The Forgotten Stone, page 16
“You should try it,” Ruakh said to Mereámé, smiling. “It could prove useful.”
“I would hate to be totally helpless,” Mereámé admitted, her eyes bright, but her expression hesitant.
Baird and Oloren excitedly beckoned her to stand. “Up you come,” Oloren said. Her confidence was both encouraging and forgiving, and Enouim saw Mereámé relax a bit. “Okay, have you ever fought before? What do you know already?”
“Literally nothing,” Mereámé replied. “Like, I would probably die fighting a pigeon.”
“Hey, don’t underestimate those little beaks!” Baird laughed. “Well, by the time we’re done with you, you’ll be able to fight off perasors.”
They taught Mereámé some basic punches, hooks, and kicks. She needed some assistance with form, and when Vadik encouraged her and she hit him as hard as she could, he hardly blinked on impact.
“I’ve moved a few chairs in my time,” she commented with a smile, breathing a little harder than usual.
Gabor laughed. “Here, like this.” He turned her wrist so it aligned with her forearm and tapped the pointer and middle fingers of her fist. “Hit with these two.” He held up his palms for her to hit. “Hooks—go!”
Mereámé bounced on the balls of her feet. “You ready for this? I was the arm-wrestling champion against a neighbor kid when I was five. I might blow you out of the water.”
Kilith laughed aloud.
Gabor smirked and nodded. “Hit me!”
Mereámé hit his palm and shook her hand.
“Again.”
She hit him again and began to fall into a rhythm. Right hand hooked across to strike Gabor’s right palm, and left hand to left palm.
“There it is!” he encouraged. “Now cross punches. Try it.”
They went at it, nearly every mistake being met by Mereámé’s sarcastic self-deprecating humor. The effect was heightened coming from such an innocent sounding voice, and the members laughed along with her while also rallying to encourage and teach her. Enouim wondered if Mereámé really felt as lackadaisical about the endeavor as she seemed. Enouim knew for herself, she didn’t like being less than perfect at just about anything. Too large a dose of mistakes and Enouim became exasperated and less motivated.
Enouim had plenty of time to practice avoiding this when Vadik was kind enough to remind everyone how much more work she had to do on her break falls. Ugh. Break falls. Couldn’t she just learn to avoid falling? She thought about that for a moment and dismissed the idea. No, she was far too uncoordinated. The ground seemed to beckon for her company at the most inconvenient of times.
After rehearsing, Vadik noted the utter absence of “breaks” to her falls—and Oloren suggested that Enouim was too much in her head. They had been focusing on falls straight forward, facedown toward the earth from a kneeling position. “You’re thinking way too much, En. If you over think it, you’re going to catch yourself on your elbows and be no good to anyone. Remember, forearms, at the last second.”
“Don’t think too much,” Enouim repeated. “Don’t catch myself on my elbows like I do every single time. Fall on my forearms. Not too early. Not too late. Remember all of that, but, you know, without thinking. What do you want from me?!” She huffed and shook her head. “If I don’t think, I automatically catch myself wrong. If I do think, I still end up messing it up. I can’t seem to stop myself either way.”
“Except with your elbows.” Vadik grinned. “Maybe we just need to spice it up a little. Catch you off guard.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Enouim said, eyes narrowing.
“Hear me out. Well, actually, everyone else hear me out. You can listen or not listen, but you don’t really have a say in this. I propose an experiment where we let Enouim practice break falls at unexpected times throughout the day. Out of necessity she’ll have to figure it out one way or another!”
“Or get black and blue before meeting my first real adversary,” Enouim grumbled.
“It’ll be good for you,” Gabor said. “Worth a shot. If you take a tumble off a horse, you’ll be grateful for the skill.”
“You’re going to throw me off a horse?” Enouim’s eyes widened.
“No, no, of course not,” Baird piped in. “Not until tomorrow, at least.” He grinned.
She scowled. Still, she couldn’t help the rush of adrenaline and excitement that coursed through her veins. Part of her was intrigued, but another part, the part Enouim was certain preferred her to stay alive, was very much against the whole idea. “Harumph.”
