Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2)

by Courtney Bowen

  “Sir Nickleby! Sir Nickleby!” Basha cried, as he had been doing for what seemed like the past half-hour, but it had only been a few moments since they had passed by Sir Nickleby.

  “He can’t hear you, Basha!” Oaka exclaimed, trying to turn his head around as he thought that he saw something…he grimaced. A horrible sight indeed, one that would haunt him forever. The wolves had Sir Nickleby; there was no point in returning. “Just keep going!” He insisted, looking away. They had to keep going, they had to survive, and there was no point in staying behind to die. He wished that he could have summoned up fire to burn up those wolves, though, just like he had summoned up fire to burn Hastin’s wooden sword, and the bushes, although that had been by accident. How had he been able to do such a thing? What was this magic?

  Talan and Joko were galloping as fast as they could, with Basha and Oaka still hanging on barely, but the boys now at least had better grips on their reins, and their seats, though they were still bouncing a bit, were more firmly planted. At last, the horses slowed down enough that Basha and Oaka could pull on the reins and halt the horses. Talan and Joko lowered their heads, exhausted from the flight, as Basha and Oaka looked around. It had been several minutes since they had left Sir Nickleby behind, but they must have been several miles from where the wolves had surrounded…Oaka shuddered at the thought.

  “We have to, we have to,” Basha said, gulping. “We have to go back!”

  “Are you kidding me? Basha,” Oaka said, turning about. “We can’t go back, Sir Nickleby is dead! We have to face the truth…why are there no wolves attacking us right now?” Oaka asked, looking around. He couldn’t see anything besides the forest that surrounded them, why were there no wolves surrounding them now, like they had surrounded Sir Nickleby?

  “Why do you say that?” Basha asked, wondering what was wrong with Oaka.

  “They were right behind us, they were after us!” Oaka said, thinking that they couldn’t have lost the wolves so quickly. “Half…the horses can’t run anymore. Half of the wolves could have gone after us, while the other half stayed behind with Sir Nickleby…” He gasped. “They were…we should have been killed by now, standing here.” He was almost frightened of that fact alone, it didn’t make any sense to him. Nothing was making any sense to him at this point, the wolves, and the fire, and Sir Nickleby…could he have saved the knight? But how?

  “You’re hopeless.” Basha said, shaking his head. “A true pessimist. We’re alive.” He said, slightly surprised by that fact as well.

  “I can’t handle this.” Oaka wheezed, frowning to himself as he leaned forward over Joko. Why did all of this seem so familiar to him, as if something like this had happened to him and Basha before? It nagged in the back of his mind.

  “Sir Nickleby died to save us...” Basha whispered, and then looked up. “The birds!” He cried. “Can’t you hear them?”

  “What, the birds?” Oaka asked, looking around fearfully. “Yes, I guess I can hear them,” He said, shaking his head. There was something about a bird, a giant bird, in that memory of his. “What does that mean?” He asked.

  “They weren’t here when the wolves were, the wolves have gone!” Basha said. “It’s safe now!”

  “It’s safe? How can it be?” Oaka shook his head. “It can’t be.”

  “I have to go back.” Basha said, dismounting from Talan. “I have to see.”

  “Basha, you can’t!” Oaka said, dismounting from Joko as well, and rushing over to stop him. “There’s nothing left! There’s…” He stopped as Basha turned towards him. “There’s nothing left.” Oaka repeated. “I think I saw the wolves tearing…” Oaka gulped, trying to block the image from his mind. “There’s nothing left of Sir Nickleby.” He said.

  “You’re wrong, Oaka.” Basha said, tearing up. “You’re wrong, he’s…oh, Oaka, what have I done?” He lowered his head.

  “Basha, you have to be strong,” Oaka said, grabbing hold of him. “I don’t think that old knight would want to see us like this.”

  Basha laughed bitterly at the thought of Sir Nickleby disciplining them for being so morose. “Oaka, what have I done?” He asked, still somber.

  Oaka wrapped an arm around him. “We have to keep going, Basha.” Oaka said, leading him back towards Talan. “Come on, let’s get out of here before those wolves decide to come back.” He said, looking around.

