The child is traumatized, as is typical of you humans. She doesn’t remember any of it. She has completely blocked it from her memory. If you remind her of the event, it very likely will break her mind. I’ve seen it happen before.
Kissing Samara’s forehead, Sigmia said, “Poor child.” Speaking to Illtud again, she said, I can help her with that. I think she needs me. You are lacking a body.
Human, can you not just leave her some food and something to help her sleep? I don’t want to distract her from her lessons, either.
The shaman scrutinized Samara without saying anything. She put her old, gnarled hand on Samara’s cheek. The girl looked drawn and haunted, even in her sleep. How likely is it that she would lose control of her strange power again? she asked.
Very likely, if I can’t teach her how to control it, Illtud said. And, like I said, it may kill her next time.
Sigmia sat quietly again, her brows furrowed, deepening the wrinkles on her forehead. Why do you care about this child? she finally asked the elven spirit.
Illtud sounded pleased. I have many reasons. First, she’s dangerous, for both elves and humans. I would like to make sure that we’re all safe. Also, very rarely can a human surpass an elf in magical ability. I think Samara could, and under my supervision, she would be the most highly regarded human in elf society.
So you intend on taking her back to your people?
I did promise to take her back to her mother and father. That’s where they’ll be, Illtud said. They will all be well taken care of.
I see, Sigmia said, and started crawling out of the grove. I’ll follow along behind and help from a distance. The bag I left will let her sleep at night, and I left her some meat, but she’ll need more. When she struggled out of the grove, she climbed to her feet with the assistance of a willow branch.
Thank you. Illtud paused briefly, then added, Shaman. Sigmia turned and glimpsed her granddaughter sleeping on the ground through the thick willow branches. She had little trust of the elven spirit. He obviously cared about Samara, but she felt that he wasn’t being completely honest.
Heading north, she walked away from the willows and traveled toward a hill hundreds of paces away. When she reached it, she turned around, gazing back at the grove, which hid in the silhouette of thick trees that followed the shallow stream.
Kneeling on a rock, she sighed. She had her own power, but she would never have called it magic. No, that was a Havallan word. Almost anyone familiar with the people of the Hunting Grounds knew shamans could talk to spirits, that they could predict weather, and that they could heal.
However, not all shaman powers were known; some were secret. Sigmia, a very old shaman, knew many of these secrets.
She chanted a prayer that carried across the night sky like the ghostly whisper of a distant, howling wind. Her closed eyes moved behind her lids as though she were dreaming. Gray-and-white fur began to cover her flesh. Her wrinkled face elongated, and her skin tightened.
She leaned forward on her hands and panted heavily, ending her chant. The loose skin around her arms tightened and her hair, now a pelt, grew over them, too.
After a short time, the transformation ended, and a dire wolf sat on the rock, looking wisely back at the grove. In this form, she would have the stamina to keep up with the girl’s unrelenting pace.
*****
When Samara woke, the sun stood high over her head, shining through thickly twined willow branches. She wondered how long she had slept, and after studying her surroundings, she realized that she had no idea where she was. She heard water flowing nearby and remembered falling into a stream.
Unconsciously, she gathered her things, stuffing them into her bag. Then she wove her way through the knotted trees until a sharp cramp in her gut halted her progress, and she doubled over. Crawling the rest of the way out of the grove, she pressed one hand against her stomach.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, so after clambering over to the bank, she pulled some food out of her backpack. The first leather bag of dried fruits and nuts were untouched and, fortunately, dry. She stared at the provisions with disgust. She also found some mammoth meat, which looked equally unappetizing.
You traveled many days. The sun rose four times. I tried to tell you to eat and sleep, but I was met by a fog. This is the last time. I can’t teach you spells when you’re hungry and tired, the voice said.
For a few seconds, Samara thought about putting the food up, but she had enjoyed the magic lessons she had learned after the night she left the mammoths. So she took a bite of the mammoth meat, chewed it slowly, and choked it down. She asked, “Four sunrises? Where am I?”
I think we’re nearing Havalla. You need to start sleeping and eating though. There’s a small bag in your pouch that has something that will help you sleep at night. Illtud sounded stern. You need to use it.
Gazing glumly down at the stream, Samara said, “I’ve been having horrible dreams.”
Illtud didn’t respond right away. Then he asked, gently, Would you like to tell me about them?
Shaking her head, she took another modest bite of rations.
Are you missing your people?
Samara closed her eyes and found her next bite of food just as difficult to swallow. When she finally managed, she felt a lump in her throat. Her eyes moistened, and she refrained from answering his question.
Magic suddenly became startlingly obvious to her, floating around her like a thick mist. She could see it on all the living things; even the lichen on the rocks emitted a faint glow.
If you don’t start eating and drinking, you’re going to die, and then you won’t ever see your parents again. Start doing as I say, or I won’t guide you anymore, Illtud said sternly.
Shocked and afraid, Samara got to her knees and said, “What? No! Please, you promised!” She pulled out the knife, staring at it in disbelief. She could see the red and blue auras glowing clearly around the blade and gem.
