Fantasy El'man'ar (Tarmagon and vaelis)

[Tarmagon]

Kyrin Tyrnain looked up at the bright jingle of bells as someone opened the door to his modest shop. Setting aside the small piece of stone he had been carving into the semblance of a liska, he brushed the fine stone dust from his apron and rose, moving to the curtain that separated his work area from the rest of his shop. Pausing for a moment, he ran his fingers through his unruly hair, trying to settle the deep brown locks into some semblance of order, but gave up with a growl of frustration after a few, painful tugs.

"Who ever is there is no coming to critique your personal grooming," he chided himself silently. "They are here for your skills."

Smiling pleasantly, Kyrin pushed aside the leather, and immediately froze, the smile slipping away from his face. Shyna Mintha, daughter of chief Mintha, stood in the center of his shop, looking at the small stone figures that adorned the shelves with unconcealed distaste. Shyna spun towards him at the quiet susurration of sound from the leather curtain, pinning Kyrin with eyes the same vibrant violet as a nythar blossom. Unlike a nythar blossom though, those eyes were harder than the stone Kyrin had so recently been working.

"Chief Mintha requires your presence, half-breed," Shyna said, her voice cold. "You will report to him immediately."

Without waiting for a reply, Shyna turned her back on Kyrin and left the shop without a backward glance, and Kyrin sighed heavily. Shyna was one of the Kin who couldn't seem to look past the fact that Kyrin had a human father and a Kin mother. For Shyna, his existence was an affront to the natural order of things.

"Thanks be to the Lady that so few share her attitude," Kyrin breathed. "And doubly thanked that her father does not share her views."

Setting aside his work apron, Kyrin picked up his small bag of carved figurines, tying it to his belt and glancing around his shop. He wasn't worried about anyone coming into his shop. If someone needed one of his carvings, they were welcome to it. The items on display in his shop would do little more than close a cut, or speed the healing of a bruise, but they were still welcome to the parents of young children, soothing a sore throat, or taking the pain away from a nispi sting. Satisfied, he headed out into the bright spring day, his steps leading him unerringly to the Chief's house. As he approached, he saw Shyna duck inside and moments later her voice announced the arrival of the 'half-breed mongrel'.

"Away with you and your attitude," Kyrin heard Chief Mintha's voice say sharply. "You shame your house with your lack of maturity and control."

Ignoring the argument that erupted behind the closed door, Kyrin waited until the angry voices had died away and the distinctive sound of a door slamming announced the end of the argument before knocking politely. The door opened immediately, and Kyrin found himself face to face with the chief of the N'varun.

"Be welcome in my home Kyrin, son of Meltha and Dormick." Mintha said formally, bowing and gesturing for Kyrin to enter.

"I am welcomed Chief Mintha," Kyrin said equally formally, bowing in return before stepping inside. "May your House be blessed."

"Blessed with understanding," Mintha said wryly. "You heard?" At Kyrin's nod, the old Chieftan grimaced, but gestured to a pair of chairs set at a comfortable distance from each other. Kyrin settled into one, and the chief took the other. He studied Kyrin for a moment, his face serious, then he nodded.

"We have received a request for assistance," Mintha said without preamble. "The Shinka are having a problem, and it is in my mind that of all of the tribe, you are the one with the skills to provide them the help they need. Shinka island has become plagued by strange beasts, which seem to be twisted versions of ordinary creatures. They have also been struck by more than their fair share of spring storms. Add in sightings of night glows, and it seems likely that there is a deposit of kythria somewhere upon the island. One which has gone critical. With your ability to work the material, it might be possible for you to approach close enough to perhaps break up whatever is causing their problems."

"I, might." Kyrin said slowly. "I am, resistant to the effects of raw kythria, but I cannot sense it. If the ore is buried deep, it might be beyond easy discovery."

"We know this," Mintha said, nodding. "You will be but one of three. The Chief of the Shinka has arranged for a Sky-singer to forewarn of storms, and a Finder to help locate ore. He has even arranged for a Pathfinder to escort you to Shinka Island. I cannot order you to do this, but I would ask that you consider this to help our relations with the Shinka."

"I shall do this," Kyrin said immediately. "When do I depart?"

"You are certain?" Mintha asked, surprised at Kyrin's immediate agreement. "The Pathfinder will meet you at the Moongate at your convenience."

"Then we may depart within the hour," Kyrin said. "I must do naught save gather my pack. My shop will care for itself in my absence, and there are enough charms to tend to the minor hurts of the children until I return."

"You honor us," Mintha said, rising to clasp hands with Kyrin. "Travel safely and return to us."

"I shall do that which the Lady gives me the skill and wit to do," Kyrin replied, returning the clasp, then bowing. "I shall go collect my pack and head directly to the Moonpath."

Suiting actions to words, Kyrin left Chief Mintha's house and headed directly back to his shop. Rather than use the front door, he went around the back, entering through the back door, directly into his living quarters. His pack was sitting where he had left it, filled and ready to go. Sitting, he changed out of his town shoes, pulling on a pair of sturdy boots, suitable for long hikes though nearly any kind of terrain. Settling his pack comfortably, Kyrin filled a small bag with trail food, then stepped back out into the day, closing the door behind himself. It was only a short walk to the Moongate, and the prospect of seeing a new island while helping his tribe put a spring into Kyrin's steps. Unlike some of his kind who preferred to live in the human towns, he had always identified more with his Kin heritage, especially once his talent with kythria had surfaced. Here, he was not hounded for his trinkets and carving, the people of his tribe accepting what he offered them without demanding more. Human townsfolk wouldn't have been so understanding, of that he was certain.

"Bright the day," a voice said, pulling Kyrin from his introspection. "You are Kyrin?"

Kyrin looked up to find a garishly dressed female looking him up and down, her foot tapping with impatience. Her hair was bright green, and her eyes shone with mischief as she surveyed him.

"I am," Kyrin replied, smiling at the female. "And you are my Pathfinder?"

"Neeri, at your service!" she replied. "And for this trip, yes. Stay close, and do not wander from the Path."

Neeri's voice turned serious at her last words, and Kyrin nodded. He did not want to be lost Inbetween, no one did. Those who were rescued after being lost upon the Paths were never quite the same again, and he had no desire to find out what had changed them.

"Good," Neeri said. "Now, step as I step."

Turning to the circle of stones, Neeri studied them for a moment, then nodded to herself. Placing her feet carefully, she stepped across the ring, and vanished from Kyrin's sight. Setting his feet as Neeri had, Kyrin stepped forward as well, and the world about him vanished, turning into the grey mists of the Inbetween. Neeri stood upon a faintly glowing path, obviously waiting for him.

"Well done," she said, "Now follow me."

Neeri set off down the glowing path, and Kyrin followed close behind her, heading for Shinka Island, and an unknown future.

 

[vaelis]

The last of the rain had dissipated, leaving behind that token scent of petrichor. It had been a relentless squall that lasted four days. Storm debris littered the village, most of which had been collected into neat piles by the children. The adults had spent the afternoon repairing their domiciles. The tanner’s shop had been ruined, reduced to a heap of lumber and stone. It would be nearly impossible to construct a replacement; already Erys’ blood sang with warning, alerting her to another impending storm, so close on the heels of the one that had just passed. She sampled the air, her lungs expanding to their limit. Two days. It would arrive just before dawn split the horizon. A degree more mild, but the village couldn’t handle more rain. The soil was oversaturated. Everything was covered in mud. It was demoralizing, and Erys had only been stationed here for a fornight. She wasn’t quite certain how the villagers remained so stoic.

The twang of an arrow, followed by a satisfying thump as it bit into the bark of an Erabor tree. Two inches off the mark. Erys retrieved another shaft from her beaded quiver, notching it against the bowstring. Her muscles flexed in a symphony of fluid motion as she drew the arrow, exhaled, and released. Another thump, dead center on the charcoal ‘X’. The carmine sap of the Erabor tree oozed around the four arrows protruding from its bark, saturating the air with the distinct scent of cinnamon. She sighed. Her marksmanship had been questionable - only one arrow of four had hit her mark. Navii, First Archer of Dalriada, would have severely scolded her if she’d witnessed such a paltry display of skill.

“Erys?”

Erys paused, halfway through notching her fifth arrow. She’d never been one for names, but she recognized the voice. It was the woman with the squirrel face. She canted her head, observing the woman’s advance with her peripheral vision. Vrael. That was it. A plain name for a plain woman.

