She looked down. Through the rents in her shirt, her skin was still coated in blood, but it was drying, and the wounds themselves—which she knew had cut to the bone—were gone, the skin beneath smooth and almost glistening. All of her uwethla, the puckered scar where Gleed had stabbed her to drive in the silver spike, even the kan brand upon her palm—all still there. But of the newer wounds there was no sign.
Ashiin helped Hweilan to her feet. “Now, as I was saying: you are the Hand.” As if to demonstrate, she raised her own, waving the fingers. “That … concept—for what you are—was chosen for a reason. A hand is made of the palm and many fingers. Many parts. And the hand itself is only an extension of the arm, and the arm is part of the body. And the body itself is nothing without the head and heart.”
Hweilan could only stare at her. The woman had just led her into an ambush, watched while that … that thing had snapped her back like an old branch, and she was crouched there, lecturing, calm as you please.
“You’ll never defeat Jagun Ghen on your own. You are the Hand. And the Hand does not strike alone.” A slight pause, then, “When I first met you, this was what you were.”
Ashiin lowered all her fingers except one, and this one she kept loose. She wiggled it over Hweilan’s bare arm, scratching slightly with the nail.
“A minor irritant,” said Ashiin, “an annoyance. That’s all you were. But you learned. You learned from Kesh Naan—”
—the finger stiffened, and another joined it, and Ashiin poked her, not hard enough to break the skin, but close. Hweilan winced—
“—you learned from Gleed—”
—three fingers, and Ashiin poked again—
“—getting stronger, yes. But still no stronger than a nagging pain. And then you came to me—”
—all fingers open, the thumb held straight and close beside the palm, and Ashiin brought it around, striking Hweilan hard in the fleshy part of her arm. She staggered a little but did not fall over.
Hweilan said, “Stop th—”
“Now you are strong. Strong enough to deal with many enemies. But Jagun Ghen is not just any enemy. He is ancient and cunning, and he does not know mercy or pity or remorse. Strike him all you like, and you are only going to rile him.”
Ashiin gave her three quick strikes with the edge of her hand—upper arm, forearm, and a hit on her thigh hard enough to bruise.
Hweilan tried to back away, but Ashiin caught her wrist with her other hand, stopping her.
“Now,” she said, “you must learn to use it all—and more. The hand is only an extension of the greater body—of the greater mind. You must have the whole.”
With that, Ashiin clenched the upheld hand into a fist and punched.
But Hweilan had been expecting it, and she batted the fist aside with her forearm.
“Stop hitting me!”
“Make me stop.” Ashiin lashed out again, first one fist, then an open hand—the fingers out and stiff, aimed for Hweilan’s gut.
Hweilan blocked both and kicked. Ashiin pushed the strike aside.
And then they were at it—master and pupil, punching, kicking, blocking, striking and counter striking, rolling, sliding, jumping. Hweilan connected now and then, but for every one punch or kick she managed to land, Ashiin landed three.
But whatever had been in the concoction Ashiin had given her, it was still at work. Hweilan could feel its fire coursing through her system. She had to drop to avoid a kick, and on the frosty ground her feet slid from under her. The sharp stones beneath cut deep, raking a wide swath of skin from her arm, but by the time she was on her feet again, she could feel the skin closing.
“You see?” said Ashiin, circling her. “After all you’ve learned … still, you’re no match for me. And you think you can hunt Jagun Ghen? I’ve taught you only a fraction of what I know—and time is running out.”
“So …?”
Ashiin charged, one fist coming around. But it was a feint. Hweilan blocked the strike with her forearm and Ashiin grabbed her. The next thing she knew she was flying through the air—her sight registered the peak, the treetops, a bit of blue sky between, and then she hit the ground. All the breath left her body, and for a moment the world went black.
When her vision cleared again, she saw that she had skidded to a stop next to the fallen tree. Ashiin was crouched atop it, her forearms resting on her knees, both hands outstretched, palms open—a long curved shaft of wood resting across them.
Her father’s bow.
