by M. S. Verish
“But I was lured to the Nightwind for another reason. My father had disappeared when I was thirteen. His last journey had been to those very mountains, and whether I believed I would find him, or whether I sought the truth to his end, I felt I had to go.”
Hawkwing stopped and took a drink from his costrel, and the others waited expectantly. “There are malevolent creatures in the Nightwind,” he said in a low voice. “They are the Durangiel.”
“Never heard of ‘em,” Jinx said, and Kariayla nodded.
Arcturus cleared his throat. “These are the counterparts to the benevolent creatures Humans call ‘Elves.’ Creatures of fantasy.”
Hawkwing did not acknowledge his last comment. “The Durangiel were chased into the mountains by their cousins, the Ilangiel—‘Elves’, as Arcturus said. There they dwelled and took the Humans from nearby villages as their slaves. The slaves worked the mountain mines, harvesting crystals to suit the purposes of their dark hosts.”
Hawkwing’s gaze lifted toward the east, as if the mountains were there to see. “I had found myself in one of the villages, and the people gave me shelter. They seemed kindly enough, though there was suspicion in all that they did. They lived very well, with the greenest fields and fullest crops I have ever seen. I did not know that the village thrived because of the people’s relationship with the Durangiel. Once my hosts had learned that I was there to chart their village upon my maps, they slipped feverroot into my drink. I fell into a deep sleep, and when I awoke, I was in a mountain camp.”
“What?” Jinx exclaimed.
“Why would they drug you?” Kariayla asked.
“They did not want their paradise discovered,” Arcturus said.
Hawkwing nodded. “I was a foreigner—an outsider—amongst their village slaves. There were others like me—travelers who were betrayed and were forced to work the mines.” He fought a shudder. “The tunnels were black and convoluted. They were big enough to crawl through, but they were long—some of them reaching into the heart of a mountain. We had ghost stones to serve as lanterns: small, glowing crystals we wore around our necks to guide us in the dark. There was an entrance and an exit to each tunnel, and once you began your passage, you had to complete it, for there was no room to turn around.”
“Didja ever try to escape?” Jinx asked, both his and Ruby’s eyes as round as a full moon.
“The greatest weapon of the Durangiel is their Light,” Hawkwing said. “Their Light is their magic, and it feeds life as much as it feeds from life. To be near the Light is euphoric; I cannot describe it through words. The Durangiel intoxicate you with it, and to be away from it is a form of starvation. It is physically painful to be isolated from their power. I tried four times to leave; each time I was found at the brink of death.”
“Yet clearly you did escape,” Arcturus said, humoring the story.
“I did not—not in the four years I was there,” the tracker said, his voice quiet and dark. “We were rescued…but not before one of the mines collapsed. I was one of the few who survived, but for days I was there, pinned beneath the rocks in a lightless tunnel.”
“What happened?” Kariayla asked, horrified.
“The Ilangiel had stormed the mountains to free us,” Hawkwing said. “But there was one wizard in their company. This was how I met Bill. It was not a valiant victory, freeing despondent slaves from the mountains. Many refused to leave, for they had grown too dependent upon the Light. Those of us who did not stay were taken to Veloria to regain our strength of will. Bill remained a steadfast friend during that time.”
“So you’re afraid of the mountains,” Jinx said.
“Or the Durangiel,” Kariayla added.
“Small spaces.” Hawkwing gestured to the sky. “Given a choice, I will sleep beneath the stars than in a room with a bed.”
“The fear is regrettable but illogical. I am surprised you felt the need to construe an elaborate story to explain it,” Arcturus said. “Still, you weave an intriguing and entertaining tale.”
The tracker’s calm countenance did not break. “Why do you find it so difficult to believe?”
“Well,” Arcturus said, puffing from his pipe, “the first and most obvious answer is that you employed fictional characters: the Ilangiel and the Durangiel. Secondarily, if ‘Bill’ and William are the same wizard, I would be hard-pressed to believe he would involve himself in such an act of heroics. He tends to stay at arm’s length from dire circumstances.”
