Second Sight: Second Tale of the Lifesong

by Greg Hamerton

  Ashley caught the next blow on his staff quite by accident as he thrust it down to balance himself. The impact sent a jarring vibration through his arm. Garyll spun and struck from the other side. Ashley just met it in time with the lower end of his staff.

  Smack! That would have been his knee.

  Garyll wouldn’t really hurt me, would he?

  He stumbled backward, allowing the staff to rotate with the momentum of the strike, but it pulled his arms aside and there was a moment when his ribs were exposed to an attack. Garyll was suddenly too close, his baton raised in a fatal position above his head. Ashley hurriedly brought the staff up, but too slowly. The baton stung his scalp.

  It was a light rap, no more. Garyll’s control was incredible. He steadied Ashley a moment later.

  “You let me get inside you,” Garyll chided. “Stop retreating in a straight line. Step aside, move around me and keep yourself out of range. Your staff is longer than my baton. Use that to your advantage. Keep me where you can hit me but where I can’t hit you.”

  Ashley smiled weakly and nodded. So begun a spirited half hour. Being worked over by the Swordmaster was as intense as being in a real fight. Not the Swordmaster any more, Ashley reminded himself, although he couldn’t really believe it. He knew he was ill-prepared, if any of the prophecies Tabitha had told him about were true. He was certain that if he faced someone half as good as Garyll Glavenor in combat, he had a good plan. He would run.

  Glavenor had only the baton, a slender tapered club with a wire-bound hilt. It was a harmless-looking weapon when compared to the formidable blade he used to wield, but Ashley soon learnt the baton was not at all harmless. It may not kill an opponent, but it would certainly discourage anyone once they learnt of Garyll’s skill. Ashley’s staff, which had felt so light when Mulrano had given it to him that morning, grew heavy all on its own. Garyll corrected his weak grip, so that he held the staff with one palm up and the other down, shoulder width apart, balanced in the centre. It gave him two ends to use, though he wasn’t any good with either of them. Ashley concentrated on keeping hold of the shaft. If he lost it, he was sure he would earn a new bruise. Garyll had a hard sense of humour.

  Tabitha was watching from beside the fire. Garyll came at him again, and this time Ashley jumped to the side. The baton caught him against the ribs.

  “Oof.”

  “Other side,” said Garyll. “I’ve got more reach on the beginning of the stroke.” He swung the baton again. “See?” Ashley skittered away to Garyll’s left. The baton missed, which felt much better.

  Garyll’s mind was closed. Ashley had sensed him change as soon as they had squared up. It was as if Garyll watched all of him, and from a great height. Ashley tried to avoid being hit, but after a long series of failures, he tried to copy what Garyll did. As his attention rose to watch his body from above, his reactions improved. He began to parry and move without thinking. He even forced Garyll to block, once. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to take too many bruises before Glavenor called an end to the session.

  His improvements didn’t go unnoticed, and he spent the next few minutes running away as Garyll piled on the pressure. Ashley’s tunic was soaked with sweat when they finally joined Tabitha at the campfire. He flopped down onto the grass beside her.

  “Your man is a big bully,” he stated, out of breath. “Please make him stop hitting me.”

  Tabitha laughed softly. Garyll came up close to her.

  “Come down here, big bully,” she scolded, taking his hand into her own.

  Garyll reclined beside Tabitha and the flames, and she threaded her arms around his neck. Ashley wondered what it would feel like to be held by her like that. Tabitha was beautiful with the firelight on her face. Flecks of gold danced in her brown eyes, and the warm flame light was caught in her loose dark curls. The ruddy colour of her brushed-leather coat just made her skin look cleaner. Ashley’s eyes wandered. Beneath the bunched collar of her jersey was a gentle swelling where her two crystals lay hidden, her mystery of clear essence. What would it be like to touch them? Would they be cool, or warm, where they lay? Her throat was very smooth.

  Garyll turned and looked at him, his level gaze measuring him as if they were still sparring. “Sit closer to the fire, Ashley. Keep warm while you dry or you’ll be as stiff as an old crone tomorrow.”

  Ashley laughed nervously. “I’m stiffer than that already, thanks.” A day in the saddle hadn’t helped. “I’ll make you regret training me. You’ll taste the end of that staff yet.”

