Elfwood is the worlds largest SciFi & Fantasy community.
- 149235 members, 2 online now.
- 13096 site visitors the last 24 hours.
|
Stories / Stories / 
James K Bowers / Text 25 of 27 / And When He Looked Back (WyvProj4)
"And When He Looked Back (WyvProj4)" by James K Bowers
SciFi/Fantasy text 25 out of 27 by James K Bowers. ←Previous - Next→
| Silva's master assassin returns in this sixth tale in the 'Scorpion' series... This piece was written as my contribution to both 'Wyverns Project 4' (created by Emilie Finn and Lindsey Butler) and 'The Project'. Thank you, Emilie & Lindsey, for inviting me to participate in the First Anniversary Edition of the Wyverns Project. Let me also express my gratitude for the priceless wisdom, guidance, and encouragement I received from Deborah J Smith (my barometer), Inger Marie Hognestad (my compass), and Jamie A Hughes (my carpenter's level), without whom I would still be deeply mired in doubt, confusion, and irksome grammar and punctuation glitches... |
   |
--- And When He
Looked Back ---
The
night sky was cloudless, and a warm autumn breeze danced northward along
its unseen pathway. The moon, though bright and full, painted
the world with her unimaginative palette of dark grey and darker grey."You haven't journeyed so far from Silva in years, Scorpion," observed the blind scout. A thin, dark cloth covered his ruined eyes but did nothing to hide the raw, sun-blistered skin of his face. When there was no reply, the scout released an acquiescent sigh and continued. "A trek of two weeks and all of it behind us but for a few remaining days. It is a sad thing to think that in such a short time we shall again see the lights of the city." The unseeing scout then paused before amending, "Well, you will, at any rate."
As he had expected, the scout again heard no reply.
A gentle yet playful gust scampered by, carrying with it a whispered susurrus of brittle leaves and dry grass. It teased and tugged at the edges of Scorpion's cloak as if to remind him that winter would soon arrive. Even so, the weather had been unexpectedly mild for weeks. Scorpion certainly had no complaints regarding the unseasonable warmth. The pleasant climate had been a small but very welcome comfort during his pilgrimage.
"So, you're no more the conversationalist today than yesterday, I see," goaded the scout.
The steady pace Scorpion maintained put minutes and miles behind him on a trail well worn by hooves and the wheels of trade caravans. Twice during the night, he had passed encamped merchants, their wagons and tents forming temporary villages. Guardsmen paced the perimeters of their camps -- mercenaries, each and every one - willing to risk life and limb only to the limit of the gold they might earn. Dead men spend no gold, so the extent of their devotion was plainly evident to Scorpion. He recognized them for what they truly were: merely prostitutes, feigning protection as convincingly as The Brass Dragon's painted ladies feigned passion. The assassin knew it was all an act performed only for the satisfaction of a paying customer and smiled grimly at the irony. Love and loyalty, it appeared to Scorpion, were commodities that could be sold but never purchased.
The tent of the caravan master would be at the center of each camp, protected by one or two more guards. These sentinels, perhaps more skilled or experienced, were surely more generously rewarded than the pickets at the outskirts of the encampment. Again, the charade was only that, and the hidden truth of the master's personal guard was no mystery. As he knew the common sentinels for what they were, Scorpion also knew these "elite" guardsmen for what they were: expensive prostitutes.
As if tracking the assassin's very thoughts, the scout made yet another attempt at conversation. "You're thinking of the past again, aren't you? Haven't I told you before, Scorpion? There's no changing it..."
They traveled then in silence: Bahrgathi's long-dead scout and the assassin who had left him as food for the vultures.
