Talon: The Windwalker Archive (Book 1)

by Michael Ploof

  “My, my, the Krellr wantin’ this one,” the woman said with a click of her tongue.

  “You go on get some rest; you been watchin’ over him for two days. He’ll come round. Seen no sign he should be sleepin’ still, ’less somethin’ happened more in his brain my eyes ain’t seen. I’ll tend ’im, you go on find out for Majhree what dreams say ’bout this one.”

  “Yes, Majhree,” said Akkeri with a small yawn. Her footsteps moved away from them but then stopped abruptly. A quick scuff of her feet turning a circle told Talon she turned to look back at him.

  “Tell me if he wakes,” she said.

  “Mmm hmm,” Majhree hummed as she applied the cloth to his forehead.

  Talon wondered whether he should let his caregiver know he was awake. He felt bad about worrying them so, though he was flattered to have anyone care for him at all. He thought better of the idea, not wanting to embarrass Akkeri with the knowledge that he had heard her song. Instead he let himself fall asleep once more. The soft song of the lady and the sailor led him to a place where dreamscapes were painted in summer blues and greens, and Akkeri danced with him in a field of snow lilies.

  When Talon awoke, the light in the room told him it was daytime, and he was alone. He lifted his head with less pain than before and investigated his surroundings. The walls of the small hut were made from mud and straw mixed together and laid like bricks. The ceiling beams were built from rough-cut wood and bound to each other with rope. At the end of the hut opposite his bed, a fire burned, its smoke leaving a lingering haze curling up and out of the small hole in the ceiling. He wondered how anyone was supposed to heal in such dry, stagnant air.

  With an effort, Talon sat up in his straw bed and inspected his wounds. His body was covered in scrapes and scratches from being dragged along the rocky road, and his eye throbbed beneath the bandage about his head. He was covered in sweat beneath the thick fur blanket which stung his many wounds. His left side ached with every movement, and he gingerly turned to inspect his bruised ribs with a hiss of pain. His entire body screamed in pain, having been punched, kicked, and dragged down the road naked. Ignoring the pain, he managed to swing his legs over the side of the high bed.

  He searched but could not find his clothes anywhere, and he had no energy to search further than what his eyes might show him. Across from the bed to the left was a small table with many spent candles and a clay bowl of water with a cloth neatly folded and set beside it. He slowly lowered himself to the cold dirt floor and tested his shaky legs. His right ankle was sore and his left hip throbbed with pain, but he managed to stand.

  Pulling the blanket over his shoulders, he made his way to the door using the wall to steady him. When he pushed the door open, he was blinded by the bright glow of the sun reflecting off the snow, and it took a moment for his good eye to adjust.

  “Majhree, your Kvilla has risen!” someone yelled, and Talon blocked out the sun to see who.

  A young man a little older than Talon walked to greet him with a wide smile. His big, rosy cheeks instantly put Talon at ease, and his merry, squinted eyes spoke of friendship. He was a big man for a Skomm, though not close to the Miotvidr. Talon quickly realized it had not been the measure that condemned him to the life of a Skomm, but rather his deformed left arm which had not developed past the elbow. He wore patched burlap trousers and a sleeveless shirt of the same make. Furs were not common among the Skomm and were often patched together from smaller animals.

  “Aye, name’s Jahsin,” the young man said with a bright smile as he eyed Talon’s bandaged head. “Most people round here call me Stump,” he added, lifting his deformed arm, “creative, that one, eh?”

  Talon didn’t know whether to laugh or not. He introduced himself shaking Jahsin’s offered hand. “Talon Windwalker.”

  Jahsin’s face dropped and he looked around warily. “Not anymore, you’re not,” he said, leaning in. “Now you’re just Talon. Best you forget your father’s name. We Skomm ain’t allowed no last name, lest you lookin’ to get yourself killed.”

  “Maybe he’s thinking he’s better than everybody else,” someone said from behind Jahsin. He turned and Talon found a big man walking toward them. At first he feared that the man was a Vald, for he was tall enough to pass the Miotvidr. But soon he noticed the feature that had condemned the man at birth: he had a wide split in his upper lip all the way into his deformed right nostril; a Catlip they called it. The big man pushed past Jahsin and squared on Talon with glaring disdain.

