Llewellyn’s Song (2 page)

Tamara

Cold seeped into her fingers and toes, but Tamara didn’t
move. Perched in a thick pine tree, her cloak wrapped around her shoulders, she
looked so much like part of the tree that a bird had perched not a hand span
from her. Earlier a light snow had fallen and now the sky cleared as evening
approached. A red sun hung above the pines and cast its light over the pristine
snowfall. To Tamara, it looked as if the world had been dipped in blood.

On the edge of the ravine near the base of a mountain, the Watcher’s
Tree offered a wide view of the valley below where a swift river cut a deep
ravine through jagged black rocks. To her left, behind her, the mountains
loomed high, their flanks sloping steeply down to a flat plain on her right.
Regularly she scanned the area, starting with the river, then the plain, and
finally making sure nothing crept down the mountainside, using the tangled
forest as cover. The tribe trusted her keen ears and sharp eyes. She was the
watcher. She would not let them down.

When full night fell her watch would end. As long as the sun
still cast its rays upon the land, her kind had to stay hidden. The Law must be
obeyed.

She stifled a yawn and took a few quick, deep breaths. Just
because her watch was nearly over didn’t mean danger didn’t lurk. Some strange
magic was afoot, and the tribe had doubled the lookout. Enemies not seen for
eons stalked the woods again. The reports had been vague at first.D’ark
t’uaths kept to themselves and news trickled in slowly. But when two warriors and
a magician vanished over a space of one moon’s change, the rumors crystallized
into fact. Demons hunted their territory. Ice demons, and others that had no
name…yet.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she
automatically reached for her
glosseer
, feeling it through the fabric of
her pocket. The globe felt reassuring. However, her movement dislodged a tiny
sprinkle of snow from the pine and she froze, her heart fluttering.

She peered carefully through the branches, searching for a
sign of life, some indication she’d been spotted. Nothing moved. No sound
disturbed the quiet forest. Muscle by muscle, she relaxed.

A sound behind her made her freeze. Something walked quietly
through the woods. It set its feet down as delicately as a deer, but Tamara
didn’t recognize the pattern. A deer hesitated, advanced, paused. This creature
came steadily, nearer and nearer. It never slowed. Holding her breath, she
turned her head, careful not to make the slightest noise. The forest behind her
stretched its tangled thickets up a steep slope. Nothing disturbed the
branches. No birds sang, she realized belatedly. That thought hit her just as a
huge shadowy form surged out of the underbrush and leapt straight up her tree.

Tamara bolted from her hiding place, winging out to the edge
of the branch and grabbing her
glosseer
from her pocket. She had time to
feel the rough bark in one hand, the sharp prick of pine needles and a sticky
patch of sap before something caught her foot and yanked her backwards with
incredible force.

Her
glosseer
fell from her hand and she saw it
twinkle then vanish in the snow. The tree branch tore from her hand and she
fell, hitting her head hard…

* * * * *

Night. Cold. Wind calling to her.
Tamara! Tamara!
Feeling came back slowly but everything was eclipsed by the cold. She managed
to open one eye, then the other. Her lashes stuck together. Dried blood? Stars
spangled the sky. Night. Night? Hadn’t it been…evening? The sky blurred, then
cleared, blurred again, then cleared. Tree branches moved across her vision.
She blinked. No, trees didn’t move, but she moved, or rather, something carried
her.

She tried to understand in what position she lay, but aside from
her eyes, staring upwards, nothing else responded. Not her arms, or legs, or
fingers. Only her eyes, and now she felt her heart pounding, pounding in sheer
panic as she became aware that something carried her, but her body felt heavy,
strangely numb. Why couldn’t she move? Terror pulled whimpers from her throat,
but she barely heard them for the pounding of her heart. What carried her, and
where did it take her?

Time went mad then, as she watched the stars wheel across
the sky. Did she sleep? Sometimes she woke in panic, so she must have slept.
Waking only terrified her more, for each time she had to remember all over
again. Sometimes she awoke to the sound of footsteps, other times she awoke to
the vision of her
glosseer
falling into the snow, her hand outstretched
to catch it.

