“The ground here is scarred as if it’s been burned and salted,” the Chag said, his thick fingers running parallel to a thin gold furrow in the soil where Wynter’s sword tip had dragged. Soon after, they found more, and later, they found them every several feet, regularly spaced. “He uses the weapon as a walking stick.” Hokra’s voice was incredulous that any weapon should be used in such a way.
“He has no reason to fear anyone would follow him,” Lydria said, her calm voice masking her nervousness. Of all of them, she had been closest to Wynter. She had come closest to killing him and being killed by him. Only her mercy and the mercy of the dragon Garprax keeping either death from happening.
“He believes he is close to finding his son. And he is walking in perpetual sunshine, with no enemies,” Haustis said, placing a hand on Hokra’s shoulder. “Who can blame him for putting a weapon to such a peaceful purpose in such a place?”
They remained silent for a moment, looking at the wounded land. “I will not be making the mistake of thinking of his humanity a second time,” Lydria said. “The Sword of Wilmamen must be returned to Eigrae. Wynter must leave this place – or live here as all others who inhabit this land. As a spirit.”
Lydria walked away, the sunshine and brightness of the day doing little to temper her own rising tension. Wynter, she knew, was the cause of enormous despair, and it was largely her own fault for not doing what she knew needed to be done. Behind her, she knew Haustis followed, with similar feelings.
They followed the scarred landscape until the thin scratches in the ground ceased at the top of a large hill. Looking over a view that stretched for miles in all directions, Lydria found herself surprised they had climbed so far. The feeling of limitless energy, consistently fine weather, and relative quiet made the distance pass in a blur, despite its singular beauty. In front of them, the hill descended to a small wooded valley, followed by forests and then the edge of what could only be a sea. The water stretched across her field of vision and seemed to carry on as she slowly turned on the hilltop. Only for a hands-breadth in the direction they had come from, could she not see water, but instead a string of tall hills and small mountains in the distance.
“If Wynter has gone in this direction, he can only be heading to the sea, for there is no other place for him to go,” Lydria said. Hokra lowered himself from a position where he had been floating several feet above Lydria, his collar glowing coolly in the bright sunshine.
“There is a quay by the shore on the other side of the forest,” Hokra said. “It seems as likely a place as any, although I see no ships.”
Lydria thought the walk through the woods would be slower, but she was wrong. The woods were airy and there were no vines, or insects, and there was a path, natural in composition but as if it had been laid down by generations who had walked in only that direction. Following it, they passed through the forest unhindered and came out shielding their eyes against countless glimmering reflections sparkling off the flat surface of the water. Walking straight toward the beach, they were surprised to be hailed by someone away to their left. A man stood next to a small shack, hidden against the backdrop of the forest. He was human. A tall, dark man with hairy arms and no shirt, and his trousers ripped off at the knees. Beside him there was a squat chair, and an assortment of waterskins, plates and cups, but no food or drink in evidence. All the dishes and utensils were sun-bleached and stacked in a wooden pail by the chair.
“Well met,” Lydria led the way toward the man extending her hand. He looked at her for a moment, glancing from her eyes to her collar and quickly back to her eyes. As if he had determined she was real, he finally grasped her hand and motioned for the three of them to sit, pointing to additional chairs Lydria had not remembered seeing as they approached.
“I’m G’Brin, and I’m guessing that you three are looking for a man like yourselves.” G’Brin let the sentence hang in the air until Hokra questioned his meaning. “Livings,” he said. “I’ve been here for, well, there’s no way of telling, but in all that time, there has only been one living to ever come to these shores before. And now there are three more within such a short time. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re looking for him – and I’m no genius.”
Lydria smiled politely as she watched G’Brin mentally run through what he had just said and realizing he had insulted himself he waved his hand toward the three, “you know what I mean.”
“What can you tell us about this man?” Haustis pulled her chair closer, so that with Lydria and Hokra the three made a semi-circle around the man, hemming him in between them and his shack.
