Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

For a brief instant, Serra thought herself back at Rahn, but this was not the case. These were not her quarters, nor was the smell filling her nostrils the scent of those streets. It was obvious she had been placed here to rest because Serra had no recollection of ever setting foot into the room. Either I was carried, or I was much, much more tired than I ever imagined, thought Serra dryly.

  Serra had no way of telling how long she had been in bed, but she was extremely comfortable. She had been covered in a blanket, and the bed, while small and firm, was wonderfully cozy. Serra had a hard time wanting to abandon such a feeling. Finally, she found her arms and slowly propped herself upright. Wiping her eyes, she regained enough wits about her to absorb her surroundings.

  The room was sparsely decorated with simplicity in mind. There was as small table next to the bed and on it was a lamp, a clay pitcher, and cup. A small cabinet rested on the opposite side of the bed, and on it where her personal belongings in neat order. The dress she had worn rested cleanly within reach upon the wooden bench at the end of the bed. Suppressing a yawn, Serra continued her inspection.

  It was the walls that called to Serra’s attention more than anything. The room, along with the rest of this home, was compromised of what must have been a reinforced wood structure. Covering this foundation was a tarp-like material that looked strong like leather to Serra. Touching the wall closest to her, Serra guessed that it was reinforced as well, for it was more durable than any leather she had ever felt. She could also hear the wind beyond it, but none of its chill found its way through to Serra.

  It’s just like a big, elaborate tent, thought Serra. If I had to guess, I’d say we made it to Axiter. It was then she noticed the colors of the walls. And I know those colors. I’d bet the farm I’ve been placed with Esmie and her family.

  Serra had, of course, guessed correctly. As if on cue, a familiar voice came from the doorway, equally relieved and admonishing. “Well look who’s awake and safe and sound and in need of more than just a stern talking to!” Esmie of the Ryndragus went to Serra, putting her arms around her friend. “Oh, my dear, you had us so worried!” Pulling back a bit, Esmie looked Serra over. “And how are you feeling? Not hurt anywhere are you? No? I’d be happy to fix that for you after that little stunt you pulled, you know!”

  Serra put her hands on Esmie’s forearms. “Well it’s good to see you too,” she replied sarcastically, smiling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  Esmie dramatically rolled her eyes while looking toward the ceiling. “Did not mean to worry me? Aye Dios mio! What did you think I was going to do, young lady? ‘Don’t worry,’ she says. Pish posh I say!” Suddenly, Esmie’s voice grew quiet and serious. “I think I’ve lost enough friends recently, young one. I’m just glad you weren’t added to that list.” Esmie hugged her again at those words.

  “Me too Esmie, me too,” whispered Serra.

  They were quiet for a long moment before Esmie gathered herself and stood up. “Well, my dear, if you are feeling up to it, I suppose we should be on our way. These days are always busy, and I am sure Wyndall is going to want to see you safe and sound with his own two eyes and all that razzmatazz."

  Serra looked up at her quickly enough. “Wyndall’s here?”

  “Indeed,” said Esmie nodding. “He’s a busy one, that’s for sure. If it were up to him, he would stay in the north and personally take it to Thorne, but these are dismal times. And Axiter could ill-afford to lose him now.”

  “Nor could the rest of Vallance,” said Serra drearily. In her mind, she pondered the heavy list of casualties that already dominated her thoughts. When not coordinating attacks against the advancing Thorne forces, Wyndall of the Jacoi spent the rest of his time and energy trying to cobble the pieces of Vallance together into a unified force. It was a daunting task, for in the last five years Vallance was anything but unified. Towns fought their own battles and protected their borders, and it seemed to Serra that no one fully trusted anyone else. And unfortunately, Esaundra Denore was having great difficulty adjusting, unprepared for bearing the load as regent for the leadership of Vallance.

  Everything Serra knew was in fragments or falling apart. What it would take to mend that, Serra could not say. However, so long as there was life in her still, Serra would hope. And in her heart, she still believed there was someone out there that could put it all back together. And she fully intended on fulfilling her promise to find him. Thinking of Norryn brought Serra back to the present. “Well let’s not keep him waiting another moment longer then.”

