Cathadeus_Book One of the Walking Gates

by Jeff J. Peters

  “Children of Arbor Loren,” Serene spoke through him, “it is with great pleasure that we see your forest survived, hear your words of recognition for those who have saved and served you so well. In particular, that you would remember this one and his family by name, for you cannot know the suffering he endured in facing and destroying his own son. But all is not lost, nor is it as dark as it would appear.” She turned Braxton’s body to face the opposite end of the court, his right hand raised high.

  “Come,” she said.

  For a moment nothing happened. No one moved, and the forest again went completely silent, expectant. Then, just as Braxton started doubting whether Serene had actually spoken, a cloaked and hooded figure stepped out of the crowd and up onto the platform. It limped down the court until it came to stand before the king, leaning heavily to one side. Lifting its right hand from under the cloak it held a piece of red cloth toward Eilandoran. Then it reached up and pulled back the hood, and the cloak fell to the ground.

  There stood Laefin. His left arm was badly deformed and strapped to a splint made of some broken wood tied together with a piece of his torn and bloodied shirt, his elbow pressed against his ribs to protect them. Dried blood was smeared beneath his broken nose and at the corner of his mouth, and an open wound above his right temple still oozed. But he was alive.

  “My father,” Laefin said in a strained and parched voice, “has regained his honor.”

  Chapter 47

  The elven court erupted with such cheering, celebrating, and trumpets blaring at Laefin’s return that Braxton thought his head was going to explode. Elves from every direction came up onto the platform, and together they picked Laefin up and hoisted him on their shoulders for the crowd to see. The poor archer seemed to be enduring a mixture of both excruciating pain from his wounds and joy at returning. When he was finally set down, and King Eilandoran was able to restore order, many of the nearby women were crying, and even a few of the men seemed choked up and unable to speak.

  “This . . .” the king said. “This was . . . unforeseen.” He reached out and hugged Laefin, welcoming him home. “Your family’s name shall indeed be forever cleared of your father’s self-imposed discommendation. I henceforth bestow upon it Fey-Anath, Title to the Forest.” The crowd trumpeted and applauded loudly. “And I name you Laefin Fey-Illyuntarie,” to which the elves cheered their approval and began singing praise to the archer and his family.

  When they eventually set Laefin back down on the platform, he limped over to Braxton, refusing aid from those around him. He placed his hand under his shirt and withdrew the arrow Serene had made.

  “I return now that which was entrusted to me,” he said with a pained smile, “and fulfill the charge of your Elhunarie.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment. Braxton took the arrow, and Phinlera flung her arms around the elf, hugging him as tightly as both their wounds would permit. Braxton joined in too, thrilled to see their young friend had survived.

  Serene connected with him as they finished embracing.

  Give back the arrow. Braxton handed it to the surprised elf. “She says you’re to keep it.” Then Serene entered his mind.

  “That which I have given shall forever bind you to your fate, to your moment of service, and to this manner of your return,” she said to the young archer, and those around fell silent. “You and all those who follow in your bloodline shall walk upon this path that you have begun. Remember what I have told of its purpose, and that no other may fire upon a mark that which I have given. It shall be an heirloom to you and your kin, and all those who descend from your father, Kael Illyuntarie, shall be bound to it. Only they shall have the power to use it.”

  “I understand,” Laefin said solemnly, clasping the arrow to his chest. “I receive for myself and my descendants that which you have made, and this path upon which you have placed us. We accept this fate.”

  “Then let us celebrate together,” Eilandoran stated from behind Laefin, startling the young elf. Turning around quickly, he bowed to his king. “Let us all enjoy now the renewed life of Arbor Loren!” Eilandoran adjourned the court so they could dance, feast, and rejoice in the saving of their forest.

  Braxton and Phinlera turned to leave when Breem walked over and grasped Brax’s arm.

  “Thank you,” he said, “for your help out there.” He nodded in the direction of the Dunes and extended his hand in friendship.

  “Of course.” Braxton tried not to wince at the man’s stronger grip.

