Prelude (The Songs of Aarda Book 1)

by K Schultz

  White stubble now grew in that spot and stood out against the raven-black hair surrounding it. As a joke, Laakea had taken to calling him Spot, and Rehaak thought it was funny, so he didn’t object. Overall, Laakea had done a remarkable job when he put Rehaak back together. If white hair was the worst side effect of his injury, he considered himself lucky.

  Rehaak entered the house with caution and explored the great room and both bedrooms. All were empty. Unlike the earthen floor of Rehaak’s hut, flagstone floor tiles grouted with clay lay underfoot. Aelfric built the house to last, he planned to stay a long time. How unfortunate the man did not expend the same effort in building his relationship with his son.

  Aelfric Home

  After Laakea ran away, Aelfric had searched for him—not to kill him as he had vowed the night before, but to make amends for his failures as a father. He had only intended to frighten the boy into compliance. Laakea might have misunderstood the honor code. Aelfric cursed himself for not taking the time to explain all the subtleties of Eniila laws and customs. There were no Blood Debts between fathers and sons. The only debt due for payment was his own, the one he had failed, the obligation to care for his child.

  On the third night of his search, the rain had washed away Laakea’s tracks and erased all hope of finding him. Aelfric lost the boy’s trail, but he refused to shame himself by asking about his son at the village. Laakea wouldn’t have gone there anyway after Aert and the elders had banned him from Dun Dale, so Aelfric went to New Hope, and when the boy wasn’t there either he gave up his search.

  After Shelhera’s death, Aelfric plodded through a fog of pain and regret, blind to Laakea’s needs. Aelfric was a ragged collage of raw nerves and guilt. When Shelhera died, Aelfric thought nothing would devastate him more than his wife’s death, but he was wrong. Laakea’s loss was worse because it left Aelfric with nothing, and it was his own fault. Aelfric’s bitterness and grief drove Laakea away, and now it pushed him to the edge of madness. Everything he had built was pointless.

  Aelfric spent many long nights pacing the floor of their empty house. The candle in the window and the fire in the hearth, intended as beacons to guide Laakea home, didn’t dispel Aelfric’s inner darkness. When he could stand it no longer, he stood at the anvil, hammer in his callused hands, and tried to beat his pain into submission. A familiar touch on his shoulder stopped him in mid-swing.

  “What are you doing?” Shelhera’s voice asked.

  Aelfric turned, hammer upraised, and eyes open wide. “How are you here? How can you stand there looking healthy when I watched you waste away? You are dead. Laakea and I lit the fire beneath your body and watched as you burned.”

  “I’m here because you need me. You always said I was your conscience. What have you done, my love—and where is our son?”

  “Laakea’s gone. I didn’t mean to drive him away, but I did. I missed you so much. I made some mistakes.”

  “What mistakes?”

  “I have done enough things wrong to build a mountain of regret. I’ve fought battles against overwhelming odds and gained a victory, but I couldn’t save you, and your death crushed me like an overripe fruit. After I built our new home in this valley, you got pregnant, and when you gave birth, you almost died. Nothing I experienced on the battlefield frightened me as much as nearly losing you, my beloved wife. You gave me a son but never regained your strength.”

  “But husband, despite my periodic bouts of frailty, we had many happy years while Laakea grew strong and tall like you.”

  “Those wonderful years ended when you caught the wasting disease and became frail and weak. Then came three miserable years, which ended while I slept, and you drew your last breath before I could say goodbye.” Aelfric wiped away a tear. “When you died, I was ashamed because the ordeal had ended, and I felt relieved.”

  “You were relieved because although you couldn’t save me, our suffering ended, but what did you do about Laakea’s grief?”

  “I did everything wrong. I was silent when I should’ve spoken and shouted when I should’ve kept quiet, and I lost Laakea’s respect. He kept asking about Baradon, why we left. You know how he is.”

  “Yes, I do. Laakea is a sweet, inquisitive boy, but he’s also your son—strong, proud, and independent. If you push him hard enough, he will fight back.”

