by H. A. Harvey
At an offended grunt from Tombo, Rowan soothed him with a pat upon the crown of his head, “Ape, hampans have no tails. A horse is all but useless in the deep brush, my people learned to ride hampans ages ago. They move nearly as fast as a horse upon open ground, but are hardly slowed by dense brush, and can carry a rider through a thick canopy or along a cliff face with no trouble. I doubt you’ll ever find a stable that markets them though. Each hampan’s training is very personal. You have to befriend them in their youth, but let them live with others to learn to climb and leap and fight. Otherwise, they are next to useless carrying a rider through the very terrain that proves their value. This is Tombo, my constant travel companion.”
“A privilege, Tombo.” Kolel nodded to Rowan’s beast, tipping his hat slightly before redirecting to his rider. “They understand hearthspeak?”
“A few words here and there, and the odd phrase.” Rowan nodded, “They’re very smart, but don’t speak or build things. Among the Desaid, we tend to think of them as somewhere between the most bestial of savages and the wisest of beasts. What of you though? Your steed is from a breed not found for a year’s journey from here over land and sea, and your clothes would not be out of place in the wealthy quarter of the capitol. Yet you are paying for me to guide you through the wilderness along a small frontier kingdom, and seem to happily turn course toward what will undoubtedly be trouble.”
Kolel nodded, “It must seem odd, I suppose. As I said, I hail from Ilien, a powerful kingdom on the Mythril Coast. My father was a bladesmith there in his youth, and made a small fortune in the wars between Illien and its neighbors. Yet, as peace came, the need for new swords slackened, and it seemed his fate was to shoe horses and fix wagon axles for coppers. Instead, he took his fortune, and convinced a few Cousins in other trades to help move goods about. Before long, he was sending blades along the coast to where things were less quiet, and his Cousins sent back their own goods, silk and finery ill-suited to a land embroiled in war. By the time I came of age, others forged goods and my family merely managed the trade and counted coin, a task for which I fear I am ill-suited. Also, I wished to see the world, so I proposed a new venture. We sent out representatives to other lands, hoping find other such loops as my father found. It’s hardly a new concept, but my thought is the old trade companies have built routes along what they felt were the easiest courses to make the most coin. There are bound to be lands along the edges of their networks that have been overlooked, or changed since the old routes were built. So, I get to venture to the remote corners of Creation, find what lands have and what they lack, then my family sends seemingly foolish trades through the large company routes. At first it almost seemed a waste of time, but after about fifteen years on the road, we have made allies with lands the others ignored, and now will only trade with us. So the larger companies must trade through my father’s people in order to profit from fringe lands.”
“So, you haven’t been home in fifteen years?” Rowan blinked incredulously over at the Sattal.
“Oh, it’s closer to ten. My first trip out took me to a place called the Ashen Peninsula, quite the other direction from Tyre. This leg has been quite the challenge. The Avan Empire covers nearly all of your continent, and under the rule of their divine emperor, they have all they need. Trade around the empire is impractical if not impossible. Travel through it requires calculating long, dry runs of little commerce for an outside merchant. It took a while, but I devised a way to ferry goods to Tyre and other outer kingdoms without losing money.”
The two rode on for several hours, though Rowan soon bored of the talk of trade strategies and steered conversation to the different lands Kolel had visited. The Sattal, in turn, prodded Rowan for more information on the horse stock of Tyre, and what little he knew of the surrounding lands. The two had an interesting time fencing words, for Rowan cared little for trade and civil needs, but wished to know all he could of the wild lands beyond those he had travelled on his own. Kolel was quite the opposite, and posed many questions to which Rowan held no answer, of noble houses, populations, and physical wants of people.
Despite their differing interests, the two managed to become quite engrossed in attempting to sort through the periphery of the other’s knowledge to gain what they wished to know. They were each so involved in their discussion that, as the road drew near the river on its curve back toward their mutual destination, both men missed the sight of a lone traveler staggering his way up the bank against the river’s flow. They might have passed entirely without noticing, had not a sudden gust of wind robbed Kolel of his hat, carrying it across the stony field to land at the feet of their unseen passerby.
