Wing & Nien

by Shytei Corellian

  Rhusta could not find a thing to say. Monteray was right; and he didn’t like that he was.

  Not pressing further, Monteray said, “How does something like this happen? Have we been asleep? I am so sorry, my friend…we are too late. Too late with everything.”

  “I was lost to my people long ago,” Rhusta said, and even to himself his voice sounded rougher than usual. “But this young man here, he…he was their hope. It’s really been a thing watching him, being around him.”

  “I can imagine,” Monteray said. “We were blessed, Rhusta, that he found his way to you and his brother to me.”

  Rhusta nodded slowly. “Whoever would have thought all this?”

  “Not I,” Monteray replied. “Not in three lifetimes.” He tilted his head toward Wing. “He’s been here four turns you say?”

  “A little over five now.”

  Monteray got up from his seat and walked across the room to Wing. “What happened to him?”

  “We were attacked by a shy’teh. They went over into a scree field. Between the fall and the big cat, he’s lucky to be alive.”

  “A shy’teh attack? Strange. I’ve never heard of one of the big cats attacking anyone — a good thing, since I don’t know how anyone could survive it.” Standing over Wing, Monteray looked for clues. “How did he? You?”

  Rhusta shook his head. “I put her down with an arrow, but it was the fall that saved him. He got in that shape because the cat was trying to save herself.”

  “Is there something I can do?”

  “You can take a look at his leg.”

  Monteray squatted down and pulled back the blanket from Wing’s right leg; it was swollen, purplish-blue in colour. He felt it carefully. “The one bone, lower leg,” he said, palpating very slowly. “I can’t feel anything that would suggest the bone has separated. No matter how severe the fracture may be, immobilizing it as you have is all we can do. As long as the blood flow isn’t interrupted it should heal well enough.” Monteray covered Wing’s leg again. “You think that he and his brother are the last of the Rieevans — besides yourself?”

  Rhusta shrugged. “Hard to say. Seems so.”

  “If your people also gave him this title of Merehr, then is he not someone who could understand your past? Your heart?”

  “My heart stayed in my past,” Rhusta said. He indicated Wing with his chin. “He’s figuring out the same thing.” Rhusta could feel Monteray’s gaze and kept his eyes averted.

  “You said you thought both brothers were trying to find me. So why did Wing come here?”

  “He didn’t come here,” Rhusta replied, “he ended up here. He was lost.”

  “Funny,” Monteray said thoughtfully, “that he managed to happen upon a tiny cabin in the southing reaches of the Ti Mountain Range and yet could not find the Valley of Legran.” Rhusta rolled his eyes. The corner of Monteray’s mouth twitched. “So why me?”

  “Lant — who else? He thought a great deal of the Cawutt brothers. It’s no doubt they knew about you. Perhaps they saw you as their only hope. I’m planning on sending Wing on to you when he’s healed enough to travel. You can do more for him than I can.”

  “He’s a remarkable-looking individual,” Monteray said of Wing. “Tall, straight build, striking features. No wonder your people singled him out. What can you tell me about him personally?”

  “In Rieeve he liked to be alone. He worked his father’s fields. He was very…connected. Well, connected not so much with people but with...”

  “The land?” Monteray asked.

  “Well that, too,” Rhusta said, a little more sharply than he intended. Explaining these sorts of things were not his forfeit. “I don’t know, Mont, he just…he could see into things.” Rhusta shrugged off the discomforting exchange. “But that was back then.”

  Rhusta knew, without needing to explain further, that Monteray understood. Like Commander Lant, Monteray had been a part of the world of the warrior and soldier. He knew that the heart kept no time, recognized no statutes, no frames surrounding events. It held no regard for the dial of the sun. Trauma such as the young Rieevan had been through in losing his people could press one through a lifetime of change in a single moment.

  “I know what he used to be,” Rhusta said. “I have no idea what I’ll be sending on to you.”

  “Do you think he has any idea who you are?”

  Rhusta shook his head. “No.”

  “His brother, he’s helping me with my home. He’s a skilled builder.”

