by Ted Neill
“Elves, vaurgs, and dwarf men. These woods hold many wonders,” Cody said.
“Yes,” Kaylief said. “It is a wonder you all made it as far as you did.”
He pushed some ivy aside and disappeared into the woods at the very point marked by the small skull, leaving it swinging and twisting in his wake. Through the growth he called after them, “Come on, follow me.”
It was late when they finally stopped. Haille found it hard to hide his fatigue, but the elves betrayed their exhaustion as well. Lasolorn dismounted from his pony and kneaded his thighs. Kaylief sat down on a log the first chance he had and took a long drink of water from his skin. It was Veolin who goaded them into gathering firewood. The brothers moved, but not without groans.
Val turned to Cody and Katlyn who were closest to him. “Snap to, let’s help,” he said. Haille was left holding the ponies. He thought he would perhaps try to find a stream to water them but Veolin turned to him, her blue eyes staring out at him over her lavender scarf. He wished he could see her mouth. He offered a tentative smile but her harsh voice cut him off. “What are you waiting for? We need wood.”
The days continued in kind. Kaylief and Lasolorn paying them little attention, Veolin, little courtesy. She and her brothers were too preoccupied with the speed with which they rode, staying on course, finding more talismans, and hunting food. Haille was glad to have the company of his friends, otherwise it would have been an uncomfortable journey. It was only on their fifth night out that the Kaylief found his tongue. He was full of questions about Antas: how the humans lived, what they ate, if they believed in elves. It seemed that previously he had been holding back. Lasolorn still kept his silence, but Kaylief let his questions flood out. Haille was glad to have Katlyn there for she could answer their questions better than he.
“Do they believe in elves in Antas?” Kaylief asked.
“I’m afraid elves fall under the category of magical creatures. They are considered myth and belief in them is not allowed according to the laws put down by Hillary Hillbourne and enforced by the Inquisitors.”
“Not even fairies?”
“Not even fairies,” Katlyn said.
“You won’t find Karrith so strict,” Val added. “There the Inquisitors do not have the same influence.”
“Aye,” Cody said. “Karrithians are known for superstition and stories.”
“Yes. Past generations of elves used to pass among them, their ears disguised of course. Our father was Karrithian.”
Haille was filled with envy that the southern kingdom was so favored as to have had elves among them, even claiming them as ancestors. He turned to Lasolorn and asked about his parents, but he replied with his characteristic silence.
They came upon great fields and meadows now, where the canopy was broken and bright unencumbered sky spread out above. Weak sunlight flattened out on brittle winter leaves. There were fewer and fewer of the great towering trees. These woods were of the more ordinary sorts. Haille realized he missed the behemoths of the deep forest. He wished he had taken a last long look at one, to savor its magnificence. The weather grew colder still in the coming days. They all wrapped themselves in cloaks and covered their heads. They fetched more and more wood for their fires. Now whoever stayed up on watch also kept the fire going throughout the night. Orange flames danced until the dawn. The sleeping blankets smelled of soot from being placed so close to the fire night after night. Winter made its presence known. Clouds moved in and covered the sky, blocking the sun. Only in the evening would it reappear, in a belt of red clouds in the western sky. At dawn it was the same just in the east. It felt as if some lid had been closed down upon them. Haille slept fitfully with disturbing dreams, but could not remember them once he woke.
One night Haille stirred from his sleep. Lasolorn was at watch but had let the fire die. They had camped along a promontory that looked out over a wide rocky field with a few streams and pools mingling in it. If they had been traveling for pleasure, the field would have been a fair place to go walking to see what lay in the pools, but since they were in haste, the place was just an obstacle, infernal because it was impassable without dismounting their ponies. So Kaylief had counseled that they ride above it and hope that the land leveled out; which it had not done before nightfall, so they had slept behind some boulders to block the wind, hoping that the next day their luck would prove better.
