by Jacob Cooper
Reign was utterly confused but remembered the old man that had visited her half a span after her father died. She almost thought it had been a dream but he spoke words similar to those Jayden now did.
“But,” she went on, “I know your love for him lies dormant. One day, it will resurface. And you may fear this day because it will force you to face what you have hidden deep within yourself. But you cannot have his last breath until you do. And this, you will surely need.”
“I’ll need what? I don’t understand.”
“No, not yet. But you must remember my words. The time will come when you will understand them and also know that you are a current.”
Reign thought that perhaps Hedron was right about her being a little crazy.
“I—”
“Hush, girl, I know. Your father knew how the Ancient Dark was spreading her Influence over this land and he was not neutral in the struggle. Nor, I suspect, shall you be.”
Struggle? Reign wondered. What struggle?
But Reign did not vocalize her question and Jayden did not expound further.
“Remember above all, young Reign, you are a current.”
“Hedron will need help,” Reign said.
“Oh, your brother.” The wolf shepherd sighed. “He’s a stagnant current if I’ve ever met one. It’ll take a stronger one than me to get him flowing again.”
“He’s just…a boy,” Reign said lamely.
“Aye, for now. But I see the seeds of your father in him. And I don’t mean just his appearance.”
“He’s better than him. Hedron never left me.”
Jayden stopped walking. “Thannuel is not the one who left, child. You will know this one day.”
She turned around and started walking back to the cottage. Reign followed.
“But, dear girl, as I’ve said, I suspect it will take a stronger one than me to mold that brother of yours. Blockheaded, daft specimen that he is.”
“You don’t talk of how you knew…how you knew my…”
“Your father?” Jayden finished for her. “Yes, you’re right. But I did know him, and very well. In some ways, better than even your mother knew him.”
At that comment, Reign became angry. Jayden saw the change on her face.
“Oh, relax child. I mean nothing improper or any slight to Moira. In truth, I never met her. But, any woman that Thannuel loved, I revered. She was everything to him.”
“And he left her as well,” Reign said.
“I think, underneath all your feelings of betrayal and anger, you know that’s not true.”
“True enough,” Reign answered.
Jayden shrugged. “Maybe. Now, see to your brother. You’re right about him needing help. So much.”
Hedron sat on the pitched roof of the cottage with a pair of deerskin gloves and two sticks lashed together in the form of a T. He pushed the snow and ice from the apex of the roof toward either edge. The slope of the roof helped his effort but sometimes a pile would not slide completely off, so he would lay on his belly, head angled down the slope, and reach his crude snow rake down as far as he could to nudge the mass the last little bit it needed to clear the roof. The wolves had returned from their morning hunt and several stood around the cottage, eagerly prancing back and forth as they looked up at him. Playful barks sounded like taunts to the Kerr boy, as if they teased him for having to do such menial work.
“Go somewhere else, you fleabags!”
They didn’t leave but continued to run around the cottage, barking. It was only three or four, but they wore on him constantly.
I don’t care if they saved us. I’m not going to grow up to be a wolf shepherd in a frozen forest!
“Yeah yeah, bark bark,” the boy scoffed back. He scooted forward and came to a rather sizeable blob of compact snow. It rested on a sheet of ice down the left slope of the roof—right where one of the offending flea-ridden wastes of hair and flesh stood. With reflexes too fast for the wolf to dodge, Hedron shoved the snow pile forcefully down. It slid down the roof like a miniature avalanche at the speed of a waterfall and crashed into the wolf, burying him up to his neck. The barking turned to a yelp of fright followed by whimpering. It leapt from the snow cocoon and ran away with its tail between its hind legs.
“Ha!” Hedron bellowed as he stood and held the snow rake above his head in victory. “That’s right! Run from me, cowards! What’s wrong, you afraid of a little snow? Come on back—”
A ball of ice and snow collided with the left side of his head; it stung his check and blasted into his ear. The shock of it made him lose his balance and, despite his wood-dweller agility, his feet slipped over his head. He hit hard on the roof and slid down, clawing in vain for grip. He yelled out as he went over the lip of the roof and landed in the same pile of snow he had just introduced to the wolf. Staring up, he saw what he thought was a young, dark haired girl standing over him, laughing.
“Reign?” he asked.
In answer a second snowball, this one smaller, hit his face. More laughter from Reign as she ran away. Hedron didn’t remain dazed for long. Springing up, he reached down and scooped up some frozen ammunition of his own and started to pack it tightly as he chased his sister.
“You’re dead!” he promised.
“You’d have to be able to catch me first!” she giggled. Hedron threw the snowball but missed.
She’s so fast!
Hedron had stamina that served him well in long distances, but Reign’s deftness and nimbleness over short distances made her nearly impossible to catch. She could change direction as if momentum had no bearing on her whatsoever.
“Blasted Heavens, hold still!” Hedron swore as he packed another snowball. Several wolves swept into the frolicking and wove in and out of the twins’ paths as they chased each other throughout the woods.
“Come on brother, where’s your speed?”
“I just don’t want to embarrass you too badly!” he shot back.
She laughed. “After I just embarrassed you so badly?”
He sent his second volley down range and this one struck home, pelting her square in the back. Reign stopped where she was and looked out. They were only a quarter league from the Gonfrey Glaciers. No matter how many times he saw them, awe always filled Hedron as he took in their sight.
“It’s like the edge of the world,” Reign said. “Is there anything else out there? Beyond them, I mean?”
“Has to be. They can’t go on forever. Father said he would bring me to see the glaciers someday.”
When Reign didn’t answer, he thought he knew what she was thinking. “This probably wasn’t what he had in mind, but at least I’ve seen them now.”
There was more silence between them as they took in the grandeur of the sight. The air was still with the glacier’s chill.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I’m not even completely sure what did happen.”
“You could try, sister.”
“Not today.”
“Someday?” Hedron asked.
“Probably. Yes.”
“Friend or foe?” Hedron asked.
“Huh?”
“If someone does live on the other side of these massive ice blocks, are they our friends?”
“It would be nice to have friends again,” Reign said.
Hedron thought of all their friends, the ones they used to have when they were still just normal kids. He would play carelessly throughout the hold, sprinting across the elevated pathways that wove around and through the entire hold, sprawling through the trees and back down again. But mostly, he thought of Kathryn Hoyt. They had been promised to each other since he was eight years old and she seven. Kathryn seemed to be delighted by the prospect, lost in a girlhood romantic fantasy. Hedron, on the other hand, couldn’t stand the thought of marriage when it was so far off, or even girls for that matter. Not at first. Kathryn’s relentless hounding of him, though mostly annoying, had eventu
ally felt flattering and he found he enjoyed the attention even though he would never admit it.
“I miss Kathryn.”
Reign coughed. “You cannot be serious.”
“Why not?”
“Hedron! After everything that’s happened you miss your little girlfriend? That’s what you’re thinking about?”
He did feel foolish now. “I’m sorry I said anything. You brought up friends.”
“She wasn’t your friend, she was your intended. You hardly knew her for Light’s sake.”
“I guess I wish I did better. Know her, I mean. What did you have against her, anyway?”
“Uh, well, there’s the fact she wasn’t good enough for you, she’s not a wood-dweller, she’s annoying with her perfect blonde hair, and what of your children? They wouldn’t even be true wood-dwellers.”
“Wow. I just said I missed her. It’s not like I’m picking out names for kids.”
“And so what if you were?” Jayden asked from behind them. Hedron had felt her approach but didn’t care to truncate their conversation. “It’s not as if children of a single wood-dweller parent are any different than of a couple where both parents are wood-dwellers. The offspring have all the same traits regardless.”
“She’s gone, anyway,” Reign said. “That life is over for us.”
“Is that why you come to the glacier’s edge and stare out? To find a new life, little one? Trust me, there is no life that awaits you out there.”
“There’s no life for us anywhere anymore,” Hedron said.
“Don’t be stupid, lad, hard though that may be currently. I think your feelings for the young Lady Hoyt are well founded. Perhaps someday you will go see about her again.”
“Not while I’m a Kerr. That would have to change first.”
“No lad you have it backwards. See, you’re not a Kerr yet. That’s what will have to change.”
“Blah, blah, blah, here we go again,” he mocked and rolled his eyes.
“Like I said, Reign, one stronger than I will have to sharpen this blunt instrument,. And it will take a lot of force.”
Hedron glanced sideways to his sister and saw that she was grinning mischievously.
“Is it time, Reign?”
“I think so.”
The twins simultaneously scooped up a handful of snow, turned in a blur of speed and threw the snow in Jayden’s face. They were darting back to the cottage before she had time to retaliate with her usual threats. Hedron did think he heard a faint chuckle from the old woman as they ran from where they had left her.
SIXTEEN
Tyjil
Day 18 of 4th Dimming 406 A.U.
2 Years and 1 Cycle Ago
TYJIL STOOD WITH THE rest of the small company several leagues south of Calyn. This part of the forest was not inhabited. There were no towns or villages to interfere with his demonstration this night and yet it was not too far into the Western Province so as not to attract unwanted attention. The wood-dwellers’ ability to feel movement through their cursed trees could be maddening.
That might change if he had mastered the Influence he had stolen from the Gyldenal.
“The forests here are so dark,” High Duke Wellyn remarked as he looked up. The canopy of tightly intertwining branches and leaves resembled an overcast night, only allowing slivers of moonlight and occasional flickers of starlight to pierce its veil. Far above, the veins of the Triarch leaves were barely luminescent.
It was not actually the Influence he had taken that he planned on demonstrating, but its opposite. “Taken” was perhaps the wrong word; rather, he had learned the Influence through ill motives and subterfuge, though he frustratingly could not use its power. It was the knowledge of the Lumenatis and its workings that provided the ability to wield the Influence, but also, he surmised, alignment with the Light’s will. Tyjil, however, was not interested in mastering the Influence as it was. His motives were darker for understanding the Living Light, for he desired to undo it. And for this, one needed to understand it thoroughly in order to comprehend its opposite. To understand the Dark, study the Light; for death, life; for pain, pleasure. He had become many people, many things; but the High Duke’s advisor pledged his pursuits to one thing above all: power.
Power did not corrupt, as some taught. Power perfected one’s true self, harvesting the fruit of seeds planted in the soil of sovereignty. Dominance. Supremacy. He understood that not everyone had the fertility to nurture greatness within as he did and Tyjil did not discriminate toward them.
“Every master needs stepping stones to his throne,” he reminded himself often.
A throne is what Tyjil knew he was destined for. Not the Granite Throne his Duke occupied, but a figurative one made of darkness, for he understood the Dark Mother and her desires. And when one understood another’s desires, manipulation was possible.
He had convinced Wellyn of the power held in the Arlethian lands and tempted Wellyn with it, but they would need time in the Tavaniah Forest, time Tyjil was not afforded when he last visited those lands three years ago. Once he could discover the Lumenatis itself, Tyjil would either harness it for himself and control it, or, if that proved impossible, extinguish it.
Unknowingly, the Borathein had provided an interesting opportunity that Tyjil intended to exploit. It was vital that he succeed and gain the trust of this fool who had traveled from across the Glaciers of Gonfrey. Shilkath claimed he could marshal a host great enough to wipe out the Senthary and claim these lands. The fool had actually given advance notice of his intent, saying his gods demanded it. The last thing he needed now was a war between the Senthary and Borathein. That would be most interruptive to his plans. But, if he could remove the Arlethians—yes, that would be fruitful indeed.
“This is some chance we take with you exposed, My Lord,” one of the Khans said. “Perhaps if you could have taken more—”
The chase-giver snickered from behind his hooded cloak.
