A Leaf and Pebble

by Andrew Monroe

  Promptly, I kept my mouth shut, deciding to let his imagination have its way with him.

  “You’re just jealous,” Qaewin interjected, while simultaneously flicking his nose gently.

  Volant stared with disbelief for a moment, and then let out a rare guffaw. “I like you, you’re my kind of crazy,” Volant replied.

  Qaewin eyed him with disconcerting intensity. After a couple seconds that seemed far too long, she nodded. “I like you too. Also, my father is not your kind of crazy.” With that, she put a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture.

  “You’ve got quite the number of weapons,” I said. All that was left in the barren room was a pair of bows, a stack of spears, and a forests worth of arrows. “Pack these as well?”

  She nodded, and began to teach us how to collapse the tent properly after we’d piled the few left over items outside.

  We went about the place, starting with what had been exterior rooms, and began to untie the strips of leather from the various poles. After the leather was flapping freely, we moved about unwinding long sheets of the thin cloth from around the same poles, and folded these into compact triangles. Then, we pulled the poles from the ground, which turned out to be bona-fide lances. We followed this process about the place until we had each room or section packed in a square pile.

  It was a surprisingly small amount of material. The bows and lances made up the bulk of mass. She bundled all of these into a tight wrap with the oilskin, and tied it off.

  Everything else, including her Kingdoms board and pieces, were piled into some oversized sacks. A colorful braid was already attached to each bag. When a wagon pulled by a pair of brown, muscle-bound horses that were both quite larger than the ones they picked us up with came by, we piled everything into the wagon bed.

  Every piece of Qaewin’s packing was tagged with the same braid. As for the wagon, it was made of wooden planks, and twice the length of a normal one. The wagon bed was open to the air narrow metal band making up it’s low sides all the way around.

  It took us barely any time at all to break down the tents. We followed the wagon, helping others finish packing or placing people’s various gear in the wagon. I realized there must have been a stable in some hidden corner of the portable village considering the number of horses that seemed to be hitched to the wagons. When the last home had been packed, only the monstrous town hall tent was left.

  “Hey,” I began, “why is Slandash’s tent still up?”

  Looking at it, she laughed. “Can you imagine trying to break down that wonder? It’d be incredibly time consuming.” She shook her head at the thought, a smile still on her face. “We leave the center tents alone. They and the tables and such stay here. We have a few town halls scattered around Tryst at our more permanent sites.”

  “Afternoon, gents!” An energetic Slandash stood between two horses, crackling with excitement. “I got to blow the horn today,” he said with a grin.

  Qaewin held up a fist, and he bumped it with his own. Slandash let out a series of sharp, nearly musical whistles. Without a sound, the zymphs appeared, all over the camp. The huge and scarred female locked eyes on Slandash.

  He let out another whistle, and the enormous cats spread out to the edges of the group, an occasional predator sticking close to its companion, much like Qaewin’s was doing near her. And with that, we were riding out, further away from Kalaran towards the Soft Steppers next camp site.

  It was slow going, and nearly full night when we finally stopped. As Volant and I had discovered, it’s hard to tell how far we’d traveled in the seemingly endless plains. It was apparently far enough to have found an enormous tree that had no right to be out here though.

  Seven

  “Is that what I think it is?” asked Volant.

  “The Oak Sentinel,” Qaewin replied. “One of my most favorite spots in the entire world.”

  I could see why. The tree was bigger than anything I’d seen back home, and we had the largest trees anywhere, or so I thought. It was so wide, I doubted that someone could shoot an arrow all the way across the space beneath its branches. Left hand, I doubted anyone could get even half-way across without a seriously strong bow. The tree’s tip was so high up, I couldn’t see where it actually ended from where I stood.

  Stars twinkled in a beautifully serene pool which stretched out like the tree’s shadow. We all filed under the branches, each person dipping their largest water skin in for a refill.

