by L. S. King
Grinding his teeth, Alcandhor wavered on whether to give in and punch the smirk off Monadhal’s face. The striplings all seemed to hold their collective breath as the two glared at each other. Monadhal finally dropped his eyes, and feeling assuaged, Alcandhor stormed off. He took long, deep breaths once outside, letting the cool, early evening air fill his lungs.
A hand settled onto his shoulder. He started and turned. His uncle Lamadhel gazed down at him.
“What has you so troubled?”
Alcandhor averted his eyes, shrugging.
Lamadhel grasped the nape of his neck and gave him a gentle shake. “Say on, lad.”
Alcandhor licked his lips and blurted, “I would have been Second at Table to Valdhor if he had become Thane. Why does knowing I will be Thane instead of merely a Chief make such a difference to them?” He gestured toward the training hall. And to me?
Lamadhel’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “When you figure that out, it will no longer matter.” He slapped Alcandhor on the back and walked away.
Alcandhor crossed his arms. Stars, he wished his uncle were less enigmatic.
~:~
Stifling a yawn, Alcandhor listened to Lasdhal drone on about provincial law. Staying up late to study En’ai, the common tongue of the Enaisi, had been a mistake. But he would not give up his own dreams. He needed that language to understand some of the books left behind by the Enaisi. Book on physics. He would see that portal work again.
For now though, he had to keep awake. Logarithms—perfect. Flicking his eyes toward the elderly Ranger, Alcandhor surreptitiously lifted his quill and dipped it in the ink. As he wrote, Lasdhal’s voice faded into a distant buzz.
The buzz grew and Alcandhor became aware of words. “. . .takes precedence when a dispute occurs across provincial borders?”
Alcandhor looked up, eyes wide. Lasdhal was glaring at him. He swallowed. The striplings had all turned to gaze at him. Heat crept into his face.
“Sir?”
“Have you any idea what we are discussing?”
Alcandhor chewed the inside of his cheek a moment and decided to be honest. “Nay, sir.”
Lasdhal let his breath out in a slow hiss. “Go to the Thane and explain to him why you do not know provincial law. Be assured I will be speaking to him later as well, and he will not be pleased if your explanation does not match mine.”
His face flaming ever hotter, Alcandhor gathered his books as the striplings snickered. Haladhon at least shot him a sympathetic look as he left.
Alcandhor groaned as he reached the Thane’s chamber. ‘Twas late morning—his father would be at the training hall, matching. Stars, he would have to face his father in front of scores of Rangers.
Leaving his books on the study table, Alcandhor plodded along the back hallways and streets of the western range. Much easier to pass servants than cross the grounds and meet Rangers and kin.
Alcandhor crept in the door and stood by a pillar, gazing at the matching Rangers, most stripped to the waist. Staves cracked, and men’s yells and laughter echoed throughout the huge chamber. The humid air hung heavy with the tang of sweat and spicy muscle balm.
His father’s muscular back as he fought another Ranger caused Alcandhor’s chest to swell with pride. A solid, powerful fighter. Valdhor took after him.
Alcandhor did not.
Scrawny.
He has not his brother’s fighting skills.
A weight pressed Alcandhor’s chest. He could never measure up. And his heart did not want him to. But he dare not back away from Thaneship as his brother had done. Thane’s line had remained unbroken from the time they arrived on this planet. It may not always have been the oldest, but it had stayed from father to son for over a thousand years. Alcandhor would not be the one to break that line.
The match ended, and as his father grabbed a drying cloth, his partner met Alcandhor’s eyes over Saldhor’s shoulder and leaned close, whispering.
Saldhor turned, frowning, and walked over. Alcandhor tried to meet his eyes, but could not.
“Are you going to make me ask why you are here instead of in study with Lasdhal?”
“I. . .I was not paying attention.”
“He sent you here for merely not paying attention?”
Alcandhor shifted from foot to foot. “Nay. I. . .I mean, ‘twas not just today. I am bored and my mind wanders.”
