RangerWickett
Legend
Chapter Fifteen
The fey woman who was directing the rest of the village to stay away stopped when Rantle spoke, and she titled her head like she was trying to hear him better. Then she closed her eyes and began to whisper. The volume of the singers and the murmuring of the wither-winged villagers faded away until all Rantle could hear was her and the crackle of the forest. She spoke in many different languages, saying just a short phrase quickly before switching.
Rantle wondered if he should be afraid of this malnourished, half-naked fairy who was using magic, but he waited for her. Her words started to blend together, and Rantle had trouble telling anything apart, but then suddenly she spoke, and her words were in clear Seren.
“Do not hold fear of us,” she said. “And also touch us not, because it hurts your flesh, and stings our will. Whatever else, do not disrupt the singers, for without them, we all shall die.”
Rantle glanced at the stage, then back at the woman. Her eyes were a vivid blend of violet and green, the only color on her, and they widened when she realized he must have understood her.
She said, “I am Tiljann. Oh I beg, just say you understand my words.”
“Um, yeah. My name’s Rantle. Are you going to hurt me?”
“No,” she said, gasping with relief. “No, you are the hope I always dreamt of. How though did you find us? Was it Etinifi? Know you how to end this bleak eternity? Can we defeat Indomitability?”
Rantle looked around at the confused, faintly hopeful faces in the crowd. He cleared his throat.
“We, ah, kinda stumbled across you by accident.”
“ ‘We’?” Tiljann asked. “Are there more who came to save our home?”
“Damn,” Rantle muttered.
The crowd began to drift back slowly as fear of Rantle as an unknown replaced their shocked curiosity. A few choked out worried questions at Tiljann, but none of them spoke Seren.
“No.” Tiljann shook her head. “We must not fear him. He’s here to help.”
The other fey seemed to understand her, though they continued to speak in their own tongue. Tiljann stepped away and touched a few at their mouth and back, whispering as she had a moment earlier to Rantle. As she did, the fey’s voices one by one shifted to Seren, and a sudden onslaught of questions came at him. He wanted to bolt in panic, but he felt too embarrassed to run when the fey already looked so frightened of him.
“Hey, everyone,” Rantle shouted. “I’m going to answer all your questions, but, uh, but my fellow diplomats aren’t going to come out until I get the word of whoever’s in charge that we will not be harmed.”
In the distance he spotted a composed-looking man, his wings concealed by a dark tattered cloak, watching from the mouth of his cave; and from a different cave, a bald battle-scarred fey man approached, holding a spear. He carried himself like a soldier, or tough town guard, but Rantle felt sure he could snap the emaciated fey’s arms like twigs if it came to a fight.
“I am in charge,” said the man with the spear, speaking with an accent similar to that of the Innenotdar refugees Rantle had met in Gate Pass, as if he was not being aided by magic. “I am Papuvin, and . . . and if you are not some trick or nightmare, then you have my pledge we’ll do no harm to you. Your knowledge of the world beyond our home is more of value than your gold.”
Rantle remembered Rivereye promising the fire beast that they would free it. He put on his most relaxed, casual smile, and chuckled.
“Sounds perfect. Send the beautiful Tiljann with me, and we’ll be back in just a minute with my fellows.”
Papuvin glowered at Tiljann for a moment, but she ignored him and moved to lead Rantle back the way he had come. Hoping he wasn’t going to provoke a fight between these people, Rantle went with her. As they left, the entire village began to chatter questions, their voices almost drowning out the song. Rantle glanced back for a moment, and saw that everyone was watching him, except for the dark-cloaked one in the distance, who had turned back for his cave.
Everyone kept their hands near to their weapons, except the woman named Tiljann, who had no weapons. But they sat together talking, and Rivereye felt almost relaxed, though the part of him that Indomitability had touched stirred unpleasantly in his heart.
All of the group Rivereye had come with sat in the same cave, along with Tiljann and the man in charge of the village, called Papuvin, and a healer who wore thick hide gloves and quietly talked with Kathor as she tended to the still-unconscious Torrent. Haddin, glowering, sat beside his daughter, who said nothing.
Diogenes and Rantle were just finishing explaining the situation in the outside world, though it was obvious a lot of it made no sense to these natives of the fire forest.
