The woman’s beneficent presence warmed them both and the tension melted instantly.
“Marin and Gish,” Lanico started uneasily—he wasn’t sure how Marin was going to respond to this introduction—"I think it’s far past time for this. I’d like you to meet my mother, my Ama, Fray Greta.” He gestured toward the ethereal woman who loomed tall over them all, even Gish.
Gish, now standing, bowed a little; he was always sparse with words. “Pleased to meet you, uh—milady, uh—Fray,” he managed. If he was shocked, it did not show other than the sputtering of his greeting.
“Wow!” Marin’s eyes were wide and glowing purple in the dim. “You’re a Fray? You’re Lanico’s mother?!” He was elated and could barely get his words out. “So Lanico’s part . . . uh, part Fray and WynSprign . . . a half-breed?”
“Yes,” Lanico replied with a slight smile.
“But I didn’t know the Fray were real!” Marin said with astonishment. “But then, until recently I didn’t think horses were real, either—just bedtime stori-.”
“Yes, Marin,” Greta continued, “your Lanico is part Fray.” She looked with playful accusation over at Lanico and said low, “You never told him?”
Lanico shrugged. “I felt it wasn’t information that he needed.”
Greta smiled and scolded Lanico with lowered brows.
Once they broke camp, they followed Greta though the woods hardly lightened with the dawn, but her presence was a beacon along the way. Marin and Gish looked at each other, as they trailed behind Lanico, Marin calling ahead a flurry of questions about the Fray, about powers, and more. Greta was most accommodating and indulged the young man with answers. It had been a long while since she’d had anyone to converse with.
They trudged with their bags, guiding the horses through these mysterious, dense woods. Once at a clearing near the river, Gish tied both the horses to nibble on the tall grasses that grew wildly around them, the beasts snorted in relief. Lanico and Marin went ahead with the bags to the house that reminded Lanico of all the magic of his childhood.
His Fray mother’s home was a vast collection of thin birch trees that had been enchanted. Bent and pulled into the shape of a large house, illuminated from within the trees themselves. Their green canopies sheltered the top of the home with a green blanket that kept out the rain. The tall door was most unusual, woven of tiny filaments that allowed the inside of the home to be visible and circulating fresh breezes.
At Lanico’s demonstration that gave him permission, Marin gently ran his fingertips along the door surface in curiosity.
“Oh, I made it using spider silk,” Greta explained, noting his curious expression. “I like seeing outdoors and always welcome the fresh air. This door allows these things, without admitting the invasion of bugs. And it trembles at the least disturbance, so I always know who is about.”
“It’s such a great invention, Fray Greta,” Marin marveled, feeling the minute strands with his fingertips.
“Thank you, my dear. Oh, and please call me Greta—you are a grandson to me.” Greta smiled at Marin and opened the door widely for them all to enter.
Inside, the home was light, much of it white, and the pleasant smell of moss hung in the air. The ceiling was high. There were no candles—Lanico explained to Marin that Greta had put an enchantment on the large, immaculate home so that it illuminated at her will. He stayed by the door a moment, looking outside to make sure they were not followed, then ushered in Gish while Greta showed them all where to set down their things.
Greta assisted them all to get settled in the sleeping quarters she’d shown them. Marin paused from pulling out his traveling blanket and looked up to meet Greta’s gaze.
“I—I have much to learn about Lanico, and you,” he said. “And I thank you for your patience with me as I ask questions. I admit that I am still stunned—that Lanico is half Fray. It explains a lot, really.”
“Oh? How so?” Greta smiled a cat’s smile, and Lanico echoed that smile, glad to have his mother answer Marin’s questions for once. After all these years, the adoptive father had been constantly under interrogation at his differences from the others.
“Uh, well . . .” Marin began. “His mannerisms are different from those of the other WynSprigns. And while the others have gotten weaker over the years, Lanico hasn’t. His height, his youthfulness, his fairness . . . his frightening moods.” Marin slid a glance to Lanico, who now glowered back from where he was unpacking a bag.
