Talon: The Windwalker Archive (Book 1)

by Michael Ploof

  “Would you like a drink? Maybe you can keep some down this time,” said Azzeal.

  Talon blinked and nodded his heavy head. A firm hand cupped his head and raised it so he wouldn’t choke. A wooden cup was pressed to his lips and cool water touched his tongue. He drank thirstily, reaching up and tipping the cup back.

  “Enough for now,” said Azzeal with a smile, gently pulling back the cup.

  Beside him his amma applied a cold cloth to his forehead.

  “Fever has broke,” she croaked.

  Talon lay back and closed his heavy eyes. He didn’t remember feeling so tired in a dream before.

  Talon woke to a big wet tongue licking his face. He laughed and turned his head, trying to get away from the tongue bath.

  “Stop, Chief,” he giggled, turning his head.

  He raised a hand to playfully fend off his wolf pup, but his hand touched a furry head bigger than a man’s. Talon stared into the big brown eyes of a bear.

  “You’re not Chief,” he said, unafraid. He had been having too many strange dreams to be afraid of this one.

  “He says, ‘good morning,’” said Azzeal, coming into view over the bear’s shoulder. He stood beside the bed and scratched behind Beorn’s ear.

  “Good morning? Is this real?” asked Talon trying to sit up.

  “I wouldn’t just yet. You’ll tear the vines,” said Azzeal.

  “This is real?” he asked again, looking around. He recognized the cave in which he had been given the ring—the ring he lost.

  “Is it? Who is to tell? Even if any could tell, how are we to know whether they are real? You’re not dreaming, at least—I don’t think.”

  “Amma?” said Talon as Gretzen walked over to the bed, crushing something with mortar and pestle.

  She groaned and felt his head with the back of her hand. Azzeal took a seat next to him and watched her work, intrigued.

  “Elf come in dream, say walk to cave, say I find you here,” said Gretzen.

  Talon glanced at Azzeal. The elf nodded.

  “Thank you,” said Talon, realizing that somehow Azzeal had freed him from his captors.

  “You are quite welcome,” said Azzeal, his grin revealing long, sharp canine teeth.

  “What about Fylkin; what about Akkeri?” Talon suddenly shot up in bed and pain jolted his back. He gave a cry and braced himself.

  His amma pushed him back down with a strong arm. “Lie down while you’re being tended to! What you gonna do, swim out in ocean and track her down? Don’t be simple. Elf spent good hours sewin’ you up; don’t be ruining his work.”

  Talon remembered the hooks around his collarbones. His bare chest was bruised badly, but the wounds had been closed, sewn together with what looked like thin green vines.

  “May I finish the gash on your shoulder?” asked Azzeal, gesturing to his right.

  Talon nodded. Azzeal smiled and reached out of sight. Beorn returned to his spot beside the fire, and Azzeal turned back with a small plant with long hanging roots.

  “Do not be alarmed. This is simply a tool,” said Azzeal as he stuck his finger between the blue petals. The flower closed around his finger and the petals began to glow. Azzeal lowered the reaching roots to the long gash on Talon’s shoulder, and a clear liquid oozed into the wound. The pain was replaced by a soft tingling sensation. The roots probed the wound as Azzeal remained motionless with closed eyes.

  Finally he retracted the roots and carefully placed them in a clear bowl full of a swampy looking liquid which he held in his other hand. He whispered something in Elvish and the plant began to grow vines no thicker than strands of spider silk. The vines curled and weaved through the air, searching. Azzeal lowered the plant to Talon’s wound once more and the vines grew into him. He felt the same strange tingling sensation deeper in his skin as the vines did their work.

  “Are you controlling them?” Talon asked, amazed.

  ‘I am,” said Azzeal with closed eyes. “I am a novice at this form of magic, however. It would be best if you did not speak for a time.”

  “Sorry,” Talon whispered.

  He watched as the vines wove through muscle and tissue. They moved back and forth and around each other as Azzeal swayed. The vines finally wove through his skin, closing up the wound like stitches. His amma watched Azzeal’s work, unblinking. Talon could only imagine her jealousy and wonderment.

