Call of the Harn

by JosephGeorge

  Chapter IV

  . Into the Night .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  She lay heavy in his arms, far more than he had expected.

  Strange, because she was thin and emaciated from the most recent, and tragic events of her life.

  Or perhaps it was that his own strength was failing him?

  Whatever the case, he ran, and how he regretted making the decision to bring along a full set of half-plate mail. It was heavier than the girl.

  But it did not matter, he would just run faster.

  His footsteps were deep in the sand, revealing his path of escape to all the world, and though he dared not to look back, he was almost certain that Feilden’s men would be tracking him, and at a much greater speed.

  The advantage was still his, though, because the desert wind would make the final push at completely wiping any and all trace of their having walked that specific path. With each step sinking into itself, and the last few grains trickling in over the side.

  Overhead the bright sun slowly crept its way to sleep, tucking itself behind the distant mountains at the far edge of the desert. Their shadows ran long in the fading light, and the sweat ran thick and full, down his forehead, through his undershirt and soaking into his tunic. But he could not stop to rest now.

  With a pounding heart tearing at his lungs, he pressed onward, pushing what little strength remained into his legs. Funny, though, how it wasn’t the legs that wanted to give out and collapse to the floor.

  As long as he could reach the eastern wall before they managed to catch up, he knew that they would be safe. All his days running scout duty along the wall, it seemed, would pay off. He knew of one small break in the stone barrier that had never been repaired.

  It was their ticket out.

  A part of him could not believe the events that had transpired over the past few days. It seemed almost too…perfect. But not one to complain or waste an opportunity, he had seized the moment with his sharpened wit, and now, here they were.

  Running for their lives.

  But they were not in so much jeopardy as he made it out to be. He only wanted to be sure that they couldn’t find him, and with the onslaught of the night bearing down upon them, there was little that the soldiers could do but to turn back and return to their outpost.

  Spending a night in the desert was not a prospect that they enjoyed.

  And neither did he.

  Aviin, slowed his pace a bit, pulling to a lighter jog and letting his muscles rest. They were tight, and aching from the strain of being pushed to the limit, but they would not break. Training had done that for him.

  There was this energy that seemed to be flowing from her form into his own. It had not stopped since there was that connection between them, which worried him. The color had drained from her lips and was receding past her cheeks now. How she had survived without nourishment for such a long time was beyond him, but there was still the pulse of her heart beating against his own, and so he turned to the more pressing matter at hand.

  And into the desert they fled, becoming one with the solitude of such a vast space, lost, at last.

  . How to Ruin a Man .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  A sparse scattering of clouds hung over the grey stoned city, ambling along at a quiet pace. Streets bustled with activity, traders vigorously promoting their wares from far off lands in the markets, and it was otherwise a normal day in Arribinthia.

  But a heavy aura hung over Graffert Street where the royal barracks had been built nearly a century before.

  A war was being waged inside those spacious halls.

  A man was being evaluated, and his credentials reconsidered.

  In the end, had it been any other, they would have faced a short viewing before the court, sentenced to a temporary term of restricted duty, and the pain would end.

  But here, it seemed, there was much to be understood before one could make such a simple and quick judgement.

  Feilden, after all, was no mere foot soldier in the ranks, and wouldn’t be tried as much.

  Long halls opened into the main area where they all sat. Such a high ceiling stretching up for a great distance before branching into a domed roof. Adorning the walls was an assortment of banners and heralds, all marking the many different clans and households that existed in the kingdom. At the end of the room lay the High Judges seat, and behind him towered seven majestic figures, all carved into the sandstone, all gods in their own right.

  Lydria.

  Brey.

  Kholiris.

  Draal.

  Gyream.

  Yvre.

  Thoaxis.

  The council of judges had been discussing with his commanders for some time, and it was no surprise as to what that conversation might include. He swore, under his breath, and wished it all away.

  This was never a part of his vision, nor was it anything that had ever entered his mind. It simply should not have happened, but there was no changing things now.

  The past has a way of sticking and staying.

  And now it would be a black mark on his record for the rest of time. An inerasable stain to his name, branching out its venomous tentacles and seeping into every corner of his life, wrapping and tearing with its tendrils of a constant reminder that he had broken the code.

  A commander, in the royal army, and he had disobeyed orders.

