Doublesight

by Terry Persun

  Zimp motioned and a young boy ran over and hefted Breel's pack into his arms and lumbered off toward the center of the camp.

  “Therin,” Breel said, and her brother stepped to her side. “Let's go see who's coming.”

  Zimp had the suspicion that the passion of the thylacine's ceremony still filled Breel's body with power. The young woman pulled her sword, intensely alert, unbelievably smooth, and undeniably strong. A worthy opponent, as Breel said, for any of the men in the crow clan. Zimp led.

  Crepp met Zimp as she crossed through camp. “There are only a few of them, but they have armor. We're not sure what to think. There are several small ones with them, but that may be a ruse. They drag a two-wheeled cart that's making a lot of noise as though filled with metals.”

  “Stand ready,” Zimp said, “and follow me.” She looked around for Arren, then closed her eyes for a moment to regain her own strength. She had to do this herself or she would let Oro down. Arren couldn't help her stand strong. He could only offer her a way to be weak. Regardless of that, she noticed Arren and Felter pass through the wall of crow clan to her right. Dail came through on her left. Storret and Crepp followed her. Breel and Therin were at her side. “Let's go,” Zimp said.

  “Not far up this path,” Crepp told her.

  About two hundred yards farther and Zimp, Breel, and Therin stopped. The others caught up.

  A large, heavy-built older man held tight to long-poles attached to the cart Crepp had mentioned. Flanking him were two men, both rather thin and small, but wearing breastplates with the Flande Emblem of a blue, three-leafed clover. Two horizontal red lines were crudely painted beneath the clover.

  What were Flandeans doing this deep into the Brendern Forest? Zimp stepped forward.

  The big man set down the long-poles. Off the back of the cart two little boys hit the ground and ran around to see what was happening. “Hold it, boys,” the man on the left said.

  Around the left rear of the cart stepped two other men in breastplates and two women, one of which bore the Flande breastplate as well. The one wearing armor reached for the hands of the little boys, but only one relinquished and held to her. The other boy reached for the sword hand of one of the men, who seemed likely to be the boy's father.

  Zimp noticed that the father took the boy's hand and she relaxed somewhat.

  From the right rear of the cart walked another man in a breastplate and a woman, obviously pregnant.

  “My lady,” the big man said. He bowed slightly and motioned behind him to the others. “We are traveling peacefully.”

  “Then why the armor?” Arren said. Zimp turned toward him and set her jaw.

  The big man looked from one to the other questioning who he should speak with. Arren's lips flattened and his eyes hardened, but he backed up two steps to allow Zimp space to address the travelers.

  The big man must have understood the small conflict and held his empty hands up toward Zimp. “To answer the question, my lady. These woods have been wild with action these past months. We are with our families, and although we travel in peace, we must be cautious and ready to protect our loved ones. You would do the same, no?”

  “And have you run into trouble?” Zimp said.

  “Only once.”

  “The poor bastards,” the man on the right said.

  The big man turned his head slightly and the man behind him quieted.

  Zimp recognized the tension in the family interactions, just as the big man must have seen it between she and Arren. A smile crossed her face for only a moment, but the Flande soldiers noticed and she saw their shoulders fall. The man on the left holding to his son shook the boy's hand.

  “The name's Brull Willenstock,” the big man said. “My sons,” he pointed to the ones on the left first. “Raik,” he said of the man holding the boy's hand, “and Cis.” Both men nodded. “And here,” Brull turned, “are Galwit and Bennek.” He stopped. “And the women: Raik's wife Eena and my wonderful lady, Nebbie. With child is Bennek's bride Idune.” Brull smiled and said of the little boys, “The one holding tightly to his father is Ka, the other, Zip.”

  Zimp went to one knee, set the point of her sword into the dirt, and bowed her head. She stood and placed her sword into its scabbard, motioned for the others to do the same. One at a time, she introduced her people and then the thylacine doublesight, without mentioning Therin, as though he were only a pet.

