by Alon Shalev
“The tests,” the elder frowned, “have not yet begun. But you will know if you have passed them, for you will still be alive. Come.”
She led him to a tree with a hole in it. Like a living cave, he thought.
“This will be your dwelling while you are with us. It is sparse, but all you will do is sleep, read and meditate here. I will have food brought to you. Then exercise and sleep as you see fit. We will send for you early tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Seanchai said, bowing to both of them. The younger had not spoken at all, but Seanchai wanted to show respect, nonetheless.
He put his bags inside. There was a small pallet for sleep and a hole for light, but he was happier outside. He exited the tree, went through his stretching exercises, and then began his standing meditation. The energy surged through him, and again he felt waves of invigoration.
When he opened his eyes, a young elfe sat, leaning against his tree. She wore brown trousers and a shirt that showed, even on her small body, defined muscles. He also noticed her green eyes and the fact that she was smiling at him.
“I have brought you your dinner, Outlander. We aren’t sure what you eat. I hope this meets your taste.”
“Thank you,” he answered. “What is your name?”
“Pyre,” she replied, and offered him the clay pot she cradled.
The pot contained a thick, brown soup. Seanchai smelled its rich, earthy scent, and then tasted it. It was sweet and smooth.
“This is delicious,” he said, and the young elfe’s smile broadened. “What is it?”
“Bloodwood nut soup,” she said. “I’m glad you like it. We tend to eat little else.” She giggled behind her hand, looking to either side to see if she had been heard.
Seanchai smiled back. “So, tell me about this place?”
“I can’t,” she replied. “I was forbidden to say anything but exchange pleasantries. But. . .” She glanced around again before continuing. “They said nothing about you talking to me.” Her giggle was infectious and Seanchai smiled.
They sat together while Seanchai finished his soup. He consumed all the soup in the bowl but declined more when Pyre offered to go and refill it. Finally she rose.
“I should go,” she said, standing and taking the pot. “You don’t seem as threatening as they say.”
“Threatening?”
“Yes. Some say that you’re the harbinger of our destruction. But I think you’re rather cute.” She giggled again. “Sleep well, Outlander.”
“You too, Pyre, calhei of Bloodwyre.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Ahad and Phineus sat on a rock near their campsite. It was dark, and they were staring at whatever flew above them, billowing fire. They had lost Shayth’s trail two days ago, and Ahad was uncertain of their next step.
Ruel approached with two mugs. Steam floated up, and, though it was not yet chilly outside, it was a welcome sight. He gave one to the Crown Prince and sipped from the other. Ahad pretended not to notice the slight.
“What are those streams of fire, Shadow?” Ruel asked. “What beast trails us so?”
“What do you think?” he replied.
“Black magic of the Wycaan, milord. Crefen thinks that maybe they did not cross as we thought. The traitor we chase was a distraction to draw us away from the Wycaan.”
“Do you agree with him?”
Ruel shrugged. “My brother is smarter than I, milord.”
Which isn’t saying much, Ahad thought. He was fed up with having the brothers beside him, guarding while he slept, and glaring at him whenever he addressed them. They never questioned his authority, but also left no doubt what they thought of him. It occurred to Ahad that if Phineus was ever harmed or killed, they might then try and kill him. Not a comforting thought.
“What do you know of the Wycaans?” Phineus asked Ahad. “Do they have such an ability to transform?”
“There are so many stories, so many legends, that it’s hard to separate fact from tale. No one even thought they existed until this elf emerged. Now we know there are others, and that many of our nannies’ stories were truer than we imagined.
“The power of the Wycaans comes from the earth, as I recall. It is said that they have the ability to control the elements. Or maybe it was channel the energy of the elements. If this is so, why could they not also control an animal?”
“Even a firebreather? I thought they were extinct.” Ruel said.
“We thought the Wycaans were, too. I suspect that many animals we consider extinct have just moved beyond our borders,” Ahad said. “We don’t know anything of what is outside Odessiya.”
Ruel had nothing left to contribute, so he grunted something and returned to the fire.
“Shadow,” Ahad said when they were alone. “Has it ever occurred to you that your father’s power might also come from this magic?”
“You think my father has Wycaans working for him?”
Ahad knew what the Emperor’s son didn’t, but he was sworn to secrecy. However, he did want Phineus to realize something important. “Just a thought,” he said. “But if he does, and we’re seeing his magic, then maybe he knows you are here.”
“Good point,” Phineus conceded. “What should we do?”
“I think you should return to the capital,” Ahad said.
“What? And leave you with Ruel and Crefen? That would be quite a party.”
They both laughed. Ahad would miss his friend if they separated, but this was not working out the way they had planned. Silence descended, dramatically broken only by a huge roar and a trail of fire that seemed to come in their direction and left them both momentarily blind.
“What the he–” Phineus did not get a chance to finish his sentiment as Ahad pushed him to the floor and dived on top of him. “Ouch!”
When there was no more roars or fire, Ahad rose and offered a hand to his friend. Phineus was rubbing his ribs.
“That’s no way to treat your–”
“A man should protect his shadow,” Ahad cautioned.
