"This energy release—do you believe it was some sort of magic?” askedTristandor.
"I sensed none."
"I did,” Aerinas said. “I sensed magic in the area."
All eyes fell on Aerinas.
"Why did you not report this?” Tristandor fired back angrily.
"I wasn't asked,” Aerinas returned. “Besides, just because I sensed magic in the area doesn't mean whatever caused those trees to bleed was magical."
"He has a point,” Aeligon noted. “It could very well have been nature's response, possibly originating underground, to the energy's release."
"But blood, Aeligon?” The Elf-Lord stood up. “Blood does not spring from the ground like water from a well or lava from the core. Only magic of a fierce variety could have caused this. Everyone here is thinking it; I am the only who is saying it."
"We can only conjecture, Tristandor. Now please, sit down and let's continue discussing this as a group. With all the odd occurrences since we left Gudred, we must continue on regardless of what we find out. It may or may not be important. We're considering every possibility before we begin to fear."
Tristandor pursed his lips, folded his arms across his chest, and sat back down. Aerinas, though he felt his heart pounding in his ears again, sighed in relief. There would be nothing positive about Tristandor storming off into the darkness of an unfamiliar forest. Aerinas didn't doubt his father's ability for survival, but if whatever caused the trees to bleed was harmful, the odds of staying alive were better in the group than alone. Strangely, Aerinas felt a sensation of compassion sweep over him after he watched Tristandor take his seat.
I am changing, he thought. Aerinas went back to listening to Aeligon talk.
"Elves, we have been down this road before,” the wizard was saying. “Events happening around us cannot be fully explained or dealt with in a timely fashion. We must continue on the road Aerinas has put before us. At dawn, we find this Lion's Mouth, and we must be prepared for whatever may happen. The fate of our world rests upon us at this point. Forces are amassing in the south, Haarath's army of foul beasts is moving across Vaaluna burning everything in sight, Senantor Pirates are sweeping the Arthean Sea to the north, and the fragments of the Elfstone are in danger of being reunited by an unknown evil. Bleeding trees or not, we must continue on."
Aerinas drifted off during Aeligon's pep talk. He knew the wizard's words were true; the group needed to hear it often to keep their hearts in it. The best of the elves they were, but all hearts grew desperate in desperate times. Aeligon's honeyed words of persuasion made Aerinas suspect a spell.
Then it struck him.
Aerinas could almost hear the words Aeligon was speaking before he spoke them. In his own mind, he could hear himself saying the same words to his kinfolk. Astounded, Aerinas began to move his lips, silently, in unison with the wizard's. It was as if he and Aeligon were sharing the same mind and lingual space.
A voice bombarded his mind, thundering so loudly he thought the others might hear it, too. The union of your parents was unnatural, an abomination to the races, but the combined strength of the two streams of blood has produced an offspring Sheevos herself could not ignore.
Aerinas recalled Ashinon's admonition, which rang as clearly within him as the evening bells of Mynandrias. He sensed a connection he'd never imagined.
Aerinas shook the thought from his mind. No, it can't be. It's not possible! It was almost too much for him to consider, but it made too much sense to ignore. This is just coincidence; it's my mind playing tricks on me; it's . . .
"Aerinas?” Ithyllna had placed her hand on Aerinas’ cheek, squeezing it lightly.
Aerinas shook his head and blinked, a bit startled by her sudden appearance.
"Huh? Yeah, uh...” he stammered.
"Aeligon ordered us to go to bed. We need to rest for tomorrow. You were staring off into space again, and I don't think you heard him."
"I didn't. Sorry, I was daydreaming."
"Well, turn it into night dreaming. We leave before the sun rises. Good night.” She leaned in and kissed his cold cheek.
The gesture shocked him, but the warmth left in the kiss’ wake went straight to his heart. Even though she was angry with him, he knew Ithyllna was looking out for him. He wasn't sure if Nimoni had ordered her to keep an eye on him, or if Tristandor was behind it, but he liked her attention.
