“Talk and run,” he replied. “It is safer to be moving. The flesh changer that left this print is not nearby, but if they have been following our progress, they will try to surround us.”
Justan nodded and they were off again. As they ran, Yntri told Justan much more about the nightbeast. It seemed that every once in a great while a special basilisk was born with stronger abilities than the others. They spent their younger years learning the fine details of changing their shape. Sometimes they would live among the peoples of the world for a while, taking on an identity and learning the correct behaviors.
Other basilisks revered them as gods and followed their instructions. Once they had perfected their skills, the nightbeasts went amongst the basilisks and chose from among them a clutch of ten that they trained. They then became facilitators between the human world and the basilisks, negotiating fees and handing out assassination assignments.
“How many of them are there?” Justan asked.
Yntri said. “There are no more than perhaps a few hundred flesh changers in all the known world. As for nightbeasts? All I can guess is that there needs be at least one for the flesh changers to become assassins. Without a nightbeast there would be no way for them to communicate with the rest of the world.
“I met one in my younger days,” Yntri continued. “It was inexperienced and I smelled the wrongness on it. It was not an enemy, so I spoke to it and it was surprised that I did not attack. We talked for a while and it told me of its ways. It offered to kill my enemies for just a jar of Jharro tree sap, but I declined. Hundreds of years later I saw another nightbeast. It was hired by powerful wizards and came with a full clutch to kill my people. Many of us were lost. My father slew it, but not before he was terribly maimed.
“Ten years ago I saw one more. It had been sent to kill the Protector of the Grove. Its flesh changers hounded Xedrion, but we killed them one by one. Then the nightbeast itself came. It got close to Xedrion twice but we were able to drive it away.”
“That was the one that Hilt killed?” Justan asked.
“Yes.” He grew quiet for a moment and they finally came upon the road again. As Justan had suspected, they had arrived far ahead of the others. Yntri turned down the road and they headed back to meet up with the others. “I tell you these things, Sir Edge, because last night during my watch I smelled that scent again. It was not the scent of a normal flesh changer, but it was the same scent I remembered from my younger days. It did not reveal itself to me, but I believe it to be the same nightbeast I met back then.”
“From centuries ago? Are you sure?” Justan asked.
“I am. It was a smell I have never forgotten,” the elf clicked. “But a nightbeast that old would not make the mistake of revealing itself in that way. I believe it left that scent purposefully. It wanted me to know that it recognized me,” He looked at Justan then and there was worry in his ancient eyes. “This nightbeast is experienced. It knows the tongue of my people. It could impersonate even me.”
“That could be a problem. You come and go all the time. How can we know who you are?” It was a frightening prospect. Justan had figured that Yntri was someone the nightbeast could never emulate.
“There is the tree,” Yntri said with a smile. He lifted his bow and Justan understood. “I will give each of you a small token from my bow. With it you can know if it is me.”
Justan let out a sigh of relief. That connection was something that the nightbeast could not duplicate, no matter how experienced it was. In addition, Yntri could use his tokens to make sure that the nightbeast wasn’t posing as any of them. “Does Hilt know all of this?”
“I told him earlier,” Yntri assured him. “The important thing for you is that you commune with our tree. No delays. Do it tonight. Learn her heart and you will be able to feel the pulse of the wood. Then you can truly learn to use your bow.”
“Will I be able to make her do the things that you and Jhonate do?” Justan asked, growing excited at the thought.
“There are many things your bow can do,” Yntri clicked in reply. “But first speak to her. Learn her.”
They soon caught up with the others. Yntri made everybody stop while he listened to them and made sure that everyone was truly themselves. Afterwards, looking groggy, he gave each of them a small piece of Jharro wood from his bow that he strung with a strip of leather so that they could wear it around their necks. He instructed them not to take it off until they were all safely in Malaroo. His bow was looking rather small at this point, but when Justan asked him about it the elf just yawned. He climbed onto Stanza and slept on top of everyone’s bedrolls through most of the afternoon.
Hilt set a quick pace for the group, keeping everyone at a near jog. Jhonate and Justan walked together and they spoke through the ring. Justan told her the things Yntri had shared with him and she taught him more about her people, their customs and beliefs, as well as the social mistakes he needed to avoid.
That evening they stopped at one of the old caravan campsites, a place where the road and the barrier over it had been widened so that travelers could sleep without clogging the road. Yntri went hunting with Qurl and they came back with several snakes and various rodents for their evening meal. Yntri cleaned their kills and cut them all up to include in a stew. The meal was both flavorful and strange, the various textures of the different meats mixed with a variety of mushrooms and roots the elf had collected along the way.
Once again Sir Hilt refused to let Justan take a turn at watch, but he didn’t mind so much because he had work to do. He laid down a bit earlier than usual and cleared his mind. He slid into the cloudy whiteness of the bond and reached for Ma’am.
He touched their communication point. The bow was there, radiating the same eagerness for battle as usual. Now what to do? Yntri hadn’t given him specific instructions. He decided to try and speak with her.
Hello? he sent. Justan paused. How should he introduce himself to the tree? With his bonded, he used his real name, but the culture of Malaroo’s people seemed so formal. This is Sir Edge. I wish to commune with you?
He felt ridiculous saying it that way, but there was a response. The eagerness intensified. He was confused for a moment, but then he realized that the eagerness wasn’t the desire of a weapon to be used, like with Rage. This was an invitation; a desire to speak. But what should he say?
Justan asked his bow what he needed to do, but Ma’am didn’t give a specific answer. There was just an increased sense of inviting. The feeling brought a memory to his mind. It was during his first year of Training School. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t been home to see his parents in over a month. He finally came home the day of the winter solstice celebration and his mother had answered the door, her face beaming as she ushered him inside for a hug. That’s what he was feeling now.
Justan reached his thoughts through the connection in the way he would when he needed to see inside his bonded for healing. The bond turned grey around him and he saw the life force of the bow. It had a pulsing flow to it and a vague sort of intelligence. The cells in it were somewhat akin to Gwyrtha’s in that they were malleable, but its structure was far more stable.
Justan tried to speak with the bow again, but soon understood that the eagerness he sensed wasn’t coming from Ma’am herself. Within his bow was another connection. It was small, but Justan found it, the link from the bow to the tree. He reached through this link hesitantly, unsure what he would find.
Something on the other end grabbed hold of him. Justan found himself pulled through the link and felt a moment of panic as he lost all sense of his physical body. This was going further than needed for communication. It was more like the time he had nearly lost himself altogether in Gwyrtha’s mind. Then the worry faded.
The bond turned from gray to a pink color and it seemed as if he were traveling a great distance at high speed, yet there was also a comforting feeling as though he were floating along gently, suspended in cloud. Time blurred and
then a great weight settled upon him. More, it squeezed him, pressing in on his consciousness from all sides as if he had been plunged into deep water. But it wasn’t cold and it didn’t hurt, the weight was just there.
Then he heard the voice of the tree. It penetrated his very being. She spoke to him not in language, but in thought. In an instant she shared with him her lifetime from the beginning to the present. The one she called ‘the messenger’ had cared for her until the elves came along. She loved the elves. Playful wise creatures that enjoyed all things living. Untold seasons passed through Justan’s mind and he understood that the weight he felt was the enormity of the tree’s experiences.
Through those memories, Justan got a grasp of the tree’s purpose. She and her sisters were like a shining beacon made of elemental, spirit, and blood magic and they, by their very existence, held back a great sickness. Justan did not understand the nature of the sickness or what form it would take if unleashed upon the world, but the importance of what the trees did was evident to him.
Throughout the seasons the tree and her sisters had been constantly under assault. Greedy peoples and evil beings lusted after the power of the trees and as formidable as her magic was, she had no defense against physical attacks. Thus she and her sisters reached out to the elves and later the Roo-Tan to protect them.
They helped by giving small pieces of themselves to their protectors to use as tools in their fight. They allowed the elves to enter their physical bodies and retrieve what they needed. Justan understood then that the bow he had been given was a part of the tree’s living flesh, extracted from deep within her core where her blood magic ran strongest.
The tree’s avalanche of memories stopped, and she focused her attention on the present. A question was put forth to him. Would he join the ranks of her defenders? Would he do all he could to fight back the mortal threats of this world so that the grove could protect him in return?
Justan hesitated. It was evident that this was an immensely important cause, but his conversation with Jhonate from the night before gave him pause. Could he be both a named warrior and a defender of the grove? Would the two responsibilities clash and would this mean that he would have to stay and live in Malaroo?
He posed his questions to the tree, but all he received as an answer was a welcome feeling. She gave him no restrictions or specific instructions. All she wanted was a commitment. Justan found himself saying, I will.
At the moment of his decision, the weight of the tree’s presence lifted. He floated away through the pink ether, once again traveling at great speed.
Justan came back to his body with a rush of sounds and sensations. There was a sharp pain in his right hand and he heard screams. He opened his eyes to a brightening blue sky and lifted his hand to find it heavily bandaged. He moved his fingers and, though the palm of his hand was incredibly sore, he had full movement.
He was lying in his bedroll. Justan sat up, disoriented. He was out in the open. There were no trees anywhere. Jhonate was standing next to his bedroll, her back to him as she scanned the open wilderness. On the other side of him was a smoking campfire and beyond that, he saw other members of his party gathered around the screaming person.
Justan reached out and touched Jhonate’s leg. “Jhonate, what happened?”
She swung around, her staff swinging, and then her eyes met his. With a gasp, she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. Her embrace was tight and furtive. “You are back! Thank the gods, you are back!”
Chapter Thirteen
“Jhonate, what happened?” Justan asked, returning her embrace.
She pulled back and kissed him deeply before responding. “We were attacked again in the night. There were four of them this time. Aldie was badly hurt and Jhexin as well. Weaponmaster Yntri is working on Aldie now.”
The screams rose again and Justan heard Sir Hilt swear, “Hold him down, blast you!”
Justan pushed back his bedroll, wincing at the soreness in his hand, and stood. He felt a sudden dizziness. “What do you mean, attacked again?”
“This was the third night in a row. It was easier to chase them off the first two times because there were only two basilisks,” she said.
Aldie whimpered. Justan looked around and saw his swords lying in their sheathes next to his bedroll. He grabbed his swords and walked over to the others, not taking the time to put on his boots despite the frost on the ground.
Hilt, Poz, Qurl, and Jhexin each held one of Adie’s limbs down while Yntri straddled him. The elf was clicking out instructions while he had his hand shoved into a gaping wound in the young warrior’s abdomen. Aldie’s eyes were wild and he had a rolled piece of leather clenched in his teeth.
“Why won’t he pass out?” exclaimed Jhexin as he tried to keep the student’s leg still. The Roo-Tan warrior was on one knee, his other leg held out stiffly. It was heavily bandaged and bloodied from a wound just above his knee.
“Hilt, let go of his hand,” Justan said. All eyes turned to him except for Yntri, who was focused on the task at hand.
“Sir Edge!” said Poz.
“Thank the gods you’re awake,” Hilt added.
Justan drew Peace and crouched at Hilt’s side. “Aldie. Hold on to my sword. It will take away the pain.”
Hilt shifted over, freeing Aldie’s hand and Justan placed the handle of his sword into the young man’s sweaty palm. Aldie’s fingers clenched and then his body relaxed as the magic of the sword drained all of his pain and emotion away.
“Is that better?” Justan asked and Aldie blinked uncertainly. Justan knew how he felt. He was no longer in pain, but he could still feel Yntri’s hand in his innards. The sword would force him not to feel panic or fear, but that wouldn’t take away the nightmares later. Justan glared at Hilt. “Why didn’t you hand him my sword before? There was no sense in him going through that.”
“We tried,” said Jhonate. “Its magic did not work until you woke.”
Yntri let out an exclamation and pulled out what he’d been looking for; a thin stone shard. The wound bulged, Aldie’s innards threatening to spill out. The elf dropped his grisly find to the ground and reached into his pack to pull out his jar of Jharro tree sap. He smeared the pink substance into the wound and got out a long needle and thread.
Justan stood and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He cursed the fact that he couldn’t heal anyone but his bonded. If only he had control of his elemental magic. “You just keep holding onto Peace. Okay, Aldie?”
The young man gave him a frightened nod.
“It was that broken sword of his,” Hilt said picking up the bloody stone shard and examining it. “Aldie struck the basilisk, but the sword’s magic didn’t kick in until it was too late. The thing stabbed him just before it was sliced in half. This broke off inside the wound while we were pulling its stone body off of him.”
Justan looked out towards the edge of camp and saw three grotesque stone statues. The basilisks had all been in different stages of transformation as they died, twisted mixes of forms bestial and human. One of them had been split in two vertically.
“You killed a basilisk, Aldie,” Justan said, looking down at the student and giving him a nod of approval. “How many graduates can say that?”
Aldie managed a wan nod and Justan looked back at Jhonate. “What happened to my hand?”
“That happened the night before last. Our last night in the forest,” she said, looking apologetic. “During the battle, one of them managed to grab your hand. It tried to pull you out of the camp, but I removed its arm. Yntri says its claw would have pierced all the way through your hand if not for your naming rune.”
Justan reached up with his left hand and caressed her cheek. “Thank you, Jhonate.”
He looked at his bandaged right hand and gingerly prodded at the sore area. The wound seemed deep and he had to agree with the elf’s assessment. One of the little known advantages to being named was the strength of the rune itself. The bowl did not allo
w its mark to be marred or removed as long as its agent was alive. It could absorb a direct sword blow without being scratched and the arm the rune was on could not be severed. Justan was lucky, however, that the basilisk hadn’t damaged any major ligaments.
Justan turned his attention back to Hilt, who had stood and was wiping his bloody hands onto his trousers. “Where are we, Hilt? How long was I out?”
“We’re just south of Sampo,” Hilt replied. He sighed and placed a hand on Justan’s shoulder. “You’ve been out for five days. Yntri said we shouldn’t worry, but I really am glad to see you back with us.”
“Five days!” Why did this kind of thing always happen to him when there was something important going on?
“Weaponmaster Yntri cared for you while you were out,” Jhonate said. “He poured water into you, but you’ve got to be starving.”
So that’s what his weakness was about. “Yes I am.”
Jhonate trotted over to their packs and brought back some flat bread and a raw honstule. “We stocked up on these in the forest. You should have seen it. It was beautiful. The dark heart of the woods was gone, blackened stumps everywhere, but there was an enormous field of honstule in its place, thriving even in the winter.”
Justan bit into the yellow vegetable. He found the peppery taste a bit strong when it was raw, but he could feel energy returning to his limbs almost immediately. “We need to get Aldie to the Mage School right away.”
“That is our plan,” Hilt said. “But Jhonate’s brothers have been balking. They don’t want to set foot in the place.”
“Idiots,” Jhonate said. “Jhexin’s wound is bad, too. Without magic or a proper surgeon he may never walk straight again.”
Justan didn’t disagree. “We don’t need to enter the school to heal them. I’ll reach out to Fist and get healers on the way to us right away. We can meet them on the road as soon as Yntri is done stitching Aldie up. Is there any wood nearby we can use to make a litter? I don’t think he should be riding Stanza with that wound.”
Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) Page 20