  “Oh, he fought back alright, and he cursed me to my face, but I was proud of Laakea for the way he stood up to me. I provoked the boy. Laakea asked endless questions, and I should’ve answered them. I should have drawn Laakea close after you died and explained my history. Instead, I kept my past secret...with the best of intentions, but it was a stupid idea, like so many others. I wanted to protect Laakea from my history and hoped Laakea would not repeat it, but Laakea left home, just like I did. I am alone and friendless in the world, and now, thanks to my temper, so is Laakea.”

  “We argued; I told him I wished he had never been born and blamed him for your illness and your death. Then I lost my temper and swung a piece of firewood at his head. I said things, wounded the lad with them, and the boy retaliated and cursed me. I should’ve stopped then, but drunk and enraged with grief, I threatened to kill him. Now I pray to all the gods for his safety, and I want him back, but I suspect it’s pointless.”

  “You trained him well, my love. Although you abandoned a warrior’s life, you prepared Laakea for war. I prayed to every god that Laakea never needed the skills you taught, but I understood the necessity. You imparted your abilities to the boy on the practice field and in the forge, while I did my best to teach him compassion and kindness.

  “My death devastated Laakea and left him lonely. The villagers needed your skills, so they tolerated us but remained aloof, which meant Laakea had no friends, no one to turn to.”

  Aelfric sighed. “I didn’t see another way, so I trained Laakea to live by the Warrior Code, which rules the lives of every Eniila. I planned for Laakea’s return to Baradon to find a wife. If Laakea is still alive, he must go to Baradon, and in Baradon, he’ll need everything I taught him.”

  Shelhera walked toward the forge’s doorway and looked back at Aelfric. “You made no mistake in training him. Laakea needs the skills you taught because he will do great things. Goodbye, my love.”

  “Stop, don’t go!” Aelfric ran to the doorway, but Shelhera had vanished.

  Blood Debt

  Laakea estimated two tendays or longer to forge the swords from the haul of weapons in his pack. He collected charcoal from the stockpiles around the clearing, but it took several hours to fill the bin inside the forge house. The sun hung high above the treetops before he heaped charcoal into the forge and made ready to light it. The familiar work provoked long-forgotten memories, and scenes of better times flitted like songbirds through his mind.

  Before he lit the fire, Laakea realized he had not seen Rehaak in several hours, and the slack tub was still empty. “Damn you, Spot, I told you to stay close. Trouble finds you everywhere.” Laakea grabbed two knives from his pack and headed into the late afternoon sunlight to search for his friend.

  Rehaak had disappeared into the house hours ago, but Laakea was reluctant to call out lest his voice draw unwanted attention. It was an irrational thought, but he couldn’t help himself. Laakea opened the door and peered into the gloom. The great room was empty, and memories clung to the familiar objects inside the house like the cobwebs that hung from the corners.

  It was mere months since Laakea’s departure, but this was no longer his home. Without his parents’ presence, it seemed smaller and colder than he remembered. Laakea missed his mother. He pictured her bending in front of the fireplace, and suddenly she was there. The sight of her provoked tears he wiped away with the back of his hand. As he stepped forward to embrace her, she straightened and pointed at his bedroom, before vanishing like smoke in the wind.

  Laakea swallowed the lump in his throat. He could barely see across the room through the flood of tears in his eyes as he crept forward, tore asi
de the blankets draped across the doorway, leaped inside, and found Rehaak snoring blissfully, fully clothed, on his bed.

  “Damn you, Spot!” Laakea bellowed. “Get out and get the water!”

  Rehaak lurched upright and shaded his eyes with his hand. “Where are we? You need not shout, I fell asleep, but I am not deaf, at least not yet.”

  “We have work to do. This is no time to sleep!” Laakea regretted his words and tone, so much like his father’s, but he couldn’t think of a way to undo the damage.

  Rehaak remained silent, but his downcast eyes and slumped shoulders told Laakea all he needed to know. Rehaak went outside, leaving Laakea dithering over how to fix the damage his verbal attack caused. Rehaak, not fully recovered from his wounds, needed more rest since Abrhaani did not heal as fast as Eniila.

