“Yes, my hand is very red. Blood of giants, I’m afraid,” he continued gleefully, winking at Xemion, who had slowly edged closer. “I say it sadly of course. Always wear a glove when you slay a titan.”
With that he stepped through the fog toward Xemion and, looking deep into his eyes, withdrew his hand from his pocket and extended it. “Vallaine,” he said, his smile blazing once again. Xemion looked at Saheli and then he looked at the red hand, but before he could reach for it something sharp and hard thumped into his chest and he let out a grunt of pain. There followed a ghastly shriek as something grotesque and tottering lurched at them out of the fog.
A cutlass slid out of Vallaine’s cloak so fast it screeched as though upon a sharpener’s wheel. Fine and thin, it sliced through the fog and he emitted his own deep and hideous scream. His face, which had seemed so handsome, now became a dangerous contortion of rage and menace. Just as he swung his lethal blade, Saheli saw the truth. It was their friend Torgee with his younger sister Tharfen on his back wearing a mask. With a sharp blow of her staff, Saheli struck the cutlass in mid-flight, deflecting it just enough to prevent it from colliding directly with its target, but not enough to stop it knocking Tharfen’s mask to the ground. Stripped of it, the usually stonefaced Tharfen was revealed on her brother’s back, her mouth agape, her slingshot slanting down from trembling hands.
“They’re our friends!” Saheli screamed, her staff now pointed toward Vallaine’s throat, ready to fend him off should he attack again. Vallaine’s face instantly reverted to its former charming appearance. “My goodness, I’m so sorry,” he said, briskly resheathing his weapon.
Tharfen was clearly not pleased to have been so frightened. She jumped to the ground, where she kept raking her fingers through the tight curls of her bushy red hair with one hand while swinging her slingshot round and round in the other. She was about twelve years old and notably shorter than the others.
“What are you doing up here, Torgee?” Xemion demanded, rubbing his chest where the stone from Tharfen’s sling had hit him. Saheli warily tracked Vallaine’s movements from the corner of her eye as the wind erupted anew, driving the fog away.
“I’ve been tracking you all morning,” Torgee answered. He tapped his nose in a self-approving way to indicate his pride in the sense of smell he had an abundance of. It was a big nose, and Xemion, who had always considered it to be quite unbecoming, had been surprised recently to learn that Saheli thought it quite impressive, very much befitting his face. “My sister wants your blood,” Torgee said without a smile. “And I’m her bloodhound.”
“I knew someone was following us,” Saheli said.
“I told you I would get you,” Tharfen snarled at Xemion. “And don’t be thinking we’re even, ’cause we ain’t.”
“But you’re not supposed to be up here,” Xemion admonished, eyeing Vallaine. “You should go home immediately.”
Saheli turned to Vallaine. “Actually, sir, he’s right. We should all go home. None of us should be up here. Come on, Tharfen.”
Vallaine interrupted her in a tone of great concern. “Oh, but please allow me first to apologize to the young lady.” He stepped toward Tharfen. “Tharfen, my name is Vallaine.” He held out his hand to her and Tharfen, only now seeing its deep unnatural redness, froze. “Shall we shake hands?” he asked, his voice deep and rich and charming. Tharfen’s own redness had drained from her cheeks when he first held out his hand, but it now returned with renewed vigor, this time as a blush.
“Don’t,” Saheli warned sternly.
Tharfen barely heard her. The normally fierce girl rumoured to be the offspring of a union between her mother and a pirate captain turned her face away and put her hand behind her back. “I understand, Tharfen,” the man said forgivingly. “You’re still quite young, and of course I imagine you are quite scared of me, aren’t you?”
Not even this could tempt Tharfen to take his hand, so he turned his brilliant smile full force on Torgee and likewise offered his hand. Torgee neither bowed nor replied. He just stood there; his nostrils flared, his big square jaw thrust forward, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Come now, Torgee. I can see you’re a Phaer fellow. Can we not start anew?”
