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Dearest Readers, Many thanks for your patience with this wee tale. A thousand apologies for The River Arc not yet concluding in this chapter; some issues that need to be dealt with before we sail on. ^^
THE HIDDEN SWORD: A TALE OF BALDUR'S GATE
Book One: From the Earth | Chapter 15: Beyond the Trees
There was no tunnel, no bright light, not even darkness. Only the world around her, still there. And more alive than ever.
The grass beside her face, greener, twitching, pulsing as if breathing with tiny lungs. Cheek flat on the ground, the scent of the earth filled her nostrils, damp almost sweet, interposed by the pungency of rotting leaves blanketing the undergrowth. Above, as far as her eyes could see, the sky was at its bluest; clearer, infinite, brightness near blinding. Even the wind with the leaves above her quiet and still, yet to her skin and ears like the light touch and whisper of another being. Her own breath, pausing in between eternities, a hollow echo inside yet deafening in her own ears.
All the world was still and alive, while time stood unmoving and stretched itself into the endless horizon beyond the trees.
What it would be like to pass on; this must be it. Of the infinite possibilities, the young elf took comfort from knowing she wouldn't go the ways that she feared – namely from something stupid or embarrassing.
Such as from choking to death on a piece of hard bread because one had been too greedy and hungry to chew first. Haste was justified because it had been pilfered from another's plate.
Or plunging to one's death after startling a goat then getting butted off a cliff in retaliation. After all, it was old and limping; who could have expected the ancient thing to still have it in him? Thank the gods for that ledge below and tree root jutting out between the cracks of the rockface.
Or possibly breaking one's neck after blindly leaping off a barn roof without a harness or anything to catch one's fall because Brother Karan's new assistant was already climbing up the ladder and waving a cleaver after having screamed upon finding a human head floating inside a jar on his desk. It was no true head of course – merely a face ripped out of an old discarded oil portrait then wrapped around a cabbage, the murky well water helping in the disguise. To their surprise, Brother Karan found that one hilarious; bless his sweet serious soul. A sprained ankle, thunder and brimstone from the Master of Tomes, and three nights without supper were worth seeing the smile beneath those perpetually smudged spectacles.
Those, and countless more.
And through it all, Gorion had admonished her, though with unending patience and gentleness as if one transgression after another couldn't have been the worst. Well then, what could be the worst? Had she strength, the elf would have raised her head to look at the body that lay a little beyond her feet.
"Sorry," she whispered, lips half-moving. If only there was some way to write it down for her foster father, and perhaps to her mother. Wherever she was now. What if her parents were already there on the other side, and Gorion only couldn't bear to say so himself? In her mind's eye, Alianna's imagined face gazed at her from beyond the trees. She could almost see her mother now, not daring to imagine them sharing the same face, instead picturing her a storybook noble lady, elegant, graceful, except with pointed ears like hers.
A pair of worn and scruffy boots stomped into her view, stopping inches from her face. Irse's eyes rolled up to regard the other.
This one was definitely not her mother.
Shar-Teel snorted and crouched down, peering at her with indifferent disbelief.
"Eh, still alive after that? What's wrong with you?"
Irse could only grimace in response. A quick glance at the woman's hand and she saw Shar-Teel's own sword covered with blood, no doubt belonging to the mercenary who had gone with them. The captain sheathed the blade and grabbed the elf by the shoulders, pulling her up from the ground with some effort. Around them the freed slaves gathered with their grimy sweaty faces bearing what could only be described as relief.
"Put some life in those legs. I'm not dragging you all the way to the ship," Shar-Teel groused.
"I'll help," one of the older girls volunteered and stepped forward, the one who had spoken to Irse in the cargo hold. Propped between her and the captain, the elf hung like a limp shirt drying on the lines except she was still soaked in her own blood.
Through the fog growing in her mind, Irse remembered. "Teacher's sword… must take it back," she mumbled.
Shar-Teel gestured with her head at one of the children. "Get her sword," she commanded.
A lass, about Irse's age, obeyed and retrieved the katana, holding it by the hilt with only her fingers and as far as she could from herself, apparently squeamish at the blood coating the blade.
"Lose it and you lose your teeth!" the captain yapped at her who flinched and clutched the sword more securely this time with both hands.
