Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Ashira and Salam trekked northeast into the hills. Once they had gone a few kilometers, they stopped to eat.

“That sword thing you did,” Salam said, taking a bite of hard bread. “That was unlike any magic I've ever seen.”

She nodded, not sure what to say.

“I heard you play the flute. You play well,” he tried. He was not sure why she was being so distant. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Have you ever witnessed bloodshed?”

Ashira shook her head.

“Oh. I'm sorry,” he apologized.

“It's fine. I'll be fine.”

They finished eating, then continued on. The hills were large, and they had to follow the valleys. Salam led the way, having traveled this road many times. Whenever they heard or saw others approaching on the road, they would hurry to one side and hide amidst the tall grass until they passed.

“I do not know who may be looking for me,” he explained after the third time.

“Can you tell me details?” she asked. “Not that I'll know who they are, but which senators are rising against the king? And how does your government work?”

“Tonight, before bed.”

The day dragged on. It was springtime, and the air was cool in the mornings. By mid afternoon, however, Ashira was sweating from the sunlight beating on her as she pushed her legs to continue.

Evening came, but Salam did not stop until the sun was completely down. Ashira understood that he was worried about his father. They did not set up a campfire, not desiring to broadcast their location to the surrounding countryside. A copse of trees stood about fifty meters from the road, so they set up there.

“My father is very important,” Salam said, sitting with his cloak wrapped around his shoulders. “There are people who would like to see the king overthrown so they can place another in his stead.”

“Is the king bad?”

He shook his head.

“No. He has always ruled with equity. He has always done what is in the best interest of his subjects.

“There are three governing bodies of Camena. The senate, who are officials elected by the popular voice of the citizens, are just below the king. They appoint judges, write up legislation to be passed by the king, and approve a call to war. The judges interpret the laws in place. The king calls for war, approves legislation, and leads the military.”

Ashira was trying to follow as best as she could. She was not used to these terms. Her own nation had a senate, but it was made of the chiefs from each village or town. The chiefs were usually the founders of a village or the descendants of such, like her father.

“So the senate is the voice of the people? Then do the people hate their king?” she asked him.

“No. However, the senators for the past few decades have become arrogant. Although they are elected by the citizens, they lie to get into those positions. On the outside they seem very genuine. They'll say they care for the common man. Then they turn around and commit secret murders.”

“Why are they not judged by the judges?”

“Because they have appointed the judges that are party to them.”

Ashira nodded, understanding.

“Is there any way to get them out of office?”

Salam considered for a moment.

“Yes. They can be removed for committing a crime, such as treason, murder, theft. And most of them have done those things.”

“Why haven't actions been taken against them? Surely the king has the voice of the people and can persuade them,” she said.

“He is loved, but so are the senators. And, because he is in this position by his heritage and not by appointment, the people sometimes feel they are stuck with the same man. They want someone new in the kingship.”

“If they want somebody new, they should elect new senators,” Ashira said.

“Yes, that is how it is supposed to work.”

“So what will the king do? What will your father do as a senator?”

“I'm not sure,” he answered, gazing into the hills behind her.

“And who is it against them?”

“I have my suspicions of which senators it is,” he said, focusing back on her. “There is one, Kaias Celsis, who has long held animosity toward the king. He is the senior-most senator.”

“So he would have a lot of influence,” she surmised.

“Indeed, he does.”

They sat in silence for a moments. A Ashira thought of the attack from earlier and remembered her first time wielding magic.

“Salam, I have a question. What does 'glazialis ferrum, morder carnim' mean?” she asked.

He looked at her with curiosity.

“In Camenian it roughly means 'metal of ice, bite flesh'. Why?”

She nodded, making sense of what had occurred on the ferry.

“That makes sense, then. When I sang those words, the sword of one of the men turned into ice and bit his arm.”

“I remember that. I thought you had played your flute to make that happen. You sang it?” he asked.

Ashira realized her mistake too late.

“I was just repeating the words another attacker had used on me a moment before. It was a last ditch attempt, but I guess it worked.”

“But you play the flute. You're from Acustia. Your magic should be borne of instruments, not singing.” Salam was confused, and so she decided to tell him as much truth as she dared.

“I actually don't have any magic from playing the flute. I never have,” she admitted.

“Are you Camenian then?” he asked.

“No. At least, not as far as I know.”

He sat in silence, trying to figure out what she was saying.

“Well, I have heard of people being born in one nation, then moving to another and retaining the talents of the first. But you say you weren't born here.”

“Actually, I never asked my father where I was born,” she lied. She knew Arthoir was not her real father, and that her real mother was dead. “I could have been born here.”

He shrugged, seeming to dismiss it. However, he made note of the oddity for future use. He still did not know this girl very well, and felt he was being lied to. He laid on the grass.

“I'm not sure what to think. It's all confusing to me,” he said.