His father stood, face grave. Alcandhor glanced at the strong arms crossed on the bare chest, and stiffened in anticipation of a thrashing.
“I see,” Saldhor finally said. “And have you a solution for this?”
Alcandhor opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His father was not going to thrash him? The corner of Saldhor’s mouth twitched. “A stripling Ranger carrying a heavy mantle such as the one just placed on you should be treated as an adult. Shall we discuss this then as two men, or shall I treat you a child?”
“How can I be treated as an adult when I am given orders as a child and have no say?”
“Think you adults do as they please and follow no orders? We have our duty, and ‘tis often unpleasant. Think you I had a desire to be Thane? I was born in Ch’shalna clan and eldest son of our Thane. Had I a choice?”
“You could have chosen another profession. You have two brothers. Bardhor or Lamadhel would have made a good Thane.”
“Son, understand you, the Maker has purposes in all He plans. I was born in this clan, to the family I was, so this is my purpose.”
“But then Valdhor—”
“Your brother will not be Thane.” Saldhor chewed his lip a moment. “I have foreseen it, son. He will not be Thane. If I had not foresight, I would not have let him renounce heirship so easily. He knows this. Now you do too.”
Alcandhor closed his eyes a moment, biting back his words. He dare not say it, but ‘twas not fair.
Saldhor put a hand on Alcandhor’s shoulder. “And I will tell you news before it flies about the city. Your brother has married.”
“Married?” The stone in his stomach lightened. “Then perhaps—”
“Nay. I have already told you—”
“You said you had foreseen he would not be Thane. But perhaps he will have a son.”
“Alcandhor, I cannot say on, but you must believe me when I tell you that you must study for Thaneship.”
“But I want it not.”
“Why?”
Alcandhor frowned up at his father. “Sir?”
“Why do you not want it? And I wish not to hear about the Enaisi. Aye, your personal studies have to be set aside. For now. But as a Chief you would have many duties as well and much studying in preparation. What is the real reason?”
Alcandhor shook his head and his father smiled. “When you know the real reason why, come back and we shall talk again.”
Saldhor turned away, rubbing the drying cloth on his face.
“Father?”
When his father swung back around, Alcandhor asked, “But what about Lasdhal? A-about not paying attention.”
Saldhor hesitated, his expression pensive. He hooked the chain around his neck with his fingers and lifted the key over his head. “You have a more important assignment. Climb up to the Portal Complex. Sit amid the dust of the Enaisi for as long as you wish, and think.”
Alcandhor looked at the bio-crystal in his hand then gaped at his father. Saldhor would trust him with this?
His father waved his arm. “Go.”
Grinning, Alcandhor ran out.
~:~
Alcandhor raced down the corridor and slid into his barrack hall. Haladhon jumped up from a cot, and breathed out in relief. “‘Tis only you. How did you fare with the Thane?”
“Well. Worry not. What are you doing here?”
“Class ended. I am setting up a surprise for Andhrel. Wish you to help?”
Alcandhor walked over to the side of Andhrel’s cot. Haladhon reached under the cot with a grin and pulled out a small sack. “Sand.”
“Sand? �
��Tis not worthy of you, cousin.”
“Have you a better idea?”
Alcandhor chewed the inside of his cheek, his mind working furiously. “Aye. Hold for a moment.” He ran down to the barracks’ kitchen, taking the shimmerstone steps two and three at a time, hoping he could make it back before the other striplings came in.
He rummaged through a large sack of tubers, digging down until his fingers squeezed into something cool and mushy. He pulled out the mostly-rotten vegetable, wrinkling his nose at the smell, and hurried back up to his barracks.
No striplings yet. “How did you get here so far ahead of the others?” he asked Haladhon.
“I claimed I had to use the priv. It gave me a start on them,” Haladhon said as Alcandhor set the tuber under the blanket at the foot of the bed. Lifting a boot, he smashed it flat then smoothed the surface.
Haladhon chuckled, slapping Alcandhor’s back. “I have missed you, cousin.”
“You will have to keep missing me,” Alcandhor said. “Father is sending me on a mission.”
