The Lost Princess of Aevilen

by D. C. Payson

She was right; Thezdan knew that Julia needed sleep more than she needed goodbyes. He saluted his mother, returning her smile. “Then she is yours. You will take good care of her, I know.”

  “Of course,” said Alana.

  Lothic spun around to face them from his perch on the driver’s bench. “Eodan, we have to go. If we are to see Domin and get back in a day, we cannot linger here.”

  Alana reached out and clutched her son’s hands. “Be safe, Eodan.”

  “I will, Mother,” said Thezdan. He turned and clambered up the side of the waiting cart, the sideboards creaking loudly as he did. He settled on the seat next to Lothic.

  “I am glad we are leaving early,” said Lothic, examining Thezdan’s peasant tunic and its large party emblem embroidered on the chest. He glanced at his own and clenched his fist. “That way, only a few of our kin will see me suffer this indignity.”

  “One day, I will see to it that no one has to wear these tunics anymore,” said Thezdan. “Perhaps that’s a battle you’ll actually join.”

  Lothic brushed off the intended slight. “May that day be soon,” he replied. Facing forward, he called out to the borum attached to the wagon: “We go! O-na!” He snapped the leather reins down on the borum’s hide, stirring it to life.

  Unlike its long-horned cousins from a day ago, this borum was a rather pathetic creature: desperately thin with the stubbly, cropped horns of a farm animal. Sinox had captured it only several months prior, and it still looked like most of the other domesticated borum that moved goods throughout Party territory. That unremarkable quality made it an ideal companion for the day’s journey.

  Thezdan and Lothic gestured goodbye to the guards as the cart passed through the open gates. They headed down the path toward the main road. As they neared the intersection, Thezdan held up his hand.

  “One moment, Lothic.”

  Lothic stopped the cart. “Is something wrong?”

  Thezdan brought his cupped hands to his face and blew across his knuckles, making the resonant whistle that he used to call out to Scylld. A few moments later, he heard a distant rumble called in response, and knew his signal had been heard.

  “Everything’s fine,” said Thezdan. “I want to bring Scylld with us.”

  “Is that necessary?” Lothic asked.

  “After yesterday’s events, the two of us shouldn’t go alone,” said Thezdan. “The towns will be on alert. The patrols will be larger and more frequent. If we are discovered, we will need Scylld’s help to fight our way free.”

  “Very well, Eodan,” said Lothic with a subtle shake of his head. “I hope he doesn’t weigh down the cart too much, though. We can’t afford to move slowly.”

  “I suppose we’ll see,” said Thezdan, leaning back against the cart bed. He closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the early-morning sounds of the forest. “Lothic, I need you to tell me something.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I need to know more about the Rokkin we seek. Domin. He trained you, no?”

  “Yes,” Lothic said somberly. He paused for a moment. “What do you know of the Rokkin, Eodan?”

  “Not much,” Thezdan replied. “I saw a few as a No before we left the Trebain. They were usually headed toward Riverstride with ore to trade. Short, thick creatures with odd complexions.”

  “They are not all short, Eodan. You have only seen relatively young ones. The Rokkin grow larger and stronger throughout their lives as their bodies accumulate minerals from their food and drink. The older ones can be taller than you, and much, much stronger. Eventually, a day comes when, at the very peak of their size and strength, they outgrow the ability of their lifestone to bind them together and they break up into dust.”

  Thezdan tried to imagine the Rokkin as Lothic had described them. Larger. Stronger. Despite his efforts, his mind kept returning to what he had seen along the paths years ago.

  “Do not underestimate Domin’s strength,” said Lothic. “You and I, strong as we are, would only be a match for a middle-aged Rokkin. Domin is old, and thus much stronger.”

  Thezdan was taken aback by Lothic’s seriousness. He sat up again and looked over at the older Guardian. “Are you expecting him to attack us?”

  Lothic shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s both hope that he does not.”

  “Why are you uncertain?” asked Thezdan sharply. “I thought that the only risk we faced was from Party patrols. What could make your old master want to attack us?”

  “Because I am the reason he was exiled from Ymreddan.”

  Thezdan’s eyes bulged. “What?”

  “Yes, Eo. Domin was among the highest-born of the Rokkin, a member of the Elder Council, and head of the Smith’s Caste. He was also given responsibility for improving relations between the Rokkin and the humans on the plains. These relations were quite good under the Vorraver, but worsened after the Revolution and the early period of Party rule. Domin had an idea that he figured could get Human-Rokkin relations back to where they had been before. He wanted to teach a few select men the techniques of Rokkin smithing.” Lothic stopped for a second and chuckled. “He hoped that human creativity and Rokkin craftsmanship could prove a powerful combination, and that it could spark a new era of industry and trade throughout Aevilen.”

  “And did it not?”

  “Well,” continued Lothic, “you have to understand, Domin had trained for centuries as a smith. It would have been impossible for one of us to learn how to smith to Rokkin standards. But Domin was determined to try, and so he recruited a single apprentice.”

  “You.”

  “Yes, me,” said Lothic. “I was a young man, only a few years older than you are now, when their emissaries came. With your father’s approval, I accepted their offer. It seemed like an adventure into a hidden world. Domin … well, Domin proved a firm and demanding master, but not unkind. I worked with him for five years, learning about ores, metalworking, and fabrication. I knew that the other Rokkin didn’t approve of my presence, but they showed me courtesy out of respect for Domin.” Lothic chuckled again. “Who knows? Maybe with another hundred years, I might have gotten somewhere.”

  “So, what happened?” asked Thezdan.

  “I still don’t know. Not entirely. There was an Elder named Redyar. He came from the Miner’s Caste. In their language, his name meant ‘Weeper’ because of two silver lines that ran down the sides of his face. He was old, even for a Rokkin—probably toward the end of his life. He hated Domin. Eodan, you have never seen such hatred. It was the kind that takes centuries simmering in tireless jealousy and malice to develop. I think he started spreading rumors that I had stolen a lifestone, an unforgivable crime in Rokkin society. The rumors were, of course, untrue. But one day, Redyar and a contingent of warriors burst into my quarters late at night. Redyar reached under my bed and pulled out a high-quality lifestone. I hadn’t put it there, but the damage was immediate and irreversible. I was chained and brought before the other members of the Elder Council. Redyar demanded that I be killed for my supposed crimes. Domin defended me, suggesting that what I had been accused of was impossible. When Redyar produced the lifestone, I saw Domin’s face grow hard. He walked toward his fellow Elders and pled for mercy, citing the damage that would come to relations between humans and the Rokkin were I to be executed. Redyar only pressed harder for blood. After the Elder’s conferred in private, I was taken to the gates of Ymreddan and released. They told me that I would be killed if I returned. And then, moments later, a Rokkin was pushed out of the gates beside me. It was my master, Domin. They had sheared his magnificent gold beard and stripped him of his highborn finery. He was naked except for a pair of dirty trousers. He had been made an outcast.”

  Lothic looked away, pausing. “Even now, it causes me great pain to think about what happened to him,” he said, deep sadness in his voice. “Outside those gates, I begged Domin to believe me that I had not taken the lifestone. He was silent. I told him to jo
in me in the Trebain, but he declined. He ended up settling in a town south of Riverstride so that he wouldn’t have much contact with his fellow Rokkin traveling along the northern and western roads. I made a point of checking in on him several times a year, bringing him grains for his stills. Our reunions were never particularly happy affairs; by the end, he would appear only long enough to receive the goods I had brought him before wishing me well and disappearing back inside his house. Then the last Purge came, and we Guardians fled to these woods. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “I see,” Thezdan muttered. “The pain of exile does grow with time … I understand why you’re anxious about the way he’ll receive us. Still, it seems terribly cruel that he would have to endure such punishment over a jewel.”