  “I look forward to the day,” said Garyll with a faint smile. The collar of his tunic wasn’t even damp.

  Don’t be crazy. You meant that as a joke, didn’t you? What were you thinking of doing? Challenging Glavenor for his girl?

  He rolled closer to the fire and kept his eyes studiously on the dancing flames. The heat slowly evaporated the sweat from his clothes. He could feel a bruise between his ribs that was going to be a shiner in the morning. He wished he had some Light essence. A quick Heal-all spell would erase everything in an instant.

  Night crept upon them from the western horizon, slipping down between the two knuckled peaks poking from the green-tinged saddle above them. A sense of foreboding settled on Ashley’s shoulders as he remembered where they would be, come morning: the Penitent’s pass, no more than an hour away.

  Tabitha had said that dawn was the weakest time for the Shield, but the way Mulrano had coughed and looked away into the distance when she’d said that had told him it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

  Mulrano returned from the forest with another armful of logs.

  Once the fire had produced a good bed of coals, Mulrano produced a fat fish wrapped in dark leaves. It lost its head to his big-bladed axe. He cleaned and salted it, and it hissed, steamed and smoked as it cooked upon the coals. Mulrano shared it in steaming portions. Garyll added some crusty panbread to make their supper.

  Later, before turning to his blanket, Ashley joined Mulrano against a log near the fire. He wondered what to say to make friends with the bluff fisherman. Garyll and Tabitha nestled down in the shelter, although Ashley sensed Glavenor wasn’t really asleep. The night thickened around them, filled with the gentle calls of forest creatures. The fire burnt lower. Mulrano tossed another branch into the coals and a shower of sparks soared upward.

  “It must be terrible to be dumb,” Ashley said. Too late he realised how that had sounded.

  Mulrano’s hand shot out and grabbed his tunic, anger in his eye and a snarl upon his lips. With his free hand he grabbed the big-bladed axe and adjusted his grip on it, ready to swing. Its edge was wickedly sharp. Ashley scrambled for the fisherman’s thoughts.

  A chop through his scrawny neck will keep the suffering greenfly quiet! Just there, above his collar!

  Ashley panicked and tried to pull away but he couldn’t break Mulrano’s powerful grip. He raised his arms and wriggled out of his tunic instead, scrabbling frantically on the ground to get away. He tripped and fell down on his backside beside the fire.

  Garyll was beside him, having launched from his bed like a hunting cat, but he stopped just as suddenly. He stooped to help Ashley up. He began to chuckle.

  “What’s going on?” asked Tabitha sleepily.

  Ashley turned toward Mulrano and saw his wolfish grin. Mulrano laughed with deep, booming laughter.

  “Young Ashley here yanked the wrong chain,” Glavenor answered.

  Ashley retrieved his crumpled tunic from Mulrano, feeling foolish. “I really believed you were going to chop my head off like the fish. You thought it so clearly.” Mulrano laughed again and tapped the side of his forehead with a finger, then threw an open hand of air at Ashley. Ashley caught the thought. “I’m not as bloody clever as I think I am, and I’d best be careful whom I pinch my thoughts from.”

  Mulrano clapped his hands together in delight. He tapped his forehead again, inviting Ashley to take another thought.

  “It is good for you to he
ar your thoughts spoken aloud again, even if by a dumb Lightgifter,” Ashley recited.

  Mulrano roared with laughter and gripped Ashley in a comradely embrace. Ashley was overwhelmed by the fisherman’s gruff humour.

  “Right, now play quietly, boys,” Garyll admonished, before settling down with Tabitha once more.

  As Ashley relaxed beside Mulrano he began to laugh at himself as well. He really had been caught, good and proper. He wished he’d talked more with the fisherman during their journey instead of finding excuses to ride beside Tabitha.

  “Will you come with us through the pass, Mulrano?”

  Mulrano nodded. “I owe ik koo her.”

  Ashley waved his hand. “Let me pick your thoughts.”

  Mulrano held his eye. “Ngo buggahee?”

  “No buggery?” He smiled. “Promise.”

  Mulrano relaxed, and his thoughts came up clearly like rocks through a retreating tide. “Young Tabitha stood against that blue-mouthed half-bred bastard who called himself the Darkmaster, she stopped him. I owe her my life for that, we all do. My grandfather was Golan the Great. Who am I? What have I done? I am just a fisherman, but here is my chance to do something greater. And, besides, I promised a friend I would help Tabitha no matter what, and I’ll bloody well not break that promise.”

  Ashley nodded. “Who is the friend who you made the promise to?”

  Mulrano’s thoughts moved like a pool of rippled sunlight. “Ah, the Riddler, the old pipe twiddler. He is an elusive fellow. Have you met the Riddler?”

  Ashley wasn’t sure. “I ... think so, the bard who helped Tabitha in First Light. Tsoraz. She said there was more to him than meets the eye, though she wouldn’t explain.”

  “Hah, and that’s the truth of it!” thought Mulrano. “If he told you his name was Tsoraz, then he was playing a trick on you. His name’s Twardy Zarost. He’s a strange fellow, make no mistake, but he saved my life.”

  “Tsoraz. I’ve got it…backward. Zarost!”

  As Mulrano tapped his forehead again, Ashley extended his mind further. The thoughts were so clear he could feel the words as if they lay carved before him. Beyond the words were images, and beyond these were the vague hot-and-cold of Mulrano’s feelings. Ashley entered another world through the gateway of Mulrano’s eyes, a world beyond the surface of the man, a place where his memory and experience lived in a fury of light, sound and colour.

  Ashley was suddenly nervous; he was deeper into his mind than the fisherman realised. Bright images surrounded Ashley, and beyond them darker memories lingered. He guided himself backward, out of the intimate depths, back to the surface of Mulrano’s mind where he felt more comfortable. A clear sequence of thoughts took form before him in stark relief, a vision narrated in Mulrano’s gruff voice. Ashley supposed that everyone thought with their own voice, in their own manner.

  “Haven’t seen the Riddler much until recently,” thought Mulrano. “I knew him long ago. There was a day, back when I had no more than the boat my old man had left me to my name, when I was out on the water, a calm day with a lazy sun. I was dozing against the rail with a line over the back, trolling for the greenfin. A stupid slackwit I, with even a cleat in the mainsheet. I heard the gust approaching across the water, whipping spray, but I didn’t move quick enough to avoid the boom. Empty-headed ass! It clipped me on my bloody crown, and the Riddler says I was hit clear out of the boat, but I’d lost my thinking and remembering by then. I’d have drowned, I would have, but he pulled me from the lake. He never did tell me how he came so far out on the water to save me. Funny that, but when I came around I was coughing out the foul taste of my own death and breathing again, and he was sitting there grinning at me. And the day was fine, hardly a breath of wind on the water, it was the strangest thing. My boat was still out there, drifting on a slack sail.

  “I offered him a meal, and the Riddler stayed on. We spent months fishing together, though he was looking for something deeper than the greenfins or even soles. He’d never bait his hook, only send it to the bottom with the sinkers, and stare into the depths as if he could see where he stirred it about in the mud. I thought he was a bloody nutter at times. There was a day he seemed excited. He washed his hook off as if there was something on it, but it was clean. He pretended to pocket something, said he’d found the path again. He’s full of strange comments like that. He left. I seldom saw him after that day, but our friendship won’t be weakened by the years. He’s a good man, he is, even if he is the strangest fellow I know. He can tie a man’s head in knots with his riddles.”

  “And where is he now?”

  “Oh, he can be scarce when he wants to be. I think he could have hidden on the Darkmaster’s door and they wouldn’t have known it. Miss Tabitha might know more than I of his whereabouts; he took a great interest in her. Who wouldn’t, eh? She’s a rare jewel, that one.”

  “And yet she seems to draw trouble upon herself,” Ashley commented.

  He clapped Ashley on the back. “That’s what we are here for,” he seemed to think, but the link was clouded for a moment, and Ashley couldn’t be sure.

  “It has been good talking with you this strange way in my head, fella, but you’re beginning to addle my brain, and I think you’d best get a good night’s sleep if you’re to have any hope in the pass.”

  Ashley turned to Mulrano. “How bad is the pass, really?”

  “Gheep, young fe’ow. You gohng’k wong koo know.”

  It was strange to hear Mulrano’s tortured speech again. Ashley realised that he might not have spoken at all during the discussion with Mulrano, he’d only thought of the words. He was developing his ability to send his thoughts.

  “I don’t want to know?” he asked out loud. Mulrano nodded.

  Ashley rose, wincing against stiff muscles. “What about you? When do you want to be relieved of the night watch?”

  Mulrano shook his head. “I’ve beeng up koo va paff befoh. I wong’k gheep.”

  Ashley walked slowly to his blanket, and eased in behind Tabitha and Garyll. His ribs ached, but in a way he wished that the training with Garyll had been longer. It had taken his mind off worrying about the pass.

  Tomorrow their strength would be tested.

  _____

  They ascended toward the rim of Eyri early the next morning—four riders under the pale pre-dawn sky. Tabitha opened her senses to the sounds of the elements. The air had a cold delicate music to it, the rivulet chuckled and the earth pulsed with a soft undertone. But the sounds faded as they climbed. The tall trees of the forest gave way to shorter relatives: wizened, crouching on either side of the wash like cowed slaves chained to the place Fate had assigned their roots. Then the foliage was altogether defeated. Only a green moss clung belligerently to the rocks, and a mist came searching toward them from the west, through the bald saddle high above that was the Penitent’s pass.

  Tabitha reined in. Something had passed her, on the limit of her hearing, but it was gone again. Garyll looked back at her. She flicked the reins to urge her mount on. Her ring warmed as she drew on it for clarity, but there was nothing immediate to sense. Just an unsettling impression of space closing in, something she couldn’t see, taste or touch, but she knew it was there—the Shield of Eyri, the limit to the realm, ahead of them among the peaks.

  They encountered a lone weathered cairn. Among the rough stones was a plaque, so eroded by the years only a sliver of script remained on the smoothened slab—‘Our Eyr ... ’ and ‘ ... nevermore.’ Tabitha paused. So many years had passed since the legendary final battle against the invaders, and yet a sense of violence lingered in the air, as if the Swords still fought to rid Eyri of those savage men in this oppressive channel.

  And they were hoping to push beyond the pass. Garyll sat silently on his roan horse beside her, watching.

  “Not a restful place for the fallen men of Stevenson’s company,” she whispered.

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  The sense of conflict became worse
as they rode higher in the valley, as if the narrowing cliffs pressed in on them from either side. Something hummed beneath the sounds of the wind and the gentle movements of the horses, something deep and ominous, filling the air with a strange potency. Tabitha’s breath caught in her throat; the air became thicker and awkward to inhale. The weight of it began to press upon her.

  They came across three boulders huddled together like a natural windbreak. As Mulrano began to lead the way past them, his horse balked. He spurred it on with a vigorous heel, but the black stallion tossed its head then reared and whinnied loudly.

  “Wait, Mulrano!” shouted Ashley, dismounting and approaching the distressed horse. “Your stallion thinks there’s something ahead. He’s just put his nose into something.”

  “Paing,” Mulrano declared, nodding his head as if he’d expected it.

  Ashley pushed past the boulders, then yelped and jumped back.

  “What is it?” shouted Garyll, dropping from his own horse, his baton drawn.

  Ashley’s face was pale. “I don’t know, it’s like ... being hit with a hundred arrows.”

  Garyll strode past Ashley at once, wielding his baton ahead of him like a sword. He slowed, grunted softly, and bowed his head then he waded on for a few paces with his shoulders squared. Tabitha could see it was an effort for him.

  Mulrano didn’t bother to dismount. “We cahnk go ong,” he declared in his laboured way, pointing past Garyll. “More ang more paing, heavy, heavy paing. If hu go fah ong ... ” He clapped his hands to his temples, pretending to crush his head. “Cum back!” he called out to Garyll. “Ik mek hu weak!”

  Tabitha asked Ashley to take her horse’s reins, but Mulrano reached out of his saddle and stopped her when she dismounted. His concern was plainly written on his weathered face. “Heavy paing.”

  “I must understand it,” Tabitha told him. If they were going to get through the pass, she had to overcome the magic the Gyre had cast to seal Eyri in. She had to experience the repulsion of the Shield, if that was what Garyll laboured against.