by Jean Rabe
"Talk to me about what?" she asked, shaking her mind loose from her musings. "What could possibly be so important that you had to follow me way out here without a coat? You've hardly had time to recover from your wounds."
"Jasper healed me well enough… saved my life, in fact. You finished the task and made me whole again. I feel fine, truly. My shoulder's not even stiff anymore."
"But not even a coat? Don't undo our healing." Her eyes softened. "So what is it that is so important?"
He studied the toes of his leather boots for a moment, then slowly drew his gaze up again to meet her stare. "Riverwind."
Her mouth fell open in surprise. She thought he meant to ask about learning another spell. Riverwind had been Goldmoon's husband of nearly three decades until he died at the claws of the red dragon Malystryx several years ago.
"I know you talk to him," Gair said. "Every day. Some of the others… when they hear you talk to him, they get confused. They know you miss him terribly, but they think that you're… touched, talking to yourself. They don't think any less of you. They admire you—everything you've done and are doing, like I admire you, but… they think you're getting—"
"Senile," she finished for him. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Addled by the years. So this is why you wanted to talk to me alone. Gair, are you telling me that you agree with them? Do you think I'm… touched? Senile?"
He studied his boots for a moment more, brushed at some snow on the ground, then vehemently shook his head. "You're not senile. You're the sanest person I know, and I think you really are talking to Riverwind, or at least to his spirit. Can you see him? Is he here now?"
She cast a glance over her shoulder, then reluctantly nodded.
"I want to talk to him, too." He dug the tip of his boot into the ground. "Well, not necessarily to Riverwind, but I want to talk to the spirits of the dead. This is very important to me, you must understand. I would've asked you earlier. I had intended to ask before we ever left Abanasinia, but the time never seemed right. You were always so busy. But I guess you'll always be busy."
"And so you're asking now?"
"Yes."
"No." She sadly sensed Riverwind's presence depart.
"Goldmoon, I desperately want you to teach me this. I've wanted it a long time. When I almost died a few days ago, it became even more important to me." He paused, searching for the words, studying her face, which looked uncharacteristically impassive, then plunged ahead. "I just thought this was the right time to bring it up. We're alone. Riverwind's here."
"Not anymore. He's gone now."
"To where? I want to know, Goldmoon. What is after this life? Is it full of happiness? Is it filled with misery? You could teach me to—"
"Absolutely not." Goldmoon started walking to the west, back toward the settlement. "You're not ready for this."
"When were you ready?"
She ignored the question.
He walked beside her until the path narrowed and he was forced to walk behind her. "Goldmoon, this truly is important to me."
"Healing people is important."
"I heal people. Goldmoon—"
"The dead are dead. They've no impact on the living, Gair."
"But Goldmoon…"
She stopped abruptly and whirled to face him, her eyes boring into his. "You are not ready."
His jaw was rigid. The veins in his neck stood out, but he kept his voice soft and even. "Why, Goldmoon? When were you ready? You've been talking to the spirit of Riverwind for as long as I've known you."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So you've followed me before?"
He rubbed his chin. "Listen, Goldmoon," he went on, "don't be upset with me. I meant no disrespect. I mean you nothing but respect. I'm curious, that's all. Talking to spirits must be fascinating. What could be the harm? It doesn't matter if it's difficult. I could master it. I know I could."
"It could master you," she returned sharply. She squared her shoulders. "Gair, speaking with spirits is the dark side of mysticism. Think of it as a door, one that is best left closed and forever locked. One that I hadn't intended opening myself. It just… happened."
"There's nothing dark about you, Goldmoon. There will never be anything dark about you." .
"I am an old woman, Gair, and—"
"Not so old," he cut in. "The years have been very kind to you, Goldmoon."
"I am old and I miss my husband. I talk to Riverwind and only to Riverwind."
"Could you talk to other spirits if you wanted?"
"I suppose so, if I wanted to, but I've no intention of opening this door any wider."
