“So you don’t know that they do, but you don’t know that they don’t?”
She winced at the pointed barb. “The Simathe keep their affairs to themselves. They alone are aware of their comings and goings. What they do or don’t do…that is for them to know.”
“But you’re willing to trust my safety, as the supposed Artan, to a group of guys nobody keeps tabs on, nobody trusts, and nobody really knows very much about? Is that even smart?”
A hint of the anger I was betraying snapped in the Moonkind’s tropical-water eyes. “This was not my decision, but my father’s. And Council’s. If my father deems Lord Ilgard worthy of protecting you, then he must be. My father is never wrong.”
There was so much I could’ve said. I barely knew her father, except as my kidnapper, and that didn’t make me too inclined to trust his judgment. I wanted to ask, “Don’t I have a say in all this?” But since I already knew the answer, I said instead, “I wish I had your faith.”
As quickly as it’d come, the anger dissipated and Rittean was herself once more. “You will,” she reassured me with a smile. “In time, you will.”
If only I shared her certainty.
Frustration
After giving me space to process the latest twist in our conversation, Rittean asked gently, “Shall I continue my tale?”
“Why not?” I sighed. “We’ve gotten this far. You might as well finish. No reason to stop here.”
Pulling my legs to my chest, I draped my arms around my shins, resting my chin on my kneecaps, settling in for the long haul.
“Very well. As I have mentioned before, the Scraggen used the last of her magic on the child she took, fashioning him into the perfect warrior.”
“Why didn’t she use her magic to make herself immortal?” I interrupted. “If she had that kind of power, why waste it on someone else?”
“You ask difficult questions,” my friend said with an exasperated laugh. “And I cannot give you the answer, for I know little of Scraggen magic. All I know is, when dealing with magic, it is often easier to change another than to change yourself.”
“Okay then, but didn’t you also say she wanted the Simathe as a bodyguard? What was the point, if creating him drained all of her magic?”
“Apparently she simply underestimated the amount of power needed to perform such a feat. Whatever the case, knowing that after she passed her Simathe’s life would be one of hardship and loneliness, that he would be shunned by his fellow Aerisians and doomed to spend eternity friendless and alone, the Scraggen performed one final feat. She Joined with him. This partially restored her strength, and she used the last of it to somehow ensure other Simathe children would be born—not of Simathe parentage, you understand, but of normal, Aerisian folk. She would not give them the ability to recreate themselves as other humans do, for she said the world could not abide so much power. Therefore she decreed the number of these men unknown to all save themselves, but that it would never exceed five hundred. These are the words I mentioned before.”
“How many do you think there are now?”
“The Light knows,” my friend replied. “Simathe are most secretive. However, I do know that never have more than a century been counted at once.”
“And what happened to the Scraggen?” I asked softly, chin still resting on my knees.
“She died. His strength, temporarily imparted to her during the Joining, was exhausted. Creating the Simathe race drained the source of her power. Once she was gone, the Simathe buried her and went into the mountains.”
“So do they have a hideout up there or something?” I asked, straightening. “And it’s from there they come to get the Simathe children, ’cause they know they’d be shunned otherwise by their fellow Aerisians?”
“Their stronghold is called Treygon,” Rittean confirmed, “and little is known about it. As for the rest, I would imagine that, yes, it is as you have said. The Simathe who told his tale to the High-Chieftess left out many details.”
“And where did they get the name Simathe?” I wanted to know next. “Was it the name of the first one?”
“Oh no. The name comes from an ancient tongue, long since fallen from common use. It means immortal one, or, one who cannot die.”
“Hmmm…Okay, so I’ve got another question. How did the Simathe that brought the boy back find and rescue him?”
“Oh, the Simathe maintain their own information networks, you can be certain of that. When they set themselves to a task, they do not fail. Without a doubt, the boy’s rescue was but a matter of time once the Simathe stepped in. Whatever the case, it earned them the undying loyalty of the High-Chieftess and a seat at Council as the fourth Pronconcil.”