  “I know who you are, Plagueborn. You were spared the spurn on account of your crazy witchdoctor amma. But you can’t hide what you are. Best you learn your place Draugr; you ain’t any better than any of these sorry Throwbacks.”

  “I didn’t say I was better,” said Talon.

  The man regarded Talon as though he had called his mother an old Kerling. He leaned in so close that he towered over Talon, his bright green eyes bearing down on him.

  “You think you’re clever, Throwback?”

  Talon had dealt with the likes of him before. Any answer would be seen as a challenge, and that challenge would be met with swift and terrible violence. So rather than give any answer, he just looked down at the ground hoping the bully would lose interest.

  “Ah, leave him alone, Brekken,” said Jahsin behind him.

  Brekken’s eyes widened and threatened to bulge out of their sockets. He turned around swiftly and shoved Jahsin so hard he flew backward to land on his back. Brekken whirled around on Talon and grabbed his head with one big hand and pressed his thumb against the bandaged eye, pinning him to the wall of the hut. Pain flashed through Talon’s brain, threatening to drop him.

  “I got my eye on you, Plagueborn. This village don’t need no runt like you bringin’ it trouble. If I have to, I’ll kill you myself!” he spat. Talon fought the urge to cry out in pain as he pressed the thumb harder.

  Brekken released him with a sneer and stalked off, leaving Talon to slump down against the hut, holding his head. Jahsin got to his feet and walked over to Talon and helped him up.

  “Never mind that one. He’s just pissed he was born with a catlip. Thinks himself a Vald at heart, he does; even talks about one day claimin’ Bjodja.”

  Talon’s legs gave out and Jahsin caught him before he fell. He guided him to sit upon the snow piled against the hut and sat beside him.

  “What’s Bjodja?” Talon asked, gathering the blanket around him before he was laid bare to the world.

  “You don’t know much about bein’ a Skomm, eh?”

  Talon shook his head but soon regretted it; his head swam and threatened to send him back to the world of dreams.

  “Bjodja be a challenge. A Skomm can challenge the Miotvidr and prove he is truly a Vald. Thing is, he’s got to beat three Vald in a fight to the death.”

  “Has anyone ever done it?”

  Jahsin laughed, “What do you think?”

  “Sure,” Talon said.

  Jahsin regarded him with disbelief and snorted. “You got a lot to learn, my friend.”

  Talon liked the older boy, and when he called him friend, his heart leapt. He had never had a friend aside from Chief; likewise, no one had ever stuck up for him before.

  “Why did you do that?” Talon asked.

  “What? Tell Brekken to back off? I don’t know, his kind piss me off. Here he is a Skomm himself, walkin’ round like some kind of Vald. Besides, that’s what friends are for, ain’t they?”

  “Why do you want to be my friend?” Talon asked, truly curious.

  Jahsin laughed again. “You must have taken a good knock to the head; you wanna go back inside and lay down?”

  “No, thanks; the air in the hut is too hot and stuffy.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jahsin shrugged. He got up and dusted off the light powder of snow from his backside. “But here comes Majhree; bet she’ll have somethin’ to say to that. I’ll see you round, Talon.”

  “All right…friend,” he replied, to Jahsin’
s amusement. His new friend walked away shaking his head with a laugh.

  “Mornin’” he said to Majhree as they passed each other. It was immediately apparent why the old woman had been deemed a Throwback: though she was likely tall enough to pass the women’s measure, her back was severely hunched, leaving her bent and crooked. She leaned so far forward that if not for the two canes, she would have fallen on her face.

  “Why you outta bed? If anyone is gonna temp’ the Krellr, it’ll be me,” she said as she approached.

  Before he could offer an explanation, she was forcing his mouth open and peering down his throat. She turned his head this way and that, peered in his ears and up his nose, and spread his good eye open wide.

  “C’mon, then,” she said, leading him back into the hut.

  “I’d rather stay out in the fresh air; I can’t breathe in here.”

