“And you know Raki,” Fahtin said.
“I do.” The big man shook Raki’s hand, too, doing it daintily so as not to crush it. “I haven’t seen you around, boy. And here I thought you were going to try for my apprentice.” He winked.
“We have a favor to ask, Uncle,” Fahtin said.
“You do, do you?”
“Aeden needs a weapon.”
“I see,” the bladesmith said. “And what kind of weapon would you want, Aeden?”
“A sword. A broadsword. The curved type that my people use, not the silly straight, thin blades used by the Aranir. I don’t want it to break on the first use.”
The blacksmith raised an eyebrow and Aeden thought maybe he had said something wrong, but the man didn’t mention it. “Oh, now that would be a problem, seeing as the only forge I have is one that breaks down easily for travel. It’s meant to forge knives and other small items, not something so long as a sword.”
“We didn’t think of that,” Fahtin said, her mouth turning down into a frown.
“How much room is there in the forge?” Aeden asked. “How long a weapon can you make?”
“I can perhaps make something with a blade as long as twenty inches, maybe two feet if I’m clever.”
Aeden closed his eyes and pictured the weapons he had seen and used, trying to find an ideal compromise. “Have you seen the long swords of the Tiroshimi? They are almost straight but with a slight curve.”
The big man studied Aeden. “I have. The master bladesmiths of Teroshi do fine work.”
“Could you make two swords like that, but in the size you have said you can make? Their length would be somewhere in the middle between their long and short swords.”
“I could make such things, if I wanted. What would you pay me for them? Swords like that will take a bit of work.”
Aeden hadn’t thought of that. “I have no money. I could work for you, do whatever it is you require. I’m strong and can move things for you, split wood for the forge, anything.”
The bladesmith looked at Aeden for a good long time, thinking. He looked over at Fahtin, and then to Raki. Finally, he smiled. “I could do that for you. I have knives I haven’t been able to sell yet and am growing bored. A new project may just be the thing. Come back tomorrow morning—early, mind you—and we can get started.”
It took three months of work for Payta to finish the swords for Aeden. In the meantime, he worked with the bladesmith for several hours a day, learning a little about the art itself and gaining strength and muscle where he had not had it before.
His daily training with Raki and Fahtin kept him limber, fast, and fluid, so the additional muscle did not slow him down. By the time he got his swords from Payta, he thought he was probably in the best condition of his life because of the unorthodox ways he was causing his body to adapt and grow.
“Here are your swords,” the big man said as he handed them to Aeden. The red-haired young man had made the scabbards himself, with Payta’s direction, and painted and lacquered them in green and red, colors that reminded him of his homeland. The green of the highland hills and the red of the blood shed by the warriors of the clans.
The blades themselves were as fine as any he had ever seen. Payta was a true master bladesmith. They were light, much lighter than the broadsword or the wooden sword he had been practicing with, and they were razor sharp. He could take a large leaf from an elephant plant, drop it on the upturned blade, and watch it separate into halves as it floated downward.
Payta had a surprise for them as well. He pulled out a small case and handed it to Raki.
“I have seen you practicing with these other two,” he said to the boy, “and I have seen you throw the blades I made for Fahtin. I’m not sure if your grandmother would approve, but maybe we can keep this as our own little secret.”
Raki’s eyes lit up. He was not expecting a gift himself. He opened the case and his eyes grew even wider, then they became liquid as he set the box gently on the anvil next to Payta and hugged the big man with his whole strength.
“Thank you, Payta,” he said. “Thank you so much. They are beautiful. How can I repay you for this?”
“No need, boy. You have been here every day, helping Aeden with the chores I have set for him, never with a thought for yourself. That kind of loyalty and generosity deserves something, does it not? Besides, I had bits of scrap steel cluttering up my cart. I needed to do something so someone else would carry it around for a while.” He winked at the boy as he ruffled his hair.
Raki picked his case back up and opened it to show Aeden and Fahtin. There, lined up in nice little rows set in velvet padding, were throwing knives, spikes, and pieces of sharpened steel that looked like snowflakes, each point glinting in the sunlight.
Time seemed to pass quickly with their travels, the training, and the work that Aeden continued to do for Payta. Fahtin’s uncle told him it was unnecessary, but Aeden wanted to help. It was good strength training, he was learning about metal and the art of making weapons, and he still felt he had not repaid the man for his kindness. Raki worked alongside him every day, the two as inseparable as he and Fahtin.
Chapter 19
It came to pass that at the end of almost four years from when they had found him, the caravan had made its way back to the eastern part of the world. Aeden was nervous about seeing his homeland, but it would be a few months before they reached it. There was no need to be concerned about it. Yet.
In addition to training and working with Payta, Aeden had been practicing his fiddle and could play well enough that he did not mind doing it in front of others. Along with the others of the family who played instruments, he entertained the family at the campfire each night.
He loved the music and sang any time he was not around others. He had even given in to singing with Fahtin, as per their agreement those few years ago. Raki would join in occasionally, but for one of the Gypta, he wasn’t very talented in that respect.
It was one spring night that he first heard it. The Song.
They had reached a special time for the Gypta. Not only was it Manandantan, the festival to the goddess of music, but it was also a Pach—the word meant five in the ancient Gypta language—festival that occurred every five years. That night, the campfire was larger than Aeden had ever seen it, even larger than the night he had been added to the family. Every member of the family bustled around all day excitedly preparing for the night’s festivities. Aeden was not disappointed.
There were songs he had never heard, dances he had rarely seen, and stories he hadn’t known existed. The culmination of the evening was the singing of the Song of Prophecy, the Bhavisyaganant.
Jehira stepped up in front of the fire on the little stage they had put together for the evening’s entertainment. She was short and squat, her gray hair pulled back from her wrinkled face. Aeden had not talked much with Raki’s grandmother—or Nani, as he called her—but he had helped to gather herbs for her a time or two.
She smiled nervously as she mounted the stage. Aeden wondered what instruments would accompany her and was surprised when she took a deep breath and began to sing without any music at all.
From the first word, an unseen force wrapped him up and held him immobile. He didn’t blink, didn’t move, did nothing but stand and feel the energy swirl throughout his body.
Daen fendin lisoun mo dile hasa son
Admum ekosin dah stuta sai
Prein tons adhuton
Selim sabmen dah fortuta sai
…
It was no language Aeden had ever heard, but it affected him strongly. In his chest, a locked door inside opened and let out a light brighter than any he had ever seen or felt.
The song went on for quite some time, the soothing voice of the old woman weaving a spell around all those in attendance. There was no other sound than the crackling fire, which seemed to change and modulate according to the song itself.
When it was done, Aeden slumped as if he had been
carrying rocks all day. He found that he had tears in his eyes. He looked around and found that he wasn’t the only one. Fahtin, standing next to him, took his hand in hers and squeezed it.
“What is that song?” he asked her, wiping at his wet cheeks with his other hand.
“It is the Song of Prophecy, the Bhavisyaganant. Bhagant for short.”
“It’s beautiful,” Aeden said. “It sang directly to my soul.”
“Yes. It is very powerful.”
Aeden knew he must learn more of the Song.
The next morning Aeden went to Jehira’s wagon. Everyone had been up late the night before celebrating, so the camp was slow in moving and getting started with their day.
Raki answered the knock at the door of Jehira’s wagon. His eyes lit up as he saw Aeden there, Fahtin in tow.
“Is your grandmother about?” Aeden asked the boy.
“She is. I’ll go get her.”
When the old woman climbed out of the wagon, she looked at Aeden confidently. “You’re here to ask me about the Song.” It didn’t sound like a question.
“Yes,” Aeden said.
“You felt its power running through you?”
Aeden nodded. “I have never felt anything like that before. What was it?”
“The Song has power. It calls to the elemental and blood magic in the world. Its words are a powerful prophecy about the time of the end of the world.”
“The end of the world?” Raki said. “Nani, you never told me that.”
“You are young yet, Raki. I would have gotten around to it. Surely you recognized some of the words of the Song. I have been teaching you Dantogyptain for years now.”
The boy dipped his head. “I know, but it’s harder to hear the words in a song. I do recognize some of the sounds, but you only sing the whole thing every five years.”
“True,” Jehira said as she patted his head.
“Jehira,” Aeden blurted out. “Will you teach me the Song?”
“No.”
Aeden was stunned. He blinked at the old woman several times and worked his mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He had thought it would just be a formality to ask her and then she would start teaching him. The family had always been so open with all the knowledge they had.
“Why not?” he finally got out.
“It is too difficult for you.” She stepped one foot out into a wider stance and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “It is in Dantogyptain, the ancient language of the Gypta people, with some Alaqotim words thrown in. No one really speaks either language anymore.” She nodded for emphasis, as if she had made her point.
“All the more reason to teach it to me,” Aeden said. “Then one more person will be around who knows about the languages.”
The old soothsayer narrowed her eyes and stared at Aeden. “There is truth in what you say.” Hope rose in Aeden’s belly, a fluttering feeling. “But no. I will not teach you.”
The flutters died in his stomach and turned to stone.
“Will you tell us what it means, tell us the story it tells?” Fahtin asked.
“It does not tell a story, precisely, girl,” Jehira said. “It is a prophecy. It foretells the future, and it does not translate well to the common tongue of Ruthrin. No, you will have to wait another five years to hear more of the Song. Now be off with you. I have work to be about and cannot be bothered by the lot of you.”
All three made groaning noises but began to leave.
“Not you, Raki,” his grandmother said. “There is work for you to do. I need herbs gathered. You can go and spend time with your friends when that is done.”
Aeden offered to help, and Fahtin went along with the idea. It only took an hour to gather the herbs Jehira needed with all three working. When they returned with them, she smiled at the trio and told Raki he was free the rest of the day, until their evening lessons in Dantogyptain.
“Can I come, too?” Aeden asked, noting that Fahtin’s head snapped around to look at him when he did it. “If I can’t learn the Song, maybe I can learn some of the language. Maybe it has power, too.”
“It does,” Jehira said. She studied him for a minute, her dark eyes drilling into him. Aeden could see white spots on her eyes, things that looked like little wet warts reflecting the sunlight. “Yes, you may come, but don’t trouble me with questions. You will have to try to learn what you may without affecting Raki’s pace.”
“Thank you, Nani,” he said, using Raki’s name for her. “Thank you.”
The three left to do their weapon training.
“What was that about?” Fahtin asked when they were far enough away from the old woman.
“I want to learn that song,” Aeden said. “If I can’t learn it the normal way, maybe I can learn pieces of it, or at least the language. I have never felt that kind of energy before, Fahtin. I don’t know if it is the language, the Song itself, or something else, but I have to find out.
“You know I was cast out of my clan for failing the Trial of Magic. I said the words, but it didn’t come. I felt nothing when I tried to call it forth.”
“I know that,” she said, “but what does that have to do with the Song or the language it’s in?”
“When Jehira sang it, I recognized some words. Rather, they were words that are the words of power for our blood magic. When she sang them, I felt a tugging, as if something pulled me toward her. It was almost as if the Song had life and wanted to share its power with me. I have to learn more about it.”
Fahtin still looked skeptical, but nodded. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it. But she said she wouldn’t teach you the song. Pardon me for saying it, Raki, but Jehira can be a stubborn old woman.”
Raki smiled. “She can, you’re right.”
“She’ll teach it to me. You watch. She’ll teach it to me because she must. I’ll make her see that.” He wished he was as confident as he sounded. Still, learning the language would be interesting, and it might tell him something about himself and his inability to use the magic of his clan.
The caravan drew nearer the Cridheargla. Aeden and his friends trained, he practiced his fiddle, and he did what chores were required of him. His highest priority, though, was learning everything Jehira would teach him about the Song and the language it was in. He practiced the words he learned constantly and soon was better with the language than Raki.
The soothsayer saw his effort, and in a few weeks, she relented and began to teach him some of the words of the Song. It would be a long time before he would be able to translate all of them, but if he could learn the lyrics, that was his first step. He excitedly spent as much time with the old woman as she would allow, learning the Bhagant.
“It really is a prophecy,” he told Fahtin as they had finished their sparring for the day. “A real, honest prophecy. Jehira says it was written more than two thousand years ago, at the height of the devastation of a great war of magic. It tells of the end of the world.”
“Will you tell us what it means?” Raki asked. “Nani will never tell me when I ask her.”
“I have only learned the translation for the first part, though I know the Dantogyptain words for almost the entire Song now.”
“Tell us,” Fahtin said.
“It is a very long Song, and it does not follow a logical narrative like a story. The first bit I have translated doesn’t really tell us anything.”
“Please, Aeden,” she begged. “Share it with us. Then, as you can translate more of it, we can all learn together.”
Aeden looked toward Jehira’s wagon. She had never told him he couldn’t share what he learned with the others, but he felt guilty for wanting to do so. Most of all, he didn’t want her to stop teaching him because he couldn’t keep the secret of the Song. She seemed very picky about who she let have the knowledge.
“Fine,” he finally said. “I can tell you what I have learned, but you will be disappointed.”
His two friends smiled at him and settled
in to listen.
“The Song itself, in Dantogyptain, is like this:
Daen fendin lisoun mo dile hasa son
Admum ekosin dah stuta sai
Prein tons adhuton
Selim sabmen dah fortuta sai
Voira tomut ua drikontam deh rouleta sain
Oudra Dishelim ua airuh dadain
Ua Arushelim dasanim dera deh nanteta sain
Animaru bahen abahun daralma deh sain.”
Aeden tried to simply say the verses, as he would with poetry, but from the first word, it came out of his mouth in song. Even as he sang it, his eyes went wide and he felt as if he had lost control of his own body. It was just eight lines, but energy welled up in him.
“Wow, Aeden,” Raki said. “Your Dantogyptain has gotten much better than mine. That was amazing. You sounded as good as Jehira singing it.”
Aeden just nodded, still trying to catch his breath. It felt like he had run several miles. Fahtin eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.
“Ok, that was the first part, two of the sections. There are fourteen more sections like that.”
“What does it mean?” Fahtin asked, looking back and forth between Aeden and Raki.
“Don’t look at me,” Raki said. “I can never pick the words out of the Song.”
“The meaning isn’t exact, remember,” Aeden said. “Things don’t translate over directly from Dantogyptain to Ruthrin. I am starting to understand why Jehira doesn’t like to tell people the translation. There can be three or four meanings for each word. You really have to feel the Song’s intent. Here’s the gist of it, though:
The last day dawning
A warning rings
For a future time
The world all ending
See, the pieces of the evil spread
Across Dizhelim from untold darkness
From Aruzhelim flood the evil creatures
Animaru vast, without number, ready for the kill.
“That’s what I know so far.” As he recited the words in the common tongue, a shiver ran up his back. Whether it was magic or the fact that the Song was a prophecy of death and destruction, he didn’t know.
Magic After Dark: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 119