Jon Wilson - The Obsidian Man

by Jon Wilson

  “Hardly surprising.” Keone spoke around

  a mouthful of potatoes. “Doesn’t invite

  expansion. Come to the frontier, be on the front lines of the coming war.” He smiled,

  studying the platter for his next tasty morsel. Sihr cast a quick, entreating glance up

  at Holt. Forcing a smile, she told him, “As you

  can see, we eat like pigs. Jump in or there

  may be nothing left.”

  Holt felt his body obeying—even though

  the thought of eating with the cowardly pair

  threatened to spoil his appetite. How could

  Kawika have chosen a man like Keone as his

  da’an? And how could something as

  wonderful as being chosen as the ranger’s

  ward have led to something as horrible as

  having to endure the stonediver’s supervision?

  Why hadn’t he been able to remain with

  Ardee? She was a ranger; she would have

  trained Holt to be a ranger also. Surely that

  would have pleased Kawika more than this. “I was telling Holt that Belfayne has

  established a port on Jir-Theesa. I’m not sure

  he believed me.” There was playfulness in her

  tone. “He looked rather skeptical.”

  Holt was trying to ignore them. In

  addition to his opinion of them, the smell of

  the food was overpowering. And he was

  starving; there was no use denying that. He

  wiped his fingers on a dirty trouser leg and

  reached cautiously for a potato.

  “How do you feel about the notion of

  war?”

  Holt’s hand hovered indecisively over the

  food. It struck him as an unfair question

  coming as it did on the heels of Sihr telling the

  man Holt knew little about the subject. He did

  not want to look any more foolish, however.

  He tried to remember what Sihr had told him.

  Keone and someone else sat up

  commiserating because they were against

  fighting. And the demon was from Belfayne.

  He grabbed a potato and brought it to his

  mouth. Before taking a bite he said, “If they

  are all so evil, perhaps war is the only just

  thing.”

  Sihr stifled a giggle. It made the succulent potato turn to chalk in Holt’s mouth.

  What had been so funny about his answer? Keone wiped his chin with the back of

  his hand. “Ifwhoare all so evil?”

  “The Belfaynes,” Holt told him, hearing

  the sound of his own anger tempering the

  words. The two cowards would try to make

  fun of him! “She said they were responsible

  for what happened to my village. She said

  they paid pirates to attack her island.” Keone considered his ward with a

  bewildered expression. “You said that?” The girl was still struggling not to laugh.

  “I did not. I said everyone knows that the

  government subsidizes the exploits of the

  pirates around Feathersbone.”

  Holt gestured with the half of the potato

  still in his hand. “Well?”

  Sihr’s chuckle finally escaped her. “Oh,

  Holt. It isn’t the Belfaynese government I was

  talking about. It was the crown. Macadre.

  Feathersbone Isle is part of Belfayne. I am

  one of the evil Belfaynese.”

  Holt threw the potato back down onto

  the platter and struggled angrily with his own

  body to get back to his feet. Sihr grabbed his

  wrist, surprisingly strong.

  “Don’t be angry. I know you didn’t mean

  anything.”

  He struck her hand, amazed he found

  the grip so hard to break. Finally he freed

  himself and staggered back. “I don’t care

  where you’re from, you’re both cowards. I

  don’t want to go with you! I don’t want to stay

  with you!”

  Keone looked unimpressed. He

  continued to examine the platter. “Where will

  you go?”

  Holt fought back his tears. He would not

  cry in front of them. “I don’t know. I just know

  I hate you!”

  Sihr rose up onto her knees. “Holt!” “Why do you stay with him? He’s

  terrible. Ardee knew it.” He directed his rage back toward the stonediver. “She didn’t want me to go with you. She wanted to take me away herself. Why didn’t you let me go with

  her?”

  The man shrugged, lifting another slice

  of meat toward his mouth. “Because I was

  Wika’s da’an.”

  Holt jumped forward, kicking the platter,

  throwing all the food up onto Keone—down

  his chest, across his folded legs. “I don’t

  believe it! I don’t believe you were his da’an!”

  He saw the furious expression come over

  Sihr’s face as she started to her feet. He

  turned to face her, but Keone grabbed her

  arm, holding her back.

  Even covered with the spattered dinner,

  the stonediver remained calm. “Why?” “Because you’re a coward!” Holt knew

  the tears he had wanted to hide were staining

  his cheeks; he could hear the ragged sobs

  between his words. “You aren’t good enough!

  He wouldn’t have chosen a man like you.

  You’re a coward!”

  Sihr was struggling to free herself, but

  Keone just tilted his head a few degrees to

  the side. “Because I didn’t kill that man with

  the knife? Once he had the blade to your

  throat, if he’d wanted to kill you, there was

  nothing I could have done to stop him.” “It isn’t just that.” Holt’s crying nearly

  rendered him incapable of speech.

  “Then what?”