  “Farshta!” He muttered again. “

  The Fates did not favor him of a sudden.

  But his anger was not so much at his current position, as it was something that he had expected. One cannot step from the bounds of what has been set, and hope to escape the confines of the law. It simply could not be done, and that order and control must remain, or the army would fall before battle even came to them.

  In fact, the whole world seemed to run on these rules, and breaking them always recurred a most unpleasant consequence.

  Gravity was quite obvious to him, and now he was spiraling in this free-fall of a descent, seeking for direction and stability, but all the while knowing that there would come a point when the air ran out, and there was only cold, hard stone to greet him.

  But how could he have acted differently?

  In that circumstance, any man would have done the same, and if it had not been him, there would be no correction to give, and no punishment to receive.

  His tired eyes closed, overshadowed with his greying hair that so characterized the line of work that he had chosen for himself.

  Actually, it never was a decision of his.

  His father had made sure of that.

  And now, he would have to do the same for his own son. Without a mother to care for him or teach him the ways of life, there simply was no other option. Rather than a Tum-tum stick in his hand, there would be a sword. Double edged and able to kill. No soft crib for a bed, only the hard leather of a soldier’s cot.

  And not even a warm embrace when he returned home, victorious from their most recent journeying.

  All of this came back to him, like branded shackles, burning into his flesh as they bound him to the wall of bondage to his past, and drawing tighter as the moments ticked by.

  “General?”

  The voice intruded into his thoughts and pulled him from the terrible vision of his memory of so many years past. He started, realizing that it wasn’t the seven hundredth and seventh year any longer. Things had changed.

  Grinvelld had entered his quarters, seeking confirmation of some order that had been given.

  “Yes, take them with you to Havendale, and see that their wounds are treated properly.” He answered in response. There were four more, all with those burns that never seemed to heal, despite them being the farthest thing from a mortal wound.

  Magic has that effect on things.

  Whatever had happened, the marks on Feilden’s record were striking at the paper now like some crazed Were-cat. Heads would roll over this one, but it was not his own that worried him the most.<
br />
  So much had been lost.

  Matthias, the boy.

  Now his son, and of course the girl with him.

  One of his good soldiers in the fight out in the sands.

  Seven others would be on the recovery path for several weeks at the least.

  And of course, there was that memory bringing all of the rest of it back.

  His wife was added to the list.

  But throwing his defense of a stone heart and an iron mind, he pressed forward. There was so much to be done, and the timing was not in his favor. A runner had brought word from the capitol that there was talk of rebellion in several of the border towns that dotted the edge of the desert’s peak to the west. They wanted it to be crushed without further room for advancement, if such plots were being laid.

  He did not wish to go.

  How could he?

  That rage that had filled him just days before was not subsiding, but he knew that he must keep it in check, especially while in the presence of his men.

  Once was enough.

  Actually, it was once too many times.

  . an excerpt from the book of draal: Chapter XLIIX .

  In this time of great confusion and uncertainty, a new claim to the throne has arisen in a man named Eiris, but known to many as Kall, Slayer of Beasts.

  Exiled two decades earlier for rebellion against the king’s rule, he traveled to the northern mountains where he spent his days hunting the great monsters of the forest, gaining for himself a reputation as a man that could not be slain.

  After revealing his true lineage, the High Elders’ council determined that he was in fact the only living heir to the throne, and by right of law, it was his rule to claim.

  Now seated upon the throne of the great Karx, his uncle, Eiris begins to set at defiance all those laws which he deems unnecessary, withdrawing the heavy taxes from the heads of the people, granting parole to many of those prisoners who swore oaths to serve the crown, and traveling through the kingdom in search of weaknesses to eradicate from the people.

  This drastic altering in the daily lives of the people will bring unwelcome resistance at first, but soon they will begin to recognize the good heart of their new king, and rally behind him.

  In the thirty-fourth year of the reign of Karx, Eiris instituted a new festival into the lives of the people. Calling it Uldruth Inth-Astea, Jubilee of the Thousand Moons, to commemorate the thousandth recorded year on the Vraalden calendar. Funds from the royal treasury are being dispersed to the major cities of the kingdom, providing the people with a day of celebration.

