Wycaan Master: Book 03 - Ashbar

by Alon Shalev

  “Oh, you mean like we’re doing here?”

  “I’m surprised we’re getting this much attention now that Seanchai has gone.”

  Shayth stared at his friend. “That mini arrow was shot from nearly two hundred feet. Only a Master Assassin would be able to do that. Ahad is tracking us and I’m sure his men are just as formidable.”

  “You worried?”

  “It’s more that I’m resigned to dying without knowing what happened to Seanchai. It’s probably the first time I haven’t welcomed death.”

  “Well, if you want to leave me here. . .”

  Shayth laughed. “You’re joking, but even if you weren’t, you know I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if Seanchai does return, he would seriously kick my butt if he found out I left you behind, and double kick me if I die too.”

  They both laughed at the thought.

  “Shayth?” Rhoddan said after a while. “Does the Emperor ever go out and fight battles himself?”

  “The Emperor is a mystery, my friend. Even those who live in the palace don’t know him. I suspect that even my royal cousin has very little understanding of his father.

  “I remember people gossiping about his frequent forays out of the capital when I was a child. My nanny said that the Emperor turned into an eagle and flew across Odessiya, checking that everyone was behaving themselves. She used to say that if he got angry, he could grab a child with his long talons or burn them with fire.

  “I would point out that eagles don’t breathe fire and that humans can’t transform into great beasts. But she was pretty adamant. Said those born to royalty could. . .”

  Shayth stopped and they stared at each other. Rhoddan was the first to speak.

  “Shayth, can humans, emperors especially, turn into animals?”

  “Not that I know,” Shayth said, his voice now quiet and hesitant.

  Rhoddan was agitated. “Mhari said that even if Seanchai could unite the races tomorrow, he still wouldn’t be able to beat the Emperor. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and maybe your nanny wasn’t that far off. Does your uncle have white hair?”

  Shayth stared out into the void, sifting through painful, buried memories. In the silence that followed, Rhoddan began to doze, jerking awake when his head bobbed.

  He woke to a different silence. No crickets or nocturnal animal stirred. It felt like calm before a storm, and Rhoddan saw Shayth crouched against the rock face, an arrow strung on his bow.

  Rhoddan crawled to the entrance and took position on the other side. He drew his sword quietly, with great effort. He was sweating again, though the prickly feeling crawling up his spine told him that this time, it was from fear.

  The first sounds were rhythmic whooshes of air that became increasingly louder. Mesmerized from the steady beat, Rhoddan suddenly realized it was flapping.

  The night sky blazed from a stream of fire. Rhoddan crouched under cover of a rock and tried not to stare at the bright flames. All he could think right now was that it would destroy his night vision, and that might prove deadly.

  Though the creature passed above them and into the distance, its roar of frustration shook the rocks in the cave.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  After they had dined on smoked fish, Seanchai moved away from the fireplace and stood among the bloodwood trees to complete his exercises. He had noticed that they tended to grow in circles, and decided on his own that they were rings of energy.

  He stood, breathing deeply and allowing his consciousness to fill his body. Planting his feet firmly on the earth, he drew energy up from the ground, and wave after wave swept through his body. Seanchai felt cleansed from within. The old energy was being replaced by something new, something vibrant, and something powerful yet pure.

  At one point he became aware of Sellia leaning on a nearby tree and reluctantly grounded the energy that swirled around him. He stretched and took deep breaths before finally opening his eyes.

  “Denalion suggested you sleep some tonight. It’s important that you’re fresh when we reach the city. I said I would wait up until you finish your exercises, but I’m falling asleep, myself.” Sellia yawned in unintentional emphasis.

  Seanchai smiled, feeling both relaxed and energized. “What’s he worried about? Does he think I would keep this up all night?”

  “It’s well past the middle of the night, Seanchai,” she laughed.

