Song Of Mornius

by Diane E Steinbach

  Ponu opened his eyes as Roth stopped before him and held out the painting. “It’s creased and filthy,” Ponu observed. “What have you to say for yourself? A prized possession like that—ruined!”

  “I’m sorry!” Roth gasped. Trembling, he hastily began to unroll the canvas.

  “Stop that!” Ponu cried. “Are your fingers clean, boy? How careless of you. You put another splotch on that beautiful sky!”

  Roth froze, and to Gaelin’s horror, he began to cry. “I’m sorry.” Roth fell to his knees and thrust the tube in Ponu’s direction. “Please. Take it!”

  Ponu, crossing his forearms, glanced over Roth toward the tents. “I do not want it now,” he said severely. “You have soiled it. Therefore, you must give me something else in exchange.”

  Roth sniffed. “But I don’t have anything. You said you could fix the wrinkles! Why can’t you clean it, too?”

  “Aha!” Ponu said. “How typically human of you to say that, and to think magic can resolve anything. Now, I do not have all day. Go quickly and fetch me something valuable. Make sure it’s unique like the picture.”

  Terrek clasped Roth’s shoulder. “I believe he’s asking for your hat,” he whispered.

  Ponu turned his back on Roth’s look of horror. “I have no need for a human’s sleight-of-hand prop,” he said with a haughty sneer. “There’s something else. What is that bulge in your pocket, boy?”

  Relief flooded visibly through Roth, his expression relaxing as he returned the hat to his tangled mop of curls. Ducking his head, he probed inside the breast pocket of his moss-green coat.

  “I thought there was something odd,” Terrek said. “From this angle, you resemble a girl I used to know.”

  “Funny,” Roth muttered under his breath. “I don’t remember why I took it. I just—” As he pulled his hand free, Gaelin glimpsed a puff of white fur between his fingers and thumb. Two large padded feet flipped out next, followed by dangling fuzzy ears with snips of satiny pink in their middles.

  “A floppy bunny!” Ponu exclaimed. “And one with whiskers, too!”

  Roth gasped. “Is it valuable? I liked it because it . . . well . . .” His face reddened. “I do know what floppy is,” he added at Oburne’s snort.

  “At your age?” Vyergin said. “Oh dear. How sad for such a vibrant young man!” The captain took a swig from the flask Oburne offered him.

  Roth shot him a glare. “But what’s a bunny?”

  Terrek harrumphed. “It’s a technical term, Roth. We used it in our advanced classes at university,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching. “I could explain, but the concept might be a bit beyond you.”

  “Indeed,” Ponu agreed. “He is just a boy.”

  “You’d have to study for several years the way I did,” Terrek teased Roth. “What do you think, Elf?”

  “I believe,” Ponu said, a note of reproof in his voice, “you are even harder on laoris than I am, Terrek Florne.”

  “Good.” Terrek snapped his fingers in front of Roth’s startled eyes. “Now hand that thing over, Lieuten—” He stopped and made a face as he fanned the air. “Wasn’t it you who had a problem with smells?”

  Roth raised the stuffed rabbit to his nostrils and shrugged. “It reminds me of flowers.”

  “Flowers?” Terrek laughed. “It’s the same stench the scabbard had!”

  Ponu huffed down his nose at Terrek. “That ‘thing,’ as you call it, is a treasure,” the elf chided. “You have no taste when it comes to the finer things, Terrek Florne. This will do nicely to make a little boy I know very happy.” He coughed. “Or it will after I use my amazing magical powers to neutralize that smell!”

  Roth, sniffling, swiped at his cheek. “It’s not valuable? But you said it was.”

  Ponu grinned and pointed to the painting Roth held. “I lied. It is no more valuable than that canvas of yours is dirty. Look again. Where are the spots and wrinkles? Why did you not trust your own perceptions of reality? The picture is pristine; anyone can see that. You have done a fine job taking care of it. Well done!”

  “But I thought . . .”

  “I have decided the painting belongs with you,” Ponu announced. He joined Gaelin by the fire, jouncing the toy to make its ears flip. “Now tuck it away! I give it to you with an added gift, young man. Henceforth the portrait shall not wrinkle or get stained. Ever.”

  “That was kind of you,” Terrek remarked as Roth, covering his face to hide his tears, bolted to the refuge of his tent.

