by L. R. Flint
The setting sun had begun sending rays of crimson, yellow, orange, and other shades across the skies before I found what I was looking for. An old man sat wrapped in a threadbare blanket on a small crate next to a fire in an old iron basket hugging the stone wall of a short building. I greeted the man kindly as I approached and then tossed the paper into his fire, engaging him in small talk as I watched the remains of the parchment succumb to the flames and turn to smoke and ash. “May good fortune go with you,” I said graciously as I walked away. The man nodded his thanks, smiling for what was likely to be both the first and last time that week. It pained me to see so many people homeless and without a caring hand in their lives, but there was nothing I knew that I could do that would make a permanent difference for any of them.
5 VISITOR
While I walked through the overshadowed streets I caught a quick glimpse of someone, wreathed in darkness, slipping in and out of the shadows behind me. While wondering who my pursuer was, I recalled the dream I had had of Alaia and I laughed at the preposterous idea that it was coming true after all. This notion played through my mind and I began paying more and more attention to what was behind me, rather than what was ahead of me.
I turned a street corner, the soft moonlight slipping down through the air around me, and I failed to notice a shadow scurrying behind a large crate. As I walked past the hiding place I was hit hard in the back with a worn short staff; instinctively I rolled to the side, ignoring the small pain I felt. The hard slab of wood shattered on the ground where my head had just been and I jumped to my feet. I realized my opponent was a mere boy as I got a quick look at his young, gaunt face in the moonlight. Mud and dirt were smeared on his face and his bright eyes stared at me with a hungry look in their depths. He pulled a knife from his clothes and attempted to stab me, but I snatched his hand and wrested the weapon from his grip. I grabbed his free arm and wrenched it behind his back, holding it there to ensure that he would not try and attack again. “What are you doing?” I asked. He whimpered but refused to reply, seeing it as his own way of maintaining a small amount of control over the situation. “If I let you go, will you promise not to attack me again?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. I cautiously let him go and he immediately turned and tried to kick me between the legs; I twisted to the side and his foot slapped my thigh. I grabbed the foot and twisted his leg, pushing him off balance. I knelt and held him down with my knee pushed into the small of his back, his arms once again secured behind him.
“How old are you?” I asked, losing patience and wondering if I was pointlessly trying to be nice to the younger boy. There was no honor in killing a child and I had no means to tie him up while I disappeared.
“I do not know,” he growled.
“Well you look about nine to me,” I said. “What is your name?”
He was silent for a moment and then he said, “You really think I am nine?”
“Yeah,” I said, barely masking my annoyance. “What is your name?” I repeated.
“Is ‘mongrel’ a name?” he asked curiously. “It is what the Guards call me.”
I held back a chuckle at his naivety. “No. But I have a good one for you: Beñat. Do you like it?” I eased my knee from the boy’s back and he crawled into a cross-legged sitting position in front of me, his eyes lit with wonder and he asked skeptically if I was actually giving him a name. I nodded and he asked what it meant.
“Brave Bear,” I replied. The boy was awestruck that I was not only giving him a name of his own, but that it had such a large meaning.
A suspicious look crawled across his face and he asked, “Why?” I flatteringly reminded him that he had tried to take me on single-handed, while I was at least twice his size and that, to me—or so I said—was pretty brave. He seemed to accept the explanation and relaxed again.
The sound of a woman herding her children to bed and their displeased replies interrupted us and reminded me of dinner—which I would probably miss if I did not hurry home. I offered the boy the honor of joining the ranks of my scattered comrades, contacts, and friends—meaning that if either of us saw the other in need or received a plea for help from the other that we would lend our help without reservations. It was a common thing amongst the street dwellers to form a huge group of connections and build up one’s own empire of friends or associates.
The boy agreed and we shook hands. “I am called Itzal Izotz.” We committed each other’s names and faces to memory and the boy darted back into the shadows. Though I could not see him, I doubted that he had gone; it was likely that he was waiting to follow me home, in order to find out where I lived—a necessary thing to know if he ever needed my help.
I turned and headed for home, my pace easily increasing to a run; it would not be wise to get caught by the Guards out this late, especially not alone. Not expecting to see anyone else, I ran around the corner of a building and collided with someone in a black, hooded cloak. We both fell to the ground and the girl’s hood fell off, I caught a quick glance of her face before she bolted and melted into the surrounding shadows. There was something strange about her face, something that seemed oddly familiar, but I could not place what it was. Her identity was irrelevant though, so I pushed that train of thought from my mind and continued on my way, slightly more wary of the path ahead.
~ ~ ~
When we were done tidying the cellar we all went outside and built a fire, around which we shared new tales. After the stories Eskarne and I started another sword fight and eventually the others joined in, with Eskarne against Ekaitz and Arrats against me. I noticed that Arrats had improved since the first time he had decided to try against me, but—as always—I easily beat him. “If you would practice more often I might actually have to put some effort into beating you,” I quipped.
