by S A Maus
He turned and looked about, taking in the surrounding vision. The fields of grass and brake went on for miles, but to the south and far away Omer could faintly see the outline of a great forest, and in the east he could see hills rumpling the horizon. To the west the land was flat and wide, broken only here or there by lonely trees that stood by themselves in the empty grass. It was a scene that could describe any hundreds of wilderness scapes in myriad lands, and he saw nothing to recognize it by.
Omer turned north. The plains went on for a long distance but not as long as the south, and at their end he saw more forest, wide and dominating, stretching from east to west with no end. It was a shapeless and sightless place. There was no sign of Men or even animals, and Omer had not the slightest idea where he was.
He turned south again, facing the distant trees. Now he could see, breaking the horizon like a thin finger, a rising smoke. The smoke began to spread over the horizon, darkening it like storm clouds until all of the south was a wall of black reek. Omer wondered what it was. It seemed reasonable (at least to him) that he should try and get closer to it, as it was the only strange thing to be found in that empty land, but he was not sure how. His legs, while still beneath him, did not move when he commanded them. They were rooted in place, unable to lift even a toe. Perhaps that was how all visions worked within the Stones. He did not know.
While he was standing there, straining his eyes for a better view of the south, it happened that he blinked. When his eyes closed he was staring far away at the dark horizon, but when he opened them he was suddenly amidst the smoke. He coughed of reflex, though in truth he could not smell anything of the reek, or anything at all for that matter; there was neither sound nor smell to be found within the vision. Snow covered his feet. He frowned, certain there had been no snow when he stood in the fields.
Omer frowned. Where am I, he wondered, and he began to look about once more. He was standing at the bottom of a high hill he did not recognize. A gritty cloud of gray ash billowed over the hilltop and down into the plain, and from beneath it flames raged in orange light, creating in the sky a bright scar that covered the land. Omer could not see what burned on the height, he was too low and the smoke was thick about him.
As he was standing, a wind blew suddenly down from the hill and broke the clouds for a moment. He could see then, far away to the east, a broken line of hills. Beyond the hills the smoke ended, opening back into a clear sky that remained blue and welcoming. To the north a line of trees waited, and near them he thought he spied a river, though it was difficult to tell at such a distance. A vague memory came to him then, a passing remark made in a class he had long forgotten, a history class perhaps, and he cursed himself for not paying closer attention. The name of that hill was on the tip of his tongue, but like a figure behind a curtain, he could not make it out completely.
A sound fell from the hilltop, breaking him out of his memories, for it was the first sound he had heard within the vision. It was a drawn, wailing howl, like that of a wolf lost in the woods, but deeper and earthy, as if it rose out of the ground itself, and it wavered as if on the wind. A shadow passed by overhead, something huge and winged that broke the smoke and allowed a sunlit sky to fall onto the snow, blinding Omer. He fell backward, shielding himself from the light with his hand, and felt himself fall onto hard wood. He blinked. The light faded, his sight returned. He was back in the Library, sitting on the floor and looking up at Master Azod, who had a bemused look beneath his gray beard.
“Welcome back,” Azod said. “Take a moment. Gather yourself. When you have caught up, try to recall what you saw.”
Omer sat up, rubbing his eyes to push back the lingering blindness. “I saw… a wilderness, I think,” he said. “There were no landmarks, just grass and distant forest. If I have been there in my lifetime, I do not remember it.”
Azod pursed his lips and nodded. “It is not uncommon to see the unknown,” he said. “Did you see anything you might consider strange or noteworthy? An odd house, perhaps? Maybe a creature that seemed out of place?”
“No,” Omer shook his head. “It was empty. Peaceful, if I think about it.” Then Omer stopped and nearly laughed. “Only the first part, though. There was a second part of the vision. I saw smoke. Lots of smoke, rising in the south. More smoke than I think I have ever seen, like a whole city was burning, but I never saw any houses or towers. I never saw anything that could burn, in fact.”
Azod continued to nod his head, as if he were agreeing with Omer’s every word despite himself. Then the Master leaned down near Omer. “Anything else?” he asked.