Gair scowled, his expression grim. "I don't think I can learn it on my own."
"No," she admitted. "Fortunately, I don't think you can."
"You know I will bring this up again."
"And I will say no… again," she answered.
He sighed, then grinned, though his countenance couldn't hide his disappointment. "Want an escort back to the settlement? I'm sure breakfast is cooking somewhere." He extended his arm. "It's getting cold out here."
"I told you you should have worn a coat." She reached out a hand to take his arm, wet from melting snow. She paused and cocked her head to the side, sensing something.
Gair turned to the north, hearing it, too. "Sounds like boars," he observed. "I can hear them snorting. Good thing I did follow you, Goldmoon. You could get hurt out here alone. No one should be out alone, not after the bandits." His hand drifted to the pommel of his sword. "Something doesn't seem right."
Gair opened his mouth to say something else, but Goldmoon had turned from him, already starting toward the faint sound. Quietly she picked her way through the hickory trees, her breath in the cold air feathering away from her face like a lacy fan. Gair sighed and followed, rubbing his hands together in a futile effort to keep them warm.
There were eight in the pack in the small clearing, two of them males. One of the males was especially large, with long, wickedly curling yellow tusks that were stained brown at the tips from blood. Their thick bodies were shaggy with winter fur, and they were rippling with fat from the food they'd been storing the preceding summer and autumn. The boars seemed nervous.
"That big one has to be seven hundred pounds," Gair whispered, keeping his voice low. "An old fellow to be certain, and one I'd not want to anger. He's one I'd not want to hunt, either—too dangerous, and his meat would be too tough. Ah, but those others… If I weren't so cold and in a hurry to get back to the settlement, I'd scatter the pack, and I might chase after one of the smaller ones. That one over there, for instance." He nudged her shoulder. "Something is making them nervous, but I can't tell what. Maybe it's the sound of the wind in the branches. Can we get out of here now?"
She shook her head no.
The elf huffed and resumed watching the animals, cursing himself for not bothering to grab a coat this morning. When he'd seen Goldmoon leave the settlement, he was in a hurry to follow her.
Gair and Goldmoon lay side by side on their stomachs, faces peering through gaps in a clump of dead ferns. She seemed indifferent in her curiosity to the cold ground. Gair, his teeth chattering, glanced enviously at her wool cloak.
The boars were pawing at the earth, snorting irregularly, their breath puffing from their wide snouts like smoke from chimneys. They were in no mood to forage, despite a plentiful supply of fallen nuts and pine cones on the forest floor. Instead, they milled uneasily and sniffed the air, eyes darting in all directions, waiting for something. It was as if they were afraid of something.
"They can't smell us," Goldmoon whispered, her words almost softer than the breeze. "The wind is from the wrong direction. They smell something… . I think they're ready to bolt."
"I will calm them," Gair offered.
Not waiting for her reply, he closed his eyes and touched his slender fingers to his temple, a gesture he used to help himself concentrate. His lips moved as if he were talking, though no sounds came out. It was an enchantment to ca
lm wild beasts, one of the first Goldmoon had taught him in an effort to help calm his capricious spirit. He focused on his heartbeat until he heard its rhythmic thrumming above Goldmoon's steady breathing, then above the wind rustling through the branches overhead, and finally above the loud snorts of the boars. He slowed his heart, then sent the thrumming outward, like a wave rippling from him to the pack. This spell, like many others, came easily to him, requiring little real effort and practically no time. He knew it was successful even before he opened his eyes and spotted the boars crunching nuts and rooting beneath the thin layer of snow. Even the largest was at ease.
"Done," he pronounced softly and started to inch away. "They are calm now, and at least with all that fur, they're staying warm. Watching them has made me even hungrier. Let's go get something hot to eat."
