Even after the sun dipped below the horizon, Rheq continued onward. He hardly noticed the forest around him. Though he tried to put the images of his ruined hometown out of his mind, they kept returning. Finally, even using the light from the moon and stars, Rheq could not see the ground in front of him. Twisting an ankle now, or possibly some other careless injury, would prevent him from reaching friendly soldiers.
He snapped out of his reverie enough to look for a place to rest for the evening. The rumbling of another approaching thunderstorm helped expedite his decision. A large oak, wide enough to cover him from the western winds and rains would suffice.
Rheq began to search for dry leaves or other soft material to cushion his bed for the night when he heard something aside from thunder—music. A jaunty tune, one played at festivals or celebrations, sifted through the trees. Its location was northwest and close enough that Rheq figured it was worth a look, if for no other reason than to see if it posed a threat.
For the first time since leaving Umstead, Rheq used the techniques of walking silently through the forest. Light soon accompanied the music, as well as a distinct sound of singing. I recognize that song. Rheq felt his shoulders relax—he had not realized how tense they had become. If the source of the music came from whence he thought, his luck may have turned once again for the better.
The singing and playing of musical instruments—lutes, tambourines, recorders—were loud enough now to where Rheq no longer had to worry about moving quietly. Stepping around a thicket of briars, he got his first good look at them: Gymads.
From Rheq’s previous experience, he knew Gymads were a group of people who roamed from town to town, earning their living from trading goods as well as news. They were also entertainers who were more than happy to accept payment for those who wanted to hear their music. For Rheq, the most important thing about the Gymads was that their home consisted of wherever their travels took them at the time; they were not subjects of any particular king or ruler. It meant he could find shelter with them for the night.
Rheq counted fourteen wagons, a good omen, circled around a blazing fire. Children, dressed in bright colors, ran around the fire, while the adults—dressed in a similar fashion—played instruments, sang, or simply chatted with each other. Horses, along with a few goats, were penned up nearby.
Raising his empty hands, as was customary when entering a Gymad camp, Rheq stepped out from the shadow of the forest. Not only did it show the Gymads he wanted permission to come into their encampment, but it also showed that he meant them no harm.
A tall, thin man leaned against one of the wagons. He appeared disinterested, though Rheq new better. While the Gymads were peaceful by nature, they were also renowned for their fierceness in defending themselves. Throwing daggers, some coated with different types of poisons, were their weapons of choice. Rheq spotted several more men around the campsite, each watching without appearing to be on guard duty.
The closest man casually dropped one of his hands to his side as Rheq approached. No doubt he had daggers hidden out of sight.
“I ask for permission to enter,” Rheq spoke loudly enough for the thin man to hear.
Without looking at Rheq directly, the man asked, “What is it you seek?”
“Shelter.”
“No more than that?”
Even during a simple exchange as this, Rheq noticed that bargaining was part of the process. “Perhaps to swap news, as well as a few coin for supplies.”
“And what news do you have which would interest us?”
“Why build a wagon when you can ride on one for free?” Rheq answered. He would show this man that he, too, could bargain.
At this, the man looked up. He studied Rheq for a moment, keeping his hand to his side. “You’re a soldier. We want no part of your war.”
Rheq realized he still wore the uniform provided him by the king’s army. He began to chastise himself for making such an error, then realized he had no other clothes to wear. The chance to rest with the Gymads was slipping out of his hands.
“I have not sought out war. It sought out me,” Rheq said. “I honor your desire for peace. I wish for the same. Please, I ask of you, allow me to enter. I will share what I can in exchange for a place to rest for the evening.”
Thunder boomed, and the night lit up with arcing flashes of light. Rain began to fall now, a few drops at first, yet enough for the Gymads to stop playing their instruments. Adults ordered the young ones to their wagons. Still, the thin man did not move.
“A storm is coming, yes. An angry one by the smell in the air,” he said.
Rain began to fall harder. Rheq continued to stand in place, hands held high.
The thin man sighed, and then said, “Come then, in with you. But first, give me your weapons.”
With little choice, Rheq removed the bow and quiver of arrows slung from his shoulder. “Thank you,” Rheq said. He quickly moved toward the camp. Upon reaching the man, he handed the bow and quiver, as well as his short sword, to the Gymad then asked, “Where may I rest?”
Shrugging, the man motioned to the wagons. “Pick one.”
“But, won’t the owner of the wagons mind that I will be sharing their home?”
With that, the thin man barked out a laugh. “Oh, you misunderstand. You may sleep under one of the wagons.”
Chapter 39
Danla sat cross-legged in front of Mistress Halima, who sat in a similar fashion. Only the two of them were in her leader’s tent, a point on which Halima insisted.
The pain from the stab wound in Danla’s leg was gone. Once Halima had finished healing her, no trace of the wound remained. That was not to say all was well with her. After she had completed using the green myelur to heal the wounded soldier, her whole body felt drained of energy—which of course is exactly what happened.
“How do you feel?” Halima asked.
“Tired,” Danla said. “I’ve never treated such a severe wound before. I didn’t realize how taxing it would be.”
