“This isn’t set in stone,” Talon said, but then realized his choice of words. “I mean, no future is certain. We can stop that from happening.”
Tyson was skeptical. “How?”
Talon bowed his head as the realization occurred to him. “We should split up…forever. If we aren’t together, I can’t be around when you die.”
Tyson nodded, conceding the point. “True, but I can still die all the same.”
“We’re all going to die. But if we aren’t near each other, at least you won’t die like that.”
They returned to the fire and found it nearly burnt out. Tyson added dried wood and stoked up a roaring blaze as Talon went to skinning the deer with his knife. When the work was done, Tyson quartered it with his sword, and Talon cut fine venison steaks. Chief sat by the fire, contently gnawing on one of the thigh bones.
Tyson left the cave to gather greenwood for smoking the venison after instructing Talon on how to build a stone cooker. Chief watched with a lazy grin as his master gathered the right sized stones.
“Go on and look out for Tyson. We still got men after us,” said Talon.
Chief barked twice and swirled around before shooting through the roof of the cave.
By the time Talon was finished with the cooker, Tyson had returned with Chief in tow and a big bundle of green branches and leaves.
In his mouth, Chief too carried a small bundle wrapped with rope.
“Thanks for sending Chief out with me,” said Tyson. He threw the branches on the ground. “I appreciate it.”
Talon offered him a nod.
“Alright. Good job on the smoker—that’ll do just fine.”
With a piece of bark, Tyson scooped up a big pile of coals from the bottom of the fire and placed them in the cooker. He then sat down and went to work weaving what could have been the bottom of a basket out of green, vine-like branches.
Talon sat and watched, intrigued. He had seen meat smoked before, but his amma did things a little bit differently.
Tyson finished his work and placed a handful of green branches across the open top of the smoker. He then laid the weaving over the branches and secured it all in place with a few stones. He nodded to one of the thick pieces of shale which the meat was laid out on, and Talon brought it to him. He carefully arranged it atop the weaving, and then stuffed a handful of green foliage on top of the coals. Instantly a thick grey smoke snaked its way up through the weaving. “We’ll leave this batch half the night and then start another.”
They settled in and got comfortable around the fire, eating meat they had skewered earlier. The venison was tender and delicious, and reminded Talon just how hungry he had been. His appetite was incredible. He ate five of the steaks to Tyson’s three—even though the other Skomm was a good foot taller than him—and they sat back drinking from their water skins. From his pack Tyson took a pipe and stoked it with a burning branch. The sweet aroma of cherry pipe smoke floated lazily.
Tyson laughed to himself, shaking his head.
“What?” Talon asked.
“What kind of life you must live. Who in the hells are you anyway?”
Talon shrugged. “I’m just a Skomm, like you.”
That received a belly laugh.
“Just a Skomm like me, eh?” Tyson mused. “Just a Skomm with a mystical ghost wolf and a magic ring. And cave paintings dedicated to his life in another country…”
“Well, when you put it like that...” He wanted to tell Tyson all about Azzeal and his amma Gretzen’s mystical powers, but he still didn’t trust him—he doubted he ever would.
The cave paintings, he could not explain. He wondered if they were possibly drawn by Azzeal. It was the only explanation that made sense.
“You’re not going to tell me are you?” Tyson pressed.
“Not much to tell. I was born during the frozen plague. My mother died giving birth to me. I was premature and too small for my father’s liking. My amma raised me. I failed the measure and was sent to Skomm village.”
Tyson stared expectantly. “And…What about Chief…and the ring? Who the hells painted these walls?”
Talon sighed. What harm is there in the truth?
“Chief was a gift from my amma. She saved him from a hunter’s blade. He was killed the night I tried to escape…so was Jahsin. And Akkeri was swept out to sea by the Eye of Thodin.”
“That was a bad storm—my part of Skomm village was leveled,” said Tyson.
“I was taken prisoner by the timber wolf Chiefson, as good as dead, but I was saved by an elf.”
Tyson stared at him. “An elf? Right. If you don’t want to tell me just say so.”
