“Yeah, you should be furious.”
Topper said it with an edge, as he glanced at her over the light of the small campfire, but his eyes told Kora he appreciated the empathy. His story made Kora seethe with anger at the injustice. The cruelty. Something in her changed forever upon the hearing of it. Something hardened, some naïveté of youth lost.
They had walked north for two days, and Kora spent the time retelling bits of her embarrassingly uneventful youth. It wasn’t until this night that Topper opened up about his own past.
Topper suspected himself to be the last of a race targeted for genocide. Generations ago, leprechauns were coveted as master minters. Their talent at stamping and forging exquisite Folke coins out of rough ore was unparalleled. Their teueriks embodied artistic beauty, and before long the teueriks made all other coins in the Folke realm valueless. The leprechauns became indispensable to the dominant houses of The Chimera, and unreasonable volumes were commissioned. When the leprechauns balked at the production demands of the nobles, most were captured, imprisoned, and forced to craft teueriks for the families that now enslaved them. The teueriks forged in those wretched mints, beneath the nobles’ castles, were said to be cooled by the tears of the leprechauns. The tears forged a Magestic bond between those enslaved creatures and their creations. That clairvoyant connection allowed the leprechauns to sense who owned their coins, and when they passed hands.
For years the leprechauns hid this newfound insight from their overlords, until one day, a young leprechaun decided to risk bartering her way to freedom, offering information about a sack of pilfered coins crucial to the overlord’s keep. Her master accepted the deal and freed the young leprechaun of her servitude, with death. The nobles of The Chimera dared not tolerate their minter slaves knowing how and to whom they paid their coins. They tortured and experimented on the leprechauns in attempts to remove their knowledge, but to no avail. Seeking to protect their family secrets, The Chimera ceased using the teueriks, and rounded up and slaughtered their tiny minter slaves.
As the centuries passed, and the leprechauns that could track their whereabouts grew to near extinction, the remaining teueriks regained their value amongst the waning Folke races. Now, Topper explained, teueriks were highly sought after by the Folke, and just as valuable to humans who knew the history of the coins. They provided a sort of calling card – proof that a person had been paid by Folke. Proof that those ancient and extraordinary powers deemed that person important enough, or able enough, to obtain their services.
Topper spent his remaining days searching the realm for any sign that other leprechauns lived on. Drawn to the nearby presence of teueriks, he followed their call, in hopes of finding any living kin.
Nothing enraged Kora like enslavement. The trapped water Folke of Glain. Being tied against her will by Morvan. Those events carved something out of her heart that would never again be replaced.
Topper must have sensed her melancholy as he peered over his pipe. He jiggled his body, an attempt to get comfortable in his bed of leaves, as he prepared to sleep for the night. “Damn. I would’ve loved to have seen his face when Garakul found out you evaded the Master of the Hunt.”
Remarks of astonishment had become the norm since the Hunt, but it still made her smile with pride.
“I envy you, kiddo. Sounds like you could be rid of whatever it is everyone is after. If you make it to The Crown.”
Kora considered this. “Topper, if you had a chance… to rid yourself of your connection to these coins… would you?”
Topper pulled deep at his pipe and blew a puff of smoke that briefly formed a torus before dissipating into the still, warm evening. “I almost immediately said ‘of course.’ That connection has meant the slaughter of my kin. But still… it’s part of me. Part of who I am. I don’t know…”
“What if I’m supposed to keep whatever is in me?”
“That’s foolery. Wholly different situation. You’ve had this curse for, what? Days? And Garakul is willing to set the Master of the Hunt after you for it? Get it out of you as fast as possible.”
“But my music… it has never been as beautiful… potent…”
“But what good is it if yer not alive to play? Don’t kid yerself, lassie. It’s a damned miracle you’ve made it this far without being imprisoned. Or worse.” Topper turned over and mumbled, “Doomed. Everything good and pure in this world is doomed.”
Over the last two days, Topper had explained that he had inherited the ability to avoid the detection of the Autumn Folke, a gift passed down by generations who needed to learn the art. He believed that if Kora stuck close, he would be able to effectively prevent divination attempts by Garakul to locate her. He took the opportunity to remind her several times a day, particularly when it was time to prepare food, or collect firewood, that without his aid, she would surely have been enslaved by now.
