The tallest of the four men—and they were all very tall—looked down at her. For a long moment, he stared, as though not understanding her question.
Elspeth pleaded again. “Please!”
The woodsman took a step forward and shifted his gaze towards the wolves. Then, with a clear voice, he spoke. “Are you Toban of the Rukin?”
Toban took a step forward and bowed. “Yes, my name is Toban.”
“Long have we watched the path of Illeas’den. Your honour, culture, and respect for the land has not gone unnoticed. Your example deserves merit. Our lands are free to your travel, should you so wish it.” The woodsman bowed deeply to Toban.
The wolf leader appeared shocked by the gracious welcome and offer. They had little contact with the Cren. Toban was speechless. Mumbling out a stuttered thank you, he bowed back to the woodsmen.
The woodsman turned his gaze to Olam. “Come forward,” he said.
Olam took a few hesitant steps forward until he was but feet from the tall man. He bowed with open palms and uttered a greeting from the old tongue. “Kirs det neif.”
“Vol kirs neif, Orstma,” replied the woodsman. He took a step forward and peered into Olam’s eyes. “Neif os Raic’tien?” he asked.
“Yes! But how…?” replied a startled Olam.
“How did this come to be, and how long?” the woodsman asked.
“Many years now, and it was by accident.”
“Do you understand your blessing, Olam?” The woodsman turned to his fellows as he spoke.
“Not fully, no,” Olam said.
The woodsmen conferred with each other in their own tongue until Olam interrupted.
“Sir, please. What of the boy?”
“Is the Cinnè’arth here… The Kin?” The woodsman appeared agitated by Olam’s rudeness.
Up until now, Arfael had chosen to stay hidden. After his battle with the Salrians, he feared a repeat in hostility. He rose up from his position, half hidden behind a bush, and walked forward to Olam’s side.
The four woodsmen bowed. “Kirs neif, Arlyn Gan’ifael,” they all said in unison.
“Not the bowing again!” Grady said.
The woodsman ignored him and turned to Arfael. “We need you to come with us, Arlyn. We have an important message.”
Arfael stood motionless. He looked into the cold eyes of the woodsman, wondering what this man could want with him. They had called him by the old name and appeared convinced he was, indeed, Arlyn Gan’ifael. They bowed to him. It seemed they weren’t inviting him for supper. After a moment’s thought, he spoke.
“The girl asked you a question! Can you help her brother?”
The lead woodsman stood silent a moment, then turned to his right and gave a nod. The Cren to his right quickly handed his bow back to one of his kinsmen and walked over to Ealian. He knelt by his side and looked over the near-dead body. Slowly, he picked up Ealian’s cold hand. He spent a few moments rubbing his thumbs over Ealian’s fingernails. He laid down the hand and moved to the eyes. He pushed up at the brow and down on the cheek, and for a long while he waited. After half a minute, he sat upright. Then, turning back to the other, he nodded. “Airft Raic Noit!” he said.
The woodsman “leader” nodded back before turning to Olam. “Yes, he has what you call the Black. Eidt Raic Noit dei Mardin. He won’t heal while it is in him.”
“Well… can you heal him?” Olam said.
“Eidt Raic’tien, mict kenst Mardinui. Arly di Raic Noit?” he said.
Elspeth was frantic by now. “What did he say, Olam?”
Olam answered her question without taking his eyes off the woodsman. “He’s surprised that I do not know how to cure him. As I’m a Raic’dru, apparently, and I should have the wisdom.” Olam took a step closer to the woodsman. “Please, sir. We have little time for riddles!”
“No riddles…?” The leader didn’t understand the accusation and once again looked annoyed. “Riddles,” he said, looking up at the treetops. “What shines greatest in the darkest places and is the bane of its evil ways?”
Olam pondered a moment, silently mouthing the simple riddle. Suddenly, he flung his head back. “By the gods, how stupid of me not to realise. A light in the dark, and good against evil… We need the White to cure him.” He looked to the woodsman, smiling, then realised the futility of his victory. “We are we going to find White?” he said.
