The War of Stardeon (The Bowl of Souls)

by Cooley, Trevor H.

  Justan returned the embrace, but his brow furrowed in confusion. What things had Hilt heard?

  “Sir Hilt, before you ask, I am not yet willing to return to my father’s side” Jhonate said firmly.

  Hilt gave an amused shake of his head. “We’ll talk about that later. As for right now, I’ll just say I’m happy to see you too.” He gave her a quick embrace.

  “Sir Edge,” said a deep voice.

  Justan looked at the rock giant. “So that is you, Charz. I’m glad to see you’re free.”

  The giant nodded. “I did as you suggested and my master released me.”

  He seemed to have recovered completely from his fight with Kenn. He looked much the same as he had the first time Justan had encountered him except for one thing. He was wearing a necklace made out of thick iron chain with a crystal shard pendant that glinted red and pink in the sunlight.

  “Is your master nearby?” he asked.

  “No,” Charz said. “He’s back at the Mage School.”

  “Why aren’t you with him?” Justan asked.

  “He has other stuff for me to do right now,” said Charz. “Besides, I still think he’s not quite sure if he can trust me yet.”

  “Can’t say I blame him,” Justan said.

  The giant smiled. “Can’t say I do either. But I’m doing my best to bring him around.”

  Justan called out to the woman with the bow. “Um, miss, could you put the arrow down? He’s a friend. He’s not going to harm you.”

  “That lizard thing’s with you?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow at him. She slid the arrow back into her quiver, slung her bow over her shoulder, and slid down from her horse. She walked towards him, her lips pursed in thought.

  The woman was perhaps in her mid-thirties with long dirty-blond hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore a long-sleeved blouse with leather bracers on her forearms and odd baggy trousers tied tight at the ankles. A gray-handled dagger in an ornate sheath hung from her hip.

  “Hold still,” the woman said, and to Justan’s surprise, she began poking and prodding him. She turned him this way and that, lifted his arm and felt his biceps. She grasped his face and thumbed open his eyelids to look into his eyes, then leaned in and shoved her ear right into the center of his chest, listening to his heart.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” Justan said.

  “Just humor her,” Hilt replied.

  “Hah!” she said pulling back from his chest, her ear covered in frost. She rubbed her ear. “That one’s cold and it doesn’t like being interrupted.” Justan’s hand rose to the frost rune on his chest and she looked him in the eye once more. “So that’s what a bonding wizard’s like. I see what Yntri liked about you.”

  “Who are you?” Justan asked.

  “You were right, Hilt! He’s a good one,” she said and startled Justan with a sharp slap to the behind. “Now go ahead and call out the others.”

  Justan rubbed his stinging cheek in confusion for a moment before calling out to his bonded. This woman was strange, yet there was something comforting about the confident way in which she handled herself. He felt he could trust her.

  She walked up to Jhonate, “Now you, girl.”

  Jhonate’s cheeks burned and her glare was icy, but she lifted her arms as if she had done this many times before. “Did Yntri teach you this?”

  “Yes, Yntri among others,” the woman said and began to do the same kind of poking and prodding she had done with Justan.

  “You will not be smacking my behind,” Jhonate said stiffly.

  “Somehow I don’t think I’ll feel the same inclination,” the woman replied and leaned in to listen to her chest. She stayed that way for a few moments. “Your breastplate was in the way, but I think I got a pretty good read on you,” she said, then looked back to Justan. “You’re good with this one.”

  Justan and Jhonate shared embarrassed glances. Gwyrtha and Fist walked up to them, confused about the mixed feelings they were getting from Justan.

  “Ogre,” the woman said. “What’s your name?”

  “Uh . . . Fist,” Fist said hesitantly.

  “Well, come here, sweetheart. I haven’t tried to listen to someone as big as you before, but let’s give it a shot,” she said.

  Justan edged over to Hilt and whispered, “Who is that woman?”

  Hilt smiled. “Oh, that’s Beth. She’s my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Jhonate said. “When did that happen?”

  “We were married about a year ago,” Hilt said.

  “You were crazy enough to marry a listener?” she asked incredulously.

  “I had no choice really. She insisted on it. And I . . .” Hilt chuckled and shook his head. “It ends up I was happy to relent.”

  Justan looked back to see Fist patting Beth on the back awkwardly as she had her arms wrapped around him, her ear against his chest. She had a wide grin on her face.

  “Oh, you are just a big cuddly wonderful ball of muscles aren’t you?” she said, her voice sounding almost drunk. “Mmm, I could just hug you all day.” She pulled back and placed a finger on the center of his chest where her ear had just been. “I am so happy you have left your pain behind.”

  “I . . . have a new tribe now,” Fist said.

  “Yes you do.” She peeked into the pouch at his side. “Come here, you.” Squirrel peeked his head out, then ran up to stand on her shoulder. She smiled at him and he chittered at her.

  “Yes, I know, big guy,” she replied, nodding her head at him. “Yes. You are sweet too and no, I do not want a seed, thank you.”