“Think of it as on-the-go—” Oloren didn’t finish speaking before Vadik walked up behind Enouim and shoved her off balance. She tumbled to the ground. “—Training,” Oloren finished.
Enouim grunted. “Fine, but I’m not the only one who’s going to practice.” She hooked her foot around Vadik’s ankle and, grinning, brought him down with a crash.
From then on, everyone was fair game. Even Canukke got in on the fun and seemed to enjoy getting to show off. He was hard to knock over, and Oloren was the first to be successful. While he gathered sticks for a fire, she swooped down on him like lightning and knocked him off his feet before he saw her coming. A collective intake of breath followed as everyone waited to see how he would react to a dose of his own fallibility. Canukke looked up at her from the ground in surprise, and then broke into a hearty laugh.
The company continued like this, coming across no one outside their own, for four weeks. Vadik gave Enouim Pakel’s sword, and saw that she practiced with it daily, but little else of note occurred in those weeks. Once they saw a syndicate of perasors far off, and another day a solitary perasor flew overhead, but it paid them no mind. Mostly the only life they saw was each other and regular-sized birds. As Gabor said, “I prefer birds that fit on a spit over a fire.” The group readily agreed with this sentiment.
Enouim gazed over the muted tones of dusty yellow grasses soaked in the sparkle of the sun’s rays playing with the river’s surface. It was a good day. Spirits were high, and soon they would reach green grasses and trees once again and be near, hypothetically, to the Nazir—for whom they still had no exact location.
The river wound in the distance to the left and behind them. After the sea-serpent attack, they’d been eager to put a healthy distance between them and it. Strange how something so beautiful could house something so sinister. Enouim closed her eyes and allowed the sun to warm her face, focusing on the pleasant feeling and Inferno’s steady gait. She breathed in deeply, letting it out again in an unhurried sigh. The air was clear, the day bright, and Enouim had successfully tripped Kilith and evaded retaliation that morning. Her break falls were also improving at long last.
When she opened her eyes, she saw an odd-looking band of people on the horizon—perhaps twenty of them. The wore sandy-colored cloaks and sat astride buckskin horses, making it difficult to tell where horse ended and rider began. If it weren’t for the blue sky beyond them, it would have been nearly impossible to distinguish them from the landscape. Startled, Enouim looked around at the others and saw that she’d been last to heed them. Everyone else was quietly riding, eyes fixed on the group ahead.
Mereámé spoke under her breath to Ruakh. “Pyren?”
“Could be. Hard to say from here.”
“So, um … what do we do?” Enouim asked.
“If they are Pyren, we are in good hands. Levav knows many of the nomads. These may be friends.”
“And if they are not friends?” Gabor said.
“We will be unfriendly.” Kilith smiled ruefully.
“They have already seen us, and are allowing us to take note of their position,” Ruakh said. “Giving them a wide berth now would be a sign of disrespect.”
“We will meet them,” Canukke said. “Now would be the perfect time to come across allies in the grasslands and hear what they know. Be on guard.”
“Nomads are the best chance we have at learning where to find the Nazir,” Mereámé reminded them.
“A smile on your face and a weapon in your hand,” Vadik said, nodding.
Enouim felt her stomach squirm. Nine on the mission versus twenty nomads left her with a mathematical responsibility to take down two of them if things got ugly. Could she do that? Maybe the others could kill more than their share. Glintenon, Canukke had bragged of killing far more than that in the blink of an eye. Mereámé wasn’t ready to take on a real fight either, so she would need protecting as well. As if reading her thoughts, Ruakh spoke up.
“Mereámé, with me. Stay close.”
The nomads remained nonchalant as Enouim and her companions drew near. Perhaps they would simply ignore each other. They could just turn aside now, leave the nomads to their nomadic ways, whatever those might be, and go on their merry way. Clearly the rest of the company didn’t get her mental note, because the horses continued to carry the group straight toward the strangers.
