Fara started another tune without being prompted, and Daks passed his bottle to Shura and then to Ravi. Shura began singing a husky countermelody to the music, punctuated by the little cries and vocal modulations traditional to her people, and Daks felt a warmth spread in his belly as he gazed at her. She rarely sang outside a gathering of her clan. He hadn’t been aware of how much he’d missed it until that moment.
Eventually, Fara set her flute down and accepted the bottle, but the ensuing silence after everyone sung her praises and thanked her was oppressive. With nothing better to do, Daks turned his gaze to Ravi, only to find the man staring off into the darkness again.
“Ravi, are you sure you’re not having one of your bad feelings?”
Ravi started and blinked at him as if he’d been somewhere far away. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Then do you mind telling us why you keep staring out into the darkness like you can see something we can’t? You’re freaking me out.”
Ravi clutched that damned precious bag of his against his chest and grimaced. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Sorry. I’ll stop.”
Now Daks felt like a jerk for saying anything, and he sighed.
“Please, don’t apologize,” Fara cut in, before Daks could come up with the right thing to say. “I’m sure it’s not stupid at all. If you have something you’d like to share, I think we’d all like to hear it.”
Some of that warmth he’d lost earlier returned to Daks’s chest as he threw an encouraging smile at her. She’d been a little standoffish with Ravi since they’d started this journey, and he was glad to see her making an effort, particularly when Ravi’s embarrassed grimace softened into something uncertain but hopeful.
“I’ve always wanted to see the boglands,” Ravi said hesitantly.
“Why?”
The question came out a bit more derisively than he’d intended. He started to take it back, but when Ravi’s expression turned from hesitant and embarrassed to irritated, Daks decided to hold his tongue. He liked it when Ravi got fired up. It made life more interesting. For good measure, he threw Ravi his cockiest grin and drank deeply from the bottle that had somehow made it back to him, while cocking an eyebrow at him challengingly.
To his delight, Ravi rolled his eyes and turned to Fara, haughtily dismissing him. “My family are all scholars, scribes, and teachers. I was raised surrounded by books and stories. Some of them, uh….” He bit his lip and cringed slightly. “Some of them proscribed by the Brotherhood.”
His hands tightened on his bag again, almost reflexively, confirming Daks’s suspicions about what it contained. That must be one important book.
“Anyway,” Ravi continued, “there’s a story about the boglands that I was always very fond of. I used to read it over and over as a child, and I wanted to see the place, to feel what they felt. It isn’t quite as romantic as I’d imagined.” His face flushed darker in the firelight.
“What story?” Shura asked, surprising Daks.
He really shouldn’t have been surprised. Cigani were famous all over Kita for their love of stories and storytelling. She must have surprised Ravi too, because his eyes widened before he glanced at Fara and grimaced. “Perhaps I shouldn’t.”
“No, please,” Fara urged. “That would be lovely. Too many stories have been lost since the coming of the Brotherhood, I think. Times are changing. They shouldn’t be lost altogether.”
Ravi licked his lips.
“If you’re sure,” he said hesitantly.
“Please.”
He nodded and took a pull from his waterskin before sitting straighter against the tree trunk and drawing in a long breath.
“In the reign of King Hatal the Mighty, before the coming of Blessed Harot, Rassa was a much more savage place than it is today,” he began, his voice taking on a melodic quality Daks hadn’t heard before. “Lesser nobles still fought constant battles over territory. Pirates, barbarians from the mountains, and other tribal peoples made annual raids on the border settlements. And Riftspawn and rogue magic users roamed freely throughout the land, leaving only destruction and despair in their wakes. Lawless and godless, the people suffered greatly.”
When Ravi paused for breath, Daks threw him a smirk and cocked an eyebrow, making Ravi grimace apologetically and clear his throat. “The book was obviously a copy of a much older manuscript, probably done after Harot’s ascension, but obviously before the Brotherhood started destroying such things,” he qualified, his cheeks pinking in the firelight as he shot a nervous glance toward Shura.
“Keep going,” Daks said.
