“There is no need to trouble over the could-have-beens,” replied Xith. “Are you hungry?”
Vilmos agreed he was. The shaman removed a thick slab of finely smoked beef and a loaf of hard black bread from his saddlebags.
“Better eat all you care to,” Xith said, “it will be a long day.”
“I am going home then?” asked Vilmos. “My parents will miss me if I am not home soon.”
Xith had been busily cutting thin strips of beef. He paused, and then laid the knife aside. As he began to speak, his bright and shiny eyes lost their gleam and there was evident sadness in his voice. “Many, many years ago, I made a promise to a young couple who were very much in love. Five years they had been wed and still they had no children. They so wanted a child. I told them of a girl heavy with child in need of caring hands.
“The girl, your mother, needed a secluded place to stay, a place where none knew her or that her child was without a father. Death by stoning is the punishment for such a child and mother.
“I told the couple they must harbor the child’s mother and see that the child entered the world without harm. Afterward the child would be theirs to keep and raise as their own. I also told them there was a price. One day I would return for the child. Until that day the child was in their care—”
“—I want to at least talk to my mother,” cut in Vilmos. “I’ll tell her I am fine and that I am with you. She will understand, though I am sure she will tell you to make sure I am back before the next Seventhday.”
“You will not be home before the next Seventhday, Vilmos, or any other day.” Xith paused to ensure Vilmos understood. “Your father was among those from the three villages. I could sense his anguish. He knew the day I spoke of those many odd years ago had come. Your feelings for him are wrong you know. He loves you more than the air he breathes.
“I stayed with them for three days when I escaped from the North with your mother. I told them the signs to watch for, the signs that would tell them I would return.” Xith stood and walked to the rim of the valley and gazed across the great span. He said nothing for a time, and then turned to look back at Vilmos. “Your magic is what brought me to you, Vilmos, and the reason your father was so exacting. He knew your use of magic would only hasten me to your door.”
Tears in his eyes, Vilmos looked away from the shaman.
“Do not be sad, young Vilmos. To be sure, Great-Father and Mother-Earth will not let their sacrifice go unrewarded. Look now to the future and the days ahead.”—There was a distinctive quality to the spoken speech that was consciously inaudible to all save cautioned ears, this was the power of Voice, and Xith played upon its dominion with the touch of a maestro’s hand.— “In your heart, you have always known one day you would leave your home. You know this is true.”
Vilmos nodded in agreement. Closing his eyes, he pictured long black hair touched with gray and tired eyes of hazel.
Xith turned to fully face Vilmos and stared directly into his eyes. “It is time we started our journey. There is much to do, so very much to do. I would ask you now to come into my service—a sort of apprenticeship. There is much I can teach you of the powers within you. I would have you enter my service of your own free will but there are things I must first tell you.
“Know that you can stay if that is your intent. Know also, the dark priests will surely find you. They will not be as kind as I. They will bring a sentence of death upon those you love, as that is the law.”
Vilmos shuddered at the mention of the dark priests. Their task was to purge the land of magic, a task they and those that served them had carried out across the centuries.
“Or you can come with me now. I will do my best to teach you control over your powers. And though I am not human, I can teach you the way of the Magus.” Xith’s expression became stern. “A very difficult trial awaits in the coming days. In this I need your help, Vilmos. Will you help me?”
“Lillath will be lonely,” Vilmos said, wiping tears away from
wet cheeks. “Will they ever have another child?”
“In time, Lillath will have a child.”
“What of the dreams, are they gone?”
Xith stared directly into Vilmos’ eyes. “Have you made your choice, Vilmos?”
“I wish to go with you.”
Xith’s face betrayed no emotion, pleased or otherwise. He waved his hand, beckoning Vilmos to follow him.
The descent into the deep valley took many hours. Picking their way along the broken trail to the valley’s floor was akin to torture. Four times the trail cut into the face of perilously high walls ended, and four times they used ropes to continue the descent. Each time Vilmos muttered under his breath that there had to be other trails and each time Xith responded with, “Perhaps, perhaps not. At any rate this is the path we have chanced upon.” Xith spoke the words with such vigor that Vilmos was sure there was a lesson in the words, but what it was he didn’t know.
Vilmos craned his neck to see the lip of the wall they had just descended. He was panting, and sweat dripped from his chin.
Vilmos sighed and fought to take in one lengthy breath to get his breathing under control. The hard work had been oddly cleansing.
A soft breeze cutting through the valley brought cool air swirling beside the wall. Vilmos smiled, cool perspiration against his skin felt good. “Where do we go from here shaman?”
“The northwesterly curve of the valley will carry us to the upper bounds of the Vangar,” Xith said, indicating it was time to begin again. The brief rest was over.