  Seanchai looked up to find the moon, but the canopy of branches and leaves denied him. He began to realize that he was, indeed, stiff. He nodded to Sellia and glanced over at Denalion, who was snoring softly.

  “Okay,” he said. “Are you going to wake our red-headed friend to guard?”

  “He says there’s no need to guard. We’re being taken care of.”

  Seanchai frowned as he stretched his cramping muscles. “I hope I can fall asleep, knowing there’s no guard.”

  He didn’t even recall putting his head on the pillow.

  Seanchai woke to the smell of fish sizzling on a fire. He rose and went to the river, where he dunked his head, immediately gasping from the icy water.

  “You have come to learn our ways, Wycaan,” Denalion said. “First lesson, then: Check what you’re sticking your head into before you do so.”

  Denalion and Sellia laughed, but Seanchai winced. He had once done the same thing at Mhari’s camp, and received almost the exact same admonishment. He missed Mhari and that moment reminded him of Ilana too. He sighed.

  “Let’s go,” he said, striding back to his bedding.

  Denalion continued to prepare the food. When Seanchai looked at him, he said, “These fish sacrificed their life to sustain us. We must honor their gift.”

  Seanchai sat down, suppressing his impatience as best he could. He didn’t have long to wait before they were walking. Denalion led them downstream to stepping-stones that crossed the river. They easily jumped from one rock to the next and were soon the other side of the water.

  Denalion looked back. “The river is a source of food and water. It is also a barrier, and can become impossible to cross if we are threatened. We are grateful for its generosity.”

  Seanchai wasn’t sure if this was a thank you to the river or information for him, so he bowed slightly to the river, just in case.

  As the sun reached its zenith, Seanchai noticed that the trees were getting even bigger, their trunks two or three times the girth of those he had first seen upon entering the forest. Above him was an impenetrable canopy of green.

  He touched the smooth, shiny bark on one trunk and, as he gazed up, he saw two figures balancing on it, watching them. They made no effort to hide and Seanchai saw no weapons. They were wearing green and blended with the trees.

  When they were closer, Seanchai saw that they were calhei, young elves, and his pulse quickened. They were healthy; nourished; and possessed vibrant, dark skin. Enslaved calhei were often hungry, dirty, and jaundiced.

  Denalion walked past them with a short nod of acknowledgement, but Seanchai and Sellia stopped.

  “Greetings,” Seanchai said, and waved.

  The calhei stared at him, and then jumped down elegantly and ran off ahead of them.

  “They’re shy,” Seanchai said, and then saw the look on Sellia’s face.

  “They’re dark-skinned,” she whispered. “Like me.”

  Denalion stopped when the calhei ran past him. “Elves come in all shades,” he said to Sellia. “You will find dark elves to be common here. Behold! We have arrived at the capital. Welcome to Bloodwyre.”

  Nothing but huge trees surrounded them. Seanchai looked back at Denalion. “I see mighty trees and little clearing. Where is your city?”

  The elf pushed back his red hair and smiled. “Look up, my friend.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Seanchai obeyed, and his mouth fell open. For a moment, he thought he might actually be dreaming. He set his backpack on the ground and lay down, using it as a pillow.

&
nbsp; From here, he could see that nearly every huge trunk was a stairwell into the trees. Branches crossed in a sensible, orderly maze. Elves had gathered to look down at him. They were pointing and laughing. As more elves congregated, descending from hidden areas above the platform they stood on, Denalion cleared his throat. When Seanchai looked at him, their guide nodded with his head.

  “Bloodwyre is far more impressive from above,” he said, a big smile across his face.

  Seanchai rose and picked up his bag. He and Sellia followed Denalion to one of the tree staircases. They reached the first platform quickly. It was wide enough for several elves to walk together.

  The path connected the tree trunk out to another branch. Denalion led them up, across, and up again.

