Hollow Road

by Dan Fitzgerald

  Finn told them of the conditions at study, which they found quite amusing. The idea of dozens of young men sleeping on cots in old monks’ cells, eating in silence at long tables, and doing exercises in sleet and frozen rain, was as fantastical to them as any story he could have conjured about the Maer or the Ka-lar. He downplayed the Bodily Arts stuff, and his parents did not ask, preferring to focus on the comfortable daily details of life. He certainly didn’t mention the little romances he’d had at study, and they were kind enough not to pry into his love life. The word Maer was not even mentioned, and everyone seemed more than fine with that.

  When Sinnie came knocking to get him for his turn to watch the Maer, she gave his parents great hugs, though she had never been very close with them.

  As she hugged Finn, she held him tightly and whispered in his ear:

  “Elder Gummache has called us to council this evening.”

  The smile on her face belied her worry, but if his parents noticed they gave no sign of it.

  THE CHAPEL BASEMENT had been rearranged, with most of the dusty old furniture stacked up along the room lengthwise to form a sort of barricade, with an opening in the middle that was blocked by the long table. Some wooden crates had been placed underneath to stop the children from crawling through. The adults could have easily climbed over the top, but they showed no inclination to do so, and anyway, where would they have gone? The Maer paid Finn little mind, except for one little girl, the one who had touched Sinnie’s hand, who kept coming to the table, her eyes peeking over the edge, then giggling and running away whenever Finn looked at her. The glances he got from the adults were not friendly, but they were not particularly hostile either. The Maer had been set up with straw and horse blankets for bedding, a bucket of water with a ladle, a slop bucket, and some old wooden toys, which Sinnie’s mother had gathered from a few of her friends whose children had long since flown the coop.

  The gesture gave Finn some hope for the fate of the Maer, but he had seen real fear and hate in the faces of some of the villagers. And there was no way to tell what the Realm soldiers would do when they arrived. Sinnie’s father had sent a certified message to them, but it could take as much as two weeks for the message to get to the garrison in Gheil and a sortie arranged. There was always the possibility the message would reach a patrol captain along Silver Road, who might decide the adventure sounded interesting. If that happened, and if the captain were looking to make his mark in the military, it would not bode well for the Maer.

  When Nicolas replaced him, Finn gave him a hard look, which made Nicolas look down quickly.

  “I know,” Nicolas said. “I’ll stay as far away from them as possible. I’ll sit in this chair here by the stairs, and if anything happens, I’ll run up and lock the door behind me. See? I’m hardly even armed.” He held a stout staff but carried no blade. He looked permanently crestfallen, and Finn almost felt pity for him. He had leaped into the cave ready to take revenge on those who had murdered two of his companions in the Village Guard, and in the chaos, he had swung wildly at any hairy face he saw. He would be haunted by that moment for the rest of his life, Finn was sure. Finn laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” was all he could think of to say.

  THE COUNCIL MEETING was held in the chapel shed, since the basement was being used to house the Maer. The tools and equipment had been neatly stacked against the walls, and a long work table was covered with a rough cloth. Mr. Massey and Elder Gummache sat next to each other at the center of one side of the table, with Sinnie’s father Rolf, along with Ms. Enkel and Mr. Taller, the parents of the slain youths, on either side of them. Carl and Sinnie were seated opposite them, and Finn took the empty chair next to Sinnie. Three large candles lit the shed, and pitchers of water and cups were set at the end of the table. Elder Gummache greeted Finn with a smile and nodded to Massey, who cleared his throat.

  “As Steward of Brocland, I hereby convene this special meeting of the Village Council to decide how to proceed in the case of the Maer, on whose behalf Ms. Hail has requested sanctuary in the chapel.” It took Finn a moment to process that he was talking about Sinnie. “I have invited to this council Elder Gummache, for obvious reasons, Rolf Hail, who claims some knowledge pertinent to this affair,” at which point Finn noticed Sinnie tense suddenly, “Ms. Enkel, who lost her son Samuel to the Maer, and Mr. Taller, whose son August was taken as well, both of them, to be sure, to where they are needed most.”

  “To where they are needed most,” came the solemn chorus.

  “And of course Ms. Hail, Mr. Doray, and Mr. Ganzler,” he said, indicating Sinnie, Carl and Finn, “who freed the village from the grip of the Maer, but who now return under very different circumstances.”

  Gummache’s acolyte poured water into cups and placed them in front of everyone, then retired, standing under a tree within sight but out of earshot.

  “Our first order of business,” Massey said, “Is to ask: are the Maer eligible to claim sanctuary under Realm law? The text of the law states,” at which point he held a slim red leather volume up close to his face and read: “Any person demanding sanctuary within a township or site of worship shall be granted sanctuary for a period of no more than thirty days, during which time said persons shall be free to come and go as they wish, but when outside the stated boundaries of their sanctuary site, the protections of sanctuary no longer apply, until such time as they return to the sanctuary site. Persons committing crimes or acts of violence while in sanctuary immediately forfeit all protections in perpetuity.” He laid the book down on the table and looked to Gummache, who sat with his fingers bridged together, a faraway look in his eye.

