by DAVID B. COE
“Phelan continued to attend Gatherings, and he retained a residue of his power—more, it must be said, than most mages keep when they lose a bird. But as one unbound, he had to relinquish his position as Wolf-Sage. He was replaced by Glenyse, last of the Eagle-Sages, for, as soon as word reached Abborij that the Wolf-Sage no longer ruled the Order, the Abborijis launched their third and final invasion of Tobyn-Ser. Perhaps driven by loss and anguish, Phelan fought in the war as one possessed. His heroics, carved with the blood-stained blade of his great ax, enhanced his status throughout the land. But they could not assuage his pain.” The Owl-Master shrugged a second time, a difficult emotion reflected on his features. “It is strange to view good health and long life as anything but a blessing,” he concluded, “but Phelan’s story is made all the more sorrowful by the fact that he lived for another four decades without Kalba. He died an old man, still unbound, of course, and very much alone. Since that time he has inhabited Phelan Spur as one of the Unsettled.”
The four mages had stopped walking. Baden’s blue eyes, lit by the afternoon sun, were fixed on the forest that fronted the beach. “It’s a hard tale to hear,” he said quietly. “But I suppose all the Unsettled carry such sorrow as a burden of the curse.”
“That may be true for some,” Alayna returned, “but Phelan’s story seems easier somehow.”
Jaryd looked at her with surprise. “How so?”
“No doubt losing his familiar was hard,” she replied, turning to face him. “But by denying himself a second binding, and making himself one of the Unsettled, he ensured that he and Kalba would be together for an eternity.” She hesitated. “There is a grief there, to be sure; he paid a tremendous price. But, in the end, he may have fulfilled his greatest desire.”
Niall looked at the young woman for a long time. “I first heard this tale as a child,” he finally told her, “and I’ve related it to many others over the course of my life. But I’ve never heard it put in that light before.” He smiled at her. “I believe you may be right. Thank you.”
Alayna blushed slightly. “What for?”
“For showing an old man that there may be comfort to be found for even the most ancient sorrows.”
Alayna said nothing, but, stepping forward and raising herself onto the tips of her toes, she kissed Niall on the cheek. “And thank you for sharing Phelan’s story with us.”
This time, it was Niall’s turn to blush, and Baden, seeing the Owl-Master’s discomfort, quickly changed the subject, though not before sending a smile in Jaryd’s direction. “We should start back,” he remarked. “The sun will be setting soon, and I’d like to find some food before we meet with Phelan.”
The others nodded their agreement, and the four mages began retracing their steps along the kelp line, the Owl-Masters walking in front, and Jaryd and Alayna following several paces behind them.
For some time, Jaryd could think only of the tale they had just heard from Niall. He grew increasingly conscious of Ishalla’s talons on his shoulder and of her presence in his mind. He had only just bound to the hawk; Arick willing, he would not know the pain of losing her, or the fear of dying unbound, for many years. But the story of Phelan and Kalba had left him feeling vulnerable, and shockingly aware of the fragility of life, not only his own and Ishalla’s, but all of theirs. All the power that the Mage-Craft had to offer could not shield them from their own mortality. It was something to consider, particularly now. They had, after all, come to Phelan Spur in order to find and defeat the outlanders, perhaps to do battle. And in that instant, a terrible foreboding came over him. There is a death in this, he thought.
Then, suddenly aware of Alayna walking wordlessly along the sand beside him, her long, dark hair twisting and dancing in the ocean breeze, Jaryd remembered that there already had been. Sartol died this morning, he reminded himself, his thoughts taking a new path. We killed him; all of us, including Alayna. He tried to imagine what she must have been feeling, how the day’s events had affected her. But he found it hard to move beyond his own feelings of relief and satisfied vengeance. In truth, though he had never guessed that he would feel this way about any person, he was glad that Sartol was dead. Yet, he could not help but feel that this sentiment amounted to a betrayal of Alayna and the new love they shared. He looked at her, searching for something—anything—that he might say to ease her pain without falling into hypocrisy. And as seemed to have happened so often over the past few weeks, he found that she was already watching him, anticipating his mood and thoughts.
“It’s all right,” she told him, taking his hand as they walked. “I’m all right.”
