The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana

by E Cantu Alegre

  He squared himself and looked back at her daringly, and she breathed in at the rush it made. “Treva, in truth”—he let out a short, agitated sigh—"I don’t want you to come along. To join me.” He then studied his horse’s saddle, her work on it already completed. He slumped over the saddle at this little revelation. “I don’t think it’s safe for you to come along. There are too many Mysra warriors, and I’d prefer if you stayed here . . . with Marin.”

  As if a blow slammer her gut, Treva’s eyes flew wide open, and her jaw gaped at the audacity! She glanced around, her eyes darting, and she angled her head, trying to get him to look at her while schooling her own thoughts. “Lanico, you are my Prince,” she began carefully. “I’ve pledged my oath to you, to your father, your family . . . to—to our family”—she pointed towards the house, a reference to Marin—"I would do anything that you command, as I swore to, for my oath is my life. But Lan . . .” She paused as their eyes locked. “I also swore to protect you. The love I have for you is not in question.”

  He had heard her say it again—love.

  She blinked. “Understand this,” she continued, “I act on duty and on my oath as a pledged Odana Knight . . .” She paused again, glaring at him now because he averted his eyes. Her voice became stern as she said slowly, “Do not mistake yourself and forget my place.”

  He then moved to look straight at her, an answer to what she had demanded, and he studied her steely face. It must have been hard for her to say goodbye to Marin last night. He knew this—felt this from her. Perhaps it was cruel, but he had allowed that goodbye, pretending he did not plan to leave her here. But she had read it from him anyway. Looking at her, and reading her, it became ever clear, a reminder especially now, that she put her duty ahead of herself, always. She always had.

  He broke the stare, looking to the grassy ground below. She sauntered slowly toward him.

  “Lanico, I swore my oath to protect you. I am doing your will in this moment and with this decision.” She reached her hand up to tuck a silver section of his hair behind his ear, the way that he had always been tempted to do the same for her. She moved in closer to him, to look up into his eyes.

  He sighed pensively. Her words made sense, and he didn’t intend to offend or belittle her status as a Knight, a ranked Second Lieutenant. More than any other to have ever lived, he knew what her duty had meant to her. She lived to be a Knight—in their early life, it had been what she most wanted. She of all people knew the risks this life brought. But he couldn’t take it if something were to happen to her. He had been broken over and over again all these years with the deaths of Raya, Tyren, Izra, and Treva. He couldn’t take if she died all over again. He’d likely be tempted to end himself, were it not for Marin.

  He closed his eyes and heard himself say, “Tre, you may accompany me.” His face was now gentle. He placed his hand on the side of her face, cradling it. It was the same place he had put his hand all those years ago before the siege that changed them. His hand was larger than the length of her face. “I don’t want any harm to come to you. You mean so much more to me . . .” Than an oath—he would have said, but didn’t need to. He breathed—"It would kill me if something were to happen to you.” The wounds, the horrific scars, they tore at his spirit. The tears she had cried—remembering her years of slavery—haunted him, and his words were truthful. He’d never allow it again.

  His eyes flickered from hers. He pulled a petal from her emerald hair, reconnected to her stare, leaned in, and dared to gently kiss his favorite spot on her lip, the pale scar. He could feel her smile against his mouth. Despite the fear in his heart, he found some peace in that moment. They would be all right, she would be all right, even if he died protecting her.

  Her eyes opened slightly looking into his. It won’t happen, her eyes told him.

  He huffed a small breathy laugh against her cheek. He remembered that warm breath caressing other places and knew she remembered, too.

  The golden sun beamed, bathing them in a soft pink glow as petals continued to gently drift down. Their mouths were still pressed against each other, with softly caressing tongues. Lanico knew he would never forget how she tasted, how she looked that moment, nor would he forget the feeling of pure tranquility and beauty pressed against him. His alpha female, fearless and brazen, was at his side in this battle. The picture of her as she was now, was a treasure he decidedly etched in his mind.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Silence twisted

  They would stay here a few days, or . . . as long as it would take. Members of the hunting team had trekked through the woods to gather at Horse’s Clearing this morning. Their task was to monitor any movement from the Yellow Vast grasslands. They were the fastest runners and were well versed in archery, the only form of weapon that, until recently, any of them had ever wielded. If their bows and arrows were needed for self-defense before they reached the Great Mist, they’d have them at the ready. Fenner moved that it would be smart to have this line of alert and defense at the ready, from this point onward. Once Mysra were visible on the horizon, the hunters would sprint toward the Great Mist and alert the warriors to position themselves and prepare for battle.

  Though they traveled far within the Great Mist territory to hunt, they had never ventured this far through the dense forests to the border. It had been off limits. Now, it was an exciting but an overwhelming feeling to have this level of responsibility. It was also a test, to be as far as this from the familiarity of the Great Mist.

  As the anxious hunters closed in, they noticed the thinning of trees ahead, and the hint of vast land that lay beyond them. An instant promise of more. More land beyond. More to see. Mysra forces—not yet visible, but somewhere, threatened in that stretched land beyond.

  They gingerly drew nearer, finding a spot to set up their camp. With great care, they laid their hunting bows and quivers filled with arrows in a pile on the ground. They took cautious steps toward the dazzling tree line to begin their watch. Twigs and acorns gave muffled crunches under the weight of their soft, weathered boots. Pushing aside thin, leafy branches made their pulses race. Then, revealed, the immense yellow expanse before them brightened their shadowed faces. They drew breaths in. The Yellow Vast. They saw further than their eyes had ever witnessed distance before. The land spread so wide across, it seemed an eternity of yellow, a color they’d seldom seen in such abundance.

  The dark shadow of overhead clouds swept along the land, delivering a warm-smelling breeze that licked their cool skin. The experience was awe inspiring, a true reward for their diligence in being the fastest runners in the Great Mist. And to think, Lanico and Marin where somewhere beyond that!

  After a few moments of basking in the warm, sweet-smelling breeze, they pulled their attention away from the golden beauty, from her temptation of freedom and adventure beyond.

  “Remember,” Stefin happily said to Freck as he gathered dead wood from the surrounding brush, “Fenner said no fires at night.”

  “I know, Stefin. I was just getting it ready, is all.” Freck carefully placed a few small logs and brambles in a pile and was clearing away debris. His black hair, a wild mane like his grandfather’s, swayed with his efforts.

  “And I’m just trying to think now,” Stefin said, “should we have watches? For example, will one of us always be awake to watch for movement on the horizon?” He paused, and Freck was about to answer when he started again—"Or—or should we all stay awake?” He carefully unpacked a thin blanket from his sack.

  “It’s not all that different from when we go hunting.” Freck was sure to respond quickly, to avoid another set of what he felt were useless questions. “There is always someone to watch if the others need to rest.”

  Freck moved his sack a bit on the ground and unpacked some carrots to munch on. “You and I”—he motioned between himself and Stefin—"will take this first watch, and then they”—he indicated Tarn and Jain setting up their area just next to them—"they’ll take the next
while we sleep.” Freck crunched loudly with his ambitious bite into the fat carrot. “It’s good that there are two of us, in case either of us falls asleep, so we can nudge him awake again.” Orange carrot bits mashed around in his open mouth as he spoke.

  “Oh, yeah, that makes sense, Freck,” Stefin answered, wincing in disgust at the display of carrot mashing before him. “You know, it’s amazing to think that Marin is somewhere out there.” He jerked his chin toward the horizon. “I wonder what he and Lanico have been encountering out there—at least, I hope they’re together.” He tore into a large piece of tough jerky. Then he sat down, his legs out in front of him extending past the edge of the blanket.

  “Well, you know Marin. He’s a dreamer—probably won’t survive long, but he does have Lanico looking for him. So, it’s anyone’s guess, I suppose.” Freck moved to lie flat on his stomach and held his sharp chin in his hands.

  Tarn and Jain settled onto their blankets behind them, wriggling to get comfortable. It was still quite early in the day, but they agreed to let Freck and Stefin take this first watch of the horizon and they’d nap for now – reclaiming sleep lost from their early rise.