  “The wolves…” Basha said, turning around. “The wolves, Oaka. I think they were Black Wolves, Hyena Wolves.”

  “The wolves? They can’t be Black Wolves.” Oaka said, shaking his head. “Those are Doomba’s wolves, why would Doomba’s wolves be chasing after us?”

  “The Black Wolves, they were hunting us, but not for food.” Basha said, still looking back the way they had come. “I think they were chasing us for sport, or something like that, why else would they want to leave us alive? And the rats, and the gruelmoff,” He gasped, turning back around to Oaka. “Do you remember the gruelmoff, Oaka? The one that nearly chased us when we were children, 8 years old or so, and then the Old Man appeared to save us!”

  “He wasn’t…” Oaka said, his brain rattling as he shook his head furiously. “No, no, that did not happen, that was just a story you told, and it got confused…”

  “Wake up, Oaka, it did happen, just like this!” Basha cried as he wondered why any of it had happened. “And maybe…”

  “Maybe they have had their fill,” Oaka said, and then stopped as he realized what he was talking about. “I mean, I don’t think they would have left us…” He said, wishing that he had not opened his mouth as Basha stared at him in horror. How could he be so callous and cruel?

  “You fellows really are fools! They weren’t after you, they were after me!” A voice yelped. The two young men stopped, and turned their heads, looking up…

  “Holy Sitha,” Oaka said, shuddering. “That bird, it really did talk, did it not?” He asked Basha.

  “I told you so.” Basha said.

  “My name is Fato,” The bird on the branch said, “And I happen to be a falcon, you disrespectful idiot with balnor in your brain!”

  “I am not an idiot, you foul-mouthed falcon!” Oaka cried, striding up to the tree. “You are the one that got us into this mess?” He asked, grasping the trunk and trying to climb it.

  “Those wolves would have torn us to pieces, if poor old Sir Nickleby had not stopped to fight, and our horses had not nearly run themselves to death!” Oaka trembled, as he slid down the trunk. “At least you had the advantage of being able to fly ahead, while we were left to fend for ourselves!” He cried, still trembling, as he looked down towards the ground. Why couldn’t he have summoned up that fire?

  “Oaka, calm down.” Basha said. “He did warn us, Oaka,” Basha said, coming up to him. “Or at least he warned me.”

  “I am sorry for what happened,” Fato said, clearing his throat. “To Sir Nickleby, especially,” He said, hesitantly. “I suppose you are right about all of that, but the rest of us…we’re fine enough, though, aren’t we?” He asked. “And I think you two need some help. If I were to come along with you two…”

  “Help? We don’t need any help from you!” Oaka said, shaking his head and turning away from the bird. “We can handle ourselves, thank you very much. And we especially do not need help from the likes of you, who would fly away at the first sign of trouble. No thanks.” Oaka muttered, crossing his arms.

  “I’m sorry, okay? That’s the best I can do.” Fato said. “I’m a falcon, but I’ve got some experience in traveling, and I can see things farther away than any of you can. I’ve flown countless miles, and I know that…a bird is a bird, and a human is just a human,” Fato said, about ready to turn and fly away.

  “Wait a minute,” Basha said, holding up his hand as he turned towards Fato. “We’re…I’m sorry for the way Oaka talks.” Oaka gasped; how dare Basha apologize for…“It’s just that we’ve suffered a loss.” Basha continued. “Our mentor, Sir Nickleby was the most experien
ced person we’ve ever known, especially when it came to traveling and fighting, and we’ve known him for years,” Basha said, looking up at the bird. “It’s just a shock. I know that, if you could have, you would have faced those wolves yourself.”

  “What are you doing?” Oaka asked Basha.

  Fato slowly nodded. “Yes, it’s true, if I could have fought, I would have, but I just could not stand up against those wolves myself,” Fato said, looking down at himself. “All I’ve got to defend myself, and attack, are these beak and talons, and I’m no match against them. No match against them whatsoever, all I could do was fly away.” He said, looking down at the boys. “But I’ve got my mind, and that’s as sharp as ever, sharp enough to know things, to see things, and to hear things, and I could be useful enough to make up for…” He hesitated.

