CLOAK - Lost Son of the Crested Folk

by Russell Thomson

  Their eyes wide and their nostrils flaring the stubborn beasts fought her every step of the way until finally, sweating and sore Heavenly won the battle of wills. Cloak remained unconscious, a blessing in some ways thought Heavenly, the route ahead would be rough, and all going well, the boy would remain unaware of the bumping and jarring as she hurried along the back tracks to her chosen camp.

  For the second time that day Cloak’s senses slowly returned. His head and neck now hurt worse than ever before, his head to loll from side to side as the litter tipped and bumped along the narrow forest trail. Above him, the canopy of the flanking trees shaded the path from the lowering sun, the long shadows anticipating the arrival of dusk. It was impossible for him to guess exactly where he was, only that he was deep in a forest but whether it lay north or south of the inner sea he could not tell. Turning his head to left or right nearly brought him to tears and brought no further clues as to his location or who walked ahead of the litter. From the ache in his limbs and the pressure on his bladder Cloak estimate he had been lying in the litter for some time. He was growing uncomfortable, a swaddled prisoner, stiff and unable to stretch. Frustrated and on the brink of calling out, the litter struck a projecting rock, the wooden runner skipping up and over before dropping hard down on the path, jarring his neck and forcing an involuntary cry of pain.

  The litter drew to a halt, the hooded face of his guardian mother appearing at his side. She was dressed as a warrior, armoured, with matching crossed blades strapped to her back their ornate hilts projecting above her shoulders. Cloak’s mouth opened to speak but the sight made his words stick to his tongue. She wore his father guardians hunting cape, knee length breaches and a padded chain jerkin, both legacies of the Sword’s clothes chest. He had never seen the short swords before nor the matching array of daggers whose slim hilts projected from their sheathes on her waistcoat. To Cloak’s amazement, the garb and arms looked natural on her, indeed, judging by the fit, they looked as if they had been made for her. His initial shock over, the hail of questions that had momentarily stuck in his throat came back to him. Heavenly brushed off the awkward ones and dwelt only on those she needed him to know, her patience snapping when Cloak pressed her harder.

  ‘Cloak........be patient,’ she said in an angry whisper. ‘Not now, and don’t raise your voice. When we rest up I’ll try to explain a little and answer some of your questions. In the meantime, silence, voices travel far in the woods and I do not want inquisitive ears or eyes seeking us out. If you need to piss I’ll undo the straps but as we are likely being tracked, make sure you do it in the burn, I don’t want your spoor on the grass it’s bad enough having the smell of mule and your old blood on the air.’

  Rising from the litter Cloak found his gait less steady than he had expected. His neck felt fragile and his skull as heavy as a lead ball, each little movement of his head producing an exaggerated pain that weakened his knees further. Cloak flinched as his mother guardian checked his bandages and strapped him back into the litter.

  ‘Are you in pain boy? Do you need some more syrup?’ she enquired, her tone full of concern.

  Frustrated by his own weakness and still plagued by the pain Cloak could only answered ‘Yes,’ his aches easing as the sweet sticky liquid compelled his eyes to shut. By the time he awoke again, it was full dark and raining. The trail looked seldom travelled and was not much wider than the girth of the laden mule. As they drove deeper and deeper into the woods, the trail narrowed further, the branches whipping past the beast’s flanks spraying Cloak’s face with a pine scented mist.

  A short time after dawn, the mule finally stopped. Relieved, Cloak drew a deep breath, filling his nose with the scent of mule sweat and pine resin. Stiff, uncomfortable and desperate to ease his bladder he wrestled his shoulders free of his bedding and lifted himself clear. The mule pulling the litter stood its ground and snorted as Cloak wriggled free, the steam from the mule’s flanks wafting past him on the lightest of breezes. His neck ached, but apart from that and a persistent throbbing head he felt surprisingly well. The wadding that served as his downy pillow came with him. It had been roughly bandaged in place, the binding wrapped around his head, over both ears and across his forehead. Tempted at first to remove the wadding he let it be, deciding instead to tighten the loose ends and tie them in a more comfortable bow.