  Stefin and Freck sat and watched over the landscape as the sounds of snoring began erupting from just behind them. Despite this dull noise and a few birds chirping, it was quiet around them. They were used to hunting and used to the quiet that came with waiting for deer, but this was merely sitting and not trying to hunt, not trying to do anything; it allowed the mind to wander.

  “Felena did great at the sword, aye?” Stefin asked as he sighed and smiled, fumbling with the small tip of the deer antler he carried everywhere. He glanced over at Freck.

  “Hmm? . . . Oh, she’s okay I guess,” Freck answered begrudgingly, for Stefin was always up for chatter. He tugged at grass roots, still embarrassed by her having out-performed him. He hated when she’d beat him at something. Thankfully they often took turns at that. More-or-less, they were equals – even if Freck did not like that fact.

  “Yeah”—Stefin paused—"You . . . You think she likes me okay, Freck?” Stefin fumbled with his antler bit in his hands.

  Freck, looking out over the land, was confused by this question. He glanced quickly at Stefin—"What . . . what do you care about whether or not Felena likes you?” Just as Freck said this out loud, his eyes widened. There was amusement splashed on his face. A wide crescent-moon smile grew from the corners of his thin mouth. “You mean to say that you like Felena?”

  Stefin squirmed, now regretting having mentioned her.

  No, but Freck pursued this. This was good. He slapped his hands on his blanket in front of him and laughed at the idea. Looking at his annoyed friend, now wearing a sour expression, Freck’s smile decreased slightly. “Oh,” he said, “well . . . I mean”—he calmed himself in search of a better response—"well, she is probably stronger than you.” He smiled at the thought.

  “Well . . . that’s just it, Freck,” Stefin began. “Felena is beautiful and tough. Think of all the fun that would be to have a life mate like that. We could go hunting together, set up camp, climb trees, and spar . . . it’s perfect.” Stefin smiled dreamily at a large cloud passing slowly overhead.

  There was silence as Freck twisted his mind about this. He held a gaze out at the yellow landscape glowing before them. The smirk he had held was now gone. He had certainly never thought of Felena that way, or of anyone that way. It was true that they were approaching an age when they would be expected to choose a life mate . . .

  “I’m just thinking, if I choose my life mate, I’d want her to be fun and to like the things I like, too,” Stefin continued.

  “Yeah, Stefin.” Freck sighed his answer. “Yeah, that does makes sense.”

  His mind turned this over, and over again.

  ✽✽✽

  Night came quickly and rested on the river, reflecting the light from the stars and a glowing sliver from the moon above.

  Once the Mysra had eaten their caught fish, and rummaged through whatever rations they had, they lay about in the open air and slept. The air was cool and fresh, a stark difference from the crowded dank barracks they usually slumbered in. They had all been practiced at this—long stays camped in the open. It was considered a form of training, one of the few types of trainings the Mysra had. Once in control, Grude hadn’t felt there was much need for stringent military discipline, and why would he? They had annihilated the best army in all the lands, and trillium supplied all the brute power they needed. No, most training these days focused on the punishment of the slaves, save for the riding instruction that Gish provided and basic hand-to-hand combat, and even then, these were irregular events and without standard.

  Neen spotted his brother awake and took long weaving strides around his warriors and toward him. Gax knelt over his weathered satchel to unpack dried jerky, his hulking arms jerking the sack about in frustration.

  “You’re eating your dried rations now?” Neen asked by means of greeting.

  Without looking up at him, Gax focused on the contents of the sack, and he pulled out his purple rag first to get a better look within. “I’d prefer to eat my fill of fish and rations here and not have to eat when we arrive at the brook.” He scowled. “The stench from that place still haunts my nose.”

  “Ha!” Neen smiled at that. “You always had the weaker constitution, brother. Since I killed the last one, all the hags are now dead, and no carcass should leave a stench any longer.” He slapped Gax on the back heartily.

  “Just knowing how close I was to . . .” Gax shuddered at the memory and Neen, too, thought of those gray teeth. It was luck that he had killed the remaining one just in time.