Sensing someone just out of the ring of light emanating from the fire, I turned, ignoring the retort Arrats was preparing. “Show yourself,” I said, drawing the attention of my three companions. Arrats retrieved his sword and stood beside me, ready to defend if need be. A woman stepped slowly into the light; she wore a long, black cloak with the hood hanging down her back. The first thing I noticed was her green eyes. “Alaia?” I asked incredulously, before I could stop the word from passing my lips. It was impossible that I knew this woman, with her green eyes that told of magic, yet I had seen her in a dream and now here she was standing before me. My haphazard thoughts of shock and wonder were interrupted by another’s voice.
Did Koldobika tell you of me? Koldobika and I had spoken before through the same magical connection between minds, so I was not entirely surprised by the intruding thoughts.
No, I replied.
“Yes, I am Alaia,” she said aloud. “I challenge you to a duel, Eder.”
It had been so long since I had been called by my father’s name that it took me quite by surprise. “Please, call me Itzal Izotz.” She inclined her head.
“Itzal Izotz.”
“You are tired; she will kill you,” Arrats said.
Alaia respected the protectiveness in Arrats’ voice and offered a compromise. “We will dull our swords. I swear it upon my honor,” she said, inclining her head slightly.
My friend still was not very reassured, but the woman knew that if he did not agree before the duel began then he would have every right to intervene, so she waited in silence. “Alright,” he finally said. The dragonlady called a sword from Lietha and handed me its hilt. “Take it.” I took the sword and handed her mine. Her weapon was plain, yet it would have been deadly had it been sharpened. It was also noticeably lighter than I commonly used.
“You use a heavy sword, Itzal Izotz,” she commented. “Why?”
“To build my strength and endurance,” I answered. Alaia nodded in obvious satisfaction.
“Good. Now I know why you did not perform well last night.” I heard a gasp from behind me—probably from Eskarne, because she had thought that I had done rather well. I just wondered how long into the ni
ght the dragonlady had been watching my friends and I. “New swords,” she said and we returned them to Lietha. She called each of us a sword and proffered them both to me; they were the same exact weight, lighter than my usual choice, but heavier than her previous one. The weapon issue being solved we bowed to each other, as was traditional at the beginning of any duel. The flames flared in the dark, sending red, glowing coals through the air and we both attacked, our swords ringing in the darkness.
I had begun my training with a lighter sword, so I knew what to expect, but even so I was surprised that we were rather evenly matched because Koldobika had once told me that anyone with magic in their blood had more strength than a normal person. Eventually it occurred to me that she was just toying with me to find out how well I could manipulate my weapon. Long into the night, Alaia and I spun a web of fog from our breath meeting the cool night air, and the sparks flying from our dulled blades created inflamed dew drops that would have shone in the early morning light—had they been real—before disappearing from the silk threads of the insubstantial web. Around midnight Alaia and I made the exact same move; sliding our swords to each other’s throats, we grabbed the other’s sword hand with our free one, trying to hold the opposing blade away from our own throats.
I was sweating heavily and the arm I was holding her hand with started shaking slightly; it took a lot of my strength just to keep her blade from touching the skin of my neck. Neither of us could win then, without Alaia showing her true strength, and our duel was over. She took a deep breath, relaxed, and released my wrist. We bowed again, returned our swords to Lietha, and then Alaia said farewell and left, disappearing back into the depths of enveloping darkness from which she had appeared.
My friends congratulated me on my part of the duel. “Do you think she was just toying with you?” Ekaitz asked.
“She must have been. I have no magic in my blood.” I took a long draught from the flask Arrats held out to me.
“You want to have another go?” Eskarne asked jokingly.
“Sure, if you do not mind burying me tonight,” I bantered.
“Nah, I want to beat you when you have got all your strength so that I will not be disgraced.”
“Always thinking of yourself, you are,” I growled back.
“Of course.”
We both chuckled. “I shall see you all tomorrow,” Eskarne said and walked away, followed by the sounds of our separate farewells. I was exhausted and the last thing I remembered as my head hit my blanket was the awed thought that I had just dueled a creature of magic. The thought pranced daintily around the edges of my unconscious mind as I was overcome by sleep.
6 DESERT RAIN
Many days had passed since my duel with Alaia, when I awoke to the gentle touch of rain splattering on my face. Arrats, Ekaitz, and I had decided to sleep out under the stars the night before since it would possibly be the last one through which we would not freeze without shelter. I sat up and looked at my two friends who were still asleep; Arrats groaned and pulled his blanket over his head as a raindrop splattered on his face. I looked up at the sky, but only a few grey clouds could be seen and they all were skittering quickly across the expanse.
I woke my friends and we went inside where it was dry and hung the blankets on hooks which had been drilled into the walls. I had just slipped the last corner of my blanket onto a hook when a deafening thunderbolt rolled through the air. My friends and I just stood there, stunned, and momentarily deaf. We shared glances and raced outside. As we reached the top step we literally ran into Eskarne, who had been coming to check on us. Once we were all untangled from our fall to the bottom of the stairs, she asked, “Was that not awesome?” meaning the thunder. Her eyes were alight with the exhilaration of the oncoming storm.
