The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana

by E Cantu Alegre

  The crowd gave way to soft murmurs and there was crying heard as well. Warriors embraced their family members, small babes, and pregnant wives. Young warriors took leave of their parents who were unable to wield weapons. The time had come that they all dreaded. They had spent their whole lives together. For the first time, the future that lay ahead of them was uncertain, and therefore, filled with dread. Saying goodbye, possibly forever, was unreal to them. Had never been imaginable. Had it really come this? Was this really goodbye? Some could actually die. No. Would die.

  Stoutwyn watched with a heavy heart. He and the other leaders had gone through this themselves, long ago. He had hoped he’d never have to go through it again. Fenner met his sorrowful gaze. The two elders, friends, and fellow former Odana ranking Officers stood at a distance from one another as the other WynSprigns busied themselves with emotional good-byes. Stoutwyn began to approach Fenner.

  “Fen, I—" Stoutwyn started. He sounded thick with briming emotion.

  “No,” Fenner ‘s voice was stern through the lump in his throat. “We know how it will end, Stout.” Fenner tucked in his thin lips, defying the tears he fought to keep back. The truth of their future, the inevitable loss of life. “No. I’ll just say that I will see you as Odan allows.”

  Stoutwyn gazed up at Fenner and allowed a few small tears to swell. It was the best that he could manage. He had always been true to his emotions, but now, with the hope of a crowd on his back, he stifled them back though the dam was about to burst. “All right,” he managed quietly, giving a nod.

  Fenner came close, heartily grabbed Stoutwyn around the head, and quickly placed a kiss on top of it. “Bye, Stout,” he said, backing away.

  They slapped each other’s backs and shoulders heartily. Their friendship had been fastened together in a brief moment long ago, and their goodbye, their end . . . it was echoing the same. Sure, being both involved in the glory days of leading the Odana Military, they knew of one other, but it wasn’t until after the siege that they had forged this aged friendship.

  Stoutwyn stiffened. “Right. Yes.” He cleared his throat and turned, and through the ache in the pit of his stomach, he pulled his gaze from Fenner. In a thick sorrow-laden voice he belted out, “C’mon, group! Into the forest we go!” The former Odana Military Major in his days was now striding to lead the way into the wilds.

  Fenner stood before his group of warriors, looking on. Alone. They all watched their friends and loved ones recede into the unknown part of the woods. Stray sunbeams pulsated at their ambling within the thickening brush. Slowly, their images were engulfed by thick growth of trees and bushes that snapped and crunched under their footing. Each step brought more weight onto the hearts of the warriors.

  Fenner, whose heart only seemed more calloused than others’, turned suddenly. “Okay, warriors!” He cleared his throat, scraping away traces of sadness. The Odana Chief that resided somewhere within him had been summoned. Awakened once more. “Back to Lanico’s!” Fenner knew that the business of training had to be done, and quickly. Sadness would get them nowhere in battle. Standing, he could see his fierce warriors’ downtrodden expressions as they turned with slouched shoulders. They placed trudging steps upon the ground.

  At that, he stiffened. No. This is not the way.

  He was not a one for great words, but he searched himself and called out, “My Sprign warriors—Stop! Now, just hold it there!” Obediantly, the group slowed. “I want you to consider this sadness that you feel now, in this moment.”

  Confused stares met him and glanced at one another.

  “Yes—yes! You heard me correct. Take this sadness!”—he spoke through clenched teeth—"This sadness will not help you, but it is a tool! Yes. Those WynSprigns in there that you care about, yes, those babes—they are the reason you decided to become a warrior! Find the fight in you! Search yourselves and remember what you are fighting for! Grude wants them—Yes! Them!” He pointed to the woods. “Now! It’s time for action! Now is the time to tell him and his warriors, No-Never!”

  He spotted a young WynSprign warrior whose golden hair was braided with authority, but her flushed face was downcast. “Who are you?” he barked, marching closer to examine her.