The woodsman smiled and nodded again to the man on his right, who took out a small glass vile from the pouch around his waist. He held it up. Inside was a white viscous liquid, shining of effervescent pearl.
Elspeth looked at it and her heart leaped in her chest. “Thank you, thank you!”
The woodsman put up his hand as if to say, “Not so fast.” He pointed at Daric. “You… you carry the mark of legion on your arm. Do you hold sway with the court of Eidred?”
“Eidred…? You mean the Old King. If you are asking do I know the palace, then yes. I have friends there still.”
The woodsman turned to Elspeth. “Your pack carries the seal of an emissary of Ealdihain. Do you hold sway at Beugeddy?”
Elspeth looked bemused as she turned to Daric and then Olam. At their prompt, she answered, “My father is emissary of the Northern Geddy.”
The woodsman smiled. “What a fortuitous group: Toban of the Rukin, an emissary’s daughter, one who knows the palace at Bailryn, and the Cinnè’arth. Not to mention a brother of the Am’bieth!” He pointed at Olam at the last part. The woodsman paused to think a moment. “I will leave two of my men if you will all come with me. What Kirin’thar has to say will affect you all. Events are unfolding fast in the north. You may all be of great use to your people.” The woodsmen bowed and waited for their answer.
Elspeth turned to Daric and Olam. “We have to go!” she said.
“Wait a minute, we need to—”
“No!” Elspeth interrupted. “We have to go. There can be no waiting. My brother is near death!”
Daric rubbed his chin a moment and then nodded to Elspeth. Turning to the woodsman, he said, “Yes, we will come with you, but you treat the boy first!”
The woodsman answered quickly. “Treating the boy could take hours, maybe a day or two, and there is no guarantee. Much will depend on his will. He is a long way gone, too far maybe. My men will stay and do all they can, but you must come with us now!” He looked unmoveable on the issue; his eyes stared, unblinking, at Daric.
Daric sighed and pushed his fingers round his aching neck. He still had a headache from his fall. “Yes, all right. Give us a few minutes to gather our things, and we will follow.”
“Very well,” the woodsman said.
“What is your name, by the way?” Daric asked.
“Cahldien, but most call me Cal,” he said.
Daric nodded. “Thank you, Cal, for helping the boy.”
Cal bowed.
“How long will we be gone?” Elspeth asked.
“A six-hour journey if you keep up. You can rest when you arrive, then speak to Kirin’thar in the morning. You should be back by tomorrow evening. And if your brother survives, he will be up and awake when you return.”
“Six hours!” Elspeth said. “I’ve been running all day!”
Grady jumped to the fore. “She can’t do that. She will be dead on her feet before midnight.”
Cal sighed a little and then reached into his pocket and brought out a small apple-like fruit. “Eat this and sit for ten minutes.” He passed Elspeth the fruit. “It will help, but I warn you, it tastes foul. You may feel sick at first, but eat it all. We will leave when you are ready.”
Elspeth sat by the fire and ate the strange little apple. It did indeed taste foul—like lemons mixed with vinegar. She forced it down, cringing and rubbing her jaw. So bitter was it her cheeks turned numb at the taste.
Daric fished around inside his pack, making sure he had some food. He went back to the fire and picked up some of the cold meat. He wrapped it in berry paper and placed it
in the side of his pack.
He looked to Gialyn. “I’m going to take this full waterskin, son. Can you go to the river and fill the others in the morning? You should have enough to last through the night.”
Gialyn watched his father. There is that man again, the one putting duty before family! he thought. “Why are you leaving me here?” he asked.
“Aye, why would you want to come?”
Gialyn dipped his head. “You’re doing it again! You have duty on your mind, and you’re running straight to it without looking around.”
Daric stopped what he was doing, surprised at his son’s words. He thought for a moment. The “old” Daric would have said, “Do not be silly, child,” and carried on with his single-minded, selfish duty, mindless of the needs of his son. He wondered now if he was wrong, wrong to think of him as a wasteful, unfocused youth who “needed” his guidance to become the man “he” wanted him to be. He thought about the last few days: Gialyn had refused to let go when he was hanging off the cliff. He had fought off the giant rats and saved his life. And he had spoken in ways that opened his eyes to the kind of man his son had become. And here he was, forgetting all that, going back to the “old” Daric. Maybe I’m the one who needed this journey, he thought. He felt ashamed! He looked around the camp for the wolves.