Enouim’s heart caught drift of her stomach’s nervousness and beat faster. She wasn’t sure she needed blood pumping through her veins that fast. If things went south it would all spill out that much sooner. On the other hand, thinking like that certainly wouldn’t slow it down. She gulped.
“Breathe,” she heard Vadik say beside her. “We’ve got you.”
Enouim nodded and focused on bringing air in and out, in and out. She drew her shoulders back and straightened.
The first of the nomads glanced down at them, stoically taking them in from only fifty feet away. Canukke set an unconcerned, ambling pace, and the nomads remained stationary. Enouim glanced at Vadik beside her and wondered how he could be so calm in situations like these. This time, though, she saw a furrowed brow and an uneasy tension building within him. He caught her gaze and winked. Everything would be fine.
Forty feet. Thirty-five. The whole nomadic troop watched them. Silently. The wind blew, and the grasses waved. Thirty feet.
A tall nomad extended a hand toward them from his horse. ”Hello there, friends!”
Friends. Enouim begged it to be true.
“We greet you,” Canukke answered. “How do you know us as friends?”
“We see you have the administer of Akavah in your midst. We welcome you.”
What was an administer? What was Akavah? Did the nomads offer friendship because they mistook them for others? If so, Enouim was fairly convinced they should play along.
“Have we met before?” Ruakh asked with a smile.
“Your reputation precedes you. We know who you are. Healer of Levav, friend to the wilderness. We are the wilderness.” His voice was deep and strong. Dark eyes looked at them. Was that a sparkle? Enouim breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well then,” Canukke began again, “we are pleased to make your acquaintance, friends.”
“The administer rarely leaves the borders of Levav. What brings him so far from home? We see most of you are not Levavin. Come, sit with us and we will share the news.” The tall one waved them over and clasped Canukke’s forearm in a gesture of greeting and introduction. All were mounted, and they found themselves surrounded by the nomads.
“I’m afraid our task is time-sensitive,” Canukke said, “but we may spare a few moments. It would be good to hear of the happenings in these lands.”
“We make our way to Levav now, in fact, to trade materials and news.” The man smiled. “I am Canus.”
“Canukke Topothain of Gorgenbrild, and my companions. Ruakh you seem to know already.”
“Gorgenbrild! My, you have traveled far! Why keep us in suspense? What is this task of yours?” Canus asked.
Enouim wondered what the rest of the nomads were thinking. They watched carefully but as of yet had said nothing.
“Alas, it is best we keep the nature of our mission discreet for the time being,” Ruakh said. “But if you travel to Levav, inquire there, and they will share their blessing of our task.”
Canus looked disappointed.
“We have quite some distance left to go,” Oloren said. “And wonder who we may meet to assist us on the way. Have you seen any others in the area?”
“Not for miles,” Canus answered. “Which direction are you headed?”
“We continue our trajectory for some time,” Canukke responded, nodding at the change in terrain now visible from the crest of the hill.
Following his gesture, Enouim looked and saw green grass beginning again, and the beginning of a lush-green tree line.
There was an awkward silence for a moment.
“Well, we certainly wish you safety on your journey,” Canus said at length.
Another pause.
“Tell us, has the weather been fair?” Mereámé’s musical voice spoke up for the first time. “What has it been like?”
“Excellent,” Canus answered her. “Blue skies and few clouds.”
“What of rain? The land needs rain, does it not?”
“It did rain, two weeks ago,” said a new voice. The speaker was young, and Canus glanced at him. “It was a strange rain, though. Uneven?”
“Uneven,” Mereámé repeated to herself, thinking.
“What direction do you come from?” Ruakh asked.
“You ask many questions, yet have answered few,” Canus said, eyes narrowing.
“The lady asked about the weather,” Gabor said, a bite to his tone.
Something in the air changed. In that moment tension rippled through the space surrounding them. Enouim wondered now if it was a spark she had seen in those dark eyes after all, or a glint. The glint in the eye of an evil man whose deception has been accepted.
