Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

  Nepenthe glanced back frequently, familiarizing himself with his return path. He didn’t want to miss his way back to camp. He rounded another bend in the creek and froze. He smelled wood smoke—coming from upstream. Was this the friend Aidan was expecting? But why would he set up camp so close? Nepenthe took another step forward, but his pause had sunk him in the mud again. He stumbled forward with a splash and froze anew at the sound of voices.

  The sounds quickly approached, and Nepenthe was suddenly very sure these were not the friends Aidan was expecting. There were two of them, grubby men with untrimmed beards and ill-fitting clothes. They would’ve fit in quite nicely with the group of bandits Nepenthe had left behind.

  “Is that a girl?” One of them asked, incredulous.

  “Too scrawny to tell,” the other replied. “Let’s catch it and find out.”

  The two men started towards the creek, approaching from the far side. Nepenthe gave a soundless cry of fear and high-tailed it for the near shore, figuring it would be easier to outrun them in the grass. Unfortunately, his short stature gave his pursuers the advantage, and they caught up to him quickly.

  Knocking him to the ground, one of them held his shoulders while the other ran his hands over Nepenthe’s torso.

  “Hell,” he said in disgust. “It’s just a skinny boy.” He gave a chuckle and pinched Nepenthe’s chin. “Though he’s pretty enough to be a girl.”

  Nepenthe’s green eyes rolled back as he shuddered under their touch. Mustn’t cry, he thought to himself fiercely. Mustn’t cry. His awareness was fading, and he wondered if he was going to be fortunate enough to pass out. He heard the sudden muffled thud of hooves, then the twang of a bowstring that almost coincided with the ring of steel, and the world went white.

  Unseen by either of the men until it was too late, the two Farlan riders rode onto the scene, knees gripping their ponies to leave their hands free for their bows. The man holding Nepenthe’s shoulders received an arrow in his throat before he was even aware of their presence. The other jumped up, swearing, only to get a sword cut to his chest from a blazingly angry Aidan. Between this and the following arrow to his back, he went down with a gurgle and lay still.

  Aidan dismounted with a leap and raised his sword over his head, ready to bring it down on the body again.

  “Aidan, my friend,” the first Farlan said softly, holding up his hands towards Aidan, “calm the fire in your blood. Don’t let it rule you.”

  Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, Aidan let it out slowly and lowered his sword. “Jahan. Your timing was beautiful.”

  “I give you greeting,” Jahan returned, placing his fist on his heart and bowing slightly. He approached the still form of Nepenthe. The other Farlan was kneeling next to him already, her hands cupped over his forehead. She turned a troubled look on Jahan.

  “He is wandering.”

  Jahan knelt next to her and added his hands to hers. A frown creased his brow. “Yes. And there is something else as well, though I can’t quite sense what it is.” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “I think we should give him some time to recover.”

  Aidan had joined them, and at this, scooped up the boy’s small frame and carried him over to the waiting bay stallion.

  “I don’t think”—the woman began, but Jahan placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “It won’t hurt him, Taela; he’s not there to know.”

  Taela gave a philosophical shrug and pulled herself back up on her pony. “I’ll send someone out to deal with the bodies,” she said, turning her pony in the direction they’d come from.

  Jahan nodded. “I’ll lead the others to our camp.”

  Aidan had already managed to mount, and held the inert form of Nepenthe in front of him on the saddle. As they headed back to camp, he asked, “What did your friend mean, ‘he’s wandering’?”

  “His soul is not there. Sometimes, in times of extreme distress, one’s soul will abandon the body, leaving it to die.”

  Turning with a jerk that made the stallion snort, Aidan said, “Die?”

  Jahan held up a hand. “Forgive me; that was a poor description. For ordinary people, yes, it usually results in death. But Nepenthe is spirit-touched, as you are. But it was your grandfather who was half fire spirit, whereas I would guess that not only was Nepenthe’s mother or father a spirit, he likely has some spirit blood from the other side, too. As such, he is much more closely linked with that world. He has simply gone to walk with them for a time while his body recovers.”

