by Awert, Wolf
“If I do, I happen to know a certain strong young fellow who’d be delighted to carry me on his back. And I also happen to have an even stronger ram to carry my things.”
“Sure, I’ll heave you over my shoulder like a sack of greencorn. Mind you, I’ve had sacks of greencorn yell at me to put them down because they felt sick.”
“You know shaken greencorn doesn’t sprout properly.” Nill laughed. He felt reborn.
“So,” Brolok’s voice grew more serious, “what exactly was wrong with you, that your own magic couldn’t find a way out? What did the Oas do?”
“Hard to say, really, and harder still to explain. The Oas don’t know the magic of the five elements. They told me that my earth and my sky had more darkness than light in them, and that I wasn’t alone as a bridge between the two. Something had got stuck in the middle, and when you can’t connect sky and earth, your spirit gets sick.”
Brolok scratched at his scalp. “I don’t get it.”
“Well, the last thing I remember is the fight against the huge giant. I fought him in the Other World. That could be the darkness they were talking about. Anyway, the giant’s spirit, and the strange sorcerer whose magic I could only see once I knew what I was looking for, went out during the fight. He was a giant, but he wasn’t really a match for me. I defeated him easily, and the more I think about it, the more I believe I was supposed to have an easy time of it. In his last attack before he died, he merged with me, somehow. The same way a small animal might sink its teeth into whatever’s killing it before it loses its life.”
“The Other World is still a mystery to me. I suppose it’s not a half-arcanist’s place,” Brolok grumbled.
“You never know until you try. I could take you there, if you want.”
Brolok threw his hands in the air in mock shock. “Oh, please, you don’t have to. I might love mines and tunnels and dark, dingy forges, but you can overdo it with darkness.”
“What really makes me wonder about the whole thing,” Nill continued, “is that this wasn’t the first attack from the Other World. The first one was Amargreisfing. He wanted to kill me.”
Nill told Brolok the story of his encounter with Ringwall’s founder, and the one about the demon in the valley. When he was done, there was silence for a moment. Nill had his hands clasped together, twiddling his thumbs absent-mindedly. After a long time he raised his head and found Brolok’s concerned gaze.
“This last attack is the one that worries me. This one was hidden. Again, with the magic of the Other World, but more than that. There was something else involved, something that felt familiar but I just can’t place it. It wasn’t elemental magic, nothing from the Other World, not ancient magic like the falundron. Or maybe it was? I don’t know. Bairne might know something about it. I’ve no idea who’s after my life. I know his voice and his laugh, that’s it. It must be someone who knows me well, but I’ve never heard the voice in my life.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. You can change your voice.” He spoke the last words in a rather unsuccessful imitation of Bairne’s usual soft whisper.
“I’ll find out sooner or later,” Nill said. “I don’t think he’ll give up so easily. Anyway, if it’s my opinion you want, we can leave immediately. We don’t have much to pack.”
“Immediately? Before breakfast?” Brolok looked deeply unsettled at the thought.
“Good point. We can say our farewells to our hosts while we eat. Alright?”
“Sure. You pack your things, I’ll go and tell Bairne.”
To Brolok’s surprise, Bairne had already stowed her things in her bags. Brolok’s possessions were scattered all around the room.
“How’d you know we’re moving on today? Besides, why haven’t you packed my things if you knew? Are you walking out on me?” Brolok joked.
Bairne jerked upright and stared at him.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon. I thought you were having breakfast,” she said quietly. Brolok did not notice the slight twitch of her lower lip, but the other signs were obvious enough. Bairne stood there, stiff as a lance, seeming oddly disconnected and lost.
“What’s wrong? We’re moving on,” Brolok repeated.
“You’re moving on. Our time together is over.”
Brolok felt dazed. “You’re… leaving me?”
Bairne nodded sadly. “I don’t want to, but I must.”
“No wife should leave her husband!”
“I have to. Good luck.”
“Good luck! How can you wish me good luck and walk out on me?”
“You and Nill have to move on. My path leads me back.”
