LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  “My weariness is trivial, and ’twill pass,” he said quietly.

  “But there’s something different about you,” Miria insisted. “You—you moved things—without touching them.”

  “Did I not tell you I am a Mentrailyic?” His tone was not condescending but almost amused.

  “Yes, but…I suppose I never really knew what that meant. Not until I saw it for myself. Seeing the future is one thing, but… Is there anything else you can do?”

  “Too many,” Eraekryst whispered, looking beside him at the empty seat.

  “Pardon?”

  His gaze returned to her. “For all their knowledge, the Larini underestimated the abilities of their guests.”

  Miria looked away. “The way they cried after their tree died…it was awful. I wish I could have closed my ears to it.”

  Eraekryst gave a short, impatient breath. “Have you not seen what they have done to the durmorth?”

  “Of course,” Miria said, defensive. “All of it is awful. I wish we had never come to this place. No one would have had to suffer.”

  “Do you sincerely believe that to be true?” Eraekryst asked.

  Miria thought a moment. “No, but I want to believe it.” She glanced at the Demon’s immobile form. “They said you were killing them.”

  “I took from them their source of immortality,” Eraekryst said. “They will die a natural death that has long evaded them. They cannot continue to manipulate those around them, for they have grown twisted by their power. ’Twas not meant to be, for them to—”

  “I know, I know,” Miria interrupted. “I know why you did what you did. I suppose I shouldn’t feel sorry for them, but I do…even if it’s just a little.” She searched Eraekryst’s expression but found only indifference.

  “We must consider the future and our destination,” the Ilangien said.

  “I thought you could tell us that.” Miria regretted her words when he gave her a sour expression. “Just trying to lighten the mood,” she muttered, then sighed. “Let me think… We need a quiet place, few people, someone to trust.” She rubbed her brow. “Mollie.” Miria sat up. “Yes, Mollie will help us. She is a good friend of mine, and she has a farm in Heathersfield.”

  Eraekryst was watching her curiously.

  Miria blushed. “She is a healer, but she mostly helps injured animals. I’m sure she will be able to do something…” She gently squeezed the Demon’s hand. “I would think we could arrive by morning, if Garmult doesn’t need to rest.”

  “He does not,” Eraekryst said.

  “Right, well,” Miria shrugged, “I suppose that—”

  “Do you sing?” the Ilangien asked.

  “Pardon?”

  Eraekryst made a face.

  “I heard you,” she said dryly. “I just didn’t expect such a question.” She smoothed her dress. “I do belong to a choir. How about you? I’m sure you have a lovely singing voice.”

  “I do not sing.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “I do not sing,” Eraekryst repeated. “But if you are so gifted, ‘twould be appreciated to have the silence filled.”

  “Silence? We were just talking—”

  “I would give you my sincerest gratitude,” he insisted.

  Miria gave him a strange look. “You’re serious… Er, if you wish.”

  “Please. ’Twill lighten the mood, as you say.”

  Miria cleared her throat, hummed a few notes to get her pitch, and then found her voice. Soft and pleasant like moonlight, she sang about the dawn.

  “When o’er the meadows butterflies are sleeping

  Beneath twinkling skies of velvet deepening,

  A breeze stirs the grasses,

  The night slowly passes.

  Oh, come the dawn, come the dawn.

  When the birds start to sing from branches so high,

  They awaken the sun, and the dawn is nigh.

  The moon disappears like a ghost in the morn’,

  And so it does end its nightly sojourn.

  Oh, come the dawn, come the dawn.”

  She fell silent before admitting, “I can’t remember the rest.”