  Seanchai noticed that the elves here kept a respectful distance, their eyes darting at him and Denalion. Sellia was hardly noticed. As they moved higher and further across, they passed elf dwellings of differing shapes and sizes, but always appearing as part of the trees and branches. Tightly braided vines and thatch appeared to be the main construction materials. There were regimented gaps that functioned as windows.

  Seanchai wanted to look closer, but Denalion led him to where huge branches and trunks converged to form a square with small buildings around the edges. The dreamwalker pointed to the other side of the square, at a larger building with a roof of logs and living vines.

  Green leaves stretched out and up from it, seeking the light. Before he followed Denalion into the structure, he looked around and saw that a large number of elves of all shapes, sizes, and colors had gathered and were watching the newcomers. Sellia gently pushed him inside.

  The hall was taller and wider than he had anticipated. It was cool and well lit, and there were many elves gathered. They were buzzing with conversation as Seanchai had approached, but now they all stared at him in silence.

  Denalion walked toward a long table at the opposite end from where they entered. It sat on a platform made from a huge trunk split down the middle. The flat part of the tree trunk was smooth while the rounded part nestled on wooden stands. The table that sat on the platform was constructed in much the same fashion.

  There were seventeen elves seated along its length, and there was a chair for one more. Two elves had bright white hair. They were female–one old, and the other about Seanchai’s age. He bowed to them and they inclined their heads.

  Denalion cleared his throat. “Greetings, members of the High Council,” he said, his voice projecting clearly to all in the hall. “I bring guests, the first in many years. They have passed through our barriers, survived our tests, and come to us now in dire times for their people.”

  He pointed to Seanchai. “This is Seanchai, son of Seantai. He is a Wycaan studying to become a master. I have met him in the dream world, and I am comfortable vouching for his honesty.”

  Then he turned to introduce Sellia. “This is Sellia. She knows not her roots, but is deadly with the bow, whether hunting or fighting. She is sworn to the Wycaan.”

  “Have you met her in the dream world?” One of the council asked, an older elf with a dark complexion.

  “I have not,” Denalion replied.

  “Then you have brought one among us whose way is hidden.”

  “She is the consort of the Wycaan.” Denalion’s voice remained firm. “It is enough for me that the Wycaan vouches for her.”

  “Why have you come to us, Seanchai, son of Seantai?” one councilmember asked. She was wrapped entirely in green cloth, so much so that Seanchai could not make out her age or features.

  “I seek training,” he said. “My master, Mhari, whom you know, has passed into the spirit world. She died bringing down the walls of Galbrieth to save my friends and me. I swore to Mhari that I would come here to complete my training with Wycaan elves.”

  “Does a Wycaan ever complete his training?” the older Wycaan replied. “I think not. And we would need good reason to train one already so old as you.”

  “You are right. Master Mhari believed that I could never reach my potential as a Wycaan until I had learned from a Wycaan of my own people. As for good reason, consider this: A cruel human despot, one who will soon strive to gain entry into–and conquer–your land, rules Odessiya. He places many elves, dwarves, humans, and pictorians into slavery. Many others are serfs, living in great poverty without rights or protection. The elves, especially, are considered an underclass and suffer the most.

  “I have come to ask that you help free the races of Odessiya. The dwarves have risen, but though they are large in spirit and bravery, they are small in number. The aqua’lanis and the pictorians, too, have pledged to help, but they are also small of number.

  “It is with the Elves of the West that our hopes lie, for you are a free and powerful people, and you live and breathe our heritage.”

  “You have wasted your time,” the female in green said. “Our people left Odessiya in order to protect ourselves and our heritage. The sad story you tell of the eastern elves vindicates this decision.”

  A murmur of agreement ran around the hall.

  “I am sorry to bear you the bad news, and am surprised Mhari didn’t save you the trouble or teach you our history during your training, It would have saved you a long journey,” she added.

  Seanchai didn’t falter, and instead took a deep breath. “These are the words of Wycaan Master Tansu, written in the Book of Prophesies. He brought you to this place from the brink of extermination.

