressing on when I knew there was a storm on the way was dangerous. I should have stopped at the farm before this one. We could all have been lost in the storm."

  "Yes, but we weren't," Avari said, reassuring him that she held no blame. "And it was your experience and good sense of direction that saw us through in the end."

  He shrugged off the compliment and they both went back to their work, letting the subject rest. The barn was quiet except for the rasp of steel on wood, an occasional snort or stomp from a mule or cow in the stalls, and Shay's steady snores. Avari glanced periodically at Jundag, still wondering at the mysterious apparatus taking shape beneath his hands. The hatchet moved expertly in his grasp, turning the supple pine into slats about twice the width of her thumb. He worked steadily and seemingly without fatigue, but Avari quickly became bored and her hands cramped. She looked at her pathetic little pile of switches and sighed. That was enough for now.

  She rose to her feet and stretched, placing her fists at the small of her back and arching, causing several vertebrae to pop loudly. She extended her arms overhead, stretching shoulders and legs to unkink her muscles.

  Looking around, she caught a strange look on Jundag's face, his hands idle in his lap. Before Avari could respond the tribesman's gaze snapped back to his work. His blade flew so fast that she wondered if he might cut himself. Shaking her head at a fleeting thought, she walked to the door to look outside.

  A blast of icy wind and a face full of powdery snow were Avari's reward for peeking out. There was little to see except drifts already piled thigh high, and the slate-grey sky that made no promise of clearing soon. Shivering, Avari pushed the door shut and rubbed her arms to rid them of goose bumps. Stamping her feet, she turned and strode past Jundag to pick up her scabbarded sword where it lay by the packs.

  Last night she had checked the blade, but not as thoroughly as she should have. Besides, the weather had canceled travel for today and whittling sticks held no great allure. Avari grabbed a flask of honing oil and a whetstone from her pack and plopped down across from Jundag.

  "You still haven't told me what you're making," she reminded him while checking the outside of her scabbard for traces of moisture.

  "Ah, I had forgotten," he said, shaking his head. Whether the gesture was at his own lapse or her ignorance, Avari could not tell. "In my tribe we call them 'hare's feet', but I believe your people call them snowshoes."

  "My father once told me about people who used long slats of wood for traveling over snow, but this isn't what I had pictured." She examined one of the nearly square pieces of wood that lay beside Jundag.

  "No, that is something else. Some of the tribes farther north use such a thing. They call it 'shushen gliden' for the way they move over the snow. This will be slower, but requires less skill." Jundag cleared a spot on the dirt floor in front of him and drew the shape of an elongated teardrop with the haft of the hatchet. "The slats will be bent into this shape and lashed together. The willow switches will be woven into loose mats, the ends passed through the slats, then split and lashed on with leather."

  He drew a crisscross pattern within the teardrop shape to show how the finished product would look. "Then you simply lash your boot to the middle and walk. The mesh keeps your foot from sinking into the snow."

  Avari nodded, although she doubted that anyone could walk in something that wide without stepping on their own feet. But Jundag seemed to know what he was doing, so she decided to leave the details to him and concentrate on doing something she had experience with. The sword rasped as Avari slipped it from the scabbard to inspect the blade.

  A violent rustle of hay exploded behind her. Harsh syllables grated on her ears and a flash of light blinded her.

  Gods help us! she thought. Shay's sleeping over there!

  In an instant she and Jundag were both crouched, weapons on guard, ready to defend their helpless friend. Instead, they witnessed a most incredible sight. The half-elf stood poised on the balls of his feet, eyes wide, his hair sticking straight out as if from static. His arms intertwined over his head, and soft white light emanated from his hands. A shower of tiny sparks drifted down into the hay to extinguish without even a smolder.

  Shay glanced wildly around the room for some menace on which to loose his wrath, but all his eyes encountered were the incredulous stares of his companions. An embarrassed grin crooked his lips. He spoke a single word and the glow faded, leaving a faint radiance lingering in the air.

  "I am sorry," he said, relaxing his stance and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I seem to have wakened rather violently."

