by K Schultz
It was a warrior’s choice and it was the Warrior’s Way. If Rehaak stood with Laakea in spite of this new revelation, then he was a true friend. Laakea suspected they faced more perils, but if they stayed friends, they faced them together.
Laakea’s battle with the assassins changed him. He had seen a side of himself that frightened him, but he was harder and stronger now. He was like iron quenched in oil after being forged. The Creator had heated him in the forge of battle and quenched him in blood. He bent and did not shatter, his blood heated by adversity, his mind hardened but flexible enough to withstand shock.
Chapter 19
Laakea listened while Rehaak recounted his experiences up to the point when he left the Miller’s. Everything after that was a blank. Laakea asked questions but no more memories returned.
“What was the creature, Rehaak?”
“I think it was a Nethera, an evil spirit, one of the Dark Ones.”
“Can a spirit take on physical form? How’s that possible?”
“I wish I knew. The universe runs by rules none of us fully comprehend.”
“If they are in a physical form won’t they be bound by physical laws as we are?”
“I suppose, but this thing turned into mist and vanished after it drained the boy’s life. We still know so little.” Rehaak shook his head, shrugged and fell silent.
It was Laakea’s turn to speak and he approached it with trepidation. Laakea started with the facts and explained why he had left the safety of the hut against Rehaak’s instructions. He recounted the facts as he remembered them, but shied away from the rage that controlled him.
Rehaak might fear him as an insane bloodthirsty barbarian if he knew the whole truth, or he might accept Laakea in spite of the threat he posed. Laakea also hoped Rehaak had information about the bloodlust that overwhelmed him before the battle. Rehaak listened without comments or questions.
Laakea paused for a second to gather his courage.
“Rehaak, something troubles me and I’m not sure how to tell you.”
“Go ahead lad. I sensed something happened in your heart.”
“What I experienced while in the battle — no — I remember now — it overtook me moments before it started, is bothering me.”
“Go ahead.”
“I was so angry —”
“Why were you angry?” Rehaak murmured.
“Six men attacked you without warning or provocation. The odds were in their favor and yet they chose darkness to beset you. Rage arose in me at the injustice and I wanted to avenge the wrong they did to you.”
“Was there more?”
Yes, when the anger took hold of me all your attackers moved like they were trapped in tar. They were so slow I had no trouble beating them by anticipating their movements. My only thoughts were killing them by the quickest and simplest methods. I experienced no pain, no shame, and no pity as I stood outside myself. Someone wore my body like clothing, and killed them while I watched. I had no doubts then, but I have many doubts and questions now. Am I an evil monster?”
“Are you afraid this may happen again without warning?”
“Yes. What happens if this bloodlust overtakes me and I hurt someone who is innocent or someone I care for?”
“I will risk it.” Rehaak smiled warmly and continued, “From what you told me, I doubt you would injure a friend. Laakea, my friend, you directed your anger at evil doers, so I suspect justice, not anger was the issue.”
“But I was out of control!”
“No, not out of control — being controlled.”
“But by what or by whom?”
“We may find an explanation for this ‘bloodlust,’ as you call it, in an old text. It may even be part of The Creator’s design for your race; something He placed there for his own purposes.”
“Are you sure? I prayed to Him — when I bandaged your wound.”
“The Creator? You believe?” Rehaak asked.
“I guess I do.”
“Now, what makes you think you are an evil monster?”
“I had no remorse.”
“Pardon me for asking, but what is it you are experiencing if not remorse?”
Laakea looked dumbfounded by the question. “I do now, but not at the time.”
“I am glad you had none for them then, because if you had, you and I would be food for the crows now. I am glad you are remorseful now, because that tells me your conscience is intact. You are no monster. If you were, you would still experience no guilt or shame at what you did.”
“How do you know for sure?”
“I experience the same feelings, when I take a life to defend myself. I always experience those feelings, although not as strong as when a lover’s husband attacked me outside a tavern in Narragansett.”
“You do?”
“Yes I do, and from what you tell me, your father trained you to be a skilled warrior. Your training saved both our lives. Let us leave it at that.”
“Alright, but why do these men keep attacking you?”
“I don’t know, but they attacked Isil the first time. I just went to help her.”
“Are you sure? Has anyone attacked Isil before or since that time?”
“No.”
“Alright. Are you sure, they weren’t waiting for you on the road? They only attacked once you were present. Isn’t it possible they were after you, not Isil?”
“Why did I need to catch up, and help her?”
“If they caught you later on the trail alone, could you have defeated them?”
“No.”
“Have you considered the possibility you needed Isil’s protection, and not Isil who needed yours?” Rehaak made no response, so Laakea continued, “For a smart man, you are sometimes a little thick headed.”
Rehaak was about to protest, but Laakea continued.
“Please don’t look so offended. That thick head saved your life last night,” Laakea grinned.
Rehaak scowled at him and said, “That is a possibility I never considered, although Isil has suggested a similar explanation earlier. Isil was more tactful, but you reached the same conclusion, without the information that Isil and I had. It must be true.”
