Cusilje chuckled, “Ah, the Lady’s old men.” He looked from face to face and continued. “The old men of which you speak, they are great warriors. Now, their age may fool you, but they were and still are great warriors.” He flicked his finger in the air. “Many years ago, after the Lady relieved them of their duty after so many years, they chose not to return to their people. Instead, they assigned themselves the task of guiding marked ones.” Hands spread in front of him, he continued, “you see, many marked ones faltered at the wetlands and were lost. The old men provide help not only on the path through the wetlands, but guidance on the various dangers awaiting unsuspecting marked ones traveling alone in the forest.”
“Their guidance led us straight to Sah,” Azetan noted with bitterness.
Cusilje corrected him, “No, you must have taken the wrong path. They meant for you to take a wide crack in the rock much farther along the path, where the old lady sometimes waits and where the flowers are bold and lush. You would not have encountered Sah had you gone that way, though she does move around the forest from time to time.”
Eros leaned toward Cusilje. “So we went through the wrong crack in the rock? The opening the old men intended for us to take is the one with the bright sun and beautiful flowers? The old woman serves the Lady?”
“Yes, that is the one, the crack with the bright flowers.” Cusilje agreed. “You met the old woman then? She remains a mystery to us, as we have not encountered her, but several marked ones have crossed her path. She seems to appear to those in need, but not for all. At any rate, we shall find the old men and tell them of the new crack and the dangers lurking there. Then they can ensure no other marked ones travel that path.”
“And the horn?” Kenrya asked.
“Oh, yes, the horn!” Cusilje rubbed his hands together. “The Gaelae supported the Lady fully and were her strongest allies until the Graeliths destroyed them. Yes, yes, I see you know the tale. The Gaelan village rested high on the mountains to the north overlooking the city, which allowed the Gaelae to fly to the Lady’s aid quickly. They used the horns to alert each other to danger or to call for aid. Though they no longer live among us, the Gaelan horn only sounds for those in need that support the Lady. If a Tyrnott tried to blow the horn, nothing would happen.” He smiled fondly at Kenrya as he added, “Yes, we knew you needed help and we knew you loved the Lady, as we do.”
Kenrya nodded. “Thank you, again. I wouldn’t have survived otherwise.”
“Little did we know we were called by marked ones — five, no less!” He clapped his hands gleefully. “The old men carry only a few of these horns, as most were destroyed in the Graeliths’ attack. To be presented with one is a true honor.”
Azetan studied the horn in his lap. He carefully stored it back in his pack, wrapping it in clothing to prevent damage.
“Now you, young man” — Cusilje flew to Tip’s side and landed on a large root next to him — “are the fastest creature on two legs I have seen.”
Tip laughed. “Thanks. I grew up working in the fields of Kentish. I ran a lot. The fields are uneven and rocky, so I learned to run quickly without tripping.”
Eros turned to the winged creatures and said, “We appreciate all you did for us, but we must keep moving. The Graeliths following us will reach the forest soon.”
“Yes, you are right,” Cusilje said. “Fortunately, Sah distinguishes not between friend and foe of the Lady. With any luck, they will take the darker path.” He bowed several times then added, “We leave you now. Safe journey!” He opened his wings and took to the air. The little bunch of Bertog flitted into the sky.
As they gathered their packs, Kenrya looked at the others and felt her cheeks redden. She owed Eros an apology. Obviously, picking the path on her own wasn’t a good idea and she needed to remain on good terms with the others. She approached Eros. “Eros, I was wrong about the path. I should have listened to your instincts. I ....”
Eros waved his hand in the air, sparing her any further apology. “Just glad you aren’t harmed. Honestly, I don’t understand my instincts any more than you do. Anyone would be skeptical.”
“Thanks,” she said. Then, she approached Tip and took a deep breath, for what she was about to say was even more difficult than the weak apology she gave Eros. “Tip …”
He turned to face her.
“Thank you for braving the forest. If you weren’t part of our group, I ....” her voice trailed off.
