by Sanan Kolva
Lucian shook his head. “All I did was clean your gun,” he told her, the careful emphasis enforcing the idea that he was returning her property rather than granting her some lordly dispensation.
“Are you really the lord of this village? Doctor Kinnel claimed that you founded this place more than forty years ago.” Cylin watched him carefully.
“Closer to fifty when people started venturing into the forest,” he told her easily.
“You’re not fifty years old,” Cylin said flatly.
“No, I’m not. But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how old I really am,” Lucian said.
“Try me,” she challenged.
“When I was your age, one of my father’s friends had a pet razorclaw.”
“A… what?”
“Razorclaw.” Lucian held up a hand to almost shoulder height. “About this tall, bipedal reptile with front talons that could rip through steel. There might be some still alive in the deep jungles, but most places in the world, they went extinct millennia ago.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Cylin said sharply. “No one lives that long!” She glanced at Devin, searching for some sign that this was a prank, an outlandish tale told to every newcomer.
“No human lives that long,” Lucian corrected.
“What, you aren’t human?” This has to be an elaborate joke.
“I am an elf.” Lucian brushed black hair back to emphasize pointed ears.
She sputtered. “Elves aren’t real! Are you going to claim that the mutated monsters out in the wastelands are ancient spirits too?”
“You accept the existence of whatever fanciful mutations someone claims to have seen, yet believe elves aren’t real?” Lucian asked, one brow quirking in amusement.
“People have seen the mutations! Everyone knows those are real,” Cylin snapped. “You’re laughing at me! Either this is a bad joke, or you’re crazy!”
Devin sucked in his breath in a sharp gasp and jumped to his feet. “Don’t say that!”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. The humor vanished, replaced by a cold, hard gaze. Cylin flinched back. This was the man who’d faced down Pryor, the dangerous shadow in the night. “I do not joke about such things, and I am not insane.”
Cylin edged back, heart pounding.
Devin grabbed her arm and pulled her back further. “Lord Lucian, it’s all right.” His words were quick and tense. “It’s all right.”
Lucian closed his eyes and turned his back to them. “Go.”
Devin pulled Cylin out of the room. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low, rushed voice. “I should have warned you. I didn’t think about it.”
“What just happened?” Cylin demanded in a whisper. “What was that?”
Devin shook his head quickly. “Some things… some things upset him. People calling him crazy… that’s one of them.”
“Oh. Great. The crazy guy flips out when someone calls him crazy. Sure, that goes a long way to proving that he’s perfectly sane.” Cylin fought back a laugh that tasted of fear.
“Just come on before you make things worse,” Devin said.
He rushed her out of the cave and back into daylight. Cylin stood blinking for several moments before her eyes adjusted.
“Is everything all right?” Myra asked in concern.
“Your lord thinks he’s an elf?” Cylin burst. “And apparently gets upset when someone doesn’t think that’s something that a normal, stable person says.”
“Oooh.” Myra drew out the word into a sound of understanding. “Devin, is Lord Lucian all right?”
“He’ll be okay. I think it was just… so soon after him having gone Ghost, it was easy to hit another trigger. I should have warned Cylin,” Devin let out a breath.
“Oh.” Myra’s hand rose to her mouth. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“Think about what?” Cylin cut in. “Telling me that your lord is cr— that he looks like he’s about to kill someone when they call him mad?”
“Well… yes,” Myra told her. “I apologize, Cylin. And he won’t hurt you. Even when he’s like that, he won’t hurt you.”
Devin sank down on a rock. “We… well, Lord Lucian calls it ‘going Ghost.’ He gets really cold and distant, and it’s like every emotion other than anger gets pushed down. I don’t know why he uses that term. Myra’s right, though. He won’t hurt you, even when he’s gone Ghost. Well, if you were trying to murder someone, he’d probably hurt you, but not if you’re not doing anything wrong.”
She looked between Devin and Myra. “Your lord thinks he’s some kind of ancient spirit out of a bedtime story, but I should be okay with that because he’s probably not going to hurt me? And that’s supposed to inspire me with confidence and reassure me that this is a good place to stay? Maybe he’s not the only crazy one around here.”
