The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  “Tough sell, this,” Leeman muttered as he studied her notes. “You’re demanding docile peasants trust your dreams and the words of a criminal lunatic. Not a promising formula.”

  “They’ll need to hear it from someone they trust,” Brie answered wearily. She had to force herself to continue. “Berg, I need you to return home.”

  “No!” He reacted as she suspected, as she herself felt. “I came to find my brother. And, Brie, you’re not going over the border alone. I’m coming.”

  “You’ll do Renn and Emmie more good if you can drum up some help back home,” Brie said dejectedly. She had counted on Berg to be at her side when she went over the canyon into the north. That was before reality had taken a surreal turn. “But you’re correct that I shouldn’t go alone. That’s why. . .” She bit her lip, framing what should have been a question into a statement. “Leeman is coming with me. You game?”

  “No, I’m not game!” Leeman, in his professional attire and dandy pose, gaped at her. He mopped his brow and glanced at the massive stack of monotony that would greet him at his desk the next morning. . . every morning, really. Thought about the two ragged kids that had made his life interesting for a few days. He dropped into a chair dramatically. “This is poppycock but. . . I guess I’m in.”

  Berg remained upset with the new plan but in the end, he took Brie’s message and galloped home. It was a painful goodbye. Brie was exchanging a stalwart man and friend for a foppish unknown.

  To Brie’s surprise, a prison captain escorted her and Leeman to the docks. He’d been briefed on the little eastern woman’s visit to the jail, and though he was on duty and couldn’t leave his post for long, he’d detoured from his routine.

  Leeman and Brie climbed into a sturdy little boat, bewildered at the turn of events and the madness of their plan. The boat lazily left the docks. Was seized by the current. And abruptly whisked away.

  Glaring at the longshoreman, the prison captain fingered Leeman’s documents. “Leniency’s fine for some woman from the sticks perhaps. But I am a Captain of the Capital Guard and I’ll have none of this in my city.”

  The circumstances were bizarre and Captain Vaudeth knew he was missing much. What was clear was that this man had done something reprehensible, and had done so to two kids the captain himself had gone out of his way to be gracious and helpful. Menches would spend years under his jurisdiction if he had his way.

  XXXIX - Lamberden Pass

  Emmie was still lost in daydreams of princesses and opportunities when Alixa abruptly emerged from the shadows of Ebner’s fence, Renn tagging behind. Emmie’s star-struck fantasy flickered out like a candle.

  “Spit it out, Sheep. The snowy cougar on the shield.”

  Emmie looked questioningly to Renn, who was glumly staring at the ground.

  “Your loyal puppy wouldn’t bark.” Alixa cast a sideways glare at Renn. “Doesn’t take a soothsayer to deduce you two know something. Here, in good faith.” Alixa slid her sword out of its sheath, jewels glittering in the moonlight. “There, I got the mark, okay? I’ve always sort of knew what it stood for. Had no clue what it actually meant. You?”

  “Yah, the amulet-thingee, on the necklace.” Emmie wrung her hands, voice teetering.

  Alixa nodded. “And you’ve concluded you’re the Bandu queen.”

  Renn held his breath. Emmie’s face was waxen with confusion. This was bright and cheery up in her head, but actually talking about it? She couldn’t articulate a tidy opinion.

  “Whatever.” Alixa waved her off, undeterred. “My sword was given to me when I was a kid. With what the old guy said, I’d bet good coin that was purposeful. It’s legit. Maybe I’m legit. Whatever that means. And trust me: I don’t know what it means.” Her jaw tensed. “How’d you get yours?”

  Emmie’s forehead scrunched and she scratched the back of her neck. Renn could tell she was drowning, unable to come to grips with what any of this meant.

  “Her dad found her in the woods when she was a baby,” Renn heard himself say. “The amulet was with her.”

  Emmie exhaled, finally breathing out the tension she’d been holding in.

  “Inside you’re silent as a stone. ‘It’s her story’.” Alixa threw her hands in the air. “Now you’re answering for her? Which is it, Rennwinn!”

  “Alixa, stop,” Emmie’s voice quavered. “So, the amulet, the map, from what Dad said, they were placed with me when they left me to die.”