“So,” Diogenes said, “in short, the outside world is a wonderful place that I never appreciated fully until I was trapped here in this pit of hell. Now, tell us what’s going on here so we can figure out how to get free.”
Papuvin said nothing for a long moment, his silence weighing heavily against the constant sound of the singers on the shore.
“As we were born from the First Tree, as from our homeland’s breast was cut a living blade, in this our lives are bound to thee, the forest’s heart in Timbre’s glade.”
Tiljann and the healer made a motion as if they had just heard something sacred.
“We call ourselves the Seela,” Papuvin continued. “We were born from this forest before even the jen arrived, and when the forest dies, so will we. We are bound to our homeland’s fate. This has been a blessing for ages. Even now, when we are cursed, I marvel at the fortune we have had. But many of my people do not feel the same way.
“We have had no way to count time since the fire started, but I know it was long ago. Before the fire, every spring we sang the song you hear to give body to the spirit of the forest. Your people, they called her Timbre. This was the holiest of times for us.
“We learned the song from the earth, and the earth learned it from the spirit which shaped the world. With this hymn we would shape Timbre and give her flesh, and she would share her wisdom and wonder. But years before the fire came, a foreign spirit intruded upon our homeland.
“For many weeks it caused chaos. It entered the bodies of dying animals and wore them as its flesh, keeping them from dying. The forest was greatly disturbed.
“We sang for Timbre to protect us, and our song enraged the foreign spirit. While our song gave Timbre a body, it trapped this new creature in the last animal form it had taken: a stag. The creature called itself Indomitability, and it fought to be free. Timbre was a wise spirit, but not a warrior. She was slain, and the protection of our homeland was lost.
“We called upon the greatest hero of the jen we shared our home with, Anyariel. She wielded a sword that had been carved from the wood of Timbre’s own tree, once known as the living blade, and with it she defeated Indomitability. But she could not kill the creature. They fought to this lake, here. In its depths, Anyariel drove her blade through the stag’s body and pinned it to the lake bed.
“Anyariel was wounded, and she made us pledge to maintain our song, to ensure that the creature would never slip free of its body and escape to cause more havoc. Eventually she died. The jen despaired her death, and we Seela despaired Timbre’s fall. And years later, when the fire came, there was no one to protect us. The jen fled, but we could not. Still singing the song, we waited to die, to turn to ash. But we did not.
“The blade of Anyariel was the last piece of Timbre, the heart of Innenotdar. It pierced Indomitability, pierced the earth of our homeland, and through it flowed the power of this new spirit. He took Timbre’s place. We are bound to him, and he to us, and neither of us can be free.
“If we end the song, Indomitability will be free, and the forest will finally succumb, and we will die. Many of my people wish to die. I do not. Even this life is more of a blessing than oblivion.”
Papuvin said nothing more, and after a moment Diogenes spoke up.
“So either you live in torment forever, or you give up and die? I think I’d have gone with death a few decades ago.”
Papuvin shook his head. “This one here, Tiljann, is our youngest, born just before the fire. She never knew Timbre. The life she has had has not been full enough for it to end yet. I will not let it.”
“Neither will I,” Tiljann said, calmly. “Though I at least planned to try something other than waiting.”
“What’s that?” Rivereye asked.
“When we first realized the fire would not die,” Tiljann said, “many of our people gave all their power to our strongest, Etinifi the Longwalker. He fought past the fires and escaped the forest. We believe that he is even now traveling the world, seeking a way to heal our homeland.”
“Wait,” Rantle said, “so he got out? And this ‘Indomitability’ didn’t incinerate him first?”
Tiljann and Papuvin exchanged a look, their expressions bordering on shame.
Papuvin said, “We have changed since Timbre died. Our touch used to nurture life. Now it siphons it away. The Longwalker prepared for his journey by borrowing the life of many of our people. They sacrificed themselves so we might have a chance of rescue. The fire burned him, but he had many lives to spare. We can only hope he escaped.”
Diogenes said, “Do you have any other means of escape that we can’t take advantage of? Right now you’re making it sound like we’re trapped.”
“I saw a river feeding the lake,” Rantle said. “That has to come down from the mountains. Couldn’t we follow that out?”
