by A. R. Cook
“Do you guys talk normal?” Chiriku asked Tyla, as if she had been thinking what Desert Rain had.
Tyla did not look up from her work, but answered politely. “Yes, we speak the Mutual Language.”
“Good. Then you can tell me where around here I can find the Syphurians.”
Tyla looked at Chiriku curiously.
“You know, the Syphurians who fled into the forest.” Chiriku snorted irritably. “Most of them came this way when Syphurius was attacked. So where are they? What town are they in?”
“They are most likely in the towns on the western rim of Juka Basin,” Paki replied. “Those would be the first Ahshi towns they would come upon. Those who could make the journey, that is.”
“That’s all I need to know.” Chiriku stood up. “I’m assuming I can get down from here the same way I came up, right?”
Paki glanced up at Chiriku. “People who don’t know the forests here can get lost easily. I wouldn’t recommend walking around Juka Basin without a guide.”
“Thanks,” Chiriku said, “but I’ll be fine.”
Desert Rain got up urgently. “You’re not leaving right now, are you?”
Chiriku grimaced. “You got a problem with that?”
Mac yawned. “Come on, Chi. Don’t act-tkk like a toad in the frying pan, hopping away so fast-tkk. It’s gonna be dark-kk soon anyway.”
“Like I’m afraid of the dark. I’ll climb down one of these stupid trees if I have to, but I’m going.”
Desert Rain suddenly felt worried about Chiriku. The Quetzalin could take care of herself, she knew that, but the girl was also reckless at times. What would she do if she got hurt, all alone in those woods? “Wait until tomorrow, Chiriku. That way, we can go with you,” Desert Rain suggested.
Chiriku pulled the hood off her head, not in compliance to Desert Rain’s request, but so she could ruffle up the feathers on top of her head in irritation. “Look, Donkey Ears, maybe you got the wrong impression, but I’m not really ‘with’ you people. I needed a ride here. So, you want me to say ‘thanks’ or something? Fine, thanks or something. But I’m going now. I don’t need anybody’s help.”
Desert Rain looked over at Mac imploringly.
“Don’t ask me to butt-tkk in,” Mac said. “Let the eye-pecker do what she wants-ssck. She always does anyway.”
Chiriku curled the edge of her beak at Mac. She put the hood up over her head again, and turned to walk away. She paused, seeming a bit lost for a second, but then continued on, whether or not she knew her way around. After a moment, she heard someone following, and glanced back. She scowled at her follower, who was Desert Rain. “What in the Eternal Deep do you think you’re doing?” the Quetzalin asked.
“If you really can’t wait until tomorrow, I should at least go with you to the next town.”
“I don’t like travel buddies,” Chiriku snapped. She kept on walking, thinking she had ended the matter. She rolled her eyes when she felt that Desert Rain was still following her. “What is your problem??” she asked without stopping.
“You,” was the reply.
That made Chiriku stop to turn around and look at her.
“Well, not my problem, so to speak,” Desert Rain corrected herself. “More like my…” She hunted for the right word as Chiriku stared at her angrily. “My responsibility.”
Chiriku gawked unbelievingly at her. She noticed that several Ahshi had stopped what they were doing and were eyeing them. She wrinkled her brow into a furious glare.
“Leave me alone, freak!” she seethed. She took one step back and abruptly slipped and fell through the lower canopy.
“Chiriku!” Desert Rain rushed over to where Chiriku had vanished. Peering down through a hole in the canopy, she saw Chiriku dangling upside down from a thick branch that had somehow snaked around her ankle and held her like a rabbit caught in a noose trap. The Quetzalin squawked in anger and fright, barely managing to catch her warhammer before it slipped out of its sheath.
“What happened?” Desert Rain called down. By this time, a group of Ahshi huddled around her, staring down at the hanging Quetzalin.
“What’s it look like?” Chiriku screamed up at her. “The stupid tree gave out from under me!”
The Ahshi began to laugh. Desert Rain looked at the branch that snagged Chiriku. The way it was wrapped around the girl’s ankle, like a rope, made it evident that it wasn’t mere luck that kept Chiriku from plummeting to the forest floor below.
