Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8

by Jacob Falling

  Wounded and haunted, she thought, now well resolved, though her head pulsed with the expectation of what she must do. The true ghosts are not the spirit divided from the body, but the fear divided from the memory.

  “You want to save them, but you fear to leave them,” Adria said as she stepped closer to him, carefully balancing as the bridge shifted, the current swept over her boots. “You fear to leave them, so you try to lead them. You become what you would kill. The true Hunter lives by his will, not by his weapon. You trade your soul for steel.”

  “Calm yourself, Pukshonisla.”

  “No…” she cried, lapsing a moment into Aeman, pointing beyond her to the long row of Hunters beginning to cross the bridge. “Let them all know what we have known. Let them see who we truly are, who they will become. The great white duke, come to lead the noble savages. You’ve made the Hunters into Hunters of Men.”

  He raised his hand above his shoulder, as if to warn her, as if to ward off the Hunters.

  “You failed…” she said. “You let yourself be betrayed, and you betrayed yourself. You left your brother, and you left me.”

  His face reddened, and the veins in his neck and temples swelled. His eyes shifted dangerously. But Adria would not be stopped, and her voice broke, her head riddled with pain.

  “And you think that because I am here, that you are forgiven,” she cried. “You think that you can justify your vengeance with the blood that I have spilled… the blood that they would spill…”

  “Adria…”

  The fire flared in her heart. And now the lightning wrapped about her skull. And her voice felt louder than the murder of crows.

  “You failed.” She shrieked. “You let him take her and you let her die. You let him kill my mother…”

  This is where I join my father, Adria knew. This is where the river breaks its shores.

  This final Tainábe.

  It was just enough. Her words ended, without and within, and she saw every moment of his motion — the rise of his elbow, the pivot of his shoulder, the opening of his fist as it swung down and a little outward... and then straight in toward her cheek.

  She watched his pupils dilate, his teeth grind, and his throat constrict and swallow. And even without breaking his gaze, she could see the lines on his palm sharpen as they grew closer, ever so slowly.

  She might have done any number of things. She might have lunged forward, and struck him in the throat, as before, and left him without breath.

  She might have ran, and followed the woman in red on her barefoot path.

  She might have drawn a line across him with her blade.

  She might have joined her brother and sailed to distant shores.

  She might have slain her Chosen Father, or might have even moved her head just the width of a hand, and saved herself the price to end a war.

  Instead, Adria took the full force of the blow.

  And finally, the flying...

  Finally, the falling...

  I’ve always dreamed that I would drown, Adria thought, in the long space before the water rose up to meet her.

  They took cover again as the storm of arrows crossed the shortened distance. Adria knelt behind Elias and his shield as the arrows peppered the deck.

  A whistle, and then the sound of a shaft splitting wood just behind her.

  “Hafgrim...” she cried out. Instinctively, she turned her head to find violet and black fletching protruding from the corner of her brother’s shield. Deep.

  He did not cry out. Shaking, he lowered his shield, and she found no blood, only a scratch straight across the side of his helm where the head of the arrow had come to a halt, a little above his ear.

  “That was... close...” he said huskily, blinking.

  “Shake it off, brother,” she sighed, and smiled her relief, and as she turned around, she saw Emoni again. Though the captain’s shield boy had turned to face the oncoming arrows, the novice had remained facing the port side corner — watching Adria and Hafgrim. She sat, her legs crossed, unconcerned with the incoming assault.

  Adria might have called out to her, but there seemed nothing to say. The girl caught her gaze, though, and tilted her head, and mouthed a word, but Adria wasn’t sure what it was.

  Able...?

  Regardless, she had no more time. The slavers, desperate, shot in quick succession to catch them off guard. Adria could see, just as she ducked into position, that there were far fewer shooting than there had been just the round before.

  Perhaps they are manning more oars for the impact, she thought. Or, if we are lucky, their arrows are nearly gone.

  Either way, it seemed to be the last barrage, and Adria rose a little from behind Elias, though she did not stand. As the Echo rose over a swell, and her prow dipped, Adria could see the galley clearly over the forecastle. The figurehead came straight on, at a dangerous pace.

  Adria shook her head, looking to Falburn with something between wonder and suspicion. Beside him, Emoni was smiling serenely.

  Adria glanced about, and realized some signal had been given, though she could not remember its hearing. Nearly all the sailors where at a line.

  Adria only half understood what happened next. Falburn gave a cry, and turned the wheel hard as he could. Lines loosed, and the main sail above flapped free. The deck lurched beneath her, and Adria caught herself on the post at the corner of the railing embrasure.

  Others did not seem to be as lucky, and many tumbled to their knees upon the deck. She could feel things shifting dangerously in the holds below, and she hoped the horses would not be dropped from their slings and crippled.

  Is he mad? She wondered as she tried to get her bearings.

  The Echo had veered to port, nearly rolling onto its side, and spun full about. Its two front sails snapped against the masts, now facing straight into the wind, luffing against their rigging with the sound of high thunder.

  Four sailors had pulled the aft sail around the mast as they turned, and now pulled it taut again, while the captain kept the wheel turned, the rudder balancing against the sail.

