“To learn from the past is wise. But to learn from the future is godlike.”
- Serenus Dantalus, referring to the Twindar Glass, circa the Magi Wars
“Those who look to the future for answers inevitably discover only one thing of importance: that they are already dead.”
- Orwen Harbringer
MAP: THE REALM OF ETHRYN
Chapter 1 : Err Hollow
“Easy girl, easy…. that’s it.”
Lun Ferrier plucked the glowing horseshoe from the coals with a careful hand as his son held the charger’s hoof aloft. “You must place the shoe before it cools,” he instructed gruffly, handing the prongs with their glowing treasure to his son. “Confidence, Galen.”
“Yes, father.”
“Now don’t rush it. It is either done perfectly or not at all.”
Galen exhaled nervously, wiping a pool of sweat from his brow. Despite the cool air blowing off the marsh, the forge was sweltering. But it was more than the heat from the coals that had Galen sweating.
“Concentrate, boy. I can tell your mind is elsewhere.”
Galen took a breath of the searing air. “It is hot, father.”
“Do not talk. Leave that to me.”
Galen swallowed hard as he settled the shoe upon the hoof. He was careful to check for lumps along the seal so that no air could sneak in. The shoe had been made wide at the heel to compensate for the natural expansion of the stallion’s hoof.
“Perhaps we need to shave the foot a little?” Galen grunted, his frustration mounting as he tried unsuccessfully to fit the shoe to the hoof.
“You know better than that, boy. This stallion needs every bit of his hoof to support his weight.”
Galen gritted his teeth. With as much patience as he could muster he laid the shoe evenly upon the hoof, careful not to touch any of the hot metal to the stallion’s flesh. Grasping the mallet, he tapped the shoe to the hoof lightly. It was in place – for a moment at least. He turned to his father who responded by handing him a pouch of nails.
“Six holes,” Lun instructed.
Galen knew the importance of well-placed nails. He had to drive them so that they would not crack the hoof wall, which meant getting it right on the first hit. If he drove a nail in the wrong direction, the fitting would be a failure. And if he drove the nail too green, into her sensitive tissue, he would hobble her.
“Stay to the right of the line,” he murmured to himself. Anything crossing over that boundary would be outside the hoof wall and in the green. Galen pursed his lips. He had seen his father do this a thousand times, and Lun had handled it effortlessly. But now the hoof and nails were in his hands, and the task no longer seemed simple.
Placing the first nail to the shoe, Galen realized he did not have much time before the shoe cooled, which would make the driving more difficult. Without another thought, he drove the first nail through.
“Good.” His father’s voice was reassuring. “Now remember that the hoof expands. Do not drive the nails where they will crack it.”
The young man noted his father’s words with a sweating brow. Trying not to rush, he proceeded to drive the remaining nails. Upon completion, his father took hold of the hoof and grunted with satisfaction.
“Go wash up, boy. You did fine today.”
Galen exhaled for what seemed like the first time in hours. Exiting the forge, he was greeted by the sharp scent of the marsh on the cool evening air. He bent over the wash barrel for a much needed splash, the water cool against his sweat-soaked face.
“Brother.” The voice startled Galen as a heavy hand slapped his shoulder, forcing him to turn. Galen’s older brother stood before him, a worried crease in his forehead. “We must speak.”
“I am tired, Boren,” Galen said, averting his eyes. He cast a glance towards the forge where the bulky shadow of their father was patting down the stallion.
Boren caught Galen’s glance. “He cannot hear us. Galen…Galen, look me in the eye.”
In the glow of the orange sunset Galen could make out the details of his brother’s face. His mouth had a relaxed frown, his features portraying graveness unlike him. Galen managed a jumble, “what is it?”, regretting the question as soon as it had escaped his lips.
“You know what it is – hey.” Boren raised his hand in protest as Galen brushed it off his shoulder.
“We have talked about this too many times.” Galen met his brother’s eyes for only a moment before glancing away.
“Do not take that tone with me! I am your older brother. You will respect that.”
“Older brother or not, you are wrong about the Manannan. There is nothing that you can say that will change my mind.”
“It is my mind that is set!” Boren’s voice carried loudly along the wind. Realizing his error he dropped his voice to a hardened whisper, his eyes darting back to the forge. “You are fortunate that father has no knowledge of my plans, or I would have this out with you now, once and for all.”
“I would welcome it,” Galen replied, his blood rising.
Boren clenched his fists and exhaled. His tone was softer, though still edged with anger. “Listen, Galen. I did not come to argue the point again. That time has passed. I simply wanted to – to speak my peace and be done with it before I leave.”
Galen shook his head in disgust. “I will not allow myself to listen to your prattle. This idea of yours to leave home and join the Manannan is foolish.”
