by C S Vass
“You may stay,” Harken said. “In the morning you should go and speak with Greythor. He will want to know what a traveller is doing in Barrowbog, and perhaps he can assist you in some way that I cannot.”
Fiona agreed. She was curious about this village elder that Harken spoke of with such admiration. Together they cleaned up some of the mess from the fighting, and soon Fiona found herself exhausted and fell into a heavy sleep.
* * *
The next day she immediately went to Geoff’s side. Gently she placed a hand on his head and tried to stir him. He slowly opened one emerald green eye then another.
“Fiona,” he whispered. “I dreamt of storms and fighting.”
“Maybe it’s time for you to stop lusting after battle and glory,” Fiona joked. The smile on her lips died when she saw the sickly look in his eyes.
“Where—”
“We made it. Somehow. We’re in Morrordraed, in the village of Barrowbog. Do you know of it?”
Geoff’s eyes closed as a pained look crossed his face. “I don’t,” he said. “But it is no matter. Are we safe?”
“Yes. You’re being well-cared for. You seem to be running a slight fever. We can stay here as long as it takes for you to get well again.”
Geoff tried to say something but the old man was asleep before the words passed his lips.
Fiona found Harken in his garden in the back, and he pointed her down a road to Greythor’s house. “He is a good man, Fiona, but not one who loves the warrior. Perhaps you’d be wise to leave your weapons here.”
She smiled. “And taint your home with instruments of death? I couldn’t do that to you.” She was off on her way before he had a chance to respond.
The road to Greythor’s was marked by stubby trees with spider-like branches roped with moss. Morrordraed was said to be a land of swamps and demons, and Fiona had no experience with either one of those. She would need to exercise caution while moving about.
Barrowbog itself was nothing impressive. There was a scattering of houses, some of which had chickens or pigs wandering aimlessly near them. The few people she encountered looked at her with curious eyes, but said nothing as she moved past them. Fiona wondered if word about the fighting at Harken’s had gotten out.
Thoughts of Geoff crept into her head and filled her mind with worry, but she pushed them away with resolve. The old knight had fought a hundred battles and survived them all. This would be no different. It was just another obstacle to overcome. He would do so and be just fine. He had to be.
At last Greythor’s house came into view. Fiona had expected from the way Harken spoke that the village elder would live with sage-like simplicity in a small shack with as few material possessions as possible, but she found that to not be the case. Harken lived in a splendid manor atop a great sprawling hill lined with flowers.
Fiona pounded on the door and a man with simple grey eyes and a short goatee answered. “Yes?”
“I’m here to see Greythor,” Fiona said.
The man rolled his eyes. “He lives out back. This manor serves as a house of healing, so unless you’re in need of urgent attention don’t come back.” He slammed the door.
What a jerk, Fiona thought. As she went around back, she wondered why Harken didn’t tell her about the manor. They could have tried to bring Geoff. But she realized that it would have been futile. Unless they summoned some kind of cart or carriage, it would have been impossible, and even so maybe if his care was going to be entrusted to that man, then Geoff would be better off with Harken.
Around the back she saw a small simple shack, oddly like the one she had imagined he would live in. In front of it an old man sat smiling on the ground, sunlight shining on his face. Despite his age he appeared as strong as an ox, with great bulging muscles and large healthy grey beard that sprouted down to his waist.
“Greetings,” the old man said.
“You’re Greythor?” Fiona asked.
“Indeed I am. Welcome. Have a seat.” He gestured to the ground next to him. “May I ask your name?”
Fiona joined him. “I’m Fiona.”
“You are the one who is staying with Harken, are you not?” Greythor asked.
“How do you know that?”
“There is very little that goes on in this village that I’m unaware of. Though I must say, it is strange for a guest to come into a man’s house wielding steel and attack the men who represent his provincial lord.” Despite the fact that he was chiding her Greythor wore a large happy grin on his face.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Fiona said as she wondered how Greythor could know about that so soon.
“You didn’t have a choice?” Greythor mused. “That’s terrible. The path of bloodshed is vicious enough, but to be forced to walk it with no say in the matter is ill fortune indeed!”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I misspoke. I could have chosen to let those men destroy Harken’s house, desecrate his wife’s ashes, and possibly kill us. That was my alternative option.”
Greythor closed his eyes and seemed to consider her words very carefully. “You have a storm in you, the likes of which I have not seen in some time. Hm, I think it unlikely those men would have killed you. Who knows how Harken would have grown and become stronger had they destroyed his wife’s ashes. Perhaps he would have pondered why he feels the need to attach himself to such a trivial physical representation when the love he feels for her is in his mind, his soul. Destroying the urn might well have been a great service to Harken, had he been given that chance.”
The old man is insane, Fiona decided at once. She didn’t know how to respond to that.
“I think we both know that Harken would be better off if nobody destroyed his property,” Fiona said, a little uneasily.
Harken laughed merrily. “I know very little, Fiona. Tell me, a man is said to have lost his arm in that fight. What of him? Is he better off?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “And why would I care? He was a thug attacking an innocent man. As far as I’m concerned he’s lucky to still have a head.”
