by Chris Africa
"It’s real! It’s real, Nita!" Her eyes were puffy and her nose bright red. "The Nydwon always speaks truth."
"A Nydwon is not capable of a lie," Papa added softly, not looking up.
Nita glanced at Andrev. What of the ominous things she had said about him? Her hands suddenly felt like ice, and she tried to warm them up under her arms. How could her brother not be of her people? And what was this "power" the Nydwon was talking about?
"How do you know?" Chassy asked.
"We know." Papa’s voice was rough. "We’ve met them before, these Nydwon. They know things."
"I don’t understand," Nita said. Her teeth chattered, and she felt Chassy rubbing her shoulders.
Mama straightened her back, gave her nose one more wipe. "When I was a girl, long before I even dreamed of being married, a Nydwon came to my village. She picked me out of a crowd and announced that I was to wed the keeper of the Two Pumpkin Inn and bear him a daughter. And I did." Her voice became a whisper. "I did."
"After you had a son," Nita looked at Andrev, whose face had turned very, very white. "She was a little wrong, because first you had a son."
Mama stretched out a hand toward him, but he flinched away. "Andrev, of course you are my son, my firstborn."
Nita let out a nervous little laugh. So the Nydwon was not always correct.
"But there is something else you must know," Papa stood and faced Andrev. "I raised you as my own son, and that is who you are to me. But you are not of my flesh and blood."
"What does that mean?" Nita looked between her parents. "Mama?"
Mama’s shoulders heaved as she sobbed. She was trying to talk, but her words were incoherent. Papa wrapped his arms around her protectively. Andrev just stood there staring at them, white and trembling.
"Nita and Andrev, your mother was married once before. Andrev’s father died before your birth, and your mother came here with Mayvis’ caravan." He stroked Mama’s hair. "She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. We were married that summer, and you, Andrev, were my first child."
Papa’s eyes challenged Andrev to defy him. Andrev stepped back a little stiffly; then he turned and stalked out of the room.
Nita felt like she was going to be sick. Andrev had a different father? That made him only half her brother. Now that she looked at him, she could see the differences that she had never really thought about before. Head and shoulders taller than everyone else, Andrev had pale skin and flat strawberry blond hair. The rest of the village had some variation of dark brown, wavy hair, except for Master Svarne, whose hair was black as night and straight a pin. (The stories told how he had wandered into the village as a small child and been adopted by Tuva's grandparents.) Andrev's eyes were blue, but everyone else in Waet—even Master Svarne—had brown. Even his narrow, bony nose was unusual. The more she looked at him, the more differences she saw. She shook her head, feeling like a traitor to her brother.
Nita tried to remember the rest of what the Nydwon said about Andrev. His power was abominable, he would be cursed by Ana and Asa… and something about his blood and the Mother Tree burning. What power could Andrev possibly have? No doubt, something to do with his insane love of reading.
Chassy was gone. Nita glanced back at her stricken parents, sobbing and holding each other. Part of her wanted to run to them, but another part of her wanted to strike out at them. She embraced the angry part. Let them stew in the mess they had made! She rushed after Andrev. He would be in his room with his face stuffed in a book, just like he always did when he was upset.
But Andrev wasn’t reading. He had rolled his books and clothes into a bundle and was tying them up with rope.
"What are you doing? Where are you going?" Panic flooded her, and she grabbed his arm. "No matter what that Nydwon said, we are your family. You can’t just leave us."
Andrev shoved her away. His voice was angry, his face red. "There’s no such thing as destiny, Nita. That Nydwon’s so-called 'prophecy' is a sham, and I’m going to prove it. I’m going to get that amulet back."
"By yourself? You’re going to do all that by yourself? You can't even cook or make a fire."
What if the elf went into the Blackwood? Andrev couldn’t hit a stationary target with a bow and arrow during the harvest festival. How would he hunt for food?
"If I have to." Andrev slung the pack over his shoulder.
"Wait! I’ll go, too. I’ll help you. Besides, he might be dangerous." She’d never forgive herself if something happened to him. Besides, Vornole said that all three of them must go. But go where?