Scorpion stopped for a brief rest when he reached the Stone Bridge of the Ephrassar - timeless legacy of the Urrudauri, a race of giants long extinct. Unlike their marvelous bridge, the Urrudauri had been less fit for survival. Over the ages they had become mere wisps of memory, forgotten save for mention of them in myths and tales for children. Sages and wise men frequently speculated reasons why the Urrudauri chose this site to erect such a majestic monument, a silent tribute to their ingenuity. Scorpion had crossed the Bridge many times, each time in awe of the precise fit of the massive blocks of grey-green stone found only in the ancient quarries of Gallek-Miar. That these ponderous blocks had somehow been transported here from a quarry leagues distant was indisputable. But the methods, techniques, and technologies the Urrudauri had employed were lost to antiquity, now only the spark for scholarly debate. The great engineering secrets of the Urrudauri remained locked in the grey-green stone. Here, where the River Ephrassar was wide but shallow, the great stone columns and beams spanned from bank to bank, forming a bridge wide enough for five wagons abreast.
Often, on either shore, a caravan master would decide to make camp. Many years ago, on a warm and clear summer night, in an age when bandit lords were bolder, one such caravan had camped on the far bank. Many years ago, on a warm and clear summer night, the winds of chance changed the course of a young boy's life.
Scorpion stared ahead -- across the river, into the night -- and the years were lost in the blackness, carried slowly away by the sluggish currents and eddies of the Ephrassar. Time became as meaningless as a shadow snared in the web of midnight. Yesterday became today, and today became but one of many futures yet undreamt.
The boy's name was Rabbit, not because it was really his name, but because he was, even at the tender age of fourteen, an excellent tracker, hunter, and forager. Her name was Elysse, and that couldn't have been her true name either because she was an angel.
They sat on opposite sides of the communal campfire as waves of heat and smoke rose from the crackling orange flames. The road-weary merchants and their families had all gathered around the fire -- eating, talking, drinking, and relaxing after the long hours of travel. Rabbit, whose quiet ways did not belie his nickname, was all but invisible as he sat near his adoptive parents, Kelsus, a seller of rugs, and Tarlia, weaver of wondrous tapestries. Elysse sat near her father, a respected purveyor of finely crafted precious metals. Her long braids were dark -- almost as dark as her eyes -- and the light from the campfire caressed her features, guarding her beauty against the darkness of the night. Their eyes met.
Elysse smiled at him through the blaze, and he felt the heat of his own blood, warmer than any flame, as it rushed to his cheeks. The boy smiled back -- then looked away, his unshielded soul unable to long withstand the direct gaze of an angel. After a brief time, however, Rabbit fought and won the battle with his shyness.
And when he looked back, she was gone.
His eyes, hunter-keen, swiftly picked out her shape moving away from the campfire's ring of light and warmth. Beside her was another, and he knew that shape, too -- Araval, son of a lieutenant in the master's guard. The lad, only three years Rabbit's senior, already had the brash demeanor and crude manners of his father. He watched in silence as they receded into the darkness of the outlying tents.
Rabbit loathed the young mercenary. Araval, it seemed, made the most of every available opportunity to make Rabbit miserable. And now this toying with Elysse -- it wasn't that he was jealous; he just didn't want to watch as Araval crushed her heart and spirit. Still, there was hope. It would not be long at all before Araval could command a salary of his own. He was arrogant and boastful. That, and his modest skill with a sword, would be all Araval needed to convince an unwitting merchant of his worth. With luck, thought Rabbit, his and Araval's paths would soon part.
Elysse would not be back to the campfire and Rabbit's day would begin before the sun. With nothing of worth or interest to keep him from his small reed mat and woolen blanket, Rabbit slipped silently away to the darkness by Kelsus' wagon. With the campfire din muted by distance and the River Ephrassar murmuring soft lullabies, Rabbit curled up in his blanket. The night air was crisp and Rabbit's weary eyes closed. His last waking thoughts were filled with images of Elysse -- her eyes -- her smile...
In the distance, a solitary scout counted wagons and campfires and guards. He scratched the stubble on his chin, and then, with an almost inaudible grunt of satisfaction, he faded unnoticed into the night.
