The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  His smile spread larger, he blushed some more, and then ambled off.

  “Don’t you dare say Lix’s dead,” Emmie rasped, cringing with each animated gesture. “Nobody’ll tell me anything. You’re making me crazy.”

  “Nobody is telling you because you need rest. The old Paccan is bringing her. He’ll explain everything.” Brie hoped he would, at least. “She’s alive, he says. You need to prepare yourselves. She’s going to look as though she is not.”

  That satisfied Emmie enough to lie still, though Jes had to grasp her hands to keep her from tugging at her itchy stitches.

  “We have so much to tell one other.” Brie sat next to Jes along the rocky sidewall, trying to distract them. “A lifetime of stories, I’m sure.”

  “Like, how did you find us?” Renn propped himself up on his side.

  “All together, too,” Emmie rasped. “Lix barely knew where we were.”

  Jes and Brie had yet to discuss this even with each other. But it would distract Emmie from how agitated she was over Alixa, and they would need to process it eventually.

  “Well, let me try, from what we saw. And then, Jes?” Brie turned to her. Jes nodded, her eyes troubled. “We thought. . . Thought’s too strong a word. Had the feeling that. . .” Brie rubbed her temples, then shrugged. “There was a girl on horseback, see, appeared five days ago.”

  “Same for us.” Jes’s voice was barely a whisper. She pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders.

  “Came out of nowhere. We followed, Emmie, thinking. . . feeling. . . well, that we were following you. Except she was dressed all in white, atop a pure white horse. We tried to get closer, but she just kept charging further ahead, beckoning wildly. But, Emmie, I could’ve sworn, catching glimpses of her face in the distance, her mannerisms, that it was you. Except you—she—wouldn’t let us near her.”

  “Sounds the same as the girl we saw. I thought it was Emmie, too.” Jes gnawed at her lip. “Whenever we slowed, she’d rear her horse, getting it to stamp with impatience, spurring us to follow.”

  “Must’ve been two identical riders, but ours disappeared right before we arrived.” Brie glanced around the canyon. “I wish I knew where she’s gone to. Without her, we never would’ve found you in time. Or probably at all.”

  “Same,” Jes repeated quietly. “We lost her in the end. Just before Brother Taeron first reached the canyon.”

  It was too ethereal for simple Midlanders. Jes and Brie began arranging a place for Alixa, as though the busyness could soothe their minds. Emmie laid her head on Renn’s shoulder. She looked back to the mountains, to see her beloved purpling, to think of Dad. Her breath stuck, and she stared wide-eyed.

  “Renn,” she whispered in his ear. “The ridge.”

  Renn followed her gaze and gasped.

  A magnificent white horse stamped on the highest peak of the canyon wall, framed by swirling purple mists. Atop it sat a young woman, her gleaming grey eyes fixed upon them.

  “Oh my, it’s Kaiteen. It’s your mom, Emmie.”

  Emmie couldn’t speak. Or breathe. Or move.

  Hazy and gleaming white, Kaiteen raised a fist, two knuckles jutted straight out; Chastien’s salute. She brought her fist down to thump her chest. Her expression softened from zeal to a gentle love. Holding up three thin fingers, Kaiteen locked eyes with Renn and slowly ran them down her cheek. Renn’s scars tingled. She turned to Emmie, and the hand at her chest spread across her heart. Emmie slowly, absently, placed her hand over her heart as well. They gazed at one another for only seconds of real time. Emmie drank in the unspoken connection as though it were the hours or days or years she wished it could be. Kaiteen’s eyes filled with tears as she touched her shoulder, abdomen, and thigh. She blew Emmie a kiss. Then, pulling a small bow off her back, she reared her horse, and faded into the mist.

  “Mom?” Emmie, her grey eyes cloudy with emotion, couldn’t quite manage a whisper. “She came for me. . .?”

  “Didn’t I tell you she was something?” Renn gingerly pulled Emmie into a hug.

  What had Kaiteen told him? If her daughter were threatened again, she would not sit idly by. She would make her presence felt, with a vengeance. She had earned that right. In life, she sacrificed herself in a hopeless attempt to save her daughter. What looked like a pitiful death in the eyes of her murderers was anything but. In the end, her love had not been in vain. Kaiteen had been given the honor to tip the weight of this day’s battle in her daughter’s favor.

