The Heretic's Song (The Song's Of Aarda Book 1)

by K Schultz

  The single room contained a table with a long bench, and to his distinct relief, three beds lined one wall with tarps strung on ropes between them. Rehaak poured water into the basin and washed his face and hands.

  Stew steamed in wooden bowls on the table before Rehaak emptied the basin outside. Seated on the bench, Isil waited for him, but before he joined her, he lifted his hands for his ritual blessing of the food.

  Rehaak kept the custom even though he had sworn off the service of his God. The song energized him and obligated him to continue the practice. He sang his thanksgiving for the meal.

  As he took his seat, he noticed Isil looking up at him, eyes brimming with tears.

  “What?” he said, looking at her in bewilderment, “Is my singing that horrendous?”

  “I did’n —” she paused, collecting herself. “I did’n think dere wuz no others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I did’n’ know dere wuz other people who believe in duh Creator! Dere’s few left who keeps tuh duh ol’ path and follows duh true teachins. Few even remembers em nowadays.”

  “I never suspected, that you — were a follower of — The Creator,” he stammered.

  They stared at each other without speaking.

  “This is a twist,” he said, once he recovered. “How do you —?”

  “My parents, an dere parents before em worshiped duh Creator. Dey be dead and gone now, and I ain’t got no one tuh tell after me. If’n I tries to tell others dey just call me crazy ol’ Lucky,” She paused for a moment, then asked, “How’d yuh know ‘bout duh Faithful One den? Yer folks?”

  “I learned from studying ancient books and scrolls.”

  “Yuh read duh Aetheriad, written by Naom’han the Aethera scribe his self?” she asked in amazement.

  It was his turn to be stunned. This bumpkin from the backwoods knew everything. He had wasted twenty years seeking in ancient ruins and dusty libraries, to discover what was common knowledge to her. The squandered years and the cost of his information rankled.

  “The Aetheriad?” Does it still exist?” he asked.

  “I reckon it does, but I ain’t seen it. But muh Pa used tuh tell me bout it. Yuh ain’t seen it either?”

  “No, but I discovered clues in the oldest manuscripts. I believe it holds important information for our people today.”

  “So yuh bin lookin fer it den?”

  “Yes, I have devoted my life to the search.”

  Rehaak hoped a living representative of the faith, might guide him to the book he had sought for so long.

  “Dat’s wonderful— but yuh still ain’t found it?”

  “No, but I am looking. Do you know —?” he said, with hope in his heart.

  “Nope.”

  Rehaak cursed under his breath and repeated his vow forswearing The Creator. It was cruel of Him to present fresh hope only to tear it away and reveal another dead-end.

  Rehaak ate in sullen despair. Isil shrugged and attacked the stew with gusto. Isil tried to make conversation but he ignored her attempts.

  Rehaak spent the rest of the evening in sullen silence as Isil cleaned up the supper dishes. Once Isil turned in, Rehaak, blew out the lamp, and threw himself onto one of the empty beds, and lay glaring at the underside of the roof thatch, his heart a lump of ice within his chest. Isil had fallen asleep within moments, the sound of her breathing barely audible above the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

  “At least she doesn’t snore,” he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

  Rehaak realized Isil had risen ahead of him when sunshine streamed through the open door. He didn’t blame her; he was obnoxious, rude and ungrateful last night, He didn’t deserve the company of decent people. Isil did nothing wrong, but perhaps she thought she had. Rehaak stepped outside and walked around the corner, to the shed. His footsteps echoed off the walls of the empty building. Isil and the mithun were gone.

  Rehaak returned to the cottage, scooped up his water skin, and his belongings and set out on the trail to New Hope. He was eager to avoid her and the embarrassment that meeting would cause him, but he expected to meet her either in town or on the trail.

  “Fair enough, I’ll handle it as it comes,” he thought.

  Before he had gone far, a sense of foreboding assailed him. Something compelled him to reach Isil before evil overtook her. He also felt the sudden need to apologize for his behavior of the preceding night.

  If he traveled fast enough, he could catch her along the way. By his estimate, she had a two-hour head start and he should meet her by midday or early afternoon. As the sun rose higher in the sky a sense of urgency intensified.

