LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “That’s the Kastali; that’s where the Vaka live. They got everything from meat to ale to pipe weed in there—even women. But they can’t have kids just like the rest of us. When one of their unfortunate pleasure girls does get pregnant, the Vaka accuse some unlucky fool of causing it, and they are both killed,” said Jahsin with disgust.

  Given what he had seen of Brekken, Talon didn’t like the Vaka much already; he made a mental note not to gain their attention. There was a reason the Skomm were also called Draugrs, or ghosts: the better they went unseen, the longer they lived.

  “There are many Vaka for each of the seven tribes; your buddy Brekken is one of ours and just as crooked as the lot of them. They got their fingers in every bit of trade there is, and after the Vald, they get the best food and the finest furs. They even deal with the traders from Agora and pirates and the like. As the Vald are too busy practicin’ at bashin’ heads in to worry of such things. I suspect without us, the Vald wouldn’t last a winter.

  Talon had lived with the Vald long enough to know that they did nothing but practice at warring. His amma had been one the few exceptions to the rule, as she was a highly coveted witch doctor, someone the Skomm were not allowed—the powers to be gained were too great to risk.

  Talon had spent his life staying out of sight of the other Vald, and rather than learning to fight with the other Vald children, he had spent his days collecting the never-ending assortment of plants and herbs and animal extracts Gretzen used in her conjuring. Not a night went by in which Gretzen wasn’t trying to communicate with the dead or brewing elixirs of strength for the Vald. In exchange for her services to the tribe, she received whatever she needed, which often led Talon to wonder why she would choose to eat gruel most of the time.

  While Jahsin showed him to the other end of the village near Dragon Tribe and back again to the far west, Talon kept his eye out for Akkeri. He had the urge to ask Jahsin what her job was, but he thought better of the idea, not wanting to give away his interest in her. Part of him trusted Jahsin was a good person, but he didn’t want to risk the teasing that might come with the revelation of such a secret. There had been many Vald children who had pretended to befriend Talon only to play some cruel joke on him for the entertainment of their peers.

  They returned to the Vaka’s Kastali on their way back to their side of Skomm Village, and to Talon’s surprise, Jahsin brought him right up to the big wooden double doors. Carved into the thick wood was the face of each tribe’s animal.

  “You gotta go see the Timber Wolf Tribe’s Vaka; Brekken told me to bring you at nightfall,” said Jahsin, leaning up against the building.

  “What do they want?” Talon asked, eyeing the big building with apprehension.

  “Just gonna ask what you are good at, or they won’t, but you are gonna be given a job either way. I’ll be right out here.”

  “All right,” said Talon with a gulp.

  Jahsin rapped on the door behind him, and the echo of it rumbled louder than Talon expected. The doors opened wide and a flood of music and raucous laughter spilled out into the night. A man with no legs stared up at Talon with an annoyed expression on his face.

  “Well, what do you want?” he barked.

  “He is here for his Idja,” Jahsin said over his shoulder.

  The legless man walked on his hands to regard Jahsin beyond the door. “Get your filthy arse off the Vaka’s wall!” he yelled. He glared back at Talon and turned around and walked back into the Kastali. “C’mon, then; you’re late,” he barked, and Talon followed reluctantly.

  He tried to keep his head down, but the inside of the building offered such sights as he had never seen. The large gathering hall beyond the door was filled with lavish furnishings covered in fine furs; half-dressed women danced in a dozen randomly placed cages or sprawled their bodies across lounging Vaka. The strong smell of alcohol permeated the air, blending with the hovering pipe and opium smoke to create a right fine stink. A giant fireplace raged at the end of the room. At the center of the stone chimney hung the horned skull of a dragon, and all throughout the room were full skeletons of the seven tribes’ spirit animals. How the skeletons kept from falling apart Talon could not guess. Skomm men and women stood near the northern wall on a raised stage playing an assortment of instruments. The music was fast and cheerful, with sweeping notes lifting into the air to dance playfully with rushing strings, all to the constant rhythm of skin drums. Bones, whips, axes, swords, and even human skulls sat on display across the high walls.

