Legend of Ecta Mastrino Box Set 2

by BJ Hanlon

  “I’ll help,” Dorset said touching his hand to his sword hilt. Yechill and Arianne nodded.

  “Find me something warm,” Berka said sitting down. “I’m going to stay here and try to shore up the doors… just in case.” He glanced at El and her family.

  Edin shook his head.

  “Me too,” Henny said. “I did carpentry on the ranch.”

  “Just like Glustown hey?” Edin said.

  “Let’s hope not,” Dorset said.

  8

  A view of the king

  Edin stumbled out of the longhouse and through the snow with Arianne. They began a quick examination of the circle of houses. Every structure was small, one- and two-room huts with grass roofs that were decent insulation.

  Doors opened to dirt floors, beds of hay and often times, a single cast iron pot in a cold stone chimney. Animal skin cloth, deer mostly by the texture and color, were usually pushed into the corner and frozen. Small drifts of snow snuck in beneath doors or through thin windows.

  The cloth wasn’t much help. They were small and would need to be stitched together to make anything resembling a cloak. They didn’t have the materials for that.

  Edin picked one up and began to try and pull it apart. It was long and thin.

  “It’s a loin cloth…” Arianne said. “It goes around your waist.”

  “My waist?” Edin wrapped it around and saw it barely made it to mid-thigh. “Very revealing.”

  “It is,” Arianne said and winked at him. “We’ll have to get you one.”

  Arianne found a frozen jerkin-like shirt with half sleeves. There were short, half-pants in a few of the huts and one pair that looked like it’d fit Arianne.

  After searching the first ring, they deposited the stiff clothes in the longhouse and warmed. The fire burned consistently and the room had become an oasis against the frozen world outside.

  “Have the other two come back yet?” Edin asked.

  El shook her head.

  They headed to the second ring and were almost halfway around the circle when they stopped.

  A door was partially ajar with footprints heading away from it. Edin held up a hand. He didn’t need to be a woodsman to know that these were human prints and that no feet had approached the door.

  That meant it wasn’t the other two. He glanced at Arianne and slowly drew his sword. “Fokill?” he whispered.

  Arianne didn’t make any response.

  He stepped closer and called out, “hello…” His voice seemed to be whisked away by the wind. He cleared his throat. “Hello,” calling louder now.

  No answer.

  He looked at the tracks and saw them heading around the side of the hut.

  Wind picked up snow and blew into his face, stinging his already rosy cheeks. Edin shivered and moved closer to the door. He pushed it open.

  The room was much like the others, though there was natural light in a second room toward the back. It looked as if a postern door was there.

  Edin sighed. Yechill or Dorset could’ve come through there and out the front. Edin stepped in and glanced around.

  There was a thick fur cloak on a bed of hay. The windows were closed and the chimney was empty but for burnt logs and ashes. There wasn’t any snow in the room.

  Edin reached for the cloak. It looked warm. Bear fur he imagined.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw movement. In the open doorway next to him something flashed.

  Arianne cried out and Edin dropped to his knees and rolled over. A tanned man wafted in with a short hunting blade. Edin just noticed the right arm was bandaged and hung loose at his side.

  The man was fast. Edin only had a fading glimpse of the dark room beyond the door.

  Edin raised his arm and forearms collided. The tip of the knife stopped an inch from Edin’s eye. His heart raced. He lashed out with his boot catching the attacker in the leg and buckling his knee.

  The man cried out and dropped, still trying to stab Edin.

  A moment later, a black disk like object flew out and cracked the man in the left side. There was a crunching sound from the ribs and arm as the man was flung into the bed of hay.

  A woman’s cry came through the door and a child began to wail.

  Edin stood and drew his sword pointing the tip at the man’s throat. “Who’s there?” Edin called still staring at the man below his blade.

  The man didn’t look up. His head was bowed forward and obscured beneath long black hair, blood poured from his right arm. “Who are you?” Edin asked… though he was almost certain they didn’t speak the common tongue.

