Nameless: Bones of the Earth I-III

by J. C. Hendee

  “I am sorry… Highness,” he whispered, his gaze fixing once on her bandaged arm before he looked at the floor.

  “Never think of it again,” she told him. “It will heal rightly… and I would be grateful for any wound in what you did for me and my husband. The pain is nothing for that.”

  “And please tell your father,” the much taller princess added, “that if there are other losses because of his ship’s delay, we will assist with everything.”

  Karras tried to answer but could not and only bowed his head a little more.

  “And you,” Reine added, looking to Gän’gehtin. “I would imagine you brought these two to my husband’s aid.”

  “Not precisely, Highness,” the shirvêsh answered.

  “Just the same,” she said, stepping closer, “I will know you and yours are there for us, as always, on our next visit to your people. And I would be grateful for a much closer look inside your temple.”

  Fiáh’our cocked an eyebrow as Duchess—Princess—Reine leaned in and kissed Gän’gehtin’s cheek.

  The shirvêsh paled for an instant. This time it was not the young one who swallowed hard, looked away, and could not find his voice.

  With that, the grace of two human nations, by two ladies of one royal house, departed. Not long after, so did all three in that one sitting room. And on the docks of Calm Seatt’s great port, Fiáh’our could not stop snickering at an incensed Gän’gehtin.

  “Do not start with me again, old man,” the shirvêsh warned, though he rubbed his cheek one more time.

  Putting aside any more teasing, Fiáh’our became suspiciously aware that he had not heard a word behind him. He glanced back to find the young one had stopped farther down the dock.

  Karras stood staring back and up at the third castle rising beyond the city’s structures.

  “A’ye, quit dawdling,” Fiáh’our called.

  And still the young one lingered in staring the other way. “What was wrong with him?”

  Fiáh’our frowned at Karras’s too soft question. “Wrong with who?” he asked in suspicion, though he already knew the answer.

  Karras whirled about and snapped, “The prince, who else?”

  “And how would I know that?”

  The young one closed on him. “How could you not, since you already seemed to know so much?”

  At Fiáh’our’s silence, Karras turned on Gän’gehtin, but the shirvêsh shook his head.

  “I know very little more than Fiáh’our,” Gän’gehtin added. “And even that I would not tell anyone.”

  “What?” Karras shouted. “Why?”

  “Because it is no affair of yours,” Fiáh’our answered, “or mine… or anyone’s.”

  He stormed off toward the ship, his sudden foul mood growing as Gän’gehtin followed. And he began to have doubts about this night’s influence upon the kitten. He had hoped—still hoped—for more, and at the sound of hurried steps behind him…

  “After everything,” Karras began, “all that I… we went through, and we walk away without knowing all that it meant?”

  Fiáh’our heard Gän’gehtin sigh and refrained from doing so himself. In truth, of course he was curious, but that meant nothing for a true warrior’s way. To act upon it lacked honor.

  “Why did you not even ask?” Karras demanded. “Certainly there is no harm in that. A few answers are not much to ask, after what it cost.”

  Fiáh’our came to a dead stop halfway up the ship’s ramp. As he started to turn, Gän’gehtin grabbed his forearm. He took a slow breath before he found his voice.

  “And why do you not grow up a little more?”

  Gän’gehtin’s grip crushed tight on Fiáh’our’s arm. He took yet another slow breath before turning on the young one.

  “What we endured in service is not a debt to be paid,” he began, clinging to patience. “The secrets, the private matters… the burdens of others are not payment owed because you wish it so!”

  The young one’s face twisted up in ire. About to say something, he only closed his mouth tightly.

  “But if you so wish,” Fiáh’our added, “go back and ask for yourself, though you seemed to have had the good manners not to do so—until now. I will wait to fish you out once again, after another cold salty bath. Perhaps a third dunking will wash that impudence out of your dense head!”

  17. To Have and Have Not

  Karras shuddered in anger. It had been a fair enough question that he had asked and not worth more of the braggart’s berating.

