Aerenden: The Zeiihbu Master (Ærenden)

by Kristen Taber

  “Lucky for us,” Meaghan muttered, and walked toward the distant shapes of their companions. “Should we be watching for them going forward?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Faillen said. “Though I'm surprised to see them here. This isn't their usual territory.”

  “What is?” Cal asked.

  “Mostly Zeiihbu. They prefer the northern country, but stretch as far south as the midlands, where my tribe lives.”

  “Then what are they doing here?”

  “My best guess?” Faillen asked. Cal nodded. “The older men in my village once told me these creatures were spotted on this side of the border during the Zeiihbu War. I'm told the villages around here have origin stories for the razor beasts, though I think you know them as ghouls.”

  “The Ghouls of Gormand Gorge is a particular favorite of mine,” Cal told him. “I didn't realize ghouls were supposed to be these cats.”

  “I think it depends on who's telling the story,” Faillen said. “By the time one villager finishes telling a story about a worm, the next has stretched that same worm into a ten-foot snake.”

  Cal grinned. “Quite true. I'm guilty of adding fangs to that snake a time or two. But that doesn't quite explain why the cats are here now.”

  “Actually, I think it does. They made their way across the border the first time to escape the fighting.”

  “And you think it's happening again,” Cal said. His face dissolved of humor. “Why now? Your father's been adamant from the beginning that he wouldn't fight in this war.”

  Faillen nodded. “I know. Even when Stilgan came, he refused to take up arms. He's afraid if we open our borders, our race will become diluted and disappear over time. Caide's power has only reinforced that belief.”

  “I see,” Meaghan said, averting her eyes to hide the fear Faillen's words instilled. Artair's warning raced through her mind. If Faillen's belief aligned with his father's, then he would never fulfill his promise. The perceived risk to his people's future would be too great. She swallowed the realization, and pushed forward in their conversation, hoping to convince him otherwise. “I don't understand how you could think that's possible. We're not trying to assimilate Zeiihbu into—”

  Faillen raised a hand. “Don't worry. I don't agree with him. There was a time when I did, but that ended when Caide developed his power. Our seclusion in Ærenden gave me the chance to understand my son in a way I couldn't in Zeiihbu. I've seen his power develop, and at the same time, I see the man he's becoming. His skin might be lighter than mine, but he has my strength, and my skill for hunting. He has the tactical mind of a Zeiihbuan, and the determination that makes us resilient in our lands. He has some of his Ærenden lineage in him, in the gift he received from his great-grandmother, passed along by his mother. But he's no less Zeiihbuan than someone who's of pure blood.”

  Faillen cast his eyes down. His voice softened. “I openly shared my distrust of the Æerenden people with Ree, and my dislike of what they represented. Of what she represented. It never occurred to me how callous my words were until after.”

  Until after her death, he meant, and the understanding tore at Meaghan's heart, as did Faillen's pain. It seized her power and trigged the instinct to comfort him, but his words held her back. “I thought your father and my mother respected each other,” she said. “Were they not allies?”

  “In a sense,” Faillen responded. “They needed each other, but they weren't friends. When I saw them together in the castle, they were no more than cordial to each other. Your mother's trust for my father was no greater than his for her. Their pact brought our people together and separated us at the same time by defining hard boundaries for our lands. Your mother saw it as progress, and perhaps she hoped it would eventually heal our rift, but we saw it as a chance to distance ourselves from Ærenden entirely.” He sighed. “We saw ourselves as better than you, and as a result, we looked down on those in Zeiihbu who shared blood with their Ærenden ancestors.”

  “Yet you wed a woman who had Ærenden ancestry,” Cal pointed out.

  Faillen nodded, though shame blossomed within him. “Only after my father elicited a promise from her that she would never admit her failing to anyone. She came from another village so it was an easy ancestry to hide. People tend to ignore lighter skin as long as a power doesn't accompany it. It was the wrong thing to do. She must have felt betrayed by me.”

