—————-

« Keep one hand on my armor; keep the other in front of you. » Fenni phrased it as advice, though Relan knew it was an order as she slowly stood, using the Keyen as a guide.  Her fingers slowly sifted through his thick fur to find the metal and leather, though it seemed oddly cold.  Or was it just that her fingers were so cold? « Do not use my eyes as a guide, and keep yours shut.  Do not speak, and make no quick movements.  Do you understand, Relan? »

« Fenni, what’s going on? »

« Do you understand? » He pressed.

« Yes, but—» Again he spoke aloud, his language somewhere between a growl and words.  For Relan, it was almost painful to keep her eyes tightly shut, to not see with whom, or what, her kru’shan was conversing.

« What in the seven hells is going on? » She shouted at him, biting her lip and grabbing tight onto his scruff.

« I—I’m sorry, Relan, » he began, « I can’t tell you. » He paused. « They won’t let me. » The Keyen language was passed for a few more seconds above her head, before the leaves around the rustled, and Fenni slowly began to move forward.  « All that they will let me say is, ‘by the Treatise of the Twelve, all who track with the Great Keyens will not be harmed.  They also say by not traveling by river, we cannot freely leave until we are escorted back to human lands. Step up: roots. » Stepping over a root curl just in time, Relan cautiously asked while at the same time knowing Fenni would give no real answer,

« ‘Human’ lands? »

« Many other creatures inhabit these lands, Relan, some far older, others—younger.  Most don’t want others to know they exist.  Humans have a habit of—» He stopped suddenly, anxiety leaking through a shield he was putting up between them.

« Fenni, what are you doing? »

« They don’t want us to talk anymore.  I’m sorry, Relan. From here on out, we walk silent. And hold tight, we might have far to go, » he warned, suddenly picking up his pace to a darting trot.

-           -           -           -           -

Caspian followed Ish’s guardian down a narrow but well-traveled foot path deep inside the hidden grove. Only a little ways in, the Ghost stopped and gestured for the half-blood to continue, alone. Suspicious, he passed beneath the long shadows of two large, stone pillars, one sunken deep in the loam and tilted a little overhead. As though the pillars were a gateway, smaller red-marked, white stones spread in a circle around, and Caspian felt a curious chill as he passed through, but did not let it take his attention.  He could hear voices, angry voices, deep inside.

“…brought an Ayenroki with you? You let him live?” An outraged voice demanded at a near hiss. The half-blood stopped in his tracks, letting his weight settle on the moist ground silently.

“They are sworn to destroy us, Ish!” A different voice snarled. “How could you even think to let him leave here alive?”  A more familiar voice forced itself over the others,

“Shall I have had him killed the moment I discovered what he was?  Now, when Rilketh steals our children and sends them back to kill us? We need allies!” Caspian frowned when another interjected,

“The Ayenroki would never become our allies, Ish, and you know it.”

“I will not accept that!  I will not accept that our debt to our ancestors—our children—will never be paid.” Ish spoke with a fury to quiet everyone else.  “We all will be forfeit unless we survive, and we won’t if the Empire has its way.   I will not have the weight of failing all who have come before on my shoulders.  This curse must end!”  Ish did not wait to see if her words, however much she proclaimed to dislike them, had any impact.  She stormed silently from the circle, walking past Caspian as he stepped silently into the deep shadows, her eyes glowing sullenly red from the light of the moons.  She paused a second, her gaze raking over him and the surrounding trail, before leaving.

Wondering if she knew he had been there the whole time, Caspian stepped back onto the trail after a moment, and continued down to where he had overheard the Ghosts talking.  He knew there could be no more waiting, not if he wanted to get back in time, or alive. Not bothering to fake respect or supplication, he confidently paced down the trail, quickly coming to a small clearing of short, soft grass.  Eleven women talking quietly, angrily, among themselves, immediately noticed his entrance.  Not giving them the time to make the first move, he strode into the center of the circle and said to ruffle them,

“I am Caspian. Why was I summoned?”  He wasn’t too surprised when the ire rose.

“The Ayenroki,” one muttered, her short, striped hair bristling.  From her clothes and pale skin, the half-blood supposed she came from the north.  Wondering if her attitude was colder than the climate to which she was accustomed, he replied,

“Yes. The Ayenroki.  What do you want?”

“Ish was the one who sent for you, not us,” another snarled as they moved around him in a circle, all taller than him, gazes studying every inch of him as they glared down.  He kept his face impassive, fingering the hilts of his swords.  The movement did not go unnoticed.

“He wields swords.  He must be Ayenroki.  No Ghost would dare, not unless they were taken by the Empire.”

“I was not,” he unquestionably stated.

“Yet you bear the mark of a tsen’a vesh,” the pale Ghost pressed again, her mouth stretching into a snarl, “and wear the uniform of an Elite.”

