by David Hodges
Hazel marveled at the magnificent creatures around her. “They’re all so beautiful! I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Your Skogkatt is a unique individual himself,” said Faron nodding toward Ollie.
“Ollie?”
“He’s a forest cat... at least in part.”
Hazel had always known Ollie was a bit out of place ever since she found him stalking the pigs as a kitten on the Lewin farm. Ollie jumped up onto the rail and touched his nose to the lynx, then began licking him as he purred.
Faron looked to his pocket watch. “We should be going now. There’s one more thing I wanted to show you.”
Hazel followed Faron back toward the armory, past Ulric and Tod’s clamor as they sparred. They had not taken any interest in the animals’ arrival.
After they stored their batons, Faron went to the separate room where the cured items were stored. He returned with a short sword sheathed in a leather wrapped scabbard. He drew the sword, the hilt was completely bronze with the exception of an ivory handle. Veins of shimmering Fuil crept up the steel blade, like pristine copper subtly embedded throughout the sword. It was concentrated at the edges of the blade. The sword was in flawless condition.
“It looks like it’s never been used,” said Hazel.
“Quite the contrary. It’s an ancient blade, Crúbail.” He admired the weapon. “It’s met many others in combat.”
“It’s cured, what does it do?”
“The bronze and steel was melted with bone and claw from a lynx. It’s incredibly sharp, and it repairs itself.”
Hazel had trouble imagining it as she stared, transfixed by the blade.
“It’s also much lighter than ordinary steel,” Faron handed her the blade.
Faron was not exaggerating. She examined it and reached her hand out to feel the edge of the blade.
Faron snatched her wrist. “Wouldn’t do that...” He went to a quiver of worn arrows and pulled one out. He lightly brushed the feathers of the fletching against the blade. They were sliced off before they could even bend.
Hazel realized that the ridges on the grip were much like the handle Fergus had given her on her birthday. She tried to remember what he had called the sword. “Is this... a Gladius?
“Aye, I’m impressed.”
“Fergus told me about them. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself in here. I wish he could see it.”
“He can, it’s yours.”
“You’re serious?” she asked, astonished.
He nodded.
“Thank you!” Hazel went to hug Faron, the blade still in her hand.
He narrowly avoided it, then gently removed it from her hand and sheathed it before accepting Hazel’s hug.
“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed. “Can I bring it back with me?”
He nodded. “Careful with it, it’s no toy, and remember what I showed you about your grip... it has a mind of its own.” He walked over to a rack of leather straps and belts and picked one out. “Here, this should fit.” He secured the scabbard to the belt and handed it to Hazel.
Hazel tied it around her coat, checked that it was secure, and admired the hilt on her waist.
She and Faron exited the armory. As they walked through the ring, Uschi ran over and said, “Hazel, before you go, we thought you might want to come by the Den for a drink sometime... maybe tomorrow night?”
“I would, but I’ve already got plans for dinner,” said Hazel, genuinely disappointed.
“That’s alright, you can come by after, what do you say?”
“Aye, I’d be happy to join you.”
“Great!”
Uschi looked down at Hazel’s waist. “What’s that you’ve got, a real sword already? Faron’s spoiling you, let’s take a look.”
Hazel looked to Faron and he nodded.
She drew the sword.
Uschi’s eyes widened. “Crúbail!”
The others stopped what they were doing. Ulric took off his mask and looked over, his stare turned to a glare. Hazel detected envy. He walked over to one of the pells and began striking it.
“C’mon, we’ll be late,” said Faron.
17
CAMERON
Cameron fired a rushed shot deep into a hay bale. The arrow joined several dozen more embedded all over the target, several of them were on the outer edges. He reached to his quiver to draw another, but found it empty.
“You’re not doing what I told you,” Alviva’s voice shouted from behind him. She approached him and dropped a handful of arrows into the quiver on his hip. “I thought you were a better shot than that,” she said gesturing toward the target.
