by David Welch
Turee sighed and disappeared back into the stall. She emerged moments later with the dress on. A timid young man followed, probably no older than Turee’s sixteen years. He was a thin fellow, tall and lanky, with a nervous face. Turee walked up as if nothing had happened. The kid, who had probably seen Turee travelling with Gunnar and Kamith when they came into town, looked absolutely terrified.
“Don’t worry,” Turee said in accented Langal as she approached. “He’s just a stableboy. Not a prince or a priest or anything like that.”
“We hope,” Gunnar grumbled.
“I made sure,” she assured him. “He’s not even a warrior; he just keeps the stables for Thelwul and his men.”
Gunnar looked up at the youth, who stood back five yards or so. Under Gunnar’s stare, he swallowed nervously. Gunnar was tempted to let the boy sweat a little, let his mind run wild with all the terrible, violent things that were about to happen to him, but he thought better of it.
“Stop shaking, boy. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in Trade Tongue. “I’ve caught her doing worse things with worse people. Come sit down; no use skulking alone back there.”
The boy nodded meekly but said nothing. He moved a few steps closer. Gunnar looked around, examining the stables again.
“Guess we can’t make a fire,” he remarked. “The whole place is covered in straw.”
“There are candles by the big door,” the youth said haltingly.
Gunnar removed two. They cleared some straw from the floor just behind the big, sliding door that stood closed on the side of the barn. Gunnar lit them, turning the gray dim of the barn into a slightly more orange dim.
“You have a name?” he asked the youth as he set down in front of the candles.
“That’s Merl!” a booming voice announced in accented Trade Tongue.
Gunnar spun up to his feet, his hand on his knife, and Turee did the same. Two figures stood just inside the small door that he and Kamith had entered through. One man, a smallish fellow with a wide face, Gunnar didn’t recognize. He wore the brown robe of the Brothers of the Earth, though. On his back was a large, cloth sack. The other figure, Gunnar knew. It was Ailwur, the commander of Thelwul’s frontier cavalry. He was a compact man, similar in height to Gunnar. He had none of his armor on today, but he still carried a shortsword at his hip.
“Merl?” asked Kamith.
“Merlturin,” said Ailwur, joining their circle. “Lord Thelwul’s stable master.”
Ailwur cuffed the boy playfully on the side of the head. Merl forced a smile but said nothing.
“A bit of a coward when it comes to swordplay,” Ailwur declared, “but he has a way with horses you’d never believe. Seen this kid break stallions that my warriors wouldn’t go within ten paces of.”
A flash of embarrassment crossed Merl’s face.
“And your friend?” Kamith asked, gesturing to the man in the brown tunic.
“Hervewur, Brother,” he said, extending his hand. Kamith shook it.
“Didn’t expect to find you here,” Ailwur said. “But people do end up in strange places when these storms come up. Heck, one time I spent four hours in a hollow tree stump, fighting off all sorts of worms and bugs. Still, it beats sneezing and coughing for the next month.”
“Four hours?” Kamith said. “You think this is one of those squalls?”
“Yep,” Ailwur remarked. “It’s been almost two days now since the last one.”
“We’re overdue,” Hervewur said with a grin.
“So I’m gonna find myself a comfy spot,” Ailwur said, bunching up some straw into a cushion. “And do absolutely nothing until this clears up.”
He plopped down onto his cushion, resting his back against a closed stall door. Gunnar rolled his eyes but didn’t disagree with the man.
“Merl, get that big door open,” Ailwur ordered. “Let’s get some air going.”
The others settled in as the young man slid open the main door. About ten feet across, it opened onto a large field bordered by a split-rail fence. It was currently being drenched with a downpour that showed no signs of stopping. Across the field, under a crude wooden pavilion, a dozen horses clustered.
Cool air wafted in, and the rain only made it a foot or two inside, well short of the group. Merl darted back from the door, shaking off water that had dripped down on him. He sat cross-legged near Turee, but not within arm’s reach. A wary expression crossed his face as he looked back to Gunnar.