  “Person.” Gummache pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I’ve heard the Maer called many things before: monster, beast, creature, abomination, the list goes on—but I’ve never heard one called a person.” He paused, staring at the connected points of his fingers. “And yet, from what we have been told and what we have seen, they have speech, they make tools, weapons, and clothes, they care for their young, they cremate their dead, they...they play with toys.” A wry smile crept onto his face. “Not to mention the fact that they are identical in appearance, external anyway, to humans, but for the abundance of hair on their faces and bodies.”

  No one moved a muscle. Elder Gummache sat still for such a long time that Finn wondered who was going to break the silence, until Gummache suddenly started talking again, as if he had never stopped.

  “If I had to make a judgment based on the evidence we have seen thus far, I would say they are persons. But,” he continued, raising a finger in the air as several of those present began to stir, “whether they are considered persons according to Realm law¸ that I cannot say, as I am not a scholar in such matters. Nevertheless, it appears to me there is sufficient reason to believe that they may be persons in the legal sense, so I move that we grant them, shall we say, provisional personhood, until such time as the legal authorities can make a full determination.”

  “If as you say they are persons,” said Ms. Enkel, her face red with pent-up sorrow and rage, “Then they will surely have to face justice for the crimes they have committed.”

  “Hear hear,” agreed Mr. Taller, looking pale and weak except for his eyes, which burned like tiny coals radiating hatred out of his face.

  “Mr. Steward,” Sinnie broke in, addressing Massey directly, “I agree with everything said and I accept the ruling of provisional personhood, if it is the council’s decision, and thus the Maer’s request for sanctuary must be granted.”

  “There is some question,” said Sinnie’s father, “as to whether the Maer actually want this sanctuary. Correct me if I’m wrong, Sinnie, but none of us can speak the Maer language, nor they ours. Is it not so?”

  Sinnie swallowed and nodded quickly. “Yes father, it’s true. But they stayed with us willingly, and I think...” She smiled a little, shook her head, and continued. “I think they wanted our protection. Th
ey lost their warriors, they lost three of the adult caretakers, not to mention two children, at the hands of—” She stopped herself. “At our hands. And yet they stayed with us, and did not resist, and did not run when they had the chance. They wanted, no, they needed to come with us, or they surely would have perished. Is there not a rule in the books of law allowing someone unable to represent themselves to be represented by another? If need be, I will pledge my own life as bail, lest there be any question—”

  Massey waved her down, a kind, if slightly patronizing, smile on his face. “I, for one, accept your status as the Maer’s representative, and unless there is any objection, I move that we conduct a formal vote on the matter. All in favor of granting provisional personhood to the Maer, and allowing their demand of sanctuary, with Ms. Hail as their representative, touch your hands to your foreheads.” All hands reached up, though the bereaved parents did so with obvious reluctance. “Very good. Elder Gummache, do you accept the responsibility of providing this sanctuary, for as long as may be necessary?” Gummache put his hand to his forehead, nodding once.

  “Very well. I move that this council be adjourned.” Massey looked from person to person, and no one spoke. Massey stood up. “Ms. Enkel, Mr. Taller, we thank you for your cooperation in these difficult times.” He gestured toward the shed door, and they got up and left, their bloodshot eyes glaring at whatever happened to occupy the space before them.

  “As for the rest of you, we have much to discuss.” Massey reached over behind a wheelbarrow and pulled out the ancient sword taken from the Maer, laying it in the center of the table for all to see.

  Finn hadn’t studied it too carefully before, but as he looked at it again, he was impressed by the level of detail in the etchings on the sword, which showed up in gray-green lines swarming across the yellowish-silver blade. At first, he had thought them decorative in nature, but upon closer inspection the designs appeared to be some elaborate script, with what looked like words looped together by curly flourishes, stretching the length of the blade. The cross guard was similarly covered in the flowing script, and the hilt, which had been wrapped by the Maer in some kind of animal skin, was now laid bare, showing the faces of animals: bear, boar, wolf, and dragon. This was a sword the likes of which Finn had never seen, and everyone at the table stared at it in silence for a moment before Elder Gummache spoke.

  “It is a sword from another age,” he said in a voice like a rock, “forged in a time forgotten by history. The language inscribed upon the sword looks to be an ancient form of Southish, though I cannot make out much more than what I take to be the words for ‘king’ and, possibly, ‘forever.’ Perhaps on the Isle, in one of the great libraries, you could find a reference to decipher it. But with the help of Rolf, and based on what Sinnie has told us about the creature the Maer call the Ka-lar, I believe I know what this is, and where it came from.” He nodded to Sinnie’s father, who took a sip of his water, pursed his lips, then spoke.

  “Down in the valley, and in a few places off in the hills, there are hidden tombs of an ancient nature,” said Rolf. “Those who know such places do not like to speak of them, for even to know their existence brings danger, and telling of them doubly so. But to enter such a place, to break the seals set centuries ago, this is simply not done. It is said that anyone who does so has put an end to his life, and those of anyone near him, though the death will not come straightaway. It will wait, and creep, and bide its time, but as sure as the sun rises and sets, it will come for him, and his end will be unspeakable. His, and that of any others who are unlucky enough to find themselves in the Barrow Lord’s path.” He drained his cup, pulled a wineskin out of his coat, and poured a splash of something brown into his cup, passing the skin around before continuing.