  A special festivity is planned to be held at the capitol where Lord Eiris will present a ballad that he has written while at war in his early years, and ask the people to accept it as their new anthem.

  . Of a Rising Obsession to Fire .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  Aviin shivered against the cold, staring into the sparse flames and willing them to grow larger. The slight warmth that they offered was almost stolen away by the wind that blew through the wild. Brisk and bright, it was biting.

  And cold steel offered little protection from such an element.

  The girl was certainly colder than he, which is why his own tunic was laid over her shoulders, but then, it would do little to ward off the chill that had quickly set in.

  This was something he had not planned for, and now he would pay the consequence of his mistake. Stupid, he thought, but something excusable under the circumstances.

  Rubbing his legs in an attempt to press the cold and the ache from them, he mentally chastised himself again for making such a rash decision and acting upon it without much thought. In the end, though, it was the only thing that had made sense.

  She would have died, otherwise.

  And he to be left in that cold, stone box for who knows how long.

  No, he made the right choice, and by Yvre’s ear, he would make it out of this place, the both of them alive and well.

  Aviin chuckled aloud lightly.

  Then again, he didn’t even believe in those sorts of superstition.

  One thing was for sure, though, he had to get her to a healer as soon as possible, which would be a hard task. The nearest town that he knew of could be nearly four day’s journey from where they were, if the weather permitted and his body did not give out.

  Or worse….

  That thought crossed his mind, peaking around the corners of his consciousness, only to be silenced with a swift blow.

  I will not think of such things! He commanded his own self. She will survive.

  But one thing that I could not understand was what force he had driving him to do such a thing. To go to such great lengths in an effort to keep fate from taking its toll and Death her victory.

  It was not the thought of a life’s end that concerned him, no, there was something different here, something that I could not put my finger on.

  Aviin added a few small sticks to the flames, looking at their quickly depleting pile of fuel that had not been so big to begin with. He would need to find more soon, but the thought of leaving her unattended forced him to stay a little longer.

  He wanted to go back, to talk to her again, but sleep was a privilege that they couldn’t afford to pay for now, and perhaps not for a long while. Conjuring up visions of her in his mind stayed the desire, but not enough to banish it from his heart altogether.

  Then a thought came to him, that made him smile and cringe, all at the same moment.

  My father is right. His conscience said, speaking to itself. I’m becoming a fanatic.

  . The Calling .

  - Sixth Age, year 1014

  Brittle lay the valley below, broken only by a staggering of sparse trees on occasion, and the dry bed of the Kryllist river.

  Their crops would not grow.

  Their animals would not survive.

  And eventually they would be forced from the land and into a journey for the east.

  But it was something that his mother would simply not allow.

  Lyrus continued to dig, breaking through the hard and dry soil only by jumping, quite earnestly, on the shovel. With each effort, it seemed to shake another little piece of himself out. He was growing thinner, as they all were, and there was no surety that there would be anything left when he walked back down from that hill and to their home.

  Now the hole was deep enough, so I watched as this young boy knelt, picking up a small bundle that contained the still form of their family friend. He had always been there, to run around the legs of the table and scoop up any morsels that slipped, or sometimes deliberately dropped, from the people above.

  But not any longer.

  Sucking back the tears that were being shed for more than just this little life, Lyrus set it into the hole and began covering it over again.

  It was unfair, in all honesty, but life seldom panders to our hopes and dreams. In fact, it’s better to keep them locked away, for the Fates have this funny way of taking what you give them, keeping it for a short time, and then returning it all skewed and twisted.

  That’s what they do, they bend time itself.

  Sometimes it just doesn’t go back to where it came out from.

  Cruel, to ask someone so young and so ignorant of the world’s ways, to be privy to such experience. He should have been playing with his friends, romping in the streets on glorious escapades as they slayed terrible beasts using only their little, wooden swords and donning the armor of a pail helmet and ruck sack for a chest guard.

  There is a certain number of years that should pass before one is required to contemplate the nature of things such as life, and death, and all those heavy things.

  Yes, my reader, she came even for something as unimportant as a Fytleck.

  It’s not in her nature to forsake her duty.

  Darkness lay on the horizon, as it had ever since the day that they left. Lyrus wished he could see farther into the distance, to view his father, and Aldreaus, and the happenings of
their wars with the enemy.

