by K Schultz
He swallowed his irritation and asked, “The Aetheriad? Does it still exist?”
“I reckon it does, but I ain’t seen it. But my pa used to tell me about it. He said it were the most important book in all Aarda, worth more than gold and riches. You ain’t seen it neither?”
“No. I discovered clues in the oldest manuscripts, although newer writings never mention it or the Creator. It is like someone wants to erase the knowledge of Him from our memories, and I don’t know why. I believe the Aetheriad holds vital information for our people.”
“So you bin lookin’ for it then?”
“Yes. I have devoted my life to finding the Aetheriad.”
Rehaak hoped a living representative of the faith might guide him to the book he had sought for so long.
“That’s wonderful — but I’m guessin’ you still ain’t found it.”
“No, but I am looking. Are you aware of its location?” Rehaak said with hope in his heart.
“Nope. Like I said, my pa talked about it often, but we never seen it.”
Rehaak cursed under his breath and repeated his vow forswearing the Creator. It was cruel of Him to present fresh hope, only to tear it away and reveal another dead end.
Rehaak ate in sullen despair, while Isil shrugged and attacked the cooling stew with gusto. She tried to make conversation, but Rehaak ignored her attempts. He spent the evening in somber silence while Isil cleaned up the supper dishes.
Once Isil went to bed, Rehaak blew out the lamp and flopped onto one of the empty beds. Relieved at the comfort and cleanliness of this building, but unable to sleep, he lay glaring at the underside of the roof thatch, his heart a lump of ice within his chest.
Isil fell asleep within moments, the sound of her breathing barely audible above the crackling of the fire in the hearth. At least she doesn’t snore. Rehaak thought, as sleep finally overtook him.
Premonition
Rehaak realized Isil had risen ahead of him when sunshine streaming through the open doorway awakened him. Rehaak stepped outside and walked around the corner into the shed, his footsteps echoed off the walls of the empty building. Isil and the mithun had left before he arose. The empty mithun-shed created an ache in his heart, and his face flushed at the memory of his boorish behavior toward her last night.
He couldn’t blame her for avoiding him this morning. He was obnoxious, rude, ungrateful, and he didn’t deserve the company of decent people. Isil did nothing wrong, he wondered if she thought she had.
Rehaak returned to the mansio, scooped up his waterskin and his belongings, and set out on the trail to New Hope. He was eager to avoid her and the embarrassment meeting her would cause him, but he expected to meet her either in town or on the trail. Fair enough, I’ll handle it as it comes.
Before he had gone far, a sense of foreboding assailed him and compelled him to catch Isil before evil overtook her. “Is this more of your doing Creator, or is my imagination getting the better of me?”
As if in answer, a sudden and overwhelming need to apologize for his behavior of the preceding night gripped Rehaak and added intensity to his concern.
If I travel fast enough, I could catch her along the trail. If she left at sunrise, by my estimate, she has a two-hour head start, so I should meet her by midday or early afternoon.
The sun rose higher in the sky, and his sense of urgency intensified, driving out every other thought. Catching Isil and apologizing to her became an obsession. Rehaak hurried along the rutted wagon trail between the trees, cursing himself for being an idiot. Isil had been kind to him, and he returned the favor by being insufferable.
I treated Isil with contempt because she couldn’t answer my questions, and because her parents taught her what I struggled to research for so long. I have chased the Aetheriad for three decades now. Unlike me, she had a life to live, and she hasn’t wasted hers on an impossible, fruitless quest.
Rehaak’s face flushed with shame, remembering how Isil attempted to converse several times last night. Each time he rebuffed her with obstinate, angry silence.
I must apologize to her once I find the wagon and make whatever amends she needs to redeem our relationship. If I had allowed her the opportunity, I might have learned much more from her. Isil’s ancestors might have told her things she didn’t realize were important. But she owes me nothing, and I deserve nothing except her contempt. I need to apologize because I was obnoxious, not to coerce her into helping me. Once I apologize, it is her choice whether to extend k’harsa to me.
