Firstborn

22 — Spring, Year of the Ram

The days seemed empty. Each morning Kith-Kanan went to sit by the young oak. It was slender and tall, its twining branches reaching heavenward. Leaf buds appeared on it, as they did on all the trees in the forest. But these buds seemed a symbol, a notice that the wildwood was once again furiously and joyously alive. Even the clearing erupted in wildflowers and vibrant green growth. The path to the pool covered over in a day with new grass and nodding thistles.

“There’s never been a spring like this.” Mackeli exclaimed. “Things are growing while you watch!” His spirits had recovered more quickly than Kith-Kanan’s. Mackeli easily accepted that Anaya’s change had been fated to happen, and he’d been trying to draw his friend out of his misery.

This beautiful day he and Kith-Kanan sat on a lower limb of the oak tree. Mackeli’s gangling legs swung back and forth as he chewed a sweet grass stem and looked over the clearing, “It’s like we’re besieged,” he added. Grass had grown to waist height in little more than a week. The bare ground around the tree, scuffed down to dirt by their daily walking on it, was gradually shrinking as the plants in the clearing grew.

“The hunting ought to be good,” Mackeli enthused. His newfound appetite for meat was enormous. He ate twice as much as Kith-Kanan and grew stronger all the time. And since the griffon had grown more skilled in bringing back game for them, they were well fed.

With the explosion of flowering trees and plants had come the onslaught of the insects. Not the Black Crawlers of Anaya’s acquaintance, but bees and flies and butterflies. The air was always thick with them now. Kith-Kanan and Mackeli had to keep a fire burning in the hearth at all times to discourage the bees from building a hive in the tree with them.

With Arcuballis bringing in a whole boar or deer once a day, there was little for the two elves to do. Still hoping to divert Kith-Kanan from his grief, Mackeli once more began to ask questions of Silvanost. They talked about the people, their clothing, eating habits, work routines, and more. Slowly, Kith-Kanan was persuaded to share his memories. To his surprise, he found himself feeling homesick.

“And what about…” Mackeli chewed his lower lip. “What about girls?”

Kith-Kanan smiled slightly. “Yes, there are girls.”

“What are they like?”

“The maids of Silvanost are well known for their grace and beauty,” he said, without much exaggeration. “Most of them are kindly and gentle and very intelligent, and a few have been known to take up horse and sword. Those are rare, though. They are red-haired, blond, sandy-haired, and I’ve seen some with hair as black as the nighttime sky.”

Mackeli drew in his legs, crouching on the balls of his feet. “I would like to meet them! All of them!”

“No doubt you would, Keli,” Kith-Kanan said solemnly. “But I cannot take you there.”

Mackeli knew the story of Kith-Kanan’s flight from Silvanost.

“Whenever Ny would get mad at me, I would wait a few days, then go and say I was sorry,” he suggested. “Can’t you tell your father you’re sorry?”

“It’s not that easy,” Kith-Kanan replied defensively.

“Why?”

The prince opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Why, indeed? Surely in the time that had gone by his father’s anger would have cooled. The gods knew his own anger at losing Hermathya had withered and died as if it had never been. Even now, as he spoke her name in his mind, no remembered passion stirred inside him. His heart would always belong to Anaya. Now that she was gone, why should he not return home?

In the end, though, Kith-Kanan always decided that he could not. “My father is Speaker of the Stars. He is bound by traditions he cannot flout. If he were only my father and angry with me, perhaps I could return and beg his forgiveness. But there are many others around him who wouldn’t want me back.”

Mackeli nodded knowingly. “Enemies.”

“Not personal enemies, just those priests and guild masters who have a vested interest in keeping things as they’ve always been. My father needs their support, which is why he married Hermathya to Sithas in the first place. I’m sure my return would cause much unrest in the city.”

Mackeli dropped out of his crouch. He swung his legs back and forth in the air. “Seems complicated,” he said. “I think the forest is better.” Even with the ache of Anaya’s loss in his heart, Kith-Kanan had to agree as he looked over the sunny clearing carpeted with flowers.

The Call struck him like a blow.

It was evening, four days after the prince’s discussion of Silvanost with Mackeli, and they were skinning a mountain elk. Neither Kith-Kanan nor the boy could explain why the griffon had flown two hundred miles to the Khalkist Mountains to catch the elk, but that was the nearest source of such animals. They were nearly finished with the skinning when the Call came.

Kith-Kanan dropped his flint skinning knife in the dirt. He jumped to his feet, hands outstretched as if he’d been stricken blind.

“Kith! Kith, what’s wrong?” Mackeli cried.