The shaman spoke as he walked, “From there, it is at most a day’s trek to the plains beyond. We do not want to delay long in the forest. Hearing the news of bear attacks puts me at great unease. For something that surely isn’t human or oreadan has taken up residence there.”
“Oreadan,” mused Vilmos, turning to regard the shaman more closely. With the high sun at his back, the shaman seemed even more intriguing and mystical. Perhaps it was the wrinkled, timeworn face or the troubled, weary eyes that although the sun dulled them were still of a silvery gray. Perhaps his height, which measured Vilmos’ equal—but Vilmos was a boy with much growth ahead. As Vilmos considered this, Xith’s words struck a chord—nothing was north. “Do you mean to leave Sever? There is nothing but desolation beyond.”
“That is what you have been told, this is true. But the whole of the greatest kingdom in all the lands is north,” answered Xith, as he slung his leather satchel over the opposite shoulder and changed his walking stick into his left hand.
“The Alder’s Kingdom.”
“Yes, the Alder’s Kingdom, known as Great Kingdom to those who dwell there.”
Methodically, Xith picked up his staff and placed it in front of him with each step. Although well in his years, he didn’t show the signs of it. He didn’t need the walking stick though it looked very appropriate in his hand.
When it seemed Xith would say no more, he added, “And, the Borderlands are north of course.”
“Is that where we will go?” asked Vilmos, “I do not want to go there. I have heard strange tales about the Borderlands—evil dwells there,” a direct quotation from his mother. Vilmos was well practiced at recalling such things. His eyes grew wide. “What of the Hunter Clan? What of the Bandit King?”
“We must first enter Great Kingdom at a place called South Province.”
Vilmos tried to speak but Xith stopped him. “Sleep now,” he said. Xith waived a hand indicating Vilmos should help him set up camp. They would sleep beneath the stars this night.
Vilmos learned quickly the deep valley was a harsh place without a warming sun. Soon after dusk, the land lost all its warmth and the cold only worsened during the night.
Two hours before sunrise, they started their solitary march. By the time the evening sun arrived, they hoped to reach the river at the valley’s center. If they could cross the river an hour or so before nightfall they could, with luck, dry their clothes by the last of t
he sun’s rays. If they didn’t reach the river in time they would camp on the close shore and cross the river the next morning, but this would mean many wasted hours.
Xith set a furiously fast pace. Any rest periods this day would be few and short. Vilmos couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the farther north they went the more eager the shaman was to quicken the pace. The sores about his shoulders had grown scabs but still they ached with a dull pain. To him, the pain was a constant reminder of what waited ahead.
Soon after they came to a river and crossed it, Vilmos got up the courage to again ask questions about where they were going. Xith keyed in on the one that was the most important. “We walk to teach a lesson—your first lesson,” he replied. “The most important lesson of all. There is no simple path to follow. Once you begin a course of action, you must follow it through. Beside, it would be unwise to try to teleport to our destination. You would learn nothing and would most likely—”
“Teleport?”
“Yes teleport.” Xith held back a chuckle, knowing a secret yearn the boy was not aware of. “True teleportation, or moving from one place to another through magic, is very powerful magic. You must understand that. It is a feat few magicians may attempt. To fail is to bring your own demise. It is a special kind of incantation that draws heavily upon the threads of the universe. One must also know exactly where they are going in order to teleport.”
“You don’t know where we are going?”
“Yes I do, but you do not. For the spell to be successful, to teleport the two of us to where we travel, you must also know precisely the point to which we go.”
“Then tell me—”
“—I am afraid it is not that simple. For now, we will walk,” Xith said, using the Voice to end the conversation.
Xith stopped for a moment to open the leather bag that he had slung over his left shoulder. “Here, eat this.”
“What is it?”
“Dried fish.”
Vilmos invoked a sour face in disgust, but he was hungry. He disliked fish and decided after he swallowed the last bite that he especially disliked dried fish. Xith raised a warning hand as Vilmos started to speak again, waving his hands wildly and pointing to the ground, meaning for Vilmos to stoop low.
“What’s wrong?” whispered Vilmos, not moving.
“Shh!” responded Xith, “Get down.”
The response automatic, Vilmos sank low and moved to the tall grasses that grew along the river’s course. For a time silence followed, then abruptly his ears filled with the cacophony of hooves. Vilmos hugged the grasses closely and clung to the ground for safety.
The sound of hundreds of horses, the clash of whips and voices soon became overbearing. Vilmos had to block them out. He clasped his hands tightly to his ears and pushed vigorously until the sounds were muffled.
The ground trembled in the wake of the riders’ procession and in his fright, Vilmos pushed with such force his head began to throb with pain.
“Make it stop,” Vilmos whispered. The unmistakable rasping and creaking of a wagon passing in proximity to his position swelled to his ears despite the intended barrier. Wanting to run became the most prevalent thought in his mind, but would he be caught? What would they do to him if they caught him? And where was Xith?