Cameron sighed. Several sleepless nights had passed, and though archery had distracted him at first, the effect had faded. He was only going through the motions as the same thoughts pulsed in his mind.
Alviva said, “I know you’re worried about her. I’m sorry about the way I told you.”
“I should’ve been told sooner.”
“I know. Ayalon didn’t want you more distracted than you already were.”
“Why? So I could practice talking to animals and playing with a stone?”
“If you’d go to your lessons, you’d know it’s much more than that. It can help you.”
“What would help me would be knowing that I’m out there doing all I can to find Alexandra.”
“You’re not ready. You won’t be until you start accepting our help. Come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to help you.”
Cameron followed Alviva into the armory. She went to the separate locked room and returned with the case of the bow she had tantalized Cameron with the other day. “I’ll let you shoot it and keep it with you on one condition. You promise me that you won’t loose another arrow unless it’s the way I showed you.”
“Fine.”
Alviva waited.
“I promise.”
“Good.” She took the bow out along with the three arrows that accompanied it, then led Cameron to the range with it. She handed him the bow to string, which he managed a bit better than he had the first time. She showed him the arrows and said, “Without these arrows, Ionga is an ordinary bow, but if one of them is fired you can control it.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“If you focus on where you want the arrow to go, it will do it’s best to get there.”
“How is that possible?”
“Bheochan... you’d understand that by now if you attended your lessons. The fletching will adjust the flight of the arrow to your intended target. It will only work if you’re holding Ionga.”
“I just look where I want it to go, and it’ll go there?”
“There are limitations... the force of the arrow won’t change, that still comes entirely from your draw, so you can’t turn the arrow too far.” She handed Cameron one of the cured arrows; it had a heavy bodkin tip. “Go ahead and give it a try.”
Cameron nocked the arrow as Alviva had showed him and pulled hard to draw it. He felt something creeping up his bow hand, and looked down to find the Fuil running off of Ionga onto his hand and wrist. It was hot, just shy of burning, then it cooled off and his bow hand felt as if it were clenching Ionga without any conscious effort.
His arrow hand shook from the effort of the draw. He aimed well wide of a target one hundred yards down the range, then loosed the arrow. The arrow traveled perfectly straight in the direction he had aimed it until he looked toward the target. He saw the arrow’s path bend drastically in the corner of his eye and looked up at it. The arrow started turning back the other direction. He realized he was still steering it and looked back at the target, fixing his gaze on it. The arrow struck dead center. “Amazing,” muttered Cameron.
“You can see why I wanted to hold off on letting you shoot it. Keep practicing with a normal bow.”
Cameron looked at the other two arrows in her hand. One had a broad head tip, but t
he middle sections were cutout so that only the borders of the arrowhead remained. It must have been meant to cut weight and increase its range. The last arrow was unlike any he had ever seen. The arrowhead was dull and bulbous with a rounded tip. It was not even made of metal; it looked like bone. “What kind of arrow is that?” Cameron asked.
“It’s a signaling arrow.” Alviva showed him the tip. “See those slits? They allow air to pass through and it makes a noise, not just any noise either. See if you recognize it.”
Cameron aimed at one of the farther targets and shot the arrow. As soon as the arrow began to drop, he heard the bellow of a stag fading into the distance up until it came to rest in the target he was focusing on. “Was that the arrow?” he exclaimed.
Alviva smiled and nodded. “It’s meant to distract a deer, or any prey really, then you can fire a second shot while they stand still and listen. Now, will you at least go to your Bheochan lessons? It would put your grandfather at ease.”
“He told you to show it to me, didn’t he? So I would go?”
“Are you disappointed?”
“I suppose not. I’ll go.”
Alviva put her hand on his shoulder. “Good, it will help.”
Cameron stared down at the Sphere as he waited for Hazel and the instructor to arrive. It looked smaller than he remembered. A piece of metal had so much value to these people, so much so that one of them was willing to kidnap Alexandra for it. Cameron entertained the thought of taking the Sphere and leaving, hiding it perhaps, and negotiating with that madman for Alexandra’s release. He looked to the guards spread throughout the room. It was a foolish thought.
