by David Rice
“It was a girl elf. She ran through the fires like an untouchable spirit. An’ everywhere she went, her sword shone like a beacon an’ smashed the locks that kept us helpless. She saved us, she did.”
“Crazy strange, it was,” the noble continued. “Then there were some dwarves surprised the gnomes and drew the drake away. The girl ran that direction an’ last I heard she was the one to frighten off the drake before it could kill us all.”
Balinor’s heart raced. It could only be one person. “What happened to her?”
The noble shrugged. “Buggered off like ghosts like elves always do. Just glad they didn’t stay to finish their work. We woulda been helpless crossing the ice, otherwise.” There was a chance that Kirsten was still alive. Maybe she inherited some luck from her mother’s side. “How long ago?”
“Three days. Can’t go home yet because we don’t have the supplies. Thought we’d wait until the fires died down to see what was left in the camp but damned lumbermen got to looting it first. The trash’re sitting on a stash of food an’ such, selling it off to the highest bidders.”
Balinor frowned. “You can’t stay and you can’t go?”
The noble nodded. “It’s all we can do to keep the women an’ children safe from those hooligans. They’re mostly prisoners freed from Graniteside’s prisons by Lornen so they don’t understand much.”
“Hmmm,” Balinor scowled.
“You don’t happen to have anything to spare, do ya? You look handy.”
Balinor reached to shake the noble’s hand. “My name’s Bal. I may be able to help.”
The noble smiled and shook balinor’s hand. “On my better days, I’m Baron Villetem from the area east of the Crossroads—or what’s left of it. Gow got what he deserved at least.”
Balinor blinked. “Gow’s dead?”
“Whole army’s gone. Anyone with sense is just trying to get home now. Wherever you’re heading I’d watch out for brigands like those looters. The survivors in our regiments have no fight left in ‘em now.”
Balinor nodded. “I just have to bring up a few friends.”
The noble stepped back from Vargas. The dog stepped forward and licked his hand.
Balinor hurried to calm him. “Just four of us. We have more supplies than we need. I think they’ll be okay giving you what we can spare.”
Villetem’s posture relaxed and he smiled wearily. “I’ll pay you. Somehow. Now, and later when we’ve set things straight again.”
Balinor puzzled over the noble’s words. Was this a potential ally of Arundy? That would have to wait. “They aren’t exactly what you’d expect but they’re all good folk.” He whistled and signaled for his companions to approach. Cautiously, in a staggered and wellspaced line, they rode forward on their goats, leading the supply animals.
Villetem gasped when he realized that the first two were dwarves. He scowled when he saw Olaf. “A gnome? After what they did?”
“He hates them as much as you do,” Balinor explained in a rush. “And the dwarves are emissaries from Jarl Volsun of Thunderwall Holdfast.”
Villetem did not seem convinced. “I don’t know. Maybe you should just go.”
Balinor decided that he’d have to risk it. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the signet Arundy had given him so many seasons earlier. “I’ve been working for Arundy. He’s alive. And he’s safe with the dwarves of Thunderwall.”
Villetem squinted at the signet and gasped. Then he squinted cynically at the entire lot of strangers. Then he let a chuckle escape. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “We can sure use the help.” He turned to face the wagons, smiled and waved. “They’re trustworthy. They’ve brought goods to trade. Let them in.”
Some weary cheers cascaded through the camp and Balinor found his group soon surrounded by several dozen smiling faces. Once inside the camp, cups of herbal tea were thrust into their hands.
Grumm sniffed at his before sipping. He slipped down from his goat and leaned towards Balinor. “So, what’s this about?”
Balinor tried to smile. Olaf was fairly agreeable but he didn’t know how convincing he would be to the dwarves. “They’re mostly women and children here. They’re hurt and hungry, and they don’t have the supplies they need to get back home. We’re close to our destination, so I thought we could give them what we won’t use.”
Grumm looked uncomfortable. “Who knows what we’ll be needin’ in the coming days. My da’ always said a nugget in the fist is worth two in the mine.”
Balinor sighed. “C’mon Grumm. If we want better relations, it starts with small gestures. Have a heart.”
Grumm grumbled, “A heart, he says? After all this?”
Pell made a sour face. “What about that town over there. Why let the birds eat it all?”
“Looters,” Villetem spoke up. “Criminals sitting on more than what we need and I barely have the ability to protect my own right now.”
Pell’s eyes darkened. He knew that feeling far too well. “Hold this.” He thrust his mug of tea into Grumm’s free hand, slipped from his mount, drew a few items from his back pack and scurried away towards the shoreline.
The rest of the group stared open-mouthed, as he melted into the shadows of scrub along the river.
“What is he planning to do?” Balinor asked.
“Nothing nice,” Grumm chuckled.
Balinor gasped. “By himself?”
