The Hickory Staff

by Rob Scott

  The hickory staff leaned against the wall. In his fatigue, Steven had dried the log and ignited the fire unaided.

  THE BEACH CAMP

  When Brexan woke, she felt warm and rested, somehow rejuvenated, although soaking wet. She shook the hazy semi-consciousness from her head and realised she was still neck-deep in the Ravenian Sea. Oddly, it was no longer cold – in fact, it felt quite warm, as warm as bathwater. Darkness was falling, but she could make out the Ronan coast; it looked closer now. Suddenly confused, she wondered how it could be that she was still alive, and how she could have come so far. She called out for Versen half-heartedly; the last thing she remembered was crying as he slipped beneath the waves. Treading water, she turned a circle, scanning the surface for any sign of him.

  She nearly sank in shock when a voice called back, ‘Over here.’

  Through the twilight, she saw him. His shaggy hair was matted down flat against his head, providing a frame for his bright green eyes, broad grin and chiselled features. He no longer looked pale, but robust and strong, fit enough to take up the fight against Malagon and his minions. Tears welled up in her eyes as she paddled furiously across the short distance separating them.

  Throwing herself onto him, she wrapped her legs around his waist and cast her arms roughly about his neck. ‘I thought for certain I had lost you,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Brexan, I—’ Her weight forced his head beneath the surface and the last few words of his response were lost in an abrupt wellspring of bubbles.

  ‘Oh, demonpiss!’ Embarrassed, she let him go. ‘Sorry, I’m not trying to drown you now!’

  Versen floated back to the surface and playfully spat a mouthful of salt water at her. ‘Good to see you again too.’ He reached for her, clasping his large hands firmly on her hips, and pulled her towards him. His stomach fluttered; adrenalin pumped through his veins as she pulled him even closer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of seawater and warm woman. He dared not speak, for fear of making a fool of himself, his emotions were running so high.

  Revelling in his touch, Brexan stroked her hands down his muscular shoulders and finally gave in to the passion that had been building from the moment he woke from his coma and told her, ‘I love you.’ She ran her tongue over his lips, tasting the saltwater, flicking the tip of it between his teeth until he was almost dizzy with desire. He growled softly and took possession of her mouth, plundering her sweetness with his tongue. The two of them were carelessly lost in the moment and explored each other, hands stroking, pressing, teasing, while their mouths locked together. Finally Brexan pushed him slightly and he released her. As they gasped for air, she wondered, ‘Are we dead?’

  Brexan started to cry again. ‘I saw you go under. I tried so hard to hang on, but it was so cold, and you were so heavy.’

  Versen hugged her to him tightly, marvelling at her courage and strength of will. ‘You did everything you could. It wasn’t your job to keep me afloat.’

  ‘But I saw you go under,’ she gulped as uncontrollable sobs racked her body. Now she clung to his neck as she relived that terrifying moment when she found herself cold and alone in the middle of the Ravenian Sea, too far from land to survive. ‘I gave up. I decided to die, and I was – I was afraid we’d just sink to the bottom and that it would be dark.’ She felt a fool, a little girl afraid of the dark, revealing her feelings in a flood of embarrassing confessions, but Versen interrupted her.

  He kissed her again, gently this time, and calmly said, ‘Brexan, it’s all right now. I’m fine. We’re not dead.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘You mean who.’

  ‘Who? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think his name is O’Reilly, Gabriel O’Reilly.’ Versen groped for an explanation. ‘I think he knows Steven Taylor, the foreigner I told you about. He came looking for us – well, for me – when Mark told him we’d been separated at Seer’s Peak.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Brexan sounded sceptical. ‘Did he swim off to find us a boat or something? And how did he know to find us out there? And how did he warm the sea up?’

  ‘Well, those are all good questions, and I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I think he’s here with us now.’ Versen’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead in an effort to convey lightheartedness.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Brexan frowned.

  ‘Okay, you’ve got to absolutely promise not to panic.’ She looked at him strangely and he laughed. ‘Not helpful? I can see that. Just remember: Gabriel saved us, all right?’ She nodded agreement and held Versen a little bit tighter.

  ‘Gabriel O’Reilly is a wraith, a spirit of sorts, here from Steven and Mark’s Colorado. He provided a body for Nerak to travel between Colorado and Eldarn a little over nine hundred and eighty Twinmoons ago.’

  ‘So when you say “here with us”, you mean floating around here somewhere?’ Brexan began searching the skies, squinting into the twilight.

  ‘No, I mean, here, with us.’ He placed a finger on Brexan’s breastbone, just below her neck. ‘Inside us, warming us from within, and lending us the physical strength we need to survive.’

  Brexan looked askance at him. ‘Inside us? Us both?’

  ‘I am,’ a gentle voice echoed in her mind.

  Brexan cried out in surprise, ‘Great gods of the Northern Forest!’ and renewed her iron grip about Versen’s neck. ‘Was that him? Did you hear it too?’

  ‘I did,’ Versen said, stroking her arm in an effort to calm her down, ‘he and I have been talking for much of the past aven. You were unconscious, but he kept you alive as he helped drag us along through the water.’

  ‘But how is he doing that? How did he get inside us like that?’

  ‘He did it to save our lives – without him, I would be— we would both be dead by now. He tracked us from the Blackstones; I don’t know how, but I’m surely glad he did. And he’s brought news of the others. They were attacked by an army of spirits, similar to him, but thousands of them – and definitely not on our side. My friends were holed up in a little cabin on the northern slope of the Blackstone Mountains, not far from the Falkan border. Steven and Garec were preparing to fight them off.’ He paused.

  ‘What happened?’ Brexan asked, her mouth hanging open a little. Versen smiled, pleased her curiosity had overcome her initial fear.

  ‘I had to flee.’ Brexan jumped a little as O’Reilly’s voice spoke inside her head.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It may take me some time to get used to having you in there.’

  ‘My apologies. I will try to surprise you less frequently as we make our way to shore.’

  Brexan was so preoccupied at the thought of a thousand-Twinmoon-old spirit haunting her mind that she had briefly forgotten she and Versen were still a long distance from shore, and still in danger of drowning.

  ‘So, what of Versen’s friends?’ she asked, returning to the topic at hand. ‘Why did you run away?’

  ‘The spirits who attacked the forest cabin were like me, souls summoned by Nerak to hunt down and retrieve the key to the spell table in Sandcliff Palace. There were thousands of them. I would have been tortured and cast back into the Fold had they detected my presence. If I was to be any assistance to your cause – to our cause – I had to get away.’

  The wraith’s voice was a smooth baritone; Brexan wondered if their curious saviour sounded the same to Versen.

  The spirit continued, ‘In the moments before the attack, I warned Mark, and then fled west to find you, Versen.’

  ‘I am extraordinarily glad you did so,’ Versen said with a chuckle.

  Brexan smiled at the sight of Versen speaking aloud to no one. He was alive, so very much alive. His head was cast back slightly, and he spoke in a raised voice, as if the wraith was floating above the surface of the water rather than communicating from inside their bodies. She grimaced suddenly; she wasn’t sure how keen she was on some disembodied spirit being inside her while she and Versen were kissing. She flush
ed bright red. If Gabriel O’Reilly had read her thoughts, he must be appalled at her forwardness … Brexan blushed again, and buried her face in the water for several moments. Changing the topic, she asked, ‘You said “our cause” – how is this your cause?’

  ‘I am – I was – a bank manager, and it was I who allowed the miner William Higgins to open the account that sealed the far portal and Lessek’s Key away for almost a thousand Twinmoons. I was the last man to carry the evil prince back to Eldarn across the Fold.’ The spirit’s voice hesitated, then continued softly, ‘I suffered an agony unlike anything I had ever imagined when that man – that thing – was inside my body. I could feel parts of me dying, and yet I could do nothing to save myself. I could not cry out, could not bandage my wounds, could not share my thoughts with anyone. I was at his mercy, and in all these years, these Twinmoons, I have been able to do little more than relive that memory, again and again.’

  Gabriel O’Reilly’s voice seemed to crack, and Brexan found herself touched by the wraith’s tragic story. ‘So you have issues to settle with our sovereign lord as well,’ she said, her tone icy.

  ‘Indeed I do.’

  ‘Then let’s get moving. We need to get to Orindale and see if the others have made it into the city.’ She started swimming, then stopped again and said, ‘Thank you. I don’t think we’ve actually said that, have we? You saved our lives, and for that alone we can never repay you. And thanks to you, we know the others cleared the Blackstones. That’s an amazing accomplishment in itself. If they managed to escape the wraiths, they might already be in Orindale.’

  O’Reilly answered for both of them to hear, ‘There are several fishermen pulling nets not far from here. They will take us to shore. I will remain in you until you have slept and regained some of your own strength. Then we can travel north together.’

  An elderly fisherman, shocked anyone would be swimming so far from shore, heaved the duo roughly into his small skiff. Brexan cringed as she landed in a heaping pile of enormous jemma fish. She slipped along the seaman’s scaly carpet and curled up in a small space in the bow. She was asleep before her head hit the deck.

  Versen spent a half-aven talking with the fisherman, attempting to explain how he and the young woman had managed to become lost, and then survived the cold autumn waters, when no vessel had been sighted since the twilight aven began. The fisherman, Caddoc Weston, continued pulling in his nets as he humoured his new passengers. He did not believe they had been on a sailing vessel that sank suddenly when some planking came loose in her hull, and a few carefully worded questions about navigation, prevailing winds and rigging confirmed the big Ronan was lying. Versen knew nothing of ships save what little he had gleaned while chained up in the Falkan Dancer. Realising he was caught out, he shrugged and gave a half smile. The fisherman nodded and the matter was dropped.

  In an effort to redirect their conversation, Versen asked about the pile of jemma fish.

  ‘Good night tonight,’ Caddoc said laconically. ‘Large schools of jemma are moving south this Twinmoon. The fishing’s been good.’ A series of hacking coughs racked his frame and he spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm over the side.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Versen moved to assist him.

  ‘Fine. I’m fine.’ A second coughing fit had the veins in his neck bulging. Wiping his chin on the back of his wrist, he added, ‘We all die. I get to do it out here.’ He gestured with a bony hand at the Ravenian Sea and Versen realised for the first time since leaving Strandson that the southern ocean was beautiful.

  ‘You should get some sleep too,’ Caddoc suggested. Versen thought, unnervingly, that he already looked like a skeleton in the waning light.

  Picking his way forward to join Brexan in the bow, Versen marvelled at the irony of an alarmingly thin fisherman surrounded by such a bounteous catch. ‘He must not eat any of it,’ he mumbled to himself.

  ‘I suppose not,’ Gabriel surprised him by answering.

  Just after dawn Caddoc carefully manoeuvred the small skiff into the shallows off a narrow strip of sand flanked by rolling dunes. Slowing to a stop, the skiff began to turn in the tide and was soon pitching lazily on the incoming waves. Brexan woke as their host began striking his sail and stowing the small mast. She started to stretch, but was alarmed to find her legs refused to move; it was only when she rubbed the sleep from her eyes that she discovered she and Versen were buried to the waist in jemma fish.

  ‘Oh, whoring grettanlovers!’ she exclaimed, recoiling from the strong-smelling cargo.

  Versen woke and wrapped his arms tightly about her waist. Resting his cheek against her breasts, he yawned and grinned a greeting to the fisherman. ‘You were right.’

  ‘Yes,’ Caddoc replied, rather more enthusiastic than he had been, ‘I told you it would be a good night.’

  ‘Ox!’ Brexan was disgusted. ‘How can you be so happy? We were nearly entombed in dead fish.’

  ‘It appears we were.’

  ‘Do you have any idea just how appalling you’re going to smell when we get out of here?’ She nudged him playfully in the ribs.

  ‘You’ve been telling me that for the past Twinmoon.’ He stretched and sat up. ‘I suggest you learn to love me as I am.’

  ‘Malodorous and badly in need of a shave?’ She pulled a length of matted hair, thick with jemma scales, behind one ear. ‘Not a chance!’

  ‘All right,’ he teased, ‘but I thought we had something going here.’

