Eclipse
The Red Rock Clan gathered for their ceremonial feast under the waning rays of the Daystar. The shaman’s chosen successor, Tarach, was to be officially designated as apprentice. The humans hummed and chanted as the strong brown-skinned man lay down on the rocks to receive the ceremonial tattoos. Unlike in other human tribes, the women and children participated as well. An apprentice’s confirmation was an event for the entire clan.
Tarach clenched his teeth against the pain as the heated needle pierced his skin. The sacred artist tapped the needle in further with a little bone hammer, then cleaned away the blood and rubbed ash into the wound. Then he continued the pattern above Tarach’s eyes. In the end two semi-circles would frame his eyes. If Tarach cried out, he would be killed on the spot, and old Aballan would have to choose a new novice to train. But if Tarach endured the ordeal with courage and dignity he would be rewarded with second-best status in the clan, and the woman of his choice as mate.
Aballan oversaw the ceremony from the center of the circle the sitting humans formed. The firelight light up his fleshy face and drew his followers’ gaze to the completed tattoo mask over his eyes, mimicking the scales of a snake.
“Once we were nothing!” Aballan cried. “Once the world was nothing. Once darkness reigned.”
“So it was!” the humans chanted back.
“Then Manach brought light into the world. Greater than any beast, great than any man. The Sky Giant’s shining soul filled the emptiness and warmed the barren ground.”
“So it was!”
“And Manach sacrificed himself to create the world. He tore his legs from his body to make the earth. He tore his arms from his shoulders to hold up the sky!”
“So it was!”
“His hair he made the rivers and the oceans of this world. His eyes he set in the sky as the Moons. His blood he mixed with clay to make the beasts of the world. His venom he mixed with clay to make Man!”
“Praise Manach!”
“The Sky Serpent coiled in on himself and swallowed his own tail. He became the Great Circle – for Manach is without beginning and end. And the light of his fiery soul became the Sun itself!”
“So it is!”
“The world is empty without the light of Manach! He sees all and gives life to all. His fire warms us by day. His eyes watch over us as we sleep. His fangs are ever armed against our enemies. His servants the snakes and the lizards roam the earth, ready to slay the Blasphemers!”
“Aiiiiee! The Blasphemers!” The humans tore at their hair in ritualistic horror.
The great shaman grew solemn. “Aye! For there once the Blasphemers were many. Once they covered this land, spitting lies of false spirits! They rejected the light of Manach, and turned their faces to darkness.”
“So it was!”
“And greatest of all was the Blasphemy of Gotara, Father of Lies.”
“Aiiiieee! Gotara!”
“The Blasphemers followed their false-shamans, followed the lie that was Gotara. They turned from the truth of Manach. Manach’s wrath was terrible. He dried up the clouds, he dried up the land. He lay a curse on this land until the Blasphemy was destroyed. But the Blasphemers would not repent! Now, they left the homeland of rock and sun. They went north, in search of a dream, a false dream of a false shaman!”
“So it was!”
“They ventured before the protection of Manach. The set themselves against the servants of Manach. They preached of wars with spirit-demons, too blind to see they were only fighting against their Creator.”
“False ones!”
“Manach repaid them for their blasphemy. He struck them down in their arrogance. His Sacred Light became the intrument of their destruction. A forest fire devoured all they had built, drove them out into the barren lands. All perished in the fire! All but those Manach chose to pluck like burning brands from the ashes.”
“The Repentant!”
“Aro! Thaya! Suro! They wandered the barren wastes with their companion, Dro – the Blighted One, the last of the Blasphemers. Manach destroyed his mind as punishment for his sins, and he perished alone in the darkness – as do all Blasphemers. But Manach was merciful to the Repentant. He opened their eyes to their folly. And he sent his spirits to turn them in the right direction. When they would wandered in darkness, the spirits showed them the light, and turned them south to the safety of the rocks. They were nearly dead when the Children of Manach found them. Aro barely knew a month of safety before Manach took his life!”
“He died in truth!”
“Aye, he died at peace, having embraced the love of Manach. And his spirit does not wander in the dark, but rejoices in the paradise Manach set in the sky. Blessed be Manach, for guiding the Blasphemers to the truth, for revealing the wisdom of his wrath to us all.”