He continued to gaze at her. “You don’t have to be, you know. No one would fault you for feeling confused and hurt and sad. I, least of all.”
She smiled at that, though sadly. “I know. But not now. I’m trying not to blame myself for letting Sartol deceive me, but I won’t forgive myself if I don’t do what I can to limit the damage he’s done. After we take care of the outlanders, I’ll see to my own needs. Until then, I have to put them aside.”
Jaryd wanted to say more, to warn her of the dangers of keeping too tight a lock on one’s feelings. But he also knew that he had to trust her judgment in this matter; and he was not at all sure that he wouldn’t have demanded the same stoicism of himself in a similar situation. So, after a moment, he nodded, and, still holding hands, they continued back down the strand in silence.
Trahn had not moved from where they left him, although he was speaking now with Ursel, who had returned from her stroll along the shore. With the sun dipping low in the sky above the forest, the shadows of the massive trees had begun to stretch across the beach, reaching almost to where the two Hawk-Mages sat. The first quarter of the new moon hung directly overhead, casting its pale light from the deepening blue of the late-afternoon sky.
“It’ll be dark soon,” Trahn noted, glancing over his shoulder to check the position of the sun. “We should probably prepare our meal now.”
“If you were hungry,’’ Baden remarked with a grin, “you should have gone ahead without us.”
Trahn smiled in return. “I would have, but Ursel thought we should wait for the four of you.”
“It’s a good thing you arrived when you did,” Ursel quipped. “He was starting to look at my hawk strangely—I think he was imagining her on a roasting spit with a shan garnish.”
They all laughed as Trahn and Ursel climbed to their feet, and the mages began to prepare for their dinner. Trahn’s large brown hawk and Ursel’s slender black and grey bird were both unaccustomed to forest and beach terrain. Hence, Ishalla and Fylimar, and Baden’s and Niall’s owls, hunted for all of them, returning with game birds and rabbits, which the mages roasted over the fire. Ursel still carried in her cloak a large pouch of dried fruits and a skin filled with light, Tobyn’s Plain wine that she had taken on her patrol, and she shared these as well. As shadows enveloped the beach and the sun disappeared behind the dense woodland, the company enjoyed a modest meal and quiet conversation, carefully avoiding any mention of what had happened in the Great Hall earlier in the day, and who they were about to meet in the forest that loomed darkly at their backs.
Stars began to emerge in the velvet-blue sky, and the moon, chasing the sun toward the western horizon, shone with growing brightness on the pines and the sand. And as the last vestiges of daylight vanished, the six mages turned from the now retreating tide to gaze watchfully at the forest. Muting their cerylls, they allowed the fire to burn away, unsure as they were of how easy or difficult it would be to spot the glow that would mark Phelan’s arrival. And as the dancing yellow flames gave way to the angry red of the driftwood embers, a tense stillness fell over the beach. I have faced Theron, Jaryd reminded himself for the second time that day, and we have far less to fear from Phelan than we did from the Owl-Master. He knew this to be true; Niall’s tale had confirmed it for him. Still, Phelan was one of the Unsettled, and they were about to meet him. Once more, as he had in t
he afternoon, walking back down the strand with Alayna, Jaryd had a sudden premonition of death. His pulse was like a surging river, roaring in his ears until the sound of it threatened to drown out the sea. Feeling his stomach clench itself into a fist, he wished that he hadn’t eaten.
“I had hoped that this would get easier,” Alayna murmured to him, the anxiety in her voice evident even though she had barely made herself heard.
He tried to smile, glancing at her briefly.
“There!” Trahn exclaimed, his voice sounding unnaturally loud.
Jaryd’s eyes flew back to the wood, his heart suddenly pounding within his chest. Where a moment before there had been only shadow, he now saw a faint silver light, as if the moon had fallen from the sky to land among the trees. It grew brighter, shimmering just as Theron’s radiance had, illuminating the forest from within.
Baden stood. “Come,” he commanded tersely. “There’s no sense in putting this off.”
The rest of them rose, and the company made its way toward the glow, crossing the strand and ascending the sharp slope to the woodland. Jaryd reached the top of the ledge first, and breathless from the climb, he noted that the source of the light had drawn closer to the forest edge. He looked up at the quarter moon, then back toward the silver radiance. The one seemed a perfect match for the other.
