by M. M. Perry
The party made good time, skirting along the tree line for more than three hours. By the time Cass finally turned the group into the forest on a narrow but well-worn dirt path, they had travelled nearly the entire length of the Plains of the Dead Gods.
Unlike other forests that Cass had travelled, which fostered many dangerous creatures within them, the wood surrounding the plains was more likely to harbor bandits than beasts. For the most part, brigands took little interest in parties that travelled with one warrior among them, let alone two, so Cass approached the woods unworriedly.
Inez however, had some trouble convincing Barnaby to move away from the lush green grass of the plains, which he’d been munching on whenever the party slowed down, and onto the mostly bare dirt path. Eventually, after Nat lured Barnaby forward with softly spoken words of encouragement and a ripe apple, she was trundling along the path. The forest overgrowth reached into the path, and brushed against the sides of the cart as it forged a new, wider path, weeds and small branches snapping in the spokes of the wheels as it moved down the trail.
Once they were far enough in the forest that he could no longer see the plains, Callan surveyed the greenery. He looked up at the sun-spattered leaves overhead. He took a deep breath and found he enjoyed the earthy fragrance of the forest. For a moment, he forgot all about how much he hated the inconveniences of travel, forgot about the comforts of court life, and simply enjoyed the scent of the outdoors.
Nat bounced along behind Inez, a happy grin plastered on his face. He was living out his dream, travelling on an adventure with warriors who seemed to enjoy his company and, he was beginning to hope, possibly even respect him. It was so different from the life he had led before. Growing up in the city, he was mostly ignored by the other boys his age, if he was lucky. When they did notice him, it was only to make him the butt of their latest joke. The girls he’d tried to approach had scoffed at him dismissively, insulted that he’d even think he was worthy of speaking to them. He’d never had so much as a two sentence conversation with a girl, let alone managed to kiss one, despite all his ill-conceived attempts to do so. Yet their rebuffs never discouraged him for long. His eternally cheerful disposition and unquenchable optimism seemed particularly irksome to the other boys, and each attempted wooing was usually followed by a visit from the other boys and a long session of jeering and berating, and sometimes even a beating. When he wasn’t being beat up on, ignored, or insulted, this was the type of life Nat had always dreamed he’d have one day, and he could hardly believe he was living it now. As his pony clopped along behind the wagon, he whistled a jaunty tune.
Cass could hear the melody all the way at the front of the procession, and she smiled. The day was warm, even here under the canopy, she had a belly full of food, a handsome man to keep her company, and was on a promising adventure. She could think of nothing more a warrior could ask for.
Gunnarr brought up the group’s rear. He could hear Nat’s tune much more clearly than Cass, since the rattling, creaking cart wasn’t between him and Nat, and was able to place it. Gunnarr began tapping the pommel of his saddle in time to the music. It was the rare day like today that let him forget, for a while, how uncomfortable he was around people, and how much he missed the seclusion of his icy homeland. He was a quiet, solitary man by nature, and his upbringing had reinforced that. Between the isolation of his home island, the perpetual winter that blanketed it and the frequency with which one was out to sea, Braldashadian custom hadn’t come to embrace the idea of small talk or public speaking, and Gunnarr found he had little skill for either.
Although he was desperate to let Cass know how he felt, he wasn’t sure he would ever get up the courage to approach her about it. Gunnarr had admired her from afar for more than a year now, convinced he would never get the chance to speak to her alone; she was always surrounded by groups of warriors eager to hear her latest tales.
He still couldn’t believe how brazen he had been to insist to the pompous king that she needed to come on their journey. Although he hadn’t entirely lied about how the party would benefit from her experience—it was true that she would be the best for getting Callan to Oshia’s temple—that hadn’t been his real motivation. He had seen an opportunity to travel with her in a small enough group that he hoped he could find some time alone with her, and seized it. Even if she turned out to be uninterested in him romantically, which he had originally feared was more than likely, he still looked forward to working with her. She was an experienced warrior of considerable skill. This morning, however, he was musing more on her feminine features than her warrior’s heart. Cass had been apparently pleased by his scheming to bring her into the group, both telling him and showing him, with more indecorous gestures than he knew existed, that should he be interested in more than mere companionship during their adventure if he was likewise inclined, she would be agreeable to the notion.
Her tent, she had told him just that morning, was always available.
The huge man blushed at the idea of it. Braldashad women were certainly meeker about courtship. The most common way for a Braldashadian couple to meet was through arrangements their parents set up; awkward affairs between two people that had never met, but whose parents had slapped them together forever for the mutual benefit of their respective families. Romance back home, if it could be called that, was overruled by practicality and needs. Gunnarr hadn’t stuck around home long enough for his own mother to try setting him up with Hilda who, in the words of his mother, was “a sturdy woman who’d make a good mother and is a great cook.” Gunnarr was suspicious his mother wanted to put them together merely to get her hands on what she called “the best fish stew recipe this side of Tanavia.” Gunnarr knew he wanted his bride to be more than a good fish stew recipe and a fertile womb. He wanted someone he could share his life with.
