by Jason Denzel
“Covering up his tracks?” Sim said. “If so, he did a poor job of it.”
“No,” Rochella said. “There was a struggle.”
“A struggle? I don’t see it.”
Rochella’s face hardened. “We should leave now. We’ll camp away from here for the night.”
The note of worry in her voice made Sim shiver. He followed her deeper into the woods, wondering what would unnerve her like that.
She pushed hard for the remaining hours of daylight. Neither of them spoke, but Sim could clearly sense an unusual air of worry about her. Before the sun set, Rochella insisted that Sim gather as much cloudcap and silverbane as he could find. She directed him to an overgrown slope sheltered from heavy doses of snow by towering evergreens. Sim was used to gathering cloudcap. He’d been gathering it as often as they could find it. Rochella brewed it into a tea whenever she could. He thought the bitter brew tasted worse than gunkroot, but Rochella didn’t mind it. Sim imagined it may even have been her one delicacy that she looked forward to, although he never asked directly.
“I’ll take first watch,” Rochella said after they’d brewed the tea and settled in.
Sim slept, and awoke in the deepest part of the night, when both shadows and silence were at their strongest. The moon was nearly full, so a soft light covered him like a blanket. The campfire, small to begin with, had burned down to just glowing embers.
He lay there, staring at the stars managing to peek through the treetops. Up here in the mountains, they were clearer than anywhere else he’d ever been. As he often did at times like this, he thought of Dane, who’d always wanted to travel. Sim liked to think that his endless days on the road were a kind of tribute to his brother. He hoped Dane would’ve been proud of him.
But tribute or not, Sim wished he had a proper bed again. It had been far too long since he’d slept in one.
“Sim?” Rochella said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Sim turned toward her. She stared westward into the woods, lost in thought. There was no need for him to reply. She knew he was awake.
“Your vial of poison,” Rochella said.
Sim’s chest tightened. “Yah?”
“If things go poorly tomorrow, take its contents.”
Sim stood, looming over her. “Why are you talking like this?”
“We’re close. I don’t think I’m matched for this.”
The fear radiating from her unnerved Sim. “What are we hunting, Rochella?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Don’t hide things from me.”
Rochella closed her eyes. He could see her trying to regulate her breathing. She was scared, very scared.
Sim hunched down to her eye level. “What is it? Whatever it is, if it’s too much, we can abandon our hunt.”
Rochella shook her head. “No, we can’t. Our path goes through it.”
“What do you mean?” Sim asked, letting a note of irritation into his voice. “How can you say things like that? I don’t understand.”
“You will, someday,” Rochella said. “I’ve tried to train you as best I could. I hope it’s been enough.”
“Stop talking like you’re going to die,” Sim said. “Whatever it is, we don’t have to face it. And if we do, we’ll overcome it.”
Rochella finally looked at him, and for once, to him, she looked young. Maybe it was the softness in her face, but something in her eyes made her more vulnerable. More beautiful.
She met his gaze. Even in the dim starlight, he could see her eyes shimmer. “Never lose that part of you, Sim. The portion of you that always sees a way through a problem. Hold on to that, always.”
“What are you so afraid of?” Sim asked. “Tell me, please.”
Rochella’s eyes narrowed in familiar anger. It did not make her less beautiful. “The truth?”
Sim nodded. “Yah.”
She looked away, then back at him. “I’m afraid of being alone.”
They held each other’s gaze; then Sim cracked a smile and laughed.
Her face hardened. “What?”
“You? Afraid of being alone? You’re a ranger!”
Rochella leaned forward so she was closer to Sim. “It’s one of everyone’s greatest fears,” she said. “Search within yourself, and someday, you’ll see it staring at you. Someday, you’ll have to conquer it.”
Silence stretched between them. Sim realized how close they were. “I will if you teach me.”
“I have only one lesson left for you,” she whispered, and Sim saw something else in her eyes. Something like what he’d seen in Swiko’s, yet more intense.
Sim swallowed. “What lesson?”