And then Irse remembered something else. "Safana… look in her clothes…"
Shar-Teel balked. "Just 'cause I hate men doesn't mean I swing the other way either, more so with those weird kinks; so don't ask me to feel up her bloody corpse."
Had she the strength, Irse would have rolled her eyes. "No. Her belt. Might be something important."
The captain barked an order to salvage the Calishite's girdle. Two of the children scooted over to where the body lay and worked together to unfasten and take it.
"Can we go now, Your Highness? Or do you want us to pick roses for your carriage too?" the woman asked impatiently to which the elf nodded weakly.
Their group had not gone far when she heard voices from beyond the trees calling for her. They're awake! Too weary to look up, however, peripheral vision allowed her a glimpse of Okami and Dotie approaching them. Never had she been relieved to see the crabby dwarf but dreading the sight of her Teacher.
"I will take her." His voice was terse.
Force of habit made her sneak a peek at the lass holding the katana and wonder if there was some way to signal her to hide it out of Okami's sight. He must be dismayed at waking up and finding his sword gone, his student's word broken. Perhaps if she feigned being extra hurt then he might go easy on the lecture later.
Shar-Teel chuckled casually as she and the other girl eased the elf over to the blacksmith. "Relax. Kid's fine. Look, she's… not yet stiff."
"Yeah, Teacher. I'm good," Irse slurred as she raised her head and grinned at him. She attempted to laugh off her current state. Instead she coughed and sputtered, then clung to his shoulder as she threw up on the grass beside them. Her vomit looked black, wet, and crumbly.
The captain exclaimed with disgust, "Sard it! Are you eating our coffee grounds too?" Shar-Teel narrowed her eyes at Dotie. "Have we got any?"
"Nae, but ye'd think elves be pukin' rainbows an' unicorns instead," the dwarven woman remarked in amazement.
"No, that is already blood," Okami said heatedly as he scooped her up in his arms. Without wasting another word, he turned and sprinted swiftly to return to the ship, carrying his apprentice as if she were no burden. Above his head, the elf watched the trees and the sky speeding past. Shar-Teel was at their side, keeping pace as if determined not to be outrun by a man.
Run through with your sword. Blade came out at the back. Words she had heard coming from the captain, but what he thought of that, she would not know for Okami responded instead with urgency, "In our quarters, in my pack are bandages and wound medicine. Hurry, I beg you!"
Surprisingly, Shar-Teel didn't argue back, merely nodding and sprinting ahead of them. Not long, they reached the shore where the boat was moored. Nells was already standing albeit bowed and clutching at her side in pain and not fully recovered.
Okami set her down at the grass, keeping her seated and upright. Shar-Teel arrived with her Teacher's pack and pulled out the rolls of bandages and a pouch. Limping somewhat, Nells hastened over and brought them the vial of healing potion.
"I drank a few more drops myself but there's a bit left," the half-elf said.
As Okami raised Irse's head and steadied her jaw, the first mate aimed the contents straight into the elf's throat. The shock of wet on dry mouth made her gag, most of the liquid sputtering out of her lips.
"Wasted!" Shar-Teel hissed.
"Sorry," the elf apologized.
All the world melded into a flurry of movement and blur. Dimly aware of the tunic being pulled over her head and leaving her with only the cotton bandeau that she had taken to wrapping around her chest, wincing as cloth stiff with dried blood already adhering to the broken skin was peeled away. What felt like dust was sprinkled on the open wounds, the san qi undoubtedly. Abdomen swathed with bandages with a few strips looped around her left shoulder to secure the gauze on the shoulder blade while on her arms, the results of the duel were likewise cleaned.
By then, the rest of the children have arrived. Shar-Teel snatched the Calishite's belt from one of them and tore open the pouch. She pulled out the palm-sized journal and a small bottle, squinting at the label.
"Is it a healing potion too?" Nells asked hopefully.
Shar-Teel's eyes widened with revulsion. "Horse Oil Beauty Ointment for the Face," she said and tossed the bottle to the side. "Damned bitch would rather die pretty than live ugly."
The first mate's shoulders sagged with disappointment. "At least we got her patched up. She should be all right."
Guts were no longer in danger of leaking out, however within the hour she was shivering violently howbeit sweating despite the cool air. She shut her eyes tightly as a warm calloused hand rested on her forehead.
"A fever," Okami said. A damp cloth was placed on her forehead. And they waited.
