The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  “Oh, please,” Emmie whimpered. “Let this be a dream.”

  “It is, dear.”

  Emmie gasped as a second shadowy woman seemed to materialize right next to her. This woman was familiar. . . yet not. Straight, thick hair framing gentle, thin features. Long-lashed eyes filled with kindness. They’d never met, but Emmie knew this face by heart.

  “Lydadawn?” Emmie stammered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. “You’re exactly, exactly, like Da described.”

  “As are you—only so much better, being able to touch you.” Lyda took her hand.

  “Dad said. . .” Emmie squeezed the bridge of her nose with her other hand. “He saw you that night, yah? I’m dreaming?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  It was both a relief and a disappointment.

  “Yet, also real.” Warmth spread from Lydadawn’s fingers.

  Emmie scrunched her forehead.

  “Our world touches the supernatural more than we guess. At special places, at special times—for special people—the elements become interwoven. You are dreaming. That makes me no less real.”

  “And her?” Emmie shivered as she pointed at the phantom hovering in the mist.

  “Worlds collide in many ways, with many meanings.” Strength emanated from the gentle woman. “She’ll never harm you again.”

  Emmie remained frozen in place; fearful, weak, indecisive. Then the shadowy woman melted into the fog.

  “You recognize that feeling, just now?”

  “How do you. . .” Emmie steadied herself. “Yes. Longardin, in the prison.”

  “Cast those three carved figures into the lake. They carry a power which yet binds you to your captors.”

  Emmie nodded, confused.

  “Enough of that.” Lydadawn waved her hand. Emmie felt the water warm around her legs. She’d forgotten she’d waded in. “Tell me, honey, why are you here?”

  “Trying to find who I am?” Emmie’s rote answer sounded like a question. “That’s what I keep saying, yah? Truth is, Renn and I had no idea what we were getting into. Besides, I know who I am. I’m kind of done with looking.”

  “I’m pleased you’ve realized as much. You’re not done though. Alixa needs you, and she may never be able to say it.”

  “Alixa needs me? You’ve got that backwards.”

  “You’ve help awaken a part of her she thought was dead. Provided her a companionship she never dared hope for. She needs you.”

  “Still...” Emmie would have to ponder that. “I’m ready to be home.”

  “Be that as it may, life isn’t all about you.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I know.”

  “You’re too much like your father not to. It’s deep in your bones.”

  “He’s not my blood-father, you know.” Emmie laughed. “Well, of course you know!”

  Emmie wanted to keep laughing. Revel in the tingliness of Lydadawn’s hand. Stay there forever, maybe, with this loving woman at her side.

  “When I was little, I’d beg Dad to tell me about you, over and over. It made me feel safe. Almost like you were. . .” Emmie’s voice wavered, throat constricting. “I always wanted a mom.”

  “I would’ve given anything.” Lyda squeezed Emmie’s trembling hand. “Your birth mother as well, but she hardly had the chance.”

  “It’s not fair,” Emmie cried softly.

  “I died of a horrible disease. That’s. . . complicated. War, though, is no such thing. Leaving a young mother dead, after seeing her child ripped from her. It’s abomination.”

  Emmie dropped to the beach, overcome.

  “I know it’s hard but keep persevering. Your life is precious. Make it count.”

  Emmie’s eyes flashed open. She gulped for air. Rough bark was at her back, granules of sand sticking to her face. She grasped Alixa’s arm, desperate to feel her friend alive and solid. Alixa mumbled grumpily in her sleep.

  Once Emmie finally made peace with her surroundings, she scanned for evidence Lyda had been real. She saw only the first touches of morning lighting the horizon. She longed to burrow into Alixa but Lyda’s exhortation rang in her head.

  She delicately removed the pouch with the three figurines from her pack and padded quietly away. Emmie hunched down by the edge of the lake, water lapping at her toes. Her neck tingled with the realization she’d knelt in the same place she had stood with Lyda. Emmie shook out the chiseled figures. She’d never given the three four-inch-high statuettes much thought. She saw now—sensed, rather—that each was a person; her captors, her assigned executors. Two were indistinct men. The third had carefully chiseled features, well-defined curves and contours. It was the woman from the dream. Emmie nudged it away with her toes and held up one of the men. She sensed nothing more than lifeless, cold stone. She threw it in the lake, angrily brushing aside a tear before it fell to her cheek. She grasped the ornate statue of the woman—warm and pulsing.