  “Sing it once more, or sing another, if you will.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Miria said, and she began the tune again. Well into the night she sang, finding as much comfort from it as the others did. Eventually her words trailed away, stolen by sleep, and the only sound was the wheels of the carriage turning over the ground.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ARYTHAN

  THE DEMON SAT ON a cushioned bench at the window, gripping the obsidian knife in his hand. The stone was smooth and hard, but the magic within it was warm and made his skin tingle. His magic…no longer. He was still a mage, still had a connection to the elements, but the Shadow was gone. And Shadow was not the only ability stolen from him. His hearing was duller, he had very little sense of taste or smell, and though his eyesight was excellent in the daylight, he was night-blind.

  He stared longingly across the open field, where winged horses galloped and raced the wind until they lifted from the ground. He would never fly again. He gripped the knife so tightly that it broke through the bandages, cut into his tender skin.

  “Goodness, boy,” Mollie Tevel said, gravitating toward him as if sensing the injury. He would not be surprised if she had, given her profession. She was a spry fifty-year-old woman, wiry but tough. Her farm was refuge to all manner of injured animals—most of which were rare and magical. At the moment, he felt like one of them.

  Mollie lifted his hand. “You really ought to let go that knife, boy. You’d think it was your extra thumb.” She tried to pry it away from him, but he would not release it. “All right, at least switch hands. I have to grab more bandages.”

  It was hard to imagine how he had room on his skin for more bandages. The Demon was wrapped in them, from head to toe, his eyes and some of his mouth the only parts of him visible. And the bandages smelled from whatever she had soaked them in. He only knew this because they were right under his nose. Atop the bandages, he wore the loose-fitting robe Miria had stolen from the Larini. Though the excess of bandages seemed ridiculous, he found he liked the concealment. He did not want anyone to see him; he did not even want to see himself.

  Mollie returned with another roll of clean cloth and a cup with a customized piece of field straw jutting from it. This was his liquid breakfast, though he was not hungry. His teeth had all fallen out, though his tongue often probed to the nubs where new ones were growing in. The field straw was hollow and allowed him to suck up his meals, though more than anything he wanted to chew on something to alleviate the annoying pain of his incoming teeth. Just like a bloody infant, he thought with a sigh.

  “Oh, none of that. You’re healing up. I don’t know to what, but you are.” She finished wrapping his hand and shoved the cup into it. “Drink it all. You can’t afford to skip any meals.” Her sharp blue eyes moved over him, assessing his health. She followed his gaze to the field. “What is it, eh?”

  I’m not a bloody animal, he wanted to say, but without his teeth, he had not spoken since Eraekryst and Miria first found him inside the fire shrine. He ignored her and continued to watch the passing clouds through the blue expanse of sky. He wanted to be outside.

  As if she had read his thoughts, she said, “Maybe later you can go out, when it warms up a bit.”

  Yes, Mum. He would find his way outside whether she liked it or not.

  Mollie left him, only to be replaced by Miria. Before she could say a word, Mollie called over her shoulder, “Make sure he drinks that!”

  Miria sat down next to him and smiled. “Good morning, Hawkshadow.”

  She has a pretty smile, but I have nothing to smile about…even if I could, he thought.

  She looked at him, gazed at his eyes.

  Please don’t look at me.

  “They’ve changed,” she said, looking closer. “They’re not so dark, but they are dee
p—a deep shade of blue. Rather handsome, I think.” She took the cup from his hand and lifted it to her nose. She made a face. “Ugh. Guess not everything good for us can taste good.” She set the cup aside and took his hand. “We’ll get you walking today. You seem stronger already.”

  They had only arrived a day ago, and it had been a game of questions, secrets, treatment, and concern. He had felt removed from it all, though he heard Miria clarify to Mollie that this strange situation and her new guests would have to remain a mystery until long after they had gone. Mollie had not seemed to mind. In fact, she was delighted by the intrigue—a trait she shared with Miria.

  “Eraekryst has been out exploring. I think he wants to talk to you, but he doesn’t know what to say.” She scratched her chin. “Which is odd, because he talks more than he ever did. Always wants to fill the silence. I swear he has grown stranger since his collar’s been gone. Talks to himself—and sometimes answers, too.” Miria shrugged. “I suppose after what has happened, we are all a little off.”

