The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana

by E Cantu Alegre

  ✽✽✽

  Lanico continued to walk alongside LaCriox, holding the reins and guiding him through the flowing water. The horse’s brown face brushed against Lanico’s shoulder from time to time, as if he wanted comforting. Gish guided Aspirium, holding his reins firm. The men’s booted feet were soaked through, but at least the water was only cool and not freezing. It could have been worse. Marin, riding though his stretches in the saddle showed his legs must burn with the ache of it, made no complaints, and his countenance revealed he looked to the promise of safety ahead. He was determined.

  Eventually the Odana River led them to the rolling hills and woods, where there was safety in multitudes of leaves and in the height of trees—if needed. Beyond that, there was special safety in these woods, with Lanico’s mother. Judging from their having entered the wooded hills, he thought they had made good timing. They had only made it as far as the camp that divided the Yellow Vast and Odana as of early that morning, but they had walked for one whole day, just as Lanico had mentioned they would.

  Lanico was pleased to feel the cool of the thickening trees. Thank Odan—woods. The dark of shade washed over them, making Lanico’s and Marin’s eyes glow brighter.

  The sky was starting to turn a shade of purple again when Lanico decided to make camp. He made this decision for a few reasons, but especially after feeling the horse’s gait, hearing them grunt increasingly.

  Not perfect, but it was good enough. They had traveled long enough and this far into the woods, they had the shelter of the dense trees, and small game. They just had to hunt them now, before they ventured too far into the woods and too close to his mother, Greta. Their had to be distance between her and their huntng grounds while still just far enough into the Odana woods to create a stir, for Lanico wanted his presence to be known by her. The distance here, he could feel it was right. Not perfect, but good enough. He thought once more.

  He didn’t know exactly where his mother’s home was, only that this was her territory, and being Fray of light and guardian over the expansive Odana woods, she lingered here. She’d come to him.

  In preparation for the evening, they dropped their bundles and worked to make camp.

  “Lanico, what are the plans for tomorrow?” Marin asked while unrolling a blanket.

  Besides his aching for a real bed by this time tomorrow, Lanico didn’t know the answer yet. His first goal was to get Marin alive to this forest, to safety. Now that this mission was almost achieved, the next steps would have to be thought through carefully.

  “I don’t quite know yet, Marin,” Lanico answered truthfully, casting his glowing sights over the ground in search of sticks and small fallen branches for a fire.

  Marin was a little unsettled by this. “So, there’s no plan?”

  “Not all things have an easy or quick plan. Some things require thought and time.” Lanico controlled a grunt as he picked up a larger branch. “We’re safe here for the night, perhaps the next night as well. That’s all that matters at this moment, at least.” Lanico wasn’t quite certain how to tell Marin, or Gish, the identity of his mother—and, thereby, reveal who he was. What he was. Lanico thought, No, her appearance will be explanation enough.

  It took some time, but eventually they found enough forest wood to start a small fire. But once it was going well, Lanico still couldn’t find the rest he longed for. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed by his memories. These woods were enchanting. The land—it was his, and Marin’s. So many WynSprigns had lost their lives for the sake of this land . . .

  Withdrawing from his haunting memories and emotions, Lanico determined to try to sleep. He wrapped himself tightly in his green cloak and carefully lowered himself to his knees. He wasn’t graceful, lying down on the ground, stumbling a bit on his way down and catching Marin fighting a smile. Lanico looked quickly at Gish, whose fixed gaze on Lanico seemed puzzled. Once down, wrapped up tight in a cocoon, Lanico tossed his head back to try to get his long hair from his face. He forcefully blew at strands that landed near his mouth and nose. This was a time when having short hair, or tied hair, would have been a better choice.

  Once settled, he listened through the crackling fire for anything to be alarmed about. Gish and Marin would be okay. They were both close enough that he could swiftly intervene if needed. He knew he was overly protective of Marin but couldn’t help it—there were only a few people alive in all of Odana that he loved as much. He was responsible for Marin.