  Still unsteady on his feet, Cloak relieved himself, peeing freely into the rain swollen stream that ran and tumbled close to the path. As he turned back towards the litter, his mother guardian appeared, her silent signal a clear sign for him to follow. Squeezing himself between the forest edge and the heavily laden mules Cloak soon had his first view of the trail ahead, disappointment showing on his face when all he saw was the same faint of route wandering on into the distance. With the panniers and her saddle over her shoulder, Heavenly hooded the mules and disappeared from sight backing her way through a dense copse of young trees, the whippy wall of wood mending itself before she returned again for the litter and Cloak.

  The green wall hid a circular grove, a space no more than ten paces across, a small crown of mossy boulders at its centre. Leaving the mules to graze, Heavenly searched through her pack and returned with food. ‘We still have a long way to go my boy and you need to build your strength.’ Not a command, an appeal. Cloak sat and chewed on the smoked fish that his mother proffered, the moist golden flakes parting easily from the bone, his mouth salivating before the first piece touched his lips. The salty taste brought back fond memories of home; the singing of the inshore boatmen as they returned to the jetty, the stacked baskets spilling out shiny scaled herring and the scent of the smokehouse filling his nose and stinging his eyes. As if feeling the smart of the smoke, tears filled his eyes but his hunger was strong and the taste of the fish on his lips soon brushed aside all other feelings.

  Their brief repast over neither spoke, his mother guardian making no attempt to break the uncomfortable silence. As the minutes passed the tension grew until eventually Cloak's patience and curiosity overcame his own brewing anxiety.

  ‘Guardian mother,’ said Cloak, a tone of uncertainly in his voice, ‘what happened, where are we and why we are skulking around in the wild woods?’

  ‘Cloak, for now I cannot tell you all, indeed, I do not know all. What you will hear from my lips is the truth as I know it, however some of what I tell you will not just be hard for you to believe but also hard for your heart to bear...........’

  Heavenly paused, opening her mouth as if to speak before promptly closing it again, his guardian mother averting her gaze as she carefully considered her words. Composing herself, Heavenly began her tale, her every word causing Cloak’s eyes to widen and his jaw to drop further.

  ‘I was no more than a girl when I took up my duties as your guardian................’ Heavenly stopped mid sentence. 'Let me start again. Cloak, I did not become your guardian mother by accident but by design. I was just shy of my twentieth year when I was tasked by the king himself, he came to the convent and spoke only to me, commanded me. I was compelled and I hated him for it, me, a daughter of the sword, a royal child being commanded to wet nurse some unknown royal bastard, surely I said to myself, this was not the mission I was trained for. The Sword felt exactly the same, but we were both wrong, the king had chosen us with care, he knew what our reactions would be, and knew that whilst we would fulfil our duty we would raise you hard; a strict and unbending father and an unloving and spiteful mother, perfect cloaks should any eyes wander your way.'

  The words that she had such difficulty prizing out now gushed out at such speed that Cloak thought he must have misheard. ‘I beg your pardon.’ Cloak interjected, cutting her off in full stream.

  Heavenly lowered her eyes and blushed at the shame of her confession. ‘You are a royal, a bastard trusted to the Sword and I by the king.’ she repeated more slowly. ‘I am your protector. My true name is Heavenly Ghost Cloud and I am one of the High Servants of God and King, a sect called The Last Veil.
I am a royal warrior, your father guardian’s superior officer, your sentinel and your guardian in the truest sense of the word. I am not maternal by nature and by the Gods I have shown that to be true, for my ineptitude I beg your apology, but my commission was to raise you as any other boy and to me, that meant watching your back not wiping your snot.’

  Supporting his head on his hands Cloak covered his face with his palms. A reassuring pat on the shoulder making him raise his eyes. Heavenly smiled, a strained expression he recognised as her most comforting smile. Looking at her afresh, Cloak could not understand why he had not observed her warrior traits before, her distain for the weak, her orderliness, her awkwardness around children, her fearlessness and her air of command. Military, how could he have been so blind? But a puzzle piece still remained.

  ‘But your crest, your sect tattoo, how can you be a royal warrior but not be crested such?’