“Your mother wouldn’t want you shaking hands with strangers,” Saheli warned, taking a step toward them. Torgee looked away and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his cloak, the grey hood rippling behind him in the gusting wind. There followed an awkward pause that only ended when the man turned dryly toward Saheli and said, “How may a man ever cease being a stranger if he cannot properly introduce himself?”
Saheli didn’t reply. She just stood there with that scared, angry look on her face, her knuckles white as she gripped her sunflower staff. Xemion had been doing his best to remain quiet. But unlike the others he had no fear of this man. Quite the opposite, in fact. “That sword,” he said with awe. “It’s magnificent.”
Vallaine bowed. “Well, I might say the same of yours,” he replied with a strange look in his eye. “I never saw such a blade as the one you just danced before the sun.”
“It’s not a real sword,” Saheli interjected swiftly.
Vallaine’s eyes shot down to Xemion’s side, where he knew the item in question lay sheathed beneath the boy’s long cloak. For a second it looked as though he might ask Xemion to extract the blade and show it to him, but something in Saheli’s glance stopped him.
“Isn’t Vallaine an old Elphaerean name?” Xemion asked.
“Indeed it is,” Vallaine acknowledged. “And I’m tall like an Elphaerean too. But I assure you I have not the goodness of an Elphaerean. Why, I’d do wicked things if I had to.” He laughed quite merrily at the look of shock on Saheli’s face and turned back to Xemion, “And I never did catch your name …”
“My name is Xemion.”
“Pleased to meet you, Xemion.” Once again, Vallaine offered someone his bright red hand. Xemion hesitated. Half of him wanted to shake that hand, but its deep, unnatural redness repelled him.
“Come now, Xemion. I heard you speaking of your belief in a new Phaer Republic,” Vallaine chided with just a hint of indignation in his voice. “Surely you’ve heard of the Phaer custom of shaking a man’s hand after a conflict as a gesture of peace and goodwill?”
“Of course,” Xemion replied. He swallowed hard, and before Saheli could stop him, he grabbed the red hand and shook it vigorously. Both Torgee and Tharfen looked on, impressed with Xemion’s bravery. The grip of Vallaine’s hand was a lot warmer and stronger than Xemion had expected — almost too warm and strong. He might have felt a slight shock on contact too.
“Now that’s what I like.” Vallaine beamed. “A young fellow with courage and strength. I knew there was something special about you the moment I saw you.”
“Thank you.” Xemion almost blushed as the handshake continued.
“You are obviously a fellow with the touch of destiny about him.”
Xemion returned Vallaine’s gaze and kept pumping that red hand eagerly. All his life he had been waiting to hear such words.
“Isn’t it against the law for a man to bear arms?” Saheli cut in.
“That depends on whose law you’re speaking of,” Vallaine replied just as pointedly. He let go of Xemion’s hand.
“What law is there other than Pathan law?” Saheli persisted.
This angered Vallaine. “Do you mean other than the Pathan law that justified the occupation of our island and the murder of so many of our people?” Saheli stared back at him, but said nothing. “Do you mean the Pathan law that in its quest to destroy the threat of spellcraft destroyed all our great libraries and burned the librarians in the same bonfires they used to burn our books and musical instruments? The Pathan law that enslaves our people, separating child from mother and sister from brother?”
“She doesn’t know all that,” Torgee dared to interrupt. “She has amnesia.”
“I see.” Vallaine’s manner softened. “Well, le
t me show you what law I obey,” he said. With a small wink at the now utterly pacified Tharfen, as though asking her permission, he slowly withdrew his cutlass from its scabbard and, laying it sideways across his forearm, knelt down to show them the image of a gorehorse embossed in the centre of its hilt. Breathlessly, Xemion, Torgee, and Tharfen gathered around, wide-eyed.
“The symbol of the old Phaer Republic,” Xemion said breathlessly.
“Not just the old Phaer Republic,” Vallaine corrected him, “the eternal Phaer Republic. Just because the Elphaereans have left the Phaer Isle, doesn’t mean that their ways and laws must vanish along with them. They are Phaer and righteous laws, and the only ones I care to obey. And you will all notice, I hope,” he went on with a smile at Torgee, “that neither the hilt of my sword, nor the palm of your friend Xemion, here, have been besmirched in any way from contact with my poor, unsightly hand, which, by the way, I was born with.”