Morning arrived as a hint of pink faintly gleaming on the eastern horizon. Most would not yet be willing to call it morning, but Rabbit had his daily chores. Everyone did. The caravan was a taskmaster more harsh and unrelenting than any single individual. Everyone needed to eat, even if it were not a full meal, for many miles would be traveled before the wagons halted for the night. The horses and draft beasts needed tending. The tents needed to be taken down, kettles and cooking utensils stowed. The wagons needed to be checked, hitched to the beasts, and marshaled into line for the day's journey. To the casual eye, a caravan breaking camp would appear horribly disorganized, much as an anthill kicked by a mischievous child. But, appearances are often deceiving.
Rabbit's day began, as always, with hard work, but it was of a sort he enjoyed. Someday in the future, he would take his own place as a merchant trader -- he felt it with all the certainty of a young man's heart. After seeing to Breeze, his stepfather's horse, Rabbit readied the pair of oxen, affectionately named Snort and Scuff. He was hitching the oxen to the wagon when Elysse appeared, startling Rabbit if not the oxen.
"Good morning, Rabbit," she said with a giggle. "I didn't mean to make you jump..."
"Elysse... uh... good morning."
"Here... let me help with that," she offered.
"Thanks. It's all right. I've got it," replied Rabbit as he worked a buckle with unusually clumsy fingers. He couldn't remember when fastening a buckle had made him sweat so. "Your parents are probably angry as wet cats that you aren't helping them."
"They won't miss me for a few minutes more -- they sent me to return Tinker Anzeer's mallet. I just needed to talk to you."
"Talk to me? You sure you've got the right person?"
"Don't be silly. Look. We'll be in Silva day after tomorrow."
"Not likely, Elysse. It will take a little longer than that. "
"Doesn't matter -- anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about. Do you have any plans, Rabbit? I mean, will your parents give you a little free time to shop the market square? My folks won't let me wander the city alone -- even in broad daylight. I was thinking maybe..."
"Oh, I don't know how much protection I'd be, Elysse. Your parents would probably want Araval watching over you, anyway. They seem to like him and, well, he's okay with a sword, you know. I've watched him practice with the off-duty guards.
"I know all that. I was hoping you'd rescue me from an afternoon of boredom. I don't think I'll need rescuing of any other sort. Araval is fine, but he can be such a dullard sometimes. I just want some company -- someone to talk to -- all he wants to talk about is swords and armor and fighting and being hired on as a guardsman. He says when we get to Silva, it will be the last..."
Rabbit! Where are you? I could use some help over here." The shout of Rabbit's stepfather came from the far side of the wagon. Kelsus was still ranting as he came around the rear of the wagon, at least until he noticed Rabbit's unexpected visitor. "What's taking you so long to... oh... hello, Elysse... shouldn't you be helping your folks?"
"Good morning, sir. Yes, sir, I should be going." She turned back to Rabbit and prodded, "Just think about it, alright?" Then, with a wave, she hastened away.
Kelsus watched the young girl disappear into the pandemonium of impatient animals, creaking wagons, bustling merchants, and shouting wagon masters. "Well, now I know why we'll be breathing the dust of other wagons today," he scolded gruffly. It was not an exaggeration. Dust would be found in abundance soon, for the land grew less green and fertile in the region between the Ephrassar and Silva. It wasn't quite barren enough to call it a desert, but it didn't take much of an imagination to consider it. "Hurry up here, Rabbit. Then come to the back of the wagon and give me a little help."
"Yes, sir," answered Rabbit obediently.
Rabbit's stepfather stormed away, his approving smile well hidden from the boy's view. After all, the lad mustn't get the idea in his head that work was less important than chasing skirts, but if chasing them were on the boy's mind... well, Kelsus could think of no one better than Elysse to be the focus of his son's attentions.
