“It’s like I told you last night, Vaun. You’re very intelligent. You know things about swords because you’ve read about them, and because you like them so much. You have a feel for them, like Rush has a feel for a lock, or Thorne for a jug of ale. Maybe that’s why you knew how to sharpen the Vaulka. I don’t know. All I can tell you is that you are who you are. Accept it. Don’t fight yourself, Vaun Tarsus. It will forever be a losing battle.”
Vaun nodded as a cool night breeze blew his hair back from his face. The smells of earth and grass permeated the air, with a mild scent of burning wood underneath. He took his eyes off the night-darkened horizon to look down at his hands caressing the scabbarded sword resting on his crossed knees. He couldn’t see the calluses that were growing larger by the day, the ones he’d always hoped so fervently to earn. He just hadn’t known it would be at the expense of his peace of mind.
He felt strangely close to the sword and couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps it was because his new friends had given it to him, or perhaps it was because he seemed to know what it needed.
Over the past few nights, he’d felt himself growing almost as close to his sword as he was to Drath, and that scared him. It was, after all, a weapon made for violence. He wanted to voice his concern to the tall man who’d become not only a friend but also a teacher, mentor, and guide, but didn’t know how to express it. He also felt that if he did, he’d betray not only the sword but also himself. It was all so strange, and it seemed he had to fight this strangeness alone.
* * *
“Are you all right?” Drath was worried. He’d glanced at Vaun after he had been quiet for several minutes and saw that he shivered violently. It was a cool night, but not quite that cold. When Vaun didn’t respond, Drath put his arm around him to try and get his attention better. “Vaun, are you okay?”
The pale eyes that Vaun turned toward him were full of fear but also of a strange fire, and the sight frightened Drath. It seemed the youth was losing his mind.
“I’m just…” Vaun’s whisper was barely audible. “…so terribly frightened. But I have no idea why.” He leaned into Drath then, and the tall man draped his other arm across him and held him, trying to help him fight whatever terrified him so.
For the first time in many nights of talking, Vaun did not cry, and Drath took that as a sign that maybe at last the youth was becoming a man. The night he’d woken up screaming for his mother had almost made Drath decide to return him to his world.
* * *
As they marched across the grasslands the next day, Vaun realized he’d grown accustomed to a kind of traveling rhythm. Every day they rose, marched until they stopped for lunch, then marched again until sundown, at which time he and Drath would spar and go over the moves they had discussed during the day. After that, he and Drath would talk about more serious matters, and Vaun would slowly understand the truth of what his mentor said.
They never once broke their pace, though on every other day they would stop for a short time to rest in the middle of the afternoon. An infrequent complainer, Vaun accepted the weariness and troubles of long travel on foot stoically, wanting to prove to the others and himself that he could make this journey. He soon became accustomed to it and rarely felt tired at the end of the day, though his feet did ache from time to time. And no matter how tired he was, he still practiced diligently each night and each morning until Drath told him it was time to sleep or begin the day’s journey.
Only an occasional copse of trees occupied the grasslands, which allowed the group to sleep a little more protected on those nights. They never saw any of the nomadic tribes that inhabited this area, but they did see plenty of rabbits and squirrels, as well as a wide variety of birds. The elves supplied the group with fresh meat each night, provided they stopped chattering and wagering long enough to hunt in necessary silence.
The hilly terrain gave the party little difficulty, being mostly the gentle, rolling kind of hills that were easy to go around or climb. The weather stayed pleasant, though the temperature tended to drop sharply during the night. Still, it was nice to be out in the open, and to Vaun the simple fact of where he was made any hardship bearable.
The youth found he didn’t mind sleeping out in the open, the group deciding that it wasn’t quite cold enough for tents, though they were prepared to build some. He also had become used to standing his turn at watch, which they maintained more out of habit than any fear of danger, as they traveled in a rarely hostile area. Vaun soon began to believe that he belonged in this world, and that there could not be a better one in existence.
