The Bard's Blade

by Brian D. Anderson

  Shemi’s words struck home. Mariyah had been a true partner to him since the day they’d met. He could remember exactly the words she’d spoken to him. He could even see the blue cotton dress she’d worn, with tiny silver beads woven into the shoulders and sleeves, and the white ribbon that had held back her hair. Every detail was a painting he could look upon anytime he wished; a sublime moment forever frozen into his memory.

  That had been the first time he’d mustered the nerve to play publicly. One of his friends was going to be celebrating a birthday with a gathering on the banks of the Sunflow. Initially the family had asked his mother to play, but she’d insisted that Lem would be better suited to perform for what would certainly be a younger audience. It had taken no small measure of encouragement to convince him he was good enough. At the time, he’d only ever played for Shemi and his mother, and felt extremely self-conscious about his abilities. Mariyah would still tease him about it sometimes, saying he’d looked like a frightened deer, ready to flee a hunter’s bow, as he perched himself on the stool unable to so much as look up for the first three songs.

  “Good thing I eventually did,” he would reply. “Or we’d have never met.” This was an exaggeration, of course. Lem had been far too shy to have had much to do with it. It had been Mariyah who’d approached him. Left to it, he would have never found the courage.

  She had been sitting on a blanket among a small group of friends. Lem had seen her a few times before, but never considered for a moment speaking to her. After all, her family owned Anadil Farms. While his … But as the evening wore on, their eyes met repeatedly, and each time she would give him the faintest of smiles, never once looking away. However, being the awkward boy he was, Lem took this for nothing more than her being polite. Or perhaps she was simply enjoying the music. Surely a girl so lovely could not be interested in him.

  His mother had once told him that music and love were two parts of the same spirit. At the time, he hadn’t understood her meaning. But as the notes flowed from his balisari that night, at last he did. He’d poured out his soul, and of all those gathered together, laughing and dancing beneath the stars, only Mariyah had seen it. By the time he was nearing the end of the performance, he knew that each note was played for an audience of one.

  Lem had been kneeling beside the stool, packing away his instrument, when he heard Mariyah’s voice for the first time.

  “Were you going to leave without saying anything?”

  He had not seen her approach, and was utterly dumbstruck as he looked up at her smile.

  “I’m Mariyah,” she said, offering Lem her hand.

  Lem nearly toppled over as he scrambled up. “I … I’m—”

  “Lem,” she said. “I know. Your uncle Shemi talks about you all the time.”

  “Shemi?” he blurted out, still unable to form a coherent sentence.

  “Shemi is your uncle, right?”

  “Yes.” He could not believe she was talking to him. Say something, you idiot. Don’t just stand there.

  Mariyah laughed. “Not much of a conversationalist, are you?”

  “No,” he stammered. “I mean, yes. I mean…” His shoulders sagged, and he let out a defeated groan. “I mean, I think I’ll go drown myself now.”

  Mariyah laughed again. “I hope you don’t. We can work on your conversational skills on the way home. Assuming you’re willing to walk with me.”

  Lem glanced over at her friends, who were looking on with great interest, giggling and whispering to one another. “What about them?”

  “If you would rather not, I understand.”

  It was in that moment that Lem’s courage finally showed itself. He picked up his balisari and slung it across his back. “I would be honored.”

  Mariyah took his arm, and without so much as a farewell to the others, they left the gathering together. People would talk and rumors would fly. The daughter of Freyn and Leyna of Anadil Farms keeping company with the likes of Lem? But Lem did not care. As they walked arm in arm, he knew only one thing: He was the luckiest boy in the whole of Vylari.

  And from that night forward, Mariyah had never shied from her feelings for him. Even in the face of her father’s disapproval, she’d stood firm. How could he question it now? Yet he did, regardless. It was one thing to seem different; quite another to be different. But under his uncle’s scolding gaze, he relented.

  “Of course. I know she’ll accept me. But it doesn’t make telling her any easier. And there’s her father to think about.”

