by Ron Root
Despite Hagley’s lament, Gresham knew returning home was the safer option. Offering to join Jarek was likely the bravest thing the young magus had ever done. He squeezed the back of Hagley’s neck. “You’re a good man, my friend.”
Jarek nodded. “Yes, well done. We leave at dawn.”
Bardán asked that they remain in the council area for a bit. Odhran wanted to contribute too—by outfitting them the same way they would a guardian. Women soon arrived to measure them.
Gresham asked Bardán if it was all right to speak with Rayna before he left. He was granted permission, albeit only if accompanied by a guard. Outlanders were still Outlanders.
Soon a guard arrived and took him to her. He found her sitting in front of a hut talking with an elderly woman. Gresham imagined that’s what Rayna might look like in her final years.
Spotting him, Rayna ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, albeit only briefly before stepping back, embarrassed by her action. “Apologies. I forget myself. It’s just that… it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”
“Praise the gods for your forgetfulness then,” he said, grinning.
“Come, meet my grandame,” she said, tugging him back to the old lady. “As Mother Healer, she’s a woman of great importance here.”
“You found family after all. How wonderful,” he said, truly happy for her.
“I did!” she bubbled. “Gresham, meet Nirtae,” and gesturing toward him, said, “Seanmháthair, is é seo an fear a dúirt mé leat faoi.” He had no idea what she just said, but she’d obviously been learning the local language.
“Tá sé an-dathúil,” came the woman’s grinning response.
Rayna smiled. “She says you’re very handsome.”
“Tell her thank you.”
Rayna did. Then, looking him up and down, the woman said something that made Rayna blush.
“What did she say?” he asked, curious.
“Never mind,” she said, turning even redder. “Come, let me show you around.”
“I don’t know if that’s allowed. See that fellow,” he said, looking at his escort who stood a polite distance away. “He’s to go everywhere I go.”
“Then let him follow.”
She said something to her grandmother, who turned and scowled at Gresham’s escort. Taking his hand, Rayna continued along the pathway he’d come to her on. They found a bench, sat and talked, her filling him in on all that had happened with her since she’d found family. Rayna openly wondered if Yudelle had returned to the mainland yet. Gresham laughed. “If she has, I hope she took the Inquisitor and his troopers with her; and maybe Quinn, too.”
She laughed. “So, Soldier Boy, what have you been doing since I last saw you?”
He inhaled. “That’s mostly why I’m here.” He related the events of the previous night, albeit leaving out the fact he’d be leaving with his uncle.
She listened, saying nothing until his tale ended. “Weren’t you terrified?”
He thought a bit before answering. “I don’t think terrified is the right word. Apprehensive yes, but I was concentrating too hard to be all that scared. Maybe it was my soldier’s training, but for the most part I just did what my uncle asked of me.”
“You’re far braver than I am.” Her brow furrowed. “What happens now, and why do you have an escort?”
He doubted she’d like his answer. “The Elders refuse to allow Outlanders to remain in their city. We’re to leave tomorrow morning—under threat of death if we ever return to, or divulge A’ryth’s existence.”
She’d stiffened at the mention of the word ‘leave.’ “What of the Chevaliers? How can you go home with them still there? If you return to Stalwart, you might get arrested. If they do to you what they did to your mother, we’d never see…” Pursing her lips, she didn’t finish the thought.
“I’m not returning to Stalwart—at least not yet. Zakarah claimed he’d bring the headmaster to a third Nexus. My uncle plans to be there.” He paused. How best to say this? He took her hand. “And he’ll benefit from having a Battle Mage there to aid him.”
Rayna jerked her hand back, disbelief painting her pretty face. “Don’t even think it! One fight doesn’t make you this Battle Mage. It’s way too dangerous. It would be better to risk the Chevaliers!”
“I wasn’t a Battle Mage last night, yet with the aid of Lore Masters I did what was needed. Rayna, you weren’t there. This Zakarah is evil. Last night I was who I’m meant to be. With my uncle’s guidance, perhaps I can become that person permanently.” He let out a long, slow breath. “You’ve found your grandmother. Just as you need to stay with her in order make yourself whole, I need to become this Battle Mage for me to do the same. It’s what I was born to do.”