“I don’t have the time to stand here and answer questions about my allegiance!” He suddenly roared.  Using his fist to accentuate, he thundered, “I am an Ayenroki!  I fight with a krandesh! Since the fall of the North I have fought against the Empire!  If you can’t accept that, than Ish is right—your time is over.”  If air could crackle without lightning, Caspian knew it would have then. He continued,

“In the last war, it was the Ayenroki who turned the tide of battle.  Before we joined, nearly all of these lands were held by Rilketh, and since that war, we have kept ourselves separate from the world.  The Isles do not even know what is happening here.  Shi’li has already fallen.  Other lands will follow, and then when you have hidden in your last forest, your last cave, you too will be overrun.  You have no choice but to make allies, and you have no choice but to do so through me.”

Unnoticed during his tirade, another Ghost, a thin, older scout, had come into the circle of the red-marked, white stones.  Talking with one of the eleven women, he turned behind him and growled something low.  From out of the shadows, a tall, shaggy beast paced forward, eyes glowing golden beneath curled horns and armor creaking softly amidst the shaking of leaves above. Their eyes met, and instantly the animal’s narrowed.  Without warning, it bared its fangs and lowered its head, charging forward with a snarl.

Caught off guard, Caspian did not even have time to pull his swords before the beast was on top of him, fangs snapping for his neck.  Dwarfed beneath it, the half-blood’s arms barely shielded his face as he swore, mind racing for a way to fight back.  But almost immediately the animal was dragged off of him, digging its paws in the ground to try to rush forward despite the combined pull of seven of the eleven Ghosts.  Its mouth contorted, forcing out growls that nearly sounded like words, and to Caspian’s amazement, the Ghosts answered with growls of their own.

Warily regaining his feet, the half-blood backed away, pulling out his swords even as the women glared at him.  Soon, the beast calmed down, a soft growl still emanating continuously from its throat.  The Ghosts quickly released it from their holds, and panting slightly, it turned its gaze to them.

——

In the time it took the U’hano to travel back to the nearby Needle, five pale moons shadowed by the golden sun hung in the background, all low and swollen on the clear horizon.  The time of destruction comes once again, she thought as she dragged herself up the set of stairs around the perfectly circular, thin and tall building.  Hundreds of white stairs led to the Needle, and already people had ventured out to sit on the drying stone.

U’hano looked up from her feet as she stepped into the shadow of the Needle, and a man, a somewhat familiar man, awaited her on the stairs.  He sat on the highest, pale step, elbows resting with the majority of his weight behind him, and a sword lying across his knees, perfectly balanced.  She had never expected to see him again, nor had she ever wanted him to return.  She thought about just passing the man by, ignoring his presence, but a dark curiosity managed to worm its way into her thoughts.  She crossed her arms.

“What do you want?” U’hano demanded of the still form while her dark eyes pleaded to the nearly cleared-heavens that their meeting would be quick and painless.  She trudged up the last of the stairs, holding her long, soaked skirts up above her strong ankles as she stepped, until she was nearly level with a man best left to her past.  The warrior did not bother himself to answer her; he instead cast his calm, unnerving eyes out over the now-tranquil waters of the Bay of Storms, a sight U’hano took for granted.

A flock of small, yellow sea birds wheeled in the skies and, suddenly changing direction and intent, they headed towards a small out cropping of wet rock to roost.  The ever-hungry maelstrom swept up the tides, pulling anchored ships with strong eddies far across the bay where there was flotsam and jetsam enough to satiate its immense appetite.  The water near the gaping maw was smooth, unnaturally so, almost like the non-texture of a forming wave unable crest. Its glass-green depths would always be a mystery, where the cool water of the ocean rushed down to vanish, never appearing again.  A white city clung softly to the gently sloping cliffs where green vegetation was found crawling off of high balconies and domed roofs naturally, as if it belonged and was not a pest.  Stained glass was a common sight in many windows, and in the light of early afternoon, the wide boulevards seemed paved with molten pearl.  The people were small, brightly-colored specks in the distance, aimlessly wandering through a city the likes of which would amaze even the richest of kings.  Shi’li was a paradise on earth, one fragilely held safe by the Stormrunners.  As he studied the panoramic view wordlessly, listlessly, U’hano took her first real look at the man she hadn’t seen in ten years:

Many new scars adorned his body, a frame devoid of any softness and weaned of any rest or comfort.  Sun-tanned wrinkles found home mostly along his mouth and brown eyes, and they extended deeply into a face that was too young for such harshness.  His clothing was wet and went unnoticed, as if such discomforts had become familiar.  It looked as if he had spent hours upon the white stair, oblivious of the weather that had raged around him so soon ago.  Toffee hair, nearly bleached blond by the bright sun, hung in thick tendrils of damp lengths too long to be deemed civilized, and too short to be purposeful.  He looked strong to say the least, hardened by trial and weather, but most of all, he looked tired.