“How to let go,” she said, and slowly pulled him into a kiss.
Sim held back only a moment. Then he felt a fire roar to life within him. She kissed him slowly, deeply, and he found himself moving his hands across her. Rochella kissed him with certainty and with control, just as she did everything else.
She directed his hands, and soon Sim found himself lying on top of her. One by one the layers of their clothes slid off until the embers of their fire faded, and nothing but moonlight was left to see by.
* * *
The next afternoon, they cornered their prey.
They approached with caution, coming to a clearing in the woods where a cave entrance yawned against the side of the mountain. Heavy snow had begun falling shortly after sunrise. Sim and Rochella didn’t bother to conceal their final camp. Rochella had led him directly to the clearing, moving with speed and confidence. She only said two words to him as they set out: “Focus today.”
Rochella stepped out into the clearing, and motioned with her hand for Sim to circle the opposite way around.
Their prey waited for them.
He was a laghart, dressed in shredded bits of cloth that might once have been robes. He seemed to be male. His scales formed the familiar three-swirling circle pattern all lagharts shared, but his coloring was all white and red. His tongue flicked out into the freezing air as he watched Sim and Rochella approach. The laghart stood still otherwise, like an animal wary of a predator.
The laghart held a tall wooden staff in one of his clawed hands. Sim’s heart sank. The laghart was a Mystic.
Rochella nocked an arrow and held it ready. Her eyes never strayed from the laghart. “A wivan,” she said. “Don’t hesitate.”
Sim didn’t have time to ask what a wivan was. The laghart lurched in a strange, jilted way. He hissed and snarled like an aggressive animal.
Sim flicked his wrist and the bottom portion of his staff dropped away, revealing the onkai blade. He walked the opposite direction from Rochella, weapon ready. He tried to ignore his shaking hands.
The laghart leaned over at the waist until his spine was parallel with the ground. He hissed, showing rows of sharp teeth. Slitted eyes blazed with an inner fire that seemed more primal and raw than those that would belong to a normal, sentient being.
The laghart Mystic spun his staff, swirling it until the falling snow flurried around it.
Rochella launched an arrow, but either the laghart’s blurry staff deflected it or something else knocked it aside. Rochella pulled another arrow, drew, and launched again but was met again with the same result.
“Stay back!” she yelled at Sim. She readied another arrow.
The laghart was still spinning his staff, but now Sim could see that he was somehow using the Myst. Clumps of ice and snow lifted from the ground, mixing with the fresh powder falling from the sky. The laghart continued to pull them together until spikes of compact ice hovered in the air.
“Rochella, look out; he’s going to—”
The laghart screamed, and the spikes of ice flew toward both Sim and Rochella. Sim dove out of the way. A quick glance at Rochella showed she’d done something similar to avoid injury.
The laghart readied more ice darts. “We have to get close!” Sim yelled.
“No!” Rochella retorted. “Take cover!”
Sim thought fast. With just his onkai blade and his belt knife as weapons, his attack options were limited. He was useless this far away. With Rochella’s bow being ineffective, he’d have to get closer.
He stalked sideways, away from Rochella, trying to outflank the laghart and get to his blind side.
Rochella loosed another arrow just as the laghart released another volley of ice. She dove out of the way again, this time losing her grip on her bow. The laghart sent a second, having kept some in reserve for a follow-up assault.
With the laghart distracted, Sim leaped, and swung his onkai downward.
The wivan moved like a shifting wind and caught him midair by the throat. Sim gagged and struck at the claw wrapped around his neck. The onkai blade clattered to the ground. He felt as though his head was about to be yanked from his body.
The laghart’s tongue flicked from his face. He studied Sim with slitted eyes. Then the tongue touched his skin, tasting him.
Sim spit in the laghart’s face. He recoiled, just as Rochella charged forward with her onkai blade.
The Mystic blocked her attack with his staff. He dropped Sim, who sucked air into his lungs. Rochella kicked the creature in the stomach, buying her enough time to strike again with her onkai. The blade dug deep into the laghart’s neck, but no blood emerged.
