Into the Dark Lands

by Michelle Sagara

  Her mother was gone.

  Shaking her head to clear her eyes, she began to march down the path, keeping her eyes on it. Her fists were clenched in her student robe so no one could see them. Even if she had seen only ten summers, she was still of the lines, and war was the way of life. She wasn’t going to embarrass her mother by crying.

  The flags were flying in the circle; she searched their colored triangles until she caught sight of the brown and green of Katalaan the baker.

  Katalaan had been part of the market circle for as long as Erin could remember; longer, as she’d come to Elliath on merchant caravans years before Erin’s birthing. She was a short, plump woman whose hair had grown grayer as the seasons passed. Sight of her, covered nearly from head to toe in the colors she’d chosen, was always welcome, especially to the children of the village, whether Lernari or not.

  Erin wanted to see the old woman now, even if the pastries had already been sold or given away. She began to hurry, hiking the folds of her robe well over her knees.

  The market square was almost empty, as the remaining shoppers packed up their purchases and made their way to their various homes. Erin drew a deep breath and looked up at the flagpoles to see that Katalaan’s still flew full mast. They hadn’t packed up yet; there was still time.

  She followed the perimeter of the circle until she hit its northern edge. There she stopped, her hands touching the counter of the baker’s stall.

  Korfel came out from the back, holding a towel that looked as if it needed several good poundings. He worked with Katalaan, as he had done for years, yet he still wore initiate’s gray and silver. No greens and browns for a warrior, not even if that warrior had retired.

  “Erin,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What brings you here?”

  “I’ve come to see Katalaan.”

  “Class is out early today.” He stopped for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. “Today was the day the warriors left for the front.”

  She nodded.

  “Did Kerlinda leave with them after all?”

  She nodded again, bowing her head. It wasn’t Korfel that she wanted to see.

  “Erin.” He leaned over the counter, carefully balancing himself. “You understand about the warrior’s duty?”

  “Y-yes.” She looked at her feet. “Is Kat gone for the day?”

  “Not quite.” Korfel reached out to touch her chin. “But don’t change the subject, Erin.”

  She wanted to tell him that he was the one who was changing it, but years of respect held her tongue. That and the knowledge that he was many years adult, and had done all he could in the Bright Heart’s name to combat the Darkness.

  “Everyone’s parents must go to the front, sooner or later. The war is important, if all of this—” Here he swept one sturdy hand to encompass the market circle. “—is to continue. Do you understand?”

  Yes, she understood. Hadn’t her mother left?

  “We have to be strong, Erin, we of the lines. We have to be stronger than any other mortals. Let’s keep the tears to ourselves, shall we? I know it isn’t easy, but we have to keep a good face to let those we defend know that the war goes well for the Light.”

  It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who was crying. Mortified, Erin nodded and turned blindly away from the refuge of Katalaan’s stall.

  “That’s the most preposterous garbage I’ve ever heard.”

  Erin stopped at the sound of Katalaan’s angry voice. She brought her hands to her cheeks and tried to smooth away the tears. They only smeared.

  “Katalaan, I—”

  “Can shut up any time now.” The hatch to the stall was lifted, and Erin heard the bustle of brown and green from behind her back.

  “Katalaan—”

  “Didn’t you hear me, Korfel?”

  No one talked like that, not to Korfel. Erin turned around to see Katalaan’s distinctly red face.

  “Erin?”

  She nodded dumbly, partly from shock, and partly because her throat felt too swollen for words.

  “Don’t you listen to him, dear. You didn’t come to see him, after all.” She reached out and gripped both of Erin’s shoulders tightly. “We’re not all so stupid, and we’re not all so weak that we need to be lied to.”

  “Katalaan, I’ve not lied. This is the route the Lernari take to deal with their own troubles. We do not seek to burden others.”

  “For the Bright Heart’s sake, Korfet!” If Erin thought Katalaan had sounded angry before, she was mistaken. “Even the Lernari don’t demand that their children go out to the front! You’ve obviously never lost a child yourself—or never had to leave one—” She caught herself almost grimly. “Why don’t you pack up and go.”

  Korfel nodded, equally grim, and disappeared from view.

  “I don’t understand that man sometimes. Says this life is a better one—but still can’t shake his training. Don’t you ever be like that, Erin. We’re all people, and this is all our war, no matter what anyone says. We’ve come from different places to be in Elliath, and we may not be perfect, we may not pick up swords, but we’re willing to help.”

  Erin nodded quietly.

  “Come on, dear.” She cast a backward glance at the stall. “I’ve not much left to sell or eat, but I’m just as good a cook when I’m not in the circle. Where are you staying?”

  “At home.”

  “With whom?”

  She shook her head.

  Katalaan nearly lost her eyebrows. “By yourself?” Without waiting on a reply, she took Erin firmly by the hand. “Korfel!” she shouted over her shoulder. “Close up here. I have to speak with someone. Come along, dear.”

  “Are we going home?”

  “Not quite yet.”

  The knock that sounded at Serdon’s study door was singularly unwelcome. He was tired; the ceremony often had that effect. He knew that many of his line-children, armed and armored, had marched to the front to die there, and there was nothing any Lernari could do to prevent those deaths. Worse still, Kerlinda had gone: Kerlinda, the healer; Kerlinda, the Lady’s youngest daughter; Kerlinda, who had not been trained well enough to know how to die the warrior’s death.

  He chose to remain silent and hoped that the person on the other side of the closed door would accept this; whoever it was should well know that at this moment he needed his privacy. He bowed his forehead into his gray sleeve.

  The knock grew louder and more distinct.

  He waited a few moments more, then rose, scraping the hardwood legs of his chair against the carpet.

  “What is it?” he called as he opened the door.

  To his surprise, no initiate grays greeted him; instead he saw the colorful brown and green that could only be market wear. And he knew the face well, if not the expression.

  “Katalaan!”

  “Don’t you ‘Katalaan’ me, Serdon,” the baker said, barging past him and into the room.

  “Is there some problem?”

  “I’ll say there is.” She looked at the chair for a moment and decided that she didn’t want to sit. Her plump hands met her hips with a decided thump. “What by the Hearts do you think you’re doing?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Leaving young Erin to live on her own, without even another Lernari for company?”

  “Erin?” His blue eyes widened then. “Ah, Erin.”

  “She didn’t lose her father that long ago, and her mother’s gone the same route. Where is your brain?”

  “Katalaan, she isn’t just a village child, she’s—”

  “She’s still a child, even if she’s of the lines.”

  “She’s not your concern. Her mother and I have arranged for her care between us.” Serdon’s words had grown distinctly more clipped.

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Swords could not have been as sharp as the glare that passed between them.

  “Very well, Kat.” The Grandfather’s voice said no such thing. “What would you have us do? Th
e child wishes to remain at home. She approaches her adulthood quickly; we cannot just disregard her wishes.”

  The baker’s snort told him what she thought of that.

  “Enough, Kat. If you have a better idea, I’d be pleased to hear it. If you don’t, I have pressing matters here that require my attention.”

  “All right then.” Katalaan headed toward the door. “I’ll stay with her.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You want her to stay with the line, and the line lives in the northern village. I live in the southern village, so she can’t stay with me.” She stopped, framed by the door. “I’ll move in.”

  “You’re going to live with me?”

  “If you’ll have me.” Katalaan looked at the open sky that the cloister walls framed. “I’ve been living on my own these past few years, since Gerris died. I’d be happy for company.”

  Erin bit her lip, not sure of what to say.

  “I asked the Grandfather, dear, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “Oh. ” The wrinkles in her forehead deepened for a moment. “What did he say?”

  Trust her to ask. Katalaan smiled. “He said if I’d a good idea, I was welcome to it.”

  “So he thinks it’s a good idea?” She smiled almost shyly and looked at the crimson splash of sun. “Then we’d better go; dinner’s really late.”

  Katalaan took her hand firmly. “Yes, we had. You’ll have to lead the way from here.”

  Erin smiled. “There’s not much to eat. But we—I have plenty of room.”

  “Children!” The word slammed into the four stone walls of the east courtyard. Telvar frowned in disgust as Kredan limped out of the drill circle. “All of you!” He drove the point of wooden sword into the packed dirt. Erin was surprised it didn’t splinter even though the ground was “soft” in the lesson area. “Time and again you forget yourselves. You let words interfere with your abilities!” Not that he thought much of the ability, either.

  Kredan was in tears. His left leg pained him; he knew well from his two years with Telvar that it would already be purple and swollen. He felt the sympathy of his classmates as he bowed his head under the open blue of the sky.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Kredan said nothing. The sting of Telvar’s tongue was legendary—it hurt more than any injury the weaponsmaster might inflict.

  Today he was worse than usual. Everyone knew why. He had spent the last three days standing honor guard at the ceremonies of departure.

  He wants to be out on the front, but he’s too valuable here. He may be the best warrior, but he’s also the best weaponsmaster.

  Erin grimaced; she bore her own set of bruises from the day’s exercise, and Telvar’s grim fury showed no sign of abating. She smiled wryly; compared to Telvar, the enemy was going to be utter joy and ease.

  “You! Is there something amusing about this?”

  Bright Heart, Erin prayed—her own was sinking rapidly.

  “No sir.”

  “Good,” He gestured. “Maybe you’d care to take your turn at the sword again.”

  But I just did! Nonetheless she hefted her practice blade. Everyone in the class knew better than to question one of Telvar’s orders, no matter how indirectly given. Erin had always learned quickly. She walked away from the safety of cobbled stone onto grass, and then onto the dirt of the circle itself, until she stood five feet away from the master.

  “Stance.” Telvar barked.

  The word was irrelevant; Erin had fallen into proper stance the moment she’d lifted the sword. On occasion this would elicit an approving nod from the weaponsmaster—but not, it appeared, on this one.

  She kept the stance, but Telvar had apparently forgotten her for the moment. The sun beat down on her; she thought her hair was burning, because he didn’t allow the use of a sunhat. The padded jerkin and leggings that she wore didn’t help either. But at least they were near white so they didn’t absorb extra heat—as if that were possible.

  “Today we start on the most important aspect of the warrior-priest.” He glared at the class, waiting for some response. Everyone listened attentively, not wanting to interrupt Telvar’s lecture with the extraneous questions he disliked so much.

  It was a no-win day.

  “I see that you all know well what it is from your lack of questions. Kredan, since you were so hapless at arms, perhaps you can redeem yourself by explaining it to me.”

  Kredan wished, very briefly, that the enemy could arrange its attacks at a time when they didn’t have lessons. He let his head dip in guilt; the thought was in poor taste.

  “No, sir.

  “No?”

  “I don’t know what it is, sir.”

  “I see. Well then, perhaps Korallis.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Anyone?” He snorted in disgust. “Very well. Skill at arms is important in defense of the line. I shall take that as the given in the hopes that even one of you will attain some skill in the future.” He lowered his weapon.

  Erin relaxed slightly, but she still kept her stance.

  “There will be times when this skill avails you nothing.” He looked up for a moment, beyond their youthful heads, and closed his eyes—as much a sign of sorrow as he permitted himself. “The enemy may have greater numbers than our scouts could see. A nightwalker may roam abroad among the corps of the Malanthi fighters. You do know what a nightwalker is?” A child barely able to talk could answer that question, but Telvar’s glare made it clear where he placed the intelligence of his students.

  “A Servant of the Enemy,” Korallis volunteered.

  “True.” Clearly Telvar was not impressed. “And why do you call them nightwalkers?”

  “ ’Cause they walk at night,” Allantir broke in. “They can’t walk during the day. And when they’re walking, they’re feeding on the death-pain and unwillingly given lifeblood of those that they kill. I hear it takes a long time for their victims to die, worse than in blood ceremonies of the Enemy.”

  “Well, it appears you can learn something after all. You had better listen to what I say now. You will learn this.

  “Against such a power, you cannot prevail. Do you understand this? Only on two occasions have the Servants of the Enemy ever been caught by Lernari fire, and on each, they were feeding on the lifeblood of the taken. They will not feed among our warriors; the cost and risk is too high. Do not attempt to be heroic should you see or sense a nightwalker. Understood?”

  Nods all around.

  He closed his eyes again. Shook his head wearily.

  “If you can escape, you are to do so. But if you cannot . . . that is what we begin to learn today.”

  He wheeled suddenly, lunging at Erin.

  She blocked, dodging to the side as he had taught her; taking advantage of size and speed rather than brute strength.

  This time, when he met her eyes, he nodded briefly. One never let one’s guard down around Telvar. Never.

  “Erin. You have some skill in blood-power. Call forth light.”

  She frowned, an expression not lost on her master.

  “You can call forth light at your age, can’t you?”

  Bristling, she bent to put the sword down.

  He attacked, the ferocity of the strike forcing a whistle from the breeze. She had enough time for a feeble block, but the impact tossed her off her feet. By luck alone, she managed to keep her grip on her sword.

  “Again.” But this time he began to circle her, his intent clear.

  This isn’t fair! She watched him warily, her concentration on his attack alone. She had managed, over the years, to call light without the necessity of broad gestures, exchanging the width of full circle for the dance of two fingers. But she still had to clear her mind and think on it.

  “Light, Erin. Now.” On the last word, he swung.

  She leaped lightly off the ground, avoiding the sweep of his left foot. Her blade forced his own to the side.

  In anger,
she returned his attack, desperately searching for an opening. Unlike Telvar, she was indirect in her attempts, dancing to the side and feinting, striking for lower thigh or upper shoulder cuts. He warded off each attack very coolly.

  It was hard not to succumb to the same trap that had taken Kredan. She ignored his taunting command to summon forth power and poured her energy into thoughtful attack.

  Then, out of nowhere, a brilliant light flared in the quad. It took her by surprise; it was strong enough to be almost white. Normal eyes could have seen it. She backed away to the periphery of the fighting circle, her sword at an awkward angle—but still in her hands.

  A muted exclamation of surprise touched the air.

  “You see, Erin. It can be done. You may rejoin the class.”

  Feeling humiliated, she put her sword away and stood stiffly behind most of her line-mates.

  “This, this is what you must learn: the ability to use your blood-power when it appears that you are unable to concentrate. There is a risk; when fighting an opponent of greater skill, you will most certainly be killed.”

  Kredan raised a hand; Telvar nodded.

  “Then why take the risk, sir?”

  Telvar smiled bitterly. “There are times when no risk is involved.” He saw the quizzical looks on their faces as they watched him. He had seen it many times, on faces that now lay beneath the shallow earth.

  “If you are taken, or captured. If you fall into the hands of the Malanthi or the nightwalkers.”

  Someone else raised a hand.

  “You just said that we can’t hope to win against a walker, sir.”

  “No. All you can hope for is a clean death.”

  Silence. Always this uneasy silence. Telvar dearly wished that his pupils were adult, but at that age there was too little he could teach them in skill at arms.

  Clearing his throat, he continued.

  “I will teach you how to summon a clean death for yourself if the need arises. You will feel no pain, or little of it, should any attempt to use you for the dark ceremonies. Nightwalkers will have little or no satisfaction should they personally destroy you; there will be no pain to feed on; no fear.”

  May you learn this well, students. May you keep enough wit to use it. Unbidden, his dead returned to haunt him, their faces frozen in the rictus of agony. The Servants walk. You will learn.