Gryph walked to the end of the strangely shaped hill. After a lot of searching, he finally found the spring Ishula had sent him to. The spring was so small he wondered how he could drink out of it, never mind bathe in it. Part of the rock face had been scraped free of lichen and moss, revealing a damp patch no bigger than his face. The word spring was a definite overstatement. The water seemed more to leak than spring. At the foot of the leak, someone had scraped out a bowl-shaped depression deep enough and wide enough to get a small bucket into. Gryph took a deep drink first, then washed his hands and face. The water was freezing when it hit his sweating skin, causing him to gasp. Then he ducked his head in until it touched the bottom. A cloud of black berry juice soon filled the small hollow. Gryph couldn’t see if the juice had all gone, so he dunked his head again, just to be sure.

When he considered himself clean enough, he wandered around in the sun, exploring the hills and woods but always keeping the cabin in sight. It was very quiet here, just how he liked it. Not silent, but lots of small noises; creatures running around in the grass, bird song, a slight breeze blowing through the branches. Nothing raucous or jarring. Marsa would have liked it here.

The thought slipped out before he could stop it. But surprisingly it didn’t hurt as much as he expected. It was just an opinion, he thought, Marsa would have liked it here. It was all right to remember Marsa, at least the early days, the happy days.

Later, now that was different. Those memories had to be kept away.

He forced his thoughts back to the present, and the plans that were beginning to form in his mind. First, he needed to learn how to fight. But Ishula had bought him all this way and it looked like the teacher didn’t want to teach. Well, if she didn’t want to he’d find someone else, he’d go back with Ishula, he could learn from him. If the small man wanted him to. But he’d been delivered here, like the merchants delivering goods on the backs of their wagons. So maybe Ishula didn’t want him around, didn’t want the burden of a young orphan on his coattails. It was understandable, he supposed, after all, what use was he? This Skyrae woman certainly wasn’t too pleased with him. Ishula was probably talking to her now, trying to talk her into keeping him on. Only one way to find out.

He made his way back down the hill and walked quietly over to the cabin. As silently as he could, he leaned one ear against a suitable gap in the timbers and listened. At first, he could hear nothing, but as his heart quieted, he thought he could make out the sound of voices, as though far away. Puzzled, he moved over to the door and tried again, but couldn’t hear any clearer.

Softly, he pushed the door carefully inwards. Apart from a few tiny holes in the timber walls, the only light was from the doorway he was standing in. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he began to make out the strange shape that was the only thing in this room. It was a huge crossbow, the biggest he’d seen by far. It was supported on a wooden frame and aimed at the door. It was spanned and loaded with a spear, its massive head in line with Gryph’s chest. A rope ran along the floor to disappear behind the contraption.

The voices were slightly louder now, and as Gryph moved gingerly around the crossbow he realised that the cabin was just a disguise for a cave that sat within the hill. A long tunnel, lit by a single spluttering torch, led into the hill and slightly upwards. Gryph followed it, moving stealthily as the voices increased in volume. He listened for quite a while, but Ishula and Skyrae seemed only to be talking about trivial things; comings and goings and newcomers to the settlement. He’d obviously missed the important stuff. Feeling only slightly guilty, Gryph walked into the room, making a show of being noisy. The room was surprisingly large and bright, obviously a cave, but airy and comfortable. A small fire was lit on either side of the cave, the smoke rising and disappearing out of a sun-lit hole near the centre of the roof. Candles burned on the central table around which Ishula and Skyrae sat talking. The furniture, and there was a lot of it, was crudely made of lashed-together wooden poles covered with animal furs and the odd piece of leather. Smaller pieces, chests and a small cupboard, were more traditional and familiar to Gryph.

“Welcome Gryph. Come in and sit. Well, you are different when you’re cleaned up. And your hair, it’s almost white. Come over here, have a drink. It’s a local brew, quite rough but satisfying enough.” Skyrae said. She sounded welcoming, genuinely friendly. Gryph wondered what Ishula had said to make her change her mind, if indeed she had.