  LXXII - The Tablelands Labyrinth

  Emmie and Renn’s good feelings were snuffed out the instant they saw Corbiern carrying Alixa. The rigid body, limbs splaying down uselessly, scarcely resembled the woman they’d come to see as an unwavering source of strength and (once they’d gotten used to her) comfort. Emmie’s heart tightened at the stone-on-stone sound Alixa’s body made when she was laid on the ground.

  Corbiern tried to reassure them by placing Renn’s fingers to Alixa’s wrist and Emmie’s hand over her heart. Her faint pulse—barely there, as though her whole system had gone into hibernation—seemed the only proof she was alive. Jes and Brie watched helplessly as Renn and Emmie clung to, for Jes, a thoroughly unknown woman and, for Brie, the subject of endless tales of tactless surliness.

  “She’s alive and stable. We’re cautiously optimistic she’ll revive, and. . .” Corbiern paused, looking down. “Well, hopeful she’ll recover.”

  “I promised you an explanation, Brie. Where to begin?” Setticus lowered himself down onto a rock, stroking his beard, struggling with how to explain something he scarcely understood himself. “Have you heard of the Prophecy of the Golden Child and the Silver Claw?”

  He was met with blank expressions all around.

  “Few have, over the centuries.” He shrugged as he looked up into the purple sky. “It was uttered shortly after the Great Divide, when it was clear each country had curled itself into an insular cocoon. Turned a deaf ear to their neighbors’ needs. Chastien sacrificed much to aid her allies, only afterwards to find her people starved and her nation in ruins. They bore the brunt of the witch’s unseen wrath.” He gestured to Alixa. “Unseen no more.”

  “You mean, you think. . .” Brie braced herself on the rock she sat on. “That woman we saw today. . .”

  “I am near sure of it.”

  “After three centuries, how is that possible?” Corbiern asked.

  “I saw her up-close. Way too close,” Emmie said in a small voice. “I mean, I’m no Alixa or anything, but I buried my knife in her shoulder and she shook it off like a mosquito bite. It was terrifying.”

  It had been terrifying. The searing pain of the throwing star blades splitting her arm wide open had been—still was—so intense, she could think of little else. But now, safe and sedated, Emmie remembered the power, the something, emanating from that woman. She shut her eyes and felt again for Alixa’s heartbeat.

  “How she yet lived, I cannot say. As I said at the lake, some things are best left unexplored. Suffice to say, I believe this was the witch-queen Haddurah. So you see why Alixa lies like a statue. She destroyed something of unquantifiable power, the physical embodiment of the curse that has paralyzed us for three centuries. The effect of engaging that head-on, alone, to say nothing of destroying it, would be—is—staggering.”

  Renn gave Alixa’s wrist a squeeze. Emmie, her own tears already running onto Alixa’s slick face, tried to will her heartbeat to strengthen.

  “That is not all.” Setticus raised a finger.

  “How much more gets piled on poor Alixa?” Renn asked. “She’s been through so much.”

  “I began with this prophecy.” Ignoring Renn, he leaned back, watching the mist roil in the sky. “The west was cursed, quite literally, by Haddurah’s bitterness and wrath. However, we took ownership of it, allowed it to infect our land, our people—everything. Some 15-20 years after the Divide, Chastien struggling to hold her Bandu together, this sad truth was acknowledged by a prophetess—long since
forgotten—in this Golden Child prophecy. A woman with a sixth sense. . .” He eyed Brie. “Identified the crux of the issue. The alliance had treated the Bandu sacrifice with disdain. Not simply neglecting them, but knowingly allowing them to suffer and die alone. We betrayed Chastien and her people. Our world breathes honor and loyalty. To turn our backs on the sacrifice she so freely made, was unforgiveable.

  “To undo the curse, this prophecy claimed, the west needed to unite in defending Chastien’s heir. Rallying to a ‘Golden-Haired Child,’ to a ‘Sliver Claw’ of Chastien. I’ve always found it curious that this individual is referred to not as a child of the north, but a child of the west. Of all the people.”

  “You think this happened, just now?” Corbiern asked incredulously. “With the 300-some people gathered in this valley?”

  “Every member of the old alliance was represented, was it not?”

