Wycaan Master: Book 03 - Ashbar

by Alon Shalev

  He woke Sellia after the moon began to dip behind the big tree. He was now very tired and ready to sleep. He waited while she disappeared into the trees, and when she returned and took out her waterskin, he wrapped himself in the bearskin.

  He walked along a river. Mighty, tuberous trees lined both banks but kept a respectful distance in deference of the eroding persistence of the river. Behind him were tall, snow-capped mountains.

  He loped along, conscious of his huge paws sinking into the soft, damp earth. By his side was a great white bear, but Seanchai felt bigger and shaggier. The great white stopped and moved into the water, looking intently under the current. One paw rose slowly, and the sun glinted off its claws. It struck swiftly, and when its paw emerged from the water, it had a small, pink fish that wiggled desperately in the few moments it took to disappear into the bear’s mouth.

  Seanchai joined the white and felt his companion smirk. He struck twice and failed to catch a fish. The white pulled a second with little effort and tossed it at the young grizzly, who snapped it between his powerful jaws.

  Seanchai heard laughter from behind and turned to see a slender chestnut bear, the likes of which he had never seen before, on a smooth rock about six feet above the river. The bear sat on its back haunches, its two muscular front legs planted straight on the rock.

  “Not a mighty hunter yet, I see,” the chestnut said.

  This was the first time Seanchai had heard a bear speak in his dreams, other than the grizzly, and he eyed the chestnut suspiciously.

  “I’m not a bear,” the chestnut said, “not even in the way you are.”

  “But you have entered my dreams,” Seanchai said. “How?”

  “Do not be alarmed. You are in no danger from me. Usually I seek permission first, but since you are an outsider. I need to vet you. I apologize.”

  “But how–”

  “I am a dreamwalker. Once, every tribe had one, but I guess things are different beyond the boundary. I can enter an elf’s mind and communicate with him, learn of his needs, and give healing and council.”

  “You’re an elf?” Seanchai was excited.

  “Yes,” the bear replied. It licked one of its paws. “Why do bears do this?”

  “To keep their paws clean so they don’t lose their grip. Don’t elves over here wash their hands?”

  The chestnut laughed. “Yes, we do. How did you know that?”

  “Know what?”

  “About cleaning paws?”

  “I’m not sure,” Seanchai said, puzzled. “I haven’t been connected to the bears for very long, but somehow, I just knew.”

  “You intrigue us,” the bear replied. “We wish to know why you have come, how you passed our tests, and who the old human was that you summoned to guide you through the swamps.”

  “Bears don’t usually ask that many questions.”

  The chestnut laughed. “Who is the elfe? Does she share your powers?”

  “No. But she shares my destiny and my heart.”

  “Oh. I’m not sure if she’ll be allowed. As it is, we’re suspicious of you. You’re the first in a few hundred years to pass through. Only a firebreather succeeded in my lifetime, and he was finally turned away.”

  “A firebreather?” Seanchai was confused. “One who was a firebreather like I am a bear?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Why was he turned away?”

  “He failed the tests. We felt his bad intentions. He is out there still, and if we had embraced him, he might have subjugated us to his will. You also have come with a request, have you not?”

  “This is not the time for that,” Seanchai said “What did you mean, my companion might not be accepted? Would you send her away?”

  “No. We would kill her to preserve our secret existence.”

  The white bear turned to the chestnut and growled, baring his teeth.

  “Are you here to protect me?” Seanchai asked the white. It looked back at Seanchai, and he was sure of the answer. “Thank you, my brother.”

  “What about the firebreather? Why did you not kill him?”

  The chestnut shuffled his paws. “He may have been too powerful already.”

  “But you would have if you could?”

  “Yes.”

  Seanchai glared. “Do your people dole out life and death so easily?” He knew his tone was harsh, but the chestnut showed no anger.

  “Do not be so quick to judge. We came here in desperate circumstances and have survived because our location is secret and our barriers stop all but a few.”

