In the glorious Kingdom of Beaujin were deserts, mountains, and forests. Of those deserts, the Ashes of Scion was the most desolate. Of those mountains, the Jaw of Moashrr rose the highest. Of those forests, Fringewood was the greatest. More ancient than the Kaynai hunting grounds, it grew at the southernmost tip of the kingdom. It had swallowed more than one wanderer and stories were known throughout the kingdom of the mysteries that dwelled therein.
With no thought as to his safety, he had crossed the meadow between his village and that forest of mysteries. For more than a week he had been making his way through Fringewood, but that morning, with the dawn of Cylos, First Sun, he experienced a state of being he had never known. Sabien, the hunchback monk of Esquilia, was lost.
He wandered the forest calling the name of his lost dog. Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouted, “Rahld!” But, just as the last half-dozen times he called, there was no reply. No bark. No raucous sound of his crashing through the trees. Nothing. All quiet save the chirping of baby birds hungry for breakfast and the soft crunch of flora beneath Sabien’s steps.
Sabien had awoken that morning in the same way that he had for over a week: first, securing his bedroll to the back of his dog, then stepping away to go make water. When he had returned, it was to an empty campsite.
For all fifteen years of Sabien’s life, Rahld had never been out of earshot, but for some reason within the depths of Fringewood he had chosen to abandon the monk. Without another thought, the monk did as always when faced with an obstacle: kneeling with hands clasped and head bowed, he closed his eyes and prayed.
“Almighty Creator, please protect Rahld. Keep him safe from the vile Hedge. Lead him back to me, and guide my steps so that I may find him.”
Rising from the forest floor, Sabien heard a trumpet’s call, then seconds later something crashing through the forest, snapping twigs and stomping earth. Knowing that his prayer had been answered, he looked from one side of the forest to the other, where he spotted a pair of riders headed in his direction.
Sabien’s arms were over his head in an instant, flagging them down. He could tell by the royal emblem on their tunics and the broadswords on their backs that they were of His Majesty’s army. They were known as the Just, and Sabien recognized them from his History lessons. Unlike the print Brother Xavier had shown him during a lesson, the chain mail covering their arms was not grey but black, glimmering like a clear night sky even beneath the heavy forest shade.
He realized too that the King’s emblem was changed. Where there should have been a white falcon boasting a golden beak and talons and bearing the sun Cylos as a crown, there was a falcon with a black beak and talons. But the creatures they rode were swyphs, six-legged horses that only noblemen and royalty owned.
“Have you seen my dog?” he shouted. The men galloped closer on their six-legged mounts but did not answer. They were coming so fast that he began to feel nervous, standing there in the middle of their path. He still had one arm raised, waving it for attention.
“Have you seen my dog?” he asked again, the back of his neck beginning to tingle. A lump formed in his throat, growing thicker the faster his heart beat. They did not seem to be reigning in their swyphs, but in fact appeared to be gaining speed. Sabien knew that these soldiers would stop to aid him, even though their ice blue eyes were fixed on a distant point. Behind the metal plates of armor covering their long faces, the mounted swyphs too seemed to be looking past the monk.
“Have you seen--?” Sabien didn’t finish before the soldiers were almost a step away from him and his life flashed before his eyes—the monastery, Rahld, the holy Brothers and Sisters who had raised him, his grandfather. Whatever measure of mercy was in the eyes of the Just was expended as they curved the path of their swyphs to just barely swipe past the monk.
Eyes shut and palms pressed flat against his ears, Sabien did his best to block the thunderous hoof beats and ear-splitting whinnies. He stood still while being pelted by clods of wet mulch kicked up by the passing storm. One soldier’s hanging foot clipped his elbow and sent him spiralling into the opposite soldier’s mount, off of which he bounced and landed flat on the ground, face in the overturned earth.
When the whinnying and snorts of the storm had passed he lifted his face, watching the Just fade into the trees. Sabien rose from the ground and sighed, wiping away the mud and wet leaves. He had done a masterful job of keeping his robe clean during his time in the forest. At this point he had no choice but to further stain his clothes, using the wide sleeve of his robe to mop the mud from his face.
Looking at the mud on his hands, he thanked the Creator that he had not decided to wear the gloves he had received for his birthday. He wiped his palms against the bark of a nearby tree to clean them. From the dreaded locks of his hair, he picked out a handful of leaves and a very long twig. He tapped his feet against a tree to knock the fresh mud from his sandals. Before moving on, he spoke a prayer of humility to the Almighty Creator, and then found it within himself to forgive the soldiers their transgressions.
No less lost than before, he picked a direction at random and started walking. “Rahld!” Still there was no answer.