  “No one can replace Sir Nickleby!” Oaka insisted.

  “Well, I can’t make up for your lost mentor, but I can try to be useful if you would let me come.” Fato huffed.

  “Oaka, listen to him.” Basha said, dropping his voice. “He’s serious, and I think we should consider.”

  “Are you out of your mind, Basha?” Oaka said, dropping his voice as well. “He just…you must be crazy after what just happened to Sir Nickleby!” Oaka insisted. He knew that he certainly was. “And it could happen to us if…”

  “There must be a reason, Oaka.” Basha said. “There must be a reason why those wolves were after Fato.” Basha seemed ready to say something else just then. “And we have to help him, and we do need help.” Basha said, as if…no, Basha was not ready to believe it then. The creatures were not after him, not the crows, not the gruelmoff, not the rats and not even the Black Wolves. “We don’t know the first thing about traveling through this country, and…”

  “He’s a bird! What can he know about what humans…” Oaka flapped his mouth a bit, flabbergasted, and then grunted. “Besides, what would be the reason?” He asked.

  “Royal messenger bird!” The falcon called, and the two young men turned around to face Fato just as he started to sing, “Fato the falcon, Fato the falcon, royal messenger bird extraordinaire! Who is the one bird you can depend on to deliver the message that will save the day?” His song hit the high and low octaves, a noble tune that seemed familiar to them even though they had never heard it before. He apparently had been listening to their conversation, and seemed desperate to prove himself.

  “This is…” Oaka said, confused and furious once more.

  “Wait a minute, Oaka, I think it might be true.” Basha said. “I think…Battle of Weasel Fall, in the War of the 3rd Ascension, do you remember that story in school?” He said, “King Vivolan the 2nd wanted a message sent, and so they got…”

  “Wait a minute, that was…wasn’t that almost 2,000 years ago?” Oaka asked, interrupting Basha, “And I think I would have heard if…” Oaka hesitated, trying to recall his school lessons, or if he had read this in a book somewhere. “Royal messenger bird?” He repeated, turning around to stare at Fato. “They’ve got the spell to make animals talk?” He asked, remembering now that was the big deal about Weasel Fall.

  “Point of fact, it was a spell for birds to learn and speak human language,” Fato said, “They found it again about 15 years ago, after it had been lost for all of these centuries. Personally, I think it was passed down from the god Dalan to all you humans so that you could understand what we animals were complaining about.” Fato said the last half to himself.

  Oaka gasped. “This is…” He said again, he could not believe this balnor. He shook his head. “I don’t think we should have him along with us, Basha.”

  “I am delivering a very important message to King Sonnagh himself!” Fato said, preening himself slightly. “Relaying it, to be precise, by memory. I’m very good at memorization,” He added, and then said, “If you two are going towards Coe Kiki, I will come along with you. By royal rules, I am not allowed to travel in flocks, but this probably doesn’t count. However, I feel compelled to warn you two that those wolves chasing us weren’t ordinary wolves. They were Black Wolves, Servants of Doomba.”

  Oaka gulped as Basha told him, “I told you they weren’t ordinary wolves!”

  Oaka shook his head. “All the more reason why…”

  “We should let him travel with us!” Basha exclaimed.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Oaka said again.

  “Think of the message he’s carrying, Oaka! And I know what Sir Nickleby would have done, he would have protected that royal messenger bird from those Black Wolves! Just like…”

  Oaka groaned. “How can you say such a thing like that?” He said, “Using Sir Nickleby to justify…that falcon is the reason why…” He grumbled, “Sir Nickleby would not have stood up for such a condescending, loud-mouthed…”

  “Oaka, we cannot risk that message being lost, if it’s so important, and being delivered to King Sonnagh himself. Fato may be a pest, but give him some credit for…we’re all a little tense, angry, lost and upset today,” Basha said. “His temper may be a temporary result of that.” He hoped that it was true. that the real reason why the Wolves were after them was not because of him.

  “Basha.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll only let him travel with us for a little while.” Basha said. “And if he pushes his luck, or causes any more trouble, then I will let you shoo him away. Does that sound fair?” Basha asked.