Rowan took a moment to recognize the bedraggled traveler. The stranger’s ruddy clothing was battered and torn, his face puffy with bruises. Looking closer, what had looked like a rust-colored stocking cap was in fact a bandage, soaked through with dried blood. Suddenly, upon seeing a few tufts of sandy brown hair poking through the bandage, Rowan let out a cry, bounding from Tombo’s shoulders to sprint across the stones.
“Nian! Ni, by the Twelve! What are you doing up here? What happened?”
Nian, just finishing stiffly standing from having stooped to retrieve the hat from his path, turned to look in the direction of the approaching noise. It took several moments for him to recognize his approaching friend, but when he did, he managed an awkward smile on his bruised and swollen face. He collapsed against Rowan as his friend drew up to him, sore muscles eager to finally rest.
“Ro, I’m supposed to find you to help. She said to talk to you first, nobody else.” Nian smiled again and handed his friend the broad black hat before closing his eyes and going limp. Rowan shook his friend and called to him in vain to rouse him as Kolel rode up behind them and dismounted.
“He’s not dead. Asleep, I’d wager from his injuries as much as exhaustion. He needs rest, and the smoke from Longmyst has turned white. That means someone has extinguished the flames or they’ve burnt themselves out. We’d serve best finding some sort of site to camp and see to your friend before we lose the light.”
The two carried Nian to a stand of boulders near the water. There, Rowan set about lighting a fire and brewed tea from plants growing along the edge of the river while Kolel saw to his horse. Before long, Nian regained his senses and began to recount the events of the evening before over a bowl of the bitter tea. While he spoke, Kolel unwound the bandage from the boy’s head and, not having any suitable replacement on hand, went to the river to wash it out. To the Sattal’s surprise, upon the first dip in the cold water, the caked blood broke free and fell away, revealing the glistening cloth beneath, as clean and bright as though it were newly woven. The other two stopped short in their conversation as Kolel uttered an oath in some foreign tongue, hurrying back to the fire and holding out the strip of fabric.
“Where did you get such a bandage, boy?”
“The lady, the one who helped me. She tore it from her dress to bandage my head, I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”
Kolel sank to his haunches next to the two friends in a daze, “By the Family, Kadia!”
Both boys blinked at each other and stared at the Sattal, puzzled by his reaction. After a moment, Kolel regained his composure and drew a fine steel knife from his sword belt. He thrust the point of the blade against the cloth and drug it down its length. The blade tinged loudly and sparked along the cloth, finally sending its tip flying with a small snick, but the bandage sat unscathed.
The Sattal held forth the scrap of cloth for the boys to examine, “This is shimmerine. A rare fiber made by alchemists from magic gems and the hair of a beast not found on any land that has a map. If you were to spin gold to cloth, you could make a sail from the value of this scrap alone. But more importantly, this cloth is stronger than steel. No mortal, even an ogre, could rend it with bare hands. This woman, was she of your race? A human, and homely but radiantly beautiful at once,
somewhere between youth and middle-age?”
Nian nodded, “I said that, well kind-of said that. There wasn’t anything that pretty about her but all together, she was the most gorgeous woman I could imagine.”
“Your savior, young Nian,” Kolel clapped a hand upon the lad’s shoulder and handed the bandage back to him, “Was none other than Kadia, Incarnate of Hope. Had I seen her, she would have been a feline maiden, and Rowan here would have seen a Desaid. In my travels, boy, I have met wizards, rarest of the magic users who command all of the elements, but only in myth or legend have I heard of those who have seen or touched an Incarnate. You were not only touched, but received her personal attention, and a gift.”
“So, that’s a good thing, if Hope is on our side.” Rowan said, his eyes fixed on the suddenly portentous scrap of fabric. “She said you would rescue Karen.”