“What’s to tell? He was alive and smiling. One of those things doesn’t raise so much as an eyebrow here, but the other, well, that’s something people want to look at. He also carried a big sword. Pretty thing it was, like a storm cloud outlined in blue. If you’ve been here a while, you know darkness is odd on its own, but when darkness is shaped like something, well, that is peculiar, I tell you.”
“Did he speak with anyone?” Lydria was smiling broadly, enjoying the man’s unconcerned outlook on what was a dire situation.
“Only to himself. I don’t know how it is with living folks now days, but around here, talking to yourself ain’t so strange. But he wasn’t talking to himself, was he? No, he was talking to someone named Sol. Apparently, this feller Sol lives here – but lives here proper, if you see what I mean; not as a living, but proper lives here.”
“Did you happen to hear any of the discussion between the two?” Lydria put her hand on G’Brin’s knee, trying to influence him with magic so that he would speak to them plainly and with truth. The man’s face flushed a little, but his lips curled up at the very end, indicating he was feeling serene.
“Oh, yeah, he sat there on the quay for quite a while. Dipped his toes in the water and kicked a bit, not saying a word. After a while, he started talking. The sound carries really well here, especially if you’re listening hard. Anyway, the living was talking to Sol and it sounded like he was arguing a bit – his voice got louder and higher. Said he would be with Sol soon enough, so they could be together forever. Sounded a little grim to me, like he’s expecting to stay here as a proper settler. He was quiet for a while, but then he said he felt like he was being pulled somewhere. That’s when the boat appeared, and he got in and left.”
“Where did they go, sir G’Brin?”
Hokra’s use of the formal ‘sir’ made G’Brin sit up a little straighter and beam at the Chag Ca’Grae prince. “There’s only one place to go from here, but until this living strolled onto our beach, not a single person who has ever come to these shores wanted to go there. Usually they sit on the quay like it was their idea, enjoying the sunshine, but when the boat appears, and they are told to get on, they try to run back up to the beach. Every time. Every man. Every woman. And every time, they don’t move. Their feet move, and their arms go back and forth, but they never gain ground until finally, they join the boat.”
“Where does it go, sir G’Brin?” Hokra repeated the question, anxious to have the man speak plainly, though he was sure of what he would say.
“As you’re a living, I’ll tell you, but if you were anyone else, you’d know.” G’Brin lowered his head and looked from side to side before whispering, “the boat takes those who are bound for the Nethyn Plains.”
Despite their awareness of the potential for Wynter to travel to the Nethyn Plains, having the words said aloud confirmed all their worst fears. Lydria looked to her friends and together they turned to look into the eyes of G’Brin.
“The boat accepted this living man?” Haustis’ tone forced G’Brin to look at her and he nodded solemnly.
“The boat will take anyone who wants to go. But nobody wants to go.”
“How do we call the boat?” Lydria was already preparing to rise from her seat ready to take off at once to follow Wynter. G’Brin held out his hand and begged her to keep her seat.
“There is no guarantee the b
oat will come for you.” G’Brin scratched the hair across his chest from side to side with his left hand while his right scratched his leg, just under the trouser legs that rested above his knees. “The boat only comes to take people to the Plain, and only those that deserve to go there will be taken, you see. I sat out on that dock once for – well, who knows – but a long time and not so much as a wave broke. Some folks come down from the woods, and join me, and before they can tell me their names, a boat pulls up and they start filing in. Well, some file in. Some try to run back to the woods, as I told you. I watched one feller run for a mighty long time, but he never left the dock. Finally, when he fell over sobbing, he just kind of floated into the boat and off it went.”
“What happened when this living man went into the boat, did you see it?” Lydria asked the question quickly, impatient to be on her way, but understanding that any information G’Brin might have could be useful.
“He walked out there like most do, as I said. When the boat appeared, he got in and seemed glad to be going. He sat at the back, far from the woman who guides the craft, the sword across his lap as happy as you please.”