  “Basha…” Oaka sighed. “Fine, deal.” He said, holding out his hand for Basha to shake.

  Basha turned around. “Fato! Great news!” He said, walking over towards the bird without even hand-shaking. Oaka sighed, and took his hand back. Basha seemed ready to put past problems behind him, with this whole quest-thing he had to look forward to and achieve, but Oaka could not let these issues go.

  Chapter 3: Walking Duck Inn

  To the undiscerning traveler, the wonders

  And perils of Arria might readily be discerned in

  The market town of Coe Anji, where people sing:

  ‘Oh, we got it all, right here in Coe Anji!’

  --Travel book, Angora

  Habala walked back into the inn that afternoon, a little weary and sore after having been interrogated and probed by both the constable, who wanted to know her involvement in the fire that had started and ended in her shed, and the local barber-surgeon, who was called upon to examine her for any damage caused by the fire and smoke. The barber-surgeon served as Coe Baba’s only doctor if one did not count the midwife, the veterinarian, and the healer Mirari who visited Coe Baba during the Reda, Plig, and Suma months, especially when the barber-surgeon had a permanent place of operation while the other three traveled around the territory.

  Habala had thought that it was all unnecessary, especially when she felt the mood which had possessed her to somehow cause the fire had passed for now, and she felt slightly better, as if she had released some tension within her in the course of this event. She was physically well, the fire had not burned her and the smoke had not clouded her lungs, so she had not damaged herself. The only thing that had been harmed were all of the clocks that she had mended and created, and the shed where she had built them, burned to the ground with the fire extinguished. Geda had gone up and told her the bad news, or so he thought, that nothing had been salvageable from the ruins, and while she had remained silent for a moment, contemplating what this meant for her, he had told her that perhaps she could start over, with a new shed and new supplies.

  “I do not want to start over, Geda.” Habala at last told him. “We cannot. Nothing can begin again. We have to move on from this, and find something else.” She said. She believed that in a sense, although it was difficult to say. She believed that she could move on from the clocks, and find something else to occupy any spare time she had outside of the inn, but she could not believe that she could forget so easily what had caused her pain.

  Geda had not been satisfied by her answer, for though he knew how she had struggled mightily
the past couple of days with the boys’ departure, as he felt the same way at times, still she had not been able to explain herself fully to him right now, when others were listening to them, and she was not yet ready to share everything about herself. But she would be willing to share, she hoped, someday soon, and Geda would be there to listen to her, just him and her alone. At least the constable had been satisfied that she had no other ill intentions towards herself or others, and had let her go with a warning to avoid fires.

  Habala walked back in, with her husband by her side, and stopped in her tracks. “Brigga, what are you doing here?” She asked, staring down at the woman scrubbing the wood floor beneath the bar stools, while Smidge was tending to the bar this afternoon. A red flush appeared in Habala’s face at this odd circumstance.

  Brigga looked up. “Hello Habala, Geda,” She said, nodding her head at the innkeeper and his wife. “I’m taking over my daughter’s shifts for the week. I’m afraid to say that my Nisa is not feeling well, a little nauseous and such, but she should be back soon.” She said. “Smidge said it would be fine.”

  Smidge looked up from where he was scrubbing a glass, and caught the glare in Habala’s eyes. “I thought it would be all right to let her do some of the work,” He said with a shrug, “What with her being a willing hand with an eager heart. Besides, we could do with a fresh face around here, someone we have not seen for years, to break up the monotony and boredom of our lives.” He added.

  “Boredom? Monotony? Where have you been? I think we have had more than enough excitement here today to last us a lifetime.” Geda muttered.

  “I can see that.” Smidge said. “But aside from that, we need something to stir up our daily lives, new life in the status quo.”

  Smidge had taken over some of the work that Basha and Oaka had done since their departure, appearing more often in the inn and less sporadically in his schedule whenever the mood suited him. Habala worried that, with how much time Smidge now spent at the inn, and how close they were working together in tight quarters, Smidge might take the chance to renew his advances on her, as he had done when they were young. But so far Smidge’s behavior had not been too unseemly and could be accredited to high spirits, his jovial nature, and attempts to lighten the mood.