  “They both are,” Rhusta said. “Their father, Joash Cawutt, was the Mesko Tender and an excellent builder, easily the finest in Rieeve.”

  “Ah, the man who befriended Lant upon his return to Rieeve.”

  “The same.”

  The conversation was spent there. Rhusta was sure he’d said more since Monteray had come through the door on this trip than in all of Monteray’s other visits combined. Turning about, Rhusta walked to the door and taking up his leather coat, said, “Let’s take a walk. You can help me.”

  “Help with what?” Monteray asked, reaching for his own coat.

  “There’s something I need to look for.”

  A fair hike taken in virtual silence found them at the top of a steep ridge littered with huge chunks of talus and, lower, a field of finer scree.

  “What are we doing?” Monteray asked.

  “This is where Wing fell; where the shy’teh attacked.”

  Behind him, he heard Monteray make a noise of surprise in his throat.

  “Couldn’t have thought of an easier route?”

  “It is easy,” Rhusta shot back at him, “when you stay on the sech’nya trail.”

  And then Monteray stopped. Rhusta glanced back and then down; Monteray had spotted the dead shy’teh at the bottom of the scree field.

  “We’re close,” Rhusta said, turning away from the stiff black body far below; he’d just barely been able to make out the arrow, it’s colour so light against the rock and dried branches of dead shrubbery that another might miss it had they not known it was there.

  Carefully, he approached the massive boulder from which the shy’teh had attacked. He looked around it, not finding anything that might indicate…

  A low hiss met Rhusta’s ears.

  He started and his movement brought Monteray to his side. “What is it?”

  “Shhh,” Rhusta said, “listen.”

  Monteray beside him, they listened. There it was again, a low hiss. No, Rhusta realized, not a hiss, a growl.

  “Yosha,” Rhusta swore.

  Ahead, just up the slope below a gathering of pathetic tree scrub and bushes, Rhusta could just barely make out a small opening. A den.

  Moving forward, half bent, he felt Monteray move in behind him. The growling grew louder the nearer they came. Glancing around, Rhusta spotted a long, dead stick. He took it up and, squatting in front of the hole, slowly pushed the stick inside. There was a low snarl, followed by a sharp roar. Something batted at the end of the stick and Rhusta jerked it back.

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  Monteray squatted down beside him as Rhusta began pulling at the dead vine and brush, creating a bigger opening into the hole. The growling continued as the sunlight began to illuminate the tiny den.

  Inside, coiled at the back of the opening, trembled a small black creature.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Monteray asked.

  Rhusta nodded. “It’s a shy’teh, all right.”

  Squinting at the little beast, Monteray said, “How did you know it was here?”

  “Wing. He knew.” Rhusta scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, now what are we going to do with it?”

  “It appears sickly,” Monteray observed.

  “Still, it’s got claws.” Shrugging out of his thick leather coat, Rhusta grunted and said: “Here goes nothin’.”

  The black creature hissed and mewled as Rhusta reached in and, capturing it with his coat, pulled it out of the bushes.

/>   The little shy’teh snarled and writhed, biting and clawing at the leather.

  “Ouch!” Rhusta barked as one sharp white claw found the back of his hand.

  Monteray tossed his own jacket over Rhusta’s, using the sleeves to bind up the wriggling package in a neat bundle.

  The two men got up and stood back, observing as the bundle jumped and rolled.

  “Take turns?” Rhusta said.

  “You first,” Monteray said, eyeing the writhing ball of leather.

  “The brave one aren’t you, Master Monteray.”

  Monteray laughed and Rhusta bent low, picking up the snarling package.

  But the way back proved easier than Rhusta had expected as the little black demon settled into the dark of his soft prison and Monteray, apparently noticing that Rhusta was not quite recovered himself from the incident in the scree field, did most of the carrying.

