Wanderer's Song

by P. E. Padilla

  As the lessons progressed, he realized the shadow was that of a young boy. He thought it was the same boy he had seen the night of the story he told, the one who sat with Jehira, the soothsayer.

  Aeden and Fahtin trained every day. He taught her some of his exercises, and they worked on proper, efficient movements. She had some skill with her weapons to start, though she also had bad habits he had to correct, which took extra time. Within a few months they could spar at full speed. She couldn’t match him, of course, but he had enough control to keep from hurting her and also to keep her from hurting him accidentally.

  Through it all, their little shadow observer watched. Aeden had even caught sight of him practicing the movements with them from the safety of nearby vegetation. He quirked an eyebrow at Fahtin when he saw that she noticed the boy, but they never spoke of it.

  “He is a solitary boy,” she said to him one day when he finally mentioned it. “Shy, with few friends. His parents were killed years ago, and now he lives in the wagon of his grandmother, Jehira.”

  Aeden’s heart went out to the boy. He had not lost his parents in death—at least not theirs—but he knew well the feeling of being without family. He did a little. Because he did have a family now, solely because of the kindness of Darun and the others, he decided he was obligated to help others as well.

  “Why don’t you come out in the sunlight, Raki?” Aeden called one day as he and Fahtin were preparing to train. They were two miles out from the town of Brausprech, still traveling in their eastward direction toward the Kanton Sea, an inland body of water that was also sometimes called the Sea of Magic. It was spring and the air was cool, perfect for physical activity. The blue sky held a few fluffy clouds. “Join us.”

  Surprise lit up Fahtin’s eyes, but then she smiled widely at Aeden. “Yes. You have practiced enough in the shadows. Come train with us.”

  The boy’s shaggy head poked out from the bushes bordering the clearing the two had chosen for their activities. His body followed, and Aeden got the first good look he’d had of the boy. Every other time he had seen him had been in shadows or by firelight. Raki never seemed to be out and about in the camp as the other children of the family were.

  He was thin, waifish. His headful of brown hair was messy and came down almost to his shoulders. He swiped at it to move it out of his face, and his clear brown eyes looked about nervously, as if he expected a trap or some other danger.

  “Come now,” Aeden said in as soothing a voice as he could use. “We’ve seen you practicing with us in the trees. Would you like to join us, learn to fight like Fahtin here? Don’t you think she is a fine warrior?”

  The boy nodded and took a step closer.

  Fahtin, impatient as always, huffed and went to him. She hugged him and took his hand, leading him back toward Aeden.

  “Raki Sinde,” she said, gesturing toward Aeden, “this is Aeden Tannoch. As if you didn’t know the newest member of our family. Aeden, Raki.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you formally, Raki Sinde,” Aeden said as he slapped his fist to his chest in salute. The boy emulated the movement and a small smile crept onto his face.

  “Is it really true that the Crows tried to kill you, but the whole lot of them couldn’t do it?”

  Aeden looked to Fahtin. She had a neutral expression on her face. Too neutral. Her eyes glittered, though, the green starbursts inside the hazel irises shining with unexpressed humor. She shrugged slightly.

  “Aye, I suppose that’s close enough to the truth. Is that what the young folk amongst the wagons have told you?”

  “No,” Raki said, flushing. “I just hear things.”

  “Well, then,” Aeden said, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “now that we have that out of the way, would you like to learn to fight? A man can never learn enough about protecting his home from dangers on the road.”

  Raki nodded, excitement emerging from the wariness in his eyes before.

  “Aeden,” Raki said after they had trained together for a few days. “Is it true that the tattoo on your wrist makes you invincible, unable to be touched by weapons, and that’s why your clan had to attack you with just their hands?”

  Aeden looked at the boy, not quite knowing how to start his answer. “No. I won’t even ask who told you that. This tattoo on my wrist,” he held up his left wrist to show Raki, “means that I passed the Trial of Combat. I had to fight four other boys my age or older to do it. If I had passed the Trial of Magic, there would be another one on my other wrist. All clan warriors have both tattoos.”