“It’s quite a change from the scrapes and bruises you’ve been practicing with, isn’t it?” Halima said. Despite having healed Danla’s stab wound, she looked as refreshed as ever. “Now you can see why it is important that you learn to build up a reserve of energy.”
Danla had been told this before, but in light of her recent experience, it truly meant more to her now. “Yes, Mistress Halima. I am inspired to work harder.”
Her leader said nothing for a moment. The expression on her face was serene, with a hint of expectancy. Danla recognized the countenance as Halima’s way of trying to get her initiates to think for themselves on the next course of action. Other initiates had healed soldiers, yet after the battle, Danla was the sole person asked to meet with Halima. Why me? Did I do something wrong? The only thing different was of all the healers, only Danla received an injury.
“Mistress, was I too hasty to go to the soldier’s aid? Should I have been more cautious around the enemy?” she asked her mentor.
“Others did as you,” Halima said. “In battle, not all is as it first appears. There are risks, yes. What would have happened had you waited to make sure there were no threats?”
“The soldier I healed had been bleeding profusely,” Danla said, picturing the events in her mind. “When I reached him, time was already short. And honestly, I thought the enemy who stabbed me was dead. How can I be sure that no threats remain?”
“You can’t,” Halima said. “At least not without the aid of the red myelur—a power you do not possess.”
“I don’t understand.”
“One ability of the red myelur is to be able to discern the state of living creatures,” Halima said. “Had you that skill, you would have been able to tell if the man who stabbed you was still alive.”
Danla had no experience with the red myelur, so she had a difficult time trying to imagine how it would do as Halima said. Then again, until I used the green myelur, I didn’t understand that either. “Then I was
wrong to act so quickly?”
“Were you? As you said, the man you healed was fading swiftly. Would he be alive had you waited?”
“No. I don’t believe so.”
Halima reached forward and placed her hand on Danla’s knee. “There are risks in being a healer. Many times, healings need to be performed while the battle is still engaged. Often healing the injured while the fighting continues around you can make the difference between winning or losing.”
“Can I develop the skill of using the red myelur?” Danla asked. “That way I could sense danger before it arrives.”
Halima leaned away from Danla, a glint of sadness in her eyes. “Alas, that is not possible.”
“Why not? After all, you can wield more than one aspect of the myelur,” Danla said.
Her leader reacted in a way which Danla found odd—she reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. “What color is this?”
“Gray,” Danla said.
Halima sighed. “’Twas not always so. When I was younger, I had hair as golden as the morning rays. Time has changed that. Now, what color are my eyes?”
“Light blue, nearly gray.”
“And my skin?”
“White.”
“Quite right,” Halima said. “Now think of initiate Nya. How would you describe her?”
Danla imagined the other woman in her mind. “She is dark of hair, nearly black. Her eyes and skin are brown.”
“Meaning?”
She wants me to figure this out. It’s one of her ways of teaching. Danla decided to speak her thoughts out loud. “Each of us is different, yet the same. Some of us are born with certain traits—that makes us who we are.” She made the connection. “You are saying the aspects of the myelur is something we are born with?”
“Yes. And it is more common than most people realize. From what I have learned, one aspect of the myelur resides in everyone, though the vast majority of the time it is so small that they will live their whole lives without realizing it. Being born with the ability to access and cultivate the myelur, as you can with the green, is quite rare.”
“And accessing more than one aspect is rarer still, correct?” Danla asked.
“That’s right,” Halima said. “I can access the blue and the green, though I am stronger in the blue. The red, however, is beyond me. I can’t will myself to use it any more than I can will myself to have brown eyes instead of light blue.”
All of this still did not explain why Danla was the only initiate called to Halima’s tent. She knew her leader well enough that there was another reason behind their meeting. She thought back to the battle. Halima had healed more than Danla, so that was not it. What makes me different? And then she remembered. The yellow threads.
“And what of the yellow myelur?” Danla asked, just above a whisper.
“What of it?” If Halima was bothered by the question, she did not let it show.
“How rare is it, that is to say, how uncommon is it to have access to both the yellow and green?”
Halima leaned in closer. She narrowed her eyes and said, “Yellow is the most uncommon of the myelurs. Extremely rare, as a point of fact. But for those who have the ability, it is tremendously powerful. While I can’t use it, I am trained well enough to recognize when it is present—like a cloud passing in front of the sun.”
“You sensed I could use it after I was stabbed,” Danla surmised.
Her teacher’s face marked a seriousness Danla had seen on few occasions. “Yes, I sensed it.”
“You said it was dangerous, though you haven’t ever explained why,” Danla said. “Why wait until now?”
Halima inhaled deeply, held the breath, and then let it out slowly. “As I said, the yellow is very uncommon. But let me first explain the nature of the yellow. Whereas the green myelur uses energy from your body to heal others, the yellow acts in an opposite way, of sorts.” She paused to let Danla absorb that bit of information.
“Meaning … if I were to use the yellow myelur, it would take someone else’s energy, and in turn, I would be healed?” Danla said.
“Exactly.”
