Mortal Consequences (34 page)

And so lost. For she knew Sunbright was right. She had hate and revenge and the powers of hell to drive her. He had more: the love of a woman and community, a love that made a person sacrifice all. She couldn’t defeat him, she could only lose.

Strange, came an errant thought, she never used magic to restore her beauty. Or even considered it.

Bubbling tar filled her gashed mouth, seared her bulging blue eyes. Lacking eyelids, she had no protection against the hellish stuff, and felt it burn deep, as Sunbright’s ruined eye must pain him. But he was atop while she was pressed into tar like a dying saber-tooth.

Then Sysquemalyn felt his foot shift, and both sticky feet crush her back. Tar engulfed her, but she’d already given up the fight. If she couldn’t get revenge, she got nothing. Was nothing.

Grunting, shaking all over, weakening from loss of blood, the mighty barbarian twisted Harvester’s enchanted blade into the gaping wound he’d inflicted on his enemy. Stabbing the thing was as difficult as prying open a mountain with a chisel, but the enchanted blade cut, and his native strength of arm and spirit bore down.

With a final heave, he slammed the sword through Sysquemalyn’s spine. The tarry flint-hided monster writhed once, then lay still.

Weaving, Sunbright let go the blade. The monster didn’t move. Sysquemalyn, a self-made monster, was dead.

Finished with his grisly task, bleeding in a hundred places, scorched, seared, and exhausted, Sunbright had a sudden, dim vision.

Long ago, the Shaman Owldark dreamed of Sunbright standing with bloody sword while smoke and fire filled the horizon. The reindeer were slaughtered, the tribe was shattered and defeated.

Was this that vision?

Then he toppled like a felled tree, and crashed on his back in roiling tar.

Sunbright awoke in a strange place.

Beams and planks stretched overhead, reaching a point at the top. A familiar ceiling, like the hide yurts of his childhood. Sunlight slanted through a doorway. His vision was oddly flat and tilted to the right.

“Where am I?”

“Uh!” Knucklebones grunted, startled. She had sat by his side, head on her knees, napping. “You’re awake!”

“Yes,” he croaked. “Water, please.”

Gently, the small thief lifted his head and helped him sip from a gourd. The tiny trickle extinguished a fire in his throat. A drink of water when you’re dry, he concluded, was the richest gift of the gods.

Sipping, he studied his lover’s face. She was pale and worn with bright scabs on both cheeks. Her hair was disordered and lank, and burned short in patches. Her normally nimble hands were clumsy with bandages.

Questions bubbled in his mind.

“How long… ?”

“Three days. The elves helped with healing spells, and the dwarves brought a dark bread that gives strength, though we had to mash it to gruel to feed you.”

“Your hands?”

“Burned them pulling you from the tar. I thought—we thought—you were dead.”

Sunbright laid his head back. “I almost was,” he told her softly, “but I had a lot to tell you, so I needed to survive. I had more than the monster. She had nothing.”

“She?”

“Sysquemalyn. Just a woman who’d suffered and craved revenge on the world. She wasted the powers of a goddess. Revenge is not cool and sweet. It’s a fire that burns you inside, and leaves a hollow shell.”

Knucklebones wondered if he remembered his own brooding before he found his people. To change the subject, she spooned venison broth to his lips from a wooden bowl.

“What did you want to tell me?”

“Eh? Oh,” he stammered. “That I love you.”

Tired, she yet smiled, and leaned close to kiss his forehead. He smelled her perfume: sweat and spice and wood smoke, and a breath of wildflowers. “I knew that,” she said.

“No. Not just that.” He reared to his elbows and spoke intensely, “That I love you, Knucklebones, not anyone else, not the memory of poor, dead Greenwillow. I love what you are, a small sweet woman with a good heart. When I look at you, I don’t think of another woman, or anything else. Just wonderful you.” He flopped back, exhausted, and said, “Which is funny, in a way.”

His kind words made tears stain her scabby cheek, but her mouth turned down. “Funny how?” she asked.

“Something else I needed to tell you. The elven priestess, Brookdweller, touched your hand and read your soul. She learned that your father was Eaerlanni, but you were also a Moon Elf, of the Illefarni. I may have the names wrong, but that’s the idea. The clues confused her for a while, and you ran off. How the gods must laugh at us … !”

His voice trailed off as he nodded. Knucklebones touched his shoulder. “What?” she asked. “Please, tell me. What of my ancestry?”

“Hunh!” He blinked awake, and said, “After all my foolish chasing of Greenwillow’s ghost, it turns out you are Greenwillow.”