“That’s folly!” she barked. Jumping to her feet, she turned her back to him, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Standing, he gently turned her around. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re leaving, going on a dangerous mission. We may never see one another again,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Oh, hells!” Rising to her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
The world surrounding them vanished. Rayna was kissing him. That was all that mattered. He pulled her tight against him, relishing the bliss of it.
When the kiss finally ended, he just stood there, his mind totally jargogled. Eyes sparkling, she reached up and tweaked his nose, and then pulled his face back to hers. Their lips met again. This time he lifted her off the ground, spinning her in circles as they kissed. Their embrace continued long after he set her down. The guard is watching. He squeezed her closer. Let him.
“If things go wrong,” he said, finally breaking their kiss, “there’s something I want you to know. I’m not sure how best to say this.” He took a deep breath, hardly believing he was about to confess his love to a woman, “I…”
She clamped her hand over his mouth, throttling his words. “I know… me too. Now come with me.”
Hand-in hand, they returned to her grandmother’s hut. They found her sitting in her chair just outside its door. Rayna whispered something to her, and Nirtae looked up at Gresham. Breaking into a grin, she motioned for him to join them, telling them to hold hands. Rayna smiled, albeit only briefly, before breaking into tears.
“Céard atá cearr? Nirtae asked, seeing her granddaughter’s distress.
The two women shared a short exchange, after which Nirtae stormed over to Gresham’s guard and started berating him. Looking like he wanted desperately to be someplace else, the man bowed, turned, and made his escape. Apparently, one did not challenge the Mother Healer.
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Gresham asked.
“I told Nirtae the Elders are forcing you leave,” she pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it, “and that I didn’t want that to happen. I asked her what I should do.”
“What did she say?”
“Ligfimid don draíocht cinneadh a dhéanamh. It means, let the magic decide.”
Nirtae returned, and pointing to a bench, ordered them to sit. She went into her hut, returning with some herbs, a bowl and pestle. Using a knife, she cut off an inch or so of Rayna’s hair, then did the same to Gresham. Using bowl and pestle, she ground the herbs to a fine pulp, added their hair clippings, and set fire to the mixture. Holding the bowl in front of Rayna, she blew the smoke at her, indicating she should breathe it in, then did the same with Gresham.
The instant he inhaled it, his spirit was outside his body, observing the scene below like it had during his berserker rage. He watched Rayna rise to her feet, and with a longing look, lead him inside of Nirtae’s hut. Lying on a mat, she pulled him down with her.
Watching from the doorway, Nirtae whispered, “Ligfimid don draíocht cinneadh a dhéanamh.” Smiling, she closed the door and returned to her chair outside the hut.
Gresham’s spirit-self drifted down to join Rayna’s,
as arms entwined, they melded as one.
The Haunt
Goodricke crouched beside Dzojek, studying Malg’s map. They were about to enter The Haunt, and the little Jacaí was suggesting the best route to take. The A’rythians seemed to fear this place beyond all else, but Goodricke struggled to fathom how any place could be any more vile than Foul Marsh had been. He’d love to get Caitlyn’s opinion, but he hadn’t seen her since before the Nexus. Had she returned to her guardian duties?
Dzojek asked him a question. Enough of such thoughts, you’ve a task at hand. “Beg pardon, what was that?”
Before he could answer, Hagley and Gresham arrived. He was pleased they were coming along. Their efforts at the Nexus had been what kept the demon from capturing the lot of them. And Gresham was also a trained a soldier. With the little Jacaí man to lead it, their party was well rounded.
“Welcome, young sirs.” Goodricke pointed to the two piles of boots, leggings, tunics, vests, and surcoats on the ground beside him. All made of the thick pliable hide, the A’rythians had made a set for each of them. “Try on Odhran’s gifts. His clothiers were up all night tailoring them.” He and Dzojek were already wearing theirs.
As they dressed, Goodricke spotted Jarek approaching, similarly bedecked. “Excellent,” Jarek announced, “you found your new attire.”