“He is not crazy,” Devin snapped.
“Don’t tell me you actually believe him,” Cylin scoffed. “You look old enough to have outgrown fairy tales.”
Devin’s face darkened. “Are you always a bitch when someone helps you? Lord Lucian didn’t have to rescue you! He could have just kept on going and ignored you like anyone else. He could have kept looking for the people he’s actually trying to find. You’d rather he left you to the bone men?”
“I’d rather live somewhere with a lord who’s not completely delusional!”
“Yeah? Like where?” Devin retorted. “One of those walled towns on the poison plains, where the local lord thinks he owns you because you’re female? At least Lord Lucian cares what happens to people. He protects us, takes care of us, and he doesn’t ask anything in return, even when he rescues ungrateful cynics who throw his kindness out the door like it’s nothing! If you don’t like it, why don’t you just leave and go find one of those ‘not delusional’ lords. See how that works out for you.”
“Hey, that’s enough,” Myra cut in. “We’re going to bother Lord Lucian if you keep yelling.”
Cylin bit back a sharp retort and just jerked her head in a nod. “Fine.”
Devin glowered at her, but picked up his whittling without another word.
Myra took Cylin’s arm and led her back down toward the trees. Cylin looked over her shoulder. “Well that was a warm and encouraging welcome.” Is there something in the water or the air that makes people delusional here? I should be getting out of here as fast as my legs will carry me.
“Devin is quite devoted,” Myra said. “Lord Lucian rescued him as well. I know this is a lot to take in on your first day. Why don’t you come back to my house, have lunch, and rest a bit?”
“Lunch?” Cylin asked.
“Midday meal.” Myra tsked. “You don’t usually eat lunch? No wonder you’re so skinny!”
Thoughts of fleeing the village ran headlong into the idea of eating three times a day. “I didn’t usually get two meals a day,” Cylin responded, letting herself be led back into the clearing.
Myra tutted and climbed one of the stairs up to the branches. Cylin followed uncertainly. To her great relief, Myra didn’t cross any of the swaying rope and vine bridges, but entered a compact wooden house that looked sturdier than Cylin had feared. “Come in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll warm some stew. Just you and me for lunch today. My husband, Searel, is hunting and my little girl is in her lessons.”
Cylin looked around the house and relaxed, finding it refreshingly normal. Colorful hangings in abstract patterns decorated the walls. Plump cushions softened the carved wood furniture. Several dolls lay haphazardly on the floor, their worn clothes and patchy string hair telling of much love and much play. She set her bag down in a corner. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Leesa,” Myra answered. “She’s six, going on seven now. The light of our lives, and a bundle of endless energy. We always wanted a child, Searel and I, but until we found Forest Town, it wasn’t safe. All respect to the women who can manage it, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to care for a child while on the run.”
Cylin started. “You were fugitives?” She tried to imagine the cheerful woman living as a vagabond or a criminal, and failed.
“The lord of the place we came from… well, he was of the opinion that everything in his domain was his to take and use as he pleased. Searel and I disagreed with him on that.” Myra didn’t expound further, but Cylin didn’t need her to.
“And you ended up here?” Cylin asked instead.
“We heard rumors about a forest, and a village where people didn’t live in fear, and a lord who took care of his people. It sounded too good to be true, but we didn’t have anywhere else to go. Now, here we are.” She smiled. “And it’s everything that the stories claimed.” Myra gazed at Cylin and her expression grew serious. “I know it’s a lot to accept, Lord Lucian claiming to be an ancient, ageless elf. But I can say he doesn’t look a day older than when I met him. And I’ve seen him… do things. Things that a normal person can’t do.” She waved Cylin to the kitchen. “Could you set the table?”
“Sure.” Relieved to be of some help, Cylin set bowls on the table, then spoons and cups. “Is it a mutation? An effect of radiation, or something from the war?” Everyone heard stories about such things.
