Dark Shores of Salvation, page 62
part #3 of Travails of the Dark Mage Series
It was an interminably long time before her teacher ended the class and let them go.
After class, was garden time. She considered playing hooky to find out what was going on with Master Kermudge. But then she remembered her promise to him. Gritting her teeth with a barely heard ‘rat poop’ under her breath, she hurried to the garden.
She and Kenny were put to weeding, a chore she could find no benefit in doing. You pull a weed only to have another grow the next day. It seemed a study in futility.
She was there until the noon meal. Had to spend that with her mother.
Still no sight or word about Master Kermudge.
After the noon meal, she and her mother returned to the garden for another couple hours. The day dragged on far too long.
When at last her duties at the garden were complete, she told her mother that she would spend the rest of the time until dinner playing with Kenny.
Aleya agreed and went off with Meliana for more bow practice.
She walked with Kenny, keeping her eyes on the adults until they were out of sight.
“Jira, what do you want…,” Kenny began then stopped when he realized he was alone.
“Jira?” he called but she was nowhere in sight.
It was easy to ditch Kenny though she felt somewhat bad about that. But she needed to travel fast and Kenny, though she loved him like a brother, she had to admit he could be slow as a slug at times.
She heard him calling for her as she raced for the orchard. There may be parental blowback from ditching him, but she just knew something was afoot.
Once among the trees, her Little Brother appeared in the air before him. He flitted about rather agitatedly.
“Is it Master Kermudge?” she asked.
He zipped around her head three times, then came to float in front of her. His little head nodded.
“Take me to him,” she said.
He did a backflip then was off.
She ran after him.
First through the orchard, then to the edge of the forest. She soon realized that her Little Brother was leading her to Master Kermudge’s hut. Through the maze of vines they went.
Other Little Brothers flitted in and out of the vines. They had grown used to her after her earlier visits with Master Kermudge and would often pay her a visit when she was alone; which wasn’t often.
She rather liked her new relationship with the Little Brothers. But now was not the time to dwell on such things.
Passing from the vine-maze to the clearing in which sat Master Kermudge’s vine-cabin as she liked to think of it, she saw him sitting on his favorite stump.
He wasn’t sitting up straight as he always had in the past. This time, his shoulders drooped a bit and he sat at a slight angle. His arms laid across his knees.
Little Brothers zipped around him but he paid them no attention.
She started toward him.
Before she could cross half the distance, he turned his face toward her.
The sight brought her to a sudden halt.
Tears rose in her eyes when she saw the bloodstained bandage wrapped to cover one side of his face. Some of his hair was missing and a leg was in a splint.
“What happened?” she cried as her legs got moving again, racing toward him.
He smiled at her approach. It did much to ease her worry.
“A situation arose which I had to deal with,” he explained.
She stopped before him, her eyes wide and worried.
“I am okay,” he assured her, then chuckled. “A bit worn on the outside, but I will be fine, Little Jira.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Did you bring your recorder?” he asked.
Thoughts of his bedragglement faded at the thought of playing with him. She pulled it out from within her shirt. She kept it in there just like he did.
“Play me something,” he said.
“Like what?” she asked.
He gestured to include the surroundings. “Listen to the world, Jira. Play that.”
“I don’t know…”
“Close your eyes,” he said softly. “Still your thoughts. Listen to the wind, the leaves, birds singing in the distance. Take it all in. Allow it to fill you.”
Doing as he said, she closed her eyes and listened.
“Steady your breathing,” he whispered. “Let it come to you.”
Her thoughts were anything but still. It took great effort to still them. She took a breath and listened to the wind coursing through the leaves, the Little Brothers going about their antics, a far-off bird trilled to its mate.
Jira stood motionless for several minutes, allowing the sounds of nature to fill her. When she finally put recorder to lips, she blew a single note. A note that she had played many times before only this time, it came out pure.
“That’s it,” Master Kermudge softly said.
The wind blew her hair, a bird splashed in a nearby pool, and a fly buzzed her ear.
She transitioned to a second note, slightly higher than the first. A moment later, she returned to the first one.
Back and forth, in a gentle pattern, she moved from one note to the other. Then added a third.
The number of notes in her repertoire was small, but she had worked on them diligently each day. They came out solid and strong.
Master Kermudge smiled as she played. Could feel that which was growing in her though he knew she was oblivious to the burgeoning power.
As her melody grew more complex, yet remained true to tone and cadence, a barely perceptible glow started forming around her.
Near her right foot, a green tendril pushed its way up through the dirt. It grew in response to her song; slowly twining upward, first sprouting first one leaf, then a second.
Master Kermudge knew he was witnessing something very rare and special. There had been a reason Little Brothers were drawn to Jira. In his incredibly long life, only twice before had he known the earth spirits to seek out a human. He had seen the first Little Brother when he had been not much older that she. The other, had been his predecessor.