  Squirrel planted the seed back into his cheek and climbed back to Fist’s shoulder.

  What is that woman, Justan? Deathclaw asked.

  I’m not sure. But she is on our side.

  “Alright, scaley!” she bellowed, crooking a finger in Deathclaw’s direction. “Come out from behind that rock and get over here.”

  Then Justan realized. She could see the bond. Somehow Hilt’s wife was using spirit magic. What was it Coal had told him about the four types? Bonding, binding, blessing, and bewitching. What was this woman using?

  “How long is this going to take, Sir Hilt?” Jhonate asked.

  “Not too long,” he assured her. “I know it seems like a pain, but she only has to do this with the major players.”

  “What does that mean? Major players?” Jhonate asked.

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “That’s just her name for certain people. There isn’t much of a rhyme or reason to it that I have been able to tell.”

  Beth had somehow coaxed Deathclaw out of hiding and had just finished poking and prodding him. The raptoid was quite frustrated by the time she laid her head on his chest. After a few moments, she leaned back and reached up to caress his scaled head.

  “Oh, you are a survivor, aren’t you? And a thinker,” she sighed and patted his chest. “You have such a long way to climb. But you’re in the right hands.”

  “Why does she like you all so much?” Charz grumbled. “She just scowled at me and said I had a lot to make up for.”

  Gwyrtha padded up to Beth and nudged her.

  “And you?” Beth let out an excited gasp, her hand moving to her mouth. “Oh you are just beautiful, aren’t you?”

  Yes! Gwyrtha agreed.

  Beth laughed and threw her arms around Gwyrtha’s neck. “Oh, you are a sweetie! Yes you are!” She laughed again and Justan wondered if she really was drunk. Beth kissed Gwyrtha several times on the top of the head then looked at Justan. “Oh, this is unfair! How can you stand it? She is like a bunch of beautiful spirits all smashed into one!”

  “Uh, actually, you’re not too far off,” he said.

  Ride? Gwyrtha asked eagerly.

  “Can I?” Beth asked as if she had heard Gwyrtha ask the question.

  “Uh . . . sure,” Justan said.

  Beth leapt into Gwyrtha’s saddle and laughed as the rogue horse took off, Gwyrtha thoroughly enjoying the attention. Jhonate h
ad a slight frown on her face as she watched the woman ride off.

  Justan looked to Sir Hilt. “Can she actually hear them?”

  “What do you mean?” Hilt asked.

  “Excuse me,” said a voice from above and Justan looked up to see that it was the girl standing on Charz’s shoulder that had spoken. She jumped down nimbly, making it seem as if a ten-foot drop was just a step. She then folded her arms and looked up at Justan with large expressive eyes, her pert little nose wrinkled in irritation. She was so petite she barely came up to Justan’s shoulder. “All this time you’ve been walking around as if I weren’t here. Don’t you remember me?”

  Justan’s brow furrowed. She did look familiar. “I’m sorry, but-.” She tucked her hair behind one pointed ear and Justan gasped in recognition. “Antyni!”

  “Yes, thank you.” She looked up at Charz. “Am I so unnoticeable?”

  “You are pretty light,” the giant grunted. “Sometimes when you’re standing on my shoulders I forget you’re even there.”

  The elf gave him a cute little scowl and slapped the giant’s leg.

  “I’m sorry, Antyni,” Justan said. “It was your hair. When I saw you last it was so much shorter.”

  “My people were forced to leave our homeland almost a month ago,” she said. “My hair grows until we return to seed our homeland again.”

  “You were overrun?” Justan asked in dismay.

  “We fought, but the moonrats were not alone. They had trolls and beasts this time,” she explained.

  “I am so sorry to hear that,” he said. “Where are your people now?”

  She opened her mouth, then blinked at him and frowned. “You ask more questions. Are you not going to tell me about Qyxal’s death?”

  Justan felt ill. He had been dreading this part. “You knew?”

  “Of course,” she said with a sad little nod. “He is my Elqala. I knew the moment he died. I asked Charz about it, but he didn’t see what happened. Tell me.”

  “I’m sorry. I . . .” Justan sank to one knee in front of her. “Antyni, it’s all my fault. Qyxal was only there because he was my friend. If I hadn’t dragged him with me, he would still be alive.”

  “Justan, that was not your fault,” Fist reminded.

  “I . . . still can’t help but feel it was.”

  “Tell me. How did he die?” Antyni asked.

  Justan looked down and related what happened, telling her about Qyxal’s brave attack on the bandham and how they had been unable to save him. She listened without comment, her face full of sorrow, but no tears fell. When he finished, she placed her hand under his chin and tilted his head up until their eyes met.

  “Thank you for taking his pain at the end,” she said. “What did you do with him afterwards?”

  “We brought his body with us,” he said. “We cleaned him and wrapped him in leather to preserve him until we could return him to you.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief, her hand pressed against her heart. “The prophet was right.” She smiled. “You must bring me to him.”

