by J. C.
She wondered if he noticed her appearance, maybe how it differed from other humans'. Or had Brot'an spoken to his kind of what he'd seen of her during their fight in the crypt? How much did Sgäile know?
"Then tell me a little," she said. "Make it simple for a… human, if you wish."
"You were offered guardianship because of Léshil," Sgäile said, once more composed and formally polite. "That will be honored at all cost. How the events in Venjètz are seen in the end will depend on what status Léshil truly has with our people… and perhaps our caste. It is not my place to speak. You will wait until he has spoken with Most Aged Father."
With visible restraint, Sgäile turned and stepped onward.
Magiere bit back another demand. Regardless of Sgäile's personal feelings, it seemed he would stand by his words and strange customs, obeying his superiors and doing what had been asked of him.
"And what are these an'Cróan?" she asked instead.
Sgäile slowed. "It is the proper name of our people, versus your human labels. Your short companion would say… Those of the Blood."
Magiere's stomach turned. Everything concerning Leesil came back to blood.
Chap walked behind Magiere as she argued with Sgäile. He reached for any memory surfacing in the man's thoughts.
Flashes of human faces surfaced in Sgäile's mind. He was well traveled, from what Chap caught. It was as if the elf searched for a comparison to Magiere's pale skin and red-stained black hair. Nothing came close, and
Sgäile remained perplexed. He did not know what Magiere was and saw her only as some oddly pale human.
There remained the issue of blood. Blood of heritage, of people, and blood spilled.
It was a tangle that even Chap found himself trapped within. Whether it unsnarled or cinched tight to strangle them all depended on how Leesil was viewed by his mother's people.
No matter how many memory fragments Chap gleaned from Sgäile, he could not clearly piece together all concerning this issue and the consequences of killing an anmaglâhk. But Chap felt certain that Sgäile would follow his people's ways with as much conformity and integrity as he could.
Én'nish was another matter.
Her thoughts were clouded with memories of Groyt'ashia. They shared a like fire that had burned hot in their separate natures. She smelled of blinding anguish and hatred, even from a distance.
Another scent reached Chap as he trotted watchfully behind Magiere. Movement in the trees caught his eye—a flash of silver-gray.
All other thoughts vanished when he saw the majay-hì skirting the path. He watched for them—for one of them—as they wove among the trees, drifting in and out of sight.
The silver-white female appeared briefly and then vanished.
"It is all right, Chap," Wynn said. "Go run with them, if you like."
He had not even realized he had slowed to fall back beside her. He peered into the forest with rapt attention but remained at Wynn's side. A high-pitched chirp made his ears perk up.
It trailed into a song, like someone whistling too perfectly, and then faded. He had never heard any such bird in his infancy among the elves.
Wynn lifted her gaze, searching for what had made the sound.
"What kind of bird was that?" she asked, and turned toward Urhkar at the rear.
Urhkar stopped for a long pause, and Chap did so as well, as the man looked back the way they had come. When the elder elf turned around, his expression was astonished.
He did not answer Wynn's question. And when Chap reached for any memory surfacing in Urhkar's thoughts, he caught only a vanishing glimpse of full black eyes and wings of mottled white feathers.
* * * *
Six days more, and Leesil still didn't know how far Sgäile intended them to travel. They encountered no other elves and few animals besides the majay-hì among the trees. He once had to pull Wynn back from going after a multi-hued dragonfly and a cloud of shimmering moths. There were a few common squirrels in the trees, and ones colored something like a mink.
And the infrequent song of some bird out of sight.
Wynn's warning about the tâshgâlh had unfortunately proven valid. They hadn't seen it, but small things were missing from their packs. Including a flint stone, the last tin of Wynn's tea leaves, and several coins, as they'd found their purse spilled on the ground one morning. Leesil took to sleeping with the chest of skulls near his head.
Clear streams were plentiful, and the Anmaglâhk produced two decent meals a day for them with little effort. One of them simply disappeared into the forest and returned shortly with necessities for breakfast or dinner. Fruits, nuts, and more ugly little mushrooms served as a light midday meal while they walked.