“A hill,” Omer continued. “The vision changed and I was under the cloud of smoke, at the bottom of a hill. It was the same smoke I had seen earlier, I am sure, but I couldn’t see anything odd beyond it. There was snow, too, but I do not think it was natural. I am sure it was summer, though I can’t say why, exactly; but there should not have been snow. It was like… like only the land about the hill had seen the cold. Or maybe the vision was playing a trick and I was seeing many lands pushed together. I cannot say. Something broke the smoke when I was at the foot of the hill. I never saw what it was, but in the clearing I could see that the snow ended not far away. It was very odd.”
Omer held the Stone out to Azod, but then pulled it back as he remembered a final thing. “There was a sound. The only sound, if I recall. A wolf howling, but deeper than any I have ever heard. I would not want to meet the wolf that can make such a noise.”
Azod flinched. A shadow passed over his face. He frowned, and for a moment Omer thought he looked worried, but the Master shook it away and a smile returned. “Well, such are the visions of the Stone. You would do well to remember them, for no doubt they will one day impact you, but do not dwell on it long. The land may be important. Snow may be important. A wolf’s howl may be important. It may be nothing at all.”
Then he took the Stone from Omer and placed it back in its spot between the drapes, and when he looked back the worry was completely gone from his eyes. “You have been through a great Trial, Omer, and you have succeeded. I will tell the other Masters of what you saw in the Stone and if they feel there is need to speak further on the matter we will send for you. For now, go and rest. It is customary for a Hunter to have a month off after their Testing. You will not be called on for some time.” Azod smiled. “Go and enjoy your victory, Omer of the En’shen.”
Chapter IV
An Early Summons
Omer returned to his chambers in Shalim and fell immediately into slumber. No Hunter saw him thereafter for three days as he slept and recovered from his Testing. On the fourth day Omer finally emerged, very hungry and nearly as thirsty. He was greeted in the halls by the smiling faces of fellow En’shen and respectful bows from novices he passed. Word had traveled through all of Shalim that the Hunters had a new Tested among their ranks. None stopped him, however, until he turned into the northern hall and ran nearly headlong into Tahr. The huge man wrapped him up in a hug and congratulated his success. “We will have to cross blades once more,” he said with a wink. “You might be able to see me swing this time.”
Omer flexed his hand towards the hulking Hunter, feeling his newfound strength test the bindings of the gloves he wore. A shiver of pain ran along his nerves. “I think I will do more than see, Tahr,” he said. “But the Masters have suggested I rest, and after the Wills, I am inclined to oblige.”
“It is earned!” Tahr cried. “I slept a full week after my Testing. You are already ahead of me there. Ah, but there is less of you to heal,” he winked once more and nudged Omer’s much thinner frame. “But do not get too restful. Hunters we may be, with bodies unnatural, stronger than most Men, but laze will still make slugs of us if we allow it.” Tahr paused then and tilted his head. “Slowly, of course, but it can still be done. You know old Gannet down in Halrost? Rumor says he hasn’t done an exercise in three decades. Man is as big as a chariot. Heavier too. It is a shame. He will never die of a heart attack
or poison, but he will waste away in a chair for the next hundred years. Do not join him, Omer!” Tahr threw his hand up.
“I won’t,” Omer declared with a laugh. “But I must eat now, even at the risk of moving a step closer to Gannet. I have not eaten in days and my hands shake.”
Tahr grabbed him by the shoulder and began to drag him along. “Come then! Lunch is being served and we are late to it. We will talk more at the table. Polis wants to see you as well. Something about your Cost, which I am guessing is your curse to be forever thin and gangly,” he grinned. “We will send a novice to fetch him.”
Omer let himself be led by the huge Hunter into the far northwestern hall, which was itself set right up against the mountain, wherein the kitchen was kept. There they entered the first of the four dining halls. It was normally reserved for the youngest Hunters in Shalim, but Omer did not complain, for his stomach was tying itself in knots at the thought of bread.