  “Why not all?”

  The chestnut bear rose. “Because we wait for one to come, and we think it might be you.”

  “And if I’m not the one?”

  “We will kill you, too, and no pack of bears will be able to stop us.” The chestnut turned and jumped down from the rock on the other side and disappeared.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Seanchai and Sellia ate breakfast and packed up their camp in silence. Seanchai could feel Sellia looking at him, but he didn’t want to meet her stare. He had to make a decision, and fast. Finally, as they stood with their packs on their backs, he turned to her.

  “Sellia. Do you know how to find your way back?”

  The look on her face went from concern, to hurt, to fear.

  “What happened in the night?” she asked, her voice softer than usual. “I heard you cry out and saw you toss and turn.”

  “Do you know your way back?” Seanchai asked again.

  “I do. I just have to cross a talking swamp, get through a magical barrier, and face General Shiftan and his army by myself. Directions are the least of my problems.”

  “If you continue with me, I might not be able to save you.”

  “Whereas if I head back, you will? I never have understood your powers, Seanchai, so forgive me the feeling of utter abandonment.”

  “Abandonment? I’m trying to save you!”

  “Definitely feels like it.” Sellia’s cheeks were flushing hot. “When you finish, meet me at the swamp. Remember to look down or you might miss me. If I’m not there–”

  “Stop!” Seanchai’s voice was sharp but there were tears welling as well.

  Sellia sighed. “What did they tell you?”

  “That you aren’t welcome here.” He looked down at the ground, poking the mat of fallen leaves with his toe. He was suddenly small and vulnerable, the young forest elf once more. “And I’ll only leave alive if I’m the one they are waiting for.”

  Sellia moved toward him and took him in her arms, one hand guiding his face into her neck as she had done so many times when they had mourned for Ilana. “You need to learn from them, Seanchai. If the only way to do that is to sacrifice me, then I understand. You must become the Wycaan Master. All Odessiya waits for you.”

  Seanchai jerked his head up. “I can’t be the Wycaan that Mhari was, or Master Onyxei. I must be the Wycaan that only I can truly be.” He took a step back and looked at her, feeling power rising inside him. “The races of Odessiya accepted me for who I am,” he said, and he turned to the trees surrounding him, power coursing into his voice as he shouted: “and so will the Elves of the West.”

  He took her hand and led her on. Within a few minutes they reached a sharp ridge. The drop was almost straight down and afforded them a magnificent view of a huge forest that stretched to a thin, blue line an even deeper shade than the sky that met it.

  With the sun on his back and his long, white hair billowing in the wind, Seanchai drew his Win Dao swords and held them above his head. He cried out in a deep, booming voice.

  “I am Seanchai, son of Seantai, and a Wycaan warrior. I am the student of Mhari the human, of Master Onyxei the dwarf, and I come to study with the Wycaans of the West, the Wycaans of my own people. I walk with Sellia, my mate, and I will walk with her by my side.”

  He listened to his echoes become distant rumbling.

  “Very well,” said a cheerful voice from his side. “If tha
t is what you have decided. We should go.”

  Seanchai turned to see a small, dark-skinned elf with bright red hair sitting on a rock only ten feet from them. He was clothed in loose beige trousers and a brown shirt that hung on his skinny body.

  “You are the dreamwalker?” Seanchai asked.

  “Indeed.” The elf jumped down from the rock and approached with his hands held wide to his side in the universal sign of peace. “Am I doing this right? I have never done the hand sign before, having traveled in your lands only in the dream world.”

  Sellia smiled. “Your palms should face the person you are addressing,” she said, “like this.” She demonstrated.

  “Very good,” the elf replied. “So, Sellia, mate to the Wycaan from the East, well met, I say. In truth, I am not sure whether you will be welcomed or not, but for my own part, I am happy to meet you. Tell me, if this is not too imprudent, are the elves from the east pale like Seanchai and dark like you?”

  “I have never met another dark-skinned elf until now,” Sellia said. “This is exciting.”

