by Martin Frowd
“By your will, Lord.”
“Not merely my will, necromancer.” The crimson eyes flickered. “You leave this place whole and well by the will of the ancients.”
Glaraz bowed to the ancient shade and grasped Zarynn’s hand more firmly in his own, guiding him to the rear of the chamber, to where the shade had revealed a new exit for them. Zarynn obediently accompanied the necromancer. Though his feet carried him forward, a thousand or more thoughts and questions collided in his young mind, and he walked almost as if in a daydream, reliant on Glaraz’s hand to steady him. As the pair, outlander necromancer and boy of the Twelve Tribes of the People, stepped through the new gap and into the smooth tunnel beyond, Zarynn dimly heard the shade’s hollow voice reciting words in what sounded like a poetic cadence.
“Born to the people, raised far away, returning on the darkest day, steeped in the lore of those who came before, with power to conquer shadow’s core.” The voice faded a little more with each word, until at last it was gone. A faint humming sounded behind them.
Zarynn dared a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see the magic chair retract into the floor. Of the shade lord there was no sign, nor of the Druid who had stood motionless, as if turned to stone, the entire time. Then the wall slid shut again, and there was only the tunnel, and the only way was forward.
◆◆◆
In the interface chamber, Vrnx grew gradually less corporeal in preparation for the passage back across the veil. Had anyone else remained in the chamber, they would have seen him gradually fade from sight and heard his voice fade away, as the chamber realigned with his true home on the other side. The Druid he had sent ahead of him, already locked out of phase with time.
Are you sure that was wise? The booming disembodied voice disrupted his concentration as he prepared for the transition from one world to the other. Crimson eyes flickered in momentary irritation as he paused his exit.
“I did what I deemed necessary,” the shade lord spoke aloud in his hollow tones, though he was the only being who was physically present in the chamber. “I judged what was necessary and I acted, even as you, evidently, have done. The intervention in the vale above was yours, I assume? The necromancer believed it mine.”
You could have kept the fledgling, could have instructed him in the arcane arts yourself, his unseen interlocutor pressed.
“I could,” the shade agreed. “But the necromancer raised a valid point, old one. If the boy is to achieve his destiny, he must be schooled in the languages and the customs of the modern human world, as well as in the arcane arts. I am ill-equipped to do the former, without ensuring that he will stand out as different from his peers. My time is long removed from his. Yours is even more so, and your ancient kind lack even the history with his ancestors that my people had. All he knows, for now, is the culture of the betrayers. He will learn – he must learn – all about this world, if he is to master it. Only then will he serve our needs.”
If you are certain, the disembodied voice thundered dubiously.
“I am certain, Watcher. This way will best serve us both – your aims and mine. Revenge, it is said, is a dish best served cold, yes? Unless I sorely misremember, it was a saying among your clan before even my kind ever awoke on this world. This one will be as if frozen. Ironic, yes? That he goes to the deserts of the hot south to learn what he must, to one day bring about our cold vengeance.
“If it concerns you, old one, then by all means, keep watch over the boy until he passes over the sea. Should the betrayers catch up to him once more before he is quit of these shores, you can still intervene where I cannot. Intervene again, I should say, as it would appear you have done so already.”
I did what I deemed necessary, the unseen voice boomed, turning the shade’s own words back upon him. The fledgling was at threat of his life. If I had not acted, he would be beyond saving now. His own kind would have ended him.
“And in the process, you made certain to herd the boy to the interface chamber, to where he would undergo the test of the chair and would undoubtedly encounter me?” Vrnx hissed and crackled with laughter.
It seemed likely, and a desirable outcome, the unseen voice agreed. It was time for you to become directly involved, shade. I have watched over this fledgling without you from almost the moment that he was hatched, though he knew it not.
“It was time for me to become involved?” Vrnx hissed again, his irritation flaring once more, though it warred with amusement. “Remind me, old one, who first devised this plan, so very long ago? Remind me, old one, by whose hand the boy – and his kind, back to the earliest ancestors to set foot on this world – ever gained the power of Shadow at all? Long we have waited, and I do not recall that either the planning or the teaching was ever yours, or that of any other of your clan – if indeed you are not the last of them! But you are correct that it is for you to watch over the boy now, as his journey continues, or at least until he passes beyond your reach.”
Very well, the unseen speaker rumbled. You had best be right, shade.
The only answer was a momentary ripple in the air as Vrnx completed his own passage across the veil, leaving the chamber – and the world – behind.
TWELVE: FURIOSA
Zarynn blinked as he and Glaraz emerged from the shade’s brightly-lit tunnel into a tiny cave, little more than a shelter beneath a rock ledge. He had no idea how long he had slept, but it was night outside – still, or again? – and the little silver moon, the one his father had called the Huntmoon, hung in the sky. Several stars twinkled above also, and both they and the moon seemed brighter than usual to Zarynn’s eyes.
Another faint humming sounded behind them. Zarynn glanced over his shoulder, and as he had guessed, the tunnel had vanished, leaving just a cave. As he looked up again, marking the position of the Huntmoon in the sky, he was sure that it had waned no further since his escape from the hunters – since the great flying thing, whatever it was, if he had not imagined it, had rained down death on them – and was still only barely less than full. Perhaps, then, it was still the same night? he wondered. He felt fully refreshed – and healed – from his sleep on the magic chair, as if he had slumbered a whole night, but it could not have been more than a couple of hours, unless he had instead slept through a whole day and much of the next night! And Glaraz would surely have spoken of it, if that were indeed the case. Although, Zarynn realised, the necromancer was being oddly quiet at this moment. Perhaps he too was puzzling over the strange words of the First People lord, about fate and destiny.
Zarynn had not understood everything the First People lord, or shade, as he had called himself, had said, but he was clear that the ancient shade had taken an interest in him – had even threatened Glaraz, if he had understood fully, if Glaraz did not look after him! Zarynn dimly remembered a visiting Druid, a year or two ago, telling him and the other children of his clan about the First People, teaching that they were powerful and dangerous but had gone away long ago, but Zarynn was unclear on the limits of their power. He remembered also how his father had told him, once the Druid was safely gone and he dared speak of such things, that the Protector’s teachings likewise said that the First People were powerful and dangerous, for they were not like the People of the Twelve Tribes and could not be relied upon to behave like men.
In the light of his own experiences in recent days, which had shown him clearly that Druids were neither infallible nor indestructible, he wondered now if the Druids even really knew at all what the First People could or could not do. The shade lord had confirmed that his people had, indeed, gone away long ago, but could still watch, although Zarynn was still unclear just what and how much the shades could see. Once he and Glaraz crossed the sea to Glaraz’s home, would the First People be able to watch them still? Or was their sight limited to their own former lands?
“You are quiet, young Zarynn,” Glaraz broke the silence as they stepped out into the hills once more. “Overwhelmed, perhaps, yes?” Zarynn saw the necromancer lo
ok to the sky, and assumed he was checking the position of the Huntmoon to make sure they were heading in the right direction. “Healed and well, at least so you seem to my eyes, but troubled?”
“Th-the First People,” Zarynn managed after a moment. “C-can they really s-see us? Even when we cross the sea?” His stammer was not only due to his troubled mind. His teeth chattered as he and Glaraz walked out into the chill night air, which felt distinctly cooler on his skin after the shade’s chamber.
“Shades are an ancient and powerful kind, young Zarynn,” Glaraz responded. “They were the first to build cities in this land.” The word he used was another one foreign to Zarynn, but before he could ask what cities were, or what a cities was, the necromancer continued. “Just how powerful, none are truly sure, for the shades retreated from contact with the younger races – the lesser races, as they see it – long ago. Can they see across the sea? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But fear not, young one. Never before have they interfered with the Black Skull School.”
That doesn’t mean they can’t, Zarynn realised, but he said nothing.
Glaraz and Zarynn walked on for a while, along a dirt path between the hills, under the silvery Huntmoon and stars. Zarynn kept stealing glances up at the sky. He was sure that the moon and the stars were much brighter than he had ever seen them before. Under their bright light, he could see much further and more clearly in the darkness than ever before – even earlier that night, if indeed it was still the same night, when the lion-Druid and his hunters had recaptured him. He found he could pick out details on individual hillsides and loose rocks that previously would have eluded him in the dark, and where before his steps would have been more cautious at night, he was sure-footed as a pony with his new improved vision.
Zarynn’s thoughts circled back to the First People lord’s strange words on fate and destiny. He guessed that the “will of the ancients” must mean that the ancient shade was speaking on behalf of the First People generally or at least on behalf of their leaders, just like a Druid speaking in the name of the Conclave, or a hunter of the Twelve Tribes of the People speaking with the authority of his chief. But he had no idea what the shade had meant by his destiny, or by finding his way to it. Nor did he realise, deep in thought as they walked, that he had spoken aloud, until Glaraz responded.
“Fate is not so clearly cut, young Zarynn. True it is, there are Gifted ones who can see what may be – seers and astrologers, they are called – but they see only what may be, not what will be. We have choices. They shape us. Shape our lives. A seer might see what we might be or do, but it is our choice, the doing or not doing, the being or not being. Sometimes all choices seem bad, yes? Other times, perhaps one choice seems bad, yet leads to better things.
“Take yourself as an example, young one. It may seem now, you have no choices – at least, no good or fair or equal choices, yes? To come with me, to the Black Skull School, or to be slain by Druids, by your own people, or by wild beasts? It seems no choice, yes? But once we reach Maraport – my home, where the School stands – once we come to the Black Skull, many choices will unfold before you. Some choices will be small things – what and when to eat, who to befriend, where and how to spend what free time you may have – others will be bigger choices, perhaps guiding and shaping your life. What magics you might learn, other than the Gift that is inborn in you; what and how much of other things to learn, and how you will use such learning. What path of magic to follow and how to make your living, when your learning is finished – or indeed always learning and never finishing, that too is a choice. Others may see a future for you, young one, yes, even the ancient shades, and they may name it your destiny, the better to convince you to follow it, yes? But if it is the future, not merely a future only, only you can know.
“Hmm. I have given you more new questions than answers now, yes?” The necromancer chuckled. “Much of what I have said, you lack still the grounding to truly understand, boy. Answers shall come, in time. You have much time yet to make even the simple choices, and more besides to make the truly important ones. On the ship, while we sail, and after we arrive.”
Zarynn nodded, trying to take in all that Glaraz had said, where necessary puzzling out the outlander’s odd accent and intonation to decipher his words.
“Druids see the future too,” he ventured at last. “I-I m-mean – Druids say they can see the future. B-but I don’t think they all can, or they can see everything. If they could, how could anyone do anything they didn’t like?
“M-my f-father said the Protector watched over us, and that was why the Druids didn’t catch us. But they did! They killed my father, and my mother, and – and–” Zarynn blubbered and sobbed for a few minutes as they walked. Glaraz made no attempt to comfort the boy but let him cry until he was done. “But other men did things the Druids say are bad too,” the boy resumed. “Zanavan took things away from his brothers – spears, pelts, food. The Druids say stealing from your own is bad, but they never stopped him. Zoran said kills were his when they weren’t, and the Druids say lying is wrong, but they never stopped him. So maybe they can’t see everything?”
“Druids are men, young Zarynn, and have limits, like all men,” Glaraz advised. “They are not Gods, nor even shades, merely men.”
Zarynn thought back to the last words the First People lord had muttered, as they left, and how they seemed to rhyme, like a poem. Among the People of the Bear, rhyming verses were used to teach and to remember the stories of years and centuries past, but he remembered his mother telling him that Druids sometimes spoke in rhyme when they saw the future. He said as much as they walked on under the bright moon and stars.
“Correct, young Zarynn,” the necromancer affirmed. “Often those with the Gift of Sight – future sight – will speak in rhyming cadence – or, as some think, the future speaks through them. Prophecy, it is called. A rare Gift, yes. Still, the future is ever uncertain, young one. Prophets see what may be, yes? Not what will be. I said there are choices. Perhaps not always good choices, but choices.”
Zarynn and Glaraz walked on, lapsing into silence once more, as the moon finished crossing the night sky in front of them and sank low behind the hills ahead of them in the west, giving way to dawn. From behind them, the first rays of the rising sun in the east cast a rich golden glow over the Hills of Dusk, banishing the last of the darkness. New warmth spread through Zarynn’s limbs, ridding him of the night’s chill. Barely had the sun begun to rise when Glaraz guided the boy off the path and up a gravel-covered slope, to stop on one of the hilltops that crowned the area.
“We cannot stop for long,” the necromancer warned Zarynn from the start, “but we must eat, yes? We need to replenish our strength.”
Zarynn realised, as Glaraz broke out more of his provisions – dried meat, sliced roots, flatbread and flasks of water – that he was not in fact at all hungry, even though he had not eaten since the previous morning’s breakfast with Glaraz. When he said as much, the necromancer nodded.
“Perhaps the shade’s chair did more than merely granting you a peaceful sleep, yes? Nonetheless, try to eat something. I do not wish to stop again until we reach the ship. I will eat in any case. Plain fare again for now, that we do not attract any more unfriendly eyes. There is at least one Druid still out there in the hills, boy. And where there is one, there may be more. Thus, we will light no camp fire here.”
Zarynn nodded obediently, and he managed to eat the provisions Glaraz placed before him. Although not hungry, he was not so stuffed full that he could not manage to eat. Indeed, he could count on the fingers of one hand the times in his life so far that he had ever been that full. The hunters of his clan – his old clan, he reminded himself, the People of the Bear were entirely lost to him now – had always been good at finding and bringing down game – he stifled tears as that memory inevitably led to thinking that his father, his murdered father, had taught the younger hunters well – but there were always many mouths to feed, and the men of the clan always took
their fill first. If there was not enough left for the women and children, whatever remained would be split thinly.
As Zarynn chewed his breakfast, he noticed a fine grey smoke or mist beginning to swirl up from the back of Glaraz’s strange new one-piece garment, drifting up into the sky and dissipating in the sunlight.
“Are you on fire?” he asked the necromancer curiously.
“On fire? A most curious question to ask, young one,” Glaraz chuckled. “I am not burning. Why do you ask such a thing? What reason have you?”
“Your robe – tunic – thing – is smoking,” the boy told him. Glaraz twisted his neck to look over his shoulder, following Zarynn’s pointing finger, but shook his head ruefully.
“I can see no such thing as you describe, young one. But,” he added thoughtfully, “the shade lord did say that his boon would not last long in sunlight. Curious that you can see it diminish and fade already, and I, a master, cannot! But it is a thing of shadow, and you are shadow born, as the shade named you. I wield shadow magics, true, but through study alone, not as a birth Gift. In any case, young Zarynn, we should not linger overlong here.”
True to Glaraz’s word, the necromancer swiftly finished his breakfast and secured his pouches and flasks once more. Zarynn swallowed his last mouthfuls and in moments the pair of them were once again on their feet, heading westward again through the hills, with the sun at their backs as it began climbing higher in the sky. Glaraz set a vigorous pace, almost dragging Zarynn along, and it was all that the boy could do to keep up with the much taller outlander as he strode along another dirt path between the hills, a hand gloved in the strange shimmering shadow material gripping Zarynn’s hand firmly. The glove still felt smooth and cool still to Zarynn, even as the sun warmed the air. As they proceeded west, he saw more wisps of grey smoke or mist rising from Glaraz’s odd magical garment with every step, coming apart in the sunlight and vanishing. Zarynn wondered if they would reach their destination before the necromancer’s clothes faded away altogether.