“Merciful be his wrath!”
“Suro grew to manhood to become favored of the shamans. He brought us the very fire of Manach. He led the Sacred War to cleanse the hills and forests of the Blasphemy that is Gotara! Thirteen shamans later we and the Western Clans live in prosperity and truth.”
“So it is!”
The tattoo artist gave a little nod of his head. He stepped back and help Tarach to his feet.
“And now we confirm a new apprentice in the truth!” Aballan announced. “A future shaman to lead us! Rejoice, Children of Manach!”
The humans leapt to their feet, clapping their hands and singing. Tarach was overwhelmed by congratulations: shoulder-thumping from the men and flirtatious glances from the women. He turned and gave a grateful nod to the old shaman. Aballan nodded back. A smile of fatherly praise lifted his fleshy jowls. At twenty-three Tarach was a perfect specimen of Manach’s Chosen – broad-shouldered, dark-eyes, with strong, proud cheekbones and a handsome dusting of beard on his chin. His woman Tiro sat nearby, a five-year-old girl at her side and a two-year-old son in her lap.
Yes, he would make the perfect shaman one day soon.
And yet Aballan felt a weight on his heart.
Now Tagon, the chief hunter of the clan, got to his feet to congratulate Tarach. Aballan noted how Tagon – twenty, headstrong and muscled as a bristleboar – stood nearly half a head taller than his chosen Tarach. He also noted how Tagon assumed a defiant posture – shoulders back, neck arched – to emphasize his greater height and strength.
The hunters went out in the midafternoon to find game among the badlands of rock and sand, while the women foraged for herbs and roots. Aballan sat down on a shelf of rock just outside the circle of tipis that marked the inner boundaries of the clan’s camp. He sweated in the heat. As shaman of his clan, he was honoured with the best portion of every meal, and accordingly, the years had given him a proud paunch and rolls of fat about his chest. In the cold winter nights he was infinitely grateful for his extra fifty pounds, but in the hot summer afternoons he felt read to pass out. His bones ached from the added weight he bore. He was forty-six as near as he could reckon – old and venerable for his species. Few hunters survived past their thirty-fifth birthday, but the shaman had the luxury of indolence, and the life expectancy was accordingly longer. Still, he doubted he would survive to be fifty. His age, if he were to allow it to grow under his skullcup of snakeskin, would be streaked with gray. Wrinkles were slowly encroaching on his protective mask of bronzed flesh.
“Master?” Tarach asked. He sat down next to Aballan.
“How does it feel, Tarach, to escape the pain and danger of the hunt?”
“Strange. I feel... guilty, to sit about and let all those maidens fuss over me, while my hunt-brothers risk their hides to feed me.”
“Ah, but you are the Chosen of Manach. One day, when I am called home to Manach’s bosom, you will mediate between this world and Manach’s. The clan will count on you for guidance in all things.” His face darkened. “The hunters... Tagon and the rest... they think they are owed the greatest respect, because they bring in the meat every day. Paugh! Is it not Manach who gives us the meat to eat. And how can we please Manach so he will continue to bless us without the shaman to guide us?”
“Master?”
Aballan got to his feet, and Tarach followed him as he paced along the outskirts of their camp, away from any prying ears.
“I fear somedays... Tarach. I think of the changes I see each year when we go to the Assembly. I see how my fellow shamans in the Dark Hills Clan and the Treeline Clan are slowly but surely losing ground to the chief hunters – young bucks hot for leadership. Will that happen here? Will Tagon and his ilk one day decide that they should have the best cuts of meat, that they should have first choice of the women? Will they one day decide to do away with shamans altogether? We must be vigilant, Tarach. We must always be on guard.” He sighed. “I am old, Tarach.”
“No, Master–”
“Yes, I am. Your father, rest his soul in truth, was a year younger than I, and Manach took him away three summers past. Many of my agemates are already gone on ahead. My years are numbered. Soon enough you will be the shaman of our clan. And you will have to stand firm against those bucks who think to challenge the natural order.”
“You need not worry about Tagon, Master. He and I have been good friends for–”
“Friends while you were both hunters and novices, perhaps. But now that you are my apprentice and he is not... oh, don’t think he has not been watching the changes in the other clans as well. There is ambition in that boy’s eyes. I had hoped his marriage to Jesta and the business of siring sons would have tamed him. But some days... I fear he will stop at nothing...”
