Bishta the Black

by Jada Fisher

The tent blazed with light that seeped through the material, so it must have been well after dawn, which meant the camp must have been in full swing of activity, though Dorrick couldn’t hear much beyond the walls. He found that strange, but perhaps after the attack, they’d let everyone sleep, or perhaps so few were left that they simply didn’t make a lot of noise.

  Just when he was beginning to naïvely wonder if perhaps they’d been forgotten, the tent flap fluttered open and in strode one of the few people he didn’t wish to see. Ollo. Of course. It could have been worse; it could have been his father, the heartless Vanter Vane. Or the sweet-hearted Evan, whose very smile or lack thereof would have been enough to break him. But Ollo was a close second to those two.

  Dorrick knew almost everyone in the order, or at least knew who they were. There were no strangers that could have come to see him, but he could have weathered those contemptuous stares and cruel glares. But Ollo, Evan, and his father? They were a different matter altogether.

  A small of part of him was suddenly glad that Marcella was dead. If she were alive and he still here, what would she have thought of him? Would she have felt the same hate and contempt as his friends? Would she think he was doing the right thing? He would have liked to think, to hope, that she would have been on his side, but there was no knowing for sure.

  It was a tiny part, miniscule really, that was glad. But in reality, he wished more than anything that she was still alive. He would have taken her hatred too, if it meant she could continue to live her life.

  Not all wishes were granted.

  Ollo stood before him, arms folded behind his back. He was sans armor, though he still wore his pressed, dark gray uniform, golden buttons running down the center of his torso absolutely gleaming in the meager candlelight. His long red cloak engulfed him and made him look every bit the knight that he was. He exuded authority and respect, and Dorrick would have liked to see him as a friend in this moment. He wanted to be proud of him, but they were no longer comrades-in-arms.

  Dorrick was the traitor that had tried to burn down the camp with a bunch of tree folk. He was no friend of Ollo’s anymore.

  There was no hiding the disappointment and loathing in Ollo’s stare. It pained Dorrick to see that, but there was no getting around that, was there?

  As the uncomfortable stare-down and silence dragged on, Dorrick scowled and lost his patience. “If you have something to say, then go ahead and say it. Otherwise, leave me be.”

  He expected angry yelling, or a scathing retort, but Ollo didn’t give him that. No, Sir Ollo composed himself, reining in his emotions and taking a deep breath.

  “Why did you do it?” he asked.

  Dorrick’s lips parted as he struggled to formulate a response. “Come again?”

  “Why did you do it?” Ollo demanded, this time with more force behind his voice. His emotions were bubbling to the surface, and the disgraced exile could see that his friend was struggling to maintain his composure. It was uncertain who he was trying to impress. They were alone, save for Shandi, so he was free to shout and berate to his heart’s content.

  But Dorrick knew that wasn’t how Ollo was. Ollo was always the stoic, always the sturdy rock they found purchase upon. He never wavered, never broke. He always did his duty without complaint and with skill and grace. That was why he would serve the order as one of their finest young knights.

  The intent of his question was clear. Why had Dorrick attacked them? Why had he defended the savages at their village? Why did I take up arms against my fellow knights, regardless of my exile?

  Dorrick knew where the hurt came from. Sure, he was exiled, but he was always a knight, and Ollo, Evan, and the rest assumed that he’d always have that principle, that the order was right and above everything. But the order wasn’t always right. They weren’t right on this. What the cities and the humans were doing to the wilds was wrong, destructive and they needed to be stopped.

  “I did what I had to,” he simply said. That wasn’t a satisfactory answer, and he knew it wouldn’t be.

  Ollo grimaced and got in Dorrick’s face, grabbing him by the cuff of his shirt. “Answer the question, Dorrick. Tell me why you hurt and killed those that you once called family?”

  The pain in his voice was enough to make Dorrick waver, to make him question everything he’d done. He’d never meant to hurt or kill anyone, but when it came to this struggle, he was willing to do what must be done. And in the defense of his life and those of his friends, he’d kill if need be.

