Wildling

by Curtis, Greg

  Dorn made his excuses, shifted back into his cat form and made a quick dash around the battlements and then jumped up into the fort.

  By the time he'd made the roof, dressed and returned on two legs his guests were already in the courtyard and stretching their legs. Several of the scholars were busy rubbing away at the layer of soot covering the statue of Xeria and Emmaline and the other fighter were scouting the walls. Sena meanwhile was unpacking some containers from her pack and Eris was preparing a fire, laying out little piles of kindling and dry moss. It all seemed very ordinary though in fact he realised, it was anything but. For him at least, and for the fort. Neither of them was used to visitors.

  “That looks better. Though -,” she wrinkled her nose up a little, “- you could use a bath.”

  “Don't have one.”

  It was the plain fact of the matter though perhaps not something to be proud of. Especially when others had from time to time mentioned the same thing. Mostly women unfortunately. They liked him, they would happily dance with him and do the other wonderful things that women did, but sometimes they did insist on his bathing first.

  “Or a laundry I see.”

  Dorn stared at her and then at his clothes, realising she was probably right and wondering if he should be embarrassed about it. After all this wasn't Lampton Heights. It wasn't a city full of expensively dressed nobles. It was a ruin in the middle of the wastes. His bathing and washing habits probably weren't that different to those of anyone else living out here.

  “I'll help the scholars.” It seemed like the best option and Dorn quickly left to join the scholars who had gathered around the burned statue. They were busy rubbing at it with damp clothes and talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Discussing esoteric matters. Of course once there he had a whole new set of problems to deal with. Problems that began with his being accused of having burnt the courtyard, and more importantly the shrine. It didn't seem to occur to them that actually the Dicans had burnt it. He'd just added a little fuel so that their controlled fire surrounded them and burnt out of control. Besides, they would have destroyed the statue as well if they'd had the chance. His actions had saved it.

  Still, after the unpleasantness was out of the way their conversation turned to easier questions. What had the shrine looked like? How had it been arranged? What markings had the altar born? Questions he was disappointed to discover that he couldn't answer save only in the most vague way. It turned out that despite having lived in the fort for five years and having seen the shrine every day, he couldn’t really describe it all that well. He simply wasn't that observant. But in any case both the altar and the offering table had been far newer than the statue itself. Whatever markings the burnt altar might have born would not have been the same as the ones the original had.

  The scholars did know rather more about the statue than he did. He discovered that when they brought some water, rinsed out the cloths they were using to wipe away the soot, and washed some more of it away. Fairly quickly they had found some of the text to read. While Dorn could read and write Common well enough, he couldn't read this. The text was in an ancient language that had long ago been forgotten by time. He didn't even know what the letters were. But the scholars did.

  It turned out to be Xeria's full name and title. He hadn't even known that Xeria had more than just her simple name. Or that any gods did. But apparently she was Xeria of the Dawn, Goddess of the Hearth, Mother of the Home, Bringer of the New Day, Keeper of the Family, and a whole plethora of other titles. So many titles in fact that the entire stone plinth on which the statue sat was covered with them.

  That surprised him as did the fact that there were people who could read them after all this time.

  But then one of the scholars said something that caused him to forget such minor wonders. He simply said as he worked on cleaning the statue with his cloth, that he was looking forward to seeing the shrine return to service. That instantly set Dorn's heart racing. It was his dream coming true. It was also a nightmare.

  The shrine returning to service meant worshippers coming. It meant the fort would once more become known, and not because of the terrible stories of its dark past that served to keep people away. It meant visitors. A path leading to his front door. It might even lead to a cadre of priests sharing his home with him. None of that was good. He left the scholars and rushed back to the one person who probably knew the truth and would be able to tell him.

  “You said they were only here to study the shrine.”

  “And they are studying it. With a view to restoring it to the Mother's service. I never said ‘only’.”

  Sena smiled at him as if it was all some sort of harmless idea and he should always have known the plan anyway. She held out a mug for him. “Tea?”

  Dorn ignored the mug.

  “Restoring the shrine means priests being here. It means worshippers visiting. It means the fort once more being on a recognised path and it being spoken about.” It was the madness from his dreams coming true.

  “In time yes.”

  She kept holding the mug out for him, and he kept ignoring it until she finally let her hand and the mug drop to the ground. Then she sighed as if he'd said something particularly stupid.

  “Did you think that this was yours? Really? You did not build this shrine or the fort. You just moved in after it had been abandoned. But this is no more yours than it is anyone else's. It belongs as it always did to the faithful of Xeria. They built it. They own it.”

  “But it's my home!”

  He couldn't argue with her about ownership obviously, though there was still an accepted right of claiming things that others had left behind. At least in the wastes. But maybe that didn't apply to temples and forts.

