Orin could hardly believe the priestess was there, but he scarcely wanted to see the woman. Just another painful reminder of what he had lost. Accalia had agreed to keep people away from him, and he had mostly been left alone since waking.
He hadn’t gotten very far down the path when he came upon Accalia sitting on a rock, staring into the woods. She didn’t seem to notice him, so he froze, hoping she wouldn’t realize he was there.
Backing up slowly, he decided to a different path, one less likely to have people on it. After a few steps, he turned around and heard, “Orin? You don’t have to go.”
Gazing over his shoulder, he said, “I don’t want to disturb you.”
“You can’t disturb me. Come sit with me.” She stared down the path again.
He stood still for a moment. He didn’t feel like chatting, but he decided to not be offensive. Taking a seat on a large root that looped out of the ground, he sat across the path from her. She was a slender woman, with deep lines etched into her face.
She never looked at him, but quietly studied the woods instead. Thankful for the silence, he studied the trees with her. His sister-in-law had lost as much as he had and had suffered through more. He couldn’t forget that.
“It’s not right, is it?” she said, breaking the silence. When she spoke, it was in a depressed monotone.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“To still be alive when everyone else is dead,” she said. Her lower lip quivered, but that was the only emotion Orin could detect. She peered up at him. “To be free, but to have nothing left.” Grunting in response, he shifted on his root uncomfortably. She had described exactly how he felt.
Turning her head away again, she said, “I’m grateful that Nikolai’s still alive. Some of us weren’t as lucky as I’ve been. I still don’t understand what happened at the camp. It’s hard to believe . . . what I’ve been told. Nikolai told me what he could, and I haven’t had a chance to ask you about it. Do you know what happened, Orin?”
Orin remembered his confrontation with Nikolai the morning after their encampment had been demolished. He wondered if the boy still felt that Samara was responsible for the destruction. A little annoyed, he said, “I can’t tell you anything that Nikolai hasn’t already told you. I wasn’t there.” Realizing that his words were harsh, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Mmmhmm, Nikolai insists that he saw Samara . . .” she trailed off and went back to staring into the distance. Standing up gruffly, Orin stormed off. “Wait,” Accalia said. He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, Orin. I told you it’s hard to believe what I heard.”
“I’m going to kill her . . . the elf responsible for this. If you had seen what she was capable of, you wouldn’t question my daughter. My little girl deserves a better memory than that,” he said.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Accalia replied.
Grunting again, Orin stalked back to the village. All of the remaining tribe members suffered fits of depression at times, but with the warm reception they had received from the mountain folk, they spent most of their days fixing their lives. Not Accalia. Like Orin, she remained lost in her personal storm clouds of sorrow.
Returning to the forge, Orin had hoped to be alone, but waiting on his stump sat Brahun, the man Orin had first met in the woods before confronting the elves. He was stoking the fire with a stick. His garb was similar to that which Orin had first seen him in, except that he had left most of his decorations off today.
“Is this fire for forging metal or for keeping you warm?” Brahun asked, jovially. Orin flushed. He had promised the man a steel spear after he had gotten permission to use the forge.
“I-I . . .” Lacking the words to finish, Orin sighed, his posture dropping into a slouch.
Standing, Brahun put a hand on the blacksmith’s shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about it, I was joking. I understand. I told you that you didn’t need to do anything. Your nephew has proven his worth a hundred times over with his hard work and hunting skills.” Chuckling, the man turned toward the village. “Come, I have someone I want you to meet.”
Not wishing to offend the mountain chief, Orin followed him. Getting away from people just wasn’t going to happen today.
He had expected Brahun to lead him to the spacious hut; instead, they walked to a path behind the village, against the mountain slope. Wondering why anyone would meet here in the back, he saw that they were nearing a valley filled with stones sticking out of the earth. The mountain chief stopped before a wooden gate that separated the woods from the clearing and stepped to the side.
