Ruin Mist Chronicles Bundle

by Robert Stanek

  “Watch your tongue, Eldrick, or I’ll have it out.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the half-man said sarcastically, “Should I kiss his royal lordship’s—” Valam grabbed for the half-man’s good arm at the same time Evgej did. Together they pulled him from the tree. He fell to the ground with a thump. “—I see I stand corrected.”

  “And so you do,” Valam said. “What were you going to say?”

  “Only to beg your forgiveness, my lord. Surely you’ve no gratitude for the help all those years ago.”

  “Change,” Valam commanded.

  “Must I?”

  “You must.”

  The half-man glared and waved his arms. Where a moment ago he had worn rags for clothes, now finery few had ever seen graced his small frame; and in the place of wrinkles, shaggy beard, and long, unkempt hair was a fair, clean-shaven face, young by any standard. However, the eyes told of age beyond understanding by most. When the transformation was complete, the left ear and hand were missing no more.

  “My forest brother,” Seth whispered, grasping Eldrick’s hand. “I thought your people long lost. We have but songs about your kind now in the Reach.” He kneeled and was near tears.

  Eldrick laughed and danced as he broke into soft song.

  The brothers of the forest, they were a special breed.

  In name, in hand, in deed they took the lead.

  Oh Ash of spring forest, they were the first when all was new.

  In the dawn of bloom and blossom they led us to the mew.

  Yielding wood so strong and long to send the poison yew.

  Oh Oak of summer forest, they were a special breed.

  In the hot long days of sultry sun, they took the lead,

  Giving shelter to our spirits and acorns for our feed.

  Oh Pine of winter forest, they were tall and green and right.

  In the dark hour of the cold, long night they were a delight.

  Lending needle and cone to nestle us through the night.

  Oh Elm of autumn forest, they kept on despite the blight.

  In the twilight at the end of all, they showed their might

  Arching branch and leaf to deliver us from our plight.

  The brothers of the forest, they were a special breed.

  In name, in hand, in deed they took the lead.

  Valam stepped between Eldrick and Seth. “Enough! Trickster, charlatan. Don’t play me or my friends for fools. Show your true self.”

  Eldrick frowned, the finery of his clothes fading to leaf green as he did so and branches replaced limbs. A glowing aura outlined his form and before Seth could step up and away, Eldrick stepped to the great oak. He disappeared within the tree, sending a glowing shimmer up the tree trunk to the thick boughs, then to branch and leaf. Soon the whole tree was aglow and the island as well all the way to the far banks of the stream.

  Evgej touched the tree, his eyes full of wonder. Seth turned to Valam, exclaiming, “A tree spirit, that is just as well! In all my years, I have never had such privilege.”

  “Privilege? I’m not sure I would call it privilege. Eldrick gets what Eldrick wants, isn’t that so?”

  The tree quivered and shook from branch and leaf, then a face appeared in the trunk. “It is so.”

  “It is truly a place of power,” whispered Seth.

  Evgej thought he was out of place here; he didn’t belong. He was sharing an experience that he sensed should have been only between Seth and Valam.

  “You would not be here if Eldrick did not want it so,” thought Seth plainly to Evgej.

  “You read thoughts too?”

  “Don’t worry Evgej. I think I can teach you a way to keep Seth out of your thoughts.” Valam laughed.

  “You can?”

  “Yes, I think I can.”

  “And me?” asked the tree. Valam turned his back on the tree. “Not very nice; still such a reprehensible fellow.”

  “Let us go, Eldrick.”

  “My name grants you no power over me.”

  “What is it you want?”

  Eldrick stepped out of the tree, became a half-man again, though without rags or finery, wrinkles, or semblance of youth. “You bring one of the wood folk to my forest and expect that I am not curious? It has been a thousand years since the fair folk walked beneath my boughs, and I would have the feeling of that joy again.”

  “And so you’ve had it. Now let us go.”

  “You are no prisoner here. You are free to go as you will.”