  “I'm sure she didn't,” Cal responded. “The dislike your people hold for Ærenden was bred centuries ago. Many of the Ærenden people feel the same way about Zeiihbu. You were following that tradition because you didn't know any better, but Ree knew you and she knew what you truly believed even before you did. You fought to wed her didn't you?”

  “Fought isn't the right word. My father objected. He threatened to disown me, but it was an empty threat. He eventually gave in because he hates to disappoint me.”

  “You never would have fallen in love with her if you believed it was so important to keep the Zeiihbu line concentrated. You would have sought a pure Zeiihbu woman to be the mother of your children. She understood that. She knew it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses.”

  Faillen's eyes misted and Meaghan thought he might cry, but he simply passed a hand over them and laughed instead. “She probably would have said it exactly that way, too. She always told me she loved me for my stubbornness, even when I was wrong. But she loved me more when I realized I was wrong.”

  Cal chuckled, and then turned serious again. “So if the cats are crossing the border again, it's likely there are battles in Zeiihbu.”

  “Yes.” Faillen turned his eyes toward the north. “It seems my people are finally fighting this war. That can mean one of two things, either my father is dead, or the people grew tired of remaining captive to Stilgan and overthrew him.”

  “There's a third option,” Meaghan said, following the direction of Faillen's gaze with renewed hope. “It's possible you aren't the only one who realized he was wrong.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WHO KNEW ghouls could be so tasty?”

  Laughter bubbled up from Meaghan's throat. She choked on a mouthful of meat, nearly spitting it out before she managed to swallow it.

  “Lovely, Dad,” Malaki said to his father, not bothering to contain his grin. “We're trying to protect the Queen and you're attempting to choke her to death.”

  “It'll be a far kinder death than being slayed by his corny jokes,” Cal muttered. “Though I have to agree. This meal is a lot better than I expected. I'm almost disappointed more cats didn't attack. I wouldn't mind another one of these roasts on hand.”

  “The night isn't over yet,” Faillen said. “There's still time for your wish to come true.”

  Cal chuckled. “I said almost. After the cut I received on my hand while dressing those beasts, I don't want to come anywhere near their claws tonight.”

  “Don't be a coward, Cal,” Eudor said as Cal took a sip from the cup in his hand. “They're no match for us. In fact, why wait for them to attack? I'll help you hunt them if it means avoiding silten from now on.”

  Cal laughed, spraying the liquid in his mouth across the circle.

  “Honestly,” Talis griped as he wiped sticky droplets from his face and arms. “Can't you two ever be serious?”

  “Serious is an ailment I don't wish to catch,” Eudor quipped. He chuckled as Talis scowled at him, and then went back to munching on the hunk of meat in his hands.

  Meaghan did the same, savoring what she could of the feast. She had to admit the razor beast was more flavorful than she had expected. It did not hurt that the juiciness of the meat paired nicely with fresh herbs collected from the forest. Rosemary, she guessed, and something purple that tasted like a cross between oregano and wild onion. The two cats had dressed down to large roasts that would feed them for several days. After a week of silten and dried venison, the meal should have been near celebratory, but the air hung thick with tension instead. Everyone knew the rest of t
he razor beast pack could be circling at any moment.

  Artair exchanged a worried glance with Talea and Talis and Meaghan wondered if the tension also might have stemmed from her conversation with Artair that morning. She had no doubt he would have told the twins about her reaction. All three of them had spent the day avoiding her. And avoiding talking, it seemed. They had spoken no more than two dozen words total, the majority of those used in an offer to collect the herbs for dinner.

  When they returned from their search with the herbs, they also had a sack full of bright orange fruit that resembled fresh mangoes both in size and in shape. Cal took the sack from them, his smile eager as he brought it to Meaghan.

  “Have you seen these before?” he asked her. She shook her head and he dropped the sack at her feet. He wandered off, returning a moment later with one of his socks and a pot from the kitchen supplies.