Grumm took out his flagon of bitters, tossed a shot into his tea and drank up. He wiped his lips and then handed the flask around. “That’s one rare Stonewall dwarf. Lost almost all his kin, an’ retreated fer an’ entire ccycle through the dark tunnels o’ the Yarrol Maze fightin’
lifebane all the way.”
“He’s going to fight all those looters?” Villetem asked, his voice vibrating with skepticism and awe.
“Yeah,” Grumm replied with a wink. “I feel sorry for those buggers.” He took another drink and laughed.
***
Balinor and a grateful Baron Villetem had just decided on how to divide the supplies when Pell strode quietly into their midst, his eyes sparkling. He finished wiping blood from his daggers and sheathed them non-chalantly. His beard had dark splotches that he left in place like trophies. For the first time, Balinor could detect the hint of a smile from the dwarf.
“Ah, welcome back, brave one!” Grumm announced.
“You survived!” Villetem exclaimed.
Pell sat down by the fire and helped himself to a tin of thin soup. He reached into his belt pouch and tossed a hunk of cheese towards the Baron. “Better get to the rest of the supplies
before the coyotes do.”
“The looters?” the Baron asked.
Pell stretched his legs. “Had to chase one.”
Everyone stared wide-eyed except Grumm who erupted in laughter.
By the afternoon, Villetem had led a small group successfully across the river and was returning with all the supplies they might require.
Balinor detested goodbyes of every kind. He waved from the shore and led his companions quietly west. There was a town he remembered with a small bridge that would be a perfect place to cross. Even though he knew what Kirsten would ask, his heart burned to be reunited with his friend’s daughter, to be certain that she was unharmed, and, above all, to beg forgiveness for abandoning her.
III
The buds were on the branches, the squirrels cavorted from bow to bow, and chimpunks raced through their gnarled maze of old leaves and older roots. Eko stood outside the archive door and took a deep breath. He wanted to remember Longwood exactly like this, the scent of loam and stream, the vivid colours of earth’s newest fronds and softest petals, the world’s oldest forest re-learning how to be perfectly alive.
He lifted his eyes towards the overarching blue sky where the largest moon could still be seen, its inescapable pale gaze peeking from behind thin clouds the shape of horses’ manes. Then he recalled why such a day was beyond precious and plunged down the stai
rs to collect everything he would need.
***
Kirsten awoke with a start and was surprised to see Besra already up. The dwarf was wearing her chainmail. She stood near the lip of the platform, her runehammer moving in slow controlled circles over her head and then through arcs around her body like a captivating dance. Its purpose was deadly and yet its form mesmerizing. Kirsten did not disturb the moment with words.
Besra completed her ritual and bowed towards the east. Then she set her hammer down with a satisfied thump and grinned. “Did you enjoy the show?”
Kirsten giggled. “You knew I was watching?”
“Yer breathing changed when you woke up,” Besra replied.
“You have sharp ears.”
“Those born in the dark learn how to listen,” she replied. “Ah, listen to me now. I sound like me Gran. Too young fer that. When’s first meal?”
Kirsten giggled. Food is always on the platforms below. Everyone takes turns replenishing the supply.
Besra nodded. “We have some clans do that. Some farm the dark grottos. Some raise the herds. Some fish the deep pools. Some work the thin valley.”
“Thin valley?”
Besra shrugged. “Every holdfast needs one. It’s hidden atop, in fissures between the peaks. Can’t live without some sunfed crops. Long climb though. Kinda like these platforms.”
Kirsten jumped to her feet. “Keeps us strong.”
“Still,” Besra mused. “Some pulleys an’ vines an’ I could teach yeh how to make some lifts.”
Kirsten’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Lifts?”
“Sure. How else is ore gonna be lifted from the deepest parts? Lotsa applications.”
Distant voices raised in surprise drifted down from the tallest trees. The voices grew in number and concern. Besra and Kirsten stepped to the very edge and tried to spy who or what was causing such a ruckus.
Then silence gripped all of Longwood’s creatures as a bat-like shadow darkened the
moon high above them all.
***
Eko jumped when he heard Galen’s voice boom from the top of the stairs.
“Cease all sparkweaving! A drake has been sighted. It has passed to the north but may return.”
Eko’s pulse pounded through his temples. There was no more time to prepare and he still felt unready. Unready but not uncertain. This was the only way to give his people a chance at survival.
Eko responded rapidly. Perhaps with a bit too much calm. “Understood, Elder Galen. I will inform Alvilas.”
“Be well,” Galen’s fading voice answered. “I have many others to inform.”
***
Cinn lunged from the stairs and between deep breaths pointed towards Kirsten’s sword. “Keep the Fahde sheathed. No sparkweaving. We fear we might attract the drake before we are ready.”
Kirsten’s eyes widened. “That really was a drake? It was so high. It would have to be huge.”
Besra grasped her rune hammer and kept scanning the sky. “Mebbe we should be on the ground. Or under it?”
“Under it?” Cinn asked.
