Next, the deacon woodsman picked up the long blade and swung it a hair breadth away from Mollet’s neck. Mollet was too occupied with trying to breathe to counter strike. Just as he assumed, all the fighters froze in their position. Some of them were ready to stab Hinson, while others had their fists out.
Hinson turned around with his eagle eyes staring straight at the guild of misguided fighters. “One move and I will end Mollet’s life.”
The guild was amazed; Mollet was one of the greatest warriors that they had on the battlefield. No one could afford to lose him and yet a simple clergyman of peace was threatening him.
“You dare hurt a fellow Phaenix, holy man?” one of the older, mustached Phaenix challenged him.
Hinson’s face cracked a wicked smile. “I’ll have you know that you have directly fought against the orders of the high priest of Faeria.”
This held little consequence to them, but it was the fact that they had been bested by a deacon that stunned them most. He had outwitted the most seasoned fighters.
“I want to make a deal with your group. I will spare Mollet’s life and forgive you for this treason against the Religistral in exchange for the vow of mercialu.”
He could hear their teeth grinding. If they spoke that oath they would be promising not to hurt the boy for the rest of their lives. It was a vow taught to the warriors of Faeria whenever the homeland made a peace treaty with another nation. This time they had no choice; Mollet was gasping desperately for air and could do nothing. Hinson had outwitted them all.
“You can’t do this,” a warrior with short blonde hair pleaded, “holy men can’t kill.”
“I thoroughly disagree with you. It is holy men like myself who know about death and the life that comes hither. With such power, we have the command to take it away and give it. It is my duty to threaten your friend or give him his life.”
The theology was bogus, but it made sense to the warriors. They all huddled up for a quick decision, per their custom. In mere seconds they returned, each of them on their knees.
Mollet would have been ashamed, but he had all the wind knocked out of him. He was in Hinson’s grasp gasping for breath and trying to learn new curse words to scream.
They spoke in unison, “We vow, by the power of the Queendom and the witness of the Daysun, to never lay a sword, arrow, art, or blunt object on the boy as long as he lives in accordance with Phaenix rules. We tie our lives to this one vow, fearing exile if we break it.”
Hinson couldn’t help but grin. He had just made sure that five mighty fighters would not be attacking the intruder they hated so much. He let go of Mollet and helped him loosen his air passage so he could breathe.
Mollet screamed furiously, turning to his men, “You cowards! You let me die to kill the cancer of Faeria! You let me die! One death for another, that is how it goes!”
They all shrugged shamefully, knowing that this would not go well.
Mollet turned to Hinson with a look of disgust. “You will be the reason Faeria is destroyed. Your treason and deception will be the end of us all and not any prayer can save you. How dare you spit on the fighters who lost their lives in the East invasion. You are no better than a Kalhari prostitute.”
One of the warriors spoke up. “Mollet, might I say that he is a respected deacon in line for high priest?”
“Shut face!” Mollet yelled. “Once they find out about your treason, you will be burned alive. You have no right to bring an Earthian in here. I will tell the Master of Defense.”
“Go ahead,” Hinson said, amazed at his own calmness. “But let me remind you that you led an assault on your own Phaenix brothers. Can you imagine what would happen if the Queen got wind that a group of defective warriors were found? We already have suspicion of spies working for the Kalhari. It would confirm all the fears of the Magistral, including the Master of Defense, if word were to get out that warriors were attacking members of the Daysun’s beloved, especially since Gibbs is the one who gave us this quest.”
The Phaenix warriors shuddered. Mollet snorted in disgust. “Once they see the Earthian, they will do worse things than what I planned. The Queen will pull off every limb that creature has and bury it.”
Hinson was getting nowhere with this tangle of words from the mighty warrior. And unfortunately, the warrior was correct. Any sight of the boy would send the Queen flying to kill him. That also left the warriors to tell the Queen themselves, ending Gibbs’ vision before he even began to fulfill it. Although Mollet himself was never a tattle teller, others would spread the word. He wouldn’t bother telling the Master of Defense; he would just kill Ethan the first chance he got.