  She jerked in fear at his shout, disturbing the thick braid that ran down the length of her back. He knew who she was. They all knew each other, but she responded out of respect for her elder.

  “I—I’m Felena Odmire.” She looked down. Her skin, though fair, held a rosy hue—slightly more color than even Lanico.

  He came in closer and gently pulled her chin up with his calloused fingertips. “I didn’t hear you,” he said, his words now softer, but his eyes narrowed with impatience.

  “I’m Felena Odmire.” Her blue eyes now met his.

  “No! No. You’re a warrior, Felena!” He looked at her with glaring eyes, “Called to protect those babes in there!” He then looked around at them all. He paced, winding amongst them; his hands held behind his back. It was coming back, the old fuel in his charge.

  “Who are you?” He eyed the young WynSprign man standing next to Felena. He had seen them together often enough. They were friends, or perhaps more, but right now, he didn’t care. The young man hid himself under a large knitted hat, his gaze reluctantly landing on Fenner.

  “I—I’m Stefin Stoutlet, Mr. Fenner, uh-sir” he answered meekly and shot a look to Felena.

  “No—no. You are a warrior, Stefin.” Fenner glared at the group. He stopped circling, and his thin body stood tall. He took a deep breath in. “I’m going to ask you all, one more time! Who are you?!” He yelled with a voice that was larger than his slight frame, a voice that reverberated against the trees and raked against his throat. Birds took flight.

  He shot a quick glance at Freck, who looked on with a prideful smile. Fenner was about to speak, but the group responded.

  “We’re warriors,” the few answered.

  His heart swelled at that. “I didn’t hear you well I—I’m a bit soft in the ears.” He winced, and his closed fists quivered. “Tell me like you mean it—c’mon, like you believe it!”

  “We’re WynSprign warriors!” They shouted in staggered response. They looked a little relieved at the mighty sound they made. Some dared to have small, curled smiles.

  “YES!” Fenner responded, throwing a fist into the air. “Okay, now tell me! Do warriors stand around looking sad all day? No! No, I can tell you they don’t! Sprign warriors love kicking Mysra asses! Yes!”

  There was now some laughter, but he needed to keep them going, “Right! So, we’re marching to Lanico’s house – now. Move Out!”

  The newly energized group hastened to their training headquarters in the home of their absent leader.

  ✽✽✽

  After some time, Fenner could see that his grandsons were doing well with the swords, especially Freck, and many others were doing well with the staffs. Fenner felt a little proud of himself—he would never have imagined that he could have put this together. However, this pride did not allow him to take his guard down. While watching the training, he started thinking of the Mysra and their brute strength. Fray Jaspia originally constructed the Mysra from mountain boulders. Each one was like a carved, muscled giant. Even the smallest of them could break a WynSprign man in half with their great strength.

  What other advantages do the Mysra have over us Sprigns? Fenner began a mental list. They’re bigger, stronger, have trillium . . . As he stood watching over the sparring before him, he realized the prospects were dim. He had to think about the advantages of being a WynSprign instead. How can being a Sprign be better than being a Mysra? Distant shouting and clashing rang in the background. We Sprigns can see little better in the dark, we’re pretty quick—we can jump . . .

  “We can jump!” he shouted aloud. A few heads curiously turned toward him.

  Fenner looked up at all the trees that surrounded him. “Sprign Warriors of the Great Mist! Stop your training! Yes—just stop for a moment and list
en! You are all making a wonderful transition from simple wood folk to warriors of the Great Mist! But now I have a new lesson!”

  Their ears perked.

  ✽✽✽

  “Yes! That’s it!” Marin paused, smiling up at Anah in the branches. “Okay, I want you to try going higher next time!” Her thin legs dangled freely, but she looked terrified. Marin giggled to himself at the sight of her. He found it hilarious that she was so tough and wild but didn’t know how to do something as simple as leap into trees. And these trees weren’t exceedingly tall, either. He tried to convince her that she was born to do this. Somehow, even through his charm, she didn’t believe him.

