Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  She halted, looming before him, and he squeezed his eyelids shut, expecting the blade of her great sword to pin him to the ground. When nothing happened, he risked a glance to see her glaring down. He heard the chinking of her mail with her ragged breaths, each one declaring her desire for his death. Yet she hauled him erect, her strength pressing the tendons of his wrist to the bone. “It is as I thought,” she said. “You do fear me.”

  Gaelin bent to retrieve his fallen staff, trembling as her magic charged the air at the back of his neck. What would happen if she touched Mornius? he wondered as he straightened up. Somehow, he sensed from the wind through the branches that the ground itself would crumble to dust. “Yes, I do,” he confessed finally, for he sensed that the giant, too, heard messages in the air. Any deception on his part and the night voice would sing it to her. “Not fair,” he murmured, cringing under the weight of her scrutiny. “It’s dark so I can’t see you, but you have your magic to see me.”

  He jumped when she tapped his chest. “Prowlers hunt after dusk,” she said. “Not giants. Our magic enhances our size, not our vision, and only when we become angry and our blood is quickened.” She paused. “I would not inflict injury to an ally of a friend. I have faith in Jahn Oburne, who has urged me to trust you.”

  “Quickened?” he asked.

  “That is our word for when our blood heats up for battle. Our males grow large, the ones who are not laori.”

  “I wouldn’t harm you,” Gaelin said. “Examine my heart if you don’t believe me. I know nothing about your magic. Can’t you sense I’m telling the truth?”

  The giant was silent. Perhaps she did what he had requested and searched his soul. He held his breath. “You are freezing, little human,” Avalar said at length, “as am I. Come.” She stepped aside, unblocking his path.

  Cautiously he preceded her, moving to unite with the men around the cooking fire. The dozen or so fighters were on their feet when he arrived, their faces anxious, Wren Neche straining to break free from Oburne’s arms.

  “Lavahl,” Oburne greeted him, his smug smile made whiter by the darkness of his skin. Several warriors hastened to deposit marker coins on the furry cloak he had tossed by the fire. With a jerk of his head, Oburne released Gaelin’s guard. “Join us.”

  “You made a bet?” Gaelin asked. He glared at Wren as the furious young guard straightened his leather breastplate and then gestured to the collection of silver on Oburne’s fur. “On whether she’d kill me?”

  “I knew for a fact she wouldn’t,” Oburne said. “But these others, now, they presume to think they know giants better than I do.”

  “Your healer requires sustenance,” Avalar told him. She leveled a measuring look at Gaelin as she stomped to a boulder by the fire. With a deep sigh, she dropped to the rock and hunched her shoulders, stretching out her hands. Gaelin marveled when the dancing flames sprang tall and leaned toward her.

  “That’s the old magic,” Oburne explained to the curious men. He regarded the giant through the firelight, his white-rimmed eyes glinting red. “You’ve heard of it, Staff-Wielder?”

  “Yes,” Gaelin acknowledged before accepting his plated rations, a thick and meaty stew, from Wren. Without thinking, he filled his mouth and then grabbed the nearest cup of melted snow to soothe his tongue. “I’ve heard of it,” he said after taking a drink. “But what is it?” I don’t even know what my staff is, he thought glumly.

  “There’s a legend,” said Oburne, settling his great bulk on his seat opposite the giant. He motioned to Avalar while Gaelin sat close to him on the rotted wood. “She can tell it better than I can, for the giants remember how things were before we came.”

  Avalar glanced over the fire at Oburne. “That is sooth,” she said. “Though I do not. It is from my father’s memories that I glean the older wisdom. You arrived at the rebirth of our sun, with other life, too, such as the great bear, and the leapers that chase our boats. The elves share this tale, not the giants. We have naught to say when it comes to your people on this world. We are the oldest race. There was a time when some of us rode the Azkharren males, or what you humans call dragons, from Skythorn’s mighty peaks on Tholuna in the South. That is how we would reach the villages that needed our help.”

  Oburne fiddled with his spoon, toying with his congealing stew. Gaelin looked away, wincing at the reminder of the scraps he had been fed for so long. When I was allowed to eat, he thought bitterly.