  Serra placed her hands onto the bed to swing her legs to the floor. She was instantly troubled to find her legs protested the maneuver. It felt as if she were confined by a lead wait and almost cried out in surprise when she felt movement beneath the cover. Serra would have fretted had she not heard Esmie’s laughter or the annoyed grunts or her unseen bed companion.

  Esmie could hardly get a sentence out through her laughter. “Bryndan, is that you? When did you sneak in, you little rascal? He must really like you, my dear. It is rare that this little guy comes inside a home. He truly does have a mind of his own!”

  At that moment Bryndan made his way to the end of the blanket, popping his head out. He looked groggy and irritated as he looked at Serra while stretching. Shaking his fur once, Bryndan hopped to the floor and scurried to the wall. Giving out a few more grunts, he nosed his way under the cloth and outside.

  Serra got to her feet as Esmie shook her head. “That little fur ball is something else I tell you. He’s just as manic as all get out, but somehow, you can’t help but fall in love with him. And he’s just as difficult as his owner.”

  The reminder of Bryndon’s owner focused Serra fully. “That reminds me,” said Serra, thinking of the long ordeal she had endured, “I have been meaning to ask, who is his owner? He saved my life and believe me, I am grateful. But he was mean to me for no reason whatsoever. I haven’t been placed on the defensive like that for a long time. To top it all off, I just spent a great deal of time with the guy and all I know is that he is a part of Wyndall’s kinfolk but not much else. He never had much to say, especially to me.”

  Esmie’s eyebrows arched and her voice became hushed. “Oh my, he didn’t tell you anything did he?” Serra shook her head. “Well he always was quite the charmer. Never one for much idle talk.”

  “Definitely not,” said Serra dismally.

  Esmie took on a look of thoughtfulness. “Well there is of course, a story behind that mind you, but I am not the one that should be telling it. I’ll just have to be forced to let you see for yourself.” She saw the protest build in Serra’s eyes and smiled. “Hey, after all the grief and worry you gave me, I think it’s only fair that I get to enjoy this.”

  Serra shrugged her shoulders in dull, utter acceptance. “What choice do I have?”

  Smiling again, Esmie’s voice took on warm and cheerful tones as she led Serra out of the room. “Well, come along, my dear. I assure you there is much to see. Wyndall is waiting and he will be most happy to see you. As for the rest of it and speaking from experience, I should say that this ought to be good,” she said, leading Serra outdoors.

  Axiter was everything that Serra heard it to be and more. As Esmie lead her from her clansmen’s homes, Serra could not help but feel safe in what was beginning to already feel like a home away from home. There was nothing fancy about Axiter, no frills to detract from its superior simplicity. Nevertheless, everything about it seemed so very right to Serra.

  There was much to take in as Serra headed into the heart of the warrior town. Around her, all homes were very much like Esmie’s, yet each was in some small way unique, and all had the colorings of their respective clan’s. She still couldn’t get the words teepee or tent out of her thoughts, but these homes were much larger and more elaborate. Esmie’s alone was at least six rooms and I have seen many bigger than that. How a design so simple can look so complex is beyond me.

  As she walked and talked with Esmie,
Serra found herself amazed by the people she encountered. The unity here was the greatest she had seen in all Vallance. Serra watched as men and women from different clans tackled daily chores and tasks. She saw a Ro'Nihn sitting with a circle of small children, probably spinning them a legendary tale. Other places she saw Ro’Nihn geared up and bidding farewell to their family. She was also rejoiced to see a ragged warrior reunited with his own after a long journey Serra was sure had been fraught with peril.

  Ultimately, it was the peace she felt that caught her so off guard. Finally, she had to ask. “Esmie, how are things so peaceful here? This cannot be an easy time for the Ro’Nihn or their families.”

  Esmie smiled. “Ah, my dear, that may be true, but we must take what comes in stride. We’re just like everyone else of Vallance. We are at war and we of Axiter feel the same way about it as any other Vallance town. But we cannot change our fates. All we can do is live our lives richly and for as long as we are able. We’ve made peace with that long ago. So, until then, we will go about our days to the best of our abilities. Such is life, young one.”

