by Ryan Cahill
Asius noticed Calen’s glare. “No, no, it is okay. The questions are natural. We have had long enough to ponder the answers. There are few of us left – not that there were ever many of us at all. We Jotnar are not like you humans. There are a lot less of us than you, but we live a lot longer. It is true—” Asius paused for a moment, clasping Senas’s hand. He cast an eye towards Larion, who had a melancholy look on his face. “Fane and his armies hunted our kind to near extinction. We were a strong and proud people, but even we could not withstand the force that was thrown at us. Many of our closest friends and family are now part of the earth once more. As we were, so we will always be.”
“As we were, so we will always be,” Senas and Larion repeated in a hushed whisper.
“However, there were a few of us who survived by hiding and seeking aid from old friends.” Asius smiled faintly towards Aeson. “In truth, I do not know how many of us are left. We stay in small groups and do not communicate often – it would be too dangerous to do so. But with luck and hope, that will not always be the way. When the time comes, the others will answer the call.”
“I see,” Rist replied, deep in thought. “Why risk showing yourselves to us? We could tell everyone we met.”
Calen had to suppress the urge to curse. These were creatures of legend. It was not right to question them so.
“In truth, little one, nobody would believe you.” Asius’s smile was mirthless.
There was silence for a long moment. “May I ask you one more question?”
Asius nodded. “Of course, little one. If we do not ask, then we will never know.”
That seemed to encourage Rist. The village elders usually shut down his curiosity without a second thought. “Curiosity killed the kat,” Calen heard Verna Gritten’s voice echo in his head.
“Earlier, when you saved Calen and Erik, was that magic?” Rist leaned forward in his seat, his eyes glittering in the firelight.
Aeson raised a questioning eyebrow towards Asius, who waved him away.
“Yes, little one. That is what you know as magic. Although, we refer to it as the Spark.” Asius’s eyes lingered on Rist, a knowing smile on his face. “You—”
“The axe?” Calen threw his hand over his mouth. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He had not meant to say that out loud. He was as bad as Rist.
Asius turned to him, still smiling. “Your curiosity is warming, little one. Most humans shun what they do not understand. What you refer to is a nithrál. In the common tongue, it would be ‘Soulblade’. It is a powerful weapon, created through the threads of the Spark, unique to whoever summons it. It takes many years of focus and learning before one can summon their Soulblade. It is an ability that most never achieve.”
Soulblade. Images of the giant – Jotnar – swinging the axe of glowing red light flashed through Calen’s mind. He felt the power radiating from it as it sliced through the Uraks chest. It was a weapon, the likes of which he had never seen. How could any man stand against such a thing?
As the night grew older, Rist’s questions seemingly had no end, and neither did Asius’s enthusiasm for answering them. Dann, Erik, and Dahlen slipped into the world of dreams, lying unconscious around the fire. Larion and Aeson had their own conversation, mostly in hushed whispers. Calen couldn’t make out anything they were saying, but it all seemed to centre around whatever was in the satchel that Larion cradled.
Calen wanted to know the answers to Rist’s questions. They were questions he himself wanted to ask. Though, the one question that subdued all others in his mind, was the subject of Aeson and Larion’s conversation – what was in that satchel. What was it that the empire soldiers wanted to find so desperately? Or more importantly, what was it that Calen had killed a man for. He shivered at the thought of it. He had taken a man’s life, and he didn’t even know why. I need to know why.
Calen shuffled closer to Aeson and Larion, careful not to make too much noise as he inched himself along the ground. He leaned his head over as subtly as he could, straining to make out what Aeson and Larion were saying.
“It is incredible,” said Larion in a hushed whisper, “The Valacian—”
All of a sudden, the voices were gone. He could hear the crackling of the fire, and the waft of the nights breeze as it drifted through the trees, but not Aeson and Larion’s voices. Calen turned his head to see if they were still talking, and he nearly leapt out of his skin when his eyes locked with Aeson’s. Calen spun his head back around so fast he made himself a little dizzy. Shit.