“That’s possible,” Myra allowed. “But I don’t know… personally, I’d rather think that Lord Lucian’s one of the ancient spirits here to protect us. Searel and I have always had leanings toward the Old Ways.”
Once, people had worshiped the ancient spirits. The idea that her hostess actually gave that deep of devotion to Lucian unsettled Cylin. “What’s he think of that?”
“Oh, he prefers that we don’t honor him as a god, so we keep our prayers private,” Myra said, as if it were a small matter.
She served soup for lunch. The hot food settled comfortably in Cylin’s stomach, and was followed by weariness.
“Would you like to rest for a while?” Myra asked. “You look worn out.”
“Yeah. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
Myra showed her to a small bedroom. The bed was neatly made, and didn’t look as if it had been slept in at all. “This is the guest room. Make yourself comfortable.”
Cylin set her bag by the bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay down atop the covers. Her eyes closed, and sleep followed.
She woke when someone knocked on the door. Cylin raised her head, looking around in muzzy disorientation. “Yes?”
“Mama said to tell you that dinner’s almost ready!” called a young, high-pitched voice from the other side.
“Oh… Thanks.” She shook her head to clear the fog of sleep. The smell of roasted meat permeated the house. She ran fingers through her hair, working out the worst of the tangles before she left the room and slung her bag over her shoulder. Cylin opened the door to be greeted by a girl of six or seven, with dark hair looped in braids around her head, much like Myra’s.
“Hi!” the girl greeted. “Are you Cylin? Mama said you’re new and that Lord Lucian brought you. I’m Leesa!”
“Uh, hi Leesa. Yes, I’m Cylin.” Cylin marveled that the child showed no fear of a stranger.
Leesa caught Cylin’s hand. “Come on. We have to wash for dinner! Daddy brought home a deer.”
Cylin let the girl pull her to the washroom. A basin sat on the counter, and Leesa pulled out a stepstool to reach it. She splashed her hands into the water, rubbed soap on them, then splashed again. Cylin recalled her own mother telling her to wash before dinner. It had been years since she’d had easy access to both soap and enough clean water to have the luxury of washing her hands before a meal. The water was lukewarm, and she added more from a pitcher to make up for Leesa’s splashing before scrubbing her hands with the soap. Dirt caked the lines of her skin, and didn’t come off easily, but the surface grit washed loose.
I wonder if I could take a bath. How long has that been?
She could have figured out the answer if she’d tried. She’d stopped worrying about bathing once Pryor took her in, hoping it would discourage him from taking advantage of her. Only later had she realized that his interest in her body had nothing to do with sex. He liked his women older. Girls were livestock to sell to the bone men.
Still, I thought he valued me for more than that. I thought being useful to him would protect me. She touched the gauze on her cheek, a stark reminder of that betrayal.
Pulling her thoughts away from Pryor, Cylin dried her hands and walked with Leesa back to the open dining area and kitchen. Myra was pulling something from the oven. A man stood beside her chopping leafy greens and arranging them in a serving bowl. His skin was darker than Myra’s, and his face had similar lines of wear.
He turned at the sound of their footsteps. “Good evening and welcome to our home. Myra told me that you’d be joining us this evening. It’s our pleasure to have you join us, Cylin. I am Searel, and you’ve met our daughter, Leesa.”
“Um, hi. Thanks,” Cylin answered. Everyone was so… cheerful, like they were actually pleased at her presence, and not suspicious of a stranger. Her stomach growled loudly. “Sorry!”
“No need,” Searel assured her. “We have plenty, and it’s our honor to share with you. Sit, please. The food will be ready shortly.”
Leesa proudly directed Cylin to her seat at the table. Cylin sat and finally glanced around a little. “Is that a wood stove? Is that safe up here?” She’d seen villages after a fire. How much worse would it be when the houses sat in trees?
“There’s always some danger of fire,” Myra admitted. “But the stoves are sturdy, and we haven’t had any serious fires in all the time we’ve been here.”
