by Clive Ousley
He supported Talgour who was again stumbling with exhaustion by the time a group of Celembrie warriors met them. They took Eighth in his hammock and led the band toward their village. The sun had long set when they slowed amongst the first torch lit buildings.
Chief Thicheal emerged from the door of his residence and greeted the returning warriors solemnly. Malkrin stayed with his companions as TrathWolf conversed with the Celembrie chief. He highsensed TrathWolf running through an account of the reconnaissance. Malkrin was the only one to hear the chief’s whispered reply.
'I believe we have a further tragedy to recount. It relates to the corpse of an unknown stranger that we recovered earlier. It lay on the water-carriers path leading to the Pillen river.'
He led TrathWolf away and five minutes later they returned and indicated Malkrin should follow.
The three entered a hut with an open porch and no door. Inside wooden racks were built along the walls and a strangely clad effigy had been carved and set into a dais in the centre of the hut. Malkrin spotted a body on one of the racks and realised this was a mortuary hut.
TrathWolf gestured him over curtly, and pointed.
On the rack lay the body of a man in rich yet strange clothing. His face wore a transparent mask with metal protrusions round his mouth. But his throat was disfigured with a killing gash. On the corpses blood soaked chest were pinned three gold highsense suns.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sparking fireball flew through the night toward the frontier guard’s barracks hut. A turquoise flash and a shower of sparks lit up the dark sky as the ball of fire burst asunder the largest timber door. Blue lightning fizzed along the wood panelled walls beneath the brick chimney and the thatch started flickering with hungry flames. Seconds later shouts and the crashing of chairs and crockery came from the building. Men spewed from the smouldering door space, and a guard ran to the stream with an empty bucket. Another ran to the palisade for help.
Olaff flexed his fingers and smiled as more guards rushed from their posts on the crude fortification. Seconds later they were helping their comrades extinguish the conflagration.
'Fools, I told you not to leave clothes to dry near the fireplace,' screamed a Brenna frontier officer.
More guards attended the inferno as Olaff slipped from the stand of trees opposite the track. He climbed the palisades most shadowed ladder. As he reached the top he crouched and looked around. He smiled to himself; no one had seen him. He had taken care to wear black clothing and had smeared his face and hands with thick soot. Two guards had been left on the walkway; one was far off along the planking, another was nearer but his attention was fixed on the excitement below.
Olaff swung himself over the sharpened stakes of the palisade that enclosed Cyprusnia from the outside world. It was twelve feet to the rocky ground beneath. Fearlessly he let go the top of the stakes and dropped – to land lightly on his feet. He paused to look around and listen. No one was alerted. Olaff crept silently into the night.
Five minutes later he put on thick leather boots and his priest’s habit. His sharp night vision revealed the route and he ran along the track to allow body heat to warm him. As he ran he prayed intensely, I’ve begun the task well, thanks to you Jadde. Give me fast feet Goddess, and watch over me please.
After good progress he stopped at dawn for something to eat and a nap. Refreshed he carried on running until midday and reached a fork in the track. One was narrow and used only by animals, but the other was wide and pounded smooth by heavy usage. This surprised him as he'd always been taught there were but a few starving Wolf bandits beyond Cyprusnia. Apparently these wild men hunted randomly, scraping an existence killing lizards and eating roots. The lesser path headed toward a rocky outcrop, perhaps used as a vantage point to observe the foothills leading further into the deadlands. He ignored it and followed the well used path at a fast run.
During early evening he stopped to examine the remains of a wild cat, the bones were beginning to whiten. He looked closely at the burnt stick embedded in the skull and smiled. Malkrin could have done that. He doubted any other hunter would have been victorious without proper weapons. He looked uphill and spotted a cave and decided to spend the night there.
The cave had been recently used. Olaff looked around in the failing light spotting the activities of three people. Malkrin, Halle and Seara he hoped, and settled down to relight the camp fire to heat the meat and carrots he had brought with him. He finished the meal with fruit that had been dried and prepared by Josiath Nighthawk for his journey. He slept soundly, only wakened by his hunters’ instinct to rebuild the fire to ward off wild animals. At dawn he ate an oatcake and gathered his possessions into his large and over-full backpack. Then with his bow slung ready, and quiver over his back he set off again at a run.
