by E. J. Godwin
Telai, her face a blend of curiosity and misgiving, stepped up to murmur in Caleb’s ear. “You sure about this?”
He nodded. “Very sure.”
Soren used an oil-stained cloth to wrap the point, then lifted the blade to Warren. “Hold cloth in one hand, hilt in the other. Keep the edge away from you. Don’t grip the point!”
Warren stood before him, bowed awkwardly, and took the curved sword gingerly into his hands. The blade was nicked several inches below the pommel, and years of constant exposure to the oil and sweat of those leathered old hands had worn the yellowed ivory hilt to a deep shine.
He rounded the fire, his steps slow and measured, and held the sword out to his father to read. “Hesitation is a choice, not a lack of one,” Caleb translated, and repeated the phrase in English for Warren’s benefit. “Isn’t that one of your father’s sayings?” he asked Soren as his son returned the blade.
“Yes.”
“I’m not surprised. Like father, like son.”
The old Raén resumed his work. A minute passed, silent except for the hollow rasp of steel on stone and the snap of burning wood.
“Heed your words, soldier.”
Caleb jumped as Telai drove her hoof pick into the log a mere foot from where he sat. “What?” she said, shrugging. “Just making sure I don’t lose it.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on it from now on,” he said. Telai grinned and walked back to finish up.
Warren lingered near the Master Raén, hands fidgeting at his side. Soren paused, studying the boy’s expression. “Speak your mind!”
The boy paused. “Why you no like father?”
“Not like him? I don’t understand.”
“Near hurt him!” he blurted. “You try hurt him!”
Soren stared across the fire. “What’s he talking about?”
“Forgotten already, have you?” said Caleb. “That night by the fire. If he hadn’t intervened you would have sliced my head off!”
Telai stalked back to the fire, horse brush clasped in one hand. “What?” The old Raén lifted a hand to silence her. “Don’t you shush me!” she snapped. “Are you saying you tried to kill him?”
“You’ll get your turn at grievance! Right now I’m talking to his son!”
Telai lifted the brush as if to fling it at him, but a touch on her arm stopped her. “Wait, Telai,” Caleb murmured. “Please.”
Soren shifted his attention to Warren again. “You remember?” The boy nodded sharply, and he said, “Don’t worry. I’m not angry anymore.”
“Not matter!” Warren yelled. “You did wrong! You not brave as people wonder!”
The old man sighed, then pointed at the runes along his sword. “Dentré i o aru, yoné o ksatlo’kya.” He stuck a finger at Warren’s chest. “You chose, too.”
Warren brushed his hand away. “I never try hurt you!”
“No. You made me hesitate. You saved your father—saved my friend.” He touched Warren again, this time with his palm flat against his chest. “You more brave than people wonder.”
The boy fell silent, a slow doubt cooling the fury in his cheeks. Telai relaxed, and lowered herself to Caleb’s side; then she shrieked and leaped away. Caleb hid the grin on his lips as she twisted the hoof pick out of the log with a blistering curse.
The disgust in Soren’s face triggered a boyish snicker. Suddenly the ivory carving shook free from where it had hitched over Warren’s collar, and Soren leaned in to investigate.
“Where did you get that?”
Warren straightened the plaited thong and lifted the tiny bowhead whale into the firelight. “Telai give me.”
“The symbol of Urman’s journey,” Soren murmured. “A noble gift.” He pointed across the fire. “Honors your parents, too.”
Warren’s brow furrowed. “Not understand.”
Soren shook his head. “Your father’s right. You’ve got a lot to learn.”
Warren plopped down on the log some distance away, glowering. Caleb tried to contain his wrath and focus on comforting his son, but he never got the chance.
“Damn you, Soren! We’ve all got a lot to learn!”
The Master Raén glared across the fire at his daughter. A dead silence fell; Caleb swore he could feel the heat of Telai’s fury at his side.
Suddenly Soren leaped up and slapped his Fetra into its sheath. Whisking the spoon out of Caleb’s hands, he piled his plate with stew and sat at the far end of the log to eat. Telai copied him, making a big show of it; but her movements were forced and mechanical.
