Wanderer's Song (Song of Prophecy Series Book 1)

by P. E. Padilla

  Fahtin woke Raki almost three hours before dawn. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked a few times, but then got up and walked with her back to the rock she and Aeden had used for their watch. She had added wood to the fire during her time and added a few more pieces before she laid down again.

  It was warmer by the fire than on her rock perch, but the early morning was getting chillier. She wrapped her cloak around her and lay right next to Aeden, their backs touching. His heat seeped into her body, and before she could think another thought, the blackness consumed her.

  When she woke, she knew it was just before the sky would begin lightening. In fact, though everything still seemed dark, she thought that maybe it was tipping just a little bit more toward gray than true black. She rubbed her eyes, sat up, and looked toward the fire.

  There was a man sitting there, picking at his nails with a long knife.

  31

  Aeden felt Fahtin rouse beside him and he sighed. Her movement had taken the warmth of her body away from his. When she jerked upright, he knew something was not right and he swept his cloak off in one motion, drawing the swords lying next to him. He sprang to his feet, weapons at the ready, searching for what had caused her to react that way.

  A man sat next to the fire, long knife in his hand. Was he picking his nails with it?

  The man did not move, so Aeden took the opportunity to scan the darkened clearing. He didn’t see anything else amiss. Aeden focused on the intruder. He was a large man, bear-like in shape. His head was bald as an egg, and he had a neatly trimmed moustache and beard that covered only a circle around his mouth and the bottom of his rounded chin. The hair was white, and the lines etched in his face showed that he was not a young man, but the way he sat told Aeden he was not weak or infirm. And the way he held that knife indicated that he was very familiar with the weapon, like it was a part of him.

  His clothes were muted greens and browns, huntsman’s garb, thick pants, a rough shirt, and a tough leather vest over the top of it. The thing that really caught Aeden’s attention, though, was the man’s eyes. They were completely white, even brighter than his beard and moustache. He was obviously blind, the way those white orbs didn’t focus on anything. He was aware of the man standing in front of him with two swords drawn, though.

  “Calm yourself, Aeden,” the man said, sheathing the long knife in an elegant motion. “I’m not here as an enemy.” He raised his hands up as his face turned toward the Tannoch warrior.

  At Aeden’s movement and the man’s voice, Raki whirled toward the other three, throwing knives in his hand. Aeden shook his head at the boy so he wouldn’t release them. It had not escalated to that point yet.

  “Who are you?” Aeden said, noting Fahtin taking a breath beside him. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know your name,” the man said calmly, “because I have heard your friends use it. Your friends Fahtin,”—he nodded toward her—“and Raki.” He jerked his head backward toward the boy. “As for who I am, my name is Tere Chizzit.”

  “And why are you here, Tere Chizzit?” Aeden asked. “How did you get into camp without any of us seeing or hearing you?” He shot a look at Raki, and the youngest member of their party seemed to get the implication.

  “I didn’t fall asleep,” Raki said. “I was right here, scanning the forest. I don’t know how he got past me.”

  “You have a lot of questions,” Tere Chizzit said. “Let me just say that when I came upon your trail almost a week ago, you interested me. I rarely see anyone travel in the Grundenwald, and for good reason. I followed you to see what you were about, whether evil or good, whether out of ignorance or plain stupidity. I still haven’t decided.”

  “Our business is our own, old man. You followed us into this forest for nothing. Now leave us in peace and we will let you depart alive.”

  “No,” he said calmly. “I don’t think so. I am still curious. I did not follow you into the Grundenwald. I live here.”

  “Live here?” Fahtin said. “That’s ridiculous. No one lives in this forest.”

  “Do you know that as fact, girl? If so, how? This forest is a big place, and I will tell you for true, there are many who live here. Many who do not suffer others to trespass in their homes.”

  “Are you one such?” Aeden asked, tightening the grip on his sword.

  The man swiveled his head so those white eyes of his were pointing at Aeden. “No.” He seemed to consider it a moment, then sighed. “No. I was merely curious, as I said. Why venture into an unknown place, one famous for stories of magical creatures, beasts, and people who disappeared without a trace? There must be something very important. You must be going toward something that means more than your lives. Or running from something.” He tilted his head as he said it. Aeden understood the question.

