by Ellias Quinn
“That’s not the point of keeping watch, but I know what you mean. What’d you decide?” he asked.
“I must seek refuge with a neighboring clan,” Ansi said. “Find a place in their courts. I will also take your words to my heart and use charisma. With influence, I will do whatever is needed to unite the Taina and Vima.”
“I hope it works,” Matil said.
After eating, the group went west along the invisible Wall. They saw one old Eletsol man that day, his head encased in frizzy gray hair, his feet stained with dirt, and crinkled tulip-petal wings hanging from his back. He gave them an empty stare as he ambled past. Ansi explained that most Eletsol stayed away from the Wall due to strongly-held superstitions.
Khelya told Matil – and Ansi confirmed – that Mr. Korsen’s home was said to be past the Wall bordering the northwest part of Eventyr, the very farthest someone could go in that direction. Nobody had ever seen his home, but some alva witnessed him walking away from Eventyr near that section of the border. Ansi led them toward it, thinking that they’d have the best chance of finding Mr. Korsen if they waited there.
Before nightfall, they found a clearing in an area thick with bushes where they made a fire and put down their blankets. Dewdrop and Olnar wandered toward some tall flowers to hunt bugs. Ansi followed them.
“We’re a little out of practice,” Dask said to Matil. “Wanna spar?”
She brightened. “Sure.”
From a stick, Dask broke two pieces of wood the size of their knives. The two of them whittled the sticks down to smoothness and rounded the points, to avoid injuries.
“Y’all are gonna lose an eye sparring,” Khelya said. She sat by the fire, watching them. “I could make a couple training dummies instead.”
Dask got a feel for his practice weapon and spun the stick-knife around his nimble fingers. “Thanks, Khel, but no thanks. Dummies don’t fight back.”
While the two of them got into position, Matil factored in everything she noticed. The ground was mostly rough dirt veined with thin weeds, and the air was cooling down from a hot day. The fire cast its orange light only so far before it was choked by the maze of darkness that the bushes created.
“Okay,” Dask said. “Let’s…go!”
He flew up, going in circles over Matil’s head. It was a ploy to make her spin trying to keep him in sight. He had held back his strength and ability the first couple of times they’d sparred, but their fights had soon become more serious. It was a way to keep their skills sharp. Matil knew that Dask could overpower her in a fair fight, so she came up with ways to cover her weaknesses. Like smoke, a hazy thought rose from her mind: Live fair…don’t fight fair.
She moved carefully toward a bush with prickly leaves, keeping her guard up and relying on her ears to tell her where Dask was. A whoosh came in from her left. She slipped farther into the bush, feeling the breeze as he whipped past her. Thorny shadows fell across her skin, and she welcomed them, drawing them close. Her body faded into the surroundings. She crouched underneath a branch and observed Dask.
His green eyes seemed to glow as he peered through the bush. He crept in, ducking a branch and sidestepping sharp leaves. One leaf scraped his hand. He sucked in a breath and stopped. “Come on, Matil. Hiding?” He gestured at a branch by his midsection. “That’s pretty low.”
Unable to contain herself, Matil snickered. She quickly covered her mouth and nose and began slinking away.
Dask’s ears swiveled. He headed in her direction, climbing and shoving through the bush at a frightening speed. Matil scrambled out of the way just as he barreled past her. Her heart thudded and she found it difficult to regain the fading that she lost by her sudden movements. If he turned around and saw her, that would be it. She pulled herself three branches above the ground. A large green caterpillar sat peacefully on the third one. In Matil’s mind, she begged Dask not to turn.
He turned. His eyes focused on the vibrating branches that she had climbed. Matil looked at the caterpillar and immediately shoved it off the branch with her foot. It smacked the ground with only half of its legs under it, but it was able to start getting its body back upright.
With a frown, Dask surged forward. “Matil?” he said. There was too much foliage for him to see the caterpillar.
Matil raised herself slightly from the branch. A little closer…there! She sprang off and slammed into Dask’s shoulders. They both crumpled. A branch blocked Matil – painfully – from tumbling farther. She hopped to her feet, turning aside Dask’s sudden stab and beginning their clash.
They burst out of the bush in a furious scuffle, thrusting their stick-knives through the air and slashing at each other. Dask swiped his knife just past Matil, overextending his reach. She grabbed his arm and then swung behind him, using his arm as a pivot. She almost stabbed the back of his neck, but he recovered in time to whack her across the stomach. She doubled over in pain. His hand shot out in front of her and she found the wherewithal to grab his wrist, stabbing it at its most vulnerable point. At the same moment, Dask stabbed Matil in the gut.
They saw their stalemate, looked at each other, and then let out short, breathless laughs. Dask dropped his stick-knife and sat on the ground beside Matil.
“You okay?” he gasped.
She swallowed past her sandy-feeling throat and nodded. “It only…hurts…everywhere. Good ma…match.”
He winced. “Sorry about that.” Waving at Khelya, he said, “Can ya get us water?”
Khelya stomped over with two waterskins, handed them to Matil and Dask, and squatted down to pat Matil on the back. “Go easy on her,” she said, glaring at Dask. “Lookit how tiny she is.”
“She asked me not to go easy,” Dask said.
Matil took a refreshing swig of water and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “We’re trying to stay in practice for a real fight. And Dask got hurt, too.”
He stretched out lying down. “When I’m rich and famous, none of us will ever have to fight again. I’ll hire fifteen bodyguards for each of us. Maybe five extra for Matil, since she’s tiny. How’s that?”
Khelya tilted her head back in thought. “All right. That’s good.”
Ansi fluttered out to them. “Khelya, will you help me with something?”
“I guess,” she said, standing up. “What is it?”
“I’ve grown some flowers very large and I need you to cut them down. They may help attract the Watcher’s notice.”
“Good idea,” Matil said.
Khelya followed Ansi away while Matil and Dask rested.
“Hey, I’ve been wanting to know who trained you,” Dask said. “Got any dreams about it?”
Matil pressed her lips together. Something in her mind drifted into view, but when she tried to grasp it, it slipped back into a darkness she couldn’t penetrate. Don’t fight fair. Now she could see a figure, someone familiar but barely known. “I think…I think his name was Etsel.”
Dask sat up. “Etsel? Never heard of him. Do you know where he lives?”
She shook her head.
“Can you tell me if you find out?” he said. “I bet I could learn some tricks from him. You’ve always been more than good at street fighting.”
Matil drained the last drop from her waterskin. “Street fighting?”
“I can tell by your style – how you get away, shove me around, and kick like a grasshopper. It throws me off, because you’re nice until I say ‘go’. Then you’re not afraid to scrap.”
Her ears drooped. “I’m sorry. When we start fighting, I stop thinking like myself.”
“No, don’t worry. I just meant that I think you’re great. At it.”
Maybe he was right. Her skills had saved her many times. “Thanks.”
It always troubled her, though. Why had she learned to fight in the first place?
* * *
It
wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t. It wasn’t fair.
“Where’s the money?” the man named Thorn bellowed. His wings unfurled, doubling his impressive bulk.
Matil cowered. “Someone st-stole it.”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to steal!” He raised his arm.
Pain jarred Matil as he struck her. Everything seemed to float, silent, and then Matil’s throbbing face landed on the splintery planks of the bridge.
“That’s a day’s worth of cash lost!”
A blow to the side winded her. “Please,” she choked out.
“Hey, come on,” said the easy voice of a stranger. “It’s just a kid.”
“A kid who lost fifty sgeldings!” Thorn said.
“She won’t do it again. And if she does, you can throw her out.”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t do it again.”
The stranger’s voice grew serious. “Hit her one more time and you deal with me.”
Thorn kicked, catching her in the arm, and she curled up with a wail. The bridge suddenly swayed.
“Rach!” Thorn spat.
Matil looked up.
A lanky figure darted and flapped around Thorn’s wildly swinging fists. He revealed a dagger like a wasp stinger and stabbed Thorn in the shoulder. Thorn yelled, knocking the stranger to the planks. Seeing an opportunity, Matil grabbed his shins from behind as he lurched toward the stunned stranger. Thorn tore one leg out of her grasp before he overbalanced and toppled over the bridge’s rope railing.
The stranger recovered and pulled himself to his feet. A glaring Thorn rose above the bridge, huge wings pumping, and clutched his bleeding shoulder. He flew off.
The lanky stranger watched for a moment and then turned toward the bridge rail.
“Wait!” Matil said. “Mister?”
He glanced at her. “Go away, kid.”
“Please teach me. I need to know how to fight.”
“I…I don’t have time for this. Buzz off.”
Matil went closer. “But maybe if you teach me, I can help you.”
“I don’t need help.” The man opened his wings.
She shouldn’t have come to the city. Everything she brought had been stolen and she wanted to go back to Crell. But she had come here for a reason. Her determination burned stronger than her fear. “Then I’ll teach myself,” she said with a trembling voice. “Thank you for saving me, mister.”
The man folded his wings, turned around, and pulled the dagger on her. Matil whimpered.
“Do you know what this is for?” he said.
She focused on the dagger’s keen point. “K-killing alva.”
He sheathed it. “Feeding ‘em. Protecting ‘em. Saving ‘em. A weapon means life to someone who knows how to use it.” His mottled brown wings spread out again. “Follow me.”
Matil’s heart zoomed around in her chest. “Are you—”
“Calm down, kid. Get those wings out.”
She opened her wings obediently. “What’s your name?”
“Um…Etsel.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Etsel leaned back. “You got real manners. Guess it hasn’t been long enough for them to beat it outta ya. You know how to fade, right?”
Matil twisted her hands together. “Not yet.”
“Wow,” he said. “Great. I found a complete rookie. Fading is even more important than fighting, ‘cause with the right skills, you’ll avoid most fights. Just pay attention when I teach ya. I won’t slow down.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Manners.”
Chapter 9
The Watcher
The distant crunch of a gigantic footstep woke Matil.
“It’s him!” Khelya squeaked. She had been on the early morning watch, and now gray dawn was rolling in. “Wake up, you guys, it’s him!”
Matil looked to the border as Dask and Ansi hauled themselves out of their blankets. Half-hidden by the trees and foliage, a figure of immense scale moved sedately rightward, to the east. Matil had never seen Mr. Korsen properly, and now…she was astounded.
The night before, Khelya and Ansi had pulled together a pile of bright flowers and petals. Matil, Dask, and Ansi now grabbed the closest ones and jumped up to wave them about. Hopefully it would help Mr. Korsen to notice the alva. Ansi had heard that it worked sometimes, drawing the human’s attention for a moment before he moved on again.
Khelya held one of the flowers. “Mr. Korsen, sir,” she bellowed. “Sir?”
He didn’t seem to notice, so they ran to keep up while he took another massive step.
“Dask, Ansi, you could really help with those wings of yours!” Khelya said.
Dask launched into the air and unfurled his wings. “Hey! Hey! Slow down, ya big jerk!”
Ansi tried to keep up with Dask while shouting in his own language to Mr. Korsen.
Mr. Korsen continued forward, and Matil’s heart beat faster in primal fear as she imagined being crushed by those boots. They needed to get his attention. She slackened her pace to look around. There were a lot of rocks. The small ones she couldn’t imagine doing much, but the larger ones…
“Khelya!” Matil said. “What if you throw a really big rock? Right at the Barrier?”
“Okay!” The Obrigi threw down her flower and ran for a rock nearly the size of Matil. “Wall!” she said. She lifted it, hefted it a few times in her hands, and heaved it at the border with a grunt. It looked as if it would smash right into Mr. Korsen’s leg, but—
The rock sprang off of thin air with an odd noise: ffhe. It arced back to the ground and rolled across the dirt.