  When he had finished, Azzeal wiped the clear ooze from his skin and set the plant aside. “Very good.”

  “You call that being a novice?’” asked Talon, inspecting the work.

  “Yes, indeed. There are those among us with the ability to heal such wounds with a thought. I have only been studying the craft for forty years.”

  Talon turned to his amma, who gave Azzeal a withering look.

  “Forty years! How old are you?” he asked, amazed.

  Azzeal pondered the question for a while. “Many hundreds,” he said, shaking his head with approval of his guess.

  “Feikinstafir,” Talon breathed. “That must be something else.”

  “Everything is something else,” said Azzeal, confused.

  Amma Gretzen placed the knotted end of a thighbone on Talon’s lap and handed him a small, strange-looking knife. “You been asleep for a week.”

  Talon eyed the bone. He didn’t understand.

  “Every night wolf howls. Spirit won’t move on, won’t leave you. Seen him watchin’ your bed, waitin’ for you to wake, chasin’ away bad dreams and bad spirits,” said Gretzen. She pointed at the knife and bone with a shaking finger. “Carve your Chief in bone.”

  She turned and went to sit beside Beorn by the fire. Talon looked from her to Azzeal to the bone and back to the elf once more.

  “What is she talking about?” asked Talon.

  “Even we elves know to obey our grandmothers,” he said with a smile. “Mind you don’t split the bone.”

  Azzeal took a place beside the fire and Talon was left alone to ponder the strange pair.

  Was she talking about Chief’s spirit? he wondered, as he turned the piece of bone in his hand. He got the sick feeling that this was Chief’s thigh bone. He heeded Azzeal’s words, however, and listened to his amma. He thought of Chief and began to carve.

  He had no indication of time in the cave. Azzeal and Gretzen sat by the fire most of the time, but the elf left twice, coming back with a handful of herbs or roots. Talon knew his amma was brewing up one of her incantations or spells. She remained hunched over the fire, murmuring ancient words.

  Gretzen had always been known as a great witch doctor though he knew not why; he had never witnessed anything to suggest any practical value in the practice. Though she was a good healer, he didn’t know her to possess any true magic. A few times when he was young, he had seen her do things he couldn’t explain, but those memories soon lost their mystical quality. Once he witnessed what she called a “demon banishing.” The victim had spoken in strange tongues and thrashed about murderously while his amma bellowed words of magic. She wielded burning sage and blessed water like a warrior witch doctor that night, and the banishing had been successful. The entire ordeal had frightened Talon to no end. Nightmares plagued him for a week after, but he had only been seven, and he soon began to distrust what he had seen. Amma Gretzen told Talon that he didn’t see the magic in the world because he refused to look.

  He carved out the head, taking his time to get the face and ears just right. He thought of Chief while he worked. The wolf pup had possessed so much energy and joy; everything seemed interesting to Chief, and anything could be used for play. The pup had opened Talon up to a whole new world that lay hidden to him his entire life. He saw the magic of the world for the first time in his pup’s eyes. He laughed more those first months than he had since he was a small child—before the world beat the joy out of him.

  Chief saved Talon’s life. In those first years of his adolescence, Talon had begun to grow bitter and spiteful. He hated his father for his abandonmen
t and he hated himself for being so weak and small, and he began to hate his amma Gretzen for saving him.

  Talon had always been picked on by the bigger children, but as they all got older, the beatings became more violent. Soon Talon could barely leave the house without being chased down by a pack of bullies, often led by Fylkin Winterthorn. The chiefson had set his sights on Talon when he was nine years old and he never let up. It wasn’t until Chief was a year old that the bullying subsided. Rather than Plagueborn, Skomm, Draugr, and Throwback, people began to whisper the name, Krellr Troda—Spirit. The Vald—as superstitious as they were—believed the spirit of their tribe’s namesake had blessed Talon. He suspected his amma Gretzen had something to do with the rumors, but he cared not. If it got the bullies off his back for a time, Talon didn’t care what wild tales she spun. Fylkin, however, put no stock in his newfound title and often threatened to make Chief into a fur hat.

  “Now Chief is dead; Jahsin is dead,” he lamented.

  Talon stopped in his work and the realization hit him once more; Jahsin was dead. He couldn’t imagine a world without his closest friend—the brother he never had, the friend he never expected. Jahsin had warmed up to Talon instantly, and treated him as no one ever had. They laughed and joked; they argued and fought. Jahsin didn’t put up with Talon’s descending mood swings, and Talon didn’t put up with Jahsin’s temper. They challenged each other at every turn, yet accepted each other for who they were—flawed humans like all the rest.

  Jahsin had a taste for revolution once his cautious nature gave in to his righteous sense of justice. He had told Talon often of his dream to one day free the Skomm. Talon chuckled at the memory. Of all the things they might have daydreamed during those magical hours below the stars, Jahsin had, more often than not, chosen to talk about what he called “the Skomm Revolution.” Talon played along, often taking on the imaginary role of General Windwalker. The most admirable thing about Jahsin’s dream was that he had meant to do it. More times than not, Talon himself had gotten caught up in the stream of consciousness that played out in their minds’ eyes against the backdrop of stars. Even now, Talon believed his friend could have done it. But the world would never know, for the gods had seen fit to take him for themselves.

  Talon realized he had been done with the carving for some time. He lay there, staring at it, lost in the memories of old.

  “I’m done, Amma Gretzen,” he called to her.

  She came to him and inspected the bone carving. It was small, no larger than a pine cone, but it was a near-perfect replica of the timber wolf. Gretzen grunted her approval and handed it back to him.

  “You sleep now. When you wake, the summoning begins,” she said, returning to the fire.

  Talon hadn’t the energy to wonder what she meant by “summoning.” He dismissed the word as he did all of her mystical ramblings. His tired mind fell into sleep easily, and to his relief, his sleep remained dreamless.

  Chapter 27

  Krellr Warg

  I will give him a weapon of such power that he shall become legend!

  —Gretzen Spiritbone, 4996

  Talon awoke, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot where he was. He searched the cave in frantic confusion. When he found Amma Gretzen sitting by the fire, he remembered everything. She noticed he had awakened and stood and gathered her things.

  “Come; this work is best done under stars in the presence of gods,” she said and headed for the tunnel to the outside world.

  Talon kicked his legs over the bed and gingerly stood. His legs were weak and his body sore, but he managed well enough. He put on his clothes and followed her out of the cave. A new vine tunnel led out to the east. He followed Gretzen up a small hill and down again. The vines were so thick that no light from the outside penetrated the canopy. Gretzen’s torch was the only light to be seen. Talon followed her torchlight, clutching the timber wolf carving.

  Soon a brighter fire drowned out the torch, and they came into a wide clearing. Azzeal danced around the fire, flapping his now-feathered arms. His body was still covered in green leaves, but his feet had grown into hooves. Gretzen indicated a stump close to the raging fire for Talon to sit upon. He sat and watched, amazed as Azzeal’s head turned into that of a wolf and he howled to the sky. The call was answered by another. The baying of the wolf came from all sides, and Talon jumped to search for the source.

  “You chose long ago not to see the spirits, they frightened you so,” his amma said as she laid out her ritual tools.

  “Is…is that Chief?” he asked, and the howl of the wolf came again from all directions. Talon felt a warm wind brush up against his arm, causing his hairs to stand up on end.

  Gretzen only grunted as she lit her conjuring stick and began spelling runes in the air with the smoke.

  “What are you trying to do?” he asked.

  “Chief’s spirit remains. Soon he’ll be lost in spirit world—left to haunt Volnoss for all time. I give him new home,” she said and began a low chanting.