  The crying and wailing continued through the darkened doorway.

  “Get Yechill,” Edin said to Arianne.

  The man’s face turned just enough to see a brown eye hiding beneath strands of sweaty black hair. The man was deathly thin, his ribs were protruding from a tiny stomach, his hair seemed to be clumping.

  “Arianne, go,” Edin ordered then he turned to the man. “Shut them up…” he hissed.

  The women’s wailing slowed, the child’s was muffled. In the darkness, Edin saw the whites of eyes moving forward. In a large fur cloak, a woman appeared. He’d seen her before.

  Edin looked back at the man. A name came to him. “Ocop?”

  The man’s face turned fully and he stared at Edin with hatred mixed with wonderment. His eyes were sunken and hollow.

  The woman said something to the man and then bounced the child a few times and it quieted.

  After almost five minutes, Yechill appeared in the doorway covered in a blanket of snow. “Ocop! Uianailo…”

  He dropped down to the man’s side and found the blood. Dorset and Arianne appeared a moment later.

  They spoke in their own tongue. As Ocop was talking Dorset was translating.

  “He said you tried to steal their fur; you were intruders. Pale-faced devils.”

  Then Yechill was talking now. “Suuli sent us, we are on a divine mission from the god. They lost their cloaks and it is cold.” Yechill then turned to Dorset, “heal brother…”

  “Heal brother,” Dorset continued, still translating. It took a moment then the dawning came over him and he dropped down next to Ocop.

  Yechill went to the woman and hugged her and then the child with her. They spoke but there was no translating as Dorset was busy. The broken ribs grew red and Ocop’s teeth were clenched. His eyes fearful.

  “His other arm is bandaged,” Edin said. “And I think I broke his knee.”

  “You beat up on an already injured man?” Dorset said. “I thought better of you.”

  “He attacked me…” Edin said and then saw the cast iron lid lying in the hay. Edin pointed. “Arianne hit him with that…”

  “Sure, blame me,” Arianne huffed. “You were on the ground with a one-armed man about to stab you.”

  After healing Ocop, they made their to the longhouse where the tribesmen family stared suspiciously at the white people. They huddled on a floor as far away from the group as possible but still in the fire’s glow and warmth and ate deer meat.

  “Dematians attacked Nocitoe a fortnight ago,” Dorset said. “They crossed the lake and came here. They didn’t know where else to go. A single dematian scout found them. The one who’s blood is on those walls. They’ve hid in that house for days coming out rarely to search for food. He left the weapon because of the arm.”

  “There’s been no sign of the dematians since but they’re afraid to venture out, especially with a child and the cold.”

  After the talk, Dorset showed Edin their find. Four cloaks were hung on posts near the fire. Three were brown, one was as white as the snow outside.

  The soft spoken Uianailo spoke and Dorset translated. “The white cloak is the pride of the Foci Dun Bornu, the First Warrior cloak.”

  Edin looked to Yechill who kept his head down as he sliced meat with a hunting knife on the ground.

  “Is that not Yechill?”

  “It is…” Dorset said.
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  Then Yechill spoke through Dorset “I do not deserve cloak. I fled, the First Warrior stayed to guard home. I wished to say but he said no...”

  Dorset said, then translated it, “have you found him… what about his family?”

  Yechill spoke, it was odd that Dorset was speaking both the story, the questions and then the answers. “There has been no trace of him or his family. A son and daughter came. I protected them as my own… but they didn’t make it through the swamp.”

  The woman moaned and then began chanting something softly like a prayer. This Dorset did not have to translate.

  It was a melody of mourning, a prayer for departed loved ones. Edin felt it through the unknowable words, he felt the sadness wash over him. Tears began to flow as he thought of the many who had died.

  Arianne took his hand and they locked eyes. She felt it too.

  A few minutes later, Uianailo went silent and the room held only the sound of the fire crackling and whistling wind from above.

  “You take,” a voice said startling him.