Ashiin said, “Time you learned to use this.”
Hweilan stared up at the bow a long time. Seeing it in Ashiin’s hands stoked her rage again. That had been her father’s, and she had carried it through death and worse. To see Ashiin holding it, that smug look on her face …
Hweilan reached for it. Ashiin smiled and pulled it back.
Growling, Hweilan lunged, but Ashiin leaped into the air, backflipped, and landed on her feet on the far side of the log.
Hweilan crouched atop the log and stopped, gauging the distance. She knew she could leap that far and more, but she knew Ashiin would no longer be there when she landed. The woman was too quick.
“Why do you want this?” said Ashiin. “It’s just a pretty shaft of wood. No use to you. Might as well burn it.”
“No,” Hweilan said, though it came out more of a growl, and she had to force herself not to leap. Her rage was getting the best of her. She didn’t bury it, but she channeled it. Had to think. Coming at Ashiin in berserk fury would be folly. Hweilan knew she had to think, to plan.
“Reminds you of your father, yes?” said Ashiin. “That’s all it is, then. Like a baby’s favorite blanket. It fuels your childishness.”
Hweilan felt something touch her left hand, and she looked down. Though her wounds had healed, much of her skin was still coated in blood, and the scent had drawn something out of the rotted crevices of the log on which she crouched. She had no idea what it was. Almost as large as her hand, it was not a spider, but its chitinous, segmented body walked on spiderlike legs, each of which ended in a tiny, sharp claw. A half-dozen fangs under the thing’s staring eyes opened, and tendrils emerged from the mouth and ran along her skin. It tickled.
Ashiin mistook Hweilan’s glance down. “Touched a nerve, did I, girl? You want your father? Shame on you. Your father and mother were warriors. What would they think of you now? Had he lived, what would your father do with this bow? What would he do to Jagun Ghen’s minions who killed him?”
Hweilan looked up at her teacher and let the tears gathering in her eyes run down her cheeks. They were tears of rage, but if Ashiin believed otherwise … good. She needed a moment’s distraction. She held Ashiin’s gaze. She needed her eyes up here.
“My father was killed by a dragon,” she said. Ever so slowly, Hweilan turned her left hand so that it was palm upward. She heard the thing down in the log rattle a moment, surprised by the movement, then the tendrils tickled her fingertips, searching upward. Her palms and wrists had as much blood, and the sweat of the fight had kept them moist. The tendrils searched upward, and Hweilan felt the sharp claws on her fingers as the thing climbed onto her hand, searching for the wet blood and sweat inside her sleeve.
Ashiin scowled at Hweilan’s words. She hadn’t known how Hweilan’s father had died, and Hweilan knew Ashiin hated nothing more than being wrong about something.
“That does not change my point,” said Ashiin. “Were your father still alive, how would he use this weapon? Would he run through the hills looking for help? Or would he rain death on those who killed his family?”
“Rain?” said Hweilan and looked up.
It worked. Ashiin glanced up, just for a moment, and Hweilan brought her left hand around, hurling the thing of claws and fangs right at Ashiin. Surprised and enraged, the insect flailed and snapped its legs as it flew through the air. Ashiin looked back down, and her eyes widened at the sight of the claws and fangs headed for her face.
Ashiin swiped with t
he bow, batting the insect away. The yew struck the thing with a crunch of shattering chitin.
Hweilan hit Ashiin full force an instant later. They tumbled down in a cloud of dead pine needles and dirt, and when they separated, each of them coming to their feet in a defensive crouch, facing each other, Hweilan held the bow.
They stared at each other, master and student weighing each other, waiting for the other to strike. At last Ashiin stood straight, relaxing, and smiled. “Well done, Hweilan. You are ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HWEILAN CRADLED THE BOW IN HER ARMS AS THEY walked back. Ashiin opened the portal, taking them through the falls into the Feywild, and led the way back to Gleed’s lake.
