The Eye of the Hunter (52 page)

“Falan refused, for he would have his answer and nought else.

“Shumea took three of the Scrolls of Telos and put them in a brazier and in spite of the protests of Falan’s advisors, set them afire, burning them unto ashes.

“Shumea now turned unto Falan again, saying, ‘For eleven talents of gold, Lord Falan, I will give thee all six remaining Scrolls of Telos on which are recorded many of the prophecies of the gods.’

“Again Falan the Vainglorious refused, in spite of the urgings of his counsellors, for he had not yet received the answer unto his own question.

“Once more, while Falan’s advisors looked on in outrage and horror, Shumea took three of the six surviving Scrolls of Telos and placed them in the brazier and set them afire, burning them until nought but ashes remained.

“Shumea turned unto Falan a last time, saying, ‘For eleven talents of gold, Lord Falan, I will give thee the three remaining Scrolls of Telos on which are recorded some of the prophecies of the gods.’

“Again Falan refused, and Shumea reached for the brazier, the last three scrolls in her hand.

“A great outcry rose up from Falan’s cousellors, and they fell to their knees before the Vainglorious, begging him to accept. Pleased by this show of entreatment, Falan at last agreed to Shumea’s terms.

“Eleven talents were brought to the Seeress from the ships of the mighty flotilla anchored in the bay, and she handed over the scrolls. Falan and his entourage left, his
vainglorious question as yet unanswered, though some advisors bethought the reply might be in one of the scrolls.

“That night, under cover of darkness, Falan the Vainglorious leading a force of handpicked Men came slipping through the shadows to steal back the gold. Yet, lo! the temple was deserted, the Women and treasure gone, including the silver throne.

“Enraged, Falan and his Men destroyed the temple crashing it down unto the ground.

“And on the night tide, the flotilla sailed….

“Yet just ere dawn, the earth trembled mightily, and the Mountain of Telos was destroyed. And in the wake of its devastation a great wave rushed o’er the sea, crashing headlong into Falan’s mighty fleet, shattering the boats and drowning all, carrying every Man jack down into the depths below—Falan, his advisors, and minions all…as well as three priceless scrolls.

“Falan the Vainglorious had at last received his answer from the gods of Telos, now gone.”

* * *

On the fourth day after setting sail, the rain stopped, the skies cleared, and a fair wind abeam pressed them across the water. All were glad to see the Sun, and they promenaded on the deck, or lay about in the warm light. Only minor corrections needed to be made to the course.

For two more days and nights they sailed thus, the wind slowly diminishing…and the seventh day found them in irons, becalmed on a glassy sea.

Captain Legori set Men in dinghies rowing, towing the
Bèllo Vènto
after, the oars plashing in pellucid water, leaving widening ringlets behind, the hulls cleaving elongated vees, the slow wedges outspreading as well.

Aravan stood aft with Gwylly, watching the mingling of patterns, the Elf seemingly entranced by the glistering ripples extending o’er the mirror.

In Sylva, at last Aravan said, [“She has a thousand faces…nay, more.”]

Also speaking the Elven tongue, Gwylly responded, [“The ocean: a fickle lover, I hear.”]

[“Aye. Mistress of many, yet mastered by none.”]

They stood quietly for a moment more, only the chant of the rowers breaking the silence. At last Aravan spoke: [“She is too tempestuous to be tamed by any, and always
will remain wild and free…though there are those who would make her their own.”]

Gwylly shook his head. [“Who would ever think she could be owned?”]

Aravan barked a laugh. [
“Ha!
Now I know that thou art becoming Elven in thy heart, Gwylly, for thou dost speak as would a Lian…or as a Hidden One….”]

The buccan glanced up at Aravan, questions unspoken. Aravan’s eyes were lost in reflection, and it was as if his heart remembered the words of another…another from an elden time.
Who can own the sky?
echoed his mind.

Tarquin sat before the Elf, the Fox Rider no more than a foot tall, his voice soft, speaking in the tongue of the Hidden Ones. [“Mankind is not like the People, for he seeks to lay claim to all he touches, to all he sees and feels

“
Yet who can own the sky? Who can own the wind or the rainbows? Who can own the rain or the waters of the world, the laughing of brooks or the roar of thunder? Or stones and mountains, the very bones of the earth? And who can own the grass and the trees, the forests, the plains? Who can own the birds of the air and the creatures of the land, the fish that swim in the waters? Who can own any of these songs of earth?

