The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana

by E Cantu Alegre

  Too fearful to turn to face the monster behind him, he lay still, with no idea where he was.

  Chapter Six

  A division of the trusted

  Trayvor and Fenner made their way back into the Great Mist village. Trayvor was not an agile or limber WynSprign anymore, and his days on patrol were numbered; a reason he wanted to secure another role in the Great Mist. He had long sought noteworthiness amongst his people and his plans would allow him the physical relief and the status he so desired.

  Fenner traveled with him, his mind elsewhere. Lanico would not take the news of Marin’s banishment well. If Marin is gone . . . Fenner gulped at the thought. He wrung his hands nervously. Trayvor didn’t seem to care in the least; in fact, he seemed quite proud of their current circumstances.

  After their long, slow walk back to the Great Mist, they stopped at the tavern for ale—for Trayvor. Fenner avoided drinking, and sat and shuffled his feet anxiously. Trayvor threw back mug after mug of ale, and seemed a bottomless pit. It was baffling that one could hold so much liquid.

  Fenner slowly sipped at the tavern’s stew for lunch but it had grown cold when he tasted it hours later for dinner. His appetite had disappeared entirely.

  There had been countless rounds of ale and various random visitors to their table for greetings and aimless chat. After hours, Trayvor belched, wiped his mouth with his forearm, and through a breathy fog of brew announced, “I’m calling for an emergency meeting.” Those seated nearby and amongst them paused to glance quickly at him before resuming their business. Trayvor had been generous to them all tonight but the crowd here didn’t care in the slightest about the elder meetings they had.

  Fenner dropped his spoon and nodded in agreement but remained silent. His mind was still spinning over Lanico’s imagined response. He felt himself quivering, anticipating Lanico’s reaction. He remembered how threatening Lanico could become, and having spent the majority of the day at the tavern hadn’t dulled that fear.

  Trayvor didn’t seem nervous at all about having this emergency meeting. He quite looked forward to telling the former Prince exactly what was on his mind.

  “Things will start changing around here”—Trayvor pushed his emptied mug to the center of the table, signaling he was finished— “We’ll see what Lanico has to say to that.” Trayvor had once told King Oetam that if a person was too weak to lead, then someone else would gladly step in and do it for them—whether that leader wanted that or not. To him, Lanico had been the weakest leader.

  ✽✽✽

  Their first stop was Stoutwyn’s home at the base of a large oak tree. It had a wide door that conveniently accommodated his size, and small windows scaling up the tree in various places. It was a simple home, common, and unremarkable to most.

  It was starting to get late in the day, and the windows were already glowing soft yellow when they arrived at his door. To the silent disapproval of Fenner, much of the day had been wasted at the tavern. Trayvor loosed a cat-like grin at Fenner, and rapped at the door with his walking stick. The sound was small in their space.

  After a few moments, they could hear shuffling and movement inside. The ground trembled slightly at the heavy-footed approach. Stoutwyn fussed with the small door window curtain and squinted out at them, trying to see who had come to call. Trayvor’s and Fenner’s eyes started glowing in the dim light. Stoutwyn closed the small curtain and unlocked the door, opening it slowly to reveal that he was ready for bed. He fingered for his looking glasses in his deep chest pocket and placed them on the bridge of his pronounced nose.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Stoutwyn greeted the pair. “Wh—what has you calling at this late hour?”

  Ignoring the insinuation of intrusion, Trayvor narrowed his gaze and smugly announced, “Due to some recent concerns, I am calling an emergency elder meeting. It’s to be held at Lanico’s.” He fumbled at his cloak ties and tossed a glance back at Fenner from over his shoulder. Fenner remained expressionless behind him.

  How in the fires is he not drunk? Fenner marveled in silence at the well-spoken Trayvor. His mouth gaped slightly in disbelief at his composure.

  “I see, I see,” said Stoutwyn quickly. He nervously fumbled for his robe on a hook near the door.

