Bishta the Black

by Jada Fisher

  “Fantastic news,” Baerdon groaned as he laid back, arms out wide.

  The sage sighed. “It’s frustrating, I know. These are scary and unprecedented times, and even I cannot be sure of what is to come or how things will turn out. Clairvoyance was never a skill of us sages. I am uncertain if there even is such magic.” She suddenly sat up, palms back and with a wide smile. “I believe in my fellow sages. I believe in my assistants, and my allies, and you. We’ll beat Bishta and win the day, and everything will go back to how they should be.”

  Baerdon didn’t say anything to that, because he didn’t have the words to express how encouraging that was. Apparently, neither did Ivara, but both flashed crooked smiles that filled their hearts with hope. He prayed to Rosk that the sage was right. They would put everything right and life could go back to how it should be.

  He and his brother and his father, alive and happy, hunting and fighting. His tribe prospering. Him as chief someday hopefully far in the future. Perhaps even Ivara being a permanent part of his life again…

  That might have been too much wishful thinking.

  They settled in around their dying fire once again. They should have gone to sleep immediately, what with being able to sleep again without the presence of the shadows and a much lighter touch of voices in their minds, but for a while, the trio just sat in silence.

  Without even meaning to, Baerdon found himself staring at Ivara on the other side of the fire where she sat half in her own bedroll. Her gaze was distant, shellshocked, her mind far away in her thoughts. Her eyes glowed in the fire. He wondered where she was. With her lost family? With her tribe, equally as lost? With the dead and gone? Or was she back with him, back at the roskmoot, when things were simple and better and before he messed everything up between the two of them?

  He wished he was there too. He wished he was with his father and brother, wished he was out on a hunt, running with Tuk and a bow in hand as he tracked a large stag.

  But he was here, with her and a magical witch as they fought monsters in a desperate attempt to save the world and their tribes.

  He blinked and realized that he was still staring hard at Ivara. She was still off in her mind somewhere, but as soon as he regained focus, so did she, and her eyes met his. She held his gaze for a moment before quickly looking away.

  Gayla shoved her feet into her bedroll and snuggled with the fur lining. “I need sleep. Feel free to stay up and celebrate this battle, but I would advise you to get some rest as well.”

  And without another word, she closed her eyes and seemed to drift to sleep with the snap of a finger. Her gentle snoring sounded over the light crackles of the fire. It was impressive how quick she found rest, even when they’d had to deal with the shadows and the voices.

  Baerdon wasn’t ready for sleep though, even if his body was. His mind was fully awake, and his body still hummed with adrenaline that had yet to pass. So, he grabbed his bedroll and scooched closer to Ivara’s side where she sat against Tuk’s bulk as usual. He expected her to shoo him off or give him a biting remark, but she didn’t.

  “We really need to stop doing that,” she said as she wrapped her arms around her knees and watched the fire some more. “The almost dying, I mean.”

  Baerdon smirked. “Yeah, it’s getting old.”

  “If I have to look at you one more time while staring death in the face, I swear to Rosk and the hunt…”

  “Oh please, I’m the best thing you could see on your death bed. Look at this jawline. Most would kill to see me in their last moments.”

  Ivara rolled her eyes so hard he feared they might pop out the back of her skull. She clicked her tongue, and for a moment he thought she might smack him.

  “You wish,” was all she said.

  He smiled and dipped his chin to his chest as his eyes rested on the embers. He took even breaths to calm his still-pounding heart. It raced for a different battle than the one earlier. Heat flooded his cheeks.

  “You’re not the worst sight to see in the end,” he admitted, his voice lower. “I could do a lot worse.”

  Even in the faint light, he could see the color rush to her cheeks. “Why do you say such idiotic things, chiefling?”

  “Because I know how to get a rise out of you, Chief.”