With another nervous glance at Shura, Ravi cleared his throat again. “Well, okay, uh, King Hatal had three sons. Rolf, the eldest and heir, was much like his father: undefeated in battle, determined, and merciless. His second son, Ero, was the more poetic, fanciful type, with some small talent for magic. Women and men alike swooned over Ero’s handsome face, his intricate illusions, and his skills with the lute, rather than in battle. But despite their vast differences in personalities and skills, King Hatal was said to have loved his two elder sons equally, even more than the magic sword that had made him invincible in battle and given him the crown. Volumes are filled with praises for both princes, even before Rolf ascended to the throne and Ero wedded Princess Darutha, heir to Samebar, ensuring peace between the two kingdoms for decades… but this story isn’t about them. This is the story of Ael, Harat’s youngest and mostly forgotten son—the scarred prince of Rassa.”
Ravi cut the briefest of glances in his direction, so brief Daks might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching the man so raptly. Ravi’s amber eyes glowed in the firelight—not that otherworldly glow they’d had when he’d spoken his prophecy, but something warmer, happier, as if this was the real Ravi he hadn’t shown them before.
As he spun his tale into the night, Daks couldn’t tear his gaze away. If he were honest with himself, he was more entranced by the storyteller than the story itself, but he got the gist of it.
Scarred across much of the left side of his face by the fire that had killed his mother, Ael had withdrawn into the world of books and away from the rest of his overachieving family—perhaps a little like a certain Seer they all happened to know, though Daks was just guessing on that. At nineteen, Ael had fallen in love with a young, eager scholar of a lesser noble family and kept it hidden from his father for fear of the man’s disapproval. The lovers intended to run away together to avoid any political marriage the king might try to force Ael into, but they were discovered and betrayed.
Ael’s young scholar, Balin, was forced to leave Rassat in disgrace and return to his family’s hold in the boglands. But only a week after his dramatic departure, word reached the king’s court that the hold had been beset by a giant Riftspawn. Forbidden to leave but desperate with fear for his love, Ael had stolen King Hatal’s magic sword and fled to his lover’s aid. The sword was said to make its bearer invincible in battle, and he needed all the help he could get. Daks definitely would have done the same; no sense taking any chances if you didn’t have to.
Ravi’s melodic voice washed over Daks as he continued to weave the tale of the prince’s difficulties and trials on that journey, but Daks kind of got distracted with watching Ravi’s mouth and his eyes for a little while… until Ravi reached the good part, where Ael slew the horrid monster, saving his scholar love from certain death. Even Fara, as obviously ill at ease with any discussion of magic as any Rassan, sighed in relief and clapped when the magic sword felled the beast with a single strike.
“Excellent fireside tale,” Daks called. He let out a burp and sat forward, smiling. “Almost makes this place seem—”
“Hush. The Svatna is not done with his tale,” Shura interrupted sternly. Surprisingly, she’d used the Cigani formal title for a storyteller, which meant she honored his skill.
Ravi couldn’t have known that, but he seemed flattered by her intervention on his behalf just the same, as he smiled shyly at her and nodded b
efore resuming his narrative.
“The tale is far from over. You see, in his desperation to save his beloved, Ael had forgotten something. He’d forgotten the Riftspawn’s Wraith. As soon as he plunged the sword into the monstrous creature’s heart, the Wraith fled from its dying body and into the nearest host it could find. Wounded and weakened by his ordeal before Ael could reach him, his lover, Balin, was no match for it. It possessed him fully, shoving the man Ael knew and loved aside. A creature of hate and savagery and darkness stared back at Ael through his lover’s eyes, and the prince cried out in despair and wept as he dropped the sword and wrestled with Balin to keep him from disappearing into the swamps.
“After his family assisted in capturing him, poor Balin lay bedridden and fevered for days, bound and under guard. But Ael never left his side. What was left of Balin’s beleaguered family rallied around them with little hope, for no one had ever heard of a Wraith leaving a living body before.