And so his routine repeated over the next six days. On the seventh day when the mountains of Cyprusnia had diminished to mere misty peaks he came across a line of seven strange hunters all wearing wolf furs and headdresses. They were trudging the same route as him. But approaching him from the deadlands over the rise of a boulder clad hill he was about to climb.
Olaff stopped to regain his breath, adjusted his habit and wiped the sweat from his face with a rag. He wanted to look presentable, but prepared, should there be trouble. Apprehension gnawed at the back of his mind lest the hunters were unfriendly warriors. He flexed his arms and fingers preparing the highsense and letting it build should he have to release fireballs in defence.
The Wolf hunters halted thirty paces from him and an unusual figure detached from the group. Meanwhile from a dense copse to his right another line of twelve Wolf warriors emerged and held spears and stone headed hand-axes threateningly. As they drew nearer Olaff could see the wolf skulls were still attached to pelts forming seamless cloaks over most of their bodies and heads. Long hair flowed from beneath the headdresses adding to the look of two legged wolves. It was a frightening sight and Olaff searched the line of faces along the wood edge looking for a friendly face. And found none. He looked nervously to the approaching tall warrior on the track then back to the Wolf warriors from the trees. Again he examined them all minutely for aggression. The single warrior gave a flat palm sign Olaff intuitively knew meant, no need to fear. He allowed his tingling hands to relax.
The Wolf warrior drew nearer and Olaff noticed he was dressed differently to the others. Instead of the usual wolf headdress his hair flowed free and he wore his wolf-pelt cloak loosely tied with blue cord. His hair was strung with small bones and around his waist another line of larger bones clattered. The strange sight was finished off with red-brown breeches tucked into dusty leather boots. Olaff stood his ground. He lowered his cowl and clasped his hands at his waist as all priests did whilst walking the corridors of the keep.
The rattling-bone warrior stopped ten feet away and repeated his palms outward sign in what he saw as a gesture of peace. Olaff mirrored him and the warrior uttered a greeting in a strange but recognisable dialect.
'Greetings Cloaked One. We had feared you to be a demon at first. But I am confused; you have the manner of a warrior although dressed in a holy man’s habit.’
‘Jadde’s peace be with you Sire. I am merely a novice priest but am honoured you consider me a warrior. I go by the name of Olaff Deerhide.’
'I am BalthWolf Bone-thrower leader of this part of the Wolf Clan.’ The warrior gestured to his men, who had now halted in a semi-circle around Olaff. ‘We will rest awhile; I suspect there is much news to exchange with this priest.’ He turned back to Olaff. ‘For I guess you are of the secluded ones of Cyprusnia.'
Olaff put his hands together and bowed slightly in the manner of the priesthood when greeting a stranger. ‘I see you travel well prepared for trouble. I would speak to you about any information concerning three friends that I seek.'
The men of the Wolf Clan busied themselves either side of the track, gathering wood to light fires and prepare food. Three men returned with arrow
-shot squirrels and ducks. Soon the aroma of cooked meat accompanied the Wolf warrior’s news.
Olaff sat with BalthWolf Bone-thrower and listened to a huge tale of a sacred but interrupted journey, and a creeping tide of evil. Then BalthWolf told of Malkrin.
Olaff realised the discredited hunter was at least two weeks journey away, even if he ran fleet-footed through all the daylight hours.
'My people have need for Malkrin to return immediately. He must know by now more of the evil demons. My elders need this vital news to inform our Seconchane rulers.’
‘I find it entirely believable your closeted people know nothing beyond their borders.’
‘But those who sent me to find Malkrin were uneasy about something. Although they could not name the threat, they knew an evil approached Cyprusnia.’