“Aleban, can I have a word?”
“Yes, Daric.” Aleban was lying by the fire with an eye on the Salrians. He rose and walked over.
“Are you two staying here?” Daric nodded at the third wolf.
“Yes. The others should be back tomorrow night to escort the prisoners, maybe the morning after.”
“Thank you, Aleban. In that case, I’ll take my son with me, if that’s all right with you?”
“Of course!” Aleban said. “A father should be with his son at times like these.”
Daric bowed and chuckled a little. Getting parenting lessons from a dog. What a world this had become. He turned to Gialyn.
“Pack light and bring the empty waterskin. We’ll have to go by the river at some point. We can fill it then.”
“Thank you!” Gialyn bowed, then rushed off to sort his pack.
Grady looked at Daric with a smile. “Leaving me alone, I see.”
Daric laughed. “You can handle two tied-up prisoners. Besides, you have the wolves and the woodsmen to keep you company.” Daric looked at his friend while stuffing supplies in the top of his pack. “I think you’re just jealous we’re going to see the woodsmen’s village.”
Grady shook his head in amusement. “Yesterday, I would have said yes. Right now, I’m just glad I’m not the one taking the six-hour hike through the forest.” Grady paused and stared into the fire. “Be careful. You do not know where you’re going… You do not know why you are going. I have a feeling that after tonight, none of our lives will be the same.”
Daric hunched back on his heels and released a great sigh. “I know, my friend. It hasn’t turned out to be the trip I had planned!”
Grady nodded in agreement. “And to think… It wasn’t that long ago the only thing concerning you was putting up with three children.”
They both laughed.
Olam stood with the two woodsmen at Ealian’s side. One was washing him, while the other built a small fire of incense.
“What is that?” he asked.
The woodsman building the fire looked up. “I’m going to use the Liet and kharoe as well as the Tien. This child needs all the help we can give. I could use some kalli as well, but I have none.”
“Oh… I have kalli.” Olam was excited to be able to help. Quickly, he ran to his pack, fished out his wrap of kalli root, and brought it to the woodsman. “Here, take what you need.”
“Thank you,” the woodsman said. “I won’t need it all.”
He broke off a small piece and placed it on a rock by the kharoe and liet. He took the vial of Raic’tien from his pouch and put it next to them.
“Are you going to do that now?” Olam said, hoping he would get a chance to watch.
“No, not yet. In an hour maybe. I would like to get the herbs in him first. He will not win both battles. I must help his body so his mind can see the light and banish the evil.”
“You talk like it’s alive!” Olam said.
The woodsman looked up with an astonished gaze. “Of all people, you should know. Do you not hear it speaking to you in the night?”
Olam knew exactly what the woodsman was talking about, but he had never spoken of it, not even to Arfael. “I find it peaceful. After a while, I began to think of it as my own thoughts. It is very kind and wise beyond my years.”
The woodsman smiled. “You shouldn’t have been left alone to deal with it. You’re only the second outsider that I have known with the Tien of Am’bieth.” He started burning the liet and wafted the smoke about Ealian’s face, while the other rubbed some of the kharoe ash into his wound. “You did well to survive the change. You must have been a very good man to start with. Many people, even Cren, are maddened by its power. They become little more than tormented shells.”
Elspeth came to Ealian’s side and knelt. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Maybe. You were lucky to have the kharoe and liet. They might just be the last little push he needs,” the woodsman said.
“Well, it wasn’t easy to come by. And we were lucky to have someone who knew of such things.” She reached out and put her hand on Olam’s.
The woodsman continued. “The Raic builds its wall on the foundation it finds within. If that foundation is good, the white will win. However, if it is bad…”
“Ealian is good!” Elspeth said. “If that’s all the reasoning here between life and death, then I’m certain he will survive.”