Hervewur dug into his sack, bringing out a clay jug as large as a newborn child. He pulled off the top, took a swig of whatever was inside, and handed it to Ailwur.
“Ah!” cried the warrior, grinning in anticipation. “Herv here makes the best mead in Thelwul’s lands.”
He took a long drink and then passed it on to Gunnar. Gunnar helped himself, relishing the sweet taste as it hit his tongue.
“It’s very good,” he commented.
Herv nodded his appreciation. The jug finished making it rounds, ending back up in the brother’s hands. He took another swig, looking no worse for wear, and then he tucked the jar back behind him.
“Mmm,” Ailwur sighed, clearly enjoying the warm flush of the drink. “Days like this are story days.”
“Story days?” Turee asked.
“Best thing to do when you don’t have a woman to pass the time,” Ailwur declared. “Run to the tavern, down some ales, and listen to whatever crazy tales people come up with.”
“You want to run to the tavern, you go right ahead,” Herv laughed.
“I suppose I could pester Suhngiu’s rescuers until they tell us about their travels,” Ailwur said with a contented smile.
“It’s amazing how boring riding a horse day after day can be,” Gunnar replied.
Turee scowled at him, but she made no move to spill any of their secrets.
“Surely you’ve seen something,” Ailwur pressed.
“I once saw a mountain carved into a giant face,” Kamith said dryly. “The locals tried to sacrifice me to it.”
Ailwur sighed, getting the point despite his slight buzz.
“Well, Herv, you brothers of the earth know every story in the Kingdoms. Keep us all from getting bored and stir crazy,” Ailwur ordered.
“I shall,” Herv said, but he looked to Gunnar, not Ailwur. “What do you know of the Brothers, Gunnar of the Tarn? Or the Sisters of the Wind?”
“I know your ‘sisters’ don’t consider chastity a virtue,” Gunnar said. “And from the taste of that mead I’m thinking you brothers don’t either.”
Herv chuckled, saying, “Yes, many outsiders find that strange. It is quite simple: were a brother or sister to take one wife, how could we serve the gods? Our loyalty would be split between our spouse and our lords above. And if we took no lovers at all, we would spite the gifts of the gods. They gave us love, and we would be fools to throw it away.”
“Here we go,” Ailwur said sarcastically.
“When a man becomes a brother of the earth or a woman becomes a sister of the Wind, they take all brothers and sisters as wives and husbands. That way, we never slight our duties by becoming attached to one—”
“You attach yourself to many,” Gunnar figured.
Herv said, “Yes. That is the idea.”
“And that actually works?” Turee asked.
“Most times,” Herv said with a shrug. “But I would be lying to you and the gods if I did not say that a few of my ‘wives’ stand out.”
“I’m shocked,” Kamith deadpanned.
“He’s trying to sell you, ya know,” Ailwur spoke up. “Convert you to his beliefs with promises of anonymous sex with many, many partners.”
“Heathen,” Herv replied sarcastically.
Ailwur snickered, then said, “Come on, Herv. Hand me that jug and give us a story.”
“He’s not the most pious of men,” Herv said to Gunnar, handing the jug to Ailwur. “But a friend is a friend. So, a story… Well, since you are from the Far West, I
’ll just start at the beginning.”
“The beginning?” Turee asked warily.
“Yes,” he continued. “The beginning, when Sun alone was all there was. He was the first, the source of all things…”
Gunnar watched Ailwur shake his head, clearly not approving of his friend’s story choice. He took a third drink as the words flowed, then he passed the jug around.
“Sun is all. From him, all of this world came. It was his fires that began it all. He forged this world. Just as a blacksmith melts and shapes metal, Sun took a small piece of his own endless fire, cooled it, shaped it, and formed it flat into the vast, endless Earth. He was happy, because he was no longer alone. His child Earth lived, his companionship making Sun’s life all the more wonderful.