They exchanged more information. Later Olaff realised these Wolf warriors would not leave their reconnaissance to fetch Malkrin. He would just have to continue his journey and persuade him personally. Slowly he ate a meal of duck stuffed with wild turnip and carrots and mulled over the magnitude of the new information. He realised just how little the Brenna cared for events beyond their borders. It was lucky the priests of the Seconchane had some concern. He hoped that once he’d brought Malkrin back, his priest friends could persuade the Brenna to allow Malkrin back into Cyprusnia.
Later he took leave of BalthWolf Bone-thrower and continued his run refreshed and now armed with a clear destination. Bone-thrower had described the lands of the people of Brightwater and the shortest route for Olaff to reach them.
Three days later and wrung-out with exertion he arrived at the Lighthouse Bridge. He staggered up to the guards and between huge sucks of breath explained his mission. Later after official greetings and a short meeting with the Senate to state his mission he rested. Then a Senate official in multilayered yellow cloaks led him to his guest accommodation. The man smiled knowingly and surprised him.
‘We have arranged for a familiar face to instruct you further.’
Olaff hardly dared believe Malkrin had returned already. He was led into a low turf roofed building when a soft melodious voice behind him said.
'Olaff, I did not expect a novice priest to search for us. But someone from home gives me warm feelings.' Seara stood there in the open door of the guest building. ‘Now I won’t feel so homesick.’
He stared in awe of her shining eyes, lustrous long hair and delicate features. Somehow he stammered a reply, aghast that his cheeks were feeling red hot. ‘Likewise, it is nice to meet . . . a child I knew . . . who has developed into . . . a . . . a . . . beautiful lady.'
Seara spoke as if they were lifelong friends. He realised she was doing her best to put him at ease and had overcome the ordinary Seconchane folks suspicion of their priesthood. But the more she spoke the more awkward and tongue tied he became.
After an hour’s stilted discussion of mutual acquaintances and other news from their homeland, he managed to bring his stammering conversation to the problem of locating Malkrin.
'They only left three days ago, you should have run faster and not spent time debating the merits of the Brightwater women,' she chided him with a tinkling laugh.
'I'm sorry Seara . . . I . . . tried to will Jadde to increase my speed . . . and I had believed she did so.'
'Not a problem Olaff. I’m sure you did your best, I’m only joking.'
Olaff felt his cheeks redden further and wished he could give her a gift of fine clothes or a bound volume of Jadde’s scriptures. But instead he confided in her of his secret highsense. She beamed and told him of her healing gifts and why she had fled Cyprusnia with her father. At that moment he realised he had at last found someone who had been through the same ordeals, a kindred spirit. But that was all the priesthood would allow her to be; and the realisation saddened him.
It was late, his eyelids were heavy and it was hard to concentrate. Being here in Brightwater was all so different and the onslaught of new experiences exhausted him. He brought the conversation back on track before he said something stupid.
'I am unsure whether to continue from here to search for Malkrin or wait for his return. It would be so easy to miss them . . . if I wander blindly, err . . . by not knowing the paths and surroundings that is.’ He yawned; it was getting harder to think. 'I'm sorry Seara . . . I can hardly stay awake . . . sorry.'
'My fault Olaff, I'll let you rest.' With dancing steps she breezed from Olaff's accommodation. 'See you tomorrow,' she waved and closed the door softly behind her.
He fell onto the mattress and closed his eyes; then fell asleep with images of Seara floating before him.
In her short time with the Brightwater people Seara had increased her healing highsense. She could now heal all non-fatal injuries and most illnesses and had gathered a small band of helpers all hoping they could emulate her. Although she contrived many tests all were disappointingly devoid of any highsense. But Seara constantly told them she expected a blossoming of their healing abilities very soon. Using her developing charms she had spent a large amount of her time with Praled the Principal Librarian at the Light of Souls library to learn to read and write. It had become a competition with her father to see who could learn the fastest. Being younger, with a more subtle mind, she had won.
Praled had allowed her to trace a map of the Brightwater lands and the surrounding topography. On the map she had indicated in large letters the location of the neighbouring tribes and the names of their chieftains. Growing in ability she read of the Sylva, Cembrie and Olephate tribes. Then she read old records about the nomad Wolf Clan and all their beliefs and the reasons behind their endless journey.