Dimly she heard Shar-Teel recounting what had happened to them after they left the ship. Their group had stopped at the clearing when Safana ordered her guard to wait for the others. He had returned to report on seeing the elf, alone and clearly coming after them. The Calishite had everyone move on ahead while she stayed to deal with Irse herself.
"Thought she was planning something. That woman never did like the kid."
Had she the strength, Irse would have snickered at the captain's observation. Safana did like her after all for what her Tel'Quessir innards could give the woman.
They hadn't gone far when Shar-Teel had told the guard to stay put with the slaves. The captain went back, in time to witness everything, itching to jump in and avenge herself on her employer, unable because of the geas. Then with Safana's death, Shar-Teel had immediately felt herself freed, describing the sensation as a great weight leaving her body and separating itself from her chest. That was when she decided to head back and kill the remaining mercenary, caught off-guard for assuming the bond was still in effect.
As Shar-Teel described the confrontation, the elf closed her eyes, no longer hearing the words. Rather, feeling once more the sliding of steel against flesh instead of wood as it drew free; seeing again the blade arching across the air in front of her and the woman's eyes the moment the razor edge met the side of her throat. And what could she have seen in the elf's eyes at that instant as well? No one will ever know.
The world swayed around her, prompting the urge to heave once more. Again, bile and crumbly blood dribbled on the grass. Finally too weak to prop herself up to vomit, Irse settled down, labored breath now rapid and shallow.
"From the looks of it, I don't think she'll -, "Shar-Teel began but was cut off as Nells grasped her arm with an admonishing look. The captain grunted and rose to her feet, the first mate doing likewise. The two women cast worried looks at her Teacher and walked away, Shar-Teel hollering at someone over something else. A thin blanket was pulled over her and tucked in at her sides.
"Rest for now. In the morning, all will be well," he assured her though his tone intimated otherwise.
Hours waved by, slipping in and out between the waking world and a haze; nonetheless aware of the man in a sitting-kneel beside her, untiring in his vigil. Head moved restlessly even as her own breath came in between lengthy pauses. She groaned as every joint ached, growing more restive and clawing at the blanket beneath her, fingers raking at the ground through the rough cloth.
"I want to see my mother, my father," Irse suddenly rambled, squirming, feeling herself suffocated by the threadbare blanket and the bandages.
"Save your strength," her Teacher hushed as he gently righted the blanket where it had come loose from her.
"But I pray every night... no one hears, nothing," she continued in her delirium.
At her words, Okami paused as if seized by a sudden thought. He rushed to where his pack lay on the ground near them. Irse spied him as he rummaged through his things, noting how this was the only time she had seen him near frantic. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to have found it for he tossed the bag away and hurried back to her side. And whatever it was, it must have been small for his fist was closed tightly as if in fear of losing it.
"Wolves and dogs, and all manner of beasts have I seen pass on to the fields beyond, not a few by my own hand. Not this fox, I ask but if only he will hear," her Teacher murmured as if in a trance.
"If who will what?"
Instead of answering, he laid a hand on her forehead, closed his eyes and bowed his own head, whispering a desperate wordless recitation.
Irse furrowed her brows as she tried to read the voiceless words on his lips but gave up. Sleep and weariness whispered at her and it was a call that couldn't be ignored.
It was to darkness that she opened her eyes, and to an odd feeling of peace as if yesterday had never been at all. First impulse was to rise, nevertheless too drained that she settled for watching the sky and the stars, the dying embers of the campfire around which everyone else lay sprawled as they dreamed and snored, Okami sitting cross-legged beside her, and behind him the trees and their shadowy forms.
And standing next to her on the other side of the bedroll, a stranger.
Startled, Irse opened her mouth to raise the alarm but found her tongue too parched and her strength too little to get up by herself and rouse her Teacher. She peered at the others, but they were too far and too deep in their sleep. Helpless, Irse looked up at the intruder.
An elf, and the most beautiful being in her sight. Tall even by human standards yet lithe and refined as the feyfolk, hair of spun gold and flowing free, features finely sculpted. Garbed in silver mail and a blue cloak upon the shoulders, twin swords sheathed at the side.
The visitor went down on one knee as if to take a closer look at her, giving the girl a glimpse of the intricate patterns on the mail shirt – collar and shoulder plates fashioned as silver leaves, and on the breast an engraving of a long and short sword between a quarter moon and a full moon.
