Age of Myth

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Tekchin struggled but failed to resist smiling. Behind him, the rest of the Fhrey laughed once more.

  “God, eh?” Tekchin said.

  “Don’t get too excited. Apparently it’s only a rumor.”

  “I like you, Moya.”

  “Most people do,” she replied. Seeing that her water containers were filled, Moya lifted the pole, laid it across her shoulders, and walked away.

  —

  The raid on the well had been a huge success, and Persephone received praise for coming up with the idea, despite Moya being the true hero of the hour. With stores of fresh water once more at hand, meals were made, animals watered, and songs sung. Not everyone was pleased. Konniger and Tressa were reportedly livid. Later that afternoon the new chieftain summoned Persephone to the lodge, a demand she chose to ignore. When Maeve was sent to ask why she had failed to appear, Moya answered for Persephone. “Tell Konniger she’s taking a bath.”

  This unleashed uncontrolled laughter in Roan’s roundhouse, drawing a huff of indignation from Maeve before she left. No one knew whether Maeve actually delivered the message because a few minutes later the dahl’s horn blew again, three long wails. The singing and laughter stopped.

  “Fhrey!” Cobb shouted once again.

  The gate stood open, as it did most days from dawn till dusk, and Cobb looked to Persephone for direction. She turned to Nyphron, who along with the rest of the Galantians had returned from their hike in the forest.

  No one sought Konniger.

  The Galantians said nothing. They merely gathered their weapons, slung shields, and marched out the gate. Not all of them went. The goblin stayed behind.

  Persephone climbed the ladder to stand on top of the wall. She leaned out on the logs and looked down as the two groups converged just below. This new troop was remarkably similar to the Galantians. They wore brilliant golden breastplates, studded war skirts, plumed helms, and long blue capes. Despite the uniformity, Nyphron stood out. He was taller than the others, had no helm, and his golden hair blew in the breeze. But it was more than that. The swagger of his walk, and the way he folded his arms and stood waiting for the others to approach, made him greater than the rest—a god among gods.

  “What’s going to happen?” Cobb asked her. “Are they going to fight?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Similar in numbers. What if they do? Do we help?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if they lose?”

  “I don’t know, Cobb! Be quiet, will you?”

  The ladder creaked, and a moment later Raithe and Malcolm climbed up. They all leaned on the sharpened tips of the log rampart, peering down, waiting for the clash.

  A terrible thought crossed Persephone’s mind. What if Nyphron has been waiting for reinforcements before starting a slaughter?

  The two groups exchanged hand gestures—nothing threatening, greetings perhaps—and then they came together and began talking in Fhrey. Persephone did her best to understand the exchange.

  “What are you doing here?” the leader of the other group asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Nyphron replied.

  “We’re looking for the Rhune that murdered Shegon.”

  “Not here.”

  “You sure?” the other Fhrey asked.

  “We’ve been here for days. I think we would have noticed.”

  The other leader nodded thoughtfully, and there was a long pause.

  “Why’d you do it?”

  It was Nyphron’s turn to nod thoughtfully. “You’re not looking for Shegon’s murderer, are you?”

  “We are, but Petragar also asked if we could find you.”

  “And what will you tell him?”

  “I don’t know.” The Fhrey sighed. “Fleeing just made matters worse.”

  “Fleeing?” Nyphron laughed. “Sikar, tell me honestly, have you ever known me to flee?”

  Although there had been a formation of sorts on their approach, both groups had broken their lines. They didn’t exactly mingle, but they weren’t prepping for combat, either. Sikar stood in the forefront with Nyphron. Smaller, thinner, with shorter hair and a weaker posture, Sikar appeared no match for the leader of the Galantians.

  “So what would you call it? Petragar said you refused orders, broke his jaw, and ran off.”

  “First of all”—Tekchin paused to belch—“Petragar, the little ass-ica that he is, was unconscious at the time. So he doesn’t know Tet.”

  Sikar kept his attention on Nyphron. “Are you saying you didn’t defy orders?”