Tiljann said, “The whole forest obeys the fire spirit. The shore here is safe, free of brush, but if ever we venture away he tries to kill us with sheets of flame. He knows that if we die, he will be free.”
Haddin started to say something, but broke off with a coughing fit. They waited for him to finish and say something, but when he finally got his cough under control he waved his hand.
“Nevermind,” he said, his voice like sandpaper. “You’re not worth yelling at.”
“Yes,” Diogenes said, “I suppose we’re not. Papuvin, could you and your women do us a kindness and give us some time to talk among ourselves?”
Rivereye saw Rantle give Diogenes an odd look, but he couldn’t guess what it meant. The Seela leader, however, nodded humbly.
“You are welcome to this cave for as long as you need it. I will join the singers. Tiljann, Epath, come. Let us give them time to accept their fate.”
The trio of Seela left the cave, and once they were out of earshot Diogenes looked around the chamber, big enough to fit the group of them lying down, but lacking any furniture or comforts.
Diogenes chuckled. “These people are really generous, aren’t they?”
“So what don’t you want them to hear?” Rantle said.
Diogenes looked down and scratched his ear. “How’s Torrent doing?”
Kathor answered, “The healer said that she’ll live, even without food, but her wounds will never heal.”
Diogenes said, “Can she die for good?”
Rivereye gasped. “What?”
“Yes,” Kathor said. “The Ragesians died when we beheaded them.”
Haddin said, “It’s good to know that I just have to cut off my head if I want to get out of here.”
“I’m not wanting us to kill ourselves,” Diogenes said.
Rantle looked from Diogenes, then out to the Seela.
“No,” he said. “You can’t-”
“Listen,” Diogenes said. He pointed out the mouth of the cave, sweeping his hand at the various Seela villagers. “These people are our enemies. We are not staying here, and as I understand things, the only way we’re getting out is to get them to stop singing their little sacred song. Then the fire monster will get free, and the forest will die like it’s supposed to. These people will die too, which means they’re not going to like us doing this. I want to know how hard it will be to kill them.”
“No,” Rantle said. “Excuse me for not wanting to be responsible for killing forty innocent people.”
Haddin said, “You had no problem dragging me to my death here.”
“The rags would’ve cut you a new throat to cough out of,” Rantle said. “No one is dying, Diogenes. Not us, and not them.”
“This isn’t easy for me,” Diogenes said, “but we don’t have another way out. Trapped in here, we’re as good as dead anyway. You heard the woman. A bunch of them were going to let her drain their lives so she could get away.
“Alright, consider which deal is better: we all stay here forever, starving and never dying, while the rest of the world is conquered by the Ragesians, and your sister’s blood is used as ink for an inquisitor’s next letter to Leska; or these people die, and we survive, and go find your sister, and take this case Mister Badgerface stole from the empress to someone who can take advantage of it. Maybe that saves more than forty lives in the long run.”
“He’s right,” Kathor said.
Haddin nodded. “This place is unnatural. It should have died long ago.”
Rantle looked to Rivereye. “You want to let them die too?”
Rivereye glanced out of the cave, at the gray lake. His old village had been along a river on the northern border between Ragesia and Shahalesti, and there had been about the same number of people. He hadn’t seen it in eight years, and now he never would, unless he got out of here. Still, his family thought he was terrible enough for working with the Ragesians. This would just prove them right.
“No,” he said. “I couldn’t do that. There needs to be another way. Maybe . . . maybe if we take a night to sleep, we’ll think of something.”
Haddin scoffed. Diogenes started to raise his voice, but Kathor put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, then looked to Rivereye.
Kathor said, “What can we think of that they haven’t already in forty years of being trapped here?”
“Maybe they’re just not creative,” Rantle said darkly. “They haven’t come up with a new song the whole time.”
“Fine,” Diogenes said. “I’ll need a few hours to figure out how to do it anyway, and by then I’ll need to sleep. If you don’t have something planned by tomorrow morning, we follow my plan, and we get out of here. Think of your sister.”
Rantle sighed and slowly put his face in his hands. Then he sat up and nodded weakly.
“Rivereye,” he said, “you want to help me?”
Rivereye nodded. He got up and followed Rantle out of the cave, leaving the others to discuss how to best get all the Seela killed. Rivereye glanced back, and saw Crystin sitting stiffly at her father’s side.