The sense of urgency outweighed his wish for k’harsa and his shame. Rehaak loped along, devouring the distance between them. Life on the road had toughened him, but the pace he set made him stop several times, panting and wheezing until he regained his breath.
The sun winked through the overhead canopy of leaves and branches as the treetops swayed and danced in the breeze. Rehaak jogged along, only stopping long enough to take a sip of water, when something compelled him to push on faster. He ran until midday, through the shaded tunnel formed by the branches overhead. Rehaak’s gut ached, but the knot in his stomach was anxiety, not hunger. If he didn’t catch her soon, it would be too late. Rehaak surrendered to his sense of urgency and sprinted along the trail, his heart thumping louder in his chest than his feet pounding the hard-packed earth beneath him. Sweat soaked his tunic, burned his eyes, and washed gullies into the dust on his face.
The wagon trail snaked through the forest, winding around boulders and towering trees. As Rehaak rounded one of the many bends, he caught sight of the wagon and Isil plodding along beside it. Isil was fine. The cart was fine. The mithun were fine. Disgusted with his unnecessary panic, Rehaak slowed to a walk, and though he was out of breath, he attempted to hail her. Isil plodded on, apparently not hearing his breathless cry, her stride remaining unchanged.
Rehaak closed the gap between them, seized Isil’s arm, and spoke. “Isil,” he gasped. “Please stop. I must talk to you.”
When Isil turned toward him, Rehaak felt doubly ashamed, knowing he had caused the shiny trails of tears on her grimy cheeks. She must have been deeply hurt last night, but she hid it from me all evening. She’s stronger than any woman I’ve ever met. And with that thought, Rehaak’s esteem for the older woman increased again.
Isil held his gaze for a moment, then looked at the ground. She rubbed her cheeks with the backs of her hands, creating muddy smears on her face.
Rehaak stared at his feet and began his apology. Despite his verbal skills, he struggled and stammered. The words caught in his throat, and he dared not look Isil in the eye. “I...I’m sorry I blamed you for not knowing more about the Aetheriad. I was frustrated that you couldn’t help me. I was rude and insensitive for something that’s not your fault.”
“That’s not what upset me. I has few friends left in this world. Most folks wants little to do with me on account of how I looks. I thought you got past that, but when you went all quiet-like, it scared me to think you mightn’t be my friend after all.”
Isil offered him a rueful smile. “Alright then, you can finish makin’ amends by helpin’ me water the beasts, since it’s past midday and time to stop. There’s a bucket in the back, and you knows where the barrels is.”
Rehaak nodded and walked to the tail end of the long wagon, leaned his staff against its side, and climbed up on the wagon bed. While he filled the pail, he saw movement in the trees. Rehaak froze. The fear returned stronger than ever. Someone or something dangerous lurked in the shadowed recesses of the forest. Isil, busy checking the harness, did not seem to notice the dark shapes moving among the trees. Rehaak dropped the bucket in the water barrel, leaped down, and snatched his staff from where it leaned on the wagon’s side.
“Isil, beware!” he shouted as he ran toward her.
“What’s wrong?” Isil said. Seeing Rehaak armed and frightened, she stopped what she was doing and grabbed her own staff.
“I’m not sure. Something is moving over there.” Rehaak pointe
d toward the forest. “I have had a bad feeling all day while I tried to catch up to you. When I found you it lifted, but it returned a moment ago, worse than ever.”
“Best to pay attention to those feelin’s when they comes. Those promptin's comes from the Faithful One.” Isil squinted in the direction Rehaak pointed and motioned for Rehaak to stand beside her, with their backs to the mithun.
Attacked
While Rehaak and Isil stood staring at the forest’s edge, four unkempt men emerged from the trees, each armed with long, peculiar-looking knives. They brandished their weapons and advanced toward Isil and Rehaak but stopped several paces away. The largest of the four cast a flustered glance at his companions before he spoke.
“If you be givin’ us what we wants, there be no trouble in it for you.”
“What is it you be wantin’ then?” Isil growled.
“Whatever coin the two o’ you be carryin’ will be fine, but we’ll take supplies if you got no gold.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ on this wagon that be mine for the givin’ or yours for the takin.”
