by S A Maus
Feeling lost, and groaning from the echo of pain, Omer turned to the tunnel. It was the last place left to offer a clue to this strange evening. He crept inside, shuffling into the dark. In a safer time he would have conjured a light, but he was cautious to use any magic at the moment. The strange figures might be able to sense him, even if he seemed unable to divine them.
Omer reached the end of the tunnel without trouble. It was long but entirely straight and smooth, and it opened into a wider room at its end. A candle, burned down nearly to the base, still sat lit on the far end of the room. A sleeping mat was piled up beneath the wall, and off to the side a large mess of hay that Omer assumed belonged to the strange creature. Smell like wet fabric filled the air, beneath it a sour taint, like trash that had been left too long in a corner. Small imprints lie all about the room, each roughly the size of a chair leg or perhaps a small couch; furniture had been there at one time, but whatever livings the strangers had, they had packed it up and fled before Omer woke.
He left the tunnel with no more answers than when he entered. The day was drawing on. His head hurt. Tahr would likely have returned to the Falln home by now and Omer was still far away. With a sigh, he began to jog back towards the farmhouse, the mystery of his contract keeping him company for the long return.
The eastern clouds had caught up to the land by the time he saw the Falln meadow. The sun was hidden away and distant thunder rolled lazily across the sky. He reached the wooden fence right as the first drops of rain made their way down. There was a light inside the Falln home, the glow of a fire dancing about the windows and the shadow of a huge Hunter before it.
As Omer approached the house, he saw that there were two fresh graves in the front lawn, each with a headstone of cut wood, engraved and oddly decorative. He lingered there a moment, wondering if the Fallns had even known Shalim was on its way to answer their summons. They had died still stricken by grief, believing their son roamed as a spirit somewhere amidst the lands. He doubted it was true that Gaul was a ghost, but they had not known that. He could not quite get rid of the sinking loss that weighed on his stomach. With all his heart he wished he had been there to give them peace. He would miss the Falln.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Then he turned and went inside, leaving behind a peal of thunder and a quickening of rain.
“Ho there! I expect a story for how long you’ve been gone,” Tahr bellowed as he entered. Then he frowned. “You have a bruise on your cheek.”
“That does not surprise me,” Omer said.
“It should. You are En’shen. Did you run into a stone wall?”
“There were Men with the creature,” Omer said. “They were skilled in stealth and moved unnaturally. The one I crossed swords with knew the Adderkine.”
Tahr sat on a chair beside the fire. He lowered his head and rested his chin on his hands. “The Adderkine is a difficult form. Requires a powerful body and certain flexibility, but there are some in the wide world who have mastered it beside the Hunters.”
“How many of them can catch an En’shen’s blow with an empty hand and stop their sword without a shudder?” Omer wondered.
Tahr’s brow lifted. “Could be counted on one hand.”
“There were three,” Omer continued. “I did not get near the other two, but one was an archer of excellent aim and the other was running as fast as… well, us. All of them caught me unaware. I could not sense the Mist about them, though they were certainly feeding off it.”
Tahr thought on that a moment, then he lifted his head and dropped his hands. “Were they allied with the creature or merely about it?”
“I believe allied. The one I fought seemed protective of it, though I could not coax out of him why,” Omer said.
“Hmm, more mystery,” Tahr said. “Not the only addition, either.” He reached then into his coat and pulled out something dark and thin. He held it to the light of the fire. It was a fistful of grass, Omer saw, but it was dead and black, as if it had been burned thoroughly or painted by some wasteful hand. “Found this on the coastline. You ever seen grass like this before?”
Omer shook his head. “Is it burnt?” he asked.
“No,” Tahr answered, “it is drained. The life has been pulled out of it, and quick. Whole mess of land like it, trees and grass and shrubs. I found a deer there as well. It looked sick, like its vigor was stolen away.”
“Do you know what it is?” Omer said.
“I have a suspicion: Arrival,” Tahr said. “I have only heard of it in story, and only when a Nepharic was born.”