Before drifting off to sleep for the night, Kora peered up at the moons. The eclipse rapidly approached. How much longer to the Crown? Her instincts told her, if she continued on foot, she wouldn’t reach her destination in time.
* * * *
Landor and Calandoe rode together on the larger of two horses, while Gram rode the smaller, closely behind, all three speeding toward her. Gram rushed her and clutched at the back of Kora’s cloak, as if to prove to herself that the girl still existed. Kora allowed Gram to engulf her. She wallowed in the embrace, soaking in the sounds and smells of Gram Heega. A pillar of dependability. As constant as the Silver Sea.
Landor’s voice boomed from the saddle as he looked around, “Where’s my brother?” The word brother came out hard, as if questioning the word’s validity.
“I won’t be yelled at,” Kora demanded, and a tense silence settled on the reunion. Kora met Landor’s gaze, and the young man’s face grew dark. His lips pursed as he dismounted and stood before her.
“Forgive me. My… concern for my brother has robbed me of my manners. Are you alright?”
“I am, though no thanks to your brother,” Kora shot back with crossed arms.
“Why? What did Morvan do?” Calandoe’s concerned expression drained Kora of her defiance.
“He… he wanted to escort me back to Chrais. I disagreed, and we parted ways…”
Gram looked on in shocked bewilderment, but to her credit, she said nothing, waiting to hear more.
Landor only grimaced, changing the subject. “The important thing is we found you. I swear to you, by all the vows of the Eagles of the Pales, I will get you to the White Owl.”
Kora had thought quite a bit about Landor since her encounter with Morvan. She remembered the two brothers fighting about whether to go to Chrais. She had always assumed it to be Morvan who wanted to escort her to the White Owl Wood, but now she knew better. Landor, the younger brother, forced Morvan’s hand. She wondered what he must have said to get Morvan to go along. Whatever the threat, it forced Morvan into kidnapping her, and though it was unfair for Kora to blame Landor, the trauma of his older brother’s actions still held.
“I don’t mean to offend, but I no longer trust vows. I trust actions,” Kora replied.
Gram raised an eyebrow, “Your father’s words if ever I heard them.” She turned to Lander and added, “The man was slow to trust.”
Landor bit his lip and Kora could tell he didn’t like having his vows questioned. “Her father sounds wise,” he replied. “Fair enough. Let my actions speak then. I’ve procured these mounts from an armed expedition to the south. On foot, we would never reach your destination in time. But if we ride hard, we should make it.”
“Morvan is going home alone?” Calandoe asked, almost to himself. “Father won’t like that.”
“No, he won’t,” Landor agreed, his face impossible to read.
“I’m forever indebted, sir.” Kora suspected Landor would like that response, but if he did, he didn’t show it.
“You’ve covered incredible distance on foot. How?” he asked.
“I… ran. A lot.” She wasn’t quite ready to relay the whole story.
Calandoe dismounted and poked his nose in a nearby elderberry bush. “There’s something funny in there.”
Kora realized Topper must have retreated deep into the bushes and assumed he didn’t want to be seen by the others. She decided it should be at his discretion to reveal himself.
“Calandoe,” she called, trying to distract him, “you’re the one that found me, aren’t you?”
“It wasn’t that hard,” he boasted. “You’re easy to pick up. A couple nights ago you were reeeeeally easy to pick up.”
Two nights ago. The Hunt.
“Calandoe isn’t the only one searching for you,” Landor warned. “He has sensed others… seeking us out. Trying to track us. Others who must be looking for you. The sooner we get to The Crown, the sooner we rid you of the flowers, the better.”
Kora nodded. Topper had said he could hide her from the Autumn Folke, but his cloaking abilities must not extend to someone like Calandoe.
“Ride with me,” Gram offered. “You will not leave my side again until we reach the Crown,” she vowed with a warm smile on wrinkled lips.
As they rode north, Kora looked over her shoulder at the elderberry bush receding in the distance. She prayed she hadn’t seen the last of Topper.
* * * *
The landscape flew by. Gods save my feet! The words screamed in her head. Ever since Glain, every inch of her journey had been painstakingly traversed on foot. At last, they were making good time, galloping over thousands of steps avoided.