  These woods, so enchanting . . . Lanico, seeking sleep as he did every night, thought about the day that Treva had come to him all those years ago, after a day of practice. As expected, he was putting away the sparring swords, following yet another training. Treva lingered behind after everyone had left. This was most unusual since she hadn’t stayed after since . . . since he had rejected her kiss. He could see right away that she looked nervous. He was intrigued, for Treva never seemed scared of anything. That was one of her great qualities—she was never fearful and desired challenge.

  Lanico looked at her in wonder as she approached him. Her thick emerald hair was tied back in restraint except for one loose section that encircled her small, angular face. She was looking down and fumbling with the tooth necklace that hung loosely around her neck. Lanico fought back the urge to tuck the loose hair behind her ear. Almost as if she read his mind, she quickly tucked the hair back. She straightened and looked back up at him . . .

  It was a scene played out in his mind, repeatedly every night. A scene that he chose to end precisely there. The memories that followed those moments, when he was lost in her brown-golden flecked eyes, were just too painful. For it was just afterwards that she confided that she was pregnant . . . by his oathed brother Izra. His Lieutenant General. His most trusted.

  The pregnancy and the secret marriage were the things of rumors amongst the various ranks. With pride and determination however, the couple and Lanico, continued onward in duty.

  Tonight, Lanico dared himself to remember how just as Treva’s womb grew, the tensions throughout the kingdom grew as well. Not long after it was clear that a war was upon them, Treva labored and bore her son, Marin. It was if Odan himself sought for Marin’s early arrival. Had he arrived any later, neither he nor Treva might have survived.

  Treva, ever the committed Odana Soldier, came to fight for Odana only a few days of rest after the birth. No one would have expected her to do that. He surely would have rejected this. She kept a swaddled Marin hidden close by, and her comrades raised eyebrows at seeing her there in battle so soon after childbirth.

  Lying there, in the dark quiet of the woods, and thinking honestly to himself, Lanico knew that he had loved her and wished that he could have had a life companion like her. But there was none. There wouldn’t be.

  But still.

  Still . . . he remembered her. One hundred years after her death, he still loved her. Still mourned her. Her face had warmed the visions of his dreams every night since. Every curve, the faint scar on her lip—still so perfect in his memory.

  He wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse. Why? Why has she remained so fresh in my mind for so long? He was frustrated that he somehow, could not let her go . . . even in death.

  He breathed in the cold night air.

  As Lanico toiled in thought and long-held emotion near the fire of their Odana campsite, a loud thunderclap crackled above. The electric blue of his eyes sparked open in response. Rain started falling in heavy sheets. It was good fortune that they were camped under thick cover of the trees, preventing an outright soaking, for only scarce trickles managed to get through. Feeling the damp, Lanico wrapped himself a little tighter. “When in the fires will she come?” he muttered under the drowning sound of rain. It was a bit rattling to him that his mother wasn’t as timely as he himself. His father had graced his own punctuality to him.

  ✽✽✽

  The Mysra guards didn’t find any trace of Gish, nor of anyone else, at the Odana River, but they did find horse
tracks and footsteps that came from the direction of the Yellow Vast and perhaps Gray Rock beyond. They knew that these could be linked to Gish, but no matter. They decided to track the steps from whence they came—to explore where they had been before. Grude did say that he had interest in gathering more WynSprigns and of learning the precise location of their realm. If they were lucky, they’d find the long-hidden Great Mist and get the true credit they deserved. Perhaps these tracks would lead them.