  Azzeal came around the fire and his head changed back to an elf’s, though his hair remained moss and twig. He stretched like a cat and his small antlers grew long and twisted. He came to stand beside Gretzen with an odd feline smile spread across his face. His eyes danced in the light and his delight was palpable.

  “Your Gretzen is one of the most skilled spirit talkers I’ve ever met. The practice is shunned by my people. This is a rare glimpse into the spirit world,” he said, watching her spellwork intently.

  “He is here,” Gretzen cried out and nearly fainted. Azzeal caught her in strong arms, and Chief’s howl split the still night. The wind picked up, sending glowing embers shooting into the heavens.

  “O, great Krellr Warg, Fenrir, God of Hunt, Prince of Forest, King of Wolves, bless your son, Chief. Let him roam the world beside Talon Windwalker. He, your earthly incarnation,” Gretzen sang.

  A howling wind haunted the forest around them, whispering through the pines in a thousand voices. It sounded to Talon as if the entire forest were populated with wolves. Their snarls and howls echoed from all directions. The fire raged higher still, as the sound dominated the night. Gretzen’s words were lost to him as she took up the Timber Wolf figurine and held it high with one hand. With the other she tossed sparkling dust onto the raised carving. The fire leapt three feet to engulf the carving and her hand alike, but the flames did not burn her skin. Without warning, the baying of the wolves stopped, and was replaced by a silence so pure that Talon thought he had gone deaf. The fire went out in a flash, and smoke filled the clearing. Gretzen held the figurine out to Talon, indicating for him to touch it; with shaking hands he held the carving with her.

  “Call him!” she said between her chanting.

  Talon searched the hanging smoke. The foggy outline of a wolf cutting through the fog moved in the corner of his eye. When he looked directly at the apparition, it was gone.

  “Call him!” she urged, straining to hold the connection she had to the spirit world.

  Standing behind her, Azzeal looked on with wide-eyed wonder. His eyes followed the apparition through the smoke.

  “C…come on, Chief! Here, boy,” said Talon, awestruck.

  The apparition moved from the corner of his eye and his heart leapt to see the transparent ghost of Chief. A happy panting sounded beside him and he jumped. His eyes blurred with tears and a shiver of wonderment danced across his skin.

  “Come on, boy; come on, Chief,” his voice cracked.

  Chief began to solidify, and for a moment, Talon could see his shaggy coat blowing in the breeze. He laughed as tears of joy rolled down his cheeks. Chief turned to mist once more and Gretzen began to bellow her incantations. The mist swirled around them in ever tighter circles and poured itself in to the bone carving. The fire erupted to life and the howl of the wolf echoed on for eternity.

  Talon stared at his amma Gretzen as her gray hair danced wildly in the hot wind. He saw her as he never had before. She released the figuri
ne, shuddered a breath, and passed out.

  “Amma!” Talon cried and caught her.

  “She will be all right,” said Azzeal with a feline grin. Though he was hundreds of years old, he seemed to Talon to possess the delight and wonder of a child.

  Talon stared at the figurine in his hands.

  “Chief is in there, isn’t he?” Talon asked.

  “Yes, he will find the rest he needs. Your amma has created a doorway to the spirit world. In time you will be able to summon him to our world once again.”

  Azzeal carried Gretzen back to the cave and set her down on one of the moss beds. Talon remained by her side, anxious for her to wake. He thought of how much he had taken her for granted all those years. He had thought her crazy his whole life, dismissing her chanting and spirit talk as the ramblings of a woman gone mad. How wrong he had been, and how bad he felt now.

  When she woke, Azzeal was there by her side with a strange-smelling drink which she consumed greedily. She waved off Talon’s fussing hand on her shoulder as she coughed from drinking too fast.

  “Show me,” she croaked.

  Talon handed her the figurine and she held it up to the light. Her eyes searched the carving as she turned it in her hands, nodding.

  “How long?” she asked Azzeal.

  “It is morning,” he said.

  She handed the figurine back to Talon and gestured vaguely with her hand.

  “Call to him.”

  Talon looked at the trinket. His excitement grew until he thought his chest might burst.