  A little?

  “Don’t look at me like that. We have to start again. Looking at things with fresh eyes. I want to come up with a plan for you—and yes, you need to be a part of it. The sooner we set you on a path, the better life will be.”

  The Demon gazed into her green eyes. Lie to me, if it helps. I know better. I heard you crying last night.

  “On that note,” Miria said, giving him the cup, “drink up!”

  Just to make her happy, he did. Maybe it was a good thing his sense of taste was gone; as it was, he nearly gagged.

  The Demon was amazed to find himself alone that afternoon. He had yet to see the Ilangien, but the two women doted on him constantly. Now he was grateful for the quiet. They had gone into town to gather some supplies, which apparently was a bit of a ride since Mollie’s home seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It was time to take advantage of their absence. He swung his legs over the bench and braced a hand against the wall for support. Mollie’s home, fortunately, was not very big, and he had only a short distance to cross to reach the door leading outside. He tested the strength of his legs, and while they were a little unsteady, he reasoned he would simply have to take his time to get to where he wanted to be.

  Gingerly he crossed the room and slipped out the door. The air was warm and inviting, and the sound of the wind through the grass was peaceful, coaxing him to lay down in it. He did. With nothing but the sky to see, he lay there and gazed at the clouds. His eyes closed.

  “You have a story, Durmorth,” said a voice from behind him.

  The Demon opened his eyes and rolled over to see the Ilangien sitting there, barefoot. Despite the evenness to Eraekryst’s voice, there was an uncharacteristic tension in his delicate features. His gaze was hard, his thin mouth tight-set, and even his slightly furrowed brow spoke of some underlying issue.

  “Something happened to you in the labyrinth. Miria could not say; you had been alone. What was it?”

  What do you want me to tell you? I don’t remember anything. Not the labyrinth, not the altar, nothing except waking up like this, the Demon thought.

  “We can communicate through thought, Durmorth, but you will have to think in a language I know,” Eraekryst said.

  The Demon stared.

  “Or you can choose to remain silent.” Eraekryst shrugged. “I would value your tale, should you decide to share it.”

  “Stay out o’ my ‘ead,” the Demon thought in the common tongue. He was more than a little unnerved by the revelation of this new ability.

  “Ah, the answer I anticipated. I only ask about the labyrinth because it might be a way to help you.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Your memory fails you because you do not want to remember or because the experience was too traumatic?” Eraekryst asked.

  “Bugger off!” The Demon turned away and tried not to think of anything, hoping to discourage his unwanted company.

  “Very well,” Eraekryst said, something strange about his voice. He rose and walked away.

  Did I upset him? the Demon wondered. He has a funny way of making conversation if he’s looking for company. But the seed had been planted. What did happen in the labyrinth?

  A few days passed in a series of uneventful and nearly identical routine. The Demon, try as he might, could not recall the crucial moments leading up to his transformation, and it was as much a growing frustration to him as it seemed to be for Eraekryst. Only Eraekryst had the unfortunate companion of boredom, and a bored, frustrated Ilangien was difficult to tolerate.

  The Demon did not tolerate him at all. In his growing strength, he avoided Eraekryst at all opportunities. He often thought of leaving, but he could not abandon Miria, and he was reminded by his bandages that he was not ready. Still, the thought of disappearing was tempting. The Demon knew, however, that his life could not be as it had been, and any thought of his undecided future made him sick to his stomach.

  Miria was devising a surprise of sorts to remedy the very problem of the Demon’s future. She was ready to divulge her news one evening during dinner, her grin ear-to-ear. Mollie, Eraekryst, and the Demon turned to look at her. “Arythan,” she said, and folded her arms, awaiting a reaction.

  “Jenagavi for ‘dawning,’” Mollie said. “What do you mean by it?”

  “I mean it as a name. Hawkshadow’s new name, should he choose to accept it.” She looked at the Demon for any response; he merely stared at her.

