by Jeff Wheeler
“Do you believe what I told you?” Annon asked.
She smiled and tried not to look condescending. “We have a saying among my people. A loud voice can make even the truth sound foolish. I do not need a black ring to know when a man lies. But if you are my brother, then you possess a secret that is persecuted in these lands. Show it to me.”
Annon looked at her knowingly. He did not say the words, but she could almost see them spoken in his eyes. A ripple of blue flames danced across his fingers.
Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
She held up her own glowing hand, having thought the words as well, and touched her palm against his. She could feel the magic in his blood. Those with the fireblood were not persecuted among the Romani. They had made sure she was taught the Vaettir words at an appropriate age. That she possessed it only increased her value.
His arrival was unexpected. His arrival was almost a dagger thrust in her heart. How had Tyrus managed to keep this secret? What sort of man would do that?
She released her control of the flames, and they vanished from both of their hands.
“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to the reed mat. “We must talk. I need to know everything about you. My name is Hettie, if Tyrus did not tell you. What did he tell you about me?”
Annon seated himself cross-legged on the mat. She joined him, sitting opposite, leaning forward and giving him an eager look. A listening ear was usually all it took to get a man to start speaking. Silencing him, on the other hand, often took a great deal of work.
“That you are Romani, kidnapped at birth, and that you have your first earring. Since we are the same age, you are due for the next and wish to avoid it. He said you were trained as a Finder in Alkire by a man he knows. Despite his wealth and prominence, he refuses to bid for you himself.” She saw his eyes narrow at that. Good. “He told me of an abandoned treasure in the mountains of Alkire. He gave me the key words that will open the treasure and implored me not to speak them to anyone until we have arrived there.”
“It is no secret that is known to three,” Hettie said. “It’s another Romani saying. Go on.”
“That is it. We seek Erasmus in Havenrook, and I was told he knows where the treasure is but not how to retrieve it.”
“I see,” Hettie answered. She wondered how delicately she should put it and decided to be bold. “For too long, Annon, I have been in debt. My entire life is a debt. I wish to be free of that debt forever. While I appreciate your help and that you are coming with us, I want to know how much of the treasure you want. If you come with me, you are entitled to a portion…”
Annon’s hand grabbed hers. “Not a ducat or a pent. I am not like our uncle. A Druidecht has no need of money, really. Neither do the Bhikhu, I am told. I think Tyrus chose us to help you because we do it freely.”
She shook her head warningly. “If a cat had a dowry, she would often be kissed. You say this now, Annon, but I do not know how sizeable this treasure is. I will give you a portion willingly. I just wish to agree right now as to what that is. We must have an understanding. I cannot be indebted to both you and the Bhikhu.”
“Not a ducat or a pent. I will take none of it. You said you knew a man was lying. I am not like Tyrus. I am a Druidecht. I know the woodlands. I have abilities that can prevent us from facing certain dangers. And if the road gets hard, we both have the fire.”
He was sincere. He was probably unwise not to request something from her. But she could not doubt his sense of integrity and commitment. It almost made her feel guilty because she had not been raised the same way. Such a contrast to her experience. It was like finding a butterfly in the middle of the sewers.
Hettie leaned forward and hugged him, shaking her head in disbelief at the unexpected source of help. A twin brother.
She felt his hand tentatively pat her back, as if the show of friendship had embarrassed him. She leaned back, gripping her boot cuffs and rocking slightly. “You grew up in Wayland then? Tell me more.”
Annon was grateful for the fat candle that Master Shivu had brought hours before. It had burned down to a little pool of wax, which he and Hettie continued to coax further to provide light. Without being able to see the stars through the slats above, he did not know how close to dawn it was, but it did not matter. They had stayed up all night, talking.
From the dull light of the candle, he could see little edges of color in Hettie’s hair that matched his own. When she turned her head and he could see the earring, part of him wanted to snap it off in anger.
