by Stefon Mears
Also, this skeleton was not made of bone.
It looked as though it were made from rock and lava not yet spewed forth by a volcano. The whole of it was an ashen shade of black, but rivulets of bright reds and yellows ran all through the bones.
In its hands, the great winged skeleton held a flail that looked to have been made from the same dark metal as Amra’s sword.
A resemblance that was likely the cause of the thoughtful sound he heard her utter then, as he, Amra, Ehren, Qalas, and Reesa all stared up at the great divine agent above them, only Reesa not on her feet.
Worse than the sight of the thing itself, or the implications of its presence, was the effect the messenger seemed to have on the world all about it.
Those pale evergreens that made up this small forest? They seemed washed out of color, as well as their sweet scent.
The fire in the center of the camp seemed to shed less light, and hardly any heat. Certainly not enough to roast the chickens and vegetables Ehren had arranged. Though their savory smells had faded as well to a mere suggestion of what they’d been only moments before.
These changes reminded Cavan all too clearly of the journey he, Ehren and Amra had made along the borderlands between worlds. As close as Cavan had ever wanted to come to the land of the dead. At least, while still breathing.
It was Amra who spoke first, answering the divine messenger’s accusation.
“No true warrior can strike without intention,” she said, and Cavan had to admit that even she sounded respectful at the moment. “But I swear that it was a strike made without deliberation. A reaction to the blow that I saw coming at my head. I could not have foreseen the results any more than I could have stopped my arm.”
Cavan thought he heard Qalas muttering something in disbelief about arguing with gods.
“Do you contest the judgment of Istanlos?”
“Great Zirtax,” Ehren said, hands apart and voice full of respect, “in Zatafa’s name I ask that you forgive this one’s hasty words.”
Amra shot Ehren a pointed look, but the pristine priest kept talking.
“We do not understand what we disturbed this night, nor the nature of the crime committed, nor what judgment has been rendered by He Who Oversees the End of All.”
“Istanlos holds no love for Zatafa,” that empty voice said without the jaw of the skull moving in the least. “But your request is fairly taken, priest. The tableau you witnessed tonight stood as the record of a great offense. An act anathema to Istanlos.”
Zirtax pointed an accusing finger.
“You five have disrupted the sequence, and yet not one of you is a psychopomp. You cannot lay these spirits to rest, so it is the judgment of Istanlos that you avenge the anathema, and see the remains to a psychopomp.”
“Five of us?” Amra said. “I alone swung the sword that—”
“You have until the dark of the moon. Fail, and I will come for you.”
And just like that, the divine messenger was gone from the night sky.
Color leapt back with almost blinding force. The ring of trees around the clearing, the sparkle of stars up in the heavens, and most of all the fire, so near and once again, so warm. Even Amra had to avert her eyes.
The savory smells of roasting chicken and vegetables, so welcome that Cavan’s stomach wasn’t alone in rumbling aloud.
“Don’t,” Amra said, turning a warning finger on Ehren. “Not a word.”
Qalas stared back and forth between the short but deadly warrior and the taller priest.
Ehren raised his hands in surrender. His face absent its usual smile. And yet he spoke.
“I had only been wondering if any of us knew where to find a temple of Istanlos in this region. Assuming we complete the first part of our task, we will still need to find one of death’s priests to lay these spirits to rest.”
Amra narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Truly,” Ehren said. “And lest you wonder, had I stood where you did, I might have swung my staff. And my reflexes are nothing to yours.”
Amra nodded, still suspicious.
“Same here,” Cavan said. “By the time I realized what your sword might do, I was too late to warn you. And even then, I could never have foreseen that.”
“I could’ve,” Qalas said, but when Amra whirled on him, he let his halberd fall and raised his hands. “I’ve heard of such things happening, down in the south. But I was only worried about Cavan’s sword, because the tales told of licha blades cleaving ghosts.”
Qalas frowned at Cavan. “I always thought those tales were just products of a bard’s imagination.”
Reesa looked from one to another, frowning in puzzlement. Likely worried that Amra might have actually turned her weapons on her friends.
Even Amra’s temper wouldn’t have gone that far.
Likely, the worst any of them would’ve gotten would’ve been a punch. Not that Cavan was eager to feel Amra’s fist, if he didn’t have to.
But this was not the time to explain these things to Reesa.
“I say we eat, and sleep,” Cavan said, “and tomorrow we figure out just what happened here that Istanlos would consider anathema, and what we can do about it.”
“Fair enough,” Amra said, finally easing down to sit on her bedroll again, while Ehren finished preparing dinner.
“One thing’s for sure,” Qalas said, addressing Reesa. “Looks like you’ll get your taste of adventure after all.”
“He’s right,” Ehren said. “The task was given to the five of us. If any of us tried to shirk, Istanlos would not take it well.”
Reesa’s breaths were shallow, and Cavan could see fear in her wide eyes. But he had to admit, she held her chin up, determined, as though unwilling to shrink at the task before them.
An admirable trait. Cavan could only hope it would last.
4
Cavan awoke exactly when he intended, a full hour before dawn.