Goldmoon remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the pack. She reached out a hand and touched the elf's wrist. "Wait," she whispered. "Maybe you shouldn't have…"
Gair cocked his head and he squinted through the trees beyond the animals. "I think I see something. There's…"
A high-pitched squeal sliced through the air, coming from beyond the pack, which, still soothed by Gair's spell, continued to forage. It was followed by another squeal, then another that ended shrilly and abruptly. Birds shot from the treetops, startling the elf and streaking to the south. They heard the sound of branches cracking and rustling, indicating something was headed this way.
"People," Goldmoon suggested. "Hunters."
"And I've unwittingly provided them with easy prey," Gair whispered, looking at the calmed pack. "Perhaps I could try another spell. I could agitate them, give the hunters a real challenge."
Before Gair could act, the crashing in the woods crescendoed, and three more boars burst into the clearing, followed by hunters, but not human ones. The elf gasped in surprise.
The hunters were manlike, but in form only. Indeed, they walked on two legs, but there most of the resemblance to humans ended. There were three of them, with heads that resembled hyenas and slavering jaws filled with sharp-looking teeth. Their skin was a mottled green-gray, fuzzy, like moss growing on a stagnant pond, and it was dark at the muzzle, almost black. From the tops of their heads sprouted brushy white manes that ran down their necks and disappeared beneath the collars of the ragged tunics they wore. One, with a thick, barrel-like chest, wore a cape, and it was this that made Gair's eyes widen even more in disbelief. The cape, a tattered flag, flapped wildly in the wind. From the design, the elf guessed it was from a ship that had sailed for Cuda, a port city in which he'd wasted nearly two years. During those long, tedious months, he'd never seen creatures like these who were scattering the boars in the clearing.
One of the hyena-men wielded a lengthy crude spear from which fluttered tattered strips of colorful silk. The one wearing the flag carried a dagger in each of his pawlike hands and had more strapped about his waist. The third was the most muscular of the lot. He waved a cutlass in the air and was the first to charge the boars.
The soothing effect of Gair's spell on the boars was shattered as the creature's cutlass bit deep into the side of the smallest male. The boar squealed sharply, so high it made the elf grit his teeth, and the other animals answered in a chorus of piercing squeals as they tried to flee from the clearing in all directions.
Goldmoon pressed herself into the loam as a female boar charged madly by, close enough so she and the elf could smell its rank breath. Gair inhaled sharply as another passed near enough to him to brush against his leg. He prayed that the hyena-men wouldn't follow and would be content with the boars that remained in the clearing. His fingers stretched toward the pommel of his sword, just in case, and his eyes drifted to Goldmoon, who was intently taking in what was transpiring.
Gair wanted to do something, but Goldmoon preferred to let everything run its course. He would respect his teacher's lead, which seemed to consist of, at the moment, doing nothing.
"What are those things?" he asked in a voice so soft he could barely hear himself. "Products of the Chaos War? Might they have overrun the Blood Sea Isles, and news hadn't yet reached here? And how did they make it from there to Schallsea Island?"
The one with the spear, the tallest of the hyena-men at well over seven feet, dropped to his knees in front of a fleeing boar and swung his weapon in a wide arc, whacking the beast in the snout and grunting in satisfaction. The animal paused, stunned for a moment, and the hyena-man took advantage of the opportunity, twirling his spear and jamming the tip down between the boar's shoulder blades. The strength of his thrust pushed the spear all the way through the boar and into the ground, pinning the animal as a collector might pin a butterfly. The animal's legs twitched a moment, then grew still.
"The one with the spear," Gair whispered. "Whoever attacked us on the trail used spears."
"And bows, you said," Goldmoon returned softly. "These creatures do not have bows."
Vaulting from the ground, the hyena-man howled and abandoned his spear, leaping at another fleeing boar. He wrapped his long arms about the beast's midsection and howled still louder. Gair watched in horror as the creature sank its teeth into the boar's side again and again, barking excitedly when the animal cried in terror and pain. The boar's stumpy legs churned over the earth, then waggled madly in the air as the hyenaman rolled to his back, clutching the boar to his stomach. It tried desperately to free itself, its squeals so shrill they sounded like a whistle. With one arm firmly around the animal's middle, the hyena-man lifted his free hand to the boar's head and wrenched it sharply, snapping its neck.