  Trayvor, clearing his throat, said, “Yes, please follow us there once you’re . . . decent.” He scowled, flicking his gaze down at Stoutwyn’s nightclothes, and wore a sour expression before he turned to walk away. Fenner paused his steps to light a small lantern on the path toward Lanico’s.

  Stoutwyn stood alone in the doorway, still a little befuddled. They hadn’t held an emergency meeting in years. Then, with a robe quickly wrapped around him, Stoutwyn scrambled to close his door behind him. He carried his own lantern, which swung greatly at his uneven strides. The dense trees that surrounded their homes and paths came to life as night insects and owls started their dusk melodies.

  After a time walking through the darkening haze, they approached Lanico’s quiet earthen home. Tufts of grass and moss covered the house and gave it a green allure still visible in the fading light.

  Trayvor rapped on the thick door with his walking stick. After a few moments, a loud clank broke the silence and the door cracked open. Lanico peered around the door and sighed at the sight of them, and not Marin returning home for the evening. He looked at their serious faces. Probably yet another complaint about Marin, he determined.

  Like Stoutwyn, he had also been getting settled for the evening but still wore his clothing. Lanico appreciated bedding early and rising early. Despite his discontent with this unexpected nighttime visit, he remained gentlemanly. He flashed a feigned smile. “Good evening, fellow elders. Please, please come in.” He held the door open for them.

  The elders came in and gathered in the quiet sitting room, choosing their spots. Lanico sat in a small chair against the wall adorned with weapons, for Trayvor had taken the larger cedar one. They didn’t speak right away and Lanico waited for one of them to begin. They are the ones who came here, after all.

  After a moment of shuffling, Trayvor spoke up, stiffening into official business: “Well, gentlemen, I am moved to call this emergency meeting because of a serious development. As we all know, young Marin has been caught in the past outside the boundaries of the Great Mist. Just earlier this day, we—Fenner and I”—he shot a glance at Fenner— “we caught the boy at Horse’s Clearing, just at the tree line. We made the decision to banish him at that very instant.” He paused. “We made that choice because we knew you wouldn’t, Lanico.”

  There was a brief silence.

  Stunned in disbelief, a nervous laugh escaped Lanico. “Did I just hear this accurately?” He paused to gauge Fenner’s expression. Fenner looked down in shame.

  The smile faded and a cold sweat claimed him. Lanico casted a look of incredulity. No.

  “No,” his voice whispered.

  Travyor gave a single slow nod.

  Lanico’s heart fluttered as he drew a sharp breath. He shook his head with a feeling of great rage, confusion, and . . . fear. A wave of fear washed over him. He felt as if a blow just had slammed into his gut. His face flushed and his heart thumped quickly. No! Lanico shot up from his chair. His Fray heritage, revealed in his uncommonly tall height for a WynSprign, he loomed over them. Only they knew of his Fray blood, and up until now, they had somewhat forgotten it.

  Trayvor held onto his smug smile. He looked around at the others, proud to be in that large chair, certain that he had accomplished something great.

  More silence.

  Lanico, breaking the stunned moment, brought himself back into the room. There was no time for arguing and anger—action was needed. He needed to move. Panicked, he fumbled asking questions: “Wh—wh—where will his lodgings be?” He blinked nervously, trying to get basic information. “Wh—what”—he inhaled deeply— “what town or village was he sent to? Prond-?”

  He struggled to keep composure as his throat knotted, his heart now racing. “Did
he have enough rations for his journey there, to the vill—to—to where he was sent?”

  Trayvor looked around nervously and said with caution, “Well, no. Ah”—he paused to glance at Fenner’s lowered face— “No. We had no arranged lodgings in any location.” He started to feel uneasy and the smart smirk he wore vanished.

  The wood floor creaked as Stoutwyn shifted in his chair. The room became darker instantly, a response to Lanico’s very emotion. Outside, a distant rumble of thunder trembled. Stoutwyn immediately recognized Odan’s gift in him, a Fray gift rarely seen.

  As formally trained, Lanico summoned his regal nature and tried to speak clearly. His bewildered thoughts and emotions he tried to leash; tried not show outwardly, even if nature’s elements did hint at the storm raging within him.