“What?” she breathed. The thief’s mouth hung open, her single eye stared.

“Reincarnated …” Sunbright fought sleep to relate the vital news, “You were born in the future, three hundred years from now, but all things return to their roots. Brookdweller read your past lives. A recent one was Greenwillow. That’s why you called me country mouse. It’s why I confused you and Greenwillow in dreams. It’s why we were attracted in the first place, because I was hunting Greenwillow. Fate brought us together, but I ignored you to find Greenwillow, when you were both by my side all the time….”

He blacked out. Knucklebones laid her tousled head on his chest, listened to his heart thump, and sighed with contentment.

When next Sunbright awoke, the sun was gone, and cool night air bathed his face while a nearby fire warmed him.

“He’s awake.”

Sunbright shook his aching head, tried to focus, but still found the world curiously flat. An audience knelt around his pallet. Many elves in green and black, bristling with arrows and bows and knives, all strangers, yet oddly familiar. One was small and wore a green eye patch. With a jolt, the shaman recognized Knucklebones. She smiled shyly.

“Sunbright, I’d like you to meet some people who’ve journeyed from the Star Mounts in the High Forest. My—family.” To his dazed look, the thief explained, “They’re kin to Greenwillow. They heard of my ancestry from Brookdweller and came to meet me. Fashioned new clothes for me, too.”

She made a small curtsy, the first Sunbright had ever seen. Cleaned and rested, in shining elven clothes of soft green and deep black leather, Knucklebones looked like a princess. The shaman sighed, “You’re beautiful.”

Awkwardly, the part-elf made introductions. “My father, Marshwind. My mother, Pinemagic. My sisters Gracewealth, Butterfly, Earthstork, and my brother, Fullshrub.”

Solemnly the elves nodded in turn, and Sunbright knew why they looked so familiar. They resembled Greenwillow. He chuckled, “I’m happy to meet Knucklebones’s family. She’s wanted one all her life. Pardon me if I don’t rise.”

The elves smiled. A tall woman with Greenwillow’s eyes laid a hand on his chest and said, “We go. Rest. We’ll have much to discuss with our new brother-in-law.” Silent as cats, they padded from the room.

Knucklebones lingered. Sunbright shook his head again, still couldn’t clear his vision. When he pawed at his face, she caught his hand. “Don’t, please,” she said. “It’s gone.”

“Gone?”—then he understood—”My eye. The monster gouged it out.”

“The elves healed the infected socket, but there was nothing to save.” She smiled weakly when she said, “You’ll need an eye patch, like mine. I’ll embroider you one.”

Sunbright lay still. He felt no sorrow. One-eyed was better than dead. Suddenly he smiled at her.

“We’d best stick together, to have one good pair of eyes between us, but our children will think anyone outside the family strange … with two orbs.”

Chuckling, the transformed Knucklebones kissed his forehead. “Rest,” she said, and Sunbright blacked out.

A day later he could sit up, propped by a wicker backrest. His mother fed him strips of meat, bread soaked in beer, and apple slices.

“Your father would be proud. Your sacrifices have brought the tribe safety and prosperity. But I’m glad you lost an eye, for now you must leave fighting to others. I don’t want to lose my only son.”

Sunbright smiled, munched, and teased, “Why the only? You’re still young and attractive, mother. Why not get married again, have another brood?” His mother tweaked his nose.

With permission from Monkberry, Magichunger came to visit. Sunbright hardly recognized the war chief, for he’d finally shaved his scruffy beard and temples, reclaiming the traditional haircut of a Rengarth warrior. The blocky man rubbed his chin as if it itched, or he were embarrassed.

He hemmed and hawed so much that Sunbright asked a neutral question to ease his mind, “What is this building?”

“Hunh? Oh, this.” The war chief looked around and said, “We finally finished the common house. Just dropped other tasks and fell to until it was built. We’ve kept the council fire alive, too. It’s the same one you started. We figured there’d be lots of…”

He scratched his white temples, scuffed his foot. “We’ve, uh, talked,” Magichunger finally said. “For five days now. And the tribe’s decided you aren’t banished for using magic. Shamans use spirit magic anyway, and you needed that enchanted sword—That was some fierce battle, Sunbright! I’ve never seen its like! You two clashed like mammoths, like gods! And you wouldn’t quit, even when she jabbed your—Uh, well, anyway … That was braver than I could be. And another thing. I want to, uh, thank you for bringing us here, and together …”

Sunbright raised a hand that quaked, for he was still weak. Bemused, Magichunger shook. The shaman said, “I did nothing but recall who we are. The tribe decided to come here, and together came to safety, with a great amount of your help. I thank you for that.”

