by Peter Wacht
He was a little surprised, though. Ogren usually didn't travel beyond the Breaker. Normally they'd hunt in the Northern Highlands, even though the Marchers were very good at making sure they did not stay there long. The beasts were growing bolder, and that worried him. He'd have to send a note to the Isle of Mist. Someone else needed to know what was going on and help spread the word among those charged with doing something about it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Something New
The Isle of Mist sat only a mile from the eastern shore of the Highlands, yet most men considered the shallow barrier of water to be several leagues wide and avoided the island at any cost. As with any culture based on an oral custom, where history largely survived because of the efforts of the taletellers, legend, rumor, and the truth often became mixed into one. So much so that even the taletellers didn't know if the stories they recited were truth or fiction.
Though each taleteller offered a distinct version of the same legend, they all agreed on one thing. Those unwise enough to venture onto the Isle of Mist usually did not return. Pirates used to prowl the Sea of Mist, and legend said that the Isle was their sanctuary. This, of course, drew the stout-hearted in search of fortune, but no gold or other riches were ever found, only hideous creatures and spirits waiting to feast on the unwary adventurer. As a result, most believed the island cursed, haunted by the spirits of the dead pirates protecting their hidden treasure.
Thomas had heard the tales as a child and believed them. When Rya had told him that that's where they were taking him the day after their first meeting, he tried to escape the following night, but Rynlin caught him. Now, after five years on the island, he was beginning to hope that there might be some truth to the stories that Rynlin had fabricated to keep people away from his home. He could do for a little excitement.
It truly was a beautiful island. A handful of large mountains dominated the landscape, and heart trees covered its expanse from one tip to the other. He enjoyed running beneath and leaping over their roots. Also, the rough bark offered excellent handholds, and Thomas found that he could pull himself up fairly easily. He climbed to the top of several, enjoying the view across the sea to the east or into the Highlands to the west, all the while holding on tight as the uppermost branches swayed in the wind.
Thomas had just finished his lessons with Rynlin and he looked forward to having some time to himself this afternoon. This morning he'd gotten out of his studies without any extra work, so he'd gone to one of his favorite places, a small cove along the western shore of the island. Beluil went with him. Though Beluil liked to wander the island every day, he never stayed away from Thomas for very long. On cold nights, Beluil liked to curl up by Thomas' feet as he read a book in front of the fireplace, though the large wolf, almost the size of a pony, always made sure that he was closest to the fire.
Sometimes Thomas stood on the beach and watched the waves as they crashed against the shore. It was a very peaceful place, Shark Cove. He had swum out past the rocks once, trying for the deep water. He had learned very quickly how the cove had gained its name. Before he had gone very far, two very large fins broke the surface of the water, headed in his direction.
Luckily, he had not yet swum past where the seafloor dropped off at a steep angle, so the sharks couldn’t reach him. Rynlin had spoken of the sharks during one of their lessons soon after that frightening experience. Great Sharks, they were named. Thomas could understand why. The two he had seen must have been at least forty feet long and could have easily swallowed him whole. The grey-blue skin perfectly matched the color of the water. Their long, pointed snouts with large, triangular, serrated teeth, some four or five inches long, had sent a chill down his spine. Since then, Thomas stayed close to the shore.
From where he stood in the sand, Thomas observed the Highlands reaching for the sky just across the channel. He missed his grandfather, the passing time failing to heal the wound. Sometimes when he was asleep he dreamed of the night that had changed his life so dramatically.
"As a man, as a Kestrel Highlander, I give you these charges," his grandfather, Talyn Kestrel, had said solemnly. "This is the sword of the Kestrels. I charge you to bring it to safety and to guard it with your life. When the time comes for you to be Lord of the Highlands, you will have this sword."
When he becomes Lord of the Highlands. It didn't seem likely at the moment.
"My second charge is for you to remember who are," said Talyn. "You are Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands, and I charge you to remember that, and to make sure that others remember it as well."