Amra was already up, and from the sweat on her brow and skin, looked to have finished her own morning workout already. She crouched, tending the fire, keeping it low but not quite out.
She seemed to be lost in her thoughts, staring into the flames. Just as well, Cavan wasn’t ready for conversation yet.
He took his sword and stepped out of the clearing, into a place where the trees grew at least an arm’s length apart, but not more than double that. A spot where the undergrowth was thin enough not to interfere.
Cavan drew his sword, and began his morning workout.
Not merely repeating the sequences of his training anymore. He still did that every so often, but these days he preferred a different approach.
He treated the trees around him as attacking foes. He danced among them, spinning one way or the other, parrying high now, low now, cutting out at the heights that best suited the enemies in his imagination. The undergrowth made his footing uneven, but to Cavan that only made the exercise more useful.
With his free hand, he pulled dirt from the mock spell pouch he kept beside his true spell pouch. Chanted half-spells that, if completed, would have blinded foes, or distracted them. In a few cases, would have done even more damage than Cavan could with his sword.
During his morning training, Cavan never completed any spells, out of respect for magic. No spell should be spoken in full, except to bring about its effects.
He continued until he’d lathered up a decent sweat. Only then did he pause to rest.
“Too regular,” Amra said, quietly, from closer among the trees than Cavan expected. She did watch him work out sometimes, he knew that, but she always seemed to approach from a different distance and angle.
“The concept behind your training is sound,” she continued, “but you need to vary the weapons and speed of the foes in your head. Right now, it’s too easy for you to fall into patterns.”
She frowned. “And you rely too heavily on the high parries. A man of your height will face more midline and low strikes.”
“Thank
you,” Cavan said, stopping before her and giving her a slight bow, as though she were his formal instructor. Which got him the raised eyebrow it always did.
He been through her criticisms enough times that he could process her words, while still enjoying the good singing of his muscles and the light sheen of sweat matting his short brown hair.
“One more thing,” she said, smacking his left shoulder. “Watch your guard when you go for your spells, and just before. Won’t take more than one spell before your opponents realize they need to disable your left hand. And when you reach for the pouch, it will become a priority.”
“I don’t usually throw many in a fight.”
“And if they know your reputation?” Amra fluttered her eyelashes that dangerous way of hers. “If it were me, I’d disable that arm before you had the chance to use it at all.”
“Then it’s a good thing the ruby” — Cavan patted the ruby in the pommel of his sword — “is tuned right to hold spells. My little emergency supply. And, of course, my spelled dagger.”
“Wouldn’t matter,” Qalas said, approaching with halberd in hand. “Either of them. She’d kill you before you could get a spell off.”
Amra nodded, matter of fact.
Cavan didn’t bother to deny it. He just wandered back toward the camp while Qalas took his own turn loosening up before the day’s adventures.
Ehren yet slept on his bedroll, near the sweet scent of the burning evergreen branches of the fire.
Oh, he would awaken before dawn, especially as he had healing to do. But Cavan felt inwardly pleased to have awakened before the smiling priest, for a change.
“I’m sorry,” Reesa said, her voice not much above a whisper, from where she sat among the blankets of her nearby bedroll. Her shoulder-length, honey blond hair sleep-mussed in a way Cavan might have found appealing, were he not distracted by the sorrow in her tone and in her soft, gray eyes.
“Hush,” Cavan said, just as softly, as he stepped lightly over to sit beside her, where he would not interfere with the comfort of her still-broken foot.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “None of this would have happened if not for me.”
“Here now,” Cavan tried, but Reesa had more to get out.
“You rushed out of town because of me. You left the road because of me.”
“We left the road,” Cavan said, gently interrupting, “because that road was going west and our path lies north. Or at least it did. We often leave roads that go the wrong direction.”
His attempt at levity fell on deaf ears.
“Nevertheless,” she said, voice firm enough that Cavan let her finish. “You would have left Drien by the north road. You would not have come within leagues of this place. Amra would not have done what she did. And we would not have the task set us now.”
“Finished?” Cavan asked.
That got him a suspicious look, but Reesa nodded.
“Search for first causes and you’ll go mad. You and I are not where we sit now because of any one choice in either of our lives, but because of every choice we’ve made in both our lives.”
Reesa drew her lips in and frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown, at least.
“You wanted to be an adventurer?” Cavan asked. “Well, it’s a messy life, full of mistakes and questionable choices. And the truth is, often we can only tell the mistakes in retrospect.”
“Oh, come on…” Reesa started, but Cavan kept talking.
“You listed ways we might have avoided this task. However, through this task we stand to right a wrong, and lay restless spirits to rest. That sounds worthwhile to me, so who’s to say our being here is a ‘mistake?’”
“But the risk…”
“Life is risk,” Cavan said with a lopsided smile. “Only death is certain.”
“So,” Reesa said softly. So softly Cavan could almost not hear her words over the distant scuffling of Qalas’ workout and the gentle crackling of the fire. “You aren’t sorry you met me?”
Cavan looked deep into those soft, gray eyes.
“Not in any way.”
