by Dan Gillis
“Well … I don’t see a problem with it. Some extra protection would be nice, 'specially for Firah. I would hate to have her injured in any way, if you catch my meaning.” Tohm stared hard into the deep blue ocean that was in Zyr’s gaze.
“While I am aboard, I can guarantee her safety and health, sir. She will be guarded from predators of any sort.” He nodded to Tohm and collected his clothes from behind the bar. He moved through the room, past the girl.
“Dishwasher and mercenary … mmm … how very … convenient.” Tohm muttered beneath his breath. With one glance back at Firah, Zyr stepped to the door. She appeared still lost in thought and unaware of the conversation. “I’ll be here at sunrise sharp.”
Thwack. The wind draft closed the door firmly, snapping Firah back to the world with a jolt. She grasped the table to stop her spilling over in the rickety chair.
“Huh? Did he leave?” she enquired, looking about.
Tohm leaned up against the counter and scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘He is an odd one, Zyr.’ he mused inwardly. “Ye can bring me more of those used glasses, daydreamer.” As Firah turned to walk slowly to her friend, Tohm looked her square in the eyes, “I’ve got something to tell ye.” He set two full mugs upon the counter for each of them; two very different blends.
Last night’s storm had given way to a compelling calmness in the land. The sway of the trees and grass grew motionless. Freedom beckoned and from deep within the world a restless will was calling for the Sapling to grow.
Pain and Paraffin
THE MORNING DEW gathered softly upon the leaves of the thick forest boughs. The sun rose sharply in anticipation of the new day. Firah awoke to a morning chorus orchestrated by the local Thrushtal population. Their song was exquisite and lifted the heavy heart, and invited her to a new blessed day. It was said that the song held mystical qualities, a myth that many naturalists had tried in vain to verify. Firah appreciated the family that had nested just outside her window and enjoyed when she was treated to a musical awakening. It was the infrequency of these moments that made the experience warming and unforgettable. She remained still beneath her goose-down patchwork-cover and drank in the ethereal melody. The harmonious birds seemed to always have a new song to sing and Firah joked that the space of time between recitals must be spent in coming up with new and exciting material. Eventually the notes subsided and all was still. The wind rustled the branches of her tree outside and the sweet smell of morning enveloped the room.
It was at this minute that Firah realized she was late. Snapping out of bed like a blinded Gnarel, she attempted to pass through the morning ritual of cleansing rapidly. She eventually abandoned that and attempted to accomplish many tasks together. “Tohm will kill me!” she muttered furiously. As Firah crammed down food, she tried to control her vast bramble-bush of hair. Either endeavour was ultimately unsuccessful. She grimaced uncomfortably as food jammed at her stomach while stealing a glance in the settling surface of water. Her hair had seen better days.
Firah was whisking out the door when she heard a familiar sound. One of her Thrushtal neighbors had appeared and perched upon her bed post. Though a small bird it boasted a bright array of red and orange swatches on its wings. The colours were accentuated by its soot-black body which shifted this way and that. It looked at Firah inquisitively.
“Well, you finally decide to visit when I am in a desperate rush,” Firah said tartly.
The Thrushtal’s head cocked a little. “I’m afraid I have no more time to spend with you. I have to go!” She turned to leave when she felt a small pinch on her hand. There was another smaller bird there and it had nipped her! An irritated chirp rang out and she looked back to the bed post to see the first bird still there. It cocked its head again, almost as a signal, but Firah was beside herself. “Fly away!” she urged as she flicked her hand gently to remove the smaller white and black speckled visitor. The striping on its breast seemed to flow with the motion of Firah’s hand. The bed-post Thrushtal made a forlorn note and turned its head from right to left.
Firah sighed deeply. “What are you doing here? What are you trying to tell me?”
The one on her hand nipped her again and then flew to the small wooden box beside the bed. It cooed with a flustered tone and then preened its colorful secondary feathers.