  Ka turned to his brother and said, “Zip, I told you it was a girl's name.”

  Raik bent down, “Shush. She said Zimp, not Zip.” He looked at his other son, the younger one holding to Eena. “Zip is a warrior's name,” he said, and the boy's face brightened.

  Brull pointed at Therin. “Those are dangerous pets. Who might be the trainer?”

  Zimp looked around. She wasn't sure it was wise to say just yet.

  Idune, the pregnant woman, spoke out. “The brown-haired woman,” she said.

  “Do you recognize her?” Zimp said, suspicious of the woman.

  “The animal touched her leg with his muzzle and she didn't flinch,” Idune said.

  Breel reached down and touched Therin's head.

  “Very aware of your surroundings,” Zimp said.

  Brull slapped his breastplate. “We are of the Flandean Guard. It is our duty to be aware of our surroundings.”

  During the great wars when the doublesight fought along side the humans, Flande had a great army. The High Priest of Flande was a horse doublesight and hated war. He felt that the humans and doublesight should live together in peace. The Flande way of battle was to count coup rather than kill their opponent. That didn't mean that the Flande army didn't kill, only that it wasn't their first defense.

  Zimp recalled Oro telling her how the army maintained the highest standards of training, even though The High Priest asked them not to fight to the death. And here were some of them begging peace. She accepted and believed Brull. “We are camped nearby, but will leave soon.”

  “I don't think we'll bother you,” Brull said. He backed a few steps, lifted the long-poles, and began to pull the cart.

  Zimp turned and waited for them to pass, then motioned for her clan to follow.

  Arren stepped close to her, “What do you think?”

  Zimp slowed and the others slowed with her. She squinted and focused around the bodies of the Flande group. Flashes of etheric bodies came into view, almost like an aura, shapeless but moving. Shivers ran up her spine. She focused from one to the other, but didn't receive the same sensation from each member of the party.

  “What is it?” Arren must have noticed something odd.

  “I don't know. Maybe,” she said.

  “What?”

  “They're true Flandeans,” she decided. “Some are human and some doublesight.”

  “That's disgusting,” Arren said. “How could that be? For generations it has been forbidden to mix blood.”

  “I don't know. But that's what's coming through.”

  “Zora, does she say anything?” Arren said.

  Zimp turned to him, but noticed that the others were listening. “You trust the dead over me?” she said, an edge creeping into her voice.

  Crepp looked as though he was going to support Arren.

  Zimp stopped. “Go on, then. Go. I will try to ask her.”

  Arren acted more than satisfied to lead the others away, and arrogantly stepped to the front while Zimp remained where she was.

  Breel and Therin held fast, like loyal subjects, to their positions near Zimp.

  “Thank you for waiting with me,” Zimp said.

  “You are the Chieftain. The others should have stayed, as well. It may not be my place to say this, but I would watch my own people closely.” Breel looked around as though wary that someone might be listening. “It is through the most common activities that alignments happen.”

  Zimp sat on the cool, damp ground in the center of the path. In only three deep breaths she dropped into meditation and opened her third
eye. A blue haze appeared around the pure white center of her mind where she focused. She expanded her hearing inward. She opened her senses as though she had stepped into a world unlike any other, a world in which she needed to be cautious.

  “Enemies and brothers. Liars and thieves,” came the whisper of Zora's voice. “One man holds sanity in a tortured soul.”

  “Clearly,” Zimp implied without using words. An unexplainable movement occurred. She thought she heard clicking sounds, a soft drumbeat. Zimp held to the pure white center.

  “Who are the liars and thieves? Who are enemies and brothers?” The questions faded. Zora cawed and Zimp felt the soft wind of a wing flutter near her cheek. Again, a voice. “Watch your clan. Varied in their beliefs, unsure of their positions. Watch your traveling companions, they are varied in their beliefs.”

  Zimp questioned Zora one final time, her voice diminished, weak. “What of the Flandeans?”