  “No tricks. We could not have turned away from this path had we wanted to. Is your curiosity so strong that you would bring an entire hunting party to your door?”

  “It seems at times that I have but curiosity. What else is there for an old tree such as me?” Eldrick snorted. “Ho ho, I rhymed!”

  “Let us go then.”

  “Not so fast. True, I wanted this meeting, but only as much as you. You wanted to test the fair one, knowing I wouldn’t reveal myself to one who was untrue of heart, mind or spirit. I have, and the test is passed, so now you want to go on your way. I say again, not so fast.” Eldrick whirled around to face Seth. “Ask?”

  “It is said that the sentinel trees are in all the great forests. Oak in the summer forest, pine in the winter forest—”

  “—ash in the spring forest, elm in the autumn forest. True, true, true, all true. All have sentinels and us, those who watch over the watchers.”

  “Yet there are no sentinel trees in the Reach?” It was a statement as much as a question.

  “Ah, but there would be if you had taken us along on your journey to the new lands. We would be there all, oak and pine, ash and elm, which is why I aim to go with you.”

  Valam threw up his hands. “Not this day or any other, you trickster. What is it you really want?”

  “So unkind, so untrue, so irrational, and I’ve to see my brother, and I will.”

  “Brother? You said there were no tree spirits in the Reach?”

  “And that is where you aim to go ultimately, isn’t it? You won’t betray a friend for a father. You know it in your heart, don’t you?” Eldrick didn’t wait for an answer. He dashed into the tree, sending shimmering sparks up through the trunk, boughs and leaves of the great oak. He returned shortly afterward carrying a dusty gray cloak, a staff crowned with a carved bear’s head, and a worn leather bag with a broken handle. “Ready, shall we be going then?”

  Evgej laughed. Valam scowled. Seth offered to help Eldrick carry his gear, but the half-man waved him off. The four didn’t say much else after that. They remained awhile longer, though, and drank in the peace of the Sentinel. As they left, Evgej didn’t feel such an outsider anymore; he had shared something with Seth and Valam that no others had, and he marveled at their wondrous new companion.

  Eldrick led the way back to the waiting horses. They proceeded in pairs: Eldrick and Valam, Seth and Evgej. Eldrick and Seth, who could see in the dark, kept the other two from hitting branches and stumbling over obstacles at their feet. Soon the steward was calling out, “Who goes there? Show yourselves?” in a fearful voice.

  “Only I, Derworth,” Evgej called back, “and the prince and his fellows.”

  Derworth never asked who the prince’s fellows were though he could scarcely see in the dark. When they returned to camp, it was evident they had been missed. Father Jacob was furious, but his anger lessened when those who had been sent out to search for the prince returned without incident.

  The group broke camp as the first light of day broke the horizon, hoping to reach Quashan΄ by late afternoon of the second day. No one inquired about the strange new companion who rode behind Seth on a white palfrey. No one offered any information either.

  Mysteriously, though, no one saw the stranger again after the group stopped for their midday meal. As they rode, Valam looked to the four corners of the world in search of Eldrick but saw no one and nothing out of the ordinary. He knew with certainty he would meet Eldrick again, and in all probability in the
most unlikely of circumstances.

  Chapter Four

  Amir emerged from shadow and bent down to pick up the orb, shouting, “He lives! He has returned! I have seen it with my own eyes!”

  Noman thought to say, “Are you sure? Can you be certain?” but the look in Amir’s eyes answered the questions for him. He asked instead, “Do they know?”

  “He drank in the mortal wounds of the Gray Lord as if they were nothing. There can be no doubt. He has returned. It has come to pass.”

  “There is no warrant in foretelling only truth,” Noman said as he cast the sticks upon the oaken table, promising himself that it would be his final look at the paths of destiny until what needed to be done was done. Sometimes he thought they were all fools upon the board, he the greatest fool of them all; and like a fool he moved forward only to find that he must move backward.