  “Take this.” Breem pulled off his left glove and removed a ring from his little finger.

  “Thank you, but it’s really not necessary, I was happy to—”

  “I insist. I’ll be leaving in the morning and don’t imagine we’ll meet again. I’d like you to have it.” The captain looked at the ring fondly, sad to give it up. “In recognition for saving my life.”

  Accepting the gift, Braxton looked at it closely. The flared silver band came around to form a square base that had two silver horses engraved on the top. Rampant style and facing each other, they supported a shield carved out of a deep-purple gemstone, with a tiny white diamond inlaid at its center.

  “Thank you,” he repeated, genuinely surprised. “I will wear it proudly.” Brax closed his hand around the ring.

  Breem gave a weak smile. “Good luck. May your future travels bring you more pleasure than these past days,” he said, as though wishing it for himself. Without waiting, the proud Empire commander turned and left the court, leaving Braxton and Phinlera alone on the platform.

  * * *

  It was past midmorning when Braxton awoke. The previous night’s festivities had begun right after the elven council ended, with much singing, dancing, and merrymaking going on into the predawn hours. Brax, Phinlera, and Penton stayed most of the night, enjoying the bountiful and legendary hospitality of the elves, their generous company, and their endless and excellent food and drink. He was surprised at how festive the forest people could be, and the wondrous feeling they exuded almost rivaled the euphoric sensation of the spirit magic.

  Throughout the celebration, he danced with countless elves, was treated with distinction, and accepted their hospitality, unable to stop himself, despite his usual dislike for attention. Even Phinlera moved about as though her wound were nonexistent, singing along with the crowd and twirling through glades with elven maidens who wrapped themselves in long, bright ribbons interwoven in the dancing lines.

  He lay quietly now in the bed of his little room, high up in his mom’s tree. He couldn’t remember how they had returned to her oak, or when. The bright morning sun streamed in through the open wall. The day started cool and crisp in the forest, but he knew it would warm to be another beautiful late summer’s day. He looked out over the sea of green, thinking about the previous night’s events, playing over in his mind the council meeting and all that had occurred, putting together the intricate pieces of this puzzle into which he’d strayed.

  Turning toward the little nightstand beside him, he picked up the staff King Eilandoran had given him and studied its blended colors—a dark wood, a bright oak, and a gleaming white that reminded him of the Silver Towers. All were masterfully, or perhaps magically, interwoven, as if nature herself had worked the loom. Bendarren said it was the greatest gift an outsider could receive, allowing the bearer to return to the forest whenever he wanted and to obtain unquestionable aid from the elves. Holding the staff, Brax could feel its unnatural warmth, and a faint hum echoed in the recesses of his mind, unidentifiable and yet familiar somehow. Searching for its source, he awakened the spirit magic and sent out a tendril to find it, willing it to uncover and return to him the full light and rhythm of those notes, going so far as to draw the Unicorn Blade to assist him. But despite the bountiful amount of energy he summoned, he was unable to find it. The humming continued, elusive and beyond his grasp.

  Slightly frustrated by the experience, he placed the staff back on the table and picked up Breem’s ring. It was beauti
fully formed, not by magic, but rather by man’s masterful application of his craft. The silver horses were polished to such perfection that they almost seemed alive, enhancing the depth of the purple-gemstone shield offset by the tiny diamond shining at its center. Rolling the object around in his fingers, Brax noticed some tiny writing encircling the face of the shield. Walking into the sunlight he squinted at the words. When he could finally read them, he realized it was written in a language he didn’t know.

  From strength of arms comes peace in men.

  “Serene!” he exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re back!”

  For the moment, she replied, connecting with him. It is the ancient creed of the knightly orders, written now on the Ring of Arms. It is one of several such rings from your homeland. Whomever wears it has doors opened for them that would otherwise remain shut. Keep it well hidden, my child, for we will have need of it in the future. It will serve us well.

  Thank you, I will. But Braxton was only half-listening. I have so many questions for you.