The sun climbed above the horizon to discover that the caravan was already on the move. As predicted, Rabbit's stepfather was far enough back in the train to be guaranteed a dusty day's journey. His complaints, thankfully, would not fall on Rabbit's ears. With the caravan in motion, the boy had no other duties that bound him to the wagons. With his stepfather at the reins of the wagon, Rabbit rode Breeze, sometimes near the wagons, but more often wandering wide on the caravan's flank. Long before midday, Rabbit was eager to begin his favorite task -- hunting.
He rode closer to his stepfather's wagon to ask permission to leave the caravan. Rabbit raised his bow in the air and gave a short, shrill whistle to get Kelsus' attention. Tarlia nudged Kelsus and pointed to their adopted son.
With a nod and cursory wave from Kelsus, Rabbit urged Breeze to a faster gait. He had made his way nearly to the head of the caravan when Elysse's shout caught his attention. He slowed to match speed with the caravan and rode more closely, and she watched as he neared the wagon she was riding.
She grinned and begged from the back of her father's wagon, "Take me with you, Rabbit! I can help you hunt -- I'll ask father if I can use his pony..."
"You know you can't help, Elysse. The last time you 'helped' I came back with nothing but a couple of rock lizards. They're pretty tasty, sure, but you need quite a few to make a meal. My father said he wasn't hungry and refused to eat anything that evening. You know how he gets sometimes."
"Oh, please, Rabbit. I won't be a nuisance. I promise."
"You're never a nuisance, Elysse, but I can't have you along." Dejected sadness crept across her face like a shadow, and Rabbit felt the weight of her disappointment in his heart. "I just can't," he repeated. Then, met only with her silence and unable to bear the burden of his guilt for causing such regret, he blurted, "But I've been thinking about the market square..."
"And?" Elysse looked up. Even more than her brief question, her dark eyes demanded Rabbit to say something further.
"Well, I don't think my father will need me around every waking moment... and, uh..."
Then she smiled again. "Go hunt, now. We'll talk when you get back, Rabbit -- or when the wagons catch up to you." Her smile was all the reassurance Rabbit needed as he guided Breeze away from the wagon.
The horse instinctively resumed the brisk trot and in a short while, the caravan was no more than a distant rising of dust. Rabbit rode far ahead, searching out supper as it darted, bounded, or scurried in the sparse grass. He hoped game would be plentiful; he hoped his arrows would fly true; he hoped that in Silva's market square he would not disappoint Elysse.
Hunting had gone well, though it had taken longer than Rabbit had anticipated, and the late afternoon sun was beginning to stretch the shadows on the ground. In his sack were four desert hoppers, gutted and bled, and as he rode back along the trade route, Rabbit could almost taste his supper. Roasted on a wooden spit over an open fire, the sweet, gamy taste of desert hopper was a deliciously indescribable delight. Tonight his family -- and others as well -- would feast on the bounty of his hunting skill.
He nudged Breeze to a comfortable pace, and as he rode his mind wandered to thoughts of sweet Elysse. What was it she had said? Had promised? That they would talk when he returned. What more could she need to talk about?
He thought about it, and the thought puzzled Rabbit. After all, hadn't he already said that he would accompany her on her planned "afternoon of adventure" in Silva's market square? But, could there be something else? Dare he even consider it?
And where was the caravan? Suddenly it occurred to Rabbit that, by this time, it should have caught up to him, yet it was nowhere to be seen. Not too far in the distance smoke was rising into the sky and that, too, puzzled Rabbit. The notion that Caravan Master Mandamus may have halted early to set up camp for the night did not make much sense to Rabbit. Yet, not far away, the campfire was -- no, wait -- campfires? The smoke was rising from several sources -- and that was something that shouldn't, just couldn't, be. Rabbit's heart pounded and he kicked lightly, urging Breeze to quicken the pace. The horse snorted in surprise then obeyed, his powerful legs propelling them to greater speed.
As he rode, Rabbit realized the smoke was more distant than at first he had guessed. This fact did nothing to allay his fears. On the contrary, his worry only increased for he had not yet caught sight of the caravan.
