by Rex Foote
Esme nodded at this and ducked inside, where she found Hark sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.
“Good morning,” he murmured sleepily to her.
“Now don’t get mad,” she began as she gathered her few possessions, “but I spoke with the shaman, and he has agreed to allow me to stay with the tribe for a while.”
This woke him up, and in a moment the sleepy, groggy, and newly awoken mood was replaced by alert tension. “What?” he hissed at her.
“Now, now,” she said, holding up a placating hand, “this is my choice; I didn’t make it for you. You can still leave if you want, but I am going to stay.”
He was about to reply when she crouched down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I need this, Hark. I talked to the shaman—well, for most of it I talked with myself—but the point is I realized that during this whole trip, no matter what we were doing, I felt alive. Back in my old life, things were dull and boring, but out here it’s different. I have decided I am never going back to what I had before, but if I want to last out here, I need to know how to live in the wilds, and who better to teach me than the Ohruin? They are nomads, they live their whole lives out here.”
Hark looked like he wanted to interject, but Esme carried on.
“He wants to talk to you—Yatur, that is. He will offer you the same thing he offered me, the choice between staying and going. I know that this trip has been hard on you ever since that attack by the road, and I won’t get mad at you if you want to return. But please stay, Hark; it wouldn’t be the same without you.”
At that moment, they heard Bula calling Esme’s name, and giving the stunned Hark a brief hug, she rose and hurried out the tent flap.
***
Hark sat still for a long while after she had gone, his mind reeling at what Esme had said. He had thought she would have wanted to go back to her old life, and even after what Orgha had said, he’d never put serious credence into the idea that she would reject that life. But that wasn’t all; she had been able to guess part of his true feelings about this trip. Yes, he did want to return, and yes, it did have to do with how badly things had gone since the first time they encountered the Pale Hulk, but it wasn’t fear for himself—it was fear for what could happen to Esme. Or at least that was what he had told himself. Rising, he made his way out of the tent and towards the shaman’s, his mind too focused on other things to notice that he passed them without challenge. He entered the tent to find Yatur standing as if waiting for him.
“Hark,” he said softly. “I have been expecting you.”
“What did you do to her?” Hark growled, surprised at the anger he felt towards this Ohruin who surely must have twisted Esme’s mind in some fashion. How else could he have possibly misread her desires to this extent?
“I did nothing. I merely proved willing to listen to her inner argument about her future, as well as being accommodating to the winning side.”
“You lie,” he said, advancing a step towards Yatur, who just regarded him with a calm expression.
“Orgha told me about your conversation; about how you reacted poorly when he suggested that he knew your friend better than you. But I wonder if that anger is at others claiming to know your friend, or at yourself for having your assumptions about her revealed to be false.”
His words were like a slap across his face, and Hark rocked back from the almost physical shock. Assumptions? About Esme? Impossible. They had been friends for nigh on thirteen years; no one knew her better than he did.
“Last night, when I heard about your reaction to killing the Pale Hulk, a suspicion formed in my mind about you. It has to do with the cause of the fear that you have undeniably felt about this journey. You see, it would be natural to assume that the reason you wish to return to Caladaria is that you fear for Esme, for her wellbeing.” Yatur paused as if gathering his thoughts for what he was about to say next. “But I now do not believe that to be the case. During that same fight, it wasn’t Esme who was in danger; in fact, she is the one mostly responsible for that abomination’s death. Nor do I believe that you feel fear for your own life; you are no coward, Hark, as anyone who has heard your tale would know.”
Hark stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the shaman’s face, utterly undone by his words. Here was someone who in the space of a night had seen right through all the carefully constructed reasons and explanations Hark had made for his fear, and he had cleaved right through them all to the pathetic cause of it all.
“You fear to fail, in her eyes and in your own. You think that because you are an Elreni who lives among Humans that you can claim some mastery of the wild that they do not possess. I would say that this is an assumption you have clung to for most of your life. It has become a large part of who you are, and the thought of this assumption being exposed as a lie terrifies you, as it would mean that a large part of who you are is built on a lie. But no matter how desperately you tried to hide from it or escape it, the truth is that you have no unique mastery of the wilds. Perhaps you are better at hunting compared to the Humans you live among, but when you are forced to survive out in the wilderness, you prove as good as any Human. This is the truth you came to so soon after your plans fell apart, and it’s the truth that you have been desperate to hide ever since. You thought you could keep her safe because you knew what it meant to survive beyond the bounds of cities and settlements. But when you discovered that you did not know a thing about it, you tried to back out, to hurry home before the lie was exposed.”
As he talked, Hark’s mind was a hive of actively. Throwing up rationales and excuses to counter everything the shaman had said, but each broke under the unrelenting truth of Yatur’s words, and now he stood without excuse, his lie laid bare for all to see. His expression grew slowly more and more distraught as his defences fell until his face was a mask of despair. Seeing this, Yatur came over to him and placed both hands on Hark’s shoulders.