  He remembered Tuni’s jokes, Gayla’s kindness and wisdom, Shandi’s stern teachings, Ash’s smile, and the looks of determination of all the tree folk. He did this for them. The wilds were a beautiful and magical place. It wasn’t a scary nightmare zone. It was alive, it was free, it was wild, and it needed to stay that way.

  He didn’t waver, and he did his best to explain himself in the best way so that his friend would understand.

  “When I was banished, I wandered for many days, not knowing what to do with myself. Everything I knew about what I was, who I was, was gone, stripped from me. My identity as a knight, my friendship with you and Evan, the calling I felt to help our city and those that needed help in the Wilds. And Marcella…”

  Dorrick sucked in a breath. Even saying her name aloud hurt. Ollo just watched him, giving no emotion. Dorrick continued.

  “I was unsure if I should even go on living. I didn’t eat, didn’t drink, though I’ll admit it was partially from my lack of knowledge of the wilds. There’s so much out here that can kill that I hesitated to eat or drink anything for fear of dying. But regardless, I was in rough shape. I’d given up hope of ever living a fulfilling life. And then I was found by tree folk girl and her sister.”

  The younger Vane couldn’t help his smile when he thought of the brave and brash tree folk girl that had so thoroughly saved and changed his life for the better. She’d opened his eyes to a whole different world than the one he’d known his whole life.

  He lifted his head and gave Ollo a defiant stare. “I learned all about them, that they aren’t the savages we think they are. They sing and dance and smile and laugh and live their lives just as we do. They just want to be left alone in the wilds, to thrive in this beautiful place filled with wonders beyond compare and counting.

  “What we were doing as knights, are still doing, it isn’t right. We destroy and take and disregard everything in our path that isn’t in our best interest or that doesn’t benefit us. We don’t have a right to this place. The wilds cannot and should not be tamed. They are not for the cities to take as they please.”

  Gayla and Tuni would be proud of me, he thought. He doubted they’d ever get the chance to know how much he’d fought for them, but at least he knew. He knew in his heart that his path and fight were the right one.

  Ollo, however, did not look at all convinced. He stared down at Dorrick, eyes cast in shadow. He didn’t say a word, just returned that cold, cold stare. Dorrick had to plead with him. He didn’t want to lose his friend. They would probably execute Dorrick, and he was willing to accept that fate. His whole life was devoted to helping others and doing what was right even if it cost him his life, so laying it down here for this cause was fine with him. But he desperately did not want his friends to continue down the path of the wilds’ destruction. He wanted them to learn, to somehow fight the good fight.

  “Please, Ollo, tell me you understand. Tell me that you see things now from my point of view. I don’t want to be your enemy.”

  Ollo’s glare didn’t go away. He loomed over Dorrick and glowered, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Dorrick’s ears twitched, and his shoulders sagged. That look told him everything he needed to know. His words and reason had failed.

  “Your logic is sound,” Ollo began, and Dorrick had a flicker of hope for but a moment. “But you still went against your friends, your way of life, and for what, to save some filthy savages that live in huts and eat bugs.”

  It was Dorrick’s
turn to lose his cool. He lunged against the ropes restraining him, though it nothing but make them dig deeper into his skin.

  “I was banished, abandoned!” he seethed, spittle flying. “You know as well as I that I had nothing to do with Marcella’s death. I was exiled, kicked out of the only family I have ever known, for something that was obviously not my fault. You all betrayed me! Not the other way around.”

  Ollo spit on the ground and made a very rude hand gesture toward him. “Say what you want, but I would never kill one of the order. I don’t care how just my cause may be.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt them. They left me no choice!”

  “You chose to attack us.”

  “You attacked the tree folk first!”

  “We had every right to!”

  Dorrick gave his ex-friend some very choice words that would have made every foul-mouthed sailor working the Al-Sevaran docks blush.

  Ollo gritted his teeth and grabbed Dorrick by the collar. He pulled his fist back, ready to give the exiled knight a swift blow to the cheek, but then he regained his senses and released him. He stood back, patted down his uniform, and ran a hand through his hair, acting calm and collected and for the first time, that virtue made Dorrick furious.