“What is it, Master? This is more than Tagon. What troubles you so?”
“ Ah.... I am old, Tarach. And as I look back over my life... I fear I have done little to justify my time on this world. You may have forgotten, Tarach... but I was only twelve when I was named apprentice to Jagra before me. And I became shaman before I could sire my firstborn. Now... my woman... my children... all have gone on ahead, leaving me with only you, my near-son, to comfort me in my old age. Thirty years as shaman, and what have I done?”
“You have kept us safe, my near-father. You have seen us through famines and droughts, eased the pain of grieving souls, celebrated the wonders of Manach’s truth.”
“Bah. Some days I wish I had lived in the times of my forefathers, when the Sacred War still raged. When we had Blasphemers to convert to truth. Oh, it is in a war that a shaman can truly shine. Now... hah,” he scoffed. “Gotara is dead. So is that foolish water spirit Hagath. The Goddess Yannai has been proven to be Manach’s helpmate and woman, not his Divine Mother and Mistress as some deluded fools claimed. You know, I haven’t seen a Yannai-worshipper since I was a little child. Bah – peace may please the women-folk, but the hunters are harder to control when they no longer fear their souls are in danger.”
“You do not mean that, my near-father.”
“Perhaps not. No... never would I wish a soul to fall out of truth. And yet... I feel I have done nothing with my life. How will my name be remembered in songs? As Aballan the Peaceful? As Aballan the Lamb? No. I need a purpose, I need a mission – a threat to defend against, a promise to fulfill. I need a sign. Manach will show me the way.”
The walk under the heat had tired the old shaman, and Tarach led him back to his tipi to sleep away the rest of the afternoon. But Aballan had barely drifted off to sleep before Tarach tore open the flap of the tipi and begged his master to come outside. The cries of women could be hear in the distance.
“What? What is it?” Aballan staggered to his feet and waddled out into the fading light. Had he slept after all? Where was the sun?
He looked up and saw his answer. A great shadow was moving across the sun. Already a half of the great disk was eaten up by darkness. And the shadow continued to move.
“What is it?” Tiro begged.
Now the shadow enveloped the entire sun. A halo of blazing light surrounding the black circle that now hung where once the sun had been. Darkness fell over the land.
“What is it, Master?” Tarach asked.
Aballan searched his mind for an answer, and he remembered an old legend his predecessor had told him. When Manach’s Left Eye, the greater moon, assumed a position in front of the sun, it meant their god’s gaze was focussed tightly on his Chosen. It meant a message sent to his people.
“My sign,” Aballan whispered. “Manach has spoken to me.”
He waited until darkness before calling all the clan before him. It gave him precious time to decide exactly what sign Manach had sent him.
“Manach has spoken to me! He wishes us to embark on a great journey. He wishes us to move east into the Mountains of the Sun and there live with his most exalted spirits.”
“To the Mountains of the Sun?” Tagon protested, and Aballan knew he would. “You mean cross the barren wastes? Has the sun baked your brain, old fool? Nothing can survive in the barren wastes!”
“Blasphemer!” Aballan raised his ceremonial staff high. “Who are you to challenge the will of Manach?”
“We will all the die in the desert,” one of the women lamented.
“No!” Aballan insisted. “Manach has shown me the way. In blotting out the sun he brought calming night to the desert. So he will do for us. Water will appear in our path. Animals will fall on our spears. We have only to read the signs Manach will live for us. It will be a long journey. We will not trek across the wastes blindly as did the Repentant, but will bring life to the wastes day by day. And Manach will show us the way to a land of safe rocks and sweet water. And from there we will rule – not simply as a clan of hunters, but as rulers! We will control the trade route between Eastern and Western Clans. Where the Trader Clans once had to journey far north through the woods and swamps to reach the Easterners, we will have a clean trade route through the desert itself. We will prosper beyond all other clans.”
Tagon scowled. He was a hunter by birth and by blood, and he had little use for the traders who scuttled between the different clans with their ponies and A-frames laden with supplies. But the other men nodded and smiled. Trade was the lifeblood of the future. Every year at the Assembly of Tribes they heard tales of the difficult journey through woodlands and fens. If the desert could be conquered and a suitable journey-road built through the sand, then the Red Rock Clan would control all trade between East and West.
