The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  “Emmidawn, you say? Fifteen? Khuulie?”

  “Yes?” Jes frowned

  “Her father wouldn’t be named Ben?” The monk steadied himself against the oak. “The girl—honey-blonde hair, bright grey eyes, big heart of a smile?”

  “You could hardly describe Emmie better. Ben was her father; he died a few months ago.”

  The oily-smiled abbot began hobbling in their direction.

  “She’s in trouble?” The lanky monk took Jes’s hands.

  “I’m afraid she is.” Jes blinked back a tear.

  The man’s sunburnt forehead creased but before he could answer, the abbot had arrived.

  “I’m told you, Ma’am, are the head of this delegation. You appear to be courting armed combat, are you not?” The abbot gestured to the Longar soldiers, and the Khuulie fishermen—who rarely shied away from brandishing their battle-readiness.

  “I surely don’t wish it,” Jes replied. “But if it comes to that? To save my kids? Then, yes, whatever it takes.”

  “We are a pacifistic community, woman.”

  Jes nodded, not sure how to respond.

  “I trust my people have proven good hosts?” The abbot gestured to the sprawling yard, where travelers and religious mingled freely. “Good, then. We’ve done our duty. But as your values are at odds with our own, kindly be on your way.”

  “But. . .” Jes began, grasping Berg’s cloak.

  “No, Mom. We must respect their wishes,” Berg said. He bowed to the abbot. “Your hospitality, sir, is gratefully met.”

  “Safe travels.” The abbot backed away into the bright sunlight. The other monk, brow furrowed, did not follow. “Brother Taeron, come. This is not your concern.”

  “I believe it is. Emmidawn and Ben. I blessed the adopt—” Taeron caught himself, flushed at the anger on his superior’s face. Then his chin rose defiantly. “Very well, I did. I guided them out. I blessed her adoption. What kind of blessing would it be, to now do nothing?”

  “You swore a vow of obedience, one you’ve violated before,” the abbot replied coldly. “All these years. . . I wondered when the truth might come to light.”

  “I have an obligation towards this girl.”

  “You’re courting censure again, Brother. I will discharge you from the Order this time.”

  Taeron stepped back, surveyed the homey Abbey and its people. There were far less than when he joined thirteen years ago.

  “I’ve served here for a decade and a half,” he said, resigned. “I take my vows seriously.”

  “I am delighted to hear that.” The abbot straightened his lavish robe.

  “If our vows are construed, however, to abandon children to the wilderness or worse, to send well-meaning travelers away tired and hungry while our storehouses teem with goods, our vows are violated already.”

  “You swore to uphold your vows!” The abbot faced off with his charge.

  “Keep your impotent vows.” Taeron stood his ground, chin up. “I’m finished here.”

  The abbot looked ready to meet the challenge. That, however, would require making a scene in front of everyone. And some eavesdropping Khuulie fishermen—reminded in the exchange that they were looking for one of their own—carried a violent edge on their countenances.

  “Get your stuff and get out then.”

  Taeron strode towards the monastery to collect his few belongings. A handful of monks and nuns followed suit. The Drennich militia attained a few more unlikely members.

  Night falling and miles and hours to the northeast, along an otherwise similar road, two men who had long-since rejected the decaying Old Order sat gloomily around a campfire. Corbiern ripped a leaf to shreds. Omlos poked the fire absently with a stick.

  Corbiern was restless and agitated. Had he been afforded any choice, Corbiern would have gone with Alixa. But he trusted his Paccan mentor. Knew he must have his reasons. The shredded remains of the oak leaf landed at Corbiern’s feet. Those reasons better be good. He wrenched loose another from a low-hanging branch.

  Packing up at the beach had taken far too long, mostly because the typically efficient Omlos was so half-hearted. A detriment, really. After they finally finished, they walked deep into the night. Even at that, they were nowhere near as far as Corbiern wished. He intended to push Setticus for answers. Push to be allowed to follow Alixa. They were well behind Setticus now, and Alixa was only getting further away to the north. And Omlos was so. . . not Omlos. He’d been reticent to speak with Corbiern all day. Drastically out of character for the big cheery man.