“I cannot argue your logic,” Hawkwing said, replacing his hat. “But I am known for a sound tale when the mood is right.”
Arcturus sat back with a smile.
“It was only a story?” Kariayla asked, incredulous. She had been too distracted to finish her meal, and only now did it recover her attention.
“My fear is tight spaces,” Hawkwing confessed with a shrug.
Jinx scratched his head. “Well, if it was just a story, it was a really good story. Don’tcha think, Ru—?” He found the imp was asleep again. “I’m sure she liked it.”
“Since our tracker has divulged a secret, I will do the same,” Arcturus said.
“Is it something you’re afraid of?” Jinx asked.
“No, my boy. It is, in fact, an action that was considered rebellious—almost treasonous—in the eyes of my people. It is the reason I was forced to leave Markanturos.”
“You did something against the law?”
Arcturus drew himself up. “The action itself did not involve causing harm or theft of property.”
The thief’s shoulders slumped.
“What did you do?” Kariayla asked, supporting her friend.
“I allowed two outsiders into our capital city,” Arcturus said, and he waited for a reaction from his audience.
“Is that against Markanturian law?” Kariayla wondered aloud.
“Oh, I assure you that it caused much commotion,” the Markanturian said passionately. “Though I believe the greater injustice was the pressure placed upon me to leave. You see, as a political figure, this was condemning to my reputation. What my peers failed to see were my ambitions of opening Markanturian eyes to a larger world beyond our walls. Until that point, outsiders were forbidden in our city without the highest permission from the Sovereign, not to mention a qualified escort.”
“You’re a rebel alright,” Jinx said, then yawned.
Arcturus frowned. “I do not expect a thief to understand the gravity of my actions. The circumstances were rather complicated, as were the consequences to what I had done. To this day my people remain as closed-minded as ever.”
“Kariayla,” Hawkwing said, “what mystery will you share?”
An expression of panic flashed across her face, giving way to uncertainty. “Er…I can call storms?”
“Really?” Jinx asked in disbelief, and she nodded.
“My dear, that would be a fair disclosure except that even I hoped to learn something new about you,” Arcturus said gently.
“Oh.” She thought a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I…” She blushed. “I like to sing.”
“Ah!” Arcturus said. “Now that is a pleasant revelation.”
“All girls like to sing,” Jinx said, poking his whittled, charred stick into the ground. “I think you oughta call a storm.”
The Markanturian sighed. “So that it might rain upon us? Let us consider what we ask. It would be far more appealing to hear her voice.”
“Now?” Kariayla asked, her eyes wide.
“Certainly, my dear.”
“Impromptu solos might not be in her best interest,” Hawkwing said, giving Kariayla a knowing nod.
“Well, of course, she is free to sing if and when she pleases.”
Her blush deepened.
“So we have come full-circle,” Arcturus said, his gaze landing squarely on Jinx. “My boy, we have awaited your name.”
“Hmph,” Jinx grumbled, then muttered something under his breath.
“Your pardon,
but we could not hear you.”
“Jameson,” the thief snapped. “I’m named after my pa.” He brandished the stick. “But don’tcha go callin’ me that! I go by Jinx. Got it?”
“My boy, I have already asserted my stance on that particular issue. What if I shorten the name to ‘James’? That will honor your father.”
“What? No.” Jinx shook his head emphatically.
“Then it is settled.” Arcturus put his pipe away and arranged his blanket.
“But I said ‘no’,” Jinx argued.
“I have learned,” Hawkwing said to him, “that some battles we win, others we lose. With all due respect, Master Jinx, I do not believe you win this one—not against a man a few hundred years your senior.”
The thief sighed and tossed his stick into the fire.