  "You may have a priest's manner, friend Shay," Jundag declared, relaxing his white-knuckled grip on the hatchet, "but you have a warrior's reflexes."

  "How are you feeling?" Avari asked, her heart pounding from the rush of adrenaline. She grinned as she looked at Shay. She had never seen him so disheveled: his hair stuck up at all angles, straw covered him, and his clothes were in complete disarray. Even his beard was askew, the result of many hours of sleep face down in the hay.

  "A little stiff from yesterday's ordeal," Shay answered, working his shoulders, "but much better than I would have been, had it not been for you two." He straightened his hair and clothes then bowed to them both. "My thanks for your aid in the storm last night. If there is anything I can do to repay you..."

  Jundag snorted at the half-elf's formality. "Yes, there is," he said, pointing toward the packs with his hatchet. "Fetch me another piece of jerky, and get one for yourself. It is not much of a breakfast, but it is all we have that does not need cooking."

  "Ahh," Shay smiled, walking over to the two without even a glance at the packs. He shook out his cloak and spread it onto the floor, then bowed again, this time even more formally.

  "Breakfast for three it is then. And what do you desire: oatcakes and porridge, ham and fresh biscuits, or perhaps something more substantial?"

  Avari smiled at the jest as Jundag snorted and returned to his whittling, but both jumped when Shay cupped his hands over the cloak and began to utter strange words. A soft glow emanated from the priest's hands. Avari felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, and noted that Jundag's grip tensed on his hatchet until the muscles of his forearm stood out like ropes. Finally the chanting stopped and the glow faded. On the cloak lay a large-mouthed cornucopia, its open end filled with a shimmering light. Smiling with satisfaction, Shay placed a hand into the engulfing glow and pulled out a steaming bowl of fresh porridge topped with fruit and cream.

  Jundag's eyes were as wide as Avari's own. She watched Shay smile at their wonder, then reach in his other hand, withdraw an apple, take a noisy bite and toss it to Jundag. The tribesman jumped aside, and the apple landed in the straw where he had been sitting. Avari reached tentatively over, picked up the shiny red fruit and bit into it. Juice ran down her chin as she grinned and chewed happily. It was the best apple she had ever tasted.

  The tribesman mumbled something in a foreign language and made a warding sign toward the glowing cornucopia. But when Shay pulled a steaming platter of ham and eggs from it, the undeniably mouth-watering aroma set the big man's stomach growling. He took a cautious step closer, staring at the food.

  "Oat cakes with honey!" Avari pleaded, leaning over Shay's cloak.

  "Go ahead," he smiled, sampling a bite of ham with eggs, "just think of what you want and reach in. Tem will provide."

  Avari grinned and reached in, watching the soft blue glow swallow her hand. Something touched her fingers and she nearly jerked back, but then a solid weight pressed into her palm. She pulled her hand from the cornucopia, and the smell of fresh oat cakes smothered in honey drifted to her nostrils. A warm earthenware plate rested in her hand, piled high with steaming oat cak
es, a silver fork lying on the side. She tasted a bite and closed her eyes in utter bliss at the heavenly flavor.

  Jundag looked on skeptically for a moment, but could not resist for long. He eased closer, hatchet still clenched in his hand. He knelt beside Avari, staring at her plate.

  "Here!" she offered, cutting off a wedge of oat cake and spearing it with the fork. She held it out for him to try.

  The tribesman took the fork timidly, first sniffing and then delicately sampling the food. His eyes widened so far that Avari thought they might fall out and roll around on the barn floor.

  "It's impossible!" he said incredulously, chewing and swallowing the magical fare, then fixing Shay with a suspicious stare. "How did you do this magic?"

  "I did not do it," Shay smiled, "Tem the Balancer has provided his bounty for us. And it is not truly magic in the sense you are thinking of. It is faith, Jundag."

  "Manna from the gods!" the tribesman whispered, reaching out to touch the cornucopia as if it might vanish.

  "Go ahead, Jundag," Avari coaxed, reaching into the glowing vessel and withdrawing a cup of steaming tea lightened with cream. "Just think of what you want and reach in."