“That your friend will be rescued is certain, how good this will be to us in the end is yet to be seen. Incarnate concerns are those of Creation itself, and what to them is the slightest of losses can, to a mortal, be so great a cost one never recovers.”
Rowan shook his head, “That doesn’t matter, Nian and I are going. You don’t have to come along. I can still return your coin.”
“I don’t eh?” Kolel laughed so heartily a button on his vest popped open, “Rowan, you can track these villains I’m certain, but do you think it was by coincidence our lady Hope set young Nian to find you after you had met with me? No, in Ilien, we revere the Incarnates and know that in their schemes, little is without consequence. Even the gods fear the wrath of any of the Incarnates, but to my mind, there is none whose displeasure is so fearful as that of Kadia. She loves mortal folk, and of all the Incarnates, considers them the most in her movements. She would never harm one of us. . .but will turn away from those who hinder her.” The Sattal refastened his button and smoothed his whiskers, looking at them intently, “Can you conceive, either of you, the utter despair of life without Hope? No, I will come, and not altogether out of fear for the alternative. The motions of the Incarnates bring change to all of Creation. What sort of adventurer would I be to willingly miss such an event?”
3
Tracking Ghosts
“It was right here! I know what I saw!” Nian darted to and fro in the field of tall grain. Kolel sat back at the fence atop his stallion, looking on with an unreadable expression on his face. Though Tombo stood next to the Sattal and his horse, Rowan was not immediately evident. Eventually, his dark green head of hair poked up from the grain a few feet from Nian.
“The only tracks here are yours, Ni.”
Kolel twirled his whiskers idly, gazing first across the field, then up to the falls and the oak where Nian’s tale said his vantage sat.
“Are you quite certain,” He began, “That this is the correct field? Perhaps the angle seems different in the light.”
“Yes! I’ve spent my whole life in this town, I know every inch by heart, and this is the field! The cart was right here, and it had to be big. It was big enough to dwarf the team of four horses pulling it.”
“Very well,” the Sattal nodded, “Then we are left with one explanation, magic.”
Nian scowled, “I’m not crazy. The fires around the town weren’t set by ghosts.”
“I did not, nor would I, imply you were not in your senses, my friend.” Kolel leaned forward, “I said magic. You yourself were twice plucked from the jaws of death by an immortal. Is it so hard to believe the others had a little wizardry on their side? Magic is more common than a boy from a small town like this might think. Perhaps one in ten, or even five mortals have a talent for at least one of the twelve disciplines. So in your town, it’s likely there are at least three or four dozen potential magic users. Most simply never explore that connection, others only learn to do a few tricks by pure chance and without schooling or dedicated practice, do not reach beyond that. They needn’t have a supremely gifted magician, just an adept with the right ability might have restored the ground after their passing.”
“It would explain why there are no tracks at all,” Rowan chimed in as he strode about the field, “Not so much as a rabbit track in the whole field or grass beyond.”
Nian stamped in frustration, “There has to be some way to find them. She wouldn’t have told me to get you if you couldn’t help.”
“I can’t track unless there are tracks, Ni. There isn’t so much as a broken stalk in this whole field.” Rowan cast about in frustration at the pristine field, “There’s nothing here but furrows that look to have cut themselves, perfectly healthy grain that has never seen vermin or drought and. . .” The young scout trailed off thoughtfully.
Kolel peered at Rowan from beneath the shadow of his broad-brimmed hat. “What is it, my friend?”
“They were here and concealed their tracks by restoring the ground like it had never been touched, but I doubt they circled the entire town with such magic. I can’t track them directly, but if I find where the signs of other things resume, like rabbits and snakes in the field, I can at least tell which direction they went.”
Rowan darted about along the edge of the field, his eyes set on the ground. Nian started to follow his friend but stopped short at a familiar voice from behind him.
“Nian?”