A pained look crossed Greythor’s face. “Such a storm,” he mused. “I have a fear—not a knowledge mind you—but a fear, Fiona, that you climb a great mountain but never stop to look and see all of the beautiful things that you are passing.”
“Well right now I don’t have much time for views or for mountains,” Fiona said. “I’ve come here from very far away because I need help. I must speak with the psychic Naerumi.”
A look of surprise and intrigue crossed his face. “You must speak with Naerumi? It is always ultimatums and demands with you. Very well, we can discuss your habits another time. Tell me, why do you seek Naerumi?”
Fiona knew before she arrived at Morrordraed that she would keep her reasons to herself unless she had no other alternative. “I’d rather not say, if it’s all the same to you.”
Greythor nodded and did not press her further.
“I’m sorry to say that I cannot assist you in that endeavor, Fiona. Naerumi does not see people. She hasn’t taken in a visitor in a very, very long time.”
“Why?” Fiona asked. “I came here with someone who knows of her reputation from all the way back in Tellos. He believes she is my only hope. If not… I’m not well. If I don’t get help from Naerumi, then I fear I won’t have long to live.”
Again, Greythor did not pry. “I have seen many times already that you have a mind that seeks absolutes, Fiona. I implore you to seek other options. The psychic Naerumi… she is not as kindly as me. You may find yourself in grave danger if you try to contact her. She is better left alone in this world. Try to understand.”
“Then there really is no hope for me.” That was it. If Naerumi simply didn’t speak with people anymore, then the manjeko would swallow her alive from the inside. The mages in Haygarden were certain of it. They had said it was impossible to put a precise time on such things, but they agreed that unless something was done to remove the trace amounts of
tainted magic left within her than she would be dead within the year, and possibly much sooner.
“There is always hope, Fiona,” Greythor said. “But sometimes we need to reflect what exactly it is that we are hoping for.” He stood up and stretched his massive body in the morning sunlight. “I have matters I must attend to Fiona, but you and your companion are welcome in Barrowbog. I ask not that you refrain from using your sword while you are here, but that you think very carefully every time you do.”
Fiona was about to tell Greythor that she always considered using her blade carefully before she resorted to it, but he was walking away before she had the chance to speak. His absence left her with an uncomfortable thought.
I do always think before drawing my sword. Don’t I?
Chapter Four
Fiona was filled with a deep melancholy as she left Greythor. If seeing Naerumi was not an option, then what was she to do? Her most important task was to make sure Geoff recovered from his illness. In the meantime she would do what she could to help Harken and the rest of Barrowbog deal with their provincial lord. It was the only way she knew how to pay him back for his kindness.
The sun hung above her, watching like a dirty yellow eye. Morrordraed was far too hot for her liking. The shirt underneath her tunic was sticky with sweat. Smiling, she remembered how Donyo had warned her before she left about the horrors of what he referred to as swamp ass.
Fiona wondered if she would ever see any of them again. Donyo, beer in hand cracking jokes. Martin, who had turned so brooding and angry. Sasha, back with the man who had abused her so horribly pretending like nothing was wrong. Fiona didn’t even know if she could see them even if she wanted to. With Rukaro and his pirates dead they had no smugglers to sneak them back into Tellos. Perhaps she had come to this land looking for life only to find graves for herself and Geoff.
“We need to talk.”
The voice drew her from her thoughts. Fiona looked up and leaning against a tree holding an apple stood Jet, and he did not look amused.
“Well, here I am,” Fiona said.
“What did you think of Greythor?” he asked.
“He is… strange. Especially so for a leader.”
“Indeed,” Jet said. “A strange old man. One who has earned the love and respect of most everyone in this village. With good reason too. Greythor is an honorable man. Though perhaps he is more suited to running an inn than running a village.”
Fiona’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like the way Jet had just dropped in on her to say this.
“What are you getting at?” she asked.
“Greythor is misguided, as is my father. They cling to thoughts of non-violence while all the time the wolves are circling closer and closer around us. But you were with my father last night. You defended my mother’s ashes. He told me so. I’m in your debt, Fiona. Thank you.”
Fiona was caught off-guard by the sudden change in tone. “You’re welcome,” she sad. “Those men were thugs. But I worry that I may have given them a reason to come down even harder on you now.”
Jet shrugged. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for that. These bastards have been looking for any reason to hurt us they can find for months now. But that’s why I want to speak with you. There’s something I need to ask you, Fiona.”
Fiona eyed Jet suspiciously, wondering if she could trust him. It did no harm to hear what he had to say, she decided. “Go on then.”
“There’s going to be a meeting with some like-minded friends of mine. We’re going to discuss exactly how we should handle the situation of our little lordling and his band of thugs. I’d like very much for you to attend this meeting.”
“Why?” Fiona asked. “I’m not from here and you don’t know me. Why would you want to risk the identities and safety of your friends to have me?”