  “A name is important for someone entering society,” Miria insisted. “You have to have a name.”

  “The durmorth already possesses a name,” Eraekryst said, “though he will not relay it.”

  “He does?” Miria asked, astounded.

  The Demon frowned. “I don’t ‘ave a name anymore.”

  Miria’s jaw dropped, and Mollie dropped her fork. “You can talk!” Mollie exclaimed. “Let me see your teeth.”

  The Demon made a face, though it was hidden behind the bandages. “No.”

  “Well, if his teeth are in, I wonder about the rest of him,” Mollie said, oblivious to the Demon’s discomfort.

  “I just want to know what his name is, er, was,” Miria muttered to herself. “I like ‘Arythan.’ It’s symbolic. Creature of night brought to light and all.”

  “That’s from a book,” Mollie said.

  Miria turned to the Demon, as did everyone else.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “We should take off the bandages,” Mollie said.

  “And accept a name,” Miria added.

  The Demon met Eraekryst’s gaze, but the Ilangien, remarkably, remained silent. “I’m not ready for this,” he said, stood, and left the table.

  “Hawkshadow—er—Arythan—wait!” Miria said, rushing after him.

  Mollie stared at Eraekryst; Eraekryst stared at Mollie. She straightened in her chair. “Well, Handsome, looks like it’s just you and me for dinner.”

  “Not now, Miriar,” the Demon said, wishing he could fade to Shadow.

  “If not now, then when? You’ve had some time to recover. You’ll need to face your future sooner or later. You can’t hide anymore.” She was fast on his heels, reaching to snare his arm, but he was too quick. He spun on her.

  “I bloody know! I can’t—I can’t deal with this! I don’t even know ‘oo I am! I’ll take these off—” he gestured to the bandages—“an’ it’ll be someone else under there—some stranger.”

  “It’s not about your appearance, Hawkshadow,” she said, her cheeks red. “It’s about what’s inside.”

  “An’ ’tis empty,” the Demon said. His voice broke. “I’m ‘alf a person, an’ I feel empty.”

  “No.” Miria shook her head, tears on her cheeks. “No, you’re not really any different. It’s not what you are, it’s who you are. You’re the same.”

  “’Ow do y’ know? What do y’ really know about me?” he demanded, his words choked from his days of prolonged silence.

  “I kn
ow how you came to your friend’s rescue—more than once. I know you’ve had a hard way of life. I know how you felt in the temple when you knew the Shadow was gone.” She held out her hands to him. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t let me.”

  “Maybe I can’t be ‘elped,” he said, his voice quieting.

  “That’s the attitude you need to fight. You would never have survived as long as you had without a strong will. You can’t give up now.”

  “I thought I ‘ad nothing left to lose, but I was wrong,” the Demon whispered. “They took it all.”

  “If they had, you would not be standing here now. Part of you remains, and that’s the part that will grow and shape your new life. You need to let that happen.” Miria touched his arm. When he did not pull away, she embraced him. “Please let me help you,” she whispered. She drew back to find his gaze distant, though his eyes were glassy.

  “Arythan,” she said.

  He looked at her.

  “Come back inside.”

  When Miria and Arythan reentered the dining room, Eraekryst and Mollie immediately ceased their conversation. “He’s ready,” Miria said.

  Mollie took Arythan to another room, where she had him sit in a chair while she removed his bandages. His posture was rigid, his thumb tensely smoothing over the handle of the obsidian knife as his cover was removed.

  “Just relax,” she said. “You’re like a little butterfly, you are.” She smiled when she had finished with his face. “A good-looking butterfly, at that. All your sores are healed, and while you have a lot of scars, they look like they’re old.”

  “They are,” he murmured, half a world away.

  “Let me grab a mirror for you,” she said.

  His stomach knotted. What would he see? He was hardly aware when the smooth object was set in his palm.