Every time Leesil thought of Wynn, he felt small and petty. She annoyed him, and he couldn't help it. She might be fluent in Elvish, as she often reminded him, but what good was it? Sgäile barely acknowledged she existed, so the only elf Wynn spoke with at length was Osha, who didn't strike Leesil as particularly bright.
Each day was new torture as Leesil pictured his mother in some elven prison, though shame or anguish always mixed with resentment. Every time he asked Sgäile how many more leagues, the only answer he got was "More days… we will travel more days."
Leesil grew tired of it.
Magiere walked beside him, plainly uncomfortable and as distrusting as always. But more so now with the Anmaglâhk. She looked well enough, her black hair shimmering with lines of red in the sunlight, but he'd noticed how sparingly she ate, and at night she had difficulty sleeping. Each day she grew more tense, a nervous energy building in her.
He'd always viewed Magiere as someone who preferred the night—who felt out of place in the sun—but here, she'd changed somehow.
Leesil tried to remember the last time they'd been truly alone. Too long. Each night, guilt mixed with longing as he crawled beneath the blanket with her and pressed his face into the back of her neck. It was one moment when he forgot why he had come here and what he'd done to achieve it.
On this sixth day, Sgäile put his hand up, and everyone stopped.
"We near my home enclave, where we will spend the night with my family." His features tightened thoughtfully until he pointed to Magiere's falchion. "You are hu… outsiders, and bearing weapons might produce a dangerous reaction. I will carry them for you until we leave tomorrow."
"Not if I were already dead," Magiere growled at him.
Sgäile sighed, gesturing to Leesil's winged punching blades. "You have my word. We enter among my people, my clan. None have ever seen a human in this land. They will not take kindly to your presence. Less so, if you are armed."
"No," Magiere said flatly.
Én'nish backtracked to stand behind Sgäile. The corner of her left eye twitched.
"Savages!" she whispered to Sgäile, though she spoke in Belaskian for all to understand.
Leesil's eyes shifted quickly to Magiere, prepared for the inevitable flare of anger, but she was so quiet that it made him even more wary.
"Why did they send you?" he asked Sgäile. "Out of all of your kind, why your
Sgäile slowly swung his arm back until Én'nish retreated. "Because I am the only one you might trust… enough."
Leesil would never admit it to Magiere, but a part of him had begun to trust Sgäile—or at least the man's word.
"What if we keep our weapons out of sight?" he asked.
Magiere shook her head in disbelief. "You're not seriously considering what he asks?"
"They have their customs," Wynn warned. "And we are guests here."
Magiere turned to spit out a retort, but she didn't.
"No one else will touch your blades," Sgäile repeated. "And no one will touch you."
Én'nish uttered something under her breath. Leesil didn't care for her tone, let alone whatever she'd said. Sgäile held up his hand for silence and waited upon Leesil's reply;
For all Sgäile's calm manner, it was clear that unless Leesil and his
companions agreed, they were not going one step farther. Leesil unlashed the sheaths of his winged blades from his thighs. Osha crept closer. Even silent Urhkar stepped around to a better vantage point. Én'nish kept her distance, though she watched intently.
Leesil handed his blades to Sgäile and followed with his two remaining stilettos, but he kept his wrist sheaths.
"What use?" Osha asked in clipped Belaskian, pointing to one winged blade.
Before Leesil answered, Sgäile uttered a short stream of Elvish with a lift of his chin toward Magiere as well. Osha's eyes widened.
"No," he said, then looked to Leesil. "It is… is truth?"
Sgäile fell back into Belaskian. "Pardon… I told Osha of your hunt for undead beneath your city."
Leesil remembered it clearly. He'd been half-crazed to take Ratboy's head. From Sgäile's perspective, it must have seemed bizarre indeed, considering why he'd tracked Leesil into those sewers beneath Bela. The Anmaglâhk hunted in silence… hunted the living.
The thought gave Leesil pause. In that, he saw himself—his past—once again halfway between worlds.
"May I?" Sgäile asked, gesturing to the strange weapon.