Jet smiled and took a bite of his apple. “Because, Fiona, you have two qualities which I greatly admire. You have a keen sense of right and wrong, of outrage at the indignities people are forced to suffer through because of the will of the strong in this world. You also have the courage to act. To feel this outrage and translate that emotion into tangible action. Those are qualities I have desperate need of right now. So what do you say? Will you hear us out?”
Jet’s face was as still as a mask. Fiona looked at him carefully for the first time, his hard blue eyes and wide nose with flaring angry nostrils.
“I don’t know, Jet. I don’t think so. It seems like it would be in some way a betrayal of both Greythor and your father. Both of them allow me to be in this place, and I wouldn’t want to do something that might upset them.”
Even as Fiona felt the wisdom in her words, there was something else… a feeling that she was not being completely truthful.
The wind rustled the leaves the oak tree above them.
Jet stepped forward, undeterred. “Fiona, we need you. Clearly you’re a capable warrior. As an outsider, think of the excitement you could bring to our cause! The men who are of a similar mind to me, they have hearts of fire, but they don’t act in unison. If you were to align yourself with our cause, you could inspire them to stop working in the shadows and do something about Lord Raejo!”
His words were inspiring, but Fiona still wasn’t sure. To take up a cause, to have a sense of purpose, it could bring some meaning to what might be her last days if she was unable to find Naerumi.
“What is it that you and your friends want?” Fiona asked in an attempt to buy herself time to think. “What is it that motivates all of you? What are your ultimate goals?”
“Come speak with us and find out,” Jet pleaded. “You won’t be committing yourself to anything. In exchange, I’ll help you get an audience with Naerumi.”
Fiona’s eyes narrowed, and she took a step back. “How do you know that I seek an audience with Naerumi?”
Jet’s pale cheeks turned slightly red. “I may have… overheard you speaking with Greythor,” he admitted.
“May have overheard? You mean eavesdropping!”
Jet placed his palms outwards. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. I wanted to make sure you meant the village no harm and had a legitimate reason for coming here. Understand, we don’t get visitors often. I apologize.”
Fiona frowned. She couldn’t much blame him for that, could she? After all, she had once eavesdropped on Geoff, two years ago in Tellos, and that had been under much more questionable circumstances.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said at last. “You shouldn’t help me with Naerumi, anyway. I’m an outsider but you know the rules around here. You might be punished more severely if anything happens.”
Jet laughed. “Don’t worry about that, Fiona. I’m no stranger to being in trouble.” Somehow, she didn’t doubt that. “Come on,” he pressed. “You won’t be committing to anything. The meeting will help you understand the way things work around here a bit better. What do you say? Will you help us?”
Fiona wanted nothing more than to say yes. To have a place to feel useful and wanted, to have a fight that she might actually be able to win. Not to mention gaining an ally to help her find Naerumi.
“No.”
“What?” Jet’s face went from white to red.
“I said no. Your father took me in out of the kindness of his heart and has been nothing but good to me. Even now he cares for my sick friend. Greythor has welcomed me despite the commotion I’ve already been involved in here in his village. I will not repay their kindness by sneaking around at secret meetings under their noses.”
“I see.” Jet spit on the ground. “I should have figured it was a waste of time.”
“What does that mean?”
Jet took another bite of his apple. “What do you think it means? I appreciate that you’re not like the others. It’s rare to find a woman willing to swing a sword. Clearly you have a natural knack for it. But a man’s courage is what’s required for what I’m asking of you. It was unfair of me to even suggest it. Don’t worry, just forget I said an
ything.”
Fiona stood there, struggling to find something to say. By the time she was halfway done coming up with a retort Jet was striding off into the swamp.
* * *
Fiona walked back to Harken’s house in a rage. How could Jet be so condescending to her after she had protected his father, protected the ashes of his dead mother? He was the one who approached her! Did she not have a right to decide for herself if she wanted to be a part of his secret escapades? She would have a few choice words for him the next time they spoke. That much was certain!
Within the hour she was back at Harken’s. The room smelled sickly sweet, and the villager was haunched over Geoff.
“How is he?” Fiona asked.
“Not well,” Harken admitted. “He’s burning up.”
Fiona approached them. She saw that Harken had changed Geoff’s clothes and kept cold water and hot tea by him. “Thank you for taking such good care of him, Harken,” Fiona said. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you. I’m in your debt.”
Harken waved her off. “You’ll find no Tellosian moneylenders here to speak of debt and what’s owed,” Harken said. “I’m happy to help.”
Fiona placed a hand gently on Geoff’s forehead. It did indeed seem very hot. “Perhaps it would be wise if you spent some time with him,” Harken said. “If you spoke to him… hearing the sound of your voice might have a positive impact on his health.”
Fiona didn’t have any better ideas. Harken had clearly been making him the best medicine that he could, and Fiona didn’t know the first thing about plants and potions on Morrordraed. “Alright then,” she said.
“I’ll put something in the pot for us while you do that,” Harken said.
Being alone with Geoff, Fiona felt a great sadness wash over her. The Lord Defender of Haygarden had been old as long as she had known him, but he had been old and proud and strong. Seeing him now, his dry cracked lips, the lines of fatigue etched into his face, it made her realize that Geoff Hightower would not live forever.