  “You can’t hurt me anymore.” The quavering in her voice belied her defiant words. The statue seemed to taunt her.

  They destroyed her home.

  Murdered a family she never knew.

  Subjected her to untold abuses, then nailed her in a coffin to drown.

  She heaved the statue with all her might, holding her breath until she heard the ‘sploop’ of it sinking into the water, much further offshore than the last one.

  “You stole my life.” Her strained words echoed across the lake’s expanse as she slumped to the ground, tears now burning her eyes.

  Emmie recoiled when she touched the final statue. It felt alive, as though it had lungs and a heart pumping blood. Turning it over in her hand, she experienced the same debilitating paralysis that seized her in Longardin. Defeated. Undone. Naked and exposed.

  Somehow, this was the man in the tower. She didn’t know how that could be. But there it was, leering at her. Emmie found herself fighting for breath. She almost pitched forward face-first into the water.

  With a surge of resolve, she hurled the statue.

  “What did I ever do to you?” Emmie yelled, then collapsed into the sand, overcome by emotions she did not understand. She pulled her legs into her body and hung her head.

  “What did I ever do to you?” she repeated in an anguished whisper.

  LVIII - Lake Winnepaca

  Alixa sat on a fallen oak. Its mushy rot bowing beneath her, death had long-since claimed it. She was in a deep valley with steep hillsides rising on either side. Eerily still, save the quaking of the frail leaves of the scrubby poplars dotting the landscape. The dead oak felt oddly out of place.

  I feel oddly out of place.

  She could perceive the colors of trees, grass, and hills; yet all were hazy grey. She had more than mastered the art of finding her bearings in an unknown setting, but now it proved frustratingly elusive.

  Must be a dream. But. . .

  “But I don’t know where Aveon is!” the echo of a small voice cried.

  Every detail clicked unmistakably into place. Alixa shivered and hugged herself. She glanced around, wishing for Emmie but—same as she had been the day she’d cried that—she was desperately alone.

  A woman appeared, sitting ramrod-straight on the far end of the oak. She lowered her hood to reveal sandy-blonde hair, a square jaw, and pale almond eyes.

  “Melkiana.” The name tasted sour on Alixa’s lips.

  “Yes, Alixa.” A faint smile flickered on her former chieftain’s face. “I’m pleased by your growth. And I accept that your sentiment at greeting me hardly rivals my own joy at seeing you.”

  “You knew who I was,” Alixa rasped. “You all knew, all along. And nobody ever thought to let me in on the secret.”

  “A select few of us knew, yes. Far from all. Everything we did, we did in your best interest.”

  “My best interest? To not know the truth? The danger? What I would have to become?”

  Melkiana studied her briefly before responding. “Tell me, Alixa. Would that knowledge have made your lif
e easier, or been a burden?”

  Alixa turned away. True. With her cocky pride and, fine, occasionally excessive drinking, she would have invariably flaunted it. Then what?

  “Thank you. You’ve a good mind. Seeing who you are becoming. . .” Melkiana paused, shifting on the log. “More than makes the sacrifice worth it.”

  “The sacrifice,” Alixa spat as she swung to face her. Her voice rose with each word. “How many more Emmies were there? How many carefree little girls, wearing pretty little necklaces, were murdered that day? Because of me!”

  “You’ve every right to be angry.” Melkiana—infuriatingly—met Alixa’s rage with calm resolve. Same Melkiana she’d seen countless times as a child. “But the heat of your wrath is misplaced on me. We did what we could in dire circumstances. We died, willingly, for you.”

  “I never asked anyone to die for me!” Alixa screamed, tears forming in her eyes. The weight of the slaughter of an entire valley was crushing. “I never would!”

  Melkiana didn’t blink. “Would you die for these two friends of yours?”

  Alixa kicked the log with her heel, her boot lodging within its rot

  “You needn’t answer.” Melkiana’s eyes shone with pride. “I know.”