  “Oh, we disobeyed,” Nyphron said, and glanced back at the Galantians with a wry smile. “That part is true. And we have no intention of returning to the Rhist.”

  “You might want to reconsider,” Sikar said. “Petragar has sent word to Estramnadon.”

  “What a brideeth,” Nyphron said. “That’s the kind of overreaction I’d expect from someone like him and it’s exactly why Lothian shouldn’t have turned over the reins of the Rhist to anyone but an Instarya.”

  “Nyphron, you refused a direct order from the fane, and you broke the commander’s jaw. What did you expect?”

  Nyphron shrugged.

  Sikar stared at him in disbelief, then looked back at his troops and shook his head, clapping his hands to his sides. “Nyphron, the fane could order your execution. Why did you do it?”

  “I thought you’d met Petragar,” Nyphron said, and smiled.

  Sikar sighed. “This isn’t funny. When I go back, I will have to report finding you.”

  “If you feel you have to, go ahead.”

  “And then what? I don’t want to be the one getting the order to bring you in…or worse.”

  Nyphron smiled. The Galantian appeared to find this entertaining, but he seemed to be the only one. “Do you think you could?”

  Sikar stared at him, his face hard. “I wouldn’t have a choice. Nyphron, your father is dead. Lothian won. He’s the new fane and can’t be challenged again for another three thousand years. So you’re going to have to live with that fact. Even if he dies before the Uli Vermar, his son will take over, and then what will you do? Challenge him? Repeat your father’s mistake? Swords can’t defeat the Art. You were there. You saw what happened in that arena.”

  Nyphron no longer looked so jovial and began walking around Sikar.

  “A Rhune killed Shegon,” Nyphron said. “It proves Rhunes can fight.”

  “According to Meryl, Shegon was unconscious when he was killed.”

  “I hadn’t heard that, but it doesn’t change the fact that the Rhunes know what is possible now. Fhrey can’t kill Fhrey, but Rhunes can. If provoked, they will fight back.”

  Sikar shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Let’s just say I don’t intend to make the same mistakes as my father.” Nyphron stopped and clapped Sikar on the shoulders, leaving his hands there and looking into his eyes. “What do you say? Why don’t you join us?”

  “You can’t be serious. What you’re suggesting is unthinkable. It’s not our place to question the fane. Our lord Ferrol appointed him—”

  Nyphron shoved him backward. “Don’t give me that crap! Ferrol didn’t pick Lothian. He was the son of Fenelyus; that’s how he got the Forest Throne. Before the Art, challenges were fair. But now it doesn’t matter who the Aquila picks. From here on we’re doomed to be ruled by the Miralyith, and Lothian just happened to be the next in line. He’s a privileged, self-centered elitist who thinks anyone from another tribe is a lesser race. We’re nothing but slaves to him. My father was the only one willing to say so and back it up with a sword.”

  “And now he’s dead,” Sikar said, stepping forward to regain the ground he’d lost.

  “I think I’d rather die than be a slave,” Nyphron shot back.

  Sikar looked up at the wall lined with spectators. He sighed. “You might be put to that test sooner than you think.”

  “What do yo
u mean?”

  “I mean it might not be me who is sent to retrieve you. The Rhist is expecting a visitor from Estramnadon.”

  “A visitor?”

  “Her name is Arion.”

  The Galantians looked at one another. No one appeared to recognize the name.

  “Rumor has it she’s the tutor to the prince,” Sikar said.

  “Miralyith,” Nyphron said gravely.

  “Tutor to the prince,” Tekchin added. “That can’t be good.”

  Sikar nodded. “Petragar was falling all over himself making preparations of welcome. Running honor guard drills, hanging banners, scrubbing walls. Nyphron, her nickname is Cenzlyor.”

  “Swift of mind?”

  Sikar nodded. “It was given to her by Fenelyus—Fenelyus!”

  “You think she’s coming after us?”

  “Why else would a palace-level Miralyith pay a visit to the Rhist?” Sikar’s face filled with sympathy. “The only way you could be in more trouble is if Gryndal or the fane himself was on his way.” Sikar sighed. “Listen, I wasn’t in Estramnadon for the challenge. I didn’t see it, but I heard what happened—what Lothian did to your father. You should run. Just disappear.”