Lasolorn was perched at the edge of the camp. The cord of his bow was taught, the arrow aimed into the darkness. At first Haille thought he should announce himself by some loud movement, but then he remembered, these were elves and Lasolorn surely had already heard him. So he picked up Elk Heart, keeping it sheathed for purpose of stealth, and crawled over, being sure to stay lower than the boulders. Lasolorn did not take his eyes from his prey. His arrow moved—tracking whatever was down in the field below. Haille felt a cold chill roll up his spine. His hairs were standing on end.
“What is it?”
“A sef,” Lasolorn said, his voice deep and imposing They were the first words Haille had heard him speak.
“A what?”
“A sef.” He spoke not in whispers but a low voice. Whatever it was, it was not so close that it could hear them. This was some relief.
“What is that?”
“Foul creatures that lie dormant for centuries, millennia, that only arise in times of great strife and turmoil. They move at night, and feed on the flesh of the recently dead.”
Haille looked down into the valley. He strained his eyes and to his surprise he could see some dark shape skulking about. He imagined a hunched back, dragging arms, and a wagging head close to the ground. But just as he thought he saw it, it was gone. He looked to Lasolorn. His arrow still moved, following the thing.
“This is the second we have seen in a year.”
“The second? That is many?”
“They have not been seen for over a thousand—in these parts.”
“Do they know something we do not?”
Lasolorn relaxed his pull on the string. The bow squeaked and straightened. The creature was gone. He looked at Haille.
“These woods know many things we do not.”
Lasolorn went over to the embers and held out his hands, drawing what heat he could without relighting the fire. Haille went back to his blankets, but only sat, worry creasing his face. Lasolorn noticed.
“Yes, two is many. They are an unnerving beast. Even more so if one knows their history. But do not be troubled. This one was moving north and I doubt we will cross paths with him again.”
“Will he be destroyed in the forest?”
He shook his head, lips white against each other.
“No. He will find his way to the dark woods. He will be safe there, if that is where he is heading.”
“Perhaps this is the same one that was seen last year,” Haille offered, he could not bear the thought of two. He knew he sounded like a frightened child; even here away from the dark woods he found that he could still be terrified of this place. He wondered if he could ever sleep well again. He yearned for daylight, when he felt braver, and could at least see his enemies coming. Lasolorn was wrapping his hands in cloth, as if in bandages. He flexed his fingers, testing the movement. This was already absorbing his thoughts more than Haille’s questions.
But he did answer. “One can hope.”
The sun did not show itself the next day. Haille and Lasolorn did not speak of the sef, but he knew that Kelief and Veolin had been told simply by the added alertness with which they carried themselves. Val and Cody, although ignorant of the sighting, picked up on the tension and rode with a new wariness, their hands close to the hilts of their swords.
The cold weather broke and this day was mild as if autumn was making one last stand before winter settled in for the season. Where the trees opened enough to let it in, the sky shone steel gray. They descended from the highlands onto lower ground. The earth was hard and dry from the cold, but Haille could see this was a p
lace where water flooded often. The trees stood on roots that propped them up off the earth. Blond moss hung in beards from their branches. Red and yellow nests of algae floated in pools.
Finally they reached a place where there was more water than land. The road they followed was a thin strip of earth, columns of trees on either side, surrounded by inky water. Submerged creatures made v-shaped ripples on the surface as they swam past. Lasolorn and Kalief rode with arrows nocked back in their bows. The strip of land narrowed until it was just a bridge of dirt and ended at the edge of a lake. It was clogged with grasses, mounds, and bushes, but it was a lake nonetheless. The clouds had fallen down into it and it was impossible to see how far it stretched. This was the Vorax Swamp, the very end of the woods of Sidon.
At the shore, Kaylief stopped and waited. It was only after a while that Haille realized the elf was chanting beneath his breath. Something came towards him out of the mist, an arrowhead of wake spreading a wide wave. Haille was startled and reached for his sword, but Lasolorn and Veolin had dismounted and were calm. When the shape came closer, Haille realized it was a raft. Tied to it were two poles, which Veolin and Kelief unfastened, the raft rocking and splashing with their movement.