  “Oh,” Raki said, and left it at that, though Aeden could tell from the distracted look in his eyes that he was logging the information into his memory.

  Raki fit right into their training, all three doing the warm-up exercises and stretches before actual combat training, and then the combat itself for an hour or two a day. He learned quickly, having already practiced some of the movements the other two had been performing, but Aeden realized that hand-to-hand fighting would not be enough for the boy.

  “You see,” Aeden told him, “the problem is that fighting with your hands is fine if your foe is a man or two. You can’t use it to defend yourself from a bear or to hunt for food, though. That’s important. Some men live their entire lives without having to kill a man, but everyone has to eat. What we need is a weapon for you. What do you fancy?”

  “I’ve never used a weapon,” Raki said. He had proven to be quite talkative once he was comfortable with his new friends. “I have only ever held some of the knives made by Payta Torn, but mostly just to cut up vegetables for the stewpot.”

  “Hmm,” Aeden mused. “Knives could be a good weapon for you, though with your size, I was thinking maybe something with a little more reach to make up for the fact that every opponent you will face will be bigger than you.”

  With no other ideas, Aeden had carved another pair of practice knives like Fahtin’s so Raki could practice. It was by accident that they found his true talent.

  “Can I see that knife?” Raki asked Fahtin one day as she was idly throwing it at a target board Aeden had set up for her. She was a fair hand at throwing the blades, hitting the target board most of the time, though not exactly the spot she was aiming for.

  Fahtin looked at the boy skeptically. “Yes, but be careful with it. It’s not like the practice knives. This one will cut you if you slip with it.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She flipped it and caught it by the blade, handing it to him with the hilt first. He took it reverently, eyes growing wide.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said.

  Fahtin’s smile lit up the clearing. “Thank you. Payta made me five of them, all alike, for my last name day. It is a lavish gift. He could have sold them for quite a bit of gold. My uncle is very generous.”

  “Can I try to throw it?” Raki asked.

  Fahtin shot a look at Aeden, rubbing her earlobe with her thumb and forefinger as she did when she was indecisive about things. Aeden shrugged at her.

  “I…I suppose you could. You have to be very careful, though. Here, let me show you how to judge the distance and how to hold it.”

  She walked him closer to the target board, about ten feet away from it, and flicked her wrist. Another knife appeared there. Aeden was used to seeing her flourish her knives like that, pulling them quickly from hidden sheaths, but Raki’s mouth dropped and he stared at the blade in her hand. He looked from it to the one in his own. “Ooh,” came from his mouth. Fahtin winked at him.

  “The secret is to know how many turns the knife will make, end over end, until it strikes your target. You have to change how you hold it, either by the blade or by the hilt, and how you flick your wrist to change the speed it turns, to get it right. You will probably strike near the target with the blade flat or with the hilt at first until you get used to it. It’s just all practice.”

  After a few minutes of showing the boy how to stand and hold the knife, she stepped back to let hi
m try. Aeden knew she was nervous about him ruining her knives. They had bone handles, and her anxious expression made it obvious she feared the boy striking the handles on the target and loosening them. Still, she let him try.

  Raki pulled a stray lock of hair from his face and stood in front of the target as Fahtin had showed him. The look of concentration in his eyes and the set of his mouth beneath his smooth cheeks almost made Aeden laugh, but he settled for a smile the boy couldn’t see.

  With a gentle flick of his wrist, Raki launched the knife at his target. Fahtin’s exhalation turned to a grunt of surprise mid-breath. The knife had struck solidly in the center of the target, the point buried an inch into the soft wood.

  Raki smiled as he went to retrieve the knife. Fahtin glanced over her shoulder at Aeden. He nodded at her, still smiling himself.

