Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  “Thank you, Voltaire,” said Serra.

  “See dear? I told you that you’re the cat’s meow in more places than one,” chimed in Esmie as she winked at Serra. “So really, Voltaire, what has been going on with you? Where has fate found you these days?”

  Voltaire shook his head as his hands rested on his hips. “Don’t you mean where has it not found me? I think that is the better question.” Voltaire exhaled in a long sigh of breath. Serra knew he was happy to be home, yet remorseful to know he must leave it again soon. “We’ve been patrolling back and forth between Shinteu and the region of Bannar, stopping at towns and outposts as we go. There has been an increase in Thorne's activities, and they are becoming braver every day. We found a small group of scouts not too far from here. That may be the only instance of it, but it still can’t be disregarded. There is simply no rest for the weary, or the wicked for that matter,” he said with a wink. The last bit was aimed at Esmie.

  Serra and Esmie both nodded to that before Esmie shook a fist at him. Serra knew while Esmie was being as cheery as ever, she was taking Ballor’s death hard. Being a healer only compounded the issue because then there was the wonder if more could have been done. With war comes death, thought Serra, and while you have the chance to save others from death, in this line of work, there is always the loss.

  Voltaire continued, scratching absently at the frightening visage that hovered above his face. “So here I am, for now at least. I’ve come to give my report and then grab some chow before Kascha has us all at the fighting grounds for practice and recreation. I’ll have no desire for food after that I’m certain.”

  “She does have a way about her,” added Esmie.

  “You’re telling me. I liked her better in the tavern.”

  “Didn’t we all, you big baby!” Esmie rolled her eyes. “I swear this young one gets worse with age, Serra. I don’t know what he would do if I wasn’t here to keep him in line.”

  “Sleep better at nights I’m sure,” mumbled the large Ro-Nihn.

  “Oh shoosh, you! Don’t you have something to do? Um, we were kind of having some woman to woman talk so uh, yeah, buh-bye, Voltaire.”

  Voltaire shrugged easily. “Hey, I can take a hint. I’d like to go hear what the Morganne gunslinger has to say anyway.”

  Serra stopped Voltaire from his departure. “There is a gunslinger here in Axiter?”

  Voltaire nodded. “Why yes, Serra, there is, her and a Bannar native in tow. Her name is. . .”

  “Jozlyn’s here?”

  Voltaire’s eyebrows raised in recognition. “Yes, that’s it, Jozlyn Corzon. I haven’t met her personally yet but from what I hear, we could use more like her on the battlefront.”

  “That, Voltaire of the Achylles, is a great understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” said Serra, thinking of the current situation in Morganne.

  Finally, a young Ro’Nihn led them down another hallway toward Wyndall of the Jacoi. Behind Serra, Voltaire and Esmie exchanged hushed retorts at one another like kids. Serra only smiled. It was good to see this side of warriors forced through so many hardships. Within the hallways Serra witnessed tributes of all the clans throughout the keep. There was a character to this place that put Serra’s mind at ease with its reverence.

  Soon, Serra and the others came to a great door. It too was flanked by two Jacoi guards. Their escort announced them to these men and without hesitation the doors were opened. From inside came the warm sound of conversation. Opening her feelings, Serra could sense familiarity in the room and smiled as her heart rose. She wasted no time in entering. Voltaire and Esmie followed.

  “The clans of Axiter welcome Serra Landring of Bannar,” announced her escort with a voice that sought out every corner of the room.

  The sight before Serra's eyes was more than she thought she deserved. A long, beautiful carpet rested beneath her feet all the way to the boots of Wyndall of the Jacoi. On both sides of this carpet stood a line of masked Ro'Nihn blazing with the colors of their respective clans. These were proud men and women, and now they stood to welcome her. Along the walls, the banners of these clans stood vigil, together for their common cause, duty, and fate.

  Slowly, Serra made her way down the carpet. Each step, she found, was more humbling than the last. Serra tried to keep herself steady, but as she walked the warriors who surrounded her knelt with bowed heads. Serra saw Ro'Nihn giving her a reverence that she believed should have been reserved for them. It was all that Serra could do to not let tears well within her eyes.

