by Alon Shalev
Ilana nodded. “Thank you. We appreciate the help your people are offering.”
“More,” Targs said and he addressed Ilana. “In Tutan way, we say two people together, they touch hearts.” He moved his hand to his heart. “Touch heart very, very good. Two people. Boy asks if you touch heart with other?”
The young boy was staring intensely at his feet. Ilana gently raised his head so that he looked up at her.
“Thank you, I’m honored,” she said, and her voice quivered. “But yes, my heart is touched by another. It belongs to another elf.”
She turned abruptly and walked away, tears welling up in her eyes.
Twenty-Nine
Seanchai gazed into the huge cavern at a dark, shimmering underground lake. Shiny rock walls rose around the perimeter, and there were huge cracks higher up, letting in light that illuminated the mineral deposits. But dominating everything was a huge stalactite reaching down toward the middle of the lake. Water rhythmically dripped from it into the lake, echoing off the walls. Seanchai felt such intense energy in the air that he stood with his mouth agape.
“Close your mouth, boy,” Mhari said. “You’ll swallow a bat.”
“Bats? Really?”
Mhari smiled. “No. I will teach you many things, my young elf, but a sense of humor you’ll have to learn elsewhere. Let us eat something and then sleep. Tomorrow will be a very long day.”
Seanchai unpacked their bags and bedrolls. He cut some bread and covered it with a nut paste then added cut vegetables and a block of cheese to the meal. He could see the old woman was tired, and she seemed content to let him serve her. It was a sign of respect, and he knew it was appreciated.
“Seanchai,” she said, suddenly serious. “You must not go near the lake or touch the water until I tell you to. Is that clear? It could kill you.”
Seanchai nodded. “What is this place?”
“It’s a ley junction. We believe that the world is crossed with lines of energy called leys, and the places where they intersect hold great power. Throughout history, they have been used for many magical events and ceremonies. They are places where people such as us come for rejuvenation and transformation.
“Tomorrow I will answer as many of your questions as I can, but for now we’ll finish eating and then sleep.” She yawned. “We often have powerful dreams here. Be prepared. If you do dream, enjoy the ride.”
The warrior saw them all as he flew above, and he let out an exuberant cry. The magnificent beast he rode raised its head and billowed fire before it curled its great, scaly wings and dove. Cold air hit the warrior’s face. It was exhilarating. As they neared the ground, the warrior raised a shining broadsword above his head.
All eyes rose to meet him. Elves raised handsome wooden bows in tribute. Men thrust mighty swords into the air, and helmeted dwarves banged battleaxes against their shields.
Next to the dwarves stood massive trolls who shook the ground with their stomping feet. In contrast to the trolls’ gray, bulky bodies were tall, thin green creatures from the mighty forests of Miden. All hailed the warrior and the great beast under him roared with joy.
The beast headed for the hills, soaring over a sea of aqua-skinned creatures riding huge, gray four-legged mammals with long trunks and even longer horns. They let out high-pitched cries when they saw him, and raised their own curved swords while their animals raised their trunks and trumpeted.
The warrior sheathed his mighty sword, checked his own two-horned helmet, the straps of his armor and saddle. Then, oblivious to the height and speed at which he flew, he leaned forward, careful of the creature’s scales and adjusted the armored helmet and mask that his winged steed wore.
He was ready. His armies had gathered in greater numbers than even he had dared to imagine. He turned the beast towards the east and saw a mighty host of foe, similar in number gathering across the plain.
Let the battle begin!
Seanchai woke, breathing hard. He sat up and found that he was damp from sweat and humidity. He looked around for his teacher. Mhari was neck-deep in the lake with her back to Seanchai.
Seanchai sat and watched her, trying to both slow his racing pulse and force himself to remember every detail of his dream so that he could share it with his teacher. The elf looked around for some wood, hoping to make a warm drink, but there was none, and they were too far into the mountain for him to go out and collect some. Why hadn’t Mhari thought of this?
He chewed some dried meat instead. Mhari finished her exercise and stretched her hands around and up in slow circular movements, exhaling loudly. Then she ducked under the water, surfacing a minute or so later.
When Mhari turned and began walking out of the lake, Seanchai gasped. She looked twenty years younger. Her wrinkled face was now almost smooth; her white hair a speckled mix of vibrant black and gray. Her muscles looked tight and defined.
Mhari poured water into her clay bowl and added an herb mixture. She sat cross-legged, cupped it in her hands and closed her eyes. Soon her cup was steaming. Moments later, Seanchai could hear the water beginning to bubble. Mhari slowly opened her eyes, blew on the tea, and took a sip.
“So, Seanchai. How was your night?” Her smile told him she knew what he was bursting to ask her.
Seanchai decided to play along for now and come back to the lake and boiling water later. He recounted his dream and Mhari questioned him at length. Describe the helmet. What color were the beasts’ scales? The aqua-colored creatures–how many did he think he saw? Was there a figure flying above the enemy’s army, too?
Finally Seanchai began to feel frustrated. “Mhari, why have you brought me here? Am I going to take some sort of test? Is something going to happen in the water? Am I going to undergo some kind of change like you have?”