  "I cannot!" Jundag stated flatly, folding his broad arms so firmly that he nearly cut himself with the forgotten hatchet he still held. "My tribe forbids the use of magic. Such sorcery leads only to darkness and evil!"

  "Not magic, Jundag, faith," Shay reiterated, retrieving a cup of blackbrew for himself, as well as a bowl of lightly sugared strawberries in cream. "But if you cannot break the laws of your people, tell me what you wish and I will retrieve it for you."

  "I, uh..." Jundag tugged his beard, his tongue wetting his lips. "I suppose that would be acceptable, considering that the food itself is not magic, but only the source." He bit his lip in consternation, thinking for a moment. "A beefsteak, rare, with eggs and fresh bread."

  Shay smiled and nodded, reaching in and pulling out a platter seemingly too wide for the magical vessel's mouth. Crowded on the plate were a sizzling beefsteak, fully two inches thick, four eggs jiggling their soft yolks atop the meat, and a loaf of steaming bread with a crock of icy butter. Avari watched Jundag cut a wedge of the tender meat with his belt knife and dredge it through an egg yolk. His wonder-struck features melted to bliss as it passed his lips.

  "Something to drink?" Shay asked.

  "Ale!" the tribesman barked, ripping off a corner of the loaf and caking butter atop it.

  "Ale for breakfast?" Avari asked.

  "Ale is food, friend Avari," Jundag informed her, accepting the foaming tankard from Shay and reducing its volume by a third. "Ahhhh, but food is not ale!"

  Their laughter rebounded off the barn walls, but was shortly replaced by the more satisfying sounds of clinking, munching slurping and groans of gastronomic delight.

  Avari spent much of the day inspecting their equipment, then visited with the mules and cattle, feeding them apples from Shay's heavenly cornucopia and scratching behind their ears. Jundag eyed her as she spoke to the beasts, but she ignored him.

  Unlike Avari, Shay knew instantly what Jundag planned for the materials scattered on the barn floor, although he had never actually used snowshoes. Needless to say, he also had no idea how to make them. But with Jundag's instruction, his dexterous fingers were soon flying over the wood and leather.

  Avari's skepticism waned as the flimsy shoes took shape, and Jundag's demonstration of the first pair finally convinced her that they might work. However, maneuvering in the odd contraptions was not as easy as the big man made it look, and her attempts drew many laughs from the others. Early evening saw the last pair finished and fitted to Shay's smaller feet.

  "Well," Jundag announced, "it is time for the evening meal, but I feel as if we had just eaten our morning feast."

  Amazed, Avari realized that she, too, had not thought about food all day. Her stomach was usually very insistent about mealtimes, and she wondered why it had not set to growling earlier.

  "The food that Tem blessed us with this morning was a holy gift," Shay explained reverently, "and as such, it has powers of nourishment that surpass ordinary fare."

  Avari accepted the explanation in silence, while Jundag stared down at his belly as if expecting to see radiations of magical power there.

  Restlessness grew as the evening wore on; Avari and Jundag were accustomed to more activity than this. Shay, however, reveled in the imposed leisure and lapsed into a meditative trance, exasperating his companions as he sat with his eyes closed, his lips moving in prayer. Avari and Jundag traded stories, although she had few in comparison, and checked their weapons for the tenth time that day.

  "What is that?" Avari finally ventured, pointing to the jawbone club that lay beside Jundag.

  He grinned and tossed the massive thing to her. The weight of it surprised her; she assumed it would be lighter than a sword, being made of bone, but it massed even more than her own blade. She hefted it experimentally, grasping the haft with first one hand, then two. Gods, it was top heavy, almost as much as a battle axe. Shaking her head, she handed it back to him.

  "Why so many different weapons? Why not concentrate on one, and save yourself the weight of carrying them?"

  Jundag shrugged. "When I need a weapon, I have it. If one breaks or is lost, I have another, so I do not have to rely on what may or may not be at hand." He smiled at her and flexed his massive shoulders, "And as for the weight... Bahhh!"

  Avari saw the logic, but still believed the tribesman took the notion a bit too far. "So you're saying that I should carry two swords, perhaps a short one such as you have?"