He let his mind keep working, despite Mollet’s raging. There had to be some way to keep the warriors from ruining this plan. Surely they didn’t understand visions and dreams of the holy religion. All they understood was force and power. It became clear to Hinson what he needed to do.
*****
Ethan had his own problems. The dizziness had worn off, but now he was stuck in a tree in his underwear. It was completely black and he didn’t want to guess what the nearby leaf rustling sound was. Hinson had plopped him into a very nice sycamore and taken his robe away. He wasn’t sure why, but he did get a glimpse of Hinson filling the robe with leaves and flying off.
He hugged a sturdy limb for dear life while Caitilin searched for him. She came flying through the forest, flitting back and forth until Ethan called her name. Then he remembered that he was in his tighty-whiteys and wasn’t so keen to be found.
She came valiantly to his rescue, but never expected to find Ethan in such a vulnerable state. Giving him a once over, she couldn’t help but laugh despite the boy’s new shade of red.
“You look more helpless than an armless Skillowag in a scavenging contest.”
He sniffed at her. “This wasn’t my plan. I am just glad to be away from those crazy men. Are all your warriors like that?”
“You’ll have to pardon their power party. They have been itching for battle ever since the East. They wouldn’t dare go against the Queen’s orders, but they have no problem taking their anger out on you.”
“Oh great,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be fighting alongside these guys.”
Caitilin felt a knot in her stomach; he would be fighting with that team. Would they destroy him? Yes. She began to repeat the prayer of peace in her mind. She would never forgive herself if Ethan died under her care.
The maiden Phaenix got Ethan into a fireman’s carry from the tree and lowered him down with all her wing strength. He fell against the muddy ground and rolled, coating himself in the wet dirt. He tried to motivate his legs into movement, but they toppled over and he found he was much too tired to be ambulatory.
Caitilin stared into the dark nothingness of the forest. There was no movement and no sign of life. “I hope Hinson is blessed with luck.”
*****
Hinson was not okay. Although he’d sworn the warriors into not harming Ethan, his own life was still at risk. Mollet was a strong-arm Phaenix and he was going to muscle his way into winning, so Hinson knew he had to stay alive to protect Ethan. Force was the only language Mollet understood. He wouldn’t wait for the Queen, or take legal matters into thought, he would only go straight for a kill. And he definitely wasn’t going to be bossed around by some clergy member.
Kneeling before Mollet, Hinson begged that the warrior would not hurt him. Then, between cries and sniffs, Hinson explained how he would never be able to stand up against Mollet’s cunning and force. Mollet was just too much of a warrior for little Hinson. It was all lies and Hinson knew the consequences of telling them. He could feel the religious voice in his head scream that he was being dishonest and untrustworthy, everything a priest should not be. But another voice took over inside his head. It was the training he received as a hunter. These were the other skills that taught him survival, to be cunning, witty, and quick on his feet. Deceit came naturally to a hunter because they ne
eded to use decoy female scents to attract large doebeasts. The doebeasts thought they were meeting up with another doebeast, but instead they would meet a hunter with an arrow. Now he was using a different decoy on a different beast.
“So, you will lead me to the boy?” Mollet said, feeling the nervousness from Hinson.
The warriors could feel it too, the high deacon clearly feared for his life, and they could not have been prouder of Mollet. Finally, the Phaenix fighting guild was doing what they do best.
Hinson begged for more mercy. “You’ll just find him anyway. I can’t keep him from you. Protecting him from the mighty force of the Phaenix was a horrible idea and I thoroughly repent.”
Mollet looked back at his faithful. They all wore expressions of victory and glee.
“Lead us to the boy.”
Hinson was ready to unleash his new plan. “Caitilin has already found him. They are running away from here.”
“Believe me, we will catch up with him,” Mollet said in his most threatening tone.
