Everything Is Worth Killing- Isaac's Tale

by Alex Oakchest

  It was all down to Mardak, really. As a treat, he had made a deer stew with way more meat than usual, and he gave everyone around the fire a double helping.

  It’s amazing what food can do. Songs were sung, laughs were had. For one night only, the clan cast worries aside and give their minds a break.

  It was overdue. I think if they had gone one more night worrying about everything, living under so much uncertainty, they’d have snapped. Tonight would help them carry on.

  I went to my tent where Roddie was already curled up and sleeping next to our two bison friends. Tired, warm, and with a belly full of meat, I was asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.

  CHAPTER 22 – The Land Beyond

  The next morning, I woke up more energized than I’d felt in weeks. I was sore as hell, yeah, but I was ready to go.

  First, chores. Then, spell practice. After that, perhaps I’d go hunting for more elementals.

  Okay, plan made. Time to get going!

  I got up and opened the tent door, only for a barrage of snow to fall inside. When I battled my way out, I got a shock.

  Holy hell, it had snowed during the night.

  Not just regular snow. Not just a little covering of winter. We were used to that. Nope, the sky had sent down enough snow to almost bury the camp. It had piled up so high in places that some tents were half covered.

  The snowfall was shallower away from the tents, but even then it still reached up to my thighs. I waded through it a little until I realized that I’d walked into the center of camp. Right here, on this spot, there had been a giant campfire just eight hours earlier.

  One by one, the rest of the clan woke up, and most of them had a similar reaction to me when they saw just how much it had snowed.

  It wasn’t long before they each began forming the stances of hrr-chare. I saw what they were doing, but rather than join in, I just watched. I didn’t want to waste any of my elementals.

  Fireballs left palms and smashed into the snow. One by one, small ones cast hastily, large ones made with care. When orange and red flames met snow the white stuff retreated, melting into water that pooled all around.

  It took almost a dozen fireballs, all told, before camp was clear. My first thought was that this was a great waste of elementals. Unless the clan had an endless supply of hellcats, then this was lazy and wasteful, and they should have just shoveled the snow.

  But then I heard gasps all around me. One mage dropped to his knees. Another cried out and ran into his tent.

  I saw what was left on the ground now that the snow was gone. “This…this isn’t good.”

  Runes etched into the ground. Dozens of them, both in the camp and around it.

  And then, a mage ran out of Elder Red’s tent, her face a pale green. “He’s dead! The elder is dead!”

  It was the only time I’d seen anyone except Pendras go into Red’s tent without ringing the gong and waiting, sometimes for up to an hour.

  Today, half a dozen adult mages ran in there, soon disappearing beyond the fabric. Before I joined them, I sought out the mage who’d fled screaming from the tent. I guessed it would be busy in the tent, and it might be easier to get information from her.

  She was sitting on the ground, right on top of one of the runes that had been left there last night. The rune didn’t seem to bother her. She held her legs against her chest and rocked back and forth.

  I tried to remember her name. “Smelda?” I said. “No, Esmelda.”

  She didn’t look at me.

  I sat next to her. I was going to put my hand on her shoulder, but I’d already made that mistake with Rosi one night when she’d been upset about losing a hunting competition. Here, a pat on the shoulder was a sign of rebuke and dominance.

  Instead, I put my index finger lightly on her wrist, the way I had seen others do. I could feel her pulse pounding.

  “What occurred?” I asked her.

  “Dead. Gone to the land of other,” she said.

  “How did he die? Violence?”

  “Gone to the land of the other.”

  She rocked back and forth now. I asked her a few more questions, but I couldn’t get anything else out of her.

  I stood up. My gaze was drawn again to the runes spread around camp, signs of the Runenmer’s presence here.

  What did this mean? That he could cast runes from afar? Or that he’d sneaked into camp like a robber and made them while we slept, before the snow got too bad? Somehow, I couldn’t imagine the Runenmer’s creeping into camp, laying his runes, cackling, and then running away like a little shoemaker’s elf.

  As I approached the tent, I heard sobbing. Hushed conversations. Gotta admit, when I headed in there, I expected the worst.

