Haustis unfolded herself once more, collected her small possessions and built up the fire so he could feel its warmth. She turned to walk away but stopped and looked at the still and rigid man one last time as if she were reconsidering the spirits’ request. She had again placed herself where he couldn’t see her, but he noted her feet and her mid-calf deerskin boots, tied with laces made from cured animal guts. They were worn and repaired many times over.
“Turn from your path, Wynter. Go south, away from here. The north holds only darkness and ultimately, leads to your destruction. The spirits have bid me slay you, and I do not. We are not slaves to the spirits or anyone else. As I have not taken your life, you do not have to follow the path they have chosen for you.”
Wynter listened to the faint crunch of dried grass and bare earth beneath her feet as she walked away, trying to judge which way she went so he could track her down and kill her when he regained his ability to move. He strained his ears to listen and heard Haustis singing, her voice seeming to come from all directions at once as she walked away.
TEN
Wynter woke up, rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his hands and knees before he realized he could move again. His joints tingled with pain and the less comfortable awareness that his body had taken care of all its needs as he slept. He ignored the food Haustis had left and made his way to the stream where a cold bath cleaned his body and clothes. It did nothing, however, to cool his temper. Trudging back up the rocky river bank he threw his clothes onto a large rock and hoped the sun would dry them quickly and turned his attention to the food the old woman had left.
He leaned his body forward and situated his feet under him, resting his arms on his upper thighs and taking stock of his situation. In addition to the food, Haustis had left a small water skin, but nothing else. South or north? To the south, he knew, were people, towns, the hope of a new start. He was young enough to start a family with the right woman, but too old to see any children grow into families of their own. He would have to go far south to avoid towns where people might know him.
The problem, he knew, was that he was known by some people in many towns. People who would not be comfortable at his taking up residence nearby.
“Then go north. That’s where the old lady doesn’t want you to go. Obviously, that’s the place to be.”
“I thought you left.” Wynter didn’t say the words out loud this time, he was done trying to pretend to be thought less mad. If he were seen talking to the air, he believed, then he would be known as mad by all who saw him.
“You need me. You said so yourself. It wasn’t very kind of you to throw me out like that, but I’m not surprised you let me back in. How did you become an assassin when you’re so needy of other people?”
“Did the old woman leave a knife I could stab myself with? I don’t need you. What I need is for my clothes to dry so I can walk … somewhere.”
“Light a fire.”
“I don’t have anything to light a fire with.” He knew it was true without looking. Haustis had gone through his small pouch of belongings and taken the needle and thread, the small knife, even the empty bottle of liquor. She had only left the stone, which sat untouched. “What good is a stone here? Why did I take it and why did Haustis leave it?”
“Do you want an answer?”
“Do you have one?” Wynter was certain she did, and he wanted to hear it.
“If you have an answer, I have an answer, and you have, perhaps, an answer.” His wife’s voice, even in his head was irritating. She was trying to sound soft and sweet but all he could see was her wrapped in a shawl, holding their dead daughter, and signs of plague breaking out along her neck, face, and around her eyes. Her voice, to him, was becoming a thing of death and decay. He could almost smell the mold rot as if she were breathing on him as she spoke.
“What do you remember from when you picked up the stone at the crater?” The question came as if it were being asked of a child. It was condescending and necessary all at once, and it forced him to think. Wynter remembered smelling the woman’s sweat and blood and looking into her green and blue eyes for the fear he would surely find there. But he didn’t find any of that. He found two eyes that stared through him as if they were looking at something miles away.
When Wynter held the stone, the world turned dark, as if the dirt falling from the sky had redoubled and only the hint of a moon behind storm clouds lit his path. A trail of light, meager though it was, had a quality that couldn’t be denied. Like a river of milk, he saw a path leading straight down the trench and into the woods, heading north.
Considering the small sack in his hand, he reached forward to hold the stone again, expecting a similar path to light his way, to provide a sign that he couldn’t ignore.