Gryph meandered between the furnishings until he reached the table, sitting himself in a low chair that creaked as it took his weight. The chair was opposite Ishula’s with the table between them. Skyrae looked from one to the other, then poured out some of the brew from a clay jar and passed the tankard to Gryph. Cautiously he drank, sniffing quietly before he swallowed. It smelled fruity and tasted much the same, slightly sour but leaving a pleasant after-taste. Gryph had expected it to be wine or something similar, but was unable to detect any hint of the stuff that made you drunk.

“So,” Ishula said, rather quietly. “As you have probably guessed, we’ve been talking about you. And Skyrae has agreed to train you.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about what I said earlier, I just reacted. Of course I don’t know you so I can’t really judge you. Ishula has explained how he found you and the state you were in, and all the rest.” Skyrae glanced at Ishula. Gryph thought she was looking for approval, as though she had been instructed what to say.

Gryph nodded, accepting the apology. After all, that was nothing compared to what others had done to him. His stomach turned and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He looked from Ishula to Skyrae, for a moment he thought he’d said it out loud.

Ishula broke the silence that followed. ”As you know, Skyrae here is a warrior, a very good one. She can fight with any weapon you name and most other things that aren’t strictly weapons. She’s light on her feet and is very fast. A fine warrior. But also she is a good teacher. I have told her of your need to learn, and I have told her we have already begun your practice and that you show a natural talent for the art.”

Skyrae nodded, smiling slightly, but said nothing.

“In return for this teaching, you will do chores around the cabin. You will chop firewood, you will clean and cook, and fetch water. And do any other tasks Skyrae wishes, from time to time. It is hoped you will learn of other things whilst you are here. About the animals around you, about looking after yourself in a bodily sense, perhaps even a little history and maybe one or two other things. I recognise your need to learn of the martial arts, but a warrior is not just a fighter, but a whole person.

“ If you agree to do these things, she agrees to teach you, for however long that takes. You will live here until Skyrae decides you are ready to leave, then your life is your own. Is this acceptable?”

Gryph shuffled in his chair. “Yes, as long as I can learn to fight I will stay. But when I am ready I will leave, I have things that need doing.” His voice was quiet, but both Ishula, and especially Skyrae, were taken aback by his tone.

“So, I told you he was keen.” Ishula said to end another awkward silence that had fallen.

“Well, we’ll start first thing in the morning then. I must warn you, I’m an early riser, can’t stand lying around all day. It’s often me who wakes up the birds!”

“That’s fine, I don’t need much sleep, got used to late nights and early mornings.” Gryph said. He was, if not happier then at least a step nearer his goal. He had never seen this woman fight, but if Ishula said she was good she probably was. It didn’t matter much. He didn’t need to become a great warrior, just good enough, better than those he had remembered. Better not think about that at the moment. Better just to keep those thoughts and feelings tightly sealed, like the stone jars that Marsa used to seal preserved fruits in.

“I will stay a while.” Ishula stated. “Not to oversee you understand, just to watch how he takes to it. Then I must leave. My sect will meet soon, and I must be there to pass on my new knowledge.”

“You’ll stay at least until the new moon though? You’ve no need to dash off yet.” Skyrae said, leaning over and touching his knee.

“No, I won’t dash off, but I can’t stay as long as I did last time. I would have been here earlier, but I had the good fortune to meet Gryph here. By the way Gryph, with your memories returned do you now remember your real name, and would you like us to call you that?”

“I remember well enough, and Gryph’s fine, for now.”

Ishula and Skyrae exchanged a glance. Skyrae seemed saddened. Ishula nodded knowingly. “A person should ever have a name, it gives us our identity. But a name is not a person, it cannot control us or our destiny. A man may change his name, but he will still be the same inside. Life and how you live it makes you as you are. Not a collection of letters.” He looked pointedly at Gryph.

“Names are given to us by others, like chains," Gryph mumbled.

“Even chains can be broken, if you are only strong enough.”

