Brothers in Arms; the re-awakening

Jac prepared a generous breakfast, but not without keeping an amused eye on the activity outside the cave as Ethan’s instruction in sword-play commenced. Ethan was first of all made to sit still, with his arms folded and eyes closed, until Donal was sufficiently satisfied that he had achieved the required level of concentration.

“These are not toys for children to play with,” the Irishman growled, dismissing Ethan’s protests at the irrelevance of this preparation, “You must be fit and able to bear a sword safely, else you might be a danger to yourself as well as the rest of us. I have seen more than one inexperienced soldier slice off bits of himself and stab his comrades.”

He then insisted that Ethan practice a series of rigorous exercises unarmed.

“There will be many times when you will have no weapon, or be in no position to use one. Your spear is truly potent and no doubt a fearsome weapon when circumstances allow, but it is cumbersome and likely to prove of little use in fighting at close quarters. You must learn how to move quick, fast and sudden, side to side, forward and back, up and down, ready to duck, to feint, to dive, to feign injury or pretend strength; a soldier must always be light and lively on his feet as a dancer. That will save your life more certainly than any weapon.”

Jac, now sitting outside the cave licking his fingers and looking on with great interest, nodded his agreement.

“As an actor, you’d be an experienced dancer, wouldn’t you, Ethan? Let’s see some of your best moves; one-two, one-two, and through and through, and in and out, and up and down and all around, and holding hands.....,” continuing his imaginary commentary until he collapsed backwards in peals of laughter while Ethan glared at him and Donal looked displeased at having his lesson interrupted by such frivolity.

Donal inspected Ethan’s performance critically before agreeing to show him even the most rudimentary aspects of sword-play. These exercises required further preparatory meditation, and when the time came Ethan found them impossibly difficult, in irritating contrast to the ease with which Donal completed them. Donal indeed seemed on a different plane of consciousness as he spun and danced and leapt, almost bizarrely balletic for such a big man.

Ethan was exhausted by the time he was excused to eat his hard-earned breakfast.

“Don’t be overly down-hearted,” said Donal, “You did well; I think we can start the proper training tomorrow.”

“You mean it gets worse than this?” groaned Ethan, stretching his aching muscles, “Pass me that coffee, Jac, and it better be hot, sweet and strong.”

“Not unlike yourself at the moment,” laughed Jac.

Ethan ignored the jibe.

“And you do those things wearing armour as well?” he asked Donal.

Donal laughed; “That would be beyond even your powers, Ethan. As you are beginning to learn, the essence of fighting is speed, speed, and even more speed, with surprise and skill welcome bed-mates, and strength only useful if everything else is in place. Anything which slows us down is to be discarded, especially armour.”

“But all the pictures I’ve ever seen of the Crusades had you guys wrapped up in metal like sardines in a tin-can. Why do you have to be different?” Ethan was doubtful.

“Apart from not understanding what sardines in a tin can are, and apart from the disadvantage I have already described, and being tired of the Saracens galloping round me like swallows around an ox, the heat and dust made the wearing of any armour utterly intolerable. Some of the knights instead wore layers of felt, but I again found them even them too heavy. Silk, by contrast, is much more comfortable and more flexible, and also a protection against arrows, with which the same Saracens were distressingly accurate”. He pulled up the sleeve of his right arm, revealing a six inch scar below the elbow.

“The archer was trying to disarm me, not kill me,” he explained “He deliberately targeted my sword arm.”

“Silk - a protection against arrows? You’re pulling my leg,” said Ethan,

disbelieving.

“The real damage done by an arrow is caused when you try to remove it,” said Donal, looking at Jac for confirmation; the healer nodded.

Donal continued; “Because of it’s shape the embedded arrowhead tears the flesh much more savagely on the way out than on the way in. But if you are fortunate or far-sighted enough to be wearing a silk garment, the material is carried into the wound by the arrowhead, winds around it and makes it easier to remove. Well, slightly easier, anyway,” he amended, “I have had some personal experience.”

“And silk also looks extremely elegant,” Jac reminded them, “a very significant quality to me, though I’m not sure if it will do much for you, Ethan. It might clash with your ruddy complexion.”

“Very comforting to know all that - by the way, lend me a couple of those silk shirts, will you, Irish? I’ll wear them underneath so I won’t look like too much of a cissy,” said Ethan, helping himself to more coffee, and by now feeling much better.

They travelled along the mountain path for another seven days. At one stage, while they were passing through a strip of silver birch forest, Jac called a halt. All during their journey he had proved adept at foraging, and they had become accustomed to him stopping to pluck berries from the roadside trees or slