by Dan Brigman
No hint of anger in his voice, Jolian stepped aside out of the doorway before replying, “Come in, do come in.”
The two friends walked into the shop and the warmed air immediately washed over them. As soon as they were fully in the shop’s front room, Jolian scanned the wide street outside and found no other people watching the building. Nodding when he did not see anyone walking in the street, he shut the door and darkness shrouded the room’s occupants. The large window cast little light into the room, barely enough to see to avoid the meticulously-placed items for sale. To the back of the room, light could be seen pouring down a stairwell leading to the upper floor. Einar watched as Jolian lifted his tunic enough to pull something from a pouch tied around his waist. Jolian placed the object in the door and seemed to turn it until Einar heard a click. The storekeeper paced to the window and scanned the street again through the blurred glass.
Einar curiously watched the man’s actions and asked, “What’s wrong, Jolian?” Jolian did not answer as he continued to scan for a few more moments. Einar glanced over at Saen, but he could make out little except the shrugging of her shoulders.
Suddenly, Jolian muttered words Einar could not make out completely. He thought he heard the word good, and as Jolian turned to face them, shadows cloaked him. “It has been some time.” Darkness covered his eyes enough that Einar could not tell to whom, exactly, Jolian was directing the words. “Some time,” Jolian murmured to himself. Placing the key back in its pouch, he raised his hand to scratch his chin through his full beard. This behavior did not settle well in Einar’s mind. Normally the storekeeper was all business, except with his friends whom he always welcomed with a warm smile, and the initial anger had diffused too quickly. It usually required twice as long to settle the man down as it did to rile him up.
With some hesitation Einar broke the silence befalling the room. The only other sound came from the wind slapping a loose board against the side of a nearby building. “I know it’s been several months since my last visit, but I, no we, have an emergency to attend to.” Einar sighed and continued, “One that needs our immediate attention.”
Jolian lowered his hand to his side. Muttering something incoherent, Jolian strode past Einar and Saen to the counter at the far end of the room. The small room—six paces wide by the same length—held all the necessary supplies for a miner or a traveling merchant. Jolian’s well-tended stock provided him and his family with a lifestyle many people in the town initially envied. Yet anyone who knew Jolian quickly disregarded any envy into admiration at the long hours he poured into his work.
As Jolian stepped behind the counter he reached under it for an item. Einar and Saen watched as he carefully set a small metal lantern on the table. He turned a knob on the lantern’s side and a glow burst from behind its glass tube to fill the room with dim light.
He still has that old thing, Einar thought fondly. He remembered endearing himself many years ago to the storekeeper with the same lantern. He had tried to convince Jolian he could create an item which gave off light but consumed no flammable fuels. Einar remembered all the scoffing and disbelief the storekeeper offered before seeing the completed product. When Einar uncovered the item on a day very much like the current one, Jolian’s disbelief turned into awe over the object. He had carefully handled the lantern with both hands as if it were a present on his naming day. Slightly shaking it with as much care, when no noise issued from the metal holder keeping the tube in place, Jolian set it back upon his counter. He just shook his head in amazement.
Jolian studied Einar and stated, “This comes from the storybooks. You truly are a master.” The recalled words seemed to bite at Einar since those words proved to be far from the truth, at least in the eyes of those he had tried to help through all those years.
“What’s so important to be called an emergency, Master? And why do you need me?” Jolian asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. The storekeeper had never varied from that formal title since first using it so many years ago. Einar had given up trying to convince Jolian he did not need to call Einar by the official title of an Alterator. After Jolian responded to the original request with, “Yes, Master,” Einar sighed and never wasted any more time on the matter.
“Master?” Jolian asked, a hint of worry almost hidden in the question.
Can’t let this man worry about me. “Ah, yes, Jolian,” Einar began. “Valen sent me to you, as if I would go anywhere else.” Jolian’s eyebrows rose even higher before he opened his mouth, but Einar spoke before he uttered anything. “We need supplies. Enough for us to travel safely and—”
“Travel?” Jolian asked in a shocked tone as he glanced back at the doorway. Einar noticed he had glanced at the doorway several times since moving behind the counter. “What do you mean travel? I know you like to wander the Wilds in any weather, but…” Jolian broke off after peering at Einar. Anger and frustration wrinkled Einar’s face, and he turned downward too slowly to hide his emotions from the storekeeper. Jolian glanced at Saen and gave her an apologetic look. “Master, I am sorry for upsetting you. It’s just that I don’t understand why you’d travel when a storm’s bearing down on us. The Ancients know that I’ve been readying my building for the past two days. I almost hope my efforts weren’t wasted.”
“Well, I do believe your foresight will help you,” Saen muttered. “Our foresight didn’t see us traveling through this wretched weather. Trust me, Jolian, I’d rather be under my blankets tonight than trekking out for someone foolish enough to go before us.” The look of curiosity vanished from Jolian’s face only to slowly be furrowed in confusion as he listened to Saen.
“Mistress Lorst, I guess I’m not following you. Do you mean some other folks are traveling outside this night?”
“That is exactly what I mean,” Saen replied, her patience held only by a thread. Einar shot her a fierce stare intended to silence her, but she continued. “Einar, he has a right to know what we are going to do. Him, of all people in Durik’s Pass, and you know it.” The repressed vehemence behind the words brought a wide-eyed look of shock from Einar. For a few breaths, tension hung in the room, thick as a deep fog, until Einar took his still-wide gaze from Saen’s reddened but narrowed eyes. Peering at Jolian, Einar nodded hesitantly but firmly.
Jolian stood behind the counter unmoving with a confounded expression as Einar spoke. “The emergency is a crisis which has waited for me to fix. Yesterday, after returning from one of my wandering trips in the Wilds, I found my wife and children had departed.”
The chagrin on Jolian’s face at the mention of Einar’s trips shifted to alarm; if it was possible, his shock surpassed that of just a few moments ago when Einar had mentioned traveling. Jolian’s mouth moved wordlessly. Einar paused, yet when Jolian could not seem to find any words, Einar swept his hand in front him and continued, “We must leave as soon as you can get the supplies readied. Can you do one last favor for me, Old Friend?”
Straightening, Jolian pressed his hands upon the smooth wooden counter and visibly swallowed. Einar stared into the man’s uncertain eyes and watched his them flit back and forth between Einar and Saen. The rune lantern’s un-flickering white light cast dark shadows across the right side of Jolian’s face. His half-shrouded visage did not allow Einar to discern the storekeeper’s possible decision. After what felt like an hour or more, the man’s lips spread into a grin. A deep sigh rushed from Einar’s lips, and he looked askance at Saen when he heard a similar noise come from her. I had no idea until now how much my whole plan depends on this one man, Einar thought. Does he?
Jolian had not missed a thing on the list, or so he had claimed, as Saen told Einar after their departure. As soon as the man had started filling the requisition, he muttered to himself and would occasionally ask either Einar or Saen a question…if they were sure about the amount of waterskins, whether they had forgotten something else, or some other query. Saen quickly assumed the task of answering the questions, and Einar gave her a grateful smile as th
e man’s voice quickly became nothing more than a faint buzzing in Einar’s ears.
Einar turned from the counter and paced across the room to stand at one of storefront’s windows. Relaxing his hands into both pockets he felt the crumpled note from his wife press into his palm. Einar could not remember picking it up, and he first recalled feeling the vague sensation of burning soon after entering Saen’s inn. That sensation flared in his palm, and the previous few months suddenly washed over him—his myriad wanderings in the forest and his extensive trips to the town’s small, yet all-encompassing library.
For what? Even I do not know what I was looking for. What good was all that searching? The questions streamed through his mind for an indeterminate time until he felt something softly shaking his shoulder from above him. From above? Einar thought as he peered upward at Saen’s indistinct figure standing over him. At some point he had sat down and put his back against the front wall. His arms were wrapped around his knees in a tight embrace.
“It’s time.”
The simple statement from Saen unlimbered Einar’s arms, and he rose slowly. As he stood, Einar noticed Saen hefting a leather pack bristling with items, while another pack already had been placed on her back. Each pack had a tightly strapped bedroll atop it. Einar grabbed the pack, muttered thanks, and put his arms through the straps. Arranging it comfortably, he turned to the doorway not even a pace away and grabbed the door handle. From behind him, Einar heard Saen ask, “What are you waiting for?”
“I’d rather not feel the cold tonight, would you?” Then without waiting for an answer from Saen, Einar raised his voice, and without turning, asked, “Is there anything in the shop that could be damaged by cold, Jolian?”
“Well, no—”
Whatever else the storekeeper had to say went unsaid as Einar scribed in the air before him. Near total darkness fell upon the room so quickly that a sharp intake of breath could be heard across the room. The sound of glass freezing more quickly than was natural almost crowded out the sound of chattering teeth and the outside wind. The rune, completed in less time than one breath, allowed little to be seen as it slowly faded away, the slightest whiff of ozone permeating the air. Einar turned to ensure that the effect took hold over Saen. He scanned her entire form and nodded at the almost imperceptible field of energy enclosing her. Reaching her face, Einar chuckled as he noticed her wondering eyes staring at the rune. I forget how complex these runes seem to the untrained eye. Satisfied, Einar turned to Jolian and could see only a silhouetted form. The light streaming down from the stairwell had lost most of its intensity as if the enhanced darkness struggled against the light.
“Are you fine, Jolian?” Einar asked. A chattering yes brought another chuckle to Einar’s lips before he opened the door.
Einar paused at the entryway of the store and could almost feel the stark contrast of the bitterly cold night that had fallen upon Durik’s Pass. Saen stood at Einar’s back, seemingly in an instinctual effort to block some of the cold wind whisking past him. Darkness hid most of the storm’s intensity, yet the meager light coming from the fading rune showed fat snowflakes rapidly covering the street. Pulling his worn cloak around himself more tightly, Einar paced forward into the darkness, laden with all the items he had requested. Despite the pack’s weight, its leather straps remained surprisingly balanced and comfortable. Offering silent praise to Jolian for the trek ahead, Einar strode to the town’s southern gate.
Saen’s soft footfalls crunched faintly atop the thin snow layer. Silence fell over them during the short distance to the gatehouse. Although nearly blind from the darkness, they reached the massive stone gatehouse with little difficulty. I may as well be blind, Einar thought wryly. Two lanterns hung from metal hooks embedded in the stone wall which held the heavy wooden gate. The scant light allowed Einar to barely make out the top of the wall nearly two spans above his head, but not the structure several more spans upward. Flickering light filtering out from inside the gatehouse drew the companions’ attention to a lone guard. He warmed his bare hands over a metal brazier which had been placed on the dirt road going through the gatehouse. Just enough wood to keep the man from freezing lay in small pile next to the wall.
“Hello, friend,” Einar called out loudly as they moved into the lantern light.
“Who’s there?” the guard called out while grabbing for the spear leaning against his shoulder. “Must not have much sense being out in this.” He peered into the darkness with the spear pointed in the direction of the voices. The guard’s eyes widened as Einar and Saen walked into the light. “No. Not much sense at all.”
9 — Return of the Scouts
The sun’s light broke through the canopy of the forest and brought a cloudless sky to Loken’s eyes. He had stayed awake throughout the night watching over the men and the horses. After Loken checked the bandages of the stranger he retrieved a small leather pouch from his pack. The pouch carried leaves he had collected in the Molston Hills. Due to their rarity and growth cycle, he had taken pains to locate the plant. Despite his scrutinizing eyes, the search had taken days. The leaves came from a plant known for its calming and healing properties known to his people as locata.
He brought the pouch near the fire, knelt, and replaced the pot to boil the remainder of the water. He pinched three leaves from the pouch and laid them on the surface. The leaves immediately rotated clockwise around the pot; the strange action was part of the leaves’ process to infuse the water with its properties. No one in my clan can explain the leaf’s actions, thought Loken, and not for the first time.
As the leaves swirled, suffusing the water with a gray tinge, Loken mused about the previous days’ events. Without fail, the memory of fear struck him with terrifying indifference. Loken lost focus on the locata while concentrating inwardly to nullify the effect of the creature still lingering in his mind. He knew immediately that efforts to destroy the creature would be wasted. The only way that he knew to destroy the creature was through his own death. Shaking his head to clear his vision, Loken attended to the pot.
The water’s temperature had risen forcing the leaves to swirl faster on the water’s surface. The water shifted to the dark gray color of oak bark and the steam wafted upward smelling of rotted leaves. Loken pulled a scrap of cloth to his nose to staunch the familiar, yet pungent, smell. While he held the cloth, he ladled the tea into a wooden cup. Glancing back at the sleeping men, Loken noticed the odor did not seem to affect them in any observable way, as neither of them stirred. Loken stood and quietly paced toward the stranger. I need some fresh air, Loken thought as he breathed deeply.
Loken sat gently next to the sleeping stranger. I don’t know why I am trying to be quiet. He wouldn’t wake if a horse stomped on his leg, Loken thought as he lifted the cup to his lips. He watched the man’s breathing, as he blew on the tea. Don’t want it to burn his mouth. The cup slowly lost its heat and Loken tasted the liquid. Cool enough for his tongue, Loken lifted the man’s head and placed the cup to his lips. He poured a small amount into the man’s mouth. With a gurgle the man swallowed the tea as if he had not been in an unconscious state for several days. Taken aback in alarm, Loken nearly dropped the man’s head on the rocky dirt. He gulped the tea, like someone dying of thirst lost in some barren desert. Within a moment, he had finished the cup’s contents and had not fluttered an eyelash.
After setting the stranger’s head down, Loken stood while observing Melek. The prone Melek opened his eyes, curiosity plain. “Thank you,” Melek said with so little emotion Loken could not sense his friend’s mood. Melek tossed the blanket to the side and stood with a grace belying the fact that Melek had fallen asleep where he had been standing.
“One more day’s hike should be all we need, Loken,” Melek stated matter-of-factly and moved toward the horses. Loken observed him tend to his morning duties without fail. The care of the horses became second nature to Melek as a child, yet Loken always watched in amazement. His friend seemed to become one with the horses.
Always tend to your mounts like they are your best friends, Horselord. They will treat you the same when it matters most. As Loken traveled toward the fire, Arstle’s words echoed throughout Loken’s mind.
Loken dipped another cup into the pot and filled it with the tea. Its bitter calming odor lingered throughout the campsite, as the slowly moving air wafted the steam skyward. Placing his head over the pot, Loken inhaled deeply. The bitterness, burning his nostrils, gave Loken satisfaction as the tea’s fragrance went into his lungs. With no more hesitation he took the cup to Melek.
Melek continued stroking the Hustian steed’s sides for a few more moments. Sighing with no signs of tiredness, he grabbed the cup from Loken’s waiting hand. He watched the floating steam rising from the cup for a moment. Melek peered into Loken’s eyes and nodded his appreciation, finally placing the cup to his lips. Despite the temperature, he drained the cup in one long swallow and handed it back to Loken.
“Ah, thank you. As always, your teas are most welcome to my cold throat,” Melek remarked.
“No thanks needed, my friend. You’re welcome to my tea. After I drink the first cup of the morning,” Loken replied.
Looking out of the corner of his eye, Melek caught a look of utmost seriousness upon Loken’s face. Loken fumbled the cup and nearly dropped it when Melek’s great guffaw broke the stillness of the morning. Several black birds sitting in the nearby branches of a pin oak broke into flight, all the while cawing away the sudden startle. Melek resumed brushing the horses while holding a grin.
“I’m glad someone finds something funny,” Loken replied in sarcastic tones.
“Nothing funny about the situation. Just you,” Melek replied offhandedly. Melek had moved to other side of the steed and glanced at Loken over the horse’s back. “Can you gather the things? Then, see if you can awaken our new friend.”
“Of course,” Loken replied.