I don’t want you to hurt yourself, Illtud said gently. If you expend all your magic, you’ll become so tired that your body will cease to function. You’ll die.
“No,” she said, interrupting the voice and shaking her head.
Yes, Samara! You will.
“Then why do I use my magic? Why not the magic from everything else?” she asked, her voice rising angrily.
That’s not possible. Nobody can borrow magic without enchanting certain items for such purposes.
“NO! You’re wrong!” Her shout frightened a flock of birds. She felt foolish, yelling like that. “I’m sorry,” she said. Illtud remained silent. Crying again, Samara watched the birds flee from her until they looked like small, squiggly lines in the distance. “Hello?” She gazed around, not really expecting to see the spirit.
“Fine!” she yelled again and threw the kukri across the stream. She realized what she had done as soon as the blade left her hand. Jaw dropped, she ran after it, splashing through the stream, then clambering up the shore on the other side, her clothes soaking, wet sand and leaves plastered to her body. Crawling over to the blade, she picked it up and said through her sobs, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Eat! Illtud demanded.
She grimaced, filled her water bag in the stream, then pulled out her dried goods. While she continued walking south, she snacked on them; however, after taking a few bites, she put the food away.
I suppose that will do, Illtud said. I’ll show you a new spell, something more advanced than the cantrips and beginner spells I’ve been teaching you.
“More ee-loo-zuns?” Samara asked, a little hopefully. Illtud often had to use a word from his own language or a Havallan word, and then explain its meaning, since the girl’s tribe had no equivalent. She picked the meanings up quickly, but her pronunciation of the words was often heavily accented.
Sure. It’s not what I had in mind, but we can do an advanced illusion, Illtud said. So far, we’ve made illusions of inanimate objects. Now, I w
ant you to make an illusion of a squirrel. Same process.
Samara took a deep breath and reached deep inside herself, grabbing the energy she needed to sculpt the spell. Within seconds, a living squirrel appeared to be standing on the ground in front of her, breathing calmly.
That’s very impressive. Most starters can’t get any movement in their first illusions. Yours is flawless, he said, his amazement clearly echoed in his voice. Samara felt more elated than she had in days.
Now, make it run over to that tree, and then you can let it drop. The longer you keep it up, the more magic you’ll use. The more magic you use, the more exhausted you’ll become. Samara nodded her head along with his words.
I know I’ve told you this before, but I warn you, because I’ve seen foolish apprentices die from overexertion by using spells that required them to focus for long periods of time. As you become more practiced, you’ll be able to use magic for longer amounts of time.
“I can do it,” Samara said confidently, focusing on her illusion.
Good. Now relax, and picture it moving in your head. Imagine it running over to the tree, then focus on your magic and sculpt your illusion.
Samara decided to show off. Illtud had told her that she couldn’t use magic from somewhere else, but she knew she could. So she reached out instead of inward and seized the magic from the plants around her. It felt amazing. She wanted to grab more, but she focused on the task at hand, taking only a little at a time, just enough to accomplish her illusion.
The squirrel ran to the tree, but it didn’t stop there. Samara’s eyes glinted enthusiastically as she made it scurry up toward the canopy, scaling the bark and leaping from limb to limb.
Samara, stop, Illtud said.
She did not stop. Instead, she made the squirrel leap to a branch on another tree. It peeked down, waved its whiskers at them, then circled around the trunk.
Samara, I said stop! he said, more insistently.
Continuing to disregard Illtud’s instructions, she made the squirrel jump back to the original tree. It stopped and barked at them, and she laughed gleefully.
Samara, stop! Illtud shouted into her head. It hurt, and she held her temples. The squirrel disappeared halfway through a jump.
When the pain subsided, she said, “Why? I was doing great!”
Look at the ground.
Samara dropped her gaze. All around her, the once-lush grass lay on the ground, brown and brittle. Dead! The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she realized what had happened.
What did you do?
Once again, she started to cry, “I didn’t mean to. I-I was trying to . . .” She let out a high-pitched whine, and then said, “I just wanted to show you that I could use magic from somewhere else.”
No! Stop, it’s okay, he said gently. It’s amazing! Impossible, but amazing!
Samara felt surprised by his sudden praise. Wiping her tears away, she said, “R-really?”
Absolutely! It explains so much. Samara, you are exactly what I was looking for.
“I-I am?”
No human or elf can take magic from another living thing. A mage can transfer magic into an object, and other mages can use it, but I’ve never heard of someone who can do what you just did, Illtud said excitedly.
“It killed the plants though,” she said.
Listen to me, Illtud replied, When you pick plants for food and medicine, you’re killing them. When your people hunt animals, you must kill them too. What you just did is just part of life.
“I guess,” Samara said, her voice morose.
Samara, you are wonderful, Illtud said. You’re very important to me.
“Really?” she asked, her spirits picking up again.
Yes, really, he said. I love you!
Chapter 8: Reunion
Crouching, Nikolai examined a track that sank lightly into the muddy ground. He measured the depth with a twig. The trees huddled together like tall, thin giants, and their tightly woven roots made the ground firm.