  Chapter 4

  Rehaak hurried along the rutted wagon track, cursing himself for being an idiot. Isil was kind to him and he returned the favor by being insufferable. He had treated her with contempt, because she couldn’t answer his questions.

  He had chased the Aetheriad for over two decades now. Unlike him, she had a life to live, and she hadn’t wasted hers on an impossible quest. His face flushed with shame remembering how Isil attempted conversing several times last night. Each time he rebuffed her with obstinate angry silence. . He would apologize to her once he caught up to the wagon.

  If he had allowed her the opportunity, he may have learned much more from her. Isil’s ancestors might have told her things she didn’t realize were important. She owed him nothing, and he deserved nothing except her contempt. He needed to apologize because he was obnoxious, not to coerce her into helping him. Once he apologized, it was her choice, if she chose to extend k’harsa to him.

  The sense of urgency grew larger than his desire for k’harsa. He loped along devouring the distance between them. Life on the road had toughened him but the pace he set still winded him.

  The sun winked through the overhead canopy of leaves and branches as the treetops swayed and danced in the breeze. Rehaak jogged for an hour, only stopping long enough to take a sip of water, when something compelled him to push on faster.

  The knot in his stomach was anxiety not hunger. If he didn’t catch her soon, it would be too late. Rehaak surrendered to his sense of urgency and sprinted along the trail, his heart thumping louder in his chest than his feet on the hard packed earth did. Sweat burned his eyes and washed gullies into the dust on his face.

  The wagon trail twisted through the forest avoiding boulders and large trees. As he rounded one of the many bends, he caught sight of the wagon with Isil plodding along beside it. She was fine. The wagon was fine. The mithun were fine. Disgusted, Rehaak slowed to a walk and hailed her. She plodded on, pretending not to hear him, her stride unchanged. He closed the gap, grasped her arm and spoke her name.

  When Isil turned toward him, Rehaak felt doubly ashamed knowing he caused the shiny trails on her grimy cheeks. She held his gaze for a moment then looked at the ground and wiped away her tears.

  Rehaak stared at his feet and blurted an apology. In spite of his verbal skills, he struggled and stammered. The words caught in his throat, and he dared not look at her until he finished.

  Isil offered him a rueful smile. “Alright den, yuh ken finish makin amends by helpin me water duh beasts, since its midday, an time tuh stop. Dere’s a bucket in duh back, and yuh know where duh barrels is.”

  Rehaak nodded and walked to the tail end of the long wagon, leaned his staff against its side and climbed up on the wagon bed. As he filled the pail, he saw movement in the trees.

  Rehaak hesitated as the fear returned stronger than ever. Isil, busy checking the harness, did not notice the shadows moving among the trees. Rehaak abandoned the bucket in the water barrel, leapt down and snatched his staff.

  “Isil, beware!” he shouted as he ran toward her.

  “What’s wrong,” she said, as she grabbed her own staff.

  “I’m not sure. Something is moving over there.” He pointed toward the forest. “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Best tuh pay attention tuh doze feelins when dey comes. D
oze promptings comes from duh Faithful One.” Isil squinted in the direction he pointed. Four unkempt men emerged from the trees, each armed with long peculiar looking knives. The largest of the four, cast a flustered glance at his companions, before he spoke.

  “If yuh be givin us what we wants, dere be no trouble in it for yuh.”

  What is it yuh be wantin den?” Isil growled.

  Whatever coin duh two o’ yuh be carryin, will be fine, but we’ll take supplies, if yuh got no gold.”

  “Ain’t nuthin on dis wagon dat be mine for duh givin, or yours for duh takin, I be thinkin.”

  “Den you got a bit of a problem,” the man snarled.

  “I think you are mistaken my good fellow. It is you who have the problem,” Rehaak retorted.

  The larger man smiled at his cronies. “We got us a city fella here, judgin by duh accent and a right genteel one at dat. Never seen a prissy city boy yet as could hold his water, when things got messy.”

  “Yuh gonna talk us tuh death or yuh gonna do something?” Isil growled. “We got places tuh be and people what is waitin on us. So either have at it or be off with yuh. Don’t let nothin but fear and common sense stay yer hand.”

  The four men fanned out, in a futile attempt to surround Rehaak and Isil since the mithun formed a solid wall of flesh and bone at their backs. The fortress wall of the mithun’s bodies forced the brigands into a frontal assault. Though they outnumbered Rehaak and Isil, the staves gave the two defenders the benefit of longer reach.

  Before they got within striking range, Isil moved with surprising speed, swinging her staff at the first of her attackers. The bandit had misjudged her reach.

  She stepped forward, delivered a powerful overhand stroke to the man’s forearm. The snap of shattered bone echoed through the trees and he dropped his knife, yowling in pain. Isil smiled her legendary smile at the other man, who eyed her with newfound respect. Rehaak glanced in her direction. He was not sure what frightened the man more, Isil’s smile, or her obvious ability with the staff.

  The smaller of the two men facing Rehaak thought he saw his chance and made a lunge at him, but Rehaak was fast enough to sidestep it. As his attacker’s momentum carried him forward, Rehaak rotated at the waist, and brought his staff around to strike the man on the back with solid force. The added force of the blow carried the man headlong into the muscular flank of a mithun.

  As he fell to his knees, the beast looked back, offended by the man’s impudence in touching him. The mithun lashed out with a cloven rear hoof the size of a dinner plate, striking the man in the chest. The kick lifted the brigand off the ground and catapulted him at least four paces. Dust rose and settled again around his silent form. The odds were even now, if you discounted the mithun.

  The leader of the brigands looked at his uninjured henchman, either to gage his resolve, or to encourage it. He feinted at Rehaak a few times to force a mistake, but Rehaak remained unruffled, holding his staff low in both hands. Once the brigand mustered his courage, he lunged trying to reach over Rehaak’s guard, but Rehaak stepped forward closing the distance, lifting his staff.

  This forced the man’s knife hand up, and away from Rehaak’s body. As Rehaak stepped forward, he kicked at the man’s groin, but the attacker twisted and avoided the kick. While focused on Rehaak, the fellow did not notice that his partner, had backed off, allowing Isil time to swing at his head. Her staff produced a, crunch as it struck the back of his skull. Rehaak sidestepped the body as it fell twitching at his feet.

  The two remaining opponents, lost their will to continue. The healthy brigand helped his injured friend reach the cover of the tree line, where they turned and ran off into the shadows. Rehaak turned to look at the mithun. They had not moved since the fighting started.

  “I toll’ yuh dey wouldn’ stir lessen I goes with em. Let’s see if dese two still have life in em or not,” rasped Isil, as she rolled the leader onto his back. She checked his breathing. “Dis one’s done for.”

  “Same here,” Rehaak called out. “His chest is crushed.”

  “Hort’s always bin sensitive bout who gets tuh touch im, gives duh blacksmith’s fits when dey tries tuh shoe him.”

  “Uhm – shouldn’t you have warned me before I watered them last night?”

  “Naw. I saw he wuz right partial to yuh. He’d a never given yuh no more’n a love tap at worst. Hardly even raise a bruise,” She smiled at him again, as she picked up the thieves weapons, and handed them to Rehaak. “Dey won’t be needin dese no more. Mebbe yuh could get summat fer em in town.”

  “No, why don’t you keep them.”

  “Naw — I got no use fer em.”

  After much coaxing on Rehaak’s part, she consented, though she was still reluctant to accept the blades.

  “Awright,” she said and stowed the long knives in the wagon with her cargo. “But touchin em gives me duh shivers.”

  Rehaak felt the same about the knives. It was unusual for Abrhaani to use edged weapons but the aversion toward these weapons went beyond Abrhaani squeamishness at bloodshed. While she watered the mithun, he dragged the bodies off into the forest and covered them with deadfall to keep the scavengers away. Once complete, they started toward New Hope again.

  “Thanks fer duh help,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  They walked on together in silence until the shadows lengthened. Evening came early under the canopy of branches. Rehaak assumed they would push on through the darkness to reach town, because of the delay the ambush caused.