“Mykul did the same.”
“That is not true,” Galen said. “Our cousin was forced to leave our home for his own protection.”
“Then what about mother?”
“Leave her out of this,” Galen warned.
“How can I? Do you really think she will return some day, Galen? Do you?”
“Yes,” Galen growled, his stomach tightening into knots at the thought of the mother that had left them over three years ago. “Father said that she will return when she can and I believe him –”
“You are a fool! If you had seen –” Boren stopped short and his face softened uncharacteristically for a moment.
“Had seen what?”
“Nothing….if you had seen the look on her face before she left you would know she was never going to return.”
Galen looked at this brother closely. “That was not what you were going to say. What is it that I should have seen? What do you know?”
“Nothing! Shut your mouth about it. It is the Manannan I want to talk about.”
“There is nothing to discuss about them. It is a foolish idea.”
“The only thing foolish about it is that I have waited this long already,” Boren growled, staring at Galen. Galen ignored him and Boren continued angrily. “I have a duty to our people. My gift was meant to be used, not held in check on some small hamlet, especially during times as troubled as these.”
“First off, even if the Manannan was real – which I highly doubt – you would never find them, the thanes would get to them first! But more importantly, your duty is to your family.” Galen broke from his brother’s company but Boren was quick to follow him.
“Mykul got his chance and has made something of himself.”
“Enough about Mykul, that was years ago,” Galen replied bitterly. “Things were different then. And the only reason our uncle sent Mykul was because his powers could not be kept secret!”
“Perhaps mine should not be kept secret either. Or yours.”
“You’re a fool,” Galen spat. “And leave me out of this.”
The distant drum of hooves from the direction of the hills caused Galen to pause. He turned westward toward the sound and was met by the blazing sunset as it sank into the misty embrace of the marsh. A figure on horseback rose like a specter from the mist, galloping as if fleeing its own grave. Galen turned to call for his father, but a blow to his face sent him reeling backwards. He stood in stunned silence, looking at Boren’s clenched fist.
“We quarrel!” Boren snarled, rushing Galen. A heavy blow crushed Galen’s side, forcing a warm current of sickly air from his lungs. A third hit to the small of the back was as devastating as the first two, but a hot rush of anger blocked out the pain.
Galen ripped Boren’s legs from beneath him, sending them both to the ground. Galen tried to swing for the mouth, but Boren thrust a palm in his face, forcing him back. In a twist of muscles and anger each of them tried to gain the advantage. They rolled through the wet grass like wild dogs, oblivious to the growing rumble coming upon them.
The thunder was suddenly on top of them, a whinny from above the final warning before the massive shadow of the horse appeared. The ground shook with such force that Galen thought he must be trampled beneath the beast’s heavy hooves, but the blow did not fall. When he had gathered his wits he realized he was laying in the mud, his brother’s shoulder in his grasp. The rider towered above them.
“What goes here?” It was a woman’s voice that was raised to them, an eastlinger by her accent. Her heavy riding cloak whipped behind her in the wind, revealing the gold-encrusted pommel of her sword. A quiver of arrows peeked from behind her shoulder, the feathered shafts silhouetted against the crimson sun.
Boren raised his arm cautiously. “A brother’s quarrel is all, my lady.”
The woman’s face was revealed by a shade of crimson from the setting sun. It was pale and bold, the beauty striking the young men more acutely than the threat of her sword. “Name the cause.”
“It is complicated, my lady,” Galen said as they stood. He bowed awkwardly. “I am Galen Ferrier, and this is my older brother, Boren.”
“Is the introduction not the elder’s responsibility?” the rider asked, her great steed nickering as if in agreement.
Boren nodded quickly. “My brother speaks out of turn. It is a fault of his that I have long sought to remedy.”
“Indeed. I am Gwendolyn Ravenmane, and this great steed before you is Noniar.” The woman noticed the mud splattered on their clothes. “Perhaps next time you will use words rather than fists?”
“Of course, my lady.” Boren cast a sidelong glance at Galen that was meant as a warning. Fists were not to be counted out just yet.
The rider did not seem to notice the exchange. “I seek a healer - a Mederi.”
Galen’s heart froze at the mention of the Mederi. He recovered quickly, but it was his brother who spoke first.
“Does this Mederi you are seeking have a name?”
The woman eyed Boren carefully. “Mederi are quite rare. Do you know the name of more than one?”
Boren seemed to lose his tongue as a confused look crossed his face and Galen quickly stepped in. “We know of several almsmen, who are capable healers. They reside in Grainspoke, not far from here.”
The woman regarded Galen for a moment before speaking. “I am not searching for an almsman. I said, quite clearly, that I am looking for a Mederi.”
