“It is a good sign,” Nethyal replied, helping Wynter into a comfortable sitting position and settling himself opposite, with the tiny flame between them. “Now, let me tell you what else I know.”
Wynter was mesmerized by the story of the woman Lydria. How her magic affected her own being based on the power of the magic she attempted; and how by attempting a similar task repeatedly lead to a lessening of the effect on her body. Nethyal told him of how the woman healed with a thought and how it did her little harm. He heard the stories of Nethyal’s grandfather, and even some of the woman Haustis. The story was long and full of useful information and by the end of it, Wynter had regained feeling in his fingers and could move his arms; although his hands were still largely useless. The healing power Nethyal spoke of would alone be worth a king’s ransom, Wynter thought.
Wynter looked at Nethyal and realized the man had stopped talking and that he had been caught in his own thoughts, paying little attention to what was being said. “So,” Wynter started, “why have you tracked me down to tell me this? You said I was being hunted by dangerous creatures, and yet you have not put a blade in me. You have not restrained me. You have not asked for anything. You may not know me well, Nethyal, but I know people well – wherever they come from, whatever they believe, whatever god they pray to – all men want something. What do you want, Nethyal?”
The young warrior’s lip lifted slightly, and his left eyelid closed halfway as he nodded to Wynter. He was right, Wynter thought to himself, Nethyal did want something. “I will reveal what I want in time,” he said. “For now, I offer you my help.”
“What help would that be? You’ve just shown me the power of the gods and told me the story of your village, of Lydria, of your grandfather. I assume those who hunted me are no longer a danger because you killed them. I don’t think you could go back to your village now if you wanted, Nethyal. Excuse me if I sound ungrateful, but how will you help me?”
Nethyal stared at Wynter for a moment before casually rising. His knees didn’t crack, he made no noise of exertion; like Haustis, he simply unfolded himself until he was upright and like the old woman, he was almost instantly at his side with the pad of his index finger resting against Wynter’s eyeball.
“This could easily be a knife,” Nethyal said. “It could be a knife held by a killer or by a child. In your condition, the difference would be meaningless.” The words contained no malice or emotion but were simply stated as one would notice the weather. “You cannot make a fire useful for cooking dinner without losing control of your arms; how do you plan to protect yourself as you learn what you are capable of? I have heard the stories from Lydria, and I’ve watched you make your way across this land. You are a capable bowman and you kill without remorse. I know a man such as yourself, knowing what he now knows, cannot go back to pulling a bowstring when he can command fire and objects by simply thinking of them. You are a wielder now, a user of magic, but until you learn and gain your full strength, I am all that stands between a world that will fear you, and death. Should that not be enough?”
Wynter laughed to himself. Nethyal wanted power and he was willing to be the shadow behind the throne. It was a useful arrangement and one, Wynter knew, that he could end easily when the time came. But for now, Nethyal was right, he needed to learn about his power and to harness it effectively, and he needed to be protected as he did so. Wynter knew the future would consist of many more days lying on the ground, unmoving and vulnerable before … what?
Nethyal felt the tension leave Wynter and moved back to the other side of the cooling ash of the small fire. “You have decided then.” It wasn’t a question. Wynter nodded and with some difficulty, lifted his arm to shake Nethyal’s hand.
“What do you want, darling? You can have anything.”
“I think I’d like to live somewhere grand,” Wynter responded to his wife’s voice. “I think I would like to have people fear me again – but not from the shadows. I want people to know who I am and why they should be afraid.”
Wynter’s wife started to say something and stopped after the first syllable. She had realized, perhaps, what the potential for this power could mean to her. The realization made Wynter smile. If his nascent power could have a quieting effect on the dead voice in his head, what kind of effect would it have on the living? How easy would it be to make them fear him and, ultimately, serve him? Yes, Wynter thought, I would like a new home one day and I’ve always rather admired Bayside – for starters.
FIFTEEN
Lydria and Haidrea stayed several days at the Folly where Haidrea spent a good deal of time with Captain Branch and Lydria gave her space by taking walks in the woods with Kimi and practicing small magic, leaving new or more intense magic for days of poor weather when she stayed inside the rooms the women had been given in the small keep.
Kimi spent a day when the women were inside to travel far to the south and scout the people he had smelled previously. He reported that they did not constitute a war camp, but more likely a hunting camp. Lydria told Captain Branch she had seen signs of people during one of her long walks, and the captain decided they should take a small group to meet with the strangers to avoid potential misunderstandings.
Branch, Haidrea, Lydria and Weaver, who had been a model soldier and citizen since Haidrea’s demonstration, set off from Steven’s Folly to meet the unknown group. Even with Kimi invisibly guiding them by the most direct route, it took more than a day and, not knowing of the cat, Branch and Weaver were keenly impressed by what they believed was the navigational prowess of the women.
“Do you see the big man, what he does, marking the trees?” Kimi spoke to Lydria as the group made their way through the forest.
“He marks the path to find his way home again,” Lydria said. “They think perhaps we may not go back with them, or that we may not be able to find our way back.”
“Will the strangers see it that way? Or will they see a path to their front door?”