Tip smiled a goofy grin at the compliment. He pulled on his pack, bit his lip, and seemed to be thinking about how to respond for a moment. Then he put his hands on Kenrya’s shoulders and said heartily, “Glad I could help!” He pulled his hands back and took two steps away from her. Then he stopped and added, “You know, Prizene may have roused the quasm and I might not be the strongest fighter, but at least we have enough common sense not to try and get ourselves eaten.” A big smile lit his face. “Only the really naive would make such a huge blunder.” He turned and started running down the path.
“Naive?” Kenrya demanded. “Just who are you calling naive?” She threw her pack on her back and with a smile on her face, chased after Tip.
The others pulled on their packs and followed at a slightly slower pace. Eros thought, and not for the first time, they were lucky to be together.
Chapter 64
Once Banston came into view, the Lady’s warriors parted company with Ampal and Arith. A number of Plinte fighters waited outside the village for the wagon and would come to their aid, if needed. The warriors expressed their condolences to Ampal, again; their long procession had been a slow and a solemn testament to Ishta’s bravery and sacrifice. The Lady’s warriors that were Plinte then asked him to send blessings to their families, to which he only nodded. If the warriors accompanied the wagon into the village, they would be expected to stay, and they were needed in Caldot. Thus, they parted ways and the warriors turned toward the air transport station for a faster journey back.
The carvings representing Ishta’s life now covered the full exterior of the coffin with stories that would be told many times over the next few days. While Arith knew Ampal still grieved, he recognized the emotional journey his friend had traveled over the last few days and was pleased to see the grief lessened.
As they neared the village, thousands poured into the streets, lining the roads from the outskirts of town to its center. A grin danced across Ampal’s face, the first Arith had witnessed from his friend since they discovered Ishta’s lifeless body many nights ago. The wide variety of species present would magnify the honor bestowed on Ishta. Ampal’s family would surely be pleased.
As the wagon continued along the road, Arith slowly scanned the crowd. Not surprisingly, many species were represented among the onlookers. He spotted at least a dozen Humans and Bruners, as well as Skurks and a number of other species. Then he spied something most unusual — a Human man and woman standing with a Liput and Hurfen! Hurfens rarely traveled outside the city and Liputs generally only journeyed outside Kentish to sell their wares. The Liput man actually had his arm around the Hurfen boy, as though he were his son. The sight of the two together was most peculiar indeed, and not just because the boy stood half a head above the man. Arith wondered if the Liput might be related to Tip. He would be certain to seek them out during his time in Banston.
He walked a few feet farther when he stopped momentarily at something even more surprising. He glanced at Ampal and, noticing he reacted similarly, prodded his friend along. Arith returned his eyes to scanning the crowd, but returned his glance once again at the sight that shocked him. Standing in the crowd was a Krystic male. The man stood six feet tall with auburn hair that lay in waves back from his noble face. It was a very angular face, the skin light and smooth. Standing next to him and whispering into his ear was a Plinte, an inch or two shorter with dark skin and short hair. Ampal leaned closer to Arith and whispered that the Plinte was Azetan’s father.
Interesting. Arith furrowed his brow. The
Krystic was likely related to Prizene and was speaking with Azetan’s father. Perhaps the Humans with the Liput were related to Eros. Lady Anyamae’s plan eluded him. However, he was now certain she had brought the marked ones together for a reason. Not only were the marked ones special, their relatives were as well. They had probably already made contact with each other. Arith hoped that at least they were being cautious. Most citizens in Banston would not appreciate the significance of the Krystic and the Liput, since the particular mixture of the marked ones was not widely known, and would simply accept the visitors as they would any others. However, Nord may have sent spies that would be watching the parents and their interactions, which made vigilance critical. And what role did the Hurfen play? He exchanged a look with Ampal and knew their thoughts were running along similar lines. They quickly nodded at each other. He would find a way to communicate with the others.