Mr. Korsen came to a stop. He turned to the border and squinted down at the alva. Finally, the man bent down slowly, leaning and groaning like a toppling tree. Matil backed away even though she expected the Wall to protect them. As his face lowered, it became clear that his head was many times larger than any alva’s. His bushy gray eyebrows drew together. Matil froze under his sharp blue-eyed gaze.
“Please,” Khelya whispered.
He looked at each of them in turn.
She clasped her hands. “Please.”
He was so still that Matil could hardly tell he was breathing. The base of her ears itched. She scratched them and noticed that Ansi and then Dask were scratching their ears as well.
“Mr. Korsen,” Khelya said, rubbing at her ears. “Plea—”
“Halsedys, alva.” Mr. Korsen’s voice was low and creaky. “Again our paths run parallel.”
Ansi’s and Khelya’s jaws dropped. Matil’s heart leaped.
He talked.
Dask crossed his arms. “Again? You don’t mean…”
“At the southern border of Eventyr, near the Jensym Grove.” Mr. Korsen’s wrinkled face was almost as tall as two alva. His nose and chin stuck out from the broad, stubbled countenance. Unlike pointed alva ears, his ears were rounded at the tips. Snowy white hair capped his head as though he were one of the great mountains.
“J-Jensym Grove?” Khelya said.
Mr. Korsen gave a little nod. “An old meeting place of the Heilar, I believe. You must have passed its entrance by.”
“You were really, uh, down there?” Dask shifted uncomfortably.
“Yes. A little someone spoke confidently of my nonexistence.” Mr. Korsen gave them a lopsided grin and then squinted at Ansi. “I see you have another companion. Such an unusual group of travelers.”
Ansi knelt to the ground in a bow. “Great Watcher, I greet you on behalf of the Takkamakaini.”
“I greet you, as well,” Mr. Korsen said. “Please stand…yes, that’s it. I am a watcher, but not a great one.” He tipped his head toward Khelya. “Why is this Obrigi using Ranycht magic? Does she not want to be seen?”
“We’re not sure why it’s still there,” Dask said
. “She can’t get it to stop.”
“Hmm…there was a way, I’m sure,” said Mr. Korsen. “It’s been so long that I can’t recall where I read it. But is that your only business with me?”
All at once thoughts crashed down into Matil’s head. “We need your help, Mr. Korsen. There’s an alva, N-Nychta Olsta, and she has the Book of Myrkhar, and we think she wants to summon the Saikyr. We- we traveled all this way to talk to you. Please, can you help us?”
Mr. Korsen nodded. “I don’t know much, but it is enough. I—”
“Great Watcher,” Ansi said, his shoulders raising in confusion and impatience. “Why are you speaking to us?”
Mr. Korsen’s gigantic eyes focused on Ansi.
“Y-y-yes, sir,” Khelya said. “Why don’t you talk like you did in the past?”
He lowered himself heavily until he sat on the ground. “I myself have spoken to very few alva in my life. You may be thinking of my father, or my grandfather. Or any number of my forefathers. Some of them were chatty indeed. I am not the first Mr. Korsen.”
Khelya dazedly pushed up her headband. “But the stories…”
“Time and distance can muddy the waters of reality,” he said. “Mr. Korsen is not an Elder. We are merely men. My ancestors found this place, leaving journals that described all they saw. In the years since arriving here, I have watched and listened to Eventyr and have read my ancestors’ notes. I learned Alvishu along with some of your other languages and grew to love the alva I observed. But I prefer quiet to conversation, and have rarely answered those who call out to me.”
Dask pointed at himself and the others. “So why answer us?”
“One reason is very simple,” Mr. Korsen said. “Eventyr makes its distress known in my dreams. Night and day fighting for the sky. Thorns choking the trees. Cities burnt to cinders, and a Ranycht without wings.”
Matil rubbed her suddenly-cold arms. “I’m the Ranycht.”
“Yes,” he said. “And now that you are here, I know the dreams are true. Nature has been twisted and I hear rumblings of a great war in the making. The other reason I speak has to do with a particular Kyndelin man, a hermit. His name is Hasyl. He was born before the Hibernation, and he lives to this day.”