by Nelson, J P
I couldn’t wait to tell Hoscoe. When I did he was all ears.
After listening with arms folded and hand stroking his goatee, he finally remarked, “I think, young sir, your mother’s power flows through you. I have suggested all along that she was training you in the disciplines of the Tell Singer.” He thought for a while as I waited to hear what else he would say.
“The ability to alter, to even control emotions in others, could be a useful skill far beyond that of entertainment.”
He paced around the room, then turned to me and said with a smile, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
I hesitated, but knowing Hoscoe, he would wait for me to answer if it took all night. With a slow smile of my own I answered, “Yes, I did.”
“Then, I encourage you to continue, and just enjoy letting the music flow.”
Leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, he looked down in thought, and with a continued smile looked back at me and added, “The discipline of war is not in itself a complete art. It must needs be tempered with something to bring balance.
“Music is a wonderful complement to the violent arts. Kn’Yang was a poet, Shihnuthai was a magnificent painter, Oshang himself was a culinary master, and Ahnushain composed and played some of the most beautiful flute music ever heard. From the time of Alohra ~ Mae Hahnah, artistic expression has been required for any druidic study.
“So,” Hoscoe nodded his head at me and added, “pursue the melody, and let it flow. As we continue, we will explore even more avenues.”
Once more I marveled at his knowledge of Elvin Lore. Alohra ~ Mae Hahnah, I thought, hers was a name momma mentioned in a hushed tone. She was the daughter of Hahjiufae, daughter of Diustahn himself, supposedly the father of all our kind.
Alohra ~ Mae Hahnah was believed to be the first Dorhune and that her spirit was still out there, somewhere, floating around in the wild regions looking out for ... who knows?
Her grandson, Tahrum Shiu’Fahrah, was the first to be identified as an elf. The word, elf, was actually a human word which played off of Ehleshuvah. Before that, The People called themselves Diustahntei, and they didn’t exactly look like we do today. They were much taller and shaped just a little different. Momma said the old paintings depict them to be slightly birdlike in the eyes and face.
I thought a moment and asked Hoscoe, “What artistic expression do you follow?”
Clearly, he was pleased I had asked the question. He answered, “I am writing a history of my own experiences, a tome of memoirs, if you will.”
“Really? Can I read?”
He looked at me with a mischievous expression and answered, “When the time is right, yes, you may.”
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Baldwin turned up another old instrument, in worse shape than the first guitar had been, but he handed it to me and in his deep voice said, “You fix it, and it’s yours.”
I was astonished, but said, “Thank you, sir.”
My own instrument, I thought. I had never owned anything like it before. Hoscoe asked if he could watch me work with it, and although embarrassed, we went into my quarters and I duplicated exactly what I did with the first guitar. I went even deeper and the surface polished itself until it looked brand new. Hoscoe just watched in wonder and slowly shook his head.
“You have a gift, Mehio,” he said. Then he listened as I played a few tunes, old elvin tunes. After the last note he returned to his own quarters, lost in memories of his own.
The Meidran incident we had been able to downplay as my simply being able to survive and not really having done anything. The music thing was not to be ignored. People were wanting to know when I was going to be at Baldwin’s, Chimothy asked me to work with him in practice and others wanted to know if I could teach them to play.
Humday became Wolf’s Night at Baldwin’s, and the place would be packed. Baldwin paid me a percentage and I was wondering what had happened in my life.
Something within me was changing. I began to feel more confident in myself, but not cocky, Hoscoe took care of that.
“Remember, fame is a fickle thing, even in small doses. What you do is less important than why you do it and who you are within,” Hoscoe told me. His words struck a chord deep within my memory; long ago my momma had said almost the same thing to me.
When I walked about, I no longer tried to evade conversation, and now everyone knew who I was. For a while that was disconcerting, and yet it was nice to be liked. More than that, knowing folks genuinely liked my music gave me a sense of fulfillment I had never experienced before.
Sure, Baldwin paid me, but for me it wasn’t about the money. The more I played the more I wanted to play. I had found something, something nobody could ever take away.
My regular playing continued through the mid-year season and into final harvest. By time the farmers picked up their tools to hit the field I had taken on four guitar students, one of whom was Izner.
Sometimes when practicing alone, I would feel a memory of Roveir surface, but immediately I was able to shake it off. That was someplace I didn’t want to go, at least not then, and maybe never. I just wasn’t ready for it.
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Ander and I were walking to a shop in the city, something I rarely did, when someone I didn’t know saw us and made a comment about my music. He asked me why I didn’t seek a profession as a minstrel, “You could play in the Coliseum of Dahruban,” the fellow exclaimed.
As we continued walking, Ander slapped me on the arm and remarked, “You could be famous, Wolf. Imagine everyone chanting your name and coming just to see you, by the thousands, even?”
I just looked at him incredulously and asked, “Now, why would anyone want to chant my name?” He was just kidding, I think, but the thought lingered in my mind. To have a large group of people want to hear me play … hmmm … there was a certain something about that …
From the corner of my eye I saw a woman in the shadows. She was dressed in drab, nondescript clothing with a hood covering her head. She was staring right at me and watching me walk by.
Ander had been talking about this really nice sword he wanted to buy, which was actually the reason we here in the first place, but the woman had my attention and I glanced her way again.
Looking back a third time I realized I knew who she was. Stopping on the boardwalk, I turned to her and walked back her way. She was staring at me with a penetrating glare.
“Ma’am,” I said, more matter of factly than in question, “you’re the Shaman Lady.”
She just looked at me, and over from the side Ander looked on. Her gaze was eerie, seeming to try to bore into my soul. I felt an unnerving sensation sweep through me.
“Thank you for coming to help me that day,” I said.
A whiff of strange smells came to my nostrils, then she canted her head in the strangest way. Her eyes, there was something about her eyes, something eerie.
Just behind me I heard Ander ask, “Hey, Wolf?”
In a chilling, whisper like voice she said, “Wihlabahk is coming …”
A flash of searing hot pain went through my brain and suddenly Ander was beside me, his head under my shoulder helping me to brace up against the wall.
The back of my head felt like it was on fire, and a sickening thrum sensation made its way through to the front of my head. Weakness washed through me and for a moment I had a hard time not falling down.
“Wolf, Wolf, are you alright?!” Ander was anxiously asking me. “Say something, man.”
Shaking my head, the dizziness started fading away and I was able to focus. It was hard, but I managed not to throw up.
Ander was in front of me trying to get me to look up, “Look here … in my eyes. You alright?”
“Yeah, yeah …” I stammered. “Where did she go?”
“Where did who go?”
“The old woman I was talking to.”
“Wolf,” Ander had a serious expression on his face, “there wa
s nobody. You just suddenly walked over and started talking to a shadow in the alley.”
The wave of weakness was gone, but my head still hurt a bit. Not there? No, I thought, she was there. I could smell her, that unique blend of smoke and herbs. Invisible, maybe? Could I see things which were invisible? Was that even possible? And what about the sudden flash? I hadn’t had an episode in, well, over two years.
I looked into Ander’s eyes, then nodded my head in thought. “It must have just been my imagination. I’ve been tired a lot lately.”
“Yeah, man, you work your butt off. You’ve got to back down every once in a while.” He gave me a hopeful glance as he held onto my shoulders, then asked, “You sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go look at that sword you’ve been talking about.”
Chapter 35
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WHEN HE FIRST arrived in Kiubejhan, Hoscoe had indentured himself to the king as, a warrior with knowledge of the cognobin species. One thing which had bothered me from the beginning, however, was that these critters were new to the region and no one had even heard of them before six years ago. And then Hoscoe stepped up and claimed to know something about them.
When I asked him about it a little later, he grinned slyly for a moment and said, “Well, I did have knowledge of them. I had heard about them, and I saw them lying about in the destroyed village.” Raising his eyebrow at me in humor he asked, “How much does one have to know in order to claim knowledge on a subject? They did not ask how much knowledge I had, they merely assumed I knew more than they.”
Hoscoe had been working on a map he was making on his wall, and turning to me he added, “Besides, I am deliberating the issue. Contrary to local belief, I don’t think they are demons at all. And I did have the opportunity to study their dead up close.”
He studied about where to place a small marker on his map, and then continued, “Apparently I am the only one to have close up knowledge of these, cognobins, as they are called.”
I was curious, “Really, not demons? Then, what are they? Where do they come from?”
He brushed his chin, added another element to his map and said, “I’m not sure what they are.” Then he turned and looked at me again, “But this much I know for certain, they can be injured and slain, therefore they are neither spirit creatures nor demons. Nor are they related to the goblinoid races.
“Goblins repel from fire, not because of fear, but because their eyes can’t tolerate the direct heat or the patterns of flickering flame. Furthermore, their skin is not porous as ours is. If our skin touches fire, it will burn or blister. If a goblin is exposed to fire, or any concentrated heat for that matter, the heat will permeate inward.”
I remember giving him the most perplexed stare.
Hoscoe then began gesturing around his arms and face as he explained, “You see … all goblin races are covered in what appears to be warts. But they are not warts, they are small reservoirs, or little deposits of water, which helps them to stay hydrated for extended periods of time.
“All goblin races recycle their water,” he chuckled, “which is one reason they always smell so badly.
“They can withstand natural heat well and thrive in arid regions. But concentrated heat is unnatural, their water sacks cannot respond quickly enough and can rupture, explode. And because their skin is so naturally tough …” Hoscoe expanded his hands and exaggerated his eyes, “the explosion goes inside the body.”
Hoscoe chuckled again, I always liked hearing him chuckle with that accent of his, “Goblin stew.” Then he wrinkled his nose and shook his head in disgust.
“These cognobins do not possess any of the intricate features of goblin-kind. Ugly, yes. Goblins, no.”
Hoscoe paused, lost in thought. And then he continued, “No, I think they more resemble something else. But I do not want to venture a guess as yet.
“I believe the real question at hand, however, is more accurately … who directs them?” Punctuating the remark he raised his eyebrows, then tilting his head he returned to his map.
During our first year Hoscoe spent many hours in meetings with the king, commander and other figures of leadership regarding those cognobins. What was peculiar, though, was shortly after we got here, the random attacks stopped.
Yes, they had taken control of the Phabeon River Canyon Bridge and its surrounding area. And they were camped in strategic locations along the desert border. But the continued onslaught against the citizens of Keoghnariu seemed to cease, and the expected mass attack had not happened.
Hoscoe believed, as did many others, the apparent cease of aggression was directly linked to the disappearance of Meidra. The officials of the kingdom believed she was in on some form of overthrow of Chitivias. Many believed she had been interested in claiming the diamond mines for herself. Hoscoe believed something else was going on.
Hoscoe had wanted to go back to Biunang Village to further investigate the slaughter and remaining bodies. But only days after the destruction of Meidra’s Temple, reports came back that the cognobins had secured the area around the bridge and old village.
Then came the issue of horses.
Horses were not rare, but they weren’t plentiful, either. Farmers were allowed what was needed for plowing and what not, but good riding stock were taken for military use of the kingdom.
It must be remembered, the human population of the Keoghnariu Kingdom was concentrated in agricultural villages, many of which were walled with upright logs. The diamond mines were a small, select and specific part of the culture, but there were other mining operations, as well. There was lots of iron in them there hills; very high-grade iron ore, at that.
Young though the kingdom was, lifestyle was still based on the longtime hunter-gatherer ecology throughout the Jho’Menquita Territory. While trade with the outside world was an eventual goal, King Chitivias was directing his people into a self-sustaining government and eco-system. This was an especially good thing, considering we were effectively cut off from the rest of the world.
A lot of emphasis was placed on crops, and crops were cultivated which had many purposes. Grains were grown of which the entire plant could be used. Basket weaving was becoming an art, and an indigenous grain called sobeth could be processed for many different uses.
Up to recent decades, human living standards in the territory was low. Usually one would have to survive with only what one could carry. Possession of a horse was a luxury, and there were lots of predators in those dense forests which loved horsemeat.
Attaracks were maybe four feet tall, walked on hind legs most of the time, but could run on all fours really fast. They were scavengers, mostly, and traveled along the edges of the forests in family hunting groups of four or five. They would eat anything they could find, but relished horseflesh. They could blend well into any of the regional background, but the scariest thing about them was their intelligence. They weren’t quite up to using weapons, but they were capable of solving minor problems.
Gadwaurs were spotted cats, maybe two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds, who hunted in male and female pairs. They were probably the premier hunters in the whole territory and were also great climbers. You might encounter one anywhere. Clean creatures, they rarely abandoned a carcass and returned to it, and highly territorial.
Attaracks were known to follow gadwuars, although seeing an attarack didn’t always mean the presence of a gadwaur.
Lihtosax, however, were at the top of the forest food chain. Imagine a tarantula crossed with a centipede; it spins a large, multi-faceted, almost invisible web, and can emit a musk cloud which will paralyze anything that breaths it in. Their bite contains a toxin which turns flesh into a rotting gel; this they drink through suction tubes.
Oh, and a mature Lihtosax can grow to be five feet long, not counting legs and antennae. Thankfully, Lihtosax most usually stayed farther south, in the vicinity of what is called the Mhn’O’Quai Jungle.
; Anyway, keeping a horse without a place to protect it was dangerous business. Simply put, while there was forage enough, this wasn’t wild horse country. Arabian horses, however, thrived in the regions north and east of the Pehnaché River.
Most horses throughout the kingdom were kept within walls, and more often than not they belonged to the crown. Horse warriors were considered an almost elite group and were specially trained. Civilians who owned horses were charged a high tax, since they must be kept behind walls. And horse feed was made expensive as well.
When Hoscoe had ridden through the gates, he was seen as a traveler; no problem. But when he indentured himself, well, it changed things. We weren’t entirely trusted, if you remember, from the beginning. So it wasn’t long before it was suggested Hoscoe sell his horses to the crown.
It was all polite and diplomatic, of course. But Hoscoe let me know it was one way to ensure we wouldn’t try to go anywhere real fast. Two people on foot, days away from anywhere in the wilderness, who didn’t know their way around, and with cognobins everywhere … it didn’t sound like an intelligent decision.
Hoscoe’s value as a Master of Swords, a teacher, became immediately apparent, however. And truth to tell, he relished the duty. He had many gifts, but one of his greatest was in teaching. Lots of people think just because you know something you can teach it; not so. Nor can you just up and learn to teach. You can learn to teach better, but it takes talent. I’ve seen a vast number of people try to teach, who have even gone to schools to learn teaching, but have no business doing it.
Hoscoe’s classes had become very popular and were now required by all soldiers. There were times he attended council with the king to discuss the cognobins, but it was not all that frequent. Hoscoe believed Chitivias was drawing all of the wrong conclusions.
Hoscoe, however, kept his map current and was forever contemplating motive, purpose and plan. For two and a half years this riddle had perplexed him. I would say it perplexed me as well, but to be honest, it was beyond my reach and scope so I simply left it to the expert.