  Things like the elder mage naked, his dead body covered in runes. Runes drawn on the ground in blood. Or maybe rune shapes made using Red’s entrails. You know, sicko Runenmer stuff.

  Instead, six mages crowded around a bed. The Elder mage was inside it, the fur covers pulled up to his face. His skin looked a paler green than usual, but his expression was peaceful.

  Around the bed were Mardak the cook, Nino the inventoryman, Giocomo, and a few others I didn’t recognize.

  “Move, move, no gawp, no look,” said a voice.

  It was Cleavon, the healer. He entered the tent after me, and he strode over to the bed, almost barging Mardak out of the way.

  He pulled the covers back and put his green fingers on the Elder’s wrist, neck, chest where his heart would be, and finally his forehead circle.

  “His heart has ended journey,” he said.

  Mardak hung his head. Giocomo touched the elder’s robes, as if evaluating the quality of the material. At least that was something you could rely on with Lonehills; they didn’t dwell on death for long.

  Maybe I needed to think more like them.

  This was the elder Lonehill mage. Red, supposedly the strongest of them all. What kind of elemental would I get from him? Did a person or animal’s power in life affect the elemental they left behind?

  And what about his medallion? It was golden, the workmanship exquisite enough to make me drool. In another world, another time, it would have been on display in a museum.

  Just think of the things I could do…

  I could just take it. Grab the elemental and the medallion and run.

  “Out! Out!” said Cleavon, gesturing to the ten entrance.

  Damn it. I couldn’t do this without anyone seeing. If I did it, I’d be an outcast.

  But think of the power…

  “Out!” said Cleavon.

  Nobody argued. Mardak lead them out, and I could tell he was fighting to keep his feelings inside. So they did feel grief; they just tried to push it back.

  “Isaac?” said Mardak.

  I made my choice. Even if I took Red’s elemental and medallion, there was no surety I could even use it yet, and I’d be alone, with a crazy rune demon-summoner out there. I had to forget the shiny things and think about survival.

  I went outside, where I found the rest of the clan gathered. Some whispered to each other, others stared at Red’s tent with glazed looks on their faces.

  With Red dead, and Pendras, Siddel, and Rosi out hunting for the Runenmer, there was nobody to lead the clan. Who would step forward? Certainly not me. I didn’t have anywhere near enough respect yet.

  “My clanmates,” said a voice.

  Ah, that’s who would step up.

  Mardak wasn’t the oldest mage, but he seemed to have the most respect. After all, who doesn’t grow to like the guy who cooks all your meals?

  “Clansmen, clanswomen, clanchildren,” said Mardak. He used the same voice as he did every evening when he declared it was time to dish out his stew. There was an undercurrent of authority behind it this time.

  “Hush!” cried Giocomo. “Quiet for Mardak.”

  The cook stood proud. His arms folded, shoulders straight, head high. Every face focused on him.

  “Elder Redanatamarseekug
ravolutinomafuti is visit his journey’s end.”

  Wow. He’d rattled off the fifteen syllables of Red’s full name without any effort.

  There were whispers now.

  Gasps.

  One woman had to set a jug of water on the ground as her legs wobbled, and she sank to the ground.

  “Hush!” shouted Giocomo.

  “How reach final steps?” asked one mage, an older woman with three younger mages standing close beside her.

  “His heart stop. He die in land of dreams. Please, clanmates. No dwell. Yer fontina a’ ma grava. Harrien, Malin, must cut wood. Others, dig away runes.”

  Dig away the runes? That doesn’t work, I wanted to tell them. I’d already tried it. If I knew it was useless, then everyone else must know that, too.

  But then I realized that Mardak didn’t expect them to be able to remove the runes from camp; he wanted them to keep busy. With their best hunters and mages gone, with the elder dead, they had to keep their fears and worries at bay. Work and sweat was one of the oldest, truest ways to do that.

  “Giocomo, Cleavon, Nino, Tosvig, come,” said Mardak.

  He left the gathering then, walking across camp and into his own tent, followed by the healer, inventoryman, and tanner.

