There began a quiet murmuring amongst the elders. Though relatively young, Starwind had proven himself and his worth on numerous occasions. He could only hope that they would decide that it would be unfair to take his word lightly.
"It is not that we do not believe you," one elder finally confessed, "but that we have no precedent for such a thing. We are an ordered people, as well you know. Never has anyone who was not of our cousin-Clans, the Shin'a'in, ever been granted the title of Wingsib. This woman has not even a drop of shared blood with us!"
He set his jaw. "Do we share blood with hertasti? With tervardi or kyree? With dyheli? Yet all of these are welcome here!"
The elder sighed. "Starwind, you are young and eager for a change that you see as a clear necessity, but we are not comfortable when someone wishes to make things change so suddenly. This makes us unwilling to accept that which brings changes, and... it frightens us to think of how different we may one day become."
The honest wisdom of the elder held them all in silence for some time. Starwind's mind was running the whole while. He had seen inside of Savil, knew her good heart. How could he convince them of this, or even get them to depart from the strictness of their ways long enough to look at her objectively? The silence was deafening. Starwind knew if he did not speak up, convince them somehow, that they would retreat back into the safety of their routines.
"Savil should be—no, is!—Wingsister to k'Treva. She has proven her worth with her rapport with my bond-bird, and earned her place by the acts of charity she performed for this member of the clan. I speak for her in claiming that place, and challenge you to examine her spirit and say why this should not be so."
How could he tell them the things he only felt, but had no reason to feel? That he knew, without doubt, that this stranger would be important to the future of k'Treva, and that k'Treva would be instrumental in shaping, not only her future, but that of many, many people outside of the Hawkbrother lands, people that Starwind would never see and who would probably never even dream that Tayledras were anything but a fable. He had never shown any trace of ForeSight; never been able to look into the future without the aid of one who did have that talent. He knew he was taking a chance that all of his actions for many years to come would be regarded with suspicion and mistrust if he could not convince them. But he knew what he was doing was right, and trusted in the wisdom of the elders to overcome their fears.
"How can we know that you are not simply seeing what you wish to see?" the first elder asked.
"She sleeps, and she is too weary to awaken if you do not alarm her," Starwind said. "She trusts us. You may touch her mind now, and from there see into her heart. Read what you see there, see what it is she represents for her own great Clan k'Valdemar, and then tell me if she is not indeed worthy to be named our Wingsister."
"Even if we find it so," another elder spoke, "what difference will it make? Tell me, Starwind k'Treva, why we should bring her into our clan? She has people of her own, and the Heralds of Valdemar are different from us in more ways than they are similar. We do not eat the same foods, speak the same tongue—we do not even swear by the same gods!"
"She should be made one of us because she is one of us, she and her kind differ from us only in the names by which we swear, not to the spirit behind those names," he replied stubbornly. "And because we can learn much from each other, the k'Treva and this Herald-Mage. In many ways, our magic is much greater than theirs. Yet there are things they can do which we cannot. It is my belief that what we learn from each other—the combination—will be greater than any that we can each of us perform apart."
Another long silence followed. Each of the elders was considering what Starwind had said. Surely they knew he was right that the k'Treva could not live isolated in the Pelagirs forever. There had even been visions, ForeSight some of them had experienced, which suggested that events in the future would require that they learn to broaden their ways. Finally, the first elder spoke.
"It will cost us nothing to look at this Savil you bring us. We must at least look before we judge."
Savil's sleep was interrupted by dreams, memories, and nightmares. In them, she relived experiences from the years since she had first donned Whites, the moment that Kellan had Chosen her, battles fought in the service of Valdemar, even passionate feelings for those loved and lost. Then came a dream of a test—a decision she was forced to make three times, one which left her frightened, exhausted, and drained. Countless hopeless scenarios presented themselves to her. Over and over again she was forced to decide how to react. Just as her decision was made, the scene would fade, and another would take its place. Each was progressively worse than the last, more hopeless, more futile, and in it she and those around her were suffering greater and greater loss. Only when the scenario required that she sacrifice Kellan, her Companion, did she wake from the nightmare, unable to make the impossible choice.
She woke with a start, her own voice screaming to be left alone, tears streaming down from eyes wide open in the darkness.
:It was only a dream, dearheart,: Kellan consoled her,
:A hideous, ugly, necessary dream. I am fine. Return to your sleep.:
She was too sleep-fogged to take in anything except Kellan's reassurance, too exhausted to question anything Kellan said. Relieved to have Kellan's voice in her mind, she fell back into the embrace of the strange bed, and slept until morning. If she continued to dream, she didn't remember any of it.
When she awoke, she found Starwind sitting beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. She could feel the soft tingle of power as it flowed through him to her.
:Good morning, Wingsister,: he said cheerfully. :Wind to thy wings.:
:Wind to thy wings, Starwind k'Treva," she answered automatically, her head throbbing. She wished, vaguely, that he wasn't being so damned cheerful. :Gods, but I've one miserable headache!:
He sobered, and looked both contrite and a little guilty. :Forgive me, Wingsister. The elders felt it was necessary.:
She frowned. :What have the elders to do with my headache?: Then she sat up, her own suspicions flaring. :Were your people messing about in my head?:
Starwind closed his eyes and spoke quietly into her mind. :Remember all, little sister. There is nothing to fear.:
With that touch, Savil suddenly recalled the dreams and sendings she'd gotten after the nightmare of sacrificing Kellan, the knowledge slowing coming forward to her consciousness. In a single flash, she knew as much about the Tayledras as they knew themselves, as if she had studied them and their ways all her life.
The history of the k'Treva, their philosophies, their purpose as entrusted to them by their Goddess, their mysterious bond with their birds, everything given to her, including Starwind's own memory of the meeting last night, every newly gifted memory, all rose up and became a part of her. As they did, her headache dulled and then faded. Savil lay there unmoving, sharing Starwind's loving gaze for quite some time. They may have lain there for hours longer, basking in the communion, if a hertasi had not crept in quietly to bring them some fruit.
Without conscious thought, she thanked the hertasi (who was already leaving,) in Starwind's own tongue. Then she laughed out loud of the pleasure and strangeness of it all.
Once before in her life she had known the incredible, indescribable joy of finding that she belonged somewhere, that there were people in the world who welcomed her as one of their own. That had been when she became a Herald—and now it had happened again.
"So this is what it means to be one of you," she whispered.
"Not entirely, shayana," Starwind replied, "but you now share the most of it."
Savil's eyes had been alight with the joy of the newfound knowledge and abilities of these strange and wondrous people she knew she could now call her own. She was overwhelmed by the all-pervasive sense of the peace of this place, of the serenity of those who lived here. After all the conflicts within and besetting Valdemar, k'Treva Vale seemed like a vis
ion of paradise, and she wanted to remain here forever.
And as soon as she had that thought, she knew it was impossible. For a moment, her eyes stung with tears.
"You know I can't stay. You must know that I'm a Herald first, and always will be so."
"Of course, ashke, of course," Starwind patted her hand to console her. "It was that which finally convinced the elders of the trueness of your heart."
"But I want to," she confessed desperately, as Starwind's elegant fingers brushed a tear from her cheek. "I want to stay here, live here in this peace."
"We each have our duties, Wingsister. Mine is to the land, yours to your people. Neither of us can fully understand the other, yet it is so. But we can revel in that which we share. I believe that this sharing, this exchange between us, will be of great importance in times yet to come."
Savil nodded, understanding, remembering the certainty she held in memories now her own, shared with him. Neither of them knew why—but the certainty was there, as real as if they had absolute facts to prove it to be true.
"There is much yet to learn, Wingsister, and far too little time to learn it in. We are now your clan, as you are one of us. Every member of k'Treva will do what he can to help you gain the skills that are ours, and we know you will share willingly of your ways as well. And I feel this will not be the last time that those of k'Treva and k'Valdemar will share their wisdom."
She thought about her duty—but she had been far ahead of her schedule, and there was time. A little, but there was time. "Where do we start?" Savil asked. "With your lessons, or mine?"
He smiled. "Where both our powers flow from, at the nodes."
Then Starwind took her hand, guiding her to her feet, and their journey toward knowledge was begun.
In the Forest of Sorrows
by John Heifers
This story marks John Heifers' fourth fiction sale. Other stories of his can be found in Phantoms of the Night, Future Net, and A Horror Story A Day: 365 Scary Stories. When he's not writing or editing, he enjoys role-playing games and disc golf. He lives in Green Bay, Wisconsin, with his fiancee.
Treyon scrambled over the top of the small foothill and raced down the other side, never once glancing back. He could hear the sounds of pursuit behind him, the shouts of men and thuds of galloping horses growing louder.
The forest loomed before him, a thick green mass of trees and underbrush. Treyon ran for the treeline, his side aching. Seconds later, he heard a shout from the foothill.
"There! There he goes!" The hoofbeats started pounding again, and Treyon knew he was down to his last bit of luck. The brigands seemed to be right behind him, and that thought drew a bit more energy from his nearly exhausted body. The dull ache in his ribs grew as he increased his speed. With a surge of energy, he dove into the brush and started crawling deeper into the forest. Behind him, he could hear the horses panting and neighing with fear as they stopped short of the trees. The voices of the men were fading as Treyon extended his lead, but he could still hear them.
"What's the matter? Get in there after 'im!"
"The Hells I will, that's the Forest of Sorrows, ya stupe!"
"You idiot, it's just a piece'a woods. Nothing gonna happen in there except he's gonna get away. You know what Ke'noran'll do if we don't bring him back. Would'ja rather face her?"
"I'm telling ya, I ain't going in."
"Look, it's possible death in there, or death for sure if we come back without him. Now let's give the others a chance t'catch up and we'll go in together. Boy's moving so fast he'll leave a trail any moron could follow. We'll grab him and be gone before anybody even knows we're here."
The voices grew fainter as Treyon pushed deeper into the woods. It grew darker as he pressed onward, the trees dwarfing him and swallowing the available sunlight until it seemed he was walking in twilight. When he could hear no sounds of pursuit, Treyon paused for a minute to catch his breath, leaning wearily against one of the huge trees surrounding him. Looking around, he wasn't surprised to discover he had no idea where he was.
Better lost and alone than found by them, he thought, shivering as he remembered their conversation. Although he didn't know any more about the forest than the bandits did, he knew one rumor they didn't.
"Only those with no evil intention may enter the Forest of Sorrows and live." He repeated this to himself like a mental prayer, almost trusting his belief in the legend to keep him safe more than the legend itself.
"All right, Treyon, enough of this. Time to find your way out of here." Hearing his own voice, even whispered, heartened him. Looking up, he tried to find the sun to figure out which direction he had to go. Unfortunately, the trees were blocking most of the available light, making the attempt impossible. Shrugging his shoulders, Treyon found a suitable tree and began to climb. Well, at least I'm not scouting trade caravans for them anymore, he thought, that having been his primary job with the bandits, besides general whipping boy.
A few minutes later, he was among the topmost branches of the tree he had been leaning against, feeling the cool wind on his face and looking in every direction.
Once he had gotten his bearings, he started down. About halfway to the ground, his foot slipped and, as he was already committed to his next step, he started to fall. Suddenly, his feet landed on a thick branch, the jarring stop giving him enough time to wrap his arms around the tree trunk and stay there until his heart stopped threatening to leap from his throat.
Once he had calmed down, he looked at the branch he was standing on. Although this was the route he had used on the way up, he didn't remember this limb at all. Shrugging, he continued downward. The surest thing now; he thought, is to get my feet, as well as the rest of me, back on the ground and get moving.
Shinnying down the tree trunk, he jumped the last few feet—and landed to stare at the battered boots of Caith, the leader of the trackers who had been chasing him. The bandit had stepped around from his hiding place behind the tree and, before Treyon could move, grabbed his tattered shirt and drawn him close.
"Little coney sprouted wings and tried flyin' to the trees, eh? Not good enough. I've pulled the same trick myself a couple o' times." Keeping a tight hold on Treyon, he raised his head and whistled a series of notes twice. Within minutes, the rest of the brigands had rejoined their leader.
"Found the little bastard. Now let's go, Ke'noran ain't gonna be pleased with the delay." Making sure Treyon was in front of him, Caith pushed him forward and the group began retracing his path back out of the forest.
The forest was ominously silent, making everyone more nervous than they already were by just being in the supposedly cursed woods. They had been traveling for a while when Caith's advance scout held up his hand. The brigand group froze immediately, each hand on a weapon, every ear and eye alert for danger. Despite himself, Treyon craned his head to try and see what was going on. Soren, the bandits' best scout, crept back to Caith and whispered, "Horse in the clearing up ahead."
"What in the Hells is a horse doing in these woods? One of ours?"
"Not hardly. Snow white and clean as a stew bowl after dinner. Looked right at me."
"This doesn't sound right. Forest dead as a grave and now a horse comes out of nowhere? I want a look." Taking a stiletto from a sheath behind his neck, Caith put it to Treyon's throat. "One sound outta you, boy, and I'll open yer neck where ya stand. Now move." Pulling Treyon along, the bandit leader moved silently up to the head of the column.
In a small clearing about ten paces ahead was an animal that took Treyon's breath away. The scout's description did not even begin to do it justice. Its coat was the color of new-fallen snow, with a mane and tail that shone even in the wan sunlight. The horse's light-blue eyes regarded its audience with amusement, but it didn't take flight or move at all, except to lower its head to crop at the strangely lush grass.
Caith crouched down, dragging Treyon to the ground with him. Motioning the other bandits closer, he whispered hurriedly, "Here's our c
hance to make up for losing the runt. A horse like this 'un will hopefully make Ke'noran more forgiving. Toren, circle round that way, yer brother will take the other side, and get yer lariats ready."
The two scouts looked at each other, then at the horse, nodded, and slipped into the brush like ghosting deer. Despite his fear, Treyon wondered for an idle second what kind of ability the brothers had that let them communicate without speaking like that. His attention was quickly drawn back to the ambush before him.
The brothers made no more noise than the slight breeze rustling the leaves, and Treyon quickly lost sight of them, so well did they blend in with the trees and bushes.
The horse was munching a thick clump of grass, seemingly unconcerned about the huddled group of ragged men nearby. Treyon couldn't help wondering what it would be like to ride such an animal, sitting on its sleek back as it raced full out across the plains. It would probably be the closest thing to pure freedom he could imagine. Thinking about what Ke'noren would do to it made him almost ill. At that moment, Treyon knew he had to warn the horse somehow.
Looking up, he saw Caith was watching his two men who were almost in position. His dagger, although still under Treyon's chin, had relaxed its pressure a bit, allowing him to swallow without feeling the scrape of cold steel.
Noticing a large dead branch next to him, Treyon subtly shifted his position until he had moved the branch under him. Pretending to overbalance, he stepped directly on it, bearing down with all his weight.
The branch snapped loudly, causing everyone to freeze for a moment. The horse's head jerked up, looking directly at Treyon, who wanted to scream at it to run, get away, escape. He remained silent, however, locked into the animal's stare, watching as it did a very strange thing.
It winked at him.
Before Treyon could wonder what this meant, he was rocked by a blow that came out of nowhere. Already overbalanced after stepping on the branch, he swayed dizzily after the punch, held up only by Caith's grip on his shirt. Looking up again, he saw Caith glaring at him, his mouth curled in a feral snarl.
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