by Alon Shalev
“It decided by Council of Elders. Wycaan come to our home, address my people.”
“Seanchai?” Rhoddan and Shayth stared at each other, dumbfounded. “When?”
The First Boar looked at them untrustingly and did not reply.
“Umnesilk,” Shayth said. “Rhoddan and I plan to leave the dwarves for the winter. We must return to serve Seanchai. It might help if you could give us a direction.”
Umnesilk shifted uneasily.
“Listen,” Rhoddan said, grabbing the pictorian’s arm, then promptly releasing it when Umnesilk glared. “Sorry, but we don’t have time to wander the length of Odessiya. If I guess right, will you tell us?”
Again, Umnesilk visibly struggled. He shook his huge mane, trying to decide. Rhoddan deliberately returned his hand to the pictorian’s massive forearm. Umnesilk looked at him, and their eyes locked for a few heartbeats. Then Rhoddan leaned forward, speaking in almost a whisper.
“He’s going through the Cliftean Pass and out to the Elves of the West.”
Shayth watched as the elf and pictorian, their faces almost touching, stared at each other. Umnesilk’s stare bore into Rhoddan. Beads of sweat rolled down the elf’s face, but he returned the gaze without blinking.
After a moment, they both straightened up.
“Thank you,” Rhoddan said quietly.
Umnesilk didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked away.
General Shiftan glared at Ahad. “Why have you returned?”
“I must find him.”
“Where’s your friend?”
“Nearby.” There were rings under Ahad’s eyes, and he looked gaunt.
“What makes you think I won’t drag you back to Skiliad and throw you in the cells myself?” General Shiftan demanded.
“Because we share the same desire: to kill Shayth and the elf.”
“Well, we haven’t done a good job of that yet. I lost a lot of men down there, and I was so close. . .”
“Is it true?” Ahad interrupted.
“What?”
“The pictorians,” Ahad’s voice was quiet. “Have they joined the fight?”
“Yes, on the wrong side. Damn it!”
“How did it happen?”
“We had it worked out perfectly, got the dwarves into the–”
“No. How did the pictorians decide to join the fight?”
General Shiftan stared at him. “What are you getting at?”
“Shayth is here. The warrior elf that my father held in Galbrieth, the one we thought never leaves the Wycaan’s side, is here, and we are chasing shadows in the mountains of Ulster. It’s all a ruse. That’s why I returned to you.”
Shiftan nodded and stroked his beard. “While we are all here, the Wycaan is somewhere else making alliances. We have just seen his handiwork. So where is he now? Who else is he talking to?”
They both fell silent. Then a man dressed in a dull green and brown approached. The ranger stopped a short distance away, but Shiftan beckoned him forward. Any general was anxious to receive updates in the field, especially from those so highly-regarded as the rangers.
“You can speak in front of this man. He’s an officer of the Emperor and a Master Assassin.”
“Yes, sir,” the ranger said, and bowed courteously to Ahad. “The rebels are disbursing. You instructed me to keep an eye on the young prince and–”
“He’s no prince,” Ahad snapped.
“Quiet,” General Shiftan ordered, and glared at Ahad. Then he turned back to the ranger. “Please continue.”
The ranger seemed unperturbed. “The dwarves return to their mines, sir. The prince and the elf who serves him have left the main group.”
“In which direction?”
“West.”
“They’re being tracked?”
“Yes, sir. I have only two rangers left with the main body. If the pictorians separate from them, I’ll need more help. But I sent two separate triads after the pr–after the one called Shayth.”
“Why two?” Ahad asked.
“In case Shayth and the elf separate, sir.”
“Thank you,” Ahad replied and offered a conciliatory smile. “Please excuse my outburst before.”
“We’re all very tired, sir, and distressed by the battle. It is forgotten. And I know you, sir. Or, rather, I knew you when you were small. I served your father, and it was a great honor to do so.”
Shiftan felt the boy tense and quickly thanked the ranger, sending him to eat and sleep. When the man was out of earshot, he turned to Ahad.
“Your father always showed a deep respect for the rangers. It was he who created this whole relationship. We pay them for their service, but they could easily make it elsewhere.”
“I understand,” Ahad said. “I need to hold my tongue better.”
“You do,” Shiftan said and smiled. “Your father had a hard time with discipline in the academy, too, and often found himself on the wrong end of a punishment.” He laughed at the surprise on Ahad’s face, but turned serious. “Ahad. By the time we were commissioned in the field, he was ready.”
“I’m going to head west,” Ahad said ignoring the hint.
“I imagine that most of us are. Will you travel with me?”
“Thank you, but I think it unwise,” Ahad glanced around to ensure no one was listening, “given the company I keep.”
“Ahad,” Shiftan spoke quietly, as well. “I am worried about the others with whom you ride? I’m referring to the brothers.”
Ahad nodded.
Shiftan continued. “I was disturbed to see them enter my fort. Do you know why?”
“Because their father did not partake of the leanest cut?” Ahad said, referring to Prince Shindell’s secret society.
General Shiftan betrayed no shock. “I’m less worried for myself. But you’ll ride with them far from a guarded fort, sleep while they guard you, and fight with them at your back. We’ve talked about your father’s history with that family.”