The others soon joined him atop the sandy bluff, and slowly, the six mages filed through the trees, winding among the immense trunks until they came to a small hollow, where the ghostly pale figures of Phelan and his wolf awaited them.
The Wolf-Master was an enormous man. He stood a full head taller than Baden, who was the tallest of their group, and his chest looked to be twice as broad as the Owl-Master’s. Jaryd wondered where they had ever found a cloak big enough to hold him. His forearms, as massive as tree limbs, were corded with muscle, and his neck was as thick as Jaryd’s thigh. And yet, imposing though he was, he had a remarkably pleasant, open face. His curly black and grey hair and his thick beard framed a wide, full mouth and round cheeks that almost assuredly would have been ruddy had he not appeared before them as a luminescent spirit. Jaryd could only guess what color his eyes would have been. They glimmered bright and fair, like stars plucked from the sky on a clear winter’s night.
A low growl drew Jaryd’s gaze from Phelan to the wolf that stood beside him. Like the Wolf-Master, the animal was huge, with paws the size of Jaryd’s hand. It glowed with a pale silver grey, the color of a hazy winter sun reflecting off the sea. Its eyes resembled Phelan’s, and they carried an intelligence, an awareness that seemed almost alien. The fur on the creature’s back and neck bristled aggressively, the frosted hairs rigid and upright. Again, it growled.
“Be easy, Kalba,” the Wolf-Master comforted, in a voice as deep and gentle as an early morning tide. He stroked the animal’s back, smoothing its fur. “Be easy. I’m certain that our guests have disturbed us for good reason.”
“Greetings, Wolf-Master,” Baden offered in a clear tone, bowing at the waist as he spoke. The others followed his lead. “Forgive our intrusion, but we have need of whatever counsel and aid you might be willing to give us. I am Baden. With me,” he went on, indicating his companions one by one, “are Niall, Trahn, Ursel, Alayna, and Jaryd.”
Phelan’s expression remained reserved. “Be welcome to Ellibar Spur,” he returned, his hand still resting on the wolf. “This is Kalba, and you seem to know who I am.”
“Indeed we do, Wolf-Master. What you call Ellibar Spur we know as Phelan Spur,” Baden told him. “You honor us by making us your guests.”
The spirit dismissed the compliment with a gesture. “Phelan Spur,” he repeated. “I find that hard to get used to. Why name this land after a ghost? Ellibar, at least, had meaning once, when we still used the old language.” He fell silent for a time, as if he had forgotten that they were there. “But you have not come so far to discuss the name of this spur,” he said finally, regarding them again. “You spoke of your need for counsel and aid. I take it this pertains to the outlanders.”
“You know of this?”
Phelan nodded. “I have seen something of it, yes.”
“Then you know of the traitor within the Order as well?”
The Wolf-Master’s face seemed suddenly to turn to stone, and the gleaming eyes to ice. “I do. You have dealt with him?”
It was Baden’s turn to nod. “He’s dead. But the threat from the outlanders still remains. We need your help.”
“Yes,” Phelan agreed coldly, “you do.” None of the mages spoke, and after a brief pause the Wolf-Master went on. “It should never have been allowed to progress this far,” he chided. “Without the link, I can understand how the outlanders might have reached Tobyn-Ser, but once the attacks began . . .” He stopped, shaking his head. “The inaction of the Order is unpardonable. You have grown lax. What of Amarid’s Law? What of your commitment to guard the people of this land?”
“We’re here, Wolf-Master,” Baden said simply. “Late though it is, we are here.”
“Yes,” Phelan snarled contemptuously. “First you ignore the problem, and now you come to me, hoping that I can rescue you from your failure. What of your Owl-Sage in all of this? Were I ruling the Order, the attacks would have ended long ago.”
“Our sage is dead,” Baden snapped, his patience waning. “The traitor killed her.”
“Well, maybe new leadership will do the Order good.”