“Listen. Listen to me, Bairne. You can’t go back to Metal World. Talldal-Fug’s henchmen are after you as much as Nill and me.”
“I’m staying in the Waterways. I can’t leave.”
“If I’ve done anything wrong…”
“No,” Bairne cut him off. “No, Brolok. It’s just that our paths lead in opposite directions.”
Brolok gazed into the eyes of the woman he had married without seeing anything in them. His hands closed to fists, then opened again, then closed – he could not stop trembling. Bairne stood opposite him and returned his gaze. Only her shallow, quick breathing betrayed that there was more beneath the surface.
“Why did you come to me, then, if you’re just going to leave?” Brolok’s voice was quiet and flat, but every word reached Bairne clearly.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then leave. Leave and never let me see you again.” Brolok felt cold as ice. Bairne swallowed. Then she turned her back on him and continued packing as though Brolok was no longer there. Not in this world, and certainly not in this hut.
Brolok stormed out of the common house with long strides. He knew he would put a great distance behind himself today, sleep badly tonight and be shattered tomorrow.
He choked down his breakfast in silence. He did not like the taste.
“What’s wrong, Brolok?”
Nill would have been blind to miss that something had changed.
“Bairne’s gone.”
“What do you mean, ‘Bairne’s gone’?” Nill asked bemusedly.
Brolok recounted in few words what had happened.
Nill took a few minutes of silence. Then, cautiously, he asked: “What do you know about her?”
“Now you mention it… nothing. She was just… there, one day. And she stayed.”
“Do you love her?”
“Right now? You can bet your ears on the answer. I’m angry. You don’t just leave.”
“Bairne seems to be able to. Did you know how powerful she is?”
“Might have guessed… no, not at all. When I was healthy, she never needed magic. When I wasn’t, she couldn’t help me. Now that I think about it, the first time I even noticed was when we were getting you out of that cell and she turned into a rat, or summoned one, or something. But it was all over too quickly to think. We had to get out.”
“What happened by the fire?” Nill asked.
“I don’t know,” Brolok answered honestly. “I was fighting for my life. I wondered why it was so easy once I’d killed one of them. One against ten isn’t the best odds. Bairne must have interfered somehow.”
“One of us will see her again, Brolok. You or me. All I know is this: she wasn’t in your life by accident. Now come, let’s say our farewells.”
“No need to thank us,” the crone said when Nill and Brolok had done just that. “Our fates are intertwined. Yours, the Oas,’ and likely even that of Brolok the Blacksmith. It makes for a good story, a mage being healed by an Oa. Some will believe it, some will not. What you have given the Oas, we do not yet understand. And the burden you have laid on us is far beyond our reckoning. But such is fate. Our good wishes be with you on your travels.”
Nill embraced the three wise women and turned away. With Metal World at his back, the Waterways beneath his feet, Woodhold in his gaze and Brolok by his side, he reflected.
> Life is beautiful.
XV
Bairne had no difficulty in slipping away unnoticed. She headed back to the Seven Penitents. The sea was calm, and so she reached the last and smallest of the unhappy stones quite unencumbered. There she sat on the shoulders of this monument of guilt and penance and gazed out over the endless waves. For a long time, nothing happened. A tiny tear peeked out from the corner of her eye and considered whether it should drop, but it felt too small. The longer she waited, the smaller the tear shrunk as the wind took it into its comforting embrace. Her eyes remained dry. Only a slight redness hinted at the tear.
“Do you still need me?” Bairne called out. “Shall I come to you?”
A miniscule light appeared in her thoughts.
“Stay in the Waterways. That is your home, little witch. That is where you are needed. Your task is not yet fulfilled. Roam the swamps and marshes. Terrible forces are convening here. The key must be here too, and if not, the waters will tell us where it is. But more important than the key itself is the one to hold it. Keeping that person in my sight is my goal. Protecting them must be yours.”