  Aidan looked down at the form in his arms, opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again with a look of determination.

  By this time they’d arrived in the Ailerons’ camp. The five others exclaimed in concern when they saw Nepenthe, but Aidan hastily reassured them. Camp was quickly disassembled and then they set out after Jahan, Nepenthe still silent and motionless in Aidan’s arms.

  The Farlan camp was a small collection of yurts organized around a large, central open area. Jahan led the Ailerons to the largest yurt and held the bay still while Aidan slid down.

  Taela appeared in the doorway and held the deerskin door out of the way so Aidan could enter. She’d already prepared a bed near the central fire and motioned for Aidan to lay Nepenthe down. She tucked a brightly colored blanket around him and ushered Aidan back out the door.

  When he was gone, Taela returned to the head of the bed and sat down cross-legged. She held her hands over Nepenthe’s brow again, but frowned at what she sensed. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, slipping into a meditative trance.

  She emerged sometime later with her forehead creased in confusion. Jahan sat by Nepenthe’s side, his fingers measuring the pulse in Nepenthe’s wrist.

  “You feel it, too?” She asked.

  Jahan nodded. “There is something at war in his blood. I’m not sure what to make of it. But I suspect that the boy’s spirit will return before long. Those spirits who possess a mortal body never seem to be able to leave it for long.” He gave a somewhat twisted smile. “Though I could be wrong. There is something here I’ve never sensed before.” Replacing Nepenthe’s hand on the bed once more, he tucked the blanket him and rose to his feet. “Come, our guests are waiting.”

  Aidan met them at the door, anxious for reassurance. He’d become unaccountably attached to Nepenthe over the last week and didn’t let Jahan take more than two steps before he was peppering him with questions.

  “Peace, Aidan—peace!” Jahan said, placing his hands on Aidan’s shoulders. “I have no answers for you, save that wandering spirits almost always return to their bodies—and that sooner rather than later.”

  Aidan sighed, and Drinian came up and clapped him on the back.

  “He’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll keep a watch on him, and I’m sure the Farlan will, too. They know more about the spirit realm than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms; if they say the boy will wake, he’ll wake.”

  Aidan gave a slight laugh. “You’re right. I’m just worried about the boy.”

  Drinian smiled. “There’s something about him that makes you want to protect him, isn’t there?”

  The other Ailerons approached as well.

  “Don’t be such a mother hen,” Lira said, punching him in the arm. “You’ll smother the boy with your worrying, just like you’ve done to us.”

  At this, Aidan protested. “I don’t worry about you guys. I know you can take care of yourselves.”

  Rhian snorted. “Really? That explains why you blew up at Mae the other night when she went for a walk without telling anyone.”

  “And that time in that village when you lost it on Drinian and Rhian for getting drunk and picking a fight with the town bully,” Mae added.

  Aidan threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine! I worry. It’s because I care.”

  The other Ailerons groaned at this sentiment and dispersed once more to discover sleeping arrangements and food for the evening.

  Supper was a grand
affair as the Farlans gathered in the central square with their cookpots and joined their food supplies with that of the Ailerons. The wind played with the colorful tunics and scarves of the Farlan men and women before whisking away to tease the manes of the horses. One small breeze even ducked down the smoke hole of the chief yurt and brushed across the silent, sleeping form within. Then it was gone with the tinkle of sylph laughter.

  After supper, the Farlans brought out hand drums and panpipes and played the haunting, wandering melodies they were so well known for. The children got up and danced, and when they grew tired, the adults took over. When they could dance no more, the Ailerons and Farlans traded stories until the moon was high and the coyotes could be heard howling in the distant night. The fires were allowed to burn down, and everyone turned to their beds, exhausted but happy.

  Several days passed peacefully in the Farlan camp. The Ailerons met with the chief and his advisors, formalizing the year’s trade agreement and making plans for deliveries. Taela and Jahan kept an eye on Nepenthe’s still form, reassuring Aidan whenever he asked for news. The Farlans sent out hunting parties, bringing back meat and news from other, more distant camps.