  They had the boy try again, and again. Each time, he stuck the knife in the center of the target. They had him back up and try again. Every time, he struck his target exactly where he was aiming. It was uncanny.

  “Raki,” Aeden said to him. “I believe we have found your weapon. We’ll continue to train in fighting with the knife, but this throwing, well, you are a natural talent at it.”

  The boy was all smiles as he handed Fahtin’s knife back to her.

  The three visited Payta Torn to ask a favor.

  “Fahtin!” the man said, wrapping her in a hug that engulfed the girl.

  Aeden had seen taller men, but Payta was so heavily muscled, the only word Aeden could think to describe him was massive. The clans produced big men, but Payta looked as if he could bend steel without the help of his forge and hammer.

  “Uncle Payta,” she said after he had released her. “This is Aeden Tannoch—”

  “I know of the new member of the family,” he said, putting out a hand to shake Aeden’s. It swallowed the boy’s hand as if it was a thin twig. “Well met, Aeden of the clans.”

  “Thank you,” Aeden said. “Well met to you.”

  “And you know Raki,” Fahtin said.

  “I do.” The big man shook Raki’s hand, too, doing it daintily so as not to crush it. “I haven’t seen you around, boy. And here I thought you were going to try for my apprentice.” He winked.

  “We have a favor to ask, Uncle,” Fahtin said.

  “You do, do you?”

  “Aeden needs a weapon.”

  “I see,” the bladesmith said. “And what kind of weapon would you want, Aeden?”

  “A sword. A broadsword. The curved type that my people use, not the silly straight, thin blades used by the Aranir. I don’t want it to break on the first use.”

  The blacksmith raised an eyebrow and Aeden thought maybe he had said something wrong, but the man didn’t mention it. “Oh, now that would be a problem, seeing as the only forge I have is one that breaks down easily for travel. It’s meant to forge knives and other small items, not something so long as a sword.”

  “We didn’t think of that,” Fahtin said, her mouth turning down into a frown.

  “How much room is there in the forge?” Aeden asked. “How long a weapon can you make?”

  “I can perhaps make something with a blade as long as twenty inches, maybe two feet if I’m clever.”

  Aeden closed his eyes and pictured the weapons he had seen and used, trying to find an ideal compromise. “Have you seen the long swords of the Tiroshimi? They are almost straight but with a slight curve.”

  The big man studied Aeden. “I have. The master bladesmiths of Teroshi do fine work.”

  “Could you make two swords like that, but in the size you have said you can make? Their length would be somewhere in the middle between their long and short swords.”

  “I could make such things, if I wanted. What would you pay me for them? Swords like that will take a bit of work.”

  Aeden hadn’t thought of that. “I have no money. I could work for you, do whatever it is you require. I’m strong and can move things for you, split wood for the forge, anything.”

  The bladesmith looked at Aeden for a good long time, thinking. He looked over at Fahtin, and then to Raki. Finally, he smiled. “I could do that for you. I have knives I haven’t been able to sell yet and am growing bored. A new project may just be the thing. Come back tomorrow morning—early, mind you—and we can get started.”

  It took three months of work for Payta to finish the swords for Aeden. In the meantime, he worked with the bladesmith for several hours a day, learning a little about the art itself and gaining strength and muscle where he had not had it before.

  His daily training with Raki and Fahtin kept him limber, fast, and fluid, so the additional muscle did not slow him down. By the time he got his swords from Payta, he thought he was probably in the best condition of his life because of the unorthodox ways he was causing his body to adapt and grow.

  “Here are your swords,” the big man said as he handed them to Aeden. The red-haired young man had made the scabbards himself, with Payta’s direction, and painted and lacquered them in green and red, colors that reminded him of his homeland. The green of the highland hills and the red of the blood shed by the warriors of the clans.

  The blades themselves were as fine as any he had ever seen. Payta was a true master bladesmith. They were light, much lighter than the broadsword or the wooden sword he had been practicing with, and they were razor sharp. He could take a large leaf from an elephant plant, drop it on the upturned blade, and watch it separate into halves as it floated downward.

