Sufferborn

by J C Hartcarver

  He’d gained enough height to surpass Lamrhath’s proud stature, but Lamrhath wouldn’t be intimidated by anything. He grabbed a lock of Wikshen’s greasy blue hair in his gloved hand and yanked it downward. “Bow your head when your kingsorcerer approaches.”

  Making him do it proved harder than estimated. Wikshen was solid, even though his form appeared more nimble than heavy, and he swayed like a drunkard. Lamrhath put in enough muscle to get results, however.

  Bent over awkwardly with his hair caught in Lamrhath’s grip, Wikshen’s dull greenish eyes ventured to meet his.

  “Lower your eyes too,” Lamrhath growled. To emphasize the point, he applied a small electric shock from the stone in the palm of his glove.

  Wikshen jolted and fell.

  “That’s better.”

  On the floor, Wikshen continued to sway, his eyes drifting as if the world spun. His face wore a lasting grimace from the unpleasantness of the shock. He still insisted on making eye contact with the kingsorcerer.

  “Listen now,” Lamrhath said. “We are about to depart for home, and we’re taking different paths to get there. When you arrive in our kingdom, I expect to hear good news about your behavior. Your traveling company will make a few stops for supplies. Take any chance you get to please me. Rewards await you in Ilbith.”

  Wikshen sneered.

  “Wait!” Gaije ran up the path marked between the rows of many tents shared by the new recruits. The tents were being dismantled as he sprinted. He’d barely had enough time to let the ink dry on his letter before he hastily wound twine around it and took off. The saehgahn who shared his tent had graciously agreed to break it down so he could finish his letter and run to catch the courier.

  The sound of the donkey braying announced he wasn’t too late. The courier was still riding down the line, collecting other young recruits’ letters. It wasn’t Togha. Gaije wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or sad about that. Regardless of how bitterly the two had fought in their youth, Togha was a familiar face, a distant cousin even. If he had been the courier, it would have meant Gaije wasn’t all that far from home. But it wasn’t Togha; his letter would change satchels a few times before being passed into Mhina’s eager hands, courtesy of Togha. Gaije caught the courier right at the edge of camp as he collected the last few letters.

  He’d made it through an intense training period, and now all the new recruits headed to the next outpost to be sorted into the Norrian army’s various divisions. His road would take him all the way to the northwest side of Norr, to the royal palace where he would continue training for the queen’s guard.

  Along with everyone else, he scrambled to dress, collect his things, and fall into line. In three long rows, the young saehgahn ran in formation. The saehgahn were allowed one pack to wear on their backs with a bedroll attached, a secondary pouch and waterskin on their belts, a cloak, a knife, and a sword or bow and quiver. While they ran, the archers were made to carry their bows in hand, strung and ready to use if need be. During training, they practiced running long distances while carrying bags of sand draped around their necks, strapped to their backs, or carried in hand. This practice was common at home, but army training was enhanced; the saehgahn were pushed to their limits in the few weeks they spent in the initial phase of recruitment. Though the swordsmen were destined to wear heavier armor than the archers, they were all put through the same trials. Gaije could already tell a difference as he jogged on in the tight formation of archers. He could run for longer than before, and he had added at least twenty extra pounds to his limit.

  Lately, his belt pulled tighter around his middle than it used to and his sa-garhik, his leggings, stretched tighter around his thighs. He had realized it the other day when he pulled them on after a cold bath in the river. He had paused to consider a forbidden thought. At the next outpost where faerhain lived and worked, he could tuck his tunic tails up around his belt during his free time around town. He’d seen other saehgahn do that at home. They were shunned by the Desteer and laughed at by other males for doing so, but they did it anyway. Many saehgahn showed their bodies off at any opportunity and to as extreme a degree as possible. The eyes of the faerhain were always wandering, always peering downward. They liked to see the shape of a male’s legs in his sa-garhik and the bulge in his braies.

  If Gaije was lucky, if he could catch one’s attention and get married before his initiation into the queen’s guard, he’d be free. He might not be able to marry Anonhet, but he’d be married nonetheless. A life he preferred.

  He whipped his cloak off as soon as he was set free at the outpost town. Ildahar was one of Norr’s larger towns, founded long ago by one of the oldest clans. Its ancient heritage showed in its permanent citizens with their hair black enough to challenge Lehomis’s. With his grandfather as living proof, it was common belief that Norr’s original bloodline produced black hair until elves from other places had moved in and joined them. In this age, the idea of breeding with foreign elves was considered blasphemy against the Bright One.

  As soon as Gaije stepped out of the barracks to join the town in prayer within their grove, he pegged himself lucky. Saehgahn always whispered about how faerhain were looking for variation—someone “exotic.” So far, his red hair was the most exotic thing he’d seen. He was the only redhead in his company of recruits, and among the town’s bustle of citizens, medium brown was as exotic as hair color ranged.

  The Bright One’s sacred grove spanned ten times wider than the one belonging to Clan Lockheirhen to accommodate such a large number of citizens and army affiliates. The worship ceremony was a different experience too. The Desteer members, with their long black hair and spooky painted faces, had a tighter grip on their telepathic abilities than those of Clan Lockheirhen, and they utilized it to stretch their message in three directions. Three maidens moved through three sections of the massive circle of elves seated on the grass. They spoke the exact same words at the same time and with the same length of pauses, thus stretching the same voice to three different crowds.

  “The Bright One sees all!” The head maiden’s voice rose and fell in a special rhythm like his clan’s Desteer. This one’s voice boomed, unlike Alhannah, the head of the Desteer at home, whose voice pierced. Each maiden speaking was accompanied by two other maidens to echo her in perfect unison.

  “Even at night, the Bright One uses the moon and the stars to look upon us, and when those aren’t in view, He uses the glowing eyes of owls and cats and all living things to watch over us. It doesn’t matter how dark the night grows! As dark as our forest can become, the Bright One can always see us!”

  She and the others paused for a breath. “Be glad you are alive. Be glad you walk under the Bright One’s reach. For there is no shadow darker and deeper than the void you’ll find when He rejects you. Stay sharp, saehgahn and faerhain. He sees your actions!”

  “He sees your toils,” the secondary maidens added.

  The maiden handling Gaije’s section of the audience stood over him. His coppery hair made him stand out—not such a welcome occurrence at an event like this.

  The speaker’s arm extended, her finger pointing, and she singled out a young faerhain to Gaije’s left. “He sees your tears!” The faerhain wasn’t crying at the moment, but Desteer maidens had ways of knowing things, and they all seemed to take a certain sick level of delight in hinting at their knowledge of someone’s secrets. She pointed to Gaije. “He knows your thoughts!”

  Gaije dipped his head and hugged his knees. Saehgahn weren’t supposed to sit in certain shameful poses, but her words stung. He had been thinking a lot about faerhain lately. Saehgahn were supposed to think about death, work, fighting, and their families. Tightening his jaw, he kept a low profile until she moved on. Perhaps he should’ve worn his cloak and hood.

  With the starch gone from his back, he reentered the hub of Ildahar with the huge crowd of saehgahn who walked about as confidently as he did after the religious experience. The buildings were sculpte
d out of earth like his home, but crammed in more tightly. Most of the trees in the area were left standing, some growing through the center of household courtyards and others lending support for the buildings.

  Gaije moseyed through the central plaza, a large hub at the center of town kept clear for social gatherings, important town assemblies, and trading with neighboring clans. The ground of this one was loosely tiled with clay stones; little patches of grass grew between them. The Desteer hall loomed over the area, like at home, with its domed ceiling supported by stacked stone brought in from Norr’s quarry in the southwest. Such large building stones were brought in for the most important structures, like Desteer halls and sometimes the elders’ houses. The elder usually boasted the biggest family, though that wasn’t the case for Clan Lockheirhen. Lehomis’s immediate family had dwindled over the centuries down to Gaije’s brood through Gaije’s father. Poor old Lehomis had survived past all those generations, and he would surpass Gaije’s lifetime too.

  In the central plaza, saehgahn ran back and forth as they set up for supper to feed the new army recruits. Tomorrow they’d all be dispersed, but tonight Gaije could enjoy some free time—probably his only free day for a long time.

  Surveying the area, he counted the faerhain out and about today, and found about twenty that he could see at the moment. Twenty faerhain among one hundred or so saehgahn just in the plaza. This was why saehgahn were told not to think about marriage or private relations. If all twenty of the faerhain were unmarried, a mere twenty of the saehgahn moving about would be chosen. Gaije put today’s stern sermon behind him and hurried to tuck his tunic tails around his belt, at least while he was out tonight.

  Of course, all twenty-something of the faerhain in the plaza weren’t single. Some of them wore darker colors to signify their marriages. They were local wives who’d come out of their houses to help host the new recruits. The single faerhain wore brighter, spring-like colors, which made up about half of the faerhain present.

  “Saehgahn, hear me!” a loud, feminine voice shouted from across the plaza. Most of the company paused to look up. “All are welcome to the elder’s estate tonight for a retelling of Lehomis’s adventures!”

  It was the elder’s wife, the clan matron, who shouted. She strolled tall with her shoulders back, cutting the crowd apart, dressed pristinely in her traditional hanbohik which displayed a large symbol of Clan Kanarihen, a moth perched on a scroll, on the front of the skirt. Two of her daughters walked at her sides, their hands clasped neatly together as they walked, as crisp and graceful as their mother.

  “Tonight, after supper,” she continued, “the retellings will be accompanied by shadow play, performed by my own daughters! Please come! There will be tea and cakes! All are welcome! Saehgahn, hear me!”

  Gaije stood cold and stiff as they passed, her voice growing louder before receding to the back of the crowd again. For an instant, one of her daughters glanced at him, thanks to his red hair. She didn’t smile or let her eyes linger, as was proper. Her eyes might’ve lingered if she wasn’t in a place of concentrated attention. Tonight was special, the perfect opportunity to show himself.

  Gaije headed straight to the elder’s manor the minute he finished eating. The clan matron stood at the entrance to the house’s large courtyard, greeting all the new faces as they filed in. The head Desteer maiden had come to protest the event. The stories of Lehomis’s exploits were a controversial subject, their acceptance varying from clan to clan. Gaije’s clan, being the one Lehomis had personally founded, celebrated his legend, and their local Desteer were forced to accept that fact.

  The Desteer maiden, standing opposite the matron by the ingoing crowd, kept her stiff finger extended and her reprimands flowing. As Gaije approached the threshold leading into the house’s courtyard, some of those scoldings were directed at him.

  “That goes for wild redheads too. Go back to the barracks, saehgahn!” she said.

  The matron laughed. “Do you know who this is, Gildayha? He’s from Clan Lockheirhen. Pass through, saehgahn. You are welcome here.”

  Gaije obeyed. Anyone would’ve known where he came from by his mantle. All saehgahn wore mantles over their shoulders displaying their clans’ symbols on their backs. Lockheirhen’s symbol was a horse’s head biting an arrow.

  “Thank you, faerhain,” he said to her and proceeded through, leaving the matron beaming and the Desteer maiden scowling behind him.

  The courtyard had been converted into a theater for the night, with ambient purple, red, and yellow lanterns hanging from tree limbs and the house’s awnings. The fragrance of herbal tea enhanced with dried fruit drifted through the air. Gaije was able to find a good spot on the ground, which was covered with many colorful rugs for the occasion.

  The proud elder and his wife had a good number of daughters and plenty of sons of all ages. Gaije couldn’t hold his blush when one of the daughters came through with a tray of tiny teacups, smiling at him when he received his.

  The courtyard filled up fast; additional saehgahn climbed the wall and perched atop it while others piled in at the gate to peer through. The shadow play was better than Gaije expected. Two of the house matron’s daughters hid behind a wooden wall with a cutout window fitted with a silk-paper screen. They could easily afford to build such an oddity here because Ildahar was where all of Norr’s paper came from. That fact had dawned on Gaije when night fell and a number of white moths had landed on him as he made his way through town.

  Behind the satiny white screen, a few candles glowed to emphasize the little paper shadow puppets the faerhain manipulated with thin rods. Nothing like this had ever been organized in Gaije’s clan. One of the elder’s sons sat beside the screen, reading off a script to add voices and narration to the story, and two of his young brothers sat on the other side, playing little pipes and percussion instruments for magical effect.

  For a moment, Gaije was taken away to an era long ago, to the Darklands, where his grandfather galloped across the grasslands, running for his life with a gang of angry bandits in pursuit. Gaije had heard the stories verbally from Lehomis’s own mouth. As good a storyteller as he was, it couldn’t quite compare to the beautiful images within the little screen these faerhain created for his eyes.

  They even included in their story a little flirtation between Lehomis and the faerhain he found in the Darklands, Kristhanhea—the faerhain who would someday become his wife and the matron of Clan Lockheirhen. The storytellers kept that part brief and minimal however, or else they’d face an enormous amount of trouble with the Desteer. The story focused heavily on Lehomis’s battle experiences instead. Gaije laughed out loud a few times at the antics. It wasn’t told exactly the way he understood the story, but that didn’t matter.

  The entire production was hosted by the elder’s wife and her children. The elder himself kept quiet, sitting to the side with his own little teacup, enjoying his children’s skillful performance.

  At the end of the show, when Lehomis succeeded in rescuing Kristhanhea from the evil bandits, the many saehgahn in the audience roared with applause, and the house matron stepped in front of the screen with her arms raised, grinning ear to ear. She thanked them all for coming, welcomed the new recruits to their town, as short as their stay would be, and led them all in a prayer to the Bright One asking Him for protection for the faerhain, guidance for the saehgahn, and fertility for their people.

  Then she made an announcement for one of her daughters who had worked the shadow puppets. “My daughter has recently become faerhain! She chose the home!”

  The saehgahn cheered louder than they had at the end of the show. “So stand tall. She’ll be looking at you.” Her comment was met with a mixture of cheer and chuckles.

  “Please stay a while. There’s more tea left. You’re free to mingle and discuss our production. These young ones worked on it for the last year.”

  Gaije stood up, as many others did. His heart pounded. This might be a good opportunity. He came from C
lan Lockheirhen, and anyone could see that. He had insight few others could hope for. In fact, he was directly descended from Lehomis and knew all the stories by heart. He’d heard them again and again from the source. He could talk to faerhain—more of them than the elder’s daughters were in attendance. After such an extraordinary experience, the faerhain in the audience might be deeply amused by the idea of Clan Lockheirhen and its exalted hero. And Gaije was his grandson.

  Gaije tightened his tunic tails in his belt and moseyed toward the faerhain who poured the tea, clearing his throat and working his tongue around the careful words he’d use to ask for a refill.

  “Lockheirhen.” A hand landed on his shoulder, startling him out of his concentration. It was Gaije’s captain, Malmirhen, his piercing eyes boring into Gaije. “Back to the barracks, saehgahn. Tonight, we’re passing out the new mantles. We depart at dawn. Tell anyone you see on the way back.”

  Gaije’s shoulders slumped. So much for talking to faerhain. He couldn’t have won anyone’s favor in one night anyway. Faerhain observed older saehgahn for years and made calculated decisions when they were ready. Gaije had no chance of being picked. He was too young, he had no merits, and he wouldn’t be in town long. How could he win a wife on features as tawdry as his hair color and his tight sa-garhik? Gaije pulled his tunic tails out of his belt and let them hang naturally as he trudged back to his temporary bed.

  In the barracks, all the new recruits lined up and formally received crisp new mantles to wear around their shoulders. This mantle displayed the royal insignia, a white ox with wings, on the back of the left shoulder and each saehgahn’s home clan symbol on the right. As each saehgahn was handed his mantle, his destination was declared aloud.

  “Gaije Lockheirhen,” Captain Malmirhen said, “graciously receive your mantle. You are hereby inducted into the army of Norr. Your destination lies at the palace, where you’ll train for the queen’s guard.”

  He unfurled the small garment to show the skillful needlework displaying the winged ox beside the horse biting an arrow, and placed it around Gaije’s shoulders. The captain stood back, and Gaije gave the formal bow.