“What could he be hoping to find in the Nethyn Plains that would help him reach his son?” Haustis asked out loud but not to G’Brin, though it was he who answered. “Well, as I say, again,” G’Brin it seemed, felt they weren’t listening to him as keenly as they might. “He said he felt like he was being pulled there. That’s a mighty strange sensation if you ask me. Never once met or saw a person who was being pulled toward the place. Seen lots of people try to run away from it, though.”
Lydria thanked G’Brin and walked back to the beach with the others, facing the quay as they walked.
“Does the sword’s magic draw him to that place?” Haustis stared at her sister, her eyes saying everything her mouth did not. Lydria knew that if the sword were drawing Wynter, it would fuel Haustis’ passion for not dispersing the stones. Almost alone, Haustis disagreed with separating the Stones of Power, desiring instead to keep magic in the hands of a very few and trusted.
“There is no telling what is magic or what is Wynter,” Lydria countered. “The sword was made without magic, at the behest of something in the spirit world, so there are powers beyond the stones that could be at play.” As soon as she said it Lydria realized how sharply she had spoken and looked toward her sister with apology. Even Hokra, largely unaware of the two women’s disposition toward the stones, felt the shift that had just taken place and the unease that had crept upon them.
“Why don’t we head to the quay, then,” Hokra suggested. “Maybe it will do us some good to dip our toes in the water.”
8-Leviathan
The water was cool on their feet, but it was motionless. Even as they kicked at the surface, the water fell and noiselessly sank into the clear blue surface with barely a ripple to show for their efforts.
“I wonder if anyone has ever been in this sea,” Hokra spoke quietly. He was lying on his stomach, and reaching into the water with his hands, his large fingers pushing the water only to have it motionless before he could draw his hand back again. “There’s nothing in here. There should be fish, or something this close to shore.”
The women said nothing. Lydria’s eyes were locked to Haustis who was sitting straight with her legs crossed in front of her as if she were trying to speak with the spirits of her ancestors.’
“I thought the path to her spirits was closed,” Hokra said quietly after looking at both women.
“It is.” Lydria held up a hand to Hokra and tilted her head, her eyes never leaving the smooth skin and finely sculpted features on the ebony face of Haustis. “Consider, Hokra, that the gateway to the Melting Grae and her ancestors was closed from Eigrae. But now we are in the Melting Grae. Perhaps she can do here what she could not do there?”
“Whatever your friend is doing, she won’t be doing it long.” Lydria’s head snapped up and Hokra was on his feet in a moment at the sound of G’Brin’s voice. How he had made his way across the platform without them hearing him or feeling his footsteps, they never knew and never asked; their concern followed his eyes out to the lake where a small boat glided across the water as if it were made of ice. The entire boat except for the barest hint of its keel was above the still water and it made no wake. For a moment, Lydria wasn’t sure if the boat was in the water at all or if it was floating just above the surface.
The craft approached the dock and swung in a graceful arc without effort or so much as a motion from the tall woman standing at the prow of the vessel. There was no visible steering oar, yet the craft moved with an elegance the most skilled seaman would never approach.
The woman in the boat said nothing and did not turn to see Lydria and Hokra staring at her. She was slim and graceful, nearly as tall as Keldon, with a form-fitting mail shirt over her chest and back, and what seemed to Lydria, a silk tunic whose pale blue sleeves extended to her wrists. Everything she wore clung to her like water, revealing every muscle contour and bone. And despite this, Lydria knew there would be no fighting this woman and winning. The breeches she wore were made of a material unlike anything Lydria had ever seen. They were smooth and caught the light of the sun in a hundred places in tiny points of light; as if the material were torn from the night sky and sewn into clothes. Her hair was jet and shaved close to the back of her head and similarly on the right, but it was long to her left, falling in a cascade of darkness to her shoulder.
“Hello.” Lydria walked to the side of dock near the boat and its handler, trying to sound friendly, and gain more time for Haustis. “Are you here for us?”