  Shemi chuckled out tiny puffs of smoke. “Mariyah can handle him well enough. He’ll not risk losing her over this. Sure, he’ll complain. I can almost hear him now. But he complains as it is, you know? You can bet that Mariyah will have her way.”

  Lem finished half the cup and then placed it on the table. “I think I need to turn in for the night.” His head was pounding, and a deep fatigue had crept through his limbs.

  “Good idea. You get some sleep. Let old Uncle Shemi do the worrying for now.”

  Lem rose, kissing the top of Shemi’s head before retiring to his room. The next day would be every bit as stressful as this had been. Just thinking about the dawn filled him with dread. He had promised Mariyah he’d tell her if something bad had happened. Well, something bad most certainly had happened.

  After removing his clothes, he unclasped the silver locket that hung around his neck. He never went anywhere without it.

  Lem placed it on the nightstand and slipped into bed. But after an hour, sleep had not come. The anxiety and fear worming their way into his mind would not be denied or forgotten. How many people already knew? Would Mariyah find out before he could tell her himself? And her father … Shemi’s reassurances notwithstanding, Mariyah’s father would do his best to keep his daughter away from him. He might be incompetent when it came to business matters, but he still was a very influential man. The trouble he could create for Lem could not be ignored.

  Lem wanted to weep; to scream; to do something, anything that would take away the feeling of helplessness that threatened to overcome him. He threw back the blanket and placed his feet on the cold wood floor and slumped at the edge of the bed. Perhaps a spot of whiskey might help. Shemi kept some in the kitchen pantry. He didn’t enjoy it as much as his uncle, preferring wine. But it had its uses.

  A garbled cry sounded from beyond the door. Lem snatched up a lantern and hurried into the hallway, turning toward Shemi’s bedroom. But another agonized moan from the spare room had him sliding to a halt and running in the opposite direction. The stranger was still in bed, but was twisting and groaning as if in horrible pain.

  Lem placed the lantern on the floor and leaned over the ailing man, unsure what to do. “It’s all right. Calm down. You’re safe.”

  Shemi. He should get Shemi. He turned to call for his uncle, but a hand shot up and gripped his wrist.

  “He’s coming!” the stranger shouted, thrashing his head from side to side. “He’s coming!”

  Lem tried to pull free, but the steely fingers held fast. The stranger’s eyes popped open and fixed on Lem.

  “Is it … is it you?”

  Lem could not form a reply.

  Sweat drenched the stranger’s hair and face. “You must go,” he rasped. “You must leave this place. He’s coming. You must go before he finds you.”

  “I’ll get help,” Lem finally managed to say. Again he tried to break free.

  “No!” With irresistible strength, the stranger pulled Lem forward and wrapped his other arm around his neck.

  Lem panicked, frantically pushing against the stranger’s chest, but to no effect. In a single motion, the stranger leaned up, crushing Lem to his body.

  A flash of white light covered Lem’s eyes, momentarily blinding him. As his vision slowly returned, his nostrils were assaulted by the rancid stench of burnt timbers and rotten flesh. The bedroom and the stranger were gone. In their place was an open field roughly two hundred yards in diameter, completely encircled
by a massive inferno reaching as high as the treetops. Heat assaulted him with brutal ferocity, but there was nowhere to run. Strewn across the ground like broken twigs were hundreds upon hundreds of bodies, mangled and twisted, some hacked to pieces, their faces contorted and frozen into their final horrorstricken moments. Many he recognized at once—friends, acquaintances, students. He averted his eyes, fearing that one of them might be Shemi … or Mariyah.

  “This can’t be real,” shouted Lem. “It’s a trick. What have you done to me?”

  He is coming. The voice of the stranger called out from all directions. No longer shrill with madness, the enormous volume of the deep baritone reverberated in his chest.

  He will find you. He will destroy everything you love. You must go. Hurry. Before it’s too late.

  The flames began to creep toward him, consuming the bodies as they approached. Lem looked for a way out, but he was trapped. His flesh blistered as the heat increased, until all he could do was drop to his knees and curl into a protective ball.