Gesturing to the entrance, Brahun said, “Please, you first. Priestess Samara awaits you.”
Sighing, Orin asked, “Why here? What is this place?”
“Because she requested it, and this is our burial grounds.” Turning to the gate, Brahun held it open for Orin. “Come, let’s not keep her waiting any longer than she already has.”
Orin stepped into the clearing. Stones littered the ground, some carved with intricate designs depicting coiled azhdaha dragons. On the far side, he could make out the priestess in her white robes, sitting in the grass.
Taking a deep breath, he slowly walked toward her. He had wanted to avoid this meeting. “Welcome, Orin, it’s a pleasure to see you,” the priestess said, as he neared.
Standing over her, Orin slipped into the formalities he had learned when he had lived with her people and said, “May Najima light your way. I am glad to see you are well.”
Chuckling, Brahun clapped him on the shoulder and said, “No need to be formal, my friend. Please have a seat.” Brahun sat on the other side of Samara, picked up a bowl with some liquid in it, and drank.
Priestess Samara took the bowl after Brahun offered it to her, and she too drank from it, but screwed her face up in disgust as she did. She then passed it over to Orin, who looked at it uncertainly. It smelled alcoholic and rotten.
“It’s a ceremonial drink Brahun’s people make. They drink it in celebration of the deceased. It’s fermented mushrooms.”
Cautiously, Orin drank the liquid. It burned his throat as it went down and almost made him gag. He couldn’t manage more than a sip. Placing the bowl on the ground in front of him, he glanced up at the priestess, meeting her eyes. Her nose and mouth were covered by a veil, but he could still see her sorrow. She swept her gaze to the stone in front of her, and Orin followed her lead.
The stone depicted a carving of Natalia lying peacefully next to a panthera. The level of detail in the bas-relief was incredible; it looked lifelike. He studied the carving, running his fingers over the fine details, and despite himself, he started sobbing. The priestess patted his back. He missed his wife so much and wished he could have saved her. His daughter, too. If only he had a monument for her.
“I’m sorry things turned out the way they did, Orin. I came here to learn what the elves were up to in this part of the world. If only I had come earlier, I could have helped.”
Orin grunted and shifted uneasily on the grass. “I don’t think you could have done much. They have incredible powers, the likes of which I had never seen before.”
“It’s magic, Orin, the same as I showed you those many years ago. Perhaps stronger than what you saw back then, but essentially the same. Elves are very proficient at magic.”
“Regardless, it’s in the past. You can’t change it,” Orin grumbled.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” the priestess said. “I’m glad I was here to heal you.”
Orin grunted and said, “Yes, thank you.”
Priestess Samara stared at the carving for a bit, hardly blinking. Brahun, who had been quiet until now, spoke up. “I hope you like the monument. I wanted to wait for you to wake, but your Accalia told us you would be very pleased with the gesture.” He pointed to some scorched earth. “Over there is where your people had their ceremony.”
Smiling, Orin reached across and slapped the pale-skinned man on the shoulder. “Truly, I app
reciate the gesture. It looks as she was in life. Very skilled work, and I’m honored.”
He cast his gaze at the stone and frowned. “I would have liked it to have been on the Hunting Grounds, but . . .” He turned his attention back to the mountain man. “Since we are to be part of your tribe, I will think of it as home.”
The chieftain and the priestess smiled, and Brahun said, “That nephew of yours is rather resourceful and quite the negotiator.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Orin said.
“Do you intend to pass leadership over to him?” Priestess Samara asked.
“Brahun will be chief while our people live here,” Orin said, then looked at the mountain man for confirmation.
“If you follow our laws, help as part of our community, and don’t cause any trouble, I’ll allow you to manage your own people.”
“I haven’t been a leader in nine winters. I have no intentions of picking up that mantle again, and it’s rightfully Nikolai’s by our laws,” Orin replied.
“He’ll make a good chief,” Samara replied, then glanced over to Brahun, who nodded at her.