  “And it still will be. Even when the priests have restored it to service, you will not be sent away. None have the desire for that. It’s just that you will have some company to spend your days with.” She seemed to think that was a good thing. How wrong could she be?

  “A shrine brings attention. Especially out here in the wastes. It will bring brigands to harass the priests as well as to steal anything they can. And if there are any Dicans left in the region they will come too, determined to burn the shrine to the ground along with any priests and worshippers they find.”

  “Which is why the fort will be rebuilt as well. The walls will be made strong again, the gate repaired, the path restored and watched over. Defenders will be stationed here. And this will be far from the only shrine and temple to be restored. There will be another seventeen to Xeria alone. This is a part of the way that I spoke of. The true elves are restoring the faith in their old gods. It is the lack of faith in them that has in part allowed the corrupt faiths like that of the Church of Dica to arise and become powerful.”

  “Now please drink your tea and stop worrying. It does you no honour.”

  Sena handed him the mug once more and this time he took it from her. He even managed to take a sip from it, and discovered it was quite fragrant. But his thoughts weren't really on it.

  “You have no thought to the consequences of your actions.” He had to say it, even though he didn't want to. It felt too much as though he were supporting his most hated of enemies. Extolling their power.

  “The Dicans will never tolerate this. They never can. They have control of two realms already; Lampton Heights and the Kingdom of Yed. And though the nobles and lords think they run them, in truth it is only with the permission of the church. Between those two lands alone they could raise an army a quarter of a million strong if they wanted to. And they will want to. But there's more.”

  “They have a presence in Enderly to the east, and for twenty years now they have been bending those in power to their will. In another ten or twenty years they will have control of Enderly and the other faiths there will be purged. The wildlings who call it home, murdered. Burnt at the stake.”

  “To the west they move in Alador, building their temples and spreading their foul wo
rd. And they have even been seen in the White Plains trying to sway the beliefs of the plainsmen.” Not that they would have had any success there.

  “The wastes are large, but the people few and widely spread. And in time we will be surrounded by Dicans on three sides. This time they were only sent back because they didn't come in sufficient strength and weren't prepared for the creatures that call this land home. But if they hear of the return of the old religions to the land they will not be so easily stopped. They will slaughter everyone.”

  Dorn paused, not wanting to think of what was coming. But then he thought of something else.

  “You are a wayfarer, you should know this.” After all her people travelled through all those lands.

  “And I do know of it.”

  She stared right at him, her eyes searching for something. “But I am puzzled as to how you do.”

  “My father was the clerk to Lord Indiri in Lampton Heights. He saw the letters that the black priests kept sending him as they demanded gold from him to further their mission throughout the lands.” Copies of the same letters that they most likely sent to all the other lords. Demands that none of them could refuse.

  Dorn could still remember the temper tantrums Lord Indiri had thrown each time he'd received another one. Everyone in the estate would likely have seen them and few would forget them in a hurry. The man was white of hair and had to be in his seventies, yet he cried out to the heavens like a young man and stamped his feet like a peevish child. He had had no love for the Dicans.

  “A man of surprises.”

  “And a man who does not want to end up burnt at the stake,” Dorn replied. He didn't understand her comment or why she even cared about what he knew. But he knew what mattered.

  “And that will not happen. Not now that the eleven are returned to us.”

  But she wasn't as confident as she tried to sound. He could smell the fear in her. She would call it doubt but he knew it for what it truly was.

  “Eleven who?”

  But even as he asked Dorn knew the answer. That too had been in his dreams.

  “True elves. The high priests and priestesses of eleven of the thirteen ancient gods and goddesses. Sent back to us after all this time.”

  Actually, Dorn realised, that made sense. Sort of. They were ancient priests, and priests had magic. The magic that their gods and goddesses bestowed upon them. Sometimes it was powerful. Not thankfully in the case of the Dicans. The magic they were given was the ability to spot fear and instil it in others. Though that ability had still been enough for them to build their faith into a many tentacled hydra that consumed realms and killed tens or hundreds of thousands. But the magic of the high priests wouldn't protect the shrine or the fort. In the end there were only a few of them and they had no armies. And it wouldn't stop the coming disaster as the wastes were invaded. They would still be overrun. He told her as much.

  “Actually this is the only way that we can prevent that.”

  She sighed as if saddened for some reason. Probably because of his slowness of wit or his moral deficiencies. The fact was, he didn't understand the importance of what they were doing.

  “In any case it's not your most pressing concern.”

  Sena changed the topic and Dorn stared at her, wondering. The loss of his home to the priests followed almost certainly by the retaliation of the Dicans wasn't his most pressing concern? What was? He was surprised he even had to ask.

  “For you? ... Your gifts of course.”

  “Gifts?” But even as he asked the warrior handed Sena a pack he'd obviously gathered from the horses while Dorn hadn't been paying attention. Sena in turn handed it to him.