  “They are varied in their beliefs,” Zora repeated.

  Zimp rose back into the physical world through three more breaths, and looked up. Should she tell Breel that the crow clan was splitting their alliances? That Zora said Breel and her brothers were split? “I gained little on them. There were other things Zora said that I cannot tell you. She repeated herself. I am not so good at this yet.”

  “As you wish,” Breel said.

  “She did say one thing early on. She said that one held sanity in a tortured soul.”

  Breel reached down and rubbed Therin's ear. “Could that be my brother?”

  “I don't know,” Zimp said. “But that would make sense.”

  The three of them hurried down the path to enter the camp just as Arren led the Flandeans into the crow clan circle as though invited.

  “Some army you have yourself,” Brull noticed.

  “It is no army, I am afraid,” Arren said. “We are but entertainers. We travel to villages to sing and dance.”

  That is what they did, too, Zimp thought, sang and danced and stole what they could. She let Arren settle with the Flandeans for the moment and went to look in on Brok.

  Breel followed Zimp with Therin at her side. At the rear of the wagon, she stood beside Zimp and peered through at Brok and Oro. Her brother sat with his back against Zimp's cot. His head leaned back on her pillow, which was stuffed next to his shoulder. Oro closed up the man's shirt and began cleaning a small bowl onto a piece of waste-cloth.

  “What did you do?” Zimp asked.

  “Only what I could. I did not have the proper leaves or roots. It is mostly just pressure and something to sooth the pain.”

  “I should have told you that Zora whispered that I should know how to stop the bleeding.”

  Oro continued to clean the bowl. A small white candle flickered. Oro bent to blow it out, then changed her mind. “We'll just leave this for a while. Good energy,” she said to Brok.

  “I will go and get what you need,” Zimp said.

  Oro shook her head. “I heard that you met up with Flandean Guards. It appears that you let Arren lead once again.”

  “I told him to bring them here while I stayed behind and checked them for doublesight.”

  “And now you wish to leave and collect herbs for your wounded friend,” Oro accused.

  Breel placed her hand on the small of Zimp's back and rubbed it gently. Zimp let her embarrassment slide away into Breel's gentle motion. “Should I stay with the Flandeans and ignore my duty to you, ignore the wounded?” Zimp hated that she didn't know what to do.

  “The entire clan is yours to protect. Can I not help your friend without you? Can I not rely on the clan to look after me?” Oro wrapped the waste in the cloth and tied a ribbon around it to close it off. “What would you want of a true leader?”

  Zimp hesitated, but the answer to the question didn't come to her. She knew that what she had done was evidently wrong in Oro'seyes, but what was right? “And he,” she pointed at Brok, “is not my friend.”

  With that, Zimp felt Breel's hand retreat. “I didn't mean you,” Zimp said, turning toward the woman.

  “We must disgust you. Our ways and our beast image.” Breel stared into Zimp's eyes and would not turn away.

  Zimp held her breath. Her shoulders crushed against the muscles in her neck and her head ached. “I am sorry,” she said before she walked away.

  13

  LANKOR FOLLOWED THE FLASHING LIGHT from a small bug, curious what it might be. In a clearing, there were many more flashes of the same light, many more of the insects. Amazed at the sight, he sat amidst them with his sword across his lap. He couldn't help smiling as he watched them rise and fall, their tiny moonlights pulsing. One landed on his leg. Its light stayed out. Lankor bent close and in the dimness of the real moon's light saw two orange stripes, one on each wing from its head to its rear. The bug opened its wings and lifted into the air. The light opened and closed in an easy rhythm.

  He rose to his feet. What magic was this before him? What God made such kind and pleasant insects? They did not bite or sting, but danced through the air creating a lamp to light their own way. A breeze wound through the clearing and pushed Lankor's cloak behind him into a soft flutter of sound and motion. He turned and watched the insects as they created a spell around him. His breath matched the easy rhythm of light until he wondered which way he had entered the clearing. Had the bugs truly placed a spell on him? Suddenly he felt sure that he had been led away purposefully by some witch or warlock of the night. That the insects would soon turn into large stinging bees, or heavily armed assassins.