  One piece of news was of particular interest to the Ailerons, as it concerned reports of bandit activity away to the south and west. It had been relayed to Jahan’s camp by a group of scouts who were riding their own borders, much like the Ailerons were. They had not seen the bandits themselves, but only heard about it from travelers who had passed near the edges of the plains.

  “We will check it out,” Aidan said. “It’s time we were moving on, anyway.” He frowned. “I was hoping Nepenthe would be well enough to travel by now. I don’t think he’d like to be left behind.”

  Jahan smiled. “We will take care of him as long as necessary.” His smile grew troubled. “Though I, too, thought he would have awakened by now. I will ask my mother to look at him. She is one of our healers and the wisest person I know.”

  Aidan put a hand on Jahan’s shoulder. “You both have my thanks.”

  That evening, Jahan and his mother knelt next to Nepenthe’s bed, each holding one of his hands.

  “Do you sense it as well?” Jahan asked. “There is something battling in his very blood.”

  Jahan’s mother, a youthful-looking woman save for the single strip of gray running through her dark hair, closed her eyes and pressed Nepenthe’s hand between hers. Her brows drew down and she said, “Look for a talisman.”

  “Ah!” Jahan exclaimed, suddenly comprehending. He ran his hands gently down Nepenthe’s arms, then checked his ankles. There was nothing around his neck, but when Jahan brushed back the curls, he said, “Ah!” again with such a deep sigh that his mother opened her eyes.

  “Careful,” she admonished. “It’s powerful.” She licked her finger and held it near the earring Jahan had revealed. She nodded. “You can touch it, but prepare yourself first. It’ll burn.”

  Jahan took a centering breath, then reached out and pinched the earring between his thumb and finger. The amber ring was warm, and at Jahan’s touch, sent a wash of heat through the yurt. The two Farlans looked down at Nepenthe in surprise.

  “That explains a lot,” Jahan said. “But why is a water spirit masking itself with fire?”

  His mother shook her head. “That’s not all it’s masking. You said the child has no memories? That earring is likely the cause. They’re probably too much for the child to handle right now. Let it do its work. But it will have to come out eventually.”

  Jahan released the earring, sending a returning wave of heat through the yurt. Nepenthe stirred, and Jahan asked, “Should we tell Aidan?”

  His mother shook her head. “Not just yet. There’s no reason for him to know, and it might scare the poor child away.”

  Nepenthe stirred again, and his eyes fluttered.

  “For that matter,” Jahan’s mother added, “you may as well go, too. The boy will be frightened enough when he knows I know.”

  Jahan nodded and slipped out of the tent. Thus it was that when Nepenthe’s green-tinted eyes finally opened, it was only the warmly smiling face of Jahan’s mother that he saw.

  He started in fear, but she still had his hand in hers. She patted it gently.

  “Welcome back, my child,” the healer said, and her smile was gentle. Nepenthe found himself relaxing, only to freeze at her next words. “Your earring—it was interfering with your body’s natural healing processes.”

  Nepenthe’s free hand clapped itself over the offending ear, and his body shook like a leaf in a gale.

  “Fear not, child,” she said. “Your secrets are safe with me. But you should know that while your earring is protecting you, it is also keeping you from healing as you should. That’s why your spirit wandered for so long.” She shook her head. “If it happens again, you may get lost for good.”

  Nepenthe’s shaking subsided, and he tentatively asked, “You won’t tell the others?”

  She shook her head again. “Your secrets are your own. Someday that earring will have to come out, but not until you’re ready to face your past.” She squeezed Nepenthe’s hand. “Try using your voice.”

  Surprised, Nepenthe could only manage, “What?” but that was enough. His hand flew to his throat. “That didn’t hurt!” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  The healer gave a self-satisfied nod. “I thought so. It will take some time, but your voice should come back.” She climbed to her feet. “You’re likely to be hungry. I’ll bring you some supper. And then tomorrow, out of bed!” Shaking her finger at Nepenthe, she left.