The first few days, however, he had wanted to cry and scream and whine about how much his body ached and hurt. He had been plagued by muscle cramps at night, and he’d had to bite down hard on his blanket to keep from crying out. Eventually, though, the cramps ceased as his muscles adjusted to the new work, and he stopped wishing he could go home and began hoping he never had to return to his world. The longing to see his parents again still woke him occasionally, and since he hadn’t formed any lasting friendships after losing contact with his childhood buddies, there was no loss there. The wonder of this world relieved all such regrets.
He remembered the moment they’d first entered this world that was so different from his own and so like what he wanted. The portal had opened onto the top of a plateau far behind them to the north. He recalled seeing a river off to his left, winding its way south. They had stood over two thousand feet in the air, and Vaun had marveled at the view. Gazing out across the endless, unbroken grassland, he knew he belonged nowhere else in any world. He smiled now at the memory, and thought his visit to this world would be everything he hoped and dreamed for, and wished it would last forever.
While walking, he habitually practiced in his mind, meticulously thinking through each sword maneuver so it would be so ingrained it would come naturally. He corrected himself when he made mistakes and applauded himself when he did something particularly wonderful. He was just devising a way to disarm his opponent when the attack came.
They had been traveling all morning and had stopped for lunch about two hours earlier. As they walked, the trees had become more and more numerous around them until they had entered a kind of sparse forest. The trees were not closely packed, but there were enough to hide the twelve men who now leaped out to attack the six adventurers.
Bellowing loudly, the twelve bandits charged from behind trees all around their quarry. The six startled companions barely had time to form a tight circle, their backs toward the center, before they were overrun. Fortunately, they’d shortened the space between each other because of the trees, but that didn’t help the odds any.
Vaun glanced quickly around to see that his companions had all drawn their weapons. Merdel was waving his staff from side to side before concentrating on his own two opponents. Van had been almost completely surprised when the bandits had charged from the trees, and it amazed him how quickly his companions had reacted and formed the circle. Obviously, they’d done this before. However, even though he had not, he had reacted the same as the others, and the natural reaction felt peculiar and reassuring at the same time. Forgetting his wonderment for now, he locked eyes on the bandits.
Neither wore armor, though both held longswords in tight fists and grinned wickedly, apparently thinking him easy prey. Vaun’s gaze roved over them, calculating which was the better of the two and waiting for them to act first, knowing his attack would come from that. How he could decide this, he didn’t know.
When the one on his right lunged for his chest, the reality of his situation overcame him. His mind raced, showing him pictures of headless and dismembered corpses, with him standing over them and laughing. It frightened him so badly he nearly froze completely. As it was, he barely avoided being killed on the spot as blind instinct, and something more from a place deeper inside took over.
He dropped, drawing his sword and slashing in a downward diagonal slash from right to left across his opponent’s exposed mi
ddle. He followed his cut by tucking his right shoulder and rolling to his right, coming easily to his feet to face the remaining bandit.
The struck attacker hit the ground flat and did not rise, his sword imbedding itself harmlessly into the ground. Seeing the ease with which the youth had slain his companion, the remaining bandit approached the youth more cautiously, his sword ready.
Vaun’s mind whirled and tumbled, reeling at the knowledge he had just killed another human being, and he remembered something a friend had said after one of their sword fights. He’d said that Vaun had seemed to be a natural sword fighter, one who could kill with ease and grace. The comment had not truly bothered him then; in fact he’d been quite proud of it. But now it seemed horribly prophetic.
Sickened, Vaun tried to close out the thoughts, only to find them replaced by that peculiar tingling he’d felt upon first touching his sword. It didn’t go away this time, however, and he tried to puzzle out why as he blocked his opponent’s strikes. The tingling intensified and receded with the proximity of his opponent’s weapon. Confused even more now, he gave ground easily.
The bandit pressed his advantage, obviously sensing Vaun’s distress. He grinned evilly as he wove elaborate attacks at the distracted young adventurer. Seconds later, his face retained its shocked expression as his head rolled to the ground and his body fell lifeless after the young warrior spun clockwise and decapitated him.
Realizing what he had just done, Vaun Tarsus dropped his sword and fell to his knees, his stomach heaving and his senses whirling. The tingling strengthened and took on a somewhat triumphant feel as the bandit fell dead; then it, too, died. Though he was glad it was gone, Vaun found himself wishing for the security it had provided. With it, he felt invincible.
Horrified and scared at the same time, he ignored the battle and retched violently over and over, clutching his stomach. Oblivious to his surroundings, the youth rocked back and forth for several minutes after his stomach had emptied, and gave no start when a friendly hand laid on his shoulder.
He heard sounds that might have been voices, but he shut them out as he drew up his knees and pressed his head between them and his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs. He rocked and rocked, reliving again and again the almost graceful ease that had killed the two men. Even though he’d done it in self-defense, he hated it.
* * *
Drath watched Vaun curl himself into a tight ball. He could hear the youth mumbling to himself but couldn’t understand anything he said. He sounded like he wasn’t just talking to himself. He sounded like he was arguing!
The tall man resisted the urge to reach out to his friend. He wanted to comfort him, to let him know everything was okay, but he knew he had to let Vaun fight some of his demons himself. It was the only way the youth would be able to accept himself in the end.
Vaun began to rock back and forth, and as his voice rose, he pressed his hands over his ears, as if trying to block out something he heard. Drath could only hear him fight with himself more violently. At times his voice would be soft, almost plaintive, and then a stronger, more mature voice would dominate. Though he knew they both came from the same mouth, Drath began to doubt whether they came from the same mind. The tall man found himself not only worried, but frightened.
* * *
Coming back to reality, Vaun Tarsus lifted his tear-streaked face and stared at Drath standing before him. Deep in the tall man’s green eyes, Vaun saw concern mixed with something peculiar. It took a moment to realize that Drath looked afraid.
He’s not just afraid for me; he’s afraid of me.
Vaun didn’t know what to think, nor did he know what to make of the looks his other companions gave him. They, too, seemed apprehensive of him. He knew he’d just argued with himself, but he couldn’t think of anything he’d said to make them feel fear. Surely they hadn’t heard that noise in his head.
Rising, Vaun tried to figure out what that peculiar feeling had been, the one that had almost taken control of his actions. But he could find no explanation. It seemed to have just happened, with no help from him at all. What was so bad about it was that it made killing feel almost good. Shaking off a sudden chill, he vowed he’d fight only in defense and never, ever draw his sword first. One look at the bloody weapon by his feet and his stomach lurched. He had to turn away to vomit again. He waited to make sure his stomach had calmed, then studied his hands. They were clean, though they felt covered in blood. Rubbing them on his pants did no good; the slick, sticky feel wouldn’t leave them. He choked down another urge to retch as he stepped away from his sword, though for some reason that made him feel worse.
Thorne mutely acknowledged Vaun’s reluctance to accept the sword, picking up the Vaulka and setting about cleaning and inspecting it himself.
Vaun glanced around at the grassy floor and counted ten bodies. None of his companions numbered among the dead, and that made him smile. He noticed Rush attended to a cut across Dart’s forehead, and Drath scratching at a fresh bandage around his left arm. Thorne rubbed at a spot on his arm, which must have only been a bruise since there was no blood. Merdel leaned heavily on his staff, uninjured but looking exhausted. Blood covered Rush, but the way the elf moved convinced Vaun that the majority of it wasn’t his. Sighing, the black-haired youth smiled at their good fortune.
He asked Drath what had happened to the other two bandits as the tall man led him to a tree and told him to sit. Drath said that the two had run away after the others had been killed, and after Merdel had killed two without touching them. At Vaun’s inquiring gaze, the wizard, looking strangely pale, told him that he’d given each of his assailants a sudden heart attack. Vaun again wiped his hands on his trouser legs.
Thorne and Dart approached the three humans seated with their backs against various trees, and sat down to rest and wait for Rush to finish looting the bodies. Thorne still held Vaun’s sword, now clean and ready for battle. The dwarf looked questioningly at Vaun, though he also seemed hesitant to return the sword to its owner.
Vaun only barely noticed Thorne’s reluctance, concentrating mainly on the cleanliness of his blade. Nodding his satisfaction, he removed his scabbard from his back and resheathed the weapon. Despite the urgent need to do so, he didn’t feel ready to don it, so he rested the sword across his knees and accepted dried meat from Dart. His hands, too, finally felt clean.
Drath chewed for a minute. “I’ve been wondering how you were going to draw that sword from your back, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that. I must admit you handled yourself extremely well back there. I’d been wondering how you’d fare in battle.”
Vaun addressed the ground beneath him. “I don’t like the killing, but I realize it can’t be helped sometimes. I’ll never really accept it, but I’ll do it to stay alive.”
Thorne nodded at his words after Vaun raised his head and commented that Vaun was learning wisdom. “No one likes it. Except maybe those scum over there.” He gestured vaguely toward the ten bodies several yards away. “But we all have to stay alive.”
Drath nodded. “Aye.” He noticed Vaun glance at his bandaged arm and waved his hand. “It’s just a small cut, nothing serious. I’ve had worse.”
Merdel grunted a laugh. “That’s true enough.”
Vaun had noticed as their journey progressed that he wasn’t the only one in the group who’d changed. Drath acted more and more like their leader every day, and the others readily obeyed him. He was a much better leader than Matt, Vaun’s older friend from his youth. Thorne had become gruffer and swore more often, reminding the youth of Charlie, although the dwarf’s swearing was more well-placed and had more variety. Merdel’s accent had become more pronounced, and he spent most of his time mumbling to himself. He claimed he practiced his magic, but sometimes Vaun thought him plain crazy.
Rush and Dart hadn’t changed much at all. They hadn’t bothered trying to fit into the youth’s home world, content to be themselves. Vaun found he liked that. It made them seem mor
e genuine somehow.
As for himself, he had changed dramatically. His talks with Drath, as well as a few with Thorne, had helped him reduce the amount of abuse he heaped on himself. They had taught him that the best way to overcome a low self-esteem was first to stop putting yourself down. The youth had also noticed that he enjoyed being called Vaun, especially since the others had so easily accepted his new name, and mentally stuck his tongue out at David for saying it was childish. If everything continued as it was, with the exception of being attacked over and over, this quest might turn out to be all that he hoped. Unless, that is, that peculiar feeling returned.
Thorne belched, officially announcing the end of their break. “Well, are we goin’ t’sit ’round here all day mournin’ completely unworthy strangers, or are we goin’ to depart?”
They all obediently rose.
“Merdel!” Rush knelt over one of the dead bandits. “I think you’d better take a look at this.”
The wizard walked over to where he waited. “What?”
Vaun watched them curiously, as did the others.
“Where did you get that?” Merdel hissed in a startled but quiet voice when the elf showed him a black handkerchief.
Rush pointed at the dead man he stood over. “From him.”
“What is it?” Drath approached the two of them, the others behind him.
Merdel turned to face them, motioning Rush to hide the handkerchief. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Drath frowned.
“Really.” Merdel warded off the harsh look. “It’s nothing that concerns us.”
“’Tis a black handkerchief, yes.” Thorne did not phrase his outburst as a question.
Merdel shot a withering look at the dwarf but said nothing. Thorne glared back, his eyes saying what his mouth need not.
Drath’s eyes darkened with suspicion. “Is it?”
Vaun snorted. “What could be so special about a black handkerchief?”
The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) Page 7