  “He lost too much too soon,” Terrek told the elf-mage after a strained silence. “His family . . . and if not for that racer of his, he would have died that day as well. Now my brother, his best friend, is gone. We’ve all lost people. In Kideren, Chalse, or Shethea . . .” He sighed. “In our haste to reach Tierdon, none of us have managed to grieve.”

  “I am to blame for the loss of your brother,” Ponu said bitterly. “I could have stopped the whole thing from happening, but I was indisposed. I am my warder’s vessel on this world. While Tierdon was being attacked I was present physically, but my senses were not. I believe”—he squinted at Gaelin—“soon you will know what I mean.”

  Gaelin tensed before the power of the elf’s stare. “Do you have something to confess before I go?” Ponu asked. “Grevelin is waiting where I left him at the stone tree, with no cozy fire to ease his bones.”

  “I—” Gaelin bit his lip, his hands tingling. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I saw how you both reacted,” Ponu said with an oblique glance at Terrek. “After Tierdon’s restoration, when I promised to bring to justice the drunkard, Seth Lavahl.” He waited a beat to let his words sink in. “Your abuser is already dead, is he not? You have been wanting to reveal this fact to me since that moment. So now I am wondering. Why haven’t you?”

  Gaelin felt his flesh go cold. As much as he wanted to turn away, he could only stand like a stature as Ponu peered into his eyes.

  “I see,” Ponu responded, and Gaelin felt his muscles unclench, his ability to move return. Angrily, he averted his face, glaring at the flames.

  “He was trying to kill me!” Gaelin muttered.

  “You were defending yourself,” Ponu said quietly. “And yet you have worried this bone ever since, fearing you are just as bad as he. Do you deserve punishment, child of Othelion? You were there, and I was not. You tell me.”

  “I wanted to live,” replied Gaelin. “He had no right to do what he did. He had no right!”

  “So let it go,” Ponu advised. Gaelin released his breath slowly, feeling the mage’s strong grip on his shoulder.

  Chapter 28

  PONU SPRANG TO his feet beside Vyergin’s fire and stumbled, his white wings spreading to catch his balance. “Grevelin!” the mage cried. “Oh Hades, no!” He hopped forward and pointed to Tierdon. “See there? Because of my carelessness, now my friend searches for me!”

  “Another giant?” Terrek asked, standing. “I’m still wondering where the first one is. Why would Avalar want to hide from you?”

  “Giants do not ‘hide,’ ” said Ponu. “No doubt she is preparing to confront her father and will join soon.”

  Gaelin smiled when Ponu stepped to clasp his shoulder. “Cover the Skystone, Gaelin!” the elf spoke into his ear. “My friend Grevelin mustn’t know you carry magic.”

  “Now that is a giant!” Vyergin said, dropping his ladle with a clatter. “Blazes, look at his sword!”

  “He is Avalar’s father,” Ponu said, staring at Gaelin. “What did I tell you, Staff-Wielder? Stow Mornius now and be quick! This warrior is not Avalar. He has been tortured. Magic from humans has made him resentful of your—”

  “Stow?” Gaelin gaped through his stupor at Ponu’s face and at Roth emerging from the tent to peer westward into the sun. “What?” he demanded. “What is everyone looking at? Oh!”

  Gaelin yelped as his back spasmed, a jangling pain in his muscles from the nape of his neck to his tailbone. He snatched Mornius
from the ground and clambered upright, vibrations of power thrumming along his arms as he turned.

  An armor-clad figure, his features indistinct, strode long-legged past the stony spires Ponu had left exposed on the field. The giant broke from the darkness cast by the city, his shadow stretching ahead of him, aiming itself at their camp.

  “Terrek, you can’t fight him!” Oburne said when Terrek reached for his weapon. “I know this giant. I fought with him! He is—”

  “If you do not hide the Skystone,” Ponu enunciated beside Gaelin, “Grevelin will attack you. If the giant’s blood quickens fully, he can grow large and very fierce. I will not be able to stop him.”

  Gaelin swallowed to keep down his breakfast, the thunder in his head drowning out the elf-mage’s words. Fog rose before him that he alone could see, the tree-trunks becoming translucent, the substance of the world he knew fraying. Only the giant remained solid within his sight, the big warrior’s size becoming apparent as he reached the trees.

  “Brace yourself, child of Othelion.” Ponu raised his voice over the throbbing of blood in Gaelin’s ears. “I shall do what I can for you. But I am not his keeper. I do not hold his leash.”