Tarach beamed up at his mentor. Manach had shown them the way as Tarach knew he would.
Aballan smiled proudly, silently praying that he could somehow fulfill the promises he had made.
* * *
Windkin glided high over the ground, borne aloft by the great wings of branches and wrapstuff that Willowsnap fashioned for him every time he longed to fly. Behind him, his lifemate clung to his shoulders, held in place by a leather harness specially designed for the times she joined him in his flights. They were days from Sorrow’s End, soaring over the western edge of the desert, where the sands of Burning Waste joined the twisted rocks of the Badlands. Over the years Windkin and Ahdri had charted nearly every valley and canyon that made up the great desert. But this trip was no mission of exploration. This flight was for the sheer pleasure of it.
Windkin lifted his left wing to catch the breeze, and they rolled in a loop. Ahdri let out a little cry of combined joy and alarm.
“Hah!” Windkin laughed as he righted them. “Floating on the air like thistledown can’t compare to this, Ahdri! I always envied Father his wings. Now I can fly just like him.”
Ahdri giggled as she clung to him more tightly. “You are well-named, lifemate!” she shouted in his ear over the rushing sound of the wind.
Windkin beat his wings to catch a thermal and they soared higher. Ahdri wondered fleetingly if he had stopped using his floating powers entirely, and if they were now flying solely by his silken wings. She hoped not. Though she had been flying with him for many years, she still put more trust in his magic than in Willowsnap’s engineering skills.
But she would gladly risk the danger every time, just to see the care melt from his face as he soared with the birds. She hugged his neck tightly, trying to remember when exactly the brash and sometimes-infuriating youth who shared her bed had transformed in her beloved lifemate.
“Whoa!” Windkin exclaimed, and he drew himself up abruptly. Ahdri felt the subtle shift in the air about them, the drop in the wind and the buoyant rush of air in her ears and she knew Windkin had shifted over to his flaoting magic.
“What is it, Hwll?” she whispered.
“Look!” He pointed, and she craned her neck to see over his shoulders. A line of dots was slowly moving on the ground beyond.
“What are they?” she asked, thinking of a herd of zwoots. But Windkin had his mother’s eyes, even if he did not have her wolf-blood, and as he narrowed his eyes the blur of shadows coalesced into distinct little shapes.
“Humans!”
* * *
“What is it, Master?” Tarach pointed at the strange bird-creature that circled high overhead. It was larger than the largest scavenger bird, and as Tarach narrowed his eyes and looked closely the bird seemed to have a great hump on its back, behind its wings. “Can a bird so great fly?”
“There are many wonders in the desert, Tarach my boy,” Aballan said confidently. “It is called an... augur-hawk,” he plucked the name out of thin air, hoping it sounded suitably grandiose. “My great-grandfather once saw one... years ago, and he passed the story on to my father, and then to me.”
The augur-hawk circled once more, then flew away north-east at a terrific speed. “See!” Aballan said. “He shows us the way!”
* * *
Windkin and Ahdri flew straight back to Sorrow’s End, arriving in the village five days after spotting the caravan of humans. An emergency meeting of the village leaders converged in Savah’s hut as the whispers spread from hut to hut. Humans in the greater desert for the first time since those four dying animals had fallen at the very edge of the village! Humans travelling in the Burning Waste!
Grayling brooded as Windkin and Ahdri revealed their tale. The rockshaper and Glider had circled back once the humans made camp for the night and counted at least fifty humans including children and infirm old ones. Fifty humans against fifty-four Sun Folk. They were poor odds.
The chief reminded himself that the humans were not on a direct course for Sorrow’s End. With luck they would continue in a straight line and pass through the World’s Spine Mountains far to the south. With luck they would skirt the edges of the desert and head south for the Black Snake’s Bite. With luck they would turn back or perish in the desert.
Grayling prided himself on his slowness to anger and fear. But the mere mention of humans got his hackles up. Humans had killed his beloved niece. Humans had almost killed his sister several times. Humans lurked forever in the back of his consciousness, the greatest threat to his kind.