  Payta had a surprise for them as well. He pulled out a small case and handed it to Raki.

  “I have seen you practicing with these other two,” he said to the boy, “and I have seen you throw the blades I made for Fahtin. I’m not sure if your grandmother would approve, but maybe we can keep this as our own little secret.”

  Raki’s eyes lit up. He was not expecting a gift himself. He opened the case and his eyes grew even wider, then they became liquid as he set the box gently on the anvil next to Payta and hugged the big man with his whole strength.

  “Thank you, Payta,” he said. “Thank you so much. They are beautiful. How can I repay you for this?”

  “No need, boy. You have been here every day, helping Aeden with the chores I have set for him, never with a thought for yourself. That kind of loyalty and generosity deserves something, does it not? Besides, I had bits of scrap steel cluttering up my cart. I needed to do something so someone else would carry it around for a while.” He winked at the boy as he ruffled his hair.

  Raki picked his case back up and opened it to show Aeden and Fahtin. There, lined up in nice little rows set in velvet padding, were throwing knives, spikes, and pieces of sharpened steel that looked like snowflakes, each point glinting in the sunlight.

  Time seemed to pass quickly with their travels, the training, and the work that Aeden continued to do for Payta. Fahtin’s uncle told him it was unnecessary, but Aeden wanted to help. It was good strength training, he was learning about metal and the art of making weapons, and he still felt he had not repaid the man for his kindness. Raki worked alongside him every day, the two as inseparable as he and Fahtin.

  19

  It came to pass that at the end of almost four years from when they had found him, the caravan had made its way back to the eastern part of the world. Aeden was nervous about seeing his homeland, but it would be a few months before they reached it. There was no need to be concerned about it. Yet.

  In addition to training and working with Payta, Aeden had been practicing his fiddle and could play well enough that he did not mind doing it in front of other people. Along with the others of the family who played instruments, he entertained his adopted brothers and sisters at the campfire each night.

  He loved the music and sang any time he was alone. He had even given in to singing with Fahtin, as per their agreement those few years ago. Raki would join in occasionally, but for one of the Gypta, he wasn’t very talented in that respect.

  It was one spring
night that he first heard it. The Song.

  They had reached a special time for the Gypta. Not only was it Manandantan, the festival to the goddess of music, but it was also a Pach—the word meant five in the ancient Gypta language—festival that occurred every five years. That night, the campfire was larger than Aeden had ever seen it, even larger than the night he had been adopted. Every member of the family bustled around all day excitedly preparing for the night’s festivities. Aeden was not disappointed.

  There were songs he had never heard, dances he had rarely seen, and stories he hadn’t known existed. The culmination of the evening was the singing of the Song of Prophecy, the Bhavisyaganant.

  Jehira stepped up in front of the fire on the little stage they had put together for the evening’s entertainment. She was short and squat, her gray hair pulled back from her wrinkled face. Aeden had not talked much with Raki’s grandmother—or Nani, as he called her—but he had helped to gather herbs for her a time or two.

  She smiled nervously as she mounted the stage. Aeden wondered what instruments would accompany her and was surprised when she took a deep breath and began to sing without any music at all.

  From the first word, an unseen force wrapped him up and held him immobile. He didn’t blink, didn’t move, did nothing but stand and feel the energy swirl throughout his body.

  Daen fendin lisoun mo dile hasa son

  Admum ekosin dah stuta sai

  Prein tons adhuton

  Selim sabmen dah fortuta sai

  …

  It was no language Aeden had ever heard, but it affected him strongly. In his chest, a locked door inside opened and let out a light brighter than any he had ever seen or felt.

  The song went on for quite some time, the soothing voice of the old woman weaving a spell around all those in attendance. There was no other sound than the crackling fire, which seemed to change and modulate according to the song itself.