  As Serra walked, she did her very best not to disrespect these amazing human beings. Serra caught the corners of sincere eyes as she strolled down what seemed to her now as an endless carpet. These truly are the greatest people I have had the honor to know. Serra looked at each warrior in turn to her right in hopes to make eye contact with at least one. I want them to know that it is I who should be bowing, for I am unworthy of this show of respect. Let me at least show one of them with my eyes this gratitude that protocol will not allow.

  A little over halfway down the carpet, Serra got her wish.

  One head rose, just enough that fierce eyes shown from under a shadow of a mask. They bore into her with a faint, yet penetrating radiance that was all too familiar. Such a look was not diminished by the overwhelming bout of hair that hovered over the blue hues of his mask. One rigid arm crossed his chest as the other supported him as he knelt. Nevertheless, there was no mistaking that he was looking at Serra, just as she was looking at him.

  It’s him, Serra thought darkly. He's the one that saved me and brought me here. Instantly, Serra’s muscles tensed in protest. She very much wanted to have another bout of words with this man, torn between gratitude and fury. There are so many things that I wish to say to you, but the simple truth is that you saved my life. You don’t need to accept my thanks, but you will realize my gratitude just the same. She looked at him now, the paleness of his skin, the vigor of his eyes. Thank you again, sir.

  The look in his eyes clearly stated he knew what was on her thoughts. And the hazel eyes that responded to her was a message impossible to miss. Save your thanks. You would make such efforts in vain if you had the chance. Serra walked on past such a look. She did not know what infuriated her more, the anger he held for her or the fact he had a way of being dreadfully right.

  Serra could feel the young Ro’Nihn’s gaze leaving her at last, and it made it easier to carry on and address what was before her. Serra could see a large ornate door that had to have gone into Wyndall’s private quarters. Before that door now was Wyndall of the Jacoi himself. Somehow, through the rigors of war, the sacrifices he had to have ultimately made in the last five years, Wyndall had hardly changed a bit.

  Wyndall’s ornate Axiter armor rested proudly upon the black of his clothes. Covering Wyndall now was a great cloak, blending smoothly with the mask that covered his face. The black streak of hair across his head was well kept, clean, and just beginning to show the shadow of gray. For a man who had endured as much as he, mused Serra, to only have that is a testament of his strength.

  Surrounding Wyndall were no doubt the delegates of all the clans of Axiter. Once again, Serra could not help but feel overwhelmed when looking into a sea of unified colors. She found a comfortable distraction toward the end of the line. Looking on her with knowing eyes was a woman who wore no mask, nor did she claim birth in Axiter. She was of Morganne and Serra knew her very well. Serra would have some serious explaining to do. That was easy enough to see in those gunslinger eyes scowling at her, but that did not change how happy Serra was to see Jozlyn Corzon again.

  Serra couldn’t help but flash a quick smile to her friend. Jozlyn did the same, but Serra also saw something else in her eyes and knew immediately she would have more than explaining to do. Maybe I can get it all out of the way right here and now. There’s no better time and if anyone will listen, it would be Wyndall. And that’s just-oh, damns the luck! At that moment Serra eyes caught sight of someone else
, and then she really knew there would be no end to this.

  Not far from Jozlyn, Serra fixed eyes with Vonack. And there was no mistaking the look he was giving her. From years of experience, Serra knew that he was livid. His face held color as if a fire seeped just below his skin. However, he controlled it well, at least for now. Serra averted her eyes to Wyndall again. She was not about to have such a moment ruined by opening the floodgates of such an anger.

  “Clansmen, it is my honor to introduce you to Serra Landring; Bannar native, tireless diplomat, a long-time friend of the Ashener family, and a shining example to all of Vallance,” Wyndall smiled as his even, revered voice permeated the room. Serra took his outstretched hands as those behind her finally rose to their feet. As they did, they applauded graciously to her. Pulling her gently closer, Wyndall gladly embraced Serra. “It is good to see you again, Serra. We’ve been worried about you.”

