by Jim Melvin
“The forest has a strange feel—as if a hidden menace is abroad,” Rathburt said.
“I sense it too,” Torg said. “Also a feeling of being watched. But I don’t believe we’re in immediate danger. Perhaps what we sense is the evil of Invictus. His grasp expands every day.”
“I hope to never meet him, if his strength is so great that he can change the mood of a forest with his will,” Rathburt said.
“I agrees with Rad-burt,” Ugga said. “I’ll leave In-vick-tuss for Master Hah-nah to handle. Or Jord, if she ever returns. Could the Bitch defeat the Sore-sir-err, Master Hah-nah?”
“I’m not sure what she can do,” Torg said. “She’s beyond my knowledge. But there’s one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you and Bard since we first met. Why do you call her ‘the Bitch’?”
Bard laughed. “Ugga and I has heard the whores call her that, when she’s not around. They say, ‘Ya are grown men. Ya can do what ya want. Don’t listen to what the Bitch says. Come in where it’s warm and lay beside us.’”
“When we told Jord, she laughed,” Ugga said. “She liked it when we called her that.”
“Aaaah . . . now I understand. It appears Jord, whatever she is, does have a sense of humor.” Torg winked at Rathburt.
Just then, Elu emerged from the trees carrying an armful of frozen grapes.
“There aren’t many left. The bears are eating up the last of them. Elu had to climb very high to find these.”
“Bears?” Ugga said. “If ya see one, let me know, little guy. I loves bears.”
“Elu doesn’t like bears. They want to eat Elu. But he will tell Ugga if one comes near.”
The crossbreed seemed pleased.
After a cold meal they continued their march. To their right loomed the Mahaggatas, which the company skirted along a bony trail that meandered toward the southwest, rising for hundreds of cubits along gentle slopes and then tumbling into coves. The litter became a severe annoyance, and they cursed it like a hated enemy. But the skins were too valuable to leave behind.
Everyone except Rathburt, who complained of a sore back, took turns hauling the litter. Even Elu managed it for short distances, proving he was far stronger than he looked. Though the temperature was well below freezing, they became sweaty and overheated, and at times two or more of them had to lift the litter over rocks and fallen trees. Other than Rathburt, they were not lacking for physical strength. But the litter was awkward, frustrating, and just plain heavy.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to give it a try?” Torg said to Rathburt during one of his turns. “A little exercise might do you some good.”
Rathburt rubbed his lower back. “It’s an old injury that never fully healed. But you, Bard and Ugga are so big and strong. It’s as if you were made for this task.”
“You’ve missed your calling,” Torg said, his heavy breaths casting balls of white mist into the frozen air. “Instead of a gardener, you should have been a jester. You could make a fortune in the courts of Nissaya.”
“Don’t forget that Elu is strong too, and he isn’t lazy like Rathburt.”
“Watch yourself. I’ll turn you back into a vine.”
The Svakaran didn’t find that the least bit funny. He pounded his small fists together and then stomped ahead.
“It appears you are a poor judge of talent,” Rathburt said to Torg. “Apparently I’m not much of a jester, after all.”
After Elu disappeared around a bend, Torg counted fifty paces before the Svakaran returned.
“This is the worst part of the trail,” Elu said. “It will soon become steep and narrow, and there are lots of hidden roots. At the top of the path there is an overlook that is split in two by a stream—and a few paces away is a great waterfall. There is still some trickling, but most is frozen in peculiar shapes. My people believe this is a sacred place, especially in the winter. If you look carefully you will see faces in the ice. But don’t look too long. Something evil in the water wants you to fall.”
“I’ve been there several times and never seen any faces,” Rathburt sneered. “I’ve seen carrots, corn and onions, though. And some lovely wildflowers.”
“I wants to see no faces in the ice,” Ugga said. “Faces are scary.”
“They’re not as scary as carrots,” Rathburt said.