  Alixa put up a hand, as if she could push the phantom chieftain away.

  “The boy chose to give his life for the girl.” Melkiana remained undeterred. “Did she ask him to? Did she want that?”

  Alixa glowered across the hazy grey terrain.

  “I asked you a question, young lady.” Melkiana was again the governor, Alixa the child. “Did she wish him to die in her place?”

  “No, Ma’am.” Alixa met her eyes, as Barrad had always instructed her as a little girl.

  “Yet he would’ve, regardless of her wishes. Why would he do that, Alixa? Why?”

  “Because he loves her. He’d do anything for her.”

  “As I did everything in my power for my queen. Even those who didn’t know who or where she was, loved her—loved you, Alixa.” Melkiana’s hand thudded to her chest. “I knew you! Don’t dare question whether I loved you.”

  “I, I shouldn’t doubt you. . . Ma’am. But people I never knew—that’s not the same as Renn and Emmie.”

  “Perhaps not the same manner of love but our love for you was real and true. To say they—we—died because of you misses the mark. We died defending our way of life, to which you are integral. And much-beloved.”

  “It’s a lot to take in, Melki.” Alixa rubbed her forehead.

  “It is. It’d be unfair to expect it to feel natural for you so soon.”

  “It never will.” Alixa flexed her hands, fighting for words. “Whoever I once was supposed to be, whoever you thought I’d become, I’ve changed.”

  “You’re furious that your people died. You’re angry it was them instead of you. And you are learning, with your two friends, what it means to care for somebody above yourself. You are well on your way, Alixa. I’m proud to have served you.”

  “Melki, I —” Alixa turned to argue. Nobody was there. She bit her lip and surveyed the dead landscape.

  “Fine. That it?” Alixa asked the air. “Can this be over then?”

  “No, Alixa.”

  Standing where Melki had been was a thin but muscular little woman with pure white hair falling down past her neck. Her face was weathered and careworn, but she shared Alixa’s narrow almond eyes, striking features, and intense scowl.

  “No, Alixa.” She tapped an empty scabbard. “You are far from finished.”

  “I don’t know you.” Alixa pinched herself once, twice, trying to force consciousness.

  “We have not met—granddaughter. Yes, several ‘greats’ back. You are the tenth generation of my children, a number steeped with meaning for our people. And you, granddaughter, are the last most direct heir to my throne.”

  Alixa blinked, touched her sword’s hilt. She brushed her hand across her own scabbard and eyed the other woman’s empty one.

  “You’re Chastien?” Alixa asked tentatively. “The great Queen Chastien.”

  “Please, being addressed as ‘The Great’ gets so tiresome...” Chastien’s smile twinkled with love and humor but Alixa only felt reproach in her presence.

  “You’re here to censure me too.”

  “None of my descendants have shared more similarities to me than you.” Chastien fixed her gaze on Alixa. “And none have I been prouder of.”

  “I’m not like you.” Alixa hung her head. She could see some physical resemblance, sure. But that was hardly important. “I don’t want power. Or glory. I don’t even want to fight, really.”

  “Do you think I was really the goddess-like folk hero ‘history’ has made me out to be?”

  Alixa shrugged a ‘yes.’ The grey shimmering Chastien came close, ran her fingers through Alixa’s hair. The queen’s gentle touch washed away her fear.

  “My brother was assassinated to force me to the throne, less than two months before the war. Because our enemies viewed me as the weakest possible leader.” Chastien shook her head. “At my coronation, my first war briefings, I was numb to everything around me. Agreed to whatever was put before me. As they intended. Leadership was forced—unwanted—upon me. After the war, my entire life was spent—yes, spent, dear—trying to give hope and assurance to what was left of our people. I was a care-less princess, then a care-worn shepherdess for all but a few months of my life. Not a warrior. Certainly not the legend I am made out to be.”

  No, Alixa thought, history did not teach this.

  “My reign was base survival—one day to the next, one year to the next. Of me learning to love my people and in turn, they me. Sound familiar to you, Granddaughter?”

  Alixa managed a wry smile. Yes, but leading two people was different.