“It’s the truth,” said Talon. “He’s the one who gave me the ring.”
Tyson studied his eyes for a moment. “You’re serious aren’t you?”
Talon nodded.
Tyson shook his head. “Thodin’s hairy arse…An elf. Why not? Fits right in with all the crazy shyte I’ve seen since meeting you.”
“After he saved me, my amma gave me a piece of bone to carve Chief out of. She trapped his spirit in the figurine somehow. As for who painted these pictures, I can only guess it was the elf. Maybe he was here years ago or something. I take it he travels a lot—he said he was in Volnoss to study our plants and animals.”
“Your amma some kind of shaman or something?” Tyson asked.
Talon nodded and reached for another piece of meat. “She is. I never took her seriously, not until she captured Chief’s spirit in the trinket.”
Tyson stared at Chief, mesmerized. “Can you imagine what is possible with a pet like him? You use him to hunt and as a lookout, but imagine—between him and the ring, you could do incredible things.”
“How do you mean?”
Tyson laughed incredulously. “Feikinstafir, brother. I mean, no more running away from people like the Vald. I mean standing up against arseholes like them and the slavers. Hells, you…you could be rich, live like a chief.”
“Rich?” Talon tried to imagine how to make money with a spirit wolf.
“Look at the loot we got from those slavers.” Tyson gathered all the coin purses from his pack. The bulging sacks clanged as he tossed them on the rocky floor.
“I’m not going to kill men for their money. What happened yesterday was a mistake.”
“The hells with that kind of talk. Imagine if there were more Skomm like us—there would be a godsdamned revolution. You think killing slavers is wrong? What about the thousands of Skomm who do nothing against the Vald, and condemn all future Skomm to a life of slavery? Isn’t inaction as much a sin as violence?”
“You’re right,” Talon admitted. “But I’m no warrior, no hero. I just want to find Akkeri and go somewhere we can be safe. Maybe have a farm or something.”
“And live happily ever after? When you have the power to do so much more?” Tyson was disgusted. He got up and grabbed a torch. “You see any of these murals depicting Talon the farmer?” he asked, dryly. When Talon had no answer, he shook his head and walked out of the cave.
Talon called after him. “Where are you going?”
“To be alone.”
Chief perked up and looked to Talon expectantly.
“Let him go. It’s not every day you find a picture of your own death.”
The promise he had made to Jahsin came back to him then. Tyson was a lot like Jahsin, in that they seemed to share the spirit of revolution. Talon had vowed to free the Skomm, to help the weak—how soon had he forgotten his own words. He had become so caught up with finding Akkeri, he’d forgotten his promises. And though he had tried to help Tyson and the other slaves, it was really only to find Akkeri. Now Windy, Thorg, and Marcus were dead—they might have lived much longer, albeit as slaves. How much had he really helped?
Nearly an hour later, when the sun had left only the light of the moon, Tyson returned and slumped down beside the fire. Talon had been tending to the smoker, adding green leaves when need be. The cave smelled of hickory, venison,
and lingering cherry pipe smoke. The occasional gust coming in from the ocean and whistling through the tunnels and caverns only added to the sweet taste in the air.
“Listen, Tyson, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings by saying we should split up—I’m just looking out for you.”
Tyson grinned. “You’ve been wanting to be rid of me for a while now.” He snorted a weak laugh and shrugged. “Now you got a good reason, is all.”
“It ain’t like that—“
Tyson assured him with a friendly smile. “None to worry, brother.” From his makeshift pack he withdrew the whiskey from the tavern.
“What you say we have a drink for old time’s sake, in honor of Marcus, Thorg, and Windy?”
Talon moved to join him. “I’ll drink to that.”
Tyson lifted the bottle and took on a solemn demeanor. “To Windy, a feisty pain in the arse who was usually right.” He drank and passed the bottle to Talon, who took a big gulp.
Accepting the bottle back Tyson lifted it again. “To Thorg, a big dummy with an even bigger heart. Never hurt no one, that lad.”
“Here, here!” said Talon.
