Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8

by Jacob Falling

  That must be the one Emoni spoke of to the captain.

  Quietly, she pointed him out to Elias, who nodded and shrugged. “His name is Meynard, but I know little more of him. It is said he has one weak hand — a curse from birth, but I cannot say for certain. Truth or no, he has a special dispensation for use of the weapon.”

  Adria nodded, and resolved to keep an eye on Sir Meynard. It is odd enough for the Knights to keep a man with an obvious physical deficiency, but then to permit him such a special allowance...?

  Still, she at least felt grateful for his immediate presence. Despite what he may lack in chivalry by adopting such a weapon, Sir Meynard would likely prove an asset in battle.

  Any advantage is a welcome one now, Adria thought, as she turned again to watch the enemy ship. Unless my intuition and my senses fail, it is a battle we’ll have today.

  Shísha did not accompany Preinon when he came down from the rocky hill overlooking Palmill. When Adria asked after her, he only shrugged and smiled. “She said that she will spend the night in prayer for us, and that she will watch the battles from the hill.”

  “Battles?” Adria frowned. “You told her that you will advance upon the fort?”

  He thought for a moment, then simply shook his head.

  Adria could see from his expression that he was not deceiving her in this, and she nodded in return, a sinking in her stomach.

  She sees what he does not, Adria thought. She watches and waits for the inner and the outer battle, perhaps. Or the one between armies, and the one between us.

  Mateko arrived from his watch before the evening meal had ended, breathless and drenched in sweat. He signed to them first, before his words were strong enough to elaborate.

  “Many enemies leave their fort,” he said. “They move against the camp.”

  “They attack us here?” Preinon said in disbelief.

  Mateko shook his head as he found his breath. “They know we are here, but they ride west along the foothills, to the forestry camps. There is nowhere else they can go but to attack the Watemicha Teleniya.”

  I almost knew this, Adria realized, even as Preinon frowned, nodding, and said, “This is not a surprise. I was preparing to announce that we are going to attack the nearby village of the Others. The enemy would trade their village for the Watemicha Teleniya camp. It is a bold move. When did they leave?”

  “Half between noon and sunset.”

  “Then there is time,” Preinon nodded. “Gather everyone here who is not on far watch, Runners and Hunters alike.”

  He nodded, but before he could leave, Preinon grabbed him loosely by the arm. “Wait... Just bring the Runners together now. I would speak with them before the Hunters.”

  Adria watched Preinon for any sign of his intentions, but he revealed nothing. He met her eyes for a moment as they finished their food and washed their hands and waited for the Runners to gather.

  It did not take long. Most of them were already present, and Mateko knew well how to find the others quickly. The others discussed the news while they wandered in one at a time, but Preinon remained silent and thoughtful. Adria, also dreading what might easily become a confrontation, merely sat and listened to the tenor of the others.

  Please, she prayed. Let Mateko return with Shísha as well...

  But when Mateko finally returned from the direction of the hill, he walked alone. Adria met his eyes with a questioning look, and he only frowned and gave a slow shake of his head. She smiled grimly as she motioned for him to sit beside her.

  “I would speak my turn,” Preinon began formally, standing. “Most of you know some of what is happening, and know that we must act quickly. I had planned to attack the nearby Others’ village in the morning at first light, but now this must change. The Enemy rides against the Watemicha Teleniya, so our hunt must be swift.”

  He paused, and Adria breathed a sigh of relief, as did some of the others. There was mumbling, as well, but Preinon did not sit down, so no one else yet spoke aloud.

  “The Runners will move now, straight to the Watemicha Teleniya camp. You will help them to break camp and move south along the foothills.”

  He breaks the decorum, Adria realized, exchanging a glance with Mateko. Preinon had paused again, and this time there was more than mumbling. He refers to the Runners as “you,” and then he gives them an order?

  Glances were exchanged, and then Kseku spoke, “Why do we skirt the mountains? They will not find us if we move in the forest.”

