by GARY DARBY
Phigby turns and I can tell from the way his face is scrunched up that he’s still thinking deeply. After a few moments, he shakes his head. “Not yet. It is in my mind that we should stay for a while longer as there may be a bit more to do here.”
“More to do?” Tavin asks. “Such as?”
Phigby doesn’t answer but crooks a finger at Marce and me. “You two come with me.”
Marce and I exchange a puzzled glance before we fall in behind Phigby, who leads us through the Uhlan toward where Ralos and Borm sit. Ralos has his arm in a sling, his face heavy and drawn.
As we pass by the Uhlan, it’s not hard to know who lost a loved one or family member by the quiet crying or by those attempting to comfort them. “It’s so sad to see so many sorrowing,” Marce whispers to me.
“I know,” I whisper back, “but not to be contrary, think of how much worse it could have been if not for the company.”
“You’re right,” she replies, “it’s just that—”
“I understand, it’s hard to see your own people suffer.”
We move a little farther and I can’t help but notice that there is an undercurrent, a murmuring among the Uhlan and it seems not just over the wounded or dead. Several times my ear catches the word: “Liam.”
The body of their honored Vinderfangen now lies covered with a burial shroud awaiting burial with the rest of the dead.
I lean close to Marce and ask, “Can you understand what they’re saying? I think I keep hearing them mention Liam.”
She’s a little hesitant but then whispers, “I think they’re wondering what’s going to happen to them now that their Vinderfangen is gone.”
It takes a moment but then I suddenly realize the importance of their anxiety. “That’s right. The old Vinderfangen is supposed to select and train a new one before he or she dies.”
“Yes,” Phigby acknowledges over his shoulder, “only Liam didn’t and now the Uhlan face a quandary the likes of which they’ve not faced since the first Vinderfangen.”
We reach the spot where Borm and Ralos sit with their backs up against one of the smaller golden-brown trees and ease down in our own sitting position across from them. Ralos, though hurt and obviously very tired is the last surviving Jelani and is now the voice of authority directing the Uhlan.
Phigby leans a little forward and in a low voice says, “We do not mean to intrude and forgive us if we are, but your people are without a Vinderfangen now. Without the old one to choose, how is a new one selected?”
Borm and Ralos exchange a knowing glance before Ralos responds. “It is a matter heavy on our minds, as our tradition has always been that the current Vinderfangen would select and announce the one who would become the next to listen to the wind.”
His frown is deep as he shakes his head slowly side to side. “This has never happened before, that a Vinderfangen has died without naming a successor.”
“You mean,” I ask, “there’s no provision for someone else to come forward to listen to the Whisperer?”
“None,” Ralos answers. “As I said, this has never happened before.”
I scrunch up my forehead in thought. “How did the very first Vinderfangen come forth?”
Ralos shakes his head in answer. “None of us knows or remembers. Too long ago.” He draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Liam would know. He knew all trees.”
I nod in understanding. “He knew all trees, meaning he knew your complete history including how the first Vinderfangen came to be and now that’s lost.”
“Not entirely,” Borm replies and motions toward the forest. “It’s still there, written on the trees, but it would take a long time to—”
“Find the right tree,” Marce nods, “and figure out its meaning.”
“Yes,” Borm agrees.
I sit back and gaze toward the Wind Catcher. “What if,” I suggest slowly, “you just have everyone sit, one at a time, on that ‘splinter throne’ as Liam called it, until the tree whispers to one of you. Then you’d know who was the next Vinderfangen.”
Ralos rubs at his chin, his eyes lowered as if thinking about my suggestion. “It is a good thought, Hooper, but what if the Whisperer does whisper but the person doesn’t know how to listen?
“You see, part of the selection process is that the old Vinderfangen is to teach the younger how to listen to all the whispers and understand what they say.”
“In other words,” Phigby says, “it’s a process of mentoring, or teaching the student how it’s done before he or she becomes adept enough to do it on their own.”
“Exactly,” Borm nods.
“Still,” I press, “there was no one around to teach that first Vinderfangen. He or she did it on their own.” At a sudden thought, I add, “Or perhaps the Wind Catcher was the teacher.”
Ralos and Borm fix their eyes on me, not speaking, but Marce gushes, “That has to be it! The Whisperer taught the first Vinderfangen how to listen, and if so, maybe the same thing can happen now.”
She sweeps her hand toward the remaining Uhlan. “Who knows? Your next Vinderfangen could be one of them.”
Her eyes rest on Borm. “Or perhaps it’s one of you two.”
No one speaks until Ralos nods. “You’re right. Good idea. We try after everyone buried. Can’t hurt to try.”
“But what,” Borm asks, “if no one can hear the Whisperer?”
Phigby’s body seems to stiffen, his eyes like stone. “Then we know why Talonda Kur singled out Liam to kill.”
“And,” I add, my own voice hard, “Vay has the victory she desired as she’s silenced the Whisperer forever.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The silence deepens for several long moments before Phigby gruffly says, “Perhaps, lad, but I cannot believe that such a wondrous gift for good would end so easily.” He stops and stares intently toward the giant tree. “There has to be a new Vinderfangen!” he whispers.
His words sound more like a plea than anything else, so I ask, “There’s more to this than just the Uhlan, isn’t there?”
He flicks his eyes my way but doesn’t answer and turns back to Ralos and Borm. “Is it permissible for an outsider, such as myself, to be present when you test your people?”
Ralos’s eyes blink several times and he slowly brings a finger up to scratch at a cheek. “No law against,” he replies.
“Thank you,” Phigby answers.
Borm and Ralos stand, as do we. Ralos turns to Borm, his voice heavy as he orders, “Start the burials.”
“I’ll round up the able-bodied,” Borm replies, “and begin carrying the bodies to their graves.”
“What can we do to help?” Phigby offers.
“We bury our own,” Ralos responds and then gestures toward the Wilder corpses and dragon carcasses. “But that filth—”
“We’ll take care of it,” Phigby hastens to offer.
“You have our appreciation,” Ralos answers and with Borm turns away.
“Don’t you want to go with them and help?” I ask Marce.
She slowly shakes her head. “No . . . I may be Uhlan but I’m not family and this is about family.”
At that, we walk back to where the company waits and Phigby explains our task. “Oh sure,” Amil grumbles, “give the outsiders the grungy, stinky work.”
“Would you rather,” Marce snaps, “be comforting the widow as her husband is lowered into the ground, or the sobbing orphan who has to watch the burial of her parents?”
“Uh no,” Amil replies. “I’m sorry, poor choice of words on my part. My apologies.”
Marce takes in a deep breath, lets it out. “Apology accepted.”
“Good,” Phigby grunts, “now, let’s get to work.”
For the rest of the afternoon, by working together and using the dragons, we carry carcasses and bodies out of the valley and dump them in a deep gorge that Borm told us about. Like Amil said, it’s dirty, smelly work, but once done, the valley feels clean again.
We
reward ourselves by taking a refreshing dip, though a bit on the cold side, in the basin. Even the dragons wade in and we splash water up on their scales to wash them off.
Afterward, we dry off by lying on the gravel beach and soak up the afternoon sun. A shadow crosses over me and I glance up to see Marce treading away. “Wonder where she’s going?” I mutter to myself. “She’s not dry yet.”
Cara giggles a little. “Hooper, sometimes you are so smart and sometimes you’re as dense as that cliff.”
“Huh?”
“Think about it. You know where she’s going.”
I blink several times before I arch my eyebrows and nod. “Oh . . .”
“Oh . . .” Cara mimics, “is right.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, watching Marce hurry away, “do you think we’re about to lose a member of the company?”
Cara gets up on one elbow and stares at Marce’s receding back. “Hmm, no, I don’t think so.”
“That didn’t sound like a very definite answer.”
“Oh, it’s definite about Marce.” She turns and looks at me. “The question is not whether we might lose a member of the company, but rather will we gain a new addition?”