“Remember Kimi, the markings work both ways. The captain has left a clear trail to his front door as well. I think it may be good each party understands this.”
The hike through the woods was not silent, in fact, Branch argued, it would be good if they were heard coming from a distance, as it would lessen the opportunity for accidents.
As they creased a small hill into a relative clearing they were met by a single man. He was clad in finely woven breeches that clung to his skin, outlining lean, strong legs. His boots were tight to the middle of his calf and made of a leather so finely cured and sewn it certainly was not the work of anyone in Bayside, or even Eifynar. He waited patiently near a tree and wore a brown tunic that blended into his own skin as well as the forest around him. He wore no metal armor and by his side he steadied the hilt of a gently curved sword with a blade the length of his arm. On his back, Lydria could make out the black curve of an enormous bow, unstrung, hovering a foot above his head like a small tree branch.
The closer Lydria got the more she looked between the man and Haidrea, noting the man’s ears – how they gently shifted forward and back listening for sounds in all directions. His deep brown eyes watched Lydria and her group walk steadily up a small rise meet him, but his ears continued to move slowly back and forth as if searching for something.
Haidrea raised an eyebrow but otherwise maintained her composure at the meeting of another Eifen. The man’s dark, thick hair was tied at the back of his head, but he was bald from his forehead to the back of his ears. He looked older than Branch, and possibly older than Wae Ilsit, but it was hard to tell. He was fit and tall and as he stood, he could have been Lydria’s age.
The party stopped almost at once and Haidrea greeted him in her own language. The man looked at Haidrea closely and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something or ask a question. Instead, he looked to the others and said, “I speak the language of your kind.” He then locked eyes with each member of the party before speaking again.
“It has been foretold that fiv
e would come,” the man said. “Where does the fifth hide?”
“There are only four of us, I assure you….” Haidrea waited for the warrior’s name but received only silence. “We have traveled lightly armed and without stealth. We wish to speak with your chief.”
“The Haustis spoke of five. I see that you are lightly armed, and I have listened to your travels for some time, sister. I do not doubt you speak the truth. Yet I also do not doubt Haustis or the spirits she consults.”
“It’s me,” Kimi’s voice came to Lydria with a note of surprise and excitement. He had been largely on his own for days and was eager to be with Lydria and Haidrea again.
Lydria moved forward to Haidrea’s side and spoke to her friend and the man facing them. “The fifth member of our party remains hidden in the woods. Not from any misgivings of your people, but for his own safety and to complement his nature. The two men that accompany us, have also never met him, but if you will grant him safe passage, he will come forward.”
“It is the spirit’s will there be five. Call your friend.”
“Kimi.”
As the bobcat left the cover of the forest, the three men were astonished to see the animal so openly approaching the group. When it leapt upon Lydria’s shoulders, the man before them whispered, “it is true then.”
He walked forward to Haidrea and Lydria, glancing quickly at the blue band embracing Lydria’s pale neck and finally noticing her eyes. “Haustis foretold all, but I … I am…”
“Surprised?” Haidrea supplied.
“And more,” he replied. “Haustis’ foretelling brings both great joy and great suffering if all she says is true. As I see the fifth member of your party and the woman of two souls before me, I can no longer doubt. You are all welcome, although I wish it could be under a brighter star. We will go to our camp together.”
It was obvious everyone wanted to know who both he and his chief was, but Haidrea responded to his offer without questioning him further. “You do your chief honor and we accept your invitation. We will follow where you lead.” And with that, the man turned crisply and walked across the clearing. His pace was strong, and he knew his way as if he followed a road, although even Haidrea could not easily discern a path or track.
He was silent as the moved, and the others remained silent as well. Lydria moved close to Branch and he merely nodded to her and smiled. “He does not fear betrayal,” Kimi said. “He smells of anticipation – he is happy and nervous although I don’t understand why. Weaver is a tangle of odor and sights you cannot see. He trusts his commander, but he harbors a soldier’s instinct to be wary.”
Lydria whispered to the captain that Weaver was anxious, and he responded to her with a look that asked a dozen questions before looking at the cat draped around her neck, and back to her. He pursed his lips and nodded, falling back to whisper quickly with Weaver; offering him some words of reassurance.
“What do you make of this, my furry friend,” Lydria asked.
“I think, for the first time, I’m more interested in what we may hear than what we will have for dinner.”
The conversation was long and Lydria and her party were treated like long-lost friends by the Eifen in the camp. Even Weaver seemed to enjoy the food and company outside by the light and warmth of a fire. Their guide from the forest was called Wae Relin and he was an amicable host.
“I have to wonder,” Wae Relin said, “if the stories of our forebears come true before our eyes.” He paused and dug up a handful of soil next to the rock on which he sat. “For many generations our people have stayed within our homes to the far west, rarely reaching out beyond our borders.” Wae Relin stood before continuing his story and walked around the circle of the fire, stopping only to find a new seat on a log next to Haidrea.
“Generations ago a brave warrior named Wilmamen lead several families of our people east in search of a group that traveled before and did not return. She also sought the darkstone and to perform a task known only to our graetongue. Since that time, every generation leads a group east to seek our lost kin. Since that time, not one group has returned home.” He took Haidrea’s hand in his own and shook it, “it seems we have finally found our lost travelers.”
