"Sword?" He pulled the ribbons tight. A sharp pain oozed from the holes in her arm. But Ahndien neither cried out, nor flinched. She didn't even blink. Lao-Ying rumbled. "Why would they...? Unless they thought that—"
All at once, like floodgates bursting, the reality of it all overcame her. She let out a painful cry that resounded through the woods.
"Ah-Ma!"
Ahndien tore herself from the old man's caring hands and rushed to the charred remains of her mother and little brother. "Ah-Ma!" All her cries melded into an unintelligible melisma of sobs and words and screams.
Tears mixed with soot and ash muddied her face. She fell to her knees over the bodies. Now, the only word she could utter was, "No." She choked back another sob. "No, no, no, no!"
She had only left for a short while. And in that time, her family, her village, her entire world had been destroyed.
"Ahndien," Lao-Ying said in a hushed tone. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders.
"No!" she bolted up, expecting the old man to lose balance and fall on his back. But instead, he straightened up and regarded her with empathy. This moved her little. "It is your fault!"
"My—?"
"You distracted me, delayed me! All the while my family was being murdered by the filthy Torians!"
"How could I have possibly—?"
"You knew! I don't know how, but you knew! That's why you...Why I didn't..." She could not speak another word because the next wave of sobs and convulsions overtook her.
"Ahndien," Lao-Ying said, "To assign blame—"
"Ah-Ba!" Through her tears, anger arose. Where was he? When his family needed him most? She grabbed the sword and hacked at a tree branch over and over until the blade became lodged. "Where were you!"
Ahndien resheathed the sword andleaned an arm on the branch. Her tears fell and slapped against a fallen leaf. Sorrow, rage and despair boiled to the surface. When her vision cleared, something on the ground caught her eye. Glinting in the setting sun, it sent a tingle through her veins. Ah-Ba's pendant, the leather neck strap torn open. It never left his person. He had been here.
And to the side of the pendant, large drops of blood coagulated in the dirt. A trail dug into the ground suggested that he had been dragged on his knees up to a wagon, where tread marks from its wheels took over.
She spun around to Lao-Ying, standing erect, his walking stick abandoned behind him. "They've taken my father!"
He lowered his eyes and bowed his head.
"I've got to help him." Ahndien yanked the sword out of the tree branch and slung her satchel over her shoulder. She knelt by the cloth covering the remains of Ah-Ma and Shao-Bao. With reverence, she rested her hand on them. "For the honor of our family," she said in a grave voice. "I will avenge you."
"Ahndien, wait." Lao-Ying stepped forward and reached for her arm. "Do not act rashly."
Her sword flew out of the sheath and sang a ringing, metallic song just as its sharp edge found its way right before Lao-Ying's chest. "You will not impede me again, you frail, old coward of a man!" Her heart pounded like Lunar Festival drums, fire coursed through her blood. Her chest rose and fell, her teeth clenched. A single tear drop burned a trail down her cheek.
But Lao-Ying didn't so much as blink. He took a deep breath and stood taller than Ahndien could remember. "Kill me, and you will never know the answer."
"Answer?" She hadn't yet asked any question. "To what?"
"To the questions that arise from reading that." He pointed to her satchel. "Your father's book."
A cold wind passed over her and caused her to shiver. How did he know it was in there? She jutted her jaw out. Leaned forward and pressed the sword into his shirt. "I have no questions."
With the steadfast fortitude of a man half his age, Lao-Ying gazed right into her eyes and said, "But you shall."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Your riddles do not interest me," Ahndien said, certain the blade would break the old man's frail skin if she pressed in any further.
"I offer answers, not riddles." He tried to back away, but Ahndien kept the edge of the sword against his chest.
"How do I know you are not in league with the Torians?"
"I am not."
"How can I be certain?"
"You cannot. At least not presently. You can only trust me. Or not."
Regardless of his age, this man could not be trusted. She would cut the tiresome old man's heart out. Ahndien let out a frustrated grunt and swung the sword.
