Wanderer's Song (Song of Prophecy Series Book 1)

by P. E. Padilla

  “By the end of the four days, Erent Caahs was in love with Lela Ganeva.

  “‘Will you stay in the village for a while and rest your feet?’ she asked him, after they had returned to Delver’s Crossing, those mesmerizing brown eyes of hers drilling into him and leaving him breathless. ‘Will you not spend some time talking with me?’

  “‘I…cannot,’ he said, his heart rending even as he said it. ‘There are things I must do, places I must go. For now. I would like to visit again, if I may. To see how you are doing. May I do so?’

  “Lela’s smile, a soft triangle showing her perfect white teeth, her cheeks raising and the skin around her eyes crinkling just slightly, made Erent stare. ‘I would like that, Erent Caahs.’ She kissed his cheek and fire rushed from it and shot through his body. It made his vision swim.

  “‘I will do so, then, as soon as I am able.’ With that, he and Raisor bade the village goodbye and they went on their way.

  “As everyone knows, Erent Caahs did visit Delver’s Crossing many times after that, always with the aim of seeing Lela. She neither married nor accepted any of the many suitors who fell at her feet, instead waiting patiently for Erent Caahs to come back one day to stay. And as everyone knows, meeting and falling in love with Lela Ganeva changed Erent’s life, and the future of Dizhelim forever. But that is a different story. For now, you know of the meeting of Erent and Lela, from one who was there, Raisor Tannoch.”

  Aeden took a breath and looked out at the family of Gypta. Some of the women had tears in their eyes, some of the men had their chins raised as if proud to hear of the heroic deeds, but all had their eyes fixed on Aeden, unblinking. The boy next to Jehira had eyes widest of all.

  In the silence, Aeden thought that he had ruined the story in his telling, but then first one, then several, then all of the people around him started stamping their feet and clapping their hands. Some whistled and some expelled ululations, and smiles broke out on their faces. Fahtin smiled at him while clapping, too, and his muscles finally relaxed.

  Darun stepped up to Aeden and clapped him on the back. “That is a tale we have never heard, boy. Are you sure you’re one of the Crows? You tell a story like one of the family.”

  Aeden didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent.

  “Which reminds me,” Darun continued. “We will break camp tomorrow and continue on our way. It doesn’t do for the Gypta to stay in one place for too long when the open road calls to us.”

  Aeden’s heart sank. Now he would find out what was in store for him.

  “I have made a decision and I am sure everyone else will agree. You have no home, Aeden, no family to call your own, no place to belong. In this, you are like the Gypta, with one exception. We, no matter where we go, have family. We may not have ever met them before, but as long as two Gypta live in Dizhelim, each will have a family.

  “We would like you to join our family, if you would be so inclined. Blood is not what makes family, but love, respect, and common purpose. Will you accept and join us?”

  Aeden’s mouth dropped open. He had not thought of that. At the best, he figured they would let him travel with them for a time, but this? With the tension from telling the story and the suddenness of the offer, he felt his eyes become wet. Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded.

  “It is done, then,” Darun said. “Welcome to the family.”

  Those around them applauded even more loudly.

  He looked to Fahtin, her smile even wider than before, and she winked at him. She was beautiful, and now she was his sister. He had a family again. He let the tears fall and smiled at the rest of them, accepting their handshakes, pats, and hugs.

  17

  The family left the next day, traveling again. It was strange to Aeden at first, moving, stopping for a day or two, and then moving on again. On the road, people bustled around, busy as before, but they seemed both contented and excited to be on the move again. He finally understood what Darun had been telling him about the wandering spirit and the joy of the open road. It was contagious. He was starting to feel it himself.

  The one constant feature of their daily life was the music. It was everywhere. In idle times, someone always played an instrument, singing or creating a song. It wasn’t long until Aeden had learned some of the simpler songs, just by hearing them so often. He began to hum them as he worked.