  He knew very little of them, only that they were called by names such as The Black.

  Dread Reapers.

  Orr Tav.

  The Shadow Seekers.

  They were out there, somewhere, and if his father had anything to say about it they would be turning tail and running for whatever place they called home.

  Staring off into the distance, he felt it all calling to him. Speaking his name.

  And one day he would answer.

  . Eyes Like Daggers .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  Aviin raised her head, letting a few drops of their precious water spill into her lips. Tasting the moisture there, she instinctively pulled it in, and sought for more. It brought him relief to see that her disposition to survive was still intact.

  At least for the time being.

  She had not taken any food, but then, he didn’t exactly expect her to chew it for herself. Not having brought anything to boil water in, there was no way for him to make a soup, so for now, the water would have to do.

  Sparse patches of grass, though dry, were showing as they went farther north. Hopefully they were nearing the countryside and could soon leave this wilderness behind.

  Two more days, perhaps.

  Though there was no real way for him to measure how far they had come, and in exactly what direction they should go.

  Leaning back against a broken stump, Aviin took a few moments to clear his mind and run an inventory of the situation. With only a small portion of the dried meat he’d snatched at the last moment, a few mouthfuls of water in the skin, and his weapons, they were not in any shape to continue to survive off of the elements.

  The armor lay out there somewhere, ready to rust back into the earth.

  It was a dumb idea to begin with.

  She had talked to him again. Only briefly, but it was something. He now craved sleep like a type of chemical, constantly aching for it, but never quite being able to return to that blissful state. On occasion he would break through the wall, and the dream would return.

  She was there, always, just watching.

  At his approach, some concern showed in her eyes, more of a defense than of a fear. Her pale skin glinting in the faint light.

  Aviin looks into her emerald eyes and asks simply, “Are you well?”

  Perhaps a bit odd, given the circumstances. But it was a dream, after all.

  They stand on a grassy knoll, the deep green of lush foliage spread at their feet like a carpet, then faded off into the black stone that cascaded over the edge.

  “Yes,” she replies in a questioning sort of way, “I think so.”

  “You know who I am, don’t you?”

  No change comes to the features of her face. Not the wrinkling of her forehead or the curling of the lips in even the slightest way. No recognition?

  “No, but you know me.” And then she continues. “But how?”

  It takes him by surprise, because he had been asking that very question, and as of yet, no answers proffered themselves as possible.

  Only the one, the one that they were currently in.

  “Do you know how we got here? I mean, how we are talking with each other, right now?” Aviin asks, hoping that some sort of an explanation for how this all worked out would come.

  She looks down before replying. “I was not here a moment ago, but where I came from, I don’t know. You called me here, did you not?”

  Called? If he had, there was no way of telling how.

  “Is that what happens? I call you here?”

  “Well, we are here, aren’t we?”

  It is all so confusing to him, this strange paradox into a plane that he had never understood before.

  “Yes, but I do not understand why? What purpose do you have for coming to meet me?” Aviin asks, still probing for more.

  But then she gives him a bit of information that he had not thought to suppose, something that twists the nature of their meeting in this twilight zone.

  “It is your dream, so you already know why I’m here.”

  His eyes close, as if to keep the approval hidden.

  Yes, he knows very much why she has come.

  Standing there at the edge, night after night, peering into the distance, and for the longest time, there was very little that kept him from releasing that iron grip of his and letting things go.

  His mouth opens to voice an opinion…and then it’s all shattered by a noise that rouses him from the twilight of his thoughts and brings him back down to reality.

  It was dark, cold, and very late. Quiet embers were all that was left of the fire, so he quickly set about stoking it with a fresh supply of fuel. With the flames now dancing higher and spitting their smoke into the starry sky, he turned his attention to the other matter now at hand.

  Those noises he heard had to come from somewhere, and it certainly was not him or the girl. Something was out there, it seemed, watching them. Scenarios flashed through his mind, ruling out those that were most improbable, and only two came to him.

  The first was that some wild animal had found attraction to the light of the fire and come close to investigate. As long as there were no rogue Rhond-Kyire roaming the wastelands of the south, they should be safe.

  Or, it was possible that Feilden’s scouts had managed to follow them for such a long distance. Less likely, but more threatening if true.