Marin gulped and directed his attention back to her. “Please tell me, Greta, what’s it like being a Fray? Are there any special skills that Fray have—besides this light that shines from you?”
Greta huffed a slight laugh. “Well, Fray are immortal. We have a few magic properties that allow us to protect the forests and people we love—with limits, of course.”
“They can help repair nature,” Lanico interjected to explain, choosing not to reveal the weakness she had confided to him. “Some can shape-shift to take on another appearance while others use nature’s elements to their advantage. The Fray dwell all over the land, in the thickest forests.” He paused. “I was born to Greta, but as you know, I was raised by my father, King Oetam, in the castle.”
There were limits to Lanico’s own knowledge about the Fray, and therefore limits to his understanding of his own abilities.
Gish listened carefully to the explanations while sorting out the rations they had left.
“I’ve known you since the beginning, Marin,” continued Greta. “I was there to help bring you into this world. I recall the moment I first laid eyes on you, when I helped your mother deliver you.” Her gaze now seemed far off. “I still recall when you took your first breath . . . You looked the same as your natural father, Izra—and still do.”
Marin’s eyes shone with delight.
Later, after they’d cleaned up and eaten, Lanico remained at the doorway, looking out over the narrow clearing of towering pines. Greta drifted over to join her son and gently laid a glowing hand on his shoulder. He placed his hand on top of hers and saw the tears welling in her eyes.
“Lanico,” she started softly, “I know that you have been through quite a journey, but I wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, it’s true. We have been traveling for some time,” Lanico said wearily.
“Not that journey,” she said. “I know that you have been living away from Odana, for I felt your absence in my being for so long . . . Far too long.” She sniffed and her aura dulled for that instant. Somewhere, the scraping and chiseling had started. She took a ragged breath, and whispered painfully, “I feel the pick-axe.”
Lanico made a sad sigh.
“Worry not,” she said to him. “I’ve managed all these long years.”
He opened the screened door and took a few steps outside, Greta gliding beside him.
Outside, Greta had assured him that she was alright, that she weathered the mining for these long years and that this was yet another day that she’d manage.
They began to talk at length. Seeking the wisdom of his mother, Lanico unburdened himself. He explained that he was weary of not only the journey from the Great Mist, but of his memories and his past actions. He told his mother about the increasing vivid visions that overpowered him, explaining his role in the Great Mist and how three other elders led the WynSprigns.
“But I realized only recently, Ama, that I have been dead—dead to my emotions, to my memories, and in my spirit.” He was dead to the world and the needs outside the Great Mist. He had left his people behind in Odana. His guilt incapacitated him. He was ashamed and angry, at himself.
Greta came near and embraced him. Lanico’s heart melted at the radiating warmth and familiar love of her super-maternal embrace—much like warm honey that melted to cover him body and soul. He was always stoic, but in this moment, in the security of his mother’s presence, he was overwhelmed and wept.
He wept for his losses—for Izra, Treva, his own father, and for having
been so numb for all these past years. He wept for the pain of the enslaved WynSprign subjects. He also, in silence, wept for his mother, her pain. In denial—he admitted to himself. He had failed.
Greta continued to hold him tight until his feelings had expelled.
The truth, he explained, was that he was in no position to lead after the Great Divide. He was beyond grief-stricken at that.
Greta, with a tone of compassion, said, “You did not fail, for now you have come back.”
Lanico had come back to the Odana and back from the death slumber he had dwelled in for so long. It was better to come back even now, she explained, than not to come back at all.
Her words were encouragement—nourishment. He sniffed and nodded. “Thank you, Ama. I needed to hear that.”
“I know, my son”—she gave a lengthy sigh—"I know. A mother always knows.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Muddied descent
The rain had only just lifted, and the black morning sky had now brightened. Treva knew that this was the time to act. They needed to move quickly. She shook Anah awake. Anah jerked in alarm and yelled out, her voice cascading down the mountain.