  With determination, they once again set out. They headed toward the high hill plateau in the distance, the Yellow Vast shelf that overlooked Odana before them; this was to be the entrance to their destination. They rode the horses quickly up the great switchback hill, determining they needed a running start for this feat.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Heavy sleeper

  The golden glow of Treva’s eyes flashed open. Her breathing, her chest vibrated at the powerful clap of the thunder. The force resonated, expanded outward for miles. Remembering where she was, she felt the area around her frantically and could feel but barely view the sleeping silhouette of Anah, just next to her. There was relief, but she hadn’t intended to sleep this late. Fat raindrops angled into the cave and began to thump upon her head, trickling through her thick hair and over her scalp. She sat up quickly to shield herself in the shallow cave and looked out at the dark below. It was after dawn—but the storm had restored a semblance of night to the landscape. In a flash, the rain started to fall in white sheets, creating a wet haze in the dim below.

  She glanced to Anah, who gave no physical response to the rain nor to the thunderclap. “Well, you’re a heavy sleeper,” she said quietly, then lightly shook her shoulder, but to no avail. Concerned at Anah’s position so near the ledge, she grabbed the girl with both hands, hauled her to an upright sitting position, and further away from the drop-off. She leaned her back against the shallow cave wall, placing Anah even closer to herself. Anah’s head drooped to the side, and her mouth hung open, then she muttered something inaudible. Treva rolled her eyes and smirked: “Correction—you’re a very heavy sleeper, indeed.” She let her companion slump a little. At least here, in this position, the mountain edge and raindrops wouldn’t find them.

  They would wait until the rain lightened, or better yet, stopped completely, and then leave the cave. Before that, they wouldn’t be able to see, and the rain could create dangerous climbing conditions. It would be hazardous even afterward, but there was no other choice. They needed to move on.

  Now wide-awake and free to let her mind wander beyond toil and fear, Treva needed to keep from thinking about the dull pulsing pain in her back. She decided to muse about things that she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on in years. She thought about the days of old, the wonderful times. She thought about her Knighted companions, her friends, and even her servants, who were also friends like Greta. Her mind drifted over what might have been had the Seizure of Odana not taken place. And of him. The azure eyes of her General Prince . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Fray. Mother. Ama.

  It was well before the sun came up when something startled Lanico. He could see plainly that the sky was still the deep blue of ending night, and the rain had stopped, leaving the air wet and hazy. Marin and Gish were asleep by the dead campfire—the elements did not hinder their repose. Marin resembled a log and Gish a great boulder. Oh, to be young and sleeping like that, Lanico thought, turning his head back and forth to ease the stiffness that had settled in his neck.

  He felt a flush of warmth behind him. Was the sun coming up from behind the thick woods? Which direction am I facing? He rolled over to view the woods behind him, and the brightness intensified. He winced against it.

  In that moment, he knew he had found safety, for this brightness did not sting like that of sunlight in the Yellow Vast. And there she was—the second created daughter of Odan, the “Appointed One.” A tall and brilliant presence glided toward him. His Ama. Fray Greta’s path brightened even the bark on the trees, revealing details of leaves as she moved gracefully through the woods. She was beautiful—no, exquisitely radiant. Fray over light and nature, she was a handmaiden fashioned by Odan himself, but to Lanico she was—

  “Ama!” He said joyfully.

  Holding him with her warm smile, she looked down at her grown, sleepy boy. He had in fact grown beyond what she perceived as his middle age, while she had not. She was to him unchanged. As warm and as familiar as the sunrise itself. Lanico sat up quickly.

  “Oh, I am so pleased to see you! Thank Father Odan! I had hoped you would find me in these woods—it has been so long. I—I wasn’t sure—" He tumbled out the words, awestruck.

  “Lanico,” she said. Her voice a soft breeze, waving off his ramblings. “I have longed to see you for . . .” She didn’t finish. “You look so well and are still a handsome WynSprign man. I had wondered if you’d look the same and how the course of time would affect you”—her smile faded—"especially since the ravaging of my mountains. You know that I cannot freely leave the Odana to gaze upon you in places beyond.”