  “That means you are probably the first not to immediately notice the color of my hair!” He laughed. “Forgive my manners. I am Denalion, Dreamwalker of the Markwin Forest, as Seanchai discovered last night.

  “Come. We have a long walk, and there will be no more tests for now. You should enjoy the journey.”

  Denalion led them north along the ridge for a long time. They stopped at a small path that Seanchai could have easily overlooked. Denalion turned to them.

  “Drink water and tighten your packs. This part can be challenging if you are not used to the terrain.”

  Soon, they were walking down a steep, narrow path. Denalion kept looking back at first, but when he saw that both elves easily kept their balance, he focused on the view.

  Seanchai and Sellia, while fairly confident in their ability to negotiate the path, still had to look down and concentrate on their steps. They stopped once on a little plateau to drink, but otherwise continued their walk with increasing agility.

  As they approached the height of the trees, Sellia called out for them to stop.

  “Take a moment, Seanchai, and see the forest,” she said. “You are home.”

  Denalion peered around the Wycaan with a puzzled expression on his face. “What do you me. . .” He trailed off at the blissful expression on Seanchai’s face as he absorbed the canopy of treetops, smiling widely. “Very well. Welcome home, then, Wycaan from the East. Welcome home, I say.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  As at home as he felt, Seanchai did not recognize any foliage from his childhood in Morthian Wood, or of the other forests he had passed through. This was an ancient forest, and the tree trunks were huge.

  He scooped up a handful of rotting leaves and twigs from the ground and, closing his eyes, inhaled their scent and sighed deeply. He touched the trunks and stared up at the height of the trees.

  “Denalion,” Seanchai said, gently rubbing the bark of a tree. “This wood is as red as your hair.”

  “And I hope when I reach their age, my hair will still match. These are bloodwoods, my friends. They are the largest trees this side of the Great Ocean–the oldest and most majestic.”

  “I feel humbled in their presence,” Seanchai said, and both Sellia and Denalion smiled at his sincerity. “These are powerful trees.”

  “Indeed they are,” Denalion replied. “Did you not feel their power when you practiced your energy exercises.”

  Seanchai exclaimed, “I did. I can’t wait to try more!”

  “You shall have your chance soon, but I would like to continue for a few hours. We will camp in the woods and reach Bloodwyre by midday tomorrow.”

  “Then let’s go,” Seanchai said, and Sellia thought he might actually take off sprinting by himself.

  “Steady up, green ears,” she chided quietly. “Denalion will set the pace.”

  They followed the red-haired elf into the forest. Seanchai kept stopping him with questions about the trees, the plants, and any tracks he spied.

  Sellia followed behind, laughing to herself. She had not seen Seanchai this happy for a long time. Whatever tests lay ahead, she was pleased for him now. They eventually arrived at a small river, and Denalion took off his pack.

  “We will rest here tonight, my friends. And if we are lucky. . .” He moved over to a small wooden box on an upright log and fiddled with the catch. When he opened it, he peered inside. “Well, not a feast, but food, nonetheless.”

  “What is this place?” Sellia asked.

  “Throughout the forest are little camps like this. We prefer travelers use them and so refrain from spoiling the forest. You would be surprised how much plant life, insects, and small animals are unintentionally harmed when you stop to camp. People take what they need and leave supplies for others.

  “I will forage a bit–see what’s in the vicinity. Oh, look at this.” He held a pole with a series of thin lines getting smaller towards the hook. “We can also fish.”

  “I can do that,” Seanchai exclaimed, and took the rod Denalion held with great enthusiasm. He reached into his pack and baited up with a piece of cheese. Then he moved to the riverbank, dropped the hooked end into the water and sat on a rock, watching the cheese closely.

  “I say. What does he think he’s doing?” the elf asked Sellia after Seanchai hadn’t moved for a few minutes.

  “Fishing?” Sellia ventured.