“Enough!”the Owl-Master roared, taking a step forward and ignoring another growl from the great wolf. “Jessamyn was a wise and courageous leader, and I will not allow her memory to be maligned! Even by you, Phelan! Perhaps, in your time, a sage could impose his or her will upon the Order, but today, for good or ill, a sage leads by consensus. All of us are responsible for what has happened.All of us! Not just Jessamyn!”
For a long time, the Wolf-Master stared at Baden, his eyes cold and bright, his mouth set in a thin, taut line. Then, slowly, a smile crept across his face. “So there is some passion in you, after all,” he observed. “Maybe all is not yet lost.”
Baden’s expression had not changed. “We don’t have time for this. Do you intend to help us or not?”
Again, the spirit did not respond immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze from Baden to the other mages, and then back to the Owl-Master. “I will do for you what I can,” he replied at last. “But, in truth, that is not much.”
“Can you help us find the outlanders?”
“I can tell you where they are.”
“Can you take us to them?”
Phelan shook his head. “No. As I indicated, my ability to help you is limited. I can give you their locations, but, by the time you reach these places, they will have moved on. And, by myself, I cannot interact with your world in any meaningful way.”
“But I thought that the Unsettled were incarnations of the Mage-Craft,” Jaryd broke in. “You exist solely as power, don’t you?”
Phelan looked at the young mage with unconcealed curiosity. “That is true,” he confirmed, “and, as such, I have no corporeal properties.”
“But you could kill us if you wanted to,” Jaryd persisted, “just as Theron killed those who ventured into the grove.”
“An interesting way to pursue your point,” the spirit commented with a smirk. “I remember similar stories about Theron’s Grove from when I was alive. The Owl-Master was the first of us, and by far the most powerful. His ability to effect changes in your world may exceed mine and those of my brethren. I do not know.” He turned back to Baden. “Your friend is right. We are the Mage-Craft incarnate. But our power is limited, at least individually.”
Baden narrowed his eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve said such a thing. Do you mean that you could act with the cooperation of the other Unsettled?”
“Yes. As I understand it, if all of us act in concert, we can affect events in your world. But,” he continued, a note of sadness in his words, “that has never happened in the four hundred years
since my death.” He glanced at Jaryd again. “Theron’s bitterness toward the Order endures to this day. He is more powerful than any of us, maybe than all of us combined. Without his cooperation, we cannot help you; he would disrupt any effort we might make to act on your behalf. And I doubt that he will cooperate.”
Jaryd grinned. “He might surprise you.” And, raising the wooden staff that he held at his side, the Hawk-Mage saw the spirit’s eyes widen in amazement. “I see that you recognize this as the staff of Theron, Wolf-Master. The Owl-Master gave it to Alayna and me as a token of his goodwill.”
“You have spoken with Theron!” Phelan breathed.
“Yes. Led by Owl-Sage Jessamyn, eight of us journeyed to the grove. We believed that Theron might have been responsible for the attacks, and we went to confront him. It was there that Sartol killed the sage and her first. He tried to kill the two of us as well, but we fled into the grove, where we encountered Theron’s spirit. After we convinced him to help us, he told us of the outlanders and offered hints as to what they might want from Tobyn-Ser.” Jaryd hesitated. “We have yet to learn the meaning of all the Owl-Master’s clues, but we can’t delay any longer. Theron has pledged his aid, Wolf-Master. Will you do the same?”
Jaryd endured the spirit’s silent, appraising stare as best he could, feeling some relief when Phelan’s eyes swung momentarily to Alayna, but meeting the gaze once again when it returned to him. “As a young man, newly bound to Kalba, I once found myself at the ruins of Rholde,” the Wolf-Master related in a subdued voice. “I thought about entering the grove, about seeing Theron and speaking with him.” He shook his head. “But I lacked the courage.”
“Sartol was chasing us,” Jaryd explained apologetically. “We didn’t choose to go in. It just sort of happened.”
Phelan laughed. “I do not doubt it. But,” he added, his mirth fading, “you spoke with him, and you impressed him enough to earn his consideration.Hegave you his staff!” the spirit said with wonder, shaking his shaggy head again. “Do not understate what the two of you have achieved; you may have saved Tobyn-Ser.” He looked once more at Baden. “I will help you,” he declared. “We will help you. But I need some time to establish a link with the rest of the Unsettled.”