Etherwalker (4 page)

Nodding, Enoch cocked his head to the side as well. He sent the powerful command to his
afilia nubla
.

Hear!

All of his concentration came into focus on the sounds around him. The slight rustling of hay as the sheep stirred in the fold; the deep, rhythmic breathing of Master Gershom at his side; the slowing beat of his own heart; the slight sizzle and pop as the ashes on the hearth cooled inside the cottage; and . . . a distant humming coming from the sky. It was slowly getting louder.

“Something large is coming from the south, Master. It’s coming quickly.”

Somehow, the events earlier that evening had drained him of feeling, and he found it easy to maintain the cool serenity of
pensa spada
.

Master Gershom nodded and tilted his head to the other side. His eyes were closed.

“How far away?”

“Hard to say. I don’t hear footsteps, man or muridon.”

“Rewn’s Fork is aflame.”

Enoch turned his head. Sure enough, the clouds far to the south seemed strangely low and heavy. There was a flash, and their dark bellies flickered orange and red. The light played across Master Gershom’s features, and his shadowed eyes slowly opened.

“Raiders. Or worse. They’ll be burning the eastern farms next. Quickly, let the animals loose. Go to the stream and wait for me on the bank where it passes the large saproot. Go.”

Enoch sprinted to the fence and unhooked the latch, letting the gate swing wide. The sheep, now fully awake and nervous, crowded into the back corner of the fold. Enoch ran toward them, waving his arms and hissing, as first one, then the entire flock poured around him and out. They milled around the side of the cottage for a few seconds until he was able to get them moving towards the open hills to the west. Hopefully they’d be safe foraging through the blue pine scrub until this danger passed over.

Gritting his teeth against the odd thought, Enoch changed his mind and ran around to the front of the herd. Now he pushed them toward the forest, scattering them into the verdant darkness in little groups of two and three.

Raiders will be hard pressed to find two people in a forest full of skittish sheep.

And another thought froze him in his tracks.

Why do I assume they are hunting us?

Disregarding the thought, Enoch plunged ahead, avoiding the path and weaving a serpentine trail through closely growing trees as his master had taught him. As soon as he could hear the gurgling sound of the stream, he cut left toward the ghost shapes of the white mountains visible through the trees.

He reached the looming shadow of the saproot and collapsed as his
afilia nubla
slipped back into its subconscious lair. Panting heavily, Enoch looked down to find that he had torn the skin on the side of his right foot as he ran. It wasn’t too deep—his feet were tough and well-calloused—but he pressed a fallen leaf against it anyway to prevent the wound from leaving a trail of blood. The leaf stuck, although it did sting a little. Master Gershom had still not arrived. Enoch’s last recollection was of seeing him bolt toward the house.

Where is he?

Thinking quickly, the boy leapt to his feet and grabbed the branch nearest him. He swung himself up and then grabbed the next branch—long summers of climbing now proved to be of some use. In a matter of seconds, he was near the top and could see over the other trees all the way to the cottage. It looked small and cold, huddling alone in the distance.

His gaze moved upwards at some half-imagined movement, and then he saw
them
. Two shapes in the night sky, blacker than the blackness surrounding them, and swiftly growing larger. As they swept low over the trees, he had to choke back a gasp. Each of the beasts was at least twice as long as the inn at Rewn’s Fork.

As he watched, one of the beasts swung off to the west.

Old Aaron Kaspit’s farm is at the fork of the stream
over the next hill. I hope he is sleeping lightly tonight.

The other beast continued on toward him. In another few seconds it would be upon the house, and Master Gershom had still not emerged.

What is taking him so long?

Enoch tightly gripped the branch under him as the beast buzzed over the thatch roof, the nearby trees bending under the hellish wind of its approach. From his perch high in the tree, Enoch could see movement all along the ebony back. A man, no—nearly a dozen men in black armor rode astride the creature, and one of them held something glittering in a raised gauntlet.

The beast circled around, forcing Enoch to cling to the branch, praying that he wouldn’t be seen. As it passed over the house again, he saw the glittering object arcing through the night air with a sputtering hiss. There was a thud, a roar, and the house burst into a ball of flame. An invisible wave of heat shook the tree as the forest was lit with a garish orange light. Enoch’s own scream was drowned out by the hungry noise of newborn flames.

“Master!”

“I’m right here, boy. Stop shouting and climb down. We’ve got to head for deeper cover—they’ll be down here soon enough to see if they finished the job.”

Scrambling, practically falling down, Enoch hit the ground a few seconds later.

“When I saw the explosion, I thought you were inside. I . . . what were you doing?”

“Retrieving what is ours.”

Enoch noticed that he carried a bulging sack over his shoulder. He shot his master a questioning glance.

“Move it, boy! I’ll tell you along the way. We need to get going—they’ll not wait long to search through the ashes.”

With that, Master Gershom strode off quickly through the trees, moving with that familiar quickness which belied his size. Enoch scrambled after him, head spinning.

Raiders, giant monsters, our house destroyed like a moth in a candle flame!

It was more than he had experienced in his sixteen years of life, yet Master Gershom spoke as though it were just another sheep to shear.

I should be that focused. Enough whining for me tonight. Focus!

Searching for something to concentrate on, his eyes rested upon the bulging sack his master carried.

What would Master Gershom think so important to remove from the house?

As he pondered the question, he sized up the dimensions of the bulky shape bouncing against Master Gershom’s broad back. He caught a pattern in its weight and balance.

“The Unit. You removed the Unit from the house, but why? It was broken—they couldn’t have wanted to steal that anyway.”