  Edin blinked and saw Yechill standing next to him with the cloak. “Take, it for great warrior.” He touched Edin’s chest. “You great warrior.” Edin swallowed as Ocop protested in their language but Yechill shot him down.

  “I cannot,” Edin said, “it is your people’s.”

  Dorset translated, “Return it when you have no more use. Your journey is long and the Foci Dun Bornu are destined to help. Our duty…”

  Edin looked at the cloak and ran fingers through it; the fur was soft and pure white. It wasn’t frozen but warm like a towel that’d been steamed. “I will do that.” He glanced back at their guide, the First Warrior of the Foci Dun Bornu, then Suuli’s daughter and son-in-law. “I will take care of it.”

  A smile came over Yechill and he motioned for Edin to put it on.

  He slowly stood and Yechill put it around his shoulders. It was lighter than he’d expected and the inside was made of a fine leather uncracked from time and as soft as cotton undertrousers. There were no places for the arms to go and only a thin, black strap that hung around the neck.

  He was warm already and half expected to become a sweating candle, but no. The cloak wicked away the heat and he suddenly became comfortable as if it were a perfect spring day in the sunshine. No clouds, no rain. “It’s cool…” Edin said raising an eyebrow.

  Yechill’s face lit up, he spoke and Dorset spoke. “The cloak is from the spirit of the mountains. A giant white bear that walks upright like a man and guards us from the sky spirit.”

  “You look like a mangy mutt,” Arianne said.

  “I’ll take that as a complement,” Edin said and bowed to Yechill. “Thank you.”

  The other two natives didn’t look so pleased, but Yechill, the silent warrior did and bowed in return.

  With the longhouse secure and warm, they settled down for the evening. The fact the dematians hadn’t reappeared in a fortnight belayed Edin’s fears of a nighttime attack.

  The warmth of the room, the fire light, and having walls surrounding them was a huge boost to his mood. Edin sat and held Arianne’s head in his lap as people talked around the fire. Looking at them in their small conversations, laughing, arguing, and joking made him smile.

  After a while, everyone settled in for the night and Edin tried not to think of tomorrow.

  In the early hours of the morning, movement stirred Edin. He caught sight of their newest companions slipping out the front door as if they were prisoners escaping their jail. Ocop caught his eye but said nothing. Edin thought about going after them but he wasn’t going to force them to stay.

  Edin tugged Arianne closer and pressed his lips to her forehead. She smiled in her sleep.

  When he woke, Yechill was forlorn at the missing family. He’d lost now a brother in Fokill, a cousin, a sister, and a nephew. That was apparently what they called their people, Ocop was the cousin according to Dorset. A man from a different tribe.

  The cousins.

  Dematians, Edin thought when Dorset told him of Yechill’s mood. “Are they related to the elves?” Edin whispered.

  “What?”

  Edin shook his head. The dematians looked a bit like elves, maybe elves of the night. Though instead of fair and beautiful beings, they were dark and clawed and ugly. Almost the antithesis of the elves… or at least the one she-elf he’d met.

  “A day there, a day back,” Dorset was saying. “There are rocks and caves on the water’s edge there may be boats and the water won’t be frozen yet.”

  Edin looked up, barely listening. Then he nodded. “Okay.” The companions, all but El’s family gathered around. “Does he know about where this thing Suuli spoke about is?”

  “Yes. In the general location.”

  “And any idea how deep it could be?”

  Dorset asked. “One hundred feet down... at least there’s no ice.”

  “Can you work in that cold of water?” Arianne asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he turned to Dorset. “What is it we’re looking for?”

  “No idea.”

  “How about how big it is or any marks on what it is? If something has been under water for a long time wouldn’t it become covered with stuff, leaves, debris, silt, or fish droppings?”

  “I don’t think fish do that,” Arianne said.

  “Then what do they do to get rid of sh—” Arianne’s look cut him off. “Waste?” he corrected.

  She shrugged.

  “You’ll have to search.”