  Animals did not have a conscience to guide them. They feared, and therefore were vulnerable, wary of anything that might hurt them. Aviin’s mind began running different possibilities of what might happen, visualizing where he would go to defend himself, and if the approaching presence was an attacker, how they might make the first strike.

  Possibly the most viable way of escaping harm would be to climb a tree, but that was something the girl could not exactly do in her current condition. There was a small patch of brush just a few steps from the fire’s edge, a little bit into the dark. If there was trouble, this might be their best defense.

  The slight noise of crunching earth was barely audible above the natural droning of the night, coming from the north and circling around their camp. Aviin drew the sword from its scabbard and laid it on the floor in front of him.

  A slight glimmer of movement.

  The rustling of a deadened tree branch.

  It was close, too close for him to be comfortable. Rising, he peered into the darkness, searching for any sign of their stalker. What he saw was not surprising.

  Two little, pointed eyes, glinting back at him. The reflection of their fire glowing over the pupils.

  Some type of animal, undoubtedly hungry and seeking any sort of food that it might stumble upon. And here it was, thinking that this would be its next meal.

  The hilt of his sword felt good.

  Then there was a flashback to that night, not so very long ago.

  Nightmares of blood spattered onto his vision and fogged up his senses, bringing with it that tightness that closed around his mind, forcing out the world. But Aviin fought back, pushing with his might and clearing everything from his thoughts.

  He looked to the girl, lying peaceably near the fire, soaking up the warmth.

  He was prepared to make that sacrifice, in her defense.

  Those eyes blinked, turning from side to side, matching him up. Then suddenly the creature jumped from the small rise and landed itself directly in the sphere of the fire’s glow, illuminating its features.

  A cat, of some sort. Gray, with orange spots and streaks of white running along the length of its body.

  It was not so big as he had thought it would be, but a crack in its mouth revealed deadly canines, so he readied himself, taking a defensive stance, and being sure to stand between the girl and their newfound intruder.

  He had never seen its type, but then, it was not as if he had traveled abroad very often. Only once or twice, and then the only purpose was to visit acquaintances of his father, not to sight see. It had always bee
n that way, ever since he could remember.

  Focus! Don’t get distracted.

  The beast circled to the left, eyeing the girl in what seemed to him a very desiring way. Flesh, that’s what it wanted.

  And blood.

  Advancing a step, it made as if to draw closer, but the glint of Aviin’s longsword forced it to retreat. Stinging with a cold ring and threatening in the vilest of ways.

  This was his advantage, because he knew that it would not put its own life in jeopardy. That was something it could not afford to do, despite great risks of starving to death. Even in the most desperate of situations, retreat and life was a more viable choice, which they often made.

  Aviin made a move, jabbing towards it and giving the length of his steel a nice rap against a stone, letting it ring in sharp ferocity. A bluff, but certainly a challenge.

  But to no effect.

  The cat’s head leaned to one side, ears flicking to catch the sound.

  It snarled, bearing all of its weaponry in one great smile, and releasing that deep growl from the chest to match Aviin’s own show.

  It had seen a blade before, perhaps even fought against it, and suddenly it was a whole new game, the board changing entirely.

  Beast lunged, springing its attack from thin air and making a vicious swipe at Aviin’s legs. He was able to block with the flat of his blade, the animal’s thick fur sliding off of its edge, unharmed. He countered with an upwards strike, being sure to pull in before he went too high.

  The cat dodged back, then sprang again, seeking to tear into his arm. A single claw ripped over his shoulder, piercing into one of the holes between chainmail links. Enough to draw blood, but nothing further.

  It was not a game any longer, though.

  Aviin grunted with the pain, gritting his teeth and making a few strikes at the air, hoping to scare the animal away a few steps.

  “Stay back!” He found himself yelling as it went to distract him with a swipe at the feet, then dancing around him with a superior agility and moving for the girl. He interceded by lashing out with his boot, connecting a solid hit to the base of its hip that sent it skittering off course.

  It was really after her.

  A new rage sprang up in its eyes, making another round and searching for a weakness. Aviin had seen that look before. It was surprising to view it in a common beast, but he was grateful for the training that he had received, even if it was under his father’s tutelage. Squaring up and lowering his center of gravity, he made himself less vulnerable by opening a path to the center of the clearing, giving it only one way to its desired prize.