  “You must understand, Eodan: Lifestones are the most important thing in all creation to the Rokkin. They see them as gifts from the Shaper himself, and perhaps they are. The Rokkin mine them; that’s why you see their fortresses buried into mountainsides, with endless tunnels extending deep into the earth. How the stones work is one of the world’s great mysteries. At the heart of every Rokkin is a lifestone. Most of the lifestones the Rokkin find are low-quality; these are never activated, and are typically ground up into powder and eaten during great celebrations. But every now and again, they come across fine examples, and each of these is destined to be a seed that will eventually become a new Rokkin. The quality of the stone determines what the new Rokkin will become in his lifetime.”

  “And the one Redyar planted on you was top-quality?”

  Lothic nodded. “Yes. I’m sure you can see the problem.” He winced as he adjusted his leg brace. “But that’s enough history, I think. Why don’t you call the Ogar again? He must be getting close now.”

  Thezdan raised his hands and blew across the knuckles, the forest echoing once more with the sound of his whistle.

  Scylld’s rumble response came almost immediately, much closer now than before.

  “Listen,” said Thezdan, pointing off into the woods. He hopped down from the cart. There was a nearby sound of a branch cracking, then another and another. Soon a shadow appeared between the trees, and then, finally, the hulking, gray Ogar emerged, walking toward them with giant strides.

  “Scylld!” Thezdan called.

  The Ogar came to his side and stopped. It crossed an arm over its body to salute the two men.

  “We need your help,” said Thezdan. “We are heading into the plains. After yesterday, the Party is sure to have stepped up their patrols. If we find ourselves in a fight, it could be against more soldiers than we can handle. Will you ride with us, just in case?”

  Scylld tilted his head forward and offered a rumbling assent.

  “Thank you, my friend,” said Thezdan, saluting. “We don’t want you to be spotted by passing soldiers, so you’ll have to hide in the back of the cart. It should be able to support you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Lothic muttered from the driver’s bench. He had reinforced the bed years ago to support heavy logs, but an Ogar was another matter entirely.

  Scylld followed Thezdan to the back and slowly climbed into the cart bed. The cart bowed in the middle, its metal axle strained by the great weight of the Ogar. When Scylld sat down, the whole cart shook; but in the end, it held.

  Lothic sighed. “This cart must be blessed by the Shaper himself.”

  Thezdan set about carefully arranging grain around Scylld until he was well camouflaged, then completed the illusion by adding a few freight-stabilizing weights on top. He closed the back gate of the bed and made his way back to the driver’s bench.

  “Ready to go!” he announced cheerily, teasing a clearly unsettled Lothic.

  “I hope our cart and borum can hold out,” said Lothic. “It’s going to be a long day for both of them.”

  Lothic whipped the borum with the reins. The creature pushed hard against its harness, and slowly—very slowly—the cart moved forward. With a little more coaxing, the borum got them up to a reasonable speed. Thezdan could tell that Lothic was relieved.

  “See, Lothic, have a little faith,” Thezdan teased again.

  “A long day, indeed,” muttered Lothic as he pulled the cart onto the main road in the direction of the bridge.

  Thezdan laughed, paying no mind to the whining wheels behind them.

  Julia awoke to the sun shining brightly through the window and filling her room with morning light. It had been the first full night of sleep she had had in days, and she was grateful to finally wake up in a place of relative safety.

  She pulled back the heavy, woolen blanket that covered her and slipped on her clothes and sandals, then she walked over to the window and took in the courtyard below. Watching all the people bustling around reminded her of her old neighborhood in Malibu, when she’d wake up to see neighbors gardening and kids playing in their backyards. The sight of a teenage girl carrying a basket of foraged foodstuffs made her think of Maya, who used to come by and collect oranges from a tree in their backyard.

  I’m sure everyone’s worried about me …

  Her mind wandered with thoughts of her mom, dad, brother, and grandmother again. She wished that she could be with them, and she even imagined for a moment that she could rush down to the courtyard and be greeted by them there.

  Alana spotted her from below and waved, shaking her from her daydream. Julia waved back. She stepped away from the window and made her way downstairs.