  “What is your plan now?” he asked.

  “Too far tuh reach town afore midnight. Might break a wheel or a neck more’n likely if we goes on. Dere’s an abandoned farmstead less’n half a mile from duh trail. Just round duh next bend. An empty house too. Folks what built it died a while back an nobody claimed it yet. Dere’s a crick where duh mithun can get water. We best make fer it I reckon. Not much light under dese trees come nightfall.”

  “How much farther to the farm then?”

  “Less’n an hour at dis speed. Be near dark by den.”

  “Lead on milady.”

  Chapter 5

  The sky still glowed with silver light as Rehaak and Isil plodded through the gathering darkness into the clearing at the abandoned farmstead. A cabin with a lean-to shed for firewood storage looked sturdy, but the roof of a smaller building sagged under the weight of moss and debris on the roof.

  The single room cabin, made of daub and wattle between posts and beams, stood in the center of the clearing. Its roof thatch looked sound, but its door lay in the weeds nearby. The lone window was a dark hole in the wall.

  Since Isil knew the way to the stream, she unhitched the mithun and took them to the water. Rehaak decided to start a fire before it became too dark to see. He scrounged dry wood from inside the shed.

  It was odd that this fine little place stood abandoned, but often people hesitated to stay in buildings where misfortune had fallen. People were afraid that a similar fate awaited them if they lingered there. This made sense, in cases of fatal diseases. Since Isil had stopped here many times, and suffered no ill effects, Rehaak was certain that no contagion lingered.

  By the time Rehaak got into the hut, heavy shadow cloaked the interior. There were several objects scattered across the earthen floor and the interior of the building smelled of rats.

  “I hate rats,” he thought.

  Rehaak picked his way to the fireplace and set the wood in the stone hearth.

  Once the fire blazed in the hearth, he rescued the front door from the weeds. Broken hinges prevented him from rehanging it, so he leaned it against one doorpost to cover the doorway and keep the heat contained. Rehaak covered the window opening with a spare tarp taken from the wagon, and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  Firelight revealed the only furniture, a table and a bench that lay tipped over. Rehaak and Isil would sleep on the hard packed earthen floor tonight, but it was better than being outdoors. Outsid
e they would be at the mercy of the elements and a banquet for bugs.

  Bread and cheese were a meager supper, but the roof and walls provided abundant warmth and protection. Rehaak counted his blessings.

  Although the floor and walls remained cool and smelled musty like damp earth, the fire had warmed the interior, when Isil entered the hut. While eating their meal. Rehaak questioned her at length, about her family and their history. Her answers confirmed his belief that faith in The Creator predated the animism of modern Abrhaani society.

  Belief in The Creator was endemic among Isil’s forbears and their neighbors. Both time and the vagaries of Abrhaani religion passed them by. Isil’s parents lived in near isolation on the eastern slopes and cared little for trends in the rest of society. Their seclusion and their attitudes had sheltered them from the shift in religious belief on Khel Braah.

  As he listened, he wondered how the change in belief systems occurred. Was it a natural progression or did a person, or group engineer it? If it was a conspiracy, who were the conspirators? What could anyone gain from the changes? Rehaak once again had more questions than answers.

  It occurred to him that the Nethera were the only possible beneficiaries of the shift, but why would men agree to this change or embrace it?

  Although he learned much about her family and their customs, and traditions, the Aetheriad’s location remained a mystery. In spite of years of frustration, Rehaak could not shake his compulsion to find it.

  Rehaak sensed, the Aetheriad meant more than mere proof that The Creator was real. He suspected that it held secrets recorded essential to mankind’s survival. The Abrhaani people needed every scrap of knowledge, to survive the onslaught of the Dark Ones when they arose in their full power.

  Through the course of the evening’s conversation, he learned that Isil was neither coarse nor unintelligent. Isil had a sharp wit and a gentle disposition hidden under the rough exterior. He found, to his surprise, that he relished her company and found himself at peace. It was ironic that he felt tranquil in a house that had held tragedy for its former occupants. Was it the location, or the company? He had no way of knowing with certainty, but Isil’s smile no longer held any terror for him.