He didn’t dare look back to see if Aeson was still watching him. He wanted to keep trying, but the voices remained gone. He couldn’t even make out the tail end of a whisper.
He felt his eyelids grow heavy as the fire radiated warmth. It had been a long day, and a long night. How long had it been since he had slept? He let himself slide down onto the ground, resting his head against the log behind him, the heat from the fire warming his bones. He felt sleep taking over.
Draleid n’aldryr.
N’aldryr. Draleid.
Draleid.
Draleid.
Calen jumped awake, clasping his hand to his chest. His heart beat with such ferocity, he thought it was trying to escape his body. He used his other hand to wipe the forming droplets of sweat from his brow. He tried to slow his breathing, letting his lungs fill with air, holding and then releasing slowly. His thoughts were a whirlwind. The voice felt so real.
He looked around the camp, his pounding heartbeat returning to something resembling normality. The fire smouldered away, crackling every few seconds. Plumes of ember and dust shot up into the air as bits of wood gave way and collapsed. But the fire wasn’t giving off enough heat to explain why Calen’s skin was so warm; it felt like it could catch fire.
It was hard to see in fading firelight, but it looked like most of the group were asleep. Senas and Asius were awake. It was impossible to mistake their huge frames, even in the darkness of the forest. They spoke in hushed voices as they sat in front of the fire. Senas’s head rested on Asius’s shoulder. Her eyes were closed, but Calen could see her lips moving.
Another hulking silhouette was splayed out on the ground, with its head resting against one of the wooden logs, only a few feet from the two giants. Larion’s chest rose and fell with a slow, steady rhythm, the satchel he had been holding earlier still wrapped in his arms.
Draleid.
A whisper echoed in the back of Calen’s mind, a shadow from his dream. He shook his head, rubbing his palms into his eyes in an attempt to shake off the grogginess. A low grumbling snore let him know that Dann was most definitely asleep.
Something kept drawing Calen’s eyes to the satchel in Larion’s arms. As his eyes adjusted to the dark night, everything became a little clearer. The satchel was made of thick leather, with extra stitching along the seams and strong iron buckles at the top. He felt something emanating from within. Something pulled his eyes towards it.
Draleid n’aldryr.
The words echoed in his head over and over. A fog filled his mind. The forest and the camp faded from view, swallowed by the fog. All he could see was the satchel and a dim glow pulsing from within.
Draleid n’aldryr.
“Draleid n’aldryr,” Calen whispered, repeating the words out loud.
“What did you say?”
The fog vanished in a snap. Everything was back to normal, with the camp washed in a yellowy-orange glow from the fire.
Aeson was perched on the log that Calen’s head had been resting on. He had a notebook on one knee, a pen in hand, and a small inkpot on his other knee. He stared down at Calen, his eyes un-blinking.
“I… uh, have you been there the whole time?” Calen stuttered.
Aeson nodded. “For a while now. Just making a few notes before we journey to Camylin. What was that you said a minute ago, when you were half-asleep?” His eyes did not move from Calen.
Calen felt a lump in his throat when he tried to speak. “I
don’t know. Just something from a dream I was having. Camylin? Is that where you are heading next?”
“Yes.” Aeson narrowed his eyes, holding his gaze on Calen for an uncomfortable moment, as though he were going to probe further into Calen’s dream. But he didn’t. He folded his notebook over and closed the lid on his inkwell, clicking the latch into place. “Asius has given us what we came for, and now we must set off for Camylin in the morning. With the fresh horses Asius has arranged, we can be there in a few days if we ride hard.”
Calen nodded. It took him a second to understand what Aeson had said. “Wait, what do you mean? We are not going with you to Camylin. We need to go home. I’ve already left my father’s horse and wagon in Milltown. That’s going to be impossible to explain as it is.”
Aeson’s expression did not change. He placed his pen into a small wooden box, the inside of which was lined with a soft purple material. “I thought we agreed that you going back was not a good idea. Those soldiers are going to come looking for you, and The Glade is the first place they will look. Surely, somebody in Milltown knows you well enough to inform them of where you are from. Friend or not, Calen, money talks.”
“We agreed that we would decide in the morning.” Panic set into Calen’s head. “If they’re going to The Glade, then we need to go back. What if they hurt my family because of what I did?” He couldn’t bear the idea that those soldiers might do something to his parents or Ella because of what he had done. He didn’t mean to kill that soldier.
Aeson rested his hand on Calen’s shoulder. “Get some rest, sleep on it. We can talk in the morning. There are not many hours of darkness left either way. We can work out a plan in the morning once we’ve all had some sleep.”
Calen gave a half-nod. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. I am pretty tired. We can decide in the morning.” A yawn escaped his throat.
“Good,” Aeson said, lifting himself to his feet. “If you’re not awake by first light, I will wake you and your friends.” He gave a thin smile, then walked over to where his blankets were laid out.
As soon as Calen was sure that everyone was asleep, he tiptoed over to where Rist and Dann were sleeping. He moved as quietly as he could, careful not to step on any branches or brittle leaves. “Rist, Dann, wake up,” he whispered. “We need to go. Now.”
The embers of the fire popped and crackled. Aeson stared into its heart, running his hands over and back across each other. He wasn’t cold, but he had decisions to make. The boy was stronger willed than he had given him credit for.
“You know they are on their way back to The Glade?”
Aeson didn’t lift his head from the fire. “I was wondering when we might see you, Therin.”
The elf stepped out of the darkness and into the dim light of the crumbling fire. He drew back the hood of his greenish-brown cloak. Aeson winced as Therin’s silver hair coruscated in the burning light. Therin stood on the opposite side of the fire, pretending to warm his hands.
“I know.” Aeson sighed. “They waited until they thought I was asleep and took three of the horses.”
Therin tossed a twig he had been fiddling with into the flames, then made his way around the fire until he stood in front of Aeson. “And you let them go. Why?” His tone was not judgemental – that was not Therin’s way – but there was more than a hint of irritation in it.
“I hold the same question,” Asius said. Aeson hadn’t noticed the giant approach. “It is good to see you, Therin Eiltris, son of Alwin Eiltris.”
“As it is you, Asius, son of Thalm. It has been too long.”
Aeson lifted his gaze from the fire. “I believe it is time that we signal the others. I can arrange for some hawks to be sent from Camylin. Asius, I’m sorry to say this, but how soon can you, Senas, and Larion leave?”
Therin raised an eyebrow at the question.
Asius tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. “We can be on the move within the hour, but why? After so long, why now?”
Aeson huffed loudly, lifting his head to meet Asius’s curious gaze. “Because, old friend, I think we have found our Draleid.”
CHAPTER 13
Everything Changes
Calen pulled on the reins, bringing the horse to a harsh stop. An agitated neigh let him know that he could have been a little gentler. “Sorry, boy. I’m just tired,” he said in a hushed tone as he ran his hand along the horse’s neck.
Dann and Rist pulled their horses up either side of Calen. They gazed down over the valley of rolling hills that led to The Glade. It really was a beautiful sight. Plumes of smoke drifted from chimneys, blowing in the early morning breeze as the dim glow of the dawn light came over the crest of Wolfpine Ridge, at Calen’s back.
“I can’t believe we stole horses from three guys who kill imperial soldiers for fun – and three giants,” Dann said, a wide grin spread across his face. He laughed a little with satisfaction. “Giants… I’m telling everyone.”
Rist shot him a look of incredulity. “Dann, you are telling no one. Nobody would believe you anyway. They would just figure it was another one of your ridiculous stories, like that time you told everyone that you saw a horse with a horn growing out of its head.”
Dann gave Rist a downtrodden look. “That happened….” he murmured, defiant yet barely audible.
“Are you two done?”