“A mission? But what about Lasdhal and slacking in class?”
Haladhon followed as Alcandhor walked down the hall to the washing room.
“‘Tis personal. He is sending me to the Portal Complex.”
“The Portal Complex? Stars. ‘Tis no punishment for you.”
Alcandhor shrugged as he washed the putrid goo from his hands. “It is not a punishment.”
“What are you to do there?”
“Think.”
“Think?”
Alcandhor smiled. “Aye. Now let me grab a spare cloak and leave before Andhrel arrives.” He shook his hands to dry them. “And do not forget to tell me what happens when he sticks his feet in his bed tonight.”
~:~
Alcandhor gasped from running up the steep path. He stood in front of the Complex, bio-crystal key in hand. The craggy mountain rose before him. Only the smooth, black surface of the doors themselves gave way that anything lie hidden beneath.
How could his father reward him with this gift instead of punishing him? Holding his breath, Alcandhor approached the doors and set the key against the small indentation. They opened with a quiet whoosh.
Reverential awe overtook Alcandhor as he stepped inside. Rounded grey walls rose to a domed ceiling. Faint illuminations emanated from tiny niches high above. Someday he would understand how the Enaisi could capture and store light. What had he read? Something about photons being stored in a crystalline structure? He would have to study En’ai more thoroughly; if only the Enaisi’s books had been translated to their language. But his people had shunned technology. Was that why the Enaisi left—to avoid tempting his people with their advanced ways?
He had walked halfway across the chamber when he remembered the doors. He ran back and used the key to lock them, his feet echoing on the polished floor. He turned back around and halted in wonder. The floor had no dust on it. He had crept about in unused chambers within the city playing with Haladhon and the others when younger, and always dust covered everything. But here ‘twas if a servant lived in attendance. Stars. He must discover how these things be!
For now, however, he merely wished to explore. Three doors awaited him. From previous visits with his father, Alcandhor knew the center one led to a device the Enaisi called a lift. These devices allowed the Enaisi to travel through the Complex but they no longer functioned. Although he knew it would be futile, he approached the lift’s door. It had no latch, no indentation for a key—merely a small square spot on the wall next to it. He touched it and it glowed slightly, but nothing else happened.
The door to his right would not open either, but the one to the left did—as he neared, it slid open to reveal a hallway. Most chambers with along this hall contained chairs, tables, and various bits of inexplicable equipment. Somewhere down this hall, a door led to a stairway that wound down into the bowels of the Portal Complex. Alcandhor found it and bounded down with anticipation.
~:~
Room after room, level after level of nothing. Alcandhor dragged back up to the Portal Chamber itself and sat down in the center of the floor, staring at the blank, circular frame.
What had it been like to see its swirling blackness and bright light and see someone appear from another world, or to enter it and find oneself in a new, strange place? Alcandhor’s heart thudded as his desire to reach beyond that frame sucked the breath out of his lungs. He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. How could one want something so badly that it hurt?
As he sat, Alcandhor realized the stillness about him. No noise save his own breathing. No life at all. Empty. As if a tomb. The Enaisi gone.
Gone.
Nay—not forever. He would see that portal work! He would meet the Enaisi! He would!
He jumped up and went to the control panel for the portal. His fingers touched the spot where the bio-crystal index key should be. If he had that, and could bring power to the frame, he could set the portal to any world, go anywhere.
Alcandhor fingered the key around his neck, knowing how silly it was to think his ‘door’ key could actually be the missing index key. But he had to try.
He set the key to the port but the shape did not fit. Alcandhor sighed and dropped into a chair. He touched one spot then another on the panel. Nothing.
A rumble from his stomach reminded him the day grew late. He opened his sack and pulled out the food with a grin. No journey rations for this little adventure—he had stolen breads and meats from the great hall kitchen. If Alcandhor were found out he would incur the wrath of the head cook, Ganill. Haladhon would be proud of his bravery.
After eating, Alcandhor wandered about aimlessly, examining room after room.