Aerinas knew he wasn't about to sleep a wink that night. He could go without sleep for a few days at a time. He had gotten a decent amount of sleep the past few nights, especially the night of Ashinon's visit, for he had been exhausted from the effort of listening and absorbing all the specter had shared. The scene in the woods had been etched into his mind permanently; the sight of the bleeding trees was more than a little disturbing.
He drew out the book again, along with a small Lenthan Crystal for light and began to read, trying to find some sort of hidden clue he'd overlooked. Aerinas read over Ashinon's poetic reference to the Lion's Mouth, but he was neither a scholar nor a cryptographer by trade, so nothing stuck out.
If one thing could make him tired when he wanted to stay awake, it was reading. At first, Aerinas began to drift in and out of sleep, jolting awake and attempting to keep his eyes open, but he finally succumbed to the power of the night, and fell fast asleep with the book in his hands.
When Aerinas woke up, it was still dark out. The sun's kiss had begun to chase away the stars from the distant horizon, but the dawn was over an hour away. Aerinas rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around the moonlit camp. The fire had gone out, but tendrils of smoke were curling lazily into the chilled winter air.
He sat up, instantly realizing his book was missing from his lap; the indentation it left in his blanket was still there. Aerinas lost his breath for a moment. Someone had taken the book entrusted to him right out from under his nose!
"How could I have been so stupid,” he cursed under his breath, teeth clenched in a combination of anger and sorrow.
"Fear not, young elfy,” Menishka'dun said, appearing out of the mist before Aerinas. He had the book under his right arm, still in its large form, but safe and sound nonetheless. The Lyymhorn handed it to Aerinas, and then backed away slowly.
"Do not go, my little friend,” the elf offered after shrinking the book back to its more convenient size. “Sit with me and talk a while. We have not had the chance to properly meet one another."
Menishka'dun smiled, touched by Aerinas’ gesture of friendship. Though a simpleminded creature, Menishka'dun and his kind were able to sense kindness and genuine love in other beings. He ambled over and hopped up onto a rock next to Aerinas.
"Me notice you speak to Menishka'dun in elfin proper language,” the Lyymhorn noted, surprisingly.
Aerinas furrowed his brow, but nodded. “Yes, it seems that my speech changes depending on with whom I am speaking. The Krayn Proper Language is not really a language—it is a way of mastering, or controlling, the Common Language. Some call it the Proper Tongue, but I prefer to call it the Proper Language, as did our kind's ancients."
"You have mastered it well, young elfy,” Menishka'dun said. “Me notice you speak to Menishka'dun this way, and me likes it.” The Lyymhorn's face changed suddenly to a look of sadness and regret. “But then Menishka'dun notice you no talk to your fodder that way. Why you no talk to your fodder that way?"
Aerinas almost chuckled at Menishka'dun's innocence and unobstructed observational skills. “You do not miss a thing, do you?” he asked rhetorically. “I do not speak to my father that way because he does not grant me the same respect when he communicates with me."
Menishka'dun seemed confused by the notion. “What if you communicated with your fodder in the proper tongue anyway? Would he not see?"
Aerinas knew what the little Lyymhorn was getting at, and regretted he could never fully explain the complications behind the relationship between him and his father. Nothing Aerinas had ever tried had worked, but it would be
hard for Menishka'dun with his simple way of looking at life to comprehend.
"Menishka'dun, has anyone in your family back home ever done anything to offend you?"
"Why yes, of course, many times. One day, Menishka'dun was hit on head with frying pan by Or'nacauday, me wife, when me returned home late from hunting Chimmy. Me would say Menishka'dun was offended."
"And then what happened?"
"Menishka'dun say he sorry to Or'nacauday, and we happy again."
"Thus it is supposed to happen, and does happen, most of the time, at my home. But there is much more history with the elves, and we live far longer than any race on Vaaluna, therefore our grudges play out like our lives: too long."
"But young elfy, Menishka'dun not from Vaa...lynia. Me from Wes'un Mark. We not so different from elfy creatures. We live long time too."
Aerinas laughed out loud at Menishka'dun's mispronunciation of his home...Plane. He recalled Ashinon's repeated admonition. We live in Planes, Aerinas, get it right. No longer do we live in worlds or realms, but the Planes.