“Orin, I wanted you to see this monument, but there’s another reason I asked to see you. I had been tracking the elves in the mountains with magic after Brahun’s people brought the freed captives here. I had lost any trail of them. I had assumed you had killed them all, but then I sensed a single elf today.”
Surprised by this information, Orin straightened, his anger rising. “A single elf? Can you tell me anything else?”
Samara dropped her gaze. “It’s a female elf, the one I had been tracking. Her name is Zayra, and she’s very dangerous, but perhaps more dangerous is her companion. Our Lord Havelle trapped the soul of a powerful elf into a sapphire about eight years ago, and although he’s trapped inside a gem, he can still be dangerous.”
Orin blanched. “That’s why the gem was so important to her.”
“You know of the gem?” the priestess asked.
“Samara had it, after her mother was taken. I set it into her dagger.” Orin covered his face with one of his hands. “I told the elf that it was destroyed when they killed all my people with their fire. Her companions are dead. She probably wants revenge.”
“I believe that’s probably true.” Samara looked him in the eyes, her face a mask of solemnity. “And thus, I wanted to talk to you about coming back to Havalla with me. There, you will be protected, and if you aren’t here, then Brahun’s people will also not be a target.”
“Thank you, but if it’s the same elf I think it is, I would like the chance to face her.”
“Orin, I’m not just doing it for you. I am protecting this entire village. If she discovers you, then she’ll discover everyone else as well and recapture your people and Brahun’s.”
Standing, Orin clenched his fists. The other two also leaped up, Samara’s movement quick and fluid. Taking a step backward, almost tripping over a stone, Orin said, “Thank you for telling me. She won’t find this place, because I’m going to find her first.”
Brahun said, “Are you mad? She’ll kill you.”
“I don’t want you to confront her. I want you to come with me and hide among my people,” Samara said, her eyes wide with concern.
Turning and walking toward the clearing exit, Orin said, “I don’t mean to go with you, and if she kills me, so be it, but I’m going to try and kill her first.”
“Orin, violence will not solve anything, nor will your death. If you come with me, everyone will be safe,” the priestess said.
Not pausing to respond, Orin stepped through the gate. When he was only a few paces down the path, the others followed him out. “Orin, please. This elf has great magical ability. If you leave this village without me, she’ll find you and probably kill you.”
Turning, Orin shouted, “I don’t know what magic means, but if it’s that fake pain she caused, I can handle it!” He quickly walked away, and Brahun followed him, alone.
When they reached the outskirts of the village, Brahun caught Orin’s shoulder and halted him. Orin started to raise his fist to punch the man, but stopped himself, biting back his anger.
“Why do this? You saved those captured already. Why go to your death?”
“She killed my wife!” he said, tears flowing freely. “And they killed my little girl. My daughter of only nine winters,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Orin. But what will you accomplish if she kills you too?” Brahun asked, relaxing his grip.
Orin had no answer, but he was not deterred. He turned and walked to the hut where he kept his things.
Brahun followed him inside. Orin ignored him while he grabbed his sword and water bag.
Standing at the door, Brahun said, “I will make sure your people always have a home.”
After tying his water bag to his waist, Orin walked to the door and paused. Placing his hand on Brahun’s shoulder, he said, “Thank you. You and your people have been good to us. I’m happy that they found a home.”
Placing his hand on Orin’s opposite shoulder, Brahun said, “You don’t have to do this. Priestess Samara can hide you from the elves. I understand your need for vengeance, but killing this elf will not bring your daughter back to you.”
“If you understand my need, then you won’t try to stop me,” Orin said, staring at the man. Finally, Brahun released him. Stepping outside, the blacksmith slung his great sword over his shoulder, almost dropping it. His thumb didn’t hurt anymore, but he missed it. It was a good thing that it was on his left hand and not his right.
As he walked out of the village with his sword, he caught the glance of some of the villagers. He averted his eyes. He didn’t need any more people trying to convince him to stay.