  She scoffed. “I should blacken your eye for such ridiculous remarks.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  He expected another sharp jab back, but Ivara fell silent for a moment, and they sat there like that for a little while as the fire died and the warm humid breeze blew over the plains. It was Ivara who spoke again first.

  “I suppose…” she began, her words soft and uncertain. “That seeing you in the end, dying fighting at your side… It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

  “Yeah, it wouldn’t be. But that isn’t the end I want for either us.”

  “Me neither.”

  He couldn’t tell her the end he wanted, the one he really wanted, not without her jabbing a sword in his gut. He was uncertain if he would ever see that end, what with everything going on in the world, but it was a nice dream, a nice fantasy to hold onto every night.

  With a stretch and yawn, Baerdon looked at her one last time. “Well, I suppose we should heed the good sage’s words and get some rest.

  Ivara nodded and smiled lightly before digging into her bedroll and turning onto her side, giving Baerdon her back. “Good night, Lorrickson.”

  He watched her, his eyes tracing her slender, muscular form. His mind went to every memory of that form in all its beauty. Don’t think of that, his conscience chastised him, not like that with her right there. His thoughts were right.

  Clearing his throat, he settled into his own nest and got comfortable. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the heavens as Gayla and Tuk snored lightly. Ivara wasn’t one to sleep easily, so even though she was silent, he knew she was still awake.

  But they both needed rest.

  “Good night, Keet,” he murmured back. Baerdon didn’t know if she’d heard him, but a minute later, her soft rhythmic breaths told him that she too was finally asleep.

  He sighed. It was his turn. He closed his eyes and drifted off, once he forgot about the madness of the day and their journey and how close he’d come to death yet again. In his dreams, he would be happy and fulfilled, and so to his dreams he went.

  And to another morning he would come.

  4

  Baerdon

  They continued south the next few days without incident, with only slight whispers accompanying them at night, and they were growing fainter by the day. Did that mean they were moving farther away from their tribe or closer? None of them had a clue about that, even Gayla.

  They pressed on, hoping beyond sensible reason that they would find some sort of clue soon.

  The farther south they went, the more wooded it became as they neared the dagger tip of Ishala Point at the edge of the Human Plains. A mere narrow strait separated it from the lands of Masrataa. Though the lands were so close, the people of the great city didn’t set foot on these plains. They thought any place completely devoid of spirits was a savage and godless place. Baerdon thought that to be false, but he let them have that thinking if it kept them away.

  There were forests in the central plains where his village was, but not to the degree of these. These woods were tall as the sky and dense, dark as night when traveling beneath their canopy. Stealth was not an option since every step had him crunching on dried sticks and leaves.

  Gayla was in her element, though. As soon as they entered the large forests, her mood brightened noticeably, and she often skipped ahead, looking very much the girl that she appeared to be.

  A thousand years old, but she never lost that childlike glee. It was a good quality to retain.

  Her enjoyment was infectious, despite the dire circumstances of their search, and soon he and Ivara both found themselves smiling. Baerdon even found himself humming a tune his mother used to sing to
him. The words were lost to him, but the rhythm and beat were still there, so he hummed along and enjoyed their walk.

  It was the first bit of mindless, carefree mirth he’d experienced this entire week. The last time he’d smiled like this was the big mer feast when they’d found Asoka. Since then, it was nothing but worry, worry, worry.

  He still worried, but for a moment, he allowed his heart to relax and have a bit of a breather from blindly panicking about the whereabouts of his family and tribe.

  Of course, as was Baerdon Lorrickson’s luck lately, their peaceful jaunt soon came to an end.

  Gayla skittered to a halt as distant shouting drew their attention. The sound was undeniably human and sounded like someone was in danger. From what, he couldn’t begin to know.

  Baerdon was about to suggest that they ignore it and press on, but predictably, the good sage turned west in the direction of the cries and took off at a run. Tuk, with Ivara on his back, bounded after her. Lorrickson sighed and ran too.

