by Nicole Burr
“I see,” Muriol nodded. “I can give ye something to ease the discomfort, but unfortunately that is all.”
“What is it? Cane said it might be from Witch Hazel,” Esra asked, curious at such a thing that could stump the town’s very capable apothecary.
“I know no remedy fer such a thing. Here,” she said, taking a small jar down from the shelf. “Place this ointment on yer skin twice a day. And don’t worry, it will not spread beyond yer arms.”
Esra was confused at the woman’s cryptic answer, but relieved at this small victory. At least if Muriol didn’t know what it was, then at least she thought it wouldn’t get worse. She pulled out the small cloth purse that was attached to the inside of her cloak. “Thank ye. How much?”
“Nothing, nothing,” the Herb woman chided, waving them towards the door.
“But I must…”
“No,” Muriol insisted. “Go home and speak of this no more. The ointment will help until later.”
And with that Esra found herself back in the bright light of the street, Meshok panting beside her.
“Well, that was strange,” Esra mumbled to her friend, who had already disappeared from the prying eyes of the town. Tucking the jar into her cloak, she began the journey back home with tired, heavy legs. It had been a very long and thoroughly exhausting day. Esra thought about what her grandmother had said, that one day she may leave this town. She wondered if that road would feel much longer than the one she traveled now.
VI
Her studies with Cane had been slowly taking shape for the last six Moons. She had watched out the open window during their lessons as a mild fall gave way to a dreary winter that seemed to drag on forever. They had finished with history and moved on to royal affairs, studying how the King had come to be, what his responsibilities were, and all the major players in the Kingdom of LeVara. She could tell you who were the head of mercantile and first apothecary, and even the name of the palace cook. Esra had brushed up on her limited pronunciations of the ancient languages and began to practice reading and writing in Tur, which was immensely hard for her.
All this left little time for Esra to worry about Cane’s cryptic warnings about the Kingdom being in danger, and the secret war of the Keepers and Elites. She didn’t think she could possibly handle the stress of that topic with all the stringent new requirements for her lessons. And although she had sensed the presence of the man following her in the forest on multiple occasions, Esra never caught sight of him again.
Today she had arrived breathless and late to see Cane perched upon his armchair in waiting, seemingly lost in thought somewhere far away. She plopped down in the chair across from him as Meshok circled on the rug between them. In typical Cane fashion, he began drumming his hands upon the arm of his chair for the next minute, not saying a word.
Suddenly he looked up at her and blurted, “I now want to focus on the other three races, the Elves, Unni, and Shendari. Instead of just studying the history and culture, we will discuss the strengths and weaknesses of each peoples, in battle and in diplomacy. Ye should take care to learn the names and responsibility of their leaders, and what each race desires fer their people.”
“What fer?” Esra asked, then recoiled when she saw the stern look on Cane’s long face. She couldn’t help it. There was nothing besides magick that fascinated her more than the three races. And yesterday he had assured her that from this point forward she would be allowed to ask questions and speak freely, which thrilled her after so much disciplined listening. He continued solemnly, as if she hadn’t interrupted.
“We will start with the Elves, since I believe they are the most commonly known and we have already discussed some of their history.”
She shifted in her chair in anticipation, accidentally kicking Meshok in the side. The Wolf groaned loudly and lifted her head in irritation.
“Contrary to what most people believe, the Elves are not a secretive people.”
“Oh. But then why don’t we see one once in a while?” Esra had always thought them to keep to themselves because they did not like Humans, or perhaps because they were distrustful of outsiders.
“Probably fer the same reason most Humans would never make the extensive journey to the mountains. It’s a long, hard journey. If a traveler does make the dangerous trek through the mountains to visit, the Elves welcome newcomers with curiosity and warmth,” Cane explained. “They are not secretive, just shy. They prefer the shade of the mountains, which provide a startling view of LeVara, fer they have a deep reverence fer the natural world. The Elves are also a people who cherish simplicity and tradition, and enjoy the art of storytelling as much as the written word. As such, they are sometimes quite dedicated to learning about their lineage and history. Their simplicity and respect for tradition, however, does not suggest weak minds or an aversion to original thinking, as they are known to be some of the most intelligent, forward thinking scholars. Most of them speak the languages of all four races and the Ancient Tongues as well.”
Cane had recently taught Esra some of the formal Elvish phrases, but had explained that learning the entire language would be quite unnecessary, since all Elves were more than fluent in her tongue. Esra figured the likelihood that she would ever need to use these few sentences would be slim at best. But it thrilled her to know them either way.
“The Veiled City, the Elvish capital, is in the midst of Idona, the tallest peak in The Eshomee Ledges that lay to the northwest, just beyond the Kingdom of LeVara. They are governed by the Elders, a council made up of three of the wisest of their race, who come together once a lunar cycle to discuss important matters. They are the most populous of the three races, with villages and cities scattered throughout all areas of the vast mountain terrain. Elves live, on average, about fifty years longer than a Human.”
“Jumping jig,” Esra exclaimed.
“Their longevity is mostly due to their practice of meditation and other magicks. As ye know, they are a dark skinned people whose physical traits can vary as much as Humans. And although they are similar to Humans in appearance, they all have small scars on their foreheads, which profess membership in a tribe; an indication of their lineage. The Elves are an impressive people, known fer their skill in sword, spear throwing, and stealth. They also have a naturally strong affinity towards magick in all forms.”
Cane paused here to pull out his pipe and leaf and began the slow process of packing it precisely. “Where the Elves are the mountain people, the Unni are the forest people. They reside in Fira Nadim Forest, beyond the southeast border of the Human realm. The Forest is made up of Yanquor Trees, which are so tall and wide it would take a hundred paces or more to walk around ones base. Their capital is in Shadow Glenn, a large and mysterious clearing in the east forest. They are known fer their talent with blunt weapons and their ruthless determination in war. They are excellent strategists, and all men and women in their tribes are taught to be warriors soon after taking their first steps.”
“So they’re violent, then?” Esra interjected.
“No, no.” The beginnings of a smile twitched at his mouth. It was always a strange and glorious sight to see Cane smile, his lips curving upwards to battle against the downward pull of the rest of his face. One could always guess how happy or angry he was by the position of the lines on his face. If the edges of the mouth were straight across, things were good. But if they made it past the dimple in his chin, watch out. “The Unni are always at war with the Valkor people who live south of the Forest. The Valkors are a battle hungry people who attack the Unni just to be spiteful, and fer nothing more. And so the Unni have become accustomed to war after generations of being made to fight, though ye could not claim them to be aggressive people at heart. They are proud, however, and will defend their homes and families at all costs.”
“So who are these Valkors?”
“A tribe of people that live far to the south, beyond the limits of LeVara. I honestly don’t know much about them besides the fact that they are very vio
lent, and they haven’t much focus as a society other than attempting to destroy the Unni people and often times each other.”
“So what are the Unni like?”
“They are large and stout, standing about seven to eight feet on average. They have a yellowish tint to their skin and dark yellow eyes. Their faces resemble that of an Ox or Vernok mixed with Human. Two great horns curl upwards and out from either side of their head. They use knives to mark notches in them fer each kill. One of the greatest disgraces an Unni can suffer is if they lose their horns, in battle or otherwise. It is a great deterrent fer crime, as punishments are to take off varying amounts of horns in line with the severity of the offense. One cannot fight well without horns, as they are used in basic defensive and offensive maneuvers. The Unni also have a covering of dark, coarse hair all over their bodies, which when paired with the horns make them appear quite menacing. They also can live to be around a thousand years old.”
“A thousand! Unbelievable. Have ye ever met one?”
“Yes, I have in fact. Although unlike the mountains and The Veiled City, Fira Nadim is not generally a welcoming place fer visitors. The Unni are not a murderous people, as I have said, but they do not enjoy outsiders. The few times a brave soul ventured into the south Forest, they were…forcibly removed.”
“So how did ye meet an Unni?”
“Actually, I am…” Cane took a long moment to light his pipe, puffing gently with his mouth formed in a perfect circle, “familiar with their leader, a chief referred to as the Unni-se. He is a great warrior named Zakai, who carries a flail into battle and is a formidable foe. He is known far and wide fer his skill in battle tactics. Zakai is a strategist unlike any I have ever seen, and absolutely frightening to meet. The Unni-se is not one to be trifled with but can also be an extremely loyal ally and is known to be a fair ruler fer his people.”
“Ye know the Unni-se?” Esra exclaimed, astonished that he had never revealed such unbelievable information before. “Wait a minute…what is a flail?”
“A flail is a special kind of weapon with a long handle that has a chain and spiked metal ball attached to the end. It’s a rather deadly, messy thing.”
“Oh dear.” She pictured Zakai, the massive Unni-se letting out a deep roar as he swung the weapon of death around his horned head, smashing in his opponents’ skulls. It was a terrifying picture. “They are definitely a people I would want on my side and not against me.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Cane laughed, sputtering smoke. “Lastly, there are the Shendari, the Water people. They live on Ember Isle on the south corner of Fire Lake. Fire Lake, as ye have studied in yer geography lessons, is the enormous body of Water on the northeast border of the Kingdom, and although some of the lake in principle resides in King Keridon’s realm, no King had ever actively sought to lay claim to this territory. It is an unspoken rule that Fire Lake is off limits to Humans, especially Ember Isle.
“The Shendari are small, probably only three to four feet in height, and although they resemble Humans in their structure, they are covered in a hardened, porous flesh that allows them to breathe under Water. They are an orange color when newly hatched, and grow darker red with age. Although they are extremely talkative, their language is indecipherable to the Human ear, and so they are the most mysterious of the races, as communication is very limited.”
“So no one has ever spoken to them?” Esra asked.
“Not exactly. There was a time long ago when the Shendari aided the Elves in battle, and the Elves seemed to understand their language as a result, but the two races no longer mingle. And I have heard rumors that once in a while a Human is born who can understand them, but I do not know if that is true. Some of the Keepers can communicate with them, and the Shendari are quite capable of understanding Human speech when taught properly.”
“So who is their leader? Is he as fierce as the Unni-se?”
“They do not usually have leaders, but when they do it is a woman, and she is more than fierce,” Cane reached up and scratched his half bald head. “They function and make decisions as a community, except in times of war. The Shendari are extremely playful creatures and need no sleep to regain strength. Although they can be underwater fer hours they prefer to reside on Ember Isle. Ye can see their clusters of thatched huts from the shore on a clear day. They do not believe in material goods and so keep only the bare minimum of items around in order to live.”
“The only time a leader is chosen is during times of war. The community will convene to choose a chief, known as the Daughter of the Shendari. The leader is always a woman, and in most cases, all of the warriors are women. Men go to battle only if it cannot be avoided as they are the caretakers of the young. The Shendari women are known to be fierce and strong, and the Daughter is the most ruthless and fearless one of all. Once chosen, she is followed without question into battle. She will also prefer to lead her people at the head of battle as an example of a bold warrior, not order them around from a safe distance like many Human commanders. As a result, most wars that included the Elves and the Shendari proved to be victorious. The Water people lead a life of leisure during most times, but when called to aide, exhibit abounding determination and skill.”
“But they’re so small,” Esra pointed out. “Ye said only three to four feet. How do they fight then?”
Cane laughed loudly, causing Meshok’s ears to prick up in anticipation. “I wish one of them could hear ye say that. They would laugh until their sides ached. The Shendari warriors are known as Water Riders, who bring creatures known as Pura to battle. The Pura are massive black beasts who resemble Lizards with short, stunted legs and long, flat heads. They are about eight feet long by five feet a breadth, and as tall as Fariel, yer grandparents great Steed. The Pura only ever allow themselves to be ridden by the Water Riders. They have long, spiked tails that release venom into a victim when they are punctured, which immobilizes them if they aren’t already crushed. The Shendari are not only skilled in riding the Pura, but are immensely gifted in using a bow.
“Now that there are no battles to fight, they spend their time in leisure, exploring the lake or playing games. Interestingly, I must tell ye that the Shendari do not actually die of old age or natural causes. They are believed to have an unparalleled skill in the magick of healing and meditation, making them practically immortal. They can be killed in battle, which is a very difficult task given their natural scale armor, but never by disease or age.”
“Immortal!” Esra exclaimed. She never knew there was so much diversity in the races. And yet she was only skimming the surface, like a Bird that swoops in to catch a Fish on the crest of the Water but never gets to dive under to explore.
“I want ye to take these home tonight and study them,” Cane walked over to one of his countless shelves and pulled down three thin, battered books. “I know this has been a rather short lesson in comparison, but I think reading these will give ye a greater understanding of the other three races. And it will give ye a bit of a rest before tomorrow’s festival.”
“Alright,” Esra agreed, tucking the books into her cloak. Her grandparents had grown used to Esra bringing home large volumes of this or that. Often, she awoke to her grandfather pulling a blanket over her in the chair where she had fallen asleep reading next to the Fire. Even Meshok seemed to be more patient and apt to stay curled next to Esra’s side.
“Goodday, Esra,” Cane offered, returning to the padded green chair and his pipe.
“Goodday,” she called happily as she half skipped in excitement towards the stairs. She wanted to get home and read these books so that she could go to bed early, for tomorrow began the next Trader’s Day. It had approached with startling quickness and she was grateful that the next couple of days would afford her some much needed rest. They hadn’t even spent any time coming up with the perfect Sorley quote as they usually did the weeks before a festival.
Esra was the type of person who loved to keep busy and was always working on so
me task or another, but she was beginning to feel run down. She was quite certain that her head would not hold any more information as it was, and attempting to stuff more facts into it would prove very unsuccessful.
She exited the door at the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the midst of a crisp, cool spring day. It wouldn’t be long before she was home and fed and done with her reading, where she would fall into a deep state of dreamless slumber.
VII
Esra awoke to Meshok tenderly licking her arm as it was hanging from the side of her bed, and she felt better than she had in many fortnights. Clasping her hands above her head, she stretched slowly, assessing the weather through her window. The Sun was shining brightly from a sky dotted with a few feathery clouds. She gave Meshok a vigorous ear scratching before rising to change from her nightdress and pull on her new leather boots. Remembering that it was Trader’s Day, Esra felt another jolt of happiness overcome her. Surely nothing could bring her mood down today.
Bounding down the stairs with Meshok at her heels, she found her grandmother at the table mending an apron and swooped down to kiss her cheek.
“Well, ye seem to be in a pleasant mood today,” her grandmother smiled.
“Aye,” Esra agreed, spooning herself some Apple and Wheat breakfast from the pot on the Fire. “I daresay I’m ready fer a break, as much as I have learned in the last few Moons.”
“And it is a break ye well deserve, my dear,” she patted Esra gently on the arm, motioning toward a small leather pouch with a note attached. “Oh, and that’s fer ye today from yer grandfather.”
Esra set her bowl down on the table and reached for the letter.
My sweet little vagabond,
Yer grandmother and I are so proud of ye. We know that life has been very demanding as of late, and ye have borne this burden with dignity and acceptance. We wish fer ye to have a wonderful three days of rest, so enjoy this gift. And please do not spend it on yer grandmother and I, fer I assure ye we have plans to treat ourselves on this occasion as well.