In his headlong rush towards the caravan, towards home, towards family, Rabbit's earlier concerns were forgotten. His anticipation of roasted desert hoppers vanished. Thoughts of Elysse, of Silva, and of the market square blurred beneath the hammering of Rabbit's heart and the pounding rhythm of the horse's hooves.
He recognized the demon that was trying to control him and struggled to remain calm. Rabbit had met this adversary before, but never had it attempted to grip him so tightly. Fear, he decided, was a strange and demanding tyrant. It coursed through him, mocking his weakness. It blurred his vision and dried his throat. It knotted his stomach. Like sand blown by a desert storm, his fear threatened to overwhelm him.
Time that crept by like the passage of weeks brought Rabbit to the caravan -- brought him to the home he loved, to those who he loved, to those who returned his love, to a love that had not yet blossomed... and to the brutal realization of his fears.
The wreckage that was once the caravan was strewn across the field and told of the panicked flight that had marked its final moments. The caravan's goods were scattered about. Ruined and overturned wagons, some burning, littered the area. The bloody carcasses of slain oxen, mules, and horses lay baking in the sun or slowly roasting beside fires that were once wagons. Disbelief and shock prevented Rabbit from immediately recognizing what other grisly remains of the caravan had been so carelessly left behind. Death had ridden through the caravan and he had been merciless and brutal. Death had been unmindful of age or gender. Death had been painstakingly thorough in his proceedings.
Long, eviscerating moments passed as Rabbit's senses were assaulted by the carnage that was once his home. The hasty search for Kelsus, Tarlia, and their wagon was not difficult except in terms of the toll on Rabbit's heart and soul.
Rabbit wailed in grief and anguish. Then, as if waking from a dream, Rabbit heard the other scream. It carried with it pain and fear. "Who is it? Help! Help me, please!" Rabbit's keen hearing narrowed his focus, his eyes located the likely source, and he nudged the horse in that direction. The screams, Rabbit judged, came from the opposite side of what remained of Elann Brexxal's shattered wagon, hardly recognizable but for the bright green canvas and the carved designs on the side.
Rabbit rounded the remains of the wagon, expecting the worst, yet unprepared for the sight that greeted him. A spear had been thrust into the sandy ground and tied to it was a cloth bearing the black sigil common to wasteland corsairs. The man, naked to the waist, was cruelly nailed to the broken wagon in a spread-eagle position. His eye sockets were empty and bleeding. At first, Rabbit thought it might be Brexxal, but closer inspection proved him wrong. Brexxal lay crushed beneath his wagon, his arm protruding from beneath the wreckage, his tattered and bloodstained sleeve the brilliant green that so easily identified the merchant.
No, this man with no sight -- blinded by the bandits and left to die -- was not one of the caravan's own. Rabbit did not speak to him, but rather, returned to his parents, to those who had treated him as lovingly as if Rabbit truly had been their own son. He buried them there, gathering gritty wasteland stones to build cairns as much to protect their corpses from scavengers as to mark this desolate spot their final resting place.
This done, he began the terrible task of gathering the bodies of others. Rabbit dragged each of them to the nearest wreckage and struggled to pile them atop the ruined wagons. Some distance from the nearest remains of the caravan, he found the bodies of the caravan guards. They had fallen guarding not the wagons, but their own lives. Further yet from them was the body of Araval, three bandit arrows protruding from his back, no doubt dropping him as he tried to flee.
Tinker Anzeer lay by his wagon, mallet in hand -- no match for the spear that had slain him. Elysse and her father were crumpled together on a patch of blood-soaked sand. Their wounds were from a blade. Though they had no weapons, they had faced death as it pounced upon them. They had seen the eyes of their slayers. Now their eyes were witness to eternity.
Rabbit held her in silence. Tears he didn't know he had moistened his cheeks and mingled with Elysse's congealed blood.