Wae Relin turned in silence and looked squarely at Haidrea, his ears leaning forward to her, and his hands continuing their grip of her own. “Tell me sister, have any of them found you?”
Lydria could see that Haidrea had been on edge since meeting Wae Relin. Kimi too, had told Lydria he could smell the tension in both her and the man who spoke now.
Haidrea returned the grip of Wae Relin’s hands and shook her head. “I am sorry, brother, but no one has come. Until now.” And she lifted her hands and embraced Wae Relin as she did Wae Ilsit and Drae Ghern. No one spoke around the fire, but everyone smiled and turned to each other to share in the occasion of such a long-awaited reunion. The four men of Wae Relin’s camp rose as one and gave a triumphant roar into the night air, and made their way around the fire, hugging each of Lydria’s party and being especially joyful in the arms of Haidrea.
Eventually, they regained their seats to talk, but they sat closer now, and smiled more, and the Eifen of the west embraced Weaver and Branch as if they too were long-lost cousins.
Wae Relin settled back down to his seat and told his story of being chosen to lead the latest expedition to the east.
“The path from our city to your lands is not easy,” he said. “There are many different peoples between our two lands, and not all of them share our visage. There are rivers the width of lakes, and forests that continue seemingly without end. Little of the way is friendly, and in the deep woods, small men did try to over-run us, but turned aside as we lifted our swords to defend ourselves, and for that we must thank Wae Wilmamen.”
“Who is Wilmamen?” asked Haidrea, eager to learn all she could from her western cousins.
“The story of Wae Wilmamen is one of our greatest stories,” Wae Relin began. “She was the Wae, the leader,” he looked to the men of Wesolk and Lydria as he explained the word’s meaning. “Wae Wilmamen was the first of the Eifen to venture east after the first company was lost. She has never seen the Great Lake of the east. After many weeks of travel, she and her company made their way across the Lang’Al, the Great River, which is so wide you can barely see the other side in places. Wae Wilmamen looked far for a place to cross before her people gave up and made small boats to cross.
In that crossing several died, so fierce was the river’s current. Continuing through the rugged forest and into the eastern hills, Wae Wilmamen came to a forest that was more swamp than land. It was thick with blood-eating bugs, and large lizards and more of the company was lost to these creatures, but it was the short, misshapen men of the marsh who were her downfall.”
Everyone, including Kimi, the Eifen, and the people of Wesolk, sat quietly transfixed by Wae Relin’s story. He told the tale slowly and with great respect.
“The company of Wae Wilmamen walked through the fetid water huddled together with spears and swords ready to fend off the beasts of the water, but the marshmen, the Rargal, as we name them, were waiting among the low-hanging and leafy boughs of the trees that grew large in the swamp,” Wae Relin had obviously told the story many times, and he moved his eyes to each of his audience to keep their attention. “The marshmen were short and stout, with dour faces and long beards and old weapons held together by rust in the damp swamp. They were poor fighters and many scores died as the Eifen fought, but their numbers were too great. Wae Wilmamen ordered her people to return west and she stayed in the swamp, swinging her great curved blade, hewing down swaths of the creatures and invoking the old gods of the Eifen.
Before she was slain, the last of her company to escape said that her sword wore the flames of the sun and burned man and forest together before the light was lost under the raging hordes of the Rargal. The last survivor of Wae Wilmamen’s company, was my seven times over great-grandfather, and he told me before he
died, that even under the pile of bodies that brought down the great warrior, the blade continued to burn.”
There was a moment of silence before Branch stood and raised a drink in honor of the gallantry of Wae Wilmamen. Wae Relin looked confused at first but when he realized the easterner honored his story and his people, Lydria thought she saw firelight flint on his eyes. He did not cry, but he was moved by the gesture.
As he sat down, Wae Relin began again. “That was long ago, and it is no surprise that our eastern kin do not know the story as it took place after your loss. However, even our path to the east began with dark omens. We were chosen and trained for our journey from the time we were very young and even then, the Graetongue foretold that the spirits showed to him a world changing, on wings of darkness descending from the east and hurtling toward the west, shutting out all light, and leaving the world in an ever-lasting grey. We did not understand this for the world is not grey, but a wondrous display of many colors; as boys, we asked him, and he would smile and tell us that omens from the spirits often can mean many things, and we need to look to nature for our answers. As we grew, many of the elders said the Graetongue mis-understood the spirits. As a boy the Graetongue was different; he could speak to the spirits without a pipe and often without song. As a boy learning to hunt, it is told that he would stop in the middle of the forest and not move for man nor beast. They could not rouse him until he roused himself and when he did, he had a tale from the spirits to share. In this way, he earned his name, Farn’Eston – the deliverer of dark tidings. He was called upon to speak for our people while he was still a boy and he took no wife but traveled far and would often be gone for a season or more. His stories were always full of riddles and none were clear. His final story came a year ago when he sang over us on the dawn of our journey to the east, toward the snows and the rising sun.
Travel on to the rising sun
To the snowy hills that fade
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