Rochella’s eyes widened at what should’ve been a killing blow.
The laghart moved, faster than any human, knocking away Rochella’s onkai blade, and yanked the back of her hair.
Then he tore Rochella’s throat out with his mouth.
Sim screamed.
Blood drained and spurted from Rochella’s ruined neck as the laghart dumped her onto the ground. He turned to Sim and hissed.
Sim scrambled to his feet and found his onkai blade. He circled the beast as snow continued to fall around him. He refused to look in Rochella’s direction. He couldn’t think of her. Couldn’t go there yet. By the Saints, the image of her blood spraying out—
His stomach churned, but he forced himself to focus on the laghart. He was a dead man standing unless he could get closer.
The Mystic’s tail slashed back and forth against the ground, forming patterns like the ones Sim had seen by the campfire yesterday. The laghart leaned over double at the waist again and hissed again, showing bloody teeth and dripping saliva.
Raising his onkai, Sim screamed and rushed toward the laghart, irrationally hoping his brute strength would overwhelm the creature. The laghart sidestepped with his incredible speed. Sim knew he was outmatched for speed, but he was ready for the sidestep. The moment the laghart leaped, Sim shifted his attack and swung ahead of where the creature’s momentum was taking him.
The blade sliced right through where the laghart’s head should have been, but somehow, impossibly, he ducked and caught the onkai, tearing it from Sim’s grip. The laghart roared, a sound that buried itself deep into Sim’s bones.
The laghart punched his clawed fist into Sim’s gut, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped and fell to his knees, trying to suck in air. The laghart loomed over him.
This was it.
Sim had faced death before. He’d been cut open by a hateful bandit with a sword. He’d been forced to march up a mountain under the wrathful gaze of a Mystic. He’d watched his brother die slowly, and seen Rochella die in an instant. Sim relaxed his muscles and looked up at the crazed laghart Mystic who wanted to take his life.
It was his moment to die.
The Mystic swung a clawed hand at Sim’s head, intending to take it off. Sim ducked, barely avoiding the blow, and snatched his small belt knife from his hip. He jammed the knife straight up, letting the laghart’s arm drag across its edge. The cut wasn’t enough to harm the laghart, but it was enough to draw blood across the creature’s claw.
The laghart howled in frustration, which gave Sim enough time to scramble backward.
The laghart glanced at his hand and then fixed his crazed, yellow-slitted eyes on Sim. Slowly, as if to show how little the wound had hurt, the laghart lifted his claw in front of his face. His long black tongue snaked out and licked the wound. Around the Mystic, dozens of ice darts rose and formed.
Sim’s heart pounded.
The laghart pointed at Sim, then stopped. His claw trembled. The Mystic looked again at the claw. Sim watched as the claw turned blackish green.
The laghart screamed, shaking his arm as if to fling the venom out.
Sim rose to his feet, his grim eyes never leaving the murderous creature. Desperately, the laghart screamed again and leaped at Sim, coming at him low from the ground. But the laghart’s movements were desperate and weak. Sim kicked the laghart in the face, knocking him to the ground.
The laghart thrashed and screamed as the poison worked through his body. Sim pulled the glass vial Pomella had given him from his pocket and tossed it into the snow. It had served its purpose.
The beast thrashed in agony as the poison worked through his body. Somehow, he twisted his head and fixed his gaze on him once more, and spoke.
“Lagnarassste!” he hissed.
Sim lifted his onkai from the ground. It gleamed in the morning light, colder than the surrounding snow. He kept it in check, however, and watched until the laghart finally died.
* * *
Sim buried Rochella beside the cave. The ground was frozen and rocky, but in his grief he didn’t know what else to do. It took him most of the day to dig the hole using only stones and heavy branches. The few tears he shed froze on his face.
When he finally went to lower his mentor into her grave, he forced himself to look at the wound that had killed her. After the laghart had died, he’d backtracked a little ways to find Rochella’s cloak so he could cover her while he dug. But now, lifting the edge of the cloak, he saw what remained of her neck.
