by Sandra Kopp
Angyar set his jaw and narrowed one eye. Ponchek! I wish who or whatever you met would have killed you. Aloud, he muttered, “What do you want?”
“Come. Sit.” Cumah bobbed his head toward a log laying a few steps off the trail.
With a wave of resignation, Angyar followed and plopped down beside him. “I am here and seated. Now. . .speak.”
Cumah regarded him sympathetically. “Angyar, my friend—”
“Do not call me ‘friend,’” Angyar snarled, his icy stare fixed on the ground.
Cumah nodded once. “You do not even look at me,” he said quietly. “I understand. You endured much, far more than most men ever could.” He hung his head, his lips pursed, and then sighed. After a moment he turned to Angyar. “I need your help, and in return will reward you handsomely.”
Angyar sniffed.
“I beg you, do not dismiss me so. I come to release you—if you will help me. All that transpired can be reversed.”
Angyar eyed him incredulously. “At what cost?”
“I need but one favor. Grant me that and everything, everything that occurred will be undone. Those who died will live again, retaining no memory of their deaths. All will be as if you never knew me and none of this ever happened. Your aura will disappear. . .but of course, you will have to find another way to drive the Liedorans from Rauwyar.”
Angyar’s heart began to pound. “Bring someone back from the dead? Restore bodies devoured or burned such that you can scarcely discern what they were? I can hardly believe that.”
“Nevertheless, I tell you the truth.”
Angyar snorted. “No one returns from the dead. Even if these could, you’ve left them no bodies to return to.”
“My power exceeds the ability to change shape. I have power over time and can alter events as well. For you, ‘twould be impossible. To me, ‘tis nothing.” He emitted a little chuckle and shrugged. “Had you lived among us or any of the mystics versed in the magical arts you would have known this. Death is not the end, and events—for some, at least—can be reversed or undone. I can simply send you back to the day before all this happened.”
“And the Liedorans who died?”
Cumah smiled. “Won’t be dead anymore, so you’ll have to deal with them yourself.”
Hope softened Angyar’s taut features. “You can truly restore everything?”
Cumah nodded. “I can indeed.”
“And everyone?”
“Yes.”
Angyar faced forward and swallowed hard. “What is this favor?”
“You remember I referenced a fair-haired man living among us. He suffered grave injuries during a skirmish with the Rauths. One of my people brought him safely to our camp but he knows not who he is, neither do any of us recognize him. We know only that trouble follows and wish to protect him. If you know him and from whence he comes, we will return him to his people; and I swear I will release you and restore everything you lost. Cumah will disappear, never to return.”
Angyar hesitated. “Why do you care what happens to him, and why would you release me for identifying him?”
“Ours is a disadvantaged race of which few remain. He comes from an unfamiliar people who I perceive to be benevolent and powerful. We need allies, for we’ve none elsewhere in Epthelion. Should we bring their lost one home, we might open the door to knowing them and possibly forming an alliance benefiting us both.” Cumah heaved a short sigh. “We are not monsters, Angyar, despite what you believe. The sorcerers tried to exploit us and, when we refused, they destroyed us. As our numbers dwindled we developed and adhered to a strict code enabling those left of us to survive. This code binds all who enter therein. Even though you believed me only a beast and entered our agreement ignorantly it binds you. However, as chief of my people I have power to release whom I will. I will release you, if you will grant me this favor.” Cumah paused. “With just one strong ally—a friend who would stand with us—we could abandon this code, and no one need ever again become entangled as you did.” Cumah regarded the old Wyar intently. “He buys your unconditional freedom, Angyar.”
“And if his people refuse an alliance?”
“You performed what I asked. You still go free.”
Angyar’s chest heaved. Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead as he chewed his lip. Another question swirled within him, one he dared not ask for he knew too well Cumah’s answer.
What if I don’t know him? Surely then you will not release me. Yet. . .if I pretended to know him. . .
