The Sword of Einiko

by A. R. Wilson

  A few moments later, she followed him down the hallway. The day progressed the same as it had the day before. Reading from the enormous book, pausing to allow the spells to settle within her, then moving on to the next text. At sunset, Jerricoh excused her for dinner.

  Her dreams that night were the same. The unyielding power. That beautifully broken man who continued to kneel before her. Why did he cherish her so? What did he see in her? She understood perfectly in the dream, even laughed at him for it, but lost that one detail upon waking. What could she possibly have that made her a gem in someone’s eyes?

  Arnya hinted that she had known. When Tascana had insisted there was nothing special about her, Arnya had almost laughed. The dallest said, "You are your father's daughter. All your life you have sensed something different about him from the others in your land. Something only you see.” But there wasn’t anything special about her father. He was a great tracker, yes, with excellent hearing and eyesight. No archer could match his target skills. Not to mention the strength he could possess during times of great danger. And then all that secrecy surrounding his past, and where he came from...

  Come to think of it, he stood out all from the other men of Bondurant. But even the skills of an expert hunter and tracker could not explain why The Master wanted her to learn magic and someday be the mother to an all-powerful son.

  CHAPTER 5

  Dumarse hesitated a moment before shaking Jurren’s hand. “I hope you fulfill your promise made to the dwarf lords.”

  “As do I.” Jurren held onto the man’s hand a moment longer. “Thank you for leading us out of the mines. It was a kingly gesture for Kennehar Ironcloud to offer us fresh supplies. Your people truly dwell under a magnificent heritage.”

  Red hair bristled as Dumarse gave a grunt of thanks, nodding. He pressed a notch in the wall and a crack formed at the end of the tunnel.

  Light streamed towards them, along with the smell of rotting earth. Kidelar pulled up the edge of his cloak to guard against the odor. Shaking his head, he pulled another fold over his mouth for an added layer of protection.

  “Don’t worry.” Dumarse barked a laugh. “After a few days, you won’t even notice the stench anymore!”

  Kidelar’s eyes widened but Jurren pushed him through the door. With a two month journey ahead of them, every hour counted.

  Arkose followed Kidelar’s motions, pressing a double fold of his cloak over his mouth. Azredan slapped a hand on Jurren’s shoulder before striding past the other two men to take the lead. The moment Jurren’s feet passed the threshold of the tunnel, the stone doors shuddered closed.

  Outside, as his eyes adjusted to the light, Jurren marveled at the countless sandstone columns. “Are we still in Genevra?”

  “On the outskirts.” Azredan peered around a wide formation and gestured for him to follow. “The swamp is beyond that last rise.”

  Jurren pulled a corner of his cloak to his mouth. The reek of stagnant rotting felt like liquid crawling down his throat. He coughed. Taking up the rear, Jurren passed three rises between stone columns, then noticed a patch of green ahead.

  Azredan had stopped at the line where the sand met the water. “The next few days will try your resolve. Remember why you’re doing this. It will help during moments of weakness.”

  “Nothing can break the resolve for my daughter.”

  Turning to glance over his shoulder, the elf’s brow furrowed. “My caution is not towards your daughter, but your thoughts toward myself.”

  Azredan suddenly flinched, as if something startled him. Grabbing a pouch on his hip, he pulled at its tether. Jurren watched him fish out two clear stones. Each was about the size of the yoke in a chicken egg.

  Cradling them, the elf pulled them close to his face. “Why are you contacting me so soon?”

  Rolling his eyes, Jurren shook his head. That elf’s lost his mind!

  Kidelar moved shoulder to shoulder with Azredan, blocking Jurren’s view. Arkose craned his neck, then took a step back as he dropped the corner of fabric covering his mouth. Running a hand along the back of his shaved head, his wide eyes looked away.

  What is that elf up to? Jurren rubbed an itch at the tip of his ear as he walked to stand at Azredan’s other shoulder.

  An orb of soft, white light surrounded the stones. The image of an elven woman from the waist up hovered in the orb. Her long, dark hair draped over her shoulders as she leaned forward. Something about her face resurrected a memory. Those eyes and that nose. Was she the mother of Montanya?

  The woman held up a hand, glanced behind herself, then back at Azredan. “The Elven lords know you have crossed Genevra.”

  “They know I am here?” Azredan spoke in a strained whisper.

  “No. They know the men have emerged on the other side. Lord Marvae brought us the news moments ago.”

  “How can they perceive our crossing so quickly?”

  “They are watching you somehow. I will do what I can to learn what is happening. Be warned, they are greatly angered Jurren continues to live.”

  “So they have plotted against us with the Fates?”

  “It would seem that way.”

  “Then it is a good thing that I serve One far more powerful.”

  The woman grinned. “How I hoped I would be able to take this journey with you.”

  “You serve us far better by staying behind.” Azredan dipped his chin to emphasis his words. “Thank you for your warning.”

  “As light enters the darkness, the dark is forced to scatter.”

  “For darkness is only the absence of light.”

  “Fare thee well, Azredan.”

  “Fare thee well, Montanya.”

  The light of the orb dimmed and Azredan closed his hand over the stones.

  “Montanya is named after her mother?” Kidelar’s eyes stayed on the stones as he watched Azredan return them to their pouch.

  “That was the Montanya you knew restored to her former self.”

  Jurren shook his head. “What are you talking about? I rescued a human girl, no more than twelve years of age. That was an adult, elven woman.”

  Azredan sighed. “I suppose if safety accompanies the chance for her to speak her warning to us, then it is safe to tell you what I know.”

  Heat filled Jurren’s stomach. That inner knowing pulsing within him had already begun to hint at the truth.

  “Wait.” Azredan’s pinched eyes moved to Jurren’s hip. “Show me the ring again.”

  The heat in Jurren’s stomach arched into his throat. Digging it out of his pocket, he passed it over.

  “The elven lords must be using the magic in this ring to track our progress.” Azredan handed it back.

  Jurren curled him lips. “No longer interested.”

  “We can use their deception to our advantage.”

  “Azredan is correct.” Kidelar reached out and took the ring, his other hand no longer covering his mouth. “If the elven lords are angered that you live, we can only assume they intended for you to die in Genevra. No matter how insane their reasoning for hoping in such an event, it is the only logical conclusion. There may come a day when we need them to believe you are dead.”

  Putting his palm to his forehead, Jurren fought against the heat pushing into his neck. He snapped his hand out to the side. “If they hate Einiko as much as they say, then why would they want to stop me?”

  “They may fear what you will do with the sword once it is in your hands. Great power often corrupts even the purest of hearts.” Azredan motioned for them to start walking.

  Arkose shrugged off his travel pack, wrapped his cloak up to cover his face, then hefted up the straps. Jurren did likewise, knowing the smell would only increase as they journeyed inward. Kidelar walked alongside Azredan, the two looking more like old friends with each passing day. Jurren couldn’t blame the scholar for taking to this newcomer so quickly. The elf was a fountain of information. Even if it those details mostly spoke of uncovering lies and secrets.<
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  That inner knowing poked at Jurren again. All those moments with Montanya rushed to the front of his mind. The way he continually sensed something familiar about her when he rescued her from the goblin’s cave. Though he could never hold on to the moment long, the notion of her being more than she seemed tugged at his gut instinct.

  “So what are those stones you use to speak to Montanya?” Kidelar narrowly avoided a puddle only to step in water-soaked moss.

  “They are called a croix. Elves discovered the gems many centuries ago.”

  “How do they work?” Kidelar gave a shake of his boot to dislodge a clump of green.

  “I believe Jurren has a more pressing question he wishes to ask me?”

  The heat in Jurren’s stomach turned cold. “Is Montanya part of your Roan Order? This group of elves who defy the Fates?”

  “Yes. She went through her Rebirth almost twenty years ago.”

  “But she is a Child of Destiny for the elves.”

  “Indeed she is. But the Fates are notorious for leaving out fine details.”

  “How is that woman the same child I rescued?”

  “Jurren, you were given a vision from Ellesha Shan Shair. It has blessed you with a spirit of wisdom and revelation of truth by the Ever One. You need to learn how to seek truth beyond the need to find your daughter.”

  Kidelar looked at Azredan. “We received the same vision, but Jurren now perceives details which I do not. He also spoke of this. Of seeking truth.”

  “And what have you done with that knowledge?”

  “I have sought to understand it.”

  Azredan laughed then coughed. He tugged at his cloak to wrap it over his nose and mouth. “Jurren, show the scholar how it’s done. Seek for some truth, and tell me what you see.”

  Jurren gritted his teeth. As with knowing how to enter the door in Genevra, awareness gained by intuition meant becoming more elf-like. Only a handful of elves did not serve the Fates, and all those who defied Them apparently submitted to an Ever One. Wasn’t it possible to simply be? To follow his own heart rather than surrender to a higher power?

  His inner knowing poked again, this time piercing a hole. Through the breach he saw the wisp of a silver butterfly. Slowly, the form changed to a woman with butterfly wings.

  He pulled back, not wanting to remember that day back on Orison. “I see nothing.”

  “A more correct statement would be, ‘I see nothing I wish to speak about’.”

  Clenching his fists, Jurren didn’t answer.

  “You never need to fear truth, Jurren. With every secret we hold, we must one day accept that the secret is the one which holds us.” Azredan pushed back a cluster of vines and lifted them for Arkose to pass under.

  Jurren took the bundle and stepped past Azredan. “Choosing to leave the past in the past is not hiding a secret.”

  “It is if you fear someone learning of your past.”

  “How is it possible again for you to be an elf?” Kidelar paused, turning to look at Jurren.

  Great, this is how we’re going to pass the time? “My ancestors settled on an island with a rare toxin. The effect from generations living in those conditions is the man you see before you.” Jurren rubbed his other ear. Why were they so itchy lately? “My line no longer possesses the pointed ears belonging to elves.”

  Kidelar scratched his head. “Why does Tascana not have pointed ears? Being a halfling, she should have at least some of their features.”

  The question felt like a branding iron in his chest. He climbed past Kidelar, loathing the reminder as to why Einiko kidnapped his daughter. If a child were born of the union of two halflings, a chance stood for the offspring to be a full-blooded elf. One descended from both lines of the twin sons of Adjh. Such a child had the capacity to restore the line of magic broken with Lesoeth.

  Much to Jurren’s relief, Kidelar did not repeat his question, nor did Azredan bring up the subject of seeking truth through the vision again. Jurren relished the delicious silence as the task of moving forward became more difficult. Climbed over rotting logs, exposed tree roots, skirted murky pools, and trudged through two rivers consumed the rest of their daylight before stopping for the night. Azredan guided them to a rise where they could rest on dry ground.

  In the morning, Jurren woke to a distant screech. He bolted up at the same time as Azredan. Looking to the east, Jurren glimpsed a shuffle of movement slip from one cluster of bushes to another.

  “There’s something out there.” Jurren crouched low, narrowing his eyes, moving to get a better view of the land below.

  “It is a creature without name. A beast forged of Einiko’s wrath. I did not expect it to find us this quickly.”

  Jurren wanted to snap a question at him, but a wave of vision crashed through first.

  Wet, green, dark, and foul.

  Digging his fingers into the ground, Jurren sought for truth. The nausea and clouded eyesight washed away leaving only an awareness of what needed to be done. Kidelar coughed, rolling onto his side. He’s fighting the vision. Jurren moved in close. He replaced the covering over the scholar’s mouth and held the man’s shoulders.

  “Don’t focus on the sensations.” Jurren felt the man shudder all the more. “There is a warning of truth in the vision. Don’t grasp for words to describe what you feel, seek the truth beneath what you sense.”

  Kidelar calmed, his eyes fluttering open. “We must hide.”

  “I’ll wake Arkose.”

  “I’m already up. Let’s go.” Arkose stuffed his bedroll into the pack given them by the dwarves.