  It didn’t take long for them to find the man. He burst through the brush ahead of them, an average height sort wearing a brown tunic that seemed to swallow him whole and clutching two bundles of cloth to his chest. His pale face was red and glistened with sweat. He didn’t even notice the party as he ran past the sage, nearly toppling her over.

  He stumbled to the ground. He could have braced himself, but he kept a firm hold on the bundles in his arms.

  Gayla approached him slowly. “Are you okay? Are you running from something?”

  The man was raving and hysterical. He was middle-aged, with sunbaked, leathery skin and scraggily gray-brown beard matted with sweat and grime. His gray eyes were wide with fear.

  A moment later, they got their answer. A booming roar shook the trees, and just then did they notice the thundering steps that approached. Whatever was coming was probably a hulking monster.

  It was.

  A huge creature burst through the trees from the path the man had run down. The size and speed took Baerdon by surprise. It was an immense beast with shaggy brown fur—just as big as Tuk, if not slightly more. It had a similar dog-like snout and fluffy ears, as well as an impressive set of razor-sharp teeth that it wasn’t afraid to show off with a loud, prolonged roar. It was enough to make most men wet themselves, but they were not so easily scared. They’d faced down much worse things than this. As Ivara crawled off his back, Tuk stamped his front legs and roared in turn.

  A forest bear, much larger than the ones out on the plains. The ones he was used to were half the size of Tuk and usually had longer legs and small horns on their heads. Bears on the plains usually hunted in pairs or trios, but he knew forest bears were fearsome predators that usually scoured the forests alone.

  This one was particularly gruesome, as it had scars along its snout and face and some on its massive front legs. This one was a fighter and had seen many a battle. Taking it down wouldn’t be an easy feat.

  He and Ivara unsheathed their swords and readied themselves for a fight, but they never got the opportunity. Gayla walked between them and gestured for them to lower their blades. The two warriors shared a look but listened to her. They trusted her enough to listen when she told them something.

  So, with a whimpering man at their backs and their swords at their hips, they watched their miniscule companion walk calmly up to the colossal beast, her bare feet crunching the leaves beneath her toes. The bear growled and reared onto its hind legs, making it as tall as two men standing atop one another.

  A giant, a monster, yet Gayla showed no fear. That shouldn’t have surprised him.

  As the bear continued to growl and snarl, drool dripping from its mouth, Gayla simply reached out a slender hand and held it up.

  It roared again, and Baerdon held his breath, his heart about ready to stop. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, but Ivara told him to stop.

  “Wait! Look.”

  The bear lowered itself onto all fours again and took a few steps toward the sage until it was towering over her, its snout a mere arm’s length away from her extended hand. Baerdon feared it would simply bite down on her and rip her hand off.

  Baerdon should have known better. This was the Sage of the Earth, lady of all nature.

  It dipped its head and allowed her to put her hand on its snout. Then she closed the space between them and suddenly Gayla was hugging the bear’s snout like Baerdon did with Tuk all the time. All at once, the hostility washed away, and it was just a simple beast being loved by a wild girl.

  She gave it a scratch beneath its chin and then pulled away after placing a kiss between the eyes. “Go in peace, great one.”

  The bear huffed, inclined its head in what appeared to almost be a bow, and then it turned and departed. Just like that, they were alone again, the threat gone. Even so, his heart raced, but he dropped his hand from his hilt and raked his other hand through his hair.

  “Well, that’s a new trick.”

  Gayla cast a glance his way. She sported a simple grin. “I’m fairly certain I told you that wildlife and spirits usually leave me alone.”

  “I don’t remember you mentioning that,” he said.

  “Me neither,” Ivara said, coming to his defense, which was a nice change since she usually took any opportunity to bash him.

  The sage pondered that and then shrugged. “Well, now you know.”

  That was good to know indeed.

  With a smirk, Gayla walked past her two warrior escorts and made a line for the shivering man that she’d so effortlessly rescued. She crouched in front of him, hands on her knees. Her pointy leaf hat fell over her face and she giggled as she readjusted it.