“I told you, it’s two days time until the next squall. Nothing has changed. Why are you out here?” Erys’ voice was cutting. She’d ventured a fair distance from the village, to the timberline that edged the foothills of North Cascade, in a bid for a half day’s worth of solitude. When a storm started to coalesce - even offshore - her head filled with a constant buzzing, as if a swarm of bees were caged within her skull. The resulting headaches were agonizing. Combined with the incessant community chatter, it bordered on torture. Only a modicum of pride had kept her from shirking her duty to her tribe.

“Well, um. You see. The Chieftain has convened his council. And, um. There’s the half-blood, he recently arrived. You’ll be late.” Vrael refused to meet Erys’ slate gaze while she stumbled through her explanation.

Well, shit. Erys didn’t waste time on civilities. She squelched through the mud, retrieving her arrows from the Erabor tree. She was careful to wash the obsidian arrowheads, wiping the flammable sap clean with a broad leaf that was still wet from the rain. Her lips twisted in a grimace; the tip of her third arrow was chipped. She didn’t have time to fuss about it. With all her accoutrements collected, including her flask, she made for the village. Alone. Erys rationalized that Vrael was incapable of matching her loping stride. But the truth was, she preferred to spend her last half hour of seclusion in silence, with only the steady rhythm of her breath interrupting the hum of nature.

By the time Erys arrived at the village, she was bedraggled. Her doeskin boots were soiled with mud up to the calf. Dirt stains flecked her trousers. Fresh sweat darkened her indigo tunic. Even her sable hair was disheveled, the constant humidity teasing stray strands from the plethora of braids that twisted down her spine. The residents of Shinka observed her progress with a fair measure of speculation, and some among their number even seemed passively belligerent, blocking her direct path to the Chieftain's lodge. Erys tended to have that polarizing effect of people. Some appreciated her directness, while others viewed her as uncouth.

Erys stepped through the threshold into the Chieftain’s lodge, a trail of muck left in her wake. She swept aside the intricate tapestry that marked the council chamber with calloused hands. Her storm-grey eyes lingered on the assembled personages, flitting from one face to the next, until they settled on the Chief of Shinka. A shallow nod was her only concession of respect. A fortnight of brutal headaches had worn away her cordiality, until she was as fractious as one of the dread bears of Ume Island.

“Erys, daughter of Amala and Kithir, Sky-singer of Dalriada,” She bluntly announced herself, without preamble.

 

[Tarmagon]

Kyrin was thoroughly confused by the seemingly random arrangement of path crossings in the Inbetween, and even more confused by Neeri's choices whenever they came to one of those junctions, especially when they arrived at one junction where Neeri simply turned around and proceeded back the way they had come. When Kyrin had started to turn and follow, a sharp command to 'turn towards the right, NOT the left', had left him shaking his head in bemusement.

"The Paths are not actual paths as in the world," Neeri had explained once they were on a straight section. "They represent, intent and choices. Whenever two or more Paths meet, even the simple act of turning left or right when turning about changes where you will finally arrive. Turning upon a Path will return you whence you came, but only by backing out of the junction of Paths can you ensure your ability to retrace your steps. And, we are here."

Neeri stopped walking, and turned to face a point on the edge of the Path. For a moment Kyrin wondered if his guide had lost her mind, but then he saw Neeri studying a spot that seemed just a little dimmer than the rest of the path. Frowning with concentration, she stared at the spot for a long minute, then nodded to herself.

"Yes, this is the Shinka Island," she said with authority. "We will leave the Paths here. Make certain that your foot falls exactly here."

She pointed to the slightly dimmer spot that Kyrin had noticed, waiting until he nodded his understanding. Once she had his agreement, Neeri stepped forward, setting her foot firmly in the center of the spot she had indicated, and vanished into the mists that formed the edge of the Path. Steeling himself, Kyrin stepped towards the mists himself, taking great care to place his foot on the dim section. For a moment, the mists obscured his vision, and he felt, unsettled, but then he was standing beside Neeri, blinking away the tears that the mid-afternoon sun drew forth after the uniform twilight of the Inbetween. The air was sweltering, thick and humid in a way that Kyrin rarely experienced on N'varun, and he felt sweat begin to form along his brow in response to the heavy air.