Angyar drew a shaky breath. His bottom lip trembled. “Forgive me, but to be sure I understand: You swear you will release me and restore the lives of those who died? That all will return to what it was before I met you, and that you will send this man home? You do not lie?”
Cumah laid a comforting—but cold— hand on Angyar’s shoulder. “I swear. I do not lie. You have proven yourself a man of integrity. You care about your people and country. I admire you. If ever a man stood the test and came forth as gold, it is you. Angyar, you should rule in Barren-Fel—not that backwoods wench who calls herself queen. With Aron your advisor and Jovah commanding your armies you will prosper. Perform this last service to me, and you shall find yourself sitting with Aron and Jovah enjoying supper in your camp. You will never have heard of Cumah nor will you ever see him. When you ride to the Ashgard, Ramsha and his sons will come to greet you, and at their insistence your countrymen will revere you.”
Angyar searched Cumah’s face. Sincerity and admiration—even friendship—replaced the mockery, arrogance, and deceit Cumah exhibited before. Still, deception did not always appear as such; but even as Angyar considered this, Cumah’s face shimmered slightly and for a second Angyar beheld the faces of Aron and Jovah. He bit his lip. The fair-haired stranger in his confusion might have inflicted Cumah’s injury; but surely the promise of an alliance should override any desire for vengeance on Cumah’s part.
He buys your unconditional freedom, Angyar.
That was all that mattered. Angyar looked away, his lips taut. “If you will truly—”
“You have my word,” Cumah said gently. “I will restore everything—and you shall go free.”
Angyar’s head jerked up and down. “Then I will help you.”
“Good.” Cumah drew a shaky breath. “My camp lies hours away. You are hungry and hurting. We shall rest first.”
“I can ride.”
Cumah eyed him skeptically. “I think not. Look, one more night won’t matter.” He pointed to a line of green bushes along the bottom of one hill. “A stream flows yonder. Go and refresh yourself. Your horse needs water and rest as well. I will hunt and bring back food. We’ll catch a good night’s sleep and then leave tomorrow.”
Angyar choked back a sob. “Thank you,” he whispered.
They rose before sunup and, after hastily devouring the fragments of the small doe Cumah had killed the previous night, set off toward the lightening horizon. Cumah, in the guise of the beast, loped ahead with long, easy strides that devoured the distance but that Patuka matched without unduly expending herself. Angyar tilted his head back, relishing the fresh morning air. Within the day he would reunite with his beloved brother and the friend he cherished as a son. In mere hours these grisly events would be expunged, and the crushing guilt removed from his shoulders forever.
Yet even now his mind teemed with questions. What, really, had prompted Cumah’s change of heart? Who had inflicted his wound and to what extent? Cumah had distanced himself during the night, giving Angyar no chance to view his injuries; but, while curious about the harm done his tormentor, the identity of the fair-haired stranger concerned Angyar the most. He might be one of the Marchants. If so, which one, and was he truly impaired?
I pray it is not; yet I know no other fair-haired men and if I don’t recognize him, I remain in this miserable state. However, if he is a Marchant, dare I betray him? Arris probably possesses power enough to destroy us all, and Davon—
Drea
d settled over Angyar with a heaviness that made him queasy. Despite what Arris had become, Davon had maintained his integrity and never harmed anyone. Indeed, no finer man ever lived. If Angyar revealed him, would Cumah truly keep his word and send Davon home? Or would Davon die?
He buys your unconditional freedom, Angyar. So had Cumah promised.
And he buys the lives of my brother and friends; besides, Davon might prove no better than his brother.
Angyar caught his breath. The tossing mane behind Cumah’s right ear had flopped aside, revealing what looked like dried blood. Angyar leaned forward and urged Patuka on faster until, almost on Cumah’s heels, he saw distinctly the patch of bruised and bloodied skin amid the tousled fur. Immediately the spot blurred, and with a loud bark Cumah surged ahead.
Angyar dropped back, his suspicions confirmed. His mind reeled, for now he better understood the reasons prompting Cumah’s request. Someone—or something—had dealt his tormentor serious hurt. Cumah had met his match and now sought Angyar’s help to exact revenge.