  “I don’t question your people, Avalar,” Oburne was saying. “But since you know the legend, won’t you tell us?”

  She inspected her fingers on her lap. “I will not. Nor,” she added, peering over at Gaelin’s surprise, “shall I discuss the Azkharren at length, or Stormfuries, as they are called, for the queens carry enough wind on their wings to shift the clouds. Wild magical creatures are not giants or elves. They hide from you humans. You cannot discern their presence on this world. And if you do happen to behold one, you should beware, for it might be that it hunts you.”

  “That’s true, Avalar.” Oburne shifted to scan the faces of the men seated or standing near. “If not for the elves, we would not even see the Skimmers in Luen Bay. The elves have trained those serpents to trust us. But in their wild state, they’d be invisible.”

  Gaelin tapped the big lieutenant’s knee with his staff. “Terrek described our arrival to me, or at least some of it. You were there and you heard. What didn’t he say?”

  Oburne met his stare. In a quiet voice, he replied, “Forget the tale, Lavahl. She does not wish to hear it.”

  Gaelin sank back. Everyone knows more than I do, he thought. Terrek and Vyergin have educations, and Oburne is familiar with the North. So what can I contribute? He frowned and, with his spoon, lifted a fragment of bluebark cone from his plate and tossed it into the fire.

  He glowered at Mornius propped upright by his knee. It had nothing to do with the giant’s old magic, and yet it had power, enough that it had wrested control from him twice. Even you understand more than I do.

  The giant was studying him. He shut his eyes, feeling the sudden tingle of magic in the air against his skin.

  “Northman Oburne speaks truly,” she said. “You do not realize what you hold, and now I fear I have wronged you.”

  Gaelin opened his eyes to meet hers. “Are you testing me now?” he said. “What else can I tell you? I admitted when you attacked me that the staff came from my father, whom I never knew. In fact, I don’t know anything about—”

  The warmth of her smile shocked his heart. For the first time, he espied the person she was under her stern demeanor, a bright, shining glimpse of compassion and kindness. Her eyes laughed at his reaction.

  “I suppose I am testing you,” the giant admitted. Once more she surveyed her fingers abraded red from her recent battle. “My people are no longer so willing to trust. Jahn Oburne urged me to let go of my wrath, but I required a sign from you first, which now you have given. You are angry and resentful. Those are honest feelings. Yet you carry a staff of new magic that you are ignorant of, and that makes you a threat, whether you wish to be or not. How can I expect you to refrain from damaging me without comprehending what it is you hold? So, inquire again, little human, and I shall endeavor to not be rude. What do you wish to know?”

  Avalar paused, accepting a flask from a warrior behind her. She drained the container with two long gulps and then sat clasping the empty vessel, her expression sad.

  As her question sank in, Gaelin leaned to see her through the smoke. “Everything!” he said. “My staff instructed me in my dreams, but never enough. Why does Erebos want me dead? And what is the old magic? And . . . that?” He indicated the structure on the distant cliff. “Will you tell me?”

  Considering him, Avalar reached toward the fire. The flames flickered again, bowing to her as though in homage. “The castle is a relic from your world; mayhap you should inquire of a human what it is. But this”—she nodded to the campfire—“is the old magic. Do you see?
Old magic connects me to this fire, and the flames to the air. We call this the Circle, for it links us to our world and binds this world to us. It is a fragile thing that the elves work to preserve. Talenkai is ancient. Our warder, Sephrym, has the energy and might to restore our dying sun, but he cannot touch nor influence the Circle that binds our magic. Only the strongest of us can do that, from the magic in the flesh of giants to the bloodstones beneath the dirt, we hold Talenkai together and steady its power.”

  Gaelin sighed, his exhaustion weighing down his bones. Transfixed, he gaped at the blue-orange flames bending flat in the giant’s direction.

  Satisfied, Avalar sat back. “You hunger for understanding,” she said. “Therefore, hear me. Our magic may indeed have a soul of its own; on this the elves and our elders are undecided. Yet either way, it is helpless, a tool for anyone with enough sensitivity to feel it. Some elves have used this power to create cities like Tierdon or to protect my people. But with you humans . . .”

  “We corrupt,” said Gaelin.