“More? More what?” the chase-giver taunted. “I smell your apprehension, craven.” Emotional scent gave chase-givers the ability to track and discern their prey, Tyjil knew, but they could also identify the source or motive behind an emotion. Though anxiety itself may have a unique scent, as do all emotions, there were subtle ranges or degrees within each scent that were used by chase-givers to identify gender, species, and motive or reason for the emotion felt. Though not quite as clear as telepathy would likely be, it was nonetheless a powerful advantage to decipher another’s motives.
Tyjil knew more about this lethal race than a chase-giver himself would, their legends having become more myth than history as they were passed down. But his own emotions had no scent; or, none that escaped. He easily captured and recycled them. This lesson from the Gyldenal had stayed with him and he found it most useful in the presence of a Helsyan.
“Perhaps if you had brought more courage with you, Khan, we wouldn’t be plagued by your whining.”
The sentinel moved forward, glowering at the chase-giver. “My concern is for our Duke, who holds your leash, dog. Perhaps you should remember your place.” His words hissed forth. “My resolve is unwavering, while your—”
“Hadik.” Wellyn spoke with irritation laced through his words, putting an end to the confrontation. The Khan immediately broke off and resumed his guard position at the right flank of Wellyn with two other Khans on horseback. The chase-giver made a whimpering sound, as a hurt puppy would, jeering Hadik. The Khan did not react.
“I am passing the points of patience,” the tallest member of the group muttered in a thick guttural accent. “My javelin will return to your people if we do not see this proof you have promised. We require you to shoulder much of the effort for our pact to have meaning.”
“It is true,” Tyjil said, “that without a distinct advantage and well-defined plans, there can be little hope of defeating the Arlethians. This is why we are here, yes? We cede our lands to you in exchange for you exterminating the population of the Western Provin
ce. It’s a fair trade, I think, yes? Especially in light of their betrayal of your kin so long ago.”
“We can take the land from you anyway!” Shilkath threatened.
“I do not think so,” the High Duke countered as he rubbed the amulet under his robe. Tyjil heard Rembbran’s breath quicken, likely with anticipation.
“Regardless, what does this thing do for you? You will destroy your own people?” Shilkath asked Wellyn.
“Call it opportunity,” the High Duke answered. “And, the Arlethians are not really my people, are they? Besides, many more of your people will live rather than die fighting an all-out conquest against the Senthary, including the Arlethians, with no certainty of victory. The result you seek is granted at less cost.”
“Let me see this trick,” Shilkath demanded, his patience fleeing.
“No trick, Deklar. An Influence,” Tyjil corrected.
“We do not know these things. It is a trick if it is anything.”
Tyjil smiled. “We shall see, yes?” The old bald man turned to a tree, the one closest to him. He made sure it was one the wood-dwellers called a Triarch. He knew it had the most Light within it. Arlethians did not even know why they could speak with trees, why the forest was “fluent,” as they said. Not unless they were the very few who were part of the Gyldenal, who most believed to be nothing more than tales for children at bedtime. Well, Tyjil would help ensure that they did in fact become nothing more than myth.
He thrust his hands forward and grabbed the tree. The pressure of his grip turned his old knuckles white and fingernails purple as blood was truncated from flowing into his hands. His jaw quivered as he conjured up the Dark within him. A blue luminescence began to radiate from the tree and the others stepped back, save for Shilkath, who stood unmoved.
“Trick,” he said again.
Tyjil opened his mouth and sucked in, making a discordant sound as the air vibrated his vocal chords. The strident symphony of his inhale grew to an almost inhuman volume when the blue light suddenly dissipated. It looked as if it were a material that simply disintegrated. To the others, it may have looked this way, but Tyjil knew the truth. He had consumed the Light into the Darkness he held and then exterminated it completely. Forever. That portion of the Lumenatis would never be regained. The Song of Night played in his head as Noxmyra’s presence drew nearer.