  “Yes, but—” Corbiern frowned. “Such a small number. No leader, yourself excluded, greater than a captain.”

  “There’s something this old guy Ebner told Emmie and me,” Renn said. “He wondered how few it would take to enact change. Before we left, he seemed to feel he was onto something. What, I have no idea, but something.”

  “We spoke with him as well,” Brie added. “He wouldn’t explain what he was thinking; simply asked us to trust him. He sent Leeman to fetch someone—must’ve been the Lobrids we saw here. He said. . .” Brie took a short, sharp breath. “He said he might provide golden help.”

  “Ah, you see it then?” Setticus asked. “Numbers are not so important. Every member of the old alliance was present. Haddurah herself was here. If Ebner and I are of the same mind. . .” Setticus leaned forward on his staff, his smile distant.

  “But we don’t have a ‘Chastien’s heir’.” Jes pressed her temples; this was giving her a headache. “Sadly, her children seem to be no more.”

  Setticus looked to Renn and Emmie. “Is she decided?”

  They looked at each other, reading each other’s mind.

  “She is.” Renn looked around tentatively. Brie, Jes, Corbiern, Setticus. Renn trusted these people. Maybe even Alixa would as well. “Alixa knows it’s her. She was ready.”

  “Ah, poor Lix.” Emmie brushed Alixa’s cheek. “Now when will she be ready?”

  “Alixa is Chastien’s heir?” Brie asked. She was standing now, gazing to the northern mountains “And. . . she’s truly the only one left?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Setticus wavered. “Oh, there were always rumors up until the fall of Kaisson of a handful of relatives. But they’ve gone silent. It would be unfortunate for Alixa to be alone. Yet I fear she is.”

  Renn squeezed Emmie’s hand, both wearing their best Alixa-like masks. Emmie was reasonably sure who she was and felt sure her cousin would be proud of their poker-faces. She loved the idea of being Alixa’s cousin. She also loved sharing the secret with only Renn and Alixa. For the time being, anyway.

  “So, our little Lixy’s the golden child,” Emmie wheezed. “I can so see it. And she’ll hate me calling her that.”

  Setticus stroked his beard, considering her. “I don’t believe that to be the case.”

  “No?” Brie asked. “But the prophecy?”

  “We’ve always assumed the Child and the Claw of the prophecy referred to one person. That Chastien’s heir—the Silver Claw—is the Golden-haired Child, the child of the west, the rallying point for the nations. Watching this play out, as I believe we have, only confirms again that prophecy rarely unfolds the way we expect.”

  A twinkle appeared in the old man’s eyes. He pointed with his staff.

  “Alixa is our Silver Claw. Emmidawn is our Golden Child. A child not just of the north, but of all the Westerlunds.” Setticus held up a finger as Emmie opened her mouth to object. “Now, wait. You were the catalyst for all this to happen, were you not? To bring Chastien’s heir back to her home. To unite the west in her defense.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Emmie laughed nervously. She turned to Renn for support.

  “I came for you. Even if the Vale turned out for me, it’s because I was with you.” Renn started counting on his fingers. “Leeman bringing the Lobrids, he was taken with you. Me, not so much. Baerdron. Alixa. Those Khuulies and monks. They’re here because you, Emmie, can charm anyone willing to give you a fair chance.”

  “Don’t say that.” Emmie scrunched up her nose. “Makes me all squirmy.”

  “Oh, Emmie, it’s so true.” Jes smiled at her.

  “Little golden child.” Renn gave her an admiring look that made her blush.

  “Say it again and I’ll punch your bad shoulder.”

  “In any case.” Setticus, not being one to banter, waved them off. “I believe this is so. Not one person. Maybe not even two. Perhaps we have a three-person answer to three hundred years of sorrow and suffering. Three unique people, from three disparate parts of the west, learning to be united, a team, of one purpose. You three, laying here beaten up, our whole land owes you an unpayable debt.” Setticus rose, arms extended. “This stays with the seven of us. If I am right, and the curse is indeed lifted, the story will tell itself. If not, we’ve no right to claim a peace we have not earned. This should be kept to us.”

  “I think Ebner had this insight as well,” Brie said. “Surely he should know.”

  “Ebner? Oh, yes, I intend to make that trip personally as soon as it is feasible. We must compare notes.”