  The legless man led Talon up a short flight of stairs to the left of the den and from there onto a landing leading to the back wall and a room beyond. The man stopped at the door and absently nodded for Talon to enter. Inside he found the same furnishings and furs, along with a long table at which sat four Vaka; across from them was a single wooden chair.

  Brekken sat among them.

  Without instruction Talon took the seat.

  “Who told you to sit?” Brekken barked, and Talon shot to his feet.

  “I am sorry, Brekken,” said Talon, looking to the wooden floor.

  “You are to address me as Vaka Brekken!” he screamed, and Talon could not help but flinch.

  “Yes, Vaka Brekken,” Talon replied with a quick glance at the others. They all seemed to share Brekken’s opinion of him. He quickly stared back at the floor.

  “Feikin Draugr!” Brekken cursed, and the others chuckled. “Good for nothing but shyte shoveling, this one.”

  Talon stared at the floor hoping it would soon be over. There were worse jobs than shoveling shyte. He just wanted out of there.

  “Do you have any skills?” one of them asked.

  “Yes Sir…Vaka.”

  “Look at Vaka Argoth when he is speaking to you, Plagueborn!” Brekken yelled and slammed his big fist on the table.

  Talon jumped. “Yes, Vaka Brekken.” He gulped and looked to the man who stared at him expectantly. “In Timber Wolf Village I gathered herbs and plants and such for my amma. I know what to look for and where to find them, and I can…”

  “Silence!” Brekken bellowed, and Talon stared at the floor once more.

  “Your amma,” said Vaka Argoth thoughtfully. “Gretzen Spiritbone, yes? She is a skilled Ividia.”

  Talon heard many grunts of agreement.

  “You think you are too good for hard labor?” Brekken asked.

  “No, I am just answering truthfully.”

  “Endrbaga!” Brekken yelled, slamming his fist once more. “The Plagueborn thinks he is too good for real work. He wants to pick flowers with the women all day. I say he is sent to the mines where he can’t cause trouble.”

  “The healers are always looking for more gatherers, and to find one with any knowledge beyond a lily and thistle is needed,” said Vaka Argoth.

  Talon could feel the tension in the room build. He doubted Brekken would back down; for reasons beyond his understanding, the man hated him and was intent on making his life terrible.

  “If he is so good at flower picking, he can do it in half the time,” Brekken replied, and the others grunted agreement.

  “You will report to the western mines at first light every day; when the sun has set, you will tend to the healer’s needs,” Vaka Argoth declared.

  “Yes Vaka Arg…”

  “I know what you are up to, you filthy feikin Draugr; best you keep your hands off the wrong flowers,” Brekken warned.

  Talon had no idea what he meant, and said nothing.

  “Get out!” Brekken screamed. Talon needed no more incentive.

  When he came out of the Kastali, Jahsin stood waiting, but he had not gone back to leaning on the wall.

  “So how did it go?” he asked, looking as though he expected the worst.

  “They gave me two tasks,” said Talon as they headed back west. “I gotta report to the mines every morning and then spend the nights collecting plants and things for the healers. Brekken seemed pretty mad when it was suggested I work with the
healers.”

  Jahsin laughed and patted Talon on the back. “You sly dog. I wonder why.”

  Talon looked at him confused. “What?”

  “Akkeri is an apothecary for Majhree and the others; why you think she was tendin’ to you when you was laid up?”

  “Akkeri?” Talon repeated and his heart leapt. He was quick to hide his joy, but Jahsin read him like a book with one glance.

  “Be careful, Tal, ain’t no way your feelings gonna bring about any good,” Jahsin said with sudden sobriety.

  Talon barely heard what he said after mentioning Akkeri.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE IRON MINES

  CHILD OF the Dogstar Moon, he shall endure the whip for the weak.

  —Gretzen Spiritbone, 4977

  Though he had not fully recovered from his beating after his Miotvidr, Talon reported to the ore mines the next morning. The walk took nearly half an hour from the Timber Wolf part of the Skomm village to the mines to the south. Jahsin showed him the way, saying it was not far from the forest he was working in. When they got to the mines, Jahsin tucked his big axe under his stump and patted Talon on the back.

  “Good luck seems a bit out of place…Try not to die,” he said half-jokingly. “See you at sundown, eh.”

  “Thanks, Jahsin,” said Talon as he looked around at the huge piles of earth and crushed stone. Black dust hung in the air around the entrance to the mines and blackened the surrounding snow. Skomm workers went this way and that, some pushing wheeled carts full of stone, others wheeling the iron ore to the blasting furnaces. Still others carried the bigger rocks to be piled up around the mountain of stone to the south. He knew half a dozen or so similar mines existed throughout Volnoss; he had seen a few from afar whilst gathering apothecary supplies.

  The mines consisted not only of underground tunnels and passageways but also giant pits dug out of the earth, descending deep into the ground like stairs. The road wound from the bottom of the pits and spiraled up along the edges and out. Hundreds of men and women alike traversed those steep inclines, pulling or pushing carts full of ore and stone. The whips of mounted Vaka kept the pace, and drove the workers relentlessly. The Vald Barbarians were much too big for horses, and the Skomm were forbidden from riding them; therefore the only barbarians on Volnoss who used horses were the Vaka.

  As Talon took in the overwhelming mines, an old man emerged from one of the pits carrying a stone nearly as wide as his shoulders. The crack of a Vaka’s whip made Talon jump, and the old man stiffened with the blow as he tried to balance his burden under such pain.

  “Move your stinkin’ Bacraut, you feikin Draugr!” the Vaka overseer screamed from atop his mount. Another crack of the whip caused the old man to drop his heavy load and stumble to the ground.

  The Vaka’s eyes lit up like a predator sensing weak prey, and his whip cracked against the old man’s back mercilessly. Long bright slashes appeared on the man’s ragged shirt with every flogging, and through it all he tried to lift the stone.

  Before Talon knew what he was doing, he found himself running to the side of the old man and helping him to lift the big stone up to his chest. The whipping stopped and the old man regarded Talon, horrified. He quickly shuffled off with the large stone.

  “What in the hells you think you doin’?” screamed the Vaka as he dismounted his horse and stormed over to him. Talon turned his gaze to the ground quickly and bowed his head.

  The Vaka overseer grabbed him by the ears and slammed his knee into Talon’s forehead, sending him flying to land on his back. A barrage of curses and whip strikes assaulted his body, and soon Talon was left gasping in the filthy snow. The pain of the whip was unbearable, and he had not been able to hold in his cries. The Vaka kicked him in his already sore ribs and lifted him by the hair. His rank breath burned Talon’s nostrils making his already turning stomach churn threateningly.

  “You ever get in the way of Vaka Groegon again, I’ll kill ye. You hear me, you filthy Throwback?”

  “Yes, Vaka Groegon,” Talon groaned and then lost his breakfast.

  Groegon backhanded him in the face and dragged him to the edge of the pit and shoved him over the side. Talon hit the slant and fell hard and tumbled down to the next level of the spiral.

  “Get your lazy arse down to the pit and get to work!” the Vaka screamed with the crack of his whip.

  Talon half ran and half tumbled down five such slants carved into the pit until he came to the bottom. He grabbed the closest stone he saw and shuffled as quickly as he could toward the road out. The end of a whip slashed his back again, and he dropped the stone with a cry.

  “What you think you’re doin’, Throwback?” another mounted Vaka yelled—this one was a fat man with a wooden leg and dirty teeth. “Get over there and help push the cart!”

  Talon scuttled over to a group of men and women who were pushing and pulling a wooden cart heaping with broken stone. He found a place among the pushers and grabbed one of the many handles. The Vaka let the whip crack inches from their ears and began to holler.

  “All right, get this load up to the top before I skin you all alive!”

  Talon and the others heaved while the three on the other end began to pull the cart up the start of the winding road out of the pit. At first the going was slow, but they steadily gained momentum and the cart began to meander up the incline.

