by R. T. Kaelin
Alumon turned head and torso to eye Wren.
“Seven generations past.”
“Seven?” repeated Wren, his eyes narrowing sharply. “That was before I arrived.” The tijul began to walk toward the center of the platform, making nary a sound as he did. Nikalys supposed the name Leafwalker was well earned.
“Yes,” whistled Alumon. “It was. She visited a cycle before you walked into the city.”
“Hold a moment,” rumbled Broedi. “That would mean Indrida foretold our arrival over a century ago.”
“Yes it would,” said the thorn.
“But that is impossible.”
“Why is it?” whistled Alumon.
Broedi did not respond. He simply stared at the thorn, a skeptical frown resting upon his lips. After only a breath, Alumon tilted its head and spoke.
“You are the ‘champion of Thonda,’ yes?”
Broedi was quiet for a long moment before nodding slowly.
“I am.”
“She said that you would doubt us,” said Alumon, his hair rustling in the wind.
“Did she?” rumbled the hillman. “You will forgive me, but your claim is a grand one.”
Alumon adjusted its head again, paused a moment, and then whistled, “The four will hold the names of three.”
The odd turn of phrase had a strange effect on the White Lion, washing away all visible disbelief in an instant. The hillman’s new expression was blank and impossible to read. Evidently, the words meant something to him.
“Broedi?” muttered Nikalys.
The giant was quiet another moment while gnawing on his lower lip. Letting a small sigh slip from his lips, he rumbled softly, “They speak true. Indrida was here.”
Nikalys asked, “Those words. What do they mean, Broedi? What aren’t—?”
Wren interrupted him, stepping forward while demanding, “Explain yourself, Alumon!” The tijul was clearly perturbed. “Why is this the first I’ve heard of a Goddess visiting you? And what sort of promise did you make?”
“Her visit was not for you to know,” whistled Alumon. “She instructed the Mataan not to share anything with you. The secret was to remain so until ‘one who shines brighter than the sun arrives and claims heritage of Horum and Gaena.’” Turning to look at Nikalys, the thorn added, “In exchange for the aid she lent us, we promised to do as you say. Share with us our fate, Light-From-The-West.”
“Hold a moment,” interjected Wren. “Before Aryn’s son shares anything with anyone, I have more questions. What sort of aid did she lend?”
Returning its black-eyed gaze to Wren, Alumon whistled, “She warned us.”
“Of what?” demanded Wren.
“That the Chosen were planning a great invasion.”
Wren’s brow furrowed.
“I warned you of that.”
“So the stories go,” whistled Alumon. “But you were not the first, friend Aembyr. The Enlightened Oracle appeared on this platform, shining in her resplendence, and told the Mataan that the Chosen were coming, revealing exactly when and where the enemy would venture into our wilds. Our defenses were lax as peace had reigned our lands for six generations. Buhanik believed the Chosen had grown weary of warmongering. Without Indrida’s foresight and your aid, we would have been quickly overwhelmed.” Eyeing Wren, Alumon added, “She told us of your arrival. And how you would bring the aliipin to aid us.”
At the mention of the hillmen slaves, Broedi began to growl.
Wren took a step back from the giant and, in a defiant tone, said, “Before you turn bear on me again, know that a mutual agreement exists between the Titaani Kotiv-aki and the buhanik. An arrangement entered into with open eyes!”
“What sort of ‘arrangement?’” asked Nikalys.
The tijul glared at him.
“One that does not concern you, son of Aryn. Go ‘shine bright’ elsewhere and let your elders sort this out.”
Broedi growled, “Is it so hard for you to be pleasant!?”
“Spare me, Broedi!” spat Wren. “What? Because he’s Aryn and Eliza’s son, I’m supposed to be kind?”
Broedi advanced on Wren, rumbling, “If you cannot manage a kind word, I will rip one from your throat!”
“Enough!” bellowed Nikalys. The authority that echoed in his voice surprised him. Both White Lions stopped and turned to stare. Glaring at the pair, Nikalys asked, “What is wrong with you?”
“With me?” huffed Wren. “Nothing.” He glanced at Broedi. “If you recall, the overgrown animal attacked me.”