If anything, Elu understated the severity of the path. Under pristine conditions—and not dragging the son-of-an-ass litter—it would have been difficult to ascend. But with the snow, ice and gnarled roots, it was close to impossible. It took all of Torg’s strength to haul the litter to the top, and that was with Ugga shoving from behind, braced by Bard. Elu led the way and disappeared again. Rathburt trailed behind, whining endlessly.
“There are easier ways to go,” he mumbled, “even if they do add several leagues to our journey. We have to get there before dark, after all. Anna forbid we don’t get there after dark.”
When they reached the crest of the path they passed through a wall of trees and came upon the stream that fed the waterfall. From the overlook Torg could see for leagues. An endless vista of hills and valleys extended toward the horizon. The men were transfixed. Even in winter the land was beautiful.
“Elu sees the faces of his brothers,” the Svakaran said abruptly, startling Rathburt.
“For Anna’s sake, Elu. Give us some warning . . .”
But the Svakaran, who had crept to the edge without any of them noticing, appeared hypnotized. “The vines are eating their bodies, but their faces are still beautiful.”
“Are ya all right, little guy?” Ugga said. “Aren’t ya too close to the edge? I fears ya will fall. Is Elu going to fall, Master Hah-nah?”
“Elu,” Torg said. Then louder: “Elu!” The second time he said it, a hot gust rustled the Svakaran’s hair, awakening him from the trance. Elu slid far enough backward for Ugga to grab his shoulder and drag him to safety.
“Don’t do that again,” Rathburt shouted. “You scared us half to death.”
“The ice spoke to Elu,” he said, his voice distant.
“There is magic here,” Torg announced, “but I sense neither good nor evil. It came from a far distant place, and it cares naught for our world.”
“Then why did the mah-gick make the little guy see faces?” Ugga said. “That sounds evil to me.”
“Whatever is here is very old. Older than me. Older than you or Bard. Older than any creature on Triken. Can’t you feel it? To this kind of awareness, a millennium is like a single breath. It has been here since our world was born, existing within the rocks beneath our feet. It loves the water that rushes over its back—so soothing and delicious. But in the winter when the stream freezes, it becomes restless. I don’t believe the magic makes anyone see faces. I don’t believe it even recognizes our presence. Rather there is something in this ancient power that awakens our karma. Some of us might see what already has occurred. Others might see what is yet to happen. This is an opportunity we should not take lightly.”
“What nonsense, Torgon,” Rathburt said. “How could you possibly know all this just by standing on these damnable rocks? If I didn’t know better, I would guess you’ve been chewing on poppies.”
“What are poppies?” Bard said.
“They’re little flowers that grow in the northern mountains near Catu,” Torg said. “If you drink their sap, you often have visions. But that’s not what’s happening here. You ask me how I know this. I am a Death-Knower and comprehend many things others do not. But there’s a better reason than that. I’ve been altered by the pines. Their green magic flows through flesh. And it’s similar to what lies hidden in these rocks. It speaks to me, inspiring visions as vivid as any the poppies could provide. But it’s your choice to believe or disbelieve.”
“I believes ya, Master Hah-nah,” Ugga said.
“Me too,” Bard said.
Elu nodded vigorously.
“You’re always trying to make me feel like the bad guy,” Rathburt grumbled.
“Look!” Bard said. “Your sword, Master Hah-nah . . . it has come alive.”
Torg slid the sword from the belt at his waist. The blade glowed and was hot to the touch. “The magic of the Silver Sword must be similar to Jord’s trees and these rocks,” he said. “It comes from an otherworldly place. Triken itself must have once been otherworldly, before it was bound together by the forces that created it.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Rathburt said. “Always the philosopher.”
Rathburt’s behavior seemed to annoy Elu more than usual. “You’ve told Elu many times that the plants talk to you. Why can’t the rocks talk to the great one?”
“That’s different,” Rathburt said, but the expression on his face seemed to lose its certainty, causing Torg to chuckle.
Then Torg said, “Now it’s my turn.”
“Oh, no, I’m not going after you,” Rathburt said. “Everyone knows you’ll see something grand that will make me feel insignificant.”
“I didn’t think you even wanted a turn,” Torg said. “I’ll go next, and then you, if you still desire.”