"Now it returns to my mind why I do not like to come here," Neeri said, wiping sweat from her own brow. "But for the fee I was promised, a bit of discomfort is to be endured. Come, let us see you safely to the Chief and his Council."

"So that you may collect said fee and begone from this, forcing house of an island?" Kyrin asked with a wry grin. "Truly, I understand, so lead on."

Neeri didn't reply directly, but the look of gratitude she gave Kyrin promised that should they meet again one day, things might prove, interesting. Kyrin smiled at her, and they set off at a quick pace, heading in the direction of a largish hill that seemed to continue to rise towards mist shrouded mountains in the far distance. As they moved along, Kyrin couldn't help but notice the incredible amount of storm damage in the surrounding forest. Trees stripped bare of their leaves, where they hadn't toppled over completely, roots reaching towards the sky like grasping fingers. In the occasional clearing, the grasses looked as though large stones had been rolled at random all about, flattening trails and large swaths, while leaving some areas completely untouched. Even the path they trod showed the signs of frequent and prolonged rain, ruts and channels cut along, or in may cases, over, the trail. Their boots all too often squelched in deep pockets of mud, and once Neeri nearly went head over heels when her foot became stuck in a particularly deep and unexpected hole hidden beneath the mud. Only Kyrin's quick grab at the back of her tunic had kept her upright, and they had proceeded much more cautiously once she had her feet back under her.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was certainly less than an hour, they turned a corner and found what had once been a neat little village. Now however, it bore the same ravaged appearance that the forest did. One building was completely destroyed, and by the strong odor emanating from the ruins, it must have been a tanners. Everywhere small children moved purposefully about, gathering debris into piles under the watchful gaze of older children, who stepped in to assist when one of the smaller children came across an item he or she just could not move. Adults worked steadily, making repairs to roofs and walls with a will, but Kyrin could sense an edge of, resignation hanging over the village like a shroud.

"They expect another storm," Kyrin realized. "And they do not think they will have repaired all ere it strikes. This is..."

Kyrin's thoughts broke off as he became aware of... something. He couldn't name the sensation that he felt, but his eyes drifted north, pulled towards the distant mountains that trust up in the hazy distance. The strange sensation hummed along his nerves, making him feel as though he had drunk far too much linder-berry tea, then as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation vanished, leaving the echo of its presence to tingle along his nerves for long moments before that too faded away. Glancing around, Kyrin saw no evidence that anyone else had felt the odd sensation, so he held his tongue, instead following Neeri to a large lodge. The Pathfinder didn't even pause at the doorway, instead heading directly inside, turning and brushing through an intricately beaded tapestry and into a largish room, dominated by a table set about with multiple seats, though currently only one was occupied.

"Neeri, daughter of Berath and Anila. Pathfinder of Cnithria," Neeri said, bowing to the seated man. "Chief Dorna, I bring before you Kyrin of the N'varun."

"Kyrin," Kyrin said, bowing as well. "Son of Meltha and Dormic. Maker of the N'varun."

"Welcome Kyrin," Chief Dorna said, rising and bowing to them both. "Be welcome in my home. Neeri, I thank you for your service. What boon my I grant you?"

"No boon," Neeri replied with a smile. "Just the agreed upon fee. I would away before the arrival of another storm."

"You have two days," Dorna replied, "At least that is what the Sky-singer says. However, I understand your wish to avoid it, so my thanks again."

Dorna reached beneath the table he had risen from, and when his hand returned to the top of the table, it held a small pouch which he passed to Neeri with a smile. Neeri returned the smile, placing the pouch onto a hook on her belt, then waved to them both and swept out of the room.

"She is eccentric that one," Dorna said as the curtain swung shut behind her, "But her skills as a Pathfinder are beyond compare. I must summon the Council and send someone to find our wayward Sky-singer now that you are here. Will you accept refreshment while I do so?"