“Hmmm. Is this what …?” Firah trailed off as she approached the small wooden box. She remembered yesterday morning that she had placed trinkets inside. The box held the few precious keepsakes of any value Firah owned. It was ornately carved, with bands of wood encasing the perimeter. It almost seemed that braids of hair were etched carefully and masterfully along the surface.
As she reached down to open the lid, the smaller Thrushtal climbed back onto her hand. Firah allowed it stay as she lifted the lid and then withdrew the contents. She discovered a small brooch, which had a distinctive brilliance and deep green color which sparkled brightly in the light from her window.
Firah held the brooch lightly and considered the small stone wrapped in golden braids. As she did so, the small Thrushtal on her hand pecked deeply into her thumb so that blood seeped from the skin.
Firah yelped and flicked the bird off her hand in surprise. She examined the small wound, as her blood flowed down her thumb onto the gemstone. Suddenly, both Thrushtals struck up a haunting melody which weaved through the room. It began first with the smaller female with a single piercing note which echoed eerily. Then together the voices grew in a complex weave of sound, and Firah felt a strange power growing in the room touching upon everything she could see. The surface of every object seemed to illuminate and glow. The light grew in intensity and Firah lifted her hand to shield her eyes. The Thrushtal chorus rose to a brilliant crescendo. It was a masterpiece of sound and deep within the score was a hidden longing.
Then the music stopped.
She withdrew her hand from her eyes. The Thrushtals and light were gone. No sign of bleeding remained, though she located a small, near-invisible scar on her thumb. The brooch had changed shape it seemed, the braids had become more like brambles and entwined themselves about the stone. Firah did not know how to take what had just occurred, but instinctively she raised the brooch to her leather tunic and slid it firmly into place.
“Whoa ...” she breathed out after an age. Coming to her sense, Firah looked at the rest of the items quickly: a small white stone of no apparent value, a strange set of dice, and a signet with a symbol of an open hand gesture completed the search of the new items from last night’s catch. She scooped up the items and dropped them in her inside pocket for future perusal. “I suppose I’ll have some time on this trip …”
A sudden flash of fear shaded Firah’s face. “I’m late! Tohm! He’ll … Oh no!” With reckless abandon she tore the door open and sprinted down the path. She intended to set a new time record today.
Tohm tapped his foot in irritation. He would tan the hide of that irresponsible little ingrate. She knew how critical an early departure was. If he could get a head start in the morning he might just get a better spot in the ridiculously long line of merchants into the city. Now where was she? He tapped a thick paddle against his shoulder. Well, the last time he used it was quite a while ago. Maybe she forgot how it felt. Still it hurt him to do it. He felt he had some responsibility to watch out for her. She was not his daughter in any sense, but their relationship had evolved over time. He was her conscience despite her attempts to ignore his promptings. Left to her own ends, she would likely have little if any moral sense. This small correction today would prevent certain disaster tomorrow. ‘No, it’s the right thing to do’ he thought as he steeled himself for the task. Sometimes the firm hand was best, as it certainly yielded short term results. His foot and paddle tapped in unison. He detested waiting.
A soft even voice broke through his annoyance. “She seemed quite distracted yesterday, Tohm. Perhaps something held her up today that we are unaware of?”
Zyr was there and on time as promise
d. Not that he would ever consider chastising the man if he happened to be late. Zyr appeared to be well past his thirtieth year and he was no slouch physically. Tohm had let him know yesterday in no uncertain terms what kind of conduct he expected of strangers in tow. His fears were alleviated and yet he had many questions for the man which he intended to ask along the journey. Zyr was introverted and said little, which made him a mystery, still Tohm felt at ease around him.
“I expect more of ‘er, Zyr. She’s a young woman who needs to learn responsibility. The whole day yesterday she spent frolicking about from place to place. Finally she 'eads 'ome late! She 'ides out there in the woods and does little for this village except to lighten the people’s load in unwanted ways.” He smacked the paddle vigorously against his shoulder.
Zyr grunted in response. Tohm did not know if it was in approval or whether the man simply acknowledged the statement. A sweat droplet trailed from Tohm’s brow. He cast his gaze heavenward. To the east, the sun was lifting off the crags of Tamers Reach, and the heat of the day was setting in. Another reason to leave early and an opportunity wasted. Tohm harrumphed and tapped some more as thoughts of the previous night returned.