  “Omlos, buddy. What’s eating you?” Corbiern ventured, hoping the relaxing crackling of flames might loosen his tongue. “Talk to me.”

  “Oh, Corbie. . .”

  “What’s the matter, big guy? You worried about those kids?”

  “Yeah.” He poked the fire with his stick. “I like them.” Poke. “Good people.” Harder poke. “Good hearts.” Omlos toppled the fire teepee with a forceful jab.

  “You like those girls?” Corbiern teased. He doubted Omlos had any feelings beyond a protective urge but for some confounding reason he wouldn’t share his troubles. Corbiern needed to find some means of breaking through this baffling melancholy.

  “Yeah,” Omlos replied. “Emmie is kind. Funny. It’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair?”

  “I dunno,” Omlos mumbled miserably.

  “What’s gotten into you? Let’s work it out together, like we always do.”

  The big man dropped his head. “It’s Polidan.”

  “Polidan?” Corbiern frowned at the sudden change of subject. “Because he left alone? He knows the way.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m afraid for Emmie.”

  “You’re not making sense.” Corbiern took the poker from Omlos’s hand. He’d annihilated the fire anyway. “Come on, talk to me.”

  Omlos stared into the embers, long and hard, visibly upset. Conflicted more than Corbiern could ever recall seeing him, and they went back years.

  “Ohhhhh. . .” The big guy looked on the verge of crying. “I hate thinking bad about folks. Polidan’s my friend. Corbie, isn’t he my friend?”

  A chill ran down Corbiern’s neck.

  “I’m not smart, I know. Polidan’s my friend. I shouldn’t—”

  “Omlos, you’re a genius with your heart.” Corbiern’s own heart was beating wildly. He fought to keep his words calm. “I need you to tell me what your heart is telling you.”

  “I don’t like the way Polidan looked at those girls.”

  Corbiern’s hand strayed to his sword.

  “My heart says Polidan means to hurt them. I hate to speak bad about. . .” Omlos thrust his hands towards Corbiern, palms up, pleading. “My friend, yeah? But Emmie’s my friend, too. Tell me I’m wrong, Corbie. Please.”

  “We need to go.” Corbiern kicked dirt on their fire. “Now.”

  “No, Corbie.”

  “Now, Omlos!” Corbiern shouldered his pack and grasped his staff. “We don’t even know where they’re headed. They longer we delay—”

  “It won’t be enough.”

  Corbiern stilled, staring at his friend.

  “What could we do? I fear Polidan went to. . .” Omlos shuddered. “Someone else.”

  Corbiern had taken Omlos in years ago, when he was only 12, shunned by his family and their town. He grew to love the simple guy like a little brother. And had come to trust Omlos’s hunches without reservation. He was a slow thinker. Most people took him for dumb. Useless. But Omlos possessed insight into others’ motives few could rival.

  “The two of us, we’d be of little help.” Omlos gripped his pack, and began tromping east, away from Alixa, Renn, and Emmie. “Setticus’ll know what to do.”

  Corbiern longed to run north, to warn them, but his gut told him his friend was right. Whatever this was, the two of them would make little difference. Corbiern had no idea what, but it seemed something much bigger was
lying in wait for them.

  LXIII - The Old East Mainway

  With wounds virtually everywhere, Renn had become adept at mentally isolating his injuries to ascertain their severity. Or to focus on some small pain-free body part, like a shelter in a thunderstorm. Two days out from Winnepaca, and all that concentration centered solely on his right hand where Emmie’s sweaty petite fingers were laced within his own. He could scarcely believe it.

  The road to the Kaisson Valley ran through the heart of the Great Winnepaccan woods. Renn thought it should’ve felt much the same as the forest road to Longardin. But this road was becoming increasingly undiscernible, with ferns eating away at the edges, and the sky disappearing behind tall, lazily arching maples. And there were no other people. Not for untold miles. But with Emmie alongside him, Renn had all the people he needed. He could steal glances at her all day, still in disbelief that he and the bright, pretty girl next to him would be betrothed.

  “What are you doing?” Emmie turned to him. “You keep checking me out like I’ve got a zit the size of a melon on my cheek.”

  “Nope. Your cheeks are perfect.”

  Emmie rolled her eyes, then patted his hand. “You’re moving so well today. Corbiern would be pleased. We should bottle whatever’s healing you. We’d get rich.”