  “You're in for a treat,” he told her and picked up the bag. He found a boulder and directed her toward it, handing her the sock after he set the bag down again.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.

  “Hold it,” he told her, his grin growing wider. “We're going to press the fruit. It's too juicy to eat whole, but it makes a fantastic beverage.”

  “Of course.” Meaghan rolled her eyes, but laughed anyway, and then relinquished the sock to Cal. He removed a knife from his pocket and poked half a dozen small holes into the material before he slipped one of the whole fruits inside of it. When he was done, he handed it back to her.

  “Hold it over the pot,” he instructed.

  She did as she was told, then frowned at the bulging sock as a thought occurred to her. “The sock…” she said.

  “Clean,” he assured her. “I washed my clothes in the river three days ago.”

  “You only have two pairs of socks with you.”

  He shrugged. “I'm used to living alone in the woods.”

  She sighed and tried not to think too much about it. Cal pressed the sock between two flat rocks and soon the white knitting turned a pale shade of green. Juice oozed along the material, dripping out the holes in the bottom of the sock. It hit the metal pan with the pitter-patter of a light rainstorm.

  When the sock stopped dripping, Cal fished mangled pulp from the foot of the sock and replaced it with a fresh fruit.

  “What's this called?” she asked as he continued squeezing more green juice.

  “Tarttle fruit. It's a little bit smoky, slightly tart, and sweet all at the same time. You'll like it.”

  “And if I don't?”

  “You will. But if I'm wrong, I'll be glad to drink your portion.”

  Cal had not been wrong. She had loved the juice from the first sip. It reminded her of a cross between pomegranate and tangerine juices, but with the consistency of water. And thankfully, it held no hint of Cal's feet. She finished her glass and set it aside, then took another piece of the roast when Cal slid the serving platter her way across the ground.

  She walked the platter across the circle to Artair. He accepted it, but said nothing more than a muttered, “Thanks.” Returning to her seat on the ground, she picked up her plate and studied the group surrounding the campfire. Cal looked intent on devouring his meat. He finished cleaning the bone in his hand and tossed it into the fire before locating the platter and claiming another portion. Next to him, Malaki ate with the same fervor, a smile coasting across his lips. In the time they had traveled together, she rarely saw that smile displaced. It had turned to a scowl once during the fight with the Mardróch and once again when he learned about the razor beasts. But that momentary lapse had not lasted long. A quip from his father and they were both back to their usual spirits.

  Their unshakeable positive attitude was not the only thing Malaki and his father shared. They looked like near carbon copies of each other. Malaki's short, brown hair had a slight wave that mimicked his father's, although Eudor's waves had long ago turned solid gray. Both men had deep russet eyes with a ring of gold around the pupil. Both had the same broad shoulders, and square jaw lines. And both stood close to six feet tall, each bearing lean frames and lanky arms and legs that made them good runners. She had seen them race each other on occasion and had been more than impressed with their speed. Despite her practice, they easily outpaced her fastest stride.

  Across the circle, Talea and Talis joined Artair on a log. Talea usually pulled her auburn hair back into a ponytail, though she had allowed it to fall free to her shoulders tonight. It softened her features, making her beautiful by the light flicker of the flames. She turned her emerald green eyes down when she saw Meaghan watching her, the sadness in them quickly hidden, but Meaghan felt it anyway. She also felt the woman's embarrassment seconds before it painted red across her freckle-splashed cheeks.

  Her brother's similar green eyes turned hard when he met Meaghan's gaze. He slung an arm around his sister's shoulders, offering comfort at the same time he dispersed his anger in Meaghan's direction. Though his features resembled Talea's, and his short, curly hair was an exact color match to hers, their personalities differed drastically. Meaghan had a feeling his anger would add to another fight in short order.

  Faillen raised a questioning eyebrow in Meaghan's direction, but before she could respond, Eudor's jovial voice cut through the silence in the air.