The trees along the path began to thin alongside the trail, as he caught a peek of Cass at the front of the party, scanning from side to side, watching for any signs of trouble. He smiled, privately pleased that he had found the strength of will to finally approach her, and offered a silent prayer to Timta thanking her for blessing him with enough charisma to interest Cass. Cass was proving to be everything he had expected and hoped she would, and Gunnarr knew how rare a thing that was.
“I’m hungry,” Inez’s grumblings brought the group out of their respective reveries. “You oafs may be able to pack away the food into your camel humps, but I can’t. I’m an old woman, although I understand how that might have slipped your attention. I need to eat every eight hours. And my left cheek,” she slapped her rump, “has fallen asleep. I nominate the Braldashad to massage it back to life.”
“Oh by the Gods,” Callan said, “just when I thought you’d gotten as disgusting as possible, you outdo yourself. Are all peasants this uncouth, or is it just you lot?”
Cass giggled.
“We’ll stop when we get there, my lady,” she managed to say without any tittering, a feat considering how the old woman was lasciviously rubbing her backside while leering at Callan. “For now, you’ll have to eat what’s handy while we keep pace. As for the massage,” Cass said turning back and winking at Gunnarr, “I think you’ll have to take that up with our fine friend yourself.”
He smirked, and shook his head to indicate that he was declining her offer. Inez muttered about her long and growing list of grievances with the Braldashadian as she rummaged blindly behind her in the cart, looking for her store of jerky.
Nat offered cheerfully, “Perhaps another of Cass’ tales will help pass the time?”
“No!” both Inez and Callan said at the same time.
“You don’t like them, sir?” Nat asked.
“It isn’t that I don’t find them exciting, it’s that I find them too harrowing. Every time she tells one of those stories I am reminded of how dangerous this trip is going to be,” Callan said looking into the trees suspiciously.
“You want to know what I think about her stories?” Inez as
ked.
“Not particularly,” Callan responded for everyone.
They rode in silence for a while until Gunnarr spoke up.
“I could tell a story of the gods, one my people tell. It’s not a frightening tale,” he suggested quietly.
“I think that’s a grand idea,” Cass called back from the front of the line.
“Fine,” Callan said not especially interested, yet unwilling to potentially insult the huge man either.
Even Inez silently assented, apparently not having a ready barb to dissuade the warrior.
“This is the story of Laota,” Gunnarr began, “the god of the sea, and how he managed to win the heart of Timta. As you may know, Freesus has always been jealous of Timta’s beauty and envious of how all men, god or mortal, fawn over her. Her spite grew so great that one day, she put a powerful curse on Timta—that she should never feel love for anyone. Try as Timta might, she could not find it in her heart to love any man, mortal or immortal, no matter how much they might please her.
“Laota happened to see Timta one day nurturing the fields of crops of a struggling village so they would not starve. None of the other Gods had responded to the desperate, pleading prayers of the villagers. Laota was first attracted to Timta because of this one act of kindness. Afterwards, he watched her for years, noticing how kindly Timta always dealt with mortals, yet how coolly she turned away suitor after suitor. When Laota finally realized that he had fallen in love with Timta from afar, he asked his sister Sala, the goddess of the wind, why the lovely Timta took no lovers. When Sala explained the curse to Laota, he was heartbroken.
“Sala, wishing to help her brother, suggested Laota might cheat the curse. He could go to Timta not as a man, but in some other form. Being a god, after all, he could go to her in whatever guise he chose. Laota, though doubtful such simple deception could circumvent the curse, was desperate. He decided to take his chance, and visited Timta that night as a dream. He made himself into a dream of beauty and love, putting all his feelings for Timta into the vision. Timta dreamt that night of being wrapped in a love everlasting. She awoke the next morning ecstatic, for this was the first time she had ever known love.
“Each night, Timta went to sleep hoping to have the same dream, and each night Laota visited her. Laota was perfectly happy to live this way, visiting his love as she slept, sharing his deepening affection with her, and she with him.
“The affair went on like that for many moons until, one morning, Timta awoke and discovered two things; that she was with child, and that her nightly romances were more than dreams. She knew that if Freesus found out she was with child, she would suspect Timta had broken her curse and seek out Timta’s love and destroy it. So, Timta kept her growing belly hidden from the other Gods, and kept her nightly visitor a secret as well, eagerly awaiting her dreams each night.
“When the child was born, Laota could not have been more pleased. Now, he not only had Timta’s love, but a beautiful girl as well—Issa, the goddess of beauty. But Freesus soon found out about the child, and was furious her curse had failed. She watched Timta relentlessly, every moment, never stopping, seeking out the weakness in her spell. Being a god herself, that night when Laota visited Timta’s room she perceived him, and knew who it was, but at first couldn’t tell what form he’d assumed. After three nights of ceaselessly watching, she finally figured out how Laota was avoiding the curse.
“On the next day, Freesus visited Timta. She told Timta that her nightly visions were actually Laota, taking on the form of a dream to visit her each night. As Laota’s ruse was unmasked, and Timta became aware that her love was for a man, she felt the love in her heart cooling, despite how hard she tried to hold onto it. The curse had done its job well. That night when Laota visited Timta, he found her awake and waiting for him. Weeping, she asked him not to come back, for she could no longer return his love.