  “What are you talking about?” Alixa had heard no backstory on their little quest, and frankly hadn’t really cared enough to inquire.

  “They took me from. . . I don’t even know where or from who. I was nailed in a coffin, thrown in the lake, with these things set on top of me. I would’ve drowned if Dad hadn’t saved me. I was two, tops.” Emmie stared into her lap and mumbled miserably, “Probably should’ve told you earlier.”

  “Oh, I didn’t. . .” Alixa’s face burned, sorry she’d forced Emmie to tell. Though, yes, she should’ve told her where the map came from. That was looking increasingly important. “I’m going to need to hear that whole story. Sometime. But for now, let’s say yours is as real as mine.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “So. . .”

  As they talked everything out, they agreed to stay the course on their journey. Whether that meant following the map or going to Lake Winnepaca, Alixa said, was a moot point until they cleared the Pass. What to do about who Emmie and Alixa may or may not be was a stickier question they talked over and around until the conversation stagnated in a tired circle.

  Understanding how personal this was for Alixa and Emmie, Renn left the talking to the girls even though he felt he too had plenty at stake. Alixa moderated their discussion with a seemingly even hand, but both Renn and Emmie had a vague feeling she was holding something back. Neither felt saying that was wise. However, had they been able to communicate their shared suspicion with one another, they may have felt differently.

  Meanwhile, Emmie’s emotions jerked her around like a marionette with tangled strings. The more she talked, the more animated and anxious she became.

  “Enough!” Alixa finally said. “You’re killing yourself, and you’re going to take us with you. We know nothing for a fact. Let it go. I’m still me. You’re still you. And Renn, well, he’s still Renn. Nothing new there.”

  Renn shrugged good-naturedly, drawing a weary smile from Emmie. And after a couple hours of sharing the confusion with the others she felt closer to her usual self. Alixa secured their word they’d say nothing in front of Ebner and they returned inside.

  As they ate, Ebner regaled them with the mythos of Lamberden Pass along with a myriad of other tales. The warm fire and more wine than either Renn or Emmie were accustomed to led to a rousing after-dinner discussion. Emmie’s cheeks grew progressively flush, and after having to repeatedly rein in the chatty girl, Alixa simply pounded down a full glass of Emmie’s wine then confiscated her goblet.

  “Why does everyone hate the Bandu?” Renn swirled the remains of wine around in his glass and asked a question that had long irked him. “It’s not fair. And it’s not right.”

  “We’ve a deep thinker among us.” Ebner considered Renn. “And a sensitive soul.”

  The compliment embarrassed Renn, but the rather buzzed Emmie smiled warmly in agreement. Alixa glowered at an empty bourbon bottle.

  “Where even to begin?” Ebner settled into his chair. “Great Divide, I suppose. So. . . after the war ended, the allies’ lands and armies were ruined. The alliance itself was diseased by distrust. Each nation holed up in a cocoon. The witch was gone, but the dark pall she’d cursed the land with lived on. And many believed she did as well, living a twisted half-life fed by the misery she’d left in her stead.”

  He paused for a drink. When Emmie opened her mouth, Alixa knew she’d bring up their recent encounters with the witch’s scouts. Alixa pinched her. Emmie yelped, and stuck her tongue out at Alixa, but kept her questions to herself.

  Ebner continued, seemi
ngly oblivious. “The proud Bandu bore the heaviest weight of the witch’s wrath. Their resources stripped bare, many trickled south. Truly desperate, they were, for Bandu are decidedly not beggars. They looked to the allies for whom they had sacrificed so much, to return the favor. I’m afraid, my friends, they were not well-met.” Ebner’s sad eyes lingered on the two Bandu girls, who fidgeted uncomfortably. “Outright shunned when they approached their staunchest ally of old—the equally-proud Lobridium—they were eventually granted sanctuary in Longarvale. A young office named Dalerin who had earned rapid advancement during the war, volunteered to serve as Viceroy to the Bandu refugees. He ensured, with an iron fist when needed, that they were granted adequate provisions and treated with dignity and gratitude.