---
The day grew warm, but a breeze cooled the forest, whispering ancient words through the leaves. By the rise and fall of the sun, he could divine cardinal directions. But with Cylos sitting high on his midday throne and no Rahld to lead him, Sabien worried that he was walking in circles.
At the start of his journey, Fringewood was dark and barren. On the ground were dry leaves and exposed tree roots. To whatever depths of the place Sabien had reached, surrounding him now was the noise of life: squirrels chattering, birds singing. Shafts of light split the darkness. The farther he went the more he witnessed the change.
Newest of all were the clumps of strange grass, a foot in diameter and spaced around the base of the trees. Sister Ghikala had given him lessons on vegetation; he had learned which plants to gather for seasoning, for healing, and which plants to avoid. Sabien did not recognize these.
After so much shouting, he had a tickle in his throat. Before he had left the monastery, he had packed a water skin and other provisions, all of which were strapped to Rahld. In his haste to find the dog that morning, he had not had breakfast. The afternoon before that day, he had taken an apple from his bag, tossing it from hand to hand for entertainment as he followed Rahld. When the day was finished and Rahld had found a place for them to rest, he had dropped the fruit into the side pocket of his robe. He thanked the Almighty Creator for this happenstance as he fingered the apple still in his pocket.
In the distance, Sabien saw a great display of sunlight. He hoped that it was a sign of a clearing in the trees. He dreamed of a soft lawn to lie upon and a full view of the sky to gaze into as he ate his breakfast. Making his way toward the glade, he dodged a giant spider web, catching its glisten in the sunlight a second before he would have crashed through it.
Sabien stopped at the edge of the glade. Looking into the space he watched blue and pink flutterbyes dance over the tall grass and yellow wildflowers. In his eyes the place glowed like a rainbow in a glass jar. Above him the sky was not as clear as he hoped. Cylos had been cornered by a mob of storm clouds threatening an assault of darkness and rain. Sabien did not like the idea of walking through the forest in the middle of the downpour and even less so the thought of Rahld alone in the rain. He turned away from the dying light in the glade and found a spot beneath an oak tree. He rested, staring into the forest as he ate his breakfast.
Sabien decided to take the gloves from his pocket while he ate, the glade behind him growing dim. He smiled, looking them over. Deep brown, well oiled, their leather was the finest thing he had ever touched. The material inside felt the way he imagined clouds would. And best of all, cast in metal and grafted onto their backs was the encircled symbol of the Almighty Creator, an outline of a dove carrying a shepherd’s crook over a fire.
“Blessed,” he whispered to himself, running a finger over the metal symbol. It was an honor for Sabien to receive such a gift, especially from his grandfather who had never given him anything else.
Upon hearing the same trumpeting from that morning, he jumped to his feet. From across the glade he heard something charging through Fringewood. The noise of it kicking through leaves was like a snare drum, the snapping of twigs like strikes on a cymbal. Sabien smiled as he peeked into the glade from behind his tree; only Rahld could make so much noise.
He planned to jump out and surprise his dog once he arrived in the glade, the ultimate game of hide and seek. Then, among a flurry of twigs and leaves, a figure exploded from the forest and into the clearing. Sabien had no choice but to gawk at this unexpected arrival: a woman.
The look of her disturbed him; she was like no one he had seen before. Her skin was not black like his or those of his village, but it was dark, more the tone of roasted pumpkin seeds blended with the sun-bleached green new hay. And her ears—long and so pointed! They poked through her thick brown hair which she had pulled back into a plait.
She turned in a circle, scanning the glade. She was dressed like autumn, an orange tunic beneath a red vest tucked into a short red skirt. Her legs were rose stems, clothed in deep green leggings and tall brown traveler’s boots. And the thorns? Shining silver throwing knives holstered in a leather garter. In her left hand was an archer’s bow carved from yellow wood. Strapped to her back, a quiver stuffed with red fletched arrows.
Sabien felt warm watching her. When she had finished looking over the area, he saw her move to the center of the glade and shut her eyes. Sabien leaned farther away from his hiding place, listening to the woman’s breathing. The tips of her ears wiggled and he noticed her nostrils flaring the same way Rahld’s did when he was exploring something new.
Then her eyes flashed open and the monk found himself in her sights. Her eyes, jade with flecks of brown, kept him frozen as her hand slid towards her garter. Deafened by the beat of his own heart, Sabien could not hear the cadre of soldiers as they charged into the glade. Distracted by the soldiers the woman took her eyes from him, and Sabien was able to move again. He ducked behind his tree, daring only to peek out with one eye.