  If Rehaak wanted to disown him, that was his right. It freed Laakea from the Sword Oath and ended his obligation. He joined Rehaak in the forge house. Rehaak finished filling the slack tub with water while Laakea fussed with the charcoal, and they worked in awkward silence until the sun sank below the treetops. It was too late to light the forge, much less forge the weapons.

  Rehaak laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder and spoke before Laakea turned to face him. “You worry about the forging and about your father, and you feared for my safety. You never intended to be harsh, but I should have told you before I took a nap.” Rehaak stopped and waited for a response.

  Laakea gazed into Rehaak’s eyes, thankful Rehaak had sensed what he was feeling and put it into words. The Abrhaani’s ability to detect his feelings had disturbed Laakea when they first met, but now he accepted it, grateful their relationship didn’t always need words. Rehaak had done him an enormous service.

  Laakea remembered Shelhera’s words. “Eniila men stare into each other’s eyes to issue a combat challenge, but when the Abrhaani do it, it means they trust each other.” Laakea fought his Eniila conditioning and held Rehaak’s gaze.

  “It is almost dark. We should eat and then sleep. We can start your project in the morning, at first light, if you wish. There are cobwebs everywhere and a thick layer of dust. Call me foolish, but I doubt your father will return,” Rehaak said.

  “You may be right. The sheep are gone too, and Pa would’ve kept them if he intended to come back unless he left them in someone’s care.”

  “Pity, they would have made good eating.”

  “You always think about your stomach. It’s a wonder you are not as big as a mithun, but you are right about Pa.” Laakea smiled for the first time since they entered the valley.

  “Before I fell asleep, I made us a stew with vegetables from the garden, and I made biscuits from flour I found in the house. The stew is probably still warm, so let us feast on the bounty.” Rehaak turned and walked to the house with Laakea behind him.

  Once they had finished their meal, they sat by the hearth. Rehaak smoked his pipe in silence while staring into the flames.

  “Rehaak, I am sorry for the way I treated you today,” Laakea began.

  “I thought we had dealt with that.”

  “I know you did, but I still must deal with it. Sometimes my anger overpowers me, and I can’t control myself. It’s how I disgraced myself and dishonored my father, and why the bloodlust still worries me.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes, boy.”

  “We must pay the price for those mistakes.”

  “I suppose that is true, but sometimes people may choose k’harsa instead of justice.”

  “K’harsa—what is it? I have never heard of this k’harsa.”

  “Well...suppose you did me wrong.”

  “Like today?”

  “No, today we were both wrong. I should have helped or at least warned you I was taking a nap. I caused you to worry. For example, if I thought you stole from me, what does the Warrior Code require of you?”

  “It’s simple—you’d bring an accusation against me. I’d deny the accusation, and then we’d fight to the death to prove who told the truth.”

  “And a duel is the Eniila version of justice?”

  “Yes.”

  “But if you stole from me, and then you killed me in combat, you have then stolen not only my goods but my life. How is that justice?”

  “The gods decide the outcome; they decide what’s just, according to their will.”

  Rehaak shook his head, unsure of how to explain k’harsa to the youngster since the word had no meaning for Laakea.

  “What if I decided not to accuse you of theft? What if I made a gift of what you stole?”

  “Only a coward or a fool would let someone take advantage of him. Even if he knew he couldn’t win the trial by combat, he wouldn’t want to lose respect so he might fight anyway.”

  Rehaak refined the analogy. “Fine, suppose I knew beyond a doubt that you stole from me, and with equal certainty, I could defeat you in combat. Suppose, knowing these facts, I still chose not to fight but allowed you to keep what you had taken.”

  “That’s crazy! Why would a person do that?”

  “It was my property; can I not do whatever I wish with it?”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “When you can answer that question, you will understand k’harsa.”

  “Ah! You make my head hurt with your riddles. Why don’t you just answer the question?”

  “If I do, you will never understand the answer,” Rehaak said.