Rabbit buried them where they had fallen, Elysse and her father, together beneath a single cairn. He found a cask of lamp oil and used it to fuel the pyres he had made of the caravan's broken wagons. The dead burned. They sizzled and popped in the flames and the smell of death hung heavy in the air as he returned to the sightless man nailed to Brexxal's wagon.
Rabbit spent most of the night wresting every shred of information, every detail, from the man. When he had heard enough, Rabbit wandered the field of destruction. Dawn found him by the cairn of Elysse and her father. "I will go to Silva's market square, Elysse. But not before I have an accounting of souls."
>He turned and walked back to Brexxal's wagon and untethered Breeze. Without a word, he saddled the horse, as Bahrgathi's scout pleaded for mercy and his freedom.
Rabbit stood and regarded the man for a while, and then as if appointed judge at the blind man's trial, he spoke. "You're nothing but a thief -- a thief of the worst kind. You and your kind have not just stolen gold from us, you've stolen the irreplaceable -- you've stolen the future."
"I've told you -- I'm only a scout. I've told you everything, boy. Now, set me free... for the love of the gods in all the temples... set me free!"
"No, thief. Those gods will guide the crows and buzzards in deciding your fate. They will peck you free, or they'll pick your bones clean." Rabbit climbed into the saddle and reined Breeze away from the scout. "Perhaps they will show you more mercy than has Bahrgathi. And know that you have already been shown more mercy than Bahrgathi will have from me."
"Come back! Don't leave me here!"
Rabbit rode past two crude stone cairns.
He rode slowly past one more.
The shrieks of the doomed scout faded in the distance and the Stone Bridge of the Ephrassar waited silently ahead.
Scorpion stared ahead, across the river, into the night -- then looked away, his unshielded soul unable to long withstand the direct gaze of an angel.
And when he looked back, she was gone.
Time was as meaningless as a shadow snared in the web of midnight. In the pale, glimmering moonlight Scorpion crossed the Stone Bridge of the Ephrassar and they traveled through the night in silence: Bahrgathi's long-dead scout and the assassin who had left him as food for the vultures.
Two more days and two more nights would pass in the same brooding silence.
The winds had changed.
By mid-morning, the skies had clouded over, turning grey and oppressive. Soon thereafter, the rain began as a cold drizzle. By late afternoon, the drizzle had become a slow but steady pounding of large, widely spaced drops. The rain smelled of Silva, of salt and decaying fish.
On a hilltop overlooking Silva, the gravedigger paused hip-deep in his toils to watch a lone black-cloaked figure pass by on the road into the city.
Bitter rain beat a mournful tattoo in the mud, a call to the legions of the dead. The gravedigger shivered and looked to the featureless skies.
He wiped the rain from his face, the lone traveler now forgotten. He bent to his unfinished work and drove his shovel into the mud. Indeed, winter was coming, and there were many graves to dig.
|
D Joelle Duran
Loading...
| ||||||||
'And When He Looked Back (WyvProj4)':
• Created by:
James K Bowers• Copyright: ©James K Bowers. All rights reserved!
• Keywords: Assassin, B620, Scorpion
• Categories: Ghosts, Ghouls, Aparitions, Magic and Sorcery, Spells, etc., Warrior, Fighter, Mercenary, Knights, Paladins
• Views: 821
More by 'James K Bowers':
| Nana's Story | Is Anything Worth A Tinker's Damn? |
 |
Dragonbane (poem) Part 2 |
| Darkmoon Ridge (Chapter 5) | Darkmoon Ridge (Chapter 2) |
Related Tutorials:
S. B. 'Kinko' Hulsey
Timothy Pontious
Inger Marie Hognestad
Elfwood™ is a site for Fantasy and Science Fiction art and
stories. The site was founded by Thomas Abrahamsson and
is maintained by helpful
assistants and moderators, owned by the Elfwood
AB corporation. [More...]