The fey woman who was directing the rest of the village to stay away stopped when Rantle spoke, and she titled her head like she was trying to hear him better. Then she closed her eyes and began to whisper. The volume of the singers and the murmuring of the wither-winged villagers faded away until all Rantle could hear was her and the crackle of the forest. She spoke in many different languages, saying just a short phrase quickly before switching.
Rantle wondered if he should be afraid of this malnourished, half-naked fairy who was using magic, but he waited for her. Her words started to blend together, and Rantle had trouble telling anything apart, but then suddenly she spoke, and her words were in clear Seren.
“Do not hold fear of us,” she said. “And also touch us not, because it hurts your flesh, and stings our will. Whatever else, do not disrupt the singers, for without them, we all shall die.”
Rantle glanced at the stage, then back at the woman. Her eyes were a vivid blend of violet and green, the only color on her, and they widened when she realized he must have understood her.
She said, “I am Tiljann. Oh I beg, just say you understand my words.”
“Um, yeah. My name’s Rantle. Are you going to hurt me?”
“No,” she said, gasping with relief. “No, you are the hope I always dreamt of. How though did you find us? Was it Etinifi? Know you how to end this bleak eternity? Can we defeat Indomitability?”
Rantle looked around at the confused, faintly hopeful faces in the crowd. He cleared his throat.
“We, ah, kinda stumbled across you by accident.”
“ ‘We’?” Tiljann asked. “Are there more who came to save our home?”
“Damn,” Rantle muttered.
The crowd began to drift back slowly as fear of Rantle as an unknown replaced their shocked curiosity. A few choked out worried questions at Tiljann, but none of them spoke Seren.
“No.” Tiljann shook her head. “We must not fear him. He’s here to help.”
The other fey seemed to understand her, though they continued to speak in their own tongue. Tiljann stepped away and touched a few at their mouth and back, whispering as she had a moment earlier to Rantle. As she did, the fey’s voices one by one shifted to Seren, and a sudden onslaught of questions came at him. He wanted to bolt in panic, but he felt too embarrassed to run when the fey already looked so frightened of him.
“Hey, everyone,” Rantle shouted. “I’m going to answer all your questions, but, uh, but my fellow diplomats aren’t going to come out until I get the word of whoever’s in charge that we will not be harmed.”
In the distance he spotted a composed-looking man, his wings concealed by a dark tattered cloak, watching from the mouth of his cave; and from a different cave, a bald battle-scarred fey man approached, holding a spear. He carried himself like a soldier, or tough town guard, but Rantle felt sure he could snap the emaciated fey’s arms like twigs if it came to a fight.
“I am in charge,” said the man with the spear, speaking with an accent similar to that of the Innenotdar refugees Rantle had met in Gate Pass, as if he was not being aided by magic. “I am Papuvin, and . . . and if you are not some trick or nightmare, then you have my pledge we’ll do no harm to you. Your knowledge of the world beyond our home is more of value than your gold.”
Rantle remembered Rivereye promising the fire beast that they would free it. He put on his most relaxed, casual smile, and chuckled.
“Sounds perfect. Send the beautiful Tiljann with me, and we’ll be back in just a minute with my fellows.”
Papuvin glowered at Tiljann for a moment, but she ignored him and moved to lead Rantle back the way he had come. Hoping he wasn’t going to provoke a fight between these people, Rantle went with her. As they left, the entire village began to chatter questions, their voices almost drowning out the song. Rantle glanced back for a moment, and saw that everyone was watching him, except for the dark-cloaked one in the distance, who had turned back for his cave.
* * *
Everyone kept their hands near to their weapons, except the woman named Tiljann, who had no weapons. But they sat together talking, and Rivereye felt almost relaxed, though the part of him that Indomitability had touched stirred unpleasantly in his heart.
All of the group Rivereye had come with sat in the same cave, along with Tiljann and the man in charge of the village, called Papuvin, and a healer who wore thick hide gloves and quietly talked with Kathor as she tended to the still-unconscious Torrent. Haddin, glowering, sat beside his daughter, who said nothing.
Diogenes and Rantle were just finishing explaining the situation in the outside world, though it was obvious a lot of it made no sense to these natives of the fire forest.