  I didn’t want to stay out here with the rest of them. I didn’t need to keep my mind on the pointless task of trying to remove the runes. Although I understood the elder’s importance to the clan, I didn’t feel grief at his passing, because I didn’t know him.

  I didn’t need diversions; I needed to survive. I wanted to know about their plans. Taking a chance, I followed them into Mardak’s tent.

  In Mardak’s tent, an overwhelming medley of spice aromas hung in the air. He had a bed in one corner, but most of the space was taken up by pots, pestles, pans, ingredients. The rest was occupied by crates of dried meats, carrots, potatoes, onions.

  Mardak grabbed four empty crates and turned them over.

  “Sit.”

  I took a step forward.

  “Isaac? Na. You mus…”

  “I will stay,” I said.

  “Na. Gai, cut wood.”

  “Yap, I will stay. Many thoughts come from many minds,” I said. It wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted to convey, but I couldn’t think of the words. I tried again. “Different mouths speak different ideas.”

  That was more like it.

  Mardak grabbed another crate, upturned it, and pointed. “Sit.”

  The five of us took our seats. Mardak, the cook. Giocormo, the tanner. Nino, who controlled the clan’s supplies. And a guy named Tosvig, who I had never met before.

  I had been so caught up in finding the runes and then learning about the elder, that I hadn’t paid much attention to Tosvig. I had never him in camp until today, but I had heard whisperings that he had been due back.

  He certainly hadn’t spent a second in camp before now, because I’d have known.

  The reason I’d have known is that there was something peculiar about Tosvig. Something he didn’t have that made him stand out. Yes, he was green-skinned, and yes, he had a beard that rivaled Pendras’, but there was something else.

  Tosvig didn’t have a circle on his forehead.

  He must have arrived at camp during the night, or maybe that morning. It seemed suspicious that he would arrive at the same time that we discovered the runes and the elder, but one thing stopped me voicing that; none of the others were distrustful of him. They knew him, and they didn’t betray the slightest hint of wariness.

  “Tosvig,” said Mardak. He pointed at me. “Er agname Isaac.”

  “Human,” said Tosvig, his voice deep and almost a growl.

  “Yap, human. But, one on borders of clan’s heart.”

  Borders of clan’s heart?

  No, I’d translated that wrong. Mardak had used the word anfyre. Rosi had said this to me once; it meant friend. Mardak was saying that I was a friend of the clan.

  How about that, huh?

  Tosvig nodded at me. His expression was grim, without the slightest trace of emotion. As well as lacking a mage circle on his head, his body was different from the rest. He wasn’t just athletic, he was muscular, and though he wore the brown Lonehill clan robes, he had leather armor underneath.

  “Tosvig’s soul rose with other clan,” said Mardak, as if he knew what I was wondering.

  He was born with another clan.

  “Spells flee him, but his sword is his anfyre.”

  Tosvig wasn’t a mage, but a fighter.

  “Tosvig would give life for clan. Tosvig searches wilds for us. For food. Place to have sleep. He never sleeps in comfort, not for single night. He is a mighty one, with dedication to his people.”

  Huh. This meant there were others out there. Clans who resembled the Lonehills, but didn’t have their magic. Tosvig must have come from a fighting people.

  “Met,” said Tosvig.

  “Met,” I answered.

  “Elder is gone,” said Mardak. “And Runenmer has left stains on ground.”

  That was a funny way to put it, or at least a funny way for me to understand it. It made the Runenmer sound like a puppy who’d lapsed in his housetraining.

  “Where Pendras?” asked Tosvig. His accent was rough, every word almost a snarl.

  “Seek Runenmer.”

  “And Siddel? Rosi?”

  “Also.”

  “Na ged, Mardak. Na ged! What of spell which from eyes hides our life?”

  No, that couldn’t have been right. I had jumbled everything up in my head.

  I thought I got the point, though; he was asking about the spell that Red cast, the one that hid the camp from outsiders.

  Good point.

  Now, I was beginning to get worried.

  “Elder was to Pendras, the spell speak. Next, Rosi. But, Rosi cannot complete.”

  “Spell gone, eyes may look on camp.”

  “Yap.”