“Do it,” his wife said. “It holds all the answers you need.”
Wynter almost pulled his hand back. He didn’t want to do what his wife said; he wanted to be difficult and free himself from her orders, but he had no better options, and so he took the stone again, and let the darkness envelope him. It was different this time, the darkness had an ambient light that didn’t exist before as if it were somehow alive, pulsing with energy and waiting.
“Well?” His wife sounded excited and nervous, just as he felt himself.
“Where should I go?” The question came into Wynter’s head unbidden, and barely with his realization. Almost at once, the light changed and again, the milky path pointed the way. Again, it pointed north.
Wynter stuffed the stone back in the bag and fell back slightly onto his bottom, like he’d just run a dozen leagues. He was tired, and he looked at his clothes by the rock, disappointed to see the sun was doing little to dry them as it lay hidden behind fists of clouds that dotted an otherwise clear sky. Not knowing what else he could do, Wynter gathered small sticks and placed them in the fire pit, painstakingly coaxing the remaining lingering coals into a small flame.
After drying his clothes and finishing his food, he started off again, consulting the stone occasionally before eventually leaving it in his bag, and continuing north. In this way he passed several days, eating what food he could find, mainly early spring berries, some edible plants, and more bugs than he ever would have considered. So many in fact, he started to become choosy, developing a taste for some over others. On the rare occasion he came across people, he hid and tried to pilfer supplies from them as they camped for the night.
“Are you going to leave them, dear?” Through his entire footsore journey, the scenery changed, becoming flatter and the forests thinning, but the voice in his head never seemed to run out of things to say.
“I don’t need to leave a trail of bodies for people to follow,” Wynter replied after relieving a small group of traders heading south who had drunk themselves to sleep, of an assortment of clothing, a pack, some food, a serviceable knife, and a passable spear. “I don’t want to be chased. I want to rest and recover.” Wynter realized he was starting to think like an assassin again, putting needs ahead of wants and looking at every decision as a move in a longer game.
“And then what? What happens when you’re fit and strong again? What happens when you’ve equipped yourself with the finest weapons you can find in the bedrolls of peasants? Will you find a town and take up a trade, get married, have children?” Her voice was ratcheting up and Wynter could tell his wife was getting impatient.
“You can play these games all you want, you know, but the truth is, I’m right here with you. You can’t turn your back on yourself.”
Wynter groaned out loud. Of all the things she had said so far, he knew beyond a doubt the last was true.
He turned his back on the small campsite and the lifeless bodies he left there and continued his march north. “Right now, I’m just trying to survive. Maybe I will take up a trade and settle down,” he said silently but forcefully to his dead wife. “But I damn sure won’t get married again.”
ELEVEN
It was more than a week before Lydria
, Kimi, and Haidrea were prepared to leave Eifynar. Lydria lingered, unsure of how to find Haustis or Wynter and what to do if she found them.
“Maybe he will be dead along the road and it won’t matter,” Lydria said to Drae Ghern, who had become a spiritual confidant and a father figure to her as they spent time every morning doing small tasks with magic such as lighting fires and mending small objects. This morning the old Eifen had her moving items in his house. The force necessary to lift and move a physical object with magic was, Lydria thought, more taxing than lifting the thing by hand.
“You are doing well, Lydria. Drae Ghern is wise to have you practice. As you are becoming aware, the tasks get easier as you learn to gather and use your magical energy.” The small cat’s voice had become so normal to her over the last few days Lydria sometimes had to ask Kimi to repeat himself. Today, however, she heard him clearly as she moved Drae Ghern from a chair by the fireplace to another across the room.
“Maybe I should have started by moving you instead of a fully-grown man.” Lydria’s voice in Kimi’s ears was stressed, but not without compassion. Just then Drae Ghern patted his lap inviting the cat to jump up as he floated an arm’s span in the air. Kimi jumped onto the old man's leg which caused him to drop slightly as Lydria reacted to the new weight. “It was your idea,” the bobcat said in answer to her exasperated sigh.