And then the final scene, with him standing in the darkness yelling, "I am Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands. The Highlands will not be forgotten." His grandfather shouted in return, "For the Highlands," before enclosing him in darkness.
He thought about the tasks his grandfather had given him almost every day. They were a heavy burden to bear, and he knew that he would have to deal with those responsibilities soon. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it. His mind turned to his morning lessons and afternoon chores. Why was it so important that he be able to recite some ancient code of laws from memory, when the laws weren't even used anymore? Or the dancing. Why was Rya so insistent that he learn a dance hundreds of years old? How could any of this possibly help him in the future? Thomas shook his head in frustration. Sometimes he just didn’t understand his grandparents.
Both Rya and Rynlin were very good at keeping him busy. That’s why he had left the house as soon as he could after finishing his chores. Whenever Rynlin was his teacher, there was always one subject that proved difficult. And Thomas never knew which one it would be. One morning it could be history. The next, geography. Or maybe woodlore. Both loved to test him with questions. In Thomas’ opinion, these questions only confirmed that they took a particular delight in making his life difficult.
Rynlin and Rya always expected him to know the answers to whatever questions they might ask him about that day's lessons, even if they hadn't told him beforehand what the lessons were going to be! How was he supposed to know the answers if he didn't know what he was supposed to study? He had asked Rya the same question not long after beginning his studies, thinking he could avoid Rynlin's likely caustic response. But she had simply ignored him. At the end of each morning's lessons, Rya or Rynlin would always say, "Now for the test." Thomas dreaded those words more than anything else. If you didn't know the answer, it meant more work. Much more. Enough to keep you occupied until dinner.
Today, Thomas had finally turned the tables. Rynlin had asked him the name of an obscure group of warriors, and Thomas knew the answer. Even before Rynlin had finished asking the question, Thomas replied, "The Sylvana." Thomas thought Rynlin's jaw was going to fall off. Rynlin had actually started to say you're wrong before he caught himself.
"They were also known as the Sylvan Warriors," Thomas had said. "They are a small group of men and women who have fought the Shadow Lord since he first threatened the Kingdoms. The stories say that the Sylvana live in the more uninhabitable parts of the Kingdoms, preferring to stay away from cities and civilization, guarding the Kingdoms until it is time to fight again." It was the first time he had gotten the right answer in five years. Better yet, it was the first time he had actually seen Rynlin surprised. It really did look like Rynlin's eyes were going to pop out of his head. But Thomas didn't stay to see if that actually happened. He had hopped off his stool and ran out the door as fast as he could.
Thomas sighed as he turned away from the waves. Beluil hadn't moved from where he had lain down when they first arrived, having found a comfortable place on a soft bed of moss at the edge of the small beach. Beluil was full grown now, but Thomas had never guessed on that day so long ago, when he had carried the little wolf pup in his arms, that his friend would grow to be so large. Admittedly, Thomas was not very tall. Still, Beluil's head easily reached above Thomas’ chest.
Beluil appeared to be napping. Thomas knew better. As soon as Thoma
s walked by on his way back up the trail leading to the mountains, Beluil was at his heels.
"Enjoy your nap?" asked Thomas derisively.
Beluil just looked at him with an impudent grin. Upon seeing those sharp teeth, anyone not familiar with Beluil would have been halfway up the nearest tree. Thomas had taken only a few more steps before he felt his foot catch on something. Stumbling, Thomas caught himself just before he fell flat on his face. He looked back to see Beluil sitting on his haunches in the middle of the trail, trying to appear innocent, and failing miserably. He could feel his friend's soft laughter in the back of his mind. Thomas promised himself that he'd get even as he continued back along the trail.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A New Friend
Although the evening was cool, the fireplace warmed the downstairs floor. Unfortunately, it was getting a little too hot, so Rya left the window over the sink open to let in the night breeze. As soon as Rya had opened the window, the delicious smell of the stew wafted outside and drew Thomas inside. Venison stew. His favorite. He didn't know what he liked best — the stew itself, or the rye bread Rya baked to go with it.
"So where were you this afternoon?" asked Rya. "Rynlin told me that you answered his question correctly."
"Down at Shark Cove," he said with some difficulty, as he tried to speak and eat at the same time.
"It was a lucky guess," said Rynlin, still slightly annoyed that Thomas had gotten the right answer. He didn't like it when people knew the answers to his questions. It just didn't seem right.
"What were you doing down there?"
"Just thinking," replied Thomas, this time remembering his manners and waiting to finish a bite of stew before responding.
"How did you learn about the Sylvana?" asked Rynlin, an intent look on his face. Glancing at his grandfather, Thomas sensed that this was more than just a casual question. Rynlin was too interested in his response.
"I read about them in a book," said Thomas, not offering more than just the necessary information. Rynlin waited for more of an answer, but soon decided that he wasn’t going to get a better explanation. Thomas certainly didn't mince words, which Rynlin approved of. There was no need to say more than was necessary. But when you're trying to get to the bottom of something, it could become an extremely frustrating exercise. Rya simply shrugged her shoulders and passed him a slice of bread.
Thomas kept his head down and focused on eating his stew. He didn't want to talk too much about this subject. Yes, he had read a book about the Sylvana, and he was interested in learning more about them.
But the main reason thoughts of the Sylvana remained in his mind were the dreams. For the last few months, he had dreamed about the Sylvana. Or at least he thought he did. The book hadn't been very specific about what the Sylvana looked like as people, but it had explained in detail how Sylvan Warriors rode unicorns into battle. Unicorns no longer lived in the Kingdoms, at least not that he knew of. But that didn't mean that there weren't some unicorns still around somewhere. The book implied that the Sylvana were really just a myth. Thomas wasn't so sure. Many people tended to believe in only what they could see or touch, but that did not necessarily mean that a thing or a person didn't actually exist.
At first, he thought his dreams resulted from the book, his brain still holding the images he had created while reading. But this had been going on for several weeks now, and each night the dream came it was the same. He would be standing in a grassy field, with the tallest mountains he had ever seen in the background. A black unicorn would walk toward him. Thomas would reach out his hand and touch the unicorn's horn, and then he would wake up. He never knew how the dream ended.
Many times the images seemed like more than a dream, and lately he had woken up with the urge to go off and find this valley, though he had no idea where it was located. All in all, he thought it was extremely strange. If he told Rya and Rynlin, it would probably sound even stranger. So he decided that the wisest course was simply to keep his mouth shut. Maybe he could change the subject. Looking out the window, he found a way to do so.
A large raccoon sat on the windowsill gazing intently at their meal. Extending his senses, Thomas reached out to the raccoon with his mind.
"Rynlin," said Thomas. "I was wondering if you might be able to spare some bread."
Rynlin gave Thomas a perplexed look. He normally didn't like to share his food, and he had assumed that Thomas was done with his meal. He decided to be generous.
"You want a piece, then?" he asked, beginning to tear a smaller chunk from his own slice.
"No, not me," said Thomas.
"Then why do you want it?" he asked, somewhat confused.
"I don't want the bread," Thomas said. "I was hoping you could spare some for my new friend."
"What new friend?" interrupted Rya, now just as thoroughly confused as Rynlin.
Thomas nodded toward the open window.
Both Rynlin and Rya saw the raccoon sitting calmly on the windowsill waiting to see what would happen.
"How do you know this, Thomas?" asked Rya, still not understanding.
"I just know," said Thomas. Though he had been on the island for five years now, he still didn't feel right calling Rynlin grandfather or Rya grandmother. The only person he had called grandfather had died, and a small part of him thought that he would betray his grandfather's memory if he called someone else by that term. Thomas knew that such a thought was ridiculous, but he still couldn't bring himself to call Rynlin and Rya by anything but their given names.