When Vallaine stood and resheathed his weapon, Torgee cast a guilty glance at Saheli, gulped, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Torgee,” he offered solemnly.
“Ah, good fellow,” Vallaine, said, shaking his hand. An uncharacteristic grin arced up out of Torgee’s stony features.
Tharfen was next. Vallaine’s charm and the beauty of his weapon had completely won her over. “Nothing to ’er,” she said when he let her hand go. “Hearty.”
Saheli did not follow suit. She kept both her hands tight on her staff. “Well, it’s been very nice to meet you, sir,” she said, glaring at Xemion and Torgee and giving a quick jerk of her head toward Ildewood. “But we really must be on our way now.”
“And what way is that?” Vallaine asked jovially, bowing in a little too close to her.
Just then a loud, eerie bellow swelled up the side of the promontory and spilled over the meadow.
“That is the very call I told you about, Saheli!” Xemion exclaimed. “I heard it this morning. Is it a dragon?” he asked, turning to Vallaine.
“It’s not a dragon. The dragons are indeed returning to the Phaer Isle, but that is the call of my mammuth,” Vallaine stated. He gazed over toward the far edge of the promontory, beyond which the voluminous thunderhead seemed so close one might almost touch it.
“You could not possibly have a mammuth up here,” Saheli asserted.
“Really?” Vallaine seemed to find this highly amusing. “Well, who wants to come and see the mammuth that’s not there then?” He chortled as he set off toward the other side of the promontory with a capering kind of walk. Xemion and Torgee followed, but at first Tharfen stayed with Saheli, who stared after them angrily. There was a whirring sound in the air, and before Saheli could stop her, Tharfen let the rock in her sling fly straight at Xemion, hitting him square in the middle of the back. He lurched forward with a shout, and as he turned around angrily, received with a significant thump the next stone square in the middle of his chest. Tharfen laughed uproariously at his cry of pain. “I told you I would get you,” she chortled, jumping about merrily. “When I say I’m going to get someone, I get ’em and I get ’em good, so it hurts.”
Her peal of delight was accompanied this time by laughter from Torgee and Vallaine. “Very accurate!” Vallaine said. Xemion, though the impact had hurt him, cupped his hand playfully over his heart and proclaimed in a dramatic voice “I am sore wounded. I fear unto death.” He fell to the ground and remained still. This seemed to satisfy Tharfen. With a look of triumph she pocketed her sling and caught up with Torgee and Vallaine. Xemion got back to his feet with a beckoning wave to Saheli and went on with them.
Saheli stomped her foot angrily, but then she too set off through the fleeing fog-shadows and the bent-over-backward daisies in the direction of the sea. In front of her, Tharfen was now striding proudly along beside Vallaine, her hand as it swung back and forth keeping good time with his. Was it Saheli’s imagination, or was his hand even redder than before?
4
The Mammuth That’s Not There
The sun shone brightly above them as they looked down at the sea from the edge of the promontory. The wind seemed to be gusting every way at once, but the thunderhead, massive as a mountain, had stalled at the horizon. A thin, patchy sea fog scurried before it like some vassal army sent in to test the isle’s defences. It bunched up at the foot of the promontory, obscuring most of the road that ran along the bottom of the cliffs. Saheli reached into the pocket of her cloak and removed the ancient telescope that she had brought from the tower tree and peered into it anxiously as though it might somehow enable her to pierce through the fog.
“Where is your mammuth?” she asked indignantly.
“I’m not sure,” Vallaine replied with a smirk. “I last saw it down at the shore, below us. Which as you can see is now buried in fog.” He put a hand over his eyes and looked in an almost mocking way into the thundercloud as Saheli’s sense of alarm steadily increased.