“I suppose pride has prevented me from seeing it. I believed I was Isil’s valiant rescuer, but now I find that the reverse might be true. She rescued me.”
The irony forced a smile from Rehaak.
“Isil saved my life. To be correct, Isil and her mithun, Hort, saved my life. I am incurring many debts to people for saving me. You are correct. I had aid in every encounter. First Isil and the mithun, then the wolves, and now you.”
“That reminds me I have not seen the wolves since the day we met at the river. They have vanished like mist in the sun. Perhaps the clearing is too crowded, too many people hanging around for their comfort, or I no longer need their protection because of you.”
“If you are correct, what purpose do the attacks serve? Why do they want to kill me?” he asked Laakea.
“I have no idea, but they aren’t ordinary brigands. Why didn’t you tell me of the knives you stashed in the niche at the beside the hearth?”
“I did not think of it. The weapons made me so queasy whenever I handled them, that I put them out of my mind.”
“I am an apprentice blacksmith and can tell you the knives are not brigands weapons, fire too expensive for common thieves. The metal in them is something I have never seen; likewise, the runes crafted into the blades are unfamiliar. These are uncommon weapons and common criminals can’t afford such exceptional arms. That leaves the matter of the tattoos. Did you notice if the others bore marks across their chests and shoulders?”
“I don’t remember. Isil and I did not examine the bodies. We were in a hurry to reach shelter before nightfall, but the ones who attacked me here had those markings on them.”
“There are larger forces at work here. Someone is directing these men, someone with power, money, and influence. That person wants the attacks to
appear like common crimes, but there is nothing common about the men or their weapons. Rehaak, you have a powerful enemy. Someone wants you dead and will spare no effort or expense to see his desires accomplished.”
“What can I do?” Rehaak asked, trying to quell the rising tide of panic in his heart. “I expected safety in the back end of creation.”
“There are many places for you to hide here, but many places your enemies can hide. Concealing the crime is easier, where fewer eyes can witness their actions.”
“So I have a powerful enemy. That is not a comforting thought.”
“No, but each time they attacked, you received help from unexpected sources. That tells me you also have a very powerful friend.”
“Aelfric taught you much wisdom, my young friend.”
“I realize that,” Laakea admitted, smiling. He grew serious and formal as he spoke his next words.
“I will join with you in your quest Rehaak. I swear Sword Oath to you, to defend you and protect you. I call on The Creator this day, to witness this oath, to bind me to it in life, and to strengthen me in it until death. Do you accept my oath to you?”
Laakea bowed low as he completed the formula his father had taught him. The ritual speech included the name of his charge, the work undertaken, the name of the god he followed, and the duration of the oath. Laakea was now sword sworn to Rehaak. He would be faithful in his oath, or he would perish fulfilling it. Two more bits of business remained. First, his father, and second his journeyman smithing project. Laakea waited for Rehaak to respond. In his mind he already saw, the swords he planned to forge.
Laakea’s seriousness when he spoke the oath and the words he used unsettled Rehaak.
“Loyalty to the death is something I cannot understand. I always went wherever the wind blew me and was loyal to myself alone. No one ever accompanied me. No one has ever promised, nor did I ever promise, loyalty to anyone. That depth of commitment is beyond my comprehension. I have never had a friend like that.”
“If that isn’t friendship, I will never understand what friendship means. I am not sure I want the responsibility engendered by that level of commitment from someone, especially someone as young as you are. Neither of us knows what lies ahead.”
Tears welled up, as the impact of Laakea’s generosity and the depth of his friendship overwhelmed him.
Rehaak replied, “I accept your gift and swear loyalty to you.” It was all he got out before his voice broke.
Laakea and Rehaak had bound themselves to each other, as companions, adventurers, and brothers.
“Examine the blades. Try to decipher the runes on them,” Laakea said, relaxing again. “I hope they offer you clues, since I can’t decipher them. We must do one other thing, once you have recovered.”
“What is that?”
“I must see my father and settle things between us.”
“But what if he challenges you to trial by combat?”
“We’ll worry about that if it becomes a problem. I want to make peace with my father. If it’s not possible then I’ll submit myself to trial by combat, as is our custom. If I lose, my Sword Oath will bind my father to you and he must protect you as I would.”
Rehaak gaped at Laakea, no longer a boy, but a man and a warrior. He could see the resolve in the youngster’s eyes and the conviction in his heart. Rehaak sensed his young friend was a powerful force for good. Rehaak knew he couldn’t change Laakea’s mind, so he asked, “Is that all?”
“I need access to my father’s forge to complete my journeyman project.”
“Why is that important? I understand you must leave on the best terms possible with your father. No man should venture into danger without making peace with those he loves.”
Rehaak’s choice of words sounded strange to Laakea. It was many moons since Laakea felt any love for his father, or felt his father’s love for him. Rehaak’s words established the love Laakea held for his father was still there undiminished, hidden under his hurt and anger.
Laakea kept his thoughts to himself and said, “I’ll make weapons that’ll help me keep us both from getting killed. That will be my journeyman project. I have the metal I need. I’ll forge the weapons used against us, into weapons to protect us. For the other, I feel it vital I finish my apprenticeship.”