“Laota pleaded with Timta, saying he could no more stop loving her than he could halt the sands of time. Timta told him she could not love him back any more. Laota pleaded with her to try, telling her that his love was too powerful to be dismissed. Timta asked Laota not to despair completely. She said that the dreams Laota had given her were such beautiful things he should share them with the world. That although she couldn’t share in them anymore, he should send the dreams to anyone who was kept apart from their love, to make them feel closer at least in dreams. Laota, seeing the kindness and goodness in this boon, did as she asked, which is why our people sleep under a totem of Timta and Laota whenever we are away from the ones we love. We ask Laota to bring us dreams of happiness and love so that our nights are not so cold and lonely,” Gunnarr finished.
“I thought you said this was going to be a good story,” Callan said. “That was depressing.”
“Some parts, perhaps. But you might like a totem for your tent, your highness,” Gunnarr said. “Then your wife won’t seem so far away.”
Callan pursed his lips as he rode.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” he said quietly.
Inez was oddly quiet, a melancholy upon her. Callan looked over to see a tear falling down her craggy face.
“Don’t tell me there’s still a heart in that husk of yours,” Callan said derisively.
“What?” Inez exclaimed. She touched her cheek. When she felt the tear there she quickly brushed it away.
“No, you idiot. A gnat flew in my eye,” she said angrily. “I wasn’t even listening anyway.”
Callan harrumphed his incredulity. Inez ignored him, determinedly watching Cass ahead of them and avoiding looking into Callan’s eyes.
Chapter 5
As soon as he could make out the Village of Light on the horizon, Nat’s anxiety began mounting again. Everyone was counting on him. If he failed, they might never reach the temple of Oshia. That possibility loomed in the background of all his thoughts as they entered the village.
The village was laid out simply, small huts of wood and grass arranged in concentric circles. Its people wore plain tunics and linen pants, mostly in shades of washed out tawny. There was one glaring exception to the general palette of drab in the village; the elaborately attired enchanters, who stood out among them like brightly colored flowers. Nat stared openly at them as he passed.
The enchanters, all young girls, wore clothing of deep, rich greens. Each one sported a vest so long that it fell to just above their knees, covered in pockets in a range of shapes and sizes. Underneath that they wore a garment so cunningly joined that Nat could spot no seams in the fabric; the jade form-fitting undergarment clung tightly to their bodies, covering everything except for their hands and feet. Their knee high boots were made from some pliant material that was as form fitting as the undergarment. It wasn’t leather, so far as Nat could tell. He’d never seen leather move so supplely. Nat thought their most striking adornment was their rings. The enchanters’ hands sparkled with gems of every color. Bands of precious metal adorned every finger, flashing almost as brightly as the gems set on them. Nat couldn’t take his eyes off the enchanters, finding each one he saw impossibly more dazzling than the last.
He swallowed nervously when he realized that someone was talking to him. An old man, hobbling towards the group with the aid of an ancient looking walking stick, had said something to him but he hadn’t caught it. Before he could fumble out a reply, Gunnarr rode up alongside him.
“Just do what feels natural. Don’t worry,” he whispered to Nat, “you’ll be fine.”
Nat sat up straighter, determined to at least look brave in front of the warrior, despite what he was feeling.
“You folks in need of an enchanter then?” the old man gestured at Cass, apparently addressing her, although it was hard to be sure. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Nat since he’d first spied him, and was looking Nat up and down as if he were appraising an item at market.
“We are,” Cass said.
She hopped off her horse and bowed slightly to the old man.
“I believ
e we can come to an arrangement,” Cass said rising.
The old man approached Nat, who was still seated on his pony, and patted him on the knee. When Nat flinched at the touch the old man grinned.
“I think we can,” he said, finally turning to look at Cass, “but later. Now, you must be tired. Let us share a meal while you tell us of your travels.”
The brief formalities over, Gunnarr hopped off of his mount. Almost before he had landed, a young villager appeared at his side and took the reins of his horse. When Nat hopped down his pony was likewise met by a young boy, so he hurried to Inez to help her out of her wagon.
Callan slid off his horse and looked appraisingly at one of the enchanters.
“I’ve heard the younger they are, the more powerful. We should pick accordingly. More power is better,” Callan said.
“They will send who they will send,” Gunnarr replied, “after we tell them who we are and where we’re going, they will decide amongst themselves who is best for this task. We don’t get to pick.”
“Well, maybe we can help them make a good decision. I’m sure I’ve got enough coin to encourage them to decide that it would be best if one of the younger ones came with us,” Callan suggested.
“Why don’t we just wait and see who volunteers first. If you are unsatisfied, we may ask for another,” Gunnarr said impatiently, “although that is rarely done, and shows a great disrespect for the enchanter.”
“Right, let’s do that then, see who they send,” Callan said, finally noticing Gunnarr’s growing displeasure. “We might just luck out and get a young one anyway. What is the going rate for an enchanter then?”
“A virgin,” Inez said, hobbling forward.
“What!?” Callan exclaimed.
“A male virgin, more precisely,” Inez said relishing in the king’s discomfort.