  One day, as he chopped firewood, he began humming a song that had stuck in his brain. Before he had done fifteen minutes of work, he was singing.

  There was no one around, so he felt no embarrassment in doing so. Everyone else seemed to have their own work to do, and it was just him, the wood, the ax, and a few birds and squirrels. As he sang, he felt at peace and yet energized at the same time. His ax swung to the rhythm of the upbeat song, and he lost himself in it.

  As he ended his rendition and prepared to start anew, clapping burst from within the trees behind him. Turning, his face already becoming red, he saw Fahtin striding into the little clearing, her arm through the handle of a basket covered with a piece of cloth. Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and the smile on her face dazzled him. Her long, dark hair trailed out behind her, rustled by the wind of her fast pace.

  “That was fantastic,” she said, setting the basket down on the stump he was using to split the wood. “Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that?”

  Aeden still felt like his face would burst into flames. “I don’t sing. I mean, the Croagh, we don’t sing. Nothing but funeral dirges. Was it very bad?” He cast his eyes on the ground, still too embarrassed to look at her.

  Fahtin giggled. “Aeden, it was marvelous. You have a natural talent. If it wasn’t for the food I brought getting cold, I would have happily sat in the trees and listened to you all morning.”

  He flicked his eyes to hers and saw she was not teasing. “Really?”

  “Truly,” she said. “You should sing more. I like it.”

  He smiled at her, his face starting to cool.

  “But for now, I have brought you some roast hen and some warm bread. Are you hungry?”

  He thought about it and realized he was. “Yes.”

  Fahtin twitched the cloth cover off the basket, and the smell of the cooked bird mingled with the yeasty smell of the bread made Aeden’s stomach grumble.

  “Come on over here and we’ll eat lunch together,” she said as she took the basket with one hand and his hand with the other. He dropped the ax and let himself be led to a tuft of grass in the shade.

  They began to eat. It tasted wonderful, the hen perfectly cooked and the bread so warm and light that it melted in his mouth. Aeden accepted a liberal dollop of butter on his bread, but declined the honey. He sat back, eyes closed, enjoying the taste and the smell of the food and the feel of the light breeze on his body, sweaty from his work.

  He sensed Fahtin’s gaze on him and opened his eyes to see her biting on her lower lip while looking at him. “Your people really do not sing?”

  “We do not, other than the dirges.”

  “That is strange to me. Do the children not hum, sing, or whistle as they play?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “There is no music in the clans. It is…inessential. Our lives are based on combat. Anything that does not help to make us stronger or better at fighting is a luxury we cannot afford.”

  “But surely you have games. Children still play in the clans, right?”

  “Oh yes,” Aeden said, glad to be off the previous subject. “From when we are very young, we engage in play fighting, mock combat. Good Warriors Versus Bad, Chase the Monsters, Hunt the Bear, all of those games. We’re human, after all.”

  Fahtin just looked at him. “What of Ball and Hoop, Tag, Hide ‘n’ Seek, kissing games?” Aeden’s blank expression must have told her the answer. “None of those? Only fighting games?”

  “It is our life, Fahtin. We are bred, trained, and grown to do one thing: fight. It’s why we’re the finest warriors in the world. You cannot become t
he best at one thing when you spread your focus on twenty different things.”

  “I see.” She took a bit of chicken and studied him. “I like our way better. I like having music and singing around.”

  He smiled at her around a piece of bread. “I do, too. It gives me peace I have never felt. I like how it feels to sing and to listen to singing and music. Maybe some of my clan kin would feel the same if they gave it a chance. Who knows.”

  “Oh.” She sat up straight, eyes glittering. “You should learn to play an instrument. It would be the perfect thing to immerse you in music.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “Play an instrument? It sounds like it would be interesting. But no, I have no such instrument, and it would probably interfere with my training. I have been invited into your family, but I am still Croagh at heart. I will always train to be the best warrior I can. Nothing can change that.”