Asran was strong in Little Jira. She was not ready to embrace the power fully, that would come later in life. And she would have to choose to do so.
With the last note, a yellow flower blossomed from the top of the green sprout.
The nearly imperceptible green glow faded as she removed the recorder from her lips.
“How was that?”
She looked at him expectantly, smiling greatly for she knew she had played well.
“You are becoming quite the musician, Jira,” he said with a grin.
Squealing, she rushed to him and hugged him.
“Easy there, girl,” he said when her embrace reminded him of the tender condition in which his body yet remained.
She let go and stepped back, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot.”
He laughed. “It will take more than your hugs to cause me great discomfort.”
Glancing to the sun, he saw there was still an hour or two before she needed to be back.
“Play me the melody I taught you last time,” he said. “You have been practicing?”
“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed and put the recorder to her lips.
Her first tone warbled some but she got it under control quickly. The tune did not have the power of the previous one. She was not in the proper mindset.
Master Kermudge watched her as she played, and the Little Brothers as they frolicked in the air, on the ground and among the trees.
Yes, indeed, he thought. Jira was far more than just a little girl who hated dresses and fought with knives.
Thwock!
The arrow hit only a few inches left of dead center.
“Much better,” Aleya praised.
Meliana pulled another arrow from the half dozen sticking in the ground, set it to the string, and aimed again.
“It is important to be aware of everything,” Aleya said. “Feel the breeze. It is coming from your right, so you must compensate. Aim just a little right of the center.”
Meliana nodded.
A slow breath in, she pulled back the string. Holding her breath for a moment, she lined down the arrow’s shaft to the target, just a little right of center. She exhaled, then let go of the bowstring.
Thwock!
Missed the center by a narrower margin. Only this time, the arrow hit just right of center.
“I was sure I had it,” Meliana said unhappily.
“The wind,” Aleya said. “It died just as you loosed the arrow. Still, you hit close to center. Had that been a man, he would be dead now.”
Meliana turned to her and nodded. “Thank you for teaching me.”
“Archery is a passion for me,” she explained. The she chuckled. “Almost as much as knives are for Jiron.”
“Or tarts for Miko,” Meliana said with a grin.
Laughing, Aleya nodded. “Exactly. I could shoot all day.”
Smile fading, Meliana sighed. “I wish they would come home.”
“As my father would say, ‘If wishes were fishes no one would go hungry.’”
Meliana smiled again; a sad, wistful one. “Still, I’d like to have my man home.”
“Agreed.”
The sound of approaching footsteps heralded the arrival of Brother Nick, a priest that Miko had sent to minister at the University.
“I see you are improving,” he said as he joined them.
“Good afternoon to you, Brother,” Meliana said.
“Yes,” he replied with a glance to the blue sky above, “it is a good and lovely day.”
“She still needs work,” Aleya said with a nod to Meliana, “but I’d wager she could hold her own if she had to.”
He nodded. “No doubt, no doubt.”
“Any news?” Meliana asked expectantly.
Brother Nick shook his head. “No. I have heard nothing.”
She frowned a bit so he added, “But then, neither have I felt anything. I have full confidence that our Reverend Father remains alive and well. Should something happen to him, I would know. So, take heart.”
Meliana nodded. “I will try.”
“Tea tonight?”
A couple nights a week, Meliana and Aleya would join Brother Nick in his little cabin for tea and to talk.
“We will look forward to it,” Aleya said.
“Good, good,” he replied. “Then I shall not intrude upon your practice any further.” He gave Meliana a slight nod. “You are improving very nicely.”
“Thank you, Brother,” she said
“Walk with Morcyth,” he said then left them to their practice.
“Now,” Aleya said once the priest was gone, “let’s see how you do when someone is firing at you.”
“What?” Meliana asked.
Aleya grabbed a quiver of specially made arrows and her bow.
“Don’t worry,” she said with a smile and pulled an arrow out. Instead of having an arrowhead, at the tip they had a leather ball. “These won’t hurt… much.”
Meliana watched her walk off a bit then stopped and turned.
Setting the specialized arrow to string, Aleya turned toward her.
“Ready when you are,” she said with a grin.
“I’m not sure…” Meliana began.
Aleya raised her bow and fired. Pulling back the bowstring just enough to send it on its way, the arrow struck Meliana in the hip.
“Ow!” she cried for it had stung a bit.
“It would hurt worse if that had been a real arrow,” Aleya instructed. Taking a second arrow, she set it to the bow. “Now, let’s begin.”
Meliana raised her bow to shoot the target when another of Aleya’s arrows struck her in the shoulder.
“How am I supposed to shoot with you doing that?” she asked, rubbing her now slightly throbbing shoulder.”
