by David Rice
“Still looks like a threat, though. And those are very nice furs he’s wearing.” Nerrod smirked. “Didn’t you make a promise?”
“Yes,” Ballok replied and nocked an arrow. “Did I say right in the eye?”
“Both eyes,” Nerrod corrected.
Ballok shrugged and placed a second arrow in his hand. “This one’s for practice then. I can either fire two at once or one right after the other.”
Nerrod laughed. “At this distance? I would like to witness that.”
“Fair enough,” Ballok grunted. He placed two arrows upon the string, adjusted his angle for the wind, steadied his breath, and released.
The two horsewardens watched quietly as the shafts sped towards their unsuspecting target.
“Oh, did you see that!” Ballok yelled as the figure spun around and fell to the ground.
“Impressive,” Nerrod chuckled. “Let’s make sure it’s down for good. It’s not right to let a prey suffer.”
Ballok nudged his horse over the rise. “Never my policy,” he smirked.
“I don’t think you hit him in the eye, though,” Nerrod added as they crossed the ravine. “The face for sure. Maybe right in the nose. But an eye socket?”
“I did hit him in the eye. I got him in both,” Ballok asserted with a grin.
They reached the unmoving body together. A distance away, a withered staff holding a sundered gem lay in the mud.
Nerrod laughed as he admired Ballok’s handiwork. “You were right. But only one eye. The other one didn’t hit.”
Ballok scoffed, then gasped and pointed west. “Over there. It’s an ambush!”
Nerrod rolled to cover behind a burned-out tree. Behind him, he heard the thwang of a bowstring and the wet thunk of impact. When he turned towards Ballok once more, the seasoned horsewarden was laughing hard and pointing at the corpse.
“See! Both eyes.”
Nerrod joined in the laughter. When their merriment faded, he looked at Ballok and sighed. “Longwood’s gone, and Rybaki’s people are beyond our reach. What will you do now?”
“Aside from this?” He prompted his horse to trample upon the neck of the dead shaman until its head popped off. “Pick up the staff. The gem’s gotta still be of some use. Perhaps my brother can make ear-rings.”
Nerrod slung the staff over his shoulder. “Will you return to Longwood? Should we look for survivors?”
Ballok looked south towards the snaking columns of smoke. “No,” he said. Then he looked east and took a deep breath. “I just need to go home.”
***
The next morning, a raven appeared before Galen, and emitted an excited Cruck-k-k-tok before blurting. “I have found friends who will help us, but they are not who you expect.”
Emerging slowly from the swirling dust came a lifebane shaman, a woman, and beside her, bandaged and limping, Cinn.
Kirsten looked up and ran forward immediately almost bowling her cousin over with a hug. “You’re alive!”
“As are you,” Cinn chuckled, “I am relieved to say.” He looked at the small group and his face fell. “Are there others?” he forced himself to ask.
Galen shook his head. “We continue our search, Second Warden. But aside from Orweh’s group in the mountains, it seems we are all that remain.”
Cinn gestured behind him. “This is a group of lifebane who fought against our attackers. They have told me how they rescued Ballok earlier, charged the lifebane on this flank, slew many, and suffered much loss.”
“And saved you, too,” Galen fought off a surprised expression. “Trust makes friends more solidly than blood,” he stated. Then he held out his hand towards the shaman. “I am
Galen. Sage and Elder of Longwood.”
The woman straightened, smiled suddenly, and returned a firm handshake. “Rybaki, daughter of Deven, and Shaman of the Crystal Marsh Clan. United against the perversion of nature, and the injustice of Ulimbor who woke the drakes.”
Galen’s eyebrows lifted. “There is much we do not know.”
“I will share our tales in exchange for your own,” she replied. “But first, you must be wary of the transformation spreading through your wood.”
Galen’s expression tightened. “I don’t understand.”
Cinn spoke up. “The fires have died down and, in their place, everything is withered and black, even the roots, the moss, the flowers, and the soil. Even all that escaped the fires.”
Galen quivered with pain but said nothing.
“And everywhere we saw the black soil or trees, we found dead lifebane.” Cinn shuddered.
“Thousands,” Rybaki added. “Withered and half consumed by rot. The remnants of Ulimbor’s armies have fallen here from some corruption we do not understand. But it seems to have a will of its own.”
Galen struggled against weeping. “This was such a beautiful home,” he said. “A gift of the One to his first children. And to be so cursed now?”
“We all need new homes,” Rybaki added. “We should search together.”
Galen shivered and brushed away the tears. “There are still drakes.”
“Maybe just one,” Kirsten added. “And the dragon.”
Rybaki frowned. “So long as they live, legends say the drake will chase the dragon eternally.”
“She could fight him off,” Kirsten responded.
Rybaki shook her head. “One day the drake will win, and then our world will be purged.”
“What?” Kirsten blurted. “Why? Why would the One allow that?”
Rybaki sighed. “The second dawning. A re-birth. Even the One cannot escape it although in his sleep he has tried.”
Galen stood, stunned. Slowly, he pushed away doubts fueled only by unquestioned truth. “For me, your claims concerning the One ring true but much of this was discredited by our later scholars as slanderous.”
Rybaki shrugged. “I know nothing of your alterations. Only what I have read from the earliest texts.”
Galen’s expression filled with fascination. “Can this joining of drake and dragon be stopped?”
Rybaki huffed. “You might as well ask Xlaesin itself for the secrets of such matters. It is beyond us all. And, I fear, it is meant to remain so.”
Kirsten frowned. “One drake chasing one dragon and our whole world just waiting to vanish?” She turned to Galen. “Can you look at my Papa once more? Tell me what I need to do to heal him?”
Galen and Rybaki exchanged glances and quietly agreed. “We will examine him now, if you like,” Galen announced. “We owe you that much. But then we must all be away from this
cursed ground. If it turns on us and our newfound allies—I cannot abide any more losses.”
Kirsten smiled gratefully.
***
It took less time than expected, and their expressions told Kirsten what she feared before she had to ask. “Nothing? There’s nothing more that you can do?”
Galen’s eyes were full of pity. “His memories are there, broken, scattered, but not unreachable. It is he who has locked them away.” Galen sighed. “It has been his nature to run from challenges. It should not be a surprise that now he is hiding from the whole world. If you could discover why he hides, then he might return to some version of himself.”
Rybaki continued. “Do you know?”
Kirsten shivered. “My mother,” she said.
“She was exiled. Returned to the Salt Isles,” Galen responded.
“So I was told.” Kirsten’s back stiffened. “Then that’s where I’m going.”
“You have never been there, child,” Galen snipped. “Don’t be foolishily impulsive like your father. Learn from his mistakes.”
Kirsten’s temper rose like a storm. “You told me you’d always support me, Galen. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” Galen’s tone softened. “But your sword is still needed here.”
“No,” Kirsten replied. “So far the only person who has been able to really help my Papa is me and I’m taking him to find m
y mother. I’ll convince her to help. We are going to get him healed.”
“You don’t know the way,” Galen corrected. “Only those born to the Salt Isles are allowed to return there.”
Cinn stepped forward. “I know the way. And I need to go home, Galen. I’ll take her.”
Galen gasped. “Please. We are vulnerable. You won’t stay? You won’t reconsider?”
Cinn pointed at Rybaki. “Trust your new friends, Galen. They saved Ballok’s life, and they saved mine.”
Kirsten shrugged. “No need to waste more time. Let’s get to the coast and find a ship.”
“That simple?” Olaf smirked.
Kirsten stuck out her chin. “When it has to be,” she said.
X
Cinn led the group away from the smoking ruin of Longwood, and its creeping black soil.
They found many horses crowded along the escarpment’s edge, frightened, and looking for a way down to the river. There were more than they would need for riding but with Kirsten’s help Cinn was able to calm the herd’s matriarch and convince her to be ridden. By nightfall, the small group was camped along the Raelyn surrounded by scores of Longwood’s finest mounts.
The sun rose dull and red through a sky stained with leagues of smoke. Cinn helped Olaf and Grumm improvise a means to ride two of the smaller horses and created a means of binding Muren in place. As they began to ride, half the herd trailed them, eager to escape the horrors of Longwood. The escarpment towered above and behind, its trees now blackened, twisted, and broken. Kirsten gave the scene a final glance and shuddered. In the swirling dust along the edge of a rocky drop, she was sure that the outline of a girl waved. Then the wind gusted and the spectre was gone. Kirsten was sure no one else had seen her. She rubbed her eyes and told no one but she swore the ghostly image was Dria.
Before the sun was overhead, they found themselves snaking along a path that was squeezed between a long stretch of the Raelyn’s rapids, now sporting clutches of tangled timber between jutting rock, and the majestic rise of the Whitemantle Mountains adorned with towering fir and redwood. Waiting on the other end of this broken trail was the mill town of Splintjack, and the ocean. Kirsten hoped they would be able to find a ship they could hire. Cinn hinted that there might be other alternatives but Kirsten had no idea what he meant.
Five days of riding brought them to their first sight of the ocean. The trail opened into a meadow filled with the smell of sea salt and wild flowers. The Raelyn River spilled into the sea quite suddenly, opening into a wide gulf with the towering cliffs of the Highlands looming along its southern shore. Seeing the Highlands made Kirsten’s heart swell. She slipped down from her horse and checked on her father. They had been stopping eight times a day to take him down, feed, clean and change him like a baby. Sometimes his eyes would flicker open but never focus.
The first few times Kirsten did this, she cried. Then she softened for a few days of the routine. On the fourth day, Kirsten noticed bruises and swelling from where Muren’s bones pressed hardest against his horse. They would need bandaging and rest in a soft bed, Cinn insisted, or they would break through the skin and become festering wounds. Now, Kirsten found herself bursting with irritation and impatience. If he was in there, and he was, why wouldn’t he help himself and come out? How had the gnome, Ardir, managed to endure caring for him for so long?