“Man would say, ‘I. I own all. I have dominion. It is mine! To do with as I will!’

“But the People say, Nay! None owns the world…or it is owned by all, for all is sacred. Every shining leaf every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every humming insect. All are to be revered
.

“We are part of the earth and it is part of us. And it is to be cherished and loved and nurtured, for it is precious. It is our mother and father, and all things upon it are our brothers and sisters. The Bear, the Deer, the Eagle, the Fox, these are our kindred, even the flowers. The air that breathes over us, the shining waters that flow in the streams and rivers and lap the ocean shores, this is our lifeblood
.

“The earth does not belong to anyone; instead, we belong to the earth. All things are entwined in the great web of life, and whatever is done to the web in one place will cause tremors felt throughout
.

“Who owns the world? Might as well ask, Who owns the wind?…”
]

[“Why, none owns the wind, Aravan.”] Gwylly’s voice
cut through Aravan’s consciousness, and the Elf realizel that he’d been reminiscing aloud…

Aravan laughed. [“Aye, Gwylly. None owns the wind. For if we did, then would we whistle it up to remove us from these irons.”]

The buccan turned and looked forward. [“Legori rows to find it, though. I think I’ll go forward and watch. Care to come?”]

[“Nay, wee one. I think I’ll stay here yet awhile.”]

The buccan shrugged, then started toward the bow.

And while Men in dinghies rowed upon the mirrorsmooth sea, haling the
Bèllo Vènto
onward, seeking the wind, Aravan leaned upon the stern taffrail gazing at the waters, his mind lost in memories….

…And still the glistering patterns continued to ripple and widen.

* * *

A full day and a night was the Arbalina vessel trapped on a glassy sea, Men slowly drawing her southerly. But on the next morn a slight belling of the slack sails showed that the air had begun to stir. And by mid-morn a light breeze came upon them, and the dinghies were shipped aboard, the Men canting a chantey, and once again was the
Bèllo Vènto
under way.

As they took their noon meal, the wind picked up and the ship heeled over, cutting through the waters at a goodly pace. Faeril smiled. “At one point I thought the Men might have to row all the way to the Sabra. I’m glad
that
didn’t come true.”

“I’m glad that we’re on the hunt again,” added Gwylly.

“Hunting, yes; finding, no,” responded Faeril. “At least not finding yet. It may take some time.”

Aravan glanced at Riatha and then Urus and finally back at the buccan and damman. “The search might be a long one, indeed, wee ones. Yet for Elves a decades- or e’en centuries long hunt is of no moment, but for Waerlinga?…Do ye have the time? It may take untold years.”

Faeril reached out for her buccaran’s hand. “As long as I am with my Gwylly…”

From the corner of his eye Gwylly saw Riatha reach out for Urus’s hand.

* * *

On the ninth day of the voyage a school of porpoises raced before the bow of the ship, cleaving the crystal blue waters
in glee. Faeril and Gwylly were delighted, lauging at the agile play. Urus and Riatha, too, stood hand in hand joyously watching. Halíd said, “My village elders tell that the
jeenja
aid the shipwrecked, yet I hope we never need discover the truth of the tale.”

Aravan leaned on the bow wale and watched as well. “Aye, Halíd, they do indeed aid those whose ships have foundered, helping swimmers to keep afloat, guiding them to land, yet I deem that others aid as well—dwellers of the deep.”

“Lord Aravan”—Halíd’s eyes were wide with wonder—“speak you of the Children of the Sea?
Ai
, many are the Gjeenian tales of beings half seen in the glittering depths and under the rolling waves.”

At Halíd’s words, Reigo snorted. “Children of the Sea? Bah! My own sire swears that they are not real…and he should know, for he was a sailor for thirty years.”

Aravan smiled. “Thirty years? Perhaps if he’d had more time…”

Halíd looked at the Elf. “How long did you sail?”

Aravan glanced at Riatha, as if seeking aid, then he said, “Some five thousand years.”

Halíd’s mouth fell open and Reigo gasped, “Five thousand—”

“Oh, look! Look!” called Faeril, pointing. The porpoises had formed up in a long diagonal chain, the last in the line had begun leaping uptrain over the others, and as soon as it was past, the next to the last began leaping upchain as well…and so it continued, porpoise after porpoise leaping and plunging, leaping and plunging.