Danla considered this for a moment. How is that a bad thing? If someone else had energy to spare and was willing, and she was wounded, certainly it could be useful. Also, when Danla saw the yellow threads, she sensed nothing malicious. Moreover, the yellow threads appeared inviting. “Mistress, forgive me, but I can’t see what makes the yellow myelur dangerous, as you have said.”
“And that is why you and I are speaking,” Halima said. “You were not ready to be taught, yet the battle escalated the timetable. Of all the initiates who healed men after the battle, several were injured in minor ways, but only you were able to see the yellow myelur. The dagger was indeed poisoned—I could tell as I healed you. Potent was the toxin, as well. You would have been dead in a few more heartbeats. That is why the yellow myelur called to you so powerfully. It felt good, didn’t it?”
“I won’t lie,” Danla said. “It was beautiful.”
“Often the vilest things in the world are wrapped in pretty packages.”
“But had you not been there, it could have saved me,” Danla said.
Halima’s tone took on a harder edge. “Do not be fooled. Never use the yellow myelur.”
“I’m sorry. I still do not understand why.”
Her mentor took her hand again, and this time squeezed it hard. “From what I have read and have been taught, once a person sets the yellow myelur in motion, it will not stop until the other person’s energy is completely depleted. It kills them. There is something worse still.”
How could anything be worse than being unable to stop yourself from killing someone? “Tell me, please,” Danla pleaded.
“It is said that using the yellow myelur is highly addictive,” Halima said. “It can become bad enough that users will intentionally hurt themselves and find others to drain just to feel the power.”
“Could you sense the yellow myelur when you healed me?” Danla asked.
“Not as much as I could sense the signs, again, based on what I have been taught,” her teacher said. “Even injured, your connection to the wounded soldier through the green myelur would have been strong. When I healed you, there was a connection, but not one I could see. That led me to fear that you were about to go down a path from which you could not return.”
The statement hit Danla hard. “What is done with those who can wield the yellow myelur?”
“If they do not wield it, then nothing,” Halima said. “That would be like putting someone in a dungeon because they might kill someone someday, though they had done nothing wrong to that point.”
“And if they do use it?”
Halima looked directly into Danla’s eyes. “They would be killed. As I said, the yellow myelur causes a person to seek it out. They would not be able to help themselves.”
All of this was hard for Danla to consider, yet she could not deny seeing the yellow threads when the soldier had stabbed her in the leg. “How often are people put to death because of this?”
“That’s the most interesting part of all of this,” the mistress said. “You are the first person to be able to use it that any of our order has come across in several generations.”
Chapter 40
The abbey’s bells rang out, as they did each morning, yet instead of stopping after the customary three peels, they continued.
Nestov sat up from his cot and rubbed his eyes. The morning’s first light shining through the room’s frosted glass windows were strong enough to illuminate the initiates’ sleeping quarters. Thirty other young men were also waking, each with expressions of confusion.
“What’s this about?” Cron asked. His cot was across from Nestov. “Why are the bells still ringing?”
“Something’s wrong,” Nestov said as he swung his legs off the cot and placed his bare feet on the cold, stone floor.
Cron remained in a sitting position, keeping his legs covered. “Why do you t
hink—”
The door to the sleeping quarters slammed open. Friar Janus stood in the frame, his form silhouetted against the morning light shining behind him. Shadows hid the leader of the Abbey’s face, preventing Nestov from judging the friar’s mood.
“Initiates,” Friar Janus said. “Get dressed, quickly. Come to the eating hall as soon as you can.” He left before anyone could question him.
Nestov leaned to the end of his cot where a small, wooden crate stored his cloth robe and leather sandals. He put on his footwear first, appreciating the warmth, however small, they provided. As he continued to dress, he could see Cron in his peripheral vision. The other initiate, one who had been particularly critical of Nestov’s quick advancement in his training, moved slowly.
Normally Nestov would take care in making his cot, but this morning he simply pulled the woolen blanket flat. Not waiting for the rest of the initiates, he took quick strides to the open door.
The eating hall, the largest room in the abbey, was located down a long passage. Like the rest of the abbey, the walls and floor were made from limestone, something which Nestov found comforting compared to the wooden frame of his childhood home. Today, as the bells continued to ring, Nestov found the walls pressing in on him. Entering the open space of the eating hall helped dispel the feeling until he saw Friar Janus standing upon a dais at the end of the room. His arms were folded, and a deep grimace, deeper than normal, dug into his face.
A few other initiates, those younger than Nestov, were already there. All of them remained standing. Nestov walked up to the area right in front of the dais. Within a few moments, the hall filled up with the rest of the young men—nearly one hundred in all.
“Darkness is coming,” Janus intoned as an introduction. “We no longer have the luxury of waiting until you are all fully trained. Word arrived late in the evening that the light we provide is needed now.”
Nestov felt an uneasiness wash over the hall. All of them knew that one day they would leave the abbey, but if they were like him, they still felt like they had many seasons before that day came. During his time, he had seen the older initiates get their assignments. Those who did well were sent off to prestigious destinations. Personally, Nestov hoped to be sent to one of the coastal regions because many of Grorage the Brave’s adventures took place near the land of waters.
Darker the Shadow (The Howler King Trilogy Book 1) Page 16