The Legend of the Kestrel

by Peter Wacht

  “So anytime I use the Talent, others who can use it as well will know?”

  “Not exactly,” said Rya. “It will depend on how strong they are in the Talent. Some might only feel you using the Talent if they’re within a mile of you. Some may be hundreds of miles away, yet they’ll still be able to mark exactly where you are, and be there in a matter of minutes, or perhaps even faster, if they have the skill.”

  “Let me get this straight. If I use the Talent, you’re saying I need to be careful because I could die if I don’t do it right, and I could also become a target for someone else skilled in the Talent, or more likely Dark Magic?”

  “Rya, I think he’s got it,” said Rynlin, with a touch of misplaced humor.

  “I believe you’re right,” she replied.

  “The Talent certainly isn’t what I thought it was,” said Thomas. “I always thought those who could use it were all powerful, at least that’s what all the books say.”

  “And that,” said Rynlin, “is just another reason why you should take everything you read from a book with a grain of salt. When something is written in a book, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” said Thomas, promising himself that he would be more skeptical in the future.

  “Good,” said Rya. “Then it’s time for you to learn what you can do with the Talent.”

  Thomas instantly sat up straight on his stool. He’d been waiting for this since last night, though he did have to admit he wasn’t as eager as he was earlier. His grandparents had certainly done a good job of deadening his excitement with their somber attitudes and stories.

  Both Rynlin and Rya stood, and Thomas did the same. He stepped out of the way as they pushed the table against the far wall.

  “Now,” said Rynlin, standing next to Thomas, “I want you to pick up that chest over there.” He pointed to the chest that sat next to the door against the wall. Rynlin kept extra pieces of firewood in it so he wouldn’t have to go outside on a cold night. Made from an old piece of oak and several inches thick all the way around, it also happened to be very heavy.

  “You want me to move that?” Thomas asked, waving at the chest with his hand in skepticism.

  “Yes,” said Rynlin. He then hooked his thumbs in his belt and waited.

  Thomas looked at the chest, weighing it with his eyes. He had tried to move it by himself once. Rya had given him a leather ball as a gift and it had fallen behind the chest. He couldn’t reach the ball, so he tried to move the chest out of the way. That had been a losing struggle on his part, and it took the combined efforts of him, Rynlin and Rya to move it just a few inches. This was definitely not going to be easy. Well, if he could search all the way to the border of Armagh, he should be able to do this.

  Taking a deep breath, Thomas focused his attention on the chest, closing out everything around him. There was nothing else in the room except for the chest. Almost immediately he felt the Talent surge within him. Now that he thought about it, it did, in fact, have the feel of nature. If he really concentrated on it, he could sense the soft caress of the wind, the taste of dew in the morning and so much more. Thomas pushed away those thoughts. He had to focus on his task.

  When he searched, he pushed the power of nature out in front of him. He wasn’t really sure how he did it, but if he directed the power a certain way, he could search. Now, he did much the same thing, taking the energy he had gathered within himself and directing it toward the chest. But nothing happened. Instead of moving the chest, the power simply hit it and flowed around it. He pulled in more power, filling himself to the point of bursting, but to no avail. The chest would not budge. He was about to try one last time when his concentration wavered. He could hear something. What was it? It was an extremely annoying sound, and it was bothering—

  Thomas shook his head and rubbed his eyes, having lost control of the Talent. He had a splitting headache as a result. Rya was standing a few steps behind him, just smiling. Rynlin was still standing next to him, but he was whistling. That’s what had broken his concentration. He’s trying to master the Talent and Rynlin’s whistling?

  “What are you doing that for?” demanded Thomas angrily.

  “What?” replied Rynlin innocently.

  “That whistling. Why were you whistling?”

  “Did it bother you?” asked Rynlin, feigning shock.

  “Yes, it bothered me. It broke my concentration.” Thomas was going to say more, but Rynlin’s expression changed from wide-eyed innocence, which in fact looked rather comical on him, to anger.