"You can speak to raccoons?" asked Rynlin, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
"Yes. No. Well, yes, I guess," said Thomas. The frowns on Rynlin and Rya's faces grew deeper as he tried to explain. "I can talk to raccoons, but not just to them. I can communicate with any animal in the forest I want to, as long as the animal allows it."
Absently, Rynlin finished tearing off a large chunk of bread, then handed it up to the raccoon on the windowsill. The raccoon took a quick bite, then grabbing hold of the bread, leapt down from the windowsill with its prize and raced away.
"How long have you been doing this?" asked Rya. Her keen interest had replaced her initial surprise.
"I don't know," said Thomas, leaning back on his stool, but not so far that he would tip over. He had done that once, and the back of his head had hurt for days. "Since before I came here."
Rynlin and Rya exchanged a knowing look. A handful of people in the past few centuries had been able to communicate with animals, though it wasn't normally discussed. Most people saw it as something that was evil, but those who knew more about such things saw it for what it truly was — a gift.
Nevertheless, the people with this particular skill had only been able to speak with animals on a very limited basis and communicated through a few basic concepts. Thomas didn’t seem to have any of these restrictions. More shocking, Thomas had kept this unique skill hidden from them for five years. They had always assumed that all those times Thomas and Beluil knew what each other was thinking came from their closeness as friends. Now they saw that they had been mistaken.
"What are you two thinking?" asked Thomas in a worried voice. He didn't like it when Rynlin and Rya had those expressions on their faces. It usually meant more lessons or work.
Rynlin and Rya eyed Thomas. They knew that their grandson was a unique child, they just hadn't realized how unique he might actually be.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
New Skill
"So what exactly can you do?" asked Rynlin. After dinner, he led Thomas outside, wanting to explore his grandson’s unique ability.
"It's kind of hard to explain," replied Thomas nervously. He had always viewed this skill as a secret and had planned to keep it that way.
"Let's start with your speaking to the raccoon," said Rynlin.
Thomas thought for a moment, struggling to find the best way to talk about it. Actually communicating with an animal was simple, at least when he did it, but explai
ning it was another matter entirely.
"I guess you could say I—," he began, seeking the right words. Rynlin waited for him to continue, demonstrating a patience usually reserved only for his dealings with Rya. His grandson was obviously uncomfortable, so he took a more reserved approach.
"Don't worry, Thomas. I'm not going to rush you like I do during your lessons." Rynlin smiled at Thomas' obvious relief. Normally, when Rynlin asked a question, he expected an immediate answer.
"When I was younger," said Thomas, "I spent as much time as possible outside of the Crag. I didn't like being inside the walls. Sometimes it felt like I was in a dungeon. But when I was in the forest, I knew I belonged there." His grandfather nodded in understanding. He didn't like being cooped up behind stone walls either. It dampened his awareness of what was going on in the natural world, and that made him uncomfortable. Seeing his grandfather’s nod, Thomas plunged ahead with more confidence.
"One time, when I was sitting in one of the glades at the base of the Crag, I kept hearing this noise, but I didn't know where it was coming from. It was very faint, almost like the sound of light, misty rain hitting a tree’s leaves.
"I got up and walked around the glade searching for the source. At first, I thought it might have been an animal or a bird, but it wasn’t. So I went back to the tree and I heard the sound again — a slow, misty rain falling on a tree's leaves. That's when I focused on the tree I had been leaning against. It was a clear, sunny day, so it definitely wasn't rain. The only other explanation I could think of was that the sound came from the tree, from the inside.
"I put my hand on its bark, getting a feel for its roughness. Then I concentrated on the tree. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I stayed like that — kneeling in front of the tree, my hand against its bark — for more than an hour. No matter what I did, I wasn't getting anywhere. I could still hear that sound, but I couldn't find the source.”