“But all is not lost, Hark. The Ohruin know the wild and know how to survive it. Even now, your friend, leaping at the opportunity I offered, is learning our ways. And I offer the same to you; stay with us and learn.”
Hark shook his head, fighting back the tears “No,” he croaked. “I can’t. I lied to her and she could have died because of that, and she almost did once. No, she is better off without me, without my lies and assumptions.”
Yatur’s eyes sharpened as if focusing in on something revealed in Hark’s expression.
“I was wrong,” he murmured in a soft, soothing tone “It wasn’t exposure you feared the most. You genuinely fear that your lie could hurt her, kill her even. And so you think that leaving her is the safest course of action, for her.” Seeing Hark’s affirming nod, he tightened his grip on the Elreni’s shoulders. “But again you assume too much. The only reason that either of you made it as far as you have is because of each other. She only made it through those first few days out of Caladaria because of you. Likewise, it was the threat to her life that made you react so quickly when the Pale Hulk attacked you in the woods. You two draw strength from each other, and if one were to leave, then I would think that both of you would fail.”
Hark was too confused to know what to feel. First, the shaman’s words had broken him, exposed him as a liar who had endangered his dearest friend. Then he had offered Hark hope of redemption by offering to teach him the ways of the Ohruin. And now he was telling Hark that him being with Esme was what had kept her alive during this journey. Then he stopped and thought on what the shaman had said. He recalled how he used the fear of Esme being harmed to override the fear of the Pale Hulk, thus allowing him to act quickly, and though he would only be certain if he asked her, he believed Yatur when he said that Esme had only gotten through the first few days of the journey because it was him she had been traveling with. As he saw the truth in what Yatur had said, he slowly nodded his head.
“Yes,” he said in a husky voice. “Yes, I will stay and learn, with her.”
&nbs
p; The old Ohruin’s answering smile was warm and welcoming, and it reminded Hark of his own father, a welcome and comforting thought given the circumstances.
“Orgha,” Yatur called, and a few moments later the hunter entered the tent. “Hark has decided to stay and learn from us. You shall be his teacher.”
Orgha gave a respectful bow and led Hark out of the tent and into the camp, guiding him back to the tent where he had slept. While he walked, Hark felt something he hadn’t felt in a while: a sense of profound relief that everything would be alright. He smiled to himself, his earlier despair gone, to be replaced by a growing sense of hope.
***
As Hark and Orgha left the tent, Yatur went back to gaze out on the plains in the light of midmorning, reflecting on his actions this morning. Though he had acted out of a desire to help the pair, he knew that he had set things in motion, things that would perhaps not culminate for many years to come; only the World Sprit would know the real impact of what he had said and done this morning. But for now, he took solace in that fact that, at the very least, he had set two troubled minds to rest, and that was no small thing.
Chapter Thirteen
11th Day of Daaris. The Season of Light. Year 250
In the quiet hours before dawn, three travellers left Caladaria via the northern gate and followed the road into the pre-dawn gloom. Mul led the way, her tall and imposing form acting as a deterrent for those who might entertain ideas about harassing the group, though at this hour fellow travellers were few and far between. Behind her walked Kellan, his mind focused on the task at hand, his left hand idly caressing the worn leather grip of the long sword he wore on his hip. Finally, at the rear walked Aiden, his mind elsewhere as he mechanically followed in the wake of his friends. They walked in companionable silence, not feeling the need to fill the air with pointless chatter. The group had been doing this for four years now and thought of themselves as professionals and ensured that they acted like it.
As evening fell, they pulled off the road and made camp. Mul headed out into the night and returned a few minutes later with firewood. Soon they had a fire going and were cooking dinner over it. As it cooked, Aiden turned to address Kellan.
“Do you think the Elreni actually kidnapped the girl?”
This question took Kellan off guard; he hadn’t even really considered if the story told about the kidnapping was true or not, as it hadn’t really concerned him.
“I don’t know. Does it matter?” he replied.
“To me it does.”
“Enough to stop you from doing your part to retrieve her?”
“No, we are being paid far too much for that. But I would like to know.”
“I believe,” interjected Mul, her tone low and thoughtful, “that her mother believes she was taken against her will.”
“She did seem…” Aiden began.
“Sincere?” offered Kellan.
“Sincere,” the mage agreed.
“That doesn’t mean her daughter was kidnapped,” Mul said.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So we shouldn’t hurt the Elreni?” Aiden asked.
“We won’t, and we shouldn’t have to. All we need to do is let me talk to them and I can explain what’s going on. Once they understand that we only want to get them back to safety so that we can get paid, they should agree. After that, they can deal with each other as they see fit.”
Both Aiden and Mul nodded at this, though a faint smile quirked Mul’s lips.
“You’re going to talk your way out of something again. I thought you would have learned after the last few times.”
Kellan waved off her comment with a dismissive gesture. During their time spent together, there had been many times where he had done just that—talked his way out of situations. But recently there had been a few notable instances of it not going his way. The Ohruin loved to remind him of them, though she meant nothing critical by doing it and he took no offence from it; it was all part of the relationship they had cultivated after the years that they had spent together. After this, they spent the rest of the evening in idle conversation about nothing in particular as the moon hung far overhead, bathing the land in its silver half-light.