As soon as Drae Ghern and Kimi were settled gently on the ground, Lydria slumped to the floor and put her hands on her knees. She was exhausted, as if she had tried to pick them up herself. She reached into a small bag on her belt and ate some dried meat. She had discovered that food helped keep exhaustion from becoming nausea but did little else. The dressing, drying, and curing of the meat had been an exercise in magic as well; one which the Eifen charged with such chores encouraged her to practice.
Drae Ghern got up and put his hand on Lydria’s shoulder and encouraged her; at the same time the door to his house opened and Wae Ilsit stood silhouetted in the frame. “Father, it is time,” he said. Drae Ghern helped Lydria to her feet and together with Kimi, the three went outside where the Eifen gathered.
Nethyal and three warriors were facing their chief, Haidrea, and three other men. Drae Ghern took his place next to his son, and Lydria to his left. Kimi was curled on Lydria’s shoulders.
“Today we send a party to watch over the land. Ever it has been the role of the Eifen to watch over Eigrae and protect it as best we can from those who would despoil it. Wynter, may or may not be such a person, but there is reason to believe he should be watched carefully,” Wae Ilsit said. “The warriors before us are not preparing for battle, but to determine if Wynter is a man who may use his power for the good of Eigrae or toward its peril. Nethyal, you were chosen to find Wynter. If it can be done, you have the will of the spirits, the Eifen of Eifynar, and Eigrae herself, to do what must be done to prevent him from using his power as a stain upon the earth.”
Wae Ilsit paused and considered the faces of the tribe. “Is there any among you who would go in their place?”
Lydria started to lift her arm and was instantly aware of Drae Ghern’s hand on her elbow. “This is not your time, Wielder.”
Around her the entire town, save Wae Ilsit, Haidrea, Drae Ghern, and herself, stood with their hands raised.
“Is this pleasing to the spirits, Father?” Wae Ilsit spoke the words with pride as he glanced to the graetongue.
Drae Ghern nodded lightly, let go of Lydria’s arm and started the chant that had become so familiar to the kingdom woman over the past few weeks. The tone in his song today, however, was different; it sped up and slowed like a bird, moving from place to place, eager to find somewhere to roost. He moved as he sang, among the villagers, stopping at every adult and child old enough to plow, shoot, sew, or chew, to hold the head, arm, or chest of one of the Eifen. As he passed each person, they did not follow him with their eyes, but rather they looked toward the four warriors who stood straight and still with their eyes closed and chins jutted forward.
“What is happening?” Lydria asked. “I can’t keep my eyes off him, but they act as if he’s not there.” She was mesmerized by the singing man who seemed to have grown straighter as he walked among his people, years dropping away from his shoulders like raindrops.
“Close your eyes, Wielder, and think about me, see through my eyes.”
Lydria obeyed and after a moment, she nearly cried aloud for she could see Drae Ghern move through his village, but the image was different. There were no strong colors, and everything looked closer, sharper than it should have.
“What is this?” she asked.
“This is how I view the world, and our connection means you can view it through me. Drae Ghern is doing the same spiritually for Nethyal and his warriors. He is gathering the vision, wisdom, and strength of the community which he will pass to them to help them on their journey.”
As the shaman moved through his people he began to move toward Wae Ilsit and the waiting warriors and stopped. Looking for a moment toward Lydria and Haidrea, he smiled, and bowed his head. When his eyes came up they were alive with inspiration and he immediately took four steps backward and lowered himself to one knee where he lifted into his arms a baby, the youngest of the Eifen. A small pale girl whose ears peaked from behind a head of hair the color of sunlight. Drae Ghern held her tightly to his chest and then kissed her forehead lightly before handing her back to her mother who looked pleased her daughter had been marked in such a way.