Lao-Ying's only reaction came so quick Ahndien never saw it happen. Before the blade ever reached him, he was upon her, his hand grasping her right wrist with crushing force. All strength from her arm, her hand, her entire right side drained out of her. Instantly, she dropped the sword and it clanked twice on the ground.
"You are most assuredly your father's daughter."
"How did you—?" She would have completed her sentence if not for the transformation in the old man. Before her very eyes, he began to radiate with wisps of white light, its warmth spreading out and caressing her face.
"You have his fighting spirit, his heart of justice."
"He is a scholar."
"And the brash temper of his youth."
The white brilliance washed out Lao-Ying's features, his cottony beard, his winged eyebrows. This continued until all was light. And his voice began to envelop her thoughts.
// BUT IF YOU HUMBLE YOURSELF, YOU WILL LEARN GREAT THINGS. YOU WILL FULFILL ALL FOR WHICH YOU ARE DESTINED //
Like a roaring fire, Lao-Ying's brilliance rose above her. Ahndien stooped down and turned her eyes upward. "Is it you?" The sun had fallen behind the hills and the sky had turned to blood and wine. But Lao-Ying's radiance illuminated the entire village as though it were midday.
When she could see clearly again, she beheld a great figure directly above her, against the deep violet backdrop peppered with stars. A rush of wind blew down from the figure's wings.
"Was it—?"
// IT WAS AND IS //
The Eagle. The great bird of prey. The one who had snatched up the mountain lions and saved her from their deadly jaws. "But I...I don't understand."
As he descended, a cloud of dust floated up around her. Ahndien covered her face and backed away, yielding to the massive bird whose wingspan covered more than two huts.
// THERE IS MUCH TO BE DONE. WE MUST LEAVE THIS PLACE //
With as much caution as awe, she approached. Touched the dark, brassy plumage. His feathers were surprisingly velvet. And yet, they seemed stronger than iron. Lao-Ying—the eagle—lowered and turned his gold-crested head such that his black pearl of an eye gazed straight down at her. His beak seemed more powerful and deadlier than any sword a human could wield, his feathered legs ended with yellow rapier-like talons. And yet, she did not fear.
// THE PATH BEFORE US IS AS LONG AS IT IS ARDUOUS //
One final look to her ravished village.
One final glimpse into her past, all that she held dear.
Ahndien's knees faltered.
The entire world began to sway.
Lao-Ying leaned towards her. As Ahndien fell, she reached forward and with both hands grasped at one of the feathers in his wing, expecting to pluck it and drop to the ground.
Instead, she found it as firmly rooted as a Xuh-Suh tree in the rocky side of the mountains. And before she could fully appreciate what was happening, that feather, no, the entire wing yanked her upwards, sending her hurtling into the air.
Too awed to let out a cry, Ahndien's mouth gaped silently, though no breath passed through. She flew high above the tall bamboo trees. And then, a mass of brown, black and gold rushed past her. The next thing she felt, just as she began to fall from the apex of her ascent, was a swift tug on the back of her shirt. Her entire body jerked to a stop, father's sword rattling at her side. As quickly as she had been caught in Lao-Ying's formidable beak, she was lowered onto his back.
She let out a childish shriek. "You're flying!"
If ever a giant bird could smile, Ahndien believed she had just seen it. He nodded, turned to face forward and let out a fierce eagle call that resounded in the hills.
// HOLD FAST, AHNDIEN //
She attempted to wrap her arms around his neck, but could not clasp her hands together.
// GRASP THE FEATHERS OF MY NAPE //
"But, won't that hurt?" What followed was not so much words in her mind, but what could only be described as laughter from the great bird. Ahndien swallowed. "If you say so." She slipped her hands under the golden, leaf-shaped feathers and wrapped the shafts twice around her hands like rope. So strong, yet so flexible.
Presently, she became aware of the rising and dipping of her own body as she straddled Lao-Ying's tree trunk of a neck. As they floated up higher with each flap of his wings, the wind grew stronger. The village below grew smaller.
Clouds of black smoke arose from the center of her family's hut. A sharp pang twisted inside her chest.
Ah-Ma.
Shao-Bao.