“I fear we cannot help you then, my lady. That kind of healer is not found in these parts.” Galen was unable to meet the woman’s gaze as he spoke but he could feel her eyes boring down upon him.
“Where do you live?”
Boren jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Over the crest of the hill.”
“I wish to talk to the master of your household.”
“As you please.”
The rider trotted forward without another word, leaving Galen and Boren looking after her with apprehensive hearts. Boren grabbed Galen by the sleeve as soon as the rider was out of earshot. “I told you something like this would happen!”
“She may not be what you think she is.”
“What I think she is?” Boren tightened his grasp on Galen. “The air kindled around her like brush to flame.” He slammed a fist to his thigh and muttered an oath. “A murderous Huntress - in Northam, of all places! Her kind is the very reason we must leave here and join with the Manannan!” His eyes hardened. “But we do not have that luxury at this moment. You must go to the Wayfarer’s camp with a warning for the Mederi.”
Galen was uneasy. “But the Huntress will know that I have gone.”
“I will do what I can to stall her.” The gravity of Boren’s voice was not lost on Galen. “We owe it to the Mederi, Galen. You must warn her…and those with her.”
Galen watched the woman as she crested the hill in the distance. The glow from the forge ran along the hilltop and surrounded the rider in a yellow flicker. “If I must go, then I must go now.”
Boren set his jaw. “Do so. And with any luck the Huntress will not follow.”
Galen paused. “What are you planning to do?” He read his brother’s face and muttered an oath. “No, you cannot, Boren. Do not reveal yourself to her –”
“I will do what I must.”
“She will not let you live if she discovers that you are an Ether-born!”
“I am not officially a Wielder, though…not until I touch the Colors.”
“But once you do –”
“Let me worry about that,” Boren snarled. “You have your own business to attend to, and quickly.”
“Boren –”
“Get going, Galen. Now.” Boren stepped away and began to jog up the incline after the Huntress. Galen started after him but slowed as Boren’s pace increased. Galen would not let his brother put himself in such danger… yet he knew it would be a pointless pursuit. Boren was as stubborn as a mule, and nothing Galen could say or do would stop him.
Cursing, Galen turned and raced for the thicket to find the Wayfarers’ camp.
*
“My name is Gwendolyn Ravenmane,” the Huntress said from atop Noniar, her steed trembling with fatigue from the ride.
“I am Lun Ferrier,” the smith replied. His bulky form blocked out the light from the forge and cast a large shadow before him. He twisted an enormous hammer in his two beefy hands as he regarded her.
“A storm brews,” Gwendolyn said, peering at the gathering clouds over the distant shore. The soot-covered smith nodded briefly in response and then turned his gaze to his older son just arriving from the gloom. He motioned for his son to stand beside him. “My eldest, Boren.”
“We have met.” Gwendolyn eyed the tousled-haired youth. “Where is your brother?”
“Collecting the tools from the croft.”
“He best move along then,” Lun said, glancing up at the darkening sky. He turned back to the rider. “Are you a messenger? Do you have business in these parts?”
“As you can tell from my dress, I am not native to this locale.” Gwendolyn scanned the surrounding shadows for traces of movement but saw none. “But my business, as you call it, has brought me here.”
“From where do you travel?”
“Deep within the Kinghorn Mountains
Gwendolyn tugged off her gloves as the night drew in around them. The smell of the sea rushed upon the wind, bringing with it the promise of the storm. She had ridden two days straight since leaving the deserted village of Cardyna
“State it.”
“I am in search of a Mederi.”
Lun’s face darkened. “A Mederi?”
“Yes. And I have reason to believe that you know where I can find the very one I am looking for.”
Boren moved protectively between his father and Gwendolyn. “What makes you say such a thing?”
Lun pulled him back. “Calm yourself, boy.”
“But father –”
“Silence.”
Boren glowered at the Huntress. Gwendolyn watched him from the corner of her eyes as she spoke to Lun. “I do not mean to offend you, good smith. But I know a Mederi has been through these parts. I met with a yeoman by the name of Brethel not far from here, and he was more than willing to tell me of the recent arrival of a tribe of Wayfarers.”
“Some Wayfarers did come through, that is true enough.”
“There was more said than that. He also told me that you were recently ill – gravely ill, I believe were his words.”
“Brethel may not be much of a lander, but he can spin a tale or two.”
“He seemed quite straight in his telling of it. The yellow fever, he said it was.” Gwendolyn stared into the smith’s eyes. She knew he was hiding something. Her experience as a Huntress had provided her with the experience of many inquisitions, each of which had sharpened her ability to sniff out a falsehood.
Lun shook his head. “My lady, you are mistaken. If I can assist you in any other way, I would be honored to.”
