by K Schultz
With his guts emptied, he searched for Rehaak among the slain and found his friend sprawled across the corpse of an attacker. At least I can give Rehaak a decent burial back at the clearing. The others can rot on the forest floor. I will return and collect their weapons and belongings tomorrow. Their property is mine. A victor’s spoils, but meager payment for what I lost tonight.
When he rolled Rehaak’s body out of the pool of blood glistening in the moonlight, the light showed a sizable gash to the side of Rehaak’s head. Laakea hoisted his friend off the ground, and Rehaak moaned in pain.
Rehaak’s alive!
Urgency renewed the boy’s strength. He picked up his friend, draped him across his shoulders, and ran toward the cabin. Rehaak flopped and bounced against Laakea’s back while his head wound oozed warm, sticky blood along the boy’s side. Once inside the cabin, Laakea tossed wood on the embers glowing in the hearth, lit a candle, and examined Rehaak’s wound.
A flap of Rehaak’s scalp hung loosely from the white bone of his unbroken skull. Although bloodied from several other wounds, Rehaak would live. Laakea got a cloth and water from the bucket at the door and hurried to dress the wound before his friend regained consciousness. He cleaned the injury the way Shelhera had taught him and bound Rehaak’s scalp into place with a fresh bandage.
“I have done everything I can, Creator. You must look after him now,” he said and surprised himself by praying to a god he had not known or believed in a few days ago. “I am sorry, Rehaak, I am incapable of more. Exhaustion overtakes me now, my friend.”
Laakea collapsed on the earthen floor by the hearth and fell into a dreamless sleep, while shadows prowled outside in the moonlight.
Regret
The sun was high in the treetops when Rehaak’s groans awakened Laakea from his coma-like sleep. When Laakea brought water to wet his friend’s fevered lips, Rehaak tried to sit up.
“You have a hard head, my friend, and it’s a good thing. Otherwise, today, I’d stick you on a pile of firewood, set fire to it, say a prayer over you, and you’d be headed to the afterlife.”
He eased Rehaak’s head onto the pillow. “I will bring more water later, but first, I’ll fetch the weapons I left behind last night.”
Laakea knew the carnage he was about to face would make him queasy, but he must deal honorably with the corpses and recover the spoils of victory.
.
Carrion birds circled over the battle site, as Aarda attempted to clear away the stains of violence. Ravens took flight and abandoned their feast as Laakea approached. The smells of death and decay brought on fresh waves of nausea and made him glad he skipped breakfast, preventing a repeat performance of last night’s purge. The sun overhead burned hot on Laakea’s shoulders, and flies buzzed around his face as he dragged the bodies of the slain men to the forest’s edge.
While Laakea moved the dead, one brigand’s shirt slid up and revealed runes tattooed on his chest and shoulders. The tattoos on one man prompted Laakea to check the others. Each man had similar markings with different combinations of runes. Laakea suspected they were members of a secret society. Either someone hired them to attack Rehaak, or their organization bore a grudge against his friend.
After Laakea dealt with the bodies, he scooped up their belongings and wrapped them in a blanket he had brought for the purpose. He had gained six more long knives like the ones Rehaak had stashed in the fireplace niche. These were his lawful spoils to use as he saw fit, and more than enough metal to make arrowheads from the guards on the knives if he ever had access to the forge house again.
Despite the weakness that always accompanied hunger, Laakea covered the corpses with branches and moss and piled stones atop the bodies to discourage scavengers. He had no time for proper Abrhaani burials. Rehaak needed him at home.
Laakea had hoped to identify the men and discover the reason they attacked Rehaak. He tried to make sense of the attack while he walked home, but his head spun, and hunger muddled his thoughts. I must ask Rehaak some very pointed questions about his activities in Narragan when he’s feeling better.
REHAAK GROANED AND slumped back onto the bed as Laakea re-entered the hut in the late afternoon loaded with his burden of weapons.
“How do you feel?”
“Like a boulder fell on my head. What happened?” Rehaak reached up and touched the bandage on his head.
“You don’t remember?”
“Nothing after I left the Millers’ home.”
“Six men attacked you on the trail. One of them sliced a chunk from your head as I arrived.”
“Why were you out there last night? I told you to stay—”
Laakea interrupted Rehaak and raised his voice to protest. “If I’d obeyed you...you’d be dead!”
“Good point, but try to make any further statements quietly, please. I have a headache.” Rehaak cradled his head in his hands.
“I’d say you’re lucky to still have a head,” Laakea said with a grin, relieved his friend was recovering.
“Did you drive them off?” Rehaak asked.
Laakea paused before he said, “Sort of...I drove them into the next life...I killed them.” His face flushed.
“Six men? You’re just a boy! Ah, my head.” Rehaak groaned and covered his face with his hands.
“Stay calm and don’t bellow. I imagine it hurts worse when you shout than when I do.”
“You are right. But how did you kill six men?”
“You killed one before they split your head open. I only killed five. Rest now, I’ll get more water and put it by the bed. We can talk later.”
