by L. R. Flint
~ ~ ~
Everyone grew silent as they saw Ekaitz’ lifeless body in my arms, and it was only a whisper with which Koldobika told me that we needed to leave. I nodded in numb acknowledgment and turned the others back into hawks. I turned Ekaitz into a sparrow and set him on a crate, before I morphed myself; as I swooped up into the skies, I gathered the small body in my powerful talons. Izar flew up behind me, and screeched at me to avoid the crossbow bolts of a handful of Guards who had shown up just in time to see me morph.
As on the way to Caernadvall, we flew on through the day and into the night. I would not stop until the others began complaining to me that they needed rest—even if I did not. Because I did not want something to happen to another of them, I finally agreed and chose a towering oak for our night’s roost. I soon fell asleep to the distant howling of a hunting pack of wolves.
41 FUNERAL
It was another silver-coated night as every single being from Baso Argi gathered at the far, Northwest corner of the haven, at the side of a gurgling brook which shimmered in the starlight.
“He gave his life for the cause of the freedom of a people that was not even his own. He ended his life to give a friend his own. Ekaitz, Friend of the Freefolk, will live on in our memories. Even though many of us did not know him as a person, he will live on forever, as a legend amongst us.” Basajaun’s words came close to bringing a sad smile to my face, but my face felt frozen in a pained grimace I was not sure would ever leave.
I threw my handful of small, white petals, which reflected the soft light of the moon, onto the fresh mound of dirt which now covered Ekaitz’ body. I had healed his bruises, and he had been garbed in white and silver, giving him a very commanding and regal presence. The blood and grime had been cleaned from his body, and in the last memory I had of him, he appeared ready to wake from a peaceful rest, ready to begin a new adventure and conquer the world. My greatest wish was that he could live a normal life if I were to bring his soul back, but Koldobika said that with the torture he had been through at Zigor’s hands, it would be too much to ever return to his normal self in this life.
With each petal that dropped to the ground, a fond memory of my dead friend flashed through my mind, bringing fresh tears to my eyes, though after a moment I forced them away. I slid my hand along the smooth grey headstone that was both reminder of the man buried there, and title for the statue that I had carved by magic the day before. The statue was of Ekaitz as he would have looked, fit out in armor and ready for battle; a smile spread across his stone face, and wisdom, courage, and uncontrollable spirit shone in his eyes, as he stared out at the world laid before him. Below his metal plated boots, on the headstone’s base, I had inscribed the words:
Ekaitz
Brother and Friend
Ally to the Freefolk
Long may his memory live on!
I walked past Izar and felt her gaze follow me, as I walked away into the dark of evening. I waited in the shadow of the trees until everyone else had left, and then I walked back to the side of the brook and knelt down in what Ekaitz had once told me was the most calming place he had ever been. The drooping branches of weeping willows caressed the top of the water as it flowed by, on its way to see other parts of the world, and eventually on to the far-distant reaches of the sea.
I dipped my fingers into the brook and let the droplets slip from my fingers and back into the water, then I sat down in the crook of one of the willows, where a small space was created by the trunk of the tree and its roots, creating a perfect seat to look out over the running water, and snow-covered banks of the small stream. The calm lapping of the water on the banks, rocks, and twisted roots of the willows was calming. As I sat there, I called upon Lietha and began to scry what had happened to my friend after he had been captured by Zigor, when I had presumed him dead at the hands of the Guards.
~ ~ ~
Ekaitz woke, with his vision blurry, and a groggy feeling spread throughout his body. Blood had dried over his left eye from where the guard had split his skin while knocking him unconscious, just as Izotz had begun to leap back through the tree-line to help him. The room around Ekaitz was covered in rich furnishings and tapestries lining the otherwise bleak stone walls; bright sunlight shone in through a window and lighted upon the form of a man relaxing, seemingly at ease, on one of the amply cushioned seats adorning the room.
The man stood, and walked to Ekaitz when he realized that he was awake; his clothes told of the wealth that had bought the furnishings spread throughout the room. He had brown hair, shot through with grey, and an immaculately trimmed beard and mustache. His skin was pale and sickly looking, which made his dark, piercing eyes all the more prominent, staring out from beneath his thick brows with a pitiless stare, void of any feelings natural to humans.
Ekaitz sat up, and groaned from the throbbing ache in his head, emanating from the spot where he had been hit with the solid metal hilt of a sword. “Where am I? And I would like to know what happened to the others.” The man replied evasively that there were no others there, not that he would know, anyway; as for the other question, he completely ignored it. Through the fog over Ekaitz’ mind, he realized that he was chained by his wrists to the wall, he then scrutinized the room again, looking thoughtfully at the man before him, and wondering what all had happened since he had been knocked out. “Who are you?” The man smiled at that question, his look was neither one of happiness nor one of evil pleasure, it simply was; he then stated that Ekaitz’ question was a very good one.