  “Search the bottom of a great lake, a hundred feet down in the middle of the winter.”

  “It’s the beginning of winter and you’re a water mage.”

  “Water mage and a spirit mage,” Berka said. “How’s that possible…”

  “It’s time to go,” Edin said ignoring Berka and heading for the door.

  “We’re staying,” Berka said. “This is much better than out there. We can hold the fort as it were and wait for you.”

  “Henny?”

  “Someone has to watch this guy…” Henny said. He wasn’t a warrior and Edin was sure that Berka could take him out if he wanted to but the two men had seemed to grow at the very least, accustomed to each other.

  “Right. Be careful and look for us on the third day, second if we’re lucky.”

  Berka put out a hand in the gesture to shake. Edin raised an eyebrow and then took it.

  “Careful out there. No one kills you but me.”

  Edin nodded. “Likewise.”

  “Why don’t you two just kiss and make up,” Arianne huffed and strode toward the door.

  Berka grew red and laughed. “I like her,” he said and slapped Edin’s shoulder a little too hard.

  Despite the cloak, the walk was still difficult through deep snow. Sometime during the night, a fresh powder had fallen covering up their movements from the day before. Breaking the trail proved difficult. Edin and Yechill took turns as they went through the pass and out of the oval.

  To the north, the peaks and glaciers hovered beneath the clouds and the pine forest to the south crowded near the trail.

  The trail rose slightly and curved south onto a steep escarpment of stone then dropped nearly straight down to a frozen gully. There were muted sounds of water beneath the ice.

  “Piota… little river,” Yechill said behind them. “Many piota…”

  Edin didn’t look back but he imagined the man was waiving a hand out like someone showing off their garden.

  They travelled further south and then the ridge turned back in an almost westerly direction before sloping toward the ravine and the icy river.

  The thin layer of ice didn’t hold but the river was shallow and moved at the pace of an old hound dog. It took barely three strides to cross but the water seeped into his boots. Edin wished he would’ve waterproofed them. Maybe Dorset knew a spell for that?

  Back on the other side, the forested land rose sharply with jagged bits of rock poking out from beneath th
e dirt, moss and peat, and cast long shadows before them. They climbed using a steep trail cut either by water or man.

  At the top, they crossed an open snowy plain and the wind ripped at his exposed skin. The field was surprisingly empty of snow, though drifts clung to the southern and western tree line like the bulwarks of a fort.

  Not for the first time he wished he had found the Rage Stone. The ruby that he hoped would give him power over fire.

  They climbed a snowdrift and Edin fell forward tasting the biting cold of winter’s offering. The cloudy sky grew dark and Yechill turned them south again, toward the forest. A hill grew and on it a single oak tree covered in snow.

  Yechill paused and then started circling the tree. He stomped on the ground for a few minutes then smiled. He glanced at the group and stomped once more.

  There was a whoosh and a sheet of snow fell as if it were sucked into the ground. As he moved closer he saw a small hole that was barely wide enough to fit in.

  “Shelter,” he said and slipped off his pack. A moment later, he crawled down inside.

  The wind whistled in the trees and a huge gust dropped a pile of a couple of feet in front of him.

  “I’m going in,” Arianne said and a few minutes later, they were all down. Dorset took almost twenty minutes to cast the spell for unending fire. It was a smart move because the flames offered no smoke. Bad for smoking and drying meat, good for a small cramped room with no ventilation.

  It burst into a purple fire then morphed to red and orange. He’d never seen one started before and gawked. It was a beautiful display of just what mages could do. Their skills, their talents could bring the world more into focus. Make it better.

  The cavern they were in was clearly an oft-used place for the locals. There were clay jars and jugs stuffed with herbs or moss. Bones were scattered near the rear and leather mats were laid out on the cold ground like beds.

  “Tomorrow morning we reach the lake, it is a league still,” Dorset said.

  Edin wondered how far back the tunnels went but wasn’t curious enough to actually search. He liked the open air too much. He closed his eyes and slept nearly the entire night.