“One does not take a man’s life as easily as in heroes’ tales. You need time to heal the spiritual wounds from killing other men.” Rehaak slumped back on the bed, closed his eyes, and gritted his teeth against the agony of his injuries.
“Do you need anything for the pain?”
“Yes, I do. I’ll make some poppy tea.” Rehaak tried to rise, grimaced, and sank back onto the bed.
“Why don’t you tell me how to make it instead.”
‘Fine. First boil some water and then get the red pouch from the shelf over there.” Rehaak pointed to the item.
Laakea set water to boil and listened to Rehaak’s instructions as he prepared the poppy tea. Once it had steeped and cooled, Rehaak drank the infusion. Within moments it took effect, and he drifted off to sleep.
Laakea had eaten nothing since yesterday. It was nearly sundown, and he staggered like a drunk, almost too weak to prepare a meal. He wolfed down the last of yesterday’s bread, and some smoked venison while he pondered what to do next.
This attack reeks of conspiracy. Rehaak must have other secrets, but who is angry enough to organize such a plot, or powerful and malicious enough to want to kill him?
I need better weapons, and I must watch out for more attacks. The increasing numbers in each attack displays more hostility, so I need better weapons...but I need Pa’s forge and tools to make them.
Aelfric had told Laakea it was time for his journeyman blacksmith project, but when Laakea fled into the night, it forestalled the final test. To prove himself, Laakea must make a sword. A sturdy, well-balanced blade that handled well and held its edge required preparation, patience, and experience. The assassins’ blades provided him with enough raw materials for the project. When he first held the knives, Laakea had a vision of two swords, and the compulsion to make them lured him homeward.
I must go home even if Pa kills me, but before I go, I will swear a Sword Oath to Rehaak. Before any duel takes place, both parties disclose their obligations, and the winner assumes the loser’s debts. This custom eliminates frivolous challenges and weeds out bullies.
Since Blood Debts require the winner of a dispute to assume the loser’s responsibilities, my death at Pa’s hands could ensure Rehaak’s safety. At least that’s how I understand it. I wish Ma had lived long enough to explain more of our customs and laws.
Pa used to say, “A rich man wit
h a sweet-tempered wife needs formidable combat skills, but a man with debts, a shrewish wife and needy relatives can neglect his training and exercise.”
Laakea shook his head and spoke aloud, “The choice is clear. Although the cost of defeat is death — a high price — victory is not cheap either. Once I swear a Sword Oath to Rehaak, the Warrior Code compels Pa to help Rehaak as though he swore the oath himself. Rehaak will get the help he needs, regardless of the outcome. It’s an acceptable risk. At least I can die honorably, and my death will have meaning.
A Purpose
Since the attack, Rehaak could only get out of bed with help. Laakea cleaned and bandaged his wounds daily and fed Rehaak broth while he convalesced because Rehaak’s jaw was too sore for solid food. Laakea found plenty of work while Rehaak slept and recovered. After a morning of weeding the vegetable garden, Laakea grabbed the buckets to fetch water from the river. Before he left, he checked on Rehaak and found him seated at the table eating bread, his first solid food in days, although he winced with every bite.
“How do you feel today?” he asked the injured man. “Do you remember more details?”
“I am not sure.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened from the time you left home? It may help sort things out for you.”
Rehaak smiled at the boy. “It is a good suggestion. I was unaware you had gained so much wisdom.”
“I have learned far more than I wanted since I came to your aid.”
Rehaak let the comment pass and nodded. “Well, I will share my memories, but you must fill in the blanks from the time between leaving the miller’s and when I awoke.”
Laakea listened to Rehaak’s story and probed him with questions, but he couldn’t remember what happened after he left the mill.
“What was the creature, Rehaak?”
“I think it was a Nethera, an evil spirit, one of the Dark Ones.”
“Can a spirit take a physical form? How’s it possible?”
“I wish I knew. The universe runs by rules none of us fully comprehend.”
“If they are in a physical form, won’t physical laws apply to them like they do to us?”
“I suppose, but the creature turned into mist and vanished after it stole Gillam’s life. We still understand so little.” Rehaak shook his head and shrugged. “What happened after that? You promised to tell me.”
Although he trusted in Rehaak’s friendship now, everyone’s tolerance had limits. Wild bloodlust might be the final sticking point for his newfound friend. It was one thing to live with a coward, but it was another to live with a homicidal maniac. Laakea considered telling the facts and avoiding the emotions, but Rehaak would sense if he held back information.
Time to face my fears and live with the consequences, no matter the cost. I might as well tell the whole story. Truth is a warrior’s choice; honesty is a warrior’s strength. Time to see if he’s a real friend.
Laakea started with the facts and explained the sense of urgency and danger that goaded him into the night, against Rehaak’s instructions. Despite his resolve to tell Rehaak the whole truth, he recounted the facts as he remembered them but shied away from the rage that overwhelmed him. Rehaak listened without comments or questions.
Laakea paused for a second to gather his courage. The battle had changed him because he had seen a side of himself that left him terrified. “Rehaak, one thing troubles me, and I’m not sure how to tell you.” I hope Rehaak can explain the bloodlust.