Canukke and Oloren exchanged glances, and Canus observed it. Enouim doubted anything got past the man, however subtle. Suddenly with a subtle flick of wrist, metal met metal, and the resounding clang rang out in the empty air around them. It was hard to say who moved first. Canus and Canukke were blade on blade in the span of a breath, and Oloren likewise had brought her daggers to bear against a nearby nomad. Enouim drew her sword and swung.
Kilith slew his first opponent and closed in on two more. Ruakh sprung to action using only his staff—both graceful and effective. He knocked one of his opponents off his horse and maneuvered himself between Mereámé and the bulk of the nomads.
Enouim leaned back in the saddle, narrowly missing an oncoming blade, and Oloren used the opportunity to slash at the nomad’s exposed torso. “You’re welcome!” she called back to Enouim as she spun in the other direction to engage a new target. Enouim’s attacker bent over the wound, and Enouim pierced him through, then pulled out her sword and twisted to face a new enemy, but a hit from behind flung her from the saddle and sent her sword flying. Inferno reared, striking with his hooves as she gathered herself off the ground. It hadn’t been the smoothest of break falls, but effective enough, and now was not the time to analyze it.
Springing to her feet and taking stock of her new vantage point, Enouim found herself face-to-face with the fighter Ruakh had unseated. The nomad lifted his blade and launched toward her. Muscle memory shot her forward to meet her attacker, bursting in close to the man’s body and drawing a knife as she moved. She sliced across his neck with her right hand, then hooked it around the back of his neck and yanked him down to her level.
Canukke or Kilith would have given a head butt, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, so she kneed him in the groin repeatedly instead. He buckled, and she brought her elbow down on his neck in one swift, powerful motion. Mere seconds had passed since Enouim had regained her footing after her fall. She struck him again before shoving him aside and looking for her next target.
But he didn’t stay down. The man recovered and catapulted himself at Enouim’s waist for a takedown. She leaped backward and, as he fell forward, used her body weight to fall on top of him, pushing him down and loosening his grip on her legs. She let her knife fall with her and made contact with his left shoulder blade from behind. This time he didn’t move. Enouim stood again, and noticed that several bodies lay strewn in the grasses—all nomad. She hoped not to break their winning streak.
Another nomad came toward her. Enouim took a deep breath and ran to meet him, but an arrow pierced him through from behind, its point protruding from the nomad’s torso only four feet from her. She glanced up in surprise and saw Gabor grinning from his horse as he lowered his bow. Baird wheeled his horse around and struck at a nomad to his left who had taken a swipe at Mereámé when Ruakh’s back was turned.
Oloren stood, looking hungry for the next fight, but few nomads were left to engage. Baird and Ruakh each faced one, Kilith a third, Vadik a fourth, and Gabor a fifth on horseback. Canus was still locked in combat with Canukke, now hand to hand on the ground. Oloren leaped onto the back of Vadik’s opponent and put him in a choke from the rear. Vadik stopped a final thrust with his spear, and let Oloren bring him to the ground.
Canukke had Canus’ head in a vise tight to his chest and he snaked a hand down to Canus’ chin to break his neck, but Canus tucked his chin tightly into Canukke’s ribs and wouldn’t let him find a hold. With a gutteral cry, Canukke twisted the man’s head until he was forced to face outward in front of him, then he kneed him in the spine, kicked the back of Canus’ knee so that he fell, and jumped so that Canukke’s full body weight came down on the back of the nomad’s heels. Canus let out a great cry, and Enouim winced.
“Look east!” yelled Gabor suddenly.
Enouim’s head swiveled to follow his gaze. Another band of nomads. Enouim’s heart sank to her stomach and her fatigued muscles groaned within her. This wasn’t over yet.
18
This group was larger than the last—at least thirty thundered toward them. There could be no mistaking what had just happened. A bedraggled group of strangers to these lands had fought nomads and triumphed. The buckskin horses of the fallen were still scattered here and there, and several had galloped down the hill toward the plains. These distinguishing features would be impossible to miss.