"You aren’t going. You’re too…"
"Too what?"
"Too young and naïve." Andrev stalked out of the room.
Young? "I’m only two summers younger than you, Andrev. Anyway, Vornole said that all three of us had to do this."
Andrev scowled back at her. "Vornole's an old windbag. I’m not taking anyone with me."
"You don’t have to take me," Nita said. "I’m just going to come. If I don’t go, you’ll starve to death." Or get on the wrong side of someone not inclined to put up with his surly behavior. Either possibility was about as likely.
"Fine," he said. "But if you go, you better understand that I'm in charge."
Nita stepped in front of him, hands on her hips. "Don't start telling me who is going to be 'in charge.' We need each other, and we're just going to have to cooperate."
Andrev made a disgusted sound and pushed past her. Chassy was already waiting for them, pacing back and forth across the Blue Room with Vornole.
"Well, she has to be wrong. I’ve known Andrev my whole life," Chassy was telling Vornole.
"We’re going to get the amulet," Andrev interrupted, "and prove this is all nonsense."
Chassy nodded as though it was the most sensible thing in the whole world. Something he did all the time. "And save the village."
Yesterday, Nita would have called them silly, boasting boys. Now, she swallowed and nodded. "So where do we go?" she asked Vornole.
When he looked up from his pacing, she saw that his eyes were wide and glassy. "Very good then. I have some gifts to send along the way with you, but before I can give them you must swear."
"Swear what?" Andrev asked.
"Swear that you will find Lyear, make sure that the Amulet of Hope successfully reaches Death’s End, and save Waet Tree Village."
Nita looked at Andrev, who shrugged. "Okay, I’ll swear that."
"I swear."
"So do I."
Vornole clapped his hands gleefully and lifted the skirts of his robe. He ripped out a few stitches. A mirror, book, and green leather pouch fell out of the hem.
"There you go, a mirror for the girl." He handed it to Nita.
"And here is a book you can’t read." Andrev brightened as he took the book, and then frowned when he opened it.
"And here’s a bag of tiny things," Vornole said to Chassy. "Now, where is that map?"
Great, a mirror. How imaginative. Nita looked at her reflection and stuck out her tongue. It was the clearest mirror Nita had ever seen, probably extremely valuable. Andrev was still frowning at his book; the pages appeared to be blank. Chassy’s pouch, on the other hand, was full of all sorts of tiny objects and two gold coins.
"Real gold!" Chassy’s eyes were shining as he sorted through the little pouch. "This is too generous, Vornole. I really can’t accept this."
But Vornole didn’t answer. Nita looked up and saw that he was lying face down on the bed.
"Vornole, are you okay?" Nita went to his side and shook him. He didn’t move. She put her face close to his. "I—I don't think he’s breathing."
Chassy put his hand on Vornole’s wrist for a moment and then jerked his hand away like he'd been burned. "Looks like he was right about dying today," he said softly. He stepped back, his face a little on the pale side. Nita turned aside and sat down in a chair, suddenly dizzy. She felt Chassy's comforting hand on her shoulder.
"He didn’t tell
us where to go," Andrev complained. His voice sounded annoyed, as if the wizard had timed it that way on purpose. Something told Nita that might not be too far from the truth.
5: Long Journeys, Short Goodbyes
Chassy's father sagged down on the bench beside him.
"You're in luck." His father's voice was grim, despite his optimistic words. "The thief stopped for torches on his way out of town."
It was only a few hours past dark, but everyone looked like they'd been awake for days. Mother's hair was down on her shoulders; she'd been preparing to sleep. Nita's parents huddled around her protectively, while she alternately sobbed and wiped her face, all dignity abandoned. Andrev, slouched on the opposite side of the table from his family, seemed even more pinched and white than usual. He stared down at the table, his thin lips almost disappearing into a grimace.
Chassy wondered who was tending the Two Pumpkin Inn while everyone was gathered in his parents' kitchen. He felt alert, almost excited. Sure, he was sorry the wizard had died. He seemed like a nice enough fellow. But he was also thrilled about the idea of going on a mission to get such a valuable magical amulet.