  “Well, don’t complain about hunger later,” Neen warned, holding a slight happiness about him, for his troops were faring better than he had originally imagined and he—he was ready to claim his reward. He could barely maintain his composure at the thought of gathering those glow-eyed weaklings into a treasure for Grude.

  “I won’t complain,” Gax grumbled in annoyance, taking a big bite of the brown meat jerky.

  The large group was not afraid of being spotted by potential enemies—they found safety and security in their numbers and their ample supply of trillium. They also felt secure leaving their campfires to burn. In this cool air, their resting bodies resembled a field of boulders, and the cool evening air blew in and blanketed them all.

  At dawn, after a much-welcomed sleep, Neen sprouted up with energy and enthusiasm. “UP! Everyone! We move out!”

  There were audible groans and he grimaced brightly. “Onward! To the Yellow Vast Brook!”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Their son

  Tall yellow grasses swayed in waves as far as her vision could span. Treva sat where they had made camp in the Yellow Vast near a small creek, remembering the moments of a previous night. She had kissed her son on the cheek and embraced him tightly, taking in the feel of him, his sparse stubble, his scent. Feeling his warm embrace was the best—she loved having her son back. She had breathed him in as she buried her face in his curls—he smelled of perfumed water and was the image of his late father. She couldn’t help but smile at the recent memory.

  “Here. Take this,” she had said, reaching behind her neck to unclasp the tooth necklace that had been hidden beneath her tunic.

  A dreamy smile curled on her lips as she recalled how Marin’s eyes widened in surprise of it. “How did you get my necklace?”

  Treva looked at him curiously. “Your necklace?” She known about his wearing it, but wanted to hear him. Hear his voice a little more.

  “Yes, I lost it while traveling here, somewhere in the yellow grassland.”

  Treva looked across the table at Lanico, who only smiled and shrugged back at her. “Well,” she said to Marin, “please keep this safe—it’s a promise of our return.” She had clasped it behind his neck.

  Saying goodbye hadn’t been easy. Treva had only just met her son, a young man now, and
she had fought the deep urge to burst into tears. Tears of happiness, of sadness, perhaps a mixture of both. But that natural urge somehow made her feel weak. It wouldn’t be the last time she’d see him, she reminded herself . . . convinced herself. She now sat on the worn blanket. Her fingers twirled yellow blades of grass aimlessly. Her tooth necklace was gone almost as soon as she’d gotten it back, and was resting once again on Marin, who’d had it all these years. She had given it back to him as a promise. A promise to return.

  Lanico set down the waterskin he’d just filled and settled himself a little closer to her, as if he knew what she was thinking. He stretched out legs unused to riding. “You all right, Tre?” His eyes tried to meet hers.

  She still gazed up, into the pink, cottony clouds that floated over the orange horizon. “Yeah,” she whispered, swallowing hard. Feeling his intense gaze upon her face, she remembered herself, her position, her duty. She straightened in defiance. “Yes,” she stated firmly.

  He nodded. “I know. It was hard to leave them—mostly Marin.” His words were gentle.

  She swallowed again against the lump in her throat.

  “We leave to make them—him—a better future,” Lanico said. “I remind myself of this.” He inclined his head and slid a glance at her from the corner of his eye.

  She met his gaze. Her love had always been for the kingdom, for Lanico, but no . . . “I don’t know. I’ve never felt so”—she searched for the right words—"connected to someone else.”

  He moved to face her better, to listen, to read the unspoken.

  “He’s a part of me,” she continued, letting her guard down slightly. “I see so much life, potential—hope, even—when I look at him. I never realized what this—what being a mother was like. I never had the chance to—" Damn these tears threatening to surface!

  She felt her dry lips tremble—a hint he read well. He reached for her fidgeting hand among the blades. Her hand so was small in his, and yet it was a hand that had killed countless others, like his own. The air had cooled but the centering smell of the campfire lingered, and its flames licked the chill away. With the setting sun, she knew her eyes were beginning to glow a soft gold, as his were glowing the hue she loved.