“What would the Romani do if you just ran away?” he asked her softly. She was deft at getting him to answer her questions, and he noticed that she always replied in as few words as possible before turning things back to him. He could tell it was a way she protected herself. She drew the focus away from herself.
“There are stories,” she said, staring down at her hands. “But they do not teach us what happens. I’m not sure how old you must be before you are trusted with that secret. They do not want me to know.” She picked something from the reed mat and flicked it away with her finger. “But where do you hide from the Romani?” she asked, smiling sadly. “Silvandom? No Romani is welcome there. Boeotia? They would probably just as well kill me as help me. Where else does it leave?”
Annon nodded. “The Scourgelands it is.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Are you mocking me?”
Annon shook his head. “No, I’m just reminded of something. My mentor warned me about coming to Kenatos. He said that Tyrus might try to persuade me to go to the Scourgelands. I was not expecting this adventure. Have you been to Havenrook?”
Hettie shrugged and made an obscure gesture. “Long ago, before I was sold. The caravans go back and forth through there. I was a child, so I do not know very much about the place. I have heard the road can be dangerous. Have you ever had to use…?” She wiggled her fingers.
Annon shook his head. “If the road goes through a forest, I should be able to help. I do not wish to use the flames if we can avoid it. I would try to talk our way past first.”
She gave him an enigmatic look. He could tell she was cautious of her words and slow to reveal her opinions. There was something in her eyes—something that showed the depth of damage the lack of freedom had taken on her mind. Winning her trust would not be easy, even though they were siblings. But Annon was patient and felt that in time she would learn to open up to him more. He hoped so.
“You don’t agree with my approach,” he said simply.
“The least said, the soonest mended,” she said.
“Which means?”
“It’s often a man’s mouth that broke his nose. We will see how good you are at talking, brother Annon.”
A rooster crowed, and they both looked up at the slat on the roof, seeing the shift in the darkness that had come slowly and gradually. Hettie shook her head and chuckled softly to herself.
“What is so funny?” he asked her.
“Another Romani saying. I’m sorry, but I heard so many as a child, I cannot shake them loose from my head. It was a favorite of mine. A cock that crows too early gets a twisted neck.”
Annon smiled at that one and rose, wincing at the stiffness in his legs and back. “I am ready to leave this city forever. You?”
She gave him a knowing look. “I have a feeling that we may not have seen the last of Tyrus.”
“Many are frightened to travel the roads linking the great cities. There are stories that monsters roam the land, devouring travelers and leaving nothing but their bones. Others say that it is not monsters to fear, but bandits who prey on the weak. I have found in my journeys as a younger man that the road less traveled is often the safest.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Paedrin stood motionless by the enormous metal doors of the temple, gripping a beaten-up staff with both hands; he waited. And waited. Dawn appeared as a flush in the sky, followed by cocks crowing and a flock of ravens heading east. He
stood solidly, hands clenching the rugged wood, his stance firm and respectful. A bag with a single strap bulged against the small of his back, full of foodstuffs gathered from the kitchens, a small pot to boil water, two thin eating sticks, and a spoon carved from bossem wood. It also contained a few small pouches of spices, one of rice, and one of pepper-corns. He brought no change of Bhikhu robes, and he wore sandals only because he knew he’d be crossing miles of mucky sewage before leaving Kenatos. After taking mental inventory of his bag for the fiftieth time, he waited. And waited more for his companions to arrive.
A creak from the inner door alerted him, but he did not glance quickly; he just shifted his eyes until he saw them approach from the doorway. Both were cloaked in the manner of the Druidecht, but he recognized the stiff, proud walk of the girl. Their heads were bent low in conversation. As they approached, Paedrin gave them a benign, incurious look, and nodded once. Their bleary eyes revealed that neither had slept that night.
Master Shivu was still abed, but he and Paedrin had traded quips and insults the night before. He nearly smirked at some of the more memorable ones, like the jest about using snails to train the other Bhikhu while Paedrin was away, as they would need something to fill in for his absence. But he dared not smile. Yet.