Briefly, Irse wondered if she had seen the symbol somewhere, somewhere dark and far away. No matter, this must be a mere vision, a dream. With the first thought in mind, Irse ventured.
"Are you my mother?"
The stranger laughed, opened the mouth to respond but paused, seemingly deducing that the young elf knew not how to speak in their own tongue.
"No, dearest child. I am not your mother." A reply in Common, a masculine voice, commanding notwithstanding benevolent, if sunlight itself could speak.
"Oh," Irse exhaled with defeat. "My father, then?"
The smile faded from the elven man's lips, his eyes sad and compassionate.
"I would that it was, but then you would not be here." He leaned closer, an inquisitive look on the golden face as if the very normal girl he was examining was even stranger than his otherworldly presence.
"Curious that you could perceive me through the veil of mortal eyes," he remarked.
Irse furrowed her brows. How could anyone overlook him in the darkness when he glowed, nay, shone; granted it was as if the sun willingly confined itself in a crystal vessel lest it blind and burn.
"Well… 'course I can. You're… shiny."
He laughed once more.
"Why are you here? Are you lost?"
Were she in full grasp of her wits, Irse would have thumped herself for posing a silly question to a handsome man. On the other hand, it was a logical one, for how else could someone as regal as this elfin prince end up in the wilderness next to a smelly river crossed by crazy riverboat folk and slavers.
"A sword… a sword called to me and pleaded for another that had been broken. Though not of my people, I hearkened to him," he replied, his eyes darting to the side.
Irse wondered if he was looking at her Teacher, but the elven man turned his sight upon her once more.
"And you must not waste that boon by squandering what hours remain of your rest."
"I'm not sleepy anymore. I'm hungr-," Irse protested as she scrambled to get up but was cut off as the elven man smiled kindly, raised a hand and with a slender finger, swiftly poked her between the eyes. Again she fell back into dreamless sleep, the memory of his light and laughter fading to black.
Dawn was still an hour or more away, but Irse had woken, feeling better rested, watching and waiting, wrapped with a blanket and sitting upon the grass. Her Teacher slept on, sitting cross-legged and head bowed, no doubt exhausted from holding vigil through the night. The elf wondered how he could stay in such position for hours and not tumble or crumple down. Must be a Kozakuran feat.
Tempting as it was to shake him awake and greet him with the good news, but then he deserved to rest. That, and the lecture of taking his sword without his permission could wait a little longer.
And then her stomach rumbled.
Startled, Okami raised his head, eyes hazy with the fog of sleep, looking around and at the sky as if wondering if it had been thunder and coming rain.
"Nobody's up yet. Are there leftovers from supper? You know… while I wait for breakfast?" Irse greeted him.
He stared at her, astonished.
"Didn't mean to wake you, Teacher. But it looks like my stomach's got its own mouth now."
Okami stretched the stiffness out of his legs, then knelt beside his apprentice. He reached out a hand towards her. The elf knew what he was thinking and pulled back the blanket from herself, revealing the bandaged abdomen, the bleached cotton stained with dried blood. He picked a knife from among the things strewn beside them and cut through the cloth with care.
Irse peered down. A second mouth indeed. The scar, ridged like pale lips, evidence of a wound fully healed.
Not the first time that Irse had seen folks already bandaged up and seemingly all right, suddenly succumb to whatever unseen hurts coursed through their bodies – as in with that night when the bandits attacked the merchant caravan. The san qi did its work to stem the bleeding, but it was the internal damage and the blood loss that nearly did her in. Yet somehow, she had pulled through.
The blacksmith unraveled the rest of the bindings to check on her back where she had been stabbed in the upper shoulder and down where the blade had come through; his lack of exclamation a sign that the other wounds had likewise healed on their own.
It had to be good news and yet he said nothing, and the silence weighed on her. Where would he start? Breaking her promise not to take his sword? Leaving them behind while they were unconscious and vulnerable? Her recklessness that could have endangered the slaves even more?
Finally he was done gathering the soiled bandages. He leaned back and looked at her, remaining wordless.
"I had the strangest dream," Irse began as she wrapped herself with the blanket, hoping to ease the oppressive silence, and proceeded to tell him of the vision of the elven man who came to her in the night, who spoke to her of a sword in a riddle.
"And he wore this silver armor with a sort of crest – two blades between a couple of moons. Ah! I forgot to ask him for his name! He was only a dream, I know, but I wished I had asked," she said with regret.
