by Wight, Will
With Hariman tucked under one arm and Diava gripped in his other hand, Denner crouched and raised his eyes, ready to strike a bird from the sky.
A brown-and-white owl glided silently overhead, lighting on Keiren’s shoulder. The bird scowled at Denner and gave him a single, disapproving hoot.
“Us,” Keiren said.
“You see what I mean about paranoia?” Hariman put in. “We need to work on your nerves.”
Feeling somewhat silly, Denner relaxed, releasing the stone amulet—its power was about to run out anyway—and banishing his sword.
“We’ve seen you already,” Keiren said. “Standing there. Sent to kill us. Do you even know why?”
“I don’t think it’s my job to ask,” Denner said. He had taken money for this kind of thing before, but he was usually hired to kill enemy commanders on the battlefield, or stop Travelers that had run out of control. Not to kill a girl who had run away from home.
Keiren absently stroked her owl’s head, but they both continued staring at Denner, absolutely serious. “Strigaia owls, and therefore Travelers of the Strigaia tribe, have visions,” she said. “You know that.”
“Everyone knows that,” Denner said. That was all anyone did know; everything else was shrouded in typical Traveler mystique.
“It’s not as convenient as you think,” Keiren went on. “You can’t just decide what you want to see, whenever you want to, like opening a book. Each Traveler sees something different. The High Watcher, for instance, sees gold.”
“Gold?” Denner asked. “Like, veins of gold? Gold mines?” That would explain why she was willing to spend so much money to hunt down one rebellious girl.
Keiren and her owl rolled their eyes at the exact same time, which was more than a little creepy. “Not just gold. Money. Currency. She sees visions of times when buying something will affect her future. She probably saw herself handing you coins, so she knew she would—or maybe should—hire you. Do you see?”
“Apparently you’re the ones who see,” Hariman quipped, then laughed at his own joke. “You get it? See?”
Denner sighed.
“It’s not all that useful,” Keiren went on, ignoring Denner’s advisor. “Most of the tribe only sees very specific things. One of my best friends could see the positions of the stars anytime. If he just concentrated on a day in the future, he could see what the stars would look like that night. It was more helpful for predicting the weather than anything, since he knew whether it was going to be cloudy. My father could predict down to the hour when the latrines would need emptied. It wasn’t glamorous, but he saved us from disease more times than we’ll probably ever know.”
Keiren stared off into the forest, her face growing distant. Her owl nuzzled into her head, hooting softly.
Denner waited a moment, then cleared his throat. Keiren and her bird turned back to look at him. They blinked at the same time.
“No one of us is too useful on our own,” Keiren continued. “Our visions are too limited. But together, we can shape the future.”
Denner looked into the giant forest, thinking over the girl’s words. This was getting far too troublesome for him. There were too many factors at play here that he did not, and could not, understand. He never should have taken a bargain with the Strigaia, but last night he had boiled stolen heads of wheat just to make a thin soup. The coins were too appealing.
Hariman squirmed under his arm, and Denner let him speak. “Pardon me, but there seems to be an inconsistency in your story. If Strigaia visions are as limited as you claim, then why should the tribe care about you? Surely you can’t pose a threat on your own.”
Keiren’s owl sighed and shook its feathered head, like a teacher exasperated by a stupid pupil. The Traveler smiled and stroked the bird’s head. “I see Travelers,” she said. “Not just Avernus Travelers. I see Travelers from all different Territories, and I see them in moments where they will have to make an important decision. I’ve seen the King several times, deciding whether he will personally ride to battle. I’ve seen Grandmaster Helgard deciding whether to step down, and Overlord Indirial considering whether or not to train his daughter. I’ve seen you, Valinhall Traveler, standing in front of a tree, deciding whether to kill me or speak to me first.”
Denner stared at her, stunned. No wonder the High Watcher wanted this girl dead so badly. In any conflict, Travelers were the most valuable resource. If one side could read the decisions of the enemy Travelers before they were even made…well, Denner would rather have Keiren’s power on his side than two dozen Naraka Travelers calling fire from the sky.
As he stood there, trying to digest the full implications of this girl’s ability, his mind latched onto the one least significant aspect of his situation: he was being rude.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I never introduced myself. I’m Denner Weeks.”
She cocked her head at him, just like Kai always did.
“That’s not your name,” she said.
Denner fought back a chill. “It is now,” he responded, as firmly as he could.
There was a long silence apart from the chirping of a thousand birds. Overhead, a giant limb shook, as though something had landed on it.
“Ahem,” Hariman said, “while this has been interesting and everything, we really should move this along. Either kill her or let her go, Denner.”
“The book’s right,” Keiren said. “You have another decision to make. I’ve already seen the results of trying to run from you. I can’t do it. My only chance is to persuade you face-to-face.”
Denner had killed more people than he cared to remember, and he probably had more dead friends than live ones. But he didn’t consider himself much of a killer. He wanted an excuse, any excuse, to let this girl go free.
But he was also a man of his word. So that excuse would have to be a good one.
“Why did you run away?” Denner asked, at last.
Keiren raised her head to stare into the trees. Denner was struck once again by how lost and alone she looked: her face was caked with dirt, her hair ragged and hacked short, her clothes barely holding together.
“I’d be happy to answer that,” she said, “but it looks like we’re running out of time.”
Denner looked up himself, and saw what he had already begun to expect: huge white eagles, the mounts of the Halliat tribe, had landed on most of the limbs in view. He could count six mounted Halliat-tribe Travelers without even trying, and he knew that more must be on their way.
But he was still a Valinhall Traveler, and these were Avernus. Maybe Endross or Tartarus could have posed a threat. He had to admit being a little nervous—no battle was certain, no matter how overwhelming it appeared—but he doubted this forest would be where his story ended.
“We have time,” Denner said calmly. “Tell me.”
Beneath his arm, Hariman chuckled.
Keiren glanced nervously up at the trees, and then around at the underbrush, as though looking for an opportunity to flee.
Denner stayed where he was. He could catch her easily enough if he wanted to, and she knew it.
“One day the red trees will die, and the Incarnations will be free once again,” Keiren said at last.
Denner’s heart froze. She shouldn’t have even known enough to say that. He supposed he should stop underestimating the girl who could see the future.
“The Strigaia tribe has known this for years,” she went on, keeping both eyes on the Halliat Travelers in the trees. “They think that the Incarnations breaking free will mean a world free of Ragnarus’ control, that the world will be restored to its natural order. That’s what we’ve all been raised to believe. My parents believe it. My teacher believes it. I was raised here in this Territory, so all my friends believe it.”
Hariman made a choking sound.
Denner probably sounded the same way. “Why would anyone want that?” he said. “Do you have any idea how many people would die?”
“Do you?” Keiren chall
enged. “I’ve seen it. And they’re going to escape. I can’t see anything we can do to stop that. But we might be able to do something about the Incarnations after they’ve broken free.”
“What?” Denner asked. He had seen an Incarnation before, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.
Keiren shrugged, almost dislodging her brown-and-white owl, who flapped its wings for balance and hooted indignantly. “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure something out. For now, I have to get away.”
A deep male voice called down from the trees. “Outsider,” he said. “We are taking the Strigaia girl. Do not resist and we will allow you to leave.”
Seemingly on instinct, Keiren took a step backwards, her face twisting in fear. “What are you going to do, Denner?” she asked, keeping her eyes locked on the Halliat eagles.
There was only one decision he could make, really. Even then, it burned him to go back on his word, but there was nothing else he could do.
Denner summoned Diava.
The Dragon’s Fang shimmered like a heat haze as it materialized, its weight comforting in his hand.
“I can find you a home in Damasca,” Denner said. “I’m friends with an Overlord, after all.”
Keiren gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can’t. Everyone I know is here. I can’t leave them just because they want me to. When they succeed, they’ll suffer under the Incarnations just as much as anyone. I have to help them, even if they kill me for it.”
Her determined resolve made her look much older. She had clearly made up her mind.
“What a surprise,” Hariman said, “Strigaia Travelers being foolish and short-sighted even though they can see the future.”
“I think you made that joke already,” Denner said.
“Who’s joking?”
“Last chance, outsider,” the Halliat Traveler roared from overhead. One of the giant eagles shrieked, and Denner winced at the sound. “Walk away! We’re taking the owl girl with us.”
Denner used Diava to gesture into a bush big enough to hide an entire house. “Get in there and hide until the fight’s over,” he said. “If you see a chance, run.”
Keiren crawled under the bush, but she hesitated before she disappeared completely into the leaves. “Do you know a man, about your age, who has white hair? He may or may not be carrying a doll?”
A shiver ran down Denner’s spine. “I think I know who you’re talking about.”
Hariman snorted. “Ha!” he said. “You think?”
Keiren licked her lips. “At some point, he’s going to have to decide whether or not to take an apprentice,” she said. “Tell him he should.”
She seemed shaken by something, above and beyond the eagle-riding Travelers about to descend from the sky, so Denner gave her a smile. “I will,” he said reassuringly.
Keiren stood up, grabbing his forearm in both her hands. “This is important,” she said. “He really, really should take an apprentice.”
Denner pulled his arm away, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt. He was used to Traveler work, but he could never relax around someone predicting his future. That was just unnatural.
“I’ll tell him,” he said. “I promise.”
“Stay where you are!” The Halliat Traveler roared from overhead, and Denner sighed.
He was going to have to deal with this troublesome situation after all.
He called steel.
Instantly, the chains began crawling up his forearms. They may have looked like shadows, but they felt like real chains, and they grew link by link as they slithered up the backs of his hands and around his wrists.
At the same time, the steel flowed through him like an icy river.
Three of the white Halliat eagles were lifting off from their branches high overhead. One of the birds carried a huge Traveler with a feathered leather helmet on over his head. He held a spear in one hand. Denner presumed he was the one who had spoken.
Denner jumped.
He didn’t have the increased speed that he had seen Indirial and Valin use, but he was fast enough on his own. Agile as a cat, he hopped from tree trunk to tree trunk, steadily leaping higher until he reached one of the lowest branches.
Before the Travelers could react, Denner was among them, staring an eagle in the face.
He jumped again before the bird could bite his nose off, landing on a higher branch. The huge Halliat flier was hovering only six feet away; from this position, Denner could speak with him over his bird’s flapping wings.
But the other Traveler was still staring below him, at the spot where Denner had stood only a moment before.
“Over here,” Hariman called.
The big Traveler’s head spun around, and he found himself staring at Denner from only a few feet away. From his perspective, the scene must have been quite strange: Denner had climbed up these huge trees in an instant, and here he was, wearing a travel-stained brown cloak and carrying an enormous red-and-gold book and a long, gleaming sword.
“What…what tribe are you with?” the Traveler demanded, though his voice was shaky. He sounded much less intimidating now that he wasn’t shouting. “Are you Gendo?”
Denner often had to remind himself that most Travelers had never heard of Valinhall. The Strigaia were something of an exception, he supposed, since they could see into the future.
“I’m not an Avernus Traveler,” Denner explained.
“Of course not!” Hariman said contemptuously. “Do you see a bird anywhere? Honestly, doesn’t anyone think anymore?”
“I’ve been hired by the Strigaia tribe,” Denner continued. “We’ll take care of the runaway girl in our own way. Leave her alone.”
The Halliat man frowned in confusion. “But it was one of your owls who told us where to find her. You said we’d have a chance to do whatever we wanted with her.”
“Playing both sides of the board, eh?” Hariman said. “Both short-sighted and manipulative. This is truly a shock.”
“You really need to get some new jokes,” Denner said to his advisor. Then he looked back to the Halliat eagle-rider, who was staring at Hariman in some confusion. Why were talking books always that much of a surprise?
“Back away, and this doesn’t have to end in violence,” Denner said.
The Halliat Traveler’s face hardened.
Denner sighed. Then, with the strength of Benson’s steel, he leaped forward.
The white eagle squawked and flapped its way backwards, but it wasn’t fast enough. Denner landed on its back and grabbed the Traveler by his collar. With one hand, he hauled the man over the towering drop to the forest floor.
The Traveler kicked and screamed, and the eagle bucked under Denner’s feet, but thanks to the steel he ignored it all.
“I’d still rather this not end in violence,” Denner pointed out.
The other Traveler nodded vigorously, his feathered helmet flapping.
“I love to see a peaceful resolution,” Hariman said. “This reminds me of one of Valin’s first battles after…”
Denner let him ramble. With any luck, the eagles would fly away that much faster just to escape the lecture.
***
When the High Watcher felt her way into her tent that night, using a cane to feel her way inside, Denner was waiting for her.
“You didn’t tell me she was just a girl,” Denner said. He didn’t sound as angry as he felt.
The High Watcher froze, fear flashing across her face.
The mighty warrior of Valinhall, Denner thought, assassin of children and bane of blind old women everywhere. Angry as he was, he still had to fight an urge to help her into a chair.
After only a second, she mastered herself, and her cane came down to rest on the ground. “That should not have mattered to you, killer that you are,” she said. “We told you enough to recognize her. Isn’t that enough?”
Denner’s anger flared up again. That was how she saw him, was it? Willing to kill anyone, anytime,
with or without justification?
He supposed she had reason to think so. Valinhall had a certain reputation, after all.
And that reputation was not without its uses.
“Well, she’s dead,” he said. “Give me my money.”
The High Watcher nodded, though she was looking at the wrong corner of the tent. “Do you have any proof?”
“No,” Denner said.
He summoned Diava, laying it across his lap. He knew she wouldn’t be able to see it, but he had prepared for this eventuality: he pulled an ordinary rock out of his pocket.
He began to draw that rock across his sword. It produced the distinctive ring of a blade being sharpened.
Diava was made of Tartarus steel, tempered in the forges of Valinhall. He couldn’t sharpen it; all this would accomplish was grinding down the rock.
But it sounded intimidating.
For about half a minute, Denner sat there, drawing the rock across his blade, filling the silence with the sound of steel on stone.
Then the High Watcher pulled out her purse.
You show true loyalty when you remain dedicated to those who have turned their backs on you. If they reject you, you need not reject them in return.
One may remain loyal to a cause even when all others have forsaken it.
-Elysian Book of Virtues, Chapter 2: Orange
THE CRYSTAL FIELDS
A Traveler of Lirial would tell you that intelligence and quick wits are the most valuable tools in the Crystal Fields. These are indeed admirable traits, but a would-be master of the Silver Light requires something deeper.
-Elysian Book of Virtues, Chapter 3: Silver
This story has been passed down to Lirial Travelers since the dawn of Elysia itself. As it was told to me, so I will tell it to you.
This is the story of Korriphus, the best of all Lirial Travelers. He was known as a wise and learned man who served the Elysians well. It was he who gave us the first moon charts, who outwitted the first Lirial Incarnation, and who organized teams to explore the tombs of the Daniri, seeking their treasures. Truly, he was a great man.