  “Or is that what you did with Skirra?” the thänæ said lowly.

  Karras’s breath quickened at that name.

  He tried to peer beyond the thänæ and the shirvêsh blocking the way. There was no sign of his father anywhere nearby, though that meant little, since he could not see the deck from halfway down the ramp. If his father had heard that name of some unknown woman and later asked…

  “Been trying to dig into her burdens as well… for your own gains?” Fiáh’our rumbled.

  “No!” Karras hissed back.

  “Good,” the thänæ returned, “then maybe you will become worthy of her… beyond what you expect in marrying her.”

  Karras grew frantic and quickly peered again up the ramp before lunging in.

  “Shut your mouth, old man!” he whispered.

  Fiáh’our eyed him coldly, and a malicious grin spread his beard as he leaned down.

  “Make me.”

  Karras froze. That he stood his ground was not purely out of bravery. Had the old boar figured out why he had sought out Skirra in looking for a way out of what had happened to his siblings? It was not that way anymore—or not just that. She meant other things to him now, as well.

  Gän’gehtin jerked back on Fiáh’our, clearly confused about what had been said, but the old thänæ barely budged.

  “What others keep to themselves,” the shirvêsh put in, though obviously still puzzled, “is not ours for the want of it. There are many things we never know or come to understand—most things for a short life in a large world, no matter how many years we are granted. The answers mean nothing for good service… which is an answer unto itself.”

  As Gän’gehtin tugged again on Fiáh’our, and both headed up to the deck, it took effort for Karras not to roll his eyes at such circling nonsense.

  He followed, trying to dismiss the old boar’s implied threats. So long as his plans concerning Skirra remained secret, and he could finally be rid of the mad thänæ, he would put up with anything for a little while longer. Over the past night, he had endured far worse than the preaching of a shirvêsh.

  As Kararas stepped up on deck, Fiáh’our was pacing about in visible ire as Gän’gehtin looked on with a troubled frown. Both glanced his way, one in ire and the other in confused concern. He ignored them, but before heading off to tell his father of royal aid in ship repairs, his gaze caught yet again on that cabin door.

  Among all other mysteries of the past night, one lingered: that of a woman who would risk anything to be at the side of the one she loved. He stood there, wondering, what it might have taken for Skirra to…

  “Astounding, was it not?”

  Karras scowled, barely glancing at the old blusterer before continuing to peer at the cabin door in thinking….

  “About the duchess and her prince?” Fiáh’our added.

  Karras did not turn this time in whispering almost to himself, “If I could have had even a bit of what she gave him… if I could have had just that much from…”

  He dare not speak Skirra’s name aloud with all those nearby, especially his father.

  “Have?” Fiáh’our roared like a bear. “Have, have, have!”

  Karras spun to see the thänæ charging him with a dangerous glower, and many around the deck turned as well. Gän’gehtin quickly stepped in the way, holding the old man back. Karras retreated another a step under Fiáh’our’s roar.

  “You mewling, selfish… pissy little… selfish… thick
-headed, selfish runt of a…”

  Gän’gehtin grappled with the old boar as he glanced dumbstruck over his shoulder. But Karras did not say a word, even to shut the old man up, for his father was looking on.

  Fiáh’our whipped up his arms, casting off the Gän’gehtin’s hold and sending the shirvêsh stumbling back.

  “Then that is the way it must be,” Fiah’our shouted. “Just as I read at first sight of you!”

  Karras flinched and back-stepped, but the old bellower spun away.

  “Uinseil!” Fiáh’our barked, as he pounded across the deck. “A word, by the barter… now!”

  A chill rushed through Karras. He started after the thänæ, but Gän’gehtin step in his way this time.

  “Do not,” the shirvêsh warned, “not when he is like this.”

  All Karras could do was helplessly look on as the braggart closed on his father.

  Uinseil’s face flooded with confusion as well as annoyance. He cocked his head with a befuddled expression at whatever the thänæ first said… too low for Karras to hear.

  “What is this about?” Gän’gehtin asked.