“Yeah,” the three of us said in unison. I looked past the ceiling and up at the sky to find it completely covered by black storm clouds, there was currently no rain but I knew that within moments it would start cascading down. “We need to get everything off the ground in case the cellar floods.” Arrats held his hands out beyond the cover of the roof, feeling for rain. I smiled wryly and he joined me on the stairs, staring up into the imposing darkness.
“Ah, I see.” We raced to shove everything perishable into our packs—which, out of necessity, were made to be waterproof—and hung them on hooks amongst the damp blankets. Leaving everything else in the cellar, we donned our prized cloaks—being made of wool it would take a good soaking in a rain barrel or river in order for the water to penetrate them—and ascended the steps into the path of the oncoming storm. We three were glad that we needed not be chivalrous and let Eskarne have one of our cloaks, as she had thought ahead and brought her own. Seconds after we climbed out into the open, the rain fell down in torrents from the heavens. We were lucky to not instantly become soaked; as it was we only got damp.
“Let's see if we can find any storm sprites,” Ekaitz said, barely audible over the thundering of the rain. We all agreed and headed toward the streets—empty of all but a few beggars who did not have the option of being elsewhere. Storm sprites were strange creatures that only seemed to exist in the worst of rainstorms. In shape they were not unlike dragonflies, though their limbs and heads were more like those of humans and they seemed to be themselves made of rain that boasted a tinge of some color or other. As I walked through the rain-filled streets I watched the storm sprites, which stayed at least a foot from me, zipping through the air amongst the raindrops. Whenever one would accidentally fly into me it would explode into water droplets which would morph back into a sprite a few seconds later at a more distant location.
One particular sprite decided to fly straight into my face. I ducked, but not soon enough and the sprite’s dying body turned into rain just before it flew into my eyes. The droplets from the sprite stung my eyes and skin and I tried to wipe them away, but they only dissolved into my flesh, leaving my face with a strange, tingling sensation.
Not long after the attack from the sprite I began seeing spots of sunlight shining on golden stretches of sand, appearing randomly amidst the falling rain. I kept blinking my eyes, and occasionally rubbing them, hoping that the spots in my vision would disappear, but eventually the spots grew and continued to do so until they had filled the space around me. I opened and closed my eyes, thinking I was hallucinating and again tried to wipe the apparition from my sight. Before me were sand dunes, stretching endlessly toward the horizon in all directions but South, where dark mountain peaks stretched toward the skies.
There was more sand there than I had ever thought to see in one place and the sands at the peaks of the dunes were snatched by the winds and flung high into the air, creating dust devils that constantly moved the dunes. Suddenly I was lifted from the ground, though the only reason I could tell this was because of the shift in the angle of my view. I could not feel anything because my body was still in Caernadvall, while my spirit—or essence—seemed to be floating around unrestrained in some distant land.
The dunes raced by and eventually two huge, rectangular stones, of a somewhat darker color than the surrounding sands, appeared over the horizon. They stood vertically, held up by sand around their bases and magic—which, oddly enough, I could sense the place was flowing with. Atop the two stones another was laid, though it was thicker and shorter, sticking out only a few feet on each end from the two pillar stones.
I was instantly snatched back to Caernadvall as I fell into a puddle. I coughed up the water I had inhaled in the instant when my mind was making the adjustment from one plane of existence to an entirely different one and looked straight up into the gaze of Alaia’s piercing eyes. Her gaze said that she desired to murder me, but with relief I noticed a look of worry hidden in her eyes. Standing and shaking the water from my soaked hair, I asked, “What was that for?”
“What were you doing? And—if it is not because of stupidity—I would like to know what you were doing using magic in plain sight,” she hissed. Though she was talking quie
tly, I could tell she was angry, and there was a warning in the calmness of her words.
I said I was sorry and then explained that I had not known what was happening, or how to stop it. She asked me a bit disbelievingly if a storm sprite had dissolved into my face. I nodded and explained what had happened. “I tried to duck,” I added, hoping that it would help my case.
“I would advise that you never again try what you just did, unless you are being watched over by someone with whom you can trust your life.” The reason behind such a choice was unknown to me. “It is easy for your enemies to kill you while your spirit is away from your body, viewing the past, present, or future. Do not worry though, it will wear off in the next couple of days.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, even more resentful of the sprite that had dive-bombed my face, but glad that I would not have to live with the hindrance my whole life. Noticing that my friends were nowhere to be seen—not considering the rain which made seeing anything more than a few feet away almost impossible—I asked where they were. Alaia’s answer did not come in the form of words, she merely began walking down the street, eventually turning onto other streets and leading me I-had-no-idea-where-to.
~ ~ ~
Alaia walked up to an old, stone building which had been abandoned years ago and I followed her through its entrance. She led me down some stairs into a cellar, through a hidden door in one wall, and then up the longest ladder I had ever seen. At the top of the ladder was a small landing beyond which was a small, wooden door. We walked into a medium sized room which lacked a good source of light and had vines like the ones on the Wall growing down each vertical surface and hanging from the ceiling. The room looked like it belonged in a completely different world and really was quite interesting, but the best part was that my three friends sat there on the floor, apparently awaiting my arrival. “Nice accommodations,” I said to Eskarne, still inspecting the room.