“Then honor this one request. Let me search your croft. Within I expect to find the medicines of the Mederi, for I know each herb that they use, and for what purpose. The gum of virens, for instance. A remedy for the yellow fever. It is not capable of growing in this climate, nor anywhere west of the mountains. It is not even known to exist by most folk in the Vale. Yet you have heard of it, have you not? Of course, because you have seen it. Grown it in your own croft with the aid of the Mederi’s power where none could be grown otherwise. Is that not so?”
Lun gripped his hammer tightly.
“You cannot deny it,” Gwendolyn continued. “This is a strange land, this misty valley by the sea that I have stumbled upon. Seemingly forgotten by time, overlooked by war – yet it is capable of drawing the most interesting folk to it.”
“The Vale holds little of interest for visitors.”
“Normal visitors, you mean. But there is something in the air here. Something in the soil…” Gwendolyn’s voice trailed off and she leaned forward in her saddle. “This land is thick with the scent of gramarye.”
“That word has no meaning here.”
Gwendolyn’s eyes grew hard. “It most certainly does. Why else would a band of Wayfarers travel to this forsaken marshland? They follow the trail of gramarye like dogs on the hunt. The Ether is in their blood.”
“It is in the blood of more than just Wayfarers.” Boren stepped forward suddenly, his eyes glowing in the darkness. He opened his mouth as if to speak and the air around him crackled with electricity, blinding Gwendolyn with its intensity. She felt the world tip on its side as Noniar reared in fright and she was barely able to level her steed without tumbling off. The hair at the nape of her neck stood on end as she stared at the fire-eyed boy before her.
He stood with his legs spread and his arms flexed as if cradling an immense weight. The wind whipped his hair past his glowing eyes as a globe of light emanated from his hands and showered the nearby fields like the noon sun. “Is this what you have come for, Huntress?”
“Boren….” Lun’s voice trailed away as his hammer slipped from his grasp to fall unnoticed at his feet.
“Illorian.” Gwendolyn gripped the pommel of her sword and the glow from the blade split through the scabbard. “You have touched the Ether and broken the Vow of the Magi. Never again while you live will your soul be free of it – therefore, your death must come swiftly.”
“I am prepared to face you,” Boren answered, his voice echoed by the thunder of the approaching storm.
Lun cried out in protest, his face mixed with wonder and fear. “I will not let you harm the boy!”
The light faded from Boren’s hands and was soon followed by the darkening of Gwendolyn’s blade. The Huntress turned to Lun. “By the law of the Thau’Maturge, you must refrain from disrupting the Challenge. It concerns only those who have the power to wield the Ether.”
“But my son knows nothing of this power.”
“He evidently does, though he may not realize the terrible consequences of wielding it.”
“You will not take him,” Lun growled, pulling Boren behind him.
Boren pointed at Gwendolyn. “I am ready for you!”
Gwendolyn felt a shiver within the Ether that caused her to pause. With a startled gasp she realized what had happened – somehow Boren’s call upon the Ether had created a Tear in the living Fabric around them. She could feel the chill of the Nether-world eagerly slithering through the new Tear. It was near and had to be found. Cursing under her breath, she looked upon the wild-eyed boy. She would have to return for him later. “Prepare yourself. I will come for you with the dawn.”
Boren looked at her in confusion, but Gwendolyn was in no mood to explain. She turned about and broke away at a gallop. The wind and rain slapped against her face as she distanced herself from the forge and before long the ground grew soft and the air heavy with salt. A flash of lightning revealed the black abyss of the sea stretching far to the west, dark storm clouds angering the waters below. Gwendolyn looked upon the scene with a heavy heart. The boy did not know what he had done. If he had kept the secret of his powers to himself, she never would have known about them. His link to the Ether had been transparent until now, gaining color and visibility only when he had called upon it. Not only had he made himself known to her and any other Hunter that cared to look, he had created another Tear in the weakened Fabric protecting their world. For the latter reason alone she would have to kill him.
“Foolish boy,” she whispered, the wind whipping the words from her mouth. “And I will have to track down your brother as well, for he likely shares your gift.”
But sooner still she would have to find the Tear in the Fabric that Boren’s use of the Ether had caused. Somewhere in the darkness of this bare seacoast a portal to the Nether was gaping open, spilling Netherin forth like blood.
“The boy’s power is not that strong… he never should have been able to rend the Fabric with such a weak display of Ether. Our last barrier from the Nether grows terribly frail.”
The storm intruded on her thoughts as the sea glowed under a flash of lightning. The sky opened up and Gwendolyn sat motionless in the sudden deluge, letting the water run down her face like tears. She would not sleep tonight, nor the next. It would be a long time indeed before she would find rest again.