  “The Goddess’s bounty to you, Julia!” said Alana as Julia came out of the house. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’m delighted. I know you needed it.” Alana stepped back and turned toward two young men sitting nearby. “May I introduce you to the Guardians who will look after you in Eodan’s absence?”

  On cue, the two rose to their feet. They were both roughly Julia’s age, but their similarities ended there. The first was lean, dressed in a long-sleeved, hooded tunic that partly obscured his face. He had a quiver at his side and a bow slung over his back, and he moved with long, delicate strides. The other was massive, his naked arms bulging with muscle. He wore a thick, leather doublet cinched by a heavy belt from which two large hammers hung on either side. Despite his size, he was boyishly handsome, his youthful features humorously incongruous with his hulking frame.

  Alana welcomed the two young Guardians with a nod of her head, and they offered her the formal palms-up bow in turn.

  “Julia, if you believe them to be worthy, these two En will accompany and protect you,” said Alana. “They are honored to perform this role; it is a sacred one for us.” She extended her free hand toward the hooded one, and he took a step forward. “First, I present you with Entaurion, one of our scouts. He has trained with Sinox, and has a very keen eye.”

  Entaurion turned toward Julia and repeated the formal bow.

  “And here,” said Alana, as she beckoned to the other, “is Engar. He is Lothic’s apprentice at the forge and the strongest of all Guardians. Lothic has also trained him to be a fine warrior.”

  Engar flashed a mischievous grin, but a disapproving stare from Alana made him drop into a very deep formal bow. Julia laughed at the sight of the giant laid low.

  Alana quickly turned around. “Do you not approve of them?”

  Julia rushed to cover her mouth, nodding her head. “They will be great, I’m sure. I feel safer already.”

  Engar peeked his head up and smiled at Julia, who had to turn away to keep from laughing again.

  “Very good,” said Alana. “These two will protect you until we can find a way to get you home. I have also asked Sinox to keep an eye on you, so don’t be surprised to hear Sylvan chirping overhead if you go into the forest. He often works with them to track what is going on around here.”

  “Alright … ” said Julia tentatively, recalling her original encounter with the tree creatures.

  “You will be well looked after, don’t wo
rry,” said Alana. “Come. Let me get you something to eat.”

  Alana led Julia and the two Guardians back to her home in the fort, which was largely indistinguishable from the other dwellings that ringed the interior walls. While the two Guardians waited outside, Alana prepared a simple meal of forest-scavenged nuts mixed with a sweet borum-milk yogurt.

  “This is really good,” said Julia as she savored a bite.

  “I wish I could remember enjoying it like that,” said Alana. “Having the same breakfast every day for years has a way of erasing such memories.”

  Julia was just finishing when a knock rapped against the door.

  “Come in,” Alana called.

  “The robed stranger has returned, Alana,” said Entaurion from the doorway. “She just passed through the front gate.”

  Julia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to settle her nerves.

  Alana noticed her unease. “Do you no longer wish to go with Balyssa? Have you reconsidered?”

  Julia wanted to say that she had, that she much preferred the idea of staying in the fort than wandering the forests with Balyssa. Then, she thought back to her intuition that helping Balyssa was her surest route home.

  “I guess it’s hard for me to feel comfortable with the idea of going anywhere with someone so strange,” Julia said. “But I’m probably worried for nothing. I know that the Guardians will keep me safe, and I’ll be back in no time.”

  Alana smiled. “I trust Engar and Entaurion to do just that. You’re in good hands.”

  Julia followed Alana into the courtyard. It didn’t take long for her to spot Balyssa, her long, hooded cloak showing barely any motion as she approached. There was an unusual steadiness to the way she walked. It almost seemed as if she were floating.

  “Who is she?” asked Engar.

  “Her name is Balyssa,” said Alana. “She was the cause of last night’s commotion. As I told you, it was mostly a misunderstanding. She is here to help the young Vorraver.”

  “Something seems … odd about her,” said Entaurion.