Broedi glared at Wren for a moment, fuming, before he rumbled, “I would like it if you answered his question.”
“What question was that?”
Before Broedi could respond, Nikalys did.
“What sort of ‘arrangement’ did you make with the hillmen?”
A frown slipped across the tijul’s lips. Looking back to Broedi, he said, “You should thank me for what I did.”
Broedi crossed his arms and squeezed his biceps with opposite hands. Nikalys guessed it was taking every bit of self-restraint Broedi had not to leap at Wren and pummel him.
“Thank you?” growled Broedi. “Why should I thank you for enslaving aki-mahet?”
His eyes flashing hot, Wren exclaimed, “Because without me, your kind here would be dead, Broedi! Dead! The bones of your precious aki-mahet would be sticking up from the dirt or used in some Chosen’s candelabra! I did what was needed to save them!”
Nikalys reached inside himself for Horum’s gift, waiting for Broedi to react violently. Yet the hillman managed to hold still, glaring hard at the tijul. After a number of excruciatingly tense moments, he spoke.
“Explain,” rumbled Broedi. “Now.”
Nikalys released his hold on the gift inside him as Wren moved to stand on his left, positioning himself so that Nikalys stood between the White Lion pair.
Peering around Nikalys at Broedi, Wren said, “After the First Council’s overreaction to Carinius, Jart and I left the duchies and came to the Provinces. He stayed for less than a year before moving on.” Cocking a long eyebrow at Broedi, he added, “You know how he can be.”
Glancing at Broedi, Nikalys said, “Jart?”
“Jarthidil Mellark,” rumbled Broedi. “Greya’s champion.”
“‘The Nomad’?” asked Nikalys.
“The same,” replied Broedi. “It was a name well earned. Jarthidil would…wander. One day he was here…” He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders.
Wren finished the thought, saying, “The next, he was gone. A true pain to keep track of.”
“He wandered?” asked Nikalys, confused. “Why?”
“Before the Assembly,” rumbled Broedi. “Jarthidil named his occupation a ‘traveler of roads.’”
“What does that mean?” asked Nikalys.
“He never explained,” said Wren. “And trust me, I asked. Hundreds of times at least.”
Nodding in agreement, Broedi said, “I, as well. Jarthidil’s past was his own. And whatever wandering tendencies he had before the Assembly were exacerbated once Greya touched him. He went where the winds of fate blew. Should you ever ask where he was going—or why—he would say ‘I go where I go because I am going there.’”
“And that is exactly what he did,” said Wren. “He would go somewhere on a whim. Without notice. While I found the Provinces a perfectly nice place to live, Jart grew restless with each passing moment. One morning, when I awoke in our camp, Jart was gone. No note. No ‘farewell Wren.’ Nothing. He was just gone.” He shook his head and sighed. “Alone now, I kept to myself for a time, venturing into cities should I crave a bit of company. Although, as there are no ijuli here, my presence was often cause for excitement. At first, they called me The-Radiant-Long-Lived, but I did not care for that. Therefore, I became ‘Aembyr-The-Ageless.’ Smiling, he ran his fingers through his luxurious brown hair. “I am something of a legend here.”
“What is there to be proud of?” muttered Broedi. “Livin
g a long time?”
With a bored sigh, Wren asked, “Would you like me to continue my tale? Or shall I pause a moment or two and give you leave to insult me?”
Broedi pressed his lips together tightly.
“Speak.”
With a wide, ingratiating smile, Wren said, “Thank you, Broedi. Ever so much.” Running his fingers through his hair, he muttered, “Now…where was I? Ah, yes! So, I was south of here when rumors reached me about the Chosen advancing north. Being the wondrous, kind soul I am, I decided to offer my assistance to the Provinces. Buhaylunsod was the nearest city of any size, so, I came here and showed how one buhanik could become a singular force against the self-righteous Chosen. Yet as few buhanik can touch the Strands, I enlisted the aid of the nearby aki-mahet. I, Broedi, I am the reason this—” he gestured at the city “—is still here! Were it not for me, the Chosen would have marched north, unchecked! So, as I said earlier—you should thank me for what I did!”
Nikalys noticed the White Lion used the word ‘I’ quite often.