Help him now, and in his gratitude Cumah will deliver what he promised.
Will he, indeed? Angyar’s mouth went dry as he tossed Cumah’s promises and words of assurance over in his mind. He considered again Cumah the man, his countenance brimming with sincerity and friendship.
I swear. I do not lie. You have proven yourself. . .I do not lie. . .I do not lie.
But Cumah had enunciated those words differently: I do not lie. He had emphasized ‘do’ and put so little stress on ‘not’ that he rendered the word almost imperceptible. He might well have meant, ‘I do lie.’
A chill crept over Angyar. If Cumah lied, Angyar might betray innocent blood—and still remain Cumah’s captive. But if Cumah had not lied, and fully intended to fulfill his promise. . .
How can I possibly know? Dear heaven above! I beg you, help me!
The skin on the back of his head prickled and burned such that he thought himself afire. Angyar cried out and pulled his horse in, then grasped the hair over the spot in an effort to ease his agony.
Cumah slid to a stop and turned. Seeing Angyar’s distress, he transformed into the youth and darted to Angyar’s side. “What is wrong, my friend?”
Angyar shook his head and absently smoothed his hair. Miraculously, the burning had ceased. “This—”
“Ah.” Cumah nodded knowingly. “Your companion from the abyss. Never fear, my friend. By evening he’ll not even be a memory. By evening. . .you’re a free man.”
The softness in his voice warmed Angyar; the tenderness of his expression vanquished all doubts. A broad smile flooded Angyar’s face.
Cumah smiled back and gave him a reassuring clap on the leg. “Well done. Let’s be off then.” Transforming back into the beast, he leapt onto the trail and continued his brisk pace. Angyar galloped after him.
They traveled but a short distance before veering south onto a trail that skirted the Rauwyar Valley well within the forest for a couple of miles before angling southeast. Angyar knew this region well: The dark bowels of Barren-Fel, spawning grounds of some of the most evil men that ever walked the earth. Black. Merciless. Poisonous. Sodden trees draped with tattered robes of moss huddled close together, obscuring the sun and begrudging the travelers passage. Groaning and sighing, they seemed to whisper among themselves while marking these violators of their hallowed realm. The humid air reeked of dank earth and decaying vegetation. Deadly mushrooms clustered around tree trunks and burst through the bellies of rotting logs. Stones slippery with slime littered the forest floor which, wet from frequent rain and heavy mists, was already slick as grease. Predatory beasts lurked throughout, often springing without warning.
Angyar recognized these dangers, as did every Wyar, yet felt no fear. He had trained from his youth and possessed the finely-honed senses, the weapons, and the skills needed to survive here, along with a sure-footed horse that navigated the mountainous terrain as skillfully as any mountain goat.
Cumah, however, seemed tired. He had slowed his pace, and once or twice Angyar saw him slide and almost lose his footing. Each time his beastly outline shimmered as he righted himself, and each time Angyar caught yet another glimpse of the wounds on his head.
He bleeds, but through sheer force of will strives to conceal it. His power, however, is waning. I only pray he retains the means to restore Aron and Jovah, and even that fool Ramsha and his upstarts. Yes, to be free of this monster I could endure even them.
Cumah whirled abruptly, his teeth bared. Angyar gasped and pulled his horse up short. Cumah must have read his thoughts. Fool, he thought, silently cursing himself. Nevertheless, he must feign ignorance and remain calm. “What is wrong?” he asked.
Cumah’s snarl vanished. The beast blurred and disappeared, and then the youth appeared. Angyar noted that his forehead, along with a spot on the back of his head remained hazy; otherwise, his head appeared normal and his placid demeanor displayed neither anger nor displeasure. His sagging shoulders, however, betrayed exhaustion—even pain.
“Are you all right?” Angyar asked.
Cumah looked up at him. His face had paled and Angyar thought one corner of his mouth twitched. “Why would I not be?”