  “Then famine struck the West and—what are the odds?—a harrowing crop failure struck the whole fertile Great Heartland of the Vale. There was no wheat, no spelt, no crops of any kind. As though the ground itself had turned on them. Public opinion lay the blame on the poor Bandu, and a weak leadership did nothing to discourage the mob mentality. In lieu of the grain famine, what has now become part of our lexicon took root. ‘Eat what’s growing off your skulls if you’re hungry, filthy wheat-heads.’ Some retreated north to starve with their dignity intact. The majority migrated south to the City-States, and seemingly disappearing from recorded history. The few who stayed, faced continued malice.”

  Ebner surveyed the uncomfortable looks on his pupils’ faces.

  “This Dalerin became a pariah among his own people along with the ‘wheat-heads’ he championed, but the refugees welcomed him as one of their own. He married a Bandu girl and settled far in the Northeast Quadrant, becoming pillars in their small community. Rejecting the northerners, to whom we owed our lives, was a heartless repayment for their valor and sacrifice. We’ve been cursed ever since.” Ebner brushed crumbs off his lap. “But one can always hope, no? That we could reunite, again become the allies we always should have remained, break the curse?”

  Emmie, the story sounding much like her own, gazed reflectively into the fire. Renn could hardly look at his two companions.

  “You may see hope, old man,” Alixa said, her empty goblet toppling when she stood brusquely. “You’re wrong. People don’t change.”

  She departed without another word. Emmie and Renn stared somberly at the floor.

  “Our friend does not share my optimism.” Ebner’s eyes gleamed keenly. “What of you?”

  After a thoughtful moment, Emmie’s red cheeks broke into another buzzy grin. “Why not? There are certainly good people. Renn’s family’s the best.” She beamed at Renn, then felt a stab of that illogical woundedness. She faltered, quickly looking away. “But there’s so few. . .”

  “Yeah.” Renn’s heart sank at Emmie’s uncertainty. “What good can a few people do?”

  Ebner considered one, then the other. “Well, I see in you two, certainly, maybe even the three of you. . .” He stroked his chin. “To undo that old wrong, you may be surprised how few are actually needed.”

  They stared quizzically. He bade them to their own quarters. Ebner sat and contemplated the two bedroom doors as the fire died down.

  “Maybe even I’d be surprised by how few it might take.”

  Emmie groped her way across the bedroom until her hands settled on the pallet laid in the corner. She buried herself in the blanket, drinking in its warmth, determined to enjoy the infrequent comfort of a real bed.

  “Sheep?” Alixa’s voice startled her.

  “Alixa! Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Just wanted to talk.”

  Emmie bunched up the blanket between her fingers. She was always the one to initiate their conversations. Alixa wasn’t one for idle chatter, while Emmie knew she herself could be quite the idle chatterer.

  “You and your dad were pretty tight?”

  “Very,” Emmie replied. “Dad was the best.”

  “I never knew my father. Or mother. Any family, really.” Emmie heard a hint of sadness, even longing, in Alixa; a vulnerability quite unfamiliar. “My relationships with men have been. . .” She sighed. “Count yourself fortunate.”

  “Can’t say I’ve had many good relationships.” Emmie turned on her side, wishing she could see Alixa through the dark. “Mostly nonexistent to downright hurtful.”

  “You had your dad.”

  “Yes.”

  “You have Renn.” Alixa waited. Emmie gave her nothing. “And. . . you have Renn.”

  “Renn’s been a good friend, but I don’t know.” Emmie rubbed her face, suddenly feeling spent. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

  Emmie considered telling her. Talking things through in the garden had been so freeing. Not that she had any answers, but simply sharing the burden had relieved so much of the weight. What if, Emmie considered, talking through her messy emotions—even with the hard-edged Alixa—could do the same?

  “I have some. . . I can’t say.” It was true. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “I’ll get hurt, betrayed? I don’t know.”

  “That boy would walk through a wall for you. What do you—”

  “Alixa, don’t.” Tonight, the harsh tone belonged to Emmie.

  “Fine.”

  A couple minutes later, Emmie sighed. “Sorry to be mean. I just—"

  “I don’t care. It’s your life.”

