The blond man had stopped whimpering. Tharadis spared a glance for him. He was now crawling on his belly towards the burning light of the Rift.
The bearded man saw this. “You opened him up pretty good,” he said, his voice tense. “This is a dangerous place to do such a thing.”
“I know.” Tharadis began backing toward Dransig. “Mind your oath, Knight of the Eye. I don’t think I have enough energy to fight him if he turns.” Shoreseeker still held out in front of him, Tharadis bent to wrap Dransig’s arm around his shoulders and loop the strap of his pack around his free arm.
“Bastard.” Anger was plain on the Knight’s face, but in his voice Tharadis heard the hint of grudging respect. The man ran to his companion.
Tharadis dragged Dransig across the damp ground toward the treeline, heedless of the bearded man’s battle cry, or the inhuman screams that answered. The sounds of combat faded in the distance that Tharadis put between them, and once the trunks of the forest trees completely blocked off the light coming from the Rift, Tharadis dropped Dransig to the leaf-strewn ground, joining him a moment later as exhaustion overwhelmed him.
Chapter 15: Parting Paths
Dransig rolled to his side as he began to wake up. His mouth was dry. He opened his eyes.
Familiar trees, branches heavy with damp leaves, surrounded the clearing he was in. Green leaves, not the pale gray needle-like ones of the Naruvian drytrees.
He was back in the Accord. He was home.
He heaved himself up to a sitting position, pushing the ferns that had covered him out of the way. The daylight hurt his eyes. What time was it? Afternoon already?
He didn’t remember much from the night before. Even thinking about crossing the Rift made his entire body throb with pain. All twenty-two of his piercings, each one a tiny sheggam bone embedded in his skin, ached as if they had been ripped out of him. Of course, that was impossible. He’d be dead if even a few were missing.
A small pot of food propped above embers simmered in the center of the clearing. A clean wooden bowl and spoon sat next it, apparently left out for Dransig as an invitation to finish whatever was in the pot. After last night, his stomach was a confusion of hunger and nausea, but the hunger won out, and he was quickly spooning the food into his mouth. There seemed to be few ingredients—beans and roots, perhaps some herbs—but combined in such a way that Dransig found himself torn between shoveling it in his mouth and savoring every morsel. His bowl was clean before long. This was, perhaps, the best thing Dransig had ever eaten.
There was still some left in the pot. As Dransig helped himself to another serving, he mulled over his situation. How had he survived? How was he still human?
The first question was easier to answer: Tharadis had saved him somehow. The man was nowhere in sight, but he had obviously been the one who had cooked.
As for the second question … Dransig couldn’t recall much beyond setting foot on the Runeway on the Naruvian side of the Rift. He had felt the Rift’s pull and had tamped down the shegasti within him, felt it clawing at him, threatening to burst out of his skin … and then nothing. The next thing he knew, he was here.
He kept the shegasti tamped down still. He didn’t trust himself with it, not after coming so close to losing himself to it. As such, he felt every one of his years like a leaden weight on his shoulders—and it felt as if he had aged ten years since the previous day. Every one of his joints creaked as he stood. He was gasping by the time he was fully upright. He tossed the bowl and spoon next to the pack and headed up a small game trail leading out of the clearing to find Tharadis.
Small insects buzzed past him, weaving between the moss-streaked tree trunks. Birds called down from the canopy. The air was damp and smelled of soil. Dransig had almost forgotten how home had felt.
The thought was bittersweet. Dransig’s life could be defined by all the times he had forsaken his different homes, moving onto the next. He was running out of places to go. Still, the Accord was as much of a home as he had ever had, and part of him was happy to be back, despite the fact that it meant he was that much closer to achieving what he came here to do.
Tharadis’s tracks were clear, marching up the slope. Dransig followed them past the trees to find him on the hilltop, under the branches of a lone tree.