  ‘Ah, so now the truth—’

  The fisherman cleared his throat and glanced down at the couple lying hip-deep in his overnight catch. Embarrassed, his face flushed red and he nodded towards shore.

  Versen got it and pulled himself up, holding fast to the gunwale so he didn’t slip, then he helped Brexan to her feet. They laughed at the absurdity, offered their sincere thanks, and jumped overboard into the shallows. Thigh-deep in the waves, they turned and waved again, then began walking towards the dunes.

  Several paces away, Versen suddenly remembered their destination. Turning back, he shouted, ‘How far to Orindale?’

  ‘Walking? Four, maybe five days. Good luck,’ he replied then reached down and hefted a large jemma fish to his chest. He tossed it to Versen and advised, ‘Fillet this soon. It should be enough to get you to Orindale.’

  Waving their thanks, both for the rescue and the unexpected bounty, they set off to the shore. Caddoc watched as Versen helped the young lady up the sand, then turned back to his haul. ‘No accounting for the sea,’ he said to himself as the strange couple disappeared behind the dunes.

  It took them a quarter-aven to reach the top of the tallest dune. Versen, his bare feet buried ankle-deep in sand, held the jemma by the tail and waved out at the slowly disappearing fisherman with the other. The skiff’s single sail, a tiny triangle interrupting the smooth blue backdrop, soon slipped from view. Beside him, Brexan looked around as if expecting someone to emerge and welcome them back to Rona. Or were they in Falkan now? She thought they might have been carried far enough north to have crossed the border, especially if they were only five days’ travel from Orindale.

  Watching the waves break across the beach, Versen said, ‘We should get as far as we can today, but if you’re hungry, we can eat some of this now.’

  Without answering, Brexan grasped him firmly by the forearm, removed the fish from his fist, dropped it to the sand and began leading him down the dune’s lee slope.

  ‘What are you doing?’ the Ronan asked.

  ‘Hush, Ox,’ she commanded, and began unfastening the leather strips holding his tunic closed at the neck.

  Feeling her fingertips brush against his chest, Versen inhaled her aroma, all dead fish and tidewater. He winced: not very alluring – but his body responded to her touch regardless. As he leaned into her, his cheek brushed against the swollen purple bruise that still marked the place where Lahp had punched her. ‘I thought I smelled bad,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’ll breathe through my mouth,’ Brex
an muttered, then kissed him quickly and returned to her struggle to undress him. The Malakasian soldier finally gave up grappling with wet leather knots and turned her attention to the woollen ties holding his leggings tight around his hips.

  His excitement growing, Versen slipped his hands under the edge of her tunic and pulled it up, exposing her pale skin to the cool onshore breeze. Moving to accommodate him, Brexan crossed her arms, hastily grabbed the front hem of her tunic and prepared to pull it over her head – until, without warning, Versen gripped her by the shoulders and pinned her arms down.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said, despite his nearly paralysing desire to see her naked in the morning sun.

  ‘But I want to,’ she replied, with a pout that drove him mad.

  ‘Brexan, we’re not alone here.’

  Pulling her tunic around her torso, the young woman exclaimed, ‘Rutting gods, O’Reilly, are you still here?’

  Quiet peals of laughter chimed in her head. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘Could you give us an aven or two of privacy?’

  The ghost of the bank manager replied, ‘I am concerned you may not feel very well if I depart. Without me you will find yourselves very weak.’

  ‘We’ll risk it for the moment.’ Brexan did not want to seem ungrateful, but her mind was made up. She’d been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

  ‘I will return later this morning.’

  Brexan felt a wave of nausea pass through her body as the wraith departed; a thin wisp of smoky white gathered itself above their heads and drifted east into a sparsely wooded piece of ground behind the dunes. Her vision tunnelled and her head spun in a momentary attack of vertigo. Feeling an urgent need to lie down, Brexan pressed both palms against the broad expanse of Versen’s chest and forced him into the sand beside her.

  A while later, they both slept again.

  Steven woke for his watch, rolled onto his side and stretched the stiffness from his back and legs. ‘A bed. I would give just about anything for one night in a real bed. Sprung mattress. Linen sheets. Oh God—’ His neck cracked as he twisted his head from side to side.