Whatever carried her never faltered, never slowed, and paid
no heed to her screams or sobs.

She woke up again shivering from cold. The sky had a gray
cast to it—dawn came. Had she screamed? She must have, for her throat hurt with
each breath. She couldn’t remember anymore. She didn’t know anything anymore. A
faint vision came to her, a golden globe sparkling as it fell. She fell. The
sky lurched and suddenly she hit the ground. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt.
Nothing.

The sun peeked over the horizon and cast its light into the
cave where she lay. She could see the light arrive, silently, creeping across
the cave floor until it touched her fingers. She knew where she was now. A
cave. But what had attacked her? She hadn’t recognized the shadowy figure that
had surged out of the trees. She’d never seen that sort of demon before. A
demon yeti? The thought made her pause. Well, at least she thought. Her mind
seemed clear, but her body had been broken. She saw blood on her fingertips and
try as she might, she could not move them. Even the cold had ceased to bother
her. She must be dying. Would the creature wait until she died to eat her, or
would it kill her first? A slight rasping sound alerted her. She held her
breath until the creature walked into her line of sight, and then she started
to scream.

* * * * *

Llewellyn had started down the worst part of the slope when
he heard the scream. Instantly he froze, searching for the origin of the sound.
It rose to a pinnacle of sheer terror and pain. It came from below him.

Dropping his gear, he flung his cloak down and seized his
knife, bow and quiver. Then he picked his way carefully down the steep cliff,
not letting the screams lure him into rash haste. It could very well be a trap.
His kind were not welcome in this country, and he knew it.

With one eye, judging distance became tricky, but he managed
to descend the cliff and stay under cover. Using the boulders and stunted
trees, he edged toward the sound. It grew fainter, as if all strength had been
spent. He saw now where it came from. A narrow opening in the rocks that looked
like it led to a cavern.

Not good at all. To enter would be like entering a trap. The
sun slanted inwards, so as soon as he stepped in front of the opening his
presence would be known. He glanced at the sky. Another two hours before the
sun would move enough to let him slip near. The scream came again.

He sighed, called himself an imbecile, and darted into the
narrow passage, his bow held before him, an arrow nocked. He thought he would
be ready for anything. He didn’t expect to find a behemoth. The creature spun
around at his entrance and roared, its gigantic claw raised for attack. No time
to think, he let loose the arrow and nocked another, let it loose and grabbed
another, all the while backing out of the cave.

He’d need a hundred arrows before he could kill a behemoth.
The beast roared and swiped at him, the great, curving claws striking the
rocks, sending chips of stone flying. Llewellyn aimed and shot, catching the
beast in the eye. It might not blind him completely, but it would hurt it and
give him time to think of something. The beast’s roar nearly deafened him. The
cave echoed with its cry and a huge crack appeared in the wall. A boulder fell,
missing him by inches.

Llewellyn raced outside and headed uphill, leaping from
boulder to boulder, anxious to put distance between him and the creature. It
followed him, bellowing with rage. He turned and loosed yet another arrow.
Three lodged in the beast’s chest, one in its eye, and the last one he shot hit
it squarely in the other eye. Llewellyn sent a silent prayer of thanks to his
archery instructor and crouched low while the behemoth lumbered toward him.
Then he spotted the cliff. He hesitated, then taking a deep breath, he yelled
hoarsely and sprinted to the edge.

Putting himself on the edge of the cliff and shouting had
seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, with the behemoth crashing toward
him, its fanged mouth open in a snarl, its claws flashing, he had a sudden
doubt. And what if the beast could see him clearly? He’d end up a dead elf,
that’s what.

He tensed, then as the behemoth made one last lunge he leapt
sideways, kicking out at the huge shoulder as he went by. The behemoth sailed
over the cliff, its roar of fear growing fainter until cut off by a tremendous
thud, then silence.

Llewellyn peered over the edge and winced. Not a pretty
sight. He glanced back at the cave. What had the behemoth captured? Whatever it
was, he hoped it still lived. Behemoths didn’t take small bites.

