by S. Nileson
“I guess we go downstream,” Archer said to Ascilla.
The two followed the Estgardians and soon enough noticed that amongst their party there were no scouts. Commodore Habitus’ impatience had cost the party to be split unevenly in both numbers and skill. Before long darkness fell and the Estgardians decided to return. Archer and Ascilla saw it as an opportunity to gain their favor and stayed behind, continuing the search by themselves under the veil of night and being guided by a full moon’s shine.
When they had been searching for long enough that Ascilla’s patience ran out, an unusual duration of fruitless search, Archer found a big rock to sit on and decided it was time for a brief rest. Ascilla continued to swear and curse in frustration of having put her faith in the Estgardians’ tracking abilities.
Archer closed his eyes and leaned back. The winds brought the sound of many nocturnal creatures communicating in their own way, but there was one sensation that was neither noise nor wind, Archer felt. It was a familiar pulsing which came from beneath him. He tried to rest and mediate, but the pulsing grew ever so loud and consumed all of Archer’s thoughts. He felt an urge to find out from where it came. So he opened his eyes, stood up and followed the pulse.
Towards the stream he was led, away from Ascilla’s raving, and reached a small and sudden drop which guided the water from over the mouth of a cave. It was a hidden spot from where he came, but clear as day if walking upstream. He looked above, wetting himself and feeling the sting of wind, to call to Ascilla.
“Ascilla!” He had to call twice before receiving a response.
“What!”
“I think I found something.”
When she came he gestured at the cave and with that all the grimaces of disapproval disappeared from the Walkyrien’s face. Instead she had become curious.
“Should we wait?” he asked of her.
“Let’s just start exploring it and leave at the first sign of danger.”
He took the lead walking in, soaking himself even more by the steady stream of fresh water washing past the cave’s mouth. A rock tripped him and he quickly pushed against a wall to stop himself from falling. He felt a wet and sticky substance oozing its way around his fingers and upon examining it found that it was a green moss which grew on the walls of the humid cave.
Looking back at Ascilla he saw that she made it through safely and far more gracefully than he had, tripping on no stone and having to touch no wet wall. Even the water that had fallen on her seemed to Archer to be far less than that which wet him. He was nearly entirely soaked and only the tips of where her wings folded had been dampened, their white feathers slightly puffed.
“Go on,” Ascilla whispered and flung her arm.
Archer looked forward, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness with little success, and carefully moved deeper into the cave. Not before long he had to feel his way in, touching the walls once more which grew drier and more familiar, the moss’ advancement halted by the porous rock.
Then when he least expected to find anything, he saw a flickering orange light, much like that of a torch, and at first doubted his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his wrist to avoid getting any moss into them, and looking once more to get the confirmation he needed. There was indeed a torch lit deep into the cave. He looked back at Ascilla and asked, “Is that enough for us to go back?”
She shook her head and pushed him forward through the narrow cavern, he obliged without needing much encouragement. They were led to an opening with a torch well fastened between two large rocks and a familiar figure giving its back to them.
“Keteus?” Archer said, completely forgetting the nature of their intrusion and forcing a chill up Ascilla’s spine.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
Before Archer gave his response, the figure turned around and said, “Archer!”
4
It was indeed Keteus. He still wore his ancient white robe which had a few new tears and was patched in several different places by his knee. Nothing else about the dragon changed. His hair remained grey and his wrinkles just as numerous, making him look just as old as he was when they first met.
“How did you come here?” Keteus asked. “How did you find us?” His voice bore a strange mixture of joy and sadness. He saw Ascilla emerge from behind Archer and a smile appeared on his face, slowly forcing its way into his cheeks as the realization of the reunification settled. “Ascilla, you’re back!”
“I am,” she said shyly. “This time I intend to stay a little longer.” She had armed herself with a dagger when Archer first broke the silence, instinctively knowing that the cavern was too narrow for a proper blade to be of any use, and stowed it away as soon as Keteus had spoken her name.
“Come here.” Keteus rushed at the two and hugged them briskly. “It’s been too long. So much has happened since. Tell me, how did you find us?”
“Us?”
“Yes, us.” Keteus unleashed his grip on the two and moved a few steps back before moving to the side and revealing a hunched figure in the corner. A closer look revealed to Archer that the figure was his long-lost brother, Balta, but he looked sickly and his lack of response worried Archer.
“What happened?” Archer asked, petrified by the sight before him. He wanted to rush towards Balta and comfort him as best as he could, with only words of reunification and no actual practical method to examine him. He resisted the urge with a mighty effort.
“It’s a long story, little one. Balta is very sick, but it’s not dangerous. He needs to weather the illness here, hidden from those who hunt him. I will not leave this cave until he’s fit for travel.” Keteus took some steps into the cave and near the slouching Balta, gesturing Archer and Ascilla to sit on protruding rocks and saying, “No matter how long our stories are, we have the time to share them now. So, little one, tell me what happened since our separation.”
Taking a deep breath in, Archer began telling his and Ascilla’s story, Ascilla completing the details whenever his fell too short.