"I know who he is."
Irse stared at him, puzzled.
"His name is Tethrin Veralde."
She idled a silver medallion against her palm, fingertips examining the engravings on the surface - a long and short sword between a quarter moon and a full moon. Okami had handed it to her earlier and Irse had tried staring at it for as long as she could in hopes of prying some dusty memory from the mental shelves.
On the other hand, the only memory she could recall was of the dream and an hour ago when her Teacher had told her of the owner of the symbol - Tethrin Veralde, a minor power among the Seldarine, patron of bladesingers and swordsmanship. The Shining One and Master of Blades.
Do you not know of him? The blacksmith had quizzed her, genuinely surprised at the young elf's ignorance of her People's faith. For growing up in the care of humans at Candlekeep, she was surrounded by the worship of Ohgma and Deneir by the most of the Avowed, or Mystra and Azuth by the arcane practitioners, or Lathander, Ilmater, and Tymora by the laborers and other residents. It may seem odd that her foster father never tried to convert her to any of the human deities. However, now that she thought more of it, such was consistent with his principle of freedom of will.
Every now and then, she did utter a quick prayer to them. A plea to Ohgma for when she needed a solution to Brother Karan's problem sums during lessons – much were at stake in getting them correctly, namely a piece of sweet for each correct answer.
A thanks to Mystra for not giving her a shred of arcane talent – sparing her from what could have been years and perhaps even centuries of endless lessons with stuffy stodgy mages.
And a praise to Lathander for the sunrise because it was another morning, another breakfast.
Even the elven merchants had been private about their devotions, merely telling her of the Seldarine's benevolence and how each of them had their areas of power and influence; that perhaps one day, Irse herself would heed a call from one of them.
How had her Teacher known of one of the elven pantheon? Okami told her of a day when Ilphas commissioned him to replace the skeins in their wagon. The blacksmith, unsurprisingly, had taken notice of the elf's silvery blade and had praised its make. Of differing races yet sharing a common preference for weapons, the two had fallen into an easy conversation.
Irse smirked. Men and their swords.
Unsurprisingly, Ilphas had boasted of the bladesingers, legendary swordsmen of their People, skilled in both magic and blade. He himself had not the calling for the profession, one that would have taken decades if not centuries of mastery; nevertheless, he revered their patron.
On the night of the bandit attack, Okami had found the medallion in Ilphas' hand, a pendant bored through with a leather cord, perhaps held as a final prayer as he and his wife lay dying of their injuries. Okami had saved it from the funeral pyre, meaning to give it to Irse, thinking she was their daughter but had forgotten when she had confirmed otherwise. Only then last night as she herself had slipped into delirium did he remember and dared to petition the god on her behalf.
"We were worried," Nells said as she sat down next to the young elf.
"I should have listened to you. Maybe if I had waited instead."
"Don't feel bad about it. Everything always turns out for the best."
"Even praying to a god of another people?"
The first mate held out an open palm and she obliged. Nells inspected the medallion, raising an eyebrow at an uncleaned spot of blood. Irse scratched her nose. Could have been Ilphas' or hers.
"Some say he's a god of healing as well" the half-elf supposed.
"I can imagine why. Him being the patron of swordsmen, he'd have to deal with accidental stabbings all the time."
"Then it's fortunate that Mister Okami knew of him," the first mate chuckled and returned the pendant. "It's rare though not unheard of for N'Tel'Quess to petition the Seldarine. This reminds me of a story my father used to tell when I was a child, many years ago."
As the tale went, an archaeologist from Hillsfar traveled into Cormanthor on an expedition to study abandoned elven ruins in the forest. Despite being human, he was keen on learning more of the ancient empire of Cormanthyr, going as far as to procure a wardstone to protect him from any fey magic guarding the sacred sites, even taking his young daughter along in the hopes of kindling in her a fledgling interest in his studies. Unfortunately, the pair of woodsmen they hired to guide them through the forest had other interests in mind.
After days of arduous trekking and finding merely broken standing stones and no great treasure, the men had argued over payment, trading words which eventually became blows. The archaeologist had struck and unintentionally killed one of the guides, and he in turn was cut down by the other in retaliation.
