Vedek

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Vedek and Longstep have been making slow progress in their return to Slevelisk Glade. Longstep’s bandages need redressing every four hours. Earlier today they paused for a passing rainstorm, the aftermath of which has left a thick mist that hangs chest high in rolling clouds. Damp foliage is the only smell Vedek can detect.

This section of the forest is thick with blueberry bushes. Vedek collects them as they travel, some to be eaten now, the majority to be saved for dinner. He had followed Longstep’s advice and chosen the neck pelt of the glatisant as his trophy. It was rolled into a coil and tied with several lengths of twine which included a long loop so Vedek could secure it like a bag strap. He did worry about the water damaging the skin before it could be cured, which is why he eventually moved it beneath his cloak.

Longstep halts their march to examine a nearby pine. He has been waiting for this particular tree. It bears the symbol he had carved on it a day ago. “Still on the right path. We’ll be three days from the castle. Maybe four if we keep having delays.” He looks at the two puncture wounds the glatisant left on his chest. He tested the health of his left arm the other day and confessed it hurt him to hold his bow. He wouldn’t be able to move like he used too, which wasn’t of dire concern. He is an older tuatha, retired from the ranger order, serving only as game warden of Slevelisk Glade and teacher to Vedek. Still, it feels like a loss of talent that came too soon. Vedek feels responsible each time he catches Longstep wincing.

They progress further into the misty woods. After so much excitement, Vedek feels he is ready to return to the lifestyle of a prince. Longstep was correct: This excursion into Vadalis was exactly what he needed.

Longstep holds the back of his palm to his forehead. “My fever is getting worse.”

To keep Vedek calm he quickly adds: “Just an hour’s rest like before. I remember there being a stream in this section. Find it, and soak my hat in it. That will help regulate my temperature. Best to fill both our waterskins while your there. No resource to be ignored. I’ll wait here.”

Vedek gives his word that he would return. He passes his collected blueberries to Longstep in exchange for the old man’s hat. Longstep finds a worthy tree to sit against. He performs breathing exercises to relax himself.

Vedek goes south, recalling the location of the stream as well. Once his ears pick up the sound of running water he quickens his pace. The stream is thin and shallow, but it’s cold enough that Vedek’s fingers numb just from soaking the hat. He fills his waterskin first, then drinks half right there before filling it again.

There is a cough. Vedek jolts, dropping his waterskin in the stream. Across the water are four tuatha. They wear yellow uniforms made of boiled leather. The symbol of a squirrel with a long tail is dyed into their chest pieces. It is not a symbol Vedek recognizes. Each of them has a shortsword, a shortbow, and half-full quivers of arrows. The one who coughed is a black haired man at the front of their formation. He taps an arrow in his left hand against his neck. He seems amused to find Vedek, but his hazel eyes shine in a disconcerting way.

“Looks like he is an elden.” The tuatha announced to the other three in True Elven. “Mích, I believe you said you would give Ceart five leaves if it turned out to be an elden.”

Another man with black hair, but long enough to be tied into a ponytail, passes five oval coins to the one woman of their party. Her eyes are sunken and half-lidded, but Vedek can see her iris is thicker than normal for a wood elf. Of the four, she has the smuggest smile.

The last man of their group has three scars across his right cheek that looked like the product of wolf claws. His upper lip twitches, as if he wants to curl it, but can’t. Vedek can’t help but notice how he rests his hand on the pommel of his shortsword.

The black haired man snaps his fingers in Vedek’s face, recapturing his attention. “What are you doing here, elden?”

Vedek answers his question with a question, speaking True Elven back to them: “Who are you?”

He won’t make any definitive answers about his identity until he knows if they are trustworthy.

The black haired man gestures with the arrow he holds. “I am Dúnm. She is Ceart. That is my brother Mích, and the tall fellow is Damáiste. We are Foragers. I wouldn’t expect an elden to know, but that is a very old institution for the Tuatha. Some say it’s where the ranger orders came from.”

He taps the squirrel on his chest with the arrow. “Now that I have been courteous, I expect you to do the same.”

Vedek licks his lips. It was troubling how these people were able to get so close without being detected. He points to the glatisant pelt, then to the waterskins. “I’m out here hunting, my companion is sick and needs water.”

“That’s the skin of a questing beast.” Mích marvels. “No small effort to bring that down.”

“A companion? Are they also an elden?” Dúnm keeps his tone conversational, though Vedek has the impression any attempt to end the conversation early would not end well.

“I don’t want any trouble. We’ve collected our quarry and are returning to our lodge.”

You say you don’t want any trouble, yet you cross into Old Vadalis. Appropriately arrogant for an elden.” Dúnm looks back to his group. “Ceart, you know every kilometer of these woods, what’s the closest lodge an elden would come from?”