"Why is that lucky?" Chassy asked. It sure was luck when Pookana and her boys found that map underneath Vornole's body, with a big red X over the castle, Death's End. But there were lots of ways to get almost anywhere, and he and his friends were supposed to be keeping Lyear safe, not just meeting him on the other side of the known world.
"An honest man traveling the Langesrote don't need torches." Lora Smyth cradled Nita. "He travels by day and camps by night. Even a thief traveling by night won't need torches this time of month, with the moons all shiny white. He'll be going through the Blackwood, for—"
"I don't see how that's so lucky. We can't just wander into the Blackwood and hope to run into him while avoiding all the other brigands and thieves living there," Andrev said.
"Don't interrupt your elders, boy." Stefan Smyth's face reddened, and Chassy hoped Andrev had the wisdom not to talk back. Andrev didn't treat many people with respect, but this time he backed off.
"But how can we find him? Isn't the Blackwood acres and acres big?" Chassy asked. He'd seen the Blackwood lots of times from a distance. It stretched down the Langesrote so far that he couldn't see where it ended.
"You're right, Chassy. He wouldn't just dive in. There's really only one road through the Blackwood. He's probably skirting the northern edge, going past Orchard Vale," said Stefan, his own eyes puffy.
"Mama, this is madness. You have to put a stop to it." Nita sobbed openly. It wasn't like her to let her guard down that way, and Chassy felt uncomfortable seeing it.
Chassy looked off to the side at the half-finished weaving on his father's personal loom. He'd only seen Nita cry maybe three times in her life, and once was when a big tree limb split her scalp wide open. But her resolve, and her stubborn composure, collapsed the minute she learned how long the trip was. Nita wasn't a born wanderer, as Chassy had always thought himself. She'd never had any thought of leaving the village. Now all her effort was bent on getting him and Andrev to stay.
Lora put her hand on Nita's chin and pulled her face up. "Your brother is right. This is a thing that must be done, and the three of you must do it. There is much strength in prophecy and promise. There is no breaking either without dire consequences."
Chassy's father had run the gamut of negative emotions. First, he swore about the foolishness of believing prophecies, and then he scolded Chassy for his idiocy, fumed that the Smyths knew about the whole situation before he did, and finally dropped into a sulk.
Stefan spoke up softly. "And if they don't go, the village is doomed. The prophecy of a Nydwon is always true."
Andrev snorted his scorn. Chassy's father gave a bitter snarl and walked to the other side of the room. Chassy wondered if Stefan really believed all of the Nydwon's prophecies, including the ones about Andrev. He didn't know what to believe.
"I was thinking of asking a couple of the hunters if they wanted to go with us a ways," Chassy said. The traders who came through every spring had told lots of stories about naïve travelers being robbed.
Father's eyes bored into him, and his jaw muscles clenched. "We're going to need every hand we've got to help with the harvest. It's a double boll count, and we're going to be short one very experienced worker."
Chassy had almost understood his father’s anger when he announced he wasn’t leading the harvest this year so he could travel with the traders—almost. But Mayvis had her own guards, and he would have been perfectly safe with her. Did father really expect them to go on a dangerous quest without any protection? Was he just being stubborn, because Chassy wanted to be different? He looked to Lora and Stefan Smyth for help. Surely they cared more about Nita than they did about their precious inn!
"We'll do everything we can to help you, Chassy, but we can't spare men," Stefan agreed in his soft voice. "I'm afraid you're not going to get much sleep tonight, though. Lyear has half a day's travel on you, more if he's driving his horse hard. You'll need to pack your things right away."
Things? What things would be useful on a trip like this? Chassy supposed an extra change of clothing and some food. But how much food? And what about weapons?
Not that he knew how to use a weapon of any sort. He'd participated in the archery tournament during the harvest festival. But he'd never shot a person or even hunted. No, he had always been destined to become a weaver, like 20 generations of his family, and weavers didn't need weapons.
He looked at Nita and Andrev. Innkeepers' children had never needed weapons either. Nita usually did better than him in the tourneys, but he doubted Andrev even knew how to string a bow properly.