  A minute later, they bounded down the far side of the hill. Trees, vines, and moss snaked out in every direction. Azredan slipped between a pair of saplings and disappeared to the right. Kidelar followed in step behind him. Jurren took up the rear, following Arkose. Adjusted his cloak, Jurren wrapped it around his head. The proper layering to hold back the choking odor while allowing for enough air to breath took several attempts. Jogging through the marshy vegetation forced him to inhale deeper and more frequently. The air continued to dig like slimy fingers into his lungs.

  Splashing slogged up ahead. A tree draped in mossy vines blocked Jurren’s view. Within a few steps, he saw Azredan lifting Kidelar out of a green pool. Clumps of slimy growth clung to the scholar clothes as he struggled to a stand.

  “I can’t— can’t.” Kidelar gagged from needing to remove the soaked fabric from his mouth. “Breath... can’t.”

  Bending over, Kidelar wretched.

  “The air is too much for him.” Azredan slipped off his cloak and handed it to Kidelar. “We will have to make a stand and fight the beast.”

  Kidelar heaved a second and third time before coming to a stand. Shaking, he rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. He reached for the offered cloak, but fumbled and nearly dropped it. Azredan caught it before it touched the wet ground, and helped to wrap it in place.

  Arkose put a hand to the back of his head and glanced at Jurren as though hoping for an answer of what to do next. Ignoring the questioning look, he turned to Azredan.

  “What sort of creature lurks in this place?” Jurren removed his pack to hang it on the broken branch of a tree.

  “Similar to a goblin, but larger. And its eyes are capable of producing a red light that allows it to see through darkness and thin coverings of foliage.”

  Jurren set his jaw. He knew the remaining details without being told. “Skin as hard as dragon scales, and claws which can extend from its fingertips at will.”

  Azredan nodded. “Your ability to seek truth is growing.”

  “No.” He averted his gaze to the ground. “I’ve fought one before.”

  “When? How?”

  “Back on Orison.”

  “Then you know how to defeat it?”

  “I cannot defeat it the way I did before.”

  “Why is that?”

  Jurren shook his head, trying not to remember. Too many other memories clung to that
battle from over thirty years ago.

  A distant screech accompanied a faint crash. Arkose tensed, slinging off his pack, and unsheathed his new sword.

  The elf took a step closer. “Jurren, I have crossed this valley a hundred times. Normally, I am swift enough of foot to stay ahead of the thing and have never had to fight it. To be honest, I pity the poor creature for being brought into existence. But if Kidelar is to survive this crossing we must find a way, so please let’s just start with how you defeated it the last time.”

  Tremors seized Jurren’s hands and he clenched them into fists. It wouldn’t do any good to speak of that day. In his former life, a mystical, silver spirit helped him on many occasions. An entity he never truly understood. It aided him to pass the trial to enter the Highlands, guided him to many hidden truths on the island, and saved his life several times. But when he abandoned the life of Orison, he abandoned her too. She promised never to return, and he bound her to those words with a solemn oath. Nothing could bring her back to help him this time.

  Then again, she had led his eyes to notice a weakness in the beast’s skin on the day of that battle. A small area at the base of the throat. He assumed back then she had created the weakness. After all, what creature of wrath would leave so fragile a weakness exposed? But maybe it wasn’t a chance encounter with the silver spirit. Perhaps the weakness had been a design flaw which could be exploited again.

  “The one on Orison had a missing spot of scales, here.” Jurren indicated on his neck. “But we cannot be sure this one will have the same weakness.”

  “How many arrows do you have?”

  “Only six. I lost more than half my supply fighting the horsk dragon.”

  “Six will be enough if this thing has a weak spot.” Azredan slung off his pack. “Arkose, make a wide sweep to the north and place each of our packs on a different tree. The broad ranging scent will help us disguise our location.”

  Arkose’s shifted the cloak over his face to speak clearly. “That thing can smell us in this stench?” When Azredan merely stared, Arkose took the bag and reached to snatch Jurren’s. “Where do you want me to meet you after?”