The Brothers Three: Book One of The Blackwood Saga

by Layton Green

  “What’s wrong with that?” Will mumbled.

  “Nothing, Will the Builder.” Her mocking tone returned. “Nothing at all.”

  After dinner, Mala took Will to the edge of the glade, reprising the training from the day session. Darkness had settled, and when Will questioned the late hour of the training, Mala asked in a scornful tone if he thought all battles occurred during the day.

  After they finished, Will limped back to camp, his muscles sorer than he had thought possible. Halfway across the glade, he heard a nervous whinny from one of the horses.

  Mala stilled. Lance’s shout rang through the night, causing Will’s stomach to lurch and his palms to slick with sweat. “Incoming riders at three o’clock!”

  Mala’s sash and sword were already in her hands, and Will’s adrenaline spiked. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he realized he didn’t even have his sword. He whirled towards Mala. She put a calming hand on his wrist.

  “Alexander?” she called out.

  “It’s them,” the geomancer shouted back.

  Some of the tension left Will’s body, and he said, “Who’s them?”

  “The remaining members of our party,” she said, then turned to face him, eyes blazing. “Never leave your sword behind.”

  “Not even when I’m training with you?”

  “Never.”

  As Will returned to camp, he saw Alexander approaching three Native American riders on horseback who had materialized out of the darkness.

  The lead rider was one of the most imposing men Will had ever seen. Scratch that, he thought. He was the most imposing, carrying a good seventy pounds more than Lance’s two hundred ten. Built more like a lumberjack than a bodybuilder, he looked as if he could pull tree stumps out of the ground with his bare hands. His hair was dyed red and pulled back in a short ponytail, breechcloth and leggings covered the lower half of his body, and his torso was bare. Tribal tattoos swarmed his upper chest and arms.

  A huge cudgel rested easily in one hand, and the two men behind him, smaller and wirier, carried hatchets. All three wore moccasins and had bows and arrows slung across their backs.

  Alexander exchanged a nod with the larger man, though it seemed curt. When Mala approached, the leader dismounted and clasped her arm. “Well met, Hashi,” she said, then turned back to the group. “The last additions to the party.”

  After the newcomers tended to their horses, one of Hashi’s men passed around a flask containing a corn-sweetened fermented beverage that made Will gag. He hung around long enough to learn the new arrivals were Chickasaw, and the two smaller men were twins named Akocha and Fochik.

  Will was curious to learn more, but he crawled into his sleeping sack, too exhausted to keep his eyes open. The hard ground tortured his bruised body, and thoughts of the unknown things awaiting on their journey slithered into his dreams.

  -23-

  Will turned in for the night. From beside the fire, Val watched Marguerite beckon to Caleb.

  “Stay within the perimeter,” Mala cautioned.

  “Caleb?” Val asked, as the middle brother eased to his feet.

  “Stealth training,” Caleb replied, with a tired grin.

  Val snapped a twig as Caleb walked off. Val knew they were both adults now, but he also knew he would always feel responsible for them, no matter what world they were in.

  The Chickasaw and Lance retired soon after. Mala was engaged in conversation with Allira on the other side of the fire, Allira nodding and making occasional hand gestures.

  Alexander sat on a log next to Val, his cloak settling around him. “Do you mind?”

  Val opened a palm, still unsure how to play Alexander. He wanted to probe him about Zedock and ask about their father, but first he needed to feel him out and gain his trust. And it was hard to gain trust when Val was pretending to be someone he was not.

  Alexander held up the jug. “More wine?”

  The geomancer had an open face and a warm smile. Despite Val’s mistrust of wizards, he had to admit Alexander did not strike Val as self-interested.

  “That’s a beautiful staff,” Alexander said. “The mark of a spirit mage.”

  This could go downhill fast, Val thought. “It was my father’s.”

  Alexander looked at Val as if waiting for him to continue. Val had already decided to give up as little information as possible, though he wanted to create distance and respect by letting him know his father had been a spirit mage.