“Is it… do you think…?” Omer stammered.
“No,” Tahr shook his head. “If a Nepharic were summoned, the Masters would know, as would we. They are the sun in a midnight sky, we could not mistake them. This…,” he held up the blackened grass, “this was the opposite. This was the moon and the stars all being snuffed out at once. It was not simply dead, Omer, it was as if nothing would ever live there again. There was an absolute emptiness to that place.”
“What can do this?” Omer said.
Tahr threw up his hands. “I am a jester, friend, not a historian. This is a mystery for the Masters. I am confident it is not something a freshly Tested En’shen will be taking to, or even a handsome and wily one, such as myself. But come, did these strange warriors have anything about them that might link the two? Or have we stumbled upon twin mysteries in the quietest land in Evermoore?”
“They were certainly the brigands that we have heard rumor of in the land, dressed in red and black, but there was nothing so vile about them as this magic,” Omer said. “The creature with them, however… I have no idea what it is capable of. I saw it only briefly. It was a shadow, nearly as tall as I am, but I could make nothing else of it. The light of the moon seemed to fail upon it. It was very odd. I have never seen anything similar.”
Tahr hummed and leaned back in the chair. The wood groaned under the huge man’s weight. The fire seemed to spark in response. He whistled and then laughed. “This has been a strange trip,” he said with a shake of his head. Then he stood. The chair almost snapped as it fell back into form.
“Not a good trip,” Omer said. He looked towards the now vacant room at the back of the home. “I had hoped to bring some measure of peace to the Falln family, and perhaps put to rest my own mind of all the ghost business. Instead, we have buried them and I have found more mysteries than answers. They would have been better off sending no request at all. Perhaps they would still live.”
Tahr stepped close and threw a massive arm around Omer’s shoulder, tapping the younger Hunter’s chest with the opposite. “Come now, that is a bad road to take, Omer. You are En’shen, death and failure will follow you as often as success, and usually through no fault of your own. We are powerful, and different, and a little bit off the rock, in my case, but we are not the Maker, we cannot shape as we will. Our lives are still bound to the whims of chance, no matter how fast we can run or how well my jokes are received.”
“I still feel like I failed them,” Omer said glumly.
“You should not. You will find yourself buried with the Falln if you let every weight settle on your shoulders,” Tahr said. “You need a happier look.”
“You would have me laugh at it?” Omer frowned.
“No!” Tahr said. “I do not suggest you laugh. I suggest you let go.”
Omer shook his head. “I failed, Tahr. I have not finished the contract, the Falln are dead, and strange creatures eluded us at each turn. I have done nothing worthy at all.”
“And it will not be the last time,” Tahr said with a poke to Omer’s chest. “You will fail again. You will go to save someone and they will die. You will hunt a monster and it will get away. The Testing did not make you perfect, it made you better, and better Men are still Men.”
“I still cannot help the weight on my chest,” Omer said. “I feel it would be wrong to… to just cast this aside and forget it all.”
“
Oh! I suggest no such thing,” Tahr cried. “Never forget, Omer. Never. Always keep it here,” he touched Omer’s chest, “and here,” he tapped Omer’s forehead. “You may fail a thousand times, but to forget would be the true loss. Failures can be learned from, but you lose everything when it is forgotten.”
Omer did not answer, only nodded. Tahr was satisfied with that. “Well now, our task here is ended, I think. The Masters will want to know all of this. Strange creatures and strange fellows. We are beyond our depth.”
“I do not feel good about it,” Omer said. “You would think we have started a whole new contract, rather than finish the one we started.”
“They are odd tidings,” Tahr nodded. “But I am done with thinking for a while. I need a good bed and a good meal, both of which we will not find here. Where are we going? This book we found needs some studying. Nun?”
Omer raised a brow. “You are asking me?” he said.
“It is still your contract,” Tahr answered.