“Was my father really that ruthless?”
“Just remember: in matters of war and love, there are no good or bad guys, Ahad–only winners and those who seek retribution. Sleep lightly on your travels, and with a dirk in your hand.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Seanchai was content for Sellia to set the pace through the mountains. These were darker, more ominous rocks that those he had known near Galbrieth and on his journey to find Mhari. They seemed entirely made of sharp edges and ready to join an avalanche if someone sneezed. His nose itched.
He had come a long way since the day he had fled the village where he had grown up. It occurred to him that, were he still there, he would soon be graduating from his apprenticeship with his mother, the village healer.
Now he wondered if she knew how little time she would have with him. Had the other villagers known? He hadn’t thought to ask the lone survivor when he returned a few months ago, and now regretted the lost opportunity. But there had been many involved in his escape. He was convinced they did.
“What are you thinking about?” Sellia asked, interrupting his thoughts.
They had stopped by a little waterfall, and she was filling her water skin. As Seanchai emptied his own, he told her. “I plan to finish that apprenticeship one day,” he concluded. “I want to heal, not kill.”
“They’re both part of the same life cycle,” she replied. “We must go through times of strife to reach times of peace. How else can we appreciate the peace, if we’re never without it? Were the ten thousand years of peace not preceded by chaos?”
Seanchai actually didn’t know, and shrugged. “I’m so good with weapons, and, yet, so detached from them.” He drew his Win Dao swords, and they sparkled in the sunlight reflecting off the waterfall. “They’re so beautiful, so deadly, and yet I can’t wait for the day when I can discard them.”
Sellia nodded. “I don’t know if that day will ever come,” she said, her voice grim. Seanchai turned and stared at her. “All my l
ife, I’ve been trained to fight. As soon as I could draw a bowstring, I was given an arrow and pushed to learn. All I remember of my time before Uncle was weapons training.”
She frowned. Seanchai thought that even the creases that lined her face were exquisite. “I have no recollection of a permanent home. There was a caravan and horses, always horses. I was passed from family to family. I recall an elf–old–with long, crinkly, gray hair. He was the head of our caravan. There was an elfe who insisted I call her my mother. I have many images of her face, though little recollection of anything else. I think she was very kind.
There were a few moments of silence. Seanchai waited for her to speak and when she finally did, Sellia had a faraway expression on her face.
“She would call me her shaythelfe zinge.”
“Zinge?” Seanchai asked.
“Zinge is a princess in the ancient language. And shayth, of course, for the rare black stone. I was their dark elfe, their princess. I loved that name. I’ve thought of it often after I met Shayth.”
“These elves were not dark-skinned, then?”
“No,” she smiled at Seanchai. “That would have been too easy, huh? No. I don’t know if the elfe I remember was my mother and my father was shayth-colored, or if they were just another holding station for me. Still, in my fantasies, at least, my father was a great warrior who loved my mother and had me before going off to perform acts of great heroics.”
Seanchai leaned against a rock. “So, what happened?”
“Remember how you told me that your parents drilled your escape into you, knowing that the day would come when you’d have to run? Mine’s a similar story, a sign of the time we grew up in. I was very good at climbing, and encouraged to hide in trees, I guess, because it seemed very natural. I was also taught to keep my bow and arrows with me at all times. It was the only thing I think I was allowed to treasure. I never went to bed with a doll or a blanket. I hugged my quiver.
“So the day came, and I knew I had to hide in the trees and not come down until I was called by my nickname, shaythelfe zinge. A few times it happened as a false alarm, and I was always called down. Then the last time, no one called.”
She went quiet for a while and then, holding her quiver to her chest, turned and leaned back against Seanchai. It was a strangely vulnerable move, and Seanchai wrapped his arms around her, wordlessly offering comfort and protection.
“It got dark, and I slept,” she recalled sadly. “Then I had to relieve myself, but I knew that if I peed from the tree, the droplets might give me away. I thought I was being tested and would be punished. I held it and finally fell asleep again. When I woke up, there were strange voices below me.
“Someone called to me, but I wouldn’t budge because I had been taught not to. After an hour or so, a huge elf came and stood under the tree. He held a plate with sliced apples and honey. He told me that this was lunch for him and me, and he was very hungry. Then he came and sat against the trunk of the tree and began eating.
“He made all these funny remarks about how tasty the apples were, about how hard the bees had worked to make the honey, and that he hoped they wouldn’t be upset that I wasn’t going to eat any.
“Finally, I came down and sat opposite him.” She laughed. “He had another apple that he sliced for me. He told me that I wasn’t allowed to look behind me, and I promised not to. When we finished, he told me that he had a daughter a little younger than me, and wondered if maybe I would come and play with her.
“I agreed. It sounded very exciting. Then he picked me up and told me to bury my head in his chest and close my eyes. He made me promise not to open them until he told me.
“As we walked, I smelled things burning. It was a sick smell, and it scared me. The huge elf kept talking the whole time–about his home, his daughter. After a few minutes, he told me I could open my eyes. We were on a road with a few horses, and some elves and humans.