Moving lightly to Wae Ilsit’s side he faced his son, the chief’s strong arms encircled with bands of metal above the elbows and his skin marked with the small white lines of scars that told the story of his battles. Father and son embraced quickly and Wae Ilsit knelt before his elder who took his head in both his hands and began to sing once more.
Kimi inhaled as if he was going to interpret what was taking place, but he was interrupted by Lydria. “Wae Ilsit gives the experience of the Chief. But what of the baby?”
As Drae Ghern finished his song, the town began to clap in unison until Wae Ilsit rose once more and ceded the place of honor to Drae Ghern.
“I have lived many seasons and heard many stories,” he said loudly for the town to hear, but for the benefit of the four warriors in front of him. “Only once have I had cause to gather the wisdom, strength, and love of the Eifen to send a party into the wild. The hunt these warriors undertake is perhaps the most important in the life of our people, and they will need all your gifts as they proceed. With that, he nodded to Wae Ilsit who resumed his place and motioned for Nethyal to come forward.
“Father, I have chosen these three warriors to join me. If it is the will of the Eifen, we will do as you bid.”
“It is the will of the Eifen,” Wae Ilsit said gravely.
“It is the will of the spirits as well,” Drae Ghern added. He then moved to each of the four men and held each of them by the head, the arm, and the chest. “And to the leader of these warriors, I also add mercy,” and with that he took Nethyal to him and hugged him in the same manner he had the baby.
The ceremony was unlike anything Lydria had witnessed among the kingdom armies where men made their good-byes to their families in private, if at all.
With Drae Ghern back in his place, Wae Ilsit presented a knife with a handle carved from a brilliant white bone and a blade so black it made Lydria gasp. She had never seen anything like it and as Nethyal turned the blade in his hand she could see he too, was honored and surprised by the gift. Wae Ilsit held his son’s face between his two strong hands for several seconds before leaning forward so their foreheads met. Lydria could see Wae Ilsit’s lips move but what he said to his son was for his ears alone.
In turn, each of the other three men who had stood by quietly during the ceremony approached one of Nethyal’s warriors. The older men were the warriors’ fathers, Lydria knew from her time in the town. Each presented a small weapon as a gift to their son. Each also touched his own head, arm, and heart befo
re touching the head, arm, and heart of his offspring. Each also hugged his son.
Finally, Drae Ghern raised his left hand and began a low, rumbling chant. “He asks the spirits to watch over these men,” Kimi said. “And he grants them the peace and goodwill of the Eifen and Eigrae, so they may remain strong until their safe return.”
Lydria noticed Nethyal was no longer paying attention to his father or grandfather. His eyes were locked to hers, and while he nodded his head in acknowledgement of her, his cheek and lip crept modestly upward – a look not lost on Lydria or Kimi.
“As marvelous a gift as he has been given, Nethyal is not pleased with his weapon or his warriors,” Kimi said.
“Did he not have his choice of men?” Lydria asked, somewhat surprised by the bobcat’s assessment.
“He did, yes,” came the reply. “But the weapon he really wanted, was you.”
As Drae Ghern finished his song, the men looked at their chief and turned to move through the town on their way to the forest. As they left, a hundred hands touched their shoulders.
“The touch of the Eifen tells the group that they will watch over them; and that if they do not come back, that they will avenge them.”
The men and women of Eifynar were still and silent until they were sure the men were too far into the forest to hear them. When Drae Ghern and Wae Ilsit turned to move, the rest followed, returning to their tasks, knowing that the warriors were on their own and the town had work that needed to be accomplished.
“Why did Drae Ghern say he had only once witnessed such a ceremony as this, when hunting parties must surely be sent routinely?” Lydria asked Kimi.
"They are sending these warriors to hunt a man," the bobcat said. "To hunt a deer is something done to feed the town. This is something more, and it is treated with more...dignity. I think they are correct to treat such a decision this way."
Magic's Genesis- The Grey Page 9