  Watelomoksho nodded. “I will lead the Hunters against the village tonight. The Enemy will not be able to protect them while they follow you and the Watemicha Teleniya.”

  As unaccustomed as they still were to the concept of outright attack, they were slow to understand his purpose. Adria might have explained better, but she feared putting herself between her uncle and the Runners.

  Foolish, she chastised herself at her fear. You are already between them. Even as Shísha stands above and beyond us, I stand between, walking two webs...

  Order was breaking down, now, and Adria saw for the first time just how much esteem Preinon had lost among them. She felt the urge, the need to rise and speak, on his behalf, on their behalf, to play the part Shísha should have. What did she say to him upon the hill? Why did he not listen?

  “It is his gambit,” she whispered to herself instead, her face hot with the anxiety. “He offers the camp as bait, even the Runners. If the Knights follow them along the foothills, they cannot return in time to save Palmill. But if the Teleniya are not swift enough…”

  “What do you say?” Mateko asked, leaning in close beside her. The scent of his skin and sweat...

  She only frowned and shook her head apologetically. She could not say these things to him. She felt traitorous enough already. No matter who she defended, it would be a betrayal.

  And is silence any different. Am I only... afraid to defy my uncle, my teacher?

  By now, many were arguing heatedly — some for the plan, many against it, but few in true sympathy for Preinon, and none with full understanding of his motivation. Preinon still stood, but did not speak, letting the others debate for him.

  “We must not risk women and children,” Wanawi was saying.

  Ménezo, “Let us teach the Others what it means to be hunted.”

  “They have no honor and no memory,” Chasebatu said. “They forget their ancestors. They do not hear the wind in the trees. They will learn nothing.”

  Adria shook her head slowly as the scene unfolded, and both her love and fear for Preinon and for the Runners grew stronger, paired intimations of betrayal matching each other thought for thought, word for word, until they finally erupted out of the silence.

  “I speak my turn,” she said, almost shouting, and only realized she was standing as she heard her own voice.

  The silence rippled out among the rest of the Runners as they quieted and turned, giving her at least a measure of the respect which her uncle had lost. Adria could feel her face flushing, and she could not meet her uncle’s eyes at first, or those of anyone. She stared over their heads, and tried to keep her hands from shaking.

  And then Mateko reached up beside her and took her hand in his, giving it a slight squeeze to strengthen her. It was enough. She swallowed, took a long breath, and spoke.

  “It is true,” she said, hoarsely but with more strength. “There is little time, and this is the plan before us. Will we speak all night or will we run?”

  It was risky to ask a question, and she paused a bit too long worrying about it, and the question she did not want came from among them.

  “Pukshonisla, do you believe this plan is a good plan?” It was Chasebatu.

  It seemed too simple a question, but she could not simply answer it.

  Why do I hesitate? She asked, then answered, Because you would not leave them to save th
em. Mine is still a mind divided, and the Other cries much louder than the Runner.

  “It... is new,” she said truthfully. “It will show the enemy that we can change. It will show them that we can do something besides retreat.”

  It did not answer the question, but it was the simplest truth which did not betray them or Preinon. But she had to continue. “We will aid the Watemicha Teleniya. No one doubts that this is the right thing. If we are to lead them along the foothills, it is so that we may gain time for the Hunters to hunt. The plan is not without risk. But what we do not risk, we do not deserve to keep.”

  She paused again, and might have sat down, but there was doubt still. They understand the plan, but not the reason. It would be easier to let them ask, to let him answer.

  Still she hovered in indecision, half hoping one among them would break decorum and ask, but knowing now that they would not. She took a breath. “You know that the Others’ village is near, and that the camp is far. You know that the Enemy cannot make it to the village if they go to the camp. This is true, and this is where your doubt lies.”

  There were nods and words of approval, “It is true.”

  She nodded with them.

  “I speak my turn,” Preinon interrupted, still standing. “Sit down, Lozheskisiyama. I will finish my own tale.”

