Hot Obsidian

“Oh!” exclaimed the merchant. “It’s dangerous to leave Brevir here. I wouldn’t do that, especially if I had children with me. Some gang might consider you easy prey… Would you like to join us instead? We’re going to Gurron. From there, it’s only a day’s journey to Tammar, on a safe road.”

“Thank you,” the Faizul nodded, so very politely, “but we are in a hurry. And we are not easy prey. Safe journey to you!”

The Lifekeepers passed Marin’s caravan and disappeared from view after taking the next turn on the road. Marin’s eyes followed them as they walked away. A flaxen-haired child riding a charga kitten was the last in their procession. The boy must have been about six years old but he wore a full Lifekeeper attire, complete with a real sword.

Seeing him had nearly made Marin tear up. No, Jarmin did nothing special; he was busy playing the wooden flute Orion had made for him and listening to Orion singing to the tune. But he reminded Marin of something, something precious, something lost forever…

For a moment, the merchant wanted nothing else but to abandon his caravan and join the Lifekeeper boys. The emotion was so sudden and strong that he felt drowning for a moment and gasped for air.

“Marin! Are you okay?” he heard his friend, Hasse, ask. Hasse had sped up his tarander to catch up with Marin’s cart and now was looking Marin in the eyes, worried.

“That boy…” the merchant muttered and shook his head. “His little sword is just like mine…”

“You have a sword?” Hasse raised his brows, surprised. He had never seen his friend wield a weapon.

Marin reached for his travelling chest where he kept his personal belongings and rummaged in it for a while. The object he was searching for turned out to be at the very bottom: a bundle of rags and papers with something long inside it. Marin unwrapped the thing and handed it to Hasse.

“Is it a toy?” the warrior asked with a smile.

“No. Unsheath it and see for yourself,” said Marin reproachfully. “It’s a katana made for a child. See? The hilt is thin enough so a small hand can grasp it.”

“No handguard,” noticed Hasse.

“I used to be a Lifekeeper. A long time ago.” Marin’s voice was deeply sad.

“Was? What happened?”

“Ah, my dear Hasse…” Marin laughed mirthlessly and put his old sword back into the chest. “Bad luck happened. I was six when a group of assassins ambushed my master and me. My master died. I survived, thanks to Urhan, but remained a cripple for life.”

“I had no idea…” Hasse shook his head. “I thought you were Urhan’s son.”

“I am. Urhan saved my life, nursed me back to health, adopted me, taught me his trade… he is the only father I’ve ever known.”

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s not what I meant,” Hasse apologised. “I just thought I knew you, old friend.”

“I, too, thought I knew myself. I thought I had buried my past for good. But those boys made me remember. Not that it matters now. Even if I weren’t a cripple, I wouldn’t be able to avenge my master. I have no idea who was after him. I was too young to be trusted with any secrets. So… so it just hurts.”

They rode in silence for a while. The sides of the road, overgrown with young willows being played with by the wind, were a mass of restless green and dancing sunlight patches. Marin kept looking at the turn the young Lifekeepers had taken. He still couldn’t let it go.

“What was your master’s name?” asked Hasse.

“Gerdon Lorian.” Marin smiled and turned to his friend. “He died on that very road those boys chose. This is why I never go directly to Tammar. Too many memories.”

***

The road to Tammar is overshadowed by a massive natural wall striped with multicoloured layers of shale and limestone that make it look like a giant piece of cake, the “cake” being a steep hill that had been cut through to make space for the road. Only its western half survived to this day. Covered with silky grass and dotted with bright ramniru flowers, it was still a sight to see. Travellers following the road in summer always found a free meal ready, for ramniru flowers are as sweet as raspberries.

Across the road from the striped wall, there was a young birch grove growing on the ashes of a forest where Gerdon Lorian had been ambushed. The young Lifekeepers were riding through one of their Order’s important historic sites but they were completely unaware of that. To them, it was just a place that looked unsafe for many reasons.

Orion set his charga to a run and quickly caught up with Juel.

“Do you think we’ll be attacked?” he asked.

“No.” Juel shook his head. “As I told that merchant, we’re not easy prey. Even if you don’t count children, we have three adult warriors and ten chargas. Attacking us would be too costly for any gang and we carry nothing valuable enough to cover the costs. I say we’re safe.”

“Heh…” Orion looked around, nervous. “I don’t like this place. There is something dodgy about it. I can’t explain it, I just feel it with my gut… I suggest we speed up, maybe tell the chargas to run all the way to Tammar.”

Surprisingly, Juel agreed. He might have had a similar feeling about the place or just wanted to shorten the journey. Anyway, he commanded the team to speed up a little. Orion thanked him and returned to his place, in the tail of their caravan, next to Jarmin.

“I told Juel about your forebodings,” said Orion to the boy. “I had to tell him they were mine, though, so he would listen.”

“Don’t you feel anything?” exclaimed Jarmin, anger and disappointment ringing in his thin voice.

Orion shook his head. Seeing reproach in Orion’s eyes, Jarmin sighed, his shoulders drooped. He leaned against his charga’s furry neck and scratched the big kitten behind the ears. Orion left the child to his brooding, thinking that little Jarmin needed to grow up a bit. Learning that other people are not obliged to feel what he feels and think what he thinks might be the first step on this way.

Pai had been in a gloomy mood since the morning, so Milian had no one to chat with that day. He rode beside his mage friend in thoughtful silence and killed time by daydreaming, recalling the Kuldaganian book he had bought in Aldaren-Turin, and looking around. He had a good memory but, still, comparing the copy of the No Man’s Land map he had in his mind with the landscape they were slowly moving through was not as easy as he thought it would be: the world was just so big!

According to Sainar, they were to look for the obsidian somewhere close to Tammar, in the woods on the border of the Burnt Region. According to the map, they had a thin, winding road in front of them and zero chance of reaching the city before dark. Camping was unavoidable. It’s not that Milian hated camping – he had got used to it, actually – but, unlike Bala and Juel who had been travelling a lot with their masters, he still preferred a bed to a bedroll, a fireplace to a bonfire, and a house with walls and roofs to a flimsy tent. The only thing about their current journey that Milian liked was chargas. The idea of using one as a pillow at night seemed both cute and hilarious, the chargas’ ability to protect their riders was reassuring…

Kangassk Marini, Milian’s master, used to berate her apprentice’s lack of focus quite often. She’d do that now as well, no doubt, for her boy was the last to hear the alarming sounds from the other side of the hill.

“Sounds like a swordfight!” said Bala; he was the first to notice them.