Nian turned to see Celia at the edge of the field. When she saw his face, a broad smile broke out on her lips. She ran out and threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. Nian stood stunned for a moment before uncertainly returning the hug.
“I thought for certain they’d taken you!” Celia whispered in relief. Nian smiled awkwardly as the girl finally released his shoulders and stepped back to smile at him.
“No, I got away. Rowan and I are going to get the others back.” Nian wasn’t entirely sure how, but vowed silently to himself that he would find them somehow. “I didn’t think anybody’d be that busy lookin’ for me. You especially.”
“Me?” Celia looked a little hurt for a moment, then smiled again, leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Nian’s lips. “I guess I deserve that. But you saved me, Nian. If it weren’t for you, I’d be gone too. Things will be different now, I promise.”
Nian took a moment to gather his thoughts. Celia Dobbs was the last person Nian had expected to give him his first kiss. Well, his first kiss from a mortal girl. Kadia’s caress had been different, like his mother’s when he was sick or frightened. This was most decidedly a different sort of kiss.
“I’m not staying, Cel.” He finally answered, “I have to find everyone and get them back.”
Celia nodded, “I’ll take care of your dad until you get back. We found him in the street when we got there to put out the fires. I had a few guys help me get him to my dad’s house.”
“My father?” Nian felt relieved that he had somehow made it out of the inn, but a little ashamed when he realized he had only thought of Karen up to that point. “Did you see my mother?”
“Missus Cartwright?” Celia shook her head sadly, “Nobody else from the party, I think the raiders took them all.”
Nian sighed, then looked over his shoulder and saw the others seemed to be moving out. He gave Celia a grateful hug. “I have to go. Thank you for taking care of my father.”
Celia laughed and hugged him back, “Thanks for saving my life.”
Nian ran to catch Rowan and the odd Sattal merchant. Rowan loped along the edge of the swath devoid of tracks for the better part of an hour before slowing and looking about. After a moment or two, Nian was about to ask if something was wrong when Rowan seemed to pick up the empty trail again and darted off, this time curving to the right until they were headed Clockward and a little back Spireward.
The trio forged on. At length, Kolel felt obliged to spark up conversation to break what was becoming an oppressive silence. His courteous manner and odd wit eventually drew Nian into a few curt lines of dialog. However,
Rowan kept silent, his eyes bent to the ground as he ran onward in long strides, staggered with brief walking steps so he never seemed to tire. Yet, as they reached the rolling hills near the border into the Lone Wood and light began to fade from the sky, he began to slow, his face darkening into a slow scowl. Finally, atop a stony hillock, he slowed to a halt, glaring almost hatefully at the trailing streamers of gold and crimson that marked Phoenix’ final descent for the day.
“We should camp.” Kolel counseled, “You will lose the already subtle trail in the night, and you have been losing a few steps over the last few hours. I’m certain you could use the rest.”
Rowan shook his head, “I’m not tiring. The trail has been getting fainter, harder to read. Things have been moving since the magic healed the land, making new tracks. If we stop now, by morning it will be near impossible to find where they went, especially once we reach the wood. The edge of the swath is already too faint to follow by torchlight. . .would that we had a bit of magic to keep real light through the night.”
The Sattal swung down from his horse, his unflappable mood seemed to hold true, “Wishing for what we do not have does little good. We should rest and collect our thoughts. An eagle cannot spot prey while fluttering about, it needs to pause and be still. Then when it rides the air in stillness, it can see the mouse in the shadow of the grass.”
“But it’s still moving.” Nian chimed in from Tombo’s back, not wanting to stop and wishing to be part of the discussion.
“No, in fact, it is quite motionless.” Kolel waggled a finger as though lecturing a classroom of young students. “The wind moves and carries it where it needs to go. If we are still for a moment, we gain strength and perhaps the elements will direct us in the proper action as well. Come, that next hill has a shoulder partway up. We’ll be safe from the wind and out of the gully in case of rain.”