  “You banished my son . . . hours ago, without any prior arrangements?” His voice echoed of rumbling thunder. “He’s wandering the wilderness alone?! No provisions, no planning, you just set him up for . . . for doom!” A flash of white rage came and he swept at a random table. It flew effortlessly to the side. The table cracked, the wood splintering at the solid strike. Ink spattered and pooled from the broken inkwell. “Is that it?” Lanico continued, “I know my Marin is different from the others, but this! . . . betrayal!” he hissed. Keeping his anger at bay as much as he could, he clenched his fists until they grew numb.

  Elders Stoutwyn and Fenner, were fear-struck, unsettled, wriggling in discomfort. Stoutwyn was learning for the first time that Marin was alone. Fenner knew however, that Marin wasn’t wandering alone in the Yellow Vast—he was in the custody of a Mysra. It was ever so much worse than Lanico yet knew. Countless years had passed since they had seen Lanico’s fury. The wood floor creaked slightly with their shifting movements. Trayvor sat still in the big chair, his arms crossed over his large belly in defiance.

  Lanico released them from his fiery gaze, and it was as if the trio could breathe again. He spun on his heel and started riffling through various woven baskets and wood boxes that had been buried under blankets and scrolls behind his desk for years. He bent over, searching, his long silver hair hiding his pained face. “I cannot believe the irresponsibility—the foolhardiness! —of this whole thing!”

  He tossed baskets and blankets aside until he came upon a large box and pulled open the lid. His eyes widened at seeing his forgotten gilded armor inside. He blinked back, focusing. Where is it? Where is . . .? His tingling fingers felt it at the bottom. A tinderbox, a few small traveling necessities . . . He then pulled up his brown leather sword sheath. He stood straight and quickly fastened it around his narrow waist, hidden beneath his white tunic. The well-worn belt fastened in its well-worn notch, but Lanico adjusted the belt one hole looser to accommodate his slightly larger girth after all these years.

  He turned to the wall and grabbed Reluctant Leader from its mount. Holding it sent a tingling to his hand. The weight was familiar to his strong arms, an extension of his own wrist. He sheathed the sword immediately and turned to the group, his silver hair swinging.

  “You leave me no choice”—he pointed accusingly with his free hand and grit his teeth— “I am setting out to find Marin. My share of the Great Mist is under your protection until my return. I’d prefer not to leave, but understand you have placed me in a vastly difficult situation . . .” Stopping himself short, he inhaled, fighting hard to keep his resolve. No. He would say no more.

  Trayvor’s face remained unchanged.

  Lanico’s worn leather boots thudded as he walked quickly over to the eating area and searched for his satchel. He grunted, rolling his eyes in annoyance—Marin took it. Of course. He grabbed a brown sack lying close by, and a canteen. The others could hear him rustling around in the food den. Along with his traveling items and tinderbox, he tossed bread rolls, rabbit jerky, and carrots into the satchel.

  The others were silent, looking around at one another. Stoutwyn, still in shock himself, quickly stood and walked over to Lanico, who paid him no mind as he finished rummaging for food. Lanico grabbed his green cloak from the hook just beside the door. He stole one last daggered glance at everyone—Fenner and Traylor calm, just sitting there, Stoutwyn fretting. Lanico grunted angrily as he opened the door, which moaned loudly. He pulled hard and the door slammed behind him, sending the metal bolt rocking. He stormed furiously away, leaving everyone behind in his home. His mind and his focus were elsewhere.

  Inside, Stoutwyn anxiously looked at the others. There was only silence.

  With a last look at the other two Stoutwyn advanced. The door moaned again as Stoutwyn passed through, looking for Lanico, who had stopped and occupied himself fumbling with his cloak, awkward with his sword. Lanico’s breath fogged around him just as plainly as his glowing eyes shone, and the sounds of chirping tree frogs, hundreds of them, reverberated in the night air.

  “Listen, Lan, I can accompany you,” Stoutwyn offered. His eyes also glowing dimly in the newfound darkness “L—look, I knew nothing of this till just now.” His face was concerned as he looked up at Lanico.