  In a rush, all went black, and there was dead silence. The flames were gone, along with the pain from the burns. He was back in the spare room, splayed on the floor beside the bed. Slowly he held out his arms, relieved to see no injuries. An illusion, he thought. Some form of foul magic.

  “It wasn’t real,” he gasped, reassuring himself, his heart still racing.

  As he struggled to his feet, he could see the stranger lying flat on the bed, the blanket wadded up at his feet. The vacant stare told him that the last remnants of his life were spent. Whatever magic he had used must have been too much for him.

  Lem could still see the flames; still smell the charred bodies of his kin, bringing on a wave of nausea that filled his mouth with saliva. Pressing his hand to the wall he spat, taking deep, even breaths until his stomach settled. Is this what’s coming? Fire and death? Desperately he wanted to dismiss it as the insane ravings of a dying man. But in his heart, he knew better. The stranger had sacrificed his own life to give him this warning. He could not ignore it. He could not allow what he had witnessed to come to pass. There was no choice to be made. He must leave Vylari.

  Lem pulled the blanket over the stranger’s head and returned to his bedroom. Taking a seat by the window, he gazed into the night, tears falling freely. Already the sky was turning purple, soon to be joined by the orange-and-red glow of dawn. He continued to weep, praying to his ancestors for the courage to do what must be done, all the while desperately wishing for time to cease its relentless march. But it was a foolish wish—one born from fear and misery. The sun would rise. And Lem would spend his final day under a Vylari sky.

  3

  FAREWELL TO VYLARI

  Kylor placed his hand on the man and asked, “Why do you weep?” The man wiped his tears and replied to our Lord, “Because I am alone. My family has abandoned me, and my friends refuse me their aid.” Kylor smiled at the man and said, “You are not alone. I am here. I will never abandon you.”

  Book of Kylor, Chapter Twenty-One, Verse Seven

  It was gone!

  Panic gripped Lem as his fingers began a frantic search around his neck for any trace of the missing chain. His precious locket! But all he felt was bare flesh.

  He would never have left it behind. Never. Not even the fog of despair could have made him forget to bring something so important. He was certain he could remember taking it from the nightstand and placing it around his neck. Be that as it may, it was not there now. Doubt began creeping in. He had packed in such a hurry and with so little thought … could he have? No. He remembered distinctly. He had just written Mariyah a note, explaining why he had to leave, a message he dared not deliver himself. It was just after he’d shoved the letter into his pack that he put it on.

  He rifled through his pockets, thinking he might have put it there in his haste. The contents were quickly removed and tossed onto the grass. Still nothing. In desperation, he unslung the balisari and pack from his shoulders, intending to search in a vain hope that he might have stowed it with the rest of his belongings.

  As he placed the pack down, he felt something slide around in his shirt. Tearing open the top buttons, he thrust his hand inside and let out a loud moan of relief as he felt first the chain and then the locket attached to the end.

  He closed his hands around it and dropped to his knees, pressing it to his brow. It took more than a minute before he could slow his breathing, and even then his heart continued to race.

  He could see that the clasp securing the chain had snapped off. He held it up, gazing at it for a moment, tears ready to fall. From outward appearances, it was nothing special. Though well-crafted, it was not particularly elegant. The face side bore an engraving of lilies and grapevines woven together, while on the reverse two words were inscribed:

  For Lem

  He ran his fingers over each of the letters, the tips barely brushing the surface. Then, easing open the lid, he saw Mariyah’s countenance smiling up at him, and a lump formed in his throat. She had given him this locket on the night he had declared his love. The night they had promised to spend their lives together. A promise he was now breaking.

  It was too painful to dwell on. After tucking the chain and locket safely away into his most secure pocket, he gathered up the rest of his belongings. With a deep breath, he swallowed hard and continued walking.

  As he crested the gentle slope of a low hill, he paused and shut his eyes. The soft rustle of the evening breeze caressing the tall grass seemed to be calling out his name, begging him to remain, insisting that he was still needed, still wanted.