  Fahtin nodded, her eyes far away. “Yes, I guess so. Still, you can sing for me sometimes. Just for me. You won’t have to let anyone else hear you. We can sing together. It will be fun.”

  “I don’t know,” Aeden said. “I would feel embarrassed singing in front of someone. Plus, I need all my time for practicing my fighting.”

  “Oh, Aeden, you can sing for me. We are like brother and sister. You never have to be embarrassed in front of me. If you will sing with me, then maybe I can help with your fighting. We can train together.”

  He looked at her. “Do your people fight?”

  “When we need to.” She made a motion with her hand, and a knife appeared in it. Where had she had that hidden? “I am accounted a fair hand with a knife.” She flicked her other hand and a knife materialized in that one, too. “Or two.” He smiled at her.

  “I see your point. Fine. We will train together and sometimes—maybe—we will sing together.”

  She flicked her hands again, and the knives disappeared before she clapped and giggled. He caught the movement and saw her tucking them into sheaths strapped to her forearms under her sleeves.

  “It’s going to be fun, you’ll see,” she said, her smile brightening up the sunlit clearing.

  Later that day, as evening approached, Aeden was loading all the firewood he had split onto the cart they kept to store the fuel. Darun walked up to him, a bundle under his arm.

  “Aeden, my boy,” he said, smiling at him. “A little bird has told me that you desire to take up the fine tradition of music-making. A grand and wonderful thing, to be sure. But alas, with no implement to make this music, you are at a loss.”

  Fahtin must have told her father about her idea. Aeden waited for Darun to finish.

  “I was cleaning out the wagon the other day and found something I forgot I had. I was debating whether to try to sell it at the next town or use it for firewood. Perhaps you could help me by taking it off my hands.”

  The man handed the blanket-covered lump to him. Aeden peeled the cloth off it to reveal a fiddle and a stick with some kind of string tied to it. He had seen instruments like it in the caravan. The man who played it rubbed the string on the stick against the strings tied to the fiddle and it made noise. No, it made music. He looked up at Darun.

  “Well, what do you say, boy? Will you do a man a favor and relieve me of this burden?”

  Aeden looked down at the fiddle. It was a little battered and scratched, the surface not as shiny as the others he had seen. Its dull brown color was not attractive, but the slim lines of the shape of it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time. He hefted it, the light weight of it surprising him. The thing was hollow!

  “Thank you, Darun,” he said. “It is a wondrous gift. Thank you.”

  “Gift? No, boy, you misunderstood. I have no need of it and you are the one doing me a favor by taking it. Thank you.” The leader of the family winked at him, turned, and walked away.

  Aeden cradled the instrument in his arms like it was an infant. He had no idea how to play it, but Fahtin would be able to tell him who to visit to solve that problem.

  Aeden caught up to Fahtin half an hour later, after he had finished with the firewood.

  “So,” he said as he walked up to her, fiddle in his hands, “your father just happened to have an old fiddle he wanted me to take off his hands.”

  She tilted her head and suddenly found her hands to be fascinating.

  “What a coincidence, eh?” he said.

  “I guess I may have just sort of mentioned to him that it would be good if you could learn to play an instrument.”

  Aeden laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think the conversation went quite like that, but that’s fine. Thank you. It’s a lovely instrument. I’ll need to learn to play it.”

  Her smile broke out and she tossed her head, causing her hair to fly up and settle back down like fine thread on the wind. “You will love it. I can’t wait to hear you play.”

  “I’ll need to find someone to teach me, Fahtin. This isn’t something you learn on your own.”

  “Oh no,” she said, “you won’t have to. I’ll ask Charin Mez to teach you. He’ll have you sorted out in no time.”

  “Thank you,” he said again. “For that and for the instrument. I’ve never owned anything before that wasn’t a weapon.”

