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

by K Schultz

  Laakea looked around orienting himself. It was daytime judging by the light that filtered through the lone window. The opaque oiled skin covering the window let light in, but prevented Laakea from seeing what was outdoors.

  Besides the window, the hut had a single door, and a river rock fireplace. A straw tick on a bed-frame stood in the corner near the hearth. A table, a chair and a bench sat along a wall, the planks of both the bench and the table, worn smooth on the upper sides from long usage. The chair was a newer addition. Laakea kept the blanket wrapped around himself and searched for his clothing and belongings.

  There were two copper pots and other utensils placed near the hearth. The lack of accumulated possessions gave evidence of a single occupant. Laakea found his clothes hung on a clothesline strung from pegs protruding from the walls. The hut was small, Laakea’s family home was similar, although larger, with three rooms, one room this size, and two smaller sleeping rooms. His house had a flagstone floor with packed clay between the stones, rather than the dirt floor in this hut.

  Laakea found his clothes, dirty but dry, hurriedly dressed, found his belt and dagger and strapped them on. His hungry stomach growled, but the pressure in his bladder took precedence over the pain in his stomach.

  Laakea slid aside the wooden latch on the rough plank door, and pushed it open. Last night’s drizzle had stopped, but the sky remained overcast and thick mist hovered above the forest floor. The trees and undergrowth looked as if they sprang from the shifting fog. Water still dripped from leaves and branches in the cool air. A trail, led into the forest and branched left and right. It was impossible to see the sun, so he couldn’t get his bearings until the sky cleared.

  Laakea’s overtaxed bladder threatened to erupt. He picked the right hand path and hurried along it, hoping to find a privy. The faint sound of running water ahead intensified his need until necessity overcame propriety. He stepped off the path and aimed his flow against the roots of a dogwood bush.

  Laakea turned his head to identify a noise in the brush behind him. Three shaggy gray wolves emerged from the mist and the bracken. They glided toward him, legs obscured by the mist. Laakea thanked the gods that his bladder was already empty, as he reached for his dagger, and stood ready for an attack.

  With his heart pounding against his breastbone, like his father’s hammer on iron, fresh from the forge, he backed away from the animals. Laakea wanted to distance himself from the wolves, but knew he might become a meal, regardless of his effort.

  The wolves fanned out to either side, flanking him, as he retreated toward the sound of the stream. The wolves’ positions, kept him from fleeing back to the hut. He had seen what wolves did to a sheep several winters ago, and grisly memories of that scene replayed.

  Laakea and Aelfric heard their sheep, bleating in panic. He and his father rushed out with lanterns to investigate the commotion. Aelfric was too late to save the ewe, but they drove the predators back before they made off with the animal. The wolves were gray shadows, with eyes that glowed malevolent red, as they reflected the light of the lanterns.

  The sheep lay bleating in panic and pain with its flanks torn, bleeding from red slashes at its hocks. The wolves had torn out the muscles in the backs of its legs, hamstrung, his father called it.

  The ewe left bloody patches in the snow as it clawed at the frozen earth with its front hooves. Laakea vomited, while his father slit the ewe’s throat, to finish the job the wolves began. Warm blood spurted out and melted a crimson depression in the snow, before the sheep stopped twitching, to lie still and silent. Aelfric used snow to wash the blood off his hands and knife. There was fresh mutton for the next few days, but Laakea could not bring himself to eat it.

  Laakea imagined the backs of his legs bleeding, lying as helpless as that bleating sheep while they slashed his throat and tore out his entrails. He tried ignoring the image as he backed toward the sound of the stream. The ground sloped sharply away behind him. Laakea’s footing became precarious, but he dared not lose sight of the predators in front of him as they advanced.

  Laakea’s heel snagged on an exposed root, and he lost his balance. His backward momentum rolled him head over heels down the gravelly stream bank. Running water had sliced away the earth, baring rocks and roots that bruised him as he tumbled down the slope.

  Laakea came to a stop on his back, at the water’s edge, his knife and his breath both gone. Laakea stared at the brightening sky struggling to inhale. He scrambled to his feet, looking for his dagger. The fog had evaporated above the sun warmed rocks of the streambed. He spotted his weapon a short distance up the slope. The wolves were not in sight.

  Laakea scrambled toward the dagger, but all three wolves crested the lip of the bank and slunk downhill toward him, lean and muscular, built for power and endurance. He could never outrun them, or defend himself without his weapon.

  Time slowed, an unusual calm settled upon him as he noticed tiny differences between the wolves. The leader, larger than the other two, reached where his knife lay among the stones and stopped to sniff it. Laakea closed his eyes and waited for the end to come.

  Afraid to look, he listened for movement. Hearing rustling to each side, he turned his head and cracked one eye open. The two smaller wolves walked past him to the creek where they now stood lapping up water, as if he wasn’t there. A metallic click made him open his other eye and turn his head, toward his lost knife. The biggest wolf sat on the streambed, watching him.

  When Laakea had closed his eyes, his knife was well beyond his reach. Now he only needed to retrieve the knife laying at his feet. The big wolf had set it there before it backed off to watch his reaction. There was no other explanation. Laakea squatted to pick up his dagger while keeping his eyes on the animal. Laakea grasped his blade, when the animal made no move to attack him; he slid it into the frog on his belt.

  Everything he knew of wolves, told him he should already be on his way through their digestive tract. The wolf rose, stretched, dog-like and padded past him to the stream and joined the other two. Laakea stood frozen in disbelief as the wolf’s fur brushed against his leg. The smaller wolves had finished drinking. They would have attacked long ago if they had intended to harm him.

  Laakea remembered that he too was thirsty. He turned, and walked the remaining distance to the water’s edge, where he knelt and quenched his thirst, while the wolves watched.

  When he had finished drinking, the wolves trotted downstream, along the rocky shoreline. They stopped, and waited for him to follow, but Laakea did not move. The leader trotted a short way back toward him, looked in Laakea’s eyes, cocked his head as if asking a question, then returned to his companions. The leader stopped again, looked back at Laakea and cocked his head again asking him to follow them.

  Shelhera, his mother, had told him stories of animal spirit guides leading heroes. Laakea was unwilling to believe he was a hero, nor was he willing to believe the folk tales were true, but the similarity to his mother’s stories intrigued him. He wondered if the gods had sent them to teach him. With his curiosity piqued, he walked along the stream to where they waited, joined the pack, and walked toward the bend that hid the area downstream.

  Ten paces past the bend, a man knelt, while filling a bucket with water. Laakea wanted to shout and attract the man’s attention, but he was unsure of the wolves’ reaction if he did. The wolves continued to trot forward, as if they either did not notice the kneeling man or were leading him toward the stranger.

  The man finished filling his container with water, straightened, sat on a boulder, pulled out a pipe, lighted it and sent puffs of fragrant smoke that drifted in Laakea’s direction.

  Laakea and the wolves were not over twenty paces away and heading straight for the man, engrossed in watching the sunrise, where the clouds had dissipated.

  The sound of running water hid the wolves’ approach, but Laakea’s feet slipped and skidded in the gravel of the streambed. In spite of the racket Laakea was making, they got close
before his crunching footsteps caused the man to turn his head. When the stranger looked at the boy and the wolves he stood to his feet, there was no panic in his eyes.

  The stranger waved, smiled, and shouted so Laakea heard him over the sound of the running water.

  “Hallo, I am Rehaak, glad to see you awake. You found your clothing, and you have met my protectors.” He pointed at the animals. “I was just coming to get water for tea while you slept and to wash your clothes later. How did you find me here? Why did you not use the path?”

  “Well met Rehaak, I am Laakea. As to the path, I guess you’d say I found a shortcut,” the Laakea replied with a smirk. “I owe you many thanks for your hospitality, though your wolves made a frightening welcoming committee.”

  “You are welcome, but they are not my wolves: though perhaps I am their man. They guard me from the edge of the forest, but never come as close, as they sit to you.” Rehaak pointed to the animals, who sat in a semicircle near Laakea. “They must like you. Let us return to my hut where we will brew tea and you are no doubt hungry.”

  The path Rehaak mentioned was in plain sight now. It led up the bank and into the forest. Laakea sized the man up as he gestured for them to go. He guessed that Rehaak was thirty, with the greenish skin and emerald eyes of the Abrhaani he knew, from the village near his home. Rehaak was shorter than Laakea, but spare and stringy.

  Aelfric, Laakea’s father, told him that men of this build had great endurance in combat. “Large muscles make for great power,” he had said. “But in a long battle watch for the lean, wiry warrior. He will outlast the bigger man more often than not.” Nearly everything his father taught him applied to combat.

  Rehaak’s face was thin under his full, dark beard and thick black brows. His eyes were large, deep set on either side of a hooked nose. It was a pleasant face, but his eyes were penetrating. Those eyes pierced men’s souls and Laakea felt his secrets exposed as he looked into them. The wolves fell in behind them, as they walked.

  Rehaak carried no weapons. Over the usual gray homespun breaches, and belted tunic he wore a blood red linen robe that opened in the front. It was calf length, and had belled sleeves with green vine leaves embroidered on the edges. The fancy garment was at odds with Rehaak’s other clothing and his meager belongings at the hut. Laakea wondered at the contrast, but he was unsure it was polite to ask, so he started with something safer.

  “Where did you, or rather how did you find me?” Laakea asked.

  Rehaak said, “You found me.”

  “When I used the privy last night; I suppose it was nearer to dawn by then. I left my door open to find my way back and I tripped over you, lying face down in the path. At first, I was unsure if you were alive. It was brutally cold and wet last night. It took a great deal of effort, but I dragged you by the wrists into my hut.”

  “I suppose that explains this lump,” Laakea said, as he rubbed the tender spot on the back of his head. “Your open door must have been the light I saw in the darkness. The gods were kind.”

  “Well — one god was.” Rehaak’s smile made Laakea wonder what Rehaak meant by the remark, but if he looked into Rehaak’s green eyes, Rehaak would ferret out his shameful secret. Laakea was unwilling to risk it until he knew Rehaak better.

  “I was alone and I could not be as gentle as I would have liked, on your behalf,” Rehaak smiled again, but this time his smile was just a smile.

  “Well, I thank you. I owe you a Life Debt. My parents taught me that a man always repays his debts.”

  “Where are you from lad? You are not from around here.”

  “I am lost,” the boy replied. “My father, is a blacksmith.”

  “I heard there was a smith in New Hope” Rehaak replied.

  “New Hope? No, we lived a half days walk northwest of the village of Dun Dale,” Laakea said.

  “Ah, I see. I hear Dun Dale is several days’ journey North of here. What has brought you so far south?”

  “As I said, I got lost,” Laakea said.

  “But your parents must be worried about you. They will search for you,” Rehaak ventured. When Laakea declined to comment he added, “You are not Abrhaani.”

  “No, we are Eniila, but my parents raised me here on Khel Braah. I have lived nowhere else, nor have I met others of my race.”

  “There is so much animosity between our peoples. I am not surprised that you were the only ones. What surprises me is that any Eniila live on Kel Braah. Have you ever considered returning?”

  “Returning where?”

  “Back among your people, the Eniila, across the Syn Gersuul, in Baradon.”

  “This land is all I know. I can’t imagine going elsewhere. My parents taught me your Abrhaani customs and manners. We have the same language, but differences in pronunciation. I have no way to cross the Syn Gersuul. I wonder if it’s as vast as my parents told me.”

  “So now young sir, you have set out to explore the world,” Rehaak asked after noting that the boy spoke of his parents in the past tense.

  “After a manner of speaking you have the right of it,” said Laakea, shading the truth.

  When Rehaak did not respond, Laakea added defensively, “I have enough knowledge to make my way in the world. My parents taught me their trades and skills, so I can make a living either here or elsewhere.”

  Rehaak ignored the sentiment and asked, “You got lost, what will you do now you are found?”

  Laakea could not answer Rehaak’s question, without revealing more than he was comfortable disclosing. Laakea was open and honest by nature. A lump in his throat gagged him, and his face and ears burned with shame, as he remembered how he had cursed his father, and dishonored himself.

  When Laakea did not answer, Rehaak stopped walking, looked at Laakea, who avoided eye contact, and said. “It’s all right lad, I had no wish to pry. I understand that most people have things they would rather not discuss with nosy strangers they have just met. Everyone, including me, has their share of secrets they would rather not tell the world.”

  Laakea did not reply. He was still trying to swallow the lump in his throat. His face and ears felt ready to burst into flame. The tears that threatened to overflow didn’t contain enough water to extinguish the fire of his shame. Laakea looked at the ground, unsure of his next move, frozen, wishing for the earth to open and swallow him, to escape this man’s penetrating eyes.

  Rehaak broke the uncomfortable silence for him, “Let’s get you cleaned and fed.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Laakea sneaked a glance at Rehaak’s face, surprised to see moisture in Rehaak’s eyes. Laakea wondered about the cause. Would Rehaak understand and accept him because of it?

  They continued down the path in silence and walked the hut without speaking. Laakea looked behind them, but the wolves, who had been following them, had vanished into the forest. He matched his stride to the dark stranger beside him, and wondered how much of his story he should tell.

  Laakea needed to confide in someone, but, he was fearful that Rehaak would condemn and shun him, if Rehaak knew what he did. The shelter and friendship, that Rehaak had offered, was more than he could expect. In spite of his fears, he could not help feeling he had found his way to the right place. Now he had a refuge, he was fearful of losing it.

  “Will Rehaak let me stay, once he learns what sort of person he rescued from a cold and well deserved death?” he wondered in silence. He must tell Rehaak the truth if he wanted the answer.

  Chapter 11

  The winding trail soon led them to the hut. Rehaak opened the door. With a bow and a wide smile said, “Please be welcome in my home. This is the formal Abrhaani greeting to guests.”

  “Thank you for your generous gift of hospitality,” the boy replied, which was the correct ceremonial response.

  Rehaak smiled and gestured for him to enter. Once they were both inside, he set his chair in front of the fire and told Laakea to sit, before he added wood to the fire.

  “Who taught you the
customs of our people?” Rehaak asked, while preparing breakfast.

  “My mother taught me your manners and customs. She said it was a sign of respect to behave well.”

  Once Rehaak filled the large copper pot with water, he set it near the flames to boil and turned to face the boy again. The formal phrases gave them a framework for interaction, and created a relaxed atmosphere. Laakea could expect what came next, and knew what Rehaak expected of him. The rules made conversation less intimidating.

  “Your mother was right,” he said, looking into Laakea’s eyes. The boy looked away, unable to tolerate Rehaak’s gaze. “Do you have siblings?”

  “No, only my father and me. My mother died several years ago,” he said, without visible emotion.

  “Do you have family, Rehaak?”

  “Alas, I have not seen them for decades.”

  “You must miss them.”

  “I have almost forgotten them. My life differs from theirs, and my extensive travels prevent contact.

  Rehaak changed the direction of the conversation. “There are other matters to discuss. If I may be blunt, I imagine you are wondering if you may shelter with me for a time, and how long I will allow you to stay.”

  The boy stared at the floor again and nodded his head.

  Rehaak’s first inclination was to send the boy home, but seeing how Laakea reacted to his earlier questions, he discarded that idea. Someone had driven Laakea into the night. He was just a lad who needed help. Rehaak decided to bide his time and gather information, sure he could draw Laakea out, because the youngster needed to tell his story.

  Rehaak had reservations about inviting the boy to stay. But his reluctance revolved around himself rather than Laakea. He had lived alone for years and was ill-equipped to entertain guests. Isil, his only guest, stayed single nights.