10
The Plains of Delmadria
The days passed without much hardship. The wagon rolled through sun and rain, and Hawkwing would stop at various towns and villages as they worked their way east along the Southern Link of the Traders’ Ring. The tracker’s mysterious funding never seemed to dwindle, even if the companions preferred a room at the inn or a meal not cooked over a primitive fire. True to his word, however, Hawkwing seldom joined them inside, and when he did it was only to share their company at a meal. His great height seemed to diminish any dining hall, no matter how grand, but it was Hawkwing who seemed greatly diminished when the Nightwind Mountains rose dark and ominous on the horizon. The quiet man was nearly silent in the days it took them to pass the peaks, and everyone but Arcturus acknowledged his unease. Hawkwing’s story lingered in their minds, and they were not surprised that meals were taken on the road as opposed to any place of residence there.
Once the mountains were behind them, their leader relaxed—if but a little. Arcturus was saddened by the announcement that they would be quitting the road for untraveled terrain; the end of his luxuries had come. No one expected, however, that their mode of transportation would be replaced by their own feet. Their supplies were condensed to the most basic necessities, and those were packed in bags fitted to their own backs. None of them wanted to be the first to complain about the burden, but their sighs and grumbles attested to their discomfort.
The turning of the season did not better their travel. Summer fled like a hunted fox, leaving in its wake fleeting memories of days of warmth and sunshine. Autumn was not shy in its advances. Grasses and flowers wilted and bent beneath the frost and its afternoon thaw, and the sun often hid behind masses of lumbering blue-gray clouds that rode upon the back of chilly gusts from the north. The extra cloaks the companions had been using as blankets became daily attire. Brisk nights were spent close to the fire, and they took shifts to stoke the embers and add fresh branches. Hawkwing’s hunting ventures were mostly made in Snowfire’s company, as Jinx admitted he was too tired to join him. The companions wondered more often than not at the lifestyle of a man who belonged to the Wild: to be awake and active before sunrise, trek for miles over hills and untamed terrain over the course of a day, hunt one’s every meal, and still manage to keep vigilant throughout most of the night.
“He must guard a secret,” Arcturus had said, “when he consumes some sustaining potion at those unmerciful hours of pre-dawn. There can be no other answer, and that would explain the subtle smile he retains.”
Kariayla awoke earlier than usual one morning to find Hawkwing already tending to breakfast. A couple of quail had been spitted above the fire, and a small pot rested near the tall man’s feet. Hawkwing sat upon the ground, a bowl and pestle in hand. Kariayla did not stir, though her eyes were drawn to the methodical movement of his large hands as he crushed the contents of the bowl. The motion was steady, but the hands were not. They shook noticeably, as though he could not help but shiver in the morning chill.
There was a soft flutter of wings as Snowfire lighted beside him, a sprig of greenery in her bill. The tracker murmured something to the hawk in another language, and she dropped the plant into his waiting, trembling hand. Then Snowfire flew away again, and Hawkwing added the sprig to the bowl.
“We have a long day ahead of us,” he said gently. “We will eat well this morning.”
Is he talking to me? Kariayla wondered. Still she did not move, waiting to see if he would address her again.
His golden eyes remained focused on the bowl. “I will need your help, Kariayla. Every journey involves a certain amount of risk. We are coming to a place where we will need to be wary.”
At last she moved, keeping the blanket close as she sat upright. “What do you mean?”
“A danger that I cannot very well defend against,” he said. “One of magic.” He stopped working the bowl to produce a vial. He drizzled the contents—a thick, amber liquid—into the mixture.
“How can I help?” she asked, waiting for some important task to be given her.
“I will describe our danger to the others,” he said. “There are those who will heed my warning, and there are those who will not.”
Kariayla’s eyes moved to where the Markanturian’s large form lay snoring.
“You believe in forces unseen,” Hawkwing said. “You might be able to persuade the more reluctant members of our party.”
When she found his eyes upon her, she blushed. “I’m not sure I can be of much help.”
“He respects you,” the tracker said. “At the very least, he will acknowledge your concerns.”