Chapter 65
The marked ones journeyed uneventfully southwest through the darkened forest until the light grew dim enough that they believed night would soon be upon them. They selected a clearing to serve as their campsite for the night’s rest and settled into the heavy mist that had been building.
Despite the fact none of them had bathed since leaving Caldot, Kenrya smelled particularly foul in comparison to the others. She was surprised no one said anything, since they had to be suffering more than she did. Maybe they felt bad after she had almost been eaten by Sah. She commented under her breath to Eros that she wished there was somewhere to wash off the slime. Luckily, he recognized this part of the forest from a time his mother had brought him here. He closed his eyes in concentration, then looked around and spotted a rise off the side, behind which he remembered there was a small pool of water. He led Kenrya there and returned to the others.
She scrubbed her pants and vest in the pool. Her shirt felt clean, so she left it and the small pack on her back while she worked on the other garments. The water was lukewarm, which made the process faster. She pulled the wet clothes back on and returned to the group to dry by the fire. The others were quiet as she approached, busily collecting additional wood or preparing food. They ate in silence as well. She looked from face to face — exhaustion was their constant companion now. The journey the next day would hopefully be brief and with no sign that the Graeliths or fanes were nearby, they relaxed by the small fire after finishing the evening meal.
Azetan broke the silence as he turned to Prizene. “How did you know about the flibbits ability to grow? I vaguely remember them being mentioned a few times, but nothing was stated about any special gifts.”
Prizene fiddled with the locket she wore, then brushed her hair out of her face. “My father insisted I learn about the Miyrans and their supporters. Whenever he was home in the evenings, he always shared one of the Miyran tales he remembered from his school days. All of the stories were taught at one time, but not now.” She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “I always loved those stories.” After a moment, she looked at Azetan and continued, “The flibbit was one of the tales. I guess, then, we have my father to thank.”
Azetan nodded. “I’ll definitely tell him that if I have the chance to meet him. Maybe you can share some of the stories at the camp?”
“I’d be happy to do so.”
Silence settled across the group again. Kenrya’s instincts had told her not to become too close to the others, but another part of her wanted to trust them. She struggled with this inner battle and decided to at least appear interested in the others.
Taking the plunge, she turned to Tip and said, “Tip, tell us about Kentish.”
Tip hesitated, then tried to clarify the request, “You actually want to hear about where I grew up?”
Kenrya shrugged. “Well, only if you want to tell us.” She brushed off his shock as though it were he that was acting out of character.
Tip stared at her suspiciously for a few moments. He must have come to some conclusion, as he explained, “Let’s see ... I’m the youngest of three brothers. We live in what I guess you would call Kentish proper. Most of the homes are built side by side, but with enough room between the rows to allow plenty of sunlight.” He smiled with a faraway look in his eyes. “Our home is small, though it always seemed big enough for the five of us. We would work in the fields or on machines in the morning and then study in the afternoon. I spent most nights building machines and engines or repairing broken equipment.” He shrugged. “Nothing much, but I enjoyed it. I miss my mother’s cooking, especially her pies. Sometimes we would go to a little restaurant owned by my mother’s friend and eat there. The food was never as good as at home, but others from town were always there. I miss it.”
“Always having food would be nice,” Kenrya noted, as she sifted her fingers through her hair. “What about you, Azetan? Tell us about Banston.”
Azetan raised his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes as he gazed at her. Then he leaned his elbows on his knees. “Banston is a town of rolling hills, three days’ walk from the southwestern edge of the city. Our homes are dome-shaped and spaced apart.”
“Dome-shaped? Really?” Tip asked with interest. “Ours are more rectangular.”
“The Plinte homes have traditionally been dome-shaped. I guess our ancestors saw no reason to change this when they arrived on Zolei, given the large area we occupy in Banston.” Azetan spread his hands wide. “We study in the morning and then help our parents in the afternoon or practice fighting. Not all Plintes are good fighters, but many are. We all learn the skill of metal working. After that, we learn either fighting skills or other trades to help the community. My sister hated fighting, so she learned to make blankets, clothing, and other household goods. She also helps my father in our café. We travel frequently to the city, both with our families and as children alone.”