“I see, and when do we start this journey, Sword Brother?”
“As soon as you are well enough to travel.”
“Oh ho! So now you are a healer, besides your other gifts,” laughed Rehaak. “Soon your head will be so large you won’t be able to get in and out of the doorway!”
“Don’t worry my friend; it won’t get so big that I can’t carry you when you’re leaking blood all over yourself from the scrapes that find you. We won’t hang around this odorous hut you love one minute longer than necessary. I sense a storm of violence coming and we must prepare. Is there another weapon you can use besides that staff of yours? Something to use before and opponent gets close and clobbers you?”
“I can use a sling. When I was a boy, I was a superb marksman,” he said, with pride.
“Well, I shall make you a sling while you are healing. Rest now or decipher the runes on the blades.”
“Yes mother,” Rehaak quipped, with mock humility, as Laakea left the hut to find material for Rehaak’s new weapon.
Chapter 20
Several tendays passed before Rehaak was ready to travel. Rehaak tried in vain to decipher the runes on the blades, but they shifted and changed before his eyes, just as they had for Laakea. At first, he suspected his head wound caused the effect, but when he could read other writings, he dismissed that idea. The blades were ensorcelled because reading the runes was like trying to wrestle with snakes coated in oil.
Rehaak practiced with the sling, and was regaining the skill he had as a youngster while Laakea added to his collection of arrows. They left a message for Isil, with the Millers, since Rehaak expected her soon. It saddened Rehaak that they had to leave before she returned, but Laakea tolerated no delays. Rehaak wanted the boy to meet his only other friend, but it could happen later.
After what Rehaak had experienced, the journey to the forge was anticlimactic. For Rehaak it was just a long boring hike through the forest in the summer heat. The gnats and chiggers buzzed around them looking to snatch a quick meal from his veins. As they neared the valley of Laakea’s birth, the boy grew stoic and silent.
Rehaak knew Laakea well enough to detect the tension, hidden behind the quiet exterior. He tried his best to distract the young man from what lay ahead, by telling humorous. Laakea spoke little, smiled rarely, and focused on whatever inner dialog he was having. He behaved like a condemned man approaching his executioner and that was not surprising since he might die at his father’s hand. In spite of his earlier confidence about meeting his father, Rehaak detected cracks in Laakea’s resolve.
They stopped at the Miller’s house first, to see how they fared, and how they recovered from the attack of the Nethera. The couple insisted that they stay for supper, and because nightfall approached, offered them places to sleep.
Laakea had never met the Miller’s. He explained that he experienced no family other than his own.
“It’s marvelous, the way they treat their children. I have never heard of the games their children play. My childhood had no games and playtime; it was all work and combat training.”
Rehaak nodded as his young friend felt the poverty of his upbringing in new and painful ways. Laakea endured it without comment and without anger at the lack because he valued the years spent learning weapons skills. As Rehaak’s Sword Brother, he would need those skills, to stay alive faced with the ominous unknown threat, but he still mourned the loss of his childhood.
When they reached the lip of the valley overlooking his old home, it was still early morning. Laakea appeared grim.
“This is a beautiful place,” said Rehaak, attempting without success, to lift Laakea’s mood. “Small wonder your father picked this locatio
n.”
“I doubt if he picked it for its beauty. He chose it for the iron, and the trees to make the charcoal he needed,” he answered.
Rehaak’s comment was not without effect on him. Laakea perceived the valley with new eyes.
The cool air caressed the leaves of the trees like a lover’s hand. Sunlight sparkled through the leaves in glowing incandescent green. The aspens and fruit trees danced, swaying to the rhythm of the air. Pines and firs stood back, dark and brooding old men, too stiff to join in the dance, but longing to take part. The faint jittering at the ends of their branches betrayed their desire and excitement.
Sunlight lit the tops of the clouds with swirls of pastel colors piled high, on dark gray bottoms. Grass, glowed, with the energy of the dawn, and took its first breath of a new day filled with promise, and possibility. The air was sweet, thick, loaded with enough fragrances to cast a haze of blue on the distant hills.
The awakened birds sang to encourage each other and Laakea understood their language. Pale golden sunlight filtered through the branches, as the dim, damp morning light found its way to the forest floor.
By divine revelation he understood his familiar home was a place of mystery and wonder. In that moment Laakea knew it was his to protect. The Golden Voice spoke through this revelation.
“Your calling and your privilege is to protect the weak, preserve the land, fight injustice, and serve me always.”
It was good from the highest cloud, to the deepest bedrock. He was part of it, and yet set apart, consecrated as its guardian. A torrent of joy flowed into him, filled him, and when he could no longer contain it, the joy ran down his cheeks as tears. How had he missed its wonder, for all his fifteen years? How could he refuse the call, once he saw the splendor and perfection of Aarda?
Laakea’s heart was full because had found his life’s work, or it had found him. He knew his purpose as his spirit’s response welled up and his lips whispered.