  “I am sorry for what has happened to you,” he said in a low voice. Almost pitying. Dorrick didn’t want that. “But the choice you have made, the lives you have hurt and taken, they are on you. They are your fault and no one else’s, and you will suffer the consequences of those actions.”

  Dorrick turned his cheek and looked away. “Shove your pity in your cod piece, Ollo. I don’t need it.”

  He could almost feel the disdain that rolled off his friend, but Ollo said nothing more. He huffed harshly, clicked his heels together, turned, and strode out of the tent and into the morning.

  It was silent for a while after that. Dorrick’s heart hammered against his chest, and hot, angry tears glistened in his eyes and threatened to tear down his cheeks. He wouldn’t even be able to wipe them away. They’d be free to wreak havoc.

  “Are you okay?” Shandi asked after a while. Her voice was soft and comforting, not what he was used to. Honestly, during his verbal sparring with Ollo, he’d even forgotten she was there.

  “No,” he answered honestly. And if he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t been okay since Marcella was killed and his whole world had been torn asunder. He didn’t know if it would ever be fixed, though that was no slight to his new path and mission and the people he now called friend.

  But right now, he was most assuredly not okay, and perhaps he never would be again.

  6

  Tuni

  Tuni dreamt of good things. She ran with Sava and Ruk as mad city travelers chased them through the wilds. She dreamt of kissing a tree folk girl named Amaya she once knew. She dreamt of playing with little sprites and picking flowers and weaving them into a crown for Telli, who sat and drew the flowers just as Tuni liked to do.

  Her mother and father were home whenever she came back. Her mom would have food ready, and her father would be tired after a day of glass-working. He’d still be sweaty from working the furnace and always had little burns on his hands, but he was far used to it and he made beautiful glass sculptures that he’d sell to travelers. Sometimes he traveled to other towns and sold his wares, and that was enough to keep them happy.

  In the wilds, though, no one needed money. Everyone helped each other. They never wanted. They had all they needed.

  So Tuni played with her friends, adventured, and learned. She and Telli spent way more time together. Ruk finally got Sava to kiss him and now they were sweet for one another. Mom and Dad were happy. Everything was amazing. On the weekends, Tuni hiked north and visited the sage in her hut, Gayla and her assistants Shandi and Dorrick. Gayla and Shandi taught her so much, and she enjoyed toying with Dorrick, the stubborn ex-city knight, but he liked it.

  And then sometimes she saw her mermaid friend Asoka, and she made Tuni smile more than anyone.

  It was all perfect.

  Tuni thought that perhaps she had died. She knew this wasn’t right. Her parents, her friends, Telli… They were all gone. This was not real. So maybe she had died after all. If she had, then this wasn’t so bad. This afterlife would be something she could enjoy. An eternity of happiness with the people she loved the most.

  But it wouldn’t last, didn’t last. She awoke.

  Her eyes cracked open. It was dark, save for a faint orange glow. Something crackled nearby and warmth seeped into her skin, almost too much heat. The faint smell of smoke wafted through her nostrils. A fire.

  She turned. There it was small fire that was only barely still going. Enough to offer some dim light and warmth, but it would be embers soon.

  “I’m alive,” she gasped.

  She laid back against the bundle of cloth beneath her. She wasn’t sure what she was on, but it wasn’t very comfortable. Definitely hard rock beneath. More rock looked back at her from above, so they were in a cave. No wonder I’m uncomfortable. A small fur blanket covered her.

  Asoka slept nearby. Back against the wall, the young mer hugged her legs to her chest and rested her cheek against her knees. Her usually lustrous hair was greasy, matted to her forehead with sweat, and caked in blood. She still hadn’t found any clothes, electing to stay covered in her scales.

  She’s alive, she’s okay, Tuni thought with relief. Bishta had been a moment away from killing her and though Tuni had saved her only for Asoka to then return the favor, she hadn’t known how injured Asoka was. She’d had no time at all to see if her friend was okay. She’d gone immediately to fight Bishta. So as she looked closely, she saw blood covering much of Asoka’s scales, as well as dirt and grime.