  He opened his eyes, his resolve teetering on the precipice. But there was no turning back. The safety of his people was more important. Still, an inner debate beleaguered his mind, one to which there could be no clear resolution. The stranger could have been lying, though the sacrifice of his life made that unlikely. He could have been delusional, made so by the power of the barrier. But then he had known the danger and had braved it anyway. For every objection, the part of Lem who knew what must be done had a reply. It was maddening. Desperation became rage, then turned to despair, then to sorrow, then back to rage in an unpredictable cycle of emotion. Why was this happening? What had he done to deserve this? All he had ever wanted was to live a peaceful life; to marry the woman he loved and raise a family. Was that so much to ask?

  But the life he desired and the life he would have were two vastly different things. When he had found Mariyah’s mother casually inspecting the vines, he had feared she’d already heard the news. In Vylari, gossip practically traveled on the wind. But to his relief she did not appear to know. Or if she did, she’d hidden it well. But Lem knew Mariyah’s mother. She would read the letter before delivering it. Though she’d never opposed the match, it was a safe bet that she would now. Shemi may very well have been right in saying that Mariyah could stand up to her father. But her mother … her will was like iron. And her devotion to Mariyah was equally strong. It was her mother Mariyah took after more than anyone. To think of the two in a battle of wills … But that would not be a concern. By the time the sun set, there would be nothing for them to fight about.

  The words of Uncle Shemi invaded his mind. Lem thought him to be in complete denial about the situation. I don’t care what other people think, Shemi had said before leaving the house that morning to speak again with Ferah. You’re family, and that’s that. You belong here. Lem had simply smiled and nodded his agreement. Shemi’s love for him rivaled his mother’s, but love would not change facts. And the vision the stranger had shown him … Even had he told Shemi about it, he would have just claimed it to be another lie or delusion.

  They had buried the stranger in the meadow as the sun rose that morning. It had felt wrong, as they did not know Lamorian customs or traditions. But they made sure to give him as much dignity as possible by offering some words to the ancestors on his behalf.

  Lem had once asked Shemi about the world outside Vylari, a question every c
hild posed at some point. The stories of the horrors that lay beyond the border were passed on almost as soon as a child could talk. He could picture the old man clearly, feet propped up on the kitchen table and an unlit pipe gripped loosely between his teeth. It’s no place for us, lad. Nothing but war and death out there. Best you keep your head here. No need to wonder about dark places and evil deeds.

  There was no doubt he would miss Shemi tremendously—almost as much as he would miss Mariyah. Guilt twisted through his heart like cold steel, guilt and regret. She would hate him for leaving—hate him for not saying goodbye—hate him for what he was. But it was better this way. Hating him would make it easier for her to move on and find a new life with someone else. A better life. One that did not hold naught but the promise of ridicule and hardship. She was every bit as strong as Shemi said. And in truth, she would love him regardless. She would have probably come with him had he asked. And there was a selfish corner of his mind that had contemplated the idea, if only for the wisp of a moment. The point of leaving was to keep those he loved safe. He was alone now. The dangers he would face were for him and no other.

  Lem allowed himself a final look back, imagining her standing atop the next rise. She was clutching his letter to her chest, flaxen hair whipping across her tear-soaked face, her eyes pleading with him not to leave. But the vision faded. There was no one there: only the land and trees to mark his departure. As it should be.

  After saying a silent farewell, he turned toward the road ahead. It was time.

  He had never been so close to the border. Very few bothered to venture this far out; it wasn’t worth the risk. One wrong step and you faced the terrible consequence of being forever lost in Lamoria. Elders, when the subject came up, never tired of saying that the people of Vylari were not meant to live there. That they were different. Better. They had created a home where war and magic could never find them. That was why the barrier had been created in the first place. That’s what they claimed, anyway; though in reality, no one really knew the true reason, nor even how the barrier worked. The fact that it was made from magic was dismissed as unimportant, the contradiction willfully ignored.