He brushed his hair back. “You counsel me not to be impatient, but also constantly warn that we don’t have time to dally. I want to walk out of here understanding what is happening to me and where I fit into everything.”
His teacher nodded. “I understand, Seanchai. I know this is very difficult for you. But for transformation to happen, you need to understand the stories and their power. To take the test, you must understand why you are taking it. You will enter the water. But there is a process, and understanding it will go a long way to helping you walk out of here alive.”
Thirty
The Tutans accompanying Shayth and Ilana were ready at first light. As they waited for the healer to check Ilana’s wound one last time, it suddenly occurred to Shayth that there would be a problem with communication. As far as he knew, Targs was the only one who knew how to communicate using words.
But for the moment they rode away from the camp in single file with no need to talk. Shayth appreciated the help guarding at night and carrying supplies. They would also be most welcome if they needed to defend themselves.
He dug his heels gently into his horse’s side and moved alongside Ilana. She rode with her back slightly arched, staring mechanically at the man who led the way. Her eyes were red and puffy.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked eventually.
She nodded, but kept facing forward.
“I miss Seanchai, too,” Shayth said. “I wonder what he’s going through and if he will be different when we see him again.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that we might not see him again?” Her voice was impassive. “We’re about to take on a fortified garrison. We: an impulsive and unpredictable young man with a huge chip on his shoulder and a wounded elfe. I’m not sure the odds are particularly in our favor.”
Shayth tried to laugh, but sighed instead. “You don’t have to do this, Ilana. You are wounded and…well, you don’t have to do this. I will go on. I owe Rhoddan, and I’m not afraid to die.”
“I’ve never been afraid to die,” Ilana replied. “It just seems different now. I don’t understand why.”
“It is different now,” Shayth said after a moment’s contemplation. “Before, when you fought in the re
sistance cell, your only concern was completing whatever task you were given without question. Now there’s someone special in your life and it’s not so easy to be that self-sacrificing.”
Ilana kept looking ahead, but Shayth heard a loud sigh escape her .
“You’re very world-wise, my sage,” she said and smiled to show she wasn’t being rude. “I’ve also wondered how Seanchai will be different. It is disconcerting. I think he’ll become very focused on whatever his destiny reveals.”
Shayth nodded. “Yes, but Seanchai’s greatest qualities are his humility and his humanity, or whatever you elves call it. I just can’t believe he’ll go through such a big transformation that there’ll be no room left for you. In fact, he may need what you can offer him all the more in order to fulfill his destiny. Have you thought of that?”
“A lot must happen before we find out,” she replied. “Do you have a plan for when we reach the garrison at Galbrieth?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I have several. And each is as hopeless as the next.”
Ilana looked at him. He wasn’t smiling.
“Have you even been there?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied, his voice still grim. “It was actually a nice town once, and if the army wasn’t there, you might enjoy your visit. But the fortifications, while not as extensive as those in other places, are still going to be difficult. Tall, thick stone walls surround the city and within that is a fortress just for the army. But that’s not what’s worrying me.”
“What is, then?”
“If they don’t believe that Rhoddan is the special one, then they’ll torture him to find out who is. The battalion commander, General Tarlach, is a sadistic swine. He is also very ambitious and will no doubt see the capture of the special one as his quick ticket into the Emperor’s good graces.
“He’ll be very angry when he discovers that he doesn’t hold the right elf, especially if he has already sent word to the Emperor of the capture. It doesn’t bode well for Rhoddan.”
They rode in silence for some time. Then Ilana turned to her companion. “There is another possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“Mhari said that the general might need to keep Rhoddan alive,” she said, “even after he discovers that he isn’t Seanchai.”
“Why would he do that?”
“If he discovers that Rhoddan is Seanchai’s friend, then keeping him alive would serve another purpose. He could wait for Seanchai to come to Galbrieth to rescue his friend.”
Shayth turned to her. “So we could be walking into a trap?”
She nodded and Shayth shrugged.
“Could be worse,” he said, looking forward.
“How’s that?”
“I’m not sure, but knowing our luck, we’ll probably find out.”
A few hours later as they were eating lunch, the Tutan on guard clicked a warning. They melted behind rocks, taking defensive positions rather than trying to hide. Their packs were undone and their horses nearby.
Two men rode up, perched on a wagon. When they saw the remains of the camp, they froze. Shayth jumped out, his bow ready. Both men put their hands in the air, clearly scared.
From her position, Ilana started to speak. “They are no th–”
“Quiet,” hissed Shayth and he approached them. “Put your hands down slowly but on your legs where I can see them.”
“W-we be simple f-farmers,” the older one began. “W-we wuz in Galbrieth, selling vegetables from our village. We be poor men. What you take from us might kill our families. It be the very food from their poor little mouths.”
“Get down from the cart,” Shayth ordered them. He pointed at the cowering younger man. “You hold the horse still. I have a half-dozen men surrounding you. Is that clear?”
The young man nodded. Shayth turned back to the older man, who was alighting stiffly.