Hesitantly, Vilmos opened his eyes and craned his head up slightly. Wagons were still passing and behind them came many more riders. Carefully Vilmos checked the area to his left and right, his hands never shifting from on top of his ears. Xith was nowhere in his eyesight and now Vilmos was really feeling frightened and alone.
The voices he heard seemed harsh and cruel, and the cracks of their whips sent shivers down his back. Please, oh please, don’t let them hurt me.
Seconds ticked by to the pace of his heartbeats. Vilmos prayed to Great-Father to keep him safe. Eventually though the sounds grew distant and as quickly as they had appeared, the men and horses disappeared.
Before daring to crawl from the high grass cover, Vilmos waited until he could no longer hear the sounds of movement. Hesitantly he rose from his crawl to a half stoop, and stared along the trail in the direction that the sounds had retreated.
“Xith? Xith? Where are you?”
Xith’s answer was calm. “Yes, Vilmos, I am with you.”
“Who were those men?”
“They are the reason we must travel swiftly.”
With his eyes filled with fright, Vilmos asked, “Would they have killed me?”
“There are worse fates than death, Vilmos.”
Vilmos brushed the grass and dirt from his clothing. “Where are they going? And why are they in the valley?”
“Most likely they use the valley for the same reason we do. It is safer than the forest.”
“Why would such a large group fear the forest?”
Xith turned to stare at the trail of dust rising from the valley floor. “Why indeed.”
Two long and uneventful days followed the encounter near the river, and on the eve of their fourth day in the valley Vilmos and Xith completed the crossing to the northern rim. Low bluffs on one side and gentle hills on the other replaced the high cliff walls of the southern rim. The two weary travelers found a small cave nestled in a low wall and they stopped to pass the night.
The cave was just as dreary as Vilmos had always imagined a cave would be—damp and dark, offering nothing that appealed to his senses. He almost would have rather slept outside on the hard ground.
“Can we camp outside in the clearing?” Vilmos asked.
Grinning solemnly, Xith nodded in agreement. The two made quick work of setting up camp outdoors. Tired and hungry, Vilmos sat expectantly. Xith turned to him, saying “Well, what are you waiting for? I am sure you will find some brush just beyond the clearing that will make us a good warm fire.”
Vilmos considered another time when Xith spoke those words. It seemed now a distant memory—not altogether forgotten, but rather something that had occurred long ago. Yet now he recalled the thought fondly and smiled as he retreated from the camp.
After a small bundle of assorted twigs and small sticks was neatly stockpiled Vilmos went in search of larger firewood and found some not far off. When he returned a second time, Xith indicated that he need gather no more wood. They would have plenty to carry them through the hours of darkness and to cook their breakfast if they so chose.
“Good,” Xith said. “Set the wood and start the fire.”
Vilmos did as Xith stated and built the fire base. When finished, he looked to Xith, waiting for the shaman to give him something to start the fire with.
Xith rummaged through his bags for a few moments, then set them aside. “Sorry, I must have lost the flint and steel.”
“Lost? How can I start a fire without it?”
“Are you always so stubborn? Use that which you have. You must always use the tools that you have been provided. Do not be afraid to use your natural talents.”
Vilmos searched in the dim light until he found something he could use: two stones, which he picked up and began to strike together trying to make a spark. Xith watched enthusiastically. Vilmos had such determination that Xith almost believed Vilmos would light the fire by striking the stones together.
Several frustrating minutes later, after Vilmos had smashed his fingers a few times, he gave up. He looked to Xith for a hint of approval or some sign to stop but Xith offered no response.
Vilmos didn’t want to disappoint the shaman. He snarled back a frown and returned to pounding the rocks together. Yet after smashing two more fingers, Vilmos cast the stones away. “I give up, I simply can’t do it.”
“You just aren’t trying hard enough.”
“What do you mean, I’m not trying hard enough?”
Xith stood and moved toward Vilmos. “I mean you’re not trying hard enough.”
“That’s it,” Vilmos said, “I’ve had it.”
“Calm down,” said Xith, “listen to me closely. All right?”
Vi
lmos nodded.
“You are going about this in the wrong manner. I said, ‘use your natural talents’. Magic is one of your greatest talents, Vilmos.”
“But, I don’t know how to use it that way.”
“Try,” invoked Xith. “All you have to do is try. You have the ability, it is easy.”
Vilmos mulled over Xith’s words for a moment. Still, he was afraid of his magic. Nothing good had ever come from using it. “No, I will not do it.”
“There is nothing to fear, just listen to me. Draw the energy into you, but slowly. Only build the power that you need,” instructed Xith, watching the boy’s face carefully. “Can you feel it?”
Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches: Omnibus Page 13