  “I remember the first time I heard about these ghouls,” he said, gesturing with the meaty bone in his hand. “A woman in the Village at Birch Mountain said she saw one walk on its hind legs right before it recited a spell to make her child sick. The little boy had bright red spots that wouldn't stop itching. She wrapped his hands in three pairs of mittens to keep him from digging at his skin, but it didn't stop him from rubbing nonstop. He looked like a dog with a rump full of flees.”

  Faillen laughed. “Unless the razor beasts gained powers when they crossed the border into Ærenden, I highly doubt they were reciting spells.”

  “Or standing on their hind legs,” Cal said.

  “No, they can do that well enough,” Faillen told him. “But they tend to do it only when they're fighting each other, not when they're cursing children with the red spotted fever.”

  “Red spotted fever?” Eudor asked. “I've never heard of it before.”

  “It's a common disease in Zeiihbu, but I don't think you had it in Ærenden before the war. The people around here probably caught it when the Zeiihbu families living along the border crossed over to keep their children safe.”

  “I'm surprised it didn't spread,” Cal said. “That would have been a tidy little epidemic for you to use to your advantage.”

  “Yes, it's a shame it didn't,” Faillen joked. Though half the group laughed, Talea, Talis, and Artair shared a frown that brought another raised eyebrow to Faillen's face. “It might have made you miserable for a few weeks,” he continued. “But it wouldn't have caused any permanent damage. Usually people get it as children. The itching is a nuisance, but after a week or so the spots scab over and go away.”

  “Chicken pox!” Meaghan exclaimed, grinning. “I can't believe you have that here, too.”

  “Chicken what?” Cal asked.

  “Pox,” Meaghan repeated. “It's a virus on Earth that works the same way. I had it when I was five.”

  “Ah,” Eudor said with a chuckle. “I've never heard anyone so excited to share a disease before, but I suppose if it makes you think of your childhood home.” He winked and tossed his last bone on the fire. Leaning forward, he fished a pipe from the bag at his feet and lit it. Gray smoke curled from the bowl, reaching toward the stars before it disappeared on the night air. He took a long draw from it before he spoke again. “I keep forgetting that you didn't grow up here. Has anyone ever told you the story of the ghouls that dance on the moonlight?”

  Meaghan shook her head. “I can't say that I've heard a tale by that name.”

  “I don't know that I'd call it a tale,” Eudor corrected her. “The people in these parts all swear it happened as true a
s today. I suspect I should wait to tell you the story though. Unless anyone else is interested.” He cast a glance in the direction of the log. Talea looked curious, but Talis and Artair kept their faces stone still. “It's up to you, but the story could save your lives one day.”

  “I doubt that,” Talis said.

  “You can't know for certain until you hear it. What about you?” Eudor asked Artair. “Aren't you even the slightest bit curious? Your father used to love my stories. He couldn't get enough of them.”

  Artair's eyes grew wide. He sat up taller. “You knew my father?”

  “I fought with him in the war,” Eudor told him. “He was a good man, one of the smartest men I've ever known. Your reputation tells me the same about you. Do you share his love of stories?”

  Meaghan could feel the emotions warring within Artair. Anger and hurt held strength over his mind, but curiosity and the love that piqued when Eudor mentioned his father grew stronger with each heartbeat. Finally, he nodded. “I do. Did my father know this one?”

  “That he did. He told it to me first, at least most of it, anyway. I've collected some additional details over the years. Do we have any other votes to hear it?”

  “You know I'm good for it,” Cal responded.

  “Me too,” Faillen answered. “I'm dying to know what else our cats learned to do after they crossed into Ærenden.”

  “And you two?” Eudor prompted Talea and Talis.

  Talis tried to maintain his impassive demeanor, but when a slow smile spread across Talea's face, he gave in. “Stop teasing us and tell the tale already,” he complained. “You could have finished it by now.”

  “Good point,” Eudor responded, “but that wouldn't be as much fun.” He stood. Circling the fire, he eyed each of his listeners with the air of a man about to tell a dangerous secret.