“Then you got a bit of a problem,” the man snarled.
“I think you are mistaken, my good fellow. It is you who have the problem,” Rehaak retorted.
The largest man smiled at his cronies. “We got us a city fella here, judgin’ by the accent. A right genteel one at that. Never seen a prissy city boy yet as could hold his water when things got messy. We’re gonna carve you up like a pig at a banquet.”
“You gonna talk us to death, or you gonna do something?” Isil growled. “We got places to be and people what is waitin’ on us. Either have at us or be off with you. Don’t let nothin’ but fear and common sense stay your hand. I has no use for gabby fools.”
The four men fanned out, flanking Rehaak and Isil since the mithun formed a solid wall of flesh and bone at their backs. The fortress wall of the mithun’s bodies forced the brigands into a frontal assault. Though outnumbered, Rehaak’s and Isil’s staves gave the two defender’s longer reach.
Rehaak’s mind raced, and his hands shook. Who are these men? I never needed to defend myself before. I wish I had spent less time in libraries and more time practicing self-defense, but it’s too late for that now.
Before they got within striking range, Isil moved with surprising speed, swinging her staff at the first of her attackers. The bandit had misjudged her reach. Isil stepped forward, delivering a powerful overhand strike to the man’s forearm. The snap of shattered bone echoed through the trees, and he dropped his knife, yowling in pain. Isil smiled her legendary smile at the other man, who eyed her with newfound respect.
Rehaak glanced in her direction. He was not sure what frightened the man more, Isil’s smile, or her evident proficiency with the staff. Rehaak experienced a moment of envy and admiration.
The smaller of the two men facing Rehaak thought he saw his chance and made a lunge at him, but Rehaak dodged, acting on pure reflex and panic. His attacker’s momentum carried him forward. Rehaak rotated at the waist and brought his staff around, striking the man on the back with substantial force. The added impetus of the blow sent the man headlong into the muscular flank of a mithun.
As the bandit fell to his knees, the beast looked back, offended by the man’s impudence in touching him. The mithun lashed out with a cloven rear hoof the size of a dinner plate, striking the man in the chest. Its kick lifted the brigand off the ground and catapulted him past Rehaak.
The bandit bounced off the wagon and dropped onto the trail to Rehaak’s left. A cloud of dust rose where he landed and then settled again around his silent form. The odds were even now if the mithun were discounted.
The leader of the brigands looked at his uninjured henchman, either to gauge his resolve or to encourage it. He feinted at Rehaak a few times to force Rehaak into making a mistake. Rehaak waited, holding his staff low in both hands, reluctant to take the bait or make the first move.
The brigand lunged, but Rehaak stepped backward, increasing the distance while lifting his staff. This forced the man’s knife hand up and away. Rehaak stepped forward and aimed a kick at the man’s groin, but the attacker twisted and avoided the blow.
Rehaak’s attacker did not notice his uninjured partner had backed off, freeing Isil to swing at his head. Her staff struck the back of the fellow’s skull, producing a sickening crunch. Rehaak sidestepped the body as it fell twitching at his feet.
The remaining goon lost his will to continue and opted to help his injured friend reach the cover of the tree line. They ran off into the shadows.
With adrenaline-fueled bravery, Rehaak danced and shouted, “Don’t run away. Come and get some more, you wussies. We were just getting warmed up.”
Once the adrenaline diminished, Rehaak shook like a leaf in the wind. He looked at the mithun. Other than that one kick, they had not so much as twitched since the fighting started.
“Alright, tough guy. I think they had enough,” Isil said. “I tol’ you my team wouldn’t stir less’n I goes with ‘em. Let’s see if these two thugs still have life in ‘em.” She rolled the leader onto his back and checked his breathing. “This one’s done for.”
Rehaak inspected the second man. “Same here. Your mithun crushed his chest and broke his neck,” Rehaak said as the shakes diminished and his knees stopped wobbling.
“Hort’s always been sensitive ‘bout who gets to touch him, gives the blacksmiths fits when they tries to shoe him,” Isil said.
“Umm, shouldn’t you have warned me before I watered them last night? He might have injured or killed me.”