“Some people will never be that strong.”

“If we believe the chains cannot be broken, then they never will. Only by trying can we hope to succeed.”

The only sound for a while was the crackle of the fires and the occasional re-filling of tankards.

Skyrae broke the silence. “How about we go hunting? There’s still a good few hours in the day yet. I was about to catch my evening meal when you arrived.” She looked pointedly at Gryph. “Besides, with extra house guests I’ll need to stock the larder. Ishula, how about some nice roots I can store, and a few fruits for drying? Me and Gryph can go hunt up something more substantial.”

Ishula brightened. “Good idea.” He leapt up and began to head for the door.

“Is that all fine with you Gryph?” Skyrae said as casually as possible, following Ishula.

“Yes.”

“The quiet sort ay? Well that’s no bad thing when you‘re hunting. As long as your feet are just as quiet.”

When Gryph had negotiated the furniture and was back in the passage, Skyrae called him over, further into the cave. “You can have this room. It’s a bit small, but it’s long enough for a bed, and it’s warm and dry. Don’t worry, we can get all this mess out of it.”

Gryph waited for Skyrae to move, then looked around the doorway, no door he noticed first, not even a curtain. The room was a cave, no doubt about it, with irregular walls of grey and black-speckled rock. No attempt had been made to enlarge or change it in any way. The floor was almost hidden by bundles of twigs, dried herbs - probably infested- arrow shafts with no heads, and some half-constructed, or broken, furniture. But the walls were solid, and it was big enough for him to stretch out in. Add a stout door and he would be safe enough in there.

“It’s my winter room,” Skyrae said by way of explanation. “All the things that need doing I put in there, and come the dark nights it gives me something to do.” She smiled brightly. “Of course, you can do some of them now, can’t you? Come on, the sun’s not waiting out there for us.” Skyrae made her way to the front door, grabbing up her bow and quiver as they went out.

Ishula was waist-high in the undergrowth by the time Gryph and Skyrae emerged. The warrior waved at the small man, then led the way up the hill opposite.

“These bigger hills are made of soil,” Skyrae explained over her shoulder. “Just like any other. The smaller ones are rock, although most are covered in grass. They all have caves in, some bigger than others. Some have been made bigger of course. Like mine. You’ll notice that they all point the same way, east to west, Ishula can probably explain why. So if you get lost, at least you’ll know one of the directions to go. I find my way around by the trees, you’ll notice different shapes and sizes and groups of trees. What happened to you then, back wherever it is you come from?”

Gryph was so surprised by the sudden question he stopped mid-stride. His hands made fists and his teeth clenched. Skyrae, who had walked on several paces, turned to see where he was.

“Ay! Where did you come from? There was a quiet boy there a moment ago. Now I see a man ready for a fight. I see what Ishula means. Well, quiet down now, I was only asking. If it makes you angry I’ll change the subject.” Skyrae waited quietly whilst Gryph got control of his emotions. The anger had been getting the upper hand recently now the fear was reduced. His teeth released first, then his hands. He stretched his fingers wide open, took a deep breath, then took a few paces towards Skyrae, following on when she moved off.

“Ever use a bow before?”

“No.”

“Now’s your chance then. There’s an art to archery, not like a crossbow, no skill in that. Point and shoot, where’s the art? With a bow, you have to breathe right, balance right, have strength and a good eye. You need to feel the bow, and the arrow, all the way to the target. What happened to your parents?”

Gryph stopped again. This time he just gave her a look.

“Fine, fine, I won’t ask again. If you’re not going to tell me. It’s not any of my business any ways. Just curious that’s all.” She turned away and stomped up the trail. Gryph followed her voice as she disappeared out of sight among the trees.

When he caught up with her she was studying the ground in front of her.

“These are blayta tracks. Ever see one?

“No.”

“No good for eating, not enough meat on them and they’re a black essence of a thing to catch. But see how these tracks are close together?”

Gryph leaned closer. It was all just a set of dimples in the mud to him, but he nodded anyway.