He heard the door open behind him and turned to see Hazel entering with an older man. They were carrying scraps of leather and several jars. Hazel said, “Cameron, you’re here. Did they make you come?”
“I came of my own accord.”
“About time,” said the old man. “You can call me Ollamh... if we’d known you were coming we would have brought more materials. Perhaps there’s something appropriate in storage. Come with me. We’ll be just a moment, Hazel.”
Cameron followed him into a musty room. As Ollamh lit candles on the wall, Cameron could begin to make out shelves full of pelts and bones. He stepped closer to the shelves and examined the contents. There were a wide variety of furs and skins, a spectrum of browns and grays. Jars of teeth, some long and pointed, others flat and broad, were on the shelf below them.
As Ollamh pulled baskets out of the shelves and looked into him he mumbled, “There should be one here with Éan materials.”
Cameron looked around the room and noticed a few sheets of thin paper on a desk. They appeared to be illustrated with charcoal sketches—one of the sheets had a detailed drawing of a coat on it. He approached the paper and looked closer to see what looked like a typical infantrymen coat though the illustration depicted thick layering in a cross section view of the coat. Another sheet had boots and soles illustrated on it.
“Here we are,” said Ollamh as he shuffled through the contents and pulled out a large, bent feather.
Cameron set the sheet down and walked toward Ollamh who was still sifting through the basket. “I’m not sure any of this is worth the Fuil. If there was something we could replenish that would be best,” said Ollamh.
“Do you mean something that’s already cured?”
“Yes, but I don’t have anything crafted with Éan here.”
“My bow and arrows are cured, there in the other room.”
“Oh, perfect. Let’s go have a look.”
Cameron went back to the main room where Hazel was waiting and picked the case up off of the floor. He held it out for Ollamh to open and examine.
When Ollamh saw the bow inside, he was stunned. “I didn’t know you were referring to Ionga.”
Hazel said, “It’s beautiful. Looks much more elegant than those long sticks you use... what does it do?”
“It controls these arrows. All I have to do is focus on where I want them to go, and they’ll adjust their course.”
Hazel said, “Incredible. Do all the archers here use bows like it?”
Ollamh answered, “No. Ionga is the only bow of it’s kind. There have been efforts to replicate it but all have either failed entirely or produced mediocre results. I’m afraid this bow was cured with Bheochan that would be impossible to tap into as a novice. We won’t be able to practice curing with it.”
“Not even the arrows?” asked Cameron.
“It’s unlikely, though they might be a bit easier to work with. I suppose it’s worth a shot. Before we get started though, there are some fundamentals we need to go over. This will be a review for you Hazel, bear with me.”
Cameron felt a knot of impatience at the apprehension of a theoretical lesson in curing.
Ollamh went to retrieve a wooden cart which he dragged over toward the Sphere. It had several pairs of freshly made leather gloves and boots on it.
“Physically, Bheochan only requires three things. First and most obviously, the Fuil an Dréimire.” He picked up the Sphere and set it in an indentation on the cart. “Second, is an object that must be comprised at least in part by the remains of an animal.” He picked up a pair of gloves. “The hide of a cat for example...”
Hazel said assuredly, “Don’t worry, they didn’t kill anything for those materials. They’re from animals that already died.” She seemed to think she was quelling Cameron’s concern.
“Ye,” Ollamh continued, “the remains of the animal determine what type of traits you will be able to impart on it as does the second item required for Bheochan.” He set down the glove and picked up a vial of dark red liquid. “The blood of an Athraithe whose Cineál must match the materials you’re using. Any ability that said Athraithe has can be applied to an object.”
“Are you saying whoever’s blood was used to make Ionga, he could somehow control arrows himself?”