  “Different in terms of quantity, Alixa, not necessarily quality.”

  Alixa shivered at the realization her thoughts were laid bare.

  “Conflict and duty will find you. You needn’t seek them.”

  “Is that what’s waiting, in Aveon? Conflict that finds me? Crowns me? Imprisons me?”

  “You will be a surprise, no doubt. Don’t force it. When the time is right, you’ll know.”

  “Please, tell me when.” Alixa’s forehead knit in consternation. “If I must become this, this other person, I need to be prepared.”

  “Preparation, dear?” Chastien smiled and grew hazier. “Continue finding a life worth living, and you’ll discover you are prepared to fight for it, when the battle comes to you.”

  Alixa’s body jolted as though struck by lightning. She was back at the shore, staring straight into the black sky as it transformed into morning gray. Alixa pulled her hood over her face, trying to make sense of what was expected of her.

  Renn found himself standing on a chalky, yellow plateau unlike anything he’d ever seen. He recalled that Ben had some real-but-not-real dream at the lake. He’d seen his dead wife. Had an epiphany that saved Emmie’s life. Renn’s eyes roved around the barren, rocky setting, expectant. . . only to be met by long moments of nothingness. It felt like the verification of Renn’s own self-assessment: there was no greater vision or purpose for his life.

  “Really, Rennwinn? You actually think that?”

  Renn jumped and looked for the source of the voice. A woman emerged from around a rocky corner. Approached him with a slow saunter. Renn’s mouth dropped open. Emmie? Couldn’t be. . . yet, maybe, in a few years? Same height and build. Same honey-blonde hair and big soft eyes. Her jaws and cheeks framing that bemused little smirk on her heart-shaped face. But. . . not. She was wearing deerskin boots and jacket instead of her baggy Khuul garb. Her much-longer hair fell in a braid over her left shoulder. She was poised and confident. . . and gorgeous. But that could simply be the passage of a few years; growing from a cute girl into a beautiful woman.

  The maybe/maybe-not Emmie arched her eyebrows at him, batting her right thumb along a hard leather glovelet. Renn frowned.
He’d studied her expressions and reactions long and hard. These were not Emmie’s idiosyncrasies. Renn bit his thumb, considering. She broke into Emmie’s rollicking laugh with the characteristic tongue pushing out from the side of her mouth.

  “I knew it!” She feinted a punch at his bad left shoulder. Renn flinched. “For a sec, I thought you couldn’t tell. I’d have been appalled, you know. A-palled.”

  Her eyes flickered silver as Renn tried to parse the familiar Emmie physical traits and habits from the obviously not-so-Emmie ones.

  “You know Kie. . . her. . . too well.” The petite, exuberant woman beamed at him. “I’m tickled. You’ve no idea.”

  “Not Emmie?” Renn asked dumbly.

  “Oh, she is very much part of me and I of her, although. . .” Her bright countenance faded. She continued much more stoically. “We are much the same, though we never even had the chance. But I am not my daughter and she is not me.”

  Renn gaped at her as it registered.

  “Kaiteen.” Emmie’s mother enfolded him in a tingling hug. “Don’t even think of calling me mom. I’m much too young to be called mom by a boy who’s almost a man.” She batted her long blonde braid at him. “Although, yeah-yeah—Mom. Getting there, aren’t we?

  Kaiteen laughed as her question had the intended awkward effect on Renn. She pulled back and sized him up.

  “I know you, Rennwinn.” She arched an eyebrow in disapproval. “Apparently better than you know yourself if you think the best vision of your life is this dead, empty plateau.”

  “How do you know—”

  “You’re dreaming!” Kaiteen spread her arms wide, eyes glittering playfully. “You think you know the rules on a dream?”

  Renn tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing. Kaiteen contentedly beamed at him. When her eyes lingered on his scars, he turned away.

  “Something wrong?” Kaiteen asked pointedly.

  “Uh . . . no.”

  “Why would you lie to me?”

  “My scars.” She could read his thoughts; best opt for honesty. “They’re really hideous, aren’t they? Alixa and Emmie don’t have the heart to tell me the truth.”