Ashira just nodded, feeling that he did not want to speak about it longer.

The next morning they hardly spoke. Salam was hurt that she lied, but tried to hide it. However, he was not very good at it, and Ashira could tell he was bothered by something she had said. They traveled on in uncomfortable silence for most of the day, continuing to get off the path when passerby came along.

After they had finished a meager lunch, Salam told her stay put.

“I'm going to hunt for a bit of game. We could use the extra meat for our provisions,” he explained shortly. She nodded, wishing she could break the coldness between them.

She got out her flute and played softly. She thought of the melody her father had played for her, and tried to replicate it. After a few vain attempts, she gave up.

Standing, she walked toward a small rock that sat near the base of a tree. She thought of the magic she had performed the day before, and decided to try more. She stood, trying to come up with a simple rhyme to put to music. Finally, she came up with a short phrase and tested it on the rock.

“Stone that lies before me here, rise up now and disappear,” she sang to it. To her surprise, it obeyed, lifting off the ground a foot and seeming to vanish. Excited, she came up with another rhyme. “Rock that sat beneath this tree, reappear in front of me,” she sang. The rock did appear, an inch in front of her nose. It fell to the ground, narrowly missing her feet, and rolled toward the tree.

Ashira jumped and clapped for joy. She had done it again! Perhaps singing was her talent after all.

She did not hear the men approaching behind her.

Salam came back to the place they had eaten, two small rabbits attached to his belt.

“Ashira!” he called out, looking around. The grass was tall in these hills, and the trees were sparse. He walked around a bit, calling her name, panic growing in his chest.

Then he saw her flute lying beneath a tree.

He ran to the edge of the road and examined the edge, looking for tracks. There, coming from the place they had sat, the prints of perhaps half a dozen men. Among them was a long line, as though one of them had dragged something along.

“Inferno!” he swore, realizing they must have bound and dragged her. He saw how the tracks went northeast, toward Premoi, and began to follow, running at a steady pace. “At least they are on foot,” he muttered to himself. The rabbits swung along on his belt, adding weight, so he unfastened them and threw them aside.

He jogged the rest of the day until the evening. Knowing they would not stop, neither did he. He pushed on, thinking about the trouble he had gotten this innocent girl into. When night fell, he pushed on, stopping only for a few moments to eat some of his remaining dried meat.

Salam came across a small group of people and put his hood up to conceal his face.

“Hail, fellow travelers!” he called out, slowing down and approaching at a brisk walk.

“Hail,” called the lead man, a middle-aged Camenian dressed in brown traveling robes.

“Have you seen a group of men come this way with an unconscious woman?”

The man looked at him with mild surprise.

“I have not,” he said as Salam stopped before him.

Salam noticed a small boy to the man's right. As the man said this, the boy looked up at him sharply, but did not say anything.

“Are you certain? Perhaps just a group of men, then?” he asked, fearing they may have dumped Ashira somewhere alone.

“I am sorry, sir. No people have passed us since this morning,” the man said. His finger rubbed against the money pouch at near his thigh.

Salam caught the mistake but showed no sign of it. He nodded quickly.

“Well, thank you for the help,” he said, certain that the man was lying. He bowed slightly and the man reciprocated.

He started to jog again, certain that the man had been paid off by the men. The child had been the first clue, but the man's mistake of rubbing the bribe money confirmed it in Salam's mind.

The sounds of night surrounded him as he ran. Crickets made noises in the grass. He heard an owl calling from a tree that stood on top of one of the hills. The sound of his feet on the dirt road set a steady tempo, and so he decided to sing to calm his nerves. He picked a lullaby his mother had sung to him as a child.

In darkness of the night,

below the trees that shroud,

amidst the ancient rites,

a northern light is found

that brings newer peace,

yet starts a longer strife.

when love is found at last,

it brings a sadder life.

But I'll bring you with me to

dwell in a place

where the freedom of stars ever flies;

like the stars way above we'll

soar throughout space

to bring love to the world from the skies.

High above the clouds

amidst the stars that shine

there is a place of peace,

a place they call 'divine'.

And far beyond the glen,

beyond the mountains high,

where rivers never end,

and spirits never sigh,

I will bring you with me to

dwell in a place

where the joy of the stars ever shines bright;

like the stars way above that

fill all of space

is our love that we both call divine.

By the time he finished, he was breathing hard. His voice had gotten quieter as he felt he must be getting closer. He climbed a hill that overlooked the road and tried to see down it as far as he could.

In the distance, perhaps a kilometer ahead, he saw shapes moving along the road. They disappeared behind a hill.

He moved forward, jogging along the top of the rise. As it sloped down, he turned back toward the road. He could not think of a way to impede and stop the kidnappers. Were he to face them single-handed, he would either be captured or die. If he let them continue, he may lose them in Premoi. Then there was the worry that he was playing into their hands, being led into a trap. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain it was him they were after, not Ashira. But he would not leave her alone to die or be imprisoned. He had gotten her into this mess, and he would be the one to save her.

As Salam ran along the road, he felt somebody watching him. He quickly moved to the side, hiding in a copse of trees, and searched the hillsides around. He was certain somebody was out there in the grass, staring at him. He retreated further into the trees, his cloak hiding his face. He crept through the trees until he reached the south edge, opposite the way he had been heading on the road. He ducked down and began to crawl slowly through the grass. The flow of the wind among the tall stalks masked his movement. He crawled up the hill behind the copse of trees. When he reached the top, he crouched and ran along the crest, parallel to the road.

He could no longer feel eyes on him, but did not stand erect. He continued on, crouched and running, for ten minutes more. Risking it, he stood for a moment to check on the road.

It was not there.

He cursed, then moved down the slope of the hill toward where he thought the road should have been. He ran through the small valley between the crest he had been on and the one he assumed the road now followed. As he reached the top, he saw the road below him. And there, not far ahead, were his quarries. He crouched back down and began to follow, walking along the top of the ridge.

He still had not come up with a solution of how to help Ashira. He deliberated for a few minutes, then decided he would rush the kidnappers. He did not want them to get to Premoi. He had the element of surprise right now. He thought of a few verses to sing, then started his descent toward the road.

Salam reached the dirt and started running at the group, barely fifty meters ahead. He was preparing to sing when he suddenly flew to his left. He landed on his back in the tall grass, the wind getting knocked out of him. He knelt, trying to catch his breath and looking for his attacker.

He felt a hand clamp over his mouth. The person waited a moment until Salam got his breath back.

“Do not sing if you want her to live,” came a man's whispered voice behind his head.

Disappointed that he had failed, Salam nodded.

“Good. Stand and move into the grass with me,” said the man.

Salam obeyed, the man taking him into the darkness of a few trees.

“I am going to let go of you, but do not sing or scream. Nobody will help you, which is what I am trying to do.”

Again, he nodded.

The man let go. Salam instantly turned to face his captor, reaching for his dagger. His hands clasped empty air. Then he saw the man swinging his weapon through the air, testing its weight.

“Nice dagger. Very well crafted. Not something a commoner wears, am I right?” said the man casually. He had an accent Salam had heard only a few times in his life, though he could not remember when.

Salam tried to get a good look at him. He stood about four inches taller than Salam. He was in fit condition, his bare arms showing his muscles. He wore a short sleeved light-colored shirt and a leather vest. His trousers were loose around the thighs and tapered toward his shins, where they were tucked into brown leather boots. The slight moonlight was filtering through the leaves enough for him to discern the man's hair color. It was blonde.

“What does that matter to you?” Salam asked, songs running through his head that he could use against the man.

“Nothing. Just admiring your weapon. Here,” he said, holding out the hilt for Salam to take. As he did so, the man continued. “As I said, I'm here to help you get your friend back. I do not want trouble, nor do I want to harm you.”

“Why should I trust you? You tackled me,” Salam stated.

“To save you, yes. You were about to get yourself caught by those men who have your friend. How would you save her if you were in the same predicament she was in? Eh?”

Salam shrugged.

“Exactly,” said the man.

“Fine, but how will you help me get her back? She is innocent. I'm the one they want,” Salam asked.

“We'll rescue her once they reach town,” said the man. “They are obviously heading to Premoi, as it is the only settlement for kilometers around.”

“Why wait?” Salam asked.

“The way I use magic, I need a city. I cannot do it out here in the open,” the stranger explained.

“I do not know your name,” Salam said, still holding his dagger loosely at his side. “I am Salam.”

The man noticed that the dagger had not been sheathed. He did not offer his hand in greeting.

“I am Gehem,” said the man.

Salam nodded.

“As we stand here talking, they are getting away.”

Gehem waved the statement away.

“Yes. But I will be able to find them tomorrow in the city. Let us sleep for now. Surely you are tired from pursuing them.”

Salam thought about it for a bit.

“I will go to sleep, but not near you,” he said. The man began to protest, but Salam held up a hand. “I am sorry, but deeds prove intent. If you truly intend to help me and not hurt me, I must first see a deed that proves it. Until then, I cannot trust you.”

Gehem smiled at the caution of the young man before him.

“Good. Then I will stay here in these trees for the night. Go and find somewhere else to rest. We shall meet a kilometer down the road from this point at daybreak. Agreed?”

Salam nodded. Still, he did not sheathe his dagger. He backed away from the man, toward the road. He did not turn around until he had crossed it into the tall grass on the other side. Then he put his weapon away, turned, and ran.

Gehem shook his head, then laughed softly. The old lady would be pleased that he had found her quarry.