Humans weighed forever on Scouter’s mind too, and Leetah’s lovemate leapt up from his seat at her side. “We must stop them! They cannot reach Sorrow’s End!”
“Peace, Scouter,” Savah said deliberately. “I’ve seen to proof the humans are ever on course for our village.” She sighed sadly. “How it grieves me that they fear us still... even after all these years. And how it grieve me that we must in turn fear them, and hate them. But we cannot leap to fear. They are still many days journey away at a full march. And nothing Ahdri and Windkin had reported suggests they are bound for Sorrow’s End at anything resembling a ‘full march.’”
“I knew the eclipse was an ill omen,” Leetah moaned. “When the moon devours the Daystar...” she shivered.
“An eclipse is an eclipse,” Scouter said bluntly. “Humans are humans. Worry about them, Leetah, not the eclipse.”
“We must take care to protect ourselves,” Grayling said. “If the humans do come here, we cannot be unprepared like the last time.”
“How?” Leetah asked. “The Jackwolf Riders are fine hunters, but eight-and-three riders will not defend us against these humans.”
“We’ll do what my father should have done,” Grayling murmured. At the puzzled gazes from Leetah, Windkin, Savah and Ahdri, Grayling spoke up. “We’ll hide. At it is half the village faces the open desert, easily spotted by passersby. As we found all those years back. Ahdri, pooled with Ekuar’s, your powers are almost beyond description. Can you and he build... a... a wall around the village? Can we hide ourselves in the rocks?”
Scouter snorted. “Hide. There’s a Wolfrider’s answer.”
“Shut up, Scouter,” Windkin said tersely.
Scouter rounded on Dewshine’s son. “And will a Glider make me?”
“Scouter,” Leetah rolled her eyes. Five hundred and fifty years had done little to erase the mutual unease between the Wolfrider and the Glider he wished had been his own son.
“Can it be done?” Grayling pressed. The rockshaper frowned.
“Not in a matter of months, that’s certain enough.”
“But you can make rock flow like water,” Leetah said. “Surely that–”
“In small quantities, healer,” Ahdri corrected her. “Rock may flow like water if my magic heats it enough. But it is still rock. And rock, you may have noticed, prefers a solid state. I can shift the great slabs of rocks that form a boundary for the underground rivers of fire and water. I can shape small amounts of rock – enough to make a door in a hut’s wall or seal a crack in a cave wall. But raising entire mountain's worth of rock... the stress such an effort would cause would lead to tremendous ground-quakes, and unstable fault lines in the rocks that lie under our village.”
“Could the Palace help?” Leetah asked.
“Unfortunately, I think not. This stone we live on isn’t living stone like the Palace. No matter how much power we harness, the weakness of the material will remain unchanged. I’m afraid we have to take it slowly.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
“We may have that much time,” Grayling mused.
“We may not!” Scouter snapped.
“And what do you say we do, Scowls?” Windkin growled. “We don’t have enough fighters to defend the village. We may not have enough time to get a wall up. Are you saying we leave?”
“No!”
“Then what?”
“We take those humans out! Ambush in the night – in our time! Before they can get here.”
“That’s not our Way and you know it,” Grayling cut him off.
“We’ve had to fight for our home before–”
“We don’t look for wars, Scouter.”’
The meeting ended with no real resolution. Grayling did not file out of Savah’s hut with the others, but lingered by her throne.
“The Little Palace, child?”
He nodded.
Savah rose from the her throne and the light in the clearstone wall behind her dimmed. She led Grayling into a separate chamber, guarded by a curtain of swinging beads. The glowing Little Palace, a perfect miniature of the original, sat on a wooden pedastal. Several carved chairs sat around the table.
“Take as long you like,” Savah said. Grayling nodded gratefully, then sat down at the nearest chair while Savah let the curtain fall back across the door.
Grayling held his hands over the Little Palace. He could feel a static hum in the air around the relic.
He closed his eyes and concentrated. In his mind’s eye he saw himself shrink to a mote of dust, alight momentarily on the Little Palace, then soar beyond the confines of the room, borne on the humming light. He found himself in a place of complete emptiness;
**Tam...?** he called out in the empty space.
Silence. Then whispers... countless whispers that made up elfin thoughts and elfin sendings across the World of Two Moons. Then a voice rose out of the background of murmurs.