  A small group of younger men split off to the opposite side of the tree and began harvesting a limb off of one of the large branches. The sounds of their hatchets beat a rhythm in the background as we came closer to our turn.

  Volant stopped short at the edge of the pool, eyes wide with amazement. The water was crystal clear, and seemed as deep as Tryst were wide. It continued to shrink further and further until the sides seemed to merge together. Goosebumps broke out over my arms while a chill traced its icy fingers up my spine. Having grown up on the coast next to the causeway, deep water had always unnerved me. Too many dangerous things lurked in deep water.

  Qaewin prodded me in the back, and I realized we had stopped the line. The beat of the branch choppers still played out from around the tree, but otherwise people watched in silent amusement as Volant and I were ushered past the water, barely having the chance to fill our skins while still wide eyed with amazement.

  When the far too large limb was finally cut down and halved, the group dragged it back to a wagon and strapped it down. The leftover pieces were brought over to a hole that had been cleared out and a fire was started. Slandash, the last in line, filled his skin with such careful deliverance, it looked like the beginning of a prayer.

  No one seemed to think this was odd, and after Volant and I exchanged curious glances, the matter was put aside until later. As the fire blazed, groups laid out under the tree. Many of the zymphs climbed up into the branches to sleep. Unlike back at the camp, tonight seemed far more like a party, with people quietly socializing in groups around the flames while others slept. A subtle energy was palpable enough that I couldn’t sleep, despite Qaewin’s softly breathing form huddled up next to me. Instead, I gently stroked her hair while watching the people of Tryst show us how to fully enjoy the present.

  Morning came again, and I’d somehow managed to get sleep despite the nearly magical night. We rode on until the Oaken Sentinel was no longer visible. Another day went by with us riding past sunset and through the star rise, and then continuing until true night was upon us.

  I realized that these people didn’t keep the same set schedule as the rest of the places I’d visited. Apparently the Soft Steppers did what needed to be done, slept when they needed sleep, and cared little about maintaining the regular cycle.

  As we camped the night though, the wagons were parked in a loose pattern circling in the Soft Steppers, leaving enough room between each for a dozen people to raise a single large pole above the wagon and tying it off in a network of strings. It was the simplest version of a tent I’d seen them use.

  When it came time for the wagon closest to us, Qaewin turned to me, looking as energetic as her father. “Would you like to help raise the pole?” she asked seductively. Those around us laughed, and even more so when I blushed in embarrassment. “Umm, sure,” I tried to reply, but it came out rather high pitched and there was even more laughter. It took no time at all before we had a decent tent over us, with the wagon and a neighboring one acting as anchors for hammocks that had appeared as if by magic.

  “Why the set up tonight?” I asked as we settled into our respective beds.

  She reached over and patted me on the head with a smile. “Silly leafer, you don’t have any proper knowing. It’s going to rain tonight.”

  Within the time it took to start a fire, the whole camp had settled down but for a few children ducking hammocks and running about. While lying down, you could see from one end of the camp to the other. The sight gave me an overwhelming sense of closeness. It wa
s as tranquil as anyone could ask for.

  One of the women in the group began to tune a violin, and my heart skipped a beat. The only music I had known growing up was the soft singing of my people. The few times one of the tribes came, we would get to hear their playing at a distance, but most of those living in Erset saw instruments to be only slightly less evil than Learners.

  Even while at the school, a talented musician was quite rare, and I had yet to hear more than the occasional performer at the Stump. As she began to make actual music with the violin, another woman began to tap out a counter beat on a tiny travel drum. I felt like a cornered animal. Unsure whether to run away until it was over, or enjoy the decadent instruments that were picking up in volume.

  Both women danced the music back and forth under the tent as everyone listened. Newcomers crawled under ropes and between wagons, coming closer to the source to enjoy it more thoroughly. One was a man carrying a wooden flute, who sat down beside the violinist. Soon he was sending in yet another rhythm, adding a bright and lively step to the previously hypnotic music.