“Go ahead, lad. I sensed a transformation in your heart.”
“What I experienced during the battle bothers me. Rage overtook me moments before it started.”
“Go ahead, I am listening.”
“I was so angry I lost control because six men attacked you without notice or provocation. The odds were in their favor, and yet they chose darkness to beset you. I got angry at the injustice, and I wanted to avenge you.”
“What else happened?”
“Bloodlust overcame me, and all your attackers moved like they swam in molasses, so slow they were no threat to me. It was like someone else wore my body and killed them while I watched. I killed them by the quickest and simplest methods without shame or pity while I viewed everything from a distance. Am I an evil monster?”
“Are you afraid this may happen again without warning?”
“Yes. What happens if this bloodlust overtakes me, and I hurt someone who is innocent or someone I care for...like you?”
“I will risk it.” Rehaak flashed a smile at Laakea and continued, “From what you told me, I doubt you would injure a friend since you directed your anger at evildoers. I think it’s clear justice, not anger, was your motivation. We may find an explanation for this ‘bloodlust’ in some old text. It may even be part of the Creator’s design for your species; a gift or ability He placed there for His own purposes.”
“Are you sure? I prayed to Him when I bandaged your wound.”
“The Creator? Do you believe in Him now?” Rehaak asked.
“I guess I do.”
“What makes you think you are an evil monster?”
“I had no pity. I didn’t care about hurting those men or killing them.”
“Pardon me, but what are you experiencing now if not remorse?”
Laakea looked dumbfounded by the question. “Not while I fought them, but ever since then, guilt and shame fill my thoughts and my actions that night sicken me.”
“I am glad you had no pity for them then because if you had, you and I would be food for the crows today. I am glad you experience remorse now because it means your conscience is intact. Laakea, you are no monster. If you were, you would not experience guilt or shame for what you did.”
“Are you sure?”
“I experienced shame and regret when I took a life to defend myself. The first time was outside a tavern in Narragan. A lover’s husband tried to kill me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and from what you tell me, Your father trained you as a warrior, and those lessons saved both our lives. Let us leave it at that.”
“Fine, but why do these men continue attacking you?”
“They attacked Isil back then, and it is a good thing I was there to help her. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I thought they were bandits, nothing more.”
“They attacked Isil too? Has anyone attacked Isil before or since then?”
“No.”
“It sure seems like you were the brigands’ target on the road that day. The brigands only attacked once you were present. Isn’t it possible they were after you, not Isil?”
“If that was the case, then why did I need to catch up and help her?”
“If they caught you later on the trail alone, could you have defeated them?”
“No.”
“Have you considered that perhaps you needed Isil’s protection, not the other way around?” Rehaak looked at the floor while Laakea continued, “For a smart man, you are sometimes a little thick-headed.”
Rehaak raised his hand and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Laakea said, “Please don’t look so offended. Your thick head saved your life.” Laakea grinned. “And Isil saved your thick head back then.”
Rehaak’s brows drew together, and he pursed his lips. “I never considered that possibility, although Isil has suggested the same thing. Even though Isil couched her suggestion in gentler words, you reached the same conclusion without the information Isil and I had. It must be true. I suppose pride has prevented me from seeing it. I believed I was Isil’s valiant rescuer, but now I discover that Isil rescued me.” The irony forced a wry smile from Rehaak. “I had aid during every encounter, but why would those men want to kill me?” Rehaak asked Laakea.
“I don’t know, but they aren’t ordinary brigands. Why didn’t you tell me of the knives stashed in the niche beside the hearth?”
“I did not think it was important that you know. The weapons made me queasy whenever I handled them. I put them out
of my mind when I stashed them there, although I suspected they were significant.”
“Enough talk. It is late, and you need rest, or your wound won’t heal the way it should,” Laakea said.
Rehaak laughed, “Oh ho! So now you are a healer too. Soon your head will be so large you won’t get through the doorway!”
“Don’t worry, my friend, my head will never get so big that it prevents me from carrying you when you’re leaking blood all over yourself. Can you use a weapon besides your staff, something to stop an opponent before he gets close enough to clobber you?”
“I can use a sling. When I was a boy, I was a superb marksman.” Rehaak twirled an imaginary sling with his hand.
“Well, I shall make a sling. Rest now. Tomorrow you can take a stab at deciphering the runes on the knives.”
“Take a stab, hilarious. I get it. Yes, I will take a nap like a good boy,” Rehaak quipped with mock humility.
“I wasn’t trying to be funny; we must prepare before the next attack because the fellows with the tattoos will try again.”
Sword Oath
“Come on, sleepyhead. Get out of bed. I hope you remember how to use this.” Laakea offered Rehaak the finished sling. “You should practice with this today in case someone else tries killing you before nightfall. The sun shines, the birds sing, and it’s a beautiful morning for target practice.”
Rehaak groaned and pulled the blanket over his head to block the light streaming through the open door. “I’m safer in bed, and your theory still has not convinced me of a conspiracy. A run of bad luck with brigands and robbers could happen to anybody,” Rehaak said, his voice muffled by the bedclothes.