by Clive Ousley
He was tiring; the energy required to summon the highsense was diminishing. His legs wobbled and he leant back against the rock.
'Give me your hand Olaff,' Seara screamed, and bend with her free arm outstretched.
'Sorry Seara, I haven't the energy to climb,’' he gasped, his legs were about to give way.
He glanced at the remaining six quarter-men, they had left the tree lined path and two were climbing the hillock already. With a titanic effort he summoned his diminished highsense energy fearing it was the last fireball he could raise. He hurled it and it connected with the nearest quarter-man. It tumbled smoking and sparking downhill.
Behind him Seara screamed at the top of her voice, 'Help, anyone – help us.'
The next quarter-man reached him and he felt a stinging blow to his left shoulder. An arrow made a sickening crunch at point-blank range through its head. The demon tumbled down the hill. Olaff’s vision swum and he frantically drew breath after breath. He could feel blood pulsing from his shoulder and soaking his tunic. His legs buckled and he sunk to his knees. The last four quarter-men began to climb the hillock screaming triumphantly as they sensed victory.
An arrow lodged in a quarter-man's carapace but it hardly slowed. Olaff sank to a crouch and the figures blurred before him. He looked up and Seara's face bent down with her arm outstretched.
‘I'm sorry Seara; you have won the last Jadde-star.’ He raised his right arm and concentrated his remaining energy and threw a feeble fireball at the nearest quarter-man. It hit sizzling, but the creature carried on, a look of pain and hatred seemed to incense it. It slashed him with bone-fingers and he felt his left leg open up, then a cold stab in his stomach. There was no pain.
The end of Seara's bow stabbed at the creature and caught its left eye sending it reeling backward with dark blood flowing. It fell into another demon sending both tumbling.
'Sorry Olaff, I shouldn't have come, it’s all my fault,' Seara gasped. ‘And I'm out of arrows.' Seara had jumped down and was dragging him round the rock.
'Leave me and run,' he whispered. The last two demons were scrambling up the hill and another had disentangled itself from its blinded comrade.
Through a fog he watched her run to the nearest demon corpse and pull a sucking arrow from it. She notched the arrow and fired into the carapace of a leaping demon, slowing it.
Strangely, more arrows were hitting it. Dimly he realised they were from the path. The other two demons scrambled forward hissing and snarling. Olaff felt waves of hatred sear his mind and feebly he tried to raise his highsense but his arm fell onto his legs. The first creature reached them and he tried to rise, to defend Seara. Numbly he felt the slash of knee blades and bone fingers. An arrow appeared in the creatures head. The other demon batted Seara and she tumbled down the hill. His surroundings darkened as if dark clouds had suddenly obliterated the sun.
***
Olaff struggled to focus on the blurred faces before him. They resolved into two bearded men, one much older than the other. He focused on the elder; his beard was laced with grey and plaited, his skin leathery and wrinkled. The other was younger and his beard appeared dyed with purple streaks. He had a healthy tan and looked determined and intelligent. They both wore a look of concern and the younger one started binding his wounds with strips of cloth. He struggled to rise and the older man helped him to a sitting position whilst the other gave him a drink from a goatskin water container.
'Seara?' he asked, but it came out as a feeble whisper.
'Girl be well, just bump on head.' The man spoke the same language as him but in a strange clipped accent. The figures danced before his eyes and he realised he couldn't raise enough strength to sit unaided. He glanced to the ground on which he sprawled; his blood stained it and spread further as he watched.
A third concerned face added to the others.
'Olaff, I'm sorry.' Seara gripped his hand and he smiled, everything was fine and he didn't care about himself.
'Are you . . . hurt?' he asked in a faint whisper.
'I'm fine Olaff, but I worry for you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left Brightwater. I delayed you and look what's happened.'
'It would have happened anyway. You did well . . . with the bow . . . I give you the winning Jadde-star . . . for shooting straight.'
'Palreth and Aldred of the Sylve are going to look after us. All is going to be fine Olaff my dear.’