The edges of the White Owl Wood would be reached soon. They skirted the southern edge of the castles of North Guard, where its residents huddled within its high, well-defended walls. It sat on the northern edge of Anduir and needed constant vigilance against attacks from both Ghaultic and Farosi forces. Occasionally, even Ghurr raiders from the Breakers threatened this far west. As much as they all longed for the beds and hot meals of an inn, they also nodded in agreement that the lesson of Glain could not be ignored. Too many in that town had perished because of their presence. They must avoid everyone until ridding Kora of her burden.
The open plains thickened with ever-growing, behemoth trees. Every time Kora remarked on the largest tree she had ever seen, another came along that dwarfed the last. Their progress slowed from an open-plains gallop to a trot amongst bark-armored giants. She wondered in awe at how old these majestic beauties must be to have grown so wide and so tall.
Calandoe peered up as well. “These trees are the chosen of Huul, the White Owl, and her wisdom is unrivaled. Her spirit courses through them.”
“Do they speak to you?”
“No. But they spoke to the druids of old. Counselors of my great grandfather.”
Trees that speak. As she tilted her head back and peered up at the dizzying heights of a colossus, a sentience didn’t seem that far-fetched.
At late afternoon they spotted a bubbling streamlet and paused as their mounts greedily quenched their thirst.
Calandoe whittled a piece of wood into the shape of a girl as he wandered over to Kora.
“Can I write a story about you?” he asked.
“You write stories?”
“Of course. If I’m going to give council to my brother, I must read all the old tales. And write new ones,” he responded, without losing focus on his carving. “The dormu-lily girl. The girl who can invigorate. The girl who can inspire humans and the Mey Folke and demoralize the Autumn Folke. I’ve not heard one like it from any bard or historian. Grr, I’m ham-fisted with a knife,” he complained as he surveyed his work.
That’s exactly what she had been doing with her music and words since she fell into those flowers, Kora realized. But Calandoe hadn’t witnessed any of that. She knew he worked from feeling, not sight, but still, she wondered about the limits of the boy’s abilities. She found herself staring at this little woodcarver that seemed so innocuous. She patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get better with practice.”
Kora wandered to the edge of the stream, kneeling so she could splash the cold water on her dirt-encrusted face and neck. Gram knelt nearby and peered at her nervously.
“Do you remember my pilgrimage to Chrais several years ago?”
“Yes,” Kora replied. “I begged my father to go with you.”
“I visited the great Asar cathedral. There I studied a striking tapestry, emblazoned with the images of the four Eagles of the Pales who slayed the giant boar-beast of the southern hills. Gregor Smythe stared back at me. I tell you, I almost choked on my almonds. A priest had to pound my back to get me breathing again.”
Shocked beyond words, Kora simply gaped, bewildered. Flashes of swordplay and history lessons with her father inundated her.
“I questioned the priests. I researched in their libraries. I had to know whose roof I lived under,” she explained. “I discovered some things, but there are great gaps in what I know.”
“Please…”
“Your father fell in love. With the distinguished and renowned lady of House Proctor, Lari, wife of Charnes,” Gram whispered.
“Wife?”
“A notorious scandal. The Proctors are one of the great houses of Chrais and among the closest allies of the Laveriums. When it was discovered, Charnes Proctor demanded retribution. He demanded the death of his unfaithful wife, and of your father.”
Her father? In love? With someone else’s wife? It was impossible. Unfathomable. He was as rigid and unyielding in his principles as the great priests of Asar the Eagle.
“He and Lari fled Chrais and disappeared, never to be seen again. The reach and power of the Proctors could not be denied, and all assumed both were dead. I knew better, of course. I was living with a fugitive! I had become an abettor to a criminal! My prayers for pardon were incessant.” She said it with a wry smile, but still, Kora didn’t doubt the turmoil it must’ve caused Gram.
“It is time I break my vow of silence, as I am convinced that Asar himself has sent Landor to protect you. Another Eagle of the Pales? It is no coincidence. The Laveriums have noble blood. They are the chosen of the gods.”
Nobles. Divine rulers. Evidenced by the longevity in their bloodlines. Still, how could Morvan be chosen by the gods? Kora couldn’t reconcile the contradiction. She didn’t have time. She was so engrossed in her conversation with Gram, Kora didn’t hear the men until they attacked.