Not wanting to cross Accalia’s path again, he went a different route than the one he had before. He hadn’t made it very far when the priestess slipped out of the woods next to him. Startled, Orin reached for his sword.
“Relax, Orin, it’s just me,” she said.
Leaving his sword on his back, he only marginally relaxed. He did not want her to attempt to stop him again. When she walked past him, he scowled at her. Marching behind her at a distance, he asked, “What are you doing?”
“I want to make sure you have a magical edge. So I’m coming with you to help,” the priestess said without turning around. “Perhaps we can rid these woods of this elf. With my magic, you’ll be on equal footing with her.”
“I thought you were just a healer,” Orin said.
“I’ve been training since you last saw me. I’m quite adept at protection magic as well,” the priestess said.
“What can you do to help me?” Orin asked.
The priestess stopped and glanced at him, her veil swinging under her chin and her eyes staring daggers. “I will protect you, hamar ghabi, from harmful magic.” She started walking again. “I believe that she’s back where they initially made camp.”
Orin grunted in response. He didn’t know what “hamar ghabi” meant, but it sounded rude. He ignored it and said, “Good. If we catch her by surprise, we’ll be okay.”
The two walked in silence for a time. At some point, Priestess Samara fell behind, unable to keep up with the nomad, forcing him to slow his pace.
As the sun started to sink behind the mountains, the priestess stopped and gazed at him assertively. She said, pointing to a copse of aspen trees to her right, “We should camp. We’ll be better rested, and we can eat.”
Orin gave her his usual grunt and followed her through the darkening trees. He did feel tired, but he also realized that he hadn’t brought any food.
As they walked through the forest, he noticed what appeared to be a campfire, far off the trail. Stopping and pointing, he said, “Wait. Look over there.”
Turning toward him, the priestess said, “Perhaps it’s Brahun’s hunters. They may break bread with us and share the warmth of their fire.”
“I don’t want to share food with them. I don’t want them to know
I’m even here,” Orin said, his brow creased with anger.
She just stood there for a moment. Finally, she walked toward the fire. “What if it’s the elf? Let’s at least find out.”
Groaning, Orin followed her, wishing he hadn’t pointed it out at all.
The camp was nestled into a flat area between trees. The fire was small, and Orin only saw one person. Motioning for the priestess to wait, he stalked closer.
Despite his stealth, he saw Nikolai stand up from the fire, lifting one of the elven bows and pointing it directly at him. The boy scowled at the blacksmith for a moment, but soon, the look in his eyes turned from dangerous to amazed, and the arrow tip pointed to the ground.
“Orin?” Nikolai stepped closer. “Thank the spirits, you’re awake!”
Despite himself, Orin smiled at the young man’s reaction. “If you hadn’t been wandering around the mountains for days at a time, you would have known that.” He could hear the priestess approaching from behind, so he walked over to Nikolai.
When Nikolai noticed the priestess, he asked, “What’s going on?”
Smile flipping over, Orin said, “Priestess Samara tells me that an elf is not far from here.”
Sitting down by the fire and making room for the others, Nikolai said, “I’m aware, but what are you doing here?”
Sighing, Orin said, “I intend to kill her. Do you know where she is?”
Nikolai’s eyes widened briefly, then he studied the fire and shifted some coals. He flipped over a squirrel that was skewered above the flames. “I do,” he finally said, then he lifted his gaze up to look at Orin. “I don’t think you should be so hasty.” Orin studied the boy’s face. Something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it could be.
“The elf must be here for revenge. I killed her companions, after all. But more importantly, I intend to make her pay for Natalia’s death,” Orin said.
Nikolai stared at him for a while before saying, “I’ll take you there.”
“No,” Orin said, shaking his head.
“I’m going! You’re not the only one who lost someone,” Nikolai said, sitting up straighter. “You can’t stop me.”
The Unfettered Child Page 27