They drank again.
“Finally, to Marcus,” said Tyson when the bottle came back, “one hells of a talented man, and the best friend a Skomm could want. I’ll miss you, brother.” He seemed to tip the bottle longer than before.
Talon drank to Marcus and began to hand the bottle back, but thought better of the idea. Instead, he lifted the whiskey to the heavens. “To Jahsin—a promise is a promise, brother. And I plan on keeping it.”
He drank again, handed the bottle back to Tyson, and with a warm little fire in his belly, moved back to man the smoker. A few more leaves sent plumes of fragrant smoke into the air. The taste of the whiskey lingered on his lips, seeming slightly more bitter than before, but working all the same. His head began to lighten, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile came quicker.
“So, Chief—where does he go when he disappears?” Tyson asked, stoking the main fire.
“He goes…to the spirit world, I guess.” Talon had never really thought about it much.
“Has he ever brought anything back?”
Talon swayed where he stood and had to seat himself. His vision blurred and crossed onto itself. He shook his head. He didn’t remember the whiskey being so strong.
“Has he ever brought anything back?” Tyson repeated.
“Back? N…no, he ne’er.” Talon peered at the other Skomm through bleary eyes—there were two of him.
Tyson got up and joined him beside the smoker. “Let’s see if he can bring something back.”
“We could try,” said Talon, drunkenly. He hiccupped and almost vomited. “I don’t feel so good.”
“It’ll pass. You just did four fast shots, none to worry. Tell Chief to try and bring something back,” Tyson pressed.
“Hey Sheef, try bringinin’ somefin’ back from the ssspiritword.” Talon shook his head angrily and fought the effects of the whiskey. “Back to spirit world, Chief!” he blurted, as clear as he could.
Chief turned to mist and returned to the trinket.
“You don’t look so good,” said Tyson.
Talon tried to focus on him, but now there were four Tysons. The cave spun and the firelight sent the murals dancing strangely. The scenes came to life before him suddenly. He lurched and vomited, tasting the bitterness again—he didn’t remember the taste of blightweed before… Blightweed!
Talon’s mind screamed poison. He lurched toward Tyson but fell on his face, nearly colliding with the smoker. The timber wolf figurine was taken from his clutching hand—he could do nothing about it.
Tyson bent down to stare him in the eyes. “Sorry about this, brother, but if you won’t use these gifts for a greater good, I will.
Tyson tried in vain to get the ring off of Talon for a while, but finally gave up and said, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to take your finger. Don’t worry, I’ll cauterize the wound.”
Talon tried to protest, but no words escaped him. He lay on the stone like a fish out of water, twitching involuntarily and drooling. His vision swam as he fought the effects of the paralyzing poison. Tyson came back into view, holding his sword. He placed Talon’s ring finger over a stone, with the rest curled into his palm.
Tyson raised the sword. “Hold steady now—I don’t want to take your whole arm.” A surge of power from Kyrr filled Talon with strength. He pulled his arm away and rolled out of reach. Fighting the effects of the poison, he got up on shaky legs. “Give me back Chief!” he screamed.
A strange combination of emotions played across Tyson’s face. He brought back the sword to strike, but then glanced to the ring on Talon’s finger. He backed up and held the figurine before him, preparing to call Chief.
Talon reached out a cautious hand “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why not?” Tyson took a step back toward the cave entrance.
“He’s my wolf. If you summon him he’ll turn on you.”
“I’ll take my chances,” said Tyson after a moment’s pause.
“Think about it for a minute! What if the mural depicting your death is because of this—here, now?”
Talon’s words seemed to hit home, and Tyson’s eyes jerked around the cave in retrospect. Anger crossed his face, turning his handsome features ugly.
“Why are you so godsdamned special? Born a Skomm like the rest of us, given incredible power to help our people—and what do you do with it? Try and find some wench who batted her eyes at you twice. You don’t deserve Chief or the ring. I’ll be feikin damned if I’m going to give up such a chance and die quietly in some elf painting!” He raised the figurine. “Chief, come to me!”