  Again, the breach of decorum sent a ripple of discontent through the gathering. Her face reddening even more, Adria nearly collapsed. After all this, she wondered. He would save me the choice? Does he fear I will not choose his shackles again?

  Mateko, still holding her hand, took it onto his lap as she sat, and held it tight.

  “The Others’ village of Palmill is only the beginning. If the Enemy can be led from their fort for long enough, it too will be vulnerable. The Hunters will be able to camp there, and to defend it from the Enemy when they return. That is why you travel the foothills and not the forests, until the very last moment. Do you understand?”

  “You would steal their home?” Ektito asked, abandoning the odd construction for “fort” that Preinon used.

  They do not really have a word for fort, or for war, or for gambit or sacrifice, Adria sighed. Of course they will not understand, despite all that has happened to them. They are Runners, and have seen more of the Aeman than any Aesidhe cares to. But in the end, they are Hunters of the people... there are no words for war, as there is no good name for an army of Hunters.

  Preinon nodded. “The Hunters can move more swiftly along their roads. From that Enemy place, we can attack other places. We can begin to turn them away from the People. And then they will remember. They will remember us, and they will remember this night.”

  Though they could not fully intuit the scope of his plan, they at least now understood their part within it, and there were more than a few nods of resignation and acceptance. It was Chasebatu who rose his voice above the others to say, “Pukshonisla, you have fought as a Hunter and Run with us. You have beads of Holiness and of Blood. Will you stand with the Hunters to fight the Others, or will you run from the Enemy with us?”

  She felt Mateko’s hand tense within hers as the Runners grew silent again. She glanced to Preinon, whose face held no expression, and then took up her pack from beside her and shouldered it as she rose.

  I am sorry, Uncle... she thought. I am sorry, Shísha... I am no Healer. I fail you both, for I cannot teach what I have not learned.

  Aloud, she said, “Tonight I run, so that Hunters may hunt what they will.”

  Adria’s action catalyzed the Runners in the end. They broke camp and were in motion in less time than it had taken to debate, leaving only Preinon’s tent beside the fire, alone and at a distance. She tried to avoid his eyes as she rolled and tied the hides onto her pack.

  “Not so long ago, the weight of it would have toppled you,” Preinon smiled. “Your pack, I mean.”

  She glanced at him twice as she adjusted the straps upon her chest for better comfort. “Are we speaking still?” she returned his smile.

  He chuckled and sighed. “We are a stubborn pair, you and I.”

  “I’m not. You certainly are. Stubborn and full of pride,” she teased. Somehow, much of the anxiety between them had lifted, and it was a moment before she realized why. “But... at least I’ve chosen a path.”

  “And where does it lead?” he wondered.

  “Though I do not stand with the Hunters, I fear it is still a Path of Thorns,” she sighed. “Both our paths are, surely. Right or wrong, I decided to be a Runner. Now we don’t have to worry what I will decide. I may be afraid to lead, but at least I am no longer afraid to not lead.”

  He chuckled a bit more. “There are few rights and wrongs in this world that I can see, Púksha. But I agree... the fear of deciding is often worse than the consequences.”

  A mind divided... she nodded, hoping his words were true, realizing they risked more now than they had before... and suspecting that it would not be as easy as either of them had said or thought.

  He embraced her. “Run in a circle, Mélitali.”

  She imagined any number of things in that moment, and all of them dark... the Knights overcoming the Runners. Adria rushing to save a young girl in the camp, only to find herself overcome. Preinon leading his Hunters bravely against the enemy, only to fall himself to a lucky spear or arrow. Her own father standing above her uncle’s body, his sword covered in blood, his violet and black cloak and plume flowing amidst the fog.

  She wanted to say something wise to him, the perfect farewell adage, in Aeman or Aesidhe or anything, but when she looked up at his face, all she could do was name him.

  “Run in a circle, Atutéko,” she said, and knew she had saved the word for too long. Chosen Father...