Broedi remained quiet, staring at Wren. When he spoke, he was surprisingly calm. “Suppose I accept your tale as truth,” rumbled the hillman. His tone indicated he did not. “What is the complete nature of this agreement between buhanik and Titaani Kotiv-aki?”
Wren’s brazenness faltered as he dropped his glare and muttered, “Well…”
Alumon interjected, whistling, “After showing us of what we were capable with the right aid, friend Aembyr approached the aliipin and negotiated terms such that any who could work the flows of the ‘Strands’ became ours. In exchange, we guard the remainder of their tribe against the Chosen.”
Nikalys stared at the tijul in disbelief.
“You bargained them into slavery?”
“Slavery is a rather harsh word,” said Wren with a slight grimace. “I like to think that I gave a handful of Titaani Kotiv-aki the choice to protect their entire tribe.”
“Accept servitude or perish is not a choice!” exclaimed Nikalys.
“I considered reasoning with them,” said Wren. “But that would have taken too long. So I told them they could accept my terms or die.”
Nikalys could not believe what he was hearing. Glaring at Wren, he demanded, “How in the Nine Hells are you a White Lion?”
Rolling his eyes, Wren muttered, “Oh, please. There is no doubt you are Aryn’s son.” Turning his full attention to Broedi, he asked, “How is what I did any different than the things we did to defeat Norasim? ‘There are no sweet choices in war.’ Sound familiar, Broedi?”
Tensing, the hillman rumbled, “This is different, Wren.”
“How?!”
“These are of my blood!”
“So?! Presented with a sour situation, I made the sweetest choice available. I had hillmen who could touch the Strands and buhanik that were perfectly suited for the Weave I had developed. The Chosen were on the horizon, ready to trounce us all. Because of what I did, when they attacked, we had hundreds of massive buhanik marching through the forests, shrieking like the banshees of Enstra. Battles ended before they began.”
Broedi glared at Wren, shaking his head.
“Justify it all you want, Wren. It was still wrong.”
“Should I have let everyone here die, then? Just to satisfy someone’s sense of idealistic morality?”
“Broedi’s right,” said Nikalys. “You stole their ability to choose their destiny.”
Wren glared at him and spat, “Yes, I did!” His eyes were bright and unrepentant. “Freedom for security and life. A more than worthy exchange from where I stand.”
Huffing, Nikalys shook his head, disgusted by the tijul’s defense.
Wren scoffed, “Well, then. I see that besides looks, abilities, and that blasted white sword, Aryn has passed along his self-righteousness.”
Nikalys glared at Wren, starting to wish he had not interrupted Broedi’s attack.
“Broedi? Are you sure we need him?”
“No,” rumbled the hillman. A moment later, he added begrudgingly, “However, I would rather have him with us than not.”
“Perhaps the prophecy is wrong?”
“Indrida’s words are rarely wrong,” said Broedi. “Muddled and confused, yes, but rarely wrong.”
“Prophecy?” repeated Wren, glancing between them both. “What prophecy?”
Neither Nikalys nor Broedi answered the tijul. Nikalys did not know Broedi’s reason for remaining silent, but he simply did not want to give Wren the satisfaction of a response. As he stood there, staring at the tijul and mulling over the recent revelation of Indrida’s visit to the buhanik, a tiny frown spread over his face.
Not only were the Gods meddling again, now they were doing it from across centuries. He was tiring of being manipulated. If his entire life were already laid out for him, he wondered what the point was of living it. Nevertheless, it was clear what needed to be done.
Indrida had known he was going to be here, today, at this very moment. And she had arranged for him to direct the buhanik as he saw fit. With war against the horizon, he could only assume what the Goddess wanted him to do.
Glancing at Alumon, he asked, “How many buhanik and aliipin pairs are here? Ones who can do what Talulot and Fingard did at the beach?”
Without hesitation, the thorn answered, “There are but ten in Buhaylunsod. More are patrolling our lands. And still more in other cities.”
Broedi turned a hard eye on him and growled softly, “Do not consider it, uori!”
Ignoring Broedi entirely, he kept his gaze locked on Alumon.
“And, to be clear, you must do as I say?”
The thorn whistled, “We will uphold our promise.”