It was not until after her father had left on his and Malkrin’s quest that she realised just how much they would have to learn as they travelled. She really wished she'd been allowed to accompany them and meet all the strange tribes she had just labelled. Finding out from the actual people about their strange beliefs would have been fascinating.
If only I’d insisted – they would have taken me. Seara stamped her foot and inadvertently a growl of frustration escaped her lips.
Now the novice-priest Olaff had arrived and she realised he was sent by Jadde to help. So late into the night Seara made plans. She would persuade him to continue his search for Malkrin – and to take her. It would be an adventure, especially with someone else her age. But the dangers were not to be underestimated. What if they ran into quarter-men? She thought the best course of action would be to run. Apparently that was something Olaff was particularly good at.
There was captivation in his eyes; he could be easily persuaded to allow her to join him. Would he, or she for that matter, be a good enough hunter to provide food to sustain them? She would find out soon enough once they had left Brightwater.
Seara buzzed with excitement. All those people out there, all the strange customs and strange villages – so much to see and so many really interesting people to meet.
She decided to show him the maps tomorrow and use them to persuade him. After all, if they kept to the paths she had traced between the different peoples’ lands they surely could not get lost. And somewhere along the route they would come across her father and Malkrin. She would really surprise them and they’d be pleased to see her and would hug her.
And she needed to be there to console Malkrin when he learnt of the death of his wife. And when consoling, she could heal him and make him greater and more able to take on the burden that Olaff said awaited for him in Cyprusnia. She had filled her highsense with healing tricks learnt recently in the Brightwater villages and looked forward to using them on someone extra special – she was convinced that would be Malkrin.
The morning light streamed into the sparsely furnished room through the small yellow glazed opening. Olaff woke then shielded his eyes from the magnified sunlight. Had Seara thought him rude and inhospitable when he had fallen asleep before her: he really hoped not?
He washed and prepared for the day. Someo
ne had been in the room while he slept and left a tray of fruit and bread and a jug of fruit flavoured water for his breakfast. He hoped he had had the bed covers firmly drawn over himself as he slept. Then he hoped he had not snored as his parents had claimed.
Olaff refused to continue doubting himself and asked Jadde to ensure he made the correct decisions. Then relaxed, he ravenously munched the food. He had just finished when a knock came on the door. He adjusted his clothes hoping he would see the face that kept interrupting his thought, and seconds later Seara stood there with an expression that matched the sun.
'Come on lazy-bones, I've something to show you.’ She grasped his hand and took him to the Lighthouse Library to see Praled. Olaff noticed the old man dropped the script he was taking notes from and rushed over, completely under Seara's spell. Strangely, it made Olaff angry.
‘Praled, show Olaff that magic needle you used with my map.'
The old man smiled, 'It’s an old family heirloom my father gave me when I reached the age of majority, as his father did the same for him. So I will loan it to you. I know what you have in mind Seara. I also know I cannot stop you.'
'Yes, yes, but the magic needle will help if we get lost, so that'll make us safe won't it?'
'Well you prove you know how to use it and then perhaps I'll agree.'
Praled handed over a small tarnished oval box with a cracked glass top and a plaited cord through an eyelet in the top. Seara reached into a cubbyhole full of rolled scripts and pulled out a recently made and less grubby document. She unrolled it and placed it on a table with polished pebble weights to hold down the corners.
‘Look at this Olaff,’ she pointed proudly.
He bent over and saw an intricate map. It was only the second he'd ever seen. The first, Sire Josiath had shown him in the priest’s library. It had been of Cyprusnia and was very old with very neat writing all over it. This one was scruffily hand written and looked crude in comparison. He looked closer. It was reasonably detailed and showed intersecting paths along rivers and through woodland, contours were also indicated. Four black dots suggested villages and tribal boundaries were sketched in red. He looked at the bottom and saw in red ink the name ‘Seara’ and realised she had copied this map from another source.