A Home in the Hills

by Robert J. Crane

  “You protected only yourself,” said Longwell. “And you failed at it.”

  Baraghosa’s dimming gaze turned to Jasen. He looked at him almost blankly.

  Death came for him—came far faster than it came for Jasen.

  “I see them,” the sorcerer wheezed. His spittle was bloody. Crimson liquid spilled from his mouth. “But you … do you see wh-what comes?” He coughed, spraying red, and his eyes met Jasen’s. “What will you do … to protect them? You won’t even … be here …”

  Jasen looked back with all the defiance in his soul. “Neither will you.”

  “Before the end …” Baraghosa choked. “They’ll be sorry I’m not.”

  He coughed again—

  The light in Jasen’s hand vanished.

  And there, in the throne room, as Huanatha finally took the upper hand over Trattorias and knocked the blade from his hand, then stood over him where he cowered, hands above his head—it was done.

  Baraghosa stilled.

  And at long, long last, the sorcerer was no more.

  28

  All of Tarratam came to witness the coronation of the queen—or rather, the re-coronation. Jasen waited for it from a pillow in the corner of the throne room, weariness settled on him as it played out before his eyes. There were still not a great many of them, but already, in the short twenty-four hours since Trattorias had been defeated and thrown into the dungeons and Baraghosa had finally been felled, the citizens of this land were coming back.

  They would never number as many as they once had. Trattorias had killed too many for that. And though Huanatha once more took the throne, Trattorias’s actions had sullied the name of Muratam. It would be sullied for decades. Tough work ahead for the queen, to repair its reputation, but she would achieve it. Of that, Jasen had no doubt.

  It was just a shame that he would not be here to see it.

  He could not see much of anything now. The battle with Baraghosa had pushed him very close to the edge. His life now neared a cliff, one which he would inevitably tumble down before much longer. Hours? Days? No more than a week—he was much too tired for that.

  However long he had left, it did not matter. He had defeated Baraghosa—all of them had. The sorcerer had faced justice for his crimes.

  Baraghosa could sow discord no longer.

  Jasen could die peacefully.

  Except there was one other thing. He had seen Baraghosa’s demise …

  Now, in the hours following his death, he wondered if perhaps he might see one last thing before he left this world behind and rejoined his ancestors.

  The coronation took place at the castle. The courtyards were opened to all of Tarratam, the gates open wide for what was likely the first time since Trattorias had ascended to the throne, the celebration spilling out beyond the gates and around the walls.

  Music played. People laughed. Families clutched each other tight.

  The fear that had besieged this place only a day before had evaporated, gone like a puff of cloud pulled into strands by the wind and then vanished into nothing.

  And when Huanatha came out—the cheers! Jasen had never heard such a glorious, happy, wondrous sound. It lifted his face in a grin, from where he watched upon the parapets with Alixa, Kuura, Burund, and Longwell. It was a tired grin; he could hardly hold it up, let alone himself—he lay slumped next to Scourgey more often than not—but it was a grin nonetheless.

  Jasen listened to it. Kuura translated.

  But he was so tired.

  He did rouse enough to see the crown placed atop Huanatha’s head. The thunder of applause that came after that was likely the cause of his waking, for it was so loud it vibrated even the walls around the castle.

  He smiled again.

  Alixa squeezed his wrist.

  Then Huanatha took to the center of her podium to give a speech. It was in her native tongue, and again Kuura took to translating it.

  “People of Tarratam: I stand before you today after long years in exile. Through that exile, there were times I believed I would not see this land again. Likewise, I am certain that there were times when all of you believed you would not see it prosper, or would not wake without fearing for your lives.

  “Those days are over.”

  Applause thundered again.

  Huanatha let it run its course. Then, when it began to diminish, she started again.

  “Our wounds will take a long time to heal. In so doing, I feel it is important that we understand their context—this, I believe, is the only way to truly move on from them.

  “Many years ago, a man came to this place. This man …”

  Jasen drifted.

  *

  The celebration lasted long into the night.

  Tarratam was alive—with music, with the smells of wonderful food and heady, fruity wines—but most of all, it was alive with people. Where the roads throughout the city had barely been walked these past months, they now bustled again. Friends and neighbors came together as if they had been parted for years, and this was a long-awaited reunion.

  Jasen supposed it was.

  The courtyards remained open. And Huanatha partook in her own celebrations too, with the skeleton of staff that she had already put together, most of whom were her former guards and maids and butlers. But there was much work to do, and she had little time for drinks.

  She found some, though, late that evening.

  They were arrayed in a library of sorts, Jasen, Alixa, Burund, Kuura and Longwell—and of course, Scourgey; Jasen could not get anywhere without the faithful creature—no, woman … ex-woman …Niamh. Huanatha joined them, a flask of wine in hand. A butler came in with a tray of beautifully blown glasses.

  “Queen Huanatha,” Longwell greeted, stooping into a low bow.

  Huanatha stilled him with a cutting motion. “Rise. You do not bow here, Samwen Longwell, for many reasons —you have ruled two lands, we have been through too much, and you are not one of my subjects.”

  “All fair,” Longwell said, and nodded as the lightest version of deference. “But still, respect must be shown. This is, as you say, your land.”

  “I would like to propose a toast,” said Huanatha, uncorking the wine bottle.

  Her butler stepped forward to hand out glasses. Then he took the bottle from the queen and decanted a portion into each, no more than a swig.

  “Shilara would be so envious,” murmured Alixa.

  Jasen breathed a weak laugh. “Shilara would be terribly disappointed.”

  “Ooh, yes, very true. A single mouthful of drink—how unsatisfying.”

  They chortled. Then Jasen said, “We’re being cruel to her.”

  “We are,” said Alixa. “She does not deserve that.”

  He nodded, looking into the liquid in his glass. It was crimson, the color of ripe cherries, but it did not smell of them. Probably it was brewed from some other fruit native to Muratam.

  When all their glasses were filled, and the butler was dismissed, Huanatha raised her glass.

  “First, to Shipmaster Burund.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “I alternately thought you a buffoon and a good man who was willing to do what was right and true.”

  His eyebrows climbed higher. “And now?”

  “You may still be part buffoon,” said Huanatha, to laughs from the room—“but you came through, and you battled when it mattered most. For that, I thank you.

  “Next, to Kuura of Nunahk. I could say the very same about you.”

  “How touching,” same Kuura, grinning widely, clutching his heart. “You are so kind, Queen Huanatha.” He was bandaged thickly where Baraghosa’s laceration had split him open, the bindings wrapped around his neck and taped to the side of his chin. The look would have been almost funny, if not for the damage that had caused it to be necessary.

  “You have shown yourself to be a man of great honor,” said Huanatha. “Among the very first willing to stand before Baraghosa, even before understanding the full th
reat he posed, you put your neck on the line time and again. For that, I thank you.”

  Kuura tipped his glass. “My pleasure, Queen Huanatha.”

  “And you are not so old—yet,” Huanatha said, causing a chorus of laughter. Kuura’s eyes sparkled as he appeared to try and hold in the liquid he’d just drunk.

  “Samwen Longwell.” Huanatha turned to him. Her eyes sparkled as she appraised him for a long moment. “Your armor is broken.” She nodded to the chestplate he still wore, crumpled in and fragmented. “But your spirit never once wavered. I pray you find a Reikonos willing to have you once you return to it.”

  “Thank you,” Longwell said, but there was a distance in how he said it, as though he were contemplating that question himself and finding the answer … unsatisfying.

  “To Alixa Weltan.” The Queen licked her lips. “You, too, joined in a battle, one you have said many times was not your own. I may have disagreed with you, but your resolution is admirable. You are steadfast and sure, and I know that you have great things before you; you need only dare to dream them. Thank you for fighting at my side. You will always find yourself welcome in Muratam.”

  Alixa swallowed. Her eyes were suddenly pink. She nodded, unable to state her thanks.