  “Marin! Marin! How do I come down?” she shouted at him while clinging to a limb as if for her life. Her panicked voice was small in the distance.

  Marin sighed and smiled at her. He did not want her to be as scared as she was. He decided to go against his own unspoken rule and in one stealthy move, leapt. He didn’t need to leap and cling from one branch to another. In fact, there weren’t many lower branches, anyway. He could jump and land in one move. This particular perch didn’t seem that high . . .

  He landed on the branch with little bounce to himself or to Anah. They sat closely together high above the ground, thigh to thigh—Anah seemed aflame in the early morning sun. Marin tried not to lose his focus on her wild charm, but he still had important lessons he wanted to give her.

  “Anah, I know that for all these years you haven’t had a chance to climb trees or have any fun, but I promise you this is what you and I were designed to do.” He looked at her with confidence.

  Anah smiled and only nodded in response.

  Through the gaze she gave him, Marin wasn’t sure she was actually listening to what he was saying. “Okay. Watch this!” At that moment, he swiftly jumped down to the ground far below.

  Anah gasped in surprise. “Oh! Marin!”

  Landing clean, he grinned up at her. He liked the way she worried for him just then and that for once he was able to shock her. Perhaps he could be just was as wild as she. That made him feel good.

  “See! You can land from a height like that”—he pointed to her—"safely down here.” He bent slightly and, in a sprint, leapt back up to the branch, carefully landing to sit next to her again, in the same spot he had been in just a moment before. “But you also want to get comfortable moving in the trees. It’s good to walk about the branches, but always hold onto them. Make sure you have a solid grasp before you move from one branch to another.” He paused, considering, “All right, let’s jump down.” He extended his hand just in front of her.

  “No! No, I don’t want to do that!” Anah laughed nervously and dug her fingertips into the branch. Even after Marin’s demonstration, she was still scared stiff. A kitten.

  “C’mon, Anah. We may as well do it together. Hold my hand”—he held his out.

  She tried nudging it away.

  “Look,” he said, “you’re going to have to come down eventually—you might as well do it with me.” A corner of his mouth turned up, his eyes sparkled. Her worried eyes met his. “Just believe me on this.”

  She grabbed at his extended hand tightly and looked at him with wide eyes. He tried to ignore the tingles it gave him.

  “Okay, we jump on a count to three . . . One . . . Two . . . Threee!”

  Together, they plummeted, hand-in-hand. Marin landed in a slight bend and stood straight up. Anah, still holding hands with Marin, landed but fell slightly. Her footing was lost and she landed forward on her knees with her bottom straight in the air, and her cheek slid against the grass. They found themselves laughing and relieved that she had been able to jump down from that distance. Marin, still holding her hand, helped her upright. She used her other hand to brush her cheek.

  For a second, they paused. He was still holding her hand. Both were smiling.

  “Okay, Anah. Again,” Marin announced after they righted themselves. Anah was reluctant but realized, begrudgingly, she needed to practice.

  ✽✽✽

  It was a breathtaking sight that only they, were able to share. Several days had passed since Anah’s first jump. She became brave enough to glance around. She could see the sleepy expanse of the Odana Mountain range. On the other side was the Kingdom of Odana. She couldn’t see the castle spire at this point, but she tried anyway, to squint in that direction.

  Marin followed her gaze. “Why are you looking there? What’s supposed to be in that direction?”

  “Oh, well, I was trying to see if I could spot the spire of the Castle of Odana.” She held her squinted gaze, her freckled nose pointed up at the effort.

  “The Castle of Odana . . .” Marin held his hand over his eyes, joining Anah and squinting in the same direction. “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Really?” Anah turned, remembering. “Oh . . . yeah, that’s right. I forgot you were taken away from there when you were only a babe.”

  Marin took a big breath before continuing: “Anah, honestly . . . I’m nervous about winning this war against the Mysra.”

  Anah’s emerald eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could reply, he continued: “-Well, I want to win, of course, so the WynSprigns can be free, but what happens afterward?”