The next day, they made good time as they travelled at a steady pace, and at sun’s peak they reached the spot where the pair they were hunting had been driven off the road. When they reached the site, it was barely detectable from the rest of the road, and Mul got to work examining the ground directly east of the site while Aiden wandered around the campsite. Kellan watched Mul, as he was always eager to see his friend at work. Not long after she had begun, the tracker beckoned him over.
“Here,” she said, pointing at faint signs and hints of passage in the grass. “They fled this way. I would say they did so in a blind panic.”
Before circumstances had forced her to depart her tribe, Mul had been a tracker, a magnificent tracker, even among a race considered to be the best in that field. She knew all the signs to look for; the meaning behind the direction a blade of grass was bent, how fast someone was running by the impact of their steps on the grass. Of course, it did help that an Ohruin’s sense of smell was greater than that of any of the four races, and even better than that of many animals. However, if the pair had been experienced and tried to cover their trail, then following them would have proven a difficult test even for Mul. Thankfully they had taken no such precautions, nor even thought to have done so.
“Well done,” he said to her, and clapped her on her broad shoulder. Turning to Aiden, he shouted, “We have their trail.”
“Good,” he answered, coming over to join them. “But you should know, the thing that attacked them was far more dangerous than our employers let on.”
“They didn’t tell us much about it,” Kellan admitted.
The mage nodded his head vigorously and pointed to a spot he had been examining. “There is a lot of blood, and deep depressions in the ground over there. I am no tracker, but if all that was caused by the thing that attacked them, then it’s very dangerous.”
As they spoke, Mul had walked over to the spot where Aiden had indicated and bent to examine it. Straightening, her skin now light green to match the grass of the plains about them, she said, “Aiden is right, whatever attacked them was very strong. I am surprised that they were able to escape it.”
“They did say a patrol was with them, maybe it only attacked them,” Kellan replied.
“Maybe,” Mul said, gazing off in the direction the pair’s trail went. Then she set off in that direction, Kellan and Aiden falling in behind as they set off into the wild expanse of Esmor.
It was night by the time they reached the wood, having followed the trail all day without pause and eating on the move. At times, the path had gone in wild circles, and at others it had made sharp turns that made as much sense as anything else the pair had done in the flight. Upon reaching the edge of the wood, Mul stopped and stiffened.
Coming up alongside her, Kellan asked, “What is it?”
“The taint,” she growled, her voice low and menacing. Then she took out her great warbow, nocked an arrow, and proceeded into the woods. Kellan drew his longsword and motioned to Aiden to be on his guard. The mage, who had not heard their exchange, nodded and followed them in, trusting that if his friends were on edge, then it was for a good reason. It didn’t take long to find what had made Mul so agitated.
“Damn,” was all Kellan could manage as he gazed down at the rotting corpse of the large, four-limbed creature more commonly known as a Pale Hulk. Mul was crouched by the corpse, examining it, while Aiden looked on, the hood of his cloak drawn up and over his mouth and nose to keep the smell out.
Looking up at him, her expression hidden by shadow, Mul said, “It died from a deep cut to its neck. Also, there are two arrows firmly embedded in its chest, one of its shins is snapped in two, and the left side of its head is severely burned with a lot of the flesh reduced to charred meat.”
“You mean
they killed it?” asked Aiden, his voice muffled behind his cloak. “But how? They are just kids?”
“They are eighteen,” Kellan corrected. “And maybe they just got lucky.”
Standing, Mul spat on the corpse and, walking off towards the treeline, said, “I will go a make camp. Join me when you’re done.”
The hatred in her tone caused Kellan to smile. On the whole, the Ohruin didn’t like things that came from the Skittering Dark, but Mul had personal cause to hate them.
“You know this means this job just got harder?”
Kellan turned to the mage, who was looking at the corpse of the Pale Hulk.
“How so?” he asked.
“Because, if those two killed this thing, then they are far tougher than that merchant and his wife told us.”
“Like I said, they could have just gotten lucky. After all, she was a mage in training, and desperate times can bring out surprising things in people,” Kellan countered.
Aiden nodded his head, conceding that his friend did have a point. “There is something else. If she was helping him fight this thing, do you really think she is following him against her will?”
“Maybe she didn’t have a choice; maybe she had to fight alongside him to survive.”
Aiden turned his gaze back to the corpse, then nodded to himself as if Kellan’s explanation fit. The pair then walked to join Mul, who had gotten a fire going and was cooking a meal. They sat and filled her in on what they found.
“Well,” she said, “I have good news. One of them got that thing’s blood all over them, probably on their clothes. I can track that scent all the way to Slivertop if I needed to.”
This was welcome news, and it dispelled any lingering gloom brought on by the sight of a creature of the Skittering Dark, even a dead one. With their task seeming far easier than it had before, the trio relaxed and enjoyed the evening, talking and eating while the fire crackled merrily into the night.