“Means it’s stalking, and the thing blaytas like to eat best is tree goats. Which, strangely, is what I like to eat best. So from now on you’ll have to be quiet.” Skyrae moved off again, walking quietly towards a stand of low bushes. Gryph followed, copying everything she did.

After crawling down one hill and over another, the pair caught up with the tree goats feeding on a thorny bush among a thick copse on the side of the opposite hill. Skyrae checked her bow and nocked an arrow. She gestured for Gryph to keep low and be quiet, then moved slowly to one knee. The tip of the bow brushed the tops of the grass stems as she drew, a slight creak the only noise as she prepared to shoot. Skyrae looked across the valley, chose her target, then took a deep breath. She held the breath for a few seconds, released the arrow with a snap, then the breath. She held her position until the shaft had buried itself straight through the heart of a large goat. It dropped where it stood. The rest of the herd took flight, all trampling off up the hill and out of sight over the top.

“See,” Skyrae said. “A good clean kill. No pain to the animal and I’ll probably even get my arrow back.” She nocked another arrow, holding the bow loosely, and began to work her way over to the goat.

“In case we have any competition for the goat.” She said, indicating the loaded bow. “It happens. An easy meal shouldn’t be missed, even when there’s plenty of game around.”

They retrieved the carcass, and the arrow, and Gryph was given the task of carrying it. Skyrae led him over to a stream, small and slow, but the water looked clear. She took out a knife and began to gut the animal, glancing several times at Gryph as she did so. The entrails of the animal dropped into the stream, virtually damming it. Red water flowed out from the dam, slowly turning pink, until the intestines and organs were finally carried away. Gryph watched without emotion. He had long abandoned such feelings. Anger and fear were virtually all he had left.

With the head and feet removed and the cavities washed out, the goat was lighter, cleaner, and a bit less smelly. Again Gryph was given the task of carrying it. He suspected he would be doing a lot more of this kind of thing over the next few moons.

The pair walked a short distance in silence until the warrior stopped at the end of another valley. It was calm and peaceful, filled with long grass and flowering plants. Trees lined the hills, but none grew on the valley floor, only short bushes. The sun had begun to set before them, lengthening the shadows.

“So, I think it’s your turn. Hang the goat over that branch.”

After balancing the goat on the tree limb at about shoulder height, Gryph was handed the bow and an arrow, and showed how to load and pull it. Skyrae was very close, often touching, but Gryph found her nearness bearable. She smelled of leather mostly, and sweat, and a little soil and goat. Her hands were rough and her breath sweet, as if she had been chewing on some herb or other. He quickly found she was also a lot stronger than she looked when he tried to pull the bow.

“Now, look down there, just under that bush with the flat top. See?”

Gryph shielded his eyes with one hand and looked where she pointed, eventually spotting a large dappled bird. It was a good hundred paces away and partially obscured by greenery.

“It’s too far away.” Gryph said, lowering the bow.

“Then stalk it man, stalk it.” She said firmly, pushing him forward with one hand in the middle of his back.

Gryph moved reluctantly. Feeling a little foolish and self-conscious, he nevertheless made an effort to keep low and move as quietly as he could. He turned around to look at Skyrae when he was about thirty paces out, but she waved him on. So he continued, approaching closer. At fifty paces, he stopped again. Skyrae was barely visible standing against the tree that contained the carcass. When she didn’t wave, he considered himself close enough and prepared to shoot. As he had seen Skyrae do, he settled onto one knee, drawing the bow as he lifted it as the warrior had told him. The bird was still where he had last seen it, pecking at something on the bush. He aimed carefully, his arms shaking with the effort of holding the taught string. He breathed in, held the breath, checked his aim.

The bird clattered into the air as a greyish shape pounced out of the long grass to Gryph’s left. There was a flash of light and the bird dropped from the sky. The new arrival caught it before it hit the ground and dashed away. Gryph was angry. That was his bird, he’d stalked it and was about to kill it when this other thing came along. He stood and released in one motion, his teeth clenched, his left hand gripping the bow until his knuckles were white. The arrow sang from the bow and shot towards the predator. Just before it hit there was a brief yellow flash, as though the thing had ignited, then a short howl quickly silenced.