“The old elm doesn’t like your attitude,” one of the Ahshi remarked as he laughed.
Desert Rain couldn’t help but smile. “Clova told you they were more than trees. I think you should apologize.”
“Apologize? This thing almost killed me!” Chiriku tried to reach up to grab the branch with one hand, since her other hand was keeping hold of her warhammer. “Tell it to put me down!”
“I don’t think you want that, seeing as how ‘down’ is a pretty far drop,” Desert Rain noted. She reached her hand down between the branches. “If you can extend your warhammer to me, I can pull you up.”
“I don’t need your help,” Chriku huffed, and she struggled to catch the branch that held her. The weight of her warhammer and cloak, however, made it hard for her to reach.
Desert Rain watched patiently as Chiriku exerted effort after effort to pull herself up, to no avail. She had to admit, the Quetzalin was persistant. At some point, Mac came over to watch, and he chuckled at the spectacle. Finally, Chiriku grasped the branch at her ankle, pulling herself up into a crouched position—and found herself stuck.
“Having fun?” Mac asked. “I find it a tad sad when a tree has you beat-tkk, Chi.”
“Shut up!” Chiriku cawed. She pulled out her warhammer and extended the butt end of it up to them. “Well? You gonna pull me up or what?”
Desert Rain and Mac grabbed the warhammer and pulled on it. Chiriku came up through the canopy with ease, the branch apparently having released her. Once settled, Chiriku brushed herself off, and slid her warhammer back into its sheath.
“You still want to go walking around alone in this forest?” Desert Rain asked her.
Chiriku clicked the teeth in her beak, glancing suspiciously at the trees around her. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have a guide tag along…”
CHAPTER THREE
The Great Philosopher
Paki offered to guide Chiriku to the next town, but evening was quickly descending upon Kapokis, and he convinced the Quetzalin to wait until the following morning. Even though Chiriku muttered a sharp comment about elves being scared of the dark, she did not argue when it came to Tyla serving dinner, even if it was a meatless meal.
Clova had returned shortly after Chiriku’s ordeal with the elm, and joined the group for dinner. She reported that she had gained permission to meet with the Great Philosopher, after he had his “evening meal,” which she explained meant his two hours of solitary study.
“His biggest priority is to feed his mind, even moreso than his body,” she further explained. “It worries me sometimes, that he’ll waste away until he’s nothing but a talking brain.” She made a light laugh, but her melancholy demeanor was still evident.
“Is he a nice man?” Desert Rain inquired, watching one of the pink glowing grasshoppers crawling on a branch above her. Being used to acquiring insects for food, she wondered what such an exotic bug would taste like. The Ahshi respected all forms of life with profound respect, however, and to even squash a bug was a sign of discourtesy to the lifestream of the forest. She turned her gaze back to Clova.
“One of the nicest people I know,” Clova replied. “He tends to get a bit distracted at times, though, he has so many thoughts racing around in his head. But he’ll pay close attention at the prospect of someone telling him something new. That’s how I convinced him to postpone his night teachings with his students so he could see us immediately—I said that I knew something of great importance that he didn’t know.”
Desert Rain gri
nned. “Was that some sort of bribe then?”
Clova sipped innocently from her clay cup of herbal tea. “More like… an exchange of information.”
Mac lied across his mat on his back, passing an apple back and forth between his hands. “If words-ssck were a good bribe where I come from, then I’d be the richest-tkk man in Luuva Gros-ssck.” He lingered on that thought, smiling to himself as he envisioned wearing the finest threads, and owning the grandest house floating smoothly on the swamp waters back home. His eyes brightened, as an idea hit him. “Say, how much do you think-kk I could get if I caught-tkk one of them li’l bug people?”
Desert Rain noticed that Paki and Tyla frowned at Mac’s question, but they were too polite to say anything. “I don’t think the Ahshi would like you harassing the wildlife,” she pointed out.
“And the Twiights would like it even less,” Clova added. “Not that they’d give you the chance to catch them.”
