by Garry Ocean
They wanted to take Nick to the other side of the river, and Cleo insisted on that as well. But then a courier from the village of Niya the Hermit arrived, saying that the Exodus in some miraculous way bypassed the village, only touching it on the edge. The girl had found out somehow that they all gathered at the Tower and sent the man for them. As soon as he heard that, Whisperer gave the order to load Nick on the cart and take him to Niya’s village. That was all that Sith had told Nick up to that point. Here at the village he did indeed start to feel better. On the second day, he was able to get up and get to the can all by himself.
And now he was finishing off a second cup of the good mead. Whisperer said it wouldn’t hurt. However, he’d need to be in shape tomorrow. A council is gathering. Seems like Cleo and her bodyguard are also going to join them for the journey to the Forest. Whisperer was not particularly thrilled about it, so the council will decide tomorrow. By the way, Nick saw Cleo only briefly, through the window. Whisperer allowed no one to see Nick. Niya, as Sith told him, was also unwell. What did he say? “The Exodus took all her strength away.” That was all Nick managed to get out of the boy’s useless mumblings. “I need to see her before we leave,” Nick thought, eager to get her answers to some of his burning questions.
Gray, as Nick christened the little animal in a rush, was lounging on the bench next to him, curled up. In reality, the puppy was not at all gray, as Nick initially thought in the lighthouse. Moreover, it had an innate ability to change the color of its fur to blend in with the surroundings. So he turned out to be a local chameleon. Nick found out about it just recently, but the name Gray stuck.
The animal wouldn’t leave him for a second. At the lighthouse, when he was slipping in and out of his consciousness, Nick noticed that the puppy was constantly licking the bleeding wound on his hip. At first Nick thought that the puppy was just licking it like the earthly dogs lick their wounds, but then he realized that Gray was simply hungry and licked his blood to substitute for his mother’s milk. After he thought a little about this, Nick decided not to stop him and even made another cut to prevent the puppy’s death from hunger. They were lucky that in Niya’s village a female sloth gave birth. Gray drank her milk greedily and with great pleasure when Sith brought it for him. So the feeding problem was temporarily resolved.
Pak came up to the table. He winked at Nick and set a clay pot with something hot and tasty in front of him. The aroma coming out of the pot reminded Nick of the stew that his father used to make on his rare returns to his Earth’s home. Along with the meat, he put in there a lot of vegetables and was always generous with the spices that made the dish especially piquant.
“You, Nick, should eat more!” Pak said, and his hands, like a magician’s, produced a new jug of mead. “Food gives life, life gives strength, and mead gives!...” he wanted to add something else dramatic, but then must have forgotten what, stumbled and concluded, “And this is all I have to say about that.”
Nick was going to ask Pak to join him at the table, but the latter beat him to it, “I am here just for a second! Too much to do!” As if apologizing, he nodded at the kitchen, where Lola was buzzing around, and poured some mead for himself from the jug when she couldn’t see. “Well, here’s to your health!”
Nick couldn’t reject the host’s toast, so he followed his example and emptied his cup in one gulp.
“That’s great, Nick!” Pak wiped his wet lips with his hand. “Whatever my wife says, no one has ever died of mead!”
He chuckled happily, winked at Nick again, and rushed back to the kitchen.
Nick happily ate the entire pot of hot stew. Then he drank a little more of mead and leaned back on the bench, totally satisfied. The tasty food nailed him to the bench. The tension of the last several days was completely gone. He felt great, surprisingly.
“I wonder why Whisperer is delaying our departure? There, even Cleo and her stern warrior are ready to set out on the journey. Is he concerned about me? He shouldn’t be. I should tell him that. In fact, I should go and tell him that right now!” Nick got up, leaning on the table with his both hands. “Hey, Gray! I will soon deliver you to your home! To your brethren in the Forest! Or where is it that your home is?”
Nick bent over to pick up the puppy into his hands, but swayed. His felt dizzy, the room started to spin in front of his eyes, and he dropped back on the bench.
“What is wrong with me?” Nick was puzzled. Slowly and carefully, trying not to make sharp movements, he got up from the table and, wobbling and swaying, went to the staircase. Already upstairs, he remembered that he’d forgotten Gray downstairs. Nick sighed heavily, turned around to go back, but then felt the sharp little nails digging into his shoulder. He looked to the side and saw the sleepy face of the puppy. “You are so fast, aren’t you?” Nick said, pushed the door in and fell on the bed in his room like a log.
*****
“Wake up, sleepy head!” Sith’s annoying voice boomed in Nick’s ear.
“Get away from me, Sith!” Nick turned away to the wall. “I just fell asleep. What’s keeping you up at night?”
“Night? What night?” the boy made some racketing noises with something next to Nick’s bed. “It’s noon already! Get up! I’ve brought you some breakfast, even though normal people already have lunch at this time.”
Nick sat on the bed. His head was spinning and aching. He was unbearably thirsty.
“Sith, my friend,” Nick looked at the boy with his pleading eyes, “Could you bring me something to drink, please?”
“You are not the greatest-born Guardian, fetch it yourself!”
“I really feel sick, my head hurts.”
“Aha!” Sith moaned triumphantly. “You were quite healthy to chug the mead yesterday, and now you are too sick to get water?”
The boy, still mumbling something like “I don’t understand why Whisperer is still fussing so much about you!” did go downstairs. In a couple of minutes he came back, set a jug full of water in front of Nick, and said in a lot more peaceful tone, “You, Nick, should not really compete with Pak. He started drinking mead when you were still crawling under the table.”
“I had just a little bit,” Nick tried not to look at the boy.
“A little bit!” Sith mocked him. “All right, now you need to eat as well, Whisperer and our dear guests are already waiting for us downstairs. We’ll hold a council!”
*****
When Nick came downstairs, the council was at its peak. That is, it was slowly subsiding. Nick, although he was not in his best form, could tell immediately that the high negotiating parties failed to reach a consensus. Sith was sitting a little further from everyone else, as if he wanted to show some respect for his elders. Although who knows, this little fox could have another reason only he knew about. Whisperer was sitting there with a detached look, as if letting everyone know that he had said everything he had to say and that everything else was of no importance. Gunn-Terr’s face was so expressionless that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He just gave Nick a quick assessing look and turned away. Cleo was still talking about something, but from the tone of her voice it was clear that she, herself did not believe she could convince anyone. She looked as if she had exhausted all her arguments and was repeating them for the third time just to keep talking. When she saw Nick coming down the stairs, she fell silent and joyfully fluttered her eyelashes. Because of this, her beautiful slightly slanted eyes became even more attractive. Her gaze embarrassed Nick. Paradoxically, it expressed a whole range of contradictory feelings: From a child-like plea for help, to joy to see him, to an unwavering desire to go all the way to the end in her decision.
Not to show his embarrassment and to gather his thoughts, Nick cleared his throat. He quickly remembered the brief instructions Whisperer gave him when they were crossing the river on the ferry. The old man said then that he could just say “you,” with no title, to any layman. However, the noble citizens must be addressed with “high-born” befo
re the name, while the Guardians and members of their families, even if you are just talking about them, not with them, must be described as “greatest-born.” Quite a strange tradition, Nick thought then. But then he remembered that on Earth in ancient times there was something like that as well. In his time, it was absolutely unimportant where you were born, on Earth or in a distant colony and who your parents were. Every human was born equal with others in terms of rights and responsibilities and no one would ever have a wild thought that someone deserves something more than others just by the birthright. The society bestowed respect upon people only based on their merits and the contribution that they made to the society. The higher you are in the societal hierarchy, the more social responsibility you have. For example, Paul’s grandfather used to be a member of the World Council, so what? No one at their school knew about it, except for Nick, of course and some teachers. And only quite recently Nick found out that as a World Council member he was entitled to a personal zero-capsule in the house or adjacent land due to his super busy schedule. However, Nick never saw anything like that at Paul’s house. Moreover, his grandfather, whenever he was there, always used a flyer that was outdated and obsolete in terms of model and functional design.
The pause was becoming a little too long, and to overcome embarrassment, Nick said, slightly bowing his head, as if not sure if he was supposed to do it according to the local etiquette, “Greatest-born Cleo! I am glad to see you in great health and good mood!” He was going to address his next greeting to Gunn-Terr, scolding himself in his mind for not having asked Whisperer about how to address the warrior correctly, and in general, how to tell a layman from a noble one just by their appearance. Is it about their clothes?
Suddenly, the girl came to his rescue, saying, “High-born Nick of the Westgayer clan!” She smiled at him charmingly, and Nick thought that he saw a merry sparkle in her eyes. “We have talked this over,” the girl raised her voice slightly, “and arrived at a consensus that we don’t need to use any titles when we address each other.” She gave a meaningful look to Gunn-Terr first, and then to Whisperer, “So don’t bother about it and simply call me Cleo.”
“Yes, of course, this is much more convenient,” Nick smiled broadly and then stopped short under Gunn-Terr’s stern look, but still finished, “Cleo.”
“Everything’s been decided!” It sounded like the girl was pronouncing this phrase at least for the fifth time. She didn’t look at anyone, but Nick felt that her words were mostly aimed at her bodyguard. “You’ve agreed yourself recently that the proper address to me, when we are on the other side of the Rapid Waters, would sound at least out of place, or would even attract unnecessary attention to me!”
“As you wish, greatest-born,” the warrior’s face seemed impartial and even the most attentive observer wouldn’t have caught a slightest hint of hidden sarcasm.
Gunn-Terr knew Cleo since she was an infant. Even though it was not his direct responsibility, but just like any other member of her family, and perhaps even more, he participated in her upbringing. As a child, at night the girl often asked him to sit next to her bed. That helped her fall asleep faster. At times, he would tell her the Alvars’ legends that he had heard from his grandmother as a child. Cleo was a very curious child and she made Gunn-Terr recall more and more stories as she was growing up. When they were alone, they could simply chat for a long time, ignoring all conventions of subordination. But when in public, he always made sure to address her respectfully and as it was prescribed by the convention for the daughter of the Supreme Guardian.