  “Stupid thing, always getting in the way. A thousand years, and I can’t get it to rest easy on my head.”

  The man just blinked, at a loss for words. Baerdon didn’t blame him.

  Gayla pursed her lips and looked him over with concern. “Are you alright? Any injuries?”

  He shook his head. “N-no, none at all. Just a-a little winded. And scared out m-my wits.”

  “Yes, I can imagine so,” she said. She pushed to a stand again and crossed her arms, her staff pinned beneath. “You were very brave to protect them with all you had, but you can rest easy now.”

  Baerdon’s brows furrowed as he looked at that exchange with confusion, trying to parse the meaning of her words. Then, one of the bundles moved. With a start, Baerdon realized what the man was carrying: two children. No, babies more like. The man unwrapped the bundles and showed two little, pale-skinned toddlers with barely a single hair between them. They looked unharmed, though they squirmed and cried a lot. Good sign, that. But no wonder the man had been so desperate. Baerdon doubted if they were even old enough to walk.

  Well, the hysteria checked out. He wasn’t afraid for his own life but that his two children would be lost as well. Baerdon could understand that. He wasn’t a father yet, but he meant to be some day, and he’d do anything for those children he’d eventually have. He knew his father would do anything for him and Tyther.

  “I am Gayla. Can you tell me your name?”

  The man sniveled and was still a mess, but he wiped his nose and the remnants of tears and tried his best to compose himself now that he saw the immediate danger had passed.

  “M-m-maedon Dak-Dakoson.”

  Gayla’s cheeks stretched to contain her smile. Baerdon swore that her smile had the power to put anyone at ease no matter the situation. He wouldn’t have been surprised if that was some passive magical ability of hers, but it probably wasn’t. She was just a pretty, charming, immortal woman.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maedon. These are my friends Baerdon and Ivara, they are both warriors of the plains. You have nothing to fear from us, do you understand?”

  He nodded slowly. “Aye.”

  “Good.” Gayla reached out and pulled back more of the cloth to look at the babies. Baerdon was a few steps away so he couldn’t see as well, but from the looks of things, they s
eemed to be the same age, with the same pudgy cheeks and blue eyes as the father. Twins, perhaps? A good omen, at least to his tribe. Gayla stroked one baby’s cheeks and about glowed with warmth.

  “They seem healthy. They’re beautiful children.”

  Maedon gulped, unsure how to take the compliment. “T-thank you.”

  “They are yours, correct?”

  “Of course!” He clutched the twins closer to his chest, making Gayla recoil her hand. He was offended by the insinuation, and frankly, Baerdon didn’t blame him. He brought their heads to his chin and hugged them tenderly but fierce.

  “Apologies,” Gayla said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “It’s okay.” Maedon managed to smile at the babies, a look so full of obvious love that there was really no doubt. Then his gaze rose to his rescuers. “You have my eternal gratitude. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I—” he choked on some words, and maybe even a sob, before gathering himself. “I don’t care what happens to me, but the thought of losing Yama and Baara… It haunts me.”

  “You should value your life too, Maedon Dakoson. All life has meaning and value. But I appreciate the love and concern for your daughters’ safety. It’s a good quality for any parent to have.”

  Maedon considered that and nodded. He looked at his daughters again, and the love in his eyes still shown bright.

  Gayla straightened and fixed him with a very sobering look. “Now, we need some answers, though I fear the line of questions my distress you.” She crossed her arms. “Why are you all alone out here?” she asked gently. Baerdon could hear the unasked question though, and the implication of it. Where is the mother? Your family? He wasn’t covered in blood or had any wounds that they could see, but to be fleeing through the woods alone with two toddlers likely meant trouble.

  Dakoson’s face dropped and what color remained in his pale cheeks drained right out. His eyes went to his feet.

  “I… We lost everyone.”

  “How?”