  “Well, don’t yell at me then. Losing your concentration was your own fault.” Rynlin removed his thumbs from his belt and crossed his arms. “Do you think you’re always going to have the time and the best possible environment to use the Talent?” Rynlin plowed on, not letting Thomas answer. “Don’t count on it. When you use the Talent you will most likely be under a great deal of stress. For example, a man with a very large knife might be trying to stick it between your ribs. So you have to be able to do this anytime, anyplace, regardless of the circumstances. Letting my whistling stop you was foolish, so don’t let it happen again.”

  Slightly ashamed, Thomas nodded mutely. He had failed on his first try. Rynlin was right. He couldn’t afford to let that happen in the future.

  “Thomas, remember what I said,” interrupted Rya. “You were doing it right, but you forgot to visualize in your mind what you wanted the Talent to do for you. You had plenty of power, you simply weren’t directing it correctly.”

  Thomas turned back to the chest. The headache had subsided somewhat. Now it was only a dull thumping behind his eyes. Rynlin began whistling again, and even moved closer to him. Doing his best to ignore it, he focused on the chest, blocking out everything else. Quicker than before he felt the power of nature flow within him. This time, instead of throwing it out toward the chest, he concentrated it even more. He imagined the energy within his grasp moving in a single direction for a single purpose. Feeling himself gain control, he pictured in his mind what he wanted to do. He visualized the chest rising up off the ground.

  Directing the energy he had gathered toward the chest, gradually he released more and more, making sure he maintained his control. Thomas turned his head away for a moment. The whistling in his ear had stopped. Rynlin wasn’t looking at him any more, but at the chest, and he had a large smile on his face. Thomas looked as well. The chest was slowly rising in the air. Thomas grinned. He knew he could do this. It just took a little practice. As the chest rose higher off the ground, it became heavier, so he released more of the power he had gathered. Suddenly, the chest slammed against the ceiling, the bang reverberating throughout the room.

  Thomas looked at Rynlin with an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I put a little too much into that last bit.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said, “Perhaps you could let go of the chest before you put it through the ceiling.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Thomas released the Talent completely. Before the chest slammed against the floor, Rynlin caught it with the Talent with just a few inches to spare, then eased it down gently.

  “Thomas, I told you—”

  “Rynlin,” cut in Rya, “you can’t blame Thomas. You told him to let go of the chest, and he did.”

  “That’s right, Rynlin. I was just doing as you said.” Thomas smiled innocently, but Rynlin knew better.

  “All right. All right. Let’s go outside where the chances of your damaging anything are less.”

  They both headed out the door. Rya stayed behind, deciding that this was Rynlin’s lesson.

  “You did a good job with that chest,” Rynlin said, as he guided Thomas toward a small glade just through the heart trees. It had rained the night before, and Thomas saw from the tracks in the mud that Beluil had left early in the morning on one of his forays. “But you need control. You can hurt yourself and others if you can’t control your Talent, and we can’t allow that. That’s the hard part
, learning control.”

  Reaching the glade, the warmth of the sun caressed Thomas’ face, filling him with confidence. “You have a tremendous potential in this,” continued Rynlin. “Someday, you might even be stronger than me in the Talent, and I’m one of the strongest in all the Kingdoms.” That got Thomas’ attention. Stronger than Rynlin. That would indeed be quite an accomplishment.

  “But it’s useless if you don’t learn to master it.”

  Rynlin bent down and picked up a large nut that had fallen from one of the heart trees ringing the glade. Showing it to Thomas, he dropped it a few feet in front of him. “Now we’re going to practice control. I want you to grow a heart tree.”