  The fire loomed to his right, the only support he had in this fight, but all he had to do was hold his ground, and eventually the beast would grow tired and leave.

  It continued to attack, with each advance growing in intensity and speed. Aviin was soon being pressed hard to find new ways of defending his position. Rocks and sticks did little to fend it off. His sword would sever anything that came too near, but it was a matter of keeping himself tight and close.

  If he went out too far, or lost his center of gravity, then all would be lost.

  This animal was a lot more intelligent than it had appeared at first, dodging his attacks, breaking down his defense and sneaking out of any traps that he tried to lay.

  There wasn’t much left for him, besides a serious commitment to slay the beast.

  And even then.

  Of a sudden it leaped, high and fast, twisting in the air to avoid the tip of his sword which snaked by, narrowly missing its face. Two strong paws connected with his chest, forcing him back and off his feet.

  He could have sworn he saw it smirk.

  When connection was made with the ground he rolled as hard as he could, evading a snap of its jaws. Claws raked into his mail guard, pulling against his strength, but he punched at the beast, knocking it from him and spinning into a crouching position.

  But it did not stop there.

  He was forced to retreat.

  A quick strike drew a thin line of blood from its side, enraging the beast even further.

  The tree offered some protection, but now she lay there, completely vulnerable and without defender.

  Powerful paws slapped at his legs again, nearly knocking him to the floor. He felt razor’s edge sever through thick leather and cutting deep wounds into his calf.

  He yelled aloud in pain, ripping the blade down and inflicting a similarly intense wound to the beast’s neck. Leaping back, it moved towards the girl.

  “No!” Aviin leapt to his feet, rage filling his body. “No! You can’t have her!”

  It had placed itself over her form now, growling and preparing to hold its ground.

  The beast wanted to ensure that this kill remained its own.

  “You back off or I’ll cut your cursed head off!”

  There was this crackling as energy flowed from his chest, down his arm, and to the edge of his blade. Blue and icy, shooting out tendrils of burning light.

  It took him by surprise, and the beast as well. They both stared in silence for a moment, dazzled by the show of color and the intensity of the scene.

  Magic! He can use magic? He asked…only the voice, or rather thought, was not his own. Only an echoing in his mind.

  What was that? He questioned to himself.

  The animal had fallen still, it’s lips silent and the fur on its neck flattened out.

  “Can you hear me?” The voice asked, while at the same time the animal leaned forward, staring Aviin in the eyes.

  “I can hear something.” He replied aloud, confused and still on edge.

  A few drops of blood dripped from a cut on his temple.

  “But…how?”

  “How what? I don’t even know what’s going on!” He looked to the cat, saw the acknowledgment of his statement in its features, the tilting of the eyebrows, the lifting of its head. “Wait, can you hear me?”

  Silence, for a moment, then broken by the soft nodding of its head.

  Neither of them could bring themselves to believe it.

  . A Few Words on What it Means to be Mortal .

  Few stories can tell the saga of a life.

  And fewer still will do justice in recounting the journey of a soul through time and space.

  But for me, I cannot be bound by such trivial things. It is your trouble, and you can keep it that way.

  An interesting thing it is, to watch as the gates of eternity are split apart for a few moments, while She enters in to lay another of your brothers into the coffin of their own making. It is not an uncommon thing, but the occasion of being able to peer into that otherworldly portal is certainly a rare occurrence.

  One that most have never been privileged to view, nor would they ever want to. A million different wriggling souls, all jostling for position amidst the fire and the burning. All seeking a way out, but with no chance of escape as the door to their freedom forces shut, collapsing in and sentencing their hopes to a silent death.

  But I enjoy watching their faces.

  Regret.

  Shame.

  Guilt.

  It was all there. The agony of an unfinished life, one that never amounted to much and was born in the wilderness of insecurity and of something you call sin.

  To me, there is no such thing.

  But that is the life you lead. Think about it.

  . Champion, Rising .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  “Well, you did kidnap her, after all.”

  “Kidnap?” Aviin shook his head in disbelief at the retorted comment. “Hardly. I saved her life, okay. She would have been sent to the Empire if I hadn’t “kidnapped” her like you said.”