“It’s the dwarven way,” Besra commented.
“We are heading to the forest floor to organize,” Cinn stated. “Bring anything you might need. We will not be back to the platforms until the danger has passed.”
“The drakes have awakened,” Kirsten replied. “When will the danger ever pass?”
Cinn smiled tight lipped. “That might be for you to decide, cousin.” Then he raced down the stairs once more.
Kirsten felt an unexpected weight descend upon her shoulders. She wouldn’t be able to carry it alone.
***
Eko was stuffing his pack with essential scrolls when Alvilas appeared from below, his wobbly knees and shaking hand barely keeping him steady on the narrow spiral of stairs.
“There you are. It’s as I feared,” he proclaimed. Bubbles of spit flew from his lips when he spoke. Then he noticed the scrolls in Eko’s hands. “You fool! We can’t risk taking anything from here. When the drakes come, they’ll burn everything above but once we seal the doors even their fires won’t touch this sacred place.” His eyes teared over as he cast them about the walls and shelves. Alivilas’s voice withered. “Our immortal repository. Everything that we are—is here.” He turned a harsh gaze upon his student. “Put those scrolls back, child, right
now, and get yourself to the Heartwood. The council will decide what to do next.”
Eko stared at Alvilas with thinly veiled frustration.
Alvilas surged with temper and grabbed Eko by the arm, tugging it fiercely. “I said put them back. We have to seal the doors.”
The sudden movement jerked open Eko’s pack, and a glowing amber chunk of crystal popped from its shrouding linen to strike the floor. A frozen fire blazed in its broken crystal heart.
“What?” Alvilas stared open mouthed and then filled with rage. “The Ameliss?” He looked up, his eyes aflame. “How dare you!” He reached for his staff.
Eko reacted instantly, knocking the staff from Alvilas’s hand.
Alvilas grabbed the railing with both hands, his drastic efforts consuming his tired body with pain. “What are you doing?” he cried out.
“Saving our people,” Eko shouted, cycles of distrust and harsh judgements erupting wildly, and he kicked his mentor in the chest as hard as he could.
Alvilas’s breath exploded with a rattling wheeze and, wide-eyed, he bounced helter-skelter down the stairs, disappearing around their steep curve.
Silence. Eko stood unable to move until he forced himself to take a breath. He listened again. Not a sound. Not a heartbeat. Not a breath beyond his own.
By the One, what had he done?
Resolution gradually seeped through his shock. The drakes would do so much more. The ancestors of the Rajala had managed to stop them. Only they held the key to survival. And only the Ameliss might hold enough of its former self to contribute to defeating the drakes. But he had to know more. And he couldn’t learn anything more here.
It was clear to Eko, only one event would pull his people away from their sacred home, away from any impending attack by the drakes. Eko tightened his jaw, secured his pack, and rushed up the stairs, never looking back.
The time to act was upon them all.
***
The council was still assembling when a purifying light streamed into the Heartwood, and the faint melody of a song heard only a few times a generation resonated through all living things.
Galen’s heart panged with horror for this could surely call down the drake they had just escaped. Still, they had to obey the Calling, and he immediately broke into reverent song. “The world is the weave and the weave is the will to be.”
Dorak continued the chant. “The infinite weaves patterns within chaos.”
Galen looked about, trying to identify the one who was being Called. Perhaps Alvilas would finally have his deepest wish granted? The glow was radiating from the north, the direction of the archive tree. “Perception is the seed that grows the weave,” he added.
Everyone gasped when young Eko, his body shimmering the subtle colours of the moons, stepped into view and completed the chant. “Xlaesin, Hall of Eternity, of stars, sky, and sea, calls me to shape the weave.” His face held a beatific beauty framing a self-satisfied smile. “And this call shall be answered.”
As the council stood, awed, frightened, and shocked, Cinn raced over to face Galen. “Jiror and his scouts are deployed to the north. We can’t leave Longwood undefended.”
“We cannot refuse the Calling,” Galen replied. “It is forbidden.”
Cinn scowled. “All due respect to your traditions here, Master Galen, but in the Salt Isles, a Calling doesn’t require everyone to respond.”
Galen lowered his eyes. “Then you may stay,” he said. “But we must go.”
Cinn cast his eyes left and right. “I need to find Kirsten,” he stated.
Galen nodded. “Wise. This distur
bance in the weave might attract the drake once more. She hould travel with us. The drake will hunt the source of the weave, not the trees.”
Cinn nodded. “I will find Tyrin and Siandros, as well.” Then he dashed away.
The many elves of Longwood were appearing along the platforms and descending from the redwoods and oaks. They were gathering sparkgem mats, food, wine, blankets, everything else they might need. In twos and threes, they clustered together to follow the light and join in the song.
Dorak caught Galen’s eye. “Reshae moved with a respectful and fluid grace, keeping in mind that this journey would be her last to share with the rest of us.”