  “Thank you, Wyndall,” sighed Serra, happy for the relief she felt. She loved Axiter already and the best part was here she didn’t have to act as a dignitary. The people of Axiter were glad enough that she was just plain old Serra Landring. “It’s good to be here, Wyndall, though I don’t deserve a greeting such as this.” Reluctantly she pulled away to look at a face still warm under the cloud of a mask.

  Wyndall spoke so that only Serra could hear. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He motioned where Vonack and Jozlyn stood. “There are those present that I’m sure would be more than happy to take care of that for you.”

  A little color filled her cheeks. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Wyndall’s voice rose again so that all may hear. “I speak for all when I say we are most relieved that you are safe. Vallance could ill-afford to lose you, and I’d prefer not to lose another friend.”

  From behind her came Esmie’s voice. “She is, of course, lucky to be here, Wyndall.”

  “She’s lucky to be alive,” said Jozlyn as she approached her friend.

  “Lucky I don’t kill her myself!” That was Vonack. He fumed still and did not follow Jozlyn as she walked. He was content to keep his distance, obviously afraid of what he might do or say. His outburst brought on more than a few light chuckles.

  Serra gave her friend from Morganne a mighty hug. To Serra, Jozlyn looked about the same as she had always been, though she was developing a bad habit of growing more serious with time. Serra knew that years of fighting would do that and Jozlyn was never afraid to face the front lines of any test or battle. For now, she would be happy in the knowledge that her friend still lived. “Good to see you, Joz.”

  “And it’s good to see you Serra. Vonack’s right, though. Try that stunt again and I will shoot you myself.”

  “Somehow, I thought you’d say that.” Serra gave Jozlyn another firm squeeze before turning back to Wyndall. This time it was her voice that rose so that all might hear. It was the voice of the diplomat, the fighter in Serra that was always there no matter the cost; the voice that had rallied many to the cause of Bannar and Vallance. “Warriors of Axiter, it is I who must thank you. Had one of your own not stood true I’d surely be a prisoner of Thorne this very moment, or dead.” She looked on at those that now looked at her. “It is you who should be thanked, for it is your deeds that keep the hope of our country alive still today.” It was Serra that then bowed in gratitude. When she stood again, she turned to Wyndall. “It was one of your own that saved my life, Wyndall. He was young yes but. . .” A million things shot through Serra’s head. He was rude. He regarded me in a contempt that I’ve not felt in my life. He was by far the coldest Ro’Nihn I have ever met in my life! However, in the end, Serra chose to say what truly mattered. “. . . he fought with the courage and skill of a warrior three times his age. He showed compassion and greatly honored the Jacoi clan and Axiter. He has my eternal gratitude, for saving me when I should not have been saved.”

  Clearly hearing this pleased Wyndall and she saw a pride in his eyes that said he accepted these words with more than just his clan in mind. Wyndall laughed lightly as he shook his head. “Serra Landring, I am happy and sad you would say such things. I’m certain your savior fought bravely, just as I am certain that his company was no warmer than a kiss from a blizzard. I of course have talked to him about such things, but he has his own way of handling those around him. You are kind in your words, Serra, but you don’t have to sweeten up your rescue as you did. I know my son well enough to know compassion and warmth are not his strong suits.”

  Serra felt as though she had been clubbed in the back of her head. The look on her face clearly expressed this. “Excuse me? Wyndall, that was your son?

  At her response, Wyndall did laugh fully. “See? He did not even tell you his name, did he?” He leaned in close to where only Serra could hear again. “He does have his good points, Serra. He just chooses to rarely show them.”

  Serra did her best to keep the shock out of her face, yet knew she was failing miserably. Behind her, Serra had no doubts that Esmie was eating this up.

  Wyndall looked past Serra’s shoulder. “Rynsik, come forward please.”

  Serra turned around to see her rescuer make his way down the red carpet. Everything seemed to pass slowly in those moments. Steady green-brown eyes bore emotionlessly ahead. Long black hair caressed his mask with every single step. As Rynsik approached, Serra felt the swell of pride from more than just Wyndall. This young man, this dark, quiet warrior was already a legend in his town. In that moment, she understood much. Even with his quiet, cynical demeanor, even through the haze of his firm indifference, Rynsik of the Jacoi was distinctive. Rynsik of the Jacoi was special.