  Two Battles

  As they drew nearer, revelation of the details of the enemy ship gave little comfort. It had a single square sail with a stylized raven stitched upon, two sets of rowers, and a long carved and painted prow.

  “They’re closing on us,” Hafgrim said, voicing what Adria had long thought.

  She glanced up at the sails. Though the triangle on the aft mast just above her was turned all out and full, they had trimmed the squares at the main and fore more than once as the wind slowly diminished, and now the standard above the top castle waved with much less exhilaration, and the man in the nest beneath it was shaking his head as he turned to the boy perched below him on the ropes.

  Captain Falburn, already adjusting to the information that had not yet reached him, cursed mildly, and this did little to encourage anyone nearby, whose eyes all turned to him.

  “What say you, Captain?” Hafgrim asked evenly.

  The lad from up top interrupted before he could answer. “We’ve lost the sea, ‘Cap.”

  “Aye, boy,” Falburn waved him away impatiently. “And she’s drawin’ in on us, slow and sure.”

  Little by little, more information came from above, each visitation giving less assurance than the last.

  “Def’nly Pirates, ‘Cap...” the boy said, increasingly breathless with each bit of news. “...a ram at her fore, Sir...” and “...they looks to be light armed, but full o’ sun ‘n salt...”

  But it was when the boy mentioned the onager on their forecastle that Falburn took real notice. At this he grumbled something to himself as he motioned the boy on to the chief mate with the news.

  Though Josson had now taken place at the prow, the ship was small enough that the boy was scarcely needed. A raised voice could reach from anywhere on board to anywhere else, but then, even as she heard the sound of oars, Adria realized how much a keen ear among the enemy might hear words from The Echo, carried across the water with the wind.

  “They have only one sail...” Hafgrim shook his head uncertainly. “Can’t we turn again, and gain more wind?”

  “We’d hafta turn into ‘em, and might outrun ‘em, all thi
ngs even, as their rowers tire. It might work if we get a good gust before long, but if not... well, they’ll close enough in the meantime to use that stone hurler.”

  “Can they sink us... with an onager?” Hafgrim wondered. Even with the other Knights eagerly listening, he did not feel ashamed of questions.

  Either he is truly afraid, and covering it with questions, or he is actually eager to learn. Either way, he shows some sense in his ignorance.

  “Perhaps, but that is likely not what she means to do,” Elias answered. “A few breaches of the sails or the hull will slow us even if the wind returns. They’ll only cripple us enough to close, then either try to board us, or else breach us with the ram, and scrape up whatever flotsam floats.”

  Hafgrim asked doubtfully. “Would they not want to take the ship as well?”

  “Perhaps, but not while we display any strength.” Falburn nodded. “And for many, that is not their purpose anyway.”

  “And that is a long battle away,” Elias nodded, perhaps to prevent Hafgrim from pursuing the captain’s intimation. “We’ve no onager, but plenty of men with arrows. We can pierce their sail as ably, and their rowers. If they cannot catch us, they cannot board us.”

  Adria nodded her agreement, adding, “And they cannot board us if they cannot stand.”

  “Aye, Highnesses,” Falburn nodded. “They will find us ‘nae easy to catch, nor easy to fall. We’ll hold our course ‘til they range. The wind is hers, for now, but the sea’s a fickle mistress, and we’ve got the height, and the balance of bows.”

  Elias nodded over the railing at the enemy ship. “With these castles, our bows will outdistance theirs easily.”

  It was then that the runner topped the stairs before the captain, leaned upon the rail post, gasping for air, “’Nae jus’ pirates, ‘Cap... they be slavers...”

  Though Falburn did not curse this time, there was little need. His chin tightened under his beard, his eyelids fluttered, and his grip on the wheel knobs whitened further. He nodded, and sent the boy on, and the unwelcome news stirred among the whole crew. Now even the sailors showed real signs of tension. Adria and Elias exchanged uneasy glances, and Hafgrim shook his head, senselessly muttering, “Isn’t slavery illegal in the Northlands?”