**Kel?**
Her sending was disoriented, dreamy. He almost kicked himself. Of course she was still asleep. The Great Holt was on the other side of the world; it was only mid-morning there.
**Hey... elder brother...** she yawned in sending.
**Good sleep?**
**Mm... I was just dreaming... but I guess you must be in the afternoon where you are, hmm? I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that. Mm, what’s new in Sorrow’s End, Grayling? Who’s sharing furs with who? Any Recognitions?**
**No... not for a while now. How about you? Anyone I know gotten into their heads to set off on new quests?**
**Cricket’s decided he’s going to make it a full day on the river without overturning his boat, so he and Tass are heading upriver to see if he can stay dry. The Wild Hunt’s settled here for the coming winter, and Aurek’s over in your part of the world visiting Door right now. Nothing too startling, all around. The luxury of idleness, hmm? When hunting, howling and surviving can be less of a struggle and more of a joy.**
**Yes... we’re lucky to live in a time like this...**
She sensed the unease in his voice; he could feel her wake up. **Kel? What is it?”
He told her the entire story, from Windkin’s first sighting to the angry council meeting. **...And there it is. We can’t shape a mountain wall to hide us from passersby – not even if we harnessed the power of the Palace. And what defenses we have now won’t stand against humans...**
**And leaving is not an option,** Swift finished for him.
**I think the only thing we can do now is wait, prepare for the worst and hope for better. We can strength our defenses on the eastern side of the village, and Ahdri can keep working on the south-west side... build the wall as fast as the rock will let her.**
**A wise decision. How can we help you?**
**I don’t know... I need to think. But I think I just needed to hear your voice.**
**I’ll always be a sending away, thanks to a certain nephew of yours.**
Grayling chuckled. Sunstream’s powers had grown so much over the years. Where once one had to make conscious contact with him first, now his mind simply connected sendings across the face of the earth without him ever being aware.
**We’ll figure this one out together,** Swift said. **And if you need aid, we’ll always come. But only if you howl for it. You... haven’t forgotten, I trust.**
Grayling laughed. **You’re lucky you’re a world away, little sister.**
Touching minds with Swift always reassured him. The children of Bearclaw were best chiefs when they were together, and now there was nothing on earth which could separate them.
Except death.
He shook the thought away. Why did he always equate humans with death? In the New Land elves and humans never engaged in combat more dangerous that the occasional screaming match when hunting parties crosses paths. For all he knew these humans now camping on the fringes of the desert were just as benign. For all he knew they would advance no further, or else continue on far away from Sorrow’s End. For all he knew they would laugh about this momentary fear.
But part of him wondered if Leetah might not be right about that eclipse being an ill-omen. An old wolf that still lived in his gut even after a series of healings with Leetah had removed all but a whisper of his animal blood. And the wolf was growling, hackles up.
* * *
Windkin flew south to spy on the humans again. He found them encamped among the wind-sculpted rock about a day’s journey north-east of where he had last left. The careful circle of rocks encircling the hide tipis and the compass-lines laid out in pebbles suggested they meant to stay there, at least for the winter. Grayling hoped it was true.
He was sleeping off the heat of the afternoon in his hut when he heard a knock on the doorframe of his hut. Pulling himself up from the pit bed he shared with his lifemate Hansha, Grayling limped into the main room of the hut and drew back the heavy woven blanket that served as a door.
A small cluster of Sun Folk stood outside, escorted by Wing: Ahnshen the Weaver; a farmer named Shashen; Alekah, a distant cousin of Ahdri and one of Ahnshen’s loom-workers; and lastly Behtia, Wing’s lifemate.
“Were you napping?” Wing asked.
“No... no, it’s all right. What is it? Nothing’s wrong, I hope.”
“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” Ahnshen said.
“We... well, we’ve been thinking,” Behtia said. “And the humans might just pass us by. But they might not. And if one human is worth two elves, than we’re outnumbered.”
“And none of us wants to be Jackwolf Riders,” Ahnshen cut in. “Frankly I’m still a little afraid of some of them–”
“But we want to help if we need to defend the village,” Behtia said.
“And well, we were wondering...” Ahnshen blinked pleadingly.