The monk blinked and missed the woman’s pulling a knife from her hip. She kept it poised and ready as the mounted soldiers continued their silent intimidation. The seven soldiers made a wide circle around her. She kept her eyes on them, turning. Sabien could see her smirking and how uneasy it made the men; even their swyphs were skittish. Then from out of the forest came a lone soldier, and then everything stopped.
As Sabien suspected, these soldiers, with their chalk white heads shaven, were unlike the Just. And their general, with his long blue hair tied back, was unlike them; his swyph alone was black with a mane like silver. It snorted at the woman, unafraid in her presence, and its rider stared her dead in the eye, unafraid of her glance. Sabien knew little of the realm beyond the four walls of the monastery, but he knew those with white skin bore wings. He wondered as he watched these men, why none of them did.
“I’m insulted, Ramo,” the woman scoffed, holstering her knife, “you’re all he sent? I mean come on; this is me we’re talking about.”
“That’s General Ramo, and we’re more than enough to wipe that smirk off your face, Ei Lata’n.”
“Please, I took six of you haagstids down on my way here. And look,” she wiped her forehead and presented her dry fingers to the general—, “no sweat.”
The man on the black swyph sat in his saddle, the smirk on his lips broader than hers. His men kept their positions, looking from their leader to their quarry. Her eyes stayed trained on him, and the longer he held his smirk the more her lip curled.
His men chuckled, that is until the woman put a hand to her garter. Once again the clearing fell silent. “Take your squad and be gone, Ramo,” she warned him, “Before your bad day gets worse.”
He shook his head, grinning, and said, “You are in no position to make deals”. He leaned forward crossing his arms over the pommel of his saddle. “But, come with us now and you will reach His Majesty’s throne alive and unharmed. Then you will have only the final justice of the Tower to worry over.” His men cringed at mention of the place.
In answer, she snorted, cleared her throat, and then spat a wad at the hooves of his swyph.
“Typical.” He nodded at his men and they charged her.
Though outnumbered, the woman did not appear outmatched. Equipped with her knives, three soldiers fell dead from their saddles as the others dismounted. A hairsbreadth swifter than her foes, she dodged their lunges and swipes with twirling moves the likes of which Sabien’s eyes had never seen. Dangerous as she was graceful, the woman threw a knife into the throat of a soldier, stealing his sword before he hit the ground. Sabien heard her growl as she took on the men.
General Ramo groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Come show them how it’s done then,” she shouted to him. She back flipped over an enemy, landed behind him in a crouch and sheathed her sword in his ribs.
“Creator’s Mercy,” the Son of the Holy Order gasped, and covered his eyes. When he decided to look again, the woman faced the last soldier. She kept her eyes on the general while the man fell to his knees, trying to hold in the crimson life spurting from his throat.
The knot growing in Sabien’s stomach made him short of breath. What had his grandfather told him of those who knew not the Creator’s ways? That they know not peace, Sabien remembered, looking upon the bodies strewn across the glade.
“When I heard you’d revealed yourself a coward,” the general said to her, “I was afraid you’d lost your spirit. I’m glad to see you’ve enough left that I can take my time cutting it out of you.” Shaking his head he sighed, gazing down at his wasted men. “Shame about my men though, but they were only meant to wear you down.” Putting two fingers to his lips, Ramo released a piercing whistle and from the forest behind him entered a fresh troop of soldiers. They formed two lines in front of him; the first row made of archers nocked their bows; the second row made of swordsmen readied their blades. The woman dusted her clothes.
“Archers, ready!” the general ordered.
But Sabien had seen enough bloodshed. He put on his gloves and walked into the glade, showing the backs of his hands. “Peace,” he shouted and all eyes were on him. He walked to the center of the glade, and placed himself between the soldiers and the woman. “There is no need for any more fighting!”
His soldiers laughed in chorus while General Ramo crinkled his brow in Ei Lata’n direction. “What game are you playing at?”
“He’s not with me,” Sabien heard her shout behind him. She grabbed him by the hood of his robe and swung him aside. “Go back to your tree, boy, before you catch a shaft in the skull!”
“Archers!” The general stifled a chuckle and ordered his men back to attention. “Kill them both.”
For a moment Sabien stood unprepared, Ramo’s words and the creak of bowstrings being pulled taut ringing in his ears. For years stacked upon years, he had trained with his grandfather in the Way of the Lord. For every detail of the Realm in which he was ignorant, he was thrice skilled in this defensive art. The archers played a single note on their strings and called their arrows to fly.
Shouting with power, Sabien slapped away a black tailed arrow. He deflected another off the metal symbol of his glove. He knocked away two more, keeping his mind clear and his faith in the Way strong. As the monk defended his life, so the woman did hers.
Ei Lata’n planted her feet, shut her eyes, and listened. Holding her breath, she weaved in and out of the path of oncoming arrows. She opened her eyes and stared down the shaft of the final wind-splitter, pinched it behind its black stone head, and hurled it back to its sender.
The returned arrow lanced the shoulder of General Ramo’s swyph. It whinnied and bucked the general from his saddle. He landed flat on his back and remained unmoving until he heard Ei Lata’n laughing.
He sat up, coughing, and held the back of his head. “Archers, return to camp!” Left with empty quivers, the soldiers obeyed their leader, departing the glade. Still between the general and Ei Lata’n were the swordsmen. Ramo found the strength to stand and brushed the dirt from his legs. General Ramo sneered at her, from behind his men. “Swordsmen, cut that smile from her face.”
Sabien backed away as the second line rushed forward, blades out. “Peace,” he shouted. As ordered, they charged the woman. Somewhere in the woods a trumpet wailed. The call was short, ended by a crunch and a high-pitched squeak.
“And don’t let the monk help this time!” General Ramo shouted to his men. Two swordsmen splintered from the group and attacked Sabien.
His gloves were no match for a broadsword. Yelping, he dodged a downward swipe. “Stop,” he pleaded. “There is no need to fight.” Short of breath, his heart racing, Sabien panicked. He dropped beneath a swipe meant to decapitate him. “Creator, save me.”
He heard screaming from somewhere in the forest, and then a bark like a crack of thunder.
“Monster!” Archers spilled back into the clearing from behind Ramo. A broken line of ants, they scrambled over each other in frenzy.
It crashed through the trees after them, sticks and brambles and soldiers hanging from its green fur. Some archers had piled onto it, hoping to bring the monster to its knees. Sabien had tried this often when they wrestled.
“Rahld!”
Upon hearing his name, the colossal green dog turned to see his master. Racing past General Ramo and his swyph, tongue flapping, archers falling from off his back, Rahld slammed into the pair of swordsmen threatening Sabien.
“What a good boy!” Sabien had to use both his hands in order to give his dog a satisfying scratch behind the ear.
By the time Sabien was eight years old, Rahld had grown too large to sleep inside the monastery. Unbeknownst to the monk, the villagers whispered that it was unnatural for a dog to be the size of a swyph and, years later, the size of a bear. Brother Quinn once joked that the villagers were wrong; Rahld was not the size of a swyph or even a bear, but that he was the size of a bear that could swallow a swyph.
“Run before it rips us in two!” Soldiers fled the clearing, ignoring their general’s orders to remain. Any of those foolish enough to face the dog or his master were met with claws as thick as a tree branch. Sabien stayed behind his dog until the last soldier had either fled or been knocked to the ground.
Ei Lata’n stood over a heap of bodies; abandoned swords sticking out of the pile like needles in a pincushion. She glanced over at the monk and his dog, but they ignored her growing curiosity. She plucked a sword from one of the defeated and marched towards the general. With no one left to stand between them, he flicked his hair and pulled his sword from the sheath on his belt.
“Last chance to surrender.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” She charged him and their blades clashed.
Sparks flew each time their swords met. Sabien held his ears unable to stand the racket, the noise like shears scraping stone. Ei Lata’n threw her weight into each blow, screaming. But they were too evenly matched; neither blade touched flesh.
Ever the swordsman, General Ramo parried her strike, tilted his sword, and then he forced the hilt into her sternum. She staggered back from the blow, holding her chest. General Ramo relaxed his stance. “I’m disappointed that it’s come to this, but I’m not surprised.”
“You’re not?” She dropped her sword and vanished in the blink of his eye. “How about now?”
“Coward,” he raged, swinging his sword around. “Face me!”
Sabien stepped back into Rahld, unsure of what he had just witnessed. General Ramo, his sword at the ready, scanned the glade for signs of her. Panting, he said, “Of course you’re hiding. You were never able to match my blade.”
“Your blade?” Ei Lata’n’s disembodied voice was unmistakable.
General Ramo froze and then jerked forward as if being punched in the back. As quickly as she had vanished Ei Lata’n reappeared. She stood pressed against the general’s back, one hand tight around his throat, the other gripping the dagger pressed against his neck. Her lips beside his ear whispered, “My blade.”
With her dagger she slashed his throat and then stabbed him in the back. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, holding his throat closed trying to remove the blade she had sheathed in him. “Now you know how it feels,” she said, then turned her back and walked towards the edge of the glade.
“Jacquie,” the general blurted before falling to his side, blood running through the fingers pressed to his neck.
“What have you done?” Sabien shouted.
“Talon’s Fury,” she called back without turning. “Don’t worry, boy, he’ll be dead soon.”
“No, he will not.” The monk opened a satchel strapped to his dog. After some searching he took out a wad of cloth, damp with grey poultice. He rushed to the general and wrapped it around his neck. “Press here,” he instructed, taking the general’s hand and setting it against the treatment.
“Dreg! What do you think you’re doing?”
Sabien was lifted up by his arm to meet the angered woman. “I am healing him. Let me go.”
“He just tried to shaft us both.”
Finding her grip stronger, Sabien struggled to free himself. “He will die if I do not aid him!”
“That’s the idea! Whose side are you on?” She shoved him aside and armed her bow. Seeing her point an arrow at the general’s head, the monk stood in the way. “Move,” she ordered.
“No.” Sabien stood between her and the general. “It is not Man’s place to take the life of his brother.”
“Don’t worry, I’m Woman, and we’re not related.”
The monk did not budge. “You will do this man no more harm.”
“Watch me,” she growled. Hearing a sharp groan from behind him, the monk looked back over his shoulder. Holding the dagger in his back, General Ramo rose to his feet. He winced, testing the bandage around his neck.
“Let it be until sunset. Wash the wound then and replace the dressing.”
“Charming,” Ramo wheezed, glancing from holy face to hardened. “Why heal me?”
To the monk, there could be no simpler question. “Because the Savior taught us when struck, you must turn the other cheek. We are as brothers in the eyes of the Holy Father. I will not let my brother die.”
Ramo did not speak, but looked into the eyes of the woman who appeared just as perplexed as he.
“Very well then boy, you have spared my life this day and, being a man of honor,”—the woman scoffed at him—“I am in your debt. Now step aside, that I may deal with this traitor.”
“No.” Sabien spread his arms to protect her.
Once again taken aback, the general was speechless.
“Pay your debt to me by sparing her life.”
It was Ei Lata’n’s turn to appear shocked.
“Monk, you saw what she did to my men. Trust me when I say she has done far worse to folk who deserved far less. She is not worth your protection. Stand aside.”
“I will not.”
For a moment the general was silent, glancing from Sabien to Ei Lata’n. “Very well then, I promise to end the hunt for her till nightfall. She is too dangerous to be left wandering the realm.”
With a sharp nod, Sabien agreed. He looked back at Ei Lata’n and then to her bow and arrow. Her eyes on the general, she lowered her weapon.
“My father taught me to shake on a promise.” General Ramo offered his hand to Sabien. The monk smiled, taking it.
With a yelp Sabien lurched forward, stumbling as General Ramo tightened his grip and slung him to one side. He pulled the dagger from his back, stepped closer to her, and then plunged it deep into her chest. Eyes wide, breath caught in her throat, Ei Lata’n fell forward into Ramo’s arms.
“I knew that after what you did in Scion’s Garden, it would come to this,” he whispered. A twist of his hand and the blade broke in her. He stepped away from the gasping woman, letting her crash to the ground. Too stunned to react, Sabien could only listen as the general passed by him. “My father was a drunk and the only thing he ever taught me was to finish what you, started.” That said General Ramo disappeared into the forest.
Sabien ran back to the satchel strapped to Rahld. He returned with a handful of crushed blue leaves. “I have medicine.” He crouched beside Ei Lata’n and saw in her eyes a resilience he did not understand. “Eat this sky drop.” He sprinkled the blue leaves onto her tongue. “We grow healing herbs at the mona—oh no!”
Fear gripped the monk as her eyes shut tight and her breath slowed. “Miss? Miss, please say something! The leaf is supposed to help!” Sabien’s voice was drowned amongst the low groans of the forest. His eyes widened in awe, watching every tree along the clearing’s edge lean towards Ei Lata’n. “Creator’s Mercy.”
The blade in her chest slid out, and hit the ground with a clink. The wound beneath her tunic closed. With a coarse gasp, her eyes sprang open. The trees returned to their natural stance while she sat up and coughed.
“What did you feed me,” she asked, smacking her lips.
“The trees! Did you see?”
“Take it easy. Help me up.”
Sabien complied and, as he helped her up, only then did he realize her greater height; her shoulder at his eye level. “Yech, that stuff tasted terrible. What was it?”
“Sky drop. The powder on their leaves dulls pain. I had hoped to continue with a salve of—.”
“Thanks, that helped a little, but I can take care of myself.”
“You are welcome, but you should sit down.”
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Sabien, miss. Please sit.”
“Calm down, Sabien, and stop calling me miss. My name’s Ei Lata’n, got it?” She stumbled toward the monk, her eyes crossed. “Whoa. Everything’s fuzzy. What’d you say were in those drops?” She fell forward into the monk’s arms, forcing him to stumble back. “Hey,” she asked, squinting at him, “touch my nose. Is it cold?” Then she collapsed into his arms, snoring.
---
Ei Lata’n awoke to a crackling campfire and a night sky covered by clouds. She was sitting up, resting against a very large bedroll. At the sight of two birds on a skewer turning above the flames, her mouth watered. From across the fire, the monk greeted her with excitement. “You are awake. Wonderful! I prayed that you would be well. And you see, I have food for you.” He removed the two-bird-kabob from over the campfire and waved it at her. “I hope that you are hungry.”
She nodded, entranced at the sight of the delicious meat. Sabien walked around the fire towards her but stopped short. He held the kabob out to her but before she could reach for it Rahld’s head came between them. Watching him chew, she realized the bedroll she thought she was resting against was in fact the dog’s stomach. “Quarnen dreg,” she shouted, jumping up from her seat. “What is that thing?”
“This is my dog, Rahld. Rahld, this is our new friend Ei Lata’n.” Rahld paused his chewing and sniffed at her. “Would you like to pet him?”
“No thanks. I like my arms as they are, intact and attached to my shoulders, not as a chew toy.”
Sabien sighed. “Give me your hand.” Sabien reached out and took her hand before she could protest. He placed her palm in front of Rahld’s nose, letting him sniff her again. Rahld washed her hand with the tip of his tongue.
“See? He likes you.”
“Thanks.” Ei Lata’n groaned, wiping her hand on her skirt. “Where did you get a dog this big?”
“His mother was my grandfather’s dog. She is gone now, but Rahld and I have been best friends since we met, so I am told.” Sabien scratched the dog behind the ear, and motioned for her to join him. “He will not bite you,” he assured her.
Her dismissive scoff echoed through the forest. “Sure. I saw what he did to those soldiers.”
“Well, he protects me, and I am certain none of them were greatly injured.”
“If you say so.” at the dog’s side, she rested a hand on his belly. She sniffed at Rahld. The smell of him was strong: wet fur and grass and something else, something she could not quite place. And as she stood close by the two of them, she realized the monk shared it as well. It came to her then, the scent of crisp freshness, like morning dew, only higher, like the clouds.
“Your food is over here. Come.” Sabien took her hand and lead her to the other side of the fire. Set aside for her on a cloth napkin was a hunk of bread and cheese and a pile of nuts.
She looked down at the food and then back to the monk. “Where’s the rest of the meat?”
“I do not eat meat,” he declared.
“Right, but you were roasting some earlier. Cheese is great and all, but I’m very hungry after almost being killed and everything.”
“I saw some greensprings in the grass earlier."
“Right I’m not hungry for bugs. Thanks though.” She patted him on his head and walked towards the treeline. “I’ll find my own food.”
“In the dark? I have some oranges too if you would like them.”
“Quiet, boy, I’m working.” Taking her bow and an arrow from her quiver, she faced the darkness between the trees. The monk listened to the strange chittering call she sent into the forest and waited alongside her. After a few moments of silence, she called again into the wood with the voice of a forest critter. Something responded.
She made the noise again, keeping her bow taut and ears perked. This time, upon response to her call, she loosed an arrow into the wood. In the forest something shrieked, then hit the ground with a thud. Chuckling, she holstered her bow and jogged into the dark.
Sabien walked a few steps after her. "Ei Lata’n?" His whisper into the forest was unreturned. Then as if she had been standing there before him the entire time, she appeared, with her regained arrow in hand. He jumped away as she passed, his heart racing from her sudden appearance. This woman was intriguing to him in more ways than he could measure.
“See? Meat.” Ei Lata’n sat near the campfire holding her arrow over the flames in order to roast the kill impaled on its shaft.
Returned to the campsite, he took a closer look at the dead creature—pink skinned and worm tailed—but still could not identify it. “What is that?”
“That, Sabien, is a giant tree rat. In heat,” she explained, wiggling her eyebrows. “They shed at the top of the season leaving them practically ready to eat. No fur, no fuss.” With a wink she repeated the call that had lured the dead rat. “So what happened to the bunch of haagstids I shafted this afternoon?”
The monk did not hide his discomfort at the question but answered nonetheless. “I do not know for certain. I thought it best to take you from there before the general returned to bury those men.”
“I hope Ramo still thinks I’m dead. I could use a good night’s rest.” She teased the flames with her imminent supper. Sabien sat down beside Rahld, resting against his stomach.
“Aren’t you a little too young to be wandering the woods by yourself?” She asked him.
“I am fifteen, thank you.”
After laughing at his angry expression, she apologized. Looking him over, she could not find a single hint of his age. Everything about him was immature, naïve even. He did not look tall enough to be adolescent and his face was too smooth. A voice like a feather in a windstorm, soft but determined, was no marker. But she took his word for it; after all he was a monk.
“So what’s a little monkey like you doing outside the cage? Is fifteen a good year to go out and redeem the heathens of the Realm?”
“Normally yes, but I am to go forth and seek out the Light, although I must find the Hedge that inhabit this forest first. They will answer for the fire and death they have brought to my village.”
“Fire and death? That doesn’t sound like the Hedge.”
“You know of them?”
“Sure. I knew one, years ago.”
“What are they like? Where do they live?”
“For starters, tell me what you think they did.”
“They shot flaming rocks into our fields and homes. They brought our crops to life; ears of corn beat our farmers to death. Those that survived swear they saw orange eyes peeking out from the forest.”
Ei Lata’n sat watching the dead rat brown over the flames. “Hedge are afraid of fire, for one. And they don’t attack anything.” She took her food from the fire and waved it, waiting for it to cool.
“They have stolen people from my village.”
“Quarnen.”
“It is true. More than a season ago, a great number of our fisherman were set to return from the southern coast. They did not. A group of men went to look for them. Only one of them returned. He was found on the road out of the forest, his clothes burned to rags. When they brought him to the monastery for treatment he was raving about the Hedge and flames.”
“I’m telling you monkey, the Hedge don’t play with fire.” Her supper cooled, Ei Lata’n bit off a piece of the cooked rat
“You do not first thank the Creator for blessing you with nourishment?”
“Guess not.” She took another bite.
“But why?”
Annoyed at the constant interruptions during her meal, she said, “Because I don’t believe in all that Holy Father quarnen; Cylos, Creator, Watcher, whoever. If a big loving babysitter of the realm existed, people like me wouldn’t have to.”
“And what sort of person are you?” he asked, curious of her broken beliefs.
“An assassin,” she said and then continued with her meal. At his blank expression she explained, “I end people, those especially who have it coming to them.” Under his silent gawking, she was able to finish her meal.
When he did find his voice, it was shaky, a solemn whisper. “You are a murderer. That is why those soldiers were after you, and I stopped them.” He could not meet her eyes.
“Murderers are crazy. What I do takes skill.”
His eyes still lowered, he did not see her fingers tickle her garter.
“And true, you helped me out. So what now, are you going to run and find Ramo? Let him know I’m not as dead as he thinks?”
“Of course not!” His words startled her. “He is not a man of justice. I do not trust him with your judgment. We will pray now and ask the Creator to forgive your sins.” He did not expect her to return his outstretched hand with laughter.
“You are one funny monkey. Rest your mind Sabien, the Elite weren’t after me because I shafted my target; they were after me because I didn’t.”
“Then you are not a murderer.”
With a scoff the woman turned, bearing to him the left side of her face. A sweep of her hand and she revealed her long pointed ear. Set in the lobe was a copper disc with the carved image of a falcon perched on a crown. Pierced along the ridge of her ear were silver and gold rings stacked so tight the monk could not see the flesh between.
“The plug in the lobe stands for my very first kill and bears the mark of a royal assassin. Murderers aren’t legal and they don’t get paid. The rings tally my kills after. Gold rings are five kills each. The silvers are three. Count them.”
Stuttering, he answered, “Fourteen gold rings and ten silver. One hundred.”
“Trust me, I’m a killer.”
“But you did not kill your last target. You have seen the error of your ways and now wish to repent.” The hope in his voice irritated her as much as it made her want to smile.
“Save your monkey talk for someone else,” she snapped, but then felt ashamed. The light in his eyes bothered her, and the way he was beginning to make her feel was disturbing. He was awakening feelings in her she had buried. She felt lighter looking into his eyes, and knew there could be no greater thing for her to do than to confess that which had been haunting her for so many weeks. She looked up to the dark blanket of clouds and sighed.
“I do all of my work out of sight and outside the kingdom. I make sure King Kurtise stays king. I get my orders, used to get my orders from Ramo, who got them from Karina, who got them from Kurtise. This last order didn’t smell right. Soil and mulch look the same, that’s the old Woodfein saying.
“I had to go north past the Frost Line, far, far past. My target was in the Ized’s capitol city. I was to kill their queen. Their king is pushing out the borders. My job was to send him a message, that the borders are fine right where they are.
“I staked out a nice spot on the roof across from the queen’s drawing room. When she came in I was ready. Her back was to me, but I’ve never had a problem taking that shot. She started to turn and that’s when I let go. I don’t miss, and I never leave an assignment unfinished. That arrow went from me, through her window, and through the little prince she had in her arms.”
Unable to look at him, she listened to the monk gasp. After a moment she continued. “I ran. I don’t know if he’s dead but I know that she’s still alive, and that’s all anyone around here cares about. I failed, so now it’s time for me to die.”
She did not expect his hand to rest on her shoulder, but did nothing to scare it away. “Mercy and forgiveness are two of the Creator’s greatest gifts to us. Ask and they shall be yours.”
Ei Lata’n stood to her feet, taking another bite of her supper. “Just my dreg luck. Of all the folk to run into, I’ve gotta make camp with a quarnen Creationist. And I guess the Almighty is going to lead you to the Hedge through a miracle? Or do they teach tracking in church now?”
“The Creator will guide my steps.”
“Is that what you think, monkey?”
“As a monk,” he emphasized the word, growing weary of the nickname, “it is what I know.”
“Quarnen. I’ll take you to the Hedge, otherwise you’ll be wandering these woods forever.”
“Blessed!” Sabien jumped to his feet and hugged the woman. “Thank you. I did not realize that you are a tracker as well.”
Breaking out of his hug, she answered, “Even better, my momma’s a Woodfein, which makes me half forest reader.”
“What is a Woodfein?”
“You need to leave your cage more often. They’re only the greatest race in the realm. They live in these villages cut right into the trunks of these enormous trees.” She spread her arms to demonstrate their impossible girth.
“And this will guide you to the Hedge?” Sabien asked with a yawn, the late hour beginning to wear on him.
“Among other things, yeah.”
“Blessed!” He returned to his place beside Rahld and she joined him. He turned to face her, resting his cheek on Rahld’s warm fur. “I am very fortunate to have met you,” Sabien said before a yawn.
Ei Lata’n rolled her eyes. “Go to sleep. You look tired and I’m rested enough to keep watch.”
“Thank you,” Sabien yawned. He nestled into Rahld and closed his eyes. The assassin continued her meal, staring into the fire. When Sabien began to snore, she set down her food and put her nose into his hair. She inhaled him, filling her lungs, searching for the same smell which caught her attention in the glade. Beneath the scent of sky was something so familiar it angered her that she could not place it. Giving up, she sat against the dog and continued to eat.
Sabien fell onto his back and awoke with a gasp. Dying embers were all that remained of the campfire. In the remaining light he saw Rahld’s shaggy white belly above him, vibrating as he growled. Crawling out from beneath him Sabien bumped into Ei Lata’n’s legs.
Her bow and arrow at the ready, she kept her feet planted and looked alongside Rahld into the darkness of the trees. Before he could ask, she answered in a hushed tone, “There’s something watching us.” The assassin pulled harder on her bowstring.
“What is it?” he whispered, peering out into the forest’s black depths.
“I don’t know.”
“But you said that you read the forest.”
Glancing sideways at him, she answered, “Whatever it is doesn’t belong in the forest.” A chill ran up Sabien’s spine. A wisp of smoke curled up from the last ember as it died and darkness covered them. Deafened by the silence, they were still. Both Sabien and Ei Lata’n jumped when Rahld barked. A cackle came back from the darkness, and the dead embers of the campfire sprang to life.
First they sparked and then grew into giant flames. Those flames swirled until they became a pillar of fire that rose higher and higher with each passing beat of Sabien’s heart. A serpent’s head formed at the top, bearing fangs and a tongue. Its eyes looked down on the trio and Rahld barked again.
“Quarnen dreg,” Ei Lata’n cursed, yanking Sabien away from the writhing serpent. It arched down towards them, flicking its tongue. They jumped back again and the serpent returned to its full height. It opened its jaws and cackled, eyes blazing.
“Ei Lata’n, what is that?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
It cackled again then spoke in a voice like nails scraping glass, “Christian scum! You and your Guardian will burn in the bowels of my stomach.”
With no further warning the fire serpent stretched forward, its jaws open and its tongue reaching for them. Before Sabien even felt the heat of the serpent’s tongue, the base of its fire began to sizzle and pop, doused by an arch of yellow liquid. The serpent turned back to the giant green dog standing beside it and lunged. The serpent was reduced to smoke by the time it reached him. Rahld shook his leg, barking at the ashes, and then trotted over to the monk, ready for a good scratching.
The forest dark again, Sabien was startled at the noise of something walking through the leaves. “Ei Lata’n,” he pleaded at the noise of rustling from beside him, begging for it to be his new friend and not another monster.
“Monkey, I don’t know what that thing was and I’m not sticking around to find out.”
“Ei Lata’n, please do not leave me alone here.” Sabien awaited a reply. He looked around, but could see nothing. “How will I find the Hedge? Ei Lata’n?” Rahld’s panting was all that he heard. “Rahld,” he whimpered, snuggling into his side. Fear he had never known gripped him as he hid his face in the scruff of his neck. Hiding beside his pet, he did not find sleep until dawn.
S. Black