  And in time I will answer them. But now you must rise and meet this new day, for time is short.

  How is Sotchek? he asked, dressing quickly. Were you able to help him?

  His strength is holding, and his will is strong. Morgaroth’s power has been diminished, but the one you know as Sotchek will not long survive in the shadows. Soon we will need to aid him, but we will talk of that later. Go now, and I will walk with you this day. She withdrew then, ending their connection.

  Disappointed at not being able to talk more, Brax pulled on his boots, strapped on the Unicorn Blade, and headed down the stairs. There were so many unanswered questions, so much he wanted to know from his master, but he followed her instructions and let it go—for now.

  When he reached the common room, he could tell the others had been up for a while. Their voices drifted in through the half-opened door, and he could see his dad standing on the porch. Leaving the cottage, he found Ruskin leaning against the small wagon Bendarren had shown him the night before, laden now with casks of elven wine and sealed barrels that Brax assumed contained the forest pipe leaf his friend was so fond of. A small, longhaired white pony with dark brown spots on its rump was harnessed to the front. The poor creature looked as though it would be hard-pressed to move the wagon and its precious cargo.

  “Finally decided to get up, did ya?” the dwarf grumbled at seeing him. “Thought I was gonna miss ya before going.”

  “What, you’re leaving?” Braxton asked.

  “’Fraid so.”

  “He’s in a rush to get back to his people.” Phinlera left his dad’s side and stood beside Brax, flashing him a bright morning smile.

  “Or to smoke and drink the day away,” Penton added with a laugh as he secured the wagon’s strappings. Bear stood near him, smelling the pony.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The dwarf feigned innocence. “This stuff’s for King Tharak.” He thumbed toward the cart. “Payment for sending out the clans.”

  “What’s left of it, you mean,” Pen clarified.

  “Well, now, you can’t expect my countrymen to walk all the way back to the Dragon’s Spine after such hard fighting without a bit of remuneration, now can you?” Ruskin gave a sly wink.

  “Tharak will be lucky to get one flask of wine and a single pipe of leaf when you lot return,” Brax’s dad commented.

  “That wouldn’t be my doing.”

  “I bet,” Penton joked.

  “Watch it, lad, or you’ll find rocks in your smithy.” The dwarf made a satisfied grin at the look on Penton’s face. “Well, I’m off.” He pulled the white pipe King Eilandoran had given him from under his belt, stuffed it full of forest leaf, and lit it cheerfully. Taking a long draw, he exhaled a puff of smoke.

  “Wait a minute,” Phin said. “Wasn’t that a gift for your king?”

  “Oh no, lassie,” Ruskin said through clenched teeth. “The wagon is fer the Boar. The pipe is fer the Badger.” He removed the bit from his mouth and blew a long plume toward her.

  “Don’t you think he’ll be a little suspicious? You arriving home with that gift, I mean?”

  “Not at all! Tharak agreed to fight for wine and forest leaf, an arrangement that this now satisfies.” Rusk indicated the wagon. “Whatever I get for brokering the deal is fair game. Every dwarf knows this.” A smug look crossed his bearded face as he took another draw and blew out toward the trees. Holding the pipe, he stared at the girl as if his logic was undeniable. “There’s nothing better than elven leaf drawn through an elven pipe.” He placed it back between his teeth and tasted it deliberately. Phinlera shook her head at the shrewd dwarf.

  “Much as I’d like to continue educating ya in the ways of the world,” Ruskin added, “I best be getting back to see the clans before they start fighting among themselves. Pen, I’ll see ya in a month with your first delivery. Hope your cooking’s better than your dad’s.”

  “It’s not,” Phinlera said quickly, and the dwarf groaned. “But mine is, and my specialty is venison sausage stew.”

  “Heavy on the sausages, light on the stew?”

  “You bet.”

  Ruskin took a deep breath of morning air and looked up at the bright, clear sky. “I reckon I’m gonna be liking this new arrangement.” He turned toward the cart. “C’mon, you hairy runt.” He slapped the pony on its rump. The surprised creature whinnied, then lurched forward, causing Bear to bolt to one side. The wagon frame creaked under the strain of its cargo.