“Always the showoff,” Rathburt said. “Always, always, always.”
Torg placed the Silver Sword on the ground well away from the drop-off. Then he reached down, picked up a hefty rock and handed it to Ugga.
“I want you to hold my belt,” Torg said to the crossbreed, “and if I start to act strangely, take this rock and hit me as hard as you can on the back of my neck—here.” Torg pointed to a slightly protruding bone. “It won’t injure me. But if you hit me hard enough, it will stun me for a moment, which should give you the time to drag me back.”
“I’m afraid I will kills ya,” Ugga said.
“No one can kill the great and mighty Torgon,” Rathburt sneered. “By all means, Ugga, hit him as hard as you can. Give him a really good smack.”
Torg smiled. Then he walked to the edge, which was even more slippery than he expected. As he peered down, his inquisitiveness took over. At first he was amazed by the simple beauty of the frozen falls, the ice gnarled and tangled like the exposed roots of an old oak but bursting with color. White and blue were predominant, but crimson and gold danced within the cracks and crevices, sparkling like jewels. Torg gasped. I could stand here all day and just stare at it.
But then the bright afternoon sun faded and darkness consumed his awareness. Now the ice glowed like a full moon in a black sky. It squirmed and came to life, forming the sweet face of a beautiful woman. She smiled at him, the knowing smile of a lover who also is a friend. Torg reached for her, his hands flailing.
The rock crashed down with precision. Ugga and Bard dragged him away. Torg regained his senses soon after sitting on the bank of the stream. But he didn’t speak for a long time. When he finally looked up, the others were staring at him.
“Ya tried to jump,” Ugga said. “What were ya thinking?”
“I’d like to know, too,” Rathburt said angrily. “You frightened us, you moose. What did you see?”
Torg rubbed the back of his neck. “I saw . . . my future.”
“Huh?” Rathburt said. “Your future? What do you mean?”
“I will say no more.”
“No more? No more? Isn’t that just like you? You get us all so worked up we’re about to burst, and then you say, ‘I saw my future.’ What an absolute ass you are. Tell us what you saw, or I’ll hit you with the stone even harder than Ugga did.”
“I cannot.”
“Arrrgggghhh!”
The rest of them sat silently while Rathburt cursed and waved his arms. Finally even he calmed down.
“How about you?” Torg said to his fellow Death-Knower. “Do you still wish to look at the ice?”
“Believe it or not, I do. For once, I’m guaranteed to outshine you.”
Torg held Rathburt’s belt, followed by Ugga, Bard and Elu. Rathburt leaned on his walking staff as he peered over the edge. It didn’t take him long to start complaining.
“I don’t see anything but a bunch of ice. And a long fall. Were you playing some kind of joke on me? There’s nothing here but . . . wait . . . wait . . .”
Rathburt grew placid, and the eerie silence returned. The others watched him, ready to pull him away from the edge as soon as they saw signs of trouble.
Without warning Rathburt’s face contorted and he cried out, raising his staff and smiting the ice. There was a crackling explosion, followed by hissing bursts of steam, and a massive chunk tore free and tumbled into the abyss, bursting asunder on the rocks below.
They pulled him from the edge and sat him down in the same spot Torg had been before. Rathburt sobbed hysterically. When he regained control, he looked at the others with horror in his eyes.
“What did you see?” Torg said. “Rathburt, what did you see?”
“I saw . . . my future.”
And like Torg before him, he would say no more.
For a long while, Rathburt wouldn’t even speak. After his ordeal at the waterfall he appeared frailer to Torg than usual, trudging through the snow like a hunched old man. Nothing cheered him up. Even the ebullient Ugga could not seem to break through Rathburt’s self-imposed silence.
Once they left the waterfall, the trail became easier to traverse. But frequent pockets of snow—several spans deeper than Elu was tall—slowed them considerably. At these places Torg was forced to use his magic. The blue-green flames that spouted from his fingertips melted trenches wide enough for the men and the litter. But Torg knew that there were creatures on Triken who could sense such displays of power, and many of them were friendly with Invictus.