"Speaking of your world,” Aerinas continued, switching gears quickly to get the Lyymhorn off the subject of he and Tristandor, “tell me about your home. You mentioned Wes'un Mark, was it? Is that the name of your Plane?"
"Me not understand Planes you speak of. Wes'un Mark my home. A dark, swampy place it is, but Big Fire rise in morning time like it do here. Big Fire brings Chimmy out of ground for Lyymhorns to hunt. Menishka'dun's home full of many creatures, big and small. Big Fire helps us."
Big Fire could only mean one thing: the Sun. “What is called Big Fire in your world is named the Sun here. It is the globe of rising yellow fire, providing light and heat, except in the winter months.” Aerinas pointed to the glowing light stretching above the looming mountain ahead, blocking the view of the rising eastern sun.
Menishka'dun grew excited. “Yes, that Big Fire."
Aerinas watched Menishka'dun carefully, wondering if he would grasp the idea of the Planes at all, wondering if he even suspected the wildest of magics for bringing him to Vaaluna. “Menishka'dun,” he ventured, “how did you come to Vaaluna? If you do not understand the Planes, how were you able to travel here?"
"Big Fire sent giant man to Lyymhorn camp one day. He told Menishka'dun he had been chosen to go to far away land to search for elfy and wizard people, and make Stony Golem appear.” He pointed to the miniature tome Aerinas held in his hand. “Then me told to get book from nasty pirate town. Giant man gave Menishka'dun White Magic so me could make magic door appear. Step through, and me here. See?"
Aerinas nodded, beginning to understand. “So you are here not of your own accord, but by the will of another? Did this giant man frighten you?"
Menishka'dun hung his head. “He scare Menishka'dun. He told Menishka'dun whole family would die if me no do what he say."
Aerinas pursed his lips together. He leaned forward and put his hand on the Lyymhorn's shoulder. “Menishka'dun, thank you for telling me what you have tonight, and thank you for returning my book. It is clear you were sent here to do bad things, but it backfired on the evil people who did this to you. You were the only one who could have found this book and broken the spell keeping it from all of us. You may have saved Vaaluna from total destruction. Your family would be very proud of you, and I promise you, with all that is in me, you will see them again.” He winked at the small creature, who was wideeyed and smiling.
"Menishka'dun like young elfy. Me not know what to say. Menishka'dun just glad he could help the right people this time."
"Well, keep your golem-summoning trick ready. It might come in handy very soon. What a surprise for the giant man when Stony clubs him with those huge hands of his."
Menishka'dun put his hand to his mouth and squeaked out a high-pitched laugh.
"Go on, go to bed,” Aerinas ordered, pointing to Menishka'dun's bedroll. “If Aeligon, er, wizard man, finds you awake, he will not be pleased. First rule of traveling with us is learning that whatever makes Aeligon grumpy must be avoided at all costs."
Menishka'dun hopped up from his rock like he had been scared out of his skin, and hurried over to his bedroll by the wizard. Faint snoring was heard only a few moments later.
Aerinas stayed awake a bit longer to process what he had been told by the Lyymhorn. He thought it strange Menishka'dun would be gifted with power to traverse the Planes and summon golems with a waggle of his fingers. No one had such power, not even Aeligon...or Ashinon, for that matter. Hydrais must be using the simple creatures from other Planes, ones easily impressionable by fear, to do his biddings. Fortunately, Menishka'dun had joined them in their quest to fight back against the evil threatening his world. Aerinas could hardly comprehend Menishka'dun's sacrifice in knowing he was risking the loss of his own family in doing so.
This night had enriched the elf's understanding, all because of a creature who taught him the meaning of sacrifice, humility, and, above all else, simplicity. Simplicity was the key to thinking clearly, for it stripped the baggage of emotion, fear, and doubt from the mind.
Aerinas fell asleep with an eased mind and calm spirit, a feeling unfamiliar to him for some time. Tomorrow they would find the Lion's Mouth; the bleeding trees indicated as much. But now, armed with new skills taught to him by Menishka'dun the Lyymhorn, Aerinas would have the ability to think more clearly than ever, an asset for proving to himself more than anyone else, that he could rise above his pettiness and become something better.