Now Gunn-Terr was mad at himself. The girl, of course, was right. No one on this side of the river needed to know who she really was. That was exactly the reason why he ordered his people to wait for them at the pier. Gunn-Terr had given Zerg-Terr all his weapons, shield, and armor, keeping only a sword and light leather armor. But that was not what bothered him. He couldn’t shake off his own doubts, and so prayed to the Departed to take them away! On one hand, his duty was to accompany Cleo everywhere. On the other hand, he could not let her go on this suicide mission. Naturally, in his considerations Gunn-Terr did not even pay the slightest attention to the idea that as her bodyguard he would be in the way of lethal danger first. His duty was to preserve her life, at any cost, nothing less, nothing more.
Gunn-Terr started to feel a lot better about the old man, when the latter, without flattering and fawning over the Supreme Guardian’s daughter that was so habitual in the City, directly replied to her that he himself was not sure of the success of the trip. And the odds of finding her half-brother and returning from the Forest alive were miniscule.
“That’s right,” Gunn-Terr thought, “And the troop for the journey is also something to consider. The old man must have been a great pathfinder in his time, but his best years are far behind him. The boy with a cunning face does not count at all. This hunky Nick is a good fighter, no argument about that. I saw him in the Arena but he is not a warrior.”
Gunn-Terr spent all his life learning how to read people. That was an essential skill for his job. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been a good bodyguard. This lad really had everything: strength, agility, and endurance and the speed of his reaction was something to envy. But he was not a warrior, no matter what everyone says. He was soft at heart, thinking first and hitting second. When he was in the Arena on that fateful day, he did not kill a single step-dweller, as Gunn-Terr found out later. Wounded them? – Yes. Mutilated them? – Yes, but never killed anyone. This will not work in a battle, when every second counts and when your actions determine not only whether you will stay alive, but also if your fellow warriors survive as well, one cannot hesitate. Hit to kill, think later.
“So, what should I do? Take my people with us? Here the old man is right, there’s no use for a large troop in the Forest. Two or three? That would probably change nothing. Besides, the Forest is not White Rocks,” Gunn-Terr thought. He was a smart tactician and always tried to objectively evaluate the circumstances at hand. The Alvars were great in the open combat. In the battles on the rocks they knew no equals, but in the Forest the weakest hunter would put to shame his best fighter.
“I have said everything!” it was clear that Cleo’s patience had reached its limits. “With or without you, I will set out today!”
She looked around the room and stopped her burning eyes on the old man. “Whisperer! Is that what they call you here? I don’t want to burden you with unnecessary requests, but I hope you will render me one favor?”
Whisperer mumbled something into his beard in response. Not put off by such a disrespectful answer, the girl continued, “Take me to Kolp. Or at least tell me where I can find him.”
Nick thought he saw the old man going pale a little. He started to play with his beard and for some reason looked at Sith. What he was going to answer remained secret as at that very moment everyone heard a quiet but clear voice coming from the side of the staircase, “Here you all are.”
Niya was standing next to the staircase, looking at everyone attentively with her unnaturally big eyes. Everyone present thought that the girl was looking directly at him or her. “Everything is just like in those premonitions,” the girl said.
Nick thought the girl was a little confused herself. Perhaps, this impression was produced by her appearance. Her small body looked frail, with its thin twig-like and impossibly pale arms and disproportionately large head sitting on a thin stem of a neck. Her awkward appearance was amplified by a quiet child voice and the large eyes, full of immeasurable sadness. Those eyes would suit a wise old person, who had suffered through many troubles and losses in life, better than a little girl.
“I am glad to see you all in my house,” Niya wasn’t smiling and her voice was the same quiet and lifeless, but everyone could feel that she was indeed happy to see them. “There’s no reason to argue. You are not here by accident. Everything was predetermined a long time ago, before you were born.”
The girl closed her eyes for a m
oment, as if listening to something deep inside her, then nodded in agreement with what it said, “I don’t know how it is possible. I just see it. Every single one of you is driven by your own, personal goals. But, while you are completely different, you need each other just like anything alive needs the Orphius rays.”
Niya’s voice was becoming distant, as if she was going away. Not to miss a single word, Nick had to listen hard. He started to drown in the depth of the girl’s bottomless eyes. Registering with his back mind that he was losing his grip on reality, it was floating away, Nick forcefully shook his head. The fog enveloping his mind cleared up a little and he found himself in the room again.
As if feeling that, Niya turned to Nick and continued, “The present has occurred and is moving into the past. The future, however, is still unclear. What is supposed to happen is entirely in your hands. Everyone who is present here today wants to find answers to burning personal questions. But only pulling your efforts together will you be able to find them and realize what their true meaning is.”
Very carefully, afraid of interrupting the girl with an unnecessary movement, Nick looked at his companions. Whisperer stood with his eyes half-closed. Sith’s face was gradually showing increasing pain. Gunn-Terr leaned forward, like a racehorse ready to start, getting a better grip of his sword with his left hand. Only Cleo was looking straight at Niya, happily excited and clinging to every word.