  Whatever that was.

  “I share my father’s tradition as well,” Alexander said. “I’m unsure if Mala told you, but I’m a geomancer.” His eyes crinkled. “Not every child can grow up to be a spirit mage.”

  Still no trace of cynicism. “Or a wizard at all,” Val said.

  “Quite true. I’ve always felt that being wizard-born is not just a privilege, but a duty to lift up our fellow man. And woman,” he said, glancing at Mala and Allira.

  Val turned to face the fire. “Which is why you avoid the Congregation?”

  “Are my political views that transparent?”

  “More that you’re on this journey, and I doubt the Congregation would approve of our goal.”

  “Indeed,” Alexander said, though Val detected an odd note in his reply. Perhaps regret.

  Val expected Alexander to ask about his own position on the Congregation, and Val had an evasive answer prepared. Instead, Alexander said, in a calm voice, “I understand from Mala you’re unable to access your abilities. It’s not a gentleman’s place to pry, but if there’s anything I can do to help . . . please do not hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you,” Val murmured, still facing the fire.

  Alexander rose and yawned. “I’m off, then. I trust you’ll find some rest tonight.”

  Val was surprised he hadn’t probed further. Perhaps he was playing it slow. “And you,” Val said.

  Alexander retired, leaving Mala staring at the last of the red-gold embers. Val walked over to her.

  “You should rest,” she said.

  “There’re a few things on my mind.”

  She waited for him to continue, wrapping herself tighter in her cloak. The night was cooling fast.

  Val sat and met her gaze. “How’s my brother’s training coming?”

  “He’s a quick study,” she said, toeing a small log into the fire. “And he has heart.”

  “You mean for a beginner, after a day of practice.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You begrudge your brother these qualities?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. But he’s also brash and cause-driven. When he was young, he couldn’t bear to see one child picking on another. He would always intervene.”

  “He has a hero complex,” Mala said.

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you should let him be a hero.”

  Val pointed a finger at her. “Listen to me. I agree he needs some basic skills, but under no circumstances are you to encourage him to use those skills unless it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Pray tell, what else would it be?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?” Her eyes flashed. “Is that all? Or do you wish to tell me how to instruct him in swordsmanship as well?”

  “My job is to get my brothers home safely.”

  “Then you should consider allowing me to do my job.”

  Val flicked a wood chip onto the blaze. “Fair enough.”

  “Was there anything else, milord?” Her tone implied that Val was as much her lord as one of the horses tied up at the edge of camp.

  The woodchip hissed and popped in the fire. Val didn’t give a damn what she thought; he had made his point. “What’re we looking at? What’s waiting for us at Leonidus’s Keep, if we make it there?”

  “That,” she said, without her usual confidence, “I don’t know.”

  “There’re no rumors, myths, legends?”

  “Such things require survivors in order to cultivate.”

 
Val let out a slow breath.

  “I don’t question your bravery,” he said, “but you’re a businesswoman. You take calculated risks. There’s more to this journey than just gold, isn’t there?”

  “You think far too much,” she said.

  “Then tell me I’m wrong.”

  She turned to him, eyes cold. “A born wizard you are indeed. One thousand gold pieces is more than enough reason for this journey.” Mala stood and stamped on the remnants of the fire. “We leave at first light.”

  Val knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until Caleb returned, but he slipped inside his sleeping roll and lay on his back, hands behind his head, a few yards from where Will was lightly snoring.

  Val gazed at the impossibly bright stars filling the sky of this world like a million fireflies caught mid-glow, trying to shake his feeling of dread. He felt helpless, knowing he utterly lacked the ability to protect himself in this alien place. More importantly, he knew he couldn’t protect his brothers.

  Weakness was a new feeling for him, a crippling one.

  And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

  “I s’pose there’ll be no warmin’ ourselves by the fire tonight,” Marguerite said, pulling Caleb towards her sleeping roll. Her slangy accent reminded him of a mixture between Cajun and Cockney. In contrast to Yasmina’s melodic and educated voice, Caleb found Marguerite’s voice low and throaty, teasing, indicative of a woman who had few inhibitions.