  “To your scourge.” Huanatha nodded at Scourgey. She bowed now, below Jasen, and took Scourgey’s head in her hand, resting the tips of her fingers against it. “Thank you, Niamh,” she breathed.

  Scourgey pressed her nose to Huanatha’s forehead.

  “And lastly … to you, Jasen.” Huanatha looked up at him, from where she knelt. She did not move—just looked into his face, his eyes, with a steely, unwavering gaze. “You, who have been surest of all, who has fought with everything you possess and more, even when you knew you might die, and even harder, when you knew that you would. Few are hewn from the same steel as you. Your ancestors are proud. As am I—and all of us here, I believe.” She raised her glass. “We are here for but a short spell in this world, and during mine … it is a great honor to have fought at your side, Jasen Rabinn.”

  The rest of them lifted theirs, eyes on him.

  “Hear, hear,” said Longwell.

  They echoed him—and they drank.

  Jasen swallowed too, gulping it down so quickly he almost spluttered it out of his nose. It went down surprisingly smoothly given his difficulty with eating or drinking of late. His face was rosy, he could feel its heat, and all those eyes on him only seemed to stoke the fires that burned it.

  “I believe there is one final toast in order,” said Longwell, standing. “To Queen Huanatha: a fury made flesh. I hope never to cross her for as long as I live.”

  Kuura chortled. “I will drink to that.”

  They upended their glasses again, draining them.

  When they were emptied, Huanatha said, “I say to each of you what I offered Alixa—all of you will find welcome here in Muratam for as long as you may live—as guests to the state …” She glanced to Longwell. “Or, if you wish, on a more permanent basis.”

  “Thank you, Queen Huanatha,” said Longwell. “I appreciate your extended welcome greatly. Although, as you may surmise, I cannot remain here. I have an adopted homeland of my own to return to. One that I have sorely missed—and which has, I hope, sorely missed me.”

  “Of course,” said Huanatha. “I expected nothing less.” Still, was that disappointment on her face? Only the smallest amount of it, of course—but no, it couldn’t have been. If it was, she had wiped it off very, very quickly. “Well, you have my favor. When you have returned to your own rightful post, I would be very happy to extend trade deals to your nation of Reikonos. Our Muratam steel would be very beneficial to you. Perhaps we could even forge you a new suit of armor, after the damage Baraghosa did to yours.”

  “Ah …” said Longwell, looking down at his ruined chestplate. “That would be very kind of you … but I must admit that, over the years, I have grown quite fond of this armor. It was a gift from my late father. And near-impervious as I am sure your Muratam steel is, I believe I know a smith who could repair this one for me.”

  Huanatha scowled—but it was not a truly angry scowl. “Your head has been muddled.”

  “It may well have been. Or I grow sentimental in my years. Nevertheless, I will accept your trade deals.”

  Huanatha nodded. Then, turning, she said, “You, Shipmaster Burund and Kuura of Nunahk, I cannot offer a trade deal. However, I can employ the both of you—and I can likewise reward you.”

  Kuura’s eyebrows rose. “With some of that Muratam steel you mentioned?”

  Huanatha tamped down a smile. “That may be possible. As well as, perhaps a ship of your own. To aid in rebuilding Muratam’s trade.”

  Kuura’s eyes lit. He threw his head back and hooted, all of his teeth on proud display. Suddenly on his feet, he leapt and danced around, chanting words Jasen did not understand.

  Alixa looked baffled. “What’s he saying?”

  “He is singing,” said Burund. “I believe an appropriate translation would be, ‘I am rich.’”

  Alixa raised an eyebrow. “Appropriate?”

  “He is quite profane about it,” said Huanatha, watching him with a smirk.

  When Kuura finally settled, he cleared his throat. “Ahem. So sorry. That is … very kind of you, Queen Huanatha. Very kind indeed.” He looked sideways at Burund. “I don’t mean to dishonor you—”

  “You do me no dishonor,” Burund said. “You will make a fine shipmaster, Kuura.” His eyes glittered. “And you have earned it.”

  “Indeed he has,” Huanatha said. “Alixa? I am sure I know your answer already, with regard to remaining in Muratam.”