He vomited into the snow.
Knowing she’d want him to do so, Sim removed everything from her body that he could use. Her remaining rations, some fresh paper, a tiny wooden vial of ink, and her hunting knife. He never wanted to touch his own knife again.
He stripped her body naked and buried her in the ground. As a ranger, he knew she loved the land. This way, she’d forever be a part of it. As he placed her in the grave, he stopped and stared at her chest and shoulders. Less than a day ago, her body had breathed and moved with slow passion against his. Now, with the blood draining away from her chest, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before.
Faint red sores, too dim to be seen against her dark skin, spread across her body. Sim’s heart broke again. All this time, and she’d been infected with the plague as well. She’d lied to him about being immune. His mind raced. How could she’ve stayed alive this whole time? Something would have had to keep the plague at bay.
The cloudcap tea. It was the only thing Sim could think of that she’d had regularly, and that they’d gone out of their way to find. Another frozen tear dropped from his face.
The sun was well past the western mountain peaks before he finished covering her. He lay on top of the fresh grave, hungry and cold, and stayed there all night, using his cloak to stay warm.
The next morning, hunger got the better of him. Moving by habit, feeling nothing, he set traps to try to catch game. He tried to think of where Rochella would want him to place the trap but couldn’t decide where that would be. He chose a place at random, and hoped for the best.
While he waited for food to kill itself in his trap, he finally explored the cave. Inside lay the corpse of an older man who had presumably once been Bith Yab. He wore ruined clothes that matched the style of the mountain village. Upon the back wall of the cave Sim found the image of a snake, stylized like a Mothic knot, painted in blood. It made Sim sick, so he avoided looking at it.
For the second day in a row, Sim spent the majority of the short daylight hours digging a grave. He carefully laid Bith Yab to rest, climbed out of the hole, and found the little Sitting Mother doll Swiko had given him. If the Saint was real, she wasn’
t watching over Sim. He tossed the doll into the hole with the corpse, and covered them up.
Finally, Sim burned the laghart’s body. He checked his hunting traps and wasn’t surprised to find them empty. Famished, he ate the rest of his and Rochella’s provisions, then slept as the laghart’s body burned and kept him warm.
It took him twice the time to find his way back to the mountain village than it had taken him and Rochella to hunt down the laghart’s location. Exhausted and famished, he managed to stay on his feet only with the help of both onkai staves, and finally collapsed into Swiko’s arms when she ran down the path to meet him.
Sim tried to push her away, worrying that even with his covered face he’d infect her. But Swiko ignored him and led him to Bith Yab’s old house.
The villagers fed and cared for him for a week. Swiko hardly left his side, and even at night he saw her sleeping on a cot beside his door. Nightmares filled with Rochella’s dead face haunted him.
During the daytime, the old man with the long beard showed Sim some basic techniques with the onkai that he could practice on his own. By now, he’d picked up a scattering of words from their language and used them to try to express his gratitude. The old man smiled and bowed, making Sim certain that whatever he’d attempted to say had been a pile of jumbled nonsense.
On the evening before Sim left the village, the entire community came together under the full moon. They built a bonfire and nearly everyone stood and told stories. He wasn’t sure, but Sim suspected they were all telling stories about Bith Yab. The villagers rolled with laughter as an old woman told an animated story that Sim had no chance of understanding. Normally the woman’s expressions would make him smile along with everyone else, but the humor lasted as long as a thin cloud in a summer sky.
Swiko told a story that made most of the villagers cry. She glanced at Sim afterward, but he avoided her gaze and stared at his boots. He wondered if he should tell them a story about Rochella, but what was the point? Even if he could speak their language, what stories would they care about? Sim couldn’t think of any good ones. The only story that came to mind was how Rochella had recently bought him the boots he was currently staring at. They had been in Yin-Aab, the nearby city that made Port Morrush seem tiny.