  Serra thought about this a moment. She couldn’t find fault in the logic.

  After a short trip, Serra and Esmie reached the heart of Axiter. Already feeling inspired among her country’s most steadfast defenders, Serra found that inspiration doubled as she looked before her. The view, especially surrounded by the homes of the respective unified clans of Axiter, was extraordinary. Esmie did her best to fill in the details as she and Serra walked on.

  Unlike the previous homes Serra had seen, many of the buildings here were solid foundations, comparable to other Vallance towns. However, the architecture was wholly different than any town she had been in. It too was simplistic (She noticed she was thinking of that word a lot.) and while Bannar had prided itself on a very earthen design, Axiter had it beat hands down. Not only did the buildings look as if they were coming from the ground, they also looked like they belonged to the Earth. No corner was cut in the design. Every fiber if it showed respect and tribute to the land that it derived from.

  Serra immersed in the moment. She couldn’t help but be wonderfully lost in this place. She almost stumbled into Esmie, who had been a few steps ahead of her. “Oops. Sorry, Esmie, this is, well this is. . .”

  “Overwhelming I’m sure. It’s a lot for you city folk to take in. Such is the way we live. I bet it’s nothing like you expected.” Serra’s silence was all the confirmation that Esmie needed.

  The next thing to catch Serra’s eye was their destination, as it was impossible not to notice, as it poised in the distance. Wyndall’s domain appeared to be small, and yet it was still somehow overwhelming. There seemed to be only one level to it, but it stretched out subtly. The hall was garbed with the banners of rich blue, as it was the home of Wyndall of the Jacoi. Serra smiled at the thought anxious to see Axiter’s leader again. She of course, couldn’t say the same about her savior, but she dismissed that, at least for the time being.

  Serra noticed west of the compound rested a great training ground. Currently there were young warriors covering the cylindrical stretch of Earth, obviously aspiring to gain their masks and the right to go forth into the world as Ro'Nihn. Surrounding the circle was seating, supplies, and equipment necessary for either long hours of training or a day of tournaments and celebration. Serra knew Vallance held people who had a misconception that natives of Axiter liked violence. Serra now knew that all one had to do to squash that notion was to spend a day in the presence of these men and women, perhaps the most peaceful minded people she had ever encountered.

  On the training grounds, Serra observed a woman in the center of the circle. Currently, she was surrounded by at least five of the young warriors in training. She had caught Serra’s eye as she moved gracefully, fire red hair alive in the sunlight. In her hand was a long staff that ended in what appeared to be a dragon’s head. The staff was merciless in her hands as she felled all five combatants in a matter of seconds before reprimanding them for their slowness.

  “Wow,” said Serra as she continued to observe, “She’s really good.”

  “Right,” replied Esmie, carrying the word with long, low and pained musing. “I don’t think you would say such things if you were on the receiving end of her training. Aye, what a hard woman!” Esmie stopped Serra and pointed at the teacher in the distance. “That, young one, is Kascha of the Dryganus clan, one of the most revered, loved, and hated women in all of Axiter. She’s had a hand in the training of just about every warrior that has lived in this town for the last, well for as long as I can remember. And that does include me, thank you very much.”

  Serra continued to watch her work with the trainees. “What’s so bad about her?”

  “Should I tell you stories or show you scars?”

  Serra opted for the stories. Apparently, Kascha, who was now a young 43, had been appointed by Wyndall as one of the head trainers in a warrior’s coming of age. According to Esmie, it was up to the respective clans to train their warriors for the most part, as all the families had their own styles and expression of combat. When they reached a certain age and were ready for their masks, they came to the heart of town to finish their training. Here they learned diplomacy, ethics, and honor as well as a honing of their training. Kascha was one of the teachers appointed to the teaching of combat technique, tactics, and survival. According to Esmie, the woman was good at her work.

  “I must say she has a way of bringing out the best in you by doing her worst. When that woman steps out there on the circle, her demeanor completely changes. Many a Ro'Nihn has shared a drink or celebration with Kascha only to receive a rude awakening the following day, I myself being one of them,” Esmie admitted with a shudder.