“Shhh!” Treva demanded, grabbing Anah’s thin arms securely. “It’s only me. Listen, we have to get moving. We need to keep distance between ourselves and the Mysra, who are no doubt on our trail by now.” Treva was hopeful that the downpour had diminished their tracks somewhat.
Anah nodded and her eyes began to close again.
“No,” Treva growled low through her teeth. “Up! We need to move out. The mines my likely be open by now.”
“Okay, okay. I’m with you.” Anah’s voice was weary and weak despite the Emerald Knight’s demands.
Their bodies were exhausted from nearly continuous work over the years and sleep was most welcome, but not yet. Not until they reached safety somewhere on the other side. They rolled up the sleeping mats and grabbed their bags, then very slowly and carefully rounded the corner of the cave to continue down the mountainside they could see through a break in the crags they could not fit through. They were only a few steps from the summit. First Treva went, and then Anah followed. A moment later, they were both straddling the top of the narrow mountain with the sides falling away on either side of them.
“Okay,” Treva said, breathing hard. “Understand that this mountain has had a lot of rain. Even though this side of the mountain has trees and some plant life, it can all give very easily with the loosened, wet soil. We must lean ourselves into the mountainside while we trek downwards.” She paused for an annoyed sigh. “Expect to get filthy.” A section of her hair escaped the emerald mass tied back at the nape of her neck and Treva quickly tucked this behind her ear, as was her habit.
Anah gave a nodded response, though she still looked drowsy. The next stage will wake her up.
Treva started downward, grabbing onto small trees and rocky grooves in the rock. Her prized armor made this complicated task even harder, its edges digging into the mud and getting caught on the rocks. She had to wiggle slightly to free herself from these slight catches.
Anah followed a close distance behind, and it was only a few moments later when a rock she had loosened tumbled down the mountain, nearly crushing Treva’s head! Treva ducked while Anah gasped and grabbed for another rock, but that tumbled, too, and caused the loose, wet soil to give way! The climbers remained somewhat steady, but Treva herself didn’t feel steady and knew Anah could not feel secure, either. A small mudslide formed alongside them and rocks tumbled and bushes were torn up by the force moving downhill.
“Hold on tight and stay still!” Treva yelled over the tumult. “Lean into the mountain—hug it close to yourself!” It sounded ridiculous, but she continued: “Become a part of the mountain itself!”
Treva clung to the mountainside with her body, adhering her face, her whole body into the soil, and hoping Anah was doing the same. She could feel the wet, muddy gravel scrape her face, ear, and head. At last, Treva found purchase balancing on a small tree and holding onto grooves in the rock with clutching fingers, her nails digging into any available fissure.
After a few moments, things had quieted.
Anah, started sobbing quietly above her. “I’m so sorry, Treva,” she blubbered, trembling.
It was not Anah’s fault. The girl had never climbed a mountain and Treva knew she could have made the same mistake just as easily.
“It’s okay, Anah,” she called up to her friend. “You didn’t know. No harm done. Look!”—Treva laughed a little—"It’s okay. We’re still okay.” She feigned a smile to encourage Anah to stay calm even though her own heart was hammering.
“Tr-Treva, I can’t move,” Anah called. The smooth cinnamon of Treva’s voice did not calm in this urgency. “I’m scared,” she whimpered.
“Anah, continue down.” It was an order spoken smoothly despite Treva’s searing pain that settled in once the panic had passed. “Reposition yourself. We must move in order to avoid capture. We slept far too long and the Mysra guards could be tracking us this very moment and now that the rain has let up . . .” She paused and looked around, squinting, panting loudly. “For us to survive, we need to press forward.” This armor—oh, fires it’s too heavy, for my side!
They both started to move downward carefully, and after a little, the ground below was less distant. They were descending into a lush, green forest that seemed to greet them as a breeze swept through the treetops. It was beautifully tranquil, and the cool air smelled of herbs and pine, without the brassy smell of trillium to taint it.
