The Bard's Blade Page 3

  Ferah and Shemi exchanged glances. Shemi was clearly unhappy, while Ferah’s expression was stoic.

  “Before we continue, you should show him,” said Ferah.

  Shemi looked down at the table and then nodded. Rising, he gestured for Lem to follow.

  Lem hesitated. Without being told, he knew that the stranger was in the house. Why would they bring him here? Shemi led him from the kitchen and walked at a conspicuously slow pace down the hall off which the bedrooms and Shemi’s study were located. At the end was a spare room used for guests. But no one had slept there in years, not since his mother’s funeral. Shemi’s wanderlust had cultivated a great number of fascinating stories, but not many roots in the town. They rarely had visitors, and none who would stay for the night.

  Shemi closed his eyes, taking a few seconds to steady his breathing, then reached for the knob. The door squealed open on disused hinges, and the dim light from a lantern spilled out onto the floor. Shemi stepped aside, allowing Lem to enter first. A tingle of fear seeped in as Lem peeked around the doorframe. He could see that the bed was occupied. The stranger.

  With wary steps, Lem drew closer. At first, he could not make out the stranger’s features. Beneath the thick blanket, he could tell that he was quite large; his feet poked out and hung from the end of the bed. Lem picked up the lantern and held it above the stranger’s head. His black hair was short, neatly trimmed, and looked as thick and dense as wool. His skin was the color of pine bark, and he had a square jaw, heavy brow, and high cheekbones. Powerful was the first word that came to Lem’s mind, though beads of sweat covered the stranger’s face and his breathing was rapid and shallow.

  “Frila’s boy, Chaud, found him this morning a few miles from the barrier,” said Shemi in a half whisper, “disoriented and barely able to walk. He said only one word before collapsing. ‘Illorial.’”

  Lem nearly dropped the lantern. Illorial. His mother’s name. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be,” Shemi replied. “I didn’t hear it myself. But Chaud has no reason to lie. That was why they brought him here.”

  Lem took another long look at the stranger. Could this possibly be … his father? No, he decided. He was far too young. The man lying before him could not be more than thirty. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Ferah believes something happened to him when he crossed the barrier,” replied Shemi. “But then as your mother passed through unharmed, there’s no way to know for sure.”

  The implications were mind-boggling. His father was not from Vylari; rather, he was from the impossible land of Lamoria. “Can you help him?” Answers to so many questions were within his grasp. The stranger had to wake.

  “If I knew what was wrong with him, perhaps. But he seems to be getting weaker by the minute. I think he’s dying.”

  “Could we send for a healer?”

  “Ferah is as skilled as any, and she has no idea what to do.”

  “Surely someone can help him?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  A feeling of desperation threatened to overcome Lem as he looked down at the stranger. There had to be something they could do. His mother had crossed the barrier unharmed. Why had it hurt this stranger? Was his mother somehow different? Special?

  An image of her on the porch popped into his head, a tiny smile on her face while she patiently taught him the balisari. An ordinary Vylarian by most standards—hard-working, dedicated to family, good-natured, and kind. There was nothing about her that would suggest she could do something as incredible as cross the barrier. How could she have kept something this important from him? Lem placed the lantern on the nightstand and turned to face Shemi. “Why haven’t you ever told me any of this?”

  “I never knew why my sister left Vylari. When she returned pregnant with you, she made me swear to keep her secret.”

  “I had a right to know.” Through the tempest of confusion swirling in his head, a low boiling anger was building.

  “I wanted to tell you. But she was convinced that if you knew, you would leave Vylari to look for your father. More than anything, she wanted you kept safe.”

  “How did lying to me keep me safe?”

  “No one lied to you. I don’t know who your father is.”

  “How could you not know?” he said, voice growing louder with each word.

  “For the same reason you don’t,” he replied, unmoved by Lem’s display. “What should I have done? I couldn’t force your mother to tell me, now, could I?”

  “How does Ferah know about it?”

  “She was the one who found your mother when she returned,” Shemi explained. “She helped her hide the truth … until now. When Illorial went missing, it was thought she must have drowned in the Sunflow or run afoul of wild animals. When she came back, seemingly from nowhere, people assumed she had run away, fearing a scandal. It was easy enough to encourage that idea. I mean, who would think she could have left Vylari?”

  “That doesn’t explain why you kept it from me.”

  Shemi locked eyes with Lem. “It’s what your mother wanted. It’s not for you to question her wishes. Or me either. You can be angry all you want, but it doesn’t do a thing to change the situation.”

  Lem knew his uncle was right. His mother had loved him fiercely. There was nothing she wouldn’t have done, no sacrifice too great, if it meant his happiness. She’d watched over him like a treasure. Even before Shemi came to stay with them permanently, he’d never felt the absence of a second parent. His mother would have only hidden the truth to protect him. And Shemi loved him like a son, taking on parental duties throughout his entire life. Though Lem could not agree that he should have been kept ignorant, he couldn’t fault the old man for doing what he’d felt was best. “And what is the situation?”

  Shemi reached into his pocket and retrieved a folded parchment. “That will be for you to decide. The stranger had this.”

  Lem held it in his hand, staring down wide-eyed as if it might burn his fingers. An object from Lamoria. One which contained … he was afraid to know.

  Lem’s head was spinning, and for a moment he felt as if his legs would give way. “None of this makes sense. Why would Mother leave Vylari? And even if she did, how could she have made it back? There has to be more to it.”

  “I’m sure there is,” Shemi agreed. “But there’s no way to know what that is. One thing you can say about my sister: If she didn’t want to tell you something, there was no way to force her. And believe me, I tried.”

  Lem stumbled to a chair pushed against the wall next to the door. “What do I do now? What will people think?”

  “They’ll be afraid, at least at first. But that’s to be expected. In time, they’ll come to accept it.”

  Lem turned his attention to the parchment. The chill of fear coursed through his limbs as he held it with trembling hands. “Have you read it?”

  Shemi nodded. “It’s nonsense, if you ask me. But I won’t keep it from you.”

  For several seconds, Lem was paralyzed. He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding in his ears. Somehow he knew that whatever it said would change things even more than they had changed already. Taking a long breath, he opened his eyes, unfolded the parchment, and looked down at what was written. At first he could not understand it. The lettering was strange, like nothing he’d seen before.

  Lem concentrated, running his finger along the symbols. He had never been the scholar Mariyah and Shemi were. He wasn’t dim, but he’d never acquired a genuine love of reading.

  “They’re the same letters as ours,” said Shemi, noticing his difficulty. “Keep looking. You’ll get it.”

  Gradually he recognized the familiarities. Yes. They were the same letters he had been taught. Some exactly the same, others reversed or with extra loops and squiggles in odd places. After another few minutes he was able to make out what it said.

  To whomever finds this letter,

  My name is Hylar Olivan of the Order of the Thaumas
. As I am unsure what will become of me once I pass through the barrier, I am writing this should things go awry. The magic protecting this land is unlike anything I have encountered, and I feel woefully outmatched by its power. Simply locating it was a challenge. Still, I must try to make it through.

  Should I fail, it is vitally important that this find its way to the woman named Illorial.

  * * *

  Illorial,

  You likely do not know me. I was but a boy when you lived with us at the enclave, though you knew my father, Pyvor, well. I have been sent to warn you. What we feared for so long has come to pass. He is coming. Soon doom will be upon us all. Our seer, Oryel, believes our only hope rests with one who dwells among you—a child enormous of talent, with special gifts that have the power to hold back the darkness. She says that this person will have a deep connection to you. But it is uncertain what that connection might be. Only that they are a bridge between your world and ours. They must leave Vylari at once. Their strength will draw him like a beacon. The barrier will be no obstacle. Your land will burn and your people will die. Please. You must help us before it’s too late. I know you have no reason to trust me. So I have been given these words: The wind shall guide you home. Oryel told me it was the last thing she said to you before you returned to Vylari.

  Again, I urge you to hurry. And should I not make it through, tell my father I love him … and that I am sorry.

  Hylar

  He folded the parchment and handed it back to Shemi. He had never felt more confused and afraid in his life. The implications of the letter were immense. “Is that why Ferah is here? You want me to leave?”

  “Absolutely not. I would never allow it.”

  “But if this is true—”

  “You aren’t going anywhere. You hear me? There’s no way to know if any of this is true or not.”

  “But he knew her name … and where she was from.” Lem felt as if the entire world were crumbling before his eyes; his dreams of marrying Mariyah, of working at the vineyard alongside her, of starting a family of their own were vanishing like a fog in the heat of the late morning sun.

  Shemi shoved the letter in his pocket. “I don’t care what this says. You’re staying here, and that’s all there is to say about it.”

  “Has Ferah read it?”

  “Yes.”

  The short answer and tense tone were revealing. Ferah wanted him to leave. And if what the stranger claimed were true, for good reason. Lem pressed his palms to his knees and stood on wobbly legs. Shemi took his arm, and the two exited the room and returned to the kitchen.

  Ferah was waiting silently, hands folded and eyes fixed on the tabletop.

  Lem’s head was still swimming as he sat heavily in his chair.

  “So now you know the truth,” said Ferah.

  “Just because outlandish claims were made doesn’t mean they’re true,” Shemi asserted.

  “No?” said Ferah, her mouth turned to a deep frown. “Then how would you explain it?” Before Shemi could respond, she added: “It is clear that he knew Lem’s mother. And he was willing to risk his own life to come here. Why would he do that for a lie?”

  Shemi fumed but had no response to give.

  Lem could see where this was going. And Ferah was right. The stranger was not lying. He had crossed the barrier knowing he might never return.

  Finally Shemi regained a modicum of composure, though the anger in his voice was undisguised. “I will not allow Lem to leave. He belongs here. I don’t care what anyone says.”

  “I am not suggesting he leave.” In contrast to Shemi, she maintained a poised calm as her eyes shifted to Lem. “Nor do I think, should he choose to stay, anyone would force him to. At this point, I only weigh the possibilities. But if what the letter says is true, everyone in Vylari could be in great danger.”

  “The letter said nothing,” Shemi retorted. “Vague claims of a coming evil? Insisting we send away one of our own kin? That tells us nothing. Why not just say what this evil is? No. I’ll not take the word of a stranger without more than a few words scratched on parchment as a reason.”

  “It could have been written in haste,” offered Ferah. “And do not forget it was intended for Illorial.”

  “Or perhaps he was a madman,” said Shemi.

  The voices of Shemi and Ferah drifted far away, their words garbled as they continued the debate. All Lem could think about was Mariyah. He would have to tell her. But what would he say? That his mother had done the unthinkable and left Vylari? That his father was from Lamoria and possibly even a wielder of magic? And worst of all, that his staying might mean that everyone in Vylari could be in mortal danger? The thought of the conversation caused a lump to form in his throat. Would she feel differently about him? How could she not, when he felt differently about himself? The image of the dying stranger insisted its way to the fore of his thoughts. More than anything, he wanted this not to be happening. Yet it was. How could Mariyah not feel uncertain about him, about their future, when his past had been built on a lie?

  “Lem.”

  The touch of Shemi’s hand brought him back into the moment. “I’ll leave.”

  “You will do no such thing,” barked Shemi.

  Ferah’s expression softened. “That is very brave of you, Lem. But your uncle is right. We don’t know how true this is. Or even for certain if it’s you that he came to find. And I would not have you make a rash choice based on fear. Frila and Chaud have seen the stranger and read the letter, so word will spread. There is nothing I can do about that. But that should not force you into a decision. Especially not one with such irreversible consequences.”

  “Listen to her,” said Shemi. “I know you’re upset. But give it a few days.”

  “What good will that do?” asked Lem. “Nothing will change.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Ferah. “But running away is rarely the right thing to do. My advice is to wait until you’ve had time to settle this in your mind. Perhaps there is an answer to this riddle. Neither I nor your uncle are schooled in Lamorian lore, at least not beyond what is commonly told. There are other elders I can consult. Give me time to investigate.”

  Lem looked from Shemi to Ferah. He had never felt so utterly lost. Nodding almost imperceptibly, he said, “I’ll wait.”

  Ferah smiled. “Good. In the meantime, you should stay close to home. Unfortunately, books dealing with Lamoria are rare. It will take a while to gather them all.” She pushed back her chair. “It’s late, and this has been an eventful night.”

  “Please,” said Shemi. “There’s no need to go back tonight. Take my bed.”

  “Thank you,” replied Ferah, leaning wearily on her walking stick. “But my children will be frantic if they wake and I’m not home. And I promised my grandson I would take him to market in the morning for sweets.”

  Olian Springs town proper was nearly three miles away—a long walk at her age. Though not older than Shemi, the years had caught her much earlier. A stray thought entered Lem’s head. Was the elder leaving because there was a stranger in the house … or him? This foreshadowed what might come. People would fear him; reject him. Child of a magic wielder. Yes, he used the shadow walk while hunting. But that was a natural talent, one possessed by all Vylarians, and not true magic. The mere mention of the word was like spitting a curse. The people of Vylari had closed themselves off from Lamoria, where magic was used to wage war and to spread death and pestilence. From childhood they were taught about the evils that lay beyond the barrier. Now, Lem was irrevocably tied to the very thing his people loathed and feared the most.

  He imagined the eager faces of the crowd who had enjoyed his music tonight. The smiles and laughter resounded in his memory. And that was all it would be from now on: a memory. The people of Vylari would not be able to prevent themselves from fearing him. The stories they had been told would see to that. Would his jobs dry up? Would he become an object of curiosity and ridicule? The thought formed a thick knot in his stomach. He
might be forced to give up teaching and performing altogether. At least he and Shemi could feed themselves. Shemi had taught him to hunt and trap. Though he wasn’t as adept as some, he was good enough to keep them from starving.

  Shemi walked Ferah out. Lem could hear their muffled voices in the foyer, the words trouble and danger drifting into the kitchen. If only the stranger would wake up, tell them precisely what his letter meant. What was this evil? How had he known how to find Vylari?

  “I know what you’re thinking.”

  Lem hadn’t noticed Shemi return.

  The old man began tossing wood into the stove. “Some tea will settle you down, I think.”

  A sardonic laugh slipped out before Lem could control himself. “Tea?”

  “Never underestimate the power of a good cup of tea,” Shemi said, ignoring Lem’s tone. “You just rest your mind. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing we can’t handle, anyway.”

  Lem sat quietly until the kettle was ready and a cup of steaming hot tea was placed in front of him. He held it to his mouth, concentrating on the heat rising, covering his lips with a layer of moisture, its minty aroma mingling pleasantly with the sweet scent of Shemi’s pipe. He had never taken up the habit himself, but had always enjoyed the smell. It reminded him of evenings before his mother had died, when the three of them would sit on the front porch and Lem would play the balisari. She would laugh with delight as Shemi danced about and blew smoke rings in time with the music.

  Lem puffed a breath over the tea and took a small sip. Though it warmed his belly and relieved some of the fatigue in his muscles, it was not enough to ease his burden. “I don’t know what to do. It’s just so … big. I feel like I’m drowning.”

  “Then don’t do anything yet.”

  “I need to tell Mariyah, before she hears about this from someone else.”

  Shemi nodded. “I suppose that would be best. But you shouldn’t worry. She loves you. She’ll understand.”

  “Will she?”

  Shemi’s tone hardened. “Listen to me, lad. The two of you were made for each other. Anyone with half a brain can see that. Don’t you go underestimating her. If you think she’d stop loving you over this … well … you should be ashamed for thinking that.”