He slithered down the slope, picked up a couple stray
arrows, then hesitantly made his way into the cavern. The sun shining at his
back lit up the cave. On the floor, in deep shadow, lay a woman. Noiselessly,
he walked to her, his heart heavy. He’d arrived too late. Her neck was bent at
an impossible angle, her face turned toward the entrance, her eyes wide and
unseeing. Sorrow sent him to his knees, and he put his hand on the ground,
touched warm blood. Warm?

His shadow darkened her face and her pupils widened. Alive,
but barely! He took her hand and felt for a pulse. Faint and uneven. All right,
he was a healer, after all. He reached for his medicine bag, tied to his waist,
and drew out a branch of balsam. He held it inches from her lips and breathed
on it gently and steadily until the branch glowed with a faint light. Her
spiritual energy, or chi,still answered, and the balsam would keep it
safe. Laying it on her chest, he rested his fingertips lightly on her stomach.
He closed his eye and concentrated, feeling his own chi leave his body through
his fingertips and enter hers.

His chi shuddered. So much damage had been done. One kidney
had been crushed, her back had been broken, her leg shattered and several ribs
snapped. Her heart still beat strongly and the bleeding had mostly stopped,
partly from loss of blood pressure and partly from shock. He reached deeper
into himself and found the energy he would need. Carefully he set it aside,
picturing it in a golden ball, captive. Then he took a deep breath and cast his
mind out of the cave. No one would answer his song, he had to do this alone.

He needed fire and air, water and earth. The woman’s
injuries would require days of healing. His strength would have to be parceled
out and saved, for each séance would drain him beyond measure. With a deep
sigh, he pulled away, leaving his chi in her body to keep her alive until he
returned. Rocking back on his heels, he looked at her once again, and suddenly
realized she was a d’ark t’uath.

Not that he knew a great deal about them. They considered
themselves children of the earth and of the night. Ruled by a queen, they had
nothing to do with the other fae. Shunning the day, they roamed at night.
Little was known about the d’ark t’uath except that they lived in a matriarchal
society, had no contact with others and practiced stone magic. Magic of the
earth, magic of the night. He touched her hand and whispered, “Find the
strength to call upon the earth mother. I will return soon.”

First he draped his cloak over her still form. Then he used
a spell to light a fire near her, to keep her warm and to offer reassurance if
she awoke before he came back. He needed to gather many things and it would
take a while in this strange country, where he didn’t know the lay of the land
or even where to find a spring. He didn’t pause to worry though. Laying his bow
and arrows at her side, he jogged lightly out of the cave and headed downhill.
Water, fire, earth and air. All these things he had to gather before nightfall,
and already the sun had turned orange and dipped toward the hills.

* * * * *

Tamara dreamt of spring. Warmth touched her face and hands,
and the clean scent of balsam soothed her despite the pain that still nearly
overwhelmed her. She sensed that she was no longer alone. Something protected
her. A golden light, almost like that of a
glosseer
, lay on her chest.
Even without opening her eyes she felt its presence. Her chi had gotten
stronger too, and now she opened her eyes, unsure what she would see.

Her last vision had nearly driven her mindless with fear. A
behemoth had loomed over her, its fangs dripping, its claws outspread, about to
plunge into her body. Then all had gone dark again. Quiet surrounded her. The
behemoth no longer loomed over her. Instead, the last red rays of sunset cast a
warm glow into the cave, showing a bow and quiver of arrows on the floor beside
her. She glanced down and saw a cloak lying over her, covering her from neck to
foot. The warmth she’d felt came from a small fire, nothing but embers now.

The bow and arrows did not look familiar, neither did the
cloak. The cloak smelled of the open air, of long journeys and pine forests. It
belonged to a forest elf then. She’d never met one, but she didn’t fear them,
even if it was a male. Her clan sometimes traded with the forest elves from the
northeast. Perhaps she’d gotten lucky and a group of traders had found her. The
thought relaxed her and she found herself drifting off to sleep.
No, stay
awake. You have to stay awake!
It might be traders, it could be men, or enemies.
If a man found her sleeping, according to her clan mothers, their brutishness
would assert itself and they would violate her…or worse.