  Was she okay? Tuni didn’t know.

  She tried to sit up. “Asoka…” she groaned. Then she immediately yelped and fell back as renewed pain shot through her. She’d forgotten about her wounds, but they all came rushing back. The wound on her arm, the one on her hip. All the bruised and likely cracked ribs and fractured bones. The fatigue, the cuts and bruises and everything in between. All of it crashed down on her at once.

  How am I alive?

  Asoka suddenly rose to her feet and rushed to her side. “Easy, easy,” she urged. She helped settle Tuni. “Hold on one second,” she said.

  Tuni waited, her head burning and throbbing and sweating, as Asoka rummaged through her things and brought back a wet rag and wiped Tuni’s face, neck, and arms. It felt good. Cold. It took that moment to realize that she was naked herself, beneath her blanket. Then she remembered the strange water transportation spell Asoka had used to transport them to safety. Her clothes hung nearby on a hastily-made laundry line. They were tattered from the fight, but they looked dry.

  Once her head had cooled and the throbbing had faded, Asoka, with a smile, returned with a waterskin and offered it to her. She helped ease Tuni’s head up so she could get her mouth to it without the water drenching her.

  It was delicious. Her throat was raw and parched from all the screaming. Oh yeah, that happened.

  Asoka chuckled, a sound that made everything better. “Slow down, Toon. You don’t want to drown yourself, do you?”

  Tuni managed a weak smile. “Oh sh-shut it, fish legs.”

  She did listen to her friend and drank her water a little slower. She savored the coolness as it ran down her raw throat.

  When Tuni was finished, she handed the waterskin back to the mer. Only this time, Asoka retrieved it with her right hand. Usually, she was left hand dominant, though Tuni had seen her use both. She would have thought nothing of it, but it was clear Asoka was hiding something. Her left hand was tucked against her side.

  “Is something wrong with your hand?” she asked.

  That seemed to catch Asoka off guard. She gasped and held her hidden hand tighter against her side. “It’s fine.”

  Tuni frowned. “Asoka…”

  “Don’t worry about it, Toon.”


  “Show me your hand right this instant. I mean it.”

  Asoka and Tuni had a tense stare-down, with the mer offering a feeble glare that Tuni broke through with ease. Her friend sighed, resigning herself to scrutiny. Slowly, she revealed her hand. Tuni gasped, heart clenching.

  Her hand… It was cracked and grayed and withered. As if all the blood and muscle had been sucked dry from her hand. It went all the way to her wrist and halfway up her forearm. She’d tied off the advance of skin with a leather belt. Tuni couldn’t imagine how painful it must be.

  “What— How did that happen?”

  Asoka gave her a pained smile and reach out to move some hair from Tuni’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

  That made Tuni panic. “Don’t tell me that! What did you do? Did Bishta do that? Did—” Then Tuni remembered some of the lessons that Gayla had taught her about healing magic and potions. Healing magic was very powerful, but it was also very dangerous and often times it damaged the user in exchange. There were many kinds of healing spells and some didn’t take that kind of approach, but Asoka likely didn’t know how to do that.

  “Did you… Did you do that…to heal me?”

  The long stare and silence told her everything she needed to know. Asoka clutched her hand against her chest and began to wrap it in bandages. She looked away, turning her back to Tuni. “I did what I had to do.”

  Tears glistened in the wildling’s eyes. “Why would you do that?”

  Asoka whirled back around. “What do you mean, why? I wanted to save your life. Do you have any idea how badly wounded you were? How injured you still are?”

  Tuni’s heart hurt. “I—”

  “You almost died,” Asoka cried, choking on that last word as she interrupted Tuni. “You… You lost so much blood. The wounds were so deep, and I didn’t think you’d make it. Your skin had gone cold, and I—” Asoka sniffled, tears running down her cheeks. “I thought you were dying. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  Tuni supposed she couldn’t blame her. She would have given her life to save Asoka, and she thought she had. So could she fault the mermaid for harming herself to save Tuni’s life? No, she’d have done the exact same thing in her position.