Omer grunted, then shook his head. “I think Shalim is the wiser choice,” he said. “I think the strangers I fought are the same that killed the Falln and likely the same that ripped the book, so that is one mystery solved, yet another opened. The rest of these mysteries I cannot imagine we find answers to in Nun, nearer though it is. Shalim will be a better place to study. The Masters need to know of what has happened sooner than later.”
Omer turned then and looked back to the empty doorway that led into the bedroom. “I am still bothered, though,” he said. “Why here? Surely the Falln are not the only family with this book. Would it not be easier to steal one away from a bookseller in a city?”
“It is odd,” Tahr nodded in agreement. “Don’t forget Gaul’s horse missing, as well. They are all connected.” He paused. “Probably. Maybe. Ah, my head hurts. Too much thinking on this one.”
“You are not wrong, though,” Omer said. “Were it not that the Falln are dead, I would guess Gaul had returned and committed this thievery, but I cannot bring myself to believe Gaul would be so heinous. Even the Ghouls do not kill their own. We are missing something. A piece that puts it all together. Yet, behind it all, I cannot help but see Gaul’s shadow, and I fear something terrible.”
“Gaul was a good man,” Tahr said. “I did not know him as well as you, but I never saw a dark shade within, either in Shalim or abroad. He wouldn’t even laugh at my more risqué jokes. Practically your brother. I do not think we need to worry about his involvement in any of this sordid business. We have heard nothing but praise for the fellow since we left Shalim.”
A sigh escaped Omer. “I hope you are right,” he said.
“As do I,” Tahr said. Then he turned and faced the door. “Come, it is getting to evening and we are still talking. I do not want to spend another night in this place. Too many puzzles. We are apt to open another one. To Shalim?”
“To Shalim,” Omer said.
***
They passed out of the house and into the gray light of a rain-filled evening. They went along the dirt path that looped around the farm, which was now slick and muddy, going north towards the Silver Road and the easier journey it promised.
They were nearing the hedge of brambles and trees that marked the end of the Falln farm when they halted. A shadow stood in the shade of the branches that hung over the road, a cloaked man in red and black, with a drawn sword in the right hand and the left hand clenching something hidden. Omer and Tahr both drew their swords as one and a shudder of unease passed between them, for they had not felt by the Mist nor noticed by their skill this stranger appear before them. They had been caught unaware, Omer not for the first time.
“This your friend?” Tahr asked.
“Possibly,” Omer said. “Be wary. There were three when I found them and they seem to evade the senses.”
To the figure, Omer said, “It is impolite to bar the way of two travelers without declaring yourself first. What do you want?”
The figure did not answer but raised his left hand. He opened it and from within fell a dark piece of metal that Omer could not quite distinguish in the gray light. It landed in the dirt. The figure spun on its heel then and fled eastward into the fields. Omer took a step to chase but was grabbed by Tahr.
“I think we should not,” Tahr said. “May be a lure, may be he was scared of two of us, but we’ve had enough mystery. Our duty is to reach Shalim.”
Omer grunted but ceased. He went instead to the fallen metal. He picked it up and frowned. “This is a Hunter’s star,” he said.
“A fake?” Tahr wondered.
Omer held it up to the sky, letting what little moonlight there was catch the silver emblem. “It could be, they are just iron, after all,” he answered. “If it is fake, it is very well done.” He held it up to his own emblem. They mirrored each other almost to the very fading of the metal; however, the found emblem had a deep dent in its center, as if it had been hit by something with great force.
“Hmm,” Tahr hummed. “A threat, perhaps? Or… worse.”
“You think it’s possible they killed a Hunter?” Omer wondered.
Tahr shrugged. “He was fast, and you fought him to a still. I cannot sense his tie to the Mist, just as you said. If a Hunter were unaware, they could easily be overpowered.”
“Why was I left breathing, I wonder?” Omer said.