  Swinging in the hammock, I swayed to the music wishing it would never end. Others began to join in with the trio, adding more drums and other instruments, and sounds I couldn’t place. Volant and Qaewin sat on either side of me, and more tension bled out of me, bringing tears to my eyes. Everything had seemed to go wrong, and I was still working on processing it.

  People I’d studied with, I’d cared about, and people who had entire lives ahead of them were dead. I’d never get to see them grow old. It felt so disingenuous to be experiencing life and laughing when they’d been so unfairly cut short of the same. More tears crowded my eyes. The rest of the night was spent in blissful sorrow and reflection.

  Eight

  I woke with no sign of Qaewin this time, and a small flash of loneliness briefly flared in me. The sun still hadn’t risen, and most of the camp was still asleep, including Volant. As silently as possible, I went through a few stretches I had learned from Volant’s awareness and meditation practice. It was pretty much the least hardcore pirate thing the cloudlings did, but it was also their supposed edge over the other provinces, and more specifically each other when having their martial tournaments.

  “You stumble like an elephant, Nil,” Volant said from his hammock, one eye open. “You need to work on fluidity. I could feel you stomping about in my sleep, and I’m not even on the ground.”

  I grinned sheepishly at him. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to wake his lordship,” I said with a flourish and bow. No one else seemed to have woken yet, and I assumed they had been up late with the music. We silently moved out from under the tent and into the open air of the morning. Dew coated the tips of grass, and birds could be seen flying low across the horizon.

  “Much better.” Volant stretched, turning to the rising sun.

  “Shall we practice a little?” I asked, bringing my fists up in open invitation.

  By the time we finished some light hearted sparring, a layer of sweat coated my body. Though most of it was defensive practice, my forearms ached from blocking Volant.

  “Looks like we have an audience,” Volant said impassively. His gaze was back towards the wagon-made-tent, eyes suspicious.

  Expecting Qaewin, I spun around smiling broadly. But instead of her, there was a man with pale, ice like eyes wearing threadbare and travel stained robes. They seemed similar to the ones worn by the blue priests, but they were rare, and would never be caught dead in anything less than pristine royal blue robes.

  His head was almost completely bald, but for one thin braid. The dirty blond braid of hair was wrapped around like a crown, and ending in a tied off knot. A few breaths went by as I registered his appearance. His hair was a symbol of the Waruin. I’d always wanted to meet one, and find out why they chose to openly defy the gods instead of letting bygones be bygones. He stood relaxed and stoic, as if it was a mere coincidence he was looking at us. Quite catlike, to be honest.

  Finally, Volant prodded me forward, and we approached the stranger. “Most people tend to offer me money when I run around with a shirt off,” I said gesturing towards my lack of shirt. Mentally, I kicked myself. What a dumb greeting. I tried to grin at the man, but it probably came out as awkward as I was feeling. A long pause stretched out between the three of us.

  Finally, and to my great relief though, his expression broke into an enormous lopsided grin. “Aye,” he replied, voice deeper than you’d guess, “I expect a few swings are taken at you with a mouth like that.” He laughed, and we joined in, Volant and I relaxing again. The man then offered a deep and formal bow, arms out wide as he nearly touched the ground with his Waruin braid. “It is a great pleasure to find such witty company. I’m called Rook.”

  “Breakfast?” Volant offered after a pause.

  Rook smiled broadly, “I thought you’d never ask. I just arrived and am famished.”

  That seemed odd, us all having came as a group. But, he was definitely my kind of person I decided. He was quick to laugh, and a certain kindness showed through him. We tracked down Qaewin in an effort to get fed on something.

  Walking around the tents quietly, as many of the Soft Steppers still slept, we searched for food. Luck would have it, we found exactly the people we needed. Qaewin and Slandash sat at one of the nearly burned down fires from the night before. Eggs sizzled in an all-purpose campfire skillet.

  “Care if we join you?” I asked Slandash, nodding towards the breakfast.