  Renn grinned. Peace and joy were hardly sellable tonics. And he certainly had no plans to bottle Emmie. Or share either.

  “That is the silliest grin I’ve ever seen!” Emmie laughed.

  His grin grew wider. Then he caught himself.

  “What is it, Renn?”

  He didn’t plan to share. . . One glance at Alixa’s gait far in front of them told Renn she was miserable. Alone with her fears while they blissfully enjoyed themselves.

  “Ah, poor Lixa. She looks so sad.”

  “She must feel so alone. Like, she’s staring down the hardest thing she’s ever had to do, and we’ve let her detach herself.”

  Emmie stuck her tongue in her cheek, released Renn’s hand, and broke into a sprint.

  Alixa shuffled along the dirt path like an old woman, the soles of her green boots hardly lifting off the ground. Emmie seemed her old self again—and then some. Just hearing her raucous laugh echo through the trees lifted Alixa’s spirits. But the heaviness Emmie had shrugged off at the lake seemed to have landed squarely on Alixa’s shoulders like a two-ton millstone. She absently studied the bronze leaves of the treetops. Once they cleared these northern woods, the Tablelands loomed. Home. But what kind of home? And who would she be forced to be once she arrived? Alixa had been told twice she needed to discern the timing of her return herself. Left to her own discretion, she’d run. Disappear back into the basins. Then feel guilty about her cowardice for the rest of her life. No, Alixa sighed, if this was the hand life dealt her, she might as well get it over with.

  Her typically sharp senses dulled, her thoughts wandered to another dread that had troubled her since the lake. There was no reason for Emmie and Renn to continue. She should send them home, save them from the mess she was inheriting. Emmie had found what she needed. It was the fair thing to do. Alixa pressed her hand against her chest, holding in an aching so intense her lungs hurt.

  “Hey, Lix! Slow those long legs down!”

  Alixa spun, hand to sword hilt. She was greeted by Emmie practically slamming into her and grasping her hand.

  “Whoa, Sheep.” Alixa cursed herself for her inattentiveness. Yet a quick recon of the woods yielded no warnings. “What’s your problem?”

  “Come back where you belong, Lixy Long-legs. You’re stewing and I don’t like it.” Emmie reached up and tapped the side of Alixa’s head. “I can read your heart, in your eyes, any time I want.”

  “Humph.” How she’d suddenly become so transparent to Emmie mystified her. Alixa batted Emmie’s hand away and took a breath to quell her shaking voice. “Fine. So. You got what you needed, back at the lake. I can see it in your eyes, you know.”

  Emmie scrunched her nose. True. She felt a new person. It was as if she’d been lugging heavy coils of mooring lines on her shoulders her entire life. The weight lifted, Emmie felt like she could practically fly.

  “What’re you saying?” Renn asked, limping towards them.

  “Your home, your future, is in the Vale.” Head down, Alixa gestured them southward. “You’re free to go. I mean it. You’d go with my blessing.”

  Renn and Emmie stared as though she spoke a different language.

  “Corbiern, I’m sure, would give you a hand—” Alixa continued.

  “Wait.” Renn cut in. “We’re kind of a team. I mean, that’s—”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” Emmie shoved Alixa, whose eyes widened at the aggression. “We’re not me and Renn, then you. We’re not leaving you.”

  “I won’t ask you to—”

  “You think we’d leave you here, alone?” Renn’s tone bordered on scolding.

  “You can’t send us away.” Emmie wrapped her arms around Alixa and shook her. “We need you to do everything for us, remember?

  Alixa stood, baffled. Renn limped on past her. Emmie strode north as though Alixa hadn’t just commanded her not to.

  “Lead on, O Queen!” Emmie declared as she headed up the road.

  Alixa, a thin smile on her lips, did just that.

  After a couple more days, the trees of the majestic Winnepacan woods gave way to scrubby shrubs and bushes. By the end of the week, their path was surrounded by rocks and plateaus punctuated by only small clusters of vegetation. Far off in the distance, the great northern mountains of the Bandu Peninsula loomed larger. The deep shelter of the woods gone, they couldn’t help but feel a trifle exposed.