Warren sat with his arms wrapped tight, his chin trembling on the verge of tears. Caleb called him over, thumped him on the back, and served him a generous helping. All through that evening he tried his best to sound cheerful and encouraging, but Soren never spoke again, and the hurt in Warren’s eyes lingered until the hard day’s ride sent them all to sleep.
11
Full Circle
The hero and fool are often mistaken for one another.
- Rewba, Master Raén of Udan
TOWARD EVENING the next day, the Master Raén stopped on a low rise between two thick groves of pines. He pointed, and they saw, a few miles away, a bright gleam in the snow like a fallen star.
He stared at Caleb. “We will wait here while you search your ship.”
“Not all,” said Warren as he nudged his horse forward. “I go, too.”
Telai squared her shoulders. “I’ll go—out of curiosity, if nothing else.”
They started off, leaving Soren red-faced with annoyance. But Caleb had only ridden a short distance before Warren’s voice stopped him.
“Dad? Telai isn’t following anymore. She looks scared.”
Caleb turned in the saddle. Telai was scanning the horizon, her face clouded with misgiving.
They rode back. “What is it?” Caleb asked.
“I don’t know. But we are in danger,” she answered. Then a distant cry from behind drained the color from her face.
“Ykaé, ykaé! By the Oath, beware!”
Soren charged toward them, his horse surging through the drifts. Heart pounding, Caleb stood in his stirrups for a better view. Then he spotted it. Far to the south, vivid against the snow, a dark line crested a low rise, then sank into a hollow and was lost.
Soren’s horse jolted to a halt beside them. “Hodyn! On horse, a dozen at least. They’ve seen us!”
“How is that possible?” asked Caleb.
“No time for talk! They’re too many for us. Go back—back to those pines!”
Soren turned and sped away. “No!” Caleb yelled. “The ship, it’s our only chance!” He dug in his heels, urging his horse into a mad gallop to the east.
Hooves pounded through the snow close behind him. “Dad, wait!”
“Warren, no! Stay with Telai!”
Telai’s voice rang in the cold air. “Caleb! Come back, it’s too far. Caleb!”
Caleb steeled himself against the sound of her voice and rode on, forcing his horse to the limit. His one thought was to reach the ship, to replenish his one sure defense. Nothing else mattered. It was as obvious as the long gleam in the snow growing with each pounding step that the Hodyn had somehow learned of their escape and wanted the lasers inside his ship. Even the security screen protecting them would not stand up forever to brute force, and if they gained possession of all those weapons …
The ambush appeared, a string of men bounding furiously over the snow on horseback less than a half mile away. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back. But he held on, the stamina of the panting, sweat-soaked horse beneath him his only hope.
Warren’s distant cry reached his ears, and in sudden dread he risked another glance behind. The boy still followed, but had fallen behind. Telai sped after him, while Soren raced to catch up, riding toward the others like a man possessed. “No, no, go back,” Caleb cried, but he couldn’t turn his head properly to be heard. He dared not divert his attention too long from his horse’s
jouncing charge.
The animal’s legs pumped slower and slower, and its throat rasped heavily in Caleb’s ears. He sent a silent prayer to the sky.
As if in mockery, his horse stumbled and fell, throwing Caleb forward into the snow. He scrambled up and wiped his face clean, only to see the animal lying with its mouth covered in bloody froth, its hide rising in quick rhythm to its last gusts of breath. There was no time for mercy. He turned and floundered forward, his legs plowing through the sodden drifts.
The ship was closer than he first thought, for it angled away from him somewhat, and the wind had piled high drifts against the right side of its hull. At close range its metal skin gleamed brilliant amber in the westering light. Familiar English lettering and numerals shrieked the memories of Earth—all overwhelmed in an instant as the first Hodyn soldiers crested the nearest rise a mere furlong away.
They spotted him, cried out, and rode after him with their nets held high.
Caleb flung off his gloves and sought for the hatch, floundering waist-deep in the drifts. Something unnatural about the surface kindled a spark of caution, but he ignored it, his hands racing over the bitter-cold skin of the ship.