  “Knowing that the Maer made the valley their home,” he continued, “and seeing where they set up their ambush, they must have found the tomb near where Holden’s Glen leads into the valley, maybe even set up inside it for shelter. I have seen the entrance, a stone door covered with faded markings. Maybe they broke the seal right away, or perhaps it took them a while to come to it. But mark my words, this sword had to come from one of those tombs. And the evil that the Maer released has wrought its havoc on them and on this village.”

  Gummache poured a slug of the brown liquid into his cup and cleared his throat. “I have found references in a book of lore that tells of great kings of old who sought the secret to immortality, and were thought to have found it, in a way. Near death, they were wrapped with cloth soaked in precious oils and bound with deep, heavy magics into a state like unto death. In this state they would survive, in a sort of stasis, for countless millennia. A secret spell, they believed, would bring them back from the brink of death, so they could once again rule over the lands they had dominated in their former lives. The book refers to them as the Barrow Lords, and they are said to number in the hundreds, each nestled in a hidden tomb and sealed to preserve them until the coming of the one who would set them free.”

  Gummache paused to take a drink, wincing as if swallowing had become difficult. His eyes were bleary, and the candlelight made his wrinkles stand out like they were carved in stone. He looked old, frail, and exhausted, and his voice was raspy and dull as he continued.

  “The book says that if the seal to a Barrow Lord’s tomb is broken, the creature will awaken slowly, disoriented from its long sleep, and that when it is fully awake it has a hunger and a cruelty unknown among earthly creatures. It is said to toy with its prey to heighten its fear, which the creature thrives on. According to the lore, they are nearly immune to normal weapons, due to the magics used to preserve their bodies. It does tell of one case, far to the south, where a great hero was able to surprise a Barrow Lord and cut off its head using its own sword. Whether this tale is true, I cannot say, but it is all the information I have in my pitiful library. And believe me, I have searched every book, page, and scroll in my possession.”

  “Maybe it’s the bronze.” Everyone turned to Carl, who continued. “I was thinking about it, when the Maer woman did her little Ka-lar impersonation, she kept pointing to the bronze dagger Sinnie had in her belt.”

  Sinnie produced the dagger and laid it on the table next to the sword. They were clearly a matched set, with the same etchings, the same animal faces on the hilt, the same yellowish-silver coloring.

  “That dagger wouldn’t do you any good unless you were in much closer than you’d ever want to be with the creature,” Massey chimed in. “The sword’s the thing.”

  “She could use a little refurbishing.” Carl eyed the sword, then Massey. “You think you still have it in you?”

  Massey’s chest heaved with a single chuckle. “I’ve got the fire going in the forge as we speak. It’ll be ready by this evening, and I can set her right.”

  “Have you ever worked with bronze before?” Carl asked.

  “Not weapons, no. No one has, not in a very long time. But I know enough. Don’t worry. The blade is perfect, she just needs a little brazing on the hilt is all. I’ll have her ready to go by morning.”

  Elder Gummache nodded approvingly. “Very well, Carl will wield the sword.” He glanced up at Finn, a spark in his eyes. “And what of your gift? Have you thought of a way it could be of use in this fight?”

  Finn had to catch his breath for a moment; it was the first time anyone had said out loud that they were going to fight the Ka-lar, and he squirmed at the thought. He had held his own against the Maer, more or less, but all his actions had been in support of Carl and Sinnie, whose skills were undeniable. Still, his adventures had brought his talents into sharper focus, and he had been contemplating some other uses he had not yet tried.

  “I don’t believe I can damage the creature directly, but I can think of several ways I might be able to distract or temporarily disable it.” Gummache nodded, smiling, though Massey and Rolf’s expressions showed they did not share his confidence.

  Sinnie picked up the dagger, inspecting it in
the candlelight. “You said this dagger wouldn’t do much good in combat, since you’d have to get too close to the Ka-lar’s claws.”

  “That’s right,” Massey agreed. “I mean, I suppose if you could get behind it, maybe...”

  “You know how to fix swords, right?” Sinnie asked. Massey nodded. “And you have a forge nearly ready to go?” He nodded again. “Do you think you could melt this down and turn it into arrowheads?”

  Massey’s chest puffed as he took a deep breath, a smile breaking out on his face. “Nothing could be easier. I’m sure I still have the molds somewhere. Consider it done.”

  Sinnie nodded, giving Finn a little smile, which he returned, despite the burn of the alcohol in his stomach.

  “Very well,” said Rolf. “I’ll lead you there, to the tomb at the base of Holden’s Glen. But that’s as far as I’ll go.” He turned to Sinnie, his face hanging down. “I’m no coward, but I’m no fighter either. And I’m not as young as I once was.” His eyes shone as he looked at her. “But you...” He wiped his eyes, though no tears had appeared. “You just don’t let that thing get too close, okay?”