“I don’t know, but we should leave before Ankor himself shows up and claims he’s fallen in love with good. Too many weird omens appearing the longer we linger,” Tahr said. “Bring the emblem. We can take it to Koen. She’s made every emblem a Hunter has worn for the last fifty years. If anyone can decipher who it belonged to, it will be her.”
“And a clever excuse for you to talk to her, eh?” Omer said.
Tahr shrugged. “She is a handsome woman.”
Omer stuffed the emblem into his jacket, placing it next to the torn book. Together they hurried through the last gap of forest and field and reached the Silver Road as the rain was beginning to let. From there they turned east and ran without ceasing for the better part of a day, leaving behind the Hill on their left and coming near the place where they had met the Lomm family.
They were trotting along without care when they came suddenly across an overturned cart on the road. In front of the cart was a sullen looking Letherman with a long cut across his brow. The man claimed to have been driving along towards Nun on business when a huge cloud jumped onto the road and scared his horses so badly they tipped the cart and broke their hitching.
“Big as my own horse,” the Lether declared, throwing his hands up in a mock measuring. “Dunno what it was. Just sat there a minute, then dashed off south. Coulda sworn I saw red eyes underneath the smoke, but I was too frightened to be sure.”
Omer helped the man bandage his wounds while Tahr righted the cart. The horses were gone, unfortunately, but they were not far from the Lomm’s. They offered to help the Lether reach the farm, which he accepted with plentiful ‘Thank you’ and ‘Blessings on you both’. They reached the farm by dusk, having to go slowly for the Letherman’s sake. Tahr was carrying the cart upright, as if it were nothing more than a wheat stalk he had found in a field, and the Lether marveled at him. “You Hunters be all you cracked for,” he said.
The Lomm family greeted them all with a warm smile and a warmer dinner, which was nearly finished cooking when they knocked on the door. The Hunters took up their offer of a meal this time and they spent the evening with the family. The young daughters of Gerry sat rapt about Tahr as he regaled them with a tale of his days in Sheven, amidst the marshland where the Garble lived (being akin to dogs but nearly the size of a mouse) and how he had seen the Tamers put on their circus, with lines of the creatures dancing on hind legs to folk-music. Halli found it delightful, though Mirahia claimed it was too fanciful to be true. Tahr countered the older daughter with a story about an Aeil princess from Druaith whose kingdom came under attack from the east, and who bore up her own sword to defeat them, using
a cunning and wile that Men had not seen before.
“What was her name?” Mirahia asked with wide eyes.
“Triksa,” Tahr said, “and it is for her we get the word trick.”
Mirahia pouted and folded her arms. “You made that up,” she claimed.
“Oh no, lass, Hunters are not allowed to lie,” Tahr said. Then he winked to Halli who giggled in delight.
They left that evening before night had fallen completely. The clouds of the storm had gone west during dinner, leaving a purple night to embrace them as they turned southeast and began to run once more, cutting across the hills and farmland, much as they did on their first journey. They left the Lomm farm with Halli waving goodbye at the porch edge and Tahr returning the wave for as long as they could see her.
Chapter IX
The First Contract
For twelve days they went east, first beneath bright and cheery summer days, but soon into an ever-darkening sky, until on the thirteenth day the clouds were gathered thick and a storm flashed over the Irgiklod far away. Up to that day they had been traveling slowly, or slowly by Hunter standards, with a watchful eye for the strange figures that had accosted Omer. Omer was concerned that the strangers were hunting the Hunters, having been both in Appledor and Timmelan, but with the storm moving in and the air growing colder, they picked up the pace, soon coming into sight of Appledor.
They reached the edge of the town just as the first raindrops began to fall and night was taking hold, but they did not enter Appledor proper. The village was quiet, with only a few candles poking their faces out from windows here and there, and the Hunters did not wish to disturb the fine people with any more bandits or rogue strangers by dark. Omer did think briefly to stop and ask Helwits about the Men who broke into his home so long ago, to see if more could be gleaned of their purpose, but decided against it in the end. Helwits had been through enough trouble on their account.