  A fiery, no nonsense warrior who kicks butt; sounds like my kind of person, thought Serra musingly. She smiled at Esmie before watching Kascha’s work a moment longer. Turning, she followed Esmie again toward their destination.

  The other parts Axiter were not lost on Serra. There was a section of commerce, food suppliers, taverns, and the like, but once again Serra found herself focused solely on Axiter’s Hall as they neared. Two Jacoi clan guards covered the entrance to the hall. Upon reaching it, Esmie said a quick word to one of the guards. The guard then rapped his staff on the ground in a smooth cadence, and the doors slowly opened. Esmie and Serra bid their respect and headed inside.

  With the approval of one of the hall’s attendants, Esmie led Serra down a vast hallway and into a serene waiting room. The two engaged in small talk as they waited, and soon a tall warrior entered the room. He was the tallest person Serra had ever seen in her life, yet he walked softly for a man of his stature. The Ro’Nihn’s demeanor seemed pleasant to Serra, and that notion seemed a contrast for a man whose pupils were, eerily enough, fire-blood red.

  Recognition came to Esmie in less than a second. “Oh, my stars and goodness, Voltaire!” Esmie went to her large friend and hugged him. He in turn laughed as he lifted Esmie off her feet and swung her around as if she were nothing but a feather. “How I have missed you, young man! Now put me down, you big lug!” Voltaire did as he was asked.

  Serra smiled as she watched her friend take in a friend of her own. It was obvious they had not seen each other in a long time, and both were overjoyed by the fact that the other was well. Voltaire of the Achylles was a monster of a man. He looked like a wall of solid muscle and the black clothes and red armor that were the standard of his clan. Unlike most, Voltaire wore only one forearm guard securely on his left. His left shoulder also wore a red plate of armor that started below his neck and ended halfway to the elbow. On his back, he wore an axe. Serra could only see some of the blade as he put Esmie down, but it looked like a sharp lick of flames and dangerous in every aspect.

  What really caught Serra’s attention was the fact that unlike every other Ro'Nihn warrior she had encountered, Voltaire of the Achylles did not wear his mask. Or should she say he wore one, but it did not conceal his face
. Voltaire’s mask was a frightening visage of a half-skull, and it rested upon his forehead. I guess he knows he’s not fooling anyone, anyway, thought Serra. He’s kind of hard to miss, that’s for sure. And for some reason, he doesn’t look like someone who is comfortable in a mask, so why is he still carrying one? Tradition? Ah, who knows? Serra left it at that.

  Esmie gave her friend a playful punch as she spoke. “So, Voltaire, what have you been up to these days? Fighting the good fight, I would hope. Haven’t killed anyone on any crazy hovercycle expeditions, I hope. So out with it already! Details, details!”

  The voice that came out of Voltaire was nothing Serra had expected, for he sounded more like a sophisticated intellectual than a seven-foot behemoth warrior. “Well you know me, Esmie, anything I can do to help, so long as it keeps me away from your endless bickering.” Still clasping Esmie’s shoulders he looked over in Serra’s direction. “You know I am half deaf in one ear because of this woman’s incessant yelling? I bet she leaves that part out in her endless ranting”

  Esmie gave her tall friend a flick on the ear, which was an effort in itself. “Oh, pish posh and all of that, young one. You’re lucky a stern talking to is all I ever gave you!” Esmie turned to Serra. “Voltaire, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Serra Landring, a native of Bannar. Serra, this is Voltaire of the Achylles clans. Don’t let his big facade fool you. He is quite literally the biggest softy you’ll ever meet.”

  “Thanks, Esmie.” Voltaire gave his Ryndragus friend a little nudge as he stepped closer to Serra. He must have been almost three of her in size.

  Serra bowed before extending her hand. “It is an honor to meet you, Voltaire. Any friend of Esmie’s can certainly be a friend of mine.”

  Voltaire engulfed Serra’s hand with one of his own. His free hand went across his chest as he knelt on one knee. “It is I who am honored, Serra Landring. Your name is no stranger here in Axiter.” He stood again, smiling easily at Serra. “You are admired for your courage and your love for all the people of Vallance.”