by A. R. Wilson
Tiny vines of dread laced through her gut. Tendril anchors threaded into her soul as oily heat took hold. She curled up onto her side. Pulling the pillow over her eyes, she waited. What would her dreams bring this time?
The next thing she knew, the sound of singing birds told her dawn had come. Her joints felt fat and stiff. Stretching out the ache of being in a fetal position for several hours, she let her eyes flick around the room.
Stupid dresser. Stupid Jerricoh, stupid scrolls...
Stupid me.
Downstairs, her three roommates sat around the table eating breakfast. A plate of scrambled eggs and toast waited in front of an empty chair. She took her seat. The stares of Revel and Chalance bore into her, and she put a hand to her forehead to shield the invasion. Why hadn’t Dellia said anything to them yet?
“Boys, she’s not on a stage. Pay attention to your own plates.”
Oh, there it was.
“Sorry.”
And Revel apologizes right on cue.
“Sorry is —” Dellia started to recite.
He cut her off. “Yes, an offer of words, not a final bandage. We get it!”
Chalance chuckled under his breath. If Tascana were an observer to a play, she might find the whole scene amusing too. But since they insisted on performing this same ritual every single time the four of them sat at a meal together it was getting old.
“So!” Chalance almost barked his attempt at turning the conversation. “Are you ready for the festival?”
“Yes. I put the finishing touches on my routine yesterday. Now I’m just keeping myself loose until the performance.” Dellia passed a bowl of salt to Tascana.
“I’m almost ready too.” Chalance intercepted the salt, took a small scoop, then pushed it back to her. “Still deciding if I should drop one of the trick shots. Make it short and sweet?”
Revel snickered. “As opposed to last year?”
“Hey, I was hitting twenty for twenty, and the crowd was begging for more. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not bring as many blades this time. That might help.”
The tings of their mock silverware duel signaled the next phase of their mealtime performance. They gave shouts of “Take that,” and “So that’s how it’s going to be?” and the ever obnoxious, “And the victor strikes a lethal blow!”
Dellia smacked a hand on the table. “When will you two get tired of this stupid game?”
They answered in unison. “Never.”
The girl sighed, though her irritation seemed to be more of an act than true frustration.
Tascana pushed one last corner of toast into her mouth. Done! Now she could leave.
“Are you spending all day with Arnya again?” Dellia reached to slide Tascana’s empty plate under her own.
“I think so.”
“As soon as she gives you a day off I can give you a tour of the valley. Maybe show you some of the rock carvings at the south end. We have some pretty talented masons.”
Tascana nodded, pushing herself away from the table. “Maybe.”
Stepping outside, making sure the door shut behind her, her breath caught in her throat. A twitch started in her hand, as it did every morning since coming here, and she rubbed her palms together. Most of the irritation had dissipated by the time she reached Arnya’s home.
The dallest stood in her doorway. “Oh good, I was just coming to fetch you.”
“Am I late?”
“No, but many are eager to meet you. I had to turn away three invitations to breakfast this morning.” Her eyes drifted past Tascana. “Here comes another one. Hurry, hurry.”
They walked in silence for almost an hour. Precious silence. The only time someone wasn’t trying to be her new best friend or warn her of being a pawn in some grand scheme. Nothing but grass, trees, buzzing insects, and sunlight.
A stream blocked their path, and they followed it south, as they had the past few days. Wild grasses grew shoulder high, bursting with grain. The buds tickled Tascana’s arms, and she brushed her hands against it. Up ahead, the field spilled into a grove of young trees circling a cluster of tree stumps. Arnya picked a place to sit. Tascana sat opposite her while the dallest rooted through a small shoulder bag. Thick, soft hair covered the backs of Arnya’s arms and every other place not covered by her hood and short pants. Only the immediate area around her eyes, nose, and mouth were hairless, giving her face a smallish appearance. Trying not to stare, Tascana decided the dallests looked more like muskrats than moles.
After finding a small pouch, Arnya turned toward Tascana. “How are you getting along not using your magic?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“Any temptations to —?”
Cutting her off, Tascana slapped her hands on her knees. “No! Why do we have to go through this every morning?”
“Because we’ve known each other less than a week, and we are working on building trust, remember?”
She folded her arms. “Okay.”
“Part of building trust is consistently telling each other the truth.”
“Are you sure you’d know if I was lying?”
“Yes.”
“How is that?”
“Because if you had used it, the Soldiers of Basagic would have alerted me.”
She looked at the trees. They sure didn’t seem all that special.
Tascana sighed, feeling suddenly alone. “I’m afraid to use it. As much as I hate it here, I hate the thought of going back to that castle even more.”
“Is this place really so bad?”
“It’s not the valley I hate but the four walls where I sleep.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Everything I touch makes me ill. Everything I see makes me feel guilty or stupid. And everything I hear grates on my ears like hot needles!” She paused, noticing the hair above Arnya’s eyes crinkle. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault I’m stuck here.”
“How about you lead the lesson today?”
“What do you mean?”
“Instead of me giving you exercises to clear your mind, why don’t you ask me something you want to know?” She set the pouch on the ground next to her feet.
“Who is Jerricoh? How did he come to his place with The Master?”
She gave an odd smirk. “I should have seen that one coming.”
“Do you know his story?”
“Of course I know.”
“Will you tell me?”
Arnya rubbed her hands against her knees. “His name is not Jerricoh, at least not until he came into the service of The Master. Do you remember I told you The Master searched for years to find clues to unite with the power of the sword? Before I came into The Master’s castle, he saw a piece of vision hinting that an elf could help him finish the union. He captured one, put the poor creature through agonizing torture, then learned the hint was incomplete. The Master gave him the option of service or death, and he chose service.”
“Are you saying Jerricoh was that elf?”
“Yes.”
“But, Jerricoh isn’t an elf.”
“Not anymore, not exactly. The Master placed him under a spell to change his appearance and block him from remembering who he is or where he came from. In a way, Jerricoh has no memory other than service as a human.”
“So, Jerricoh is an elf.”
“Try to understand. His elven nature has been masked for more than a hundred years. From everything I saw and heard in those castle walls, he has no memory of his true identity or where he came from.”
“The Master can do that? All that?”
“Yes.”
“Then what did The Master have planned for me?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“I told you I helped The Master speak to the Fates, but I never learned the full extent of what was promised about you.”
“How can you know all those things about Jerricoh and not know about me? You knew my name, my room. You
watched me for years.”
“Yes, I watched you. But I never heard the messages delivered to The Master. He alone knows the place you hold in his scheme to reunite with the sword.”
Tascana chewed on her lip. Should she trust her? “If a spell erased Jerricoh’s memory, how can you know all those things about him? Who told you?”
“The Master has quite a temper. When he —” Her voice faltered. “When he punishes those who disobey him, he has a tendency to say things. To boast of his previous battles and triumphs.”
Arnya’s speech stumbled again. The briefest instant of a flash ran over her eyes. Something like a fiery spark that had the misfortune of landing in water, never to achieve its potential. Her eyes grew red at the corners, and she put a clawed hand to her face as though tending to an itch.
“What is it?” Tascana leaned forward.
“My memories are old, but they are not forgotten.” She grinned, straightening up. “As long as you stay here you will never witness what I have seen. And for that, I am grateful.”
“Umm, maybe now would be a good time to practice mediating again.”
Arnya nodded, picking up the pouch at her feet. Besides one of the tree stumps sat a pile of fist-sized stones. Tascana arranged them in a two-foot-wide circle then sat back on her stump. With a flick of the wrist, Arnya tossed out a handful of sand from her pouch. Ethereal flames of blue and green erupted above the stones. Tascana had yet to learn the details of the smokeless fire created with sand instead of wood, but Arnya insisted the first several lessons had to focus on meditating.
Okay, okay, clear my mind of any thought.
Thinking about nothing was harder than it sounded. Especially when the birds kept chirping, or a fly buzzed past her nose, or an itch started.
How can anyone think of nothing? Unless the point was to think about the concept of nothing. But even thinking about the concept of nothing was basically thinking about something so actually she would still be thinking about something...
Clear my mind! Clear it out!
She pulled her neck this way and that to stretch out the tension.
Maybe it’s like praying. Like when she saw the goblin and ran all the way home after speaking to Kidelar. There was Mother on her knees, hands folded tightly on a chair. Looking up from her pose, she said she always prayed when she was out after sunset. That night felt like a lifetime away...
Stop thinking about things! Why is this so hard?
Rubbing her hands on the tops of her legs, she shook her head to dispel the thoughts.
Meditating came naturally when studying the scrolls, but not here. Sitting with Arnya, staring into the blue-green flames, everything felt as foreign as trying to write left-handed. Though the knowledge was there, the individual muscles were clumsy. Unable to make those small adjustments. If she could recite the words written on her scrolls (correction, The Master’s scrolls) peace would flow as easy as it always did. But not today, or yesterday, or the two days before that. Each session with Arnya felt awkward and...
“Oh, just shut up!”
Was that out loud?
Arnya’s wide eyes stared at her over the fire. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m still having a hard time concentrating. My mind can’t stop thinking.”
“Try to think about what nothing truly is. The lack of form, the lack of substance, of depth.”
“I do and then my mind wanders to home and my mother and... I actually had an entire tangent in my head on handwriting. Handwriting! I’m never going to master this.”
“The meditation you used before was not something you learned. It was something that learned you.”
Tascana sat back. “I don’t understand.”
“The scrolls were designed to mark the reader. Every aspect of them. The Master knew the exact level of training you achieved when he sent the horsk dragon. You still had two scrolls left to learn, yes?”
Tremors rolled through Tascana’s hands as they had earlier that morning. She clenched them between her knees.
“Oh, child.” Arnya tilted her little muskrat face. “I’m not trying to scare you. I want to help you understand this is so much bigger than you’re ready to know. But you are safe here.”
As she nodded, the shaking subsided. “I’m ready to try and think about nothing again.”
“Complete formlessness. No shape, no depth. Absence of color. No beginning or end.”
Tascana stared into the flames. And no Master. Oh, how she wanted nothingness to fill her. No regrets, no worries, or memories, or destinies.
Needing the reality of nothing helped to concentrate her efforts. Layer upon layer peeled away until only the flames existed. She stretched herself out into that abyss until even the flames melted away, revealing pure light. A light without form or source. The light was both terrifying and comforting. A singular entity, yet filling all the world and the heavens beyond.
Arnya’s voice crashed forward like a rock shattering through glass, ripping the light away with a single word. “Tascana!”
“What? I was finally starting to get it.”
“It’s nearly dusk. Time to head back for dinner.”
How was that possible? She rubbed her eyes then looked around, noticing the blue-green flames no longer burned. Grayish haze filled the western skyline as shadows crawled to the valley floor.
“Oh.” She let out a nervous laugh. “Guess I finally learned how to meditate.”
“It would seem that way.” Arnya returned a smile.
They walked back to the village and parted ways when Tascana turned to follow the path to the home of the humans. Not her home, their home. This place would never be home. And if not for the prying eyes that ogled her every time she walked by, she would never set foot in that house. But the home of Revel, Chalance, and Dellia was the only place she had a door to close. It was the single building in all of Tretchin Valley where she could pretend to disappear.
Chalance came up the road from the other direction, twirling a dagger at the hilt. When he saw her, he tucked it into a sheath on his belt.
“Greetings, m’lady. Ready for supper?” He held the door open.
She forced a smile and nodded. “Revel is gracious to keep the evening meal waiting.”
Chalance winked. “Only since you arrived.”
As if the table conversations weren’t awkward enough, he had to add something like that to the mix.
Hunger gripped her middle as the smells of cooking wafted around her.
“It’s about time you two showed up.” Dellia sat at the table before an empty bowl. “Revel insisted we wait until at least one of you came home.”
Chalance skipped over to Revel, who was giving the pot one last stir, and wrapped his arms around the dark-haired boy. “You are such a dear, dear friend to ensure this lovely young lady has a hot meal every night.”
Red splotches popped along Revel’s face. “Are you mad? I nearly tipped over this entire pot of stew!”
Chalance squeezed tighter. “Alas, I will save you my dear, dear friend!”
“Can we please eat?” Dellia smacked her hand on the table.
Revel and Chalance worked to ladle stew into bowls while Tascana helped Dellia pour water into cups. As soon as everyone sat down, Tascana put a hand up to shield the gawking eyes away from her field of vision.
“When will you two stop this?” Dellia stirred her bowl. “You are so rude.”
Revel opened his mouth to apologize, and the girl snapped a hand out at him.
“Why don’t we give our guest the gift of silence tonight, hmm? Both of you just act as though she’s not even here.”
“Sorry, it’s just that —” Chalance started to speak.
“Nope!” Dellia pointed her spoon as him, spattering a few drops across the table. “If you two aren’t trying to show off then you’re staring at her like a shaved dallest. Don’t you remember your first time here?”
Revel and Chalance looked at each other then at their
bowls.
“The next time you two make her put her hand up to cover her face I will her tell the story of your first week in Tretchin, then she’ll be the one staring.” Flicking her hair behind her shoulders, she returned to her food.
Tascana watched the girl take a few bites. No one spoke. All three roommates sat bent over their food as though it were the only interesting thing in the room.
Something tugged at Tascana’s heart. Gratitude? Relief? Whatever it was, it made her wonder if she had been wrong about Dellia this whole time. Yes, the girl tried to appease the two boys, but she knew how to put her foot down too. And she genuinely seemed to understand not only how Tascana felt but what would help in that feeling.
Just like Daddy always knew.
The tug in her heart sharpened, causing her eyes to sting. She pinched them shut. Why had she wasted the last three years needing everything other than what she already had?
She put her spoon to her mouth, but the chunk of potato that landed on her tongue felt too fat to chew. Moving her jaw to shift it aside made it worse. Would the others notice if she spit it back into the bowl? She pushed her tongue against it to mash it down and gagged. Moving her teeth against the lump, she forced herself to finish the bite. The moment it hit her gut that old familiar hunger from the end of the day came back. In the blessed silence, she finished her bowl.
That night, she fell asleep without needing to curl into a fetal position. Morning woke her early before any of her roommates were up. She got dressed and slipped outside before Revel came downstairs to start breakfast.
A dim haze filled the valley as the morning sun hinted at dawn.
Just like the early mornings back home.
She took a deep breath of the cool air, as she had during those wee hours when she sneaked out to study her scrolls. The air smelled different. Taking another breath, she tried to determine why. It wasn’t a musky smell, or a rotting smell, or anything offensive. She closed her eyes. Was it possible for the air to smell wrong?
Opening her eyes, her gaze fell on the forest lining the mountain peaks. The trees bunched up against each other like children in a huddle. Could trees really be soldiers? Or was it a fairy tale meant to keep her in check?