  Karras did not answer. He watched his father peer narrow-eyed at the old boar, and then blink rapidly, as if what he heard was too stunning to comprehend. Karras grew sick with fear in not being able to hear what was said.

  It seemed that being spurned a final time by Skirra would not be the end of all this.

  Misery would come upon misery, once Fiáh’our revealed all that Karras had tried to do for years in secret. On top of his failure with Skirra, he would no longer escape his parents’ pressure for an honorably arranged marriage. And then his father suddenly straightened.

  Uinseil’s face twisted up, as if he had heard something unbelievable, shocking… disgraceful.

  Karras sagged, no longer pressing against Gän’gehtin’s restraint. The shirvêsh, still utterly at a loss, hesitantly followed Karras’s forlorn gaze.

  Father shook his head as if trying to clear it after a heavy blow.

  “Oh, Fiáh’our, no more,” Uinseil groaned aloud, closing his eyes so tiredly. “There is no such debt to pay… there never was a—”

  He was cut off as the old boar raised a hand for silence, lifted his chin, and averted his face.

  “Enough,” Fiáh’our moaned dramatically. “I can bear it no longer! I will see it paid in good service to your ancestor… through your son.”

  Karras went numb, this time as confused as Gän’gehtin. After more muttering from the thänæ and a final exasperated sigh from his father…

  “Very well,” Uinseil groaned, sagging where he stood.

  “The barter is struck!” Fiáh’our announced loudly. “I will let you instruct him. But be mindful of this as our barter, and not his.”

  Karras was still at a loss as the thänæ turned away and tromped off toward the ship’s ramp. But the old boar paused once before descending and glowered at Karras.

  “And enough bobbing about, as well!” he grumbled.

  With that, Fiáh’our disappeared down the ramp.

  And still, Karras stood there. Was it too much to hope that he was finally free of that mad man?

  Gän’gehtin rushed across the deck, peering over the side through the remains of the rail.

  “Where is he going?” Karras called.

  The shirvêsh shook his head. “I think… I believe… he is going to walk back to the seatt.”

  “And you will go with him.”

  Karras turned sharply at his father’s voice, and so did the shirvêsh.

  Uinseil took a long, deep breath and exhaled audibly. He looked utterly worn, and again, Karras was uncertain of what his father had said.

  “You are now apprenticed to the thänæ,” Uinseil declared.

  For an instant, Karras did not react.

  “Go with him, learn from him,” his father said, “until the thänæ is satisfied with your ability in what he teaches you.”

  Gän’gehtin’s eyebrows rose higher than anyone watching would have thought possible. Even all of the crew stood looking among themselves in surprise.

  Karras’s stomach knotted up. His vision swam, and he felt as if he might faint right there. Whatever “debt” the old boar had demanded must be paid, it could not possibly cost this?

  “Father?” he whispered. “Why?”

  Uinseil shook his head. “That is not for you. Go.”

  Gän’gehtin grunted as he stepped to the ramp’s head. “Another prank, perhaps, as usual, so are you coming?”

  Karras still stared at his father.

  “Whatever this is,” Uinseil added. “I assume you did something to catch Fiáh’our’s interest. Now that you have it, at least make good use of this opportunity and the honor of it.”

  Karras almost shout out “no,” but what might happen from that? He stood dumbfound for far too long.

  “Go, son, now,” his father said.

  How could Karras ever explain how all of this had started, enough and less than was needed to escape it without revealing what he had to keep hidden?

  Everything about the past night ran through his numbed mind, all the way back to that moment in a dark passage when he had been spurned by Skirra again. And then to being trapped in a lowly cheag’anâkst and set upon by that loathsome braggart of a clan-kin. All that had come down on his head after that, through Fiáh’our’s bungling, had started with one slip… or so it seemed.

  “It is a long walk,” Gän’gehtin said quietly. “We should start.”

  Karras numbly shuffled forward. At sight of the shirvêsh, he suddenly needed someone even more troublesome than the blusterer to blame for the past night’s misfortunes.