Gryph walked towards where the predator had fallen. It was lying in the thick grass, the bird still clutched in its mouth. It was about the size of a shadowhound, thinner-bodied, slightly humpbacked. In appearance, it was cat-like, with amber eyes. But the skin was like nothing he had ever seen. He was sure the animal was sick with some disease, as the skin was flaking off over every part of it except the face. The flakes were slightly green up close, giving the impression of illness further strength.

Gryph heard Skyrae shouting at him. “Don’t touch it,” She yelled. “Keep away.”

Despite her obvious excitement, she had still remembered to bring the goat. And despite the burden, she wasn’t even out of breath. “That’s a blayta, you killed a blayta, never seen that done before.” She turned and looked Gryph up and down. “Ishula’s right about you, you’re a predator, natural born, just like this thing.”

“No, not born, made.”

“Yes? How was that then?” Skyrae asked, sensing an opening.

But the lid was already firmly back on the jar. “Why can’t I touch it? Is it diseased?”

Skyrae’s disappointment was visible on her face for a brief moment, then she turned back to the corpse. “Blaytas have the power, you know, what people call magic.”

Gryph was stunned. “What?” He asked, eyes wide and mouth slack.

Skyrae smiled brightly. So the boy was capable of emotion. “Yes. That flash you saw, that was him, stunning the bird. Then, when you shot him, he sensed the arrow, shook off that loose skin he carries and set fire to it. A brief flash, but effective, well, usually. The rest of his skin should have taken what was left of the push out of the arrow. Which is why they are normally so difficult to kill.

“That reminds me, what did I say about archery? It’s an art. What was that shot? Never seen such a badly taken shot,” She paused looking troubled, then added, “never seen such a shot hit its target like that.” She shook her head. “Well, no use dwelling.” Skyrae kicked the blayta a few times, leaning back as she did. “They can only do it a few times a day though, I think. So it’s probably safe. Grab the bird, you’ve earned it. And get my arrow back, they’re not easy to make you know, not straight ones at least.”

“What about the blayta?”

“I don’t think you can eat them, never tried, and you can’t exactly wear that pelt can you? But if you want to keep it, you carry it.” Skyrae shouldered the goat and walked off. “Come on, time to get back before the light goes.”

Gryph studied the blayta for a few moments. This was his first kill, but something wasn’t right inside. It was the distance, he suddenly realised, he should have been closer, should have been able to look it in the eye before he killed it. Archery, he decided, wasn’t for him. The bow would be the last thing he studied, given the chance.

Gingerly he reached out and prodded the blayta. It was warm, almost hot. The top layer of skin was dry, powdery and flaking off on his fingers. But underneath it felt firmer, more resilient. Magic, of course, he’d seen before. Travelling wizards often visited the…place he’d lived before. Some of them cured ills, some fixed and mended things beyond the skill of the smiths. Some just looked at you and made you feel cold inside. Sometimes, usually during the tourney, a few war mages would turn up, showing off by shooting huge balls of fire and lightning at straw dummies, blasting and burning them to ash. Once on the single occasion he’d got near one, he’d asked the man where the fire came from. The mage had touched his chest, “Here, where the pain lives.” He had answered enigmatically.

Gryph lifted the corpse, bird still attached, and hung it over his shoulder like Skyrae had and set off after her. Inside his head, his thoughts were running wild. The lid of the jar was loose, and all the thoughts and images inside were calling for his attention. Fear and anger welled in his stomach. They fought, but the battle was brief, fear quickly overran by anger, an anger newly armed.

All the plans that had flittered around his head now joined and settled. The first step would be to learn how to take care of himself, so that never again would he fear anyone. The next step would follow on from there. But that would involve opening the jar and he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

Next Chapter: Chapter Seven - Kayelyn