U’hano sighed and squeezed rainwater from her layers of mauve, diaphanous skirts before sitting down beside him on the white stair.   After paying the same respect to her wavy, waist-length black hair, the Stormrunner asked again,

“What do you want, Caspian?”  Again he did answer, but from the narrowing of his brown eyes, U’hano knew now it was not the water he looked at; it was his homeland that his eyes searched for, far across the waters.  She crossed her long legs and pulled her skirts modestly over her calves after taking off her waterlogged sandals and tossing them casually to her side.

“You know,” he began, his voice rough “I can almost see the cliffs towering above the sea, and the forests far above.  I can remember racing across the bridges between Isles and basking under the sun, but I will never call it home.”  He smiled ruefully, and paused, cleaning the rainwater from his sword across he knees until it shone in the golden light.  There was an odd, companionable silence between them for a few minutes as together they watched life return to normal for the rest of the world in the absence of threatening weather.

“Did you find what you were searching for?” The dark-skinned Stormrunner asked as she leaned her chin on her hand, her eyes searching the half-blood’s clean-cut face and previous animosity somewhat forgotten.

“No, but I did find something else.” U’hano waited for him to continue, but Caspian declined, and the Stormrunner did not push.  From their short time together almost ten years ago, she knew he was not a man to be pushed.  However curious she was, she waited, turning her own gaze to where the warrior looked.  Another storm brewed on the horizon, far enough out that it still might miss the large cove, but even through the immense distance, the Stormrunner could see the flashes of lightning.  Her skin tingled, sensitive to the touch of the storm, any storm, and she yearned to let loose her hidden power once again.  She wanted to let her restraints go, to absorb the lightning and wind, to call it down whimsically wherever her fancy desired, but resisted.  U’hano quickly began a topic to get her own mind away from the fatal attraction,

“So, what ever happened to that little boy?”  The question grabbed his attention, and then threw it back into his troubled past.  He had not had time to think about the dark-haired, blue-eyed little warrior in years, and only recently had come to wonder the same question.  He turned towards U’hano, suddenly very intense and entirely in the moment,

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” he answered.  In the light of the sun and moons, the warrior’s eyes reminded U’hano of the color of tea left too long to steep, thick and dingy, yet full of hidden flavor and depth.  They both looked away from each other at the same time, he to his unsheathed sword, and she to the empty stairs around her.  Again they sat in silence as he fingered his straight blade, turning it at different angles to shine beams of light in random directions.  His sudden words startled U’hano out of a shallow reverie as she enjoyed the warm sun on her face and was loosely braiding her hair,

“Can you take me back there,” the Stormrunner stiffened, “like you did before?” He phrased it as if she had already agreed, and without a trace of humility, something she very much wanted from him.  U’hano abruptly stood, and crossed her arms again.  Her hair was free in the leeward breeze as she demanded in the heat of smoldering anger,

“How do you have the nerve to ask that?!”  She nearly called down lightning on top of him; she wanted to see his skin crisp to a flimsy blackness.  Even the memory of their last, long encounter made her pucker her lips tartly as if a sour taste had invaded her mouth.  Instead of slapping him across the face, she focused on straightening her layered, sleek skirts, which had nearly been ruined by the salt in the wind and air.  She was not a child allowed to react with unbridled emotions, nor was she an indebted apprentice whose skills could be bought and sold at the whim of her master; she was a Stormrunner, and if it killed her, she would act like one.  She composed her delicate features, and Caspian chuckled at the haughty expression on her face.

“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” she responded tartly, glaring down her nose at him.  She remembered when they had first met, though a small tinge of absurdity managed to sneak up upon her at the memory she was no longer forced to live through, the dislocation from the past enough to strain the anger.  She had been a lost girl of fourteen on the streets of Shi’li, confused and just coming to the apex of her power that had suddenly arrived without warning, as it did to a few select children across the land.  He had been a fatigued, bloody man without patience or propriety.  At sword point, she led him to her master’s house, where a bargain was struck: the master’s life, for the skills of his student for two days of the warrior’s choosing. U’hano was wrested away, fearing she would die before the day was out, or worse.  Instead, she was forced into a journey with a warrior and a little boy, a journey that made her the woman she was at present, respected and powerful.

She glared at him, “What even makes you think that I can bring you safely there again?”  She pointed out to the horizon where five swollen moons hugged low the point where water touched sky.  “By the end of this week it will take three Stormrunners to do what I just did!” She held up three graceful fingers with painted nails of a natural color. “One more week, and it will take ten!”  She didn’t bother to count for him, and he calmly absorbed her outrage with a single raised eyebrow.  He left her to cool down for a moment before standing and sheathing his sword.

“That’s why I must go tonight.”  U’hano nearly choked on her tongue, but she never got a chance to answer his first question.

“Is this man bothering you, Stormrunner?”  A quiet voice asked from behind her, closer to the Needle though still many stairs above U’hano herself.  Her head whipped around to angrily find the source and order him away, but when her almond-shaped eyes viewed the shape of the High Master Dun Li’aylo, she nearly panicked.