Fearing for her life, his daughter fled deeper into the forest, pursued by the man who would not have wanted a living witness to his deed. In desperation though unknowing of who to pray to, she called on whoever was the god of the elven woods. True enough, her earnest plea was heard for the very forest itself came to life to help her.
"Trees walked and fought for her, like men?" Irse asked with wonder.
"Not treants. Greenwarders. Shrubs enchanted by elves before most of them retreated to Evermeet, tasked to guard the borders of the woods and sacred places within Cormanthor. Made of nothing more than branches and twigs, however these creatures stand and walk upright as their elf masters," Nells clarified.
A terrific windstorm had surged through the forest and shook the boughs of every tree, the greenwarders rising from the very undergrowth. By their own bizarre forms and fey magic, the creatures fended off the pursuer who was seized and dragged away in the jaws of a great bear that roared and came out of the trees, his fate gruesome and certain.
The greenwarders escorted her until they reached Elventree unmolested, where she was warmly received. There she learned from the priests that it was Rillifane Ralathil, guardian of elven woodlands, who had come to her aid. Out of gratitude, she vowed to serve the Leaflord all of her days, becoming a ranger and protector of the forest, settling at Elventree, even taking an elf for a mate.
"You see, that child was my grandmother," Nells concluded with pride. "And human she may be in this life, I know I will see her again in Arvandor."
The first mate squeezed the girl's shoulder and got up to join the rest of the crew surveying the boat for damages.
Irse exhaled with relief, gladdened by the tale and grateful that her Teacher was in no danger of being struck by a lightning bolt for blasphemy.
Thank you, Lord of Swords and Stabbity People. The young elf whispered and grinned cheekily. For keeping her from croaking prematurely.
She pressed the medallion to her collarbone. Most of all, for heeding her Teacher's plea.
Of course she was happy to be up and breathing about, yet oddly, she felt more grateful that one of the Seldarine had cared to listen to someone not of The People to help someone who didn't even know them but should have.
She cast her eyes at where Okami and the crew were preoccupied with patching up the hull as best as they could. Likewise, the former slaves were busy taking out whatever valuables and equipment that could be salvaged from the boat while the children played hand games among themselves. Meanwhile, gagged and roped against a nearby tree, the slaver watched the idyll in front of him with bored disinterest.
Though mostly intact, the vessel was beached on the sand bank. Their best hope for getting it adrift on its own was months away when the autumn rains would come and raise the Chionthar's waters enough to float the ship. The only other option would be less of a wait but more costly – hire a barge in Berdusk to come in and tow the boat all the way to the dry dock for repairs. Not to mention taking on at least a days' worth of travel on foot to reach the town.
Midday meal was prepared and served by the older girls. Everyone sat on the grass, spirits vastly improved by the summer sun and the breeze wafting through the river. As hungry mouths eagerly slurped the hot stew, Shar-Teel announced her intention to pack up and set off for Berdusk right after their meal.
"Already? Could we wait, maybe a day more, Captain?" Irse suggested.
Shar-Teel glared at the young elf, clearly finding the idea unreasonable.
"You look well enough now to chow down an entire horse on your own," the woman sneered, then unexpectedly sniggered. "No offense, but… whatever, I don't care."
Irse pursed her lips, wracking her mind for a reply. Okami stepped in.
"The wounds have healed of their own accord, but to force her to march too soon might undo what miracle the Seldarine had done upon her," he said. His voice carried no accusation, nonetheless the captain scowled defensively while the first mate fidgeted and looked away.
"Noodle-stick's right," Dotie piped up.
Everyone looked at the dwarf, surprised at the unexpected agreeableness. Their combined stares made the half-duergar uncomfortable, but she squared her jaw and huffed, "We can be usin' one more day t' give the hull one more look-over 'cause our soddin' repairman be a bit too good at wreckin' our boat!"
Okami smiled and nodded at the dwarf who looked flustered at the acknowledgment of her helping.
"Fine! If you want to dally some more that much, we're setting off tomorrow first thing after breakfast. Anyone who wants to stay beyond that can go sard themselves with the mast," Shar-Teel conceded.
Irse raised the bowl to her lips, concealing a relieved grin.
Nighttime came and everyone had retired early for tomorrow's trek.
There were many things to be grateful for, chief among them now was that the ground was not as solid as rock-hewn floor, ideal for quietly dragging a metal spade across a good distance. She had come this path only once before, but Irse knew she would never forget the way for the rest of her life. It wasn't long before she found the cross-marks on the trees and eventually the body in the clearing.