5
“So you’ve escaped the Silver Stags unscathed. That’s quite impressive,” Keteus said. “We weren’t so unlucky as to face them. Perhaps it would have been better if we were captured by them. If what you say is true and Gallecia is where your journey ends, then it would be safe to assume that the quickest way to accomplish it was by being captured by the Silver Stags.”
“That would accomplish nothing, old man, for the true purpose of our journey is not to reach Gallecia, but to reach it in a certain way and with certain tools.” Archer had his back rested to the cave’s wall, his knees bent and his arms placed upon them at the wrist, having his idle hands dangle before his eyes.
“What do you think, Walkyrien? You seem to have gained a sudden interest in our journey.”
“Each one of us is fated to walk a certain path. For now we tread the same one.” Ascilla took a deep breath and swallowed, giving herself time to decide if it would be best to reveal her true intentions, and said, “I’ve decided to protect Archer and Balta.” She paused. “And you too.”
Keteus smiled, he felt true joy for having made a friend from one once sworn to slay his kind. “Then I suppose it would be best for us to remain together.”
“You will continue with us?” Archer asked.
“So I see you decided to go on, little one.”
“For now.” Archer withdrew to himself and stared blankly at the rocky ground between his feet.
“Well I know for sure Balta is too invested now to abandon the quest. He will go on with or without you, no matter how painful it would be for him. I’ve seen his resolve tested many times.”
Archer looked up at Keteus. “Now it’s your turn to tell us what happened.”
Keteus drew a deep breath, his aged bony chest rose and fell slowly. “We left Fort Pax with no resistance from the Peacekeepers. I believe they knew who we were and let us go when they saw that you weren’t with us. It was then that we understoo
d that you were their real focus. We wanted to tell you, but by then we didn’t know where you had gone and neither of us possessed the skills to track you.
“We intended for Partha and came across a Kolian caravan on our way. We gave them good coin in exchange for a tent and a hot meal at night. They drugged our food and when we woke we found ourselves caged amongst slaves.
“None of them told us anything. The Kolians didn’t exchange any words with us save for insults and the slaves didn’t know anything of their intentions. After a few days passed and their collection grew, our destination was made clear by a captive with good bearings. He told us we were heading to Fort Rash, a reasonable destination well known for its illegal slave trade. It was in the opposite direction of Partha. Balta and I grew morose at the knowledge, our hopes all but gone.
“Shortly after we entered the desert a band of Keelut Hounds, the Warchief’s raiders, found the caravan and attacked. They killed all the traders and released whoever survived of us. We were offered to join them on their way back to Kol but we refused and decided to go on to the closer Alvissmal instead. They offered us food and drink for our journey and let us be.
“Shortly after reaching Alvissmal, we received word from one of the locals that a group of Silver Stags had been asking about someone with a description remarkably similar to that of Balta.
“We didn’t tarry and made way away from the Silver Stags, being chased to Estgard with the hopes of finding a Sennan ship there that could take us to Partha from a safe rout away from our pursuers. The journey took many days. We had to hide during the day and toil at night to get as far as possible from our pursuers. Thrice they came so close that we could hear them and thrice we had eluded them.
“It was but a week ago that we reached Estgard. At first we were waiting in an inn for the next Sennan ship to arrive, if I’m not mistaken it was called the Lucky Strider and it was due to arrive a few days before our own arrival. The delay was not explained and we had only hope to count on, hope that the ship would arrive before the Silver Stags did.
“Then Balta started to get a terrible fever. At first he was just exhausted, but then he collapsed and slipped into unconsciousness. The peak of his illness and its nature was revealed to me yesterday morning. Balta was never sick. The truth was far graver. His nature started to take over. He started to lose control.” Keteus remained silent for a moment, producing some dried jerky from his belt and staring at it blankly. After a while he took a bite, Archer and Ascilla patiently waiting for him to finish, and spoke only when he took another bite.
“Old man, you can’t stop a story so abruptly,” Archer said. “What happened then? What was that nature you speak of?”
“Oh, right. Balta is a Bersark.” He swallowed and took another tiny bite.
“What’s that?” Ascilla asked.
“A shapeshifter. Balta has an ailment which makes him transform into a big brown bear. I don’t know the details per say.” Keteus spoke casually, even less dramatically than when he was telling them of their journey since they were separated.
“How can you say that so bluntly?” Ascilla’s voice rose. “Is this a joke? Not only are you being hunted by the Silver Stags, whom we had somehow managed to evade, but now you tell us that the Estgardians, with the help of the only man who can get us out of here safely, are hunting you?”
“Precisely, little one.”
“And you find this normal?” She rose from her rock and her face grew red with anger.
“No need to worry, little one. People in far worse places emerged unscathed. I see little reason why we shouldn’t. We’ve made it so far in spite of the odds against us. There is no cause to believe that we won’t push on a little more. At least now we know who our enemies are.”
“I don’t think this is so bad, Ascilla,” Archer said, calming the Walkyrien down and asking her with a gesture to return to her seat. When she obliged, after a moment’s worth of thought, he continued, “We originally set out to find Balta and Keteus and we did. We know Commodore Habitus and Duke Constantine are in good standing with one another and I believe the Commodore can be reasoned with.”
