Exodus: The Windwalker Archive: Book 3 (Legends of Agora) (19 page)

I watched Kreal Windwalker for many years, and though I never spoke to the Vald man, I believe that I got to know him well. I wish I had known him before the tragedy of the frozen plague, for I sometimes saw a light in his eyes and a rare smile come from the man that could brighten a room. Usually, however, he stayed to himself and drank strong spirits. Sometimes, late at night, I found him beside his hut on the hill screaming to the gods and cursing Thodin.

-Azzeal, Keeper of the Windwalker Archive

Talon dressed in his armor once more, wanting his father to see the warrior he had become. But thinking of the encounter made him feel small, weak, and not much like a warrior at all.

What am I without Kyrr, without Chief?

He tried to quiet the negative thoughts, but they were as old a habit as tying his boots.

When he had slipped on all his armor, he checked his daggers once more before sliding them into their sheaths. He looked to Han for support, and the man offered him a nod.

“I can’t do this,” said Talon, shamed by his own words.

Han put a hand on his shoulder and gave a slight shake. “Of course you can. How much of what you have done recently did you think you could do?”

Talon had no answer to that.

“Exactly. You know, you’ve become quite a legend recently. Stories of your feats have reached every corner of Agora. The Skomm slaves speak of you with hope. If you can escape Volnoss, overthrow a murderous slave ship captain, and start a Skomm revolution, I think you can talk to your father.”

“You’re right, I must sound like a coward.”

“If I thought you a coward, I wouldn’t be here,” said Han with a smile. “Remember, if your father is like the rest of the Vald, he will only respond to a show of strength.”

Talon nodded, finding some solace in Han’s words.

Together they left Ash and Flick to guard the cave and headed northwest toward Timber Wolf Village. The last time Talon remembered being there, he had been hanging from Fylkin’s hooks, as good as dead.

The village was quiet in the small hours. Smoke floated up lazily in straight lines above the buffalo hide tents. Talon was reminded of the Vald’s numbers as he took in the grandeur of the village as seen from the sky. Some claimed that the Skomm outnumbered the Vald as much as five to one, but what did it matter when the Vald were so big, and the Skomm so weak? The Vald were born and bred for killing, and could, even with their lesser numbers, utterly obliterate the Skomm if they chose to do so.

Talon had never been to his father’s hus, but he knew where it was located. After Talon’s birth, his father had moved to the other side of the village, far away from his Skomm son and Gretzen. Kreal made his new home on a high bluff overlooking the village. Lined as it was with brambles and bushes, there was only one way up to the large teepee. The well-trod path wound from the village and up in a spiral around the mound before coming to the flat top. Talon didn’t bother with the path, instead he landed Brightwing right at his father’s doorstep. The hawk quickly took on the appearance of the brown hide covering the abode.

“Be ready. If anyone comes, take to the air and circle above,” said Talon. He eyed the bird, wondering how much Brightwing understood of what he said.

“Alright,” Talon told himself.

He turned and faced the tent flap. Smoke curled out of the roof of the place, and a glow came from the seams that told him someone was inside. There was also the faint smell of venison on the air.

“You’re either coming in or you are not. Do not linger by my door,” came a voice from inside.

Talon froze, recognizing his father.

He swallowed hard, finding his throat suddenly tight.

“Well, do I have to go out there and throw you down the hill?” Kreal yelled, startling Talon.

“It is me…Father. Your son.”

Talon shook, overwhelmed by the moment. He listened to the maddening silence, thinking to hurry and fly away.

“I have no son,” Kreal finally responded. “Go away from here and leave me in peace.”

The words were slightly slurred; his father was drunk.

Dread crept over Talon. The last time he had seen his father drunk, the man had chased him all over the village, threatening to kill him.

“You hear me?” said Kreal as the sounds of his stirring issued from the teepee.

Talon stood his ground before the doorway. He couldn’t run. Everything depended on this moment.

Kreal tore the tent flap aside and came out like an angry bear. “I said get the—”

He stopped dead, bleary eyes coming together and glaring down on Talon. There was both surprise and hatred in his face. A week’s stubble had grown on his proud chin and high-set cheeks. It was black with flecks of gray like his unruly hair.

“You…” he growled.

“Yes Father, it is me, Talon. I have come here with an offer.”

“You…” Kreal repeated. He slowly reached a shaking fist up toward Talon’s face, and tears came to the big Vald’s eyes.

For a moment Talon thought that his father might caress his cheek, but then he grabbed ahold of his head with both hands.

“You killed your mother…you have disgraced my name!”

He was beginning to squeeze, and Talon instinctively reached up and took hold of his wrists. He tried to slip out, but Kreal held him with an impossibly strong grip. Kyrr gave Talon strength, and he pulled with all his might. To his surprise, he could not budge his father’s arms.

Kreal suddenly let go and backhanded Talon, sending him spinning backward to land at the edge of the hilltop. Stars danced in his vision, but he managed to get to his feet, however drunkenly.

“You killed your mother. You shamed my na—”

“My mother died from the frozen plague!” Talon screamed.

Kreal stalked toward him and suddenly caught motion to his left. Brightwing was suddenly there, batting Kreal to the side with one large wing. He flew through the air and crashed into the outdoor fire pit, sending a plume of soot up into the air.

Talon gestured for Brightwing to back off and got between his father and the bird.

Kreal leapt up to his feet and glared at Talon with murderous eyes.

“I should have bashed you on the closest rock when you were born. Draugr! Skomm! Plagueborn! You are no son of mine!”

He began stalking toward Talon, fists balled at his sides. Black spittle blended with soot flew from his mouth with every word.

“If that crazy old Kerling hadn’t stopped me, I would have done you a favor and ended your miserable life when it began!”

Talon stood his ground and called Chief to his side. The wolf came to form before Kreal’s eyes, and the big man was taken aback. He stood, wavering before the symbol of the spirit of his tribe.

“Would Krellr Warg stand by the side of a useless Skomm?” said Talon, standing proudly before his father.

“You think you can kill me with the wolf and the hawk? You
are
a coward,” said Kreal, regaining his confidence and continuing toward him.

“I have not come here to fight you. But I will if I must!” Talon warned.

Kreal didn’t slow, but came on with a big right hook. Talon instinctively ducked, even as Chief’s glowing form flew in front of him and tackled Kreal to the ground. They went rolling into the teepee, and Talon ran after them.

“Off, Chief!” he screamed when he saw that Chief was about to go for the throat.

The wolf turned to sparkling blue light and shot over to Talon’s side, leaving Kreal panting on the floor beside the fire.

“Go on, boy, wait outside with Brightwing.”

Chief cocked his head to the side and gave a small whine.

“Go on. I’ll be fine.”

Reluctantly, Chief disappeared.

“I’ve not come here to fight you,” said Talon, watching his father pull himself up off the floor.

Kreal wiped blood from his neck and glared at Talon. “Even with those demons, you couldn’t defeat me.” He pushed the broken table to the side and moved to the fire, where his long sword lay bound in leather.

“Father, don’t.”

“Do not call me that!” Kreal erupted. His sword came out of its sheath singing.

Talon’s dagger and short sword were in his hands in a flash as Kreal leapt and came down with a heavy strike of the longsword. Crossing his weapons high above him, Talon stopped the blow.

Kreal’s eyes went wide and he gritted his teeth, pressing down hard. Talon held firm.

“I am Talon Windwalker. Son of Kreal and Kvenna Windwalker!”

His father’s eyes bulged, and he renewed his attack, bearing down with all his might on the sword and dagger.

“We could have been a family,” said Talon, pushing back with equal power. “I would have been a Vald. But the frozen plague took her from us, and it left me small. Worst of all, it took your heart and made it black!” Talon shoved the longsword with all his might. Kyrr flared to life inside the teepee, illuminating the many charcoal pictures of Kvenna hanging on the walls for but a moment.

Kreal was pushed back, and Talon forgot his father as he stared into the eyes of his mother. A woman he had never seen in life.

“Modir…” Talon gasped.

“Do not look upon her!” Kreal cried and lunged for Talon with the tip of the seven-foot sword.

Talon spun and slapped it aside with his short sword, and came back around with his dagger, slicing Kreal’s cheek. Kreal staggered back and felt for his face, eyes wide when they came back with blood.

“You call me a draugr, you call me a Skomm. Well, Father, I have bested you. So what does that make you?”

Kreal’s hand shook, and he dropped his sword. He steadied himself on the center beam, still staring at the blood upon his fingers.

“You wanted a strong heir, well here I am!” said Talon, spreading his arms wide and moving to stand before his father. “You wanted a son to help you challenge Winterthorn? Well here I am. I have not come here to fight you, Father. I have come here to make you chief!”

Kreal looked from his own bloody hand to his son. Tears pooled in his bloodshot eyes. He appeared deranged. The soot on his face melded with the blood dripping from his cheek. He shouldered out of the wolf hide vest he wore and fell to his knees, bare-chested beside the fire.

He suddenly produced a dagger from his hip and took it in two hands, turning the blade in on himself.

Talon lunged even as Kreal pulled the blade toward his own chest. His hands found his father’s at the last moment and Talon pulled.

Kreal screamed as the dagger broke the skin below his breastbone. He pulled harder, trying desperately to impale himself.

“I’ll not let you leave so easily!” Talon cried, pulling as hard as he could.

The dagger shook between them, and Talon yanked hard with one final feat of strength. He ripped the dagger free and tossed it to the side.

Kreal sat there on the floor with hunched shoulders, looking small to Talon just then. He looked on Talon with tears streaming down his face.

“Even in victory you mock me. You would rob me of an honorable death?”

“I would rob you of nothing,” said Talon, panting.

“You robbed me of a wife,” said Kreal. “You robbed me of a legacy.”

“I lost my mother! And you abandoned me!” Talon shook with rage as he stood over his father. Tears streamed down his face, causing his vision to explode with shards of firelight. “Do not tell me what I have taken from
you!
”

Kreal looked away, unable or unwilling to meet Talon’s accusing gaze.

“Have it your way,” said Talon. “Kill yourself like a coward if you must. But know that I mean to challenge Chief Winterthorn and his son Fylkin tomorrow, with or without your help.”

With that he turned from his father and left the tent. He mounted Brightwing and steered her south and never looked back.

I have always shown a proficiency in the Ralliad arts. Indeed, I have spent decades, even centuries in the solitude of the forest. Life is simpler in the wood. There is a peace to all things there beneath the canopy of trees. The creatures of the forest listen, they watch, they are aware.

-Azzeal, Keeper of the Windwalker Archive

Talon left the small hill furious, and did not immediately return to the cave. Instead he steered Brightwing toward Skomm Village and circled overhead for hours, watching the sleeping village, which was eerily quiet in the small hours.

His mind raced, replaying the encounter with his father over and over in his head. He imagined how the argument and subsequent fight could have gone. He even imagined killing Kreal. But of these thoughts he was ashamed, and tried to forget them with imaginings of a happier reunion, one in which Kreal begged his apology and vowed to stand beside him against the Winterthorns.

Talon cried freely as he glided high above the village. He thought of Jahsin and Tyson, and everyone who had died at the hands of the Vald and Vaka. He imagined the thousands who had lived as Skomm over the hundreds of years since the barbarians began allowing them to live. Those thoughts led him to think of all the infants and injured children who had been tossed over a cliffside during the time when the Vald did not let them live.

How many had died because of their prejudice?

Even if Talon freed the Skomm, the Vald would have more children that did not meet the measure, and in only a generation there would be a new Skomm Village.

“It will never end,” Talon said to himself aloud.

Freeing them was only the beginning. Somehow he would have to figure out how to help the new Skomm.

One thing at a time,
Talon reminded himself. He was already worrying about the unborn, yet he had not freed the living.

Vaka Kastali came into view at the center of Skomm Village. He watched the wooden castle grow on the horizon and imagined what a magnificent blaze it would make if it went up in flames.

Slowly, a grin spread across his face. He wiped the tears out from beneath his goggles and slapped the reins. “See that big monstrosity of lumber?” he asked Brightwing. “That’s where we’re headed.

Brightwing gave a deep crooning and pumped her long wings with vigor. Soon they were circling Vaka Kastali. There were many guards stationed on the battlements and balconies throughout the structure, and Talon soon deduced that he could not defeat so many. Instead he thought of the dragon’s breath bomb that he still had stashed in one of the saddle pouches. He glanced around the dark sky, wondering if Han was out there somewhere, watching him.

Just then the door burst open, and a half-dressed Skomm girl was tossed out into the night.

“Better get your arse some of that tea from the witchdoctors. You have a babe and we’ll kill the both of you!” yelled the big Vaka standing in the doorway, shaking his fist.

Visions of the murder that he had witnessed years ago flashed before his eyes. He heard the baby cry. Then he heard the baby cry no more. He thought of Akerri’s sister and the man who had been accused of the conception. Talon saw the body go up on the bonfire, he smelled the burning hair and flesh.

Talon snapped.