  A vast weight was upon his shoulders as if he were the last pillar upon which all of Over-Earth rested. He was the Keeper of the Sky but what remained of the Sky? The Titans, eagle lords and dragons of the realm were all but gone. He was spent, the husk of what he had once been, and for a moment, all but fleeting, he thought of her. She was reborn as well, as was her fate. Unlike him, she would have no memories of days past until the very last when it ended in pain as it always did.

  “Why Adrynne?” he asked in a whisper. In his mind, he followed the War of Tears. He saw Stranth victorious in Pakchek. The forced march along the Path. The conquering of Oshio. The long drive along the Wish to Papiosse. A further victory turned to bitter dust along with the Defeat. “You would have been Queen over all.”

  Amir touched Noman’s shoulder. “You speak in whispers.”

  Noman tried to look up from the morass of black, gray and white spread out on the table before him; but before he could turn away, it became a spinning vortex that sought to suck him into the nothingness of shadow. He braced himself and fought frantically to push away as past days spun before eyes he could not close.

  “You are a Ruler of Right and Knight of the Blood. One of the Nine Sons of the Blood,” cried out the Father of Blood in the spinning vortex. “I am the Tenth Son of the Blood; you will do as commanded.”

  “Never!” Noman shouted as he cast the sticks aside, sweeping them from the table. Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes as he turned around, wildly flailing his arms.

  Amir steadied Noman. There was no alarm in his eyes, only concern, as he said, “The days of the Bloodrule are long gone. You are safe in the City of the Sky.”

  “It was as it had to be; it could not have been otherwise. I could not have done otherwise.”

  “There is no blame here, only truth,” Amir said, using Noman’s own words from past lessons.

  “You must go,” Noman said suddenly, pulling away from Amir. “Show them the path, but do not make the way an easy one.”

  When Amir disappeared from sight, Noman hastily retrieved the Destiny Sticks from the floor and rushed to his chambers. He found the staff where he had left it, nodded satisfaction, then put on his robe of colors. He tapped the staff against the floor, gripped the ancient carving at its crown and spoke the words of power, “Starod sil, otkry ot zemlya i pozhar, veter i vod!”

  He disappeared into shadow and reappeared outside a door in a long hallway. One side of the hallway was open, and looked out to an expansive garden. In the center of the garden was a fountain whose hot waters gushed from the earth and bubbled with sulphur. Far across the palace, a bell began to toll or at least it sounded like the tolling of a bell to Noman, as he turned about on his heel and went to the door.

  Not a word passed between them. They simply stared in awe at the boy who lay curled up on the now dry ground next to the warmth of a low, softly crackling fire. The time the Watcher had spent the whole of his life in search of was near and it seemed to him he had briefly become the controlled when he had always thought of himself as the controller.

  Privately, he berated himself for not attuning to his surroundings better; for now that he searched out the source of the evil, he found it was many days old and surprisingly strong—a doorway between the world of light and the world of darkness was open. Yet there were stronger forces at work than the unseen hands of evil, forces that beckoned and directed, forces that fed thoughts into their minds at levels that even the great shaman or the ancient lord could not fathom.

  As he stared into the darkness of the night, Ayrian gave thanks to Father Wind for the life that flowed through him. He embraced remembrance as well, for the touch of the wanderer had brought with it a lucid dream of the past. In the dream, the Eagle Clans reigned freely in the mountain valleys of the northern ranges once again. The Gray Clan held the longest range from two snowcaps east of Solstice Mountain to the shallow foothills midway into the westlands. He recalled the presence of men—in the dream his feathers were not so full of silver as they were now. The men came seeking passage to the North and it was the White Clan that showed them the way. As men moved north, they brought with them their ways and the ways of the eagle clans—and indeed the eagle lords themselves—slowly died.

  Memory faded. The night ended and the time of worship came. Ayrian began his morning prayers, his songs of praise to the creator and the preserver. It was this monotonic worship that roused Vilmos and awoke Xith to the sunrise. An energy loomed behind Vilmos’ eyes, but beyond that, he seemed himself again.