“Smart lad,” grunted Master Gershom, shifting the sack to his other shoulder. “I retrieved the Unit. Now think—what would somebody searching for us want with it?”

Enoch rolled his eyes. Master Gershom was always testing him, but now hardly seemed like the time. Well, it would keep his mind from dwelling on those flying monsters, the explosion, the only home he had ever known reduced to embers.

No. Just think.

What would somebody want with the Unit? All it contained in its dusty memory spool was a bunch of old poems and books, immunization and breeding records for the sheep, a seed inventory, and . . . and fairly recently it had contained a glowing inhuman face which had spoken to him.

But I never said anything about that to him.

“You think my accident caused this?”

“I fear so, my boy. Your new . . . talent . . . is not something new to this world. It is rare nowadays—some would happily say extinct, but there was a time ages ago . . . well, all I know is from old stories. There are those who would do anything—
anything—
just to have you at their command. And those are the ones who wouldn’t kill you on sight. Recall your recitings? What does line three of Rephidem’s Lament say?”

Enoch thought for a second, scratching an insect bite on his ankle as he climbed over a fallen saproot trunk. The leaf had fallen off of his foot some distance back, but that was all right because the bleeding had slowed. Enoch found the page in his mind and quoted.

“And oh, our sorrow when the Ironwed fell; oh, the sadness of the day when none more could walk within. Yet they, the Worldbreakers, were despised amongst men.”

Enoch paused.

“What is a
Worldbreaker
?”

Leaves crunching underfoot, Master Gershom walked on. The question remained floating in the air. Enoch stared at his master but continued walking. He felt cold despite the exertion.

“Enoch, my boy. This talent is something intrinsic to your race. To your kind. I was sworn to your parent’s banner, but I had no idea that—”

“My race?” Enoch interrupted, “What do you mean by
my
race? Are you saying my parents could do this too?”

His master sighed.

“No, not exactly.”

He rubbed his hand through the pale bristles of his beard, and then returned it to his pommel. Master Gershom lifted the heavy sack from his shoulder and tucked it under his free arm.

“I’ve kept this information from you for your own safety. Sometimes children can’t be trusted to keep to themselves that which might cause them harm.”

What?

“Who did you think I’d talk to? Are the sheep planning a revolt?” The words burst from his mouth, and Enoch was surprised to find a thick surge of bitterness welling up inside his chest. “You should have told me!”

“Hold on, boy—you don’t even know what I have been protecting you from. I had my reasons.”

“You kept me stupid and useless!”

Master Gershom’s voice was suddenly dangerous and low. “Enoch, you are walking the fine line between my patience and my hand, a line you’ve never tread before—and that is the only reason you still have your teeth. You’ll not speak to me like that again.

“I taught you what you needed to know when you needed to know it. This talent is something unexpected and unasked for. It does not always arise in your line, and even then the full realization has rarely developed. Your ability to see patterns and your . . .
discomfort
around people is genetic and relatively benign. In fact, in ages past it was considered a genetic flaw. A weakness.”

Enoch was confused and didn’t know what to say.

His master tried a different approach. “Your father was a great man, Enoch, but he struggled to talk with people in the same way that you do. Like you, he was brilliant with patterns. With tactics. But he didn’t have the ability to—” and here he motioned toward the Unit on his back.

Enoch felt as though his chest shook, his heart was beating so loudly. This news was making him feel anxious. Angry. Scared. It was worse than his fight in the village. He had to gain control.

Constrain. Calm. Control.

Master Gershom waited, watching Enoch’s face, his breathing, his tightly clenched fists. Enoch knew he was being tested even now.

Constrain. Calm. Control.

His muscles unhitched and his breathing slowed. Enoch tilted his head up to his master and nodded. Master Gershom held his gaze for another second and then continued.

“There was a rare chance you would develop this ability, Enoch. Rare enough to pull you from your mother and hide out here in the wild. This ability can scare the powerful and anger the weak. Your family wasn’t the first to fall after the Schism.”

“Schism?” asked Enoch.

“A disaster which broke the world. The end of a golden age. Mostly dark legend now, but it provoked the lowest acts of a frightened people. The most despicable of these acts was called the Hunt—a calculated genocide.”

Master Gershom looked down at his hands and sighed.

“The Hunt scourged this land seven times over the centuries. The creatures of the First Hunt—their description would chill your blood. They passed into legend, were slain by their prey, and have not been seen for many lifetimes.

“But I
did
witness the Seventh Hunt. This one was performed by men, by those who knew the folk they pursued. We don’t need tales of monsters. I’ve seen the things that frightened men will do to other men when fear overwhelms them, Enoch. Monster is too small a word. And this fear didn’t end when the Seventh Hunt departed into the west.

“There were those who worried that the last Hunt had failed, that it wasn’t wide enough in scope to truly root out all of the Worldbreakers. It didn’t help that those remaining families with ties to the Pensanden also happened to be the wealthiest citizens of the Old Cities. A few of the families fought against the Hunt. Most of them doubled their guard and locked themselves away, waiting for the fear to subside. The wise ones fled.”

Enoch didn’t understand half the words that Master Gershom was speaking, but he kept quiet nonetheless. His master had never talked of his past, and Enoch didn’t dare shatter the moment.

“I was the Captain of the House Guard, a Nahuati blademaster, and trusted right arm of your sire. When the mobs finally cornered us . . . when my men had fallen, and your father lay bleeding on the tile . . .”

Master Gershom stopped walking. He turned and looked Enoch in the eye, a wetness glinting silver in the moonlight.