  Denalion frowned. “Hmmm. I see.” He walked over to Seanchai. “You know, I really am quite tired. Do you think you could collect some wood instead? It can get somewhat chilly once the sun sets. Only dead wood, mind.”

  “No problem,” Seanchai jumped up and passed the rod. “Try and keep the line taut but flexible.” He walked past Sellia, whistling.

  Once Seanchai was gone, Denalion took the cheese off the line and ate it. “Very good,” he said to Sellia as he retrieved a dried bug from a small wooden box.

  Then he moved back to the river’s edge and stared into the water. Sellia watched, fascinated, as he carefully chose a spot and swung the rod gracefully in front of and behind him. The line arced easily until, under Denalion’s movement, it settled on top of the water and floated down. He did this several times.

  When Seanchai returned, he stood by Sellia, his mouth agape. When he tried to go to Denalion, Sellia stopped him.

  “Wait,” she said. “Watch and absorb. You’re in a different world and must be respectful. The river and trees are forgiving. Denalion, as well, I think. But you must show restraint when we reach his tribe.”

  Seanchai nodded and, moving to one side, squatted on a rock, his chin in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Sellia shook her head. Still very much a boy, she thought. It was a wonder after all he has been through.

  A flurry from the river snapped her back to attention. The water was churning, and the droplets on the thin line of the rod glimmered in the rays of the setting sun.

  Seanchai rose to help Denalion. Sellia felt compelled to join him. The fish was tugging hard, and the rod bent and quivered under the strain. Denalion patiently drew in the line, trapping it to the rod as he wrapped the slack around a buckle on his belt.

  The fish rose out of the water and smacked back down. Denalion responded by lowering the tip of his rod to the water, his face unflustered and relaxed.

  Sellia noted how completely at one Denalion was with his surroundings, with the fish, with his role in life. In contrast, Seanchai was erratic, emotional, and doubtful.

  Seanchai might garner practical skills like fishing and archery while he was here, but at that moment, Sellia understood that he had something far more profound to learn.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Rhoddan winced at the pain in his arm. He was near exhaustion, and every time he tripped, which was happening with increasing frequency, he knew he might be giving their position away. Shayth would jerk his head round, but knew Rhoddan was not being careless.

  A sixer of l
ong-swordsmen had ambushed them earlier in the day, and the fight had been intense. Rhoddan and Shayth had won, but as Rhoddan dispensed with the final soldier, four more armed men appeared on the ridge.

  An arrow had hit Rhoddan in his sword arm. It was very small, and he had ripped it out with one stroke, but he quickly sheathed his sword as the pain numbed his arm. Shayth tied a quick tourniquet under the shoulder.

  Shayth had glanced up at the four and swore. “Come, we must run,” he commanded.

  Rhoddan had quickly followed, and they spent the rest of the day one step ahead of their pursuers. His arm wound made him feel unbalanced, and as the day wore on, he became weaker and less focused.

  Shayth found a small cave, and they quickly moved inside. While Shayth did his best to hide their tracks, Rhoddan lay back against the cave wall and realized he was sweating profusely. Shayth returned, rinsed one of his fingers, and touched Rhoddan’s wound. He licked it, grimaced, and spat on the ground.

  “That bad?” Rhoddan asked.

  “Tastes disgusting and the tip of my tongue is now numb. I want you to drink all the water we have and roll yourself in both our blankets. If it’s poison, we’ve got to try and flush it out of your body.”

  Rhoddan finished his own waterskin and took Shayth’s. Water dribbled out of his numb lips and, despite the circumstances, Shayth couldn’t help grinning a little.

  “I guess this is how we’ll end up when we’re old,” he said.

  “I’m very fond of you, Shayth, but I hope to settle down with a comely elfe and not spend the next fifty years running from cave to cave with you.”

  Shayth sobered. “What if he doesn’t come back? What if he fails there?”

  Rhoddan leaned forward and stared hard at his friend. “He will succeed. And if he doesn’t come back, we’ll head over there and create some serious problems.”