by James Wolf
As the Aborle warriors continued to celebrate, the Sodan’s wary gaze swept the forest for any sign of the enemy. The forest was still, but Taem felt he should not let his guard down.
Baek came alongside and laid a hand on Taem’s shoulder, ‘Truly, you are a great swordsman. You must have killed two score Kruns today.’
‘I only made it because you covered me with your bow,’ Taem smiled, clasping a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
The Sodan still watched the distant trees. Beyond the laughter and shouting of the Aborle soldiers, Taem could sense the forest’s disquiet. The enemy were still close. But Taem reassured himself that the Krun were beaten, and they would be fleeing for their lives.
‘Come on,’ Taem murmured to Baek, as he turned back towards Leafholme, ‘there are wounded we must tend to.’
Chapter 8 – The Veil of the Mikeri
Taem watched, with a heavy heart, as the fallen of Leafholme were carried away on stretchers by groups of sorrowful Aborle. The mile-long forest trail to the north of the village was queued with a train of funeral processions, chanting as they slowly walked to the village graveyard. All those Aborle had the hoods of their cloaks up, covering their heads and hiding their tears. If they were not carrying stretchers they held Mikeri, silver poppies.
Taem thought the Mikeri were akin to the red poppies that flourished all over Hathlore, but the Mikeri’s petals glowed with a metallic silver sheen and their centres were pure purple. These silver poppies were found only in places where the Aborle had settled. They were the funeral flower of the Aborle, and Taem had heard they aided the passing of the spirit back into the embrace of the Light.
Within a few hours of the fighting, Mikeri had sprung up into full bloom all over the battlefield. Taem could feel they had a cleansing effect on that place of death, bringing the woods back into harmony with the rest of the forest.
During the afternoon the injured had been taken to the community hall, which had been turned into a makeshift hospital. The Krun bodies were piled up onto carts and dragged well away from the village, where the vile carcasses were burnt in great pyres. After the carts had been used they too were thrown onto the bonfires. For the Aborle those carts would never again be fair, after they had carried such evil.
There were counted to be over three hundred Krun dead, and forty-nine Aborle. Forty-nine too many, Taem grimly told himself. Scouts’ reports said the Krun and Ugur survivors had fled back in the direction of the mountains. After such a devastating defeat they would surely not regroup to attack again, but even so a constant guard was maintained, and Warders were set to watch the forest around Leafholme village.
That evening a great campfire – called a Fire of Honour by the Aborle – was lit on the forest floor, and there was celebrations of triumph and remembrance of the dead. Around the roaring fire there were tables laid with food and drink worthy of a feast day, but Taem found it a sombre affair. The jubilation of victory was shadowed by the sadness of the Aborle deaths. Taem noticed how all the Star Lanterns had been shrouded in purple veils, so the village with bathed in a purple glow.
‘Purple is the funeral colour of the Aborle,’ Baek murmured to Taem, as they sat eating with some of the other Aborle warriors. ‘When the time for mourning has passed, the purple veils will fall. But until then we are quiet.’ Baek gestured at all the solemn Aborle around them. ‘First we lament, then we celebrate.’
Taem felt how sorrow hung heavy over the village. And he perceived how the purple glow of the shrouded lanterns seemed to deepen the gloom. Many Aborle kept their grief to themselves, but some were talking in low whispers, and some were even singing a mournful song. Taem knew the Aborle were a sensitive people, and he could see this ritual of quiet reflection gave them some time to try and come to terms with their losses.
‘I’m going to find my father,’ Baek stood up, ‘I’ll be back soon.’
Taem smiled at his departing friend. He knew Baek and Gerandel would be relieved they had both survived. Taem felt a great sadness when he thought of the many Aborle families who would cry themselves to sleep tonight, if they could sleep at all.
The Aborle Taem spoke to treated him differently now. They had already accepted him before the battle, but now they looked at him with respect, and even awe. Taem saw groups staring at him, which was disconcerting.
Taem made his way to the Fire of Honour, and was warming his hands as he thought of the brave Aborle that had given their lives, when Captain Shandor Traylark approached him.