  “We could get warm another way,” he said, pausing just long enough to give his insinuation bite. He hefted a half-empty jug of wine with a sly grin.

  She eyed the wine and then Caleb, her gray eyes wisps of smoke in the darkness. “All right by me,” she said.

  From the beginning, Caleb had developed an easy rapport with Marguerite. She had a disposition almost as relaxed as his, and was a fellow devotee of the Good Life.

  During the first few sessions, she had patiently taught him the basics of lock picking and creeping through a forest undetected, though Caleb felt tall and awkward and kept crunching on leaves.

  She took his abhorrence of violence in stride. Combat skills were useful in dicey situations, she said, and essential for some rogues, but Caleb could specialize as he wanted. He felt relieved beyond measure to hear this.

  After they finished the jug of wine, Marguerite used his lap as a headrest, and gazed up at him with her slate-colored eyes. “A fine companion you are. Everyone can be so stiff on these journeys. I always say, the ’igher the risk, the more reason to live while ye can. One never knows what might happen tomorrow.”

  “My philosophy exactly.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Tell me about yourself.”

  She arched into his caresses. “Not much to tell. I’m a ranking member of the Rogue’s Guild, which just means I’ve stayed alive longer than most.”

  “Were your parents rogues? Did you go to rogue school?”

  Her laugh, rich and throaty, stirred his blood. “I was born a beggar in the slums of New Victoria. Never knew my parents. I ’ad some success loosening purses,” she reached behind his neck and drew his mouth close before batting her eyes and pulling away, revealing a handful of gold coins, “especially with men.”

  He glanced at the coins. He hadn’t felt the slightest tug. “I can see why.”

  “I got on with a gang for safety, worked my way from slave to indentured servant, then bought my freedom and joined the Rogues Guild.”

  “Can anyone join?” he said.

  “It’s by invite only, though you can petition for yourself or others. They pluck the good thieves off the street, take a tithe, and offer protection and shelter.”

  His hands moved downward, brushing his fingers across the top of her chest. Her skin prickled at his touch. “How’d you fall in with Mala and Allira?”

  “Allira I don’t know much about. I take it she’s from New South Wales, with the boomerangs and such. Mala and me, we’ve lots of history. When I was sixteen, a brigadier in the Protectorate Army saw me swipe a purse and dragged me to an alley. ’E was going to turn me in after he did a few other things, but Mala noticed and gave ’im a crack on the skull. She sponsored me for the Guild a few months later.”

  “She was already a member?”

  “She was already a guildmaster. Youngest ever, I hear. Doesn’t like to talk about her past, but she took a liking to me and we ’ad a few good years before she disappeared.”

  “Where to?”

  Marguerite reached up to stroke his face. “Rumor was she joined the Alazashin.”

  His voice had lost a few octaves from his growing desire. “The what?”

  “A secret society of thieves and assassins, rumored to be the best in the world. It’s said they live and train on a mountain in the Arabian Empire and hire themselves out to the ’ighest bidders. Kings and wizards and such.”

  “Why’d she leave?” he asked.

  “That’s the thing, see. Rumor is no one leaves the Alazashin. Mala doesn’t talk about it, but I s’pose it’s resolved. She’s been in and out of New Victoria ever since. She’s a legend in certain circles. But that’s enough about me and mine. What is this Alaska like?”

  They were alone in the darkness, the only sounds the buzzing of the forest and light snoring from the others. Caleb let his hands slip lower, under her blouse. “It’s very, very cold in Alaska. And we’re good at keeping warm.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself into his lap. “Then you’ll have to give me a few lessons o’ your own.”

  They broke camp and set out at first light. Will wasn’t sure his body would make it through the day. An hour or so into the ride, Lance rode up between Will and Caleb.