Calen slid down from his horse. He hadn’t meant to be curt, but he was not in the mood. “I figure that if they come, they don’t need all of us.” A knot twisted in the pit of his stomach. “You go down to your families and stay there. I’ll tell mine what happened, then I’ll come back here and take the horse. I’ll make enough noise that they’ll follow me. Aeson said they were going to Camylin. I might ride there and try to find them. If they’ll have me.”
The idea had come to him as they rode through Ölm Forest. If the empire soldiers came to The Glade, there was no sense in all three of them paying the price. As long as his family were okay, that was all that mattered. And if he could make it to Camylin, and find Aeson, that was what he would do. But if it came to it, he would pay the price for what he did – that was all there was to it.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Dann scoffed. “Firstly, they know we were with you. Secondly, no.”
Rist, who had dismounted while Calen was talking, placed his hands on Calen’s shoulders. “As Dann so poetically explained,” Rist said, throwing a sideways glance towards Dann, “that is not how we do things. You are our family. Maybe not by blood, but water becomes just as thick as blood if you go through enough shit together. Simply put, we are not letting you do this alone. You go, we go. We will tell our families we are safe but that we need to leave, and we will meet you back here. Shouldn’t take much more than an hour or two. We can leave the horses tied to one of the trees.”
“Exactly,” Dann chimed, that familiar mischievous look in his eyes. “We’re not letting you have all the fun.”
Calen rummaged for the sincerest smile he could muster. He placed one of his hands on Rist’s shoulder and the other on Dann’s. “I…”
“Don’t say anything sappy. Don’t ruin it. For the love of the gods, don’t ruin it.” Dann held a straight face for a few seconds, then grinned ear to ear. “Let’s get going.”
Calen wanted to argue, but he knew there was no point. He could tell by the look on their faces they had made up their minds.
Once they had the horses tied up, they made their way down the hills, towards The Glade. The sun had only barely crested over the mountaintops, and an icy chill still inhabited wherever the shadows extended. There were quite a few more lights coming from the village than Calen would have expected so early, but he brushed it off as him simply being a little on edge.
When they approached the edge of the village, Rist glanced at Dann and Calen. “Back at the horses in no more than two hours. Understood?”
“Understood,” they replied as they split up and set off their own way.
&nb
sp; Calen made his way through the streets at a brisk pace. His mind was constantly telling him not to run, while his thumping heart chastised him for moving too slowly. What are they going to say? I killed someone. I took someone’s life. He kept running through everything in his head. He was about to turn the corner around Tach Edwin’s house, towards his home, when he heard the voices.
“You are sure he hasn’t returned?” said a voice that Calen recognised. His heart sank into his stomach.
“He hasn’t been here. What is this about?” Vars asked in an unyielding tone.
Father.
Pressing his body up against the wall of the house, Calen peeked around the corner. His mother and father stood just outside the front of the house, with a group of soldiers circled around them in an enclosed formation. Two soldiers stood out of formation, in the middle of the semi-circle, questioning Vars and Freis. A crowd of villagers had gathered around them.
“Look, we don’t want to cause trouble any more than you would welcome it, but the problem is, I don’t believe you.” The soldier spoke with a charm in his voice, but there was an edge to it, a warning on the end of every word. “You seem like good, responsible people. Good parents. I can’t imagine you would let your children roam free, so you must not be telling me the truth.” He held his helmet in the nook of his arm, resting his hand on his hip. His red cloak fluttered lazily in the wind. Red Cloak. “Either you tell us what we need to know, or today will not end pleasantly for you – or your wife.”
A deep scowl set into Vars’s face. “If you so much as lay a hand—”
The soldier swung the back of his hand, clad in a polished steel gauntlet. It connected heavily with Vars’s cheek. Vars stumbled backwards from the force of the strike. He raised his hand to wipe at the fresh cut that had just opened, a thin stream of blood trickling from it like a crimson tear. His eyes. Calen had only ever seen that look in Vars’s eyes once before, with Rhett. He was ready to kill. The soldier watched him with anticipation, waiting. He was playing with him.