  Rynsik was to Axiter as Norryn was to Vallance and the thought chilled her deeply.

  Rynsik of the Jacoi once again became close enough to touch. And once more Serra was torn between thanking him and choking him. She watched the regard in Wyndall’s eyes, and she felt her reservations lessen. She remembered stories of Rynsik being sick and bed ridden to a point that no one thought he would recover. Seeing him like this now, seeing him on his feet and among the living must have done much for the Axiter leader.

  Rynsik first bowed to Serra and then to his father, a gesture that Wyndall copied to his son. Rynsik placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, the closest thing to tenderness that Serra had seen from him yet. “Hello, da,” he said.

  “Hello, son. You did well to bring Serra back to us, and I am proud. Though I am sure that through all of this the two of you have not been properly introduced, and that is something that I would like to remedy here and now. Serra Landring, this is my son, Rynsik.”

  Smiling, Serra bowed to Rynsik before putting her hand out. She loved that he was now on the spot. “We have been through much and it’s is good to meet you finally, Rynsik of the Jacoi.”

  Rynsik gave his father a glancing look and Serra saw his eyes narrow. Wyndall then motioned to Serra. “Rynsik, whatever feelings you may have about Serra or her actions, at least show her the courtesy befitting a Ro’Nihn of Axiter.”

  Rynsik then faced Serra. She expected him to contain mockery in his greeting but to her surprise did not. Rynsik took her hand in both of his own. She felt the warmth and vitality coming from him in that moment, but nothing more. He then bowed until his forehead touched the top of Serra’s hand. “Serra of the Landring family, we are finally met. And while I understand your urgency, I am afraid my resentment remains.”

  It was Wyndall, who spoke next. “And I would like to know why, Rynsik.”

  Releasing Serra’s hand, Rynsik turned to his father. “She knows why, da, for it is the very same reason that she is going to discuss with you as soon as time allows. You should hear it from her mouth instead, for it will be far more eloquent than the rendition I shall offer.”

  Serra's teeth clenched though a few years of diplomacy had taught her ways of hiding it well. She hated being so exposed to someone she knew not at all. The frustration compounded within her easily. But I mustn’t stray from my course. I do ha
ve a reason to be here, and I have something to say. So, say it before I lose my nerve finally.

  Wyndall turned warm eyes on Serra questioningly. Resigning herself much as she did in Rahn, Serra geared up once again to face the inevitable. “Your son is right, Wyndall.” Her voice rose again to be heard by all present. “Warriors of Axiter, it is also because of one of your own that I must leave this wonderful place. Only a few days ago I witnessed the death of Ballor of the Grandstaff. Ballor was truly brave and his death was not in vain. He brought back to us Adaven Milestor, leader of Rucker. But before he passed from this world, Ballor sent me images that are burned in my brain. He knew who I was, and he revealed to me what I have accepted as my duty for Vallance and for a friend.” Serra looked at those now watching her. “It was through Ballor’s eyes that I saw Norryn Ashener.”

  This brought on several murmurings from the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jozlyn shiver at this and could only imagine what was going through Vonack’s head. Serra continued. “I know this must sound crazy to all of you. Five years is a long absence. But I feel in my heart that Norryn Ashener still lives, and I mean to find him. Whatever it was, whatever Ballor saw I must know the truth. The chances are slim I know, but for those of you who knew Norryn, even the slimmest of chance is worth it to me.”

  The murmurings at last died down. Serra hovered there in the silence, waiting for the inevitable disapproval. Not far from her Rynsik of the Jacoi shook his head, obviously confounded by her. I can only imagine how much I am going to hear from Vonack about this.

  Finally, after several eternally long seconds, Wyndall sighed before speaking. “Serra Landring, I, like my son, believe there is nothing to be said or done to sway you from this course. All we can do as Ro'Nihn is protect you to the best of our ability.” Serra’s eyes widened at his remark, but Wyndall opened his hands to the gathered members of his clans. “Clansman, this road has been long, and we have lost much. But if Serra Landring cannot be deterred from this, then it is our task to see to her safety. Her friendship to the Ashener family runs deep as does mine and for this, we shall kindle this hope. I ask you now, who will carry with her on this journey?”