I stare at her, my eyebrows furrowing as I don’t quite understand what she’s’ getting at and then it hits me. “Oh . . .” I repeat myself.
Amil, who’s lying nearby, must have overheard our conversation for he laughs, “That’s right, Hooper. It’s called woman power and next to the gods is the greatest force on Erdron.”
He rolls to one side and smiles at me. “You of all people should know its effects.”
I can feel my face burning as Cara meets my eyes and presses her lips together to stifle a laugh.
“Yes . . . uh . . . well,” I stammer, “new additions are always appreciated.”
The sun has just slid behind the mountains when Phigby comes striding up. “On your feet, Hooper, enough lollygagging. Come with me.”
He spins around and strides off—not even waiting for my answer. Getting to my feet, I belt my scabbard and slip my rabbit-skin boots back on. “Where are you going?” Cara asks.
“I don’t know, but it appears my lollygagging, whatever that is, just came to an end.”
“I’ll come with,” Cara announces and jumps to her feet while grabbing for her bow and quiver.
“Sure you don’t want to stay here and lollygag around some more?”
“I think I’ve had enough of lolling and gagging.”
Together, we hurry after Phigby who’s trudging through the forest so fast that Cara and I break into a run to catch up.
“Where are we going?” I ask Phigby.
“They’re about to begin the testing,” he answers.
“Testing?” I question.
“To see who is to be the new Vinderfangen.”
“Oh. Right.” I glance over at Cara who answers with a raising of her eyebrows. “And why do we need to be there?”
“Because.”
“Because? Phigby that’s no answer.”
“Hmm,” he mutters, “it used to work with you.”
“Yes, when I was five or six seasons old. I’m a bit older now, you know.”
“Indeed you are. It’s a shame you had to grow up, you were such a nice little boy.”
Cara leans close and whispers, though loud enough that Phigby most assuredly can hear. “I think he just called you a brat.”
“I called him no such thing, Cara Dracon.”
“Well, you implied he was.”
“All in the interpretation my dear—all in the interpretation, and I interpret it that I didn’t call him a brat.”
Cara opens her mouth to retort but just then we break through the tree line and Phigby holds up a hand to stop her. “The Uhlan are granting us the privilege of watching the ceremony. Don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t touch anything, and if you can manage, be courteous and respectful.”
He strides away, leaving Cara and me staring at each other. “I think,” I say to her, “that he just lumped you in with me.” I hold out my hand for her to shake. “Brats together?”
She grips my hand. “Brats. Now and forever.”
We both laugh and hurry to catch up with Phigby, who’s headed straight for the giant tree and the Uhlan gathered at its base. At the stairs leading up to the portal stands Ralos. He looks determined enough, but at the same time I see a hint of apprehension in his face as if he’s unsure of how this will turn out.
Phigby leads us around the crowd’s edge and as we approach, Ralos acknowledges us with a quick nod before he gestures to Borm, who’s standing nearby with Marce. “Give us a moment to get inside, then send them in one at a time, youngest first.”
“Yes, father,” Borm acknowledges.
Ralos turns to stride up the stairs with us three following behind. Once inside, he stands next to the odd-appearing chair while we take a place a respectful distance away. Moments later, a small child, accompanied by his mother enters the chamber.
“He wouldn’t come in alone,” the woman explains apologetically to Ralos.
Ralos nods in understanding and motions to the chair.
Helped by his mother, the little boy climbs into the chair. He sits there looking around expectantly at all of us before Ralos asks, “Child, do you hear anything? Whispers?”
The little boy shakes his head firmly. Ralos sighs, nods to the woman who then leads the child out. A little girl is next and Ralos repeats the process, but again the Uhlan child doesn’t hear any whispering.
We repeat the process, with the children getting older and older until Borm enters the chamber and says, “That’s all the children, youngest to oldest.”
“Send in the rest,” Ralos directs.
One at a time, the adults enter the room and sit in the chair, but all shake their heads, claiming they hear nothing. Even the severely wounded leave their sickbeds and venture inside, assisted by one or more Uhlan.