  Alixa nodded. “Thank you, Queen Huanatha. But I must go to be with my brethren, at Emerald Fields.” She glanced nervously to Longwell. “That is, assuming your offer to take me still stands?”

  “It does,” Longwell said. “Of course, there is the little matter of a boat.”

  “I will take you there,” said Burund. “May our last journey together across the seas be more peaceful than those we have had before.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Kuura, raising his empty glass. “I will accompany you as well.” He looked a little sheepishly at Huanatha. “If this would be all right with you?”

  “It is very fine with me,” said Huanatha. “Return, and we will have a ship for you.”

  Kuura kissed his hands and extended them in front of his face. “Thank you, your majesty.”

  She nodded, and turned her attention to Jasen. “And what about you? Your days grow short. Travel will be difficult on you. Will you stay, here in Muratam …? We would take greatest care of you, I would see to it.”

  He hesitated. “I …”

  “You are very welcome to stay out the rest of your days here,” she said, as kindly as she could, “however few or many there are. Muratam is a beautiful land. Tarratam is perhaps somewhat dry, a little dusty … but there is great beauty in this place.”

  Jasen felt a slight crawl over his flesh, chill and clammy despite the warm air. No answer came, though he felt one tugging at his heart.

  “You needn’t stay here, of course,” she went on quickly. “Where the river flows—there are many lush villages, canopied in green, with towering trees and plants, and animals like you can hardly have imagined. I can arrange your travel there. Any part of my land, you need only say the word—and I will take you there.”

  Jasen bit his lip. “I … thank you for your offer,” he said carefully. It hurt him to say. How did his throat feel as though shards of glass had been raked along it? “However … Shipmaster Burund, I wondered if … perhaps …”

  He struggled with it, for a moment, not sure whether to ask it outright or not. It had been nagging at him increasingly today. And if there was any time for it, then surely it was now.

  Finally, he said, “Is Terreas on the way to Emerald Fields?”

  Alixa let out a small, “Oh.” She touched her hand to her mouth.


  Her eyes, again, were suddenly pink, and wet. She blinked against it.

  “Terreas,” said Burund, “is that the village you came from? On Luukessia?”

  “Yes,” said Jasen. “I would like to see it … one last time … if I may.” He felt a lump in his throat, hard to swallow around. “I would like to go … home.”

  Burund licked his bottom lip—and now he, too, looked as if he might break with tears.

  He did not. But he stepped forward, and laid a gentle hand upon Jasen’s shoulder, the lightest of touches—any weight to it and it would crumple Jasen to the floor.

  “It is on our way,” Burund said. “And I will take you there.”

  29

  A wind picked up like no other the sailors had ever known. Blowing across the sea, it gusted endlessly, a bluster that filled every sail of the Lady Vizola II and pointed them on a straight-line course to Luukessia.

  “I have never known anything like it,” Burund mused.

  “No,” said Longwell. “Nor I.”

  They wondered about it in quiet, as the Lady Vizola II practically raced across the ocean. Perhaps inclement weather from the tropics had condensed into a front of wind that blew out from Coricuanthi and over the ocean. Maybe a seasonal storm had been too long-lived somewhere farther around the coast, hundreds of miles away, and had carried on long past the place where it should have died away.

  They had no answers for it.

  But Jasen knew.

  The souls that he had freed from Baraghosa—they did this.

  It was as Huanatha had said: the ancestors could guide the living. Alone, they could give only the smallest of nudges … but when thousands of slight touches were combined, they grew into a great, unstoppable force—a force that now carried Jasen across the sea, in the last days he had left to the place where he could rest.

  How many days it took, he could not say. Certainly the trip was much swifter than it had any right to be. The days and nights vanished in a blur.

  The last fight with Baraghosa had taken almost the last of Jasen’s energy from him. The black tendrils snaking through his innards had found the deepest part of him now. They grew into it, the soft, vulnerable pinkness left there, and they sucked at it like dozens of leeches, slowly draining what life was left.