  Several hours later, with the sun directly above the glade, Thomas trudged wearily next to Rynlin as they made their way back to the cottage for lunch. Behind him stood a half-grown heart tree, right in the center of the glade. Thomas couldn’t believe using the Talent took so much energy out of you. The headache had returned, and this time it felt like his head was going to explode. At least Rynlin had been right about one thing: The more you use the Talent, the easier it becomes. More than anything else, Thomas wanted to go up to his room and sleep for a day. He was absolutely exhausted. But Rynlin had said that was only one of the new things he would be learning today. He couldn’t wait to see what he would be doing next.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Steel Dreams

  A short rest after lunch from his morning’s lesson soothed Thomas’ aching head. Walking through the Shadowwood with Rynlin helped as well. Rynlin had named the forest on the Isle of Mist years before, using the huge shadows formed by the heart trees to create a perception of fear. It had worked, adding to the legend of the island and keeping away most unwanted visitors.

  After lunch, Thomas was shocked when Rynlin told him to get his sword. He had waited five years for this. Running up to his room, he dug into his chest and pulled out the Sword of the Highlands. Throwing his clothes onto the floor, he lay the sword on his bed and carefully unwrapped the oiled cloth. Even after five years, the blade shined brilliantly. There was no evidence of rust, and it looked as if it had been newly sharpened.

  Thomas had seen many different blades before, especially in the books he had read. All the swords that kings or lords wore at their sides had magnificent jewels in the hilt that sometimes ran halfway up the blade. But his grandfather’s sword — he corrected himself — his claymore was different. In fact, it looked just like any other claymore that a Marcher might own. The long, double-edged blade held an air of menace. The hilt was wrapped in soft leather so his hand wouldn’t slip. The symbol of the Kestrels — a raptor streaking down from the sky, claws outstretched to grasp its prey — was carved into both sides of the blade and at the pommel and was the only form of ostentation. The blade was still heavy in his hand, though it was much easier to control than it had been when he had first received it. That would change as his arms, hands and wrists grew stronger with practice.

  “This’ll do,” said Rynlin as he led Thomas into a small glade. He walked around its edge as if he were looking for something. “No more than ten feet in either direction from the center of the glade. That’ll do just find for your training.”

  “But, Rynlin. You said you didn’t know how to use a sword. How am I supposed to learn?”

  “That will be taken care of shortly,” replied Rynlin. “But first, there is something you must understand before we begin.” Thomas hoped this wasn’t going to become a lecture. Rynlin had that tone in his voice. “As the next Lord of the Highlands, you are in a position to do both good and bad. If you rule as I know you will, with a fair and even hand, the Highlands and its people will prosper and remain safe. If you do not rule well, you can cause more hurt than you could ever possibly imagine.”

  Once again Rynlin managed to surprise him. He had never expected this discussion, as Rynlin had never before said anything about him ruling the Highlands.

  “There will come a time when you will have to fight to defend the Highlands. When that time comes, you must do so wisely. Your decisions will lead to the deaths of men who are fighting because they believe in you and in the Highlands. That is a power not to be treated lightly. If you let your desire to rule, and to have power, become your main priority, you will be sending men needlessly to their deaths, all because of your whims and fancies. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, Rynlin,” said Thomas, nodding soberly. “You’re saying that war is a terrible thing and should only be seen as a remedy to a situation when all other remedies have failed.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re listening. Also, keep in mind that fighting is to be avoided as much as possible, but sometimes it’s required. When you must fight, you fight to kill, because the other person surely will. When you’re looking across a field at someone with a bared blade, you don’t have time for compassion.”

  Rynlin waited to see if Thomas understood, and with a slight nod from his grandson, he began the lesson. “Give me your sword.” Thomas handed it to his grandfather. “Let me show you your first opponent.” Thomas watched in awe as a man coalesced out of the air right in front of him. A man, remarkably, who stood almost a head taller than Rynlin, with a spear of the same height. Perhaps even more remarkable, the man was naked.

  “As I said before, Thomas, I don’t fight with blades.”

  “Rynlin?”

  “Yes,” he replied, perturbed at being interrupted.

  “The man’s naked.”

  “Naked?” Rynlin looked at what he had just brought forth. His face turned a faint red as he realized that Thomas was right. With a quick gesture the man wore leather armor tanned black.

  “Sorry about that. I forgot who I had summoned. Now where was I? Oh, yes. From now on every afternoon, you will come here after lunch before doing your chores, and you will learn how to fight by following the instructions of the spirit you find here.”

  “A spirit?”

  “Yes, a spirit,” explained Rynlin. “A three-dimensional image of someone who, when alive, was a legendary warrior. I can’t teach you how to fight with a blade, but I can, in a sense, bring back to life someone who can.”

  Suddenly, a spear about the same height as himself was in Rynlin’s hands. He handed it to Thomas. It was a real spear, he discovered, as he hefted it, getting a feel for its balance. He stuck the spear out toward the warrior and was amazed when the man didn’t flinch or move away. Instead, he stepped forward, seemingly impaling himself on the sharp point. But it passed right through him. Thomas couldn’t believe it. Rynlin just smiled. Thomas told himself that he definitely had to learn how to do this. Touching the blade of the spear with a finger, he pulled it back with a yelp. It was also incredibly sharp. He placed his forefinger in his mouth to stop the bleeding.

  “That will teach you to be more careful with your weapons and to listen to what your instructor,” pointing to the tall spearman, “has to say. Today you will begin with the spear, and on other days you will learn how to fight with a sword, mace, axe, knives, hands and bow, though Rya seems to think you’re already pretty good with the last one.”

  Thomas grimaced. He thought Rya had kept that a secret. The Marchers at the Crag had, in addition to their swords, carried bows. Because he wasn’t allowed to learn how to use a sword when he arrived on the island, he decided to try his hand at the bow since that was not specifically prohibited. So he had found a book that explained how to make a bow. He had had a difficult time with it, but in the end succeeded. It wasn’t the most impressive looking bow in the world, but it worked. Occasionally, when he was practicing, an arrow might miss the target he aimed for, usually because of a gust of wind, he liked to tell himself. One time, it had struck the back of the house, much to the displeasure of Rya, and he had promised never to do it again. Rya had made him dig all the rocks out her garden because of it; then when he was done, she made him put them all back.

  “As you’ve discovered, there really isn’t mu
ch to our spearman there, so any time you strike him with your blade it won’t matter. I doubt that will be a concern, however. In a moment, you’ll see that there’s more to this spirit than meets the eye. Although when he lived he spoke an ancient language no longer heard in the Kingdoms, he will be speaking in our language today, and he will instruct you on how to use the spear. Make sure you pay attention. Are you ready?”

  Thomas nodded, not knowing what to expect. Rynlin nodded as well. Thomas barely had time to comprehend that the spearman ran directly at him, spear pointed right at his chest.

  Moving instinctively, Thomas dropped his spear and ducked to his left, rolling on his shoulder and avoiding the spearman’s charge. Thomas didn’t have time to think. Before he had his feet under him, the spearman again charged forward relentlessly, having changed direction incredibly fast. The man was clearly too big for Thomas to fight one on one, so he’d have to stay out of his attacker’s way and hope for a mistake. This time, he rolled to the right, but rather than avoiding the spearman altogether, he shot out his left leg, trying to trip him.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t work as he had expected. His leg never made contact with the spearman’s shin. Instead, the man stopped his charge, caught Thomas by the leg and with one arm hoisted him up off the ground. All Thomas could see was the grass beneath him and the man’s chest before him. Spirit or not, the tight grip the man had on his ankle hurt. What happened next, though, made Thomas forget the pain.

  “Your first attempt to get away, by rolling to your left, was a good idea,” said the tall spearman in a hollow voice. Thomas thought it sounded like a voice from the grave, cold and uncaring. “You should have kicked out with your leg then. Trying the same move twice in a row was foolish. If you do that in a real combat, you will die.”

  With that, the spearman dropped him, and Thomas saw the grass rush up to meet him. The fall knocked the wind out of him for a few moments. The spearman towered over him as he tried to catch his breath.