Lora's eyes were full of sympathy. She gently detached Nita's clinging arms, stood and squared her shoulders with her hands on her hips. "Each of you, go to your own rooms right now, and gather exactly what I say—no more, no less..." She listed a number of items that Chassy hoped he would remember. "Meet back at Two Pumpkins in one hour. No dawdling."
"Yes ma'am," Chassy said. Even Andrev stood to leave.
As he was heading back to his room, Chassy heard her delegating other duties. Father was to procure horses from Master Svarne, and Stefan would be collecting some miscellaneous things like the oiled tarp that only the traders ever bought.
Chassy pushed aside the pale blue silk curtain woven by his parents in anticipation of his birth. The branches of a Waet Tree spread out across the silk in a pattern of letters forming his name. Maybe he could take this along, a small reminder of home. Lora had insisted he bring only the items on her list, but he grabbed it anyway.
His eyes skipped over the books, writing tools, a handful of mottled pebbles, sheathed knife and tool pouch. Even though it wasn't on his list, he added his boll cracker. It was good for all sorts of things you couldn't do well with a knife, and he was the only one who would have one of those. A change of clothing and a sturdy blanket, along with his cloak. He added his fire kit to the pile, and went back into the kitchen to get a cup and spoon. Mother was nowhere to be seen. She must be off running errands too.
A little chill set Chassy shivering. He'd always wanted to see the world, but he hadn't imagined leaving an empty house in the middle of the night with everyone upset. It felt... lonely.
He shook off the feeling and grabbed the rest of his things, stuffing them into his backpack. It hadn't seemed like that much stuff, but he was having trouble making it all fit. He stuffed the silk weaving inside his clothing to hide it. He'd have to wear the cloak; it was too large to fit inside the pack. He tied the pouch from Vornole onto his belt. Then he thought again and untied it, pouring its contents on his bed to take a closer look at them.
Glittering right on top of the pile were those two gold coins. He picked one up and turned it over and over in his hands. His father counted coins regularly from traveling merchants, but most of the trade within the village was done by barter. Never in his life had Chassy actuall
y owned coins, much less gold. Tucking them back into the pouch, he began sorting through the many other small items in the pouch: a blade in a sheath no longer than his finger; a tiny silver ring set with emerald stones; a leather-bound book with a script so small he could never hope to read it; a thimble; a stone with an odd symbol carved on it; a coil of brown thread; and several tiny glass tubes filled with a variety of colorful stuff. These last were wrapped in a soft silk cloth.
What could he do with all these tiny items? They looked like children's toys, but they must be something more. They'd come from a wizard, after all. At least the coins would be useful. He loaded everything back in the pouch, pulled the cloak around his shoulders, and picked up his backpack. With a final glance around his room, he headed out to meet everyone at the inn.
The new moons were indeed shiny white, lighting his path better than any torch. His heart pounded. He pushed aside the thoughts of what it might mean to save the village. He would see more of the world this summer than most of the villagers saw in an entire lifetime, and he would be doing it with his best friend. Oh, sure, Andrev would probably annoy them from time to time. He wasn't very social, though, so they probably wouldn't hear too much out of him. And when they found this amulet, they'd be heroes, like in the books and stories.
Except Andrev. The prophecy made it sound like he wouldn't survive. But Father had always said that life is what you make of it, and that meant that the Nydwon might be wrong. He sure hoped it was, for Nita's sake, and Andrev’s.
Chassy paused as he passed by the Shelf where the life-sized forms of the gods stood in contemplation, their solemn visages facing inward. He climbed the hill and entered the gods’ protective circle, where feelings of awe and reverence overwhelmed him. Here the gods celebrated births, sealed marriages, and welcomed villagers back into their arms at the end of their lives. It seemed fitting that a journey such as this start with a tribute to those who would be watching out for him, and he thought he had a bit of time. He knelt beside the white stone table that was covered top and sides with mysterious writing. None in Waet Tree Village knew the language and no passing scholar had ever been able to decipher it. Yet, it had resisted the forces of wind and water over the centuries so well that the smooth white rock seemed freshly engraved. He recited the Prayer of Powers:
