LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  Even his amma’s life had been ruined because of him. Before his birth, she had lived like a chief’s wife, and her business had flourished. She still got by well, but her name had been tarnished by Talon’s existence. He felt he was a jinx to Jahsin and Akkeri as well, and would only lead them to tragedy. Even Chief had not been impervious to the curse of Talon Windwalker.

  He was no good for anyone.

  Majhree came in with lunch and set it on the small table. Once again she had half a dozen incense sticks burning and as many candles. She said—as always—they were to ward off the evil spirits.

  “I’m not dying,” he said.

  “Don’t matter if you dyin’ or not; spirits is spirits, them’s to be warded against.”

  Talon knew as much from his amma. But in all the weeks he had known Majhree, he had never seen her use so many warding candles.

  “Do you think the spirits are after me? Am I…cursed?” he asked.

  Majhree stopped in what she was doing and half turned toward him. The curve of her hunched back kept her face from view; Talon thought her to be pondering.

  “You done survived a massacre, Talon. You grew to a strong young man after bein’ born so early. There’s somethin’ in your stars, son—somethin’ up’n scares the spirits out of me, and excites me at the same time. Nah, I ain’t thinkin’ the spirits is after you, but I think they’s watchin’ you, and the gods is too.”

  Talon thought on her words for a time. Spirits and gods watching him, something in his stars? She sounded like his amma. He had never put much stock in the gods. What did the barbarian gods care for a Throwback, anyway? He had prayed to Styrkr for strength and power as a little boy, wanting so badly to grow tall enough to make the measure and be accepted by his father. The god of strength never answered. The gods remained silent to Talon Windwalker, and he to them.

  Majhree unwrapped Talon’s waist and checked on the stitches. She replaced the two bones she had placed on his abdomen with small skulls of what might have been cats.

  “I have to get Akkeri off this island,” said Talon, and Majhree froze in what she was doing.

  “Don’t be a fool, boy; ain’t no Skomm ever got off this Island. Where’n would they go anyway? You ain’t knowin’ what the world like out there.”

  Talon laughed at the irony.

  “I know what it is like here; could it be any worse?”

  “That kind’a talk make a person crazy, Talon. You start dreamin’ ’bout impossible things, you’ll die brokenhearted long before the Vald kill you. Anybody with two good ears best listen.”

  “Look at you,” he countered. “Did you ever think you would have a place in this world, be of any worth? Now you are one of the most important people in the Skomm village.”

  “Ain’t fingers or toes needed to count my worth,” said Majhree humbly.

  “Neinn, I see your worth.”

  She said nothing, keeping her head down as she applied a sticky, green salve to his stitches.

  “You speak of my stars; help me, Majhree. If you believe the Krellr of death follows me, I will leave you alone. But I have to try, or else leave Jahsin and Akkeri for their own sake, and I cannot do that. You said it yourself: Akkeri will be sold to the slavers for some stinking brothel in Agora. Even with the cut on her face, she will not be spared.”

  Majhree let out a heavy sigh as if she had stopped breathing while he spoke. Candlelight shone in her shimmering tears and she nodded to herself.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you, Majhree.”

  Talon went back to work in the mines after two days with Majhree. Vaka Groegon had been furious with his absence and went personally to the house of healing to demand he be flogged. Majhree had convinced him to turn his head with a steep bribe of Bull Juice, saying it would give him the endurance of a god. When she mentioned how the pleasure ladies of Vaka Kastali would flock to him, he was sold. Vaka Groegon agreed to two days for two vials.

  Talon caught Groegon’s eye while entering the mines, and the Vaka’s glare promised hell. Sure enough he was met with a whip crack to the shoulder and given one of the worst jobs, the pick axe. His clothes offered little protection, and when the pick struck, he was battered by biting flecks of stone. Soon he learned how to set his mark and strike blind, lest he lose an eye to the constant flying rock.

  The day wore on and Talon stopped near noon to drink from his waterskin. As he raised it to his parched lips, the end of a whip slapped the water skin from his hands.