  “Nonsense, boy; fresh air ain’t no good for the sick. The spirits’ll have you in no time,” she said, guiding him to the bed and stripping off the blanket.

  “Hey!” Talon protested, tugging the cover.

  She pushed him back with a gentle but strong hand. “Ain’t nothin’ I ain’t seen afore. And ain’t nothin’ you need be ashamed of.”

  Talon’s cheeks and ears burned with embarrassment. Majhree shuffled around the small hut lighting a multitude of incense sticks and candles. He sat there awkwardly, wondering how long he was supposed to sit around naked.

  “Lie down and turn over if you can. Them cuts and scrapes need tendin’ to,” she said as she took up a jar from a shelf and dipped her fingers inside. Her hand came back with a wad of green jelly.

  Talon did as he was told and Majhree began applying the sticky ointment to his many wounds. A hiss escaped his lips; the goo stung at first but soon began to soothe his burning flesh.

  “Is he awake?” Akkeri’s voice suddenly came from the doorway. Talon cringed with embarrassment at her view of his bare backside. He jerked his head around over his shoulder and saw her flush and quickly avert her eyes.

  “Ask him yourself,” said Majhree.

  She opened her mouth as if to speak, shuffled nervously, and quickly turned and ran out the door. He buried his face in his pillow wanting to scream. How could he ever look her in the eye again? It didn’t help that Majhree was chuckling to herself softly as she applied the ointment to his scratched bum.

  “Ain’t nothin’ she ain’t seen either,” she laughed. “Was she done brought your frozen, bare arse here on a sled anyhow.”

  If Talon had been embarrassed before, he was now mortified. To think Akkeri had gathered his naked, beaten body and dragged it to Skomm Village: the idea made him want to crawl in a hole and disappear.

  “Turn over,” Majhree told him as she scooped another handful of the green goop.

  Talon did so without complaint. What was the point? Likely the old woman had cleaned the dirt and mud from his battered body while he was unconscious. He told himself without conviction that surely it had not been Akkeri. He didn’t bother asking Majhree; he didn’t want to know.

  “Who is she?” he asked, trying to gain more information about the mysterious beauty.

  “None you need worry yourself ’bout. You just keep your eyes down round them Vald and Vaka. Almost got yourself killed for not keepin’ your mouth shut. They ain’t your people no more. Best you learn that and right quick. You’re a Skomm now; you’re a slave. You do what they say, and don’t ever look ’em in the eye, lest you wantin’ to go to Val’Kharae afore your time. Anyone with two good ears best listen.”

  Talon barely registered what she was saying. His mind was filled with visions of Akkeri and her fiery locks. Their eyes had met for a fleeting moment. Talon stopped the moment in time in his mind and gazed into her bright eyes.

  “She is beautiful,” he said with a sigh.

  “That’s enough fool talk, boy!” she said angrily and threw the blanket over him at last.

  “Any fool can see she’s a looker; it’s bound to be her biggest curse. If I had the stones, I would take the blade to her face myself and save her from her fate. You best forget ‘bout that one. Ain’t nothing gonna come of it but tragedy, heartache, and certain death. Mark my words boy. Forget her,” she warned.

  “What do you mean her fate?”

  Majhree shuffled to the door, reminding him of a slow moving turtle, her back was hunched so. She looked back at him with empathetic eyes. “Girls like her are sold before they reach their eighteenth year. There’s coin to be made by the Vald for such beauties as she. I tell ’em every season she be too valuable to be sold, but they ain’t for hearin’ it long.”

  She looked at him like maybe he didn’t understand. “You knowin’ why men might want a girl like that, don’t you boy?”

  Talon thought he did, but it wasn’t the same reason he wanted her.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Sure you do,” she said with a disapproving scowl. “Like I said, boy, forget her. I ain’t for wasting my time healin’ someone’s gonna get themselves killed over a pretty face.”

  Chapter 5

  Many Names

  He is hated, yet he loves; he is injured, yet he soothes; if measured by his heart alone, he would stand a giant among the Vald.