‘The Aborle talk about you,’ the Captain gazed into the fire. ‘They say you fought like ten men today, killing many Krun with skill that few believed possible. You are an honour to your sword, and I thank you,’ the Captain turned from the fire and held out her hand.
Taem warmly grasped the Aborle’s hand, and nodded.
‘I did what had to be done,’ Taem said. ‘Besides, I think you’ve heard exaggerated reports.’
‘Modesty is an admirable quality,’ Shandor said. ‘But I don’t think any who saw your actions will forget your efforts today. I certainly will not. I owe you a great debt, Taem Dratana. So, whenever you have need of me I will come to your aid, I swear it.’
In the way Shandor spoke, and by the certainty in her eyes, Taem knew the Aborle warrior would honour that oath.
‘Do you know why they stare?’ Shandor said to Taem, as she looked at the other Aborle by the campfire.
‘Why?’ Taem glanced around, and saw that he was indeed being watched. He felt uncomfortable to be the focus of such attention.
‘They wonder if the old legends have returned to Borleon,’ Shandor said softly. ‘People beyond the Great Forest may have forgotten the Old Ways of the Sword, but the Aborle have not. Some say you are Sodan, others refuse to believe it possible – neither knows how to react.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I know only a Sodan carries a blade like that,’ Shandor turned from the fire to look Taem in the eye, ‘Now, every Aborle here is wondering the same thing, could it be possible that the Sodan have come again?’
‘I am Sodan,’ Taem gazed into the fire.
‘I know,’ Shandor said softly, ‘and it was by the Light’s blessing that you came here.’
Taem touched the hilt of his sword, ‘I live by The Code. It was my duty to fight in the battle. But we all won victory, together.’ Taem turned from the fire and spread his arms wide, to encompass all the Aborle soldiers.
Shandor smiled, ‘Come then, my friend; let us go and toast our victory with some warm Shirsa.’
The Aborle around the fire parted to let Shandor lead Taem away. Many bowed or dipped their heads as the Captain showed Taem to a table where Aborle were serving the drink.
‘It is a blend of fruits of the forest, sugar and forest spices,’ Shandor passed Taem a wooden beaker full of Shirsa.
Taem inhaled the sweet aroma, and his taste buds soared into heaven. He sipped the full-bodied red liquid, and the warmth seeped right down into his fingertips and his toes.
‘This is fantastic!’ Taem raised his cup towards the Aborle Captain.
‘The secret is in the spices,’ Shandor smiled. The captain turned to face the Aborle around the Fire of Honour, and said in her commanding voice, ‘When we drink Shirsa we celebrate our victory. We celebrate our lives as we honour the dead; we celebrate the future and the paths we will tread. We remember the days and the friends we have known; we give thanks to the Light for leading us home.’
When the Captain finished, over a hundred Aborle warriors raised their Shirsa-filled beakers to the air, and silently touched their right palms to their hearts.
A few minutes later, Baek and Gerandel joined Taem and Shandor as the purple veils were removed to let the Star Lanterns shine with all their brilliant splendour. At that signal the celebrations were launched into full swing. The quiet time for grieving had passed. Where before there had had been only the sound of the crackling fire, now a band played merry tunes and Aborle
were laughing freely. Taem felt a great relief that the purple gloom had been lifted from Leafholme. He found the change of mood exhilarating. In mere moments he had been lifted from melancholy into joy.
After Taem had been given another cup of mulled Shirsa, the band stopped playing and Taem could see a group of the village elders had approached the fire. All the Aborle crowded round the Fire of Honour, and Baek motioned for Taem to follow suit. When everyone was settled an elder named Cibriel stepped forward to speak. She was a small Aborle in the twilight of her years, wearing a flowing purple dress, with long white hair and a placid demeanour. Taem sensed there was a deep kindness within Cibriel, and he could see the respectful way all the Aborle looked to her.
‘A great victory for Aborle-kind and the Light was won today,’ Cibriel said grandly, ‘the Krun have been defeated, and driven from our forest!’
A rousing cheer went up from the crowd.
‘The Aborle fought with courage,’ Cibriel said, ‘and some brave souls gave their lives to save our village,’ Cibriel’s tone became sombre. ‘All will be remembered. Their essence will remain within the trees for all time.’ She uttered the words dictated by ritual.