Their hosts had provided not only clothing, but provisions, too. Smoked meat, packs, water skins; everything a guardian normally carried.
Once everyone was ready, they headed to the council area to bid their farewells. Bardán and Brin waited beside the Elders, but there was no sign of Caitlyn. Goodricke had hoped to say goodbye.
Bardán bowed. “Magus Verity, the Elders wish you good fortune in your encounter with the demon, and offer special thanks for warning us of him. Even in ceangailte, an entire circle was almost drawn into its clutches.” He bowed to Hagley and Gresham. “And they offer special thanks to the young Lore Masters. Without them, all would have been lost.”
Flushing, Hagley tipped his head. “We all contributed, Sir.”
Bardán smiled. “True.” His gaze took in the entire party. “Despite his gratitude, Lore Master Odhran reminds you of your banishment and your vow not to return to or speak of A’ryth to others.”
Jarek touched fingers to lips and then heart, “So it shall be.”
Farewells made, Bardán escorted them out of the city, under another archway, to the river encircling their city. A few curious townspeople awaited them. Word of their departure had apparently spread. Sully and Rayna were among them. The boy looked forlorn. “You shouldn’t be adventuring without me.”
Hagley walked over and ruffled the lad’s hair. “It’s too dangerous for you, Lucky Person, but know that I’ll be relying on all those tricks you’ve taught me.” The boy smiled.
Gresham hugged Rayna. “I shall never forget last night.”
“Nor will I,” she said, tearing. “Stay safe.”
Brin elbowed her way to Hagley and draped a necklace around his neck. “This charm is for you Lore Master Hagley, to bring good fortune on your journey.”
It was a piece of yellow cliff-stone. “Many thanks, Brin.”
“Traveling mercies, Outlander.”
When their guide bade them to follow, Bardán led them to the river, spoke a few words, and stepped onto another of those unseen spans. “The bridge is open. Fare well my friends.”
Goodricke approached the ‘bridge.’ Extending his foot, he probed the invisible walkway. Jarek did the same. “It seems a far better way to cross the river than your way, eh milord?” Laughing, they walked across it, through another archway, and out of A’ryth.
They hadn’t hiked long before being halted by a familiar voice. “Is it not foolish to walk when one could ride?”
Goodricke turned to find Caitlyn sitting astride another of those beautiful white horses. Two others pranced behind her. She trotted over. “Goodricke Loddvar, it is folly to risk The Haunt without a guardian to guide you. It is lucky for you that I go with you.”
Guardian or not, Caitlyn was still a woman, and worthy of a man’s protection. “I shall keep you safe then.”
Laughing, she said, “Only an ignorant Outlander would say such a thing, but I thank you anyway.” Despite her remark, she looked pleased.
She turned to Jarek. “What say you to having me guide you, Lore Master?”
“I must confess, not knowing what we face or where to go are of great concern. If you offer guidance, I for one, am grateful.”
She smiled and nodded. “And you Jacaí, can you abide the presence of a máistreás?”
Dzojek scowled. “Only a fool would refuse the aid of a guardian.”
She turned her attention to Hagley and Gresham. “Do either of you ride? There are six of us and only three capall, so we ride doubled.”
Gresham nodded. “Lady, I’m a trained soldier. Riding is a simple matter for me.”
“Then Dzojek rides with you. As skilled as the Jacaí are at riding a bultúr, their legs are too short for a capall.”
Goodricke was paired with Hagley, Caitlyn with Jarek.
They made far better time on horseback. Caitlyn led them as unerringly as before, seeming familiar with every turn or twist of the trail. It smelled of the woodlands and was alive with chattering wildlife. Such peacefulness belied the danger that lay before them.
At mid-day they rested near a brook. Goodricke joined Caitlyn as she refilled her water skin. “Lady, the Magus and I are concerned.”
“And why is that, Goodricke Loddvar?”
“Wasn’t the purpose in us returning Dzojek to his people to avoid someone risking The Haunt a second time? We’re worried how you’ll manage it.”
Caitlyn smiled. “Do not worry.” She pulled a necklace from her bodice; a key dangled at its end. “The Elders proclaimed me Seeker. I do not return through The Haunt; I go to the Outland with you.”