“Have you heard the man?” Ascilla said in a deceptively calm way.
“He is a little unusual, yes, but he’s still a man who was trusted by your very Duke and, I bet, by everyone of note we’ve met with since our journey began.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“Well I guess we’ll never know until we try.” He looked at the fading torch then at Balta. “For now I think we all need some rest. It was a long day and we’ll need our strength once Balta awakens.”
6
It was night when Balta awoke, a day after he was found by Archer and Ascilla. The fever had left him weak and while the little food Keteus and Ascilla managed past his idle lips was enough to sustain him, it wasn’t enough to give him strength. He looked around and saw Keteus and Ascilla sleeping, the first snoring in his light manner as he usually did and the latter straightened on her back, chest going up and down as she breathed. Archer was sitting in a corner, contemplating in silence.
Balta tried to speak but his dry throat helped him not. A second attempt proved fruitful and a semblance of Archer’s name emerged, enough to earn him the man’s attention.
Archer looked lazily towards Balta and smiled lively, staying where he was, back to the rocky walls of the cave. “You’re finally up.” He looked to his left and found a leather skin Keteus had filled with water earlier and kept just for Balta. “I bet you’re thirsty.” Archer took the water skin and proceeded to help Balta drink, spilling none of the quenching water.
“Thank you,” Balta said, the words coming easier to him now and a tiny bit of his strength regained, making it possible to help himself up as he did with a brief struggle; his muscles were not quite prepared for the feat just yet.
“Keteus told me of your condition. Don’t worry, brother, I’ll be with you for as long as I can. That part of Keshish’s will, at least, I’m not willing to abandon.”
Balta looked up and touched Archer’s face. “How did you find us?”
“Fate brought us here. It was just by Fate that we got delayed and came here after you’re arrival. It was also by Fate’s will that I was rescued by Ascilla just in time to escape to Partha instead of pursuing my original intended journey.” He breathed deeply and sat next to Balta, his squatting had grown strenuous on his knees and his arched back. “There are bigger forces than you and I at play, I believe.”
Balta chuckled. “Of course there are. First there was Ganis, then Commander Chordus and then Prince Iolcus of Partha. Those aren’t your everyday folk, you know. What I never managed to figure out was who was behind this entire plan.”
“Anyway, brother, are you better now? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“There is one thing.” Balta looked at Archer, eyes watering, and said, “Can you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
Balta smiled and his heart regained some of its former vigor. He knew well that there was no need to speak the words; to tell Archer what he sought forgiveness for. He knew that Archer did not judge him for keeping his Bersark heritage a secret, or for forcing his hand against a future he chose for himself. Archer had utterly no reason to not forgive Balta, for he had never held anything against him.
It was a beautiful sentiment, and a fitting one to start a long silence as both enjoyed each other’s company while waiting for their companions to wake; Balta’s lips gently smiling whenever he watched the Walkyrien sleeping in serenity.
7
“You sure it’s a good idea to trust the Commodore?” Keteus asked of Archer. He was not entirely convinced by Archer’s plan to appeal to the Estgardians’ sense of forgiveness and to the weight of the Commodore’s unpredictable words. He did not find it reasonable to assume that they would simply let Balta go after having committed such an offence. The dragon knew next to nothing about the new race’s tradition
s and culture and though confronting them would be too risky.
“I just want to get to Kol and think, the way our journey has been going so far, it would be a reasonably sound way to get there,” Archer said convincingly. “Besides, I suspect that the message Duke Constantine sent to the Commodore involves us.”
“Well, if there’s one thing I learnt through my travels with you, Archer, it’s that there are no mere coincidences when you’re involved.”
“It’s settled, then. We go to Estgard.” Archer looked at Balta, observing the Bersark as he fought his way into normalness, ignoring the exhaustion which swept his body like a flood. “You sure you’re feeling good enough to travel, Balta?”
“Never been better.”
They returned without incident, the clear skies allowing the sun to shine as it willed with no contest over light or shade. Estgard had not changed a bit since their departure not so long ago, and Balta had no mind to focus on his surroundings, Keteus keeping a keen eye on him. They made it past the entrance in the mountain and the sleeping Estgardian sitting by it. Echoes of diligent workers led them to where Archer and Ascilla first met Commodore Habitus.
“You barnacle head.” It was the Commodore’s voice which was heard by Archer well before his eccentric plume was spotted.
“You yonder,” a voice replied with a heavy Estgardian accent, “stinking curses and insults I can take, but not those coming from a man who can’t carry his own beam.”
“Fools! All of you be fools. I see the gods have given you remarkable mastery in woodwork and stonecraft at the cost of your brains. I think the price was inflated in your particular case.”
The exchange of insults continued long enough for Archer to locate Habitus, standing under a hanging Estgardian working on some high part of the Stymphalian and banging a few nails into the wood methodically.
“Commodore Habitus,” Archer called, gaining the immediate attention of Habitus and the violent motion of his plume.
“Aye.” He turned around and as soon as he realized that it was Archer he shouted, “And where exactly have you been, lad?”