  “Really?” she searched his face as if trying to determine if he was joking with her. “The more I learn about your people, the stranger they seem. Anyway, now that you have figured me out, I’ll give you the second part of your gift.” She reached around a water barrel near her and brought out a battered case roughly the same shape as the instrument. She handed it to him.

  “Ah,” he said. “I was wondering how to keep it from being damaged. The blanket your father had it wrapped in didn’t seem adequate for the job.”

  “I wanted to give you something, too, not let him have all the fun.” She wrinkled her nose at him and made a silly smile.

  “Then thank you for the third time. I seem to be owing you a lot of thanks today. I’ll need to do something for you to even the score a bit.”

  “Funny you should mention that because I have just the thing. I was thinking of what we were talking about earlier, how you were going to sing for me—”

  “How I may sing with you,” he corrected.

  “Yes, how you may sing with me and how I would train in fighting with you.” She paused.

  “Go on,” Aeden said.

  “Well, I want you to teach me to fight. I am good with my knives, but I know you could teach me to be better. And maybe you could show me how to do those things you do with just your hands and feet.” She made striking and kicking motions. “You know, so I can defend myself if I don’t have my blades.”

  She looked at him expectantly, chewing on the right side of her bottom lip.

  “I think that is a wonderful idea,” he told her. “It’ll be good exercise, good practice, and it will be fun. Yes, I would love to teach you to fight.”

  She laughed, spun around, and clapped her hands. “That will be great. Thank you, Aeden. Thank you.”

  He made a half bow to her and put his fiddle into its case. “Would you like to start now? We have the better part of an hour before dinner.”

  “Yes, of course. The sooner the better.”

  As he put his instrument down, a smile came to Aeden’s face. He would be busier than he had been, a good thing. With teaching Fahtin and learning to play the fiddle, there would not be idle time to breed boredom and laziness. He was looking forward to it. The busier he was, the less he thought about his life and why he was alive. The less he thought of what had happened to him and what he had lost.

  His smile slipped a little at that thought, but he was thankful for what he had received. He didn’t know the purpose of his life, but he would find it, and when he did, he would be ready to excel in whatever task it required of him.

  18

  Aeden and Fahtin were practicing with wooden weapons he had carved himself using a fine knife Fahtin had given him. Hers were rough duplicates of
the knives she carried about hidden on her person, and his was as close as he could come to the shape of the practice broadsword he used to use.

  He had originally been drawn to that weapon because of Raisor Tannoch, the hero of the clans, or at least the hero of his own clan. He used to imagine himself as the hero, fighting at Erent Caahs’s side and vanquishing evil. After he had started practicing with it, it just felt right in his hands, so he stuck with it. He had mastered many different weapons, but his favorite was still the broadsword.

  “You need to pivot more at the hips when you strike, and when you turn aside the opponent’s blade with your knives,” he said to her. “It gives you more power and helps to make your movement smoother.”

  “Like this?” she said, swiveling her hips in an exaggerated manner, making it look like she was dancing. It was…provocative.

  Aeden laughed. “No. If you do that, you’ll do nothing but make the man you’re fighting drop his weapon and gape at you.” He thought for a moment, then laughed harder. “Actually, that might work better than the fighting you’ve been doing. He’ll stand there, lovestruck, and then you’ll put a knife in his heart while he’s staring at you. I hear that’s what women do anyway, figuratively speaking.”

  She stopped wiggling her hips and glared at him. It lasted for three seconds before a smile burst through and she started laughing along with him. “Maybe I can wear very tight clothing and move like this,” she slunk around him, making his face flush.

  Though her clothing was loose, it was clear every line and curve was in exactly the place it should be. She had traded the skirts she often wore for pants similar to the ones the men wore, but cut so they accentuated her hips. The colors were just as bright, though, red for her trousers today and a riot of yellows, blues, and greens for her blouse. A matching headscarf held her hair out of her eyes as they practiced. Aeden cleared his throat. “Yes, maybe that will work for you,” he said. “But let’s just work on the fighting techniques. You can use that other method as backup.”