“Lessons,” Wing clarified. “They want to learn how to pick up a weapon and use it.”
“Exactly!” Behtia said. “I mean... it was one thing for me to hide in the caves when the zwoots last charged the village – I’m no Wolfrider. But I’m not just going to hide in a hut while my lifemate risks his life to save us.”
“We know we’re not much to look at,” Shashen said.
“And we don’t want to be fighters or...” Ahnshen shuddered, “hunters, killing under the moonlight. But we want to be some use to you if we have a seige after all.”
Grayling looked over the four volunteers. They were a soft lot. But then, hadn’t the first Jackwolf Rider recruits looked equally unpromising? Had someone told him when he and Dart began that they would turned Shushen and Zhantee into Wolfiders he would have laughed.
His gaze fell on Alekah. She blinked up at him, her golden-brown eyes large and heavily fringed with lashes. She had Savah’s eyes, he realized. He had never really noticed it before, though he should have. Like her namesake, the mystical rockshaper of ages past, she was Savah’s direct descendant.
“You haven’t said much,” he said.
“Ahnshen has said it all for me,” she replied.
“Your lifemate not with you?”
A hint of a smile touched her lips as she looked at him askance. Grayling found a chuckle building in his throat. No, timid Jari was a “dirt-digger” through and through. But in Alekah’s steady gaze he thought he saw something he could work with.
“We’ll being lessons tomorrow at dawn,” he said.
“Dawn?” Alekah exclaimed.
“Dawn’s the best light,” Grayling said. “I’ll give you each a bow, an atlatl and a dagger and we’ll see which you wield best. But I promise you, it won’t be easy. If you think tilling the soil in the middle of the dry season is hard, wait until I start training drills.”
Ahnshen looked dubious, and Shashen and Behtia flashed him nervous smiles. But Alekah simply stared back at him, and nodded deliberately.
* * *
The training was progressing slowly. None of them knew how to hold a weapon, and their stamina was pitiful to a Wolfrider’s harsh eyes. Grayling ran his new recruits on long marathons to condition their lungs, as he had with his first volunteers. He gave them each a long staff to use in drilling, to improve their upper-body strength and teach them a warrior’s grace. Behtia limped to Leetah’s hut for a healing every afternoon, her muscles screaming in protest. Shashen had decent muscle strength from farming the rocky ground of his family plot, but he lacked any coordination. Ahnshen gave up in frustration after an eight-of-days and returned to his hut and his looms. Alekah suffered in silence, but her eyes were forever accusing, as if the training was some fiendishly concocted torture.
“Was it this hard before?” Grayling asked Hansha as they relaxed in their hut.
“There wasn’t this urgency before. That makes it harder.”
“Urgency that may be wasted. I mean, the humans might just pass us by.”
“Or they might end up on our doorstep,” Hansha said. “And we have to be ready if they come here. It’s not like it was when you first came here, Kel. The humans are more restless now. Their trade routes keep them moving along the edges of the desert every flood and flower. It was only a matter of time before some of them decided to try to cross the desert. You know it. And so does the village.”
Grayling sighed. “Why can’t the humans just stand still? Why do they always have to keep moving... keep coming?”
“Insects only live for a few days, so they buzz and buzz to get as much done as they can. It’s probably the same with humans.”
Grayling nodded dully.
“You know,” Hansha said. “I think I’ll join you on tomorrow’s session. I’m getting too soft stuck behind the forge every day. And I think my aim with the atlatl could use some work.”
Grayling shook his head. “No... of all the elves who should never have to become warriors...”
“I don’t want to be a warrior. But if the humans do come, I want to remember how to fire that spear-launcher of yours.”
Grayling leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on his jawline. “How are your skills with harder metals?”
“They might not be ‘brightmetal’ but they’ll be plenty sharp if the humans get too close. And as long as I have Maykah and Vardi to help me carry in the ore, I won’t be running short of material.”
“If we’re lucky, we won’t need them,” Grayling said. “Still... wouldn’t hurt to fire up the forges...”
The humans seemed to be staying put at their camp among the rocks, still a over an eight-of-days of hard travel from Sorrow’s End. The training of the new recruits continued with mixed progress. Shashen was showing promise, but Behtia didn’t have the strength for a bow or atlatl and Alekah seemed on the verge of giving up as Ahnshen had. Indeed, Grayling was surprised to see her turn up every morning for practice.
