Wildling

by Curtis, Greg

  All of them were walking. Despite the fact that most of them had horses, they were walking. He wasn't sure why save that it felt right. Respectful. This was a peaceful place. A place for humility. Not a place that people rode boldly to as if they owned it.

  In time, and when he had taken in as much as he could of the vista laid out in front of him, Dorn joined the long slow moving line of wildlings heading to the temple and walked with them down the valley, excited. But that was not because of what awaited them. Somehow he couldn't imagine that it was either that wonderful or that terrible. This didn't look like either of those things. If anything it looked more relaxed than that. Maybe even boring. A place where nothing ever happened. His excitement was only because he knew that ahead lay the best hope he had had in years of finding his family.

  Somewhere among the hundreds of camp sites and thousands of people on the clearing surrounding the ancient temple there might be someone who knew of them. Someone who had lived perhaps in the same town or city as them. Or even, though he could scarcely bring himself to imagine it, his family themselves might actually be here. They were wildlings after all. He didn't know why the glowing people had sent for them, and truthfully he didn't much care what they wanted. Given the hardships he would rather not have made the journey at all. But just then he knew that none of that mattered. He knew that the journey had been worth it.

  At the foot of the path leading into the valley he could see people with quill and ink waiting for them, and he wondered what they were doing. It seemed that they were taking names for some reason. It had caused the line to slow. But as to why they needed the information he didn't know. Nor did he know why the people taking details were all wayfarers. But beside them were other wayfarers handing out loaves of bread and bottles of jam and that seemed good enough to him. After weeks of hunted meat and whatever they could forage, a loaf of bread with some sweet jam and maybe a mug of hot tea would be very welcome. A few details for a loaf of bread seemed a good trade.

  To one side of the people taking names he saw the glowing woman who had given him his order to come here, standing there, a strange smile on her face. Satisfaction maybe. Curiosity perhaps. He couldn't really be sure. What he was sure of was that even in the daylight she glowed. But at least she was wearing clothes. Some sort of long white dress that looked slightly indecent to his eye given the way that it hugged her figure. But he didn't care about her or what she wore just then.

  All he cared about was that the moment he gave his name to the man with the pen and stepped into the valley, his journey would be done, his orders carried out. Then he could rest. Eat something. And then he could finally start asking about his family.

  Dorn waited patiently in the long line, eager to have his task completed and then maybe find a place to rest. He guessed he wasn't alone in that. Many of the others had come from even more distant parts to reach this valley and were surely weary. And many more were probably still on the road growing more tired by the day. He was just glad he wasn't one of them.

  In time he neared the scribes, and he listened as the others gave their details. Not that there was much asked of them. Just their names, homes and gifts. Simple things that surely couldn't be that important. In the southern human realms the gifts would have been dangerous things to admit to having, but not here. Not among other wildlings.

  And then it was his turn.

  “Dorn Clearwater of Lampton Heights. Living in an abandoned fort outside of Little Rock. And I'm a shifter.” He gave the man his details before he even asked for them, and then turned to the other man looking for his loaf of bread and pot of jam.

  “Stop!”

  The woman called out to them and everything stopped suddenly. Everyone turned to stare at her. Dorn too. And he stared all the more when he realised that she was staring at him. That she was walking toward him. It was then that his blood froze in his veins. He didn't know what was happening but he knew it was bad. The chill look in her eyes told him that.

  “You have killed!” She said it not as a charge or an accusation but as proclamation of his guilt, already knowing the truth. And as much as he would have wanted to deny the words he couldn't.

  “Yes.” He bowed his head to her in acknowledgement, and not just because she was apparently his judge. He did so because it was true and the knowledge did not sit well with him. Not when he had seen Rodan burn. That was a nightmare for him. All his life he had seen others burn. His people. And he had hated it with everything he had. Now he was responsible for that happening to another. That did not sit well with him at all. And his prayers to Zylor had gone unanswered. He had not found any peace in what had happened.

  “There is more.” She said it as if the first wasn't bad enough. As if there could be more crimes even more terrible. He couldn't think of any so he kept silent with his head bowed before her.

  “The one you killed was one of ours!” People all around gasped. Shocked by the crime he was being found guilty of. And why wouldn't they? Things had become worse. He couldn't have imagined how until just then, but they had. The woman was angry. And there was still only one thing he could say.

  “Yes.” It was in the end true.

  “And you think to enter the valley of Balen Rale?” She sounded appalled, as if he had chosen to come here and not been commanded to by her. But he knew there was no point in mentioning it.

  “And you as well!” She turned around and in the space of a heartbeat Petran was standing beside him. He had gone uncommonly pale. Dorn knew he could not allow him to suffer his fate, whatever it might be. “You too are kin slayer!”

  “No Lady. Petran acted only in self-defence and in the defence of others. I was the one to strike first. The crime is mine alone.”

  “That's -.”

  “Silence!” The lady stopped Petran from speaking before he could say whatever he was going to say and he just stood there trying to choke the words out and failing. That was probably for the best Dorn knew. For Petran at least though probably not for him. Not when the glowing woman turned back to stare straight at him.

  “You are kin slayer. Do you deny the truth?”

  “No Lady.” Of course he couldn't. And he was certain she wasn't going to listen to his excuses.

  “You have struck down one of our own without warning or reason.”

  “I have struck down one of ours without warning.” He admitted what he had to and agreed with her as best he could. But he knew it was a mistake to challenge her charge even by as little as he did.

  “Do you think to play games of words with me boy?” She was angry, even more angry than before, and he knew that his life was hanging in the balance.

  “No Lady.”

  “Then you admit the crime.”

  “Yes Lady.” In the end what choice did he have? Though he would have wanted to defend himself there was no defence possible. Not when she held all the power and had no intention of listening to him.

  “Then I Sylfene of the Light name you Dorn Kin slayer. And in the name of our people I shun you. You shall live alone and you shall die alone. None of ours shall acknowledge you. None of the blessings of our people shall be yours. You have no family and no friends among us. You have no place. Do you understand?” She raised her voice at the last in warning.

  “Yes Lady.”

  “Then leave. Go where you will but do not return.”

  It was a dismissal, and Dorn supposed he should be happy for that. Relieved that it wasn't far worse. But he wasn't. It was a painful, humiliating walk heading back up the valley, past all the accusing eyes of those who were still waiting to enter. But he could stand that. It was hard knowing that whatever rewards awaited them at the temple would not be his. But he could stand that too. He had never really cared about them.

  What hurt was the understanding that he had just lost his chance to find his family. And not just this chance, but any chance. If they were here or not, they were of the wildlings, and he was no longer one. He was an outcast among out
casts. Even if they lived and heard of him, they could not seek him out. They could not speak to him. And if he found them the same would still be true.

  It was not a steep slope walking out of the valley. But it felt as though he was climbing a mountain.

  Chapter Twelve.

  “Lady Sylfene.” Petran was nervous as he approached the ancient elf. But he had to. It was a matter of honour as well as justice. He could not allow another to suffer in his place. Especially not when that other had saved him from a short and brutal life of slavery.

  He felt guilty for not having done this days before. But there had been no chance. He couldn't speak at first and by the time his voice had returned the Lady had already returned to her post. He hadn't been allowed to go to her as he'd wanted. Instead he and the others had been quickly led away by the wayfarers, shown to where they would be expected to make their camp and then instructed in what would be asked of them.

  Perhaps required was a better word. And a lot was required. Particularly for the first two months while they were being assessed.

  There were to be long periods of study as they were instructed in the correct use of their gifts. Hours of meditation every day as they focused their strength. Endless lessons in the history of the elves as they were taught of where the gift had come from and why it had been then taken from some and bestowed upon others. And then more lessons in the basics of life, reading, writing and mathematics. And that was for a full two months. After that they were told would come the assessments and then if they passed they would set about rebuilding some of the ancient cities of Terris Lee - the ancient home of the elves. And in time those towns and cities that they rebuilt would become the beginning of a new realm. And even before then they had to rebuild some place called the chamber of souls.

  It was a lot of work they were being asked to do. It would consume lifetimes and take everything they had. Even the first part, the studying and the training would exhaust them.

  And yet it was worth it for what they were being offered in return. As they were being taught things about their gifts that few had ever known. Already Petran was being shown so much that was possible for a hound like him that he kept wondering if it was all some dream.

  He was a hound. He could already hunt a man across a realm, tracking him by the scent of his soul. And he already knew how to see the truth in his quarry's eyes. All hounds knew these things. It was instinct. But he'd never known that he could use his gift to sustain himself on the chase. To give himself greater vitality for the hunt. Nor had he realised he could use it to guide his arrows, in time making him a better marksman even with his eyes closed than he currently was with his eyes open.

  The wayfarers had promised him and the other hounds that he would learn all of these things within a year if he stayed. And that when he had mastered them there would be still more of his gift to discover. And like everyone else with the gift, he wanted that knowledge. He yearned for it in a way he had never yearned for anything else in his life. On the other hand he wasn't so enamoured with being taught more advanced arithmetic.

  Why this was happening, why they had all been called to learn, he didn't know. And he had even less understanding of why it was happening now. All they had been told was that the ancient elves had been asleep or away somewhere, and that they had only recently woken up or returned to the world. Returned to find a world far different and far poorer to the one they had left. And now they were mending it.

  Meanwhile the wayfarers or sun elves as they called themselves, were acting as their agents in the world. Spreading their commands far and wide, teaching those who answered the call what they had been taught long ago, and beginning the task of reclaiming the ancient northern realm of Terris Lee for those they deemed worthy. What once had been the ancestral home of the ancient elves would become the new home of the wildlings.