“Slevelisk Glade. Not so much a lodge as a fortress where noble elden come out to play ranger.” The woman responds.

Vedek does his best to keep his face neutral. At best, these tuatha just want to hassle him, but he has heard stories of worse happening. He finds he can’t look at the large man Damáiste. There is something rabid in his dead eyes.

“Slevelisk Glade.” Dúnm sings the name with barely concealed contempt. “Interesting history that castle has. That’s where all the noble elden hid during The Terror. Meanwhile, those of common make, the elves like us, were killed and enslaved by the millions.”

Dúnm’s face darkens. Vedek’s breath trembles. He stands quickly with the intent of running, but two bows draw and train on his face. Ceart and Mích look like neither would hesitate to kill Vedek, despite his age. Dúnm takes his own bow off his shoulders. The only one not reaching for a weapon is the scarred man.

“A refuge for noble bloodlines. Bloodlines matter a lot to you Elden. You know who doesn’t have a bloodline? Me and my brother. Our family history only goes back as far as The Terror, when slaves were stripped of their names and given a number in an alien language. Ceart here actually has a noble elden mother, but also a tuatha father, so she was dumped on the border when she was no taller than a hob. And big man Damáiste? He has the longest lineage of any of us. He can trace his blood back to the House of Laochra’Nao, which earned their honor in the Pantheon Wars. What happened to the House of Laochra’Nao, Damáiste?”

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Damáiste growls. “Destroyed in the Civil War for the crime of retaking the homeland.”

A bead of sweat trickles past Vedek’s ear. Dúnm points the arrow at Vedek now. “So forgive us if we don’t see your intrusion in our lands as one in a long line of intrusions the Elden have committed against we Tuatha. The sheer arrogance you people have for claiming what isn’t yours by birthright.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Vedek asks.

Dúnm smiles, glad that the boy is realizing his situation. “I think we’re going to let you get a five minute head-start...”

Dúnm screams. He drops his bow and arrow. The squirrel on his chest has been splattered with his own blood. An arrow has skewered his left hand. Dúnm drops to his knees heaving and groaning from the pain. The other three tuatha take their eyes off Vedek and search the surroundings.

Longstep emerges from the mist, bow drawn with a second arrow. “You will leave that boy alone!”

Dúnm tests the fingers on his blood soaked hand. There is no easy way to remove the arrow. He’s still screaming. Mích takes command of the situation by training his bow back on Vedek. “And who are you? You don’t look Elden.”

“I am this boy’s teacher and, in this moment, his protector.” Longstep keeps his bow drawn, but Vedek can see the strain its causing him between his fever and injury.

“You’re a tuatha!” Dúnm shouts as the realization strikes him. “Why are you protecting this color-eyed interloper?”

“I know your face…” Damáiste ponders. He is the only one who is not tense. The only one who still hasn’t equipped a weapon. “Hero Zerryan. You were one of the elites of the Foragers. A five-marked hunter.”

Vedek gapes at Longstep. Longstep doesn’t have the concentration to lie. “Aye, that’s my name. I abandoned it like I did my rank and the Foragers. They have fallen far from grace if they have been reduced to border agents free to harass young boys who have not committed a crime.”

“His crime is being an elden!” Dúnm shouts again. He cuts the head of the arrow off with a knife. He continues shouting, even through his winces as he pulls the shaft from his palm. “They took everything from us and the world acts like that is okay. Second Era they took our lands and made us second class through no other claim than ‘nobility’. Third Era they leave us to die in The Terror. Fourth Era they realize they are nothing without us and force us under their heel again. Fifth Era they refuse to make amends, refuse to let us control our own destiny, and refuse to respect our borders. And you’re helping them?”

He removes the shaft with a final tug and points it at Longstep.

“One thing I hate almost as much as Elden are the traitors that support them.” He looks to Ceart and Mích. “Kill him.”

Three bowstrings release. Vedek sees Mích collapse from the arrow that strikes his chest. Longstep strafes the group, Ceart’s arrow only grazing his leg. He vanishes into the mist once more.

“He’s not the only one who can do that,” Ceart promises. She fades into the mist as well.

Dúnm wraps his hand. Any amount of compsure he displayed earlier is gone. He snarls at Vedek. “First the traitor, then you. I’d say you should make peace with your gods, but Elden don’t have any gods of their own.”

They hear several thuds and quick steps over fallen twigs. There is a shout, but it’s difficult to tell the owner. After that there is total silence. Dúnm scoops up his knife. His eyes flash anxiously to Vedek. Vedek finds himself completely immobile. His instincts scream for him to run, but he is terrified of the glint in Dúnm’s eyes and the unnerving calm Damáiste maintains.