  “From Lady Sylfene. She says that while you walk this path of violence – inappropriate for one who lives in the house of Xeria – you should at least be comfortable.”

  Dorn undid the straps and opened the pack wondering what he might find. But he found nothing. The pack was empty and he didn't understand. He guessed that Sena found his confusion amusing from the sudden smile she tried to hide behind her hastily raised hand.

  “The pack is the gift. It will hold your clothes as you travel and the leather has been spelled so that it will stretch and shrink as you shift.”

  “Ahh ... thank you. It's a thoughtful present. But there was no need.” And there wasn't. He had asked nothing for letting them study the shrine. And neither would he for allowing them to awaken it, dangerous as that was.

  “Gifts are not given because of need. They would not be gifts if they were. The Lady simply thought that you needed a good pack. And she hoped that when you use it you will remember that even though you seem determined to walk a path apart from us, you are not forgotten. Though there will be penance required when the time comes you may once more walk with your people.”

  “Also she enjoyed your jest.”

  “Jest?”

  “Shunning her. I have not seen the Lady laugh so hard in all the time since she has been returned to the world!” Dorn groaned and Sena smiled, enjoying his discomfort.

  “And she has another gift for you. We think we've found your mother Matilde.” Her words shocked him in a way he had never known before. They left him almost unable to think as he realised that what she'd said was something he'd been dreaming of for six long years. Something he'd almost given up hope of ever finding. His family. But still he managed to ask the only question that mattered.

  “Where?”

  “River Vale in Alador. She works as a seamstress there and has been using her gift to secretly help the children with their nightmares.” That was his mother all right. Always kind of heart to a fault. His father had often worried that she would expose them because of her acts of kindness. But he had also loved her for them.

  “Thank you.” And this time when he said it he truly meant it. “I have to go.” He got up and made to leave for the rope ladder and the fort roof.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Packing. Getting ready for the run. I have to travel to Alador.” He would have thought that would have been obvious. What else was he going to do once she'd told him where to find his mother?

  “There's no need. Others will be sent to find your mother and bring her back to the temple. You can speak with her there when she arrives. And if you can swallow your foolish pride and apologise to Lady Sylfene as you should, you can stay there with her. I'll tell you when she arrives.”

  “Your wagons?” Dorn snorted with disdain. The wagons were actually slower than a man walking, although there seemed to be some differences between what they could do and what they were doing. Almost as if they were travelling much faster than they moved. As if there was a traveller guiding them. “I can be in River Vale in half the time and then escort her to the temple if she wants to go.”

  “I'll leave the hatch to the roof open so you can sleep up there at night. Top floor end chamber. The ladder is quite well hidden but you can feel it with your hands. My shack is small but at least it comes with a roof and a fire pit. A few chairs as well. There's some books of verse there you can read if you like. And the chickens will need feeding.”

  “But it's dangerous!” The objection burst from Sena and it surprised him. It almost sounded as though she was concerned for him for some reason. “To travel alone without a wagon.”

  Then she did something that surprised him. She reached across and grabbed his hand in hers. “You'll get yourself killed.”

  By the gods she was beautiful! He'd known she was pretty, even considered her a woman he might like to share a dance with. Assuming that she could stop telling him off of course. But up until then it had been nothing more. Just then though, with her eyes wide and her face full of concern, she was something far more than pretty. She was Oliviane's daughter herself. Love. It took Dorn a moment to overcome the spell she cast on him.

  “I've travelled further and I know these lands. Besides, I'm a shifter.” Though he didn't truly want to he pulled his hand back. “But thank you.” He nod
ded to her and then quickly left for his home, anxious to pack and to finally be under way.

  Finally after all these years to have a destination. It wouldn't have mattered what dangers lay ahead. That his home might be lost. Or how beautiful she was. He was going.

  Chapter Thirty.

  Dorn came across the small army in the foothills of the Eteris Mountains, right in the middle of the southern wastes and had to stop hurriedly, keeping to the trees on the side of the narrow valley they were using as a trail. He hadn't expected to see anyone there let alone an army.

  The sight of them annoyed him. More Dicans and their guards marching into the wastes, seeking to establish their abominable god's place in these lands. And just when he thought they had given up. It was not right. And since they had a score of war machines with them he guessed they meant to do it by force. Three hundred men at arms, a score of the black priests and a score of war machines. They were bent on conquest. And probably the destruction of any temples they found on the way.

  It surprised him coming across them like that. To find such a large group in the middle of the wastes. Most others of their kind had fled already, usually after some terrible battles. He'd come across at least a dozen other patrols that had been destroyed already. Some of them, by the looks of the arrows, by dusky elves. Others by some of the typically dangerous creatures that called the wastes home. But none of the other groups had been as large as this one. Typically the number of dead had been in the scores of soldiers. There were far more than that here.