The footfalls approached, and the amber-haired Druidecht met his gaze. His skin was weathered by the sun, but he had a youthful look. Paedrin estimated that he could leave the Druidecht writhing on the ground in about the same amount of time it took to blink.
“Good morning. My name is Annon.”
Paedrin gave him a respectful nod. “I am honored to join you.” He looked at the girl. Her eyes were disdainful. He was expecting that. “It is nice to see you again.” He stared at her, cocking his head slightly, waiting for her to speak.
She looked at him and said nothing.
“My name is Paedrin,” he said to the Druidecht. He gave the girl a short glance.
Still nothing.
He almost smiled. She was a green nut, unwilling to open even a bit.
Annon noticed the exchange and stepped forward. “Have you been to Havenrook by chance, Paedrin?”
Paedrin’s ears started to tingle with heat at her rejection, but he kept his composure. Before he could answer, she did.
“He’s never left the temple, Annon.” Her eyebrow arched at Paedrin. “He knows nothing beyond these walls. I know the way to Havenrook. And I can handle a blade as well as any man.”
There it was. The barb, the derision—the withering contempt. It was just as he had expected. He had provoked her the day before, and she was holding a grudge.
He gave her an inconsequential shrug, a slight twitch to his left shoulder. “I have no doubts about your killing ability. The poison in your tongue alone would be suitable if we required talking someone to death.”
Annon raised his eyebrows, and a smile broadened his face.
Paedrin wasn’t finished. “But should we face something particularly lethal, I am certain your looks would stop it dead in its tracks. I feel so much safer being with you.”
There it was in response, just as he suspected. She was sensitive about her looks. Best to poke there first. She could not control the sudden blush of heat in her cheeks, though her expression did not change. He had insulted her. How would she respond?
“The Vaettir I have known have always been gentlemen,” she replied in a silky voice. “But you share only a portion of their blood, by the look of you. Perhaps you are more Aeduan than me?”
Paedrin kept his face impassive. She fought to draw blood; that much was certain. He attacked her beauty. She attacked his heritage. Not easily flustered. Good. It was more fun that way.
“I did not know the Romani were welcome in Silvandom,” he answered. “Where else could you have met enough Vaettir to form such an opinion?”
“Indeed,” she replied cryptically. She looked at Annon crossly. “We are wasting daylight. This journey should take a fortnight.”
Annon looked amused. “I will not be sorry to leave Kenatos behind. I never liked it here. To Havenrook then.”
Paedrin nodded, his eyes never leaving Hettie’s. There were daggers in those eyes.
By the end of the day, they had crossed leagues of abandoned farmland and reached the fringe of the mountain forests of Alkire. Hawks swooped and soared overhead, and Paedrin longed to join them. He was tempted to suck in his breath and float upward, but he was saving that grace to impress Annon and Hettie later. His sandals dangled from the fabric belt. Walking the cobblestone streets of Kenatos had raised calluses on his feet, and the soft earth and prairie grasses were velvety in comparison. He was amazed at the various forms of life throughout the land—dazzling butterflies zigzagging in the air, curious rodents peeping from holes and gawking at them, and the buzz and drone of bees in their hives. Each was a fascination to Paedrin. The air was crisp and fresh, so different than the soot-filled skies over Kenatos. It was also so very quiet compared to Kenatos—unnervingly so. The huff of their breath as they walked, the chuff of Annon’s and Hettie’s boots. The constant murmur and roar of the city was long gone. Its absence was noticeable.
They set up camp within the shelter of the woods, Annon and Hettie both working side by side to put up a ring of stones and gather brushwood for a fire. Paedrin was at a loss for what to do, so he separated from them slightly and began practicing some of the complex forms he had learned in the Bhikhu temple. He did Five Animals and Five Elements along with Snapping Crane. Each was a series of intricate moves, which, if broken down into the parts, could be used to fight or subdue one man or many men. It was like a dance. A dangerous dance.