  A few minutes later, Aidan appeared with a bowl of stew topped with a slab of cornbread. Nepenthe’s mouth watered hungrily, and he even suffered Aidan’s hearty slap on the back with only a slight flinch.

  A night of real sleep left him feeling right as rain, and the next day, the Ailerons set off once more. Nepenthe looked back at the Farlan camp wistfully. It had been peaceful there, and the Farlans lived more closely with the spirits than anyone Nepenthe had met before. It had felt a bit like a home, something he couldn’t remember having. He heaved a mighty sigh.

  “You miss it already?” Aidan asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Can we”—he hesitated, and then spoke louder. “Can we visit again?”

  Aidan grinned. “Jahan’s mother was able to help your voice, too? I’m so glad.”

  Nepenthe ducked his head, unable to come up with a response.

  “Not this year, most likely,” Aidan said, answering his previous question. “But if you’re still tagging along next spring, you can come stay as long as the Farlans will put up with you.”

  “Promise?” His scratchy voice cracked on the word.

  “Promise.”

  Chapter 3

  The band of Ailerons followed the southern border of the plains, heading roughly west for a week or so before turning south into low, rolling hills. There was still no road; few people traveled so close the Farlan Plains out of caution and respect. Another day’s travel brought them in sight of a dirt track that led to a tiny village. These people welcomed the Ailerons for their news and their newness and received them into their homes. That night around a bonfire, several of the villagers brought out musical instruments and held an impromptu dance.

  Nepenthe declined to join, but he found his toes tapping to the rhythm of the reels played on the lute and lyre. The other Ailerons joined the dance, Lira flirting outrageously with the village boys who were obviously all ten years younger than she. They took it in good part though Charl rolled his eyes at the lot of them. Nepenthe noticed that it didn’t stop him from claiming a dance of his own with Lira later in the evening, this one a slow moving couples’ dance. Her eyes flashed merrily at him and Nepenthe smiled to see their happiness.

  “You saw them, too?” Aidan asked, dropping to the ground near Nepenthe and making him start nervously.

  “Are they together?” Nepenthe murmured, that being all the louder he could speak. His
voice was improving, but it was by no means back to normal.

  Aidan shrugged. “Not officially. I think they’re planning to wait until their four years of duty are up next year. Otherwise they have to get permission from the king and it gets a little complicated.”

  Nepenthe turned to look up at him. “Do all Ailerons serve for four years?”

  “You can choose when you join. Two, three, four, or eight. If you choose the shorter terms, you get different assignments and different benefits when you’re done. And you can recommit when your time is up.” He gestured to the twirling Charl and Lira. “They both started with two and did another four. When they retire they’ll get enough to start a small business somewhere or a piece of land to farm. Plus,” he grinned, “they’ll get to tell stories of their years in the king’s service.”

  “What about you?” Nepenthe asked, bringing his knees up and resting his chin on them.

  “I did eight. I’m on year seven, though I haven’t decided yet if I’ll sign up again. If I retire next year, I’ll get a piece of land near my father’s estate to call my own. As the youngest of five sons, it’s more than I’d ever be able to get from my family.” He leaned back on his arms, staring at the fire but not really seeing it.

  Nepenthe was silent for a moment as the music came to an end and then transitioned into a circle dance. Finally, he asked, “Are all the Ailerons of noble birth?”

  Aidan sat up with a grin and nudged Nepenthe’s shoulder. “Why? Are you thinking of joining?”

  The boy’s face flushed red and he ducked his head.

  When no answer was forthcoming, Aidan leaned back once more. “Most of the Ailerons are of noble birth. The few that aren’t are handpicked by King Edmun himself and invited to join. They’re usually elite fighters or have some other skill to offer.” With another nudge, he said, “So you’ll have to beef up those scrawny arms if you want to have any chance of joining.”

  Nepenthe hunched his shoulders and said nothing.

  Over the next few days, the roads grew wider, better kept, and better traveled. The rumors of bandit activity grew as well, and several travelers actually went out of their way to warn the apparent noblemen and women who were traveling without an armed escort.