“Still, you’re filling out to be a strapping lad,” Phineus smiled. “But I thank you. That was close.”
Ahad shook his head and they sat in silence watching the sky. When nothing happened, Ahad asked his friend what he knew about Wycaans.
“There is a story of a magic lake where they went to replenish their strengths,” Phineus said. “I used to think this was real.”
“Why?” Ahad asked, waiting to see if his friend was putting it all together. He received his answer.
“My father doesn’t age. He actually looks younger and healthier when he returns from campaigns.” There was again silence as Phineus collected his thoughts. “My father goes away quite regularly.”
“He’s a busy man with a huge responsibility,” Ahad responded.
Phineus turned to face him and he wore a deep frown. “Where does your loyalty lay, Ahad? To me or to my father?”
“Does it have to be one or the other? Your father asked me this question, as well.”
“What did you answer?”
“That I have sworn oaths of loyalty to him, but that you have my friendship and the loyalty that comes with it.”
“I bet that didn’t please him.” Phineus grinned.
“Actually, it did,” Ahad said. “Don’t underrate his love and concern for you.”
Phineus snorted skeptically and fell back into his own thoughts. Ahad did not want to push his luck. No conversation with Phineus about the Emperor ever ended well. But Ahad wanted the Crown Prince to know that when he ascended to the throne, he, too, would have Ahad’s loyalty.
“Do all Wycaans have white hair?” Phineus asked after a while.
“I don’t know,” Ahad replied. “We know the elf does. But I have also seen white-haired people that are quite normal. Why?”
“I don’t remember ever seeing my father’s hair. He always wears his turban.”
Ahad’s chest constricted, and he wanted to shake his friend or
yell at him to see what was right before his eyes.
Another streak of fire crossed the sky, much further away, and they could not help but stare at it in wonder. When Ahad’s night vision returned, he saw a ranger standing patiently in front of them.
“I bring a message from General Shiftan. He requests that you return to his camp at the pass.”
Ahad stared at him. “How did you find us?”
“We’re very good at our work.”
“I know that,” Ahad replied. “My father spoke highly of you. He also told me how you work in groups. How long have we been tracked?”
“You should take that up with Gen–”
“I’m taking it up with you,” Ahad snapped. “Have you heard our conversations?”
A glimmer of fear crossed the ranger’s face and he glanced at Ahad’s assassin’s pin. “If you know I do not work alone, then you know I’m not alone now. Harm me, and you will not return to the pass alive. We don’t concern ourselves with any conversations save those we are instructed to hear. You have my word that my orders were to track you and nothing more. But my ord–”
The ranger’s eyes bulged, suddenly, and a stain of blood spread slowly across his chest. In its center protruded the tip of a serrated knife. The ranger toppled over, and Ahad saw Ruel standing a few yards away.
A moment later, Ruel slumped forward, clutching his own chest, an arrow entrenched deep into his back. Crefen cried out his brother’s name and charged in the direction the arrow had come from.
Ahad began to rise, his hand going to his sword. But Phineus grabbed his arm. “You won’t get there in time,” he whispered. “Don’t move. You and I did nothing.”
A moment later, they heard a muffled scream from Crefen and the dull thud as a body hit the ground.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Seanchai lay on his pallet and pulled a bearskin over himself. He put his hands behind his head and stared up inside the hollowed tree. It was still alive, he had to remind himself. Somewhere in the dark, the wood was solid, and life connected from treetop to roots. He sighed and felt his eyes close of their own volition.
The bears were walking uphill. No words were spoken. The great white bear from the ice flows of the north paced by his side, its paws treading in unison with his. Two small black bears walked on his other side.
He could sense others behind him as they climbed higher into the heavy air. The huge grizzly stood, waiting for them, and nodded as they neared. It led them to a ridge.
Beneath them was a huge forest whose trees reached up almost to the height the mountain they had climbed. It was dark and ominous below. The grizzly turned to face him.
“You are going there?”
“I am,” Seanchai heard himself reply.
“We cannot join you,” the grizzly said.
“I know,” Seanchai nodded his large bear head. “But I must go, nonetheless.”
The white bear growled his unhappiness.
“I have entered dark places before,” Seanchai said to him. “I have walked alone and faced many tests.”
“This will be the darkest,” the grizzly said.
“And I am the most prepared I’ve ever been.”
The white snarled, and Seanchai looked from him to the grizzly.
“He doubts that you’re ready. Have you ever faced those who walk our path?”
Seanchai pawed the ground, staring down. “What choice do I have? I must face them, learn from them, and lead them back to join us.”
The grizzly nodded. “Not all who walk our path walk as we do. Remember that.”
Seanchai looked slowly at each bear before descending down the other side of the ridge, forcing one paw in front of the next. When he reached the entrance to the forest, he stopped and turned his head. The bears, fourteen of them now, rose on their back paws, threw their heads back and a loud moan, similar to a wolf’s howl, filled the air. The sound flowed through Seanchai, and he rose on his hind legs and joined them.
“Outlander! Outlander!” Pyre’s concerned voice came from outside the tree.
“Hey, Pyre,” Seanchai called. “Is everything okay?”