  Back at the cabin, Monteray set their package down and the two stepped back to watch. Their furry captive remained still for a time, and then the jackets began to move. Slowly creeping from within the folds of their jackets, it appeared. All fur, teeth, claw, and wild bright green eyes, it emerged, sniffing, whiskers twitching. He and Monteray watched as it began to explore its new surroundings. Tail flicking, it kept an eye on them as it checked out the fireplace, the corners to either side, and then the pile of blankets under which Wing lie, still and silent. It sniffed there for a time, before skulking its way across the room, careful to avoid Rhusta and Monteray. It explored around the table and the bottom of the shelves.

  “Now what?” Monteray said.

  Rhusta shrugged. “I have no idea. Milk of some sort?”

  “Don’t remember you having a milk animal around here.”

  Rhusta huffed. “Well, water will have to do for now.” He glanced sidelong at Monteray. “Care to fashion a nipple out of something?”

  As Monteray worked on that problem, Rhusta retrieved some more water.

  By the time Rhusta returned, Monteray had covered a mug with a thin bit of muslin, securing it around the rim with a flat piece of leather lace. Rhusta shrugged and nodded.

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  Removing the muslin, Rhusta filled the mug with water and Monteray retied the muslin.

  Cautiously, Monteray approached the cub, holding out the cup. The cub recoiled at first and then sniffed at it, long whiskers twitching. It took a few tries before its soft pink tongue reached out tentatively and licked the muslin. It then sunk its teeth into it and ripped it off the top of the cup, spilling the water over its front feet.

  “Excellent,” Monteray said as the small black creature hissed, unhappy about its wet paws.

  But Rhusta had seen something.

  “Would you look at that? It’s got a good set of teeth. I think it’s older than it looks.”

  Monteray nodded. I think we should just toss it a piece of raw meat.”

  “Maybe so,” Rhusta said with sincerity. “That we can manage.”

  Rhusta disappeared outside and returned a moment later with a small tree rodent in hand. Upon a blood-stained cutting board, he stripped the fur away and, slicing off a couple thin pieces, handed one to Monteray, keeping the other.

  Rhusta approached the cub where it had retreated, cowering in a corner near the fireplace. Placing the piece of pinkish meat down in front of it, he backed off and stood next to Monteray, watching. The cub sniffed, its wet black nose working, and then it crawled forward, lay down over the meat and began to gnaw upon it.

  “Well, there we are,” Monteray said with a smile.

  Rhusta grunted with vague satisfaction. “Welcome to Rhusta’s human and animal sanctuary.”

  Wing had remained unconscious through the cub’s arrival and feeding and Rhusta watched them both now, the wounded man and the sick cub, both in residence near the fire.

  As the small cub continued to lick and gnaw upon the tear of meat, Rhusta and Monteray found themselves something to eat as well, Rhusta far more concerned for Wing who needed sustenance as much as the cub but had not been coherent long enough to intake little more than water and bone broth.

  What they were going to do with the animal once the sun set, Rhusta didn’t know. He wasn’t overly pleased about it; a wild animal did not belong indoors. But its mother was dead. It had little other chance at survival. Not that an animal dying without its mother bothered Rhusta. That was the way of life. Especially out here. But it was a shy’teh cub. A rare being. And Rhusta couldn’t help but feel a touch of awe at its existence.

  Still, emaciated as it was, if the cub still didn’t survive it would be one less mouth to feed, one less pathetic creature to worry about, one less mess to clean up after.

  Having Monteray there helped. But he would — couldn’t — stay long.

  Settling in by the fire, they shared the bag of Hiona wine Monteray had brought with him, passing it back and forth without much talk. Rhusta was rather preoccupied with everything that had transpired, and still tired and sore in body from the scree-field rescue. Monteray, as well, was mentally occupied, his attention passing from the firelight, to the cub, to Wing.

  Rhusta awoke in the morning to find that he and Monteray had fallen asleep in their chairs. And that wasn’t the only thing he found. Rubbing at his eyes to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light or his foggy brain, he blinked and, sure enough, the cub was curled up next to Wing. It lay, half twisted in the blankets at Wing’s side, nose tucked into Wing’s armpit, ears twitching now and again, bony back rising and falling with its sleeping breath.