“No!” Talon screamed.
The figurine glowed bright blue, and the mist swirled out of it and around Tyson. Chief came to form beside him, and glanced up curiously.
“Give me the ring!” said Tyson.
Talon ignored him, and bent down, slapping his thighs. “Come here, Chief. Come on, boy.”
Chief wagged his tail and began to pad toward him.
“Stay, Chief!” Tyson ordered.
The spirit wolf stopped in his tracks, and whimpered as he turned to regard Tyson, who held the trinket out before him.
“Come here, now,” he insisted.
Reluctantly, Chief turned and stood beside Tyson.
Raising his eyes to Talon with a malicious grin, the traitor pointed at the ring. “Give it to me or I’ll order him to kill you.”
Talon’s voice was shaky. “You wouldn’t…he wouldn’t...”
“Oh I would, and he will. Hand it over!”
“Chief,” said Talon, getting down on his knees. “Chief, you don’t have to listen to him. I’m your master. I’m your friend. He’s just scared, is all.”
“Shut your mouth and give me the ring!”
Chief whimpered.
“Come on, boy,” Talon urged.
“Stay!” said Tyson.
Chief sat and whined.
“You have one more chance,” Tyson warned. “Give me the ring.”
“Don’t do this,” Talon begged.
Tyson’s face reflected his inner struggle. He seemed to know he was doing something wrong, but also that he had already gone too far. His indecision was lost as he gazed upon the glowing Kyrr. Power lust sparkled in his eyes.
“Don’t do it!” Talon screamed.
“Attack, Chief! Attack!”
Chief leapt with a growl, and turned to mist as he shot across the cave, suddenly solidifying before Talon.
“It’s me, Chief! It’s Talon. Stop this!”
“Take him down!” Tyson hollered.
“Listen to me, Chief. I am your master.”
“Take him down now!”
Chief whimpered and backed up a step. Tyson was still creeping around the entrance.
“I gave you an order, wolf! Kill him now!”
Chief growled at Talon.
“Kill him!”
“Fight it, boy!”
Chief raised his head to the ceiling and gave a deafening howl. In a flash of light he returned to the figurine. The echo of his howl went on through the cavern for many long moments.
Talon staggered to his feet and laid furious eyes on Tyson. “Give me the trinket!”
Tyson brought the sword before him and shifted nervously.
“Come, Chief!” he called to the trinket, shaking it.
Nothing happened.
He began to back up as Talon slowly stalked forward.
“Come, Chief. I summon you!” Tyson pleaded.
Talon charged and Tyson ran out of the cave.
“Tyson, stop!”
By the moonlight, Talon saw him running across the rocky coast, and followed cautiously.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Tyson. I just want Chief back!”
Tyson kept going at a reckless pace. More than once he slipped.
“We can work this out!” Talon pleaded.
Tyson began to climb the sheer cliff that loomed before them, blocking the way.
More than once he slipped, raining down loose stone, but Talon steadily clawed his way up after him.
“Leave me alone!” Tyson screamed when he reached the top. He started kicking at the cliff, trying to loosen stones to fall down on Talon.
“You were scared. You weren’t yourself. Please stop this, Tyson! You’re going to get hu—“
Talon’s voice failed him as Tyson slipped. Screaming, arms flailing, he fell to land on a jagged outcropping of rock.
“No, no, no, no,” cried Talon. He frantically made his way back down the steep cliff.
He jumped the last ten feet and ran over. A wave crashed into Tyson’s limp form, and Talon knelt by his side.
Tyson stared up at him as he took his hand. He tried to speak, but coughed up blood. His eyes gazed desperately to the heavens, and a pained expression crossed his bloody face.
“Just like…” He fell into another fit of bloody coughs.
Talon wanted to tell him to be still, that it would all be alright, but is voice failed him.
“Just like the mural,” Tyson finally managed to say. A strange smile spread across his face and he went still.
Talon shook him. “Tyson? Tyson!” Grief-stricken and sobbing, he raised two fingers and closed Tyson’s eyes forever.
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