‘Elliterati,’ said all the Aborle gathered by the Fire of Honour, touching their right hands to their hearts.
Cibriel swept her arms towards the fire, and the flame of the giant fire turned momentarily purple, for the instant that eminent word was spoken.
Taem knew that Elliterati was a prayer-word of the ancient tongue. It roughly translated as “Forever the Light will endure”.
‘Well done to every Aborle that aided the war effort.’ Cibriel said, once the fire had returned to its natural colour. ‘Thank you to the Forest Guard, and especially Captain Traylark who led us so well to victory.’ The elder gestured towards the captain, and Shandor nodded her head in acknowledgement.
Aborle around the fire clapped generously.
‘A special thanks also goes out to the swordsman Taem Dratana,’ Cibriel raised a hand towards Taem, ‘who fought and risked his life in our defence. He will always be welcome at this village, and his name will be passed throughout the Forest Realm. From this moment on he will be known as an Aborle friend.’
Thunderous applause and cheering erupted from the crowd. Taem felt honoured to be bestowed with such praise. He was happy that he was able to make a difference to the lives of so many. And, most pleasing of all, Taem knew Logan would be proud of his actions.
‘No doubt the Lord of the Wood and the Queen herself will desire to meet you,’ Cibriel said to Taem, once the cheering had died down.
‘I thank you for your kind words,’ Taem said, ‘and I truly desire to meet your King and Queen, but I must be going. I must find my friends.’
‘The Queen will be disappointed not to have met you,’ Cibriel’s eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘But you must do what you feel is right. When will you be leaving us?’
‘I must go tomorrow,’ Taem nodded to Cibriel.
‘If that is what you must do,’ Cibriel dropped her head sadly, ‘go with the blessing of all the Aborle of Leafholme, and all of Borleon.’
‘Thank you,’ Taem bowed to the elders.
‘All go and be merry,’ Cibriel said.
With that the music started and the Aborle dispersed to continue their revelry.
‘I must speak with you in private,’ Taem said to Baek, Gerandel and Shandor. ‘It’s very important.’
‘By all means, Taem,’ Gerandel put a hand on the Sodan’s shoulder, ‘follow me.’
Gerandel led them to the edge of Leafholme, out of earshot of any other Aborle.
‘I may have brought danger to Leafholme,’ Taem murmured.
‘Nonsense!’ Baek said.
‘I’m serious,’ Taem said softly. ‘Nargs ambushed my friends and I in Stheeman’s Hill. I barely escaped with my life. I was fleeing north, when I chanced across Baek. The Nargs may be pursuing me even now. I’m sorry.’
‘Nargs have not been seen in the civilised lands for years,’ Gerandel mused. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ Taem said grimly, ‘I am Sodan, I know.’
‘Light protect us,’ Shandor whispered. ‘But they can’t be after you? Why would they be? Even if you are Sodan?’
Taem looked down to the floor, ‘I don’t know…’ Taem felt bad not telling the whole truth. ‘But that is why I must leave Leafholme, straight away.’
‘Did you bring the Krun here?’ Shandor said angrily. ‘You may be Sodan, but if you brought–’
‘Calm down, Shandor,’ Gerandel placed a hand on the captain’s forearm. ‘Think! That is impossible. Kruns and Nargs don’t work together. And the Kruns left the mountains before Stheeman’s Hill was attacked. How would they know where Taem was going?’
Nevertheless, the mere suggestion that Taem had caused the battle turned his stomach inside out.
‘You’re right, elder,’ Shandor said warily, ‘it’s not possible. But who are these companions you speak of?’
Taem hesitated, but he felt he owed them the truth, ‘Hirandar Firefist and Logan Fornor.’
Gerandel stared at Taem in shock.
‘Light,’ Shandor whispered. ‘You are the apprentice of Logan Fornor?’
‘I am sorry,’ Taem said softly, ‘I hope to the Light this raid was not caused by me.’
‘No Taem,’ Gerandel said, ‘it can’t be your fault.’
‘I’ll leave at first light.’ Taem’s shoulders slumped.
‘And I’m going with him,’ Baek put a hand on Taem’s shoulder.
‘What?’ Shandor said. ‘You cannot, it’s too dangerous!’