“Naw. I saw Hort was right partial to you. He’d a never given you no more’n a love tap at worst. Hardly even raise a bruise.” She smiled at him again, picked up the thieves’ weapons, and handed them to Rehaak.
“They won’t be needin’ these no more. Mebbe you could get summat for ‘em in town.”
“No, why don’t you keep them?”
“Naw. I got no use for ‘em. I hates the sight of blood. It makes me all queasy and wobbly in the knees.”
After much coaxing by Rehaak, Isil relented, though she was still reluctant to accept the blades. “Awright,” she said. “Let me wrap ‘em in something.”
Once they were wrapped, she picked them up like they might scorch her hands. Isil carried them at arm’s length like they emitted a stench and stowed them in the wagon with her cargo.
“Touchin’ ‘em gives me the shivers,” Isil said when she rejoined Rehaak and helped him water the mithun.
Rehaak felt the same about the knives. It was unusual for Abrhaani to use edged weapons, but in this case, the aversion went beyond Abrhaani squeamishness at bloodshed. While she watered the mithun, he dragged the bodies into the forest and covered them with deadfall to keep the scavengers away. Once complete, they started toward New Hope again.
“Thanks for the help,” Isil said.
“You’re welcome,” Rehaak replied.
The pair walked on together in silence, lost in their own thoughts until the shadows lengthened. Evening came early under the canopy of branches. Rehaak assumed they would push on through the darkness to reach the town but asked, “What is your plan now
“There’s an abandoned farmstead less’n half a mile from the trail. Just ‘round the next bend. And an empty house too. We’ll stay there tonight. Folks what built it died of a fever a while back, and ain’t nobody claimed it yet. Reckon they fears catchin’ a contagion.”
“Is it safe?” Rehaak asked.
Isil avoided answering the question. “There’s a crick where the mithun can git water. We best make for it, I reckon. Not much light under these trees come nightfall.”
Rehaak, uncomfortable at spending the night in a plague-house, asked, “How much farther to the farm?”
“Less’n an hour at this speed. Be near dark by then.”
“How much farther to New Hope? Can’t we push on?” Rehaak said, hoping for a reprieve.
“Too far to reach tow
n afore mornin’. Might break a wheel or a neck more’n likely if we goes on. Won’t risk it,” Isil said.
“Lead on, milady.” Rehaak sighed and resigned himself to a lingering death from an unknown disease. The Creator has a cruel sense of humor. Saved from brigands only to die of fever in a filthy hovel.
Early Snowfall
A late spring storm blew through the mountain valleys, and snow fell upon trees newly awakened from slumber. Tender young leaves peeked from beneath snow-covered branches, bowed low with the heavy coat of soggy white flakes. Shelhera’s health had suffered beneath winter’s cold, pale hand. Laakea prayed the summer sun would give her strength. Outside, the moon hung low over the sheepfold and forge.
Inside the house, Aelfric, lamp in hand, stooped over the sleeping form of his wife. Shelhera’s complexion mirrored the landscape. Her sallow skin had shrunken, leaving her hands skeletal and her face a whiteish mask, but her spirit clung to life with tenacity despite her body’s weakness. For many tendays, Aelfric had abandoned his work in the forge and devoted his days and nights to Shelhera’s care.
The outside door opened when Laakea returned from the sheepfold. The snow-covered grass in the pasture had forced him to hand-feed the sheep with hay and grain. Still clothed in his heavy woolen coat, Laakea strode to the hearth in time to see Aelfric, shoulders slumped and head down, emerge from the bedroom. He hadn’t berated Laakea in several days. It seemed he no longer had the energy.
On the one hand, Laakea appreciated the change; on the other, Aelfric’s gloomy silence left him unanchored and floundering in a sea of unfamiliar emotions. He stripped off his coat, set his hat on the mantel, and stamped his feet to remove the snow. He prepared to take off his boots so he could warm his feet by the fire. As he bent to remove his footwear, the sheep outside bleated in panic.
“Go see what that’s about.” Aelfric set his lantern onto the table and reached for his coat.