  As the ship slowed, Adria could see the profile head of the bronze Aeman goddess appear through the embrasure beside her, still clutching her apples between her breasts jealously. The galley was no more than ten yards distant, and moving straight alongside The Echo, pulling even as the carrack slowed.

  He is not making a pass, Adria realized. He’s pulling straight alongside. That’s... one way to avoid the ram...

  To her left, Hafgrim was almost flat on his back, and looked to have cracked his helmet against the railing, but he was conscious. To her right, Elias was on his hands and knees, shaking his head.

  Judging by the cries from the other ship, this was just as unexpected to them, but they adjusted quickly enough, and men in the forecastle began shooting wildly across the space, though by now nearly everyone was crouched low, and had found some cover.

  Falburn’s shield was riddled with arrows, but the young lad holding it was strong and full of luck, and had not budged. Sailors were readying their pole axes to prevent a boarding, though still wary of the stray arrows.

  Adria watched the progress carefully, as The Echo stood tight against the wind. In a moment, she could see the bronze plate on the hull of the galley, with its name engraved — The Everlasting Lady.

  The last man in The Echo’s topcastle offered his own arrows, and likewise took a few, and then Adria could see that the forecastles had nearly met.

  “This is the plan,” Adria said, turning to the right then the left as her companions recovered. “Elias, take the near rudder man. Hafgrim, take whoever lifts their head. Follow my lead, and we will end this, now.”

  And she took a deep breath and said a quick prayer, hoping her ancestors were more watchful than the enemy’s Lady.

  Mothers and Fathers... Just give
me two shots.

  Tainábe. She slowed only a touch, just enough to seem remarkable, but not impossible. She stood and turned and drew back her black bow, and wasn’t alone.

  In the moment it took for the enemy to realize her purpose, several among the slavers took aim at Adria. One fell to Hafgrim, another to a bolt from Meynard, and the others shot high or wide. At the same time, she and Elias took the two men steering the ship, who stood to either side of the enemy captain.

  And before anyone else could react, Adria pulled her last unwrapped arrow from her quiver, set it, and shifted her aim, but did not fire. She exhaled, and returned to normal time, and still it almost seemed to have died.

  A dozen men on either side replaced their arrows, but the captain of The Everlasting Lady raised his arm and cried, “Avast...”

  Captain Wolt and Captain Falburn followed suit, and there was an eerie moment of tranquility — the sound of water, the wind luffing in the rigging and sails, the heavy breath of the men and droning sounds of the wounded and dying.

  The ships floated in almost perfect unison, one adrift, the other held in tandem, as Adria kept her arrow upon its target, her right eye tracing a line down its shaft and across the distance to the eye of the enemy captain, who fully recognized the danger.

  I can bend time as I bend this bow, Captain, and you will die, Adria thought. Will you accept defeat instead, and embrace this gift of life from a Hunter of Men?

  Adria opened her other eye, but did not relax her arms or her will. The enemy captain blinked his own sky blue eyes several times, but did not betray any fear.

  And then, only slightly, he smiled, and he gave her a slow nod of admiration, and then, turning his head slowly, he saluted Captain Falburn, and ordered his men to stand down.

  She saw moments of light and darkness. Blue sky and stars above the trees, sickening motion. She saw faces and tried to name them. And when she cried out and retched onto the hides beside her, they stopped and let her rest and sip a little water.

  “…mother?” she asked once, but no one heard.

  Above the trees, she saw blue sky and stars, and moments of light and darkness, and faces she tried to name.

  “…I don’t remember…”

  She floated, and the world filled with half-light. She flew, carried in the strong arms of a great raven, and in her own arms, a basket of golden apples clutched tightly to her breast.

  She strained to keep them, but one toppled and fell, and she watched as it spiraled downward to where a galley lay upon the sea, far below, its sailors pointing up and shouting, and aiming their bows.

  Arrows rose up about her, and when the great bird dove aside to avoid them, her arms lost their grip, and she fell, among arrows and apples, and into the sea.

  “…it’s the same dream as always…”

  And she struggled, held underwater, counting, holding her breath as long as she thought she could. She reached her way up among the apples to the surface above, to light and air and sailors’ hands reaching out for her.

  In the dark below, she heard music, the voices of many women. They sang for her. They drummed for her and chanted almost familiar words, in all languages, or in no language at all.

  “Or maybe... maybe up was down. Maybe water was air, after all, and she only had to drown to breathe...”

  She rose up once, grasping and gasping for breath, and found herself within the river, red-stained, where broken bodies followed the current among the dancing ghosts of fog and smoke.

  Or it was a stone-bricked street, Or it was a marble tiled hall. The smoke of wolves and raven. Flashes of crimson and silver. The face of a white wolf leaping at her. Paper leaves and then darkness.

  “…once more… ashes, ashes…”

  She rose up again, within her warm perfumed bath, in her bedchamber at Windberth. Red wooden chessmen floated about her. The shutters of the windows rattled, and her nursemaid Kaye made a sign of warding, commanding the crows beyond to leave.

  And when she turned back to Adria, she was not her nursemaid after all, but her mother, face in shadow. And then darkness.

  And she rose up a third time, from cold brackish water, its surface covered in golden apples. She breathed, and her breast swelled with pain, her fingers clawed at the stone edges of the pool. Her arms bore long open cuts, slender as veins.

  “Mother?” she asked, but as the half-dreams from before cleared, Adria realized it was not her mother who stood nearby, but a women in red, whose significance she could not quite remember.

  The young woman turned as she heard Adria splashing about, and her face took on a curious expression.

  “You?” the woman frowned. “Why are you sleeping here?”

  “I... I think I’m dying. I’m... bleeding... or... drowned.”

  Adria looked around a little and shrugged, shivering. She was indeed in a pool, only just large enough for a strong man to lie, and its edges were carved stone, and it was raised upon a dais, almost like an altar.

  In fact, a top for it lay nearby, upon the marble tiles beside the steps. And yet its top was not flat, but also carved, in the shape of a robed man, the pommel of a sword held at his breast. She said, “Yes... a sarcophagus, but... not mine?”

  And the woman shook her head politely, and whispered, “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here yet, no I... I’m certain of it.”

  Her hand trailed in the water delicately, almost invisible beneath a rusty film that broke where her fingers played.

  “Please,” Adria begged the young woman. “It’s so cold. Can you help me to climb out of here?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl said, a touch nervously, withdrawing her hand to consider the stain of the water upon her skin. “I can’t seem to go that way.”

  “You can,” Adria insisted, reaching out toward her. “Please... the water’s too thick and deep, and I’m so very tired...”

  Still uncertain, the girl turned her head about a couple of times fearfully, though there was no one and nothing else about. But they’re always watching…

  “Please...” Adria repeated, stretching her wet and bloodied arms as far as she could. ”Please... just take my hand.”

  And the girl nodded hesitantly, and stretched out her arm and fingers. She took one difficult step forward, nearly stumbling upon the first tier of the dais, and then another, this one easier, and finally a third, and the fingers of her hands interlaced with Adria’s.

  “You’ve made me real...” the girl laughed, her eyes wide with wonder.

  Adria nodded, and with incredible strength but great gentleness, the girl lifted Adria up and out of the water. Green-black tendrils, interwoven like vines or seaweed, clung to her limbs, wrapped about her naked hips and breasts, clutching at the open cuts upon Adria’s body. She cried aloud from the pain.

  But the girl, now certain of her purpose, held Adria by her one hand, and with the other waved a lit torch about Adria’s body. Its smoke smelled of sage and pine needles, and the strands holding Adria to the water dissolved from her skin, with the faint sound of human cries and the buzzing of bees.

  Adria lay huddled upon the marble floor at the base of the dais, catching her breath and shivering, and the girl wrapped her own body around her, and shared her warmth, and whispered in her ear. “Listen... music...”

  They’re trying to heal me, Adria explained.

  “Is it working?”

  I don’t know, Adria thought for a moment, then nodded. I’m feeling a bit warmer.

  She turned, and found that the young woman had grown even younger now, and was dressed in pale green and not red, her hair dark, her eyes a strange mixture of color. She watched Adria a moment, expressionless, and then leaned and placed her lips to Adria’s for a long moment.

  And then she pulled away, and watched Adria’s face, and stroked her soaked and unbraided hair, and whi
spered. “It’s going to be better now, for awhile, Idonea. A little freedom. But… soon you will have to go home.”

  And Adria considered this, then finally nodded and sighed, smiling at the girl for the first time. “Please, I think I would like to go home.”

  The girl laughed and clapped her hands, as if it were the best idea she had ever heard.

  “You have two hands,” Adria said, laughing as well.

  And the girl rose, and she took Adria’s hands in her own then, and she asked, “Do you wish to lead me, or shall I lead you?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Adria said as she rose and found her strength renewed, the wounds on her arms — on all of her body, paled to scars.

  The girl shook her head, and then turned toward a distant doorway, with its drums and voices, but then hesitated. “Wait... you’ve forgotten your apples...”

  Adria looked back, where a great shadow had fallen about the dais and the center of the room, and she shook her head. “No. I don’t think those are really mine...”

  She turned, and found the girl covered in bandages and robed in black, her eyes downcast. They walked, and the half light dimmed, or else Adria closed her own eyes, and the music and warmth grew closer about her, then the smell of sage, and the girl’s fingers slipped from between hers and into the secret history of dreams.

  The Everlasting Lady turned away to the north, pulling its oars as its sail filled. Adria exchanged looks of relief and clasped shoulders with Hafgrim and Elias. As she turned, she met Meynard’s eyes as well, and they exchanged a nod of respect.

  Emoni was gone when Adria looked to the helm, and Falburn merely returned to the business of setting The Echo to right.

  The rest of the morning was for the dead and the wounded, The Echo among them. The damage to the hull was not a death sentence, but enough of a worry that Falburn changed their course to make an early port.

  “Beneta,” Elias nodded. “It’s the westernmost Kelmantian port of any size. We’ll have to wait and make what repairs we can there, or else go overland to Kelmantis.”