  Her eyes softened. “Not all humans do,” she said. “This is new information I intend to share with my people when I return home. No.” She grunted. “What you are does not make you evil; it makes you vulnerable. Magic dwells everywhere on this world. It is natural for your people to crave it for yourselves.”

  Avalar cleared her throat. “You are not from here, so the Circle does not include you. Any effort on your part to channel its power would distort it, and it would destroy you. Over time this may change,” she added. “You drink our water and consume our food. Mayhap, in cycles to come, you shall be as my people are. Not in your lifetime, but someday.”

  Gaelin regarded Oburne. The big warrior appraised her through the firelight, his elbows braced on his knees.

  “Perhaps,” said Oburne, “if you think on this, Lavahl, other knowledge will come to you. But do you not see”—he pointed toward the giant—“how weary she is? Since we can’t aid her with your staff, how about we let her rest?”

  Gaelin considered Avalar’s slumped posture and drooping eyelids. He grimaced as her head sagged.

  “Come.” Oburne stood and snatched his bearskin cloak from the log before striding around the fire to the giant’s side. “Let’s get you to bed,” he said, reaching to nudge her shoulder.

  She jerked, and for a moment, Gaelin caught the readiness for combat in her eyes as she lifted her head, her wide-open glare of hatred. Her confusion faded when she saw their faces. “Sails!” Avalar rubbed at her cheek. “Did I drift off already?”

  “Almost,” Oburne said. With unexpected tenderness, he patted her hand and helped her to her feet. “Come, my dear. Let’s get you settled.”

  Chapter 15

  GAELIN SMILED AS, trudging beside Avalar, he helped support her tottering weight. Always Oburne had daunted him with his size and booming voice, yet now the lieutenant looked puny next to the giant, his head reaching just past her waist while he walked bracing her opposite elbow.

  As they approached the shelter Oburne had prepared, Gaelin observed that it was two tents laced together. The first was Oburne’s own from the barren North, a structure so white it glowed in the darkness, while the other tent’s gray hues blended with the night.

  Gaelin sidled out of Avalar’s way as she crouched to untie the canvas flap that served as the shelter’s door. Thrusting her arm through the entrance, she patted the bed pad and furs before crawling in at last, the rear wall threatening to burst while she settled. Oburne squatted to help the giant secure the tent’s laces from within. Then with a grunt, pushed himself to his feet and turned. “Let’s walk,” he said, and Gaelin sighed as the big warrior steered him toward the central fire, only to stop him after a few quick strides. “You want to know more?”

  Gaelin nodded. “What are you afraid of?” he asked. Wind blasted through the camp, whipping the branches above them, and Oburne shuddered. Slowly his hold relaxed until Gaelin pulled free. “Do you think I would hurt her?”

  “Not on purpose,” Oburne said. “Maybe your warder cares enough to protect her. But who can say? Staff-Wielder, she is the magic in its purest form. Just . . . stay your power until we know more.”

  “But if—” Gaelin began. He broke off, seeing Mornius flash abruptly and flicker. Peering into the Skystone, he spied in its foggy depths Terrek sitting hunched on the ground and barely conscious. A wave of sadness reached him from the image in the crystal, a grief-throttled pain beyond what his staff could heal.

  Skirting around Oburne, he rushed through the frozen brush toward the cooking fire. There he found his benefactor hunched on his heels close to the blaze with Vyergin standing behind him, his brow smeared with soot. Caven Roth, kneeling beside Terrek, seized the pot abandoned by the flames to scrape up the last bits of stew.

  “The giant was hungry,” Oburne called to Vyergin. “She cleaned two plates even before Lavahl here showed up. Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s more. Check the other fires. I used the deer Grenner brought down yesterday, plus what I scavenged from Tierdon’s stores.”

  Vyergin nodded vaguely, his gaze lifting from Terrek to Gaelin. “We found him searching for his brother. He hasn’t responded to us.”

  “Terrek!” Gaelin dropped to his knees by his shivering friend. Terrek’s lips were blue above his short-cropped beard, his features contorted. On instinct, Gaelin raised his staff.

  “No!” shouted Oburne. “I told you, Lavahl, not while the giant is with us!”