And truth be told, this might have been the best opening Cavan could have hoped for to discuss the subject that lay between them. Their night together, and what it might or might not mean, going forward.
But that moment, of course, was when Ehren spoke.
“Careful, Cavan,” the priest said through his trademark smile as he sat up and began to tie back his long, sun-blond hair. “You’re beginning to show signs of wisdom.”
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it,” Cavan said, returning the smile, though he didn’t quite feel it inside.
“Then at least move aside so I can see what a hurried ride, a divine threat, and a rough night’s sleep have done to my patient.”
Cavan withdrew then, while Ehren checked Reesa’s wounds.
Amra waved him over to where she was preparing the horses for their day’s ride, while Qalas continued limbering up.
A welcome enough break. There would be time for personal concerns later.
As predawn lightened the cerulean sky above the giant trees of the Wailing Woods far to the east, Cavan stood with Amra and Qalas to one side of the fire, while on the other side Ehren stood beside Reesa, who reclined on her bedroll.
Qalas had his head bowed respectfully. Cavan and Amra had their eyes on Ehren, ready to watch once more what Cavan considered the greatest wonder the smiling priest could perform.
Reesa lay with Cavan’s red tunic open to show the bruises on her ribs, but her chest otherwise covered, and the boot, poultices and bandages that had protected her broken foot stripped down to flesh. She still wore the leather leggings she’d worn for her duel, but then, she might not see a change of clothes for quite some time.
Cavan supposed it was a good thing he’d started carrying a second tunic, after the first time he lost one.
Ehren faced the east. He held his staff high. He began to chant in Penthix, in praise of Zatafa (the only word Cavan understood of the prayers).
The first shaft of dawn crested the horizon. It struck Ehren and enveloped him in a golden glow. His hair now all the colors of sunlight, and his clear blue eyes an island of peace.
He looked natural, that way. As though he should have always had such a halo surrounding him. As though the way he moved through his day-to-day life were a mere disguise, to not disturb the masses.
While Ehren chanted, he lowered the tip of his staff and touched Reesa’s worst injury: her foot.
She moaned, and Cavan knew well the feeling of the immense healing relief that Ehren spread through this prayer. A blissful kind of warmth that spread throughout the body, knitting nearly any wounds and ills a person might suffer.
By the time Ehren lifted away the tip of his staff, she all but glowed with health, and looked as fresh and clean as though she and her clothes had both just been laundered. Her hair even looked freshly brushed out.
Cavan had expected the healing to end with Reesa, but Ehren did not stop there.
He turned to each of Cavan, Amra and Qalas and touched them with the staff as well.
Relief. Such relief that Cavan knew that even his memory would fall short of it, once the true bliss of the moment passed.
Cavan had not been wounded as Reesa had, that was true. But the touch of Zatafa’s light through that prayer eased even Cavan’s worries and concerns about Reesa, and what he and she might or might not mean to one another.
There would be time for those questions. They would keep until that time came.
And the blessing did more than that.
Little aches from the road. Little strains to the muscles. All the tiny discomforts that Cavan knew well from travels and sleepless nights faded, replaced only by a sense of vitality and well-being.
Even Amra was smiling and content when Ehren stepped to the edge of the clearing to bestow the blessing on their horses.
Only when he finished there did the halo fade from around Ehren. He raised his he
ad and hands to the dawn once more, cried out in praise of Zatafa, and turned to face Cavan and the others.
“The horses,” Reesa said as she stood and stretched, visibly enjoying her lack of pain. She buttoned up the red tunic as she continued, “Why weren’t they terrified by the apparitions last night? I sure was.”
“The glory of Zatafa, of course.” Ehren’s smile broadened. “I bless them every night before we dine. Primarily it is a safeguard against…” — Ehren glanced at Cavan and back at Reesa — “but it seems that the blessing also soothes them against the presence of apparitions that cannot harm them.”
“It was one time,” Cavan said, but Ehren laughed, and Amra and Qalas joined him.
Even Reesa smiled, but it was a hesitant kind of smile. As though she wanted to join in the wholehearted laughter, but wasn’t sure she should. So she focused on lacing up her knee-high boots.
Truth was, Cavan couldn’t muster that much irritation. He felt too good at the moment. And besides, his experiments were not always … as effective as he would have liked.
And it was true that his failures could spook horses and other animals. Sometimes, at least.
The blessing left everyone in high spirits as they broke their fast on good, sharp cheese, toasted sausages, and fine, dark Oltoss rye, as well as skins of spring water.
Cavan and his friends, by mutual agreement, never began serious discussions until after they had eaten in the morning. Well, unless matters pressed enough that they could not wait.
This left an opening for Reesa to ask a question Cavan had long since stopped worrying about.
“Those chickens last night,” she said to Ehren, holding a hot, half-eaten apple sausage speared on a stick. “As well as all this.”
“Yes?” Ehren said with an even wider smile than usual, mirth dancing in his eyes.
“You never went to the packs on the horses. All of this came out of—” she pointed at Ehren’s backpack with her sausage — “that?”
“I sometimes think,” Amra said thoughtfully, “that he could produce a fully crewed warship from that backpack, if he needed one.”