The boy is out of my realm of Sight, I feel him no more. Gretzen has troubled sleep, she speaks of his trials and tribulations. She speaks of a band of misfits, and she worries for her grandson. As we travel to Elladrindellia I can only offer my prayers, and trust that the gods will smile down on the boy, as I believe they always have.
-Azzeal of Elladrindellia, Keeper of the Windwalker Archive, 4997
Talon woke to Chief licking his face and shoved him off with a playful laugh. The sun had only just risen, and the birds in the forest were a chorus of morning greeting. Talon shared their sentiment—having landed in Agora as a free man, it was indeed a day for song.
He rummaged through his pack until he found the best rations. He had spied his favorite treat whilst his amma packed the bag in Azzeal’s cave—an apple covered in a cluster of nuts, seeds, and berries, and smothered in honey. He bit into the decadent treat like a ravenous beast and tried to chew, despite his wide grin.
“You hungry, boy?”
Chief gave no indication that he was. Rather, he sat on his haunches and itched behind his ear.
“I guess you don’t have to eat, not being alive and all. But…why do you scratch?”
No answer was forthcoming from the spirit wolf.
Talon ate half of the cluster and stowed away the rest in his pack. He poured some water into his hands, washed off his face, and prepared to begin his search for Akkeri. After dismantling the sail he laid it under the raft. He had no intention to ever return to it, but didn’t want anyone to find it either. With a striking stone and dried moss from his fire pouch, he started up some of the nearby grass and deadwood branches scattered about. Once a small fire was going, he laid it under the sail until it caught. The fire grew quickly, and soon he was backing away from the pyre.
He watched the fire blaze for a time and finally turned away, setting his sights on the western expanse of coastline. He would scour the continent if need be. No matter the distance or time, he would find her.
“Alright, Chief,” he said, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “Let’s find Akkeri!”
Chief barked and spun a circle.
“I think the Eye of Thodin would have put her down somewhere out west along the coast. But just to be sure, I want you to search the east for a few miles and see if you can find any sign of her. You understand, boy?”
Chief barked once more and looked to the east and back again.
“Good, boy, now go on. I’ll be down along the western coast. You’ll find me.”
Another eager bark told Talon that Chief understood. The spirit wolf spun another circle and sped off across the sand. As much as Talon wanted Chief at his side, he wanted even more to be sure that he hadn’t missed any sign of Akkeri. When he closed his eyes he saw Chiefson Fylkin holding the tattered sail in front of him. Fylkin had said they found it washed up on shore, but Talon didn’t believe it. He knew that Akkeri had made it somehow. The storm would have tossed her around, but she was as tough as they came. She was out there somewhere—lost, scared, alone.
What if she tried to return to Volnoss for him? Talon didn’t want to imagine what Fylkin might do to her if she did.
I would if I were her,
he thought.
Ignoring his inner voice, he started off and began scouring the coast. He remembered clearly the keipr she’d escaped on. He and Jahsin had named it Kvenna, after Talon’s mother, and he thought of her as he walked. He had no memory of his mother, but he had often imagined what she might have been like. Amma Gretzen spoke of her when Talon asked, and he asked often. Gretzen said that her daughter was a fiery-spirited women with a strong heart and a strong back. During their courtship ritual, she had broken Kreal’s nose in two places before he was able to subdue her. His amma said that he had inherited his mother’s inner fire, but he had always dismissed her ramblings for those of a crazy woman. However, since seeing her wield such amazing magic in the creation of Chief’s trinket, he had begun to study her words in a new light.
Talon remembered the barbarian lullaby that Gretzen so often sang to him, as she had his mother. He searched for his lost love along the foreign coast and began to hum, and then sing, the old song:
Hear not the words of fear and fright
Rest my child this winter night
For we are the wolf who howls to the moon
We are the claw, we are the bite
See not the eyes of fear and fright
Rest my child on this winter night
For we are the eyes beyond the trees
We are the tooth, we are the fright
Rest my child this winter night
Rest my child this winter night
Hear not the words of fear and fright
Rest my child this winter night
Talon sang the song over and over and smiled to himself as he thought of his amma Gretzen. Now that he was so far from her, he felt a pang of sorrow that he hadn’t cherished her more in his youth. She was moody, sullen, quiet, and strange, but she had always been good to him. She never said a word against, or lifted a hand to him. Her punishment came in the form of work and study rather than fear and pain.
He walked for hours along the coast but found nothing. The beach he landed on had been a lucky find, for as he went, the coast became rocky and sheer once more. Soon he was peering over hundred-foot cliffs.
He came across many camps, spread out every two miles or so along the coast line. The discovery made him happy that he’d decided against a fire the night before. All of the camps were similar, with two large tents set at an angle from one another, and a large pile of wood. Many people burned small fires as they went about tending to their camp or skinning the prize of their latest hunt. He wondered what they might be doing out here along the rocky, deserted coast. There was a road out a few hundred feet from the ocean, but he had yet to see anyone on it. Though it hindered his search to do so, he kept his distance from them—he didn’t want to be slowed down by having to explain himself.
Talon realized that he hadn’t even formulated a story. He couldn’t very likely tell them the truth if he was asked. He could just imagine that conversation:
“Hi, I’m Talon Windwalker. I’m a runaway Skomm from the island of Volnoss.”
No, that would never do. He needed something else. However, he soon realized that, since he knew little about Shierdon’s towns and such, he wouldn’t be able to convince anyone that he was from there. And then there was the problem of his dark skin. All the people of Shierdon he had ever heard of were mostly fair skinned and light haired. His high cheekbones, and dark hair and eyes, would announce his nationality quite plainly. He hoped that a good lie would come to him. In the meantime, he trusted that Chief would be of help if they were discovered—Chief and Azzeal’s ring.
When he got close enough to one of the camps to smell what was on the cook fire, his mouth watered and his stomach painfully reminded him that he had not eaten since sun up. He decided to take lunch in the forest, far away from the men and their delicious cook-fire smoke.
After he found a hollow of thick spruce trees, Talon gnawed on salted meat and mild goat cheese. He washed the meal down with a long pull from the water skin, and gave a contented sigh as he patted his belly. It wasn’t hot food, but it was something, and something was better than nothing.
He began to return to his search when Chief appeared out of thin air, startling him.
“Feikinstafir, Chief! You’re too good at that. Did you find anything?”
The wolf gave a small whine.
“Well, it didn’t hurt to look. Come on, we’ll keep checking west. Just be sure to keep out of sight.”
Chief led the way from the clearing, and together he and Talon continued to scour the coast. They passed two more camps in their search, but still found no sign of Akkeri’s keipr. By nightfall they came to a small coastal town. Strange buildings dotted the hills and valleys surrounding the docks and town proper. A few of them were two and three stories, but the majority were only one. Fishing boats littered the harbor, and a single three-mast vessel was anchored further off shore.
Talon marveled at the foreign town.
What wealth must there be in a place like this
? There were no mud huts, like those that littered the Skomm village, and every building was as grand as Vaka Kastali—the wooden lodge used as the Vaka headquarters. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to grow up in this kind of place. Unlike the sparsely lit village in which he had been raised, this one had lanterns hung from poles on every street, and a warm golden glow came from many windows.
“You think maybe she’s down there somewhere?” he asked Chief.
The spirit wolf danced a circle and gave a small bark.
“You think I should go check?”
Chief nipped at Talon’s trousers, as if to drag him to town.
“Sorry, boy, you can’t come with me. If the townspeople see a wolf, it’ll cause all kinds of trouble.”
Chief whined at that and sat, panting. He offered Talon his cutest grin.
“Nice try, pal. You probably need a rest anyway. Been out since yesterday morning.”
From his pocket Talon produced the timber wolf trinket.
“Go on, Chief, back to the spirit realm. I’ll summon you in the morning.”
Chief whined as he turned to mist and swirled into the trinket. As Talon started toward the town, he remembered he had no back story, and tried to formulate one as he descended the hill to the main road.
What
was
a good story? It had to be simple, and it had to explain his being Skomm. Aside from being a runaway, he could think of nothing.
I could just say I’m from some faraway land no one has ever heard of,
he thought.
Perhaps he wouldn’t have to explain himself. He could just look around and avoid all contact. He wished then that he had a hood or cloak, like he saw some of the far off people wearing.
The many torches set about the streets showed a lot of activity, and he assumed fisherman were returning from the day’s work.
He entered the town by the main road, which led all the way down to the water, and finally came up with a story: He was on business for his master—an apothecary supplier, and was in town to determine the state of the local market. Since he knew just about all there was to be known about the trade, he was confident that it was the right choice. Of course, Shierdon had different flora and fauna, but he knew, through Vaka trading, many different plants and herbs that came from Agora.
Talon passed a loud building with smoke wafting out of the open front door. Rough voices and fast paced music spilled out with a pair of obnoxious drunkards. He ducked his head and hurried on to avoid any conflict. Drunks were the last people he wanted to have to talk to. To his relief, they staggered off in the opposite direction. He passed a pair of sailors coming from the docks, and a few businessmen closing up shop, but no one bothered him.
The smell of food lingered on the air as he walked by an inn. His stomach growled and his mouth watered, but he walked on. He had no coinage, and nothing much of value to trade. As he made his way down to the docks to check the shoreline, he passed by a large podium with a big bell mounted on one side and wondered what it was used for. The docks were busy, and Talon noticed many small boats heading out to the large three-mast vessel.
“Get back here, you damned Skomm!”
Talon jumped at the exclamation and ducked between two buildings. His heart slammed in his chest and he panted with fear.
“What kind of useless stock you sellin’ here, McGillus?” yelled the same voice.
Talon peaked around the building in time to see a tall young man run by. Chasing him was a shorter, stockier man—a sailor—who tackled him and began beating on his face. Talon realized that the young man was the Skomm mentioned. The sailor picked him up by his hair, and he stumbled to keep his feet beneath him as blood poured from his nose.
The man called McGillus wore expensive looking clothes and a dark blue cloak, hanging all the way down to his shiny dragon scale boots. He laughed as the sailor dragged the bleeding Skomm back to his master. “Nothing to worry, Charles—this one just needs to feel the bite of the whip a bit more, is all. He’s young yet.”
Talon crept back in the shadows and realized the Skomm man was a slave—the big vessel anchored off shore must be a slave ship. Skomm were sold to the Agorans often. Once per season, each of the seven tribes sold off their stock. It was a way for the chiefs to turn a profit while, at the same, time keeping the population of Skomm under control. Vald women had many children, but few grew to pass the measure. Therefore, the Skomm outnumbered the Vald nearly five to one—a fact that often angered Jahsin. The more rebellious of the Skomm, if not executed, were also sold off as slaves.
Talon’s instincts told him to run for his life, but one possibility held him back: What if Akkeri was on that ship? What if she had been found and taken to be sold? What if she had been sold already? He waited back and watched the men—perhaps he could find a way to talk to the runaway.