As he eyed the thorn and the slaves standing atop the platform, a tiny, confident smile pushed the frown off his lips. He wondered if Indrida foresaw what he was about to do. Standing tall, he spoke in a clear, loud voice.
“The buhanik agreement with the Titaani Kotiv-aki is over. The aliipin are free and can leave at once.”
The announcement had a different effect on everyone gathered on the platform. While Alumon remained still and silent, the other thorn on the platform began to sway side-to-side, Puno and Talulot included. The four bald hillmen behind the Mataan gaped at Nikalys. Even Broedi seemed taken aback, staring at him with slightly widened eyes. Wren was the first to break the silence.
“But the Chosen will—”
Nikalys held up a hand toward the tijul, cutting him off, glared at him and said, “I don’t want your opinion on the matter. It is my decision, and nothing—nothing—you or anyone else can say will change it.”
Wren pressed his lips together and—surprisingly—remained quiet. Once Nikalys was content the tijul would stay silent, he turned his gaze to the tall hillman behind Alumon.
“You. What is your name?”
The hillman’s eyes widened and he shot a questioning look at Alumon. The thorn swiveled around slowly, its bark-like skin creaking. Upon meeting the hillman’s gaze, the thorn whistled, “You no longer need my permission to speak. Your actions are your own. Light-From-The-West has chosen our fate.”
Nikalys breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful and a little surprised the thorn had accepted his order.
The hillmen and hillwomen stared at one another in quiet shock. The one Nikalys had addressed said with wonder, “Truly?”
Alumon whistled, “The Mataan are bound by our promise to Indrida. Without her aid, we would not be here.” It turned to stare back at Nikalys. “We accept his guidance.”
The tattooed hillman shifted his wide-eyed gaze to Nikalys. All of the Titan Tribe members atop the platform did. They stared in silence, their expressions a combination of stunned disbelief and restrained joy. A few moments passed, filled only with the sound of the wind drifting through the treetops and the soft warbling of songbirds.
Breaking the quiet, Nikalys asked in a soft voice, “Your name?”
The hillman muttered, “Evaldersla Re
igarja.” Then, raising his voice, he repeated with confidence, “My name is Evaldersla Reigarja.”
Knowing he would never get the name correct, Nikalys asked, “May I call you Evald?”
The hillman nodded once.
“Many already do.”
“Good,” said Nikalys. “Evald, you are free to go.”
“Truly?”
Nodding, Nikalys said, “Truly. You can go where you like.” He paused briefly before adding, “However, before you do, I have a story I would like to share with you.” He glanced at a sullen Wren. “One you must all hear.”
Broedi said softly, “Nikalys?”
Looking over, Nikalys found Broedi regarding him carefully. The hillman’s expression was a stoic one, but caution drifted through his eyes.
“What do you intend to share?”
“Everything.”
With a slight frown on his lips, Broedi rumbled, “Is that wise?”
Holding the hillman’s stare as he spoke, Nikalys said, “You once told me that knowledge is a weapon, did you not?”
Broedi paused, the skin around his eyes tightening a bit, before answering, “That I did.”
“While you like secrets, Broedi, I do not. And while you choose to keep your weapon sheathed, I am choosing to wield it. Now. If you wish to stop me, you had best use the Strands to do so.”
The hillman regarded him carefully for a moment before the familiar slight smile spread over his lips. He nodded once and, with a hint of pride in his voice, rumbled, “As you desire.”
Looking back to the Mataan and freed hillmen, Nikalys took a deep breath and began to share his story, starting from the beginning: the blazingly hot Summer day when Jhaell Myrr destroyed Yellow Mud. He withheld nothing.
After a time, Broedi joined in and helped tell the tale, sharing his role, the saga of the White Lions, the Demonic War, and the outlawing of magic in the Oaken Duchies. He told of Indrida’s prophecy, his recent journey to the Seat of Nelnora—finding Tobias in the process—and of the Sudashian army led by the God of Chaos. Occasionally, Nikalys glanced at Wren and was pleased to see a modicum of concern on the tijul’s face.
When their storytelling was nearly complete, Nikalys said, “So, that is why we are here.” He turned his gaze to Wren alone. “According to Nelnora, we were supposed to find you.”