“What do you want, Tohm?” Firah asked as she sat down upon the stool adjacent to him. Tohm filled her mug and leaned against the bar, flipping the copper coin over and over between his fingers.
“I’m not sure ‘ow to begin. Things have been very strange lately. Very strange. There is an ill feeling about and I can’t describe it. You know I’m no naturalist like Lady Zymka. I don’t know anything 'bout that. It’s just that I can’t get this odd feeling out of my mind. It’s somethin’ unnatural.” He sighed and placed the coin down and looked at Firah. She was staring off into nowhere again. Her obliviousness finally got the best of him. “Are ye listening?” he snapped loudly at her. Firah jumped out of her seat and splashed her second mug over the counter.
“Tohm! For heaven’s sake, don’t do that!” Firah hurriedly mopped the counter with a cloth nearby. Tohm merely stared at her. “I am listening, really. I've had ni... that is I have been feeling kind of odd recently too.” Firah chose not to discuss the nightmares; he would only worry more.
“It’s bigger than ye or I, Firah.” Tohm’s expression softened. “I wanted ye to come with me on this trip for more than a companion to chat with. I feel that something migh' happen if ye - if …” His gaze fell away from her.
Firah was watching Tohm carefully. He tried to mask the feeling of fear upon his face as he hurriedly wiped his brow free of sweat. “I can handle myself, Tohm.” She folded her arms subconsciously and watched the older man breath in deeply. Her face immediately betrayed the chiding she was giving herself for her brash comment. Tohm was preparing to blast.
“Ye have no idea what is coming! Ye think you will be able to resist the evil that has been infesting the land recently? Firah, get down off yer horse and take a sensible thought for yerself! You almost died during that last Dryke ‘gration and I won’t go through the torture of seeing ye cry out in poison-fever again! Now ye listen plain. Ye’ll get yourself here at sunrise sharp or I’ll paddle yer backside so hard ye won’t sit straight!” His breath came hard and his face was burning. Firah backed away and stood up.
“Fine.” She said dryly. “What, you want to play parent now? I don't care what you think I can handle. I said I'll go on this trip with you, but don't think I owe you anything! Don't even think about using the past against me!” She crossed the room vigorously towards the door and wrenched it open. After stepping outside, he heard the familiar thump of her hand smack against a wooden pillar.
Inside the tavern, Tohm slowly counted the coins with trembling hands, placed them in the till and deposited them into the safe box. He stopped working and braced himself against the sturdy counter. His toughened gnarled hands, worn with years of labour, slowly raised up and softly cradled his head.
An eternity in Tohm’s mind passed before Firah came racing around the corner of the smithy at top speed. The dirt kicked up fiercely beneath her boots while her arms pumped and her loosened hair flowed behind her. She came to an abrupt stop in front of Tohm and immediately rested her hands on her knees, while leaning over gasping in dreadful racked breaths.
“I … it’s just … you see … birds … not … my fault,” Firah wheezed out. She glanced in terror at the paddle in Tohm’s hand. Tohm waited until the broken testimonial was complete. He looked down at Firah with a calm steeled expression. Firah’s mouth moved wordlessly and then she slowly shuffled off behind the tavern. Tohm waited a moment, considering the wooden device in his hand. Then, head hung, he slowly shifted away to where she was waiting. At the last minute his head raised, steps resolute.
Zyr waited and listened to a breeze which rustled the trees gently. To the girl’s credit he heard naught but silence from her. He rolled the end of the cord that held his robe together between his fingers thoughtfully. His robe was white with dyed red columns that descended down the front. The hood was lowered, his hands protruded from beneath long sleeves. His feet were shod with worn leather boots which stirred the dust as he shifted. He listened as footsteps approached. Both heads were lowered, Firah’s face red from embarrassment and exhaustion. Tears lined her eyes which she quickly wiped away upon seeing Zyr for the first time. She climbed gingerly into the back of the waggon, settled down onto her side and said nothing.