“Who am I?” the man asked tantalizingly. “Just who am I?” He circled back around the couch he had been lying on, and returned to his position just without Ekaitz’ reach—even if he strained against the chains holding him in place. “Many different people have many different opinions on that, so who can say who I truly am?” The young man’s eyes sharpened to hard slits, as he hissed the man’s name. The man replied that he had been known by many different names, but then he concluded that the accused name was true, he was—in fact—the tyrant, Zigor.
The young man stood, shakily at first, until he had complete control of himself; a strong light of confidence shone in his eyes as he looked into those of his enemy. “Let me assure you that wherever you run, wherever you hide, in the end Izotz will find you and he will kill you. There is no chance for you to stop the work he has sworn his life to, he shall find you and destroy you. You cannot escape him.” A small smile lifted the corners of Ekaitz’ lips, as he saw the hidden fear deep within Zigor’s dark eyes.
The King stepped forward in an attempt to regain his reputation from the boy; he grabbed Ekaitz’ shirt and pulled his face closer to his own, his cold, musky breath almost choking the captive. “Your friend is already dead.” The young man looked on without flinching, replying that he would know if Izotz was dead.
“You hold too much fear for that to be true.”
“I am not afraid. I have no reason to fear a mere boy,” Zigor hissed in anger.
“But you are.”
“No.” The King raged that while Ekaitz was there, under his control, Izotz had nothing to stop the man from killing his prisoner, whose life the elf would protect at all costs. “You are the key I need to overcome and destroy my little enemy, with you on my side I will be unstoppable, no one—no one—can defeat me now.” As Zigor continued speaking, his voice had grown steadily louder, until the last few words had been an earsplitting shout.
Ekaitz, though chained to the wall, was still calm. “You do not truly understand what is going to happen,” he began simply. “In the end it will prove that my death will only help Izotz, that by it he will grow instantly closer to the conquest, and in the end he will rise victorious.” Though he spoke of his own death, Ekaitz remained calm, as if he knew that he was going to die, but that it was for a great enough cause that he could be at peace and know that it was his time. In outrage, Zigor swung his metal studded gauntlet at the boy’s face. Having used up his present strength, Ekaitz fel
l by the blow and rammed into the stone wall behind him; he groaned for a short while before again going unconscious, that time from the shock of broken bones all throughout his body. Hearing their master’s outburst, two Guards burst into the room and the King screamed at them to take the prisoner down to the Forsaken Chamber. To that room men had been sent, but few had returned from the King’s torturing as more than a heap of lifeless, broken bones, and bruised and wasted flesh.
PRONUNCIATION GUIDE
KEY:
a about
ă ask, map
ā able, way
ä alms, father
ĕ ebb, met
ē eat, me
er permit
ĭ it, him, mirror
ī idle, fine, deny
o or
ö on
ō over, know
ou about
u jump
ū rule, boot, two
NAMES:
Aintza ān’tza
Aitor ā’tor
Alaia a’lā’a
Alazne a’la’znē
Alesander ă’lĕ’săn’der
Amets a’mĕts
Argider är’gī’der
Argiñe Bakar är’jīn bä’kär
Arrats a’ră’ts
Balendin bä’lĕn’dĭn
Basajaun bä’sä’jän
Beñat b’năt
Bittor bĭ’tor
Eder ĕd’ĕr
Ekaitz ē’kā’ts
Endika ĕn’dē’ka
Eneko ĭn’ē’kō
Erlantz er’län’ts
Erramun ĕr’a’mun
Eskarne ĕs’kär’n
Esti ĕs’tē
Ganix gă’nĭx
Garaile gär’āl
Gurutze gū’rū’ts
Harkaitz här’kā’ts
Ihintza ĭ’hĭn’ts’a
Itxaro ĭt’xä’rō
Itzal Izotz Kemen ĭt’zäl ī’zö’ts kĭ’mĭn
Izar Kemen ī’zär kĭ’mĭn
Josu jō’sū
Kepa kĕp’a
Koldobika kol’dö’bĭ’ku
Lorea lo’rē’a
Luken lū’kĭn
Markel mär’kĕl
Mattin mă’tĭn
Nahia nä’hē’a
Nekane nē’kā’n
Sendoa sĭn’dō’a
Zeru zĕ’rū
Zigor zī’gor
PLACES:
Andoni ăn’dön’ē
Baso Argi bă’sō är’gē
Caernadvall kār’năd’väll
Daris Orvilweiy da’rĭs or’vĭl’wāy
Eguzki ē’guz’kē
Geirth Neilin gĕr’th nā’lĭn
Jeul Derin jū’l dĕ’rĭn
Lietha lē’th’a
Oihana oy’hä’nä
Zuri Jaun zū’rē jän
OTHER:
Meir mĕr
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When she introduces herself, she usually just says that she is from Massachusetts (home is where the heart is, right? And that’s where half of the family is…) and is a writer. Her mom always had good books in the house, so she grew up reading and loving them. With tales of grand adventure and a great imagination at work, she has a multitude of stories to render in ink.
