Tanis the shadow years

42

The smell of salt air саmе wafting to Tanis on a gentle sea breeze. He knew they were getting close to the Straits of Algoni. And Ankatavaka. Unconsciously, the half-elf leaned forward on his bullbogg, straining to see some sign of the village beyond the wood in which they rode. He wondered if this was the same forest in which the human soldiers had gathered before making their charge upon the elven barricades. His father had been among those men.

Tanis pushed the memory out of his mind. He didn't want to remember his father. Rubbing the bullbogg's sweaty neck, Tanis led them, plodding, through the trees, finding only the barest semblance of a trail; what had been there before had long since been reclaimed by nature.

"When were you here last?" Tanis called back to Clotnik, who had fallen behind.

The dwarf muttered an oath; Tanis heard him swat back a branch that had blocked his path. "It's been at least sixty years. The floods came thirty-eight years ago. Maybe you remember that winter when it rained almost every day7"

"Of course. I was with my friend-Flint." Tanis laughed. "We were making our way across a desert in Taladas when the rains started. Almost overnight, the desert was flooded. We had to save ourselves by grabbing hold of a drowned skrit. Have you ever spent three days holding on to the back of a dead, six-foot beetle?"

"I'm pleased to say that I haven't." Clotnik batted back another branch.

Their voices trailed off. Through the trees, Tanis saw an open field; beyond that meadow stood the crumbling walls of Ankatavaka. He pointed, about to call out, but Clotnik said, "I see it." Then, in a mournful voice, he added, "It looks so sad."

Even from a distance, the village had an air of death. They rode on, crossing the open field. It was flat, punctuated by no landmark except a lonely tree trunk. Tanis detoured to pass the stump, remembering. When he reached it, he looked down and saw with satisfaction that it was hollow.

The main gate loomed ahead of them. It was open, admitting anyone or anything to the streets of the village. But entering by way of the gate was unnecessary. What had once been a well-protected village was now a shambles of dilapidated walls that looked like ancient ruins.

As they rode through the gate, a gust of wind flew in with them, blowing dust and, it seemed to Tanis, carrying them on its wings to another time. Everywhere he looked, he imagined the village as he remembered it. He could see the elves on the barricades, east, south, and north. He could hear the cheers of the villagers when Kishpa's rain spell stopped the human army on the first day of the siege. And when he looked to the south, he re- fought the battle on the top of the barricade.

He remembered the arrow that had come out of nowhere to save his life. Gazing across the open village square, he saw the building from which that arrow had been loosed. Brandella had lived there once, long ago. He had been in her room on the second floor, but only in Kishpa's mind. He wanted to see it again.

The two-story house listed to one side, one wall having collapsed. It looked as if the entire structure was on the verge of falling. He rode to it anyway, dismounted, and walked to the doorway.

"Where are you going?" asked Clotnik from atop his bullbogg.

"Inside."

'Too dangerous," cautioned the juggler.

"Don't worry," he replied airily. "I'll be careful." But, in fact, he bounded up a rickety staircase that had no business holding his weight. When he reached the top, he found the door to Brandella's home hanging by a single hinge. He pushed through and entered, finding the place stripped bare of furniture, one wall gone, the roof partially torn away. The vast mural that had covered her home was so faded by wind, rain, and sun that it was nearly impossible to make out any of the images-save one. In a far corner, low on the wall, he saw a surprisingly fresh drawing. It depicted a man, seen from behind, his face unshown. Inside his body there hovered the figure of a woman, her face also unshown. He reached out to touch it. When he withdrew his hand, there was paint on his fingertips. His eyes opened wide. Was it still wet7 Or had some of the color come off simply because the painting was exposed to the damp sea air? And why was this visible when all the others had faded? If memory served him, her bed had been against this wall. Maybe whoever lived here after her also kept the bed against the wall, protecting it. Or maybe it had been painted, somehow, expressly for him. For this moment. By her.

A cracking sound caught his attention. A moment later, there was a loud crash and a cloud of dust drifted up to the second floor.

"Tanis!" Clotnik shouted from the street. "Are you all right?"

He went to the window. "Couldn't be better!" he sang out.

'The building is falling apart," warned the juggler. "Get out of there-fast!"

"I'm coming." With that, Tanis hurried to the door and made for the stairs-except that several steps in the center of the staircase were gone. It had been that portion of the steps that had given way, breaking apart and crashing to the floor below. The half-elf grimaced. Getting out was not going to be easy But there was no other way.

Going slowly, putting all of his weight on each of the stairs, was the worst thing he could do. He had to take the stairs at a run, leap over the missing section, and hope that when he landed on the lower half of the staircase, it wouldn't collapse.

The half-elf took a deep breath, then plunged down the staircase at breakneck speed, his feet flying, taking three steps at a time. When he reached the chasm between the stairs, he jumped, soaring over the empty space and coming down on the lower section with his right foot. The stair broke.

Tanis bounced off the wall on his right. His momentum carried him down the staircase while he scrambled to keep his balance. Neither Tanis nor the stairs stayed upright. Tanis hit the last few steps hard and rolled out the doorway, into the street. The staircase crashed behind him, a cloud of dust following him out into the air. Clotnik jumped down from his bullbogg and ran to Tanis, who waved him off. "I'm all right," said the half- elf. "I just need to catch my breath."

The dwarf's face reflected vying emotions: worry, fear, annoyance. His voice snapped like dry wood. "Just because this is a ghost village is no reason for you to end up dead. Be careful I"

"I'll do my best," promised Tanis, gasping for air. While Tanis huffed and puffed, the dwarf wandered away alone to rediscover his own memories; after all, he had grown up in Ankatavaka. Clotnik had gone only as far as the center of the village square, however, when he stopped, looked up, and smiled.

A short while later, Tanis approached on foot, asking, "What are you looking at7"

'This statue," the dwarf answered with nostalgia. "I remember when it was dedicated. I had just come back by ship and had learned that my father was dead. Everything in my life had changed. I didn't even know whd this person was," he said, pointing up at the weathered stone sculpture.

Tanis glanced up, and his face filled with a look of wonder. It was Scowarrl He stood there, a sword jutting from one hand, his head wrapped in bandages that were on the verge of coming undone. Underneath, on the base, the inscription read: "Let us not forget the Great Scowarr. He came as a stranger. He left as a hero."