The elves transferred supplies from the ponies to rucksacks which they handed to Val and Cody. “These are ponies of the forest, they would not serve you in Karrith.”
“Agreed,” Val said, swinging one of the rucksacks onto his back and stepping onto the raft. “They have done their part here faithfully.”
The brothers poled across in complete silence, the ponies disappearing with the shore. Lasolorn and Kelief were at the sides of the raft, Veolin knelt at the front, peering into the mist. A few times she called out to steer them around some clump of soil, some tangle of weeds, but for the most part she said nothing. Haille leaned on Katlyn. This was Karrith on the other shore. They had reached the southern kingdom. The opposite bank looked just the same as the other, but in Haille’s heart, he saw it as strange and foreboding. The raft scrunched up against the shore, waves lapping, grasses hissing. The jays were already there, bouncing in the bushes. The raft steady, Haille walked forward. Lasolorn and Kaylief did not offer their hands, but nodded solemnly as they held onto the poles. Haille was reminded of the crossing he made of the Liam. He had left River Ridge alone that morning. This time he was grateful to be with his friends. Kaylief grunted, “May the fates choose you a safe path and keep you and yours well.”
“Thank you. Thank you for all you have done,” Haille said.
“We are in your debt,” Val said.
“Hardly,” was Lasolorn’s reply. “You brought us our sister, for that we are in yours.”
Katlyn and Veolin embraced. Haille stopped short of wrapping her in his arms, he felt that that was a gesture reserved for females. Instead he turned to Veolin and simply said, “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Prince Haille.”
This was not what he wanted, a farewell so formal and impersonal. She offered her hand and he took it, but she released him without another word, her hand dropping to her side. Val and Cody carried their packs ashore. The raft shifted significantly when the elk followed them off. There was no further reason to tarry. Haille hurried off with Katlyn behind him. Kaylief and Lasolorn put their heft into their poles and nearly lifted themselves off their feet as they struggled against the weeds and muck of the shallows.
Haille watched as they faded into the mist. Realizing that in just a few moments they would be invisible, perhaps forever, from his view, Haille tried to memorize every detail. Every nuance. But that was impossible in the dying light and the thickening layers of mist that gathered like wads of cotton over his eyes. Haille realized that he did not care much about remembering Lasolorn and Kaylief. He looked at the figure he wanted most to remember, and with her brothers’ backs turned, just before she disappeared into the clouds, she looked back.
Chapter 22
Pinky’s Port
“Why do they call it Pinky’s Port,” Haille asked, trudging through mounds of grass bent low by an afternoon rain.
“Because of where it sits on the shore of the Hand Sea,” Val said, a blade of grass dangling from his mouth. “The sea is shaped like a hand with the thumb stretching south from the palm towards Karrith and the . . .”
“. . . the pinky pointing north towards Sidon,” Katlyn finished for him. When Val turned to look at her, she shrugged her shoulders. “I read about it.”
“Sort of an unoriginal name,” Haille said.
“Like naming someone after hail?” Katlyn said with a smirk.
Even Val snorted but his laughter was cut short as the jays passed overhead chirping. Adamantus followed in their wake from the south.
“Our scout returns,” Cody said, struggling to pull his boot out of a pocket of mud. “Hopefully he brings news that the grand port of the littlest finger is near.”
“I do,” the elk said. “The port is less than a league away. Once past those trees you will be able to see its buildings. But the outskirts are crowded with refugees from the fighting in the south.”
“They’ve probably doubled the population of the town,” Cody said, shaking his foot free of the mud.
“More likely quadrupled,” the elk said. “There are more people in camps and the surrounding woods than in the town itself.”
