by K Schultz
“Yes,” he answered, knowing that the task was far too large for him.
“Yes,” he answered, knowing it may cost him his life.
“Yes,” he said for a final time and the full burden settled across his youthful shoulders.
With three affirmations, he passed into manhood, and received a man’s duties. Laakea’s commitment, bound him with the same force as his Sword Oath to Rehaak. No one pledged a Sword Oath to an entire world. He understood who was speaking to him. The person he thought of as the Golden Voice was Rehaak’s Faithful One, The Creator. Laakea had sworn a Sword Oath to The Creator of the world.
Was it possible to swear such an oath? He had felt compelled to do it. The idea was staggering.
“What have I done? I must be mad!”
He became conscious of Rehaak watching him, and his face reddened. He wanted no witnesses to his emotions, but since he and Rehaak came friends, he found it easier. Still, the red flush spread across his neck and face, in spite of his trust in the man beside him.
“I should tell Rehaak,” he thought. The moment slipped away, as Rehaak spoke.
“It is a lovely place,” Rehaak said, breaking the silence. “It is even more beautiful than my piece of paradise. I wonder we will ever see them again, once we begin our quest.”
Laakea remained silent as he looked across the valley, of his former home.
“Perhaps not yet,” he thought. “That time might never come.”
He didn’t want Rehaak to think he was getting grandiose views of his own importance so he kept silent about his vow to The Creator.
“It is better this way.”
. At first, he could not define what was out of order, but when he looked a second time, he noticed things missing from the scene he remembered. No smoke came from the forge where his father worked the iron, nor from further up the valley, where the house stood.
The sheep pen was empty and the gate hung open. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened by the missing fires and animals. Laakea chewed his lip, hitched up the pack that contained the long knives, and jogged down the hill with Rehaak hard on his heels.
Chapter 21
Rehaak followed Laakea along the trail, the breeze ruffled his hair for the first time in days. The bandage he had worn for two tendays made his head itch. He had developed a minor infection in the cut and the hair on the triangular patch had fallen out, before the skin healed. Overall, Laakea did a remarkable job of putting him back together.
The hair was growing back white, not raven wing black. Laakea called him Spot, and Rehaak thought it was funny, so he didn’t object. If that was the worst side effect of his injury, he considered himself lucky as he followed his rescuer into the valley, toward an uncertain welcome.
The valley changed as they drew closer to Aelfric’s forge. Small plants, saplings and bracken replaced the giant trees further up-slope.
Laakea had experienced a vast range of emotion this morning. In moments, he went from grim, to joyous, and now he appeared worried, though perhaps not about himself. Rehaak kept silent as much out of respect for the youngster’s state of mind, as for his own lack of breath. Weakened by his long convalescence, Rehaak struggled to match Laakea’s speed. Rehaak swore Laakea had grown a span taller, since they had met, and he filled out that large frame with muscle. He was a head taller than Rehaak, who was tall for an Abrhaani.
Once they drew near the forge, Rehaak understood the lack of trees. Aelfric had cut and burned them to make charcoal for the forge and the bloomery. Black char pits, blotches of ash and soot, broke up the greenery covering the valley floor. The bloomery, a black mound, stood like a malignancy near the center of the devastation. Charcoal lay in a large heap nearby.
To Laakea this damage was normal, since he knew nothing else, but the surrounding ruin appalled Rehaak. Raamya and his Abrhaani loggers, used dead and dying trees and would never leave this swath of damage in their wake.
Laakea picked his way through the clearing, scanning ahead while Rehaak followed. As they edged toward the forge, nothing moved other than birds fluttering from bush to bush, and the occasional small animal, startled from cover by their presence.
“I never noticed that the clearing smelled of smoke and soot. I lived here all my life and never noticed it,” Laakea said.
Laakea relaxed when they arrived and found no one at the forge or the house and no sign of recent habitation.
“See,” said Rehaak. “There was no reason for worry.”
“There is plenty of reason to worry. Just because he is gone does not mean he won’t come back. When he does, it will mean trouble for both of us, but it does mean I have work to do,” replied Laakea, peeved at Rehaak’s response.
“Well, if it’s all right with you young sir, I shall see if your father left food in the house. I swear I am as hungry as a bear in springtime. Oh — and where are those sheep you mentioned? I did see a vegetable garden though.” He pointed toward the garden. “Unless of course, you need my help to prepare the forge.”
“No, go ahead, stay nearby; I need help with the bellows, once I start the fire. Pa left enough charcoal, but I’ll have to carry it into the forge house before I start. When you’re through stuffing yourself, could you draw water from the well and fill this slack tub to quench the blade once I have shaped it?”
“Yes sir!” Rehaak gave a smart salute and turned toward the house in the best imitation of a soldier he could muster. Rehaak tried to lighten the mood,
***
Laakea glowered at Rehaak’s attempted levity. The prospect of making weapons, without his father’s guidance was daunting enough, without the threat of death looming over him.
Laakea set the nine weapons on the ledge of the forge and gathered charcoal. Though there was plenty of the material stockpiled around the clearing, he took several hours to restock the forge. The sun sank below the treetops before he had enough charcoal for a sustained fire. It was familiar work and memories of better times flooded his mind.
Laakea realized he had not seen Rehaak in several hours and fear gnawed at his mind. He picked up two knives. Trouble found Rehaak no matter where he went.
“Damn you Spot, I told you to stay close. Where in all the hells have you gone?” he muttered as he headed for the house.
There was no sign of his friend outside his home. Laakea was reluctant to call out lest his call draw unwanted attention. It was irrational but he couldn’t help himself. After a thorough inspection outside, he opened the door of the house and peered inside it. There was no sign of his missing companion in the main room.
It felt strange to revisit the building where he spent most of his life. It was mere months since his departure, but this was no longer his home. Devoid of his parent’s presence, it seemed smaller and colder than he remembered it. He realized again, how much he missed his mother. Tears moistened his eyes at her memory.
When he heard noises in his bedroom, he crept forward, tore aside the blankets that hung in the doorway, leapt inside, and found Rehaak snoring blissfully.
“Damn — Spot!” he bellowed
Rehaak lurched upright, befuddled, trying to focus his eyes and remember where he was.
“Get out and get the water!”
“You needn’t shout, I fell asleep, but I am not deaf — at least not yet.”
“We have work to do. This is no time to sleep!” As soon as he spoke, Laakea regretted his words and his tone.
Rehaak’s face displayed the deep hurt caused by Laakea’s outburst, but Rehaak didn’t respond in kind. He got up, and went outside, leaving Laakea dithering over how to fix the damage is outburst caused. He knew Rehaak was still weak from his wounds and needed more rest. Abrhaani did not heal as fast as Eniila.
Laakea couldn’t take the words back so he must live with the consequences. If Rehaak wanted to disown him, that was his right. A disavowal by Rehaak freed Laakea of his Sword Oath and ended his obligation to him. He followed Rehaak out into the yard, w
here they worked, without speaking.
It was too late to light the forge, much less begin the forging. Laakea guessed the forging swords, would take a tenday, perhaps longer.
Once Rehaak had filled the tub with water, while Laakea fussed with the charcoal in the forge. Rehaak laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder and spoke before Laakea turned to face him.
“You are worried, about the forging, and about your father and you feared for my safety. You never intended to be harsh, but I should have about the nap.” Rehaak stopped and waited for a response.
Laakea looked into Rehaak’s eyes without speaking. He understood Rehaak sensed what he was feeling and put it into words far better than he could himself. It disturbed him before, but now he accepted it without the usual feelings of discomfort. Today he was grateful that he need not put his feelings into words. Rehaak had done him a great service.
The Eniila stared in another man’s eyes to issue a challenge. Shelhera had explained to Laakea that to the Abrhaani it meant trust and acceptance. Laakea fought his Eniila conditioning looked steadily into Rehaak’s eyes for the first time.
“It is almost dark. We should eat and then rest. We can start your project in the morning, at first light, if you wish. I do not think your father will return here. There is dust and cobwebs everywhere, he has abandoned this place. Call me foolish, but I believe he is gone forever,” Rehaak said.
“You may be right, the sheep are gone too, and he would’ve kept them if he intended to come back.”
“Pity, they would have made good eating.”
“You always think about your stomach. It’s a wonder you are not as big as a mithun, but you are right about my father.” Laakea smiled for the first time since entering the valley.
“Let’s eat then.” Rehaak turned and walked to the house with Laakea behind him.
Once they had finished their meal, they sat by the hearth. Rehaak smoked his pipe in silence while staring into the flames.
“Rehaak, I am sorry for the way I treated you today,” Laakea began.
“I thought we had dealt with that.”
“I know you did, but I must say it. Sometimes my anger overpowers me, and I can’t control myself. That’s how I disgraced myself and dishonored my father, and that’s why the bloodlust still worries me.”
“Everyone makes mistakes boy.”
“We must pay the price for those mistakes.”
“I suppose that is true, but sometimes people may choose k’harsa, instead of justice.”
“I have never heard of this k’harsa.”
“Well — suppose you did me wrong.”
“Like today?”
“No, today we were both wrong. I should have helped, instead of taking a nap and causing you to worry. I mean — for example, if I thought you stole from me. What does your code require of you?”
“That’s easy; you’d bring an accusation against me. I’d deny the accusation and then we’d fight to the death to prove who was telling the truth.”
“And that is the Eniila version of justice?”
“Yes.”
“But if you stole from me and afterward you killed me in combat, you have then stolen not only my goods, but my life. How is that justice?”
“The gods decide the outcome, they decide what’s just, according to their will.”
Rehaak shook his head, unsure of how to explain k’harsa to the youngster. The word had no meaning for Laakea.
“What if I decided not to accuse you of theft? What if I made a gift, of what you stole?”
“Only a coward would do that.”
Rehaak refined the analogy, “Alright. Suppose I knew beyond doubt, that you stole from me and I knew with equal certainty, that I could defeat you in combat. Suppose that knowing these facts, I still chose not to fight, but instead allowed you to keep what you had taken.”
“That’s crazy! Why’d a person do that?”
“It was my property; can I not do whatever I wish with it?”
“Yes, but why —?”
“When you can answer that question, you will understand k’harsa.”
“Aaah! You make my head hurt with your riddles. Why don’t you just answer the question?”
“If I do that, you will never understand the answer.”
“And how’ll that be different than now?” snapped Laakea. “I’m going to sleep.”
He rose and stomped into his bedroom, leaving Rehaak alone in front of the dying fire.
Chapter 22
Aelfric had lost the boat and most of his gear, to the rocks and the surf in a squall. He managed to struggle ashore with his weapons and pack. Two tendays of hard marching later Aelfric was almost at his goal. He saw the outlines of the masts in the harbor against the silver morning sky. The ocean reflected the sky, like a sheet of beaten metal stretching toward the horizon. He discerned the darker blues and purples of the opposite shore. Silhouettes of the distant mountains of Khel Braah, their indigo edges silhouetted against the sky, cast hazy outlines at the limit of his sight.
Blue gray morning came, moist and misty around him. It wasn’t freezing, but the light breeze, and the damp air, gave the day a sharp edge that fit well with the shadows of morning. He hot breakfast was in order. There was plenty of wood but it was not easy to light, damp from the spray and impregnated with salt.
The beach gravel slid and grated under foot, slowing and tiring him but easier than thrashing through the brush further from the shoreline with his gear and heavy pack. There were no thorny branches here to tear at his face and hands, and no obstacles hidden in the undergrowth to snare his tired feet.
After several unsuccessful attempts to light a fire, he pulled some jerked meat from his pouch and chewed it, as he slogged toward the harbor. Few people strolled the rocks and gravel beaches of Kel Braah. Those he had encountered gave him plenty of room. They knew by instinct that he was dangerous and deadly. Aelfric’s anger and resolve had hardened to a brittle crystalline edge. He was returning home to bloodshed and mayhem, vengeance and violence. He needed a ship to cross Syn Gersuul and that was why he was here.
Aelfric felt in his bones, that his ship waited for him there. Determination propelled him forward, overruling his tired legs. He strode onward, lost in his own thoughts. He was striding down the street to the wharf, before he realized he had arrived. The townspeople eyed him from the doors of their shops, and peered at him from around the corners of the squared stone buildings.
Aelfric walked alone among hundreds of them, but they were still afraid of him. Sixteen years of living among them had altered his viewpoint. Aelfric realized that the Abrhaani, for all their shortcomings were a far more tolerant people than his own race. The Abrhaani were kinder and more understanding than even the members of the Brotherhood, the Eniila holy men, who guarded their cities of refuge. That tolerance and understanding was, their greatest strength, and their greatest weakness.
Aelfric smiled a grim smile. He imagined how he looked now, no longer the quiet village smith, but a strange warrior, armed, lethal, hard as the metal of the sword hanging across his back. Aelfric personified their nightmares, death incarnate visiting Aeron Suul, dressed in Aelfric’s scarred face and body.
On the battlefield, before he came to live among them, he had faced thousands of their little soldiers in countless skirmishes. He cut them down like a sickle mowing grass. Aelfric never feared them. He had killed better men than these on his way to a real battle and might do so again, later he hoped rather than sooner. The score he intended to settle was not with them but with his own kind.
Aelfric rounded the corner and paced out onto the wharf. He ignored the Abrhaani townsfolk and strode confidently down the center of the wharf, past crates of cargo, the smell of salt and fresh caught fish in the air. He discounted the dockworkers and deckhands, who stopped to stare. Except for these men made the townspeople had never seen an Eniila
Aelfric ignored the ships unloading goods and stopped at a new ship, where men
loaded trade goods into its hold. He had no more time. Sixteen years passed by in a heartbeat, and all he had left was an empty ache in his heart. Cold anger and bitter vengeance replaced love for his wife and son.
Aelfric halted. Work stopped. Deckhands stared.
Aelfric waited for a second before fixing his gaze on the Abrhaani deckhand nearest him.
“Where is the Master of this vessel?” he boomed.
Although the man looked ready to dash away, he stood his ground as a crowd grew around Aelfric. If he let them get up enough nerve, they might try to overwhelm him with their numbers. No doubt a few men fought in the war and had old scores to settle. If they attacked him, he was unwilling to pay the cost of that encounter, best to press on before tempers flared and the situation got out of control.
“I said,” he thundered, loud enough for those assembled to hear. “Where is the Master of this vessel? I wish to book passage to Baradon.”
“I will take you to him sir,” the deckhand answered, with a steady voice, his courage bolstered by the growing number of Abrhaani hovering around the battle scarred giant, who shouted at him.
“Follow me please,” With that said, he walked past Aelfric toward the town, back the way he came.
The crowd on the wharf parted to let them through. The murmur of their voices, as they talked in hushed tones faded behind him. He knew he wasn’t out of danger, but if they intended to ambush him in an alley their numbers would be useless against his strength.
When Aelfric was sure he had won this battle of wits by sheer audacity, a bowman scrambled onto a roof. The archer cocked and aimed his crossbow at Aelfric’s chest. Aelfric pretended not to see, but he tensed for the release of the arrow. He prayed the fool released his bolt at long range, so he could swat it aside, if he hadn’t gotten too old and soft.
Each step brought him closer to his potential assassin and reduced his chances for survival, but he pressed on, behind the man leading the way. He considered using his guide as a shield, but the man was too far ahead and he was too large a target.
This bowman knew his craft. It was one of his own axioms. “Be sure of your first shot, you may not get a second.”