‘That’s why he needs a friend,’ Baek said strongly.
‘The Captain’s right, Baek,’ Taem murmured, ‘I won’t put anyone else in danger.’
‘Gerandel,’ Shandor shook her head, ‘talk some sense into your son?’
Gerandel paused, ‘Baek should go with Taem.’
‘You cannot be serious, Gerandel!’ Shandor stared wide-eyed at the elder.
‘I am,’ Gerandel said firmly, ‘and my son will go with Taem. The Light willed for Taem to save my son’s life, and – you know, Shandor – the Light was with our young Sodan in the battle! I do not believe in mere coincidence here, there is something more at work. My son travels with Taem Sodan.’
Taem did not believe the Light had anything to do with the last few days, but he was grateful beyond words that Gerandel had spoken up for him.
‘As you wish, Gerandel.’ Shandor bowed. ‘If one of our own is to go out into Hathlore, at least he’s going to be with Logan Fornor’s apprentice. Baek, Taem, good luck,’ Shandor bowed. ‘Now, I must see the Warder patrols are doubled.’ Shandor walked off.
‘I am honoured you wish to come with me,’ Taem clasped a hand on Baek’s shoulder. ‘But are you sure? I don’t feel good about knowingly leading you into danger.’
‘Well,’ Baek grinned, ‘you need me. Without me watching your back, you’ll only go and get yourself killed.’
‘Well,’ Taem said sarcastically, ‘you did save my life the first time we met... Oh no, wait! It was the other way round?’
‘Alright,’ Baek chuckled, ‘I’ve not forgotten. I’ll pay you back, don’t worry! Anyway, I don’t really want to travel with you… you’re just a good excuse for me to escape and see Hathlore!’
‘Well,’ Taem smiled, ‘I’m looking for a hunter and a chef – and someone to carry my bags – so I’ll suppose you’ll do!’
‘It would be an honour,’ Baek held out his hand, and Taem shook it warmly.
‘The honour is mine,’ Taem dipped his head.
‘I have met Hirandar,’ Gerandel said, ‘she is a good soul. I have heard the stories of Logan Fornor… and I even once saw him, long ago, fighting Nargs on the Northern Border… You are an extraordinary young man, Taem, look after my son.’
‘I will, I promise. I’ll leave you two to talk,’ Taem nodded, and walked back to the party, which w
as in full swing now.
Taem was surrounded by laughter and songs, and people that were just so very glad to be alive, but he felt in no mood for celebrating as he stared into the Fire of Honour. Taem knew he should be as happy as all the Aborle around him, but he kept remembering the pale, lifeless faces of all today’s dead. It reminded him of all the murdered bodies he had seen when he was a child. He tried to push those horrible visions from his mind, but he could not. And now, he felt the agony of the guilt that his presence alone may have caused the battle. Taem looked into the flames and the sight of so much death filled his head. The hurtful memories that he had buried deep came rushing back. Taem was powerless to hold them off. He tried, but was crushed under their weight. Even in the midst of all the surrounding revelry, the memory of the slaughter at his village made him want to weep, but he managed to control himself.
Taem turned and walked away from the fire, back towards the battlefield, eager to be alone. He left the lanterns of Leafholme for the dimness of the forest, and saw a shimmering carpet of silver blanketing the floor. Taem thought that each silver poppy seemed to shine as a star in the dark night. He crouched to pick a single Mikeri. What a strange flower it was, Taem thought, as he held it close to his face.
‘Do they wait for you?’ Cibriel said softly. ‘On the other side?’
‘Who?’ Taem stared into the Mikeri’s purple centre.
‘The ones you mourn still,’ Cibriel said.
‘How do you know I have lost?’ Taem looked up at the Aborle woman.
‘My eyes have grown old,’ Cibriel smiled, ‘but some things become easier to see. What do you feel when you look upon the Mikeri?’
‘Sorrow,’ Taem murmured, as he slowly twirled the Mikeri’s stem between his fingers and thumb. ‘And loss.’
‘So why do you think the Mikeri come?’ Cibriel said.
‘As a monument to those who have gone,’ Taem sighed. ‘To mark the passing of the ones we love.’