“Leapfrog!” shouted Gwylly.

But even a marvelous thing such as this did not take away the cast of wonderment from Reigo’s and Halíd’s eyes whenever they looked at Aravan…

…and at Riatha as well…

…for they were of a Kind.

* * *

In mid-afternoon sixteen days after putting out to sea from Pendwyr, the sleek Arbalinian vessel
Bèllo Vènto
, crewed by Men and captained by Legori and sailing under the High King’s commission, haled into the broad harbor of Sabra, dropping anchor in the glittering bay, the arc of the city before them baking in the overhead Sun.

Among others on deck stood two Warrows, two Elves, a Baeran, and two Realmsmen, all dressed as K’affeyah, wearing light blue turbans—with their face-covering cloths wrapped ’round and fastened—and cloaked in light blue as well, shirts, girdles, pantaloons, soft boots, and othe such beneath.

Too, they bore weapons, but not those of the tribesmen. Instead from the north came these arms, straight swords morning stars, long-knives, throwing daggers, and such. Only were two of the weapons like those of the desert: one was a spear, the other a sling.

On the deck stood these seven, staring over the bay. On the horizon beyond the port city, in shimmering heat waves afar, could be seen their next goal: the sands of the vast Karoo.

Autumn, 5E989
[The Present]

T
he seven came ashore and pressed through the throngs in the streets, heading for the Inn of the Blue Crescent, quarters highly recommended by Captain Legori. As they passed through the city, a babble swirled around them and then raced ahead, for when hawkers and merchants crowded forward to sell their wares, they saw tilted eyes of silver and sapphire on the two graceful strangers, and jewellike, tilted eyes of amber and emerald on the small ones, and one of the outlanders was a giant, and the merchants drew back in fear.
Djinn
, they whispered of the first two, and
zrîr Djinn
of the small ones, and
Afrit
of the huge stranger….
Yet how can this be, for they wear blue, the holiest of colors? Perhaps they are Seraphim instead
.

Aravan laughed and said in Sylva, [“They think we are either agents of the demons or messengers of the gods.”]

Gwylly repeated Aravan’s words to Urus, speaking in the Baeron tongue. [“Good!”] replied Urus in kind. [“Mayhap it will work to our advantage when purchasing camels, for who would try to cheat an angel or a devil, eh?”]

At last the seven came to the inn, Aravan translating the ornate, filigreed letters on the signboard, though the cerulean quarter Moon depicted thereon announced the name to all those who could not read the serpentine swirls.

That evening, after a meal of bread and shishkebabbed oxen meat and vegetables, with hardtack and goat-milk cheese on the side, and dates and oranges following, they
sat in the common room and from tiny cups discreetly sipped
khla’a
, a dark brown, somewhat bitter, bracing desert drink.

Again they looked at the map, and Urus cleared his throat. “Captain Legori will sail on the tide tonight, and return in a month, and wait…for another month, if need be. With twelve days to travel down to where we think Dodona lies, and another twelve days returning, that will give us at most five weeks to search for the oracle. Mayhap Fortune will smile upon us and we will find the ring the day we arrive on site, though I deem it unlikely. Mayha Fortune will also smile upon us and the Oracle of Dodona will immediately tell us the answer as to Stoke’s where abouts, though I deem such unlikely as well. Hence, given the best of Fortune’s favor, we
could
be back here within as few as twenty-five or so days…but regardless, we
must
be back within sixty days, else Legori and the
Bèllo Vènto
will sail to Pendwyr without us.”

The others sipped their
khla’a
and nodded, for Urus merely reviewed what they had gone over time and again yet it seemed necessary to all that his words be spoken once more. Silence fell on the group, but at last Reigo turned to the huge Baeran. “My heart nags me with a quetion, and has done so since we left Caer Pendwyr, and it is this: Even now, has word of Baron Stoke come to Commander Rori from a Realmsman in some distant Land? Has Stoke been found, even as we seek to know where he is? I have this—this
fear
that we are here on a wild loon hunt, while the real quarry, Stoke, escapes.”

Each looked at the others, the same fear lurking behind all eyes—all, that is, but Halíd’s, who merely shrugged in Gjeenian fatalism. “If such be the case, it is the will of Rualla, Mistress of the Wind.”