The crackle of flames alerted him that the fire was starting to take. He turned and saw Hettie was gone. Annon fed chips of wood into the growing fire.
“Where did she go?”
The Druidecht looked up from the fire, glanced around, and then continued the motion. “There is a warren of rabbits back the way we came. She is going to kill one for dinner.”
Paedrin’s stomach twisted. “I do not eat meat.”
Annon shrugged. “I noticed some mushrooms and gathered them. There are also different forms of bark, depending on how hungry you are.”
“I brought my own food,” Paedrin said. “Shouldn’t we be going with her?”
Annon looked up at him, curious. “Whatever for?”
“Your uncle wanted me to protect her.”
“From wild rabbits?”
“I do not know these woods,” Paedrin said, glancing around warily.
“Nothing will approach us unaware, Paedrin. I’ve seen to that already.”
“What do you mean? This is a forest. Any form of creature may be lurking here.”
“We share these woods with many kinds of creatures. Not just rabbits and foxes. They know we are here and have granted us safe passage. Should anything threaten us, we will be warned first. As I said, we have no need to worry.”
Paedrin looked at him quizzically. “What you say makes no sense to me. I have been with you the entire time. What agreement could you have made?”
Annon smiled. “It is Druidecht, my friend. Just trust me. We will be safe here.”
Paedrin was skeptical, but he did not let it show. He crouched down by the budding flames and waved his hand over the flicking tongues. “I know we go to Havenrook, but I know very little else. Can you tell me more about our journey?”
“There is no reason not to tell you. My sister is Romani and desires to buy her freedom. When she turns eighteen, she will be sold again. We seek a man named Erasmus in Havenrook who knows where a treasure is hidden. We must persuade him to help us find it.”
Paedrin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “This man—Erasmus—knows of a treasure. If he knows of it, why has he not claimed it for himself?”
Annon stared down at the fire and then up at Paedrin. “Only a Paracelsus can open the door to where the treasure is hidden. My uncle has given me knowledge that will open it.
I expect Erasmus will desire a portion of the treasure as his reward for leading us to it. My aim is to negotiate the terms in our favor.”
“Ah,” Paedrin said. “You are skilled at negotiations then.”
Annon shook his head. “I know very little about that craft. But the Druidecht are known for being the peacemakers within the kingdoms. I will merely help Hettie be sure the arrangement is fair.”
Paedrin opened his food sack and rummaged through it for something to eat. “You have not been to Havenrook then either?”
Annon shook his head. “No. I was raised in the woods surrounding Wayland. What do you know about it?”
“I am surprised that your uncle is sending you to negotiate. Havenrook is the home of the Preachán. They are the shrewdest dealers throughout all the kingdoms. Remember the sort that tried to wheedle my staff from me when we were leaving? They wanted the charm around your neck. They always look for a gain with little effort. Personally, I despise them. They are dishonest and cruel. I am not certain they serve some use in this world other than generating copious amount of excrement. They are cunning and ruthless, which again surprises me why your uncle is sending us all into their trading city. I have heard there are no laws in that city. None at all.”
Annon rubbed his mouth. “I did not know that.”
Paedrin shrugged and tossed a decayed leaf into the hungry flames. “Your uncle did.”
Hettie emerged from the woods, holding a dead rabbit by the ears. He flinched inside, seeing the dead thing gripped in her hand. It was a big one.
“Do you want to help me skin it, Paedrin?” she asked in a mocking tone.
“I do not eat meat,” he said, his stomach churning with disgust.
“Feeling squeamish?” she asked, dangling the rabbit over him.
He could almost feel its fur against his cheek and resisted the urge to swat it away. Though he was a bit unnerved by the dead thing hovering near his face, he would never admit it. “No, I am merely annoyed by your smell. I had hoped that you would bathe before returning. Mint leaves help remove the stink, you know.”