In the dining hall a large group of novice Hunters was seated and talking among themselves, a group made mostly of children barely entering their teen years. Their voices were oddly loud and grating to Omer’s newly Tested ears. Tahr noticed him wincing as they walked through the door and laughed. “You will get used to it,” he said. But Omer did not need to get used to the noise, for as soon as they entered a hush fell over the crowd. All eyes turned to the two En’shen, but most upon Omer, for it was widely believed (and to be sure, without reason) that a newly Tested Hunter would give freely the secrets needed to pass their own Testing, if only they could curry favor. A young man who seemed to be overseeing the group, being himself of twenty-odd years of age, hurriedly jumped up from his seat, offering it to Omer with a too-deep bow that nearly had Tahr bent over in laughter. Omer was less amused and more hungry, and he merely took the seat with a nod.
“Well?” Omer asked the crowd, turning to meet each wide-eyed gaze. “I’m not a king. Don’t stop talking for me.”
No one moved. Each child was unwilling to be the one that broke the silence, but after a pause, the young man who had given Omer his seat stepped near and spoke over Omer’s shoulder. “Master Omer, sir, we have all heard of your Testing,” he said. “They have never met anyone out of the Trials. This is the youngest class in Shalim. Even I have only even met true En’shen a couple times,” he bowed his head sheepishly, though why that would embarrass him Omer could not imagine. “Besides our teachers, of course,” he quickly added. “Could you… well… I mean, might you be able to tell us a bit of what to expect? For the children, of course.”
Omer sighed and looked to Tahr for guidance, but the older Hunter was staring far away at a distant pile of meat that had just been brought from the kitchen, and his wide eyes betrayed that he had not heard a single word the young man said; lunch was his only concern. Omer looked about the table at the waiting gazes of the dozen or more novice Hunters, each leaning towards him with bated breath. He was unsure what he should say. It was forbidden to talk about the Wills, he knew, but the other trials were not so secretive. Gaul had broken the unspoken pact with him, and he was grateful for it.
“Pay attention in your classes,” Omer said finally, with as little endearment as he could. A shot of pain went through him then and he flexed his hands. He smirked. “And drink your morning elixir. It will do you well,” he said.
As one, every novice began to whisper to another, wondering what strange truth Omer had just shared, but the young man tapped Omer’s shoulder and stuck out his hand, which Omer grabbed lightly, careful not to crush it with his granted strength.
“I am Hilen, sir,” the young man said. “Thank you. I know the Testing is out of limits, as a rule, but I am sure even the smallest hints will help when their own time comes. Mine as well.”
Omer looked up at him, noticing for the first time the bright eyes and the clean features of the young man. He may have been younger than Omer had initially guessed, perhaps even a teenager still. “Hilen?” he said, and the young man nodded. “How long have you been in Shalim?”
“Four years, sir. I was brought in on my fifteenth birthday, after…,” his voice trailed off into a whisper and his eyes became pained. “After I lost my family,” he said. “An Alappiq came to my village. Only a few managed to survive long enough for Hunters to come to our rescue.”
“Rashiden,” Omer said.
“Excuse me, sir?” Hilen said.
“Rashiden,” Omer answered once more. “That is the formal name of an Alappiq. It would be wise of you to use the formal names while in training. You will need it for the Testing.”
Hilen, realizing he had just been given another hint to his future Trials, bowed suddenly, gripping Omer tightly on the forearm. “Thank you, sir. Thank you!” he said.
Omer waved him away. “Don’t mention it. I think I know your story. You are from Tolwit, out in Druaith, yes? That is the last time I heard mention of an Alappiq in Evermoore. It was a bad situation. I am sorry for your loss.” Hilen bowed once more, but Omer grabbed him by the arm and lifted him up. “My own parents were lost to monsters when I was a child. A Ghoul nest. It is a story shared by all too many who walk these halls, to lose a loved one to the dark things of the world. Come, sit next to me. I do not think Tahr will have a word for anything but food over the next hour, and I have not met one of the youngest class. The Masters keep us separated all too well.”