“Move about,” she explained. “You move around, an arrow will have a harder time finding you. Then, when I loose, you pause during the time it takes me to refit another arrow. Send your arrow on its way before I am again able to fire, then start moving again.”
“In a fight with a real opponent, an archer that stands still tends to die.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Meliana replied.
“Now, let’s go.”
Meliana kept her arrow to string, but loosely and she moved in varying directions. When Aleya let fly, she stopped, quickly aimed and fired. She watched her arrow fly to the target and hit near the top right..
Then an arrow struck her square in the stomach.
The unexpectedness of it knocked the breath out of her and caused her to double over.
“You fire, you move,” Aleya said. “Do not pause to admire your handiwork. Move, get another arrow ready, and wait for your chance. Never give your opponent an easy target.”
She glared at her friend while getting her breath back
“Again.”
Meliana put arrow to bowstring, and tried moving in a pattern difficult to discern. Two steps left then one right. One to the front, then three to the side. She managed to avoid two of Aleya’s arrows before hitting the target just a little south of center.
She paused a bit too long after firing, remembered and dodged back. The arrow skimmed the front of her shirt.
“Better,” Aleya said with satisfaction.
“Now, again.”
Later that night far, far to the south of The University, Daggo, third son of Abu the goat herder sat atop one of the hills northeast of the small village of Malachar.
His herd of thirty-seven goats were nestled against an outcropping, a favorite location for when he brought them there. From the top of the hill, he could look out over the Sands of Time, a forbidden place said to house the dead and the not-so dead.
For years he had come to this spot, and for years he had looked in both dark and daylight, toward the Sands only to discover nothing but sand and wind. Tales had been told around campfires, and before hearths where they huddled during the bitterly cold winters.
The first time he was sent to tend the sheep among these hills, he had been afraid. Every noise was a devil come to kill him. Every whip of the wind a passing spirit. Now, he knew they were just tales to tell, that there was nothing out there. For had there been something, he would surely have encountered it by now.
It was a clear night, the stars were out and bright. The breeze was comfortable with his coat wrapped around him. He enjoyed the cool night in the desert.
A stray bleat from his goats was all that broke the quiet of the night.
He had to admit, it would be great to see something. Have a tale to bring back and regale everyone. Standing, he turned toward the Northeast and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Okay, you ghastly spirits!” he shouted. “Here I am!”
A bit of wind ruffled his hair, the cry of a far-off animal was all the reply he got.
“I said,” he shouted again, “HERE I AM!!!”
His last word echoed throughout the hills until finally dying off.
He lowered his hands from around his mouth, and snorted. “Thought so.”
About to turn around and see how comfortable his bedroll would be, something far off in the dark caught his eye. It was a long distance away and more north than northeast. A light moved across the land. Standing there transfixed, unsure whether he should be afraid or excited, he came to realize the light was green. Green!
Fear began to win out over curiosity for it was fast approaching. At first, he thought it was heading straight for him, but soon realized it was traversing a path that would take it a little north of his position.
The spectral apparition grew in clarity as it drew near. A green spectral horseman. Moving far faster than any living horse could run, it practically flew across the landscape.
Daggo moved to a rocky protrusion on one side of the hill and peered from behind it.
The rider was a man, dressed for traveling. Several packs hung from the saddle. He leaned low across the horse’s neck.
Daggo watched this strange sight as it passed through the hills. The horse made not a sound in passing. This was a ghost!
Now that he realized the ghost would pass him by, fear ebbed to be replaced with curiosity and excitement.
He watched the rider pass through the hills, then fade to nothingness in the distance.
When darkness once again ruled the land, and all visions of spectral visitors were gone, he leapt into the air and shouted with excitement.
He had finally seen a ghost from the Sands. Two more days he would have to wait before he could return to his village to share the tale.
Excitement made it hard to fall asleep. He kept looking about to try and see if more green ghosts would pass through. None made an appearance. Finally, he drifted off to sleep.
As the first rays of dawn fell upon the world, he was already up and moving. Making his way off the hilltop, he came to where he was sure the spectral ghost had passed.
Not one hoofprint could be found. He searched a wide area but was unable to discover any sign of the ghost’s passing.
About to return to his goats, he paused as he realized that though there were no hoofprints, there was a narrow trail of small green growth, three feet in width that stretched from horizon to horizon along what had been the rider’s path. Just small grass and shoots that was already all but withered.
He bent down and hesitantly plucked one blade of grass. Holding it on his hand, he looked at it closely. The once green vibrant stalk of grass curled and withered before his eyes.
Tossing it aside, he looked again to the trail of grass that had not been there the day before. The green of it continued fading to nothingness.
He wondered at this strange occurrence.
But then his goats began bleating and it was time to put such thoughts away and get about taking them to water.
His thoughts kept returning to the ghostly, green rider. Who could it have once been? And would it come again?