“But Sun was still much too powerful for Earth. His rays burned Earth, searing every inch of him. Terrified at seeing his child in pain, Sun took another piece of his fires and drew it so thin that it became Sky. So stretched was Sky that all that remains in it of Sun’s flame is lightning. Sun put Sky between himself and Earth, to protect Earth from Sun’s power. And again, he was happy, for now he had two children to accompany him.
“But Sun had been alone for so long, that, like a man long in isolation, the challenges of speaking amiably with others taxed him. While he never regretted bringing Sky and Earth into being, the stress of speaking daily with them caused him to need rest. So he took his rest, turning his face from his children. Above them, Earth and Sky saw only the gray sphere of Sun’s back, not the brilliance of his yellow face.
“Thus, something that Sun had not foreseen stole into the world. From the Nothing, Darkness came, and surrounded Earth and Sky. So filled with fear were Earth and Sky that they cried to their father. Sun turned his face back to his children and scared off the Darkness. But, still tired, and diminished from creating Earth and Sky, he could not keep his face on his children at all times. When he turned again, Darkness came to surround and terrify the helpless Earth and Sky. So horrifying were their cries that Sun knew something must be done.
“And so, Sun set to do battle with Darkness. He forged six giants to do his bidding, and he sent them to Earth to await Darkness. When Sun turned to rest, Darkness came, and one by one fought with the giants. The battles were terrible, and the giants rent many tears in the veil of Darkness. These tears never healed, and they became the stars. But, for all their strength, the giants could not chase Darkness from the world. One by one, they were slain, their bodies falling so hard that, to this day, the vibrations occasionally shake the earth under out feet. So hard were their falls that their bodies gouged great hollows into Earth, where they lay and rotted as all dead things do. When Sun returned, and saw his giant children dead, his tears fell from the sky and flooded Earth. The hollows left by his giants filled with water and became the Great Seas. To this day, sadness still grips Sun, and his tears fall when he cannot control his grief.
“With his giants dead, Sun looked for a new way to chase Darkness away. Weakened from creating the giants, he had just enough fire left to create one final child. And so he made Wind, and he sent it to protect Earth and Sky. When Darkness came, it sought to grapple Wind and throw it to Earth, but Wind was thin and fast, and moved too quickly. Darkness could not get a hold. Wind blew strongly, to protect its siblings from Darkness; so strong was its fury that Darkness was blown from Earth. Sun was now able to rest without worrying about Darkness terrifying his children, and he slowly rebuilt his strength.
“But, while Sun recuperated, Wind grew tired from his daily battles with Darkness. He soon grew weak, unable to keep Darkness away from Earth when Sun turned away. Seeing his brother suffering, Earth took from himself and formed Life. He went to Sun and asked for a spark of Sun’s fire to bring Life to motion. Sun agreed, and Life was made. Where there had once been only three children of Sun, now there were millions. All that walked or flew or swam were Sun’s children and remain so. Sun was happy with this, but he still feared what Darkness might do. Earth had thought of this, however, and made one form of Life above all others. In Man, Earth put great intelligence, and Sky sent lightning to Man, so he could learn to harness the fire of Sun; the fire from which all but Darkness descends. So Man mastered fire, and when Darkness came, Man used fire to lighten the gloom. The light of Man reassured Earth and Sky, allowing them to see through Darkness and know that Earth, Sky, Wind, and Life remained. And so it continues, to this day. As Sun rests and grows stronger, Man and Wind daily drive Darkness away. A day will come when Sun has returned to his full strength, and Darkness will come no more.”
Herv’s story came to an end. The jug made it back to the man, and he took another swig.
“So much for not being bored,” Ailwur griped.
“So that’s why you have Sisters of the Wind and Brothers of the Earth?” asked Kamith.
“Yes,” said Herv. “We venerate the children of Sun.”
“You didn’t know that?” asked Turee, genuinely surprised.
“We did not worship the sun,” Kamith replied.
“We had a similar story in-uh-in Bailor,” Turee said, having learned from hard experience not to even mention her background as a former princess of Starth. “Though we also tell how Wind grew so tired of chasing darkness that he turned on Life, sinking Man’s boats and blowing out his fires.”