“Maybe they set the whole thing up,” I stated bluntly. “Maybe that was their plan all along, to get a foot in the door here at Laytrii. Anybody ever think of that? I mean, they’re so hush-hush about everything. What if they’ve got a top-secret plan to one day take over and rule Aerisia, once their numbers get as high as they’re going to go? They’ve got a pretty sweet setup already. Who could stop them?”
This earned me a reproachful look. “While I do not understand all of your phraseology, I can tell you are again voicing your mistrust of the Simathe, as well as Council’s leadership. Why can you not accept the fact that both have your best interests at heart?”
“My best interests at heart?” I sputtered. “I was kidnapped and brought here against my will!”
“But you are the Artan…”
“Don’t give me that crap!” I retorted, slicing my hand through the air as if cutting the argument away. “I’m the Artan, fine. Which means I ought to be protected from people like the Simathe with hidden agendas, instead of turned over to them wholesale. In my opinion, these guys look and act like the sort who’ll turn on anyone at any time because they can. And I’m supposed to just trust them, trust Council, and go with the flow? This is insane.”
I wanted so badly to leave this mess and go home. The more I heard, the more I thought everything over, the more stifled I felt. Not to mention scared. Needless to say, going home wasn’t an option at the moment. But, if only for a little while, I needed to be alone. I had to think about all this—Rittean’s crazy story, the fact that immortality was real, and that the Simathe I’d seen last night might be, what, hundreds of years old? Thousands?
This is too bizarre.
All of a sudden, I couldn’t take it any longer. If I didn’t get out of there soon, get alone where I could think, could plan, I was going to go nuts.
I stood abruptly, brushing loose blades of grass and crumbs of breakfast off my jeans. “I’m going for a walk,” I announced.
“Where will you go?”
Rittean also rose. The sun captured the pure white of her hair from behind, creating a halo of light. I blinked to dispel the vision.
“Out in the fields. This has been a lot to take in, and I need some time to think. You understand. Maybe the fresh air will help clear my head. It always does at ho—” I broke off sharply.
Yes, it had at home, but then…this wasn’t home. At home, I’d never had the pressures of being a legendary heroine, or the plain ol’ weirdness Aerisia shot my way to cloud my thinking. Usually, my tired brain needed refreshing from nothing more than a college exam, my part-time job at my dad’s newspaper, or chores around the house. Any of those would be welcome right now in comparison to all this.
A wave of homesickness, not merely for home and family but for normalcy swept over me. My throat tightened, and I felt tears pricking my eyes. Never had I felt so alone.
“I’ll be back after while,” I said, and strode off before the Moonkind girl could try and stop me.
Gnawing my inner lip, I stumbled across the courtyard and through an open gate. From atop the walls, Ranetron guards gazed down quizzically as I passed, but no one challenged me as I crossed the massive drawbridge over the moat, and for this I was thankful.
A few paces from the moat, I struck a na
rrow path winding its way deep into surrounding fields. I followed it, walking fast and lifting my head to the sky, breathing deep and forcing away unsettled emotions. The sunshine was warm on my face, and a gentle wind teased my hair, cooling my skin. To stabilize myself, I forced away all awareness except for the beauty of the day: the golden sun and balmy breeze, the fragrance of rich soil and healthy crops, the baby-blue sky dotted with fat white clouds, and the bird soaring high above in an invisible updraft.
Pausing, I used my hand to shade my eyes as I traced the bird’s flight until it disappeared in the far distance over remote mountain peaks. A longing to be free, to have no worries or cares, to soar high above this land’s problems and concerns filled me. I dropped my arms to my sides, shoving my fists into my pockets. Heaving a deep sigh, I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out everything except thoughts of home.