"I would be honored Chief Dorna," Kyrin replied, taking off his pack and setting it beside a chair that the chief indicated with a gesture. The old chief vanished through another curtained doorway, and moments later a young man entered carrying a pitcher and glass, followed by a young woman, barely past girlhood, bearing a small plate of sliced fruits. They set their burdens before Kyrin, nodding politely at his thanks, but saying nothing as they withdrew, leaving Kyrin alone in what had to be the Shinka Council chamber. The pitcher turned out to be filled with a chilled juice that Kyrin was unfamiliar with, sweet but with a tart undertone, that somehow satisfied the thirst that he had developed. The fruit was a combination of known and unknown to him, but they were uniformly delicious. When he had finished and was wondering what to do with the empty pitcher and platter, the young man appeared silently, removing both with a bow.

Not long afterwards, Dorna returned, taking the same seat he had been occupying when Kyrin and Neeri had entered, and nodding to Kyrin.

"The Council will arrive shortly," he said. "At least those who are not repairing their homes. When they and the Sky-singer arrive I shall relate what we know."

Over the next few minutes, several people arrived, slipping through the beaded curtain and taking empty seats about the table. None introduced themselves, and Kyrin did not ask. They were Councillors, and owed him nothing. Indeed, the Chief had been extraordinarily open and kind in giving his name to a member of another tribe. While Kyrin was contemplating this, the beaded tapestry was thrust aside to admit a disheveled looking woman. She looked as though she had been running through the same muck that Kyrin had walked through, given the state of her boots and trousers. Even her tunic showed signs of mud, where it was not darkened by sweat. A mane of sable hair hung down to just above her waist, caught up in intricate braids where the humidity had not teased out errant strands. Eyes the color of storm clouds swept across the room, passing over Kyrin and the assembled Council until they came to rest on Chief Dorna. She gave the Chief the barest nod of respect before speaking.

“Erys, daughter of Amala and Kithir, Sky-singer of Dalriada,” she said bluntly, moving to seat herself beside Kyrin at the chief's nod and gesture.

As she sat, Kyrin noticed her eyes seemed to have adjusted to the relative lighting in the council chamber far too quickly for one who was just outside. As one of the lamps flared a bit, he saw that her pupils did not shift to match the light, remaining large despite the shifting light. The tiniest of furrows marked her brow and her shoulders seemed very tight, all of which led Kyrin to a quick realization.

"She must be in the thoes of a headstorm," he thought, remembering old man Cerno. The oldster had been the victim of headaches so severe he said they felt like a storm raging behind his eyes. Indeed, they had been nearly debilitating to the old man, at least until Kyrin had presented him with a carving of a nymik leaf. Nymik tea was a sovereign remedy for headache, though it had scarcely touched Cerno's headstorms. Fortunately, he had made several of the little carvings after he had discovered how well they worked. Now if he could just get her to accept.

"Welcome Erys, Sky-singer of Dalriada," Chief Dorna said. "I present to you Kyrin, Maker of the N'varun. There was to be another, Kell, Finder of the Ume, but I fear I must bear ill tidings. Kell was struck down by one of the Great Bears before he and his Pathfinder could enter the Moongate. Both were lost to us, and without him, I fear for our island. I do not know another Finder, and our relations with the further islands is, strained. I have no one else I may ask for help. I thank you both for coming, and you Sky-singer for the warnings you have given us, but I do not know what to do now."

Everyone sat in silence, digesting the chief's words, when Kyrin felt the odd sensation that had greeted him in the village begin to sing along his nerves again. It hummed and vibrated, and his eyes turned of their own accord, looking at the northern wall of the chamber. Again, the sensation died away, leaving his nerves tingling, and Kyrin made a decision.

"Chief Dorna," he said slowly, choosing his words with care. "When I first entered your village, I felt something pulling my attention towards the mountains to the north. I have just felt it again. I told my chief that I have no ability to sense the presence of kythria ore, but I now have to question that which I thought I knew. Perhaps because of the power it contains, I believe that I can actually sense the kythria deposit that is causing your problems. Now it is just in small periods, but as I get closer, perhaps I shall start to feel it more regularly, or at least enough to locate it. If Sky-singer Erys would accompany me to warn of impending storms in time to take shelter, perhaps we may yet solve your problem. And perhaps I can to something to assist the Sky-singer as well."

"What say you Erys?" Chief Dorna asked. "Neither of you are my tribe, and even if you were, this is not a path to set someone upon. You must choose yourself, and we shall abide by your decision. Know that if you do this, you may well save our entire tribe."

vaelis (Will she, won't she?)