  “Wait and be patient, my people. For I have seen that one will come from the East–a Wycaan of our own ears, pointed and proud. He will be young and unstable, all too ready to fall by the way. Teach him, then, our heritage and values. Train him to find the strength at his core and help him build the foundation he will need.

  For it falls to him to reforge the Alliance, and he must not fail. For his failure will be the end of the elves, and the dwarves, and all the races, save man. Then nothing will stand between man and his greed, and the earth will destroy itself rather than be subjugated. Life as we know it will end. . . forever.”

  Seanchai turned and slowly surveyed the entire hall. Then he turned back to the council member who had admonished him. “I know your history. I learned from the Book of Prophecies and the wisdom of Wycaan Master Tansu. I have come to claim my own heritage as a Wycaan Master.

  “And I have come to fulfill the prophecy he spoke of. I have come to save you, proud Elves of the West.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  When Seanchai finished, the silence in the Great Hall was palpable. No one moved or spoke for some time. Then the two Wycaans rose together from their seats. The older one turned and addressed the council.

  “Wise members of the High Council, Elves of Bloodwyre. There is much to digest, much to discuss. We warn against haste and impulsiveness. Whether our decision is judged right or wrong in the tomes of history, let it not be said that the High Council’s decision was rushed and fueled by long-buried emotions and fears we have tried so hard to suppress.

  “Let the High Council break for the day and each meditate upon what has occurred. We will take the young Wycaan to our school and begin to train him. Let the High Council reconvene if and when the young elf is ready to be tested.

  “We have trusted in the wisdom of the trees, and they have never failed us. Dig deep into your souls, my friends. The path will be revealed.”

  As one, the entirety of the Great Hall rose and stood in silence. Some had their eyes closed. Others held their heads or hands facing upward.

  Seanchai soaked in the energy exuding from these hundreds of elves. He glanced up at the shimmering leaves above and heard a great creak in the trunks of the bloodwood trees. The people exhaled. They had been answered.

  “Follow us,” the old Wycaan said as she and the younger one walked past Seanchai. He turned to Sellia, but Denalion was ushering her off in a different direction. “We are taking you to the home of the Wycaans. There is no entrance tolerated for any but thos
e who walk our path.” The old elfe glanced at Seanchai. “Denalion will take care of her. Come now.”

  Outside the Great Hall, the two Wycaans put their hoods over their heads. Seanchai did the same, but kept his head at the front of the cowl. He did not want to miss anything.

  They passed different dwellings, and an area of workshops: blacksmiths, wood workers, metalwork, and many artisans. Soon, they were walking on paths with only the tree trunks surrounding them. They reached an abrupt end at a sturdy vine.

  “Do you have gloves?” the older Wycaan asked him.

  Seanchai took out his riding gloves, and she examined them and fretted.

  “Hold on, but not too tight. Here–go first.”

  Seanchai put his gloves on and firmly grabbed the vine. He twisted his feet around it and looked down. He couldn’t see the forest floor.

  “Ready?”

  He nodded, still looking down. . . and shot upwards to another platform, where he skipped off. The others followed him, both grinning. Seanchai rolled his eyes, but smiled as well.

  They walked for a long while, and by now, even the muted light was darkening. The path descended to the forest floor and Seanchai was happy to be on the ground, forest elf or not.

  They approached a big clearing where a number of elves wandered around, sparring, meditating, and performing the exercises Seanchai recognized from his own teachings. They all paused and stared. Seanchai’s Wycaan guides stopped abruptly and turned to him.

  “If your story is not true, if you are an imposter or bring evil in your heart, you will not be able to walk five more paces. You have been warned.”

  Seanchai nodded. “I am who I say I am. You know what my heart desires.”

  He walked forward and felt his body thrum. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. When it stopped, so did he.

  “Did I pass the test?” he asked, smiling.