Would I have passed that exam? How had dinner with Jeff’s family gone? Had it been ruined when I failed to come home? Had the police been called? I knew they wouldn’t find any clues to my disappearance. The only witnesses were Mr. Cutter’s horses, and they wouldn’t be talking. Would Sammie have to postpone her wedding, or was it possible I’d return in time to set everything straight? All of the planning she’d put into it…I sure hoped I’d make it back for it. How was she holding up? How was my whole family holding up? I hoped nobody thought I had run away. If only I could tell them I was alright!
Okay, way too morbid.
I shifted my line of thinking to home and away from the chaos that had probably broken over my family after my forced departure.
Funny how, while caught up in the rhythms of life back there—classes at the community college, working at my dad’s office, helping out Mom around the house, helping Sammie plan her wedding—I’d never stopped to appreciate the freedom I enjoyed. I used to gripe about how busy I was, but I’d taken the love of my family and friends for granted. I had known who I was and thought I had an idea of where I was going. All of that called to me now with every beat of my heart.
Here in Aerisia, everything I’d had and been was stripped away. I was immersed in a foreign culture where I knew no one very well. Only a couple people could be counted as friends, and I actually knew next to nothing about them. There was no way of guessing what might happen next, although apparently some pretty big responsibilities loomed before me. I was hemmed in by the hopes of strangers who believed me their hero, their savior, come to deliver them from their enemies.
Any former sense of identity was being swiftly lost. When it came right down to it, I felt like a prisoner. Because, in many ways, I guess I was.
Frustration welled. I wanted to throw back my head and scream. However, afraid that a scream would bring unwelcome, overanxious company from the direction of the palace, I simply set off again. My jeans whisked noisily as I practically jogged along, but I took no notice. I tried to notice nothing except the cadence of my own footfalls. I just walked.
Moonkind and Simathe
She is too young. She can hardly be more than a score of years, Rittean Wis’ Curlm fretted, watching her new friend walk away. Lady Hannah’s dark brown hair—such an odd color—caught the sunlight as it swung about her shoulders, and in it the Moonkind could see hidden red flames. Far too young, and far too innocent. How can she comprehend the dark forces swirling around us, forces threatening to engulf us all?
She was not the sort of woman Rittean had always assumed the Artan would be. Still, her father maintained the times were right and all signs were in place. He said this girl possessed the legendary abilities of the Artan, even if she herself did not know it yet.
Motionless, Rittean continued to watch until Lady Hannah had passed unchallenged beyond the palace walls. Perhaps it was not the wisest course, allowing her to wander so far away, but the Ranetron kept watch, and from somewhere a Simathe probably did too. Perhaps more than one. If not wishing to be seen, the dark warriors would not, and the men gathering at the palace today had been sent for the sole purpose of keeping this young woman from harm. If anyone could succeed, it would be them.
Heaving a deep sigh, the young Moonkind turned toward Laytrii’s beautiful palace. She felt lost here, as if all these events might pull her under. Rittean knew she lacked her father’s wisdom, gained by his many years of life, yet she realized that the Artan had already formed a swift attachment to her. This was indeed a high honor, but an even weightier responsibility. How could she best help this one chosen by time and fate to save them all? How could she be the friend she desired and would undoubtedly need?
Rittean did not know.
A happy thought struck, one that might help shed some light upon the problems she faced. She would go to the Living Tree, the one planted by High-Chieftess Laytrii and her husband so long ago. She would go there, and she would seek answers to her dilemma.
As soon as Lord Ilgard, High-Chief of the Simathe, heard the intruder’s footsteps, he knew exactly who approached. A Simathe, hearing a person’s footsteps once, would remember their sound. Each person’s foot beat out a rhythm uniquely their own, though few possessed the gift of hearing and remembering it.
Soundless, he melted into the shadows of overhanging branches, watching the Moonkind girl approach. Arriving at the tree, she sank to her knees on the stream bank, closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
So, the Moonkind had come seeking wisdom.
It was said that on the day High-Chieftess Laytrii followed her husband in death, the heart of the Living Tree had burst open and out of it had gushed a steam of purest water. To this day, the same stream still flowed, tumbling down several stone steps, where it formed itself into the shallow pool that appeared on the ceiling of the great Council chamber directly below. No one had ever explained this strange occurrence, but legend attributed it to the love of the man and woman who, the day they wed, had planted the Tree.