  Monteray awoke as well, looking around as if orienting himself to where he was. When he looked at Rhusta, Rhusta quietly indicated Wing and the cub. Monteray’s eyebrows rose at the sight. For Wing’s part, Rhusta could not see any evidence that he had moved at all, more than likely unaware of the small black creature curled up at his side.

  Rhusta rubbed a hand over his face. “Breakfast?” he mumbled.

  Monteray nodded.

  Neither the cub nor Wing had woken by the time Rhusta and Monteray had finished with breakfast.

  “Why didn’t you just leave it?” Monteray asked, indicating the cub as they began to clean up.

  Rhusta didn’t answer immediately, his eyes glancing quickly to and then away from the cub and Wing.

  “Seems there’s few enough of any of us,” he replied at last.

  The bleakness of his reply was clearly understood by Monteray; Wing, like the shy’teh, were nearly an extinct species.

  Leaving the two black-haired ones inside the cabin to sleep, Rhusta and Monteray passed the rest of the morning fishing and hunting.

  When they returned early that afternoon, Rhusta went into the cabin first to check on Wing. To Rhusta’s surprise, Wing looked up as he came in. To Rhusta’s relief, Monteray had waited outside. Wing’s eyes were glassy, however, swimming in a haze of what Rhusta hoped was exhaustion and not fever.

  “Cub,” Wing said. His voice was weak but in his tone there was a hint of gratitude.

  His eyes shut again and the cub moved a little, removing its nose from under Wing’s arm and resting its chin companionably upon Wing’s chest, staring up at Rhusta with an unfathomable eye.

  “Well, isn’t that just lovely,” Rhusta said to the cub. “Try and bite our hands off, and then cozy up to man-in-a-coma there as if he were your best friend in the world.” His words were accusatory but he didn’t mean it. Whether there was something magical at work or purely a mutual recognition of state and survival, it didn’t matter much.

  Rhusta and Monteray spent most of the next few days outdoors, walking, talking, fishing and preparing what dried herbs Rhusta had on hand to lessen pain and encourage healing in Wing’s battered body. Of the two, the cub showed quicker improvement, going through the scraps and tears of meat offered it with increasing voracity.

  It accepted Rhusta and Monteray’s presence with a wary eye but the hissing and snapping of teeth had abated. Nevertheless, it re
mained at Wing’s side primarily, making short forays of discovery around the cabin. The corner of the cabin between the door and fireplace had become its latrine and Rhusta was very close to banning it from the cabin entirely.

  On the morning of the fourth day, Monteray gathered his things to leave, for even though Wing’s moments of coherency and waking were few, Rhusta was not ready yet for Wing to who he was, a thing that would be difficult to keep hidden were Wing to wake to find Monteray there.

  “As soon as he can travel, I’ll be sending him on to you,” Rhusta said, standing with Monteray just outside the cabin door. “He’s been pretty adamant about getting to Legran all along. I don’t imagine it will take much coaxing.”

  Monteray did not reply but in his eyes was something both hopeful and concerned as he hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder. He nodded to Rhusta, but no sooner had he turned to head off than he stopped again. Dropping his travel bag, he began rummaging through it. After some effort, he produced the long knife he’d brought with him from Legran.

  Returning to Rhusta, he held it out. “I brought this for you. I know how you go through them.”

  Rhusta took the knife, turning it in his hand. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice hitched a little. “With you, again, are the most precious matters entrusted.”

  Monteray looked at him and nodded, taking Rhusta’s meaning. “Keep the cub,” Monteray said — an effort to lighten the mood.

  “Not a chance,” Rhusta retorted.

  Rhusta forced a smile, a thing that had never much suited his face, and Monteray threw him one in return. Shouldering his bag again, Rhusta watched as his friend walked away across the long clearing and disappeared into the trees.

  Chapter 57

  Alive to Die

  A twig snapped beneath his foot. He froze. Glancing about, he sunk slowly to his belly…and listened. Only the sound of the forest filled his ears. With tired but practiced eyes, he scanned the woods —