“The family said their goodbyes and made their preparations, trying to come to terms with the inevitable, but Ael refused to see reason. He called to his lover night and day, begging him to fight, to come back, until his voice gave out. Still, he fought any attempt to remove him from that bedside.
“In the middle of the night on the fourth day, Ael woke to Balin’s sweet voice calling to him as he used to. Desperate with fragile hope, Ael met his lover’s gaze to find the soft brown eyes of the man he loved no longer glowing red and filled with feral rage.
“‘Balin?’ he croaked hesitantly.
“‘I am here,’ his love whispered back. ‘Set me free. Let us leave this terrible place together.’
“Delusional with grief and lack of sleep, Ael allowed himself to be persuaded to untie his love and help him outside. So scrambled were his wits, he did not notice Balin had brought the wretched sword with them. In the moonlight, wrapped in heavy mist, Balin kissed his love tenderly and without urgency, until Ael’s legs shook and threatened to buckle. A flash of metal was Ael’s only warning before the sword found its bloody sheath.”
Fara gasped in horror, momentarily taking Daks out of the story, but Ravi continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“Ael cried out in agony as Balin’s body dropped to the ground, Balin’s hand still on the hilt of the sword buried in his own chest.
“In shock, Ael looked on as the air around his love shimmered into life. The Wraith rose from his Balin’s body like mist and hovered in the air. Fear held Ael paralyzed, trapped before the red, glowing eyes of the writhing insubstantial creature, but the Wraith did not move any closer. It did not attempt to take him over as it had done Balin. When a sudden cry rang out behind him, it shook Ael out of his trance, and he turned to find Balin’s family pouring out of the farmhouse they’d fled to after the destruction of their hold. When Ael turned back to the Wraith, it had vanished.
“With another anguished cry, he dropped to his knees by his lover’s side and collected him in his arms as tears streamed down his face.
“‘Why?’ he cried. ‘We could have beat it together. We could have found a way.’
“‘This was the way,’ Balin whispered back.
“All hope lost, Ael rocked his lover in the moonlight as Balin’s family huddled in a circle around them.”
“He’s dead?” Fara squawked indignantly when Ravi paused for a drink of water.
Daks agreed, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud. But Ravi held up a hand and shook his head as Shura glared at Daks and Fara until everyone settled again.
“The wound forced the Wraith out, but it did not kill him as Balin had obviously expected when he’d kissed his love goodbye. Though the magic of the sword had never failed before, somehow, this time, it did. Balin still breathed.
“Swallowing his grief and pain, Ael carried his lover back inside, and the family called for the healer. The woman did what she could, but even with her talismans and herbal remedies, she feared she could not save him.
“The family wept and wailed anew until the poor healer sighed and admitted reluctantly, ‘I may know someone who can help. But beware, she will demand a high price.’
“‘Anything!’ Ael and the family cried out together.
“The healer did not seem surprised, but she did not smile as she left them and ventured off into the mists alone.
“They waited a night and a day while Balin clung to life and Ael clung to him. At last, when night had fallen again on the second day, a knock came at the door. A wizened old woman, draped in rags, her hair a massive nest of tangles threaded through with vines and leaves, stood haloed in the moonlight when they opened the door. The family froze in fear at the sight of her, but Ael saw nothing beyond a chance for his love and rushed forward to bring the woman inside.
“She smelled like the bogs themselves, and Ael thought she might have something living inside that nest of hair, but he took her arm as if she were the most beautiful of court maidens and led her to Balin’s sickbed.
“‘Please, can you help him?’ he cried.
The woman ran a wrinkled, clawlike hand in a sweeping motion over Balin’s prone form, murmuring to herself in a tongue Ael did not recognize.
“‘I can, but it will take a great deal from the land. Why should I sacrifice so much for one man?’ she asked in a voice like the rustling of dead leaves.
“Nonplussed, the family grew angry. What could she mean? Of course a man’s life was worth so much more than any other creature or stretch of earth.
“‘I love him more than my own life,’ Ael cried. ‘Whatever you ask in return, I will give.’
“The old woman studied Ael for a long time, making Ael’s insides quake, but he didn’t turn away. She had one dark eye, black as midnight, and one pale and milky like the full moon. Ael thought he saw stars glittering in the darker one, but it might have only been a trick of the light.
“Eventually she released him from her gaze and stared out the window for a time. Then she smiled, revealing an even row of teeth somewhat sharper than Ael expected. They gleamed greenish yellow at him and a shiver ran down his spine.
“‘It waits out there for you,’ she said cryptically.
“‘What?’
“She shook her head. ‘Tell the others to leave us, and I will name you my price.’
“Despite the objections of the others, Ael was a prince, and when he bade them leave, they had no choice but to obey.
“No one knows all that Ael agreed to in that room, for he never spoke of it again, even to Balin. The only thing that is known of that night is that Ael had one of Balin’s cousins take him to the deepest heart of the boglands. Once there, the cousin watched in dismay as Ael tossed the magic sword into the murky waters, and it sank below the surface, never to be seen again.
“As if by some miracle, the next morning, Balin’s wound had nearly healed, and he was able to sit up in bed and speak with his family and his lover.
“The old hag stayed at the farm for three more nights. Each day Ael would collapse in his lover’s arms and sleep like the dead. Each night, despite any pleas from Balin or the family, Ael would follow the witch out into the dark and return, sweaty, pale, and exhausted.
“No matter how hard anyone entreated, Ael could not be brought to speak of it. But on the third morning, the swamp witch packed her bag of trinkets and charms and disappeared into the mists, leaving the two young lovers to rest and heal, wrapped in each other’s arms. Safe and happy together at last.
“They say the sword is still out there, that no one in all the intervening centuries has been able to find it, no matter how hard they searched. They say whatever magic the witch worked with Ael hides it, or that she may have even called forth a god to protect it, a god that still haunts the deep places, waiting to snack on the unwary or anyone brazen enough to trespass in search of the sword. No one knows for sure, and the boglanders refuse to tell.”
A heavy silence followed that last ominous pronouncement, and goose bumps flared along Daks’s arms�
�� until Horse whinnied behind them, making everyone jump.
“Nonsense,” Daks blustered gruffly, shaking off the chill that had run along his spine. “Believe me, if there was a magic sword that powerful out there, someone would have hired a Sensitive to find it, or the Brotherhood would have used one of their Finders and confiscated it centuries ago.”
Ravi’s lip curled evilly as he shrugged. “I can only relate what the book said. Perhaps there is a god or something out there protecting it, waiting for the time when it’s needed.”
His amber eyes got a little dreamy, and Daks felt an answering tug in his chest… and lower. He scowled and turned his attention to the mist-shrouded darkness around them, opening his senses wide, searching for what felt like the thousandth time since entering this horrid place. Nothing but miles and miles of tangled, wet, rotting land met his senses. The hum of the place was eerie but harmless.
“If there were a god out there, or some other centuries-old bog monster Riftspawn, I’d be able to sense it,” he huffed.
Horse snorted, making him jump again, and Daks threw a glare over his shoulder. Sometimes he swore the damned horse was laughing at him.
“So what happened to them after? Ael and Balin?” Fara asked.
“The histories are hazy on anything beyond their time in the boglands,” Ravi replied with a somewhat self-conscious shrug, his dreamy expression fading. “The only thing they seem to agree on is that the prince and his love left Rassa together. Ael had stolen and lost his father’s famous magic sword for the sake of a single man, so obviously, the king sent men in search of him and wasn’t too pleased when they came back empty-handed. But Ael disappears from the histories after that, and only the other two princes, Rolf and Ero, are mentioned.” Ravi’s expression brightened as he turned to gaze out into the darkness again, and his voice turned wistful. “I like to think they found happiness and the peaceful, quiet life they always wanted, anonymously in a faraway library somewhere, maybe the scholar’s guild library in Zehir or….” He shot a quick glance at Daks. “Or maybe the great library at the Scholomagi.”
The Seer Page 18