“Yes you will, but all six of you will scare the boy into hiding and we will have to do this all over again. I think only you should go, Mollet. That way you can ambush him quietly and take his life. I know you have been itching to use that long sword of yours. What is it called?”
“The Vota,” Mollet said, looking down at his glorious blade. It was long, wide, and onyx, with white Phaenix words written on it. The inscription was an ancient war blessing, “May the blade be in my hand at death.” It had been given to his older brother, but Mollet was now the rightful heir to carry on the warrior name. He was part of a warrior clan and he would carry the weapon until his death. He would direct the blade to go to whomever he deemed worthy of holding the warrior name.
Mollet lifted Hinson up. “Stop your groveling; it’s time to prove your loyalty to your homeland. Show me the boy and we will rid him from the land.”
“You don’t believe that the Religistral has any say in this, do you?” asked Hinson.
Mollet laughed, “Do not send a holy man to do a warrior’s job.”
The rest of the guild cackled at the joke, but Hinson wasn’t fazed by it. He simply turned to the rest of the warriors. “It looks like I have no choice. I will lead Mollet to the boy and we will finish this.”
The guild believed Hinson; every word he spoke was truth in their ears. Why would a holy man lie? He ashamedly used that status to lull them into a sense of security. With that trust, he had the warriors right where he wanted them. Hinson didn’t want to lie, but Ethan would be saved no other way and the hunter instinct kicked in for necessary survival. Gibbs would forgive him for his false account if he knew it was to honor the vision. He had to forgive him.
Mollet told his men to come look for him in a day if he had not yet returned. Hinson argued that it should be three days because Ethan and Caitilin were fast runners and good hiders. The guild agreed and the two were off to look for the boy.
They walked through the heavy thicket of night while Hinson explained in great detail where Ethan would be. The forest trailed on and on and Mollet realized the chase was farther than he expected. The trees got thicker. It was getting darker by the moment.
*****
“Seriously, what is Mollet’s problem?” Ethan asked, desperately rolling a blanket around himself while walking with Caitilin back to the campfire.
Caitilin rubbed her head from the blow she took. “That’s why the clergy and the war council differ so sharply. They are all about war and fighting, while we are about peace and harmony. I can’t tell you how many arguments Gibbs has gotten into with the Queen on this issue.”
“What about Hinson? He seems very war savvy. He could probably handle himself on the battlefield.”
Caitilin giggled charmingly. “Hinson was supposed to be a hunter in his Readying House, but Gibbs eyed him for a religious leader. He was saved from the house of war and strategy and sent to be a blessing to the Daysun.”
“And you said he would be high priest.”
“Yes, he will be next in line for that honor. He will be a beacon of truth, light, and honesty for our Religistral.” She sounded a little too dreamy when she mentioned all that. Snapping out of her love gaze, she straightened up. “He really has an upstanding character.”
*****
Hinson could not stop telling fibs to Mollet, but they all wove together to lead Mollet to where he needed him. Once again the honest voice in him was muffled by the hunter instinct.
The forest was getting darker and Hinson was pulling Mollet farther through the deep, tangling thicket. This was the graveyard for the dead tree piles that had accumulated over the years. There was no life existent in this part of the forest; instead death pervaded the very air. What Mollet didn’t know is that the campfire, where Hinson had told Caitilin to stay, was nearby. Mollet would soon start to become suspicious, but Hinson kept talking as a distraction. As an added precaution Hinson added an oil of female doebeast on Mollet’s nose when he held him hostage. Mollet could not smell any Earthian.
Suddenly, the last ray of moonlight faded. Blackness leaked through every pore and step. Mollet was about to sternly comment that this did not look like a place for Phaenix to hide, but it was too late. Hinson took his fist and whammed it on the back of Mollet’s head as hard as he could. The first bash took Mollet off guard, but the second bash knocked him out cold. He hit the mushy dirt with the power of a mighty tree falling.