The sounds of panting horses and shouting men drew near. Then his chilled fingers found a rectangular, recessed control panel about waist high. He jabbed at it in a panic, and the hatch door slid up to reveal the decompression chamber.
Its floor was already half buried in snow; a row of green lights glowed on the opposite wall. He lunged forward, fell, and bashed his head on the inner door. Struggling to his knees, he reached up and pounded at the controls with his fist.
The door lifted smoothly. A silent shout of familiarity overwhelmed his senses: the bridge, to his right through the open door, its panels still aglow from the ship’s inexhaustible power supply; down the hall to the left, the wrecked artificial hibernation room; and finally the bulkhead door to the cargo hold, where lay the fate of Ada and the Hodyn nation.
All these observations passed through his mind in a flash, snuffed out by the menacing presence directly in front of him: a short, curved sword wielded by a heavy, brown hand; a thick, belted coat of black fur and leggings of old, stained leather; and a grim smile of satisfaction in a heavily bearded face.
The Hodyn’s voice rang with victory. “Behold the promise of Yrsten, in the flesh!”
A shadow in the hatch behind eclipsed the fading sunlight. Caleb’s heart sank in bitter realization. He trembled with rage, but couldn’t release it. He could only endure the mocking grin on his enemy’s face.
♦
Telai caught up with Warren, leaning dangerously from the saddle in an attempt to reach the reins. “Warren, stop!”
“No!” he shouted, tears streaming from the wind of his speed. He tried urging his horse to one side to avoid her, but Telai was the better rider, and her horse was stronger in the snow. After a few tries she managed to grab the reins. She hauled back, lips pursed with the effort, and both horses snorted and neighed as they plowed to a jarring halt.
They stood perilously close to the ship. “You can’t help him now!” she cried, trying to turn both horses.
Warren flailed his arms at her. “Let go!”
Telai warded off the worst of his blows. “They won’t harm him,” she yelled. “They think he’s the Bringer of Strength! We must go, now!”
Suddenly they froze, as if robbed of the power of movement. Another horse had galloped by in a flurry of snow.
♦
Soren’s thoughts were not of death, or of how he was terribly outnumbered. A fellow Raén was in danger. He had sensed a trap from the start, but his companion had sped recklessly ahead, ignoring his shouts. There was nothing left to do but fight.
And fight he did. He leaped from horseback and flew into the crowd of Hodyn, a fury of skill, his saber flashing in the reddening sun. Two fell immediately, one with a severed arm, the other with a fatal gash across the stomach. Though they had seen his charge from afar, they were caught off guard by his savage, blinding speed.
They soon recovered. As Telai kept her hold on Warren, the old Raén disappeared behind a dark ring of foes, and she emptied her heart in a scream.
He killed three more. Between the second and third a blade caught his left shoulder and cut to the bone. He staggered back, one arm falling limp from his weapon. With the other he swiped his sword across the throat of his attacker. Then he grunted in surprise, and shuddered.
Directly beneath the breastbone, a blade was sticking out of his chest.
The Hodyn drew back, their dark eyes filling with triumph as the Master Raén dropped to the blood-spattered snow, his Fetra still clasped in his hand.
♦
Caleb Stenger did not know who had died or who lived. The faint sounds of battle drifting through the open hatch could not penetrate the barrier of his guilt. He stood facing the Hodyn soldier who barred his way and uttered one word, an admission of defeat the moment it passed his lips.
“How?”
A smile lingered on the man’s face, one Caleb felt like wiping out with a fist. “Easy,” he answered in Adan. “We know nothing about your strange arts. But a door? We just poked at your devices until something happened. Your low opinion of us has been our greatest advantage!”
Caleb clamped his eyelids shut. A simple security code for the hatch might have saved hundreds of lives—perhaps thousands.
“Look at me, Falling Man!” the man shouted. “I’m Herwan, leader of this mission. Right now, your forces are fighting an invasion of our troops at Eastgate. Such a simple ploy to deceive The Master Raén of Spierel,” he mocked grimly. “And your ridiculous taboo about that mountain so nicely cleared the way for the rest of us.”