  The giant jerked to a halt and bent, his eyes scanning the forest, his right fist on the pommel of his sword. He glared through fern-stalks and the skeletons of tansy, the twisted vines of greenberry and the trunks of white saplings. A finch exploded from the brush in front of him in a tiny cloud of sparkling powder.

  Gaelin felt his face go cold when the warrior’s gaze, drawn by the bird, fastened on him.

  “I suggest you let this thing play out, Terrek Florne,” Ponu said over his shoulder. “Or I will be forced to stay your hand. And you, Wren Neche. You are Gaelin’s guard, are you not? You must also—”

  “I don’t know what you are!” Wren retorted. “But you’re correct; I am his guard, and I will not stay my—”

  Gaelin risked a furtive glance back at the abrupt silence, seeing Wren crouched to spring with his weapon half-drawn, and Terrek, his elbow raised to block him. Both were motionless, as were Vyergin and Oburne, and Caven Roth poised beside the tent. Gaelin tensed, sweat trickling down his neck, the mysterious pain growing inside him.

  “Ponu?” A rough voice coughed.

  Stop hurting me! Gaelin wanted to shout to the giant. He froze when the burly fighter recaptured his stare. “Humans, Ponu?” Grevelin roared, the wind through the trees whipping back his black cloak. “You consort with slavers?”

  Gaelin goggled at the giant’s taut strength ready to rip him apart. The thunderous scowl he received in return was enough to drive him into the catatonic depths he had fled to after his mother’s murder. A time when he had whimpered and whined under the she-wolf’s tongue. But here he had his staff—Holram’s reassuring strength pouring into him from the stone.

  Gaelin stood rooted to the ground, eyeing the powerful warrior. He’s huge, he thought, struggling to breathe despite his cramped muscles. Avalar’s head would only reach his chest!

  “Deep breaths,” Ponu instructed. “You are experiencing undiluted old magic, Gaelin. The feeling will pass as your body adjusts.

  “No!” the elf boomed at the giant. “I stand among friends. Come and see, Master Grevelin! The fire here is enough to thaw even your stubborn bones.”

  “Friends?” Grevelin stamped his feet as he prowled from side to side in front of the trees. His brawny arms were bare, crisscrossed with old scars. The black quilted leather of the giant’s jerkin below his mail was hardly visible, and yet it proved to Gaelin the imposing fighter was mortal, as susceptible to the chill air as he was. Turning, Grevelin stopped and leaned over, staring into the forest, his lips drawn back in hate.

  “I’m sorry,” Gaelin whispered as, in his hands, Mornius flickered to life.

  Ponu grunted in response. “Sails, no! Darken the stone, Staff-Wielder! If he sees—”

  A bellow drowned out the mage’s words. Terrified, Gaelin dropped his staff when Grevelin charged.

  He shut his eyes, hearing the cracking of tree limbs and brush as the massive warrior thrashed toward him. Death’s better than pretending I’m Othelion when I’m not, Gaelin thought. I’d fight for them if I had to. But I can’t be someone I’m—

  A hand swept him up, smashing him hard against a tree trunk. Gaelin choked as the giant’s fingers constricted, forcing open his jaws. As if from a great distance, Ponu yelled. “Grev, stop it!”

  Through a blur of tears, Gaelin saw a face resembling Avalar’s before him, the same wide-spaced eyes and strong chin. He strained for air, his heart aching at the scars he glimpsed carved into the giant’s flesh, so much like those marking his own.

  “What did they do?” Gaelin asked as the blade’s bright edge fell swiftly to nip at his throat. “What did those bastards do?”

  The giant’s eyes bored into him. They’re gray, Gaelin realized, like the storm-heavy clouds he had seen over the mountains.

  “Please, Father, stop!” called a familiar voice. A filthy apparition stepped around a tree to take hold of Grevelin’s cloak. It was Avalar, Gaelin realized, her clothing and skin coated with freezing mud. “Father, no! Behold his scars. Are they not familiar?”

  “I look upon you!” Grevelin Mistavere returned, his teeth bared. He nodded at the dead ivy Avalar had wound around her neck and wrists, the intertwining links she had woven to resemble chains.

  “And what do you see?” Avalar challenged. “If I am your slave to drag home against my will, should I not appear as one? Will you compel me by force, as you do to my friend? Behold, Father! There are bruises under your fingers. Is this what giants do? He was enslaved as you were!”