The sun was setting when they reached a high bluff overlooking a deep canyon. Trees shrouded the valley below for as far as the eye could see. Vast and foreboding, steep escarpments bordered both sides. Thinking about the hidden dangers that lie ahead had the hairs on Goodricke’s arms tingling.
“What you see before you is the Crone’s Haunt,” Caitlyn said. “We must survive it in order to reach Jacaioi. We release the capall now. They refuse to enter the place where so many of their kind have perished.”
The pathway down was narrow, with rocky cliffs on one side and sheer drop-off on the other. Any misstep could prove fatal. The multitude of curves and switchbacks limited their view. At the pace they were descending, Goodricke figured it would take them the better part of the day to reach the bottom, and they had only three days to reach the final Nexus.
Dusk made their descent even more treacherous. Caitlyn made frequent stops to confer with Dzojek. Their exchanges involved a lot of pointing skyward or to spots on the valley floor. It was after one such exchange that Caitlyn slipped off her pack and announced, “We spend the night here. It’s high enough to be safe from attack below.”
They were at a wide spot on the trail. Eroding rains had carved a small grotto in the hillside, making it suitable for encampment. Gresham slipped off his pack. “I’ll gather brush and start the fire.”
Caitlyn held up a hand. “No fires until after we’ve crossed The Haunt. We dare not let our presence be known.”
Darkness fell, bringing blinding blackness and an eerie quiet with it. Nary a cricket nor night bird’s song could be heard. Gresham thought back to his soldier’s training. In situations like this, one’s enemy could be on you before being seen.
Dzojek and Caitlyn spent the evening at cliff’s edge, scouring valley and sky, murmuring in their native tongue. Gresham recognized only two words, Crone and bultúr. Any mention of the great flying birds inevitably spawned an argument. After one such disagreement, Dzojek stomped away. Gresham curled into his bed, wondering at the source of the Jaca
í’s anger.
The party ate at first light, broke camp, and were well down the trail before the sun crested the far hill. The rocks had darkened; as had their mood, particularly Caitlyn’s. Gone was the jovial, smiling guide of yesterday. The closer they came to The Haunt, the quieter and more ill at ease she became. What had once appeared to be a broad and vast woods was closing in on them now, restricting their view, exposing them to unseen dangers.
The trail flattened as they neared the valley floor. Its curves vanished too. Gresham was surprised at how quickly they’d reached the bottom. Loose rocks were strewn everywhere, making their path hard to discern. He’d have expected a woodland to be rife with the sounds creatures make. Instead they were greeted by an eerie silence.
Caitlyn halted the party short of the trees and conferred at great length with Dzojek and Jarek. Done, his uncle beckoned the rest to join them. “We’re about to enter The Haunt. The Crone’s abominations prefer darkness to daylight. Unfortunately, Caitlyn says the forest’s canopy is so thick that even in daytime little light reaches its floor, meaning we must be ready for attack at all times.”
Gresham cast another nervous glance at the woodlands.
“Fear not,” Jarek assured them, “we have ample arsenal to deal with them. I’ll use my Gift to blend us with our surroundings, but beasts have ears as well as eyes. Since it’s very difficult to maintain more than one spell for any length of time, Hagley will mask our sounds.”
Hagley stood straighter, drying his palms on his pants.
“Stay calm, Hagley,” Jarek soothed. “It’s simple illusion. You’ve already managed far more difficult spells; you’ll handle this one with ease.” Gresham gave Hagley a pat, “Which leaves Gresham free to defend us if we’re attacked.”
It was Gresham’s turn to dry sweaty palms.
Jarek tapped Goodricke’s sheath. “You all saw Goodricke’s sword glow at the Nexus, that’s because its ensorcelled to detect the presence of evil. He’ll be monitoring it to assure we have no surprises. And he’s quite capable of wielding it as a weapon, too. Caitlyn’s a guardian. She’s dealt with these monstrosities her whole life, as has Dzojek. We’re a force to be reckoned with.” His gaze bounced from person to person. “We enter The Haunt now.”