  The road hedged its way around the sides of hills. The embankments and mountains of the Tablelands stretched to the north and west, creating the vast network of sprawling valleys, gullies, and channels that formed the labyrinthine path to where the southern Bandu district once stood.

  Renn and Emmie had never seen anything so desolate. The Westerlunds midlands teemed with sparkling lakes and rivers, lush forest and croplands. The unfamiliar smells and sounds they’d encountered on their trek thus far had given them a vague dis-ease. But the woodland setting was still their own. This was utterly foreign.

  “Welcome home, Emmidawn,” Alixa said in a tone as dry as the view.

  They followed Alixa’s gaze, a few hairs west of due north. That would be the heart of the Tablelands. That would be Kaisson. Used to be. Alixa trudged up the desolate path.

  Emmie studied her friend; Alixa acted as if she was marching towards a life sentence of hard labor. Yet Emmie knew Alixa would make an excellent queen. She certainly looked the part, commanding and confident and beautiful in that distinctly wild northern way. She certainly had the skill. And she was learning to adapt to the needs of those who relied on her. That’d be us, Emmie concealed a wry smile, pathetic us. Alixa was just scared. She had every right to be. But still. . .

  “So Alixa, this is your kingdom?” Renn asked. “Awfully barren.”

  Alixa shot him a baleful look worthy of the first-days-of-their-journey Alixa.

  Enough, Emmie concluded. She threw her arms around the both of them. “Who is this awful Baron, Renn? Would he be good for Lix? She’ll need a king who can cater to her every whim, after all.”

  She erupted into a howling cackle. The joke was lame. The laugh was forced. But Emmie had a laughter contagious enough to infect the dourest curmudgeon.

  “Crazy Sheep.” Alixa shook her head reproachfully, then gripped Emmie in a headlock

  Dumb as it was, it lightened Alixa’s spirit. She’d thought it many times, especially when Emmie’s mood had been foul for weeks: they needed her buoyancy to keep them afloat. It was good to have that Emmie back.

  “When I’m queen, guess I know who to appoint as court jester.”

  “Only if I get one of those stripey outfits like the ones at traveling fairs.” Emmie gestured from underneath Alixa’s muscular
arm. “Renn could be my sidekick who gets whacked with the bat after each joke. You up for that, Renn?”

  “Sure, Emmie. Whatever,” Renn replied unenthusiastically; she was behaving ridiculously. But she had gotten Alixa talking again. “Alixa, that’s the first time I’ve heard you say, ‘when I’m queen,’ like you’re starting to be okay with it.”

  “You’re going to be so good, Lix.” Free from Alixa’s smelly armpit, Emmie smoothed her hair back down. “Unless you get overthrown by your jester. I’ll be right there next to you, like I’m second to the throne.”

  Renn’s mind flashed back to Kaiteen’s mischievous face—eyes drifting upwards, peeping ‘did I just say that?’ Connecting him to royalty, she said. A fascinating detail he’d lost among so many others. He eyed the little court jester, wondering if her jest was closer to the truth than she imagined.

  “Hey, I should’ve told you—” Renn began.

  In a blur of motion, Alixa suddenly slammed Renn and Emmie to the ground, shoving them into the embankment. Renn’s body erupted in pain, and the thought was lost once again.

  “You’d make a terrible jester, Lix!” Emmie rubbed her bruised bottom. She tried to roll over but Alixa was crouched atop them, holding them down. “Not funny!”

  “Stay down. Shut up.” Alixa crept to the side of their hiding place, pulled her bow, and pressed herself low into the rock wall. They followed her wild-eyed gaze tracking the flight of a distant bird. Judging by how high it appeared, it had to be huge. . . impossibly huge.

  “What is that?” Renn whispered.

  Alixa shushed him while she slowly raised her bow.

  “Two!” She whipped her bow back down, crouching lower into the rock’s shadow. “No way can I shoot them both fast enough.”

  “Lix?”

  “Don’t move.”

  They huddled in a depression along the rocks while, every here and there, one of the immense birds made a long, slow arc overhead. All the while, Alixa wracked her brains. Why were these things here, now, so far from what she had concluded was their base? So close to Bandu homeland? And why did they keep showing up, like they were tailing her?