Goldmoon remained impassive, her eyes locked onto the other two creatures. The hyena-man with the daggers was astride the large old boar, riding it as a man might ride an unbroken horse. He was jabbing the twin daggers into its sides, his flag cape billowing behind him like a sail. The boar was so large that the blades hadn't yet found a vital mark, though they obviously had caused the animal considerable pain. It was doing its best to dislodge the hyena-man, its head thrashing from side to side in an attempt to gore its tormentor's arms and throw him. The hyena-man locked his legs tighter and stabbed repeatedly. He let loose a string of hideous-sounding growls and snarls, and as if in response, the hyena-man with the cutlass backed away from the one he'd just slain and ran toward the gyrating old boar.
Unable to expel the tormentor on its back, the old boar angrily charged the third hyena-man. Its feet pounded over the ground, sending a shower of nuts and snow and dirt in its wake. It lowered its head beneath the swing of the cutlass and drove forward, its tusks sinking into a green-gray thigh as it barreled into the hyena-man and drove him to his back. The boar continued its assault, trampling over the creature's stomach and goring his chest. It thundered over the body and spun, returning to gore the downed hyenaman once more.
All the while, the creature on its back continued to plunge the daggers into the boar's sides. The hyenaman looked like a fat bird, his arms rising and falling rhythmically like wings, blood arcing away with each sweep.
On its third goring pass over the fallen hyena-man, the boar let out a long wail that drowned out the wind and the squeals of the rest of the boars, who were escaping from the clearing. It stopped and snorted, shook its great head, then shuddered and collapsed. Its bloodied rider threw back his snout, howling to the sky. Finally the creature pushed himself off the dead giant's twitching body and glanced about.
Snorting and barking, the hyena-man thrust the daggers into sheaths on his hips, bent, and tugged at the great boar's body. The muscles under his green-gray skin rippling, he managed to pull the massive carcass. He snapped and growled at the hyena-man with the spear.
In response, the other dropped the spear and reached to his side, tugged free a length of thick twine, and fell to lashing the three smaller boar carcasses together. Finished, he shuffled toward his downed companion and sniffed.
The gored hyena-man made a whimpering sound and placed his pawlike hands over his stomach and chest, as if
that might block the flow of blood. He struggled to get up, looking to the one standing over him for help. All he received was a snarl and several hard kicks in the ribs to finish him.
The hyena-man bent to retrieve his companion's cutlass. He tugged the scabbard free from the downed creature's waist and quickly strapped it on. Proudly brandishing the weapon, he turned and joined his barrel-chested fellow with the flag. Together, the two pulled the dead boars from the clearing.
Goldmoon and Gair lay silent for many long minutes, feeling the cold of the ground and the air and listening intently. The snow was falling faster now, wetting their hair and faces.
The elf studied Goldmoon and determined she had cast a spell, no doubt one that was extending her senses into the plants or animals nearby, wanting to know where the hyena-men were heading. He could effect such magic, too, but he was content to rely on his teacher's findings and save his energy. At last her expression relaxed.
"Gone?"
She nodded. "They're far enough away now. And I don't think they'll come back."
Gair was on his feet quickly, still favoring his leg. He brushed the snow from his shirt and extended a hand to assist Goldmoon. She was slow to rise and worked a cramp out of her calf before she edged by the elf and padded into the clearing.
Small pools of blood dotted the ground, and the earth was churned up from the great boar's feet. She threaded her way to the hyena-man and knelt by the body.
"One of the pilgrims mentioned rumors of dog-faced raiders who were attacking hunters and trappers," Goldmoon began.
"And maybe attacking people on the trail to the settlement."
"I thought the story was a product of too much ale. I should have given the tale more credence, perhaps."