  “Of course,” Justan said. “He’s back at the caves . . .”

  They were interrupted as Gwyrtha came thundering back towards them. Beth clung to her mane giggling like a small girl. Gwyrtha skidded to a stop, which seemed to have become her preferred method of stopping. Beth slid off the saddle and hugged the rogue horse around the neck, peppering her head with kisses. She then staggered over to lean against Hilt.

  “Oh, Hilt! Can we take them home? I want to keep them all!”

  Hilt chuckled and shot a glance at Jhonate. “I don’t think they would follow.”

  “That depends on how determined I am,” Beth said, her voice slightly slurred. She raised a hand to her temple. “Oh, I am going to have such a headache after this.”

  “We’ve been speaking with you this whole time and I forgot to ask,” Justan said. “What are the four of you doing here?”

  “We bear the lodestones,” Antyni said.

  “What does that mean?” Jhonate asked.

  “The prophet told us to come to Wobble,” Hilt said. “He said the resistance would be here.”

  “He was right,” Justan said. Why did it seem that every event came down to instructions from the prophet? “We are camped in the caverns beyond. The leaders are planning our attack.”

  “I must speak with them,” Hilt said. “Things are far more dire than you know.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  “He is here?” Antyni asked as Fist gently laid the treated leather bundle in front of her.

  “Yes,” Justan said.

  Everyone who knew Qyxal had gathered around them. Antyni had insisted on it. She wanted to give him a proper elven burial and that meant that everyone who knew him needed to be there. She said it couldn’t wait until a return to her homeland. It needed to be done right away.

  She untied the leather strips that bound the bundle together and carefully began to unwrap it. Justan swallowed. He wasn’t looking forward to this part. He had seen it enough in his dreams; the way that his friend had looked at the end, his body charred and burnt, only one half of his face left whole . . . Justan didn’t want to see what he looked like after several weeks tied behind Gwyrtha’s saddle.

  Antyni pulled back the leather to expose his head. To Justan’s relief, the elf’s face looked unchanged from the moment he had drawn his last breath. There wasn’t even any smell.

  Tears fell from Antyni’s large eyes and she caressed Qyxal’s hair. “Elqala, I missed you.”

  Antyni opened a pouch she carried at her side and brought out a tiny bottle. She pulled the cork stopper and dipped her finger inside. Then softly, she began to sing a murmuring chant in elvish as she traced a pattern on Qyxal’s forehead with a glittering golden oil. The air was filled with the scent of spring leaves.

  Justan had never been to a funeral like this. He didn’t know if there was something he should do. He looked at the others but none of them seemed to know any more than he did. They simply stood, hands clasped in front of them, and listened.

  Antyni’s voice grew louder. It had a surprisingly thick alto tone that made the mournful melody yank at Justan’s emotions. He wasn’t the only one so affected. He saw tears streaming down the faces of many. Vannya was clinging to Locksher’s arm, sobbing.

  Antyni finished her design and began to paint a similar pattern on her own forehead. Justan switched to mage sight and saw that the oil burned a deep black. He looked at Qyxal and was surprised to see a white wisp of spirit magic rising from the elf’s forehead.

  Antyni’s song rose in volume. The melody quickened. White cloudy vapors of spirit magic formed on her forehead as well. Then she leaned down and brought her head next to Qyxal’s until the tendrils of spirit magic tightened and intertwined, joining together in one solid cord.

  Her song faded and the spirit energy disappeared into Antyni’s head. She touched her forehead to Qyxal’s and kissed him gently between the eyes. She reached down and ran her hand through the ground beside her, gripping a handful of sandy earth. Antyni pulled the rest of the leather back and spread the sand over his body, then covered him back up and stood.

  “My Elqala has joined me. His thoughts are with me now,” Antyni said, turning to face the rest of them. “He has words for each of you.”

  She walked towards Justan and embraced him, then said, “Qyxal wishes for me to thank you for being his friend.”

  “Please tell him I’m sorry,” Justan said.

  She cocked her head. “He does not understand why you feel guilt. If he had not traveled with you, he would not have found the magic needed to help our people.”

  She moved past him to stand in front of Fist and embraced the ogre. “He valued your friendship and wanted you to know that you are smarter and wiser than most humans he has known.”

  “Tell him . . . thank you,” Fist rumbled.

  She nodded, then embraced Lenny. “Qyxal liked you, Lenui. He is sorry
he was not able to properly use the gifts you gave him.” She kissed him on each cheek and on the forehead. The dwarf sputtered with embarrassment and she added. “The kisses are from me. Thank you for caring for his body. Otherwise he would not have been able to hold on for me.”

  Lenny’s face went red. “Well, uh, it was the thing to do.”

  She smiled, then moved on through Qyxal’s friends, embracing them all and giving each a kind word, thanking Master Coal for his teachings, thanking Coal’s bonded, and thanking Gwyrtha and Zambon. Then she stopped at Vannya.