“For wise reasons,” Hilen said as he took the seat opposite Tahr. “Master Amathew says the youngest tend towards unrealistic beliefs of a Hunter if they spend too long around the older groups.”
Omer chuckled, remembering then some of the odd ideas that had filled his own class as he rose through Shalim. “Such as our second heart?” he said with a smile.
Hilen mirrored his smile but shook his head. “I have not heard that one, though I have heard that a Lether Hunter’s heart will turn to stone after their Testing. Is that true?”
“Not that I am aware of, but you will need to ask Master Zekhain to be sure,” Omer said.
A large plate of bread and meat was placed before Omer then by a wandering novice Aeilman who was on kitchen duty that day. Omer thanked the young lady before turning back to Hilen. “So tell me, what do you think of Shalim?”
“Think of Shalim?” Hilen echoed. “I am not sure I will think much different from yourself, sir. We both live here, after all.”
“My name is Omer, not sir,” Omer said. “If becoming a full Hunter has novices treating me like I’m a hundred, then I will have to see about undoing it; but you did not answer my question. I have lived in Shalim for over twenty years. I no longer see it the same way I did when I was a child practicing swordplay in unfamiliar courtyards. You are young and have not seen strange lands and strange creatures. What do the Halls of the Hunters look like to you?”
Hilen seemed to think on that for a long moment, staring off and out into the courtyard beyond the long window that lined the hall while Omer busied himself with eating his first meal in days. Minutes passed. Omer looked up, wondering if Hilen had simply left without answering, but the young Hunter was still there, brow furrowed, looking out into the clear day beyond the walls. Finally, he turned to Omer. “It is like a story,” he said.
“A story?” Omer said.
“Yes. A story. Like one you hear when you are little, and you are sure that your parents are not telling you the truth; and yet… you hope. You hope it is true, and then, one day, you find the source of that story. And it is real, and it is wonderful, but it is also incomplete. Your parents had only told you the nice things, the happy things. The monsters in the stories were killed easily by gallant heroes, and the Hunters were great Men of all kinds who walked back and forth across the world, guarding it from evil. But then you arrive, and you realize that sometimes… sometimes the monsters win. And sometimes the heroes aren’t all that gallant. They get mad, they curse, they spit; sometimes they give you the wrong answer, and sometimes they are prideful. But underneath it all the story is still there.
It is still good people fighting against the bad. They just aren’t quite as perfect as the stories made them to be.”
Omer nodded his head, a slight smile edging his lips. “More real and less fake, is what you’re saying?”
“Yes!” Hilen answered. “Like seeing a real mountain for the first time, when all you’ve seen before is a painting hanging over the mantle. Maybe less fantastic, but more exciting.”
“A blessing on your eyes then, Hilen. Most novices do not have such wisdom. Your foresight will help you. I have a feeling you will be Tested one day, and you will come out the other side.”
The young man’s eyes grew wide. “D – do you think so?” Hilen wondered.
“I do,” Omer said. “You have -,” he was cut off by Master Zekhain entering the hall, his short frame shoving the great door aside with a bang, drawing all eyes to him. He looked straightaway at Omer, his blocky face raising in a smile, and pointed a stubby finger towards the new En’shen.
“I have been looking all over for you, lad!” Zekhain cried.
Omer stood and gave a curt bow to the Master, but the Lether was already waving him away and grabbing at his coat. “Come on, come on. Polis wants you. Laggard wouldn’t leave his office.”
“He wants me?” Omer said with a frown.
“Check-up!” Tahr said, wiping away lunch from his lips. “Every En’shen gets once-over after they have rested. But come now, Zekhain, Omer has barely been out a day! Even a Master needs to eat lunch sometime.”
“I know, I know,” Zekhain answered, throwing his hands up in defense. “T’was not my call, lads, Azod himself demanded it. Something unusual is happening. Not sure what, but Old Grey wants you fit and fighting before we talk of it.” Zekhain paused then and eyed the many novices around the room. He cleared his throat. “You will forget you heard that name, understood?” he said sternly. Many young faces nodded back.