But Hweilan’s mind barely registered any of that. After so long without it, she had her father’s bow back. Holding its familiar weight in her hands, it seemed that she stood on a knife’s edge between her past and present. The arc of pale wood inscribed with sacred runes—she could not look at it without seeing her father, dressed in his full armor, holding it in one hand as his squire fitted the quiver to his back. But mostly she saw the smile he’d always given her before leaving. This bow summed up her childhood: the comfort of her father’s love, mixed with the grief of his leaving. With that leaving came both pride and dread. She knew her father was going out to keep their lands safe, to help those unable to help themselves. When she was very small, he’d seemed almost a demigod to her. But with that was the knowledge that he might not come home again. Every parting held the chance of his death. And one day that time had finally come.
Remembering all those things, Hweilan realized they proved Ashiin’s words true—like a baby’s favorite blanket, it fuels your childishness. But she would not let the feelings go. She was the Hand of the Hunter, Chosen of Nendawen, but that could never erase where she’d come from.
But Ashiin’s other words were true as well. It was a weapon, meant to be used. More than memories of the past, the bow held for her the promise of a future. Despite the grief and regret tempering her emotions, Hweilan felt one thing above everything—an eager anger. That thing, Jagun Ghen, had slaughtered everyone she’d ever loved. As she’d learned from Kesh Naan, he had done that countless times over generations to her people. Time for that to end.
Hweilan had just detected the first scent of the lake when Ashiin stopped. Most days after training they parted ways there, but usually Ashiin just melted into the shadows and was gone, sometimes with a farewell, sometimes not. It was the first time Hweilan could remember her teacher stopping.
“What?” said Hweilan.
Ashiin looked away a moment, glancing toward Gleed’s tower, then back at her. “Remember what I told you. When the time comes, you must not hesitate. To kill. A great deal depends on this.”
Hweilan looked at her, puzzled by the sudden emphasis. She’d passed every test Ashiin had laid before her. Why this reassurance now? So she simply said, “I know.”
Ashiin gripped both Hweilan’s arms and squeezed, hard enough to hurt. “Do you really, girl? You swear it?”
Taken aback, Hweilan stared into Ashiin’s eyes. They were deadly serious. Even desperate. Why … she didn’t know, but there was no mistaking Ashiin’s urgency.
“I swear it,” she said.
Ashiin held her gaze a moment longer, then let go. A moment later, she was gone, leaving nothing but a rustle in the undergrowth.
When Hweilan stepped back onto the island, she saw Gleed climbing down the outside of the tower. She stood at its base and watched. It never ceased to amaze her that a creature who relied so heavily on his staff while walking the ground could be agile as a squirrel in the trees and rocks.
He stopped about halfway and looked down at her. “Your father’s bow? Ashiin gave it back, I see.”
“I wouldn’t say she gave it back exactly.”
“Ha! I don’t doubt it.” He looked around, staring into the swiftly falling twilight. The bats were not yet out, but the shadows under the trees were thick already, and the first stars would be out soon. “Come up,” he said. “Quickly.”
She didn’t understand, but didn’t argue. Holding the bow in one hand, she worked her way up the vines and branches. She could hear Gleed muttering above her, and as she came near, she saw a particularly tight knot of vines and leaves writhe and part, like the opening of a huge vertical eyelid. Beyond was a crumbling window, leading into the tower.
Gleed climbed into it and she heard him call, “Quickly, girl!”
She wedged the bow in first, then pulled herself in after.
The old goblin muttered again, and the vines and leaves closed behind her, plunging them both into darkness.
“Half a moment,” said Gleed, and he spoke an incantation, quiet but clear. His staff lit first, suffusing the chamber with a green light. It caught in hundreds of symbols and runes and scratchings around the chamber. Some seemed to have been painted with some sort of metallic ink, some carved into the stone itself, and a few were even shoots and roots that had been braided and twisted into unnatural shapes. But every one of them caught the arcane light and seemed to kindle lights of their own—a hundred variations of green, blue, red, gold, and silver.
“What is this place?” said Hweilan. She could see no other way in or out. The window through which they’d come had been completely sealed by the vines, and if there had ever been another door in wall or floor, she could find no trace of it.
“A place safe from prying ears and eyes,” said Gleed. He shuffled to the middle of the floor, then turned and sat. “We must speak. Please, sit.”
She sat cross-legged in front of him, the bow across her lap. Gleed’s one good eye had closed to little more than a slit, buried in the wrinkles of his brow, but his other—usually a milky white—stared wide, and caught every glow and sparkle in the room. Hweilan wondered how blind that eye really was, or if it merely saw things the other could not.
“We spoke once before,” said Gleed, “of your friend Lendri, of his ghost coming to you—and your family in the Witness Cloud. Have you seen them since?”
“No,” said Hweilan.
“Tell me again what he said—as exactly as you can remember.”
“The first time—the night you brought me to the tower and I tried to run away—he seemed angry, accusing, blaming me for his death—and my family’s. But the day in the Witness Cloud, he seemed …” She searched for the right word in any of the languages she knew, could not find one, so simply chose those closest. “Sad. And desperate. He said he would not return, no matter who called him.”
“You’re certain? Those were his words?”
“Yes.”
“This Lendri … he was an exile?”
“So he said.”
“Do you know why?”
“No,” said Hweilan. “He never told me.”
“Hm. Well, whatever it was, until that sin is atoned, his ghost cannot rest, I think. Why he comes to you, now …” Gleed shrugged. “I can only guess. I am not Vil Adanrath and I am no priest, but I will tell you this. The Witnesses are always here.” He waved her hand and looked around to emphasize her point. “The ancestors watch, even now. The veil separating us from them is thin. At times of need or great import, that veil is lifted so their presence might encourage us and their wisdom guide us. Why you see Lendri, why Dedunan has not allowed him rest … it seems that this Lendri is not done with you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do either. But I do believe that your friend cannot rest, and his one hope of rest seems to lie in you.”
Hweilan considered this, but the more she thought, the more baffled she felt. The only thing she knew of Lendri’s exile was that it had something to do with the oaths he had sworn to one of her forefathers—one he held so sacred that he had sought her and helped her at the cost of his own life.
“You cared for him?” Gleed asked.
Hweilan needed little time to consider before answering this honestly. “I bar
ely knew him. But when I needed him, he was there—even if the reasons were his own. And he died trying to save me. I am indebted to him.”
Gleed nodded. She thought he seemed pleased, but also that he was still holding something. “Remember that in the days ahead,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You remember what we discussed last night?”
For a moment Hweilan was annoyed that he had disregarded her question, but then his question sank in. Fighting the demon, having her back broken, healed, and then regaining her father’s bow … it had driven last night’s conversation from her mind. I can help you get away, Gleed had said.
“That’s why we’re in here,” she said, looking around at the glowing symbols. “A place safe from prying ears and eyes.”
“Yes,” said Gleed. “What I am about to tell you, you must tell no one else. Not the Master—especially not Ashiin—and if you so much as mutter it in your sleep, you’ll kill us both. You—”
“Gleed, stop.” Hweilan was surprised at the vehemence in her voice, but she pressed on despite the old goblin’s angry scowl. “I know what you said. But I don’t care. I don’t want to get away. I am the Hand. I’m going to kill Jagun Ghen.”
Gleed snorted. “Stupid girl. You couldn’t ‘kill’ him if you tried. Not even the Master—”
“Send him to the Abyss, then,” she said. “Bind him, banish him … I don’t care what name you put on it. I’m going to deal with him, once and for all, or die trying. I don’t want to get away.”
“I know. You think I’d have gone to the pain of teaching you if I didn’t want Jagun Ghen gone? But what about after?”
She looked down at the bow, and again her father’s face came to mind. “After that … well, I’ll decide then.”
Gleed gave her a sharp poke with the end of his staff. “No, you won’t! Stupid girl. Wait till then, and it’ll be too late! Have you learned nothing from Ashiin? If you want to win, you must plan. You must plot. You must prepare.”
Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II Page 18