  It was an exciting time. It was a dream given form for him and for the others. And it was something he could not fully give himself to. Not when there was such a burden weighing on his soul. But every time he had tried to say something he had been stopped. The wayfarers had no time for him. Not when they already had two thousand wildlings to teach and provide for while thousands more were coming. And they absolutely would not allow one of their charges to speak with the four. So every time he asked they told him no. And as for the four he hardly ever saw them. Three were always in Terris Lee beginning the journey of awakening the ancient cities. And the fourth was always at the entrance to the valley, studying the new arrivals. He understood, there were more than the four he’d seen. Another seven of them were somewhere out in the world recruiting more wildlings.

  This was the first time in days that Sylfene had been the one at the entrance to the valley, and he had had to shirk his studies and sneak around behind the wayfarers' backs to reach her. They would not be happy about that. Neither would she.

  “Child, should you not be at your meditations?”

  The glowing woman spoke to him as if he was a schoolchild and she his school mistress, and as it had that first time it annoyed him, even as she intimidated him. Her power was immense but it was not that that truly overwhelmed him. It was something to do with her very nature. He didn't understand it, he wasn't sure that anyone did though they all felt it, but in her presence he constantly felt like a little boy speaking to an adult.

  “How can I meditate when there has been an injustice done to one to whom I owe my life?”

  “Injustice?” She turned her attention directly on him and it was as though the air all around him had suddenly become heavy, weighing him down, crushing him. He wanted to fall to the ground and beg for mercy. But he couldn't.

  “Dorn Lady. He is innocent.”

  Somehow Petran managed to squeeze the words out, though it was beyond difficult. The meditations her people were teaching them were supposed to make them all stronger in some way, but not against the four of them. But then even the wayfarers were weak in their presence. Their gifts were honed in ways none of the others had ever thought possible, but still they were insignificant against the four glowing elves.

  “Innocent? He confessed child.”

  “You gave him no choice Lady.” The sweat was pouring down his brow as he said it and his vest was already clinging to him. But then he felt as if he was accusing her of some terrible crime. “You should have asked and listened.” Petran braced himself for her response, fearing the worst. But she surprised him, not appearing in the least angry. Cool certainly, but not angry.

  “I listened to him confess.”

  “You listened to a man riddled with guilt forced to confess to that which he blames himself for. But not that which he is actually guilty of. And he is guilty of no crime save the courage to do what was necessary. He acted that day purely to save three of us from a dusky elf. A dusky elf who had beaten and enslaved us, and was set to send us south to his clan along with any others he could catch. A dusky elf who only days before had struck him down and almost killed him with his lightning.”

  “He should have walked away. He should have let us suffer and die. But he did not. He acted the only way he could. Dorn was weak and unable to attack him any other way save with his bow. And he had to strike first and without warning. Else he would have died in the battle. Been burnt alive by Rodan's lightning. Again.”

  “You speak foolishness. Dusky elves lost their gift long ago child. You know this.”

  “But they kidnap and ravish women with the blood and have children by them. Some of those children have the gift and they are raised as dusky elves. That is what Rodan was. Mostly human but with the soul of a dusky elf.”

  Lady Sylfene stared at him for a long time after that, but said nothing. Perhaps she was considering his words. Maybe she was merely considering his presumption in telling her she was wrong. Either way it didn't matter. He had run out of words. His throat had locked up and despite all the strength he had tried to hold to him, he felt his head bowing to her. How he wondered, could her pre
sence be so strong that it simply overpowered him like that? And was there any hope that all the lessons they were being taught by the wayfarers would ever give them the strength to stand up to them? He doubted it.

  And then the wayfarers arrived and he knew his chance to say anything more had ended. The wayfarers were very protective of the ancient elves, and they were likely upset by what he'd done. Petran knew he would not get another chance to slip away from under their watchful gaze.

  “Petran my gratitude for bringing this knowledge to me. This is a strange world we find ourselves in and maybe that strangeness makes it difficult for your people to act as they should. To navigate the safe path between the treacherous waters of darkness.”

  “But still why would he confess? I sensed the death upon him from the start. I knew the guilt. It was plain for all to see. And especially troubling when he is one who lives in the house of the Mother.”

  “But I will think upon your words. And I will speak with your companions who witnessed the crime. Though he is surely not innocent, perhaps there is a chance for him to atone. Perhaps there is yet hope for your friend to join us. But for the moment there is work to be done.”

  “Harildo, Baritt please return Petran here to his studies.” It was a dismissal and Petran knew that there was nothing more he could say. Especially when his throat was no longer working and his knees were threatening to buckle. But had he done enough?

  Only time he knew would answer that.

  Chapter Thirteen.

  Sena sat on the grass with her class, ready to begin their first lesson in the history of the world. The true history that only the sun elves knew. Not the myths and legends that were what passed for scholarly learning everywhere else in the world. Not the tall tales passed by the bards in the alehouses. And she knew as she looked at her students that many of them would not believe her. Why would they?