This goes on for some time until Borm enters after the last adult has left. “That’s all, even the wounded, father. We are the only two left.”
Ralos motions to the chair. “Sit.”
Borm hesitates and then gingerly eases down into the chair. Ralos wears a hopeful expression while Borm appears uneasy. After a few moments, Borm shakes his head. “Sorry, father, nothing.”
He stands and moves away from the chair as Ralos takes in a deep breath and seats himself. I can’t speak for the others, but I know my heart is thumping harder than usual. Is Ralos the new Vinderfangen? Is it he to whom the tree will speak? He is the last Uhlan so it must be him.
Ralos closes his eyes, his face scrunched together as if he’s listening with every part of his body. The room is silent as if all of us are holding our breaths not wishing to disturb the Uhlan Jelani.
Long moments pass, then Ralos lets out a heavy sigh, and slumps over. “Nothing,” he rasps.
“We have no Vinderfangen,” Borm moans. “The Whisperer is dead to us.”
It’s very still and quiet in the chamber for a few moments before Phigby clears his throat and says, “Perhaps it’s just a matter of time for a new Vinderfangen to be born to your people.”
Ralos raises his head, peers at Phigby, “Perhaps.”
“Don’t give up hope,” Phigby encourages.
Ralos stands, gazes at the rough-hewn chair. “No, we can’t give up hope. But until then—”
“Until then,” Borm growls, “we have no way of knowing what we face, from which direction our enemies march, how many, their armament—nothing!”
“Not necessarily,” Phigby replies. “Send out scouts, patrols and the like. Let them be your whisperers.”
Borm shakes his head vehemently. “We’ve sent only a few of us out at a time for fear of capture. We only went out in strength to search for you because the Vinderfangen convinced us that the risk was worth taking. Otherwise, we would have used only two or three of us at the most.”
Phigby nods his head slowly, his b
row furrowed in thought. “To lessen the possibility that your haven and its secret are discovered.”
“Exactly,” Borm spits out. “To do otherwise would risk discovery.”
“But,” I point out, “your secret is already out. Vay knows. Talonda Kur knows. Those Wilders who escaped know.”
Ralos draws in a deep breath and turns to his son. “He speaks truly. The old ways are gone and so is our secret.”
Borm’s shoulders slump a little. Slowly, the anger on his face melts away until his eyes show acceptance of his father’s words. “You’re right, father, and only a fool would contend otherwise.”
Ralos puts a hand on Borm’s shoulder, smiles thinly. “I may be an old fool, but you are not a young one.”
He motions toward the door. “Come, we must tell the people.”
“They will be sorely disappointed, father.”
“Yes, but it can’t be helped.”
With a nod to us, the two Uhlan turn and make their way out the portal. “Coming?” I ask Phigby who’s staring at the crudely carved chair.
“Eh? No, you two go ahead, I’ll be along shortly.”
Cara and I head for the portal and stand on the threshold as Ralos makes the announcement. There is a collective groan, even a few sobs from the assembly as his words hit home.
“We live in different times,” he goes on, “and we must accept that and live accordingly.”
He points toward the cliffside. “First thing tomorrow, we begin working to clear the tunnel.”
“No!” someone shouts. “Leave it. No one can get at us if it’s closed.”
“You forget too soon,” Borm answers, “and you’re thinking in the old ways. Look around. This destruction didn’t come from invaders through the tunnel but by dragons from the sky.”
He points upward. “Do you know a way we can seal off the sky?”
The mutterings and grumblings subside until Ralos motions toward the forest. “Until we can rebuild, the forest will be our home. Come, a night’s rest will do us good.”
Ralos and Borm part the crowd and march toward the forest. I nudge Cara and jut my chin outward. We both watch Marce slip in next to Borm and walk beside him.
“Couldn’t put a feather between them,” I lightly laugh. “Amil is right. Woman power is mighty. He’s drawn to her like honey draws Scamper.”