He realised her warm hands were on his injuries and knew she was attempting her healing highsense on him. And he also knew it would be to no avail, he had suffered too much in the fight. She was creating some temporary strength in him and it gave him a sudden flash of an idea.
He knew it would be the last thing he did; but if he succeeded he could pass on something valuable. He would use a technique never attempted before. He created pathways in his mind, looked inward and knew he could do it. He found Seara’s hand, squeezed goodbye and released it. Then he raised his hand to the younger of the two men.
The man intuitively grasped his cold hand and Olaff summoned his highsense for one last time. He altered it and channelled the energy into a new path. His gift now glowed within him, changing from blue fire to a green river. It coursed through his mind. His cold hand warmed.
The man looked startled, and his grip slackened.
'No,' Olaff said, his whisper strengthened, and he held on to the hand. 'I want to give you a gift like no other. For my time in this world has ended and I must not leave without giving you something that Jadde blessed me with.’
The man nodded.
Olaff summoned his last strength and groped his highsense into the man’s body searching for his mind with glowing tendrils of green power. He felt his strength finally leave him and then his heart faltered. With a final effort he sent his highsense gift into the man's mind. The face before him darkened, but in that last second before oblivion, shock filled the man's eyes.
Olaff knew he had succeeded.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
An hour-glass before sunrise Malkrin glanced around, no one had spotted him leaving his sleeping hut. He crept back to the mortuary and opened the door, moonlight lit the racks. The same shelf was occupied and he glided to it and looked at the grey bloodless face within the mask.
‘Forgive me friend, I have more use of these than you now do,’ he whispered, and pocketed the three suns from the mysterious corpse. He had a feeling they may be of use, but what exactly other than a symbolic badge of rank he had as yet little idea. Malkrin closed the man’s jacket so his theft of the suns was not revealed then slunk back to his sleeping furs. Luckily he had not disturbed the rest of his companions who slept undisturbed deeper within the hut.
The surviving members of BerantWolf’s band left the Celembrie village at first light. Three of Thicheal’s men had just buried the body of the three-sun man. He watched them sprinkle fragrant rose water onto the grave and chanting to Jadde in their tradition before shovelling soil with wooden tools. Now as TrathWolf’s band ran, his curiosity about the three-sun men fermented. Whatever talent the dead man had it had not stopped him from being killed. Had he been separated from his companions, or had the quarter-men killed the other two as well?
He gave up pondering and concentrated his highsense on the woodland they were running through. With some trepidation he ran alongside TrathWolf so he could give instant warning of approaching quarter-men. TrathWolf had persuaded Chief Thicheal’s Celembrie to abandon their villages and return along the sacred path to Brightwater. It had not been a difficult persuasion; after two quarter-men raids the Celembrie knew their very existence was in jeopardy. Thicheal also recognised the need to preserve what he could of their possessions and way of life. The chief had ordered his people to pack and take with them only what they could carry. They would follow TrathWolf's party as soon as Jadde allowed.
Malkrin leapt a rotting tree trunk spread across the path and smiled wryly – he had become TrathWolf's second- in-command. It was necessary that h
e do his utmost for all of the scouting party, he extended the thought to encompass all their tribes and his people back in Cyprusnia, and put TrathWolf’s grudge to the back of his mind.
They stopped briefly to eat and drink. Talgour and a Wolf warrior took over carrying the hammock containing the Eighth from Malkrin and Halle. All too soon they were off again. As the sun went down behind black storm clouds they found a large overhang over a path which led down steeply to a fast river. Light faded and driving rain came suddenly, sheeting down past them to the river below. They huddled under the bank giving up lighting a fire amidst the wind driven rain that blew under the overhang. They ate a cold meal without enjoyment, just to stave off hunger. Malkrin was glad to complete his watch then settle in his damp sleeping fur for the rest of the night.