Tharadis sat with his legs crossed, bare sword lying across his knees, staring out at the vista. Clouds dotted the sky, casting rolling shadows over the forested hills stretching off to the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, to be sure, but Dransig’s gaze was drawn to that remarkable blade.
Tharadis turned. Relief filled his eyes as Dransig approached, and he smiled. He returned his regard to the view. “It’s much colder than I expected.”
Dransig couldn’t help but grin. “Probably colder than you’ve ever been in your life. And you haven’t even seen winter.”
Tharadis tilted his chin to the sprawling view. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “We have a place like this near Naruvieth, called the Wishing Well. A place of soft green grasses and clear water. A place of life.”
Dransig was surprised to hear it. He had thought all of Naruvieth was the same dry gray and dusty brown. “It sounds like a lovely place.”
“It is, but there’s a legend about it.” Without meeting Dransig’s eyes, he shifted his knee to make room. Dransig slowly sat down next to him, easing onto the soft, mossy grass.
“A long time ago,” Tharadis began, “three people, a mother, a father, and a baby, had been cast out of the city by the Warden of that time, a corrupt man who believed that everyone in Naruvieth belonged to him. They had been cast out because the father had called that Warden a traitor to his office, saying he was the very sort against which the people needed protection.”
He paused briefly before continuing. “Knowing that executing them would turn the people against him, he banished them from the city, calling them anathema, saying that anyone who helped them would suffer an even worse fate. It was cruel enough to create greater fear of him, but not so cruel that a whipped and stricken people would rise up against him.
“So, no one helped the three of them, even though they would starve. They wandered off into the wilderness, living off the land as best they could, though the Warden’s enforcers made even this difficult.
“They made it into an empty place, dry and dusty and windswept, completely devoid of living things, before they could go no further. They were blocked off by cliffs on all sides except the way they came. They were starving and too exhausted to go on.
“They had been just, good people, made to suffer because of one evil man’s lust for power. And they would die because they stood up to fight against him, to fight for what was right.
“As the three of them lay down to die, each of them, even the little baby, begged the World Pattern to help them. Each of them made a wish. While the World Pattern does not grant wishes, it does love virtue, and so it shaped that place into what it is now so that they could look upon beauty before they left the world, so that they could remember life fondly. And so it has stood since then.”
“That,” said Dransig, genuinely moved, “is a very sad story.”
“Sometimes you have to look deep within the sad stories to find the good ones, the ones that make you believe that the struggle is worth it.”
Dransig turned to him. “Do you believe in that legend?”
When he finally answered, Tharadis’s voice had quieted to nearly a whisper. “No. But it’s a nice story nonetheless.”
Again, Dransig’s gaze was drawn to Shoreseeker. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it that first night. Looking closely now, he found that the blade was not metal, but appeared to be ceramic of the same pale blue as the scabbard. The crossguard was made of the same stuff as the blade—indeed, they appeared to be a unified whole rather than separate pieces. Shoreseeker looked like a splinter of the sky. “The story of how you got that sword must also be remarkable.”
Tharadis looked down at it and slowly rubb
ed his finger along the fuller. Partway down the blade, his finger caught on something.
Dransig frowned, briefly pulling in a slight thread of shegasti to sharpen his vision. A slight crack ran up the fuller. Odd. From all he had heard and seen, the blade was supposed to be indestructible.
“Actually,” Tharadis said, “there's not much to tell. The day I was made Warden of Naruvieth, a man I'd never seen before walked up to me. His clothes were little more than tattered rags and he looked as if he hadn't shaved in years. I thought he was a beggar or a madman, but then he just handed the sword to me, and without a word, fell over and died.”
“And you named it Shoreseeker?”
Tharadis nodded.
“That’s still quite a story.”
“It doesn’t feel like one. Just the ending, perhaps.”
Dransig nodded. Just the ending, he mused, of a story that belonged to someone else.
In silence, they watched the clouds move across the sky for a while before Dransig turned to him. “I don’t know how you did it, but you got us here alive. Thank you. I’m sorry for being such a burden.”
Tharadis shrugged. “I swore to bring you home.”
Dransig feared to ask what, exactly, Tharadis had gone through to do that. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you …”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Tharadis said, “I’d like a guide to Garoshmir.”
Dransig breathed in, then exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much of one. Part of my … condition demands that I travel on foot. Horses and mules don’t much care for the scent of me. Not even enough to let me ride in a cart behind them.” It was worse than he let on. Every horse Dransig had ever seen, even docile work horses, had tried to crush his skull with its hooves at the mere sight of him. It was far worse for him than the Knights who only had one piercing. “Perhaps our paths should part here.”
Tharadis opened his mouth as if to object, but Dransig raised his hand. “Yes,” Dransig said, “we’re both headed to Garoshmir. But you and I both know that your responsibility lies with your people. And I refuse to be a burden any longer.”
Tharadis frowned, but his expression softened. “As difficult as it’s been, I wouldn’t call your presence a burden.”
“You carried me on your back, didn’t you? If that’s not a burden, then I don’t know what is.”
Tharadis chuckled softly as he stood, dusting off the seat of his tunic and helping Dransig stand up when it was clear he was having trouble.
“I hope we can meet again in Garoshmir,” Tharadis said, grasping Dransig’s hand.
Dransig tried to smile reassuringly, but he knew that it wouldn’t happen. Only one task waited for him there.
One final task.
Tharadis watched him curiously before releasing his hand. Some of his good cheer had evaporated as he watched Dransig’s face. “I hope you find whatever you’re looking for,” he said.
“My daughter,” Dransig blurted, not meeting his eyes. Again, more softly, “My daughter.”
“She must miss you very much.” Tharadis clapped him softly on the shoulder and, with a small smile that Dransig couldn’t match, turned and walked down into the trees.
Chapter 16: The Road to Falconkeep
The fire crackled and popped loudly in the clearing amidst dozens of trees, brown trunks growing straight up and down and leaves that were flat and green and rustled when the wind swept through them. The late evening air was so cold that Nina had to wear a blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t sit close to the fire; she didn’t want to sit too close to the other children, especially the two children who had come with Lora Bale, wearing their blue and gray Falconkeep uniforms. Back in Naruvieth, they had sweated in their heavy belted tunics and trousers tucked into tall boots, but once they crossed the Rift, passing into the land they called the Accord, with all its green and wetness, they looked far more comfortable than Nina felt.
This place was just so green. Lora Bale, the woman taking them to Falconkeep, said it was spring now, and Nina guessed she was right, from what little she knew of spring. Back in Naruvieth, there weren’t many kinds of flowers, and the few they had were down in the lowlands. Only the orange hearthsflame, which Uncle Tharadis said reminded him of Nina’s mother, grew near the city. But here, flowers bloomed in so many colors and shapes that Nina had lost count the day after crossing over the Rift.
She had been amazed at first, and still was a bit, but it was hard to think about that when Alicie and Vidden, wearing their Falconkeep clothes, were standing so near all the time.
There was something … wrong, about those two. They didn’t play like Nina or the other children. Lora Bale always spoke kindly to them, a faint smile constantly on her full lips, but the only things she ever said to them were commands. And the only times Alicie and Vidden spoke were when they needed to ask a question about one of the many tasks Lora Bale had given them.
It wasn’t merely that they didn’t speak. They also seemed not to see. Not that they were blind, but it was more like nothing in front of them was all that interesting. When Nina met Alicie’s dark brown eyes in the carriage one time, it was as if Nina had just been part of the seat. Not a person at all. She had instantly looked away, holding her Raccoon family tight against her chest.
In the days since leaving Naruvieth for Falconkeep, the other children had seemed to just pretend that life hadn’t changed all that much, aside from being stuck in a cramped carriage most of the day while they put the miles behind them.
The only other girl they had picked up was Wenny, a lowlands girl who was even tinier than Nina, and probably a year or two younger. She kept her black hair in a tail, though it was barely long enough and strands of hair were always coming loose, creating a wispy cloud around her head. Nina had only tried talking to Wenny once, and the girl, whose eyes were always wide like a dog that’d been hit too many times, had run away without a word. Wenny hadn’t spoken to anyone since Nina first met her, days ago.
Two of the boys, Rogert and Noil, took advantage of their occasional stops to practice fencing with narrow switches, though mostly what they did was stick out their chests and boast about their completely imaginary exploits, only crossing “blades” when they couldn’t think of a tale more extravagant than their last one. Though she hadn’t really talked to either boy, she did like watching them out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t feel comfortable with all these strangers, so even when Rogert or Noil said something particularly funny, she did her best to hide her smile and pretend she wasn’t listening.
Of the other three boys that had joined them, Thomerlin and Chrissoth were immediately drawn to each other. Thomerlin was tall and thin, copper-colored hair falling in tight coils around his narrow, freckled face. Chrissoth was a husky boy, but not fat. Just big. His pale features contrasted starkly with his black hair. Both seemed to find similar things entertaining: throwing rocks at trees, throwing rocks at the carriage’s wheel spokes, throwing rocks at rabbits—which nearly made Nina cry, since that was the first time she’d actually ever seen a rabbit. She avoided them, though that seemed to draw their attention as much as not. She didn’t like the way they smiled.
Only the other boy, Chad, seemed to feel totally comfortable alone. Nina liked watching him more than Rogert or Noil. Instead of riding in the carriage or up on the driver’s bench with the Falconkeep children, he often opted to stroll alongside the carriage, skinny, dirty hands stuffed into his threadbare pockets, as he stared up at the breaks in the trees, smiling with his eyes closed when sunlight struck his face, chuckling silently at himself when closing his eyes too long had sent him stumbling on some upturned stone or branch. He had an unruly mop of black hair like Chrissoth and a narrow face like Thomerlin, but that was where the similarities ended. The corners of his wide eyes constantly glinted with laughter. Nina didn’t really understand how that could be; unlike the other children, who were from the farms in the lowlands and thus unknown to Nina, Chad was f
rom Naruvieth proper. While they had never spoken, Nina knew some things about him. He was an orphan, just like Nina, but unlike her, he hadn’t had any extended family to fall back on. His strange, gray woolen vest and trousers—outland castoffs, no doubt, as boys in Naruvieth didn’t wear such clothes—looked to be held together with hope as much as thread. Back in the city, he’d had a reputation for being the beggar who begged for odd jobs instead of handouts. And he’d always done a good job at any task given him, and could find just about anything that was lost, no matter where it had gotten to.
He was, perhaps, as famous as her uncle Tharadis.
Well, maybe not that famous, but pretty famous anyway.
While Nina tried to pretend that she didn’t exist, Chad seemed to forget that he existed. He would simply get lost in observing things. Soon after they had set out, Chad had spent an entire afternoon getting lost in the drywoods, and Alicie and Vidden had to go find him. When they asked him why he’d left the carriage without a word, he opened his cupped hands to release an iridescent purple butterfly he had followed from the road. And when watching the antics of Rogert and Noil, Chad would laugh and clap loudly if they did something he found particularly amusing. At first, they’d eyed him with suspicion, but after a couple of days, they’d begun to grin and bow with such earnest flamboyance that Nina nearly believed their fantastic stories.
Occasionally, Chad looked at her. There was nothing in those looks that frightened or worried her. No indication that he had a purpose beyond just looking at her. As if that were all he wanted. As much as Nina hated when Thomerlin or Chrissoth looked at her, Chad made her feel even more uncomfortable. It was almost as if he really wanted to see her. She didn’t really understand it, nor did she understand why she was so put off by his attentions. For some reason, she always found an excuse to flee when he approached. Nina wondered if Wenny felt the same way about her that Nina felt about Chad.
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