Kith-Kanan could no longer see the forest. Instead, he saw vague impressions of walls, floor, and ceiling made of white marble. It was as if he’d been lifted up out of his body and set down in Silvanost. He held a hand to his face and in place of his leather tunic and callused palm, he saw a smooth hand and a white silk robe. The ring on his finger he recognized as belonging to Sithas.

A jumble of sensations assaulted his mind: worry, sadness, loneliness. Sithas was calling his name. There was trouble in the city. Arguments and fighting. Humans at court. Kith-Kanan reeled as it came at him in a rush.

“Sithas!” he cried. When he spoke, the Call ended abruptly.

Mackeli was shaking him by his tunic. Kith-Kanan broke the boy’s grip and shoved him back.

“What is it?” Mackeli asked, frightened.

“My brother. It was my brother, back in Silvanost…”

“You saw him? Did he speak?”

“Not in words. The nation is in peril…” Kith-Kanan pressed his hands to his face. His heart was pounding. “I must go back. I must go to Silvanost.” He turned and walked into the hollow tree.

“Wait! Do you have to go now?”

“I have to go. I have to leave now,” Kith-Kanan insisted tensely.

“Then take me with you!”

Kith-Kanan appeared in the doorway. “What did you say?”

“Take me with you,” Mackeli repeated in a hopeful tone. “I’ll be your servant. I’ll do anything. Clean your boots, cook your food—anything. I don’t want to stay here alone, Kith. I want to see the city of my people!”

Kith-Kanan went to where Mackeli stood, still holding his skinning knife. With the muddle of feelings clearing from his brain, he realized he was glad Mackeli wanted to go with him. He felt closer to him than he had to anyone except Anaya—and Sithas. If he was going back to face who knows what in Silvanost, he didn’t want to lose that friendship and support now.

Clapping a hand to the boy’s shoulder, Kith-Kanan declared, “You shall go with me, but never as my servant. You can be my squire and train to be a warrior. How does that sound?”

Mackeli was too overcome to speak. He threw his arms around Kith-Kanan and hugged him fiercely.

“When shall we leave?” the boy asked.

Kith-Kanan felt the powerful tug of the Call. Now, now, now. It coursed through his body like a second heartbeat. He steeled himself against the insatiable pull. It was late and there were preparations which must be made before they departed. “Tomorrow morning,” he decided.

Day came like the cracking of an egg. First all was smooth, unbroken night, then just a chip of sunlight showed to the east. It was enough to rouse the eager Mackeli, who splashed water on his face and announced himself ready to go.

“Is there nothing you want to take with you?” Kith-Kanan wondered.

Mackeli surveyed the inside of the tree. The flint tools, gourd bottles, clay-daubed baskets, none of them were worth taking, he said. Still, they needed food and water, so they loaded a pair of wicker baskets with meat, nuts, berries, and water, balancing the weight so Arcuballis could carry it all. Alone of the three of them, the griffon was still heavily asleep. When Kith-Kanan whistled through his teeth, Arcuballis raised its aquiline head out from under one wing and stood on its mismatched feet. Kith-Kanan gave the beast some water while Mackeli tied the food baskets to the back of the saddle.

A sense of urgency spurred them on. Mackeli chattered incessantly about the things he wanted to do and see. He scrubbed the residue of paint from his face, announcing that he didn’t want the city-dwellers to think he was a savage. Kith-Kanan tested the harness fittings under the griffon’s neck and chest, and Mackeli climbed onto the pillion. At last, though, Kith-Kanan hesitated.

“What is it?” the boy asked.

“There is one thing I must do!” He cut across the flower-choked clearing to the slender oak that had been Anaya. He stopped two yards away and looked up at the limbs reaching toward the sky. He still found it hard to accept that the woman he loved was here now, in any form. “Part of my heart stays with you here, my love. I have to go back now; I hope you understand.” Tears welled in his eyes as he took out his dagger. “Forgive me,” he whispered, then reached up and quickly sliced off a four-inch green shoot, well laden with bright green buds. Kith-Kanan cut a small slit in the tough deerhide of his tunic, directly over his heart, and put the shoot there.

The elf prince gazed up at the young tree, then looked around at the clearing where they had been so happy. “I love you, Anaya,” he said. “Farewell.” Turning, he walked quickly back to the griffon.

Kith-Kanan swung onto Arcuballis’s back and settled himself into the saddle. He whistled and touched the griffon with his heels, signaling the creature to be off. As the griffon bounded across the clearing, its strong legs tearing through the new growth, great torrents of petals and pollen flew into the air. At last the mount opened its wings and, in a stupendous bound, leaped into the air. Mackeli yelped with delight.

They circled the clearing, gaining height with each circuit. Kith-Kanan looked down for a few seconds, then he lifted his face and studied the clouds. He turned Arcuballis’s head northeast. They leveled out at a thousand feet. The air was warm, and a steady wind buoyed Arcuballis, enabling him to glide for long stretches with hardly a wingbeat.

Mackeli leaned forward and shouted in Kith-Kanan’s ear, “How long will it take us to get there?”

“One day, perhaps two.”

They passed over a world rapidly greening. Life seemed to be bursting from the ground even as they flew by. The lower air was full of birds, from tiny swallows to large flocks of wild geese. Farther below, the forest thinned, then gave way to plain. As the sun reached its zenith, Kith-Kanan and Mackeli saw the first signs of civilization since leaving the wildwood. There was a village below, laid out in a circle, with a sod wall surrounding it for protection. A pall of smoke hung over the village.

“Is that a city?” asked Mackeli excitedly.

“No, that’s barely a village. It looks like they’ve been attacked.” Worry and the edge of fear set Kith-Kanan’s heart to pounding as he hauled back on the reins. Arcuballis tipped over in a shallow dive. They flew through the smoke. Coughing, the elf prince steered the griffon in a slow circle around the despoiled village. Nothing moved. He could see the bodies of the fallen lying atop the wall and in between the huts.

“It’s terrible,” Kith-Kanan said grimly. “I’m going to land and take a look. Be on guard, Keli.”

Arcuballis touched down lightly outside the wall, near one of the rents that had been torn in it. Kith-Kanan and Mackeli dismounted. Mackeli had a crossbow, salvaged from Voltorno’s band, and Kith-Kanan had his compound bow. His scabbard hung empty by his side.

“You see what they did?” Kith-Kanan said, pointing to the gap in the sod wall. “The attackers used grappling hooks to pull down the wall.”

They stepped over the rubble of dried sod and entered the village. It was eerily quiet. Smoke eddied and swirled in the shifting wind. Where once people had talked and argued and laughed, there was now nothing but empty streets. Broken crockery and torn clothing were strewn here and there. Kith-Kanan turned over the first body he came to—a Kagonesti male, slain by sword. He could tell the elf had died not very long before, a day or two at most. Turning the fellow facedown once more, Kith-Kanan paused and shook his head. Horrible. During the Call he had sensed from Sithas that there was trouble in the land, but this? This was murder and rapine.

As they continued through the silent village, all the other dead they found were Kagonesti or Silvanesti males. No females, no children. All the farm animals were gone, as was practically everything else of value.

“Who could have done this?” Mackeli asked solemnly.

“I don’t know. Whoever it was, they didn’t want their identity known. Do you notice, they took their own dead with them?”

“How can you tell?”

Kith-Kanan pointed at the scattering of dead villagers. “These fellows didn’t just lay down and die. They died fighting, which means they must’ve taken a few of their enemies with them.”

On the west side of the village, they found a mass of footprints—horses, cattle, and people. The raiders had taken their elven and animal captives and driven them out onto the great plain. Mackeli asked what lay in that direction.

“The city of Xak Tsaroth. No doubt the raiders will try to sell their prizes in the markets there,” said Kith-Kanan grimly. He gazed at the flat horizon as if he might catch a glimpse of the bandits who had committed this outrage. “Beyond Xak Tsaroth is the homeland of the Kagonesti. It’s forest, much like the wildwood we just left.”

“Does your father rule all this land?” Mackeli said curiously.

“He rules it by law, but out here the real ruler is the hand that wields the sword.” Kith-Kanan kicked the dry plains soil, sending up a gout of dust. “Come, Keli. Let’s go.”

They trudged back to the griffon, following the outside curve of the village wall. Mackeli dragged his feet and hung his head. Kith-Kanan asked what was troubling him.

“This world beyond the forest is a dark place,” he said. “These folk died because someone wanted to rob them.”

“I never said the outside world was all marble cities and pretty girls,” Kith-Kanan replied, draping an arm across the boy’s shoulders. “Don’t be too discouraged, though. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day. Once I tell my father about it, he will put an end to this brigandage.”

“What can he do? He lives in a far away city.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of the Speaker of the Stars.”

It was twilight of the second day when the white tops of the city towers first appeared. Arcuballis sensed the end of their journey was near; without Kith-Kanan’s urging, the beast quickened its wingbeat. The land raced by. The broad Thon-Thalas, mirroring the deep aquamarine of the evening sky, appeared, approached, and then flashed beneath the griffon’s tucked-in feet.

“Hello! Hello down there!” Mackeli called to the boaters and fishers on the river. Kith-Kanan shushed him.

“I may not be coming back to the warmest of welcomes,” he cautioned. “There’s no need to announce our return, all right?” The boy reluctantly fell silent.

Kith-Kanan found himself experiencing great doubt and no small amount of trepidation. How would he be received? Could his father forgive his outrage? One thing he knew, he was certainly not the same elf he had been when he left here. So much had happened to him, and he found himself looking forward to the time when he could share it with his twin.

Kith-Kanan had noticed the beginning of a settlement on the western bank of the river. From the grid layout, it looked like a town was being built on the river, opposite the piers and docks of Silvanost. Then, as they approached the city from the south, he saw that a large section of the Market was a blackened ruin. This alarmed him, for if the city had been attacked it might not be his father and twin who would be waiting for him when he landed. The prince was only a little relieved when he saw that the rest of the city appeared normal.

For his part, Mackeli leaned far to the side, staring with unabashed amazement at the wonders below. The city glittered in the sunlight. Marble buildings, green gardens, and sparkling pools filled his eyes. A thousand towers, each a marvel to the forest-raised boy, jutted above the artfully manicured treetops. Rising higher than all the rest was the Tower of the Stars. Kith-Kanan circled the great pinnacle and recalled with a pang the day he’d done it last. The number of days was small compared to an elf’s entire life, but the gulf it represented seemed as great as one thousand years.

Arcuballis was ready for home. The beast banked away from the tower with only a minimum of direction from Kith-Kanan and headed for the rooftop of the Quinari Palace. A line of torches burned along the flat roof, the flames whipped by a steady wind. The rosy palace tower was tinted a much deeper shade of red by the last rays of the setting sun.

Mackeli held tightly to Kith-Kanan’s waist as the angle of descent steepened. A single white-robed figure stood beside the line of torches. The griffon raised its head and wafted its wings rapidly. The mount’s forward speed diminished, and its clawed forelegs touched down on the roof. When its hind legs found purchase, Arcuballis folded its wings.

The figure in white, a dozen yards away, lifted a torch from its holder and walked toward the grounded griffon. Mackeli held his breath.

“Brother,” Kith-Kanan said simply as he dismounted.

Sithas held up the torch. “I knew you would come back. I’ve waited here every night since I called you,” said his twin warmly.

“I am glad to see you!” The brothers embraced. Seeing this, Mackeli threw a leg over and slid down the griffon’s rump to the roof. Sithas and Kith-Kanan drew apart and clapped each other on the shoulders.

“You look like a ragged bandit,” Sithas exclaimed. “Where did you get those clothes?”

“It’s a very long story,” Kith-Kanan replied. He was grinning so widely his face ached; Sithas’s expression mirrored his. “And you, when did you stop being a priest and become a prince?” he exclaimed, thumping Sithas’s back.

Sithas kept smiling. “Well, a lot’s happened since you left. I…” He stopped, seeing Mackeli come up behind Kith-Kanan.

“This is my good friend and companion Mackeli,” Kith-Kanan explained. “Keli, this is my brother, Sithas.”

“Hello,” said Mackeli casually.

“No,” Kith-Kanan chided. “Bow, like I told you.”

Mackeli bent awkwardly at the waist, bending nearly double. “Sorry, Kith! I meant, hello, Prince Sithas,” he said ingenuously.

Sithas smiled at the boy. “You’ve plenty of time to learn court manners,” he said. “Right now, I’ll wager you’d both like a hot bath and some dinner.”

“Ah! With that, I could die happy,” Kith-Kanan said, placing a hand over his heart. Laughing, he and Sithas started toward the stairwell, with Mackeli following a pace behind. Kith-Kanan suddenly halted.

“What about father?” he asked apprehensively. “Does he know you called me?”

“Yes,” said Sithas. “He was ill for a few days, and I asked him for permission to use the Call. He consented. A healer brought him through, and he’s well now. We’ve been dealing with ambassadors from Ergoth and Thorbardin, too, so things have been quite busy. We’ll go to him and mother as soon as you’re presentable.”

“Ambassadors? Why are they here?” Kith-Kanan asked. “And, Sith, what happened to the Market? It looks as though it was sacked!”

“I’ll tell you all about it.”

As the twins reached the steps, Kith-Kanan looked back. Stars were coming out in the darkening sky. The weary Arcuballis had dropped into a sleeping crouch. Kith-Kanan looked from the star-salted sky to the nearby bulk of the Tower of the Stars. Without really thinking about it, his hand went to the sprig of oak he’d snipped from Anaya’s tree and drew it out. It had changed. Where there had been tight buds, now the shoot was furnished with perfect green leaves. Even though it had been cut from the tree two days past, the sprig was green and growing.

“What is that?” asked Sithas curiously.

Kith-Kanan drew a deep breath and shared a knowing glance with Mackeli. “This is the best part of my story, Brother.” Tenderly he returned the oak shoot to its place over his heart.