Hinson felt the ground until he found the gargantuan Phaenix. He hoisted him up and got a good feel of the bump he made on Mollet’s head. It was a meaty-sized lump. He had just incapacitated Faeria’s prized warrior.
“Whatever is not yours, steal. Whatever belongs to you, hide. He who lives like this will die in abundance.”
-A Kalhari Proverb
XII: The Power of Flailing
In the East Forest, the Kalharis’ hope was rising. The trees were beginning to thin out and the light was beginning to pierce through more. That only meant one thing to Fragile—he was going to make it to the Drift Space soon. That was the endless open meadow that connected the East, West, and North. Most likely, the Phaenix army would meet them there if they weren’t afraid.
They had camped out again, not in a hurry to go anywhere. Fragile was inside his master caribou tent, throwing scrolls everywhere. He would pick up a scroll, read it, and chuck it aside if he didn’t like it. He was like a child searching the dumpster for suitable toys.
“Useless, useless, there’s nothing in these scrolls at all! We wasted our precious time on nothing.”
He picked up a scroll with mahogany rollers written by a prophet of doom, hundreds of years before.
From outer verse
From second world
From government unseen
Comes unknown soul
Of lesser mind
Of one who dreams our dreams
From blacker fate
To lighter world
His strength of faithless sight
To help the winged
Bring down the troll
And to make a balanced fight
He threw it down and cursed. This was the worst prophecy he had ever read, but he couldn’t ignore it like the others. The other scrolls were unimportant; all they talked about was the swamp. But he knew this one spoke to his invasion. To Fragile, historic prophecy was of utmost importance. His father had invaded a country based on a prophecy of good fortune. His grandfather had avoided an invasion based on a prophecy given to him. Now Fragile was faced with this parchment written in ancient times. Kashun had boastfully dropped it in his lap, explaining in great detail that this was talking about Fragile’s war. He hated Kashun.
He called in Ravenheart, the one who concocted the eye on the boy. Ravenheart arrived moments later, still in a dark cloak enshrouding his face in mystery.
“What do you know about prophecy?” Fragile asked.
“Much, Sir Fragile, I have studied it all my life. My school
was the prophet house in Dragonor.”
“Yeah, yeah, shut face; tell me what you think about this prophecy!”
Ravenheart scanned it and nodded.
“This was spoken by Davik Ruthen, one of the prophets of doom. He received this vision and wrote it in poetic form. He prophesied this scenario would happen 250 cycles from then. That would be…that would be in this age.”
Fragile’s face turned flush. “What does it mean?”
Ravenheart chose his words carefully, even though he was well versed in prophecy. “My understanding of the text is that it talks about a non-Magi creature, who doesn’t accept our religious customs, being of some aid to a winged creature. This could mean the Phaenix or the owls and hawks of Perktower.”
Fragile dug his clawed toe into the ground. “What kind of help?”
Ravenheart felt the sweat bead under his cloak. Fragile already knew this prophecy like his own face. Why was he questioning now? It was too late to back out on this full scale invasion. Perhaps, Fragile was looking for any proof at all that this scroll did not spell his demise. “Well, this is just my understanding, but it seems this non-Magi creature will balance the fight in the war.”
Fragile chucked a scroll at Ravenheart’s skull. “This is a travesty! This is a horrible travesty! If that thing is right, then I will have invaded this hole for nothing!”
Ravenheart wanted to hide in the corner, but he noticed there was something awry with the prophecy. “Do you have scroll two?”
“Scroll two?”
“Yes, there is a symbol here that says that the prophecy continues in another scroll.”
Fragile’s eyes lit up and he grabbed the scroll, and sure enough there was a continuation symbol. He dived back on the ground and began to fritter through the scrolls he’d discarded. There was the oak scroll, which was too current. The papyri scroll was in another dialect of Bangorian. One rock scroll looked promising, but it was much older.
The Boy and His Curse Page 15