Footsteps approach. They are deliberately loud for a ranger to make. Longstep appears behind the Foragers. He drags the body of Ceart by the knife in her chest. Longstep was known for his humorless manner and hard to read face. Both those features are amplified by how seriously he acts now. His face is immobile, save for his eyes that stared hatred at the remaining two tuatha.

Dúnm splashes across the stream. He seizes Vedek in a choke hold with the knife to his throat and his bloody hand across the boy’s mouth. Vedek can taste Dúnm’s blood as he tries to struggle and scream.

“I’ll kill the boy.” Dúnm hisses. “Stand down, and I’ll let him g-”

The sentence ends with Dúnm gargling a death rattle. Longstep has lobbed his knife expertly to impale Dúnm’s throat. More blood stains Vedek’s clothes. He scrambles back from the dying body. Dúnm reaches out to him. Vedek does not know if the look in his eyes is from fear of death, or lingering hatred for Elden.

The only one left is Damáiste. He still rests his hand on the hilt of his sword. Longstep sways in his place, sweating beads and breathing heavily. “Do you have the foresight to abandon this?”

“No. I’ve been wondering if I should give you an honorable death. You were a five-marked hunter of the Foragers. It would have been easy for me to assist any of them.” Damáiste speaks with no lost love for his companions. “We’ll duel here. The victor decides the boy’s fate.”

Longstep does not have the fortitude for this encounter to progress much farther. Vedek thinks he can break across the stream to his teacher. Perhaps they could outrun Damáiste. He springs to his feet and bolts for his teacher. He neither saw nor heard Damáiste draw his sword, but he did stop himself before he ran into the outstretched blade. Damáiste doesn’t have to speak to Vedek. His look of disdain tells the elden that a second attempt to flee will not be tolerated.

“I’ll accept your terms, just leave the boy be!” Longstep demands. Damáiste makes the closest thing to a smile he’s capable of. He turns his blade towards Longstep. Longstep stoops down, retrieving the swords of both Ceart and Mích. He holds both in front of him as if they are the two halves to a set of shears.

The two tuatha circle each other, mist trailing on their swords. Longstep holds back his pain. For a moment he looks to Vedek. The uncertainty of his expression terrifies Vedek more than anything else. Following that, Longstep blurs towards his opponent. There is a rapid series of clashes where neither man seems to have advantage over the other. Vedek watches in awe of Longstep. He had never imagined his teacher capable of the complex flourishes he performs with both weapons simultaneously. Damáiste moves surprisingly quick for a person his size. He’s not fighting with two swords, but he does seem ambidextrous enough to freely swap hands mid-battle.

Longstep falters. His eyes blur from the fever. A red stain blossoms on his bandages. This is all Damáiste needs to disarm his offhand weapon. Longstep tries to compensate, but Damáiste is younger and has more aggression. Vedek screams when he sees Longstep slashed across the chest. Longstep falls to his hands and knees. Damáiste stands over him, the edge of his sword pressed to the back of Longstep’s head.

Vedek can’t stay immobile. He snatches Dúnm’s blood soaked bow. Damáiste cocks his head to the youth. Vedek’s arrow cleanly skewers Damáiste’s cheeks. The large tuatha staggers and groans. His jaw hangs open, exposing the shaft of the arrow bisecting is mouth. He is not dead, so Vedek fires again. This arrow connects with his heart, sending him collapsing forward. He dies with an expression of wrath on his scarred face.

Vedek drops the bow and runs to Longstep and rolls him to his back. Longstep’s chest is a deep red.

“By the Faer, by the Faer…” Vedek panics. He feels any moment he might scream, or vomit, or both. “How do I mend this? Tell me!”

Longstep swallows. His face is sorrowful, not for himself, but for Vedek. “You can’t. I’m sorry.”

Vedek falls to his knees beside his master. Tears drip from his eyes of royal purple. Longstep is still breathing slowly, watching his student.

It is Vedek who speaks first. “Your name is Hero Zerryan?”

Longstep manages a nod. “Aye, my birth name is Hero.”

Despite his sadness, Vedek laughs. “The simplest name…”

Something cold and damp touches his hand. Longstep is grabbing him with what strength remains. “Listen to me: You never chose to be an Elden, or to be the son of a Slevelisk. Just as they didn’t choose to be born Tuatha. It is what we do with the choices made for us that determines who we really are. That...is my final lesson to you.”

Vedek calms his crying enough to whisper a farewell. He feels the strength leave Longstep’s hand. For the next few minutes Vedek isn’t the Prince of Fae’Riam. He is a boy lost in the woods. Heartbroken and alone.

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Vedek was the first to reach Odile. He hugged her tight, blocking her view of the balcony. She buried her face into his shoulder. Most of her body went limp. Vedek brushed her hair softly.

“I know.” He repeated with a faint whisper only she could hear. “I know...”