“He climbed onto his horse, and a man passed me up to him. As we rode, he continued to talk about his daughter and how happy she would be to see me. I asked about the woman who was caring for me and he explained that she and all her friends had gone to a better place and would know safety and good food. She would be watching from the clouds. He gently told me that he would be my family now: him and his daughter.
“I asked their names. He told me his daughter was named Ilana, and that I should call him Uncle.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
They continued walking along the mountain ridge until they came to a small field. Before Seanchai could move, Sellia whipped round her bow, nocked an arrow, and let loose a single shot into the tail end of a herd of arawat mountain goats.
A small newborn fell, and the others vanished. Seanchai and Sellia crossed the opening, and Seanchai knelt before the creature. “You offer us up your life for food and nourishment. We celebrate your existence and look forward to your rebirth as the gods choose.” When he knelt to scoop up the small animal, he gasped. It was shot straight through the eye.
“My arrow first, please,” Sellia said. “I don’t want to bend it.”
“Did you aim for this arawat?”
She glared at him. “Yeees. I aimed for its eye.”
Seanchai pulled the arrow out and handed it to Sellia. He slung the animal over his shoulder and stood. Sellia pointed to a small clump of trees by the foot of the mountain on the other side of the clearing. The late afternoon sun bathed the spot.
“Let’s camp there tonight,” she said.
“It’s a bit early, no?”
“Maybe, but those are tundraish trees and I see many young saplings.”
“So?”
“So, I have an idea. You set up camp, gather wood for the fire, and prepare the meat.”
They pulled their packs off, and Seanchai began to collect wood. He watched Sellia draw her short knife and walk toward the forest.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “Please thinly cut any meat we aren’t eating tonight and cook it. Then wrap it in the skin of the arawat and put it beside the fire. Do not burn it.”
She was staring into the woods and sounded distracted.
“You sure you’re okay? You shared a difficult story with me before.”
Sellia nodded and disappeared into the trees. Seanchai watched her go before busying himself lighting the fire. He skinned the small goat, and prepared the haunches to roast on spits; the rest he cut into thin slices to dry.
He didn’t enjoy this work and was uneasy eating animals. In his village, they ate only fish and fowl. He used to fish in the nearby river with his father and longed to do it again. He had learned to identify the bulbs, tubers, fruit, and mushrooms that the forest offered, and helped grow the vegetables by their house.
But eating animals like this was unsettling. It felt wrong, but he knew it to be a necessity. He had to maintain his strength, and he was aware that he was still growing. Away from the water and constantly on the move, he had to take what the land offered.
Seanchai closed his eyes while the meat sizzled, leaned back against the rock and enjoyed the warming rays of the sun on his face. He must have dozed, because he became suddenly aware of the sound of whittling. He opened his eyes to find Sellia working a long, thin branch of wood. There were two others next to her.
“I should turn the meat,” he sighed, and then saw that it was not over the fire anymore. “You took care of that?”
“Here,” she said, tossing him a piece. “You deserve the most charred.”
She retuned to whittling as Seanchai sliced off the burnt skin and gnawed his dinner. He watched her work on the sticks, remove the bark and taper the ends. He was distracted, though, when she took off her outer shirt and sat with her arms, shoulders and face glowing in the rich, red light of the sun.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
He felt the tips of his ears redden, but courageously recovered. “Wondering what you are doing with the sticks.�
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She looked up at him and smirked. “Uh-huh,” she said, and Seanchai felt his blush deepen.
Sellia held one stick at its end and peered up the length. Then she gently bent the other end to test its flexibility. It straightened back when she released it, and she smiled.
“What are you doing with those sticks?” Seanchai asked.
“We have a deal, Wycaan. It’s chilly up here, and I plan to sleep in those bearskins you carry.”
“You’re making me a bow?” he asked, oozing excitement.
Sellia rose. “Sort of. This is an ancient craft that takes years of apprenticeship to master. What I’m making for you is merely a toy, but you’ll be able to practice with it.” She picked up her small knife and went back into the forest.
Seanchai cleared away the remnants of dinner and then began his standing exercises. With muscles sore from walking all day, he did not greet this with the excitement and diligence he had felt in the past. But the routine felt as though he was honoring Mhari, his teacher. It was a way to ensure he always remembered her.
When he finished, he stretched and breathed deeply. He opened his eyes and saw a small pile of rough arrows by a rotting wood stump Sellia was setting up for target practice.
She stood about ten feet from it, nocked one of the practice arrows, and shot into the heart of the stump. Even though the arrow swerved, it hit the center.
“You have potential with the bow,” Seanchai quipped, sipping some water. “You just need a little practice.”
She turned her head and smiled wryly. “Come here.”
Seanchai took the bow. Sellia stood tightly against his back and adjusted his form and hand on the bow. She instructed him how to latch and draw the bowstring. Her other hand came around his back, guiding his other hand to hold the arrow’s crude nock.
Seanchai could feel the tension in the bow gut and the strain of the arrow. As he listened to Sellia’s instructions, he steadied his breathing. His deep inhalations took in the smell of her skin, her hair. He became acutely aware of her skin against him, and her voice sang in his head.