  Nyphron shook his head. “It wouldn’t help. No one can hide from a Miralyith.”

  Sikar nodded and extended his hand. “Any idea where we can find Shegon’s killer so this trip won’t be a total loss? Perhaps it will appease Petragar if we come back with something.”

  Nyphron turned and looked up at Raithe. “I’m pretty sure he’s southeast.”

  “What? In Menahan?”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  “Great. I love the stink of sheep. Okay.” Sikar sighed. “Good luck to you.”

  Nyphron gripped Sikar’s forearm and the two clapped shoulders.

  “I hope we never see any of you again,” Sikar said, then turning to Tekchin, he added, “Especially you.”

  “Sikar, you sound like a spurned lover.” Tekchin laughed.

  Sikar laughed with him, and as he turned around and walked away, he called back, “You forget how many of us owe you gambling debts, Tekchin. Farewell!”

  Tekchin stopped laughing as he watched them leave.

  —

  Suri had slept through the morning events, missing the well raid and the confrontation at the gate. Certain things could be done only by moonlight, and recently Suri had discovered many tasks to do. It wasn’t until late afternoon that she woke, unable to sleep through the screaming.

  By the time she crawled out of Roan’s house, the noise had stopped. The man lying on the grass in front of the lodge was a twisted heap of blood-soaked rags—no longer breathing. Parts of him were missing. Most of him was missing. Suri had seen similar sights dozens of times in the forest: deer, wolves, foxes, and opossums left mauled and partially eaten by hunters who’d had their fill or whose meal had been interrupted. The bulk of the dahl gathered around to see the sight. Even the Fhrey looked on with interest.

  Konniger was out of the lodge, standing on the raised porch and declaring, “This was the work of the bear that killed Reglan, Mahn, and Oswald. Krier had been cutting wood at the edge of the forest.” Konniger pointed up toward the tree-covered mountain. “He was bucking a log. The men he was with went to get the sled. They weren’t gone more than a few minutes. When they got back, Krier was gone. They followed a blood trail and found him where he’d been dragged to.”

  Krier’s wife wailed in the crowd, held on her feet by others.

  Suri reached into her pouch, pulled out the blackened leg bone of the chicken, and rubbed it thoughtfully with her thumb. “What do you think?” she asked Minna, who sat dutifully beside her and refused to engage in idle speculation. “You’re such a wise wolf.”

  The marking on the bone had said a monster was coming, and it had given Suri its name. Rarely did a chicken render that level of detail, but Suri was certain she’d gotten it right. There wasn’t any doubt about Grin the Brown, but the bone had revealed that she was no mere bear. It had to be a demon.

  It wasn’t uncommon for evil spirits to possess people and animals. Tura had fought a raow after they stumbled upon its bed of bones. She was certain the raow had once been an unfortunate woman lost in the woods. Starving, the woman had been taken over by a demon, which was how most raow came to be. Grin was no raow. Suri had narrowed the choices of demons down to three: a yakkus, morvyn, or bendigo. She was leaning toward a morvyn, since they were the result of an animal eating human flesh. The Brown seemed to have a fondness for the taste of people. Still, Suri had to be sure. As mystic, it was her responsibility to hunt and kill this demon for the good of the region, and an incorrect identification could prove disastrous.

  Konniger returned inside the lodge.

  Suri didn’t like the log building. Entering it felt like climbing inside the dead rotting body of old friends, but she had to find out more about what kind of demon she was dealing with, and this was as good a time as any. The mystic climbed the stone steps and ducked into the wooden cave.

  The fire was still burning in the big room’s pit. She searched for Konniger but guessed he’d already headed up the stairs. She could hear creaks and shuffles overhead. Suri crept along the edge of the fire pit, inching toward the steps. Twelve pillars, four rows of three, held up the ceiling.

  They line their halls with the dead bodies of noble beings.