  Anah was silent on this, waiting.

  “Well, you know already.” He sighed before answering, “I’d have to go to the castle and live there, right?” He paused. “Lanico would take his place on the throne, and I would have to learn my new roles. Learn about being a—a royal, I guess and take on the responsibilities. And, well . . . I don’t know anything about being a leader . . . or much of anything.” His voice trailed as he looked down to fidget with an acorn. It was a bigger part than he had ever played, in anything.

  Anah stared with affectionate eyes. She did want to rage at him for not wanting to win, but now that she understood the weight of responsibility that he considered, it seemed understandable—his reluctance. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that now.” She made a long exhale. “Worry about that tomorrow.” She managed a small smile and placed her hand over his. He stopped fidgeting and held her hand instead. “That’s what I used to say when I worked in the mines—'Tomorrow’s problem is for tomorrow.’”

  She looked over at him and smiled slightly. He was telling her many things on his heart. Perhaps, if he did become King, she could be his warrior Queen. He sighed at that thought. He would have to have one of those, too—a Queen.

  Oh, fires.

  He gulped.

  Anah was bold: she leaned her head against his, and they remained, together, looking out to the horizon.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Preparations

  Morning came—and Neen shook his head in disgust. This time they had celebrated right into the next morning. Of all times to have slept in, on this day, it was disastrous. The warrior barracks were crowded with Mysra that had overindulged in yellow berry wine and food. Not only were they fast asleep, but it was a deep sleep, almost as if they were . . . dead. They weren’t dead, though. He had slapped them, jerked their heavy limbs, pinched their noses, and even dumped water over them. He yelled a flurry of curse words that echoed wildly against the walls.

  Nothing.

  They snored and slumbered without interruption.

  His blood boiled at his seeing the heaps of sleeping warriors lying about. What in the fires happened? He felt it—this was not normal. Something was very wrong. Something had gone very wrong.

  He growled. What could have caused this—this enchanted sleep? Why didn’t it happen to me?

  There was no time to ponder. Neen was determined to start planning this urgent task with or without the others’ assistance. He had to. Those WynSprign prisoners he and Gax had encountered in the woods—they were probably going to tell the others. His heart drummed. He feared they’d be preparing to leave—or even leaving—by now. He hadn’t dared to tell Grude of the imprisoned WynSprigns that had seen them. He reasoned that
he would have to move quickly and he wasn’t about to allow his Mysra warriors to stand in his way to the throne. Planning by himself was an immense task, but he had to start leading somewhere. He had to move. The others would have to join him once they were awake.

  He didn’t want to walk over to the WynSprign mining encampment and ask Nizen for help, either. No, Nizen would gloat about how he and his mining guards were better prepared and more committed than Neen’s riding warriors and how he wasn’t willing to supply him with slaves-as if he wanted them anyway.

  Neen sighed angrily and rubbed his hand down against his face, his eyes bulging in anger under his pulled-down lids. He proceeded with the preparations—his massive arms carried two large woven baskets that contained other baskets within, and he marched to where the weapons were stored and started sorting and organizing equipment, his movements, mechanical and fast.

  As he busied himself with the sorting and storing, he began thinking of the other tasks that needed completion. He’d need to have wagons ready, horses shoed and fed, trillium and food supplies accounted for, and of course, the organized Mysra armed and alert. They would wake eventually, and when they did, Neen had plans for them.

  “Lazy bastards,” he fumed.

  ✽✽✽

  It was true though. The WynSprigns were preparing.

  “Higher!” Fenner trembled, belting out commands. His warriors responded and leapt into high tree branches above them. Though he glared at them, his heart was set on protecting them. Every shout was a push to become better, tougher, and stronger. He understood well the ruthlessness of the Mysra—they could easily wipe out these warriors. Though he fought against the thought, Fenner knew that they wouldn’t all survive this battle. He gulped, staring up at the leaping, clinging WynSprigns – most of which he recalled as babes and children. He denied his mind speculating which of them would succumb to battle.