After days of following their quarry, he had found that the elves only left faint marks on most surfaces. Even in mud the creatures stepped lightly, leaving little in the way of evidence. This full print marked the first clear sign of an actual elf. He figured that the elf had jumped from a nearby tree to land hard enough in this mud to leave a track. He chose his next words carefully. “I feel like we should catch up to them in a day or two. Then again, I’d thought we would have caught up to them by now.”
Orin grunted. He had been brooding ever since they had found the corpse of Ludmila, his niece and the tribe’s best cook. After she had died of abuse and dehydration, the elves had left her body to rot. While following Mammoth River west, they had discovered other abandoned human corpses in similar conditions, but none had been of their tribe and thus hadn’t affected him in the same manner.
Nikolai had also been upset by the loss of Ludmila. He had grown up with her and her husband, Eugeni, and he had fond memories of their childhood adventures. It had been two days since they had found her, and the older man’s attitude had begun to sour Nikolai’s own grief.
Regardless, he felt very pleased with himself; he had proven to be the far superior tracker of the two. He had determined that the group included many humans, some free to roam, others tied together. Orin seemed to have found that information useful, and Nikolai wanted nothing more than to make the older man happy with him, like he had been before all their recent losses.
Although he knew that many of the creatures had died on the terrible night of the attack, he wondered how many were still left in this group, and whether the mountains crawled with them. They really had no way of knowing what they were up against, but he still felt that he had provided invaluable information.
Hearing a twig snap behind him, he turned to see Orin squeezing the remnants of a broken stick in his hand, staring darkly off into the distance. Nikolai frowned. He knew the blacksmith felt a burning desire to kill the elves and that he blamed the creatures for everything that had happened. But Nikolai remembered that night very clearly.
He had seen Samara stand confidently in front of the campfire before it turned into flaming snakes that struck at each person she glanced at. He had seen her float into the air, then watched helplessly as people fell dead around her. Sure, she had looked panicked and afraid, but he had no doubt that she had been the source. He remembered the fire spewing out of her mouth before enlarging into the ball of flames that had consumed over two hundred of his people. The scene haunted him, and he still saw her floating there like a demon when he closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Orin asked, curtly, interrupting his thoughts.
In response to Orin’s tone, Nikolai stood, leaned his spear against a tree, then sat down on a nearby rock and crossed his arms, glaring at the smith insolently. He could tell that Orin was annoyed, but after days of the blacksmith’s aloofness, Nikolai had endured enough of his ill treatment.
The big man closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, bringing his temper into check. After cooling off, he stretched, his back popping. Looking back at Nikolai, he said, “You said we may catch up to them in a day, maybe less, so let’s keep moving.”
Nikolai had said a day or two, but Orin seemed to have heard what he wanted to hear. “Have you figured out what we’re going to do when we catch up to them?” Nikolai asked, studying the blacksmith’s face, hoping to discern his intentions. He was rewarded with a scowl.
Orin said, “I have a pretty good idea, but we’re not going to catch them dawdling here.”
Nikolai’s jaw tightened when he saw the anger in Orin’s expression, but he tried not to let his reaction show. “There are only two of us, and we’re likely outnumbered. We need a plan.”
Suddenly, he smiled. “There must be enough to subdue our women,” he said. After a short bark of laughter, he continued, “Between Natalia and my mother, I wouldn’t be surprised to find the elf creatures in chains.”
Orin rewar
ded him with a feigned smile, despite his mood. Nikolai grunted and pushed off the rock, grabbing his spear. “Come look, I found something interesting, and maybe important.”
He led Orin through some branches to a small clearing. A stream angled across one corner of the glade, and a wide, flat rock covered most of the open space.
The creek cut into one side of the glade, the clear water flowing swiftly past. Small fish darted through smooth, round stones on the bottom. Nikolai jumped over the water into the woods and almost immediately began following a game trail. Then he stopped, his spear pointing at an older, human track.
“This is much too old to belong to the group up ahead. We must be close to some settlements,” Orin said, after he walked up and studied the track.
“I would guess so, but this isn’t what really interests me. Look over there.” Nikolai traced a path with his spear. Next to the human footprints lay a faint set of tracks, different than any they had seen before. Orin studied the imprints inquisitively.
Glancing up at the younger man, he said, “A Havallan shaman’s slipper.”
“Perhaps, but the shape is odd. Could it be an elf shoe?” Nikolai asked.
Orin stared at the track for a moment more, then said, “It’s Havallan, but it doesn’t matter. These are days old and not related to our people. We’re really close now. Let’s keep moving.”
“As you say, but . . .” Gazing up to the sky, Nikolai sighed. He thought back to the last Gathering, where he had made friends with a boy from the mountain tribes. Brandt had been the boy’s name, and Nikolai had met his family. He remembered them being very nice. “If there are other humans here, maybe they can help us.”
Orin glared at him and said, “They won’t help us, and the longer we sit here, the further the elves move away. So keep moving!”
“What are you going to do if there are too many?” Nikolai asked, anger creeping into his voice. “They killed ten of our best hunters.”
Orin turned back and walked away, saying, “We’ll figure it out when we see them.”
The Unfettered Child Page 11