  “What about poor Alixa?” Emmie reached to find Alixa’s pulse again. “Surely Lix should know!”

  “Count, Emmidawn.” Setticus numbered those gathered. “Alixa is one of the seven present. We do not know what she is or is not hearing. Though unconscious, the words of a friend have power. As you discovered on the prairies where your voice kept Renn alive for hours, that night he got those three scars.”

  Emmie smiled. Only now could she look back at the dreadful experience as a cherished memory. Jes, knowing nothing of what happened, feared the wounds would be difficult for Renn to live with; as Emmie had as well.

  “Oh, Renn, what happened? Your poor face, honey.”

  “I know! Aren’t they wonderful!” Emmie pounced. “I love them!”

  Renn blushed, his scars becoming more pronounced.

  “But, what happened?” Brie traded a quizzical look with Jes. “Those cuts look vicious, so deep, so precise.”

  Emmie’s pale, drained face began to regain some of its color.

  “You ever hear of wanderlions?” Corbiern asked with a knowing look.

  “Wanderlions?” Jes repeated. “Those are myths. Old northern myths.”

  “I tried that line on Alixa when we first met. I got a rebuke I won’t soon forget. These three here killed a small pack of those myths.”

  “It was really all Alixa, Mom. Alixa is amazing. You should’ve seen her.”

  “No, Renn,” Emmie scolded him, tried to sit up. “I could listen to you tell the story of Dad rescuing me at the lake every day for the rest of my life. My favorite story, and no one tells it better. But you’d only ruin this one.

  “See, now I have two favorite stories.” Emmie’s eyes began to shine. “This one’s mine to tell. Every single time. Renn didn’t even see how amazing Alixa was that night, and don’t get me wrong, Lix was incredible. But Renn was already out, down under those prairie grasses, because. . .” Emmie got a lump in her throat. She wondered if every retelling would move her to tears. Her voice came out squeaky. “I don’t even have the words.”

  Emmie decided she didn’t care if she did cry. She leaned over and kissed Renn on the cheek. Their first kiss turned their faces a matching crimson.

  “I will never forget what Renn did for me that day, and I will always cherish these scars. Because every time I see them, they tell me who Renn is, who I am, and who we are. I wouldn’t trade these scars for anything in the world.”

  LXXIII - The Northern Tablelands

  After her body was overcome with ice and stone and her sp
inning view of the battlefield flickered into blinding light, Alixa had felt nothing. Not slamming face-first into the rocky ground, cracking open her forehead. Not Emmie’s frantic scream as she watched her friend collapse. Certainly none of the relief and reunion and triumph of the days that followed. A week passed, Alixa dead to the world.

  Alixa’s senses slowly awoke, as though she were emerging from a deep underground cavern. She vaguely registered a hot broth tasting of turnip and squash parting her lips. The warmth of one tiny spoonful, and then another, soothing her throat and chest. The moist heat of a soft cloth dabbing at her forehead, then around her cheeks, chin, and neck. And fear, always fear, though she didn’t know of what or why. Well, except maybe that she was dead. After many labored attempts, she finally managed to blink her eyes open through crusty lashes.

  Alixa had returned.

  She fought to place herself. She was lying on—what was it?—maybe a plank of cloth-covered wood. She could only feel it beneath her head. She forced her eyes to move ever so slightly, inducing a pounding headache. She was in a droopy brown tent, open ceiling on one end. And she was too exhausted to move. Her breathing quickened unevenly as Alixa was seized with panic. She really was unable to feel or move anything: legs, arms, nothing. She could barely turn her neck an inch to either side.

  A small oval face, hooded in thick bushy hair, appeared before her. The little woman broke into a gigantic smile. Alixa didn’t know her. She didn’t think, anyway. Her facial features seemed vaguely familiar.

  “Oh, Alixa,” the woman exclaimed, her voice full of warmth and relief. “Good morning!”

  “I. . . I don’t know you.” Alixa’s raspy voice sounded foreign to her. She fought for air with big gulps, her heart and lungs seemingly unable to keep up. “Am I dead?”

  “You are very much alive. And, no, honey, you don’t know me.” The woman tucked Alixa’s ratty hair behind her ears. “I’m Jes, dear. I feel I know you, though. I know I love you.”