“Have you ever seen such green,” Treva called out in encouragement.
Anah smiled down at her, and Treva completed their common thought: “It’s so full of life!”
Suddenly, “Hey!”—a gruff male voice yelled out from the distance above.
Treva darted her gaze toward the sound. Her eyes flashed along the summit, scanning for the source.
Shit!
Two Mysra!
Her heart stopped.
They were trying to lumber down the same path the women had used. It was hard to see them at first, for they almost blended into the mountain scape like boulders themselves.
Treva’s face twisted into a pained scowl as she looked to Anah just above her. Her lips peeled back from her teeth: “Move! Move! Move!”
In a bold move, Anah leapt down past Treva and they both tumbled hard from the steep slope of the mountain’s base and onto the foothills below. They scrambled to stand while staring up at the Mysra.
They could maintain the distance between them, Treva judged. They could do it. They had to.
For only a moment, Treva watched the Mysra move on the mountain and said with a smile, “They don’t seem to know how to climb—they may actually injure themselves.”
No matter—they needed to lose Mysra however they could. “C’mon!” Treva shouted to Anah, grabbing her arm. They ran with bags swinging, into the darkened woods. They didn’t dare look back.
Chapter Twenty-Five
On thundering footsteps
Greta had just finished giving her guests fluffy white blankets to carry to their rooms. She’d already warmed their spirits up with honied bilberry tea. The next plan was to discuss the steps needed to reclaim control over the Odana. They had settled in the white wood chairs and began thinking over the facts. Gish was most helpful here. He knew very well his father’s intentions as well as other countless details about the security and systems they had in place.
Greta, who was listening intently, paused to focus on something. She felt another stirring in the forest, a familiar tingling in her bones. Without a word and without interrupting them, she stood slowly to glide away. She peered out a nearby window, then left the men alone in the sitting room and went outside.
Lanico looked up as she left, and Gish’s voice stopped. Greta’s glow was visible as she moved outside, along the side of the house and deeper into the woods behind. Lanico stood.
“Stay here,” he said calmly to Marin and Gish as he kept his gaze on what he could glimpse through the window. He then walked toward the front of the house, where he had placed Reluctant Leader, and went outside, sword in hand. He followed to where he could see her glow receding into the woods, beyond the other side of her cabin.
He was tempted to follow, but she had not summoned him to follow and he knew better than to go against his mother, or to get ahead of her wishes. She could be far more deadly than even he could, and she could take care of herself. He would keep senses alert, though, just in case. He returned to his companions in the house.
✽✽✽
Greta illuminated her path and the surrounding trees as she headed straight towards something quickly, with purpose. She felt it like a magnet, a familiar pull toward something—perhaps someone—that she needed and had missed. Scenting the air, she grew anxious with every step. What-Who is this?
She conjured her gifts from Odan by closing her eyes, tilting back her head, and planting her feet to the earth, murmuring in an ancient tongue—the language of the Father himself. Feeling the surge, she placed fast steps. She began to run and became a flash that shot past the rush of the hidden falls. The obedience of the trees and brush bent themselves away from her approaching charge. As she zoomed forward, the forest terrain became hilly and she could feel a change in the air—it was here. She heard thundering footsteps through the forest ground and moved toward the sound, a sound heightened to her.
There! She caught sight of two WynSprign women—a small one struggling to keep up with a taller one that had . . . emerald hair and a Knight’s armor!
“Oh!” she breathed. Her heart danced in delight.
It’s her!
It’s really her!
“Ha! She made it out!” Greta laughed to the sky.
She watched them bounding in her direction as fast as they could, with terror lashed on their faces. What are they running from? Greta wondered through the quickening of her own heart. She slowed herself to stop, positioned herself behind a tree, and transformed with a bright flash so that she could engage them.
The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana Page 14