It was his first step in bleeding the anger dry—the first step to selfcontrol.
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Chapter 15—Snitch and the Crows
Callaway's skiff scraped the rocky shore of Dunandor's northeast harbor, a beach known as the Torn Line. Hydrais’ forces had, in the past conflict, heavily defended it, since they had occupied all of Dunandor and were reaching beyond the western deltas feeding the Tunin River.
Now the Line was deserted, save for carrion-loving scavengers seeking sun-baked carcasses washed up on the broken beach. The smell was fetid enough to curl even Callaway's nose hairs when he got within fifty yards of the landing site.
"Get out, boy,” Callaway ordered, always keeping a watchful eye on Snitch. The boy was soaked with sweat, hair white from the salt of the sea air, and lips like chopped liver—red, cracked, and bleeding.
Snitch did what he was told, but it wasn't going to take much to persuade him to get out of the skiff in his condition. Though the Voice sustained his mind, the boy's frail body was something different. He needed food, but above all else, he needed fresh water.
"Yer lucky we were able ta’ land,” Callaway said. “There's a stash o’ waterskins yonder."
Snitch followed the pirate's finger. It's not far, keep going. Slowly, he put one foot in front of the other. Callaway lost patience easily, and, in a display of sheer frustration and contempt, he picked Snitch up, threw him over his shoulder, and started walking toward the small alcove in the rocks a hundred yards from the breaking waves.
Once there, Callaway wasn't gentle in setting the boy down, and Snitch's buttocks burned from a hard landing. But, he smiled anyway—it would've been much more painful to have walked the entire way himself; a small pain in the seat of his pants was well worth it.
"Ah, there it is,” Callaway called gleefully. “Just where I left it."
"W-w-won't the water be stale, Callaway Sir?"
"N-n-no it won't,” he mocked. “The water's been sealed in the best waterskins known ta’ man. Besides, they've not yet been here three days."
"Someone knew we were coming?"
"No, someone knew I was comin'. They're not expectin’ you. Here.” He tossed a small waterskin to the boy. “Be careful now. If ya’ drink too fast, you'll be sorry. Drink it slow; let the water absorb inta ya’ real good like."
Snitch nodded, and though he wanted to swig the entire skin in a few gulps, he listened to the pirate, who had never offered any sort of advice whatsoever, especi
ally to him.
The device is working.
"Huh? What'd ya’ say?” Water streamed off of Callaway's chin and down his neck, soaking the center of his shirt.
"Nothing,” Snitch lied, though he wondered if Callaway really did hear the Voice whisper.
See how the water pools around his chest? That will be the way of it in the end.
Snitch dropped the waterskin and pressed his index fingers into his temples.
"What the hell's wrong with you?” Callaway shook the boy's shoulders, which felt to Snitch like his brain was going to rattle right out of his skull.
"I have a headache—probably the sun,” Snitch lied again. “I need to sleep. We haven't slept for three days. Can I sleep, Callaway Sir?"
"Well, it seems I have no choice now, do I?” he deduced. “We do need ta’ sleep, but I was hopin’ we'd get ta’ the underground city first. Are ya’ sure ya’ can't make it a few more hours?"
Make him stay. He needs to sleep, too. Make him stay. Snitch shook his head. “I need to sleep. I can't take another step until I do."
"Bah, very well then,” Callaway conceded with a wave of his hand. He drew out a couple of blankets from the bag he had stashed on the skiff, and tossed one to the boy.
"I'm not cold, Callaway Sir."
"It's fer yer head.” Callaway rolled it up and placed it under his head to illustrate. “Like this, see? A pillow ta’ keep the rocks away from yer head."
Snitch followed suit, and laid his head down. He could feel the pirate's eyes watching him to see if he fell asleep. Callaway's distrust of the boy was nothing new, but Snitch knew he could fool him into thinking he was asleep. Lazily, he closed his eyes as if he was drifting off into a dreamless sleep. He was relying on the Voice to tell him what to do next. There would be no sleep for Snitch this day.
Long minutes passed. Snitch really was tired, but he was startled awake by the familiar voice in his head.
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