“Well, you have run all this way over rough terrain, uphill and down, scarcely breaking your pace. I tire just—”
“As has your horse,” Cumah broke in. His gaze traveled to Patuka and then back to Angyar’s face. “As the beast I can travel relentlessly.” His face hardened. “I would ask, however, that on such treacherous footing you not follow so close.”
“Forgive me. These old eyes don’t see as well as they used to and, as I don’t know where your camp is, I feared losing you in this forest.”
“I’ll not leave you.” Cumah turned and peered ahead. “We’ve still a long way to go, more than an hour beyond the river. I wish you to meet our guest before dark; then you have only to name him and I will send you away a free man.”
A free man! The words buoyed Angyar’s spirits until he felt he could fly.
Cumah spread his arms wide. His thin shoulders rose and fell as he took several deep breaths through his gaping mouth. Without warning, he transformed into the beast and charged through the trees. Angyar galloped after him, keeping a discreet distance while maintaining sight of Cumah’s black form in the inky gloom.
By noon they reached the foaming rapids of the Singing River, tumbling from its icy source in the Mystic Mountains to swirl and warble among the polished stones on its way to join its sister, the Lost River.
Angyar dismounted and knelt on the bank, dipping a cupped hand into the rushing stream to draw out a welcome draught. The water tasted like nectar to his parched mouth. Cold and sweet, it flowed smoothly down his throat, reviving both body and spirit. Patuka drank noisily beside him, not raising her head until her thirst assuaged.
A few yards upstream the river had undercut the bank, leaving a thin rock shelf jutting a couple of feet out over the water. Cumah, still in beast form, meandered to it, hesitated a moment, then stepped onto the shelf.
From the corner of his eye, Angyar saw the prominent hump swell higher and then bristle. Cumah bowed his head over the river and opened his mouth. Impulsively Angyar gathered Patuka’s reins and backtracked, pulling the startled horse out of and away from the river. Trying to appear nonchalant, he rubbed Patuka’s neck and tousled her forelock. “Enough now,” he chided. “You’re going to burst like an old rotten skin. We wouldn’t want that, eh?”
Angyar himself did not understand his brusque action. Nothing warned of danger; but something in Cumah’s posture had unnerved him. Patuka playfully tossed her head and nipped at his arm. Angyar welcomed this bit of horseplay, for it afforded the excuse to not look at Cumah without obviously avoiding eye contact. Even so, he felt Cumah’s searing stare and this, along with the shapeshifter’s bizarre stance increased his trepidation.
A light flashed atop the shelf. Cumah the man jumped into the river and waded to the middl
e, splashing water over himself as he went. At one point he submerged completely and then leaped up, vigorously shaking his head.
“Refreshing, eh?” Angyar called, hoping his forced jocularity sounded sincere.
Cumah eyed him dubiously. “Why then did you get out of the water?”
Angyar gestured toward Patuka. “The pig here, she overdrinks when she gets too thirsty. I pulled her out, for we’ve still a long journey and I don’t need a sick horse.”
With a tight-lipped smile Cumah turned away, paddled to the other side, and scrambled up the bank. Without a backward glance, he darted into the trees. A faint flash amid the gloom told Angyar Cumah had transformed back into the beast.
“Ah, Patuka,” Angyar muttered, “I should not have behaved so, for I offended him.” He gave the mare a final pat, mounted, and turned her toward the river, hoping against hope he had not destroyed his one chance for freedom.
Minutes later they clambered up the opposite bank and onto the trail Cumah had taken. Patuka launched into a lope, but Angyar held her to a jog. “Easy, girl. You’ve guzzled water enough for two horses. Besides, Cumah promised not to leave us.”
He sat back and peered through the trees in search of the beast. He still wondered at Cumah’s strange behavior. Perhaps the rigors of the journey along with expending the power to conceal his injuries made him faint. Surely he hungered. Angyar glanced skyward as his own stomach rumbled. Judging from the sun’s position, it was just past noon. He sighed and nudged Patuka into a trot. They really should have eaten at the river.