*
Nill, Brolok and Ramsker traveled from hamlet to hamlet, inquiring about Perdis wherever they went. Nobody had ever heard the name before. As the news of Nill’s healing had preceded them, they were welcomed with open arms. Yet the women did not compete for their favor, as was supposed to be typical of them. Nill wondered whether Tiriwi had been entirely truthful in her explanations. But he did not mind too much; he was not looking for a woman, but for his father. He asked the wise women about the magic of the sky and earth, about the Book of Arun and whether the Oas had a sanctuary of their own. Mention of Arun called forth the same mystified expressions as his questions about Perdis, but they did learn that the Oas did have a sacred place. The knowledge of it had long since been lost to the ages, and its location had been forgotten countless springs ago. Everyone agreed, though, that it must lie somewhere in Woodhold. Nill was satisfied. He was convinced that this sanctuary still existed, and there he would find the Book of Arun. Sedramon-Per must have found it. And if he had found it, Nill would too.
The two friends and Ramsker left the Oas of the Waterways and after a few more days of marching reached the kingdom of Woodhold. “To the forest and then right,” Tiriwi had once playfully described the route. That had been when they were still in Ringwall, but now they came from the Waterways. No one knew Tiriwi, but wise Grimala’s reputation was known far and wide, and the Oas directed them to her.
Another few days later they were standing at the outskirts of a small village half-nestled in the forest. Brolok looked around expectantly. A slight tension in his movements as he wiped his hands on his trousers showed how nervous he was, despite the calmness in his eyes as they wandered over the huts. Nill, in contrast, stood quite still. He swallowed; his mouth was dry, and his heart was beating somewhere in his throat. Ramsker had meanwhile lowered his head to the ground and was feasting on the lush grass. The only sound was his chewing.
“Tiriwi might not even be here. She might be traveling,” Nill muttered.
“She’s probably got some important task to do in the misty forest – or she decided to come looking for us and has reached Fugman’s Refuge by now. Maybe—”
“Stop with that rubbish,” Nill snapped.
“Who started the rubbish?” Brolok asked innocently. “Now, are we going to keep standing here until we become two more trees in the forest? Ramsker might eat us if we do.”
So he pushed Nill forward, and Nill, not expecting this, almost fell face-first to the ground. When he still did not move, Brolok simply marched on. The first Oas had gathered and Brolok wanted to finally experience the fabled hospitality all the men raved about, even if none of them had experienced it first-hand either. Apart from the druids.
“Hello!” he called to the nearest group. “My name is Brolok. Not to worry, you wouldn’t know me. But I know you. Or at least, I’ve been told who you are. Tiriwi’s arguing sisters, or something.”
Brolok’s voice grew quiet in the distance. Once he could be heard no more, Nill finally gave himself a little shake and decided to first pay his respects to wise Grimala. With firm steps and resolve in his face he strode between the buildings.
“Please,” he addressed the first woman he came across, “can you tell me where wise Grimala lives?”
The Oa laughed, then slapped a hand to her mouth. “This way, archmage,” she said, struggling to fight back a giggle. Nill’s expression darkened. Was she making fun of him? He hated when people made fun of him. If you don’t know what to say, say nothing at all. Better be clever and silent than stupid and loud. Dakh-Ozz-Han had taught him that, a lifetime ago.
“Would you be so kind as to inform her of my arrival? She might be expecting me.”
The Oa laughed again. “That’s not very likely,” she disagreed. “Grimala is quite old and has no time to wait for things anymore. Come now.”
Nill found the answer almost as confusing as her silly laughter.
Grimala’s home was built on stilts, like many of the huts in this village. Nill followed his guide up the short stairs, taking pains to avert his eyes from her swaying hips mere inches from his face. He thought he caught a smell he had never smelled before and turned his head. Some sort of forest flower? he wondered as he inhaled again through his nose, but the smell was gone.
The Oa had stopped and was now calling into the dark hut: “You have an esteemed visitor!” Then she pushed open the door. “Just go inside, lord archmage.” She giggled again and leapt down the stairs. Nill pondered the total lack of respect in her tone, to her wise woman the same as to him. He looked around after her, but quickly turned away when he noticed a group of gossiping women nearby. Some were even waving at him. They laughed and exchanged comments that caused even more laughter. Nill felt highly uncomfortable and was grateful for the shadows the hut offered.