  “This one here is crazy,” said a man opposite Talon. He could not be sure what the man really looked like, as he was covered from head to toe in black dust and dirt, the bright whites of his eyes stood out in stark contrast. The grime left them all looking relatively the same; soon Talon would look like them too.

  “Right, he’s crazy, ’specially with the bad wheel and all,” said another, giggling.

  “What are you talking about?” Talon grunted as he pushed. Already his legs burned, but he had no intentions of stopping and being whipped. He would fall dead with exhaustion before he felt the biting whips again. Every time a Vaka used one in the distance, he could not help but flinch, and he noticed most of the others did as well.

  A women beside him laughed and began a hacking cough. “You pick push side of the cart ’stead of the pull, and this cart got a bad wheel.”

  From the other side a man chimed in, “Wheel gave out just last week and crushed two of the pushers. That there’s a bit of a shoddy fix.”

  Talon eyed the wobbly wheel to his left and gulped. He hadn’t had the time to be concerned with which side of the cart might be safer.

  The man across from him laughed and added, “Don’t worry, if the cart starts to give, I’ll make sure and give an extra push so as it kills you clean. Save you the slow death of being tossed aside and ignored.”

  Talon glanced apprehensively at the others and they all burst into laughter, followed by hacking coughs, some of which left flecks of blood on the cart of stones.

  By the time they got to the top of the pit, he learned all of their names, and when they returned to the bottom and began loading the cart again, he knew most of their stories. They had all spent most of their lives in the mines—they said it with a pride Talon hoped he never earned in this place—and had the crooked fingers and toes to prove it.

  “If you plan on lastin’ more than a season here in Oreton, ye best start payin’ attention; been here less than an hour and already you got yourself whipped and tossed off the side of the pit,” said a big, tall woman named Sylva. She was well over six feet but still shy of the women’s Miotvidr of seven.

  “Seein’ how he came over the top of the pit runnin’ down here, looked like he couldn’t wait to get to work,” another laughed.

  The man next to him looked Talon over for a time. “Ain’t never seen you round the village; you from ’nother mine?”

  “Look at his baby-soft hands, Arlan; you could wipe a king’s arse with ’em!” laughed another, and they all followed in.

  “I lived in Timber Wolf Village until a few days ago.”

  Th
ey all fell silent aside from Sylva, who clicked her tongue and shook her head.

  “This one’s Ny’Kominn,” she said as if Talon had a disease.

  “I might be new to Skomm Village, but I’m not invisible; quit talking about me like I’m not here,” Talon grunted as the cart hit a bump in the road and slowed nearly to stopping.

  “Ain’t gonna be here for long by my reckoning,” put in a man who had not yet spoken. No one laughed.

  Talon counted thirty such trips up the winding road from the pits by nightfall, and when the horn finally blared for everyone to return to the village, every muscle in his body ached. He wanted to fall to the ground and sleep for a hundred years, but he had sworn not to earn any more whippings, besides, he had to perform his apothecary duties that night. The group he had been working with passed the waterskin around one last time and headed up the winding road out of the pit. The slashes all over his body had crusted to his itchy clothes, but at least they no longer bled.

  Jahsin was waiting at the top of the pit and didn’t recognize Talon until he had gotten close.

  “Feikinstafir, Tal; I was serious when I said not to get yourself killed,” he said with a nervous glance to Vaka Groegon, who scowled at them from twenty yards off.

  Talon only grunted and they walked out of the mines quickly. When they were far from the sight of any Vaka, Talon fell to his knees panting. From behind him Jahsin hissed as he beheld the whip marks on Talon’s back.

  “How did you get yourself whipped on the first day? And what happened to your forehead? Here, have some water; we gotta get you to Majhree.”

  “I have to report for apothecary,” Talon panted.

  “Here, just drink,” said Jahsin, shoving the waterskin into his hands. Talon tipped it back and greedily sucked down half of the cold water.

  “Slow down, you’re gonna puke,” said Jahsin, pulling it away.

  “By Thodin’s arse, Tal, you’re a wreck; c’mon.”