“So,” Diogenes said, “in short, the outside world is a wonderful place that I never appreciated fully until I was trapped here in this pit of hell. Now, tell us what’s going on here so we can figure out how to get free.”
Papuvin said nothing for a long moment, his silence weighing heavily against the constant sound of the singers on the shore.
“As we were born from the First Tree, as from our homeland’s breast was cut a living blade, in this our lives are bound to thee, the forest’s heart in Timbre’s glade.”
Tiljann and the healer made a motion as if they had just heard something sacred.
“We call ourselves the Seela,” Papuvin continued. “We were born from this forest before even the jen arrived, and when the forest dies, so will we. We are bound to our homeland’s fate. This has been a blessing for ages. Even now, when we are cursed, I marvel at the fortune we have had. But many of my people do not feel the same way.
“We have had no way to count time since the fire started, but I know it was long ago. Before the fire, every spring we sang the song you hear to give body to the spirit of the forest. Your people, they called her Timbre. This was the holiest of times for us.
“We learned the song from the earth, and the earth learned it from the spirit which shaped the world. With this hymn we would shape Timbre and give her flesh, and she would share her wisdom and wonder. But years before the fire came, a foreign spirit intruded upon our homeland.
“For many weeks it caused chaos. It entered the bodies of dying animals and wore them as its flesh, keeping them from dying. The forest was greatly disturbed.
“We sang for Timbre to protect us, and our song enraged the foreign spirit. While our song gave Timbre a body, it trapped this new creature in the last animal form it had taken: a stag. The creature called itself Indomitability, and it fought to be free. Timbre was a wise spirit, but not a warrior. She was slain, and the protection of our homeland was lost.
“We called upon the greatest hero of the jen we shared our home with, Anyariel. She wielded a sword that had been carved from the wood of Timbre’s own tree, once known as the living blade, and with it she defeated Indomitability. But she could not kill the creature. They fought to this lake, here. In its depths, Anyariel drove her blade through the stag’s body and pinned it to the lake bed.
“Anyariel was wounded, and she made us pledge to maintain our song, to ensure that the creature would never slip free of its body and escape to cause more havoc. Eventually she died. The jen despaired her death, and we Seela despaired Timbre’s fall. And years later, when the fire came, there was no one to protect us. The jen fled, but we could not. Still singing the song, we waited to die, to turn to ash. But we did not.
“The blade of Anyariel was the last piece of Timbre, the heart of Innenotdar. It pierced Indomitability, pierced the earth of our homeland, and through it flowed the power of this new spirit. He took Timbre’s place. We are bound to him, and he to us, and neither of us can be free.
“If we end the song, Indomitability will be free, and the forest will finally succumb, and we will die. Many of my people wish to die. I do not. Even this life is more of a blessing than oblivion.”
Papuvin said nothing more, and after a moment Diogenes spoke up.
“So either you live in torment forever, or you give up and die? I think I’d have gone with death a few decades ago.”
Papuvin shook his head. “This one here, Tiljann, is our youngest, born just before the fire. She never knew Timbre. The life she has had has not been full enough for it to end yet. I will not let it.”
“Neither will I,” Tiljann said, calmly. “Though I at least planned to try something other than waiting.”
“What’s that?” Rivereye asked.
“When we first realized the fire would not die,” Tiljann said, “many of our people gave all their power to our strongest, Etinifi the Longwalker. He fought past the fires and escaped the forest. We believe that he is even now traveling the world, seeking a way to heal our homeland.”
“Wait,” Rantle said, “so he got out? And this ‘Indomitability’ didn’t incinerate him first?”
Tiljann and Papuvin exchanged a look, their expressions bordering on shame.
Papuvin said, “We have changed since Timbre died. Our touch used to nurture life. Now it siphons it away. The Longwalker prepared for his journey by borrowing the life of many of our people. They sacrificed themselves so we might have a chance of rescue. The fire burned him, but he had many lives to spare. We can only hope he escaped.”
Diogenes said, “Do you have any other means of escape that we can’t take advantage of? Right now you’re making it sound like we’re trapped.”
“I saw a river feeding the lake,” Rantle said. “That has to come down from the mountains. Couldn’t we follow that out?”