Leesil nodded, and Sgäile unsheathed one winged blade with a firm grip on its crosswise handle. He held it up, slowly rotating the weapon in plain sight.
Its front end was shaped like a flattened spade, tapering smoothly from its forward point along sharpened arcs that ended to either side of the crosswise grip. The grip was formed by an oval cut into the back of the spade's base. The handle was wrapped tightly in a leather strapping. The blade's outside edge continued in a long wing of a forearm's length, like a narrow and short saber that ended at one's elbow. Where the wing would have protruded a touch beyond Leesil's elbow, it was slightly short next to Sgäile's forearm.
In place of Sgäile's studious inspection, Osha looked suddenly confused.
"This dead-not… dead-not-dead," he said with effort. "We see… hear… not here, but hear stories small of other place… places. How you kill, if is dead?"
This talkative turn took Leesil by surprise, but it made sense. An unusual weapon captured attention from a caste of killers, even one as young as Osha.
Where some humans might think of undeads as only myth and superstition, Sgäile had stated the issue so plainly. The others accepted his word as fact.
Vampires might be rare enough in human lands, but Osha hinted at something else.
"What does he mean by 'not here'?" Leesil asked. "You have no tales or myths of undead?"
Sgäile seemed to consider his reply with great care. "No undead has been known to walk this land."
A direct though polite response, but Leesil caught the implication.
The undead—noble or otherwise—could not enter this forest.
"How kill not-dead… un… dead?" Osha repeated.
Leesil was lost in thought. "What?"
Magiere clasped her falchion's hilt, which made the young elf tense, but she didn't pull it. With her other hand she drew a slow, scything arc of fingertips across her throat.
Wynn sighed in disgust. "Oh, Magiere."
"Throat?" Osha asked.
Urhkar startled Leesil with a reply. "Not throat—neck. They take heads."
Osha's face paled through his dark complexion. Further off, Én'nish hissed under her breath. Sgäile spoke quickly to Osha. The young elf nodded.
"Forgive his reaction," Sgäile said. "Dismemberment of the departed is repulsive to us… but we understand the necessity."
"Have we finished with our debate over slaughter?" Wynn asked, disdain coloring her face.
Sgäile raised an eyebrow. He sheathed Leesil's blade and turned to Magiere, waiting.
Magiere didn't move a muscle.
"I don't like it any more than you," Leesil said. "But Wynn is right. It's their world… their way."
"All right!" she said. "Only because I can't see another way to find your mother. But don't get stupid on me. They're guards, not escorts, and they serve their own goals first."
Her blunt accusation jolted Leesil. In essence, she was right. The An-maglâhk might look and even act somewhat like his mother, but he was a stranger here and didn't understand their customs, let alone the way they thought. But it changed nothing.
Magiere finally unbuckled her sword and held it out to Sgäile. He accepted it, and one feathery eyebrow rose a bit at its weight. He looked at her as if not quite believing she could wield it.
Wynn handed him the crossbow and quiver off Leesil's back. Sgäile gave these last items to Urhkar, who slung them over his shoulder. It made sense, as there were more arms than one person could carry efficiently, and Sgäile had promised to guard the blades.
Leesil took his rolled cloak off the pack that Wynn carried and handed it to Sgäile.
"Use this to bundle them… easier to carry and keep out of sight."
Sgäile nodded agreement. He was about to turn and lead on.
"Magiere!" Wynn said.
The little sage folded her arms and stared at Magiere's back. Stranger still, Chap gave Wynn a rumble, a displeased sneer, and a lick of his nose. She ignored him.
Leesil was lost. They'd handed over the crossbow, his blades and stilettos, Magiere's falchion…
For an instant Leesil considered saying nothing, but Wynn had already drawn too much attention.
"Give it up—now," he told Magiere.
How one woman could deliver so much spite from the corner of her eye still worried Leesil at times. It made him think of long-lost days in the Sea Lion Tavern, when she grew fed up with his antics.
Magiere reached behind her back and beneath her pack. She drew out the long-bladed dagger acquired before they'd headed into the Warlands.