“Do you miss your home?” Tip asked.
Azetan shrugged. “Sure, though I always knew this was my future. I have good memories of home, but this is my life now. I don’t regret that.” He glanced at Tip, who had raised one eyebrow. He sighed, and then added, “I miss my sister. We’re twins and have always been close. Since she never developed fighting skills, the mark didn’t appear on our birthday — a fact for which I’m grateful.”
Tip added, “Liputs rarely bear the mark. The only ones are my brothers and me. No one else.”
“No others?” Azetan asked with wide eyes.
“No.” Tip shook his head. “When Trul, my oldest brother, was marked, everyone was shocked. The Elders forced him to leave town. He was killed two days later and returned to us in a box. My second brother’s marking shocked us less and he was somewhat better prepared, mostly because of his independence. We never received word whether he survived. My father hired traders to train me, just in case. I was never meant to be a fighter, though.”
“Not every marked one is a fighter,” Eros countered. “Each individual possesses unique skills adding to the strength of the Lady’s warriors. Each skill is needed to fight the Tyrnotts and Graeliths.”
Tip nodded, then asked, “Why do you suppose the Graeliths hate us now? If they once welcomed the Miyrans and other species here, why not now?”
“Something must have happened.” Eros shrugged, then pointed to his chest as he continued, “I keep feeling like they blame us for something. Anger, hatred, blame — it emanates from them. It’s a good question, though. Maybe once we reach the camp, we can learn more about that.”
Tip nodded in agreement before he turned to Kenrya. “So, tell us about yourself. You never talk about your past. Where did you grow up?”
Kenrya failed to consider her questions might lead to this. At first she pulled away, then thought perhaps she should share something. She looked at the familiar eyes upon her and the tightness in her chest unexpectedly lessened. “I never knew my parents. A man raised me for a while.” She paused, not wanting to share more about the man. Some experiences were better kept buried. “He was insufferable.” She waved her
hand dismissively. “I fled to the city. Arith befriended me and I joined the undergrounders. Not much to tell, really.”
“What happened to your parents?” Tip asked.
She clenched her fists and felt her pulse quicken in irritation. Then Kenrya looked at Tip. In his eyes, there was compassion; he wasn’t trying to bait her. She shook her head and answered honestly, “I don’t know.”
Kenrya turned to ask Prizene about her background, when she heard the fane. A shiver ran down her spine. The bird may have found the group. Between the darkness and the mist, she and the others couldn’t tell if the fane was overhead, but it was close.
“Looks like we’ll have to travel in darkness.” Kenrya pulled the electric torch from her bag and started packing the loose items. “Can you hear Graeliths?” she asked Prizene.
“Not yet. Do you think they’re close?”
“Bound to be, if the fanes are here,” Azetan explained. “Let’s keep moving.”
They put out the campfire and started moving slowly along the path.
Chapter 66
Ampal clasped his mother’s hand as the gathering of people quieted for a moment of silence. He passed his eyes over the crowd. Thousands were in attendance on the first night of Ishta’s funeral, and more were likely to arrive as the days passed. He sat with his parents, grandparents, younger brother, one aunt, her husband and three children, the Raptan carver, and Arith. The organizers had positioned the table approximately ten feet from the casket and at a perpendicular angle to allow those on either side of the table an unobstructed view of the casket, which rested several feet off the ground on a wooden platform. The Graelith’s severed hand had been attached to a stick at one corner of the casket, as proof of Ishta’s strength. On the third night, they would remove the swords, pile wood around the platform, and release Ishta’s spirit into the clouds by setting the platform ablaze. Other tables were scattered across the field for the elderly and disabled, but most of the visitors sat on the ground.
The Journey of the Marked (The Miyran Heir Book 1) Page 26