  The cat straightened its legs and moved away from the fire a bit, but never letting Aviin’s line of sight go to the girl.

  “And exactly what were you expecting to do, bringing her out here?” It then asked.

  It was a very odd thing, to have another’s thoughts pressin
g into your own. A bit irritating and itchy, like that one spot on your back that you simply can’t scratch, but inside your head.

  “What else was I supposed to do? Look around you, we’re entirely surrounded by the wild. It wasn’t as if I could have just…teleported myself to some other country where the grass is green.”

  The animal had to admit that his words were true, but perhaps he did not understand the full weight of their circumstances. Its mind turned to the girl, though.

  “And how long has she been without food, or water?”

  “It’s been a few days. I dribbled some mashed jerky into her mouth, but not much. She’ll take the water, though.”

  “And where were you planning on taking her?”

  A great question. He thought fast, but no answer came. It had never been a part of his plan, because he didn’t know where, in the literal sense.

  Eleven years burning at the outpost.

  Eleven years trapped away from the world. And now this is what he had to show for it. Sensing his instability, the cat growled lightly and there was a twinge of pain, as if being scolded by the rod, at the edge of his conscience.

  “Hey!” Aviin started. “Don’t forget the ‘life saving’ part, alright. If it wasn’t for me, she’d be dead a long time ago.”

  It shook a maned head, twitching pointed ears and glaring up at him.

  “Yes, thank you for that. But what I must understand, is why?”

  Why?

  “I just asked that question.”

  Aviin pushed back, hoping to close out his own thoughts from the beast’s reach. He had no idea how to control what was being felt or heard, and he had no idea what the animal could gather.

  “Can you hear everything I say…think?

  “Not as much as you’d suppose. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why? What led you to do something like this?”

  His mouth opened to respond, but then he shut it quickly and turned on his mind instead, being sure to do his best at trapping out any foreign interaction. There was no way to tell if it was working, though.

  He was still new to this game.

  “How about you answer that question first, and then I’ll give you mine? Fair enough?”

  The cat stamped a foot and bared the whites of it’s teeth a bit, then said in a very stern way, “No.”

  “But I’ve already answered more than a few of your own, therefore, it’s your turn.”

  Eyes rolled.

  “Okay, fine, you get it your way.” The animal slapped at his mind again, sending a sharp, but otherwise harmless pain. “I just happen to be her guardian, and loyal friend. I’ve been following her ever since the incident in the desert, but there was never a chance to free her.”

  A lot of other questions surfaced, begging to be asked, but opportunity was in short supply at the moment.

  “And then I came along.”

  “Yes. But by Yvre’s ear, how did you manage to connect with her?”

  “Connect? What do you mean?”

  It sighed, rolling its eyes again which only served to aggravate Aviin all the more. “You’re talking to me. You connected with her in some way. I felt it, before, on several occasions. Sometimes it was stronger than others. Did someone teach you?”

  “Teach me what? This is all very confusing.”

  “To mind meld?”

  Mind meld? I have no idea what this freaky cat is trying to say.

  “Hey, watch yourself. I’ve got six sides, and five of them are sharp.”

  It took a moment before Aviin figured out what message it was trying to send. He chuckled, because it was funny, but the animal didn’t seem to be very amused.

  “It’s obvious to me that you don’t have a clue.” It said in a matter of fact way. So sharp and blunt. “When you connected with her mind, and shared thoughts or emotions or whatever it was that transferred between you two, I felt it. It’s called mind melding because the two trains of thought become one. But what has me confused is that you are able to do it so flawlessly and completely.”

  There was that pain again, forcing into his head somewhere, digging a path, as if…looking for something.

  “There’s almost no barrier here….”

  Pressure increased in great steps, escalating to the point where Aviin’s eyes closed and his jaw clenched in concerted effort to block it out. He felt the cat’s mind digging into his, perusing through memory and feeling like a library.

  Finally, after a few moments of intense agony that left him with a beads of sweat dripping from the ends of his hair, the presence pulled back, leaving him for a moment with this hollow spot that quickly filled with sweet relief.

  “You didn’t lie, you have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about.” It said in surprise, eyes brightening and the stern look fading from its face, ears clicking forward.

  “Yah, of course I don’t!” Aviin yelled in quieter tones. “What do you think you were doing?”