The next day saw them running again at first light and they uneventfully reached the Sylve village. Malkrin looked around, the bodies had all gone and the wrecked tree houses had been tidied and damaged bark repaired. The village took on a semblance of normality except for near total absence of life. Only one tree-home showed a golden glow from its windows and Malkrin and TrathWolf headed for it.
Aldred the elderly Sylve greeted them as they neared the gigantic tree. He looked grave but grasped each of their hands and arms in a double grip and welcomed their return. Tabra joined him as the band settled to rest.
The Sylve man drew Malkrin and Halle to one side. 'I have further bad news.' He paused and looked sadly at them, ‘who is Seara’s father?'
Halle recoiled as if assaulted, ‘how do you know her name? What’s happened to her?’ he demanded sharply.
Malkrin mirrored the sudden horror filling his friends mind.
'She is well, and she is with us. But I fear her heart is broken for she will not stop sobbing.'
‘How did Seara get here? How long has she been here?’ Halle rushed at Aldred and Malkrin grabbed his friend’s shoulder.
‘Since this time yesterday.’
'Take us to her.' Malkrin ordered. His lips compressed into a thin line, what had she been through? He desperately needed to know.
Aldred paused; further anxiety flooded his face. ‘First you should know of one other strange event concerning Seara.’
‘Spit it out,’ Malkrin rasped impatiently.
‘Her dead companion has put a strange curse on Palreth.'
Malkrin stared at him as if a dark possession had also overwhelmed Aldred’s senses. Halle pushed past and Malkrin followed through the tree-home door.
They entered a warm bedroom where Seara sat bolt upright on a large bed. Thick embroidered covers were drawn up close to her chin as if to ward off reality. Her tear-swollen eyes stared at the ceiling high above in the hollowed tree-room. She had a huge blue grey bruise on her forehead, her arms were covered in deep cuts and her hair was a mass of knotted clumps. Halle scooped her into his arms, smothering her with paternal protection. Malkrin peered closely into Seara’s eyes; they still contained an inner resolve, and something more. A sudden grief soaked maturity gained since he had last seen her.
'Seara child, it’s me,' Halle cried.
She put her arms around him. Malkrin thought it best he left them in mutual consolation. Her story would have to wait.
Outside, dark clouds threatened more rain, but the air was fresh and full of woodland aromas. He breathed deeply, spotted Palreth wandering randomly deep in thought.
'Greetings Palreth, how goes it with you? And what has happened whilst I was away?' he began – and finished.
Palreth pressed hands to his head and ran into the nearest tree home muttering incoherently.
Malkrin sat and idly rotated a fallen twig. So much was happening and all bad. The demon tide was approaching. Luckily the main horde appeared to crawl as it consumed all in its path. He estimated three weeks before it reached Brightwater, but roving bands of quarter-men were bound to reach there before then. He had to get Seara away tomorrow although she appeared in no fit state. They could barely afford this day’s rest let alone more. He sat and digested all the bad news as the sun travelled toward its midday point.
Finally TrathWolf strode purposely to him. His wolf-skull headdress had loosened on his head and Malkrin thought how incongruous it looked as the top jaw looked to be biting TrathWolf's nose. Malkrin smiled despite their terrible predicament.
'You find all that has happened funny Seconchane?' TrathWolf scowled coldly.
'Not at all, but we all have our ways of coping with all we've seen and found,' Malkrin retorted.
'Huh,’ TrathWolf snorted. ‘What of your companion’s daughter?'
‘She needs consolation and rest. I do not know her story yet. We must be patient.'
'If she is not ready to travel then we will leave her behind – with you.'
Malkrin glowered.
'Outcast Seconchane are only little better than their reclusive brothers so there is little loss.'
Malkrin stood up quickly and faced the insult. His hand gripped Palerin in preparation.
TrathWolf smiled his ice cold smile that matched the look in his eyes. Malkrin drew a step closer, his grip on Palerin firmed.
'Good, you still have spirit Outcast – you may serve me well after all.'
‘Retract your insult, or meet the consequences,’ Malkrin snarled, simultaneously bracing himself for a fight.
A familiar and welcome voice shouted.