  “The roads are becoming dangerous,” Aeden hedged. “There are black creatures roaming the countryside and the roads. We desire to avoid them.”

  “Ah,” Tere Chizzit said. “The truth is not that hard to tell, now, is it? I have seen these creatures. I have seen a little of what they do. They are dangerous, no doubt, but dangerous enough to enter the Grundenwald to avoid them? I think not, unless…”

  “They are chasing us,” Fahtin blurted out. Aeden sighed. “Oh, Aeden, it’s fine. If this man wanted to kill us, he could easily have done so as we slept. We might as well trust him. He might be able to help us, if he’s willing.” She looked toward the stranger expectantly.

  “Chasing you,” Tere Chizzit mused. “Now, that is interesting.” He stood up abruptly, making Aeden shift his stance to meet any attack that was coming. “I have a pack, over there,” he pointed to the underbrush on the opposite side of the clearing from where Raki had been positioned. “In it, I have some food. I will share it with you and we can discuss things like civilized people. How does that sound to you?”

  Fahtin stepped toward the man and took his hand before Aeden could stop her. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

  The man’s face broke into a smile as he let the girl lead him to his cache. Aeden muttered, “Daight daedos ist,” and jammed his swords into their scabbards.

  The four were soon eating a stew that Tere Chizzit had made with the supplies in his pack. Aeden had to admit, it tasted better than anything he had eaten since they left the caravan.

  “Why are you out here, Tere?” Fahtin said. She had seemed to get comfortable with the man right away. Whether it was, as she said, because he had already proved he was not their enemy, or because of some kind of woman’s intuition, Aeden didn’t know. The fact remained that she had started treating him like an uncle. A favorite uncle at that. Maybe it was his blindness.

  He had retrieved a bow and quiver of arrows when he picked up his pack. Aeden thought it was ridiculous that a blind man carry such a weapon, but they were of very fine quality. The best he’d ever seen, in fact. Every last detail on each arrow looked to have been done with the skill of a master craftsman.

  “I got sick of people,” the man said. “Too much dishonesty, too much selfishness and greed. So I picked up and left. I’m much happier out here with only the animals and good, honest monsters. The fell creatures hereabouts don’t pretend to be something else. Well, none but the changelings; I know how to spot them, though, so it’s fine. Nope, give me the forest over a city any day.”

  “But, don’t you get lonely?” Fahtin asked.

  “I’m alone, but no, I don’t get lonely. They are very different things. I have been lonely in a crowd of people before. Out here, though? I don’t expect to be around people, so I don’t miss them. It works out.”

  Tere Chizzit suddenly moved like a snake. He twisted, drew an arrow from the quiver on his back, nocked it, drew it to his cheek, and released, all in the space of a breath.

  Aeden had rolled backward, drawing his swords as he came to his feet, ready to take the man’s head. The blind man sat there looking at the Croagh as if he was crazy. Aeden looked over his body to see if
he had been struck by an arrow. He hadn’t. He checked Fahtin and Raki. Neither of them were injured. Then where had the arrow gone?

  Raki moved toward a tree twenty feet away. There, impaled to the tree with a still-quivering arrow, was one of the black squirrels that inhabited the forest. The arrow had gone through its eye. Raki removed the arrow from the tree and trotted it over to the others, the carcass still on the shaft.

  “We can clean that one and use it for another meal,” Tere Chizzit said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “How did you do that?” Raki asked. “I was closer to that tree than you and I didn’t hear or see the squirrel.”

  “I have better sight than most, though my eyes don’t work. It’s a gift I have that lets me survive out here.”

  “Tere,” Fahtin said, eyeing the squirrel. “Do you know this forest well?”

  “I do. I’ve lived here for more than two decades. I better know it. It’s my backyard, after all.”

  Fahtin nodded. “Do you think you could help us? You know, tell us where to go, maybe even show us? If this forest is as dangerous as you say, we could use the help of someone who knows it.”

  “I might be able to give you a hand. First, though, the truth. Why is it that you’re running from those black things? More importantly, why are they chasing you? And where are you going? You didn’t just choose to wander in the Grundenwald to try to evade those creatures. You’re too smart to panic like that. Tell me these things and I may decide to help.”

  Fahtin looked at Aeden. He shrugged. She might as well tell him. What could it hurt?

  “Have you ever heard of the Song of Prophecy? The Bhavisyaganant?”

  “I have,” Tere Chizzit said, “long ago. What of it? Are you saying that these dark creatures are the ones from the Song?”

  “Animaru,” Fahtin said. “Yes. The one mentioned in the Song. The Malatirsay? It may be Aeden.”

  Tere Chizzit began to laugh. It was a deep, booming laugh and the man seemed to be enjoying it. It went on for some time. Aeden found his face warming.

  “Why do you laugh?” Fahtin asked.

  “Oh, no reason, really. I knew a man once who thought he was the Malatirsay. Always pointed out where the prophecy referred to him.”

  “And what happened to him?”

  “I don’t really know,” the blind man said. “I lost track of him when we went our separate ways. Not because of bad feelings, mind you. He just had duties he had to attend to and I guess I did, too. Yeah, good old Rai…good old Red. I miss him sometimes. He was a good friend, and true.”

  “Well, we all think Aeden is the Malatirsay,” Fahtin said.

  “Why would you be thinking that?” Tere asked.

  “The Song identifies him. He’s from the northeast, has died and come back, was split and become one, and some other things. Plus, the creatures are after him. When they show up, they go right for him, not even bothering with us.

  “When we were with the caravan, our family, all of the monsters attacked him, only attacking others when they were directly in the way. Oh, and he uses magic that can kill them.”

  “Does he now?” Tere Chizzit looked to Aeden “That sounds like quite a bit of evidence, even more than my friend had. Maybe you’re right.”

  “We are right,” Raki said. “The prophecy identifies him. Even my Nani, a fortune teller, thinks he is the one.”

  “Even her, eh? That is something.”

  The grin on the old man’s face was beginning to get on Aeden’s nerves. He was tired of being mocked. “Listen, old man, if you want to help us, then do so. We don’t have time to sit around here having our identities called into question. Will you help us or not?”

  The old man swung his head toward Aeden. Those white eyes seemed to pull his attention to them. “Yes, I think I will help you. As to your claim, well, maybe it will become clearer. For the time being, consider me your guide through the forest.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Fahtin said. “Thank you, Tere.”

  Aeden watched the blind man’s face carefully. He was hiding something. Aeden didn’t know what, but he intended to find out. One way or another.

  32

  Raki Sinde could tell the difference immediately when Tere Chizzit took the lead. The man obviously knew the forest. Their path seemed to open up in front of them instead of barring their way as it had before. It was subtle, until Raki thought upon it, but traveling became easier. The old man seemed to find ways to work with the forest rather than against it. It was like petting one of the dogs that followed the caravan in packs. They had been petting the beast backward, from tail to head, feeling the resistance to their movements. Now, with Tere’s lead, they were petting it from head to tail, making the action much smoother. The creature seemed to be wagging its tail at them.

  “Here,” Tere said to them within an hour of their starting out. He pulled leaves off a nearby bush and handed some to each of the others. “Crush them in your hands like this.” He wrung them and twisted them, causing a pungent liquid to leak out. “wipe it over all your exposed skin. It’ll keep the bugs away.”

  Raki wrinkled his nose at the leaves. He didn’t like the smell, didn’t think he would like it being all over him. He watched Fahtin apply it to her skin, though, and was surprised to see the bugs flee from her. And swarm around him. He took a breath, held it, and smeared the crushed leaf juice on his face, neck, and hands. The bugs flew off to find tastier prey.

  Aeden handed the leaves back to the blind man. “I have no need of these.”

  Tere Chizzit looked at him, a sour expression on his face, but then he appeared to focus on Aeden. His eyes didn’t move, didn’t narrow at all, but Raki got the sense that Tere was looking more carefully at his friend. It made him uncomfortable. That thing he did, seeing without eyes, it was eerie.

  “Ah, so it seems,” the blind man said, taking the leaves back and putting them in a pouch on his belt.

  Aeden eyed him suspiciously. “Are you not going to put it on yourself?”

  “No. I am immune to the insects. I’ve lived here a long time, and they have learned they do not like the taste of me.” He laughed, but Raki saw that, like Aeden, he didn’t have any of the biting bugs around him.

  They made good time with Tere leading them, and travel was not nearly as strenuous as it had been. Because of this, they also took fewer breaks. The mood lightened and the friends even joked. Raki thought that they would be out of the forest in no time, and on their way to the Academy to get their answers. Things were definitely looking up.

  “A story,” Raki said when they had stopped for the night. The fire was already burning, meat was cooking—Tere had skewered two more squirrels and a large rabbit—and the mood was relaxed. They hadn’t told stories since the first night they were all three together.

  “Whose turn is it?” Fahtin asked. “Or would our newest member of the party like to give it a try? I bet you have lots of stories, living out here in the wild.”

  “Stories are overrated,” the blind man said. “They do nothing but put thoughts into young people’s heads, blinding them to the realities of life. They mostly have happy endings, and life just isn’t like that. No, I have no stories. Nothing but tales of misery and death.”

  The other three were quiet for a time. Aeden finally spoke up. “I think it was my turn.”

  “Yes,” Fahtin agreed, eyeing Tere Chizzit, who had slumped down on the ground by the fire, poking at it with a stick. “I think you’re right. What will it be then?”

  Raki loved it when it was Aeden’s turn. Stories were a big part of the Gypta way of life, almost as much as music, but even at his young age, he had heard all or most of the stories everyone in the family knew. The People were constantly looking for new tales to add to their collection, but they rarely got them. Those in the villages and towns they passed shunned the Gypta except when they wanted something, such as to be entertained or to buy some of their handicraft.

  Aed
en, though, had fourteen years of life with the Crows, almost as long as Raki had been alive. He had a wealth of tales that Raki had never heard. He would rather Aeden told a story every night until his store was exhausted. It wouldn’t be fair, he supposed. All the stories from the family were new to Aeden, so it was good to share equally and take turns.

  “What to tell, though?” Aeden mused. “I’m not sure. Let me think about it for a few moments as we eat.”

  “Tell us another story about Erent Caahs,” Raki said. He loved hero stories, and there was no hero in the last three hundred years as brave and strong as the archer.

  “Psht.” The sound came from Tere Chizzit. The man didn’t look up, just kept poking at the fire. “Waste of time. That one never did anything worthwhile in his life. All his running around and he made no difference at all. Better to tell about Annabelle and the magical donkey. Children’s stories can give you more truth than those about the so-called heroes of the world.”

  Raki wanted to retort, but he held his tongue. He definitely didn’t like the man bad-mouthing his hero, but his Nani would never put up with him talking back to an old man like Tere.

  “Sorry,” Tere Chizzit said, dipping his head. “Go on and tell your story. Don’t let my bitterness ruin things for you. Living alone for so long, it’s become my habit to speak my mind, when I speak at all.” He laughed, a dry, mirthless chuckle. “Just ask the insects and the trees. They’ve heard it enough. I’ll try to keep my opinions to myself.”

  Raki saw Fahtin in the firelight as she cast her glance at the blind man. There was sympathy in those eyes. To be honest, he felt bad himself for the man. What could have happened to him to make him so cynical? Losing his eyesight probably did it. He turned his attention to the food as Fahtin tested it and pronounced it ready.

  They settled down to eat, Tere Chizzit doing so quietly, not looking at any of the others, Aeden with a pensive look on his face, obviously still trying to figure out which story to tell. Raki ate, anxious for the story, but feeling the tension keenly. He glanced at Fahtin. The skin around her eyes had tightened, and her mouth was neutral as she nibbled her food. She didn’t look at him; her eyes were only on the blind man.