  Lanico stopped fussing with his cloak and straightened himself, turning his gaze down at his old friend and seeing plainly that Stoutwyn was just as surprised as he was at the news of Marin. He studied his tone and measured his words: “I knew as much, Stout. I’d never assume you’d give in to this, this . . . ridiculousness.”

  “I will accompany you on this journey,” Stoutwyn declared. “I can be an additional set of eyes and legs—as you’re looking for Marin, those would come in handy.” Stoutwyn offered a small smile.

  This was an honest and selfless gesture, especially since Stoutwyn was now limited physically. His days of being an Odana Major were far-gone. Lanico felt his gaze soften as he looked down at him. “My friend”—Lanico paused— “I need you here, to assist in watching over the WynSprigns.” It was understood between them that Fenner was not capable of standing up to Trayvor without some assistance. Lanico sighed. “I don’t plan on being gone long.” He sighed again. “Oh, fires. And, even then—when we’re back—I’m uncertain of what to do . . . I’ll have to figure out where to place Marin, or if I should bring him back here temporarily until other arrangements could be made or . . .” His voice and thoughts trailed away.

  Noticing his overwhelmed state, Stoutwyn loosed another feeble smile. “All right, Lan, it’s all right . . . One thing at a time, hmm? First, find the boy.”

  Lanico gave a small sad smile. They patted each other on the shoulder heartily, and then Lanico turned, and started into the dark mist of the woods.

  Chapter Seven

  To survive

  Marin heard himself moan and started to wake. He wiggled against his restraints, forgetting until that horrific realization came back. He had been captured. He was tied. He was immobile—something that he had never been in his entire life. A deep and dark dread swept over him . . . doom. He was doomed. His heart resumed hammering within his chest. He moved ever so slightly to avoid attention from the monster while he tested the bindings.

  Still completely tied.

  Still on the ground.

  Still captured.

  Still . . .

  He hoped. He hoped to avoid blacking out again and measured his breathing to calm himself. Then the pain returned as reality set in. His body was stiff and wracked in agony from the falls he had endured. He was still facing a big wall of boulders, a monolith. He blinked and looked as far as he could, stretching his site upward. He realized this was like the base of a small mountain. He had to do something. The menacing Mysra put him at a physical disadvantage, but he could try to communicate with the Mysra and act confident. While he had the nerve, he decided to roll over quickly and demand to know where they were.

  He took a breath and rolled—but the small campfire was out, though smoke still lingered over the charred remains. He must have fallen asleep for several hours. Marin’s eyes darted around quickly, searching for the Mysra. He’s not here!

  He had to act fas
t.

  He wiggled, like a caterpillar trying to free itself from its chrysalis. He managed to push with his feet and sit up against the boulder, facing the fire pit. His curly hair was matted like a black nest and his face dusty. Blinking slowly, he focused. The sky was a beautiful blend of fuchsia and lavender and at every passing moment, brightening. From this point, the land was wide and golden . . . with no trees. Only yesterday, he was staring at this same sky, but under very different circumstances.

  Marin didn’t have much time. He couldn’t see any knives or sharp objects lying about but he decided to use the sharp edges of the rock before him. He sawed the rope back and forth until bit by bit the strands broke and swirled free around his wrists. It seemed only moments until he managed to free his hands and then his body. He sat up, working on the ropes that secured his feet. Suddenly, he heard something—pebbles grinding and muffled thuds from footsteps approaching. Marin startled, inhaling sharply.

  The Mysra rounded the small mountain, winding through the boulders with heavy thudding steps toward the fire pit, and glared at Marin, who at that moment, felt the hair on his arms prickle in terror. His breath caught.

  The Mysra had several dead rabbits flung over his broad shoulders, tied together with a bit of twine – the same that Marin had just freed himself from. The look of him and the kills only heightened the fear that Marin felt pounding within. The Mysra set the rabbits on the ground and added new wood to the smoldering black remains. The fire promptly restarted after his use of flint and twine.