  ‘There are majics in this world that are not spoken of nor will you find them written down in any book,’ replied Heavenly. ‘Such majics were used to bind my crest but now that I have removed them my crown will soon flourish again.’

  Cloak made to talk once more as question after question came to mind, his words silenced by Heavenly’s silencing hand.

  ‘I know that you are burning with question Cloak but you must understand when I say that sometimes knowledge can be as dangerous as a poisoned blade. Once you have knowledge it cannot be taken back and with it your life will never be the same again. For now, you must accept that to keep you safe, many of your questions must remain unanswered. What you need to understand is that, we are, or will soon be hunted and our enemy will not stop searching until we are captured. If the Sword has been successful in culling their numbers, there may only be one but there could be many, cunning folk skilled in stealth and tracking, possibly even a Mage or a Weaver.’

  ‘Then we must act with as much stealth and cunning as our enemy,’ replied Cloak.

  ‘Firstly, time is not on our side. To get to our destination on time we have to press on. That means we have no time to spare for twisting and turning or for covering our tracks. And secondly, I am no tracker, but I know enough about their talent to know that no matter how well I mask a path, it will stand out clearly to their trained eye.’

  Cloak exhaled a low whistling breath and rubbed his hands together as if warding off a chill. ‘I have a question......’ Heavenly nodded. ‘We run and hide and are pursued because of who I will be? Do we run because what the Teller foretold was true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, others have looked beyond the veil at my future…………..’

  Heavenly nodded again, this time reluctantly. ‘Kings, princes and those who hunger for power have all likely pulled aside the veil.’

  ‘So, what crest sect am I to be? What interests these men of power and frightens my family so?’ asked Cloak.

  ‘I swear on the moon Cloak, I do not know. All I can tell you is that you are special………….as for being frightened, yes, we were frightened, you had a cruel hard cresting and it happened so fast we could see the very bones in your skull move and the skin split. But we were also frightened because we knew the fates would sense your moment and that this would force those who watched from afar to make their move. There is another reason,’ said Heavenly reluctantly. ‘We were frightened for the same reason the others who pursue us are frightened. We fear what you are fated to become........’

  ‘.......The Renderer?’ whispered Cloak. 'But I still have no idea what a 'renderer' is.'

  ---

  Cloak tried not to wince as his mother soaked the wad of bandages and tended to his scalp, watching in horror as the cloth, black all over with dry blood was removed. After several more minutes of gentle wetting and wiping his guardian mother guardian nodded her satisfaction.

  ‘Can I touch now?’ he asked with some trepidation. A clipped nod was all the reply he needed before he slowly raised his hands to explore. ‘I can feel it but I cannot imagine what it looks like,' gasped Cloak, his eyes wide. 'But why is my crest incomplete, why does it only cover the rear third of my head?’

  Heavenly did not have an answer. On the night he had crested both she and the Sword had asked themselves the same question, both guardians concluding that the sides and front would form eventually; perhaps a moon, perhaps even a season apart. To foretell that Cloak would one day be blessed with a Peerless Crown was hard to believe, he had never shown any high talent or aptitude for majic, indeed, the lad could barely call on the power of the sun or the moon to fuel a simple prayer. For him to become a ‘peerless crown’, a ‘unique’, a person destined to wield the majics from the core, majics that could master time and tide, life and death was..........beyond belief. It was the power of a god.

  ELEVEN: The South Troll’s Midden

  The route they followed continued to twist and turn, so convoluted that Cloak could not tell how far they had actually travelled from their last camp or where they were relative to the Upper Coast Road. He had at first been amazed at Heavenly intimate knowledge of the forest trails but soon realised that her days away searching for mosses and fungus had given her the perfect opportunity to explore and hone her trail skills.

  They had journeyed in silence, his mule following the broad wake left by Heavenly's heavily laden mule as it pressed along the tree lined paths. He stayed as close to the beast as he could, relying on his quick reactions to duck and dodge the errant branches that swished past his face but as the day wore on, Cloak found it difficult to stay alert as first one then another rain soaked branch breached his defences. The weather had been dismal since dawn, a thick wet mist clinging to the wind, its greyness masking all but the next twenty paces from view.