“I am here for all who must travel to the Nethyn Plains. And, in these times it seems, for those who wish to travel there as well.”
The woman didn’t move as the words entered Lydria’s mind. Her head remained still, and her lips firmly closed, and so Lydria spoke to her in the same way she spoke to Kimi and the dragons. “Are there many who wish to travel there?”
Whether it was the question or how it was asked, the handler couldn’t entirely hide the surprise from her face. She turned her head slowly toward the dock and looked at Lydria’s face, staring intently, her eyes shifting subtly back and forth. Lydria understood the handler was looking at her eyes. It was a moment of interest she could trace back as one of her first memories – when everyone who saw her looked at first one eye, and then the other, and back to the first before commenting on the combination of colors.
Lydria and Hokra examined the handler, noting her pale but otherwise unremarkable, face. Only when the handler raised the corners of her mouth slightly, did a shiver run down Lydria’s spine. There was something familiar about this woman she couldn’t place.
“Very few travel to the Nethyn Plains based on their deeds. None based on their desires. That is, only one person before you has ever requested my services. That you and he are also the only living beings to ever walk among the dead may be a coincidence, but I think not.”
Lydria looked quickly to her left and saw Hokra moving his upper and lower eyelids toward the boat, indicating she should try to keep the handler talking. “This other man, when did you take him?”
“Time has no hold here, not as the living know it. The last time I was here, a living man climbed on board as if he longed for the passage I provide.”
“What can you tell me of this man?”
“You sound at once as if you seek this man, and do not know him. There is duplicity in more than your eyes, it seems. You carry the doom as did he, although not openly and not pridefully. Show me your folly, if you would have my answers.”
“My folly?” Lydria turned from the handler toward Hokra and repeated what the woman had said.
“The Farn’Nethyn blade. Show that to the woman. The Sword of Wilmamen. The Sword of True Death. Now, the Folly of the Living.” Haustis spoke as she raised herself to her full height, her head high and her eyes locked onto the woman in the boat.
Lydria’s collar glowed
for a moment and she uncovered the blue scabbard hidden beneath folds in her clothing and pulled from it a dagger made of darkness. When the hilt contacted her skin and the blades were free of the bag and the magic that contained it, Lydria was surprised to feel her arm being pulled toward the boat.
“Yes, that is the doom the man carried, albeit larger. It is the doom that moved him to be on the boat and go in search of things unknown. Yet, only now can I feel the doom pulling you toward my craft. You wish to ride to the Nethyn Plains, and you do so freely?”
“We do. The man we seek may one day travel on your boat to the Plains, but his arrival with the doom he carries is causing great unbalance in Eigrae, and here,” Lydria spoke openly, sure that the woman could hear her voice.
“And payment? Those who find themselves in my boat have paid their fee or will pay it in the Nethyn Plains. The living man who crossed this way held the doom of our worlds across his lap like a sleeping child, and of him no payment was asked, nor expected.
“What would you have? What you see is all that we have in the Melting Grae.”
“What I see is not all that you own. You alone of all who have come to me, arrive with free will – a commodity that among you will be unique to the Nethyn Plains. Even the man you seek did not have this. His doom pulled him to me and to the Nethyn Plains as surely as the ground pulls a tree that is cut. Yet, I cannot ask this of you, which leaves only that which brought you here.”
Haustis and Hokra looked to each other and then to Lydria, who reached back into her pouch and lifted a small sphere of blue and held it out like a great prize to be claimed.
The woman took a step closer, towering over the others and craned her head forward and down, so that she looked upon sphere from directly above. The woman blinked once and raised her head again, regaining her perfectly straight posture.
“What you offer is either a grand gesture or a foolish one,” the woman said, her voice betraying no tone of gratitude or superiority. “The stone you offer is meant only for the living, and that you offer it at all, shows me that you can add humility to free will as your traveling companions. Still, a payment must be made, and I would have your doom.”
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