Mac bit into his apple, chewing thoughtfully. “Thing is, one of them red token toads-ssck in the Bayou can get you fifty gold bits-ssck, and heck-kk, you can find those pretty easy if you know where to look-kk. One of them bug people’s-ssck gotta be worth triple one of them toads-ssck.” He apparently had not heard Desert Rain or Clova, as his entrepreneurial side was in full swing. Desert Rain shook her head, knowing that if Mac really tried to go fairy-hunting, he’d probably come back empty-handed and very sore from being pelted by acorns.
***
The Philosopher was a pale, wirey elf, as to be expected from people who read more than eat. He was immediately distinguishable from the other Ahshi from the lack of Ahshibana on his body. There was a tiny bit of the special moss underlining each of his eyes, and this was to strengthen his eyesight so he could continue his studies at night in the dim light of his glowing bug lantern. Otherwise, he had no desire to wear the Ahshibana as much as the others, for he believed that subjecting the body to any kind of medical or herbal alteration (even a beneficial one) was to make oneself less “pure.” Combining his life energy with that of another organism was to taint himself and that of the organism. He had expressed this belief to the Ahshi before, but he never pressed it upon them to change their lifestyle. While a very few agreed with him, most did not want to give up tradition.
He lived in perhaps what was the closest structure to a “house” in Kapokis, but it was nothing elaborate or boastful. It was a large knothole in one of the elder trees, a perfectly round space about ten feet in diameter. This was another accommodation of the tree, for there was no indication that the room had been carved out by hand. The Philosopher sat in the middle of this knothole, surrounded by his hand-made books, the paper made from pressed reeds and bound with strings of some sort of braided plant fibers. The ink he used to write in his books was made from a dark flower dye, and he had fashioned his pen from the hollow stem of some small woody plant. The make-shift books overwhelmed the room, leaving the elf little space to move at all, let alone lie down or stretch out. Outside his knothole was a large welcome mat, and his offerings to the trees hung from the branches above. These consisted mostly of scrolls with white wax seals, possessing the words of what he considered to be his most important discoveries and philosophies. Since he believed that knowledge was the most valuable gift, to give the trees his most beloved secrets was the greatest offering he could give.
He was in the midst of writing when one of his apprentices led Clova and Desert Rain up to his front entryway. He did not look up at the two Hijn, but he slightly sped up his writing so as to finish his final thoughts. Clova waited patiently, while Desert Rain unconsciously fidgeted as she took in the studious elf. He was not especially handsome, but one could argue that he had a boyish cuteness about him, even though he was probably older than he looked, as most elves were. His strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back from his face in a short pony tail, although one strand hung down over his face, and he periodically used the end of his pen to brush it back. He wore a hunter-green robe, cut in a similar style to those of spellcasters, but it had no embroidery or classy patterns as those of the students of New Magic.
“Artei miu, Lorihalynir Athro-kos,” Clova said as she bowed her head in greeting. She said this as the Philosopher was dotting his last period.
“Artei miu, Hijn Clova Flor,” the elf returned, still not looking up at the two women. He placed his book back into its appropriate place, and then checked to make sure all his volumes were still in order, as they always were.
“Sikay filana dosa, Desert Rain,” Clova said, gesturing to her companion.
The Philosopher looked up at them with bright azure eyes. Desert Rain smiled sheepishly, bowing her head. The elf seemed startled at first, gazing at Desert Rain for some time. The desert Hijn began to feel uneasy, as she managed to squeak out a hesitant, “Ar-tei mi-u.”
A glint of fascination sparked in the Philosopher’s eye. He slipped out of the knothole and stood silently for a full minute, looking Desert Rain over. Desert Rain felt like ducking behind Clova to escape the elf’s scanning eyes.
“Desert Rain sikay Hijn, padana lwi Ulomin,” Clova explained to the elf.
The Philosopher made a small nod of understanding. He walked up to Desert Rain, gazing intently at her eyes. Desert Rain was uncomfortable, especially since she was beginning to think the Philosopher didn’t speak the Mutual Language, and she was not very fluent in Ahshi. But finally, after a bit of scrutinizing, he asked, “Your right eye…It has dragon sight, yes?”
Desert Rain paused, and shrugged. “I can see in the dark with it, if that’s what you mean—Great Philosopher, sir,” she added quickly.
“Please, call me Anthron,” the elf replied.
At this, Clova made a big smile at Desert Rain. It was not common for the Philosopher to warm up to an outsider so quickly. Anthron began to inspect Desert Rain’s other features, using the tip of his pen to lift up one of her long ears to get a better look at it, and dared to lightly touch her moonstone marking. Desert Rain was going to ask him to stop, but he must have noticed the look of unease in her face, for he ceased his examination.
“Forgive me, Hijn Desert Rain,” Anthron apologized, “but, if I may say so, you are quite a unique specimen. Of all the Hijn I have met, you have the most…fascinating features. Were you born elven?”
“Human,” Desert Rain corrected him. She could understand why he thought she may have been elven, since the tips of her ears tapered to points.
“Ah. Would you excuse me?” He returned to his piles of books, selecting one and quickly scribbling something down in it. He glaced periodically up at her as he wrote. Desert Rain looked quizzically at Clova. Clova gave her a reassuring smile.
“We appreciate you seeing us on such short notice, Athro-kos,” the Forest Hijn said, while the elf continued scribbling. “But we are in dire need of your service. We need to get in touch with your cousins in the far north.”
Anthron paused a brief second, but did not look up. He kept on writing. “Explain,” he finally said.
“I believe Desert Rain could explain it best, since she has suffered the most of this ordeal.” Clova touched Desert Rain’s shoulder comfortingly, seeing the panic in the hermit’s eyes. Desert Rain gulped, cleared her throat several times, and opened her mouth to speak. At first, the words ducked back into her throat, rendering her speechless. When Anthron glanced up at her, raising his eyebrows in expectation, Desert Rain tried to explain again.
“Well, there’s a Wretched who’s been…uh…causing chaos, in some of the Noble Cities. He’s been driving the people out of their homes, and he’s hurt so many—”
“Yes, I know,” Anthron replied casually.
Desert Rain froze. “You do?” she asked, astounded.
“I have visited with the Syphurians who came to us, seeking refuge. I have gathered as much information from them as they were willing to give.” He picked up one of his books off the pile, apparently the proof of his claim. He set it back down, and began rummaging f
or something. “Please continue.”
“So…when we escaped him in Syphurius, he followed us to Vaes Galahar, where he attacked the Hijn council and kidnapped Mage Skyhan, and Rukna, and Merros and V’Tanna--”
“I am aware of that,” the elf answered coolly, as he found a clay plate and a clean piece of paper in his clutter.
Desert Rain and Clova exchanged a baffled look. “How could you possibly know that already?” Desert Rain asked.
Anthron took up a little jar of ink, pouring it onto the plate. “You must understand the delicate linkage of magic in this world, Hijn Desert Rain. It is much like a spider’s web. When you pluck a thread in one spot, it ripples through the entire web. When magic, particularly the powerful vibrations of Ancient Magic, is disrupted, it can be felt by all those who have the acute sensitivity to the worldly energies around them, as do elves. Could you press your hand in this, please?” He held out the plate of ink to her. Desert Rain stared at it in confusion, but did what he requested. He set the plate down, and then held out a piece of paper to her, pressing her hand down onto the sheet. He took her handprint and placed it into the book in which he had been writing.
“Now I may not possess the deep understanding of magic like spellcasters, or the Hijn,” he continued, “but I could still feel a surge of darkness come over me, and I knew that a great calamity had occurred. Combined with what I had heard about this Wretched—quite a horrible brute, so I’ve heard—I surmised that it had something to do with him. Having been such an intense feeling of darkness upsetting the balance, it must have been an upset of Ancient Magic, which there are not many other than the Hijn that know that power. I deduced that the Hijn council and that Wretched had confronted one another, and since you have come to me for help, I can see that the Hijn lost.”