He leapt from Brightwing and landed before the open wooden door to Vaka Kastali and unsheathed his daggers. The Vaka holding it open jumped, surprised. “What’s this?” he yelled, but then his voice turned to a gurgle as Talon slit his throat with one fluid motion.

The Vaka grabbed his throat, which had begun to spurt blood all over Talon and the door. Talon stepped forward with a big boot and kicked the man in the chest, sending him flying through the threshold, across the large gathering room, and into the wide circular fire near the center.

A half dozen Vaka leapt to their feet, and twice as many pleasure girls ran or ducked for cover. The Skomm fiddlers, flute players, and percussionists playing in the corner stopped abruptly and stared shock-jawed at Talon, who stood in the door, glaring at the Vaka.

He extended a bloody blade toward the Skomm. “Keep playing!”

The Skomm jumped, startled by his booming voice, but they began to play as commanded. The song was a dark, haunting melody with a fast pace behind it, accentuated by the crashing drums.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the Vaka demanded.

“I am Talon Windwalker.”

The eyes of the speaker grew large and afraid.

Talon shot to the right and slashed the throat of the closest Vaka. The others suddenly scrambled for their weapons, but only three were fast enough to draw before two more of their brethren were bleeding on the floor.

The daggers moved in a blur of motion as Talon danced around the men in his black feathered cloak. He slit the wrist of a man swinging a sword and stabbed another in the chest even as he raised his weapon to strike. The two men fell to the floor, and Talon charged the one who had spoken. The Vaka had given up on defending himself with his axe and fell to his knees with clasped hands.

“Please don’t kill me! Please! What do you want? I can get you what you want. Just name it.”

“I want you to bring back every mother and child that you have ever condemned to death with your hateful seed,” said Talon, bringing a dagger to the man’s neck and lifting his chin. “Do that, and I will spare you.”

“It ain’t like that. I ain’t like that. I never—”

Talon pressed the dagger harder, wanting to wet the carpet with blood. His eyes caught movement and saw the girl running for the stairs. “You!”

She froze and turned to face him slowly, bringing the small quilt up to cover her bare bosom.

“Has this man ever impregnated one of you and then had her killed, whilst blaming a Skomm man for the deed?”

The girl glanced around at those women who were still trying to hide.

“Do not be afraid. All of you. Stand. You have nothing to fear from me. Just tell me. Is this man good of heart?”

The girl he had stopped stepped forward bravely. “He got Soaringsong pregnant. Had her and the baby hanged in the commons.”

Talon glared at the man.

“He did the same thing to my sister,” said another, stepping forward.

“I carry his child now,” another dared to say. She looked no older than thirteen.

“Don’t listen to them!” the Vaka cried. “They are all a bunch of lying whores. You think they don’t love—”

Talon slit his throat before he could speak another lie and let him fall to the floor to bleed to death.

“You can all go,” said Talon, raising a hand to the musicians that caused them to stop. “All of you, get out of here.”

They wasted no time in clearing out. By now, the sounds of rushing feet had begun upstairs.

“Tell the others what you saw here tonight!” Talon called after them. “Tell them that Talon Windwalker has returned. Soon you will all be free!”

The Skomm cleared out as armed Vaka came crashing down the stairs in droves.

***

Talon emerged from the building covered in blood. To his surprise, he found dozens of Skomm, and also a few Vaka standing outside gawking at him. He turned his gaze upon the Vaka, and they glanced at each other and fled, wanting nothing to do with the blood-soaked madman they saw standing in the doorway to Vaka Kastali.

He could feel the heat at his back as he watched the growing crowd of Skomm. Talon had tossed the burning logs around the gathering room and smashed every lamp he found. The flames were gaining in strength now, and smoke began to rise thick above the kastali.

“What have you done?” an old Skomm man asked as he stepped forward from the crowd. “You have doomed us all.”

“I have done what you should have done in your time, old man,” said Talon, eyeing the crowd.

A window burst with flames many stories above. The heat was becoming too much to bear, and Talon put his fingers into his mouth and whistled to Brightwing. She landed beside him and turned a brilliant silver, causing his cloak to shimmer likewise in the firelight.

“I am Talon Windwalker! And I would see our people suffer no more!” he declared to the murmuring crowd of Skomm, who now easily numbered a hundred. “If there are those among you who are of like mind, then I bid you meet me tomorrow, high noon, in Timber Wolf Village.”

With that he mounted Brightwing, whose long wings fanned the fires of Vaka Kastali as she lifted into the air. The crowd of Skomm cheered and waved as Talon flew away into the night.