  “And how’s that different from now?” Laakea rose and stomped into his bedroom, leaving Rehaak alone in front of the embers of the dwindling fire.

  At the Forge

  Rehaak rose early, started a fire, and prepared breakfast with the sound of birdsong in his ears and golden sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Laakea stumbled into the great room, hair disheveled, and eyes bleary. “I could have made breakfast; it is my turn.”

  “Young man, there is a thin line between edible and carrion; the food you cook comes perilously close to that line. Blacksmith cuisine far too often resembles charcoal. Whatever skills your parents imparted to their child did not include the culinary arts. Cooking is challenging where every ingredient requires a quest, but I prefer it to the trial of choking down your food or the greater ordeal of digesting it.”

  Laakea shrugged, headed straight to the forge, and lit the charcoal. He gathered the tools he needed to reforge the blades they had taken from the dead assassins. It would take days just to weld the weapons together, let alone make serviceable swords from them. He remembered all his father’s lessons, but theory and reality were often very different.

  Laakea had always pictured two swords, but he decided on a practice attempt first. If he got it right, he could move ahead. When Rehaak called him to breakfast, he put two long knives in the coals to preheat. The fire would drive the moisture out of the metal, and when he came back to the forge, they would reach the proper temperature sooner.

  .

  After breakfast, Laakea showed Rehaak how to work the bellows and bring the metal up to temperature. “A long, sweltering day lies ahead of us. I hope you have recovered enough strength to keep the charcoal hot, a simple task that requires no skill but a lot of stamina. I assume the gray-green metal of the knives will take high heat to weld.”

  Once heated, Laakea took the white-hot metal from the fire and set it on the anvil. With the first few hammer strokes, Laakea realized his plan had derailed, though he couldn’t explain what was wrong. The knives were unlike any metal he had ever worked. They reacted bizarrely to his blows. His hammer stroke stretched and deformed the metal like water skins filled with mud, and then they returned to their original shape. The runes worked into the metal twisted and contorted, but the blades refused to join.

  Rehaak rested whenever Laakea pounded the metal on the anvil. While he worked, Rehaak slipped outside to get the water they would need to endure the heat inside the forge house.

  Before long, Laakea’s hammer blows became channels of his frustration. He no longe
r worked the metal, he punished it because it resisted his efforts. The longer he hammered, the more aggravated he became. Absorbed in attacking the metal, Laakea ignored Rehaak’s return. When the hammer grew too heavy for him to lift again and his arm ached, he picked up the hot metal and threw it back into the coals.

  Rehaak watched Laakea’s lack of progress and growing anger, so he returned to the bellows and pumped them to bring the charcoal back up to heat.

  “Never mind,” Laakea snarled. “It’s useless.” Sweat streamed down his bare back and chest and soaked his pants from the waist to the knees. “Something is wrong, either with me or the metal, and I can’t fix it.”

  “Yes.” Rehaak wrinkled up his nose. “There is definitely something wrong with you. You reek like a corpse left in the sun. Are those carrion birds I see gathered in yonder tree?” Rehaak smiled and pointed toward the forest. “I think they detect a potential meal.”

  Rehaak’s words broke Laakea’s foul mood.

  “Are you so sure it’s not you they smell, you old manure pile?”

  “Wait,” Rehaak pretended to sniff his armpits. “No, not me...must be you.”

  At this, they laughed and pushed each other around. Laakea shoved Rehaak out the door, then followed him outside. Until the breeze wafted across Laakea’s skin, he didn’t realize how hot it was inside the shelter. It approached midday, and it was time for lunch.

  “I am hungry,” Rehaak announced.

  “You’re always hungry,” Laakea countered.

  “But I have not recovered from my wounds. I need sustenance to restore my health.”

  “If you aren’t recovered soon, you will strip the land bare.” Laakea waved his arms in the air at the vultures Rehaak’s imagination had conjured up earlier. “Fly away, poor little carrion eaters! Flee! Flee for your lives lest he devour you along with the rest, you poor defenseless beasts!” They both broke into laughter again.