  In response, Qaewin used a long skewer to gently stir some meat while Slandash pulled a monstrously huge egg, all black and speckled with white, out of a sack and cracked it with his knife pommel. He nodded towards the ground across from him, but looked Rook over warily. It appeared our new friend was new to the camp after all.

  Qaewin smiled warmly as we sat down. “Up early, huh? I was worried you’d run off after last night. Most of you leafers are so easily scandalized their first time to hear a drum circle.” Her chuckle had a sinister undertone to it.

  I glanced at Volant, and we shared an embarrassed look. We’d both pointedly avoided talking about the music all morning. Both of us mindful of my embarrassment around instruments. Before I could reply though, Rook spoke up.

  “Excuse me for interrupting, but I felt the longer I waited to introduce myself, the more impolite it’d make me,” he said apologetically. “My name is Rook.” At Slandash’s lingering look of suspicion, Rook sighed heavily. “Please, I am not the one you need to worry about,” he said, anticipating their questions. “Let me explain why I am here, and what I may be able to offer you.”

  The two Soft Steppers looked to me, but I just shrugged and sat down, keeping an eye on the scrambled eggs and meat hungrily.

  “In Halic City,” Rook began, “I received information about a killer I’ve been hunting. This assassin had begun working for a group calling themselves The God’s Fury. They’re idealists looking to purify Balteris of Learners. They’re backed by some powerful people and have become quite adept at the assassination game.” He held Slandash’s eye for an uncomfortable moment before continuing. “I’ve followed this particular person for some time. Somehow, she received a communication and headed directly for your camp. I believe she arrived in the middle of the night, and is searching for her target as we speak.”

  No one spoke for a long moment, the eggs nearly forgotten. “And you just happened to find us first?” Slandash asked, dangerously calm. “This seems quite the coincidence.” His hand crept to the hilt of a knife sitting at his belt.

  Rook didn’t seem worried, but exasperation shone out through his eyes in the otherwise expressionless face. Somehow, that convinced me. Before the others could make a different choice, I chose to trust him. “Could be wrong, but I’d wager we’re the ones your assassin wants.”

  Slandash blinked. Not an ounce of emotion showing. Qaewin and Volant both were too busy trying to control their emotions to actually have any specific one show. On the other side, Roo
k chuckled softly.

  “I thought so,” he said warmly. “When I saw the two of you practicing, you were far too clumsy to be Soft Steppers. Plus, you’ve got that Wydvis hair though your green eyes are odd, and Nil here is a dead ringer for Erset with his dark eyes and darker hair.” He smiled and waved a placating hand at Slandash.

  Volant, having stayed quiet for most of the exchange, spoke up. “How do we know this story is true?” His eyes were hard. Normally, trusting and an easy manner were hallmarks of his personality but had now completely disappeared. Some belief in people seemed to have broken at the death of our friends back in Kalaran.

  But, he did have a valid point. A touch of worry tickled at me, and a shade of embarrassment. Had I just painted a target on myself and my friend without thinking?

  Rook sat stoically, taking a bite of scrambled egg that Qaewin had set aside for him. He was the only one eating. “A fair point,” he agreed. “I actually am a bit of an assassin, I guess you could say. Not someone you’d normally trust to tell the truth.” He gave a slight nod in my direction and turned to face Slandash. “Fortunately, it’s usually other killers I’m after.”

  Now Qaewin jumped in, eyes sparking. “If it’s my father you’re after, you’ll never even come close,” she growled, voice as quiet as ever despite the anger.

  “Don’t worry, I’m after this assassin that’s after your friends. How about I prove it to you, and we go ahead and hunt her up, yes?” As he spoke, he began to unknit the dirty and stained robes, and tossed the heavy fabric over the stump he had been sitting on. Underneath was a white, sleeveless tunic, tucked into hunting leathers. Knives of all types were sheathed across his chest in two criss-crossing bandoliers. He picked up the walking staff he’d been carrying, and rapped its ends against his feet, knocking dirt and grass free.