The woodsman nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. But it’s his soul where the bricks of love and hate are laid. And few men show their true selves at such a young age.”
“Still, I’m sure!” Elspeth said.
Cal and the other woodsman stood in the centre of the camp. “It’s time. We must go.”
The travellers that were leaving with them gathered their things and stood by. After saying their good-byes to Grady and Aleban, they walked up the southern rise and started down towards the river on their six-hour journey to meet Kirin’thar.
Grady stood and watched as they disappeared over the rise. Once they were out of sight, he looked around at what remained. Then, casually, he turned to Aleban. “Looks like it’s just you and me, friend.”
CHAPTER 27
Dreams and Demons
Ealian was lost in a dream for a night and day, though it seemed much longer to him—trapped within some distant memory. He’d spent weeks in a vision of ages past, a vision of ageless battles fought under long-forgotten banners, with enemies clad in tattered leather and skins, wielding clubs of stone and flinted axes. Endless battles upon bloodied moorland and weary treks through cold, grey mountains. He had seen himself kill for the most meagre of treasure and torture the frail for a moment of amusement. Then he was a boy, playing by the river with his sister, or fishing with his cousin, or summer afternoon picnics with his parents, or birthdays at home. However, all too soon, he was back to the blood and carnage. He had seen his own death a thousand times, chased through the moors and marshes by a dozen men—angry at some deed or other. They would catch him as he floundered, stuck in the mud of Am’bieth. There he died, clinging to a rock while they beat him repeatedly, until finally… the dream started again!
He lay oblivious to the pain, oblivious to the frantic effort of others around him as they toiled to save his life, first Olam and then his sister and now the Cren.
* * *
“How much longer is this going to take?” Grady asked.
He paced left to right about Ealian’s feet, watching the Cren administer their treatment—more kharoe ash added to his wound and then more liet root burned, then more kharoe… Two hours had passed since the others had left for the Cren village. It seemed to Grady t
hat the herbs and ash were of little or no use.
“We have to wait for his fever to break, or it will be pointless giving him the… White, as you call it,” the Cren administering the kharoe ash said. “By the way, I’m Perrin and this is Tanri.” He pointed to his friend who sat at the other side of Ealian.
Grady nodded. “Sorry! Yes, I’m Grady Daleman.” The two Cren bowed and continued with their task.
Grady went back to kicking dirt. He paced and huffed at nothing, then paced some more. Sometimes he would stare at the Salrians, occasionally he would have a few words for Aleban, but mostly, he just paced.
Another two hours passed before Perrin called him over. “It’s time,” he said.
Grady rushed to Ealian’s side. Perrin picked up the vial of white liquid and held it to his eye. The contents slowly pulsed inside the small glass casing. Perrin bid his friend to hold Ealian’s head to the side and asked Grady to take hold of his feet.
“Try to keep him still!” he said.
He opened the vial, and putting one hand hard against the side of Ealian’s face, he poured the contents into the poor boy’s ear. The pearly, viscous liquid moved around the ear for a moment, then disappeared. The Cren moved his hand away from Ealian’s face and readied himself. “Won’t be long now,” he said.
Ealian stayed motionless for a minute. Then a jerk… then another… and then he shuddered violently. His back arched and his fists clenched. He began to shout, “No!” over and over. Now with eyes wide, he searched around him, shouting names that nobody knew. “Olttan, Arconan, Maestom!” Repeatedly he shouted. Now seeing Grady and the Cren, he began to fight, shouting what were obviously insults but in an ancient tongue. He loosened his foot and kicked Grady in the chest, who immediately came back at him and held on the tighter for it. Ealian started to cry, pleading with the Cren for some mercy or other, crying and whimpering like a trapped spring lamb.
Eventually he calmed. He lay back down. Still, motionless, staring placidly up into the branches of the old oak that had been his bed. The once-clear tears rolled down his cheeks. One after another they came—black tears, tears of the Raic, tears of evil.
The Call of the Crown (Book 1) Page 33