Sgäile just opened the cloak bundle of weapons and waited. Leesil thought he caught a hint of humor in the man's eyes. Magiere tossed the dagger into the cloak.
"Come," Sgäile said, and gestured to his own companions. "The majay-hì may walk where he pleases, but you must stay inside our circle. Our people may become unsettled at the sight of you."
Én'nish remained in front, while Sgäile and Osha spread to the sides, with Urhkar at the rear behind Wynn.
They traveled only a short ways. Leesil caught odd changes in the trees when they passed through an area of dense undergrowth. Wild brush grew higher than his head. There were more oaks and cedars than other trees, with trunks wider than any he'd seen before.
Ivy ran up into their lowest branches, which were just within reach if he'd stretched upward with one hand. Their trunks bulged in odd ways that didn't seem natural, yet he saw no sign of disease. Foliage grew lush, thick and green overhead. In the spaces between trees, the underbrush gave way to open areas carpeted in lime-colored moss. Someone stepped out and turned away as if emerging like a spirit from the bloated trunk of a redwood.
As Leesil drew closer, he saw thickened ivy hanging from its branches. The vines shaped an entryway into the tree's wide opening between the ridges of its earthbound roots.
"Dwellings?" Wynn asked, but no one answered.
Osha fidgeted nervously. Sgäile was as tensely watchful as the first night he'd appeared in the forest. And both made Leesil worry.
They passed more dwelling trees with openings and flora-marked entry-ways. A tall elf peered through a bordering arch of primroses around the dark hollow in an oak. Leesil couldn't make out more than that he was male and would have to duck his head to come out. The large clay dome of an oven sat in an open lawn, smoke rising from its top opening. Several women and two men standing near it stopped, touched their companions, and turned one by one to stare.
Among them was the one Leesil first thought had walked straight out of a tree. He recognized her strange hair. She stood off from the others upon the moss lawn, and a break in the canopy captured her in a shaft of sunlight.
Soft creases in her skin, darker brown than Leesil's own, marked the corners of her large eyes and small mouth. She was
slender and tall like his memory of Nein'a, but this woman's hair was like aspen bark, shot with gray that looked dark amid the white blond. Advanced age on an elf seemed strange.
Her narrow jaw ended in a pointed chin tilted down to a slender and lined throat as she fingered through whatever was in her basket. She hadn't yet spotted the new arrivals, but other elves began to gather.
They appeared at openings in the living dwellings or stepped through ivy curtains and around arches of vines and bramble plants shaped to divide and define the community's spaces. A teenage boy in nothing but breeches crouched overhead in an oak's limbs, his brown torso smooth and perfect.
Some faces looked calm and welcoming at first, until they spotted the outsiders walking between the Anmaglâhk. Others froze immediately, and fear was tinged with something more dangerous. All stared at Wynn and Magiere. Some even looked at Leesil uncertainly.
Unlike in the human lands, no one here would long mistake him for one of their own. He was short by comparison, his amber eyes smaller, and, though beardless, his wedged chin was too blunt and wide. And his clothing was nothing like theirs.
Chap pushed in to walk close to Wynn.
In a few more steps, their small group was surrounded by people at all sides of the community's center green. A lean man about Sgäile's age stepped out. Én'nish halted, but the man wasn't looking at her.
"Sgäilsheilleache!" he spit out.
Leesil couldn't catch the stream of Elvish that followed, but Osha stepped back, positioning himself closer to Wynn. Leesil didn't find this comforting as he studied the growing crowd of elves. Their dress differed noticeably from the Anmaglâhks'.
A few wore their hair bound in tails upon the crowns of their heads by polished wood rings. Their clothing was dyed mostly in shades of deep russet and yellow. They wore quilted and plain tunics and vests, and shirts of lighter fabric, some white, which shimmered where sunlight struck it. Tangled embroidered patterns marked collars and loose sleeves on a few. Though some women wore long skirts of rich dark tints, just as many had loose tan breeches and the soft calf-high boots favored by the men. Besides the one boy, no other children were visible. No one carried tools or anything Leesil counted as a weapon.