  The place stank of smoke and grease. On the walls hung square shields painted different colors and long spears with ribbons and feathers tied to the necks. The skins of animals lay on the floor: deer, bobcats, and two bears—one black, the other brown. Suri stepped around them, grimacing. As she looked back at the entrance, the bright light of day was being strangled by the doorway. The place was the lair of predators, murderers, and thieves.

  Little wonder the demon assumed a bear’s shape.

  A boy dropped a log on the fire and peeked at her and Minna. He offered a smile. Suri smiled back.

  “I understand! I told you I understood. Now leave me alone!” Konniger’s voice boomed overhead, a sort of inferior thunder.

  The mystic headed toward the stairs with Minna padding along behind.

  Overhead, a door slammed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Maeve appeared at the top of the steps, glaring down. Her face was flushed, and there was anger or perhaps fear in her eyes. Suri often had difficulty distinguishing between the two, at least with people.

  “I need to speak to Chieftain Konniger.”

  “About what?” Maeve remained on the steps with her hands on the rails, blocking the way up.

  “I’ve done a reading from bones. Several now. The thing that murdered that man out there, Grin the Brown, isn’t a bear at all.”

  “Of course not!” Maeve’s voice jumped in pitch and volume.

  Suri took a step backward at the old woman’s outburst. Minna took two.

  “So you know. Good. That’s why I need to speak with Konniger. It’s a powerful demon. He said so the day he brought back Reglan’s body. He’s fought it. If I can ask him some questions to learn the demon’s true nature, then I’ll be prepared. The demon is coming at the light of the full moon, but I don’t know exactly what kind of demon we’re talking about. If I could—”

  “Get out!” Maeve snapped, and pointed to the door. The old woman was furious. “Konniger is too busy to see you. We have Fhrey camped just outside the hall and men being slaughtered on the eaves of the forest. He doesn’t have time for mystic nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense.”

  “Out!” she cried, coming down the stairs.

  Suri and Minna retreated.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Out, I say!”

  Suri stood her ground at the bottom of the stairs. “But Konniger—”

  “Konniger doesn’t know nothing about anything—nothing about the bear, especially.”

  “Come the full moon, that bear will kill everyone,
even the Fhrey, I think.”

  “Shayla would never do such a thing. She’s a good girl.”

  “Shayla?” Suri asked, puzzled. “You call Grin Shayla?”

  “If you don’t leave, I’ll call Hegner. He’s Konniger’s Shield now. He’ll—”

  “Shayla means ‘lost one.’ ”

  Maeve’s face hardened. “I want you gone. Not just out of this lodge but off the dahl. I’ll have Konniger banish you.” She looked around but only found Habet and scowled. “Hegner!”

  “Why would you call Grin the Brown Lost One?”

  Maeve came down from the stairs and rushed to the wall. She pulled one of the spears from the hooks and whirled at Suri.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” the mystic said. “Minna doesn’t like it when people point sticks at us.”

  To emphasize this, the wolf began to growl, fur rising.

  Maeve stopped. “Hegner! Hegner!”

  “Come on, Minna.”

  The two left the lodge. Behind them, the doors slammed, hard.

  The mystic glanced down at the wolf. “Well, what do you make of that?”

  The wolf looked back at the closed door but again kept her own counsel.

  “You are so smart, Minna. You must be the smartest of all wolves.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Miralyith

  To the Fhrey we were little more than dust, as unnoticeable as pebbles along a path. It gave us an advantage, but not for long.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  Arion left Thym and Naraspur in Alon Rhist and traveled south alone. For her, loneliness wasn’t a problem. She reminded herself of this twice. The second time she added the adage about how Miralyith were trained to live inside their heads and being with people was the real hardship. The third time she considered how, being alone, she could stop and rest when she liked, walk when she wanted, sleep where she wished. By the fourth time, she wondered why she had to keep reminding herself that she was better off alone. Then she faced the obvious realization that she wasn’t just alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t isolated in her home, away in the Garden, sitting in a quiet room of the palace, or studying at the art academy. Arion was completely alone. There wasn’t another Fhrey for miles and no Miralyith at all on this side of the Nidwalden. Those thoughts were sobering.