  —Gretzen Spiritbone, 4976

  Talon stayed another two days in the hut before Majhree would let him out. He had spent the last day lying in bed with dried rat bones covering his body. Majhree said they would lure the evil Krellr out. When he asked her why evil spirits might be attracted to rat bones, she stared at him like he was simple.

  “You understand anything about the world, boy?” she had asked.

  “I understand people are very mean to one another,” he replied and quickly wished he hadn’t. Majhree broke down in heavy sobs that racked her crooked body and made her weak. He sensed she wanted to be alone, but she didn’t have the strength to make it to the door. So she slid into the chair opposite Talon’s bed and hid her face low.

  Talon froze; so strange was her sudden coming apart, he thought to leave. Surely she wanted him to. But something made him stay—a feeling in his heart and a voice in his mind. He had seen a lot of violence and pain in his life among the Vald; he believed the greater sin was ignoring the situation. Talon understood how Majhree felt; he had heard the names all his life and he carried those names with him everywhere he went as if they were signs strapped to his back that everyone read. Even he believed those names: Runt, Plagueborn, Throwback, and now Skomm. Majhree had her names as well, and they cut just as deep.

  He got out of bed in his trousers and put a hand on her curved back. Talon recognized the voice of her tears; he had oft cried so in the early years when the beatings had been the worst.

  “I love you, Majhree; you are kind, and you are funny. Your hands work with the grace of a white lynx. Your smile is like Mother Spring, and your laughter is a harvest of happiness. If you ever believed any of the names called you, believe mine.”

  Majhree turned from herself to regard him with a wide assortment of changing emotions. For a moment she seemed angry, then puzzled, now happy, then sad. Talon bent to give her a long hug, and her shuttering breath subsided to make way for a soft, steady one.

  “Somethin’ special about you, Talon. Anyone with two good ears best listen,” she laughed with a sniffle. “Bless you the special don’t get you killed.”

  Talon was met by Jahsin when he was released. The big guy put his good arm over Talon’s shoulder and strode him through the village as if he were a lord. Talon had often wondered what went on here all the time. The Skomm village was thrice the size of any of the other villages, or so his amma told. He had only been to two other villages in his life—to get the more exotic herbs she used in her mystical conjuring.

  “Throwbacks from every village are sent here to the center of Volnoss,” said Jahsin.

  The village was not only bigger but more densely populated than any he had seen. He couldn’t guess how many Skomm liv
ed in the village; he guessed thousands. The Skomm headed in all directions in the morning bustle, each one assigned to a job in one of the villages. They did everything for the Vald, from catching and skinning the fish to cooking and cleaning, and even discarding the Vald’s bodily waste. As the Skomm saying went, “a Throwback could follow a fish bone from the sea to a Vald’s arse.” Meanwhile the Vald lived like kings and dedicated every moment of the day to tournaments of strength and endurance, as well as fights of bare hand and weapons of every variety. Even the females participated in the games. To the Vald little difference was made between the two. They did not choose mates out of love, but size and strength. They proudly claimed they had raised the average Vald height by more than a foot in the last one hundred years.

  Jahsin showed him to the food tent; the Skomm had no time for a domesticated lifestyle with their every waking hour dedicated to serving the Vald, and they got no days off. The ruling barbarians, however, did not oversee the work assignments, but rather left it up to the Vaka—the watchers.

  “Vaka are Throwbacks like you or me, and they are almost as bad as a drunken Vald looking for an arse to kick. Brekken is a Vaka, and now you caught his eye. I would watch you don’t screw up and give him a reason to come down on you more than he intends.”

  “Such is my luck,” Talon replied.

  “Haha, chin up; ain’t all bad. Look who you’re bunkin’ with,” said Jahsin, stopping and extending his hand to a hut.

  “This your place?” Talon asked, going inside.

  “Yup,” Jahsin replied with a proud smile. “Made it myself last year. Beats the hells outta sleepin’ in the commons, smellin’ other people’s broken wind all night long. Besides, durin’ the Freista it is the first place the hunters look.”

  Freista! Talon’s mind screamed; he had forgotten all about the Freista. He had heard stories about the day of killing, but many stories existed about many things, not many of them true.