“Oh …” The war chief actually blushed. He said, “Bashing orcs in the head, that was nothing.”

Sunbright asked for news, and the war chief gladly changed the subject. Refugees and raiders still drifted into the territory, but under control. Magichunger and Mightylaugh had arranged a warning system with Hilel’s horse clan.

“Any decent folk we let stay, as long as they promise to work as hard as we do. Raiders we disarm and turn back. We’ve had to kill a few, but it’s been pretty peaceful. More than the empire can boast. Stragglers tell us there’s famine, and the One King’s orcs are still raiding while the empire’s army is splintered and looting. People in the floating cities squabble over who should run the empire so much they’re assassinating each other. It’s a mess.”

“Yes, I know,” Sunbright said. He had visited the future, had seen the ingrown shambles the empire would become, before Karsus finally destroyed it. “I’ve known for a while, and fear the empire’s collapse might harm our people. That’s why I must announce the rest of my plan.”

“Plan?” Slow-thinking Magichunger frowned. “What plan? You’re not going to meddle with tradition again, are you?”

“Yes and no,” he said. Sunbright smiled at his oblique answer. He wasn’t done fighting yet, not with the future at stake. “Hand me my sword, please?”

“Eh?” The war chief took Sunbright’s scabbard from a peg on the wall and said, “Who will you bash now? I can’t imagine a fair fight. This enchanted sword is a dragon killer!”

“True. Too much sword for me. Can you summon Drigor, please?”

A fuddled Magichunger left while Sunbright nodded off.

“What is it?” A gruff tone woke him. Drigor stood in his stained apron, gnarled hands bunched at his hips and said, “I hope this’s important. With new folk streaming in and a mighty heap of weapons to turn into tools, I’m busy night and day.”

Sunbright smiled at the crusty dwarf and said, “And you’re happiest when busiest. So I’ve another task, if you will. Take my sword please. Take Harvester of Blood back to the forge.”

“To the forge?” Drigor asked. Stunned, the dwarf propped the sword beside him, tall as himself. “What shall I do there?”

Slowly, Sunbright gave instructions. Before he finished, the dwarf was hopping in place, face red as an apoplectic fit. “Are you mad?” Drigor growled. “Stark, staring crazy? This sword is a legend! It’s history! It’s— it’s never been done before, dwarves sharing secrets with elves to forge this—a blade fit for a king! An emperor! A conqueror!”

“But I’m none of those,” Sunbright returned mildly. “Just a simple shaman trying to guide his people. And they won’t listen unless they see me sacrifice as much as they do. Please, do it.”

Grumbling, cursing, stamping pitchy boots, the dwarf dragged the sword as he stalked out. Over his shoulder he bawled, “I don’t expect humans to make sensible decisions!”

“Neither do I.”

Sunbright snuggled down to sleep in carefree warmth.

*

Three nights later, Sunbright was strong enough to leave the council hut.

“But mind,” Monkberry warned, “there’ll be a few surprises.”

“Did everyone move away while I was asleep?” Sunbright joked.

He limped, stiff, bruised, raddled with scabs that itched and cracked, clumsy with one eye, and muzzy from a bandage swaddling his skull. Monkberry propped one side, Knucklebones the other. Then he jumped, startled.

For as Sunbright appeared at the lodge’s door, a thunderous cheer exploded in the frosty winter sky. Humans, elves, and dwarves hooted, applauded, sang, hollered, and laughed. Sunbright just stared, stunned, while the cheering rang on and on. He shook his head like an old man chiding children, but with a smile.

Slowly, he was eased into a wicker chair at the council fire pit. Sunbright breathed slowly to clear his head, then looked around. Stretching into the darkness, hundreds of barbarians packed the hollow around the council ring. Salted amidst them were elves like bright green flowers, including Knucklebones’s new family, and Drigor’s dwarves, hunched like stones. There were many strangers, mostly humans, but also gnomes and even half-ogres, all refugees who’d found safety in this pacified pocket of a chaotic empire. Among them were Hilel’s horse wranglers in wool shirts and leather trousers and caps.

When the crowd grew silent, Sunbright talked. He greeted many by name, thanked all for coming to council, and talked of the weather and how peaceful and beautiful the land looked from their hard work. The crowd strained to hear his weak voice. Finally, he got to his main point.