Thankfully, everyone, even Grumm, helped as best they could, and Cinn rigged a sling that could hang between Olaf and Grumm. The trick was keeping their horses perfectly aligned and calm. Everyone was relieved when the grey planked roofs of Splintjack came into view. Until then, they hadn’t considered too seriously the threat its occupants might pose.
“One wave at a time,” Cinn counselled.
Skirting the gulf edge of the town, it was swiftly noticeable that the buildings were abandoned. A rancid smell filtered through the town from the docks. Stray dogs ran through the streets, and the wild horses remained in the meadows. Clouds of seabirds shrieked and circled above the bay.
When they reached sight of the harbour, at least they could understand the smell. The harbour was founded on a shallow bay area with a steep drop off in the waters beyond. The tide had retreated more than Cinn had ever witnessed in his life, and the fish strewn muddy bottom of the bay was entirely exposed. Sea birds circled in low clouds above the fish, darting in to grab a helpless morsel and soar away once more.
Two small ships were wrecked and hanging lopsided alongside their moorings, and one larger ship, a three master, sat useless in the mud a generous bowshot from shore. Squinting, Cinn could see that there were some crew aboard and they were heaving streams of rotting fish from their hold.
Grumm wrinkled his nose. “Stinks worse than a lifebane’s backside.”
Olaf took a large square of linen from his pack and transformed it into a mask. “You should smell it through this nose,” he grumbled.
Kirsten’s voice cracked. “What do we do now?”
Cinn frowned as he examined the landscape, then looked at Kirsten with a glimmer in his eyes. “You haven’t seen me use the spark, have you?”
“No,” Kirsten replied. “Is that how you always beat me in duels?”
Cinn chuckled. “No. Those born to the Salt Isles are in tune with the sea.”
“What?” Kirsten’s curiosity piqued. “What are you thinking?”
Grumm squared his shoulders. He pointed at Olaf and himself. “Are you also in tune with mud? Because knee deep to you is far worse for us.” “I’m out of practice, but I can make a path to that ship.”
“Then what?” Kirsten prompted.
“Then I’ll see about striking a bargain with its Captain. I get his ship free and he takes us home.”
Kirsten sat back. “You can do that?”
Cinn smirked. “No. Not me. Not exactly.”
Kirsten’s frustration flared. “Then how?”
Cinn chuckled. “Follow me and you’ll see.”
The group found a haphazard winding path down to the muddy bay. Cinn’s breathing slowed and deepened as he concentrated upon the tendrils of the weave.
“There is something in that ship that is pulling the weave closer,” Cinn commented quietly.
“Like the wood and the Rajalan metal Plax used?” Kirsten suggested.
Cinn continued to concentrate. “It is helping immensely,” he said and then fell silent, fully immersed in his sparkweaving.
Before them, the mud began to steam and crack in a wavy line stretching all the way to the ship. Maintaining his concentration, Cinn urged his horse forward. Once his mount discovered firm footing, they began their crossing of the bay.
From the ship, there were shouts, and a long whistle that shooed seabirds from its rigging.
As the came alongside, most of the crew were slack-jawed and leaning over the rails to witness the impossible. One figure, grey hair fluttering in the wind, and cynical eyes boring down upon them, stood taller than the rest.
He shouted down to them with an impressively piercing voice. “Stop, or I’ll have my crossbowmen stop you.”
Cinn looked up and smiled. “We seek a trade, good Captain.”
“I’ve seen these tricks before, and I see a gnome. There’ll be no spark users on The Evalyn. We’ve had too much of that nonsense.”
Cinn nodded. “I can free your boat before the coming tide wrecks it upon the rocks.”
The Captain looked away and cursed into the wind. Cinn watched him exchange words with someone unseen. A few whistles were heard and those crew still leaning over the edge retreated from sight. Some began climbing the rigging and approaching furled sails.
The Captain looked down on them once more. “What do you want?” “Passage to the Salt Isles,” Cinn replied.
“Hah!” the Captain erupted. “There’s no such place, boy!”
“There is,” Cinn responded as he pulled back his hair to expose the points of his ears. “I was born there.”
The Captain’s mouth closed in
to a tight line. “I’ll take my chances with the sea,” he finally spat.
Cinn shrugged. “The sea gives and takes,” he replied, “but it takes the most from fools.”
Kirsten shivered. “Be nice,” she whispered. “He’s got the only ship.”
Cinn bowed slightly. “We are no threat to you or your ship. I will free you from the mud to prove this.”
The Captain bellowed some commands. Now Cinn could see a crossbowman clinging for life in the crowsnest.
Cinn did not wait for permission. He closed his eyes and extended his arms palms open towards the mud. To everyone’s surprise, the mud began to vibrate and squirm. Thousands of shelled sea creatures squirmed and moved until their vibrating ululations surrounded The Evalyn, thrummed subtly through her hull, and shifted her in the mud. Imperceptibly at first, and then with undeniable persistence, the ship inched upward and began its snail like journey towards open water.