“I have heard that tale from the western kingdoms, but we know better,” Herv declared. “Wind’s power destroys only those who are unprepared.” Turee didn’t look convinced, but Herv shrugged and turned to Gunnar. “Your people do not believe such things?”
Gunnar shook his head, saying, “My people live beyond the Great Grasslands. They’ve never heard that story.”
“Then what do they believe?” asked Herv.
“We’re really having a theological discussion?” Ailwur asked sarcastically. “Here? Now?”
“My people believed that the ancients left Earth to walk amongst the stars,” Gunnar said.
“So who made the ancients?” Herv asked.
“I have no idea,” replied Gunnar.
“Perhaps Sun did,” Herv ventured.
“Can’t say one way or the other,” Gunnar said.
“Merl!” demanded Ailwur. “Tell us a story, before Herv tries to convert everybody.”
The youth seemed to shrink, his eyes shifting back and forth uneasily.
“I’m no good at storytelling,” he muttered defensively.
“Nonsense. I’ve heard you recite half the songs that have ever been sung in Three Waters,” Ailwur pressed. “Recite one. It would be a shame if our guests leave our land with only a boring creation story to remember us.”
“I didn’t think it was boring,” Kamith protested.
“Boring or not, it’s the truth,” proclaimed Herv.
“So says every holy man,” Ailwur grumbled. “Tell us something entertaining, Merl. Hell, do well enough and you may impress that young thing next to you into your bed! We all know how weak in the knees the ladies go for poets.”
“Uhh…” Merl said, red-faced, glancing nervously at Turee. Turee chuckled and shook her head. Ailwur didn’t miss the glances.
“Really?” he asked in disbelief. “She already made a man of you? By Weniho, I’d given up hope you’d ever get there!”
“Alright,” Gunnar said with a chopping wave of his hand. “Let the man speak, if you want him to.”
“Okay, okay,” Ailwur relented, taking the mead from Herv. “Go ahead, kid.”
Merl cleared his throat and began to speak.
“This is The Lay of Herath the Slayer,” he announced. “The story of Three Waters’ greatest warrior.”
An appreciative smile came to Ailwur’s face. He handed the jug back to Herv and leaned forwards, clearly eager to hear this. Merl noticed the man’s anticipation and paused nervously. He closed his eyes as if to steady himself, and then he began speaking in a rhythmic tone:
“A solemn pace, the Slayer walked, no guard or lord co
uld phase,
The sovereign’s eyes, his own did lock, and met with steely gaze.
His word was cold as winter ice, upon the court it fell,
King Edelwur sat with a heavy heart, and heard what he would tell.
‘My name is ‘Herath’, of the north, born under blue-fire sky,
I’ve travelled long through frozen wood, to where Three Waters lie.
Your lands have offered shelter, and long soothed a worried head,
The touch of a willing woman’s heart, and supple limbs in bed.
The green of pasture in the fog, where sheep and cattle trod,
The joyous shouts of many sons, so worth a father’s nod.
The work of lords, this swordsman’s arm, plies the border fight,
Keeping hordes of the western wastes from skulking through the night.
And now the men of the southern shores row across the sea,
In numbers vast and armor thick, to make your blood flow free.
From great Manhar the south-man comes, under foul King Garivold,
A hundred flags beneath his feet, from a hundred battles bold.
And here in my adopted home, a choice on us doth fall:
To flee our homes like startled rats, and thus abandon all,
Or to fight like men with outstretched arms, in meadow or in glade,
To show the south-man that, for his pride, a deep price must be paid.
And so I offer up my sword, and fifteen years of toil,
To drive the arrogant southern foe from this sacred soil.’
And lo, the king did look upon the fine face of the man
And bade him stay, and drink with him, before the final stand.
Long went the night in the palace walls, where great men feasted true,
Holding wives and sweethearts close, with words naught but lovers knew,
And Herath went unto his wife and saw her streaming tears,
And loved her more in that one night, than most men could in years,