  Breakfast—oats and hardtack black bread—was prepared over the expiring coals of the fire. The first words to pass Vilmos’ lips were “I hate dried oats” to which Xith replied with a chuckle, “I know, I know.”

  Finishing his morning worship, Ayrian joined Vilmos and Xith beside the fire as they finished breakfast. He ate lightly, his strange eyes never straying far from the gray and white facade of the distant mountains. Hills lay at the foot of those mountains, long and rolling, and before them stretched many miles of the rough country of the Borderlands, yet he saw only the mountains, distant and proud. Momentarily he thought of the sacred city of the clouds, a place that even in the zenith of his people had been taboo, banned for all time.

  “We have a fair distance to travel, old friend, do we not?” Ayrian asked. Long ago, he had heard rumors from the White Clan, whose domain ran east from the territories of the Gray and included Solstice Mountain, that there were those among the Eagle Lords who had made the lofty ascent to the cold, dark summit that lay hidden from sight. It was said that a force as old as the earth itself walked the forbidden halls of the timeless city, a being that was kin to Great Father and Mother Earth, yet not of their direct lineage; and that this single being was the watch mark of all the maladies of the world who could not only see the paths of past, present and future but could also levy control to them, which was a skill the Father and Mother denied themselves.

  “Yes, a long way to go, old friend. Will you lead the way from the skies?”

  “Where are we going?” Vilmos asked.

  Xith looked to Ayrian and smiled. “You will know it when we come to it, I am sure. Come, the fire has faded and that is as good a sign as any that we should make our departure.”

  Noman knocked once, then opened the door. A large oak desk piled high with books and scrolls filled most of the room. Two chairs, arranged in front of the desk, were occupied as was the chair behind the desk. “I would speak with you alone, Keeper Martin,” Noman said, dismissing the other two without a second thought.

  Keeper Martin stood. “Sit, if you like,” he said, offering no deference. He stretched out a hand, indicating one of the chairs off to the side of the desk. He nodded to Keeper Q’yer and Keeper Parren as they left the room and closed the door behind them. “Are you hungry? Shall I order food?”

  “Gladly, some other time.”

  “As you say.”

  Noman looked to the door. “Can we—”

  Keeper Martin lifted a hand, pointed to something he had written on a piece of parchment. “Will you take some wine then?’

  �
�I would be pleased, thank you.”

  Keeper Martin took two glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet behind him. He poured one glass, passed the bottle and the other glass to Noman. Noman poured as Martin went to the other side of the room and brought a book from the far shelf.

  “Ah, the Book of the Peoples, that is the very one. Thank you.” A touch of his finger painted a reply, then he slipped the piece of parchment to Martin as he took the book.

  Martin drank his wine, tucking the parchment into his pocket as he did so. “Would you care to take a walk in the gardens?”

  “Perhaps another time.”

  “Another time then.”

  Noman finished his wine and left. He walked the length of the long hall, waiting until he was fully out of view from prying eyes before tapping his staff to the ground. As he started to say the words of power, a hand gripped his and pulled him through a hidden doorway.

  “Master Keeper, you cannot leave, I need to know more,” Keeper Martin whispered.

  “It is what I know, all I know for now.”

  “It can’t be so, it can’t be.”

  “Martin Braddabaggon, you will know when it is time. You walk in Imsa’s footsteps. He knew and you will know as well. His blood is in you. You are a Braddabaggon and Head of the High Council of Keepers. You must go to Quashan’ at once.”

  “I cannot hope to achieve what my grand—”

  “—Alliances are made and broken; it is the way of things. If need be, seek out the Hand on the Wall, but only at your dire peril.”

  “The Hand on the Wall,” Martin replied.

  “Do not lose faith, Martin. It is as it is meant to be,” and so saying, Noman struck his staff against the ground and spoke the words “Starod sil, otkry ot zemlya i pozhar, veter i vod!” There was urgency in his actions and tone—he truly needed to gather strength from the ancient elements of earth, fire, water and air as the words of power entreated.