Many Aerisians believed the quest for wisdom ended here at the water’s edge. None said how, but most believed. Moonkind Rittean must be one of the believers, then, for here she was. Ilgard could hear her deep, steady breaths over the murmur of the ever-flowing water.
Whether or not this place lent itself to the discovery of wisdom, the hidden warrior did not know. Nor did he care. He’d not come seeking wisdom, but the silence he knew he would find here. Few actually visited the Living Tree, for all regarded it as a highly sacred spot. He sought the solitude, the music of the water, and the soft whispers of the leaves to quiet his spirit and fill his soul.
If his fellow Elders and Pronconcil so decreed, he would undergo Joining with the young Artan very soon. No longer would he be himself alone, but something of her would become a part of his fixed consciousness. He wanted to use this time to prepare himself for what was to come.
Regrettably, his wish for privacy was not to be granted. Moonkind Rittean may not have been able to see him, but he felt her presence strongly. To withdraw risked a chance of her hearing, noticing him. To stand in silence was, mayhap, acceptable, but of a sudden the thought formed itself that he should speak with her. When such thoughts—instinct, some might call it—came to one of his race, he didn’t ignore them. He listened, for they were never wrong.
And so the High-Chief stepped from the shadows of the great Tree, emerging into the fuller light of the cool, central courtyard.
“Moonkind Rittean?”
She started at the sound of his voice, her head whipping about in search of him. “High-Chief,” she responded after a moment, “you startled me. I was unaware of your presence.”
“Aye,” he agreed simply. Kneeling beside her at the water’s edge, he dipped a hand in the icy liquid.
“Might I be of assistance?”
Aerisians, he thought, somewhat disdainfully. Endlessly polite, even when they dislike you. Even when they fear you.
He refrained from speaking those thoughts aloud. Instead, he stared at his hand as the rippling water swirled and eddied around his fingers, considering the changes swirling aroun
d them all like the current of the water.
“My lord?” A note of hesitancy had crept into her tone. “Do you…require something?”
Withdrawing his hand from the stream, he dried it on his breeches before laying his wrist on one knee and laying his other arm across it. “I wished to speak with you,” he said, squinting into the shadows across the courtyard.
“Of?”
At this, Ilgard turned his head and looked her in the eye, marking how she neither flinched nor glanced away. As a race, the Moonkind were not as openly mistrustful of the Simathe as others. Many said the heart of a Moonkind was too pure to think evil of any save those who truly deserved it. At any rate, they had long ago formed a tenuous alliance of sorts with the silent warriors.
This particular lass, being quite young, hadn’t yet developed herself to the point of her father and others among the older Moonkind who almost, almost allowed themselves to accept the Simathe. She did not fully trust him—perhaps didn’t know what to make of him, but she was too kind to leave with a hasty excuse. Too goodhearted to let her eyes flit every which way rather than meet his.
He felt a measure of respect.
“The Artan,” he finally said in answer to her question.
The girl’s ivory brow furrowed in perplexity. “The Artan?”
“You are friend to her, are you not?”
“I…suppose so, aye.”
Abruptly he stood, folding his arms across his chest.
“Let us be forthright. We both know why I’ve been summoned. Were it a matter of simple protection for the lady, my warriors could manage it well.”
“True,” she agreed, picking herself up off the ground. “They call not the High-Chief of the Simathe lightly.”
“We are not fools, are we?”
Rittean felt herself flinch. Immediately she was struck with shame, but the reaction had been unintended. From childhood, she’d been taught by her father that the Simathe were allies who ought to be trusted rather than feared. In her mind she believed this, but when face to face with their very High-Chief, the strongest and best of them all, she could not prevent her heart from beating faster. She clenched her fists to control these emotions even as she lifted her chin, facing him with a boldness she did not feel.
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