  That was the last night Karras ever mistakenly asked help from the blasted Bäynæ.

  But no, it would not be the last time.

  Karras the Cat

  1. Hopelessness Springs Eternal

  2. Homeless Away From Home

  3. For Want of a Cask

  4. By the Skin and His Teeth

  5. Pebbles on the Scales

  6. The Heart of What is the Matter

  7. Fire in the Core

  8. To Stand, Hold, and Read

  9. Sleepwalking

  10. Barter of Vengeance

  11. In Plain Sight

  12. The Ways of Champions

  13. The Ways of Beasts

  14. Aberrations and Bones

  15. Turnabouts

  16. Days of Yore and Like Bumbles

  17. A Life Saved and Spared

  18. The Hands Upon the Weapon

  1. Hopelessness Springs Eternal

  Karras’ ears rang as Fiáh’our’s wooden sparring axe rebounded off his helmet—again. The world flashed white before his eyes, and he began to topple—again. He barely heard the old blusterer’s rebuke.

  “A’ye’ous! How many times before you spot that hooking counterstrike coming?”

  Karras’ back hit the thick-timbered floor. His heavy impact sent a boom echoing off the training hall’s stone walls. That almost drowned out the chitter of his padded armor’s hardwood scales, but not his own sparring axe clattering out of his grip.

  He just lay there in an exhausted daze, having been tricked into apprenticeship to the so-called great warrior Fiáh’our—“Hammer-Stag.” This had something to do with an unknown debt the old blusterer believed he owed to one of Karras’ ancestors. Though it had appeared that Karras’ father, Uinseil, did not believe the thänæ, an “honored one,” owed any such debt, Uinseil had wearily agreed to Karras’ apprenticeship to the old boar.

  To Karras, it was more like indentured servitude.

  He had not dared argue at that time, for he had—still—feared revealing a secret of his own to his father and mother; a secret he had foolishly shared with the blustering thänæ.

  Skirra, of the fallen family of Yêarclág, had again spurned Karras’ offer of marriage, perhaps for the last time.

  As a rughìr, one of the Rughìr’t
hai’âch, the “Earth-Born,” or what humans called “dwarves,” he needed a marriage of his own making to escape an arranged one, like those of his miserable brother and sister. He would not be used for the sake of family and clan alliances or maintained honor; tradition “be damned,” as some humans said.

  Worse still, he dared not break apprenticeship and disgrace his family let alone his clan—the latter of which he shared with Fiáh’our. If he did, shame might make his parents force him into a hasty marriage, and one more undesirable in urgency.

  Karras released a moaning sigh. Sweat ran into his eyes from under his iron-banded helmet and pooled at his back inside his training armor. Still he lay there staring up at the training hall’s high domed ceiling of stone with its thick support arches.

  Even worse, the place of his tutelage was within the temple of Skâpagi—“Shielder” the Guardian—one of three warriors among the Bäynæ. Not that he believed those “Eternal Ones,” spiritual ancestors of his people as a whole, were even real. And even if, what had they ever done for him instead of to him?

  Nothing but leave him to the torments of the old braggart.

  A broad, grizzly-bearded face suddenly blocked Karras’ view, and he peered up into Fiáh’our’s glaring black rughìr irises. The thänæ scrutinized him with an irritable frown framed by steel-streaked ruddy hair. Easily five feet tall, taller than any rughìr that Karras had ever met, the old man was broad at the shoulders—and belly—and looked even taller from Karras’ prone state.

  That was just more annoying.

  Fiáh’our no longer wore his chain vestment over quilted padding, reinforced by steel pauldrons and couters. He was attired like Karras in padded leather covered in overlapping hardwood scales. Though more easily damaged than steel, the scales were easier to repair and replace.

  Unlike Karras, the thänæ never wore a helmet. At first, he had been mildly concerned and hesitant in sparring, but at mention of the thänæ donning a helmet, Fiáh’our had laughed at him, almost unable to stop.