“You want me to act afraid?” Kariayla asked, suspicious. She reached back for her braid, trying to intangle the meaning behind his expression along with her hair.
“It would be prudent for all of us to harbor a little fear, so long as that fear does not insensibly govern our actions.” He broke open a roll and spread the reddish paste from the bowl upon it. “It’s not for my sake that I ask this of you.”
She nodded, feeling a bit of sympathy for him. Arcturus was stubborn by nature, but Arcturus had no patience, it seemed, for Hawkwing and his tales. It was rude formality he shared with the tracker, and Hawkwing shouldered it well. Still, she wondered if beneath the calm and handsome face was a troubled mind. It seemed important to her that she should reassure him—or at least ease the distrust on Arcturus’s behalf.
“Your story,” she began, and suddenly her confidence fled when he met her gaze. She looked down, only to find he was offering her the roll. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks. “Thank you.” It took her a moment to gather her thoughts again. “I wondered about the Durangiel. Are they spirits, then, that they have such power?”
“Immortals,” Hawkwing answered. “They can live an eternity, but they are not impervious to harm.” He reached to turn the spit. “My oldest possession is, perhaps, the tale of The Making. When the land was nameless and yet rising from the depths of the oceans, there was magic. Unseen beings of conscience and power commanded the elements, shaped the world as we know it. This became their home, and some dwelled in the mountains, others the sea. They lived in the trees, the earth, the wind, and the rain. The world breathed with their magic, but the world was yet empty. For all their magic, they could not feel the sun, taste the snow, or smell the spring blossoms.
“So it was that the more curious beings decided to relinquish their intangible forms for bodies of flesh, bone, and blood. Though they were vulnerable, they retained the breath of the divine. They continued to shape the world, but now their purpose was to perfect it for all those mortal. There was a war.”
“A war?” Kariayla asked. “Would this be—”
“The War of Light and Shadow,” Hawkwing said, confirming her thoughts. “The Ilangiel and the Durgoth. The Elves and the Mages of Death. They once had many names. That was before they retreated from our world, before their existence became a work of myth and imagination.”
Kariayla stared at the roll in her hands, her mind working. “Then the Durangiel….”
“Came later,” he said. “When both races of immortals agreed to end the war, there were thos
e who would not accept a truce. The Durangiel wielded the Light, but they believed in the chaos of Shadow.”
“You didn’t say you were gonna tell stories,” came a new voice. Jinx propped his head on his arm. His hair was a black and angry storm cloud around his dusky face, and his cheeks and chin were hidden beneath an equally dark mass that had emerged in his neglect. His blue eyes, however, were bright and eager—the child behind them pouting at what he had missed. A second storm cloud appeared over his shoulder—this one red—as the imp joined the audience.
“Master Jinx,” Hawkwing said, “there are always more tales to be told.”
“Yeah, but do they got ‘war’ and ‘shadow’ in ‘em?” The thief mussed Ruby’s hair and stretched. “That breakfast I smell?”
Kariayla suppressed a sigh as the focus shifted to the pending meal. Thoughts of the Durangiel gave way to meat, bread, and rousing the heaviest of sleepers. Everyone seemed in fair spirits, though she wondered how that would change once Hawkwing announced the mysterious threat that awaited them. She did not have to wait long for the answer.
“So…” Jinx said, mouth full of food, “what story were ya telling?”
Arcturus made a face. “Swallow first, James.”
The thief narrowed his eyes, noisily finished his bite, and belched.
Before Arcturus could respond, Hawkwing answered the question. “New story. The Plains of Delmadria.”
“Plain?” Jinx groaned. “Thought we’d get an exciting story.”
“Plains,” Kariayla corrected. “As in a giant, grassy field.”
“Still sounds boring.”
“The Plains are haunted by a throng of marauding demons,” Hawkwing said.
Everyone stopped eating.
“They are creatures of Shadow that once roamed Secramore freely,” the tracker continued. “A great many years ago, people had settled in the Plains, and the demons terrorized them to no end.”