  Holt flew at him, arms outstretched,

  fingers forming claws with which to gouge

  cheeks and eyes and pull hair. Before he

  reached his mark, however, Sihr’s foot struck

  his chest. He staggered back and collapsed,

  his arms crossed over the stricken area.

  When he looked up, he saw Keone had pulled

  his pupil in his lap; he was holding the

  struggling girl tightly.

  The stonediver met Holt’s eyes. Finally a

  note of emotion entered his voice. “Tell me

  why. Tell me what it is that makes me a

  coward—what it is that makes you hate me.” “You know,” Holt cried, feeling as if the

  sobs and the kick would cause his chest to

  collapse. He struggled to rise, managing to

  maneuver one knee under himself. “You know

  where that thing is. You used me to find it.

  But you’re afraid to go after it. You’re a

  coward.”

  Sihr’s struggling began to subside. Her

  eyes widened. Keone said, “I knew where it

  was yesterday afternoon. The demon isn’t

  stupid enough to linger where he knows we

  might come searching for him.”

  Holt felt his face twist with contempt.

  “You’re a coward! You could find it again.” “Not without your help.”

  Sihr looked up at her paradigm. “Keone,

  no.”

  But the stonediver was watching Holt.

  “You would need to come with me.”

  For a moment the only sounds in the

  small chamber were those of Holt working his way once more erect.
He lowered his arms to his sides, hardening his expression. Keone’s expression—intrigued, but clearly as prepared for either answer—twisted Holt’s anger back into an icy ball. “I’m not afraid.”

  Chapter 3 Ardee rubbed her hands over the fire. Was that cold in her fingers? It was such an odd, alien sensation, she almost thought she must be imagining it.Just feeling old and stupid,she told herself. She had covered little ground during the day, lingering outside Darnouth until she saw that the stonediver and the two children were on their way. Even then, she had moved slowly, half-heartedly, as if her thoughts were not where they ought to have been: on her duty.

  She craved wine, but was still set on abstaining—at least for a week. Trying to occupy her mind, she wondered about her brother and Bill. How were they faring? Lorre, she knew, must be well on his way to the northern territories if he had not already found Euch and Hare. Maybe they were headed back toward G’nash. And Bill would surely be reaching G’nash in the morning, assuming he’d traveled through the night as trolls were wont to do. Perhaps she should go to G’nash; that’s where everything seemed to be centered. The damned savage Huerunans and their raid on the breeder village lay at the root of all her disquiet. And poor Kawika ending his days in a Moadaeshe demon’s poison claw.

  It still wore on her that she and Lorre had discovered no sign of the demon themselves. Bad enough rangers had to suffer such a loss, but to then have a stonediver come out and explain things to them. It was too much. And Kawika’s body— that, too, would be in G’nash. The trolls always displayed the heads of rangers when they could get them.I should turn back; Kawika deserves better.She knew that Lorre and the others would demand the body, but she was of Kawika’s first watch. She should claim the remains. To think that even the ranger’s da’an had not done it, after he had journeyed so far out into the wilderness.

  She felt her head pull up as if the wind had tugged her braid. Her eyes scanned the darkness.What was that? Something approaching? No, she was imagining that too. It was just memories of the stonediver. Why had she let him take the boy? She should have spirited the child away in the morning when she’d had the chance. But Keone had been right: it was his duty as Kawika’s da’an to take charge of Holt. And the stonediver had seemed to feel the call of his duty strongly, at least where the boy was concerned.

  Another sharp, nagging pull on her attention.What?Perhaps she needed sleep. It had been days since she’d managed more than a few hours at a time. And thoughts of Keone had proven quite capable of riling her. It amazed her to consider they had never actually met until the previous day; her animosity felt nearly overwhelming. She recalled her threat, that she would do everything she could to turn Holt against the stonediver. More an expression of pain than a promise—how dare he pull thoughts of Dot from her mind! But she thought she might do it, given half the opportunity. Keone deserved no better. Keone hadn’t deserved Kawika, clearly. No, Kawika hadn’t deserved Keone. Kawika had deserved better. He had deserved someone who would not simply wander out onto the frontier, identify his murderer and then slink back to the VaSaad without doing anything.

  The stonediver’s willingness to throw up his hands had surprised even Ardee, who thought little enough of the mystics. And it certainly made the journey across Macadre seem unfathomable. What had she told Bill?I do not try to understand him.And well she should not: coming five days from the VaSaad, immediately ripping open the poor sick child’s memories, discovering the machinations of the demon, and then claiming the boy and as abruptly setting off.

  She was on her feet. What a fool! What a fool! What a fool!More likely he had cast some witchcraft over her which blocked her reasoning. How could she have been so blind? He had manipulated her completely. He had shown her what she expected to see and used it to beguile her. She immediately set about clearing her camp. Despite her exhaustion, she was determined to return to Darnouth that night. Then she could begin tracking them at first light. With any luck she would catch them by midday and crack his skull before dark.

  Chapter 4 Holt was standing in the doorway, one foot on either side of the sill. His back was against the frame, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He reckoned his expression was uninviting, so kept it directed outdoors. He stared blindly at the open window across the yard. Raised, merry, drunken voices as yet issued from there, and he tried to tune his ears to deciphering them. The angry voices inside the hut were simply repeating the same endless refrain.

  “No!” Sihr said again.

  “I will not spend the night discussing it. We need sleep.”

  “You’re a fool, Keone. You can’t set off

  into the Huerunan lands with two children, one

  of whom isn’t even trained to protect himself.”

  She looked witheringly at Holt.

  “I think he’ll surprise you,” Keone told

  her. “And if you don’t wish to go, you can stay

  here.”

  “How dare you say such a thing to me?” He went to her, placed his hands softly

  upon her shoulders. “I will not fight this thing

  through yet again, not with you.” He looked

  deeply into her eyes. “And somewhere inside

  of you you’ve known all along what I planned.” “You’ve chosen the wrong word. I

  fearedall along that you planned something

  like this. A fear that was so great I blinded

  myself to how you’ve plotted and maneuvered

  everyone so nicely into position.” She jerked

  free from him and took a large step toward

  Holt. “Can’t you see that he forced you into

  making this happen? It’s suicide to go up into

  those mountains.”

  “That’s enough,” Keone told her. “Yes, that is enough. We’ll all be dead.

  Quite enough.” She grabbed Holt’s shoulder,

  nothing as gently as Keone had done her

  own. “You think me a coward? Does it make

  me a coward to believe that three more deaths will do nothing to right the wrong of Kawika’s death?” He ignored her, and she shoved his shoulder, knocking it against the

  door jam. “Answer me!”

  Keone took her elbow, gently tugging

  her back. “This is not the cool reasoning I

  have come to expect—”

  She turned on him before he could

  complete the thought. “Damn your feeble,

  cool reasoning, Keone!” Her fist struck his

  chest with surprising fury. “You’re the

  disappointment! You’re the hypocrite! How

  grandly you speak of ideas, and yet you’re

  nothing but a silly man who—”

  He slapped her.

  Holt turned at the sound. Sihr was

  holding her cheek, her eyes wide with

  amazement, her jaw drooping halfway to her

  chest. It was as if she had never been struck

  before. But she did not look abashed; that

  emotion was solely Keone’s. His head hung

  as if he had suffered some slamming rebuke. They held their positions a long, silent moment, and then Sihr rushed past Holt out

  into the darkness.

  He watched her disappear down the

  alley, and then turned his eyes back to

  Keone.

  The stonediver had not moved—had not

  even looked up when his pupil fled. His eyes

  were closed tightly and his jaw was working,

  flexing the muscles below his temples.

  Abruptly he turned and started toward their

  supplies.

  “It is many days to where the demon hid

  yesterday,” he said, picking out his own

  rucksack and beginning to dig inside. “We

  need rest if we are not to die from the journey

  itself.”

  “What about Sihr?” Holt thought of the

&nbs
p; soldier and the scout. What if there were

  more like them wandering the streets? Keone’s search through his belongings

  slowed, as if he were considering the question. “She will either return on her own,

  or she won’t.”

  Holt was stunned. Did the stonediver

  believe what he said? It seemed impossible.

  Whatever else Keone was or did, Holt knew

  that the man and Sihr shared a special

  kinship.

  Keone dropped his rucksack, his right

  fist clenched tightly. “I will presume to make

  your own burden a bit heavier if I may.” Holt did not understand until Keone

  opened his hand. The black stone was lying in

  the stonediver’s palm. Before Holt had a

  moment to consider, Keone tossed it to him.

  Holt caught it, trapping it just as tightly in his

  own fist. The smooth texture and gentle

  warmth of the stone proved oddly comforting. “This’s yours,” he said, finding his voice.

  “He said it was for you.”

  “No. He said it was for his da’an. I think

  you should retain charge of it, as long as you

  doubt my claim to that title.”

  Holt opened his hand, studying the

  stone. Did he doubt it? He certainly could not

  believe it, but was that the same thing? He

  slipped the stone into his pocket as Keone

  moved toward the door.

  “I will go and find somewhere to clean

  up.”

  Holt said nothing, but stepped into the

  shed, clearing the doorway. Keone stopped

  just before passing outside. “You will be so

  kind as to clean up this mess? Otherwise

  we’ll have rats dancing all over us while we

  sleep.” Even then, he did not sound angry at

  the disruption of their meal. Holt, nodding as

  he stepped over toward the discarded tray,

  said he would see to it. Keone thanked him

  and left.

  Alone, Holt gathered the scattered bits

  of food and piled them with the dishes, both

  broken and whole, upon the tray. He carted

  the tray swiftly back to the kitchen steps and

  left it. Returning to the shed, he dowsed all of the candles except one and laid out one of the two blankets Sihr had packed for him. He settled atop it and covered himself with the other blanket, resting his head upon his own

  pack.

  He lay for a long while on his side with

  his eyes open, staring at the wall. He