  The elder had taught his spell to Pendras, and he was also teaching it to Rosi, who hadn’t learned it properly yet. It seemed reckless to send Rosi and Pendras out together, but the Runenmer’s appearance meant they had to take a chance. I guessed they hadn’t expected the elder to die of a heart attack while they were gone. They hadn’t even expected to be gone long.

  “I go,” said Tosvig. “Find Runenmer. Let sword meet belly, and then laugh in stupid face.”

  “Na,” said Giocomo. “No more separate. If you wish to go fast, go alone. To go far, must travel together.”

  Mardak shook his head. “Yap. A stream diverted thrice runs dry.”

  “Then clan leave together. New grass, hidden pastures. We go today,” said Nino.

  Tosvig got to his feet, his face like thunder. “Na! Na leave without Pendras!” He said this with such ferocity, such emotion, that I was taken aback by how strongly he felt.

  “Tosvig is right. We can’t leave without Pendras,” I said, and I realized I had said it all in English. “Pendras will not see tracks,” I said in Kartum.

  Tosvig nodded. “Yap. Your words are honest. So…send fastest to find them.”

  Giocomo crossed his legs. “Tosvig has been too many suns from camp. Learns different ways. Ways of different clans, perhaps?”

  There was a strange edge to Giocomo’s words. Suspicion, maybe? Or even a slight trace of mocking.

  Whatever it was, Tosvig’s expression showed the contempt he felt. “Tosvig searches for better place, as ordered. He lives alone many suns, countless moons, for clan. No words for him at night. No company as he walks miles. And he does this for clan. He comes back, to what? Chaos? Elder gone to land beyond? And fat, little tanner questions Tosvig?”

  Mardak held his hand up to calm him. “You are a creature of wilds. A wolf among deer. Deer scare easily, and when stag leaves for the land beyond, they panic. To send more hearts on search for Pendras…na. Na more can leave. If not you, Tosvig, who?”

  “We can leave Pendras a message,” I said. “Leave word of our travel, word
s hidden to strange eyes.”

  “Hmm,” said Mardak, scratching his chin. “Hidden words of travel.”

  “Where to go?” said Nino. “Tosvig, which lands promise nourishment?”

  “Na. Na land. This place best I found.”

  “Your patience, please,” said Giocomo. “and bend ears to an idea that might hurt heads.”

  An idea that might hurt heads?

  No, he meant a strange idea.

  “Loosen tongue, Gio,” said Mardak.

  “Tosvig was born na Lonehill,” said Giocomo. “Yap? Born from strange womb.”

  “Strange womb?” I said. “That’s a harsh way to describe someone’s mom.”

  Giocomo carried on. “Tosvig’s real people dwell in lands not far, but not close. Lands hidden to others, but not hidden to Tosvig.”

  “The Tallsteep clan?” said Mardak.

  Gio nodded.

  Nino got to his feet, his expression showing the same kind of anger as when he once caught Harrien and Malin trying to sneak into his tent to steal from the clan’s supplies.

  “Na! Na Tallsteep! Have your heads turned with wind? Thoughts sailing into sky? Tallsteep…scum. Sorry, Tosvig. But, we have always hit horns with them.”

  Tosvig gave Nino a burning stare. “Inventoryman speaks poorly. Inventoryman should let his brain control his mouth. Close, before Tosvig’s great fist must do job.”

  “I speak true. With no malice, even if malice come through. But true.”

  Tosvig and Nino descended into an argument now, and as with all the Lonehills when their emotions rose, they talked way too quickly for me to follow. I couldn’t even pick out a single word.

  Giocomo leaned toward me. “Tosvig was found by Pendras. A babe. Alone, in snow. Not long from womb. Left for the wilds to claim.”

  “His people abandoned him?”

  “See Tosvig’s glove?”

  Tosvig wore leather gloves on each hand. Again, this was something I had never seen the other mages do, even when it started getting colder. Perhaps wearing gloves affected spell use. I didn’t know, but it was something to test out when I had time.

  I nodded at Giocomo.

  “Pendras found Tosvig alone, with one hand only.”

  So Tosvig was from another clan.