Tohm climbed upon the waggon, loaded full of empty ale barrels - and situated himself in the driver’s seat. He quietly replaced the paddle behind the seat. The ponies shifted anxiously upon feeling tension on the reins and in the air. He sighed heavily and looked away from them into the distance. “Shall we leave now?” he asked quietly. Zyr stepped up lightly to take the place next to Tohm. The reins' sharp crack sent them off.
The ride was no picnic for Firah. Her sore backside made any degree of comfort impossible to find. She had little choice but to lie in the back of the uncomfortable waggon, near the end of the wooden carriage. Between the bumps, shimmies and lurches of the wooden wheels upon the uneven earth below she cursed those forsaken Thrushtals. In reality she knew that she had slept in sufficiently enough to merit a paddling without the birds delaying her, but her young mind needed to lash out at something. She simmered and sulked as she lay beneath the shadow of the large kegs. She was still feeling the stinging of the paddle but her conscience was stinging her worse. Still with every shift in the waggon she forced those feelings down with thoughts of self-pity. For hours she remained in the back of the waggon while her pain and discomfort gradually subsided. However, her mind remained stubbornly fixed upon her misery.
She was somewhat surprised to find out that Zyr was along for the entire ride to the city. What was with him? She had many questions about him, because he seemed so different. For a moment, she peered carefully but painfully over the lids of the kegs. Tohm and Zyr were engaged in quiet conversation. She slowly shifted back to her most comfortable position (which wasn’t saying much). ‘Well, let Tohm figure him out then,’ she grumped.
It suddenly occurred to Firah that the waggon had slowed. She propped herself up to look ahead past Tohm and Zyr. Tohm was peering around the near road and treed hills with a look of apprehension. His hand was resting upon something just behind him; Firah could not see what it was. Zyr simply stared ahead without moving.
“Hey, what’s …?”
Tohm silenced Firah with a quick gesture. He put his finger to his lips. He pointed far down the road. A lone figure stood there waiting. Firah hunched low and considered the situation. Meeting other travelers was not uncommon but somehow she felt uneasy as well. Their passenger Zyr showed no sign of any emotion, his hood was over his bowed head. To the onlooker he might appear asleep, but Firah could see his one visible eye coolly focused upon the road.
“We’ll play ignorant and stupid. It could turn out to nothin',” Tohm whispered softly. Firah’s vindictive streak laughed within. Tohm’s plan of action described how she
felt about him perfectly. Quickly she chastised herself for such a thought. There was real trouble ahead and time for anger and grudges was past. She nodded and lay down again, staying low and very still. The waggon slowly made its way up the road towards the lone stranger ahead. “G’day, sirrah!” Firah heard Tohm bellow jovially. She waited and strained her ears.
“Hello there, m’good man,” a deep voice penetrated the air. “Off to Khyvla, eh?” The stranger was close to the waggon now. Firah felt her stomach drop as they jolted to a halt. Normally, lack of movement would be a godsend, but presently she wished to be gone from this place. Despite the wagon height blocking her from view, the terrible stirring in her gut had only magnified in proximity to the stranger.
“Just takin’ some empties up to the city. Time for a refill.” Tohm’s voice never wavered but maintained its mirthful tone. He was good at theatrics, Firah noted.
“Empty, you say?” The voice seemed to falter slightly as if in consideration of something. “Carrying anything else?” Firah’s throat tightened. The voice was closer and she heard footsteps scraping upon the ground approaching the waggon bed. It was during this moment of alarm she realized, that in the morning’s haste, she had forgotten her knife.
“Nothin’ of interest to you,” Tohm’s voice now carried a note of warning. The footsteps ceased. There was a palpable moment of dead silence, where voice, wind, all nature seemed silenced. Firah wondered if they were regarding each other. For now she could only perceive the inside of the waggon around her and portions of the trees standing upon the hills on either side of the road. Firah’s thieving experience told her that they were caught in a disadvantaged position, considering all the difficulties of maneuvering a cart as well.