  It was mid afternoon when the rain started in earnest, Heavenly signalling a halt. Soaked, Cloak dropped to the ground, exhausted, his body aching all over. Seeking shelter under the canopy of a large cedar they unburdened the mules before sitting down to a eat a meal of cold mutton, the stringy meat testing his jaw even when softened with water from the stream. Their cross country journey had been tougher than he had expected, the rough ground and swollen streams taking their toll, sapping his energy and eroding his resolve. The blanket of pins below the great tree provided a soft, damp but welcome bed and despite the early hour, sleep tugged at Cloak's eyelids.

  'I'm exhausted, cold and my head aches,' moaned Cloak.

  Heavenly gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Rest, we'll travel no more today. Our destination lies just over four leagues away, deep in the forest to the south of the Upper Coast Road. The road itself lies no more than half a mile ahead. It's a well travelled way and for that reason I'd rather cross at first light, our passing shielded by the dawn mist. With luck we'll be well on our way before our tracks are discovered.' A look of doubt wrinkled Cloak's face. 'Do not be fooled Cloak, the eagles may have provided us with an initial advantage but those who follow are talented, resourceful and determined. It is safer to presume that danger is not far behind and whilst I doubt they will catch us before we rendezvous with the king's bondsmen, we must remain watchful.'

  Cloak had no sensation of being followed nor of being in any imminent danger. As for rendezvousing with the king's own men his imagination ran wild; images of black cloaked mages capable of casting dark majics, curses that could to turn the king's enemies to stone or spells to stop their hearts with a single word of power. Core majic, thought Cloak, is that really my destiny?

  'Mistress mother,' asked Cloak respectfully, 'Is it true, can crested folk wield core majics?'

  'It is rare. The book of God and King tells us that for the first king of the crested folk, Viper Sun Temple it was a god gift but and for others like the flesh joined twins Some and None, it was a demon curse.'

  Cloak nodded. 'I remember the chapter..........Some and None, The Flesh Joined Twins, who wielded the shades for King Sunrise Abandon Surrender. They formed the love of three but the power of the majic turned them insane and in their mad
ness they scorched the earth of life.’

  Heavenly shrugged her shoulders. ‘Like you I have read this chapter of the good book, but, hand on heart I do not know what it means for you. All I know is that my mission is nearly at an end and that soon our destinies will lie down different paths.’

  ‘………..and then what?’ asked Cloak.

  Heavenly ran her fingers through the stubby spines on her crest. ‘…….and nothing,’ replied his guardian mother. ‘Sometimes it is better for the heart not to know what lies ahead.’

  ---

  A gentle shake of his shoulder awoke Cloak from his slumber. Heavenly knelt beside him a silencing finger held up to her mouth. When she spoke, her voice was a mere whisper barely audible above the wind that swirled through the braches above. ‘Come on Cloak it’s dawn, wake up.' Cloak nodded, absently accepting his need to obey. 'I’ve already scouted the road east and west and whilst I could see no signs of recent travel, I sensed I was being watched. Heavenly continued to talk as she loaded the mules. 'Once we leave here we must travel in silence so listen well. There are ten yards or more of open rough ground either side of the road. You will need to be careful where you place your feet as both verges are thick with knee high heathers and juniper and are criss-crossed with tripping roots. By the time we reach the forest edge the dawn mists will already be thinning. I will lead. You will follow close behind with both mules.............stay alert, if you see me draw weapons leave the mules and run. Understand?’

  Cloak nodded. He did not understand, did not understand one bit but sensed this was not the time to ask further questions. He did not have the talent to sense pursuit but it was clear from his mother guardian’s tone that she now believed those who hunted them were close. A sudden fear narrowed Cloak’s throat, his angst causing sparks of pain to shoot across his crown. He had choices; he could run, find a hole and hide, he could take a mule, turn west and take the road back to Delta Crossing or he could put his faith in his mother guardian. The first would serve little purpose as any tracker worth his salt would soon sniff him out and the second, whilst it had its attraction, would have him riding back towards danger. As for the third, he did not know where it would lead, but, thought Cloak, one thing was sure, should he choose any other path his Mistress Mother would likely bind him and strap him backwards over a mule’s hind.