  Gaelin doubled his fists in helpless shame as his captor flipped back his sleeve to examine his scars. “How can this be?” Grevelin asked. “Held against his will?”

  “Yes, Gaelin was held, Father!” Avalar replied. “His mother was butchered, and he was enslaved. By humans! Now please let him go. Twice his power has healed me. I would not be alive if it were not for him.”

  “A human enslaved by humans?” The warrior glanced down at Ponu. “This is sooth?”

  Gaelin sucked in air as the giant’s grip loosened around his throat. “If you are not . . .” Grevelin began. His body slumped, weighed down by sadness. “Pardon me, for I am not who I was. Have I harmed you?”

  “I’m used to it.” Gaelin smiled at Avalar. “Your daughter has attacked me twice, though she never held a blade at my throat.”

  Grevelin set him on his feet. “Ah, well,” he said, a glimmer of humor softening his eyes. “She has the kindly heart of her mother, the healer Alaysha. I fear for her now because of it. How will she fare in combat?”

  Gaelin’s legs folded beneath him until he sat on the ground, his knees splayed. “Last night she battled to save me,” he informed the worried giant. “She is my friend.”

  “You are injured,” said Grevelin.

  Gaelin glanced up. “No, just tired.”

  “I hear fondness for my daughter in your voice. Is this not a danger?” Grevelin demanded of Ponu. “If the young one bonds with this human, indeed, it would shorten her life!”

  Ponu sniffed. “I considered that, Master. She came very close to it with a different man, but sadly, he has died. I do not think she will allow herself such weakness again.”

  “She cannot choose,” Grevelin said. “She is laori, as I am; her wild heart will do as it will!”

  Ponu stepped in front of Terrek, peering into the immobile commander’s raging eyes. “You are angry I took control from you and your men,” he observed. “Like a slaver. Do you understand how attacking a giant would threaten us all? Perhaps Talenkai would endure it if Avalar were to perish. But Grevelin Mistavere is fully grown. The world could not survive his loss. None of us would.”

  “That little warrior would never harm me,” Grevelin said with a snort and a gesture to Wren. “With one hand tied, I could rend him limb from limb and scatter his bones!
”

  “Yes, you’re very strong,” Ponu said. He glowered at Terrek. “He is Avalar’s father. See his scars? Humans with magic did that. Now Avalar is back and no one is hurt. You need to relax, Terrek Florne.”

  Gaelin felt himself falling. I can’t sleep yet, he thought when his cheek hit the ground. I want to hear this.

  “Your Staff-Wielder is reacting to the tagwort I gave him,” Ponu said above him. “He is undamaged. Now you—”

  “I’m fine, Terrek,” Gaelin muttered. He frowned at the loudness of his words in his ears. “My neck’s a little sore. My tongue is—”

  “You and your men will put away your weapons,” Ponu said, ignoring him. “And you will control Wren Neche.”

  Terrek stumbled when the elf released him with a flick of the fingers. Turning, he swung his arm at his bewildered men. “Back to the fires,” he ordered. “Go and get yourselves warm!”

  Gaelin shut his eyes, listening to the activity around him. Then someone touched his hair.

  “Leave us, Elf,” Terrek said sharply. “Take your friend—I don’t care if he is Avalar’s father, he has threatened my man—and go. We are done here.”

  “Terrek, you can’t!” Jahn Oburne protested. “That is Grevelin Mistavere!”

  Terrek faced Ponu. “I ask you to depart, or we will defend ourselves,” he said. “Twice now, Elf, you’ve put my men in danger. If the dach forces had come, we would have all been captured or killed.”

  “No, I would have revived you to fight them, of course,” Ponu replied. “Yet I shall do as you wish, Terrek Florne. Master Grevelin, there is a little boy I know who must want his breakfast. Shall we withdraw?”

  “My daughter—” Grevelin began.

  “I am not yours,” Avalar cut him off. “Do these chains I bear teach you nothing, Father? Or does it suit you to see me as your slave?”

  Gaelin moaned. Don’t go, Ponu, his heart ached to say. There’s so much I still need to—

  “Gaelin is sleeping,” Avalar announced above his ear. “I shall bear my friend now to his blankets. For, indeed, he is my friend until you decide to take him away from me, Father. If you do so, it will not help me.”