“I might as well hand out scrolls announcing I’m here,” Torg said. “But I suppose it’s better than being buried alive.”
“I likes it better, Master Hah-nah,” Ugga said. “And I’m sure the little guy does too.”
Elu nodded vigorously. Rathburt said nothing, his chin so low it almost touched his chest.
The arduous journey continued. In the quiet calm of late afternoon they heard wolves howling in the distance.
Instantly Elu was on alert. “Those are black wolves,” he said in a panic.
“From the sound of them, there are many,” Torg said.
For the first time since the incident at the waterfall, Rathburt spoke, though his voice quivered. “We must find a place to hide.”
“How far is the longhouse?” Bard said.
“We would not reach it before dark,” Elu said. “The wolves can run on snow as fast as on grass. If they’re aware of us, they’ll catch us long before we reach the house.”
“Is there any other place to hide?” Ugga said.
“Elu remembers a small cave less than a league from here that is large enough for the five of us. We could hide there and hope the wolves pass.”
Even as the howling grew louder, Torg held up his hand, as if to calm his companions. “You forget who is with you. I am The Torgon—and my strength has returned. A hundred wolves are no match for me. If I were alone, I would meet them wherever they chose. But if we’re attacked from all sides at once, I fear most for Rathburt and Elu. Rather than hide, we must make a stand.”
The Svakaran was offended. “Elu can fight.”
“I meant no offense,” Torg said. “If it were just one black wolf against you, I’ve no doubt you would prevail. But if I’m correct, we’ll be severely outnumbered. And where there are black wolves, there can be other creatures, some of which are even deadlier. If my attention is diverted, you’d be easy prey. Your familiarity with this land is needed more than your strength.”
“Maybe Rathburt and Elu should hide in the cave while you great men do all the fighting,” the Svakaran said angrily.
“For Anna’s sake, Elu. None of us doubts your courage,” Rathburt snapped. “But for once, Torgon is right. Rather than complain, help us find a better place to fight than these trees.”
Elu stomped his foot and spat. Finally he pointed toward the mountains. “Up there, the land rises sharp
ly. Beyond is a narrow path with great stone walls.”
“Good idea, little guy,” Ugga said. “Show us the way.”
Then the crossbreed swept Elu onto his shoulders. To quicken their pace, Torg melted a long trench in the snow. Bard took control of the litter, and Rathburt, surprisingly, lent a hand, bending over and shoving it from behind.
“If the wolves get too close, we’ll have to abandon this,” Rathburt said.
“I’ll die before I do that,” Bard said. “I wouldn’t give up the skins to a thousand of them.”
“You’ve been spending too much time around Torgon,” Rathburt said. “You’re picking up his stubbornness.”
As the howling intensified, their hopes of escaping undetected diminished, though they could not yet see the wolves. The land rolled and swayed like a stormy sea, restricting their visibility. The wolves could have been just a stone’s throw away and still be hidden from view.
“How far, Elu?” Torg said.
“Less than five hundred paces.”
“We have to give up the skins,” Torg said. “They’re slowing us down too much.”
Bard started to protest, but Torg cut him off. “It’s not what they’re after. We’ll come back for them when the fight is finished.”
They shoved the litter into a dense area of trees and continued their flight. Bard was dismayed—and for a moment it appeared he might stay with the skins rather than follow his companions—but Ugga grabbed his arm and yanked him forward.
“Master Hah-nah is right. What good are they to us if we’re dead?”
The terrain became treacherous. Even without snow and ice it would have been difficult to traverse, but in the wintry conditions it was tough on all of them. Rathburt, as it turned out, slowed them down almost as much as the litter, frequently tripping and sliding down the slope ten paces or more each time he fell. Torg and Bard were forced to drag him along.
At the same time the narrow path came into view above, the lead wolves appeared below. At first there were just four, and when they caught sight of the men, they rushed toward them at a full run. They were as large and fast as horses, but far more dangerous. Their fangs and claws were as sharp as the point of a Tugarian dagger.