“No, it’s not that simple. We call it curing because we are, in a way, bringing the object back to life. The arrows control themselves the way an Éan who can glide would. It’s as if the object itself is changing... the possibilities are countless. The abilities of a single Athraithe could be used to make any number of objects that manifest the traits in their own unique way.”
Cameron looked to the gloves and picked one up. “So let’s say a cat changer...”
“Pishyakon...” Hazel corrected him.
“Right. Let’s say they can grow claws, like Faron, then their blood can cure a glove that grows claws?”
“Perhaps, or they could grant the wearer the speed of a Pishyakon, at least in their arms. Or they could do both.”
“So if I just put on a pair of cured gloves and boots from a Pishyakon, I can do the same things they can?”
“Not quite. A cured object, a wearable one in particular, never changes as potently or precisely as an Athraithe. A skilled Bheochantóir can cure something that comes close, but it’s always, to some degree, more crude.”
“There’s the lifetime to consider as well,” added Hazel.
“Good, you were paying attention. A cured object cannot be used indefinitely. The more it’s used, the less potent it becomes until it eventually expires when all of the Fuil has been drained. This can be mitigated by replenishing the Fuil. We’ll try to practice this with your arrows.”
Cameron said, “Alright, let’s have a go then.”
“There’s one more thing to review. The Sphere must not be used if too much Fuil has been extracted.” He picked up a bronze cup. “If the Sphere fits into this chalice, it must be given time to replenish. Should the Fuil be overdrawn, the Sphere will die, never to be used again.” Ollamh pulled out a jet black orb, slightly smaller than the Sphere of Fuil. “The remains of an emptied Sphere.”
Cameron nodded. He looked at the Sphere of Fuil and approximated its fit in the chalice, it looked awfully close. “I understand. Does the Fuil have to come from the Sphere? Can it be reused? Perhaps extrac
ted and placed into something else?”
“No, well...” Ollamh looked up at the ceiling as he rubbed his chin. “There is one relic we have in Talamh that does something close to what you’re describing, a Fe, we use it at our funerals, but that’s not relevant now. We can’t use much Fuil today, in fact it’s probably best if only one of you practice for now.” He looked to Hazel. “Do you mind if Cameron gives it a try?”
Hazel replied, “No, it’s fine. I’m curious to see if he has better luck than I did.”
“Alright then.” Ollamh opened a leather case and pulled out a large needle. “We’ll need a drop of your blood. It’s easiest to cure with your own. Hold out your finger over the Sphere.”
Cameron did as he was told.
Ollamh pricked him with the needle. A drop of blood beaded, then fell to the Sphere. It was instantly absorbed into the metallic surface and dispersed as if it had been dropped into a thin layer of water. The Sphere took on a reddish tint, the same color as the veins on Ionga.
Ollamh said, “The amount of blood given to the Sphere determines how much Fuil can be extracted, the more potent the Bheochan, the more blood required.” He picked up one of Ionga’s arrows and handed it to Cameron. “Place your hand on the Sphere while you hold this. Relax, free your thoughts, and think of nothing but the Sphere.”
Cameron was sure it was the vague advice of an inarticulate teacher. Despite his doubt, he followed the instructions. When he touched the Sphere, he felt a chill in his spine, almost like he had when he was changed by the ladder. He felt the arrow, and he felt the same tingling sensation on his back that he had when he peered down from the high platform on the range. Just as he began to worry that the wings would grow from his back, he saw the Sphere changing, it was as if the outer layer of the Sphere had liquefied, a thin stream bled off of the surface toward the arrow, flowing through the air and wrapping itself around the arrow.
Hazel exclaimed, “It’s working!”
Ollamh said, “Shhh, keep going Cameron, you’ll feel it when it’s done.”
Cameron waited a bit longer, then the last of the tinted Fuil streamed off of the Sphere and into the arrow. Cameron let go of the Sphere and the sensations on his back subsided. He examined the replenished arrow. Its veins were slightly thicker and redder than they had been before.