  “I’ve been thinking—and I don’t want to hear any cracks, Blackwood—about this world. I don’t know how we got here, but maybe none of this was real until we made it real, if you know what I mean.” He paused and pursed his lips. “I saw this TV special once on quantum physics. What if this world’s like one of those quantum probabilities that didn’t actualize until we got here? You know, that whole philosophy of reality about if a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

  “I didn’t know you were that deep, Lance buddy,” Caleb said. “As a rule, I try not to philosophize before noon.”

  Will snorted. “Lamest theory ever. Of course a falling tree makes a sound. Trees make sound.”

  Lance rubbed at his scalp. “Sorry if I’m not as big a fantasy geek as you. I’m having trouble accepting all of this.”

  Will was glad to see his friend acting a bit like the old Lance. “Of course you are,” Will said. “Human beings thought the sun revolved around the earth for most of history. Let me ask you: what’s harder to believe, the fact that other life-bearing planets and universes exist out there in the infinity of space, or the fact that somehow our planet is the only one?”

  “I choose the middle one,” Caleb said. “Whatever that is.”

  “But why us?” Lance mumbled. “Why’re we the only ones to discover this world?”

  “That’s just as egocentric as your last theory. We’ve been here, what, five minutes? If we can get here, then so can others. Zedock and Salomon have done it. Think about the things we’ve seen already in this world, and think about the myths and legends on Earth. Dragons, wizards, minotaurs, magic weapons . . . I’m starting to think we’ve had quite a few visitors from this world over the years. And I bet the reverse is true, too.”

  A loud whistle broke the morning stillness, and seconds later Akocha, who had been scouting up front, came galloping towards them. Mala and Hashi met him on the road and came racing back.

  “Off the Byway!” Mala ordered. “There’s a Protectorate patrol up ahead, approaching fast.”

  A flutter of panic enveloped Will, but there was nothing to do but follow along as they crashed into the forest. A few minutes later, branches whipping into their faces, Hashi brought them to a stop and pointed at a barely visi
ble trail.

  “Native?” Mala asked.

  Hashi’s face was the color of new brick. In fact, he reminded Will of an actual brick, one carrying a scarily large cudgel.

  Hashi grunted. “Too crude. Old logging or mining trail.”

  “Let’s see where this leads,” Mala said, “then cut back over.”

  A weird bark sounded from behind them, followed by jumbled voices drifting on the breeze. The bark sounded vaguely canine, though higher-pitched than any dog Will had ever heard, and with an edge of crazed laughter. More barks joined in.

  The horses whinnied and showed the whites of their eyes. Mala swore. “They have hyena wolves. Hashi, can you outrun them in the forest?”

  He nodded, once, as Allira sprinkled a brown powder on the ground.

  “Ground powder might not stymie them,” Mala said. “Hashi, lead them through the brush and wait for us past the village. With luck they’ll follow the noise and the stronger smell.”

  “Aye,” Hashi said, then spurred his men away.

  “We take the trail,” Mala said. “It’s faster and perhaps they’ll miss it.” She clicked her horse to action. “Move.”

  Will spent half the ride avoiding whipping twigs and low-hanging branches, the other half peering in terror over his shoulder and wondering if a hyena wolf was as bad as it sounded. His legs clamped onto his steed like a pair of pliers, but he still bounced up and down and worried he would tumble off his horse on a sharp turn.

  The crazed howling resumed, louder than before. “I don’t think they were fooled,” Alexander said.

  “Or they split up,” Mala said grimly. She turned to Alexander. “How many can you handle?”

  “If they rush us? Three, perhaps four.”

  That’s it? Will thought, in a state of panic. He had started to ascribe near mythic power to wizards and was stunned to find out now, as they were being hunted by soldiers and some kind of hybrid tracking beast, that Alexander could only account for a handful.

  Val pointed and spoke in a harsh whisper. “Look!”

  Up ahead, just off the trail, Will saw a smudge of darkness set into a low hillock. They drew closer and saw a wood-beamed entrance.