“Might be best if you stayed on the periphery, grazing or doing something, you know, elk-like,” Val said. “You might draw too much attention if you come trotting into town with us.”
“Haille can send the jays to me if you need my aid,” the elk said. Haille’s hair stood on end. The unnatural thrill of hearing his name spoken from the mouth of an elk had not worn away.
Was this how it felt to commoners when his father uttered their name?
They continued through the boggy grass for a few more minutes before emerging in the copse of trees the elk had spoken of. True to his word, the woods were crowded with ragged people, mostly women and children and the old, their clothes dirty and threadbare, their faces drawn and lean, their eyes sunken with dark circles beneath. They offered sparse greetings, staring with suspicion mixed with expectation for Haille and company were clearly travelers and perhaps brought provisions to share or trade or if nothing else, news.
“Cody,” Val said as they passed a clutch of starving children, “give them some food and water. Discreetly now, we don’t want to start a riot.”
The children ate the stale bread as if it were honey cakes. Haille felt awkward and somewhat guilty in their presence simply for not being more gaunt. The road had been hard on him, leaning him out so that he had been forced to buckle his belt a notch tighter, but he felt absolutely fat next to these skeletal creatures. He swung his rucksack off and shared some hard bread with some other children who wandered up. It did not take long for them to be overwhelmed by the numbers. Even adults began to crowd around with outstretched palms.
“Come on,” Val finally said. “We need to get to town.”
They approached the port with somber hearts. The face of war was not what Haille had expected. Violence, bloodshed, dented shields and broken swords, even the carcasses of the vanquished he could have imagined and steeled himself for. But not the empty eyes and swollen bellies of innocent children, even their parents reduced to beggars, sleeping on the forest floor, leaves and twigs in their matted hair.
The privation was even more widespread when they reached the makeshift camp that surrounded the port town. These refugees were slightly better off than those living in the forest—they had tents at least even if those tents were overcrowded with dozens of adults, children, and their elders. Pots hung over fire pits but it was dubious if anything but water boiled in them. The smell of feces was rank and if the bloody flux had not taken hold yet of these peoples’ guts, it soon would. Here and there a drunk man, either too old to fight or too cowardly, staggered past. Some shouted raucous greetings at Katlyn. Others stared at the group of them in stony silence
. Cody walked with his hand on his sword hilt, the space between him and Haille and Katlyn small.
The port town proper was a mishmash of more established stone buildings with two- or three-storied wooden ones, none of which appeared to be straight. There were tile roofs alongside thatch ones, all with smoking chimneys. At any other time Pinky’s Port would have displayed all the signs of prosperity: a forest of masts at the docks, dozens upon dozens of wagons lining the streets, and a population of able-bodied men. But with the war raging in the southern reaches of the kingdom, the ship masts were naked, the wagons empty, and the longshoremen and sailors idle on the galleries of crowded taverns, playing dice, drinking grog, or shouting insults.
Katlyn leaned in close to Haille as a fight broke out in one tavern and spilled into the street. The combatants were two leathery-looking sailors pitted against two burly longshoremen. Their appetite for violence was extinguished as soon as they tumbled into the muddy road, tripping drunkenly over one another. Soon there was laughter and former adversaries were offering each other a hand up.
“Idle hands,” Cody said. “They’re no harm to you, lass. I grew up in such towns. They have a certain charm.”
“If you say so,” Katlyn said.
Val came to a stop outside a tavern with a hanging sign waving in the breeze off the sea. Painted on it was a pelican with an infant riding in its pouched beak. Faded letters running above and below read, “The Bird and the Baby Tavern.”
“This is it,” Val said, making his way up the stairs to the gallery where a number of sailors regarded him with blood-shot eyes. One spat. Another tapped the ashes out of his pipe. A third sipped the last of his grog and slammed down his mug.
“We’re going in there?” Katlyn asked, stopping on the steps, her nose wrinking.
Val answered with a nod and made a clicking noise with his mouth before stepping into the doorway.