But one thing to not be grateful for was the inborn heightened senses which amplified everything she wished she didn't have to be aware of at that moment – the overpowering odor of day-old rot, erasing all memory of the perfumed oil Safana had doused upon herself; the bloody and torn handiwork of wolves and carrion birds which could not be hidden from her sight even by the dim light from the moon only halfway to waxing to its full face. Irse steeled herself for the task.
How does one dig a shallow grave? And she had forgotten to take a blanket with her to cover the body. At least the unfortunate sparrows at the Keep that didn't survive the cold of winter were buried with their own shrouds – Imoen would gather scraps of fabric to swaddle them in while Irse shoveled at the earth beside the trees at the orchard. Then a few words and sometimes a skin of water for imagined wine poured over the tiny pile of pebbles to toast the feathered dead. Solemn but only for pretend.
Not this time. Irse grinned ruefully.
The elf walked around the Calishite, measuring with the span of the tool at how long and wide the hole would need to be. It would be like how she used to form a vegetable plot, as one of the laborers had taught her. Except this instance, she was putting something beneath the ground instead of above. Right beside the body, Irse marked the soil. She raised the spade, straining at the effort.
"Allow me to help," Okami said, stepping out of the shadows and himself carrying another of the tool.
She lowered the spade, unsurprised that he had followed her.
"I have to. I can't let father see this," Irse mumbled, attempting to reason with him and herself, coughing deliberately to banish the imagined disappointment in Gorion's face and maintain the calm in her own voice.
"He is not here to condemn. Even if he were present now, I am certain he would not," the blacksmith said.
With his strength and their combined labors, the hole was burrowed out faster than she could have done by herself. Using the spades, they rolled the body over to the open pit, quickly covering with the dug-up earth.
Master and student stood at the foot of the grave, leaning upon their spades to rest.
"What was it like?" Irse asked. "Your first time?"
"I was younger than you are now when I first took the life of another man."
"How could you have been a soldier at that age?" she questioned. At the very least, the Watchers wouldn't take in youths younger than seventeen.
"Without any family, my childhood was spent as a servant to the caretakers of a shrine. I had thought it my life's path to follow the priests until the local lord required tribute of able men for his army. Not wanting to surrender their sole and youngest acolyte, I was given instead. Through five springs I served as bearer of water and hewer of wood, apprentice to the smiths who forged the weapons, learning the way of the sword until they sent me to my first battle."
He added pensively, "To be forthright, I have no recollection of the first man that I had slain, as to cut down each foe in my path had been the only reigning thought. But then, I remember clearly the moment when I finally ceased."
Okami straightened himself and cast his gaze at the sky. "It had begun to rain. That moment I thought not of yesterday neither of tomorrow. Only aware and feeling the rain soaking through my armor, the stench of blood everywhere, the weight of the sword in my hand, my own breath burning in my chest, and the silence of the departed around me. I realized then that I was not dead, but alive."
Irse raised her head and pondered, likewise remembering the stillness, the color, the feel of the world when she too lay in that clearing. The present and the infinite.
"Perhaps, the lesson for you is not the acceptance of your own death," Okami said as he reached over and took the spade from her hands.
"But to accept the death of another."
Irse turned her eyes to him as he walked away. In the dim moonlight he seemed a ghost, a pale specter fading into the night. Then she likewise left the clearing and followed him back to the ship.
Not a few scribblings here:
Yes, horse oil for the face is a thing. Just thought it not too far off that Calishites would have wanted to use every part of their precious Calimites when no longer fit to go "war-horsing". Though in our own realms, Hokkaido is the one best known for horse oil instead.
"Are you my mother" was a nod to my favorite line in A Song of Ice and Fire series where the character Beric Dondarrion, having been resurrected several times but losing more of his memories in each instance, had asked the very manly brawl-mongering priest who revived him, "Are you my mother, Thoros?"
Ah-ah, I know it looked like we pulled a Seldarine Ex Machina, but without a healer in the group it seemed doubtful that even a Bhaalspawn would survive blood loss and sepsis from a ruptured intestine. Unless they're Abdel Adrian who has troll-like regenerative abilities. ;P
Why Tethrin? Reasons… Elven Reasons! XD
And the River Arc's conclusion in the next chapter. Pinkie promise.