Fading behind as they soared away.
Sharp blasts of wind streaked tears across her face. She sniffed wetly and wiped her eyes on her shoulder. One last look, please. Then stretched her neck back, but could not see her home. Her left hand releasing a feather, she twisted her trunk around. Right away, she lost her balance. Nearly slippped over the right side of Lao-Ying's neck. She shouted in terror.
// AHNDIEN! //
The entire horizon fell diagonally as Lao-Ying banked upwards on his right and reestablished Ahndien's balance. She spun around, leaned forward and grasped as many of his feathers as she could. As she leaned against his neck, her heart pounded so hard he must have felt it.
// ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? //
Silently, she nodded, her face buried in the silk and steel feathers.
// I'M SORRY, LAO-YING. I WANTED ONE A LAST LOOK //
He righted himself and soared towards the top of the Maw-Shuh Mountains. From his beak, a sound rose above the beating wind, like steam escaping a large and tightly covered cauldron. A sigh.
//LOOK BACK AND YOU SHALL SURELY FALL //
// I UNDERSTAND //
// AND NOW, DEAR FLEDGLING, THE TIME HAS COME TO LEAVE BEHIND THAT WHICH CANNOT BE RECOVERED, AND CONFRONT THAT WHICH CANNOT BE ESCAPED //
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For the most part, aside from the occasional insult and jab, Render managed to remain distant from Branson, who kept to himself anyway. This suited Render well enough.
Under Sir Edwyn's tutelage, instruction had in earnest begun. No one was more surprised than Render when it was discovered that he possessed a multitude of talents in various disciplines.
Perhaps it was due to that unquenchable thirst for knowledge. The very thirst which over the years had driven him to liberate the multitude of books from Bobbington's dust-blanketed library—if you could even call it a library. They were probably artifacts he'd either inherited or found. Render had never actually seen Bobbington read.
Now, with unlimited resources at his disposal, Render devoured knowledge like a starved cat. Which did he enjoy most, Astronomy, History, Philology? And then, there were the arts: painting, sculpting, and music—the lute became his instrument of choice. There was always one more line of music to master, one more vista to paint. Sir Edwyn had to chase him from the classroom nearly every night.
After two and a half fortnights, the only discipline in which Render failed to excel was the one he cared for least: The Martial Arts. Weapons, armor, tactics, and mounted combat. Of what use were these to him in this enlightened society which was now his home? How much more satisfying to wield a paintbrush than a longsword.
"Daylight is fleeting, Render." Edwyn stood at the door to the Artist's Chamber. He stretched and yawned and said, "Need I remind you of the rules, again?"
"I'm almost finished," Render murmured, unsatisfied with the way the blazing amber hues of the setting sun illuminated the back of the mountains in his painting. At least, he presumed it was sunlight. Still, something in it resembled fire, a beautiful inferno behind the hills.
Sir Edwyn approached and peered over his shoulder. He then made that growling noise which meant he was trying to understand. He pointed at the painting "Surely you've never been there before."
"How could I? This place exists only in my thoughts, my dreams."
"Oh, no. No, no, no. I assure you, this place does indeed exist. But there is little chance you have been there. Perhaps you've seen other paintings? Though, I doubt—"
"I have been seeing it in my dreams, in my sleep and during my more contemplative waking moments. But never have I seen it with my eyes. Nor have I derived such a landscape from other paintings or drawings. It's original."
Edwyn rubbed his beard and squinted. "So real, though. Are you certain you haven't ever been there, beheld it?"
"I've been a slave since childhood. Aside from my little adventures with Kaine and the twins, I've never wandered far from Talen Wood. At a great distance have I seen the eastern mountain range, from the top of Smyth's Hill. But it looks nothing like this."
"No, it does not. The view from Talen Wood could not reveal this westward perspective." Edywn pushed his way in front of Render who, without question, stepped aside. "What you have depicted here, and with remarkable accuracy I might add, is not visible from Smyth's Hill. This here is the tallest of all mounts and deepest into the desert. It separates Valdshire Tor from the Eastern Kingdom."