  “Dropped something,” Vaka Groegon said from his saddle.

  “Yes, Vaka Groegon,” Talon replied placidly and bent to retrieve it, though he knew what was coming. He reached for the flask and the whip hit his back, jolting him upright with a groan. He bit his lip against the pain, determined that Vaka Groegon would never here his cry of pain again. He had grabbed the waterskin tightly in expectation of the whip, intending not to reach for it twice.

  “Hell of a display, them Vald swords, eh?” said Groegon.

  “Yes, Vaka Groegon.”

  “Wish I could have been there. They say the blood ran like a river.”

  Talon didn’t reply. He put his waterskin over his shoulder and took up the pick axe, determined to get back to work.

  “I’m talking to you, Plagueborn!”

  Talon stopped and set the head of the axe on the ground. He set his eyes on the horse’s hooves and waited.

  “They say only one lucky Skomm survived the test of blades. They right it was you?”

  “Yes, Vaka Groegon.”

  The man let out a long, hearty laugh and bent back in his saddle with a hoot. Talon became tempted to take up the pick axe and drive it into the Vaka’s chest.

  “Feikinstafir! The gods like you, don’t they, Plagueborn?”

  “Yes, Vaka Groegon.”

  The overseer leapt from his saddle and was in Talon’s face in a heartbeat.

  “Yes, Vaka Groegon, yes, Vaka Groegon. You say that one more time and I’ll shove the pick axe up your arse!”

  Spittle sprayed on Talon’s face, and it was all he could do not to say it again; instead, he bit back his anger and breathed.

  “As you wish, Vaka Groegon.”

  “You think you’re hot dragon shyte, don’t you, Plagueborn?”

  “No, Vaka Groegon,” said Talon.

  “Endrbaga!” Groegon screamed and backhanded him. He took the blow on his feet and straightened again.

  “I guess you is special, ain’t you, boy? Not every day a strong Vald woman dies givin’ birth to a useless runt. How’s it feel knowin’ your mother couldn’t live with the shame of birthing such a filthy Draugr?”

  Talon shook with rage and hot tears pooled in his eyes, blurring his vision; he refused to let them fall.

  “You want to take that axe to my head, don’t you, boy?”

  “No, Vaka Groegon.”

  “Go ahead. Lift it up, be a feikin man for once in your life. Take it up, take a swing at me. Go ahead. You know you want to.”

  Talon resisted the urge to bash his head in. He thought of leaving Volnoss with Akkeri and Jahsin, and if possible, Chief as well. He buried his anger deep inside.

  “May I return to work, Vaka Groegon?”

  The Vaka stared at him, furious that he could not make him snap. He leaned in close so his lips nearly touched Talon’s ear.

  “I heard Chiefson Fylkin has big plans for you come Freista. He’ll win the Timber Wolf games, you know; he’ll hunt you and that little red-haired whore down.”

  Talon’s head jerked at the mention, and Vaka Groegon’s satisfied groan bathed his ear in hot, rank breath.

  “Oh yes, he has big plans for her, and that one-armed moron, too. He’s going to beat you near to death, then flay your skin and feed it to the wolves. Make you watch him take the red-haired girl again…and again…and again. When she’s been used up like an old Kerling, he is gonna kill her right in front of you.”

  Talon had not been able
to stop the tears from falling, but he didn’t wipe them away. He knew they had made two long streaks through the dirt on his face. Vaka Groegon sneered at Talon in his silent victory and mounted his horse once again.

  “Back to work, Plagueborn. We’ll make some use of your sorry arse before Freista!”

  Angry tears fell all the way home. He was so mad at Vaka Groegon that he thought he might explode. The images he had forced before Talon’s mind had nearly driven him mad with rage. Never had he wanted the strength of a Vald so badly, so he might make right everything wrong with Volnoss.

  The white owl appeared once more. As the sun slowly set and twilight descended upon the world, he found the owl in the same tree as before. Talon stopped to watch the majestic bird, wishing he too could fly away.

  Talon returned to the hut that night in no mood to talk, and Jahsin gave him his space.

  “How you doing, Tal?” was as far as he pressed, and Talon was grateful.

  Akkeri came to the hut, and together they set out to picking herbs, roots, and leaves. They worked in silence most of the night under the light of the moon. She gave him space as well, knowing the horrors he had seen. When their eyes met, she offered him a loving smile rather than a kind, pitying one, which he was grateful for.

  “We have to get out of here,” he sighed as they collected midnight mushrooms.

  “How?”

  Talon had half expected her to argue.

  “I don’t know; we sure can’t fly,” he said and realized he hadn’t really thought much about how, busy as he was obsessing over the why.

  “We need to cross the Strait of Shierdon, else take a boat east or west to Agora,” said Akkeri.

  “Do a lot of boats venture through the Strait?” he asked, excited by her being open to the discussion.

  “I don’t know, but I guess if they ever do, it is when the fishing is good.” She put another mushroom in her basket and regarded him with a question in her eyes.

  “What?” Talon asked.

  “I think you’re right, and I would love nothing more than to leave. But how are we going to get a boat? And not be stopped?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted with a slump. Just as quickly, he perked back up. “What if we sneak on a trading ship? Somehow get work at the docks. Sneak on while we are loading it with the others.”

  “They check for stowaways thoroughly. When caught they are killed immediately,” she answered.

  “We’ll build a boat,” he offered.

  “From what wood?”

  “Jahsin could gather it.”

  “I don’t know,” said Akkeri as she rose.

  The night had gotten late, and Talon needed to get back if he was to have any strength for the mines at sunrise—only five hours off. They headed back to the village with enough supplies to give them some downtime the next night. Talon intended on using it to formulate a better plan.

  He stopped walking and grabbed her arm. She turned to regard him curiously as the moonlight fell upon her hair.

  “I’ll get you off this island, bring you to a place where the Vald and the Vaka can never hurt you again,” he promised.

  Akkeri looked on him as she never had before. She took his face in her hands, moving closer, closer, and their lips met. Worried his legs might give out, he pulled her close to steady them both. Her lips parted slowly and her tongue met his in a dance of yearning. The kiss lasted for a time unknown and the stars moved. He parted from her with a renewed sense of magic and wonder about the world.

  That night he dared to dream of a life without violence and death, a life of love and peace—a life with her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  PLOTTING

  HE WILL SEE YOU for what you are; how, then, shall he see me?

  —Gretzen Spiritbone, 4996

  Talon kept his head down in the mines and avoided any trouble from Vaka Groegon all the next day. Finally the horn blared and he ran out of the mines and all the way back to the village, his mind racing with ideas.

  He barged into the hut and found Akkeri and Jahsin already plotting. One of them had painted a makeshift map of Volnoss on a bit of animal hide. Talon closed the door with a suspicious eye on the village.

  “You got to be more careful if we are to pull this off,” he said as he barred the door with one of the chairs.

  “How are we to explain the barred door, should a Vaka come callin’?” Jahsin asked, aghast. “They’ll accuse us of…you know. That’ll put us in a bigger bind than a little map.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “I’m as new to this as you are,” Jahsin mumbled and produced the bottle of dwarven whiskey.

  “What?” he asked with a huff when Talon rolled his eyes at him and the bottle.

  “This is serious, Jah; we can’t be getting shytefaced and scheming a plan of escape.”

  Akkeri ignored them both and pondered the map.

  “Help me out, here,” Talon nudged her as he sat down.

  “What? Oh, Jahsin, don’t be stupid, no drinking,” she said absently.

  “All right! Styrkr’s feikin arse!” said Jahsin, stashing the bottle under his bed.

  “What you got?” Talon asked, eagerly rubbing his hands together.

  “We got a map on a piece of leather is what we got,” said Jahsin. “How we supposed to pull this off?”

  “Not sure, Jahsin; that’s why we’re here.”

  Akkeri glared at them both as if to say, are you two done?

  “Let’s start with what we know,” she said. “We need to either cross the Strait of Shierdon or set out from the east. So we need to either build a raft or stow away on a boat.”

  “I can gather the lumber and build a raft,” said Jahsin.

  “When did you learn how to build a raft?” Talon asked.

  “How hard can it be? Strap some logs together, there; you have a raft.”

  “And what about a sail? Without a sail we will be going nowhere fast.”

  “Dunno,” Jahsin shrugged. “I got the raft covered; you two worry ’bout the sail.”

  “Just make sure she floats,” Talon told him.

  “Wood floats, genius,” said Jahsin.

  “This is serious; we might get killed trying to escape!” Talon snapped.

  “We won’t get killed if we don’t try it!” Jahsin yelled back. “Why you always gotta be doin’ somethin’ might get you killed?”

  “Shh, both of you!” Akkeri hissed.

  “No one forced you into this,” Talon reminded him. “You agreed.”

  “I know,” said Jahsin, losing his bluster. His shoulders dropped and he cradled his stump—his way of crossing his arms. He began to rock slowly, and Talon could tell the pressure of the escape weighed heavily on his mind.

  “I’m sorry. This scares the shyte out of me,” he said.

  “Me too,” Talon admitted.

  “We can do this if we stay focused, stay together,” Akkeri told them.

  They all shared a look. Talon offered Jahsin a nod, and his friend shook his head with a smile.

  “All right, Jahsin has the lumber and the raft covered. We still need to determine our launch point,” said Talon, studying the map.

  Akkeri nodded in agreement. “The fishing harbor to the northwest is far too crowded.”

  “Agreed,” said Talon, thinking. He thought of his fishing spot. He had managed to go the better part of ten years undiscovered along the rocky shore.

  “I’ve a spot, a little-traveled stretch of rocky shore south of the Timber Wolf village. It’s far enough away that even if we are spotted it would take them a long time to get to a boat.”

  “A rocky shore will be more dangerous,” Jahsin put in.

  “It shouldn’t be too bad. The waves are quiet. Long as we got good weather, we should be fine,” said Talon.

  “And we can lay the parts of the raft about the rocky shore. They’ll just look like driftwood if anyone happens by,” Akkeri added.

  “Good idea,” said
Talon, “now we just have to get ahold of some rope.”

  “I can get rope as well,” Jahsin put in, “through the underground market. I’ll make sure and get some from a number of sources so as to not rouse suspicion.”

  The more they talked about the plan, the more excited they became. The thought of being free of the Vald was intoxicating. Talon imagined setting foot on Agora with his friends and beginning a new life. In Agora, anything would be possible. He and Akkeri might even open an apothecary shop in one of the cities he had heard stories of.

  “It’s going to be hard to get ahold of a sail. I don’t think we could make one and keep it secret—not one big enough to be of any use,” said Akkeri.

  “Probably not,” Talon agreed.

  “Do any of us know anything about sails or sailing?” Jahsin asked them. They both shook their heads. “Me neither, but I know there’s more to it than just opening them up and letting the wind take you.”

  “Hey!” Talon jolted upright and looked to Akkeri. “What if Majhree can get us on one of the fishing boats? There are many types of seaweed useful to her and the other healers, even by the Vald witchdoctors.”

  “Yeah, but seaweed can be collected from the docks. The fishermen know to set some aside for that very purpose,” said Akkeri.

  Talon thought for a moment. He knew Majhree could convince the fishermen somehow. The bigger problem would be convincing the Vaka. “Majhree can make something up about us needing to gather seaweed from the deep water, convince them the process requires special methods only we have been taught. Then we can learn a bit about how sails work.”

  “Might work,” Akkeri nodded.

  “We still need to get our hands on a sail, and none too big, either. We only need to go ten, twenty miles across the strait,” said Jahsin.