“I don’t want your money. I want information, and I want to make it clear that I will hunt you down and kill you and your families if you ever tell anyone of our conversation.”
The old man nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. “You not be soldiers, so I reckon you ain’t good friends wiv that General Tarlach, eh?” he asked. “We’ll answer your questions as best we can, sir, though we be simple farmers. Please, can you lower that there bow and let an old man sit?”
Shayth nodded and lowered his bow. The old man sat heavily and looked at the remains of their interrupted meal.
“Help yourself,” said Ilana as she approached them.
They stared at her and Shayth glared but let it go. Instead, he turned to the farmers, who were stuffing themselves with bread and dried meat.
“You seem surprised to see an elf.” he remarked.
“There be none where we live,” the farmer replied, his mouth full of food. “And in Galbrieth they be hunted down right now. You might not want to take her there if that be your plan.”
“Why are they being hunted?” Ilana asked.
The younger man answered. “Have you ever been there?” When she shook her head, he continued: “They’ve never treated elves too good if you know what I mean - mainly they be slaves and servants. Now they’s afraid of elves. I dunno why for certain, but word is that it has something to do with one particular elf who was captured, like. He wuz chained. We saw him.”
He looked to the older man for validation, and received a nod. No longer afraid they were in danger, he continued.
“See, he arrived just ‘bout the same time as we did. Them soldiers had him in chains and wuz shouting and boasting that they’d caught a mighty warrior. Looked like a young and scrawny elf to me, begging your pardon, miss. That night, there wuz a lot of soldiers out drinking and in a fine mood. Horace here drank with a few. Soldiers they be happy to buy drinks for them who listen and fluff up their egos.”
Horace drank some water from the skin and nodded. “I know how t’get the buggers to buy me drinks. They says the elf has special powers and all.”
The younger one continued. “Anyways, yesterday, it all changed. Lots o’ shouting and grabbing elves off the street. Weren’t nice. We figures best be getting out and left.”
“We heard they be pulling in soldiers from patrols and the like. Mebbe they’z ‘specting a fight.”
“Yeah,” said Shayth, nodding slowly. “Seems like that’s exactly what they’re expecting.”
Thirty-One
Seanchai’s entire body filled with vibrant energy. He was becoming increasingly proficient at maintaining his standing exercises, but this time the energy felt more intense. He followed a free form, allowing the energy to move his hands, and was only vaguely aware that his body was transitioning between the different poses.
Usually while practicing free flow, Mhari would allow him to continue until Seanchai was ready to stop. But this time, she softly talked him through the stretching ritual with which they concluded their exercise.
“Sit down,” said Mhari, when she had finished her instruction. “We must talk.”
She handed Seanchai a cup of hot tea, and he winced at the bitterness. The last two days, Mhari had prepared higher concentrations of the danseng herb for Seanchai to drink. He assumed her intention was to build his stamina in preparation for the trials that waited. As he sipped the tea, she began to speak.
“When you were little, your parents and teachers told you stories. You remember these stories, treasuring them as the beautiful and imaginative tales they are.
“But these stories were told to you for a reason. They are ancient tales, created and preserved because of the power they possess. Words, Seanchai, are very potent. You know this because you have already used them to summon magic in times of great danger.
“A storyteller is usually chosen at birth, often because of a hereditary line or certain religious signs. Often the choice is not clear. But in those first few years she or he learns to remember the stories and store the words in the same way we store energy when we stand. All the words are kept safe
within them, like precious jewels locked in a chest.
“But strong emotions can often release a word to come to the aid of the storyteller. This is what is happening to you.
“We have come to this powerful place of energy so that you can release the words from your subconscious and utilize them at will.”
“How do I do that?” Seanchai asked. He could feel a knot of fear in his stomach rather than a well of words.
“Submerge yourself in the lake. Do your standing exercises and see what happens.” Mhari smiled. “I cannot tell you much beyond this, as it is different for each of us.”
“You want me to stand in the water like you did earlier?”
“No. You will walk out to the middle of the lake.”
Seanchai frowned. “How will I be able to breathe when I’m under the water?”
“You just will,” Mhari replied. “This isn’t ordinary water, and you aren’t an ordinary elf.”
“When should I do this?” Seanchai asked, feeling a rising wave of anxiety.
“Finish your tea first. Every drop of danseng will help. Listen–not just with your ears, but also your heart. Be prepared for the unexpected.”
“Like what?” Seanchai frowned. “What might go wrong?”
His teacher shrugged. “You might not be able to breathe underwater.”
“Then what should I do?”
Mhari couldn’t help but smile. “Then you should probably swim to the surface.”
Seanchai screwed up his face, trying to understand her sense of humor. Realizing this was a lost cause, he took a deep breath, undressed, bowed to his teacher, and walked to the underground lake’s edge. His feet touched very cold water, and he paused.
But it wasn’t going to get any warmer, he reasoned, and tentatively began to walk in. By the time his shoulders were submerged, he wasn’t sure he could feel his feet. He glanced up at the glistening stalactite and felt very small.