  “See you,” Penton called after their friend, but the dwarf didn’t bother turning around. He raised the pipe in acknowledgment, and another puff of smoke floated above him.

  * * *

  Brax, Phinlera, and Penton stayed in the forest for several more weeks, enjoying time with their mom and dad, and allowing Phin to regain her strength. They talked often with Laefin, listening to his harrowing account of falling from Fletcher, trying to stay hidden among the Mins, and then hunting down Serene’s arrow. Phinlera wrinkled her nose each time at the elf’s description of the sheep-faced shaman with her short, curved horns. How he’d found her lying in the Dunes with the arrow still in her breast, and had dug it out with his bare hands. It was a fantastic story and one they enjoyed listening to often. They retold their own tales too, allowing their young friend to put all the pieces together in his mind. Then one cool night after supper, Penton announced he’d be leaving for home. Worried about the backlog of work awaiting him in Oak Haven and the possibility for an early winter, he wanted to get back before the heavy rains started. Braxton reluctantly agreed they should go too.

  The following day, the elves brought Obsidian and Cinnamon to the cottage. The big black stallion and auburn mare looked well-fed and groomed to perfection after having been stabled in one of the few paddocks the elves kept. Bear whined when he saw Gavin’s horse and lay down on the forest floor, his jaw touching the ground and his ears pulled back.

  “I know.” Phinlera knelt beside him and rubbed the elkhound’s thick fur. “I miss him too.”

  They spent the next few days preparing supplies, wrapping stores, and packing Obsidian for Pen’s long ride back to their village. He planned to stop by Montressa to look in on Cassi, and Brax could see the fondness his brother still held for the young girl he’d saved.

  Braxton felt his mom’s sadness at their leaving, and she spoke often with each of them, communicating with Penton in a similar way to what Brax had experienced. She seemed to be with them wherever they went in Arbor Glen, as if not wanting to miss a moment together, knowing their time was fading.

  He spoke frequently with his dad too, talking in the common room of their cottage late into the night. Brax knew he’d never leave. He had given up his life as a blacksmith in Oak Haven, content to live out his days in the forest.

  “This is my home now,” he said. “My place is here, with Mom.”

  Reluctantly, Braxton began to accept that he would live apart from his parents. It was a bitter realization
of how time forced events upon him, experiences he may not otherwise have wished for.

  “We can come back and visit whenever we want,” Penton had told him encouragingly. “It’ll be the best of both worlds.”

  But Braxton wasn’t so sure. He was going to miss his family’s togetherness. Even Pen would be living apart. Then he’d see Phinlera and realize that while one chapter in his life was ending, another, even brighter, future with her was about to begin.

  When the day finally arrived to say their goodbyes, Bendarren was waiting for them outside the cottage. A half-dozen scouts stood with him, offering to accompany Penton as far as the eastern Vales, promising to help protect him from any Hunters who might still be lingering in the Calindurin Plains.

  Braxton placed his forehead against his mom’s tree and connected with her for the last time. He could feel her weeping softly, sensed her mixed emotions—joy at seeing him grow up, pain at having to let him go. He tried to be strong for her, for himself, but in the end, he could feel his eyes watering.

  Penton spoke with their dad, receiving some last-minute instructions for running the forge, even though they’d been over it a dozen times already. When Braxton separated from his mom’s rough trunk, he went over and hugged his dad for a long time. He’d always been a pillar of strength in Brax’s life, a stable, constant force supporting him, watching over him, ensuring he was safe. He’d no longer be there like before, and already Brax missed him. Growing up, he always dreamed of being on his own, but now that the moment had arrived, he dreaded it. The sand in the hourglass had finally run through, Braxton realized, and it could never be put back.

  “You’ll be all right,” his dad said, as he had for Penton. His boys had grown up, Thadeus knew, and there was nothing more he could do to hold back the time that eventually separates all children from their parents.