  He shrugged again, a habit that was beginning to irritate Avari. "You should only carry the weapons you are comfortable with. Are you trained with the short blade, or any of the others here?" He waved at his assortment.

  "I've used a bow, although only for hunting." Avari refrained from mentioning its other use on the night of her father's death. Those memories were still painful. "And I'm pretty good with a knife, either throwing or hand to hand. Actually," she added without a trace of conceit, "I'm pretty good with just about anything. But my favorite has always been this." She patted her inherited blade, tracing the engravings near the hilts with her fingernail.

  Jundag smiled and stood. "Show me," he said, drawing his own sword then stooping to recover his hand axe, flipping it so that the haft met his palm with a meaty pop. He carried no shield; his chest was covered only by a thin leather tunic. A carved ivory medallion of feathers in a stylized flower hung from his neck, swaying as Avari gaped at him.

  "Here?" she stammered, unsure of his intent. "But... what if I cut you?"

  "Or I cut you," Jundag replied with a predatory smile. "We have a priest handy. Besides, I have seen you fight, Avari. I judge you good enough to hold your stroke, should I miss a parry."

  She grinned at his offhanded compliment and stood, drawing a dagger for her left hand.

  Jundag's lunge was lightning quick and unexpected, but her father had taught her well. Reflexes took over. Avari turned the blade aside with her dagger and countered with a vicious cross-body slash...

  Five feet separated Avari and Jundag. Breaths heavy and harsh, sweat drenching their bodies, the combatants faced each other. Avari now held a shield on her left arm, a dagger in her right hand. Jundag wielded only the jawbone club, tossing the haft from hand to hand, trying to confuse her as to the direction of his next attack. Both were grinning ear to ear.

  The first clash of steel on steel had wrenched Shay from his meditations, but after their assurance that the battle was for practice only, the priest volunteered to be the cheering squad. After a time, he grew bored with the tournament and retired to the corner of the barn for some measure of quiet.

  Each fighter changed weapons several times, from sword and dagger, to swords alone, then sword and shield. Jundag's eclectic arsenal gave Avari valuable experience in fending off strange weapons. She had never fought against a hand axe and found it
deceptively quick, and the jarring blows from the club numbed her shield arm to the shoulder on every stroke.

  Now they were both exhilarated and exhausted. The next few passes were halfhearted; the point where finesse was considered had passed long ago. Avari blocked another blow, rolled with the momentum, and rapped the hilt of her dagger against Jundag's knee to let him know that, had she been serious, the tendons of his joint would now be severed. Jundag swore and dropped his club, spreading his arms wide in mock surrender.

  "I am yours! Finish it quickly and end my pain."

  Avari laughed, dropped her shield to the floor and sheathed her dagger. She massaged her ribs where she had caught a glancing sword stroke and collapsed to the straw. Jundag lowered himself to the floor, fingering a shallow cut on his left biceps. Avari had wanted to stop after inflicting the wound, but he had just laughed and lunged again.

  "No mere horse farmer can fight in such a manner. You are much more warrior than I expected, Avari," Jundag said, looking at her with open regard.

  She blushed through the sweat. Why did his praise affect her like her father's never had? She shook off the feeling and thanked him for the practice.

  "I've had little experience fighting in chainmail." she said, fingering the closely meshed steel shirt and wincing as she probed the bruise beneath. "I'll certainly be glad to have it if we run into any fighters of your caliber, but right now," she paused to wipe her face with her forearm, "it's unbearably hot."

  Groaning with the effort, Avari peeled out of the heavy armor, holding it up to inspect in the dim light. The tiny links of mail gleamed with the sweat that had soaked through her linen shirt. Avari pulled the sticky shirt away from her skin and tried to use the hem to dry the moisture from the steel links, but soon realized the futility of the act.

  Sighing, she stood and hung the mail over a peg, hoping it would not rust before she had a chance to clean and oil it. She stretched to ease her tired muscles, extending her arms and dropping her head back, her eyes closed. The damp shirt was forgotten. Moans of contentment escaped her throat as she reveled in the lazy sensation. She would have been taken aback had she sensed Jundag's responses to her unconscious actions.