“You said there was a mammuth. You convinced them to come with you and see this mammuth. So where is it?” Her voice was sharp and shaking a little, but her hand was tightly wrapped around her sunflower staff. She had made it from the tallest of Xemion’s collection of giant sunflower stalks. It was hollow on the inside but hard like wood on the outside and she wondered if it came to it whether it was strong enough to knock Vallaine down the side of the cliff quicker than he could draw that cutlass and do whatever evil deed it was he had planned.
There was a sudden gust of wind from the west and the thin veil of mist on the sea shifted. “There!” Tharfen shouted. A massive grey face was suddenly exposed moving steadily forward out of the sea fog. It had red ruby eyes, a trunk as wide as an oak tree, and two dreadful tusks curved up to dripping red tips.
“Yes, there she is,” Vallaine announced proudly. As the fog parted, they beheld a beautiful Elphaerean war galleon, its green sails full of wind, its prow carved in the shape of a mammuth’s head. They watched as a tall sailor came onto the deck and blew a long white curving horn that might actually have been a mammuth tusk. The call shimmered over the waters and thundered up the side of the cliff.
“That’s it!” Xemion exclaimed.
Saheli put aside her telescope. “What a beautiful ship,” she whispered.
“So?” Vallaine asked, turning to her with a grin.
“So … so,” she replied. “I guess you tricked me. With words.”
“No apologies needed, young lady. You must be careful whom you trust in this world. I was just having a little fun with you.”
The galleon slowed to a halt about two hundred yards from the water’s edge. A small rowboat was lowered and several sailors and one man-like creature that seemed to have the head of a bird started to row toward shore as they all looked on in awe from the cliff.
Vallaine took the opportunity to take Xemion and Saheli aside.
“I wonder if I might talk to you two privately now,” he asked. “It is an issue not for the ears of the other two,” he whispered. “I believe them to be the children of kwislings.” His face took on an expression of extreme contempt as he pronounced this last word, for it was the name given to those Phaerlanders who had betrayed their own people by swearing fealty to the Pathan magma god.
“It’s not their fault if their parents are —”
“I’m not blaming the children. Believe me,” Vallaine cut her off. “But there will be risk to me and my cause whether Tharfen spills the truth deliberately or by accident. The less they know the better.”
Despite Saheli’s continuing hesitation, Xemion agreed and the three of them walked a little farther along the edge of the promontory. When they stopped, Vallaine grew serious.
“You wondered, Saheli, why I hid and watched you. I’ll tell you why. It is because I am looking for certain special people. But I won’t know those people by their outward appearance. I’ll know them by what they do.”
“And what is that?”
“I am looking for a cohort of new Elphaereans. I am looking for Phaerlanders with cou
rage and strength and passion to come and join me and some others to take up arms and old ways once again in the city of Ulde.”
Xemion and Saheli were both astonished at this suggestion. The city of Ulde had lain in ruins for fifty years, ever since the Great Kone had stopped turning and the brutal Pathans, no longer held back by magical armaments, had conquered the Phaer Isle.
“But I thought —”
“I know what you thought,” Vallaine said, cutting him off. “But there has long been an outpost in the city. We’ve been recovering it block by block right under the Pathan’s noses, waiting for the right time. And that time is now. That’s why for the past month I have travelled all the regions of the Phaer Isle from east to west looking for one hundred worthies. I have found many brave, daring souls in other parts of the isle, but from this end, which has been so cut off, I’ve had no success. I’ve been through all the villages along the coast and found not a single one who was not an avowed kwisling. I tell you I had given up. I came up here to signal my ship in order to depart, and then I beheld you, Xemion, and your way with the sword and —”
“It’s not a real sword,” Saheli cut in.
“It certainly looked like one. And how, by the way, can you have learned those ancient poses, Xemion? When all knowledge of them — all teaching and texts — have been banned or burned for a half-century. Well, it hardly matters. It’s what he does with it — the way he feels about it. And you, Saheli, the way you almost disarmed me with your staff, and I a skilled warrior. You have the reflexes and strength of a lioness. Do you realize with proper training you could both make outstanding swordfighters?”
The Paper Sword Page 2