  But Emmie wanted to keep talking. Alixa, alone in the dark, seemed a tad friendlier of an individual. “Who are we, Alixa?”

  “Two more northern trash refugees from the old hermit’s story. Nothing more.”

  “You know what I mean. Do we have a home up north? I can’t even fathom. And royalty?” A girly little squeak slipped out. “You can’t tell me you’re not thinking about it.”

  “Don’t go there, Sheep.” Alixa’s voice acquired a touch of its usual edge. “Playing ‘what if’ is just asking to be let down.”

  “What about this then. Those patrols, and the witch—who I know you don’t want to talk about. But if we are Bandu royalty—if, if, if, Alixa, I know—are they looking for us?”

  “We’re in no more danger today than we were yesterday,” was Alixa’s wooden reply.

  The room went quiet. Alixa thought maybe Emmie had relented. But, no.

  “The witch is that witch. The man who captured me said as much.” Emmie gathered her blankets closer around her. “Did you know that, Alixa?”

  “Yeah,” Alixa conceded.

  “Then—”

  “Drop it. Talking about it—her—even here. . . no. Besides, it changes nothing. They hate us no matter who we think we are.” Alixa turned over. “We should enjoy the warm beds.”

  “OK. But. . .” This sort of opportunity with Alixa was rare; like three-headed dog rare. Emmie swallowed, then fired off the question. “Why’d you leave us?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “You know what I mean.” Emmie chewed her lip in the long pause that followed.

  Finally, Alixa said quietly, “I prefer to work alone.”

  “I’m so glad you came back.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You won’t leave us again, will you? Please?”

  Alixa weighed her response, long and hard, then repeated her rhetorical question, tone and diction verbatim. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, and I’m grateful.” Emmie knew she’d get no more—neither explanation nor assurance. She’d have to be okay with that. “Thanks for talking. You don’t need to say anything. Really. Just, it means the world to me.” Emmie rolled towards the wall for emphasis. Her big smile, however, was evident in her voice. “Good night, Alixa!”

  “Night, Sheep,” Alixa mumbled back.

  XL - Lamberden Pass

  There was something safe and almost intoxicatingly comforting about Ebner’s cluttered home and downy beds. Alixa, Renn, and Emmie slept half the morning away. Ebner himself rose early to bake and smoke provisions t
hat would sustain them for days. Within minutes of waking though, Alixa, anxious and ever restless, told them to gather their few personal belongings. They were leaving. Immediately.

  So Ebner cornered Renn in his room as he packed, where Alixa couldn’t interfere.

  “A word, if I may? I never concluded last night, the story of the plight of the Bandu.” “Alixa’s, uh. . .” Renn glanced at the door. “Usually pretty serious about hurrying.”

  “Bah, she can wait.” He fingered the long wisps of his beard and leaned back against the wall. “Dalerin, this man of singular courage became an outcast. He and his wife emigrated to the northeast, changed their names, and lived out a respectable life of relative anonymity.”

  “Yeah, you said that.” Renn buckled the clasps to his bag.

  “But not anonymity forever. That would not do. Many of my more mystically minded brethren, shall we say, throughout the years have believed his work is not finished. That one of his descendants will right old wrongs, help reconcile our divided peoples. What do you say to that?”

  “Good, I guess.”

  “You sound ecstatic, boy. How about this, then? They assumed new identities. Became known as Rendell and Jessine. Their descendants, through the years, have inherited their abundant virtues. Also variants of their names. For example, Jes, maybe. Dell. Or Renn.”

  Renn blinked, unable to formulate a response.

  “Rennwinn, boy, you fear you’ve nothing to offer. Yet you come from the best of people. I’m not saying this ‘one’ is you.” He tapped on Renn’s chest. “I’m simply saying to start living from what’s in here. See where it takes you.”

  He flashed his gap-tooth smile and shuffled out of the room, leaving Renn staring at the door, mind slowly turning. Ebner didn’t shuffle far. All packed, Emmie was dutifully waiting for the others at the end of the courtyard. Pondering who she was, she wore a dark countenance and was uncharacteristically moody.