“Where does the metal come from?” Cylin asked. “Do you have a smith here as well?’
“We do. Lord Lucian supplies the metal from his cave,” Searel answered. “I understand that he brought you to our village.”
“I… yes, he did,” she said, hesitant to say more.
“I like Lord Lucian!” Leesa told her. “He’ll play with me sometimes when he comes out to the village. But he spends lots of time in his cave, and I’m not supposed to go up there alone.”
“No, you’re not,” Myra agreed, carrying a steaming platter to the table. “I don’t want you getting lost in Lord Lucian’s caves again.”
“I wasn’t lost!” Leesa protested. “I just didn’t know which way was out.”
Searel set the bowl of greens on the table. “And that is why you aren’t to go there by yourself. Did you wash your hands?”
“Yes, Daddy!” Leesa climbed into her chair.
Through dinner, Cylin watched her hosts for prompts as to the meal etiquette. It was hard to pay much attention to the subtler details, though, when the food was so good. She didn’t know most of the spices used on the meat, and the idea of eating fresh greens without at least boiling them first was mildly unsettling. Both Myra and Searel ate heartily and encouraged Cylin to have her fill.
After the meal, as Cylin helped clear the table, Myra said, “Won’t you stay the night with us, Cylin? Forest Town doesn’t have an inn, but the guest room is yours for as long as you would like.”
“Are you sure?” Cylin asked. “I don’t want to be in the way.” She hadn’t thought about where she would spend the night. And she certainly wasn’t going to venture into the forest in the dark. Even if the trees didn’t assault people during the day, who knew what came out after dark.
Ghosts, her mind whispered, calling up the image of Lucian darting through Pryor’s camp.
“We’re sure,” Searel told her. “It’s been too long since we last hosted anyone.”
“Please?” Leesa asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Please please? The last woman didn’t stay.” She heaved a sigh. “I liked her.”
“I know you did, dear,” Myra told her daughter. “But if someone doesn’t want to stay, we won’t make them.”
“The last woman?” Cylin asked.
“Many families open their homes to newcomers,” Searel explained. “So people can get their feet under them wit
hout worrying about where they’ll sleep or get food. It gives them time to decide if they want to stay or if this is just a place to stop for a little while on their journey.”
Cylin thought about that. “Was that something that Lord Lucian set up?”
“As I understand it, yes,” Myra answered. “When we came, we stayed a few months with another couple. Their daughter is one of Leesa’s best friends.”
Leesa nodded in happy agreement. “We sit next to each other in studies!”
Cylin smiled. “Well, it’d be nice to have somewhere to stay for a while. Thanks.”
“Yay!” Leesa bounced, bubbling with excitement. The girl happily talked at Cylin for the rest of the evening, showing off a collection of toys and dolls, most of them worn and old, probably once belonging to Myra. After the girl was finally in bed, Cylin settled in the sitting room with Myra and Searel, all of them sipping tall glasses of cool water. No one spoke at first, and the silence was comfortable. Searel finally spoke. “Might I ask what you think of Lord Lucian so far?”
Cylin shifted and toyed with her glass. Lucian’s cold, hard eyes haunted her memory. “I don’t want to offend you after you’ve been so kind,” she said.
“Ah… He told you that he’s an elf, then?” Searel asked.
“Is it that obvious?” Cylin asked in consternation, glad to seize on that detail rather than Lucian’s reaction when she called him mad.
Searel smiled. “Well, it wasn’t as stunning to Myra and I as it is to some people, but hearing a man declare himself to be an ancient spirit is a bit of a shock, whether you follow the Old Ways or not. I think that every wanderer who has come here has questioned his claim, wondered over it, and decided whether it was enough to make them turn away from the refuge this village offers.”
Cylin considered that. “Is he why some people don’t stay?”
“Not the only reason, but he is one,” Searel said. “Some just don’t find Forest Town suited to their liking, and take offense that we won’t change our way of life to suit their whims. Others have trouble settling down and staying in one place. No one has to stay, no matter the circumstances of their arrival.”