A woman was sitting in a corner. She did not stand up to greet him. “Everywhere in Woodhold, they are talking about you. I’m glad you’ve arrived. Be welcome.”
Nill’s eyes widened in surprise. The darkness was interrupted by little spots of sunlight shining through holes in the artfully woven branches. He knew that voice. It did not belong to an old woman. It was Tiriwi’s. But Nill did not want to show himself surprised yet again, so he made a formal bow and said: “You must grow younger every spring, high healer. You almost remind me of a little stubborn girl I knew at Ringwall. She always made a mess.”
“What?” Tiriwi squawked indignantly. “Who was the one breaking every single rule the city has ever had, collecting enemies like others collect leaves and spells?” She grinned. “Come, sit down. Grimala will be back soon. Tell me everything that’s happened since we last saw each other.” She did not wait for him to take his place, instead leaping up and putting her arms around him. Nill returned the hug gladly, his nose buried in Tiriwi’s long silvery hair, and decided in that moment that he would dedicate the rest of his life to the smells of Woodhold. For a long time, that was his last thought. All his senses were occupied, feeling the gentle pressure of Tiriwi’s body against his, the tickling of her hair on his skin, the countless tiny adjustments she made to keep her balance. His spirit floated away from his body and rose above them, from where it looked inquisitively down at him. Nill swallowed dryly and coughed – and the spell was broken. Tiriwi released him and fetched a hollowed-out fruit and two small cups. She poured a measure of clear, sweet-smelling liquid into both.
“Gorb juice?” Nill teased.
“Not Gorb juice, no, you rascal. What did Empyrade tell you?”
“Nothing,” Nill said innocently. “Nothing at all. But I heard a story once about an Oa, lost in Ringwall, who almost fell into the wrong hands.”
“They weren’t hands. Gorb juice messes with your mind. The moment I understood that, Empyrade appeared and took me away.”
“Yes,” Nill laughed, “that’s the way I
heard it.”
“Liar.”
“Well, similar at least. Now tell me. How have you been?”
Tiriwi did not have much to tell. At first she had visited the wise woman daily and they had spoken at length about Ringwall, the mages, the elemental magic and the future of Pentamuria, until Tiriwi had barely left Grimala’s house at all anymore. Now she lived with the older woman, receiving daily lessons from her and trying to learn everything important about the Oas’ magic.
Nill, on the other hand, had many stories to tell, and he talked for a long time, for Grimala did not return as soon as Tiriwi had claimed. When Nill and Tiriwi finally left the hut, night was falling and it was time for supper. Nill was treated royally. Tiriwi picked out his dishes and laid them on a round wooden plate in front of him, or wrapped them in a large leaf.
“I can’t remember you ever making this much of an effort with me in Ringwall,” he whispered to her, but she merely looked at him and said: “You couldn’t be more wrong. I put far more effort into it then. You just didn’t notice because you were busy dying in fever dreams. Besides, today you are my personal guest. It is the way of the Oas.”
After they had eaten, Tiriwi led Nill to the common house, where they found Brolok, two druids and several more Oas attending to the men. Tiriwi – to Nill’s displeasure – hugged Brolok tightly, and he returned the embrace enthusiastically and clapped her on the backside. Then he held her at arm’s length and said: “Let’s see if you’ve gained any muscle in the meantime.”
“Enough to throw you in the river if you don’t behave.”
Brolok laughed, flung Tiriwi over his shoulder and pretended to toss her out of the door. Tiriwi clung tightly to his matted locks.
“Warriors shouldn’t have long hair,” Tiriwi gasped, “unless they’ve got a helm to hide it under!”
“You see?” Brolok said to Nill. “My teachings! I’ll make true fighters of the two of you yet.”
“Later, alright? For now, you should rest, and you,” Tiriwi turned back to Nill, who was standing there somewhat awkwardly, “will be shown my home tomorrow.” She slipped out of the door and was gone. Nill found a spot somewhere between Brolok and one of the druids and gazed for a long time at the door that had closed far too quickly behind Tiriwi. With a sigh, he shook his head and began to unpack.