Tiljann said, “The whole forest obeys the fire spirit. The shore here is safe, free of brush, but if ever we venture away he tries to kill us with sheets of flame. He knows that if we die, he will be free.”
Haddin started to say something, but broke off with a coughing fit. They waited for him to finish and say something, but when he finally got his cough under control he waved his hand.
“Nevermind,” he said, his voice like sandpaper. “You’re not worth yelling at.”
“Yes,” Diogenes said, “I suppose we’re not. Papuvin, could you and your women do us a kindness and give us some time to talk among ourselves?”
Rivereye saw Rantle give Diogenes an odd look, but he couldn’t guess what it meant. The Seela leader, however, nodded humbly.
“You are welcome to this cave for as long as you need it. I will join the singers. Tiljann, Epath, come. Let us give them time to accept their fate.”
The trio of Seela left the cave, and once they were out of earshot Diogenes looked around the chamber, big enough to fit the group of them lying down, but lacking any furniture or comforts.
Diogenes chuckled. “These people are really generous, aren’t they?”
“So what don’t you want them to hear?” Rantle said.
Diogenes looked down and scratched his ear. “How’s Torrent doing?”
Kathor answered, “The healer said that she’ll live, even without food, but her wounds will never heal.”
Diogenes said, “Can she die for good?”
Rivereye gasped. “What?”
“Yes,” Kathor said. “The Ragesians died when we beheaded them.”
Haddin said, “It’s good to know that I just have to cut off my head if I want to get out of here.”
“I’m not wanting us to kill ourselves,” Diogenes said.
Rantle looked from Diogenes, then out to the Seela.
“No,” he said. “You can’t-”
“Listen,” Diogenes said. He pointed out the mouth of the cave, sweeping his hand at the various Seela villagers. “These people are our enemies. We are not staying here, and as I understand things, the only way we’re getting out is to get them to stop singing their little sacred song. Then the fire monster will get free, and the forest will die like it’s supposed to. These people will die too, which means they’re not going to like us doing this. I want to know how hard it will be to kill them.”
“No,” Rantle said. “Excuse me for not wanting to be responsible for killing forty innocent people.”
Haddin said, “You had no problem dragging me to my death here.”
“The rags would’ve cut you a new throat to cough out of,” Rantle said. “No one is dying, Diogenes. Not us, and not them.”
“This isn’t easy for me,” Diogenes said, “but we don’t have another way out. Trapped in here, we’re as good as dead anyway. You heard the woman. A bunch of them were going to let her drain their lives so she could get away.
“Alright, consider which deal is better: we all stay here forever, starving and never dying, while the rest of the world is conquered by the Ragesians, and your sister’s blood is used as ink for an inquisitor’s next letter to Leska; or these people die, and we survive, and go find your sister, and take this case Mister Badgerface stole from the empress to someone who can take advantage of it. Maybe that saves more than forty lives in the long run.”
“He’s right,” Kathor said.
Haddin nodded. “This place is unnatural. It should have died long ago.”
Rantle looked to Rivereye. “You want to let them die too?”
Rivereye glanced out of the cave, at the gray lake. His old village had been along a river on the northern border between Ragesia and Shahalesti, and there had been about the same number of people. He hadn’t seen it in eight years, and now he never would, unless he got out of here. Still, his family thought he was terrible enough for working with the Ragesians. This would just prove them right.
“No,” he said. “I couldn’t do that. There needs to be another way. Maybe . . . maybe if we take a night to sleep, we’ll think of something.”
Haddin scoffed. Diogenes started to raise his voice, but Kathor put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, then looked to Rivereye.
Kathor said, “What can we think of that they haven’t already in forty years of being trapped here?”
“Maybe they’re just not creative,” Rantle said darkly. “They haven’t come up with a new song the whole time.”
“Fine,” Diogenes said. “I’ll need a few hours to figure out how to do it anyway, and by then I’ll need to sleep. If you don’t have something planned by tomorrow morning, we follow my plan, and we get out of here. Think of your sister.”
Rantle sighed and slowly put his face in his hands. Then he sat up and nodded weakly.
“Rivereye,” he said, “you want to help me?”
Rivereye nodded. He got up and followed Rantle out of the cave, leaving the others to discuss how to best get all the Seela killed. Rivereye glanced back, and saw Crystin sitting stiffly at her father’s side.
