Elohl and Eleshen had laid out their bedrolls right where they had dropped their packs, just outside the ring of the byrunstone’s Sight. The creeping, itching sensation that had taken Elohl within the Stone’s ring had gradually subsided, until there was only the normal sensations of evening around the amphitheater’s grassy tumble. Ignoring his wounds, Elohl had gathered wood, then made a fire, and had been surprised when Eleshen returned from being gone nearly a half-hour with a brace of rabbits. When he had lifted his eyebrows at her, noting that she had no bow nor arrows, she had pulled a small sling out of a pocket of her breeches and grinned at him.
The rabbits had made an adequate meal, though they were tough and gamey, and Eleshen had pulled a small flask from her pack after their dinner, passing a few pulls of hopt-ale Elohl’s way. She had been remarkably quiet, but Elohl knew it wouldn’t last. And as peeper frogs began their evensong beyond the ruined glen, Eleshen’s insatiable curiosity at last got the better of her.
Rolling onto her belly upon her bedroll, she gazed at Elohl intently in the flicker of the fire’s light. “You said the Alrashemni have peculiar abilities,” she began, “and you are a very fast mover, Elohl. I saw you fight both assassins. Normal men don't move like that.”
Elohl’s mouth quirked at her direct manner. It was more amusing than irritating, and for some reason Elohl felt inclined to storytell tonight. The evening was soft and violet around them, a fresh wind in the tops of the pines that licked smoke from their camp upwards through the break in the trees. He took a long draw from the flask, relieved that the liquor was dulling the pain of his knife-slashes, before handing it back. “I suppose I’ve hardly been able to pull the wool over your eyes.”
“Hardly. How do you move so quickly?” Eleshen’s attention was keen by the fire’s light.
“It’s a little bit talent, a little bit training, and a little bit—”
“Magic?”
“Intuition.” Elohl countered. “When I move, I feel the pressure of things that are about to happen. When I climb or fight, my hands and feet can feel when something will threaten me, and I shift. Something unseen presses me, and I flow around it. Sometimes I spasm, as you saw today, but more often I shift… with it, rather than against it. I carried a record for safest lead-climber in the High Brigade.”
“Safest in how many years?”
“Ever. Three hundred and seventy years. I never set a bad route. It’s part of the reason I became a Lead-Hand right after I got to the mountains. And was raised to First-Lieutenant within two years. My instincts didn’t just keep me safe. It kept my men safe on a climb, and out on the glaciers, and even during skirmishes with the Red Valor. I held point, just for that reason. I was always the first up the ice, always the first over a chasm, and always the first into the fray. Always.”
Eleshen whistled softly. “And still, men wanted to kill you.”
“The Inkings carry stigma.” Elohl murmured. “I was marked as a traitor, no matter where I went, no matter what I did.” Elohl glanced past the fire, up over the tops of the trees to where he could just see the last glow of white glaciers in the faded light. “No matter how many men I saved out there.”
“Even though you’re not full-fledged Alrashemni.”
“Culturally, yes. Training-wise, no. But people see my coloring, they see the Kingsmount and Stars, and they spit, they glower. They call me Blackmark to my face. They don’t even know why they hate. They’ve just been told to.” Elohl’s fingers found a small stick near his boots and tossed it absently into the fire.
“And the others? What gifts do they have?”
“My twin sister Olea has incredible hearing. She’s honed it, of course, but she can hear footsteps a league off if the wind blows just right.”
“And the girl who had the seeing ability?”
Elohl glanced over, unable to resist comparing Eleshen to his memory of Ghrenna. Eleshen was as bright and unfettered a woman as Ghrenna had been a mystery, even after all the years Elohl had spent loving her. He felt he knew all there was to know about the feisty, rebellious innkeeper the moment they met, seeing into Eleshen’s heart as easily as his fingers read a route. But despite his love for Ghrenna, the deep pull that had caught them together again and again, Elohl felt he’d never really known her. Lake-blue eyes rose in his vision, the flash of long ornate Elsthemi-style white braids by a soft throat. Elohl’s brows furrowed, once again finding it strange that he remembered Ghrenna with her hair in Highlander fashion, a way she’d never actually worn it.
“Ghrenna den’Tanuk,” Elohl murmured at last. He felt somehow safe tonight, safe to talk of her, safe to think of her, comforted by her memory and the gentle night in this place. “She was an oddity. True seeing used to be more common, or so I’ve heard, but those who had the ability to see paths to the future have been historically shunned. Or killed. Ghrenna was adopted as a child into the Alrashemni. She was of the tundra people, far north of Elsthemen. She had a portent of someone’s death at age three, and her mother traveled all the way to our Court and dumped her, terrified that the child had caused it. Ghrenna was a contemplative girl. Secretive, quiet, but not malicious. But she would have terrible headaches whenever a vision came, that would leave her debilitated for days.”
“That’s awful. What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. My sister found her name in a military roster of the Fleetrunners, but there was a report that she vanished eight years ago, just before I stopped receiving letters from Olea.”
Their silence stretched, the hiss and crackle of green wood the only punctuation to Elohl’s thoughts about Ghrenna.
“What other gifts were there among your people?” Eleshen chirped at last.
Elohl settled back upon his elbows, stretching his boots to the fire, careful to not pull his back too much. “My father Urloel had a way of convincing people, when his tone was just right. They would do anything he said. But he had to control his anger in order to use it. Our fletcher, Fherrow, could call birds. He could call any bird, and it would come right to him, let him pluck as many feathers as he liked, and then he would snap his fingers and it would fly off.” Elohl chuckled, remembering the kindly, fidgety man, so much like a bird himself. “I asked him once how it was done, and he just winked at me. Then there was a woman, Shelhaina. She was very old, but she could control the flow of water. I’ve never seen anything like it. With just a finger in the stream, she could make it flow backwards.”
“Sounds like magic to me.” Eleshen was rapt, on her belly inside her bedroll with her chin in her hands, those long honey-blonde locks tumbling free since she had unwound her braid. Elohl found himself admiring those golden tresses, wanting to run his fingers through them. Eleshen’s easy sweetness was a balm, and despite her stubbornness, being with her was simple.
Elohl smiled, enjoying the feeling of peace he had tonight, sensations long forgotten. Despite everything that had happened today, despite having to fight a friend to the death, despite the reminder of his wounds, there was something about this place that soothed him. It felt safe, as if the fortress still stood, as if something held back the violence of the night, protecting them in its vigilance. Eleshen saw his smile, and smiled back brightly. She scooched her bedroll closer, worming it across the grass without leaving its cozy confines, until she was close enough to rest her head upon Elohl’s thigh. He reached out, climb-calloused fingers brushing her unbound hair, combing it back from her slender neck so he could see her lovely jaw.
“Shelhaina said it wasn’t magic,” Elohl murmured, continuing his tale as he listened to the night. “She could feel the currents of water. And when she could feel it, she could change it.”
“Strange talents, and a strange folk.” Eleshen sighed under the soothing care of his fingers, gazing at the fire half-lidded. “And what about your own gift? Has it ever betrayed you?”
A deep worry moved within Elohl, a fear that always lurked just at the edge of his consciousness, though it was s
moothed tonight, indistinct. “I have to train hard, Eleshen.” He murmured at last. “Like you saw today, just because my body warns me doesn’t mean I can’t be damaged. If my opponent’s fast, or when I’ve exhausted myself… sometimes I can’t get out of the way quick enough. Muscles tire. Starvation makes a man slow. So does thirst. And if I don’t practice, all the time…”
“You might miss.”
Elohl let out a long breath. “I do miss. You’ve seen the scars I carry, from blades. You’ve seen my new wounds from today. I’m not untouchable, Eleshen. I’m fast, and my instinct gives me an edge, but sometimes my body fails even if my instincts never do.”
“Have you ever met anyone faster than you?”
Elohl shook his head, trying not to let that fear surface, either. “Not so far. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen someday.”
There was a long pause, as Eleshen absorbed this information. At last, she spoke again. “What other strange things have you seen, Kingsman?”
Elohl went quiet, thinking about it. “The high passes are riddled with ancient secrets.”
“Oh?” Eleshen became still beneath his fingers. “Like what?”
“Like palaces of ice.”
She sat up abruptly, blinking at him. “Are you toying with me?”
Elohl smiled. “No.” He reached out, fingertips skating over her jaw, admiring how her creamy skin looked like burnished gold in the fire’s light. “There are palaces of ice buried in the glaciers. All the High Brigade know about them. Right on the border, someone once tunneled magnificent citadels right into the ice, forming immense cathedrals, vast columned halls. Most are broken now, whatever magic that sustained them is long gone, their halls riven with the warping and flow of the glaciers over time. The halls are treacherous, mazes of cracks that go deep. But they're there. Sometimes we used them as stop-overs, to weather particularly bad storms.”
Eleshen was silent a long moment, settled across his knees. “What else, Elohl? What other magnificent wonders are out there?”
Elohl sat back on one hand, the other caressing Eleshen's soft neck, enjoying the simple touch. “Ruins. They abound in the highpasses, much like this. Old fortresses long forgotten, so destroyed they're little but foundations. Monoliths. I saw a giant man sitting in a carven throne, facing east. He took up the entirety of the cliff face we were climbing. We climbed right up over his lips to his cheek. But the most incredible thing I saw...”
“What was it?”
Elohl smiled, remembering. “Beautiful. If I died tomorrow, I would go knowing I've seen perhaps the most beautiful thing in the world. A spire of white. The clouds cleared suddenly, when we were on a hard climb, about halfway. And across a valley of snow we saw it, like a needle piercing the heavens, at the top of a pinnacle so sheer I didn't even know if I could climb it. It was blinding, reflecting the sun like mirror-glass. Illuminated so white it seemed to glow in the thin air. It stole my breath. I forgot I was climbing, forgot my own body, forgot everything but that radiance, just for a moment. And then the clouds closed in…”
“Did you ever see it again?”
Elohl shook his head, stroked her lovely hair. “No. Such a sight is blessed to a man only once in a lifetime.”
“Who do you think built such a structure?”
“Ancient gods.” Elohl mused, surprisingly whimsical tonight. “There was a fable in the highpasses, that once a godlike people roamed these lands, with haunting black-on-black eyes, like obsidian. That they built such monoliths, indestructible to the ravages of time. But so many of the ruins I saw were ravaged. Only this remained supreme, as if placed there to stand defiant in the face of time.”
“Maybe it was a marker.” Eleshen mused. “A reminder to all those who would come after... to never forget them.”
“But they were forgotten.” Elohl murmured. “Just like the Kingsmen will be, one day.”
“Do you think your kin will really be forgotten? All those strange abilities?”
“Maybe. But maybe other people have such abilities, they just don’t hone them into anything useful. Consider Ghrenna. Her visions when she was young were flashes, searing and random. But under tutelage, she learned to control them somewhat, to wield them until she was able to see a proper sequence of events. She predicted an early frost, saving all our crops. She saw a fire start in a barn, saw it spread through Alrashesh. The fire was stopped before it got past the barn. She saw a rape just as it was happening. The man was caught and brought to justice.”
Eleshen nodded to the Alranstone, now just a column of darkness beyond the fire’s light. “You said the third eye on plinths like that are for people like Ghrenna.”
“Yes, true seers. Like I said, they used to be far more numerous. We were lucky to have Ghrenna in Alrashesh. The other Courts had no true seer at all. Legends tell of seers being able to hone their skills using the three-eye Bluestones. But Ghrenna used to sit for hours before the one near our village, and nothing ever happened. She said it made her feel more calm, that sitting near it helped control the headaches, but that was all.”
“Are there any books back in Alrashesh about the Bluestones?”
Elohl gazed up at the dark Stone. “I doubt it. When we were taken, everything was looted by the Palace Guard. I don’t know where those volumes would be now, if they still exist.”
“Maybe inside Roushenn Palace?”
“Perhaps. But I would be risking my life to look.”
“That didn’t stop you before, from what you told me.”
Suddenly, Elohl’s peace fled. Thinking about his capture in Alrashesh and the looting he’d seen done to his city before he was taken away, twitching in pain and bound in manacles, had thrust him into that drowning feeling again. His new wounds seared as if responding to old ones. The beauty and solace of the night left him, leaving him simply feeling sore and tired from a day best forgotten.
“I think I’ll turn in, Eleshen.”
Elohl shifted his legs, forcing Eleshen to sit up. He kicked his boots off and rolled over on his bedroll. He heard Eleshen pause, most likely considering what to do about his untraceable moods. At last, Elohl felt her scooch her own bedroll up next to his. And then she was worming into his blankets, throwing her own atop them both. Eleshen snuggled in, smelling of spice and sweet lavender. Careful to not pull his wounds, Elohl lifted his arm, allowing her to curl around him as he cinched her close. She felt good, clean and soft, and the way she wrapped her legs around him and nuzzled her face into his chest made him feel his peace slowly return.
“Elohl?” She murmured sleepily.
“Hmm?”
“What are you going to do when you get to Lintesh?”
He gazed up at the overhanging foliage, lit a ghostly yellow by the light of the dying fire. “Try to find Olea, I suppose. Last I knew, she was in the Palace Guards.”
“Can I help you?” Eleshen murmured sleepily, “I want to help you. I owe the Kingsmen…your father…”
“What?” He murmured into her ear, confused.
“Your father.” Eleshen yawned, barely audible as she drifted towards sleep. “Saved… burning … the timbers were falling… jumped through…saved me…” She gave one last yawn and snuggled closer, and Elohl tugged the blankets about them both.
So my father saved her during the Raid of Quelsis. She feels she owes me a debt. He saved her, so she’s trying to save me.
Elohl’s heart swelled suddenly, feeling her simple love crack his cold glacier yet again. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I don’t think I can stop you coming with me. I don’t think anything could stop you from doing exactly what you want.”
She sighed something unintelligible, and a smile curled her lips. Elohl kissed Eleshen’s forehead again and stroked her hair. She chirruped and twitched. Elohl stared up at the dark canopy, listening to the sounds of the deepening night.
Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure Sword and Highland Magic Page 23