'Enough, I will be ready to march with you tomorrow.'
Both men spun round. It was Seara, pale and red-eyed, but again the spirited girl Malkrin remembered. Then he peered closer. She had a look of steely resolve – and the look of a wild warrior with her matted hair and firm mouth. Halle was behind her, managing to look both relieved and concerned. Seara had matured further; she now had an adult determination burning behind her eyes.
TrathWolf walked off, a look of renewed respect in his eyes for both Malkrin and Seara.
‘Where is Palreth, I must find him before he loses his mind?'
Malkrin pointed to the tree abode. ‘Take care Seara, I saw him labouring with internal battles.’
'I will look after him; for something of the bravest man I have ever known resides in him.' She started to run after Palreth; then turned. ‘Malkrin, don't worry about me. My father has terrible news for you . . . I'm sorry.'
With that she dashed into the tree-home and Malkrin saw her shadow flit behind the window and disappear. He frowned, more bad news? It was as if she were offering her condolences. Who was the brave man – Palreth? He looked questioningly to Halle.
‘You have some grave news Malkrin,’ Halle fiddled with his leather wrist guard agitatedly, ‘would you like to go inside?'
'Just say it - what can be worse than the predicament we're all in?'
‘I’m afraid Cabryce is dead.’
Malkrin stared at him, a numb feeling seemed to start at his head and drain through him until it reached his stomach, which then contracted as if he hadn’t eaten for a whole season. He felt leaden, at the same time light-headed. Then anger rose to replace the numbness, he smacked his fists together.
‘How . . . how did it happen?’
Halle relayed the account that had been passed to Seara by Olaff. Then he retold how Olaff had appeared in Brightwater and their subsequent journey to Sylva.
‘So the priests’ want me back do they – we mustn’t disappoint them then,’ Malkrin stated, feeling as if he’d eaten something poisonous, an acid taste rose in his mouth. He would savour revenge when he met Erich Gamlyn and grieve later when he found Cabryce’s resting place. He had been sure that Cabryce would outlive him, safe in Cyprusnia amongst friends. But then he hadn’t allowed for the unpredictable Brenna.
‘I must make sure Seara has no more information. And I’ll see what ails Palreth.’
Malkrin stormed to the tree-home. There was so much going on in his head, the situation had to be clarified. Surely something had to go their way soon. He burst through a round topped door that snugly
fitted the contours of a recess in the trunk. It was dimly lit inside with light provided by two high up windows carved through the hollowed trunk. It smelt of woodland sage and wild garlic, comforting and welcoming like his and Cabryce’s home. He forced the overpowering emotions away and focused on a large carved bed set into the very fabric of the tree. On it Seara sat cross legged cradling Palreth’s head. The Sylve hunter’s face seemed more relaxed, madness had left his eyes and he now watched Malkrin calmly. Seara was massaging Palreth’s temples. Malkrin could see the mist of her healing soaking into the young man’s skull.
Malkrin stood at the bottom of the bed and gripped one of the crude bedstead’s upright posts. ‘Forgive the intrusion,’ he muttered then patiently waited for Seara or Palreth to speak.
An interminable time passed. Then Seara lowered her hands and spoke as clear as a mountain stream.
‘His crisis has passed; I have been able to calm his troubled mind.’
‘A demon wounded his mind in your battle with them?’
‘Not wounded, and not a demon – more a heroic angel giving him a great gift.’
‘What . . . who?’
‘Ollaf. An instant before death took him.’
‘What?’
Then she told him of Ollaf’s highsense and how he had somehow sent it into Palreth’s head.
‘Palreth’s people have no experience of highsense talents. I have shown him how to contain it in a shielded part of his mind. I am showing him how to only unleash it at his bidding, and I will train him further in the next few hours.’
‘I hope he is reliable, for it is a danger to us all if he allows it to escape of its own volition.’
‘It will not. I will work with him and hone his abilities.’
‘You can do that?’ Malkrin was astounded Seara’s highsense had developed along with her maturity.