On one level he found bedchambers. Neat and clean with beds made, as if waiting for their owners to come in and rest. Tired and discouraged, he laid down on one of the beds to sleep.
~:~
The nothingness unnerved Alcandhor. Too quiet. After jumping a third time at an imagined sound, he threw back the cover and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair with a moan and winced—his voice seemed loud and unnatural.
He pounded a fist on the bed. What had his father sent him here for?
To think.
Stars, Alcandhor did not want to think about being Thane. His father’s question came back—why did he not want to be Thane?
Because he wanted to be a law-keeper. He wanted to study physical laws and learn—
He fell back on the bed. The silence mocked his reasoning. Truth. At least to himself and out of respect for this place.
He feared not being as good a Ranger as Valdhor.
Valdhor succeeded at everything—he was marksman, stout fighter, uncanny tracker, and remarkable arbiter. No one doubted his abilities as a Ranger.
Valdhor’s only lack was his inability to feel—even with the empathy he inherited from the Enaisi. Would their clan follow a man so surly and arrogant? Perhaps they might have. He had a charisma despite his temperament.
But then he had lost control.
Granted, little Marcalan could be irritating, pulling pranks and making a nuisance of himself, but to beat the child—nay. Valdhor had thrown away Thaneship with that act. The Rangers had turned against him.
Yet they looked at Alcandhor as unworthy. Unproven. Aye. He had only been a stripling a year. Their eyes had grown used to seeing a hardened fighter as their future Thane. Now they saw—what?
What did Alcandhor see? He chewed the inside of his cheek. He saw himself hunched over, avoiding the eyes of Rangers. He saw a lad afraid of failure and afraid others would see his fear.
Alcandhor straightened with an angry shake of his head, pride of his clan swelling within him. Rangers do not fear. Rangers persevere. Rangers find their strengths and exploit them.
His answer lie in that fact. Alcandhor could stay in Valdhor’s shadow, or he could step out and not fear being seen for himself, and what he could become.
>
A smile tugged at the corners of Alcandhor’s mouth. Tomorrow he would talk to his father.
~:~
Alcandhor strode across the grounds, meeting the eyes of Rangers. A few showed surprise and others approval. The few that met his gaze with scorn he glared at, hoping his expression let them know they would show respect to their future Thane.
Alcandhor walked past some of his fellow striplings as they matched with staves in the morning sun. Edhron called out to him. “Your father said you were on a mission.”
“Aye. I go to report to him now.”
“You will return to training with us then?”
“Unless he has other orders for me, aye.”
Edhron nodded and turned back to watching his pupils.
“Our future Thane,” Monadhal called with a laugh.
Triumph shot through Alcandhor—the mocking did not bother him. Haladhon met his gaze with a wink, and Alcandhor grinned as he continued across the grounds.
The Thane’s chamber door stood ajar and Alcandhor entered. His father and uncles sat at the table, discussing reports.
Saldhor put down the papers he held, his eyebrows raised with expectation. Lamadhel and Haladhon’s father, Bardhor, both turned to look at him.
“You have your answer, boy?” Saldhor asked.
“Aye. And I am a boy no longer. I am a Ranger.”
Lamadhel leaned back in his chair. “And the other Rangers?”
Alcandhor smiled. “What of them?”
END
Bitter Storm
appeared in Deep Magic, January 2004
(Deep Magic’s December 2003 cover, “Bitter Chivalry,” by Todd Lockwood, provided the inspiration for this writing-challenge winner.)
The drums beat slowly as the family left the crypt. Dead, Alcandhor thought as the wind and snow whipped about his face. His father was truly dead.
The final mourning ceremony had been delayed to give time for his elder brother to arrive from his remote bounds in the mountains. But he had not come. Not even for his own father’s funeral would he leave his bounds.
Intractable, as always.
He had refused the mantle of Thaneship, so now Alcandhor was Thane of their clan. Thane of the peacekeeping Rangers.
The drums stopped, and Alcandhor turned to face the crypt, as did all his kin. Two Rangers shut the doors, bowed, and backed away, as a final sign of respect to their dead Thane.