He took a few wandering steps around for a quick scan of the ship’s interior. “Impressive. I might have spent a lot of precious time trying to make sense of all this.” He faced Caleb again. “You will teach me the secrets of your vessel!”
“Dream on, Hodyn worm.”
Herwan shook his head, impervious. “You’re the Falling Man—the stranger from the stars. I know about your weapons, and why you’re here. Do you think your little demonstration in Dernetondé went unnoticed?” He brought the point his sword to Caleb’s neck. “You will bring us strength—the strength foretold by your own Prophets!”
“By killing me? Not a smart move.”
Herwan laughed. “No, I wouldn’t do that. But there are things worse than death,” he added. His casual tone sent a cold trickle through Caleb’s stomach.
“Herwan!” came a shout from outside.
The man’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”
“Two escaped—the woman and the boy.”
Caleb froze. Herwan growled his irritation. “Follow them!”
The soldier hesitated. “I’ve just sent two others in pursuit—in the heat of battle we didn’t have the chance.”
“You mean you didn’t pay attention, you idiot!” The soldier vanished, and Herwan spat a curse. “I’m running out of time, Bringer. Show me your power, now—and of your own free will.”
Caleb barely heard his words. He felt wrapped in a cocoon, numb with shock.
Herwan grinned. “Yes. The leader of your little expedition is dead.” He threw his head back and shouted, “At last! Soren of Ekendoré has met his reward!”
Caleb’s knees gave way, and he sank to the floor. He knew in that moment that he loved Soren deeply.
“Get up,” Herwan commanded. “Soren could have escaped like the others. But he chose to die like a fool, for nothing.” He balled a fist around his prisoner’s coat collar, hauled him up, and slammed him against the hull. “Ordinarily I might find pity for you, for you’re not of Ada—you only landed in the wrong place at the wrong time. But we’ve been waiting for the Bringer of Strength for too long. We won’t let anything stand in our way. Ada shall be ours, again!” He shook him violently, and shouted, “Do you hear me? Nothing—we’ll stop at nothing!”
&n
bsp; Caleb gripped Herwan by the wrist and shoved him away, grief fueling his anger. “Drop off the pursuit first. Then I’ll show you the weapons.”
“You’re in no position to dictate orders. I’ll spare their lives when we capture them, nothing more. And you’re to instruct only. If your hand touches anything suspicious, you’ll never use it again.” He shouted through the door, and another Hodyn appeared against the darkening sky. “Moula! Tell the others they’re not to harm them until I give the word.”
Moula obeyed, then entered at his master’s command and fell in behind Caleb, sword at his back. Herwan followed.
Caleb wiped the tears away and headed for the rear of the ship. He placed little faith in Herwan’s promise, but it was all he had. He did not hurry. He needed time to think. At each room he paused, feigning hesitation. Warren’s baseball bat still lay on the floor amidst the wreckage of the hibernation room, near the capsule that had tragically altered the boy’s life.
He halted at the last door on the right. After punching the controls he stepped into the staging area for the cargo hold, the same room he had searched after the crash. How long ago that seemed now! He stopped, mind racing, while Moula and Herwan waited close behind, blocking the entrance.
His one advantage was their ignorance of the ship and its capabilities. Many devices, and even their functions, were beyond their comprehension. He had already rejected one option, that of self-destruction, by Earth law installed in every ship. He had not reached that level of desperation—not yet. Telai and Warren were still alive.
He quickly scanned the room in sudden inspiration. The security screen! Of course!
Caleb fought to keep his hand steady as he pointed at a closed cabinet in the left-hand wall. A sign above it read: DANGER: FREE-ELECTRON LASERS—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
“See that red knob?” Caleb said. “Push it to open the cabinet.”
Herwan eyed him suspiciously, then stepped up and extended a hesitant finger to the button below the sign. The door split in the middle and slid away to either side. A collection of laser pistols hung in disarray, upset by the crash landing; a few had broken free of their restraints and lay in a heap at the bottom.