by Various
Vaelin looked at him sharply. “It’s no story, master.”
Sollis tossed another log on the fire, scattering sparks over the hearth. He prodded the logs with a poker, not looking at Vaelin as he spoke. “The Lonak have no word for secret. Did you know that? To them everything is important, to be written down, recorded, told over and over. The Order has no such belief. We have fought battles that left more than a hundred corpses on the ground and not a word of it has ever been set down. The Order fights, but often it fights in shadow, without glory or reward. We have no banners.” He tossed Vaelin’s fletching into the fire, the damp feathers hissed in the flame then curled and withered to nothing. “Mikehl was taken by a bear, a rare sight in the Urlish but some still prowl the depths of the woods. You found the remains and reported it to me. Tomorrow Master Hutril will retrieve them and we will give our fallen brother to the fire and thank him for the gift of his life.”
Vaelin felt no shock, no surprise. It was obvious there was more here than he could know. “Why did you warn me not to help the others, Master?”
Sollis stared into the fire for a while and Vaelin had decided he wasn’t going to answer when he said, “We sever our ties with our blood when we give ourselves to the Order. We understand this, outsiders do not. Sometimes the Order is no protection against the feuds that rage beyond our walls. We cannot always protect you. The others were not likely to be hunted.” His fist was white on the poker as he prodded the fire, his cheek muscles bulged with suppressed rage. “I was wrong. Mikehl paid the price of my mistake.”
My father, Vaelin thought. They sought my death to wound him. Whoever they are they know him not.
“Master, what of the wolf? Why would a wolf seek to aid me?”
Master Sollis put the poker aside and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s a thing I don’t understand. I’ve been many places and seen many things but a wolf killing men is not one of them, and killing without feeding.” He shook his head. “Wolves don’t do that. There is something else at work here. Something that touches the Dark.”
Vaelin’s shivers intensified momentarily. The Dark. The servants in his father’s house had used the phrase sometimes, usually in hushed tones when they thought no-one else could hear. It was something people said when things happened that shouldn’t happen; children being born with the blood-sign discolouring their faces, dogs giving birth to cats and ships found adrift at sea with no crew. Dark.
“Two of your brothers made it back before you did,” Sollis said. “You’d better go and tell them about Mikehl.”
This interview was clearly over. Sollis would tell him nothing else. It was obvious, and sad. Master Sollis was a man of many stories and much wisdom, he knew much more than the correct grip on a sword or the right angle to slash a blade at a man’s eyes, but Vaelin suspected little of it was ever heard. He wanted to hear more of the Lonak and their war bands and their High Priestess, he wanted to know of the Dark, but Sollis’s eyes were fixed on the fire, lost in thought, the way his father had looked so many times. So he got to his feet and said, “Yes master.” He drained the rest of his warm milk and gathered the blanket around him, clutching his damp clothes as he moved to the door.
“Tell no one, Sorna.” There was a note of command is Sollis’s voice, the tone he used before he swung his cane. “Confide in no one. This is a secret that could mean your death.”
“Yes master,” Vaelin repeated. He went out into the chilled hallway and made his way to the north tower, huddled and shivering, the cold so intense he wondered if he would collapse before he made it up the steps but the milk Master Sollis had given him left just enough warmth and sustenance to fuel his journey.
He found Dentos and Barkus in the room when he staggered through the door, both slumped on their bunks, fatigue evident in their faces. Strangely they seemed enlivened by his arrival, both rising to greet him with back slaps and forced jokes.
“Can’t find your way in the dark, eh?” Barkus laughed. “Would’ve beaten this one back easily if I hadn’t been caught by the current.”
“Current?” Vaelin asked, bemused by the warmth of their welcome.
“Crossed too early,” Barkus explained. “Up near the narrows. I thought I was done I can tell you. Got washed up right opposite the gate but Dentos was already there.”
Vaelin dumped his clothes on his bunk and moved to the fire, bathing in the warmth. “You were first, Dentos?”
“Aye. Was sure it would be Caenis but we’ve not seen him yet.”
Vaelin was surprised too; Caenis’s woodcraft left them all to shame. Still he lacked Barkus’s strength and Dentos’s speed.
“At least we beat the other companies,” Barkus said, referring to the boys in other groups. “None of them have turned up yet. Lazy bastards.”
“Yeh,” Dentos agreed. “Passed a few of them on the way. Lost as a virgin in a brothel they were.”
Vaelin frowned. “What’s a brothel?”
The other two exchanged an amused glance and Barkus changed the subject. “We smuggled some apples from the kitchen.” He pulled back his bed covers to reveal his prizes. “Pies too. We’ll have us a feast when the others get here.” He lifted an apple to his mouth for a hearty bite. They had all become enthusiastic thieves, it was a universal habit, anything of the meanest value could be expected to disappear in short order if not securely hidden. The straw in their mattresses had long since been replaced with any stray piece of fabric or soft hide they could lay their hands on. Punishment for theft was often severe but bereft of any lectures on immorality or dishonesty and soon they came to realise that they were not being punished for stealing but for getting caught. Barkus was their most prolific thief, especially when it came to food, closely followed by Mikehl who specialised in clothing… Mikehl.
Vaelin stared into the fire, biting his lip, deciding how to phrase the lie. It’s a bad thing, he decided. It’s a hard thing to lie to your friends. “Mikehl’s dead,” he said finally. He couldn’t think of a kinder way to say it and winced at the sudden silence. “He… was taken by a bear. I—I found what was left.” Behind him he heard Barkus spit out his mouthful of apple. There was a rustle as Dentos sank heavily onto his bunk. Vaelin gritted his teeth and went on, “Master Hutril will bring the body back tomorrow so we can give him to the fire.” A log cracked in the fire place. The chill was almost gone and the heat was starting to make his skin itch. “So we can give thanks for his life.”
Nothing was said. He thought Dentos might be crying but didn’t have the heart to turn and see for sure. After a while he moved away from the fire and went to his bunk, laying his clothes out to dry, unstringing his bow and stowing his quiver.
The door opened and Nortah entered, rain soaked but triumphant. “Fourth!” he exulted. “I was sure I’d be last.” Vaelin hadn’t seen him cheerful before, it was disconcerting. As was Nortah’s ignorance of their evident grief.
“I even got lost twice,” he laughed, dumping his gear on his bunk. “Saw a wolf too.” He went to the fire, hands splayed to soak up the heat. “So scared I couldn’t move.”
“You saw a wolf?” Vaelin asked.
“Oh yes. Big bastard. Think he’d already fed though. There was blood on his snout.”
“What kind of bear?” Dentos asked.
“What?”
“Was it a black or a brown? Brown’s are bigger and nastier. Black’s don’t come near men mostly.”
“Wasn’t a bear,” Nortah said, puzzled. “A wolf I said.”
“I don’t know,” Vaelin told Dentos. “I didn’t see it.”
“Then how d’y’know it was a bear?”
“Mikehl got taken by a bear,” Barkus told Nortah.
“Claw marks,” Vaelin said, realising deceit was more difficult than he imagined. “He was… in bits.”
“Bits!” Nortah exclaimed in disgust. “Mikehl was in bits?!”
“’Cos my uncle said y’don’t get browns in the Urlish,” Dentos said dully. “O
nly get ’em in the north.”
“I bet it was that wolf I saw,” Nortah whispered in shock. “The wolf I saw ate Mikehl. It would’ve eaten me if it hadn’t been full.”
“Wolves don’t eat people,” Dentos said.
“Maybe it was rabid.” He sank onto his bunk in shock. “I was nearly eaten by a rabid wolf!”
And so it went, the other boys arrived one by one, tired and wet but relieved at having passed the test, their smiles fading when they heard the news. Dentos and Nortah argued over wolves and bears and Barkus shared out his meagre spoils to be eaten in numb silence. Vaelin wrapped himself in his blanket and tried to forget the sight of Mikehl’s slack lifeless features and the feel of dead flesh through the fabric of the sack as he scraped a shallow grave in the dirt….
He woke shuddering with cold a few hours later. The last vestiges of a dream fled from his mind as his eyes accustomed to the dark. He was grateful the dream had slipped away, the few images lingering in his mind told him it was best forgotten. The other boys were asleep, Barkus snoring, softly for once, the logs in the fireplace blackened and smouldering. He stumbled out of bed to relight the fire, the darkness of the room suddenly scared him more than the gloom of the forest.
“There’s no more logs, brother.”
He turned to find Caenis sitting on his bunk. He was still dressed, his clothes glistening with damp in the dim moonlight seeping through the shutters. His face was hidden in shadow.
“When did you get in?” Vaelin asked, rubbing feeling back into his hands. He never knew a body could get so cold.
“A while ago.” Caenis’s voice was a vacant drone, drained of emotion.
“You heard about Mikehl?” Vaelin began to pace about, hoping to walk some warmth back into his muscles.
“Yes,” Caenis replied. “Nortah said it was a wolf. Dentos said a bear.”
Vaelin frowned, detecting a note of humour in his brother’s voice. He shrugged it off. They all reacted differently. Jennis, Mikehl’s closest friend, had actually laughed when they told him, a full hearty laugh that went on and on, in fact he laughed so much Barkus had to slap him before he stopped.
“A bear,” Vaelin said.
“Really?” Vaelin was sure Caenis hadn’t moved, but he fancied there was a quizzical incline to his head. “Dentos said you found him. That must have been bad.”
Mikehl’s blood was thick, clotting in the sack, seeping through the weave to stain his hands… “I thought you’d be here when I got in.” Vaelin wrapped his blanket more firmly around his shoulders. “I bet Barkus an afternoon in the garden you’d beat us all back.”
“Oh, I would have. But I was distracted. I happened across a mystery in the forest. Perhaps you could help me puzzle it out. Tell me, what do you make of a dead man with an arrow in his throat? An arrow with no fletching.”
Vaelin’s shudders became almost uncontrollable, his flesh trembling so much his blanket slipped to the floor. “The woods are thick with outlaws, I hear,” he stammered.
“Indeed. So thick I found two more. Not killed with arrows though, mayhap they were taken by a bear, like Mikehl. Perhaps even the same bear.”
“P-perhaps.” What is this? Vaelin held up his hand, staring at the twitching fingers. This is not cold. This is more… He had a sudden, almost irresistible impulse to tell Caenis everything, unburden himself, seek solace in confidence. Caenis was his friend after all. His best friend. Who better to tell? With assassins hunting him he would need a friend to watch his back. They would fight them together…
Confide in no one… This is a secret that could mean your death. Sollis’s words stilled his tongue, firming his resolve. Caenis was his friend it was true, but he couldn’t tell him the truth. It was too big, too important for a whispered secret between boys.
He found his shivers receding as his resolve grew. It really wasn’t that cold. The fear and horror of his night in the forest had left a mark on him, a mark that might never fade, but he would face it and overcome it. There was no other choice.
He retrieved his blanket from the floor and climbed back into his bunk. “Truly the Urlish is a dangerous place,” he said. “You better get those clothes off, brother. Master Sollis’ll whip you raw if you’re too chilled to train tomorrow.”
Caenis sat in unmoving silence, a thin sigh escaping his lips in a slow hiss. After a second he rose to undress, laying out his garments with his habitual neatness, carefully stowing his weapons before slipping into bed.
Vaelin lay back and prayed for sleep to take him, dreams and all. He longed for this night to be over, to feel the warmth of the dawn’s light, searing away all the blood and fear that crowded his soul. Is this a warrior’s lot? he wondered. A life lived shivering in the shadows?
Caenis’s voice was barely a whisper but Vaelin heard him clearly, “I’m glad you’re alive, brother. I’m glad you made it through the forest.”
Comradeship, he realised. Also a warrior’s lot. You share your life with those who would die for you. It didn’t make the fear and the sick, hard feeling in his guts disappear, but it did take the edge off his sorrow. “I’m glad you made it too, Caenis,” he whispered back. “Sorry I couldn’t help with your mystery. You should talk to Master Sollis.”
He never knew if it was a laugh or a sigh that came from Caenis then. Many years later he would think how much pain he would have saved himself and so many others if only he had heard it clearly, if he had known one way or the other. At the time he took it for a sigh and the words that followed a simple statement of obvious fact, “Oh, I think they’ll be mysteries aplenty in our future.”
• • •
They built the pyre on the practice ground, cutting logs from the forest and piling them up under Master Sollis’s direction. They had been excused training for the day but the work was hard enough, Vaelin found his muscles aching after hours of heaving freshly cut timber onto the wagon for transport back to the House, but resisted the temptation to voice a complaint. Mikehl deserved a day’s work at least. Master Hutril returned early in the afternoon, leading a pony laden with a tightly bound burden. They paused in their labour as he passed by on his way to the gate, staring at the cloth-wrapped body.
This will happen again, Vaelin realised. Mikehl is just the first. Who’ll be next? Dentos? Caenis? Me?
“We should’ve asked him,” Nortah said, after Master Hutril disappeared through the gate.
“Asked him what?” said Dentos.
“If it was a wolf or a be-” He ducked, narrowly avoiding the log Barkus threw at him.
The masters laid the body on the pyre as the boys paraded onto the practice ground in the early evening, over four hundred in all, standing silently in their companies. After Sollis and Hutril stepped down the Aspect came forward, a flaming torch held aloft in his bony, scarred hand. He stood next to the pyre and scanned the assembled students, his face was as lacking in expression as ever. “We come to witness the end of the vessel that carried our fallen brother through his life,” he said, again displaying the uncanny ability to project his somnolent tones for the whole crowd to hear.
“We come to give thanks for his deeds of kindness and courage and forgiveness for his moments of weakness. He was our brother and fell in service to the Order, an honour that comes to us all in the end. He is with the Departed now, his spirit will join with them to guide us in our service to the Faith. Think of him now, offer your own thanks and forgiveness, remember him, now and always.”
He lowered the torch to the pyre, touching the flames to the apple wood kindling they had worked into the gaps between the logs. Soon the fire began to build, flames and smoke rising, the sweet apple scent lost amidst the stench of burning flesh.
Watching the flames Vaelin tried to remember Mikehl’s deeds of kindness and courage, hoping for a memory of nobility or compassion he could carry through his life, but instead found himself stuck on the time Mikehl had conspired with Barkus to put pepper into one of the feed bags in the stable. Mas
ter Rensial had fitted it over the muzzle of a newly acquired stallion and narrowly escaped being kicked to death amidst a shower of horse snot. Was that courage? Certainly the punishment had been severe, although both Mikehl and Barkus swore the beatings were worth it and Master Rensial’s confused mind had soon let the incident slip into the cloudy morass of his memory.
He watched the flames rise and consume the mutilated flesh and bone that had once been his friend and thought: I’m sorry Mikehl. I’m sorry you died because of me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you. If I can, one day I will find who sent those men into the forest and they will pay for your life. My thanks go with you.
He looked around to see most of the other boys had drifted away, gone to the evening meal, but his group was still there, even Nortah, although he looked more bored than sorrowful. Jennis was crying softly, hugging himself, tears streaming down his face.
Caenis laid a hand on Vaelin’s shoulder. “We should eat. Our brother is gone.”
Vaelin nodded. “I was thinking about the time in the stables. Remember? The feed bag.”
Caenis grinned a little. “I remember. I was jealous I hadn’t thought of it.” They walked back to the dining hall, Jennis being dragged along by Barkus, still crying, the others exchanging memories about Mikehl as the fire burned on behind them, taking his body away. In the morning they found the remnants had been cleared, leaving only a circle of black ash to scar the grass. In the months and years that followed even that would fade.
Carlie St. George became eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer with the publication of “This Villain You Must Create” in Lightspeed (Jul. 2013), edited by John Joseph Adams.