  “I read your mind.”

  “Sure, like a book. And what did it say?”

  “You have a dark past.” Came the answer. “Really dark.”

  Dark?

  Or just black?

  Remember, it comes in more shades than one.

  “There’s a lot that we need to discuss, a lot you need to tell me.” The cat looked to the girl, then back at Aviin. “We don’t have much time to spare, but for now, she’ll be okay. We can wait until morning.” It added, sensing his discomfort about her situation. “Sit, and talk.”

  “And the same goes for you.” He remarked as he stepped towards the warmth of the fire.

  The cat snarled, grinning with that vicious smile of its type. “I still don’t trust you.”

  Aviin sat, keeping his distance, and said, “I don’t exactly trust you either.”

  . To Kill a Drog .

  - Seventh Age, year 718

  “Momma!”

  Sighing, she went to the window. It had been a consistent droning of calls such as this that day. Always needing something.

  “Yes dear, what is it this time?”

  “Momma, it’s father!” The boy cried, running into the house and pointing in the direction of the road that ran along the front of their home. “Father’s coming!”

  A light sprang into her eyes and danced over her lips as the quivered in joy. She should have been used to it by now, but for some reason she always worried while he was away. Nightmares plagued her of his return, only…not in triumph.

  She ran out to meet him, careless of the muddy streets and her newly ironed dress.

  A few other returning men were walking their way home again. She picked out the one that was undoubtedly her husband, calling out to him.

  “Venistarre!”

  “Eorria, my love!” He exclaimed, the scruff on his face and neck splitting to reveal a deep smile. Arms opened to accept her embrace as she threw herself into him. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again!”

  “And you.”

  He set her down, taking her face into his burly hands and looking at her with big blue eyes that swam like the sea.

  “I’m glad you’re well.”

  “Hey Veni!” Another called out from a ways down the path.

  “What’s the spot?” Venistarre asked, waving to him.

  “Don’t forget to kiss her for me!”

  She looked shocked at such a thing. He just laughed and waved off his friend. “Oh, don’t worry my love, he’s only messing.”

  “I would hope so….”

  The boy arrived then, nearly knocking his father to the ground as he wrapped around his leg.

  “Father, father!”

  “Hey, it’s my favorite son!” His figure bent to the ground, ruffling the child’s hair. “Glad to see you defended the keep while your old man was away.”

  The mother pursed her lips, not exactly pleased with all these foolish ideas that were being planted in her child’s mind. She didn’t want to raise a warmongering soldier. She wanted to
have a little gentleman.

  “I’m just grateful that you made it home safe.”

  He laughed aloud and looked up at her. “What, me? I’m a Triar, we always find our way home.”

  “Father, did you catch any Drogs?” The boy asked, jumping up and down with an energy that never could seem to expel itself.

  “Did I catch any Drogs? Did I catch any Drogs? What do you take me for?” His sarcastic, playful nature only riled the child up all the more. “We took out two of those big boys, the both of them trophies by any right. Nearly five men tall.” His arms got really wide as he built the vision of how the hunt had been. “There we were, trapped at the cliff’s edge, cornered by the brutes. One of the men was already hurt, and it was a thousand foot drop to the bottom.

  “Then,” he continued, “they attacked!”

  He scooped the boy up in his arms, yelling all the while and throwing him around a little. His son emitted squeals of laughter that brought a renewed smile to his mother.

  Finally setting him down, the man put a finger to the air, then a hand in the satchel at his side.

  “We put spears right through it’s ugly little eyes, but it kept coming. Closer, and closer to the edge. Almost upon us. Just sniffing the air and looking for something to eat. It got so close I could have touched it.” He pulled his hand to reveal a large, serrated tooth resting on his palm, and proffered it to the boy. “So, I did what old men like us do, and I kicked its teeth in.”

  Eorria was further displeased with his story, though. “Venistarre Triar.” She scolded, stomping her foot and clenching her fists. “You aught not to be so reckless!”

  He rose to face her, his face withdrawing into a silent agreement.

  “Yes, true…but you’re so cute when you get mad.”

  “What?”

  Venistarre chuckled, then dodged her half attempt at smacking him and danced away as she began chasing him back to the house, yelling and laughing all the while.

  One home.

  One to go.