“You were howling like a wolf. What ails you?”
“A dream, that’s all. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
He came outside, and she led him to a stream where he drank and washed his face. The water tasted rich and earthy. Then they climbed a spiral staircase up a thick tree to the second level of branches, where they reached an open area in a circle of trees. Elves sat on logs, eating from carved wooden bowls. Most had white hair as he did; a few of the younger ones did not. Perhaps they had not been tested yet, he thought, and his mind went back to his dream. The bear scar on his chest was hurting, a dull but noticeable ache.
“Come, take a bowl and serve yourself,” Pyre said.
Seanchai noticed she walked taller now, clearly relishing her role as his guide. He smiled, enjoying her company, her energy. In his village, Seanchai had often looked after younger calhei. He wondered if any were still alive and quickly cast the thoughts from his mind. It was a long, dark path.
“What do we have, Pyre, bloodwood nut soup?”
“For breakfast?” She giggled. “Some credit please, Outlander.”
“Call me Seanchai, please. So what is breakfast?”
“A healthy gruel,” she said, “made, of course, from bloodwood nuts.” She giggled again.
They took their bowls and sat in the crowded area. Seanchai watched it thin out and remembered what Pyre had said about the others’ fear of him. It had never occurred to him that his own people would reject him so. He finished his bowl and followed her to a washing area where they rinsed and hung their utensils.
“A long way for the drops of water to fall,” Seanchai said, looking down.
“There is a great mushroom patch on the ground under this and vegetables grow next to it.”
“Thank you, young Pyre,” a rich female voice said from behind them. “I will take the outlander off your hands.”
They both turned to face a broad, muscular elfe; her white hair was curled into a rigid bun behind her wrinkled, but pointed, ears.
“His name is Seanchai,” Pyre said, folding her arms across her chest.
The big elfe just stared at her, and Pyre blushed but maintained her defiant pose. Seanchai bent down. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Pyre. You are my first friend in the West. I hope that honors you as much as it does me.”
Pyre beamed. “I’ll look for you at supper,” she said and skipped off.
Seanchai turned to his new guide. “I do prefer to be addressed as Seanchai. How should I address you?”
“Weapons Master,” the elfe replied, staring after Pyre.
“Hey,” Seanchai said, hearing the sharpness in his voice. “She’s okay.”
The Weapons Master smiled. “Yes, she is. You misinterpret my expression. Come. Tell me about your weapons as we walk.”
“Why? Am I being tested at fighting?” Seanchai asked.
“I never mentioned testing you. My job is to teach you, but not only weapons. The way an elf yields his weapons and how he or she learns, can reveal a considerable amount about his personality. Maybe you are being tested, but not in the way you think, and not by me, for now.”
Seanchai talked as they walked along a thin path to the ground. “May I see your blades?” the Weapons Master asked.
Seanchai drew them and handed them to her.
“They are truly beautiful blades, and ancient. The knowledge needed to forge these has sadly been lost. I am curious. Why Win Dao swords? Mhari never fought with such weapons.”
“You knew Mhari?”
“Oh, yes,” the Weapons Master replied, her voice breaking.
Seanchai saw tears well in her eyes as she turned away. She raised his Win Dao swords and began a beautiful and elegant form. Seanchai watched as she increased her speed, the blades soon becoming a blur. Seanchai did not recognize the form, but he knew the rhythm. He
had channeled his grieving for Ilana and Mhari into his form. It was cleansing, somehow. Fortifying. When she returned to him, the Weapons Master’s voice was soft and she shone with tears and sweat.
“The finest swords I have ever seen and probably ever will,” she said, handing them back with sorrowful eyes. “Just as Mhari was the finest person I ever met, and ever will. Of that, I am sure.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Seanchai followed the Weapons Master to a wide expanse of flat ground surrounded by trees. As they approached, five white-haired elves, all dressed in similar green clothes, jumped to their feet and stood in clear expectation.
“Good morning,” the Weapons Master said.
“Weapons Master,” they all replied in unison, bowing their heads in respect.
“This is Seanchai. He will train with us. Draw your swords and partner up. Check your training sheathes are secure on your blades.”
Seanchai was excited to see that they all had Win Dao swords. Mhari had told him that she did not possess the knowledge to make him a swords master with such weapons.
“Cheriuk. Please spar with Seanchai.” The Weapons Master turned to Seanchai. “This is not a duel. You will begin slowly, matching his form. He will gradually speed up so that we can see what you know. Do you understand?”
Seanchai nodded. “But I have no training sheathes. I lost them somewhere.”
Cheriuk rolled his eyes. “How careless,” he said.
Seanchai stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if this was a test or the elf was simply arrogant. “I have lost a lot in the past year, battling in Odessiya. I have lost friends. People are far more valuable than objects.”
He turned to the Weapons Master. “I have been on the move for a long time.”
“Please.” A thin elfe with pale skin almost as white as her tightly braided Wycaan hair stepped forward. “Use mine, if they fit. I will pick up a set when we break for lunch.”
Seanchai’s annoyance at Cheriuk dissipated at the elfe’s smile. “Thank you,” he said. “How should I address you?”