It was dusk and Grayling was checking up on the jackwolf dens when the familiar shimmer of light filled the skies. Grayling slowly got to his feet. Normally the arrival of the Palace was a cause for celebration. Now, however, Grayling couldn’t help but fear that it was a harbinger of even more ill news.
He hurried down the rocks and reached the outskirts of the village just as the Palace doors were opening. Out came Ember and Teir, a large gray wolf pacing between them. Coppersky and Sust followed, accompanied by no less than eight huge tuftcats. The jackwolves nearby growled low and took up a defensive posture. But Teir’s wolf seemed unfazed. A moment later – as Grayling neared the scene – the jackwolves suddenly quieted, and Grayling imagined the Go-Back had worked his animal-magic on them.
“Ember!” Behtia cried, racing across the sand, and flung her arms about her daughter’s neck. Ember embraced her mother tightly and Behtia tried not to wince as her tired muscles cried out.
“Saen!” Vurdah cried as she ran towards her son, and Coppersky looked vaguely frightened.
“Grayling!” Ember grinned as he neared them. “Remember us?”
“How could I forget the best Jackwolf Riders to ever abandon me?” Grayling teased. “But what are you doing here? This isn’t the best time to visit.”
“Actually, it’s a perfect time,” Ember grinned. “We heard about the humans. And your new training sessions. And we decided it was time to come home.”
Grayling blinked, still not quite understanding. Then Coppersky flashed him that cruel little smirk that always reminded others of Rayek. “We’re here to help you whip these dirt-diggers into shape.”
* * *
Sust’s tuftcat pride found a set of abandoned caves, and as long as they kept a respectful distance from the jackwolves, Teir did not need to give the jackwolves any “reminders.” The four members of the Wild Hunt immediately began more aggressive recruiting of the Sun Folk, and within an eight-of-days there were ten more elves ready to learn weaponslore. The rigorous training Grayling had used to great success with the first Jackwolf Riders was dropped in favour of a lighter regimen that focused on quick mastery of one weapon. Teir took over archery lessons for those who wanted use a bow. Ember and Sust helped Grayling with the atlatl and the short-spear. Coppersky taught the many uses of the dagger. He even managed to bring in an extra elf willing to learn.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” Grayling remarked as Coppersky led Ahnshen up to the plateau where the trainees practiced daily.
Ahnshen rolled his eyes, but Coppersky gave him a little shove forward. “And I don’t want to see you at your looms again until you can shot at least one killing-shot with your bow.”
“This is barbaric...” Ahnshen muttered under his breath.
“You can do it, Father,” Coppersky added affectionately. “If we’re lucky, you’ll never have to shot anything more than a practice tree.”
“To think... I had a spot in my workshop all ready for you...”
Grayling chuckled at the thought of sleek, deadly Coppersky becoming a weaver. No, that cub’s fate had been sealed the first time he watched the Riders race down from the Bridge of Destiny.
“This won’t be an army of Go-Backs by any means,” Ember said one night. “But the Riders will have eight-and-four archers and spear-bearers to back them up, should the worse come.”
Grayling looked down off the edge of the sandstone platform. Ahdri and Ekuar were hard at work shaping the wall that would shield Sorrow’s End’s western side. Already it had risen to waist-height, a solid wall of rock disguised to look like a natural formation scoured by wind and time.
“We might just pull this off,” Grayling murmured.
* * *
“We must travel north,” Aballan announced to his people. “The floods will come within another six turns of Greater Moon. And then, when the land is rich with life – that is when we must move north. We will find the path that will link East to West across the barren wastes. And there we will find the great hallowed rocks that Manach has created for us. The Red Rock Clan – no longer simply hunters and foragers, but master traders, with complete control over the flow of goods between East and West!”
Tagon and the hunters scowled. But the others cheered. Everyone knew where the future lay – not in bloody carcasses but in the bundles of goods that moved back and forth between the clans.
Aballan drank in the cheers of his people. And in the back of his mind, he realized he might just succeed in his fool quest.
By Manach, I might just pull this off, he thought.
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts