Rook went and tied his pony up to an open ring. A quick rub down of its muscles and Rook had the saddle dropped near the fire and feet propped up, asleep as far as the world could tell. We followed suit, minus the sleep, and soon had a water skin passing around the fire as we all became acquainted.
The one who greeted us called himself Therecles. Another aspect of these groups was taking on a pseudonym based on some hero of old. Gods only knew what his real name was.
Therecles introduced his group. “We are the Hand of Aru from the western region. Most of us grew up in Brod.” He winked, his purple eyes being a dead giveaway that he was indeed from there.
A cheer rose from his friends, the patriotism of a group away from their home. They were overly dramatic, with dreams of grandeur and a youthful detachment from reality. Suffice to say, we were fast friends almost immediately.
“So what brave tales have you for us, my brethren?” asked a suddenly awake Rook, without a drop of sarcasm in his voice. My eye caught his in question, and he just shrugged.
Nothing quite so grand as you may think, noble sir,” replied the designated bard of their group. He didn’t seem put off at all by the suddenly awake man. “Nonetheless, let me tell you of the minor exploits we have had, if it please you.” He spoke with an accent that many associated with the golden age of questing. It was moderately ridiculous, but who cares? “Though we have ranged far and wide, protecting the weak and keeping travelers company, our abilities have only, truly, been tested once.” He took a deep breath, eyes twinkling against the firelight. “We’d agreed to help a woman and her daughter travel west, up to a settlement near the Mistlands. Her husband had left her, and this was where her parents still lived.”
Volant let out a low whistle of admiration. “The Mistlands are a nasty place I hear.”
“Indeed, they are,” agreed the young man. “But, since not one of us had been, verily, we had to help her get there. The temptation of seeing- well, of not seeing I guess, was too great and our honor too strong. We took her west. Before we were even halfway to the Mistlands, bandits attacked. It was in the middle of the night. The bandits had been hiding within some of the caves that dot the cliffs near the Fool’s Way. We easily repelled them, but it was our first time to experience combat and none of us came out of it quite the same.”
I looked over and saw a hard, faraway look in Volant’s eye. He knew exactly what they meant.
“After that, we pushed hard, arriving at her family’s settlement without another night on the road,” Therecles continued. “Her family rewarded us with a small feast, a night’s rest, and a handful of coin to pay us for the trouble. While there, we heard rumors of a man living out in the actual Mistlands. No one from the family had dared the black mists to find out.”
As Therecles paused to take a long drink, Albor took up the tale. “Supposedly, a man had stopped in the village for some supplies a while back. From there, he’d headed straight into the Mistlands. That wouldn’t be too strange, but there’s more. Disturbingly, there’d been sightings of a creature passing in and out of the mist after the man’s disappearance. They described it as humanoid, but too big. White as bone. Much taller than any man. Eyes black as the mist, larger than any creature has a right to.
This time, it was Rook who interrupted. “This creature, did you see it?” he asked, suddenly darkly serious.
“Tis a real creature. We did see this creature,” Therecles replied. He puffed up with pride. “After we heard about it, we had to see if it was true. And who was more prepared for such a task than us?” The rest of his group cheered at his words, though quietly enough not to overly disturb the merchants on the other side of the landing.
Albor leaned forward, matching Rook’s intensity. “We set up a campsite right at the edge of the mist wall. We were lucky, or unlucky depending, and we saw the creature in no time at all. Before we could coordinate, it let loose the most blood curdling, inhuman growl you have ever heard and attacked us.” Therecles shivered at the memory, taking a deep breath before speaking further. “We easily overcame the creature, as it seemed to have nothing more than an animal’s aggression. It was unnaturally tough, I do admit. It took two arrows to the chest before we engaged it hand to hand. Still, some well placed swings from the sword and it was over. We were all moderately shaken, but only Leo was hurt and that was just a scratch.”
“It’s a big scratch!” Leo interjected indignantly.
“True,” Therecles admitted. “We tried to examine it, but as soon as we’d lopped it’s head off, the body began to decompose before our eyes. That was the most frightening part of it. Nothing remained but a sticky mess of rotted flesh after mere minutes. We returned to the settlement, informed them of what happened and then struck back home. We stopped by Wydvis on the way, and here we are.” He finished with a bow, and returned to sitting. We applauded, though Rook looked like he’d heard his mother had just died.
“Tell me, my new friends,” Rook said, “what did you find out about the creature before its body disappeared?”
Therecles shrugged. “Not much, friend. Its teeth were like a wolf’s. Sharp and curved. Its arms were absurdly long, reaching past its knees. Hairless body. The skin was hard like bark. The eyes though, were the most frightening. No eyelids. They were completely black, protruding from the head, insect like. It still gives me chills thinking about it.”
“Don’t forget about the claws!” interjected one of the others.
“Speaketh true, does my Sam,” he said with a nod. “The, umm, creature had talons like a bird. No opposable thumb.”
I already was inclined not to believe them, but something in how sincere they all seemed made me decide to keep an open mind about this particular story.
Volant, on the other hand, laughed at the serious looks and clapped his hands together in an enthusiastic applause. “Marvelous story, Therecles.” He nodded appreciatively. “A story for a story, right? That’s how I have heard these things go, so I shall tell a tale as well.”
Rook was lost in his own thoughts already, his face unnaturally blank. I stretched out, and took a long drink. Volant wasn’t a bad storyteller, but I had probably heard it before. Might as well be comfortable.
Eleven
“This story goes back to the beginning of Balteris, when the realm was one, with no factions or separate kingdoms. This was so far back, the rumors say that the causeway was crossable to another land.” He paused, looking to see if anyone objected to this particular story. Some of the more religious didn’t like to hear these kinds of tales.
No one objected, and Therecles even nodded encouragingly, excitement in his eye. “A man called Emerys lived at this time. He had spent most of his life begging, conning, and outright stealing to survive. But, he wasn’t your average low life. Sharp as a razor, so they say. Others said he was just lucky. Either way, he’s the reason we have the Skill. Only Naturals existed at this time. The gods had hoarded all the secrets of learning, and only passed on the smallest of hints to their devoted. They hunted down and killed anyone who tried to unlock the Learner secrets.
So, one day our man was drawing a crowd with a game of follow-the-shell. The crowd watched as Emerys shuffled three identical shells over a wooden board he held in his lap. People placed bets against him, thinking their eyes were faster than his hands. He’d offer even money to anyone who could pick the shell with the black pebble underneath. On this day, one of the local devoted happened upon the scene. Being above such petty things like money, the priest thought to shame Emerys. As he strode forward, the crowd parted and the laughter ended.
‘You there,’ he said, pointing a finger at Emerys. ‘I have a bet for you, one you may be interested in.’
Emerys looked up at the sallow looking man. ‘I would be pleased to enter a wage with you, ordained one. What shall we wager?’
The man smiled coldly. He seemed to think for a moment, and then raised his hand in the air and pointed a finger at a pot. His Skill manif
ested and the pot and its contents were blown apart as if struck by a hammer. Even Emerys was impressed. ‘I offer you one of the twelve god’s very secrets if I guess incorrectly. If I do get the correct shell though, you shall become my slave, or end yourself here and now if that seems too base for you.’
In truth, Emerys loved these kinds of bets. There was always some egotistical, greedy mark that wanted to embarrass him. Sure, that secret seemed worth learning, and being a slave not so great, but this was his game. Just embarrassing the devoted would be enough.
He always kept a few special tricks up his sleeve just for such occasions. This was something far more interesting than usual though. He had to take the bet of course. The real issue here was whether or not there was a way to make the man keep his end of the bargain. Outwardly though, he pretended to feign indecision for the sake of the crowd. ‘You have a deal, ordained one,’ Emerys said softly, a false quaver in his voice.
The devoted already looked too smug, and gestured for the game to begin. The audience squeezed in, and word spread like fire. More and more people joined to watch.
While the crowd swelled, Emerys slowly explained the rules. ‘I have a black stone, and two white stones. One for each shell. I shall do everything within my power to trick, confuse, or misdirect you into picking one of the shells with a white stone. If I do so, I win. If the black is chosen, I lose.’
Of course, Emerys did not play fair when he wanted to win. He actually had three white stones along with the black. When he showed the black stone, and began to place it under the shell, he would slip the white under while palming the black, leaving a white stone underneath each of the three shells.
He did so, with none the wiser, and tried to look nervous. As the shells shuffled back and forth, Emerys spun the board around a couple of times, and waved his hands about as if his life depended on it. While this happened, the devoted followed what should have been the right shell the entire time. After a few minutes, Emerys stopped, and gestured to choose.
Immediately, he grabbed the shell, lifting it up triumphantly. A white stone sat on the board, not the black he’d been expecting. Emerys chuckled, and lifted another shell, palming the white stone underneath and replacing it with the black in a fast and fluid motion.
The priest gaped. ‘This was a trick! I shall not be fooled into giving you anything, you charlatan!’ He attempted to turn away, but was stopped by the enormous crowd. Everything went deadly silent. In these days, a man’s word was worth ten times what it is today, and this goes double for a devoted. Knowing his life would end if he tried to fight the crowd without paying his due, he turned back.
‘How about one more round?’ Emerys offered. ‘I get the entirety of the secret taught right here if I win, and if I lose, you get me. I’ll be the most obeisant slave you’ve ever seen.’
A new round began, and this time Emerys left the black stone under the shell. Half way through his shuffle, he lifted the shell just a bit too high and let the priest glimpse the pebble underneath. As if not noticing his mistake, he finished his movements and gestured to the priest to choose.
But before he could reach out, Emerys leaned over to him, halting the priest’s choice. ‘Give me the secrets now, priest,’ he said. ‘If you win, I’m yours to command and it won’t matter that I know. If I win, you’ll have upheld your bargain and the crowd won’t tear you to pieces.’
Overconfident after having just seen it, the priest could have refused an offer that would have changed the fate of all of us if he’d accepted. While the priest looked up in triumph, Emerys’ quick hands flicked two of the shells open, sending the black and white stone under each other without the crowd or the priest catching the movement. The priest picked the originally correct shell.
Of course, he was wrong. In a desperate attempt to keep his gods from decimating him and his family, he lashed out to kill Emerys.
‘No,’ Emerys said, raising a hand to push the priests away. The blast deflected, killing a man in the crowd. A stunned moment washed over the crowd, before the audience became the mob. Hands reached out and grabbed the priest from every direction. Ever the practical man, Emerys grabbed the priest as well, holding him close. ‘Tell me the secret and I’ll make sure the crowd spares you.’
The priest acquiesced, and whispered the tenets we know as the Skill. It was a bare sliver of useful information. But it was all Emerys needed. He spread the secret to the enormous crowd, before fleeing, and encouraged all who saw and heard to spare the priest and flee the city as well.
No one listened on sparing the priest, and only a few headed the call to flee. But it was enough. As soon as the gods caught wind of the priest’s betrayal, the city was leveled. But Emerys was long gone.
Over the years, he was able to hide and outsmart the gods while gathering and piecing together what he could and teaching any who would learn. He was our first self-proclaimed Learner, and the first to claim the gods as false, wearing the Waruin braid so all would know his cause and calling.” Volant stood up, and gave a dramatic bow. We all applauded, and almost all of the questers looked impressed.
The story of how Emerys got his power was not well known outside the school, it being rather heretical. Most only knew him as the self-deluded mortal who thought he could ascend to godhood because of his Skill. He’d also tried to start a rebellion against the gods, calling them impostors. Not exactly the first to wear the Waruin braid though, more they were inspired by his hair style. Of course, the gods disagreed with all of it and took a special interest in dissuading others from following suit.
“How do you guys think Emerys died?” I asked after Volant sat back down.
“Supposedly, Emerys was killed out of hand by a beggar with a knife, at the prodding of one of the gods,” Volant replied.
Rook sat up a little more. “But, there’s the other story. I’m sure you both have heard of the thirteenth god that Emerys battled. How it ended in their mutual destruction, yes?”
Sam spoke up. “That’s the one that says why Brod is perfectly circular! My mom told me this story, it’s one of her favorites!”
“Exactly,” Rook nodded in agreement. “You see, the ground surrounding the lake city of Brod has an impressive, exponentially curving slope to it. There’s nothing else in nature that has a similarly proportional shape. King’s Canyon is barren now, as the river that once cut into it has been diverted into Brod, also arguing that the lake wasn’t always a lake.”
Volant let out a long and overly dramatic yawn. “So, the fact that Brod is unnatural makes you believe that a mythical figure fought an unremembered god that killed both of them and now there’s a lake there? Seems a bit of a stretch. The knife seems more probable.”
“Fair enough, but I have it on good authority that there was another god at the time, and that Emerys killed her.” Rook winked at Volant. “I don’t know about you fellows, but I’ll be passing out any moment now. Thank you for sharing your fire and tale with us.” In the blink of an eye, he was asleep. Not pretending, but actually asleep. It was impressive.
“Remind me to thank those Soft Steppers next time we see them.” Volant sighed audibly, pulling out his bedroll and a blanket from his pack. One by one, Therecles and his friends also fell asleep, leaving me in silence as I stared at the dancing fire, turning over Rook’s words.
Volant seemed to be regaining some of his more usual and boisterous self after a full night’s rest and a hot breakfast. The questers had bonded with us so quickly, it hurt a little when they left, albeit with promises of help if we ever need it, and demands that their story be spread whenever we entertain.
Morning came and went. In no time at all, we’d caught up to the merchants who’d generally ignored us, and then passed them by. By the early evening, we finally stopped and let the horses graze so we could practice our new trade.
After an exhaustive bout of sparring, knife and hatchet for me, and Volant allowed only one hand and his Talent, my mind turned back to a book I read yea
rs ago. ‘Help only comes when someone else can get something out of it.’ That sent a chill down my spine. “Rook.” My voice was as casual as it comes. “Why is it you’re helping us? I know you had a grudge about the assassin girl, but this seems a little above and beyond...?” The silence dragged on, and I began to worry that the question had somehow been a mistake.
Rook finally sighed, and then let the grin spread further across his face. “I am helping for two reasons. The first is I happen to have been planning to head towards Wydvis anyways, so the more the merrier. A fellow who’s been not very nice to a number of women happens to be hiding there and masquerading as an artist. I’m needing to put things right. The second reason really is what I said earlier. Purely a continuation of that grudge. I hope with some proper training, you two may live long enough to exact some vengeance for your friends, which would in turn hurt those I want to hurt.” He paused, and looked up thoughtfully. “I lied, there’s a third reason. I really like to teach. Teaching is the best of both gardening and blacksmithing, when applied correctly.” He then pulled down the collar of his robe and tunic to reveal a tattoo on his chest. A rose crossed with a hammer stood out in red and black ink.
“You’re one of them, eh?” Volant asked, looking at the tattoo. “Is there anything you haven’t done?”
He shrugged, looking at Volant sheepishly. “Like I said, teaching is my passion.” He laughed then, and gestured to the road. “Might as well get a move on.”
“Guys, what’s that tattoo mean?” I asked, completely baffled.
Rook, ignoring the question at first looked me in the eyes as seriously as he had ever before. “As your teacher, my job is to help expand your mind.”
A Leaf and Pebble Page 10