  Lanico felt ashamed. She was right. He concealed the sorrow and fear that had kept him from making the journey to see her. He had taken for granted that she would never die a natural death, so she’d always be there for him to visit—still, it was no excuse.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, coming to stand, bits of leaves and grass falling from his damp cloak. Even though Lanico was the tallest WynSprign—or Fray-WynSprign half-breed—she was a whole head taller than he. “We left the Great Mist,” he explained with a sigh, looking back at the sleeping Marin. “He was banished, and I have now learned of the true fate of the WynSprigns I left behind after the Seizure of Odana.”

  He looked back up at her, his eyes pleading. “We have decided to come home, to the Odana. We know that things here have not been good, for the WynSprigns here in these lands are enslaved. The time has come for us to reclaim our position in this land. It is late for me to act, but now I understand that the safety of even the WynSprigns in the Great Mist, is in jeopardy.”

  Despite the dire news, Greta’s tone remained soft. “We will fix this. Odan is on our side.” She quietly explained, in language that reassured Lanico even as he felt alarm at the revelation, that her strength had diminished increasingly over these years as the Odana Mountains in her realm had been subject to constant mining. Though miles away, she felt every twang, every scrape within her of the pick-axe. Her energy was directly tied to these lands, to these living mountains, and the years, these past years had been most grueling. “I feel almost as hollow as the mountains mined of their trillium,” she confided.

  Switching the subject, she inhaled and pursed her lips, remembering. “You mentioned ‘we?’’’ She glanced over to the fire behind Lanico, to the two sleeping figures that lay beyond. Without sound, nor waiting for Lanico’s response, she glided toward them.

  She bent over Gish and her smile immediately turned to a gape at the Mysra. Her tongue pressed to the roof of her open mouth, and she inhaled loudly to scent him, her eyes turned upward behind her fluttering lids as she breathed in deeply, loudly.

  Lanico waited for her response, knowing her more-refined ability of scenting would confirm his judgment of the Mysra—or give him a chance to dispatch him as he slept.

  Finished, she smiled but also raised her brows with curiosity. “He doesn’t smell of Mysra . . . He’s’—she inhaled again—"He’s different, not a danger, I don’t think. However, his scent is familiar, very familiar and even . . . safe? It is most peculiar. It’s as if . . . no.” She dismissed the thought with a wave. No, not possible.

  Caught in the moment, Lanico didn’t press her to continue the rest of her unspoken conclusion. Her verdict of ‘not a danger’ was answer enough.

  She glided toward Marin and angled herself over his face, which was covered by the thin traveling blanket. She waved her hand slightly and the blanket moved at command to reveal his handsome young face a
nd curly hair. She smiled widely and looked up at Lanico. “Marin still looks just like Izra, a little Izra.”

  Yes. She had said those very words in the past. Little Izra.

  “I know,” Lanico said. “I think of him always, especially now as I see him in Marin’s maturing face.”

  “Not only Izra . . .” she led with a small smile.

  To this, Lanico did not respond. He didn’t have to. He ran his fingers through his rain-dampened silver hair.

  “I wanted her for you, too, my son. I loved her for you, also,” said Greta, smiling sadly. Her thoughts reviewed the past. The wound had been enough, but even if she had survived it, Treva could not have survived enslavement all these long years with the heartache she had endured. If only I hadn’t been weakened by the war, unable to assist her then, or to seek her out later—the mining has kept me confined. Weaker. I promised I would return to her aid. She regretted that she hadn’t been able to, but didn’t share that detail with her son. There was no need after all.

  Lanico, feeling his emotions run deep, whispered, “It’s all in the past.”

  Greta gave a tight-lipped nod and looked back down at the handsome young Marin. “Come, introduce us and let’s gather at my home and remove ourselves from this dark, wet wood.”

  Lanico nodded in agreement. He knelt and shook Marin to rouse him and the young man sat up sleepily, his curls in wild disarray, adorned with blades of grass and leaves. He stretched his arms out far and slowly opened his eyes. Suddenly he gasped at the unexpected sight of the statuesque, glowing woman smiling down at him. Gish, alerted by the loud gasp, sat up prepared for battle, his knife in hand.