  Lankor turned in each direction, searching for something familiar. The magic place had obliterated the real world and taken him away. His family. What of them? He must find his way out of the clearing and back to his camp.

  Lankor swung his sword as if to wipe out the bugs, but appeared to miss them. He scurried into the dark woods away from the clearing, far away, before stopping. His heavy breathing made it difficult to listen closely. Had he been followed? He held his sword ready. Forcing himself to take shallow breaths, he heard a twig snap at his right. His hand became sweaty and beads of moisture appeared across his brow. The thick air entered his lungs slowly. Oxygen-starved, Lankor took a long breath to fill his lungs to full capacity. His eyes darted from side to side, searching the darkness. His ears focused on the possibility of a footfall.

  From behind, something large and hairy and black pushed him over. He rolled to his back, bringing his sword up in a great slash through the air, slicing a branch from a nearby sapling. It fell, the leaves brushing his arm and face as though alive. His eyes widened. He pushed along the ground with his feet to get away from the form that shoved him over. His eyes focused on two large black bears. Both stepped closer as Lankor tried to scuffle to his feet. As he gained balance and got to one knee, he pulled his sword in front of him and slid it back and forth in the air. He turned it as he moved from side to side, pointing it at one, then the other bear.

  One of the bears stamped forward with a little hop as if in play, while the other one dropped and rolled into the darkness.

  His legs trembling, Lankor rose to his feet, the sword still moving, but his ears perked and listening.

  From the space where the black bear entered the woods stepped a handsome young dark-skinned man. He began to laugh and said, “Put down the sword, my friend.”

  The other black bear slipped behind the first to block him from full view. He made no sound as he shifted his image. They looked to be brothers. Twins, perhaps.

  Lankor maintained his ready position. “You are wizards. You cannot trick me.”

  The brothers looked at one another and laughed. “Wizards?” The one on the right said, “Wouldn't that be fun?” The other one laughed and patted the first brother's shoulder. “Would it be that different?”

  “Who are you? What do you want from me?” Lankor said.

  The brothers calmed and simultaneously examined Lankor from where they stood. Their eyes appeared bright as though the
y could see in the dark, even in human form. The first one to shift said, “You called us to you. You entered dreamtime and opened yourself. When you became scared, you called for help.”

  The other brother said, “And here we are.” He spread his arms.

  “I didn't call for help,” Lankor assured them.

  The first to shift lifted a hand into the air, palm out as though he was indicating that he had no weapons. “My name is Mammadoon. My bother,” he pointed, and his brother said, “Mammadeen.” Then they both laughed. Mammadoon said, “We are dreamtime followers. And you most assuredly did call for help.”

  “What is a dreamtime follower and why would I call you? How would I?”

  “I shouldn't be surprised that you don't know,” said Mammadoon.

  “We spend much of our time in dream. Dream is but a space between each realm. The immediately departed often go there to speak to the living,” Mammadeen said.

  “If you wish to talk with the dead,” Mammadoon said.

  “You were there, playing with the fireflies,” Mammadeen said.

  “Fireflies? That's what they're called? They were not your sentries?”

  The brothers laughed. “Our sentries. We need no sentries.”

  Lankor began to understand. “I felt lost.”

  “You are still lost, my brother doublesight,” Mammadoon said very seriously.

  Lankor stared at him.

  “Put down your sword. It is beginning to make this less fun,” Mammadeen said.

  Lankor lowered his sword. “Did you come to help?” he said suspiciously.

  “We did,” Mammadoon said.

  Lankor cocked his head. “Do you know what my beast image is?”

  “That is a curious question, my friend.” Mammadoon stepped forward until he apparently noticed Lankor's body tense. “You are a curious stranger to this place that was left behind. Where do you come from, and who are you?”