  Gaelin squeezed Terrek’s rigid arm. Groaning, the commander collapsed, and as he pitched toward the fire, only Vyergin’s swift grab kept his sandy hair out of the flames.

  Shaking his head, Gaelin lifted Mornius and turned toward Terrek, yet before he could blink, angry hands snatched the staff from his grasp.

  “I said no!” Oburne flung Mornius away, the staff landing upright at an angle in a drift beyond Vyergin. Then Oburne seized Gaelin by the collar and dragged him erect, thrusting his bearded chin close. “Why don’t you listen?”

  Gaelin threw his lighter weight against Oburne’s barrel chest, forcing the larger man to stumble back. “I do listen! But what you’re asking is for me to give up the one thing I can do to help, and why? Nothing you said makes any sense!”

  Terrek shuddered. Stiffly he lifted himself from the damp ground to settle on a nearby log. “Oburne, both of you, stop it. Gaelin, I’m fine. I don’t need your staff.”

  As Gaelin jerked free from Oburne’s hard grasp, a strange elation frayed his wrath. Again, he knelt. “You don’t look so good, Terrek. I can help you.”

  Terrek was silent, staring at the flames. “I feel nothing,” he muttered. Growling, he shrugged off Vyergin’s grip on his shoulder and stood, his arms locked across his chest, to confront Oburne. Gaelin, with a worried glance at Vyergin, climbed to his feet.

  “You forbade him to use his staff?” Terrek asked the lieutenant. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Jahn Oburne returned Terrek’s stare and Gaelin trembled at the strong man’s fierceness—what he imagined had been the last glimpse of life for the Sundor Khan creatures Oburne had fought. “Everything’s changed now, Commander,” said Oburne. “What do you think will happen if his magic touches the giant? Talenkai would die. All of us would.”

  “The air is part of the Circle, too, according to Avalar,” Gaelin interjected. “Mornius is touching the air right now, and nothing terrible happ—” He stopped as Terrek flicked him a glare.

  “Stay out of this, please.” Terrek, without missing a beat, rounded on Oburne, his fist thumping hard against the lieutenant’s wide chest. “I don’t know what you’ve been telling this boy, but you listen to me. We need Holram’s power to defeat Erebos, and Gaelin to give it to us.”

  “Not anymore, Terrek,” Oburne said. “Not if Avalar—”

  “Forget the giant!” Terrek glowered into Oburne’s face. “We don’t even know if she’ll remain with us. And even if she does, why would the staff be a danger? Mornius interacts wit
h old magic all the time, as Gaelin says. That’s why it was made, to keep Holram from hurting the world.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Oburne challenged, leaning into his leader’s fist. “How can you be certain enough to take that risk? We’re talking about our extinction!

  “The fact is, you can’t know,” Oburne answered Terrek’s silence. “Commander, the Khanal elves have said . . .”

  Gaelin frowned when Terrek swayed on his feet. “The Khanal elves are not from Thalus,” Terrek told him. “They lack experience when it comes to this power. The Eris elves know more. They shielded Holram in their petrified tree when he arrived. They built Mornius for the warder and chose the Skystone for its crown.

  “Oburne.” Terrek tottered, scowling as he fought to steady himself. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? Let Gaelin be.” As his strength continued to ebb, he sagged against the larger man.

  Gaelin stepped in, his attention on Oburne’s face. The burly lieutenant’s eyes were filled with doubt as well as concern, yet he held himself silent, his jaws clenched.

  “Go,” said Gaelin. “I’ll catch up. I need to grab my staff.”

  Oburne winced. With his strong arm around his commander’s shoulders, he guided the shambling Terrek into the darkness toward the tents.

  Chapter 16

  CLAMPING HIS WINGS behind his back, Ponu accepted the bowl from his host. Despite Grevelin Mistavere’s stern demeanor, tears for his wayward daughter wetted his cheeks above his beard. Still, the giant asked again. “Are you well, my friend?”

  Ponu ached in his heart, feeling his companion’s pain through the involuntary bond linking him to the veteran warrior. He took care to attend to his hands, or his steaming supper, or anything at all but Grevelin’s worry and grief. Lowering his head, he inhaled the soup’s fishy aroma before managing a grin.