"Tian Kuo?
"Yes." He pointed to the subject of the painting, lit up with a fiery glow. But the sun didn't set over the Western side of that mountain. That was what seemed wrong and caused Render to suspect that the light he painted was not in fact sunlight, but perhaps fire. Edwyn continued. "This is Mount Handara, subject of legend and lore. But more importantly, it is a natural barrier between us..." he pointed out the window to the east, "...and them."
How had he seen it so clearly? And why? Render gazed upon the painting which for some reason did not seem like something he could have created. Although he recalled the sensation of the brush in his hands, the strokes against the canvas, and the image coming to life before his very eyes, it all seemed oddly detached. As if someone or something else had painted it.
"In any case," said Edwyn, beginning to clean up the classroom, "it is late and you were supposed to have been in your room by now."
Render placed all his brushes in the can of solvent, washed his hands in a basin. As he wiped his hands on a cloth, he thought of the twins, whom he had not seen for the past two weeks.
"Sir Edwyn, how are Folen and Stewan?'
"They are well. Somewhat lacking in motivation, but that is understandable." He began leafing through Render's finished paintings, stopping every once in a while to gaze thoughtfully at those that caught his eye. "It is you with whom I am more concerned."
At this Render paused and regarded his tutor, though Edwyn, too engrossed in the paintings, did not reciprocate. "Am I not learning to your satisfaction?"
"Quite the contrary. I have never had a student that I needed to warn off from working so hard. You stay up at all hours, unless I find you and send you to bed. You drive yourself twice if not thrice as hard as most ordinary students. All this work is admirable, but—"
"I was a slave. Or have you so soon forgotten?" Edwyn looked up. Render smiled and pointed to his paintings, to his lute on the table next to his history books and his poetry. "This is not work. This is joy. Freedom."
His mentor returned the smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "Would that all my students took your view."
"All my life, Sir Edward, I have felt I was meant to be someone of worth. Not by fame or acclaim, mind you. Just something more than a slave. Someone who, before he dies, will have left some kind of mark, no matter how small, on this world. Of this I am certain: I wasn't destined to live and die without purpose."
"And just what purpose would that be, young squire?"
"It was
my hope that you could help me discover this."
"Perhaps I shall." Edwyn stretched his hand to the open door. "But not tonight."
Only torch and candle light illuminated the stone hallways of the castle. The sweet smell of wax filled Render's senses as they walked. Their shoes made the only sounds other than their scarce words. Render spoke quietly if at all. "What of you, Sir Edywn?"
"What of me?"
"You never speak of yourself. Surely you have discovered your purpose in life by now." They reached Render's chamber, which thankfully he shared with no one. Edwyn unlatched the door and it creaked open. He gestured for Render to go inside. "Well?"
"Perhaps another time, Master Render."
"But—"
"Good night."
Trying to hide his disappointment, he took a deep breath and inclined his head. "Good night, Sir Edwyn."
Carefully, lest the ancient hinges awaken all nearby, Render shut the large wooden door. With his back against it, he took a deep breath and set his candle on the desk next to him. He went to light the lamp near the bed when he noticed the cool sheet of moonlight flooding through the open window. So pleasing was this light that he decided blow out his candle and gaze outside.
From his window he beheld the moon and stars above, and the high wall of the citadel below. Not long ago, he had lived outside the walls of this great and ever-expanding Torian capital.
A lifetime ago.
Now, he lived in the castle of the Lord Agon. Neither slave nor servant, nor a ragged boy scraping the floor for a morsel. He was Master Render, a knight in training, royal ward of the High King Corigan.
As he drew the curtains, shutting out all light, something dropped to the ground.
"Hello?" Instead of the lamp, he reached under the pillow for his dagger. Steadily, Render got to his feet. Squinted into the blackness as he drew his blade.
He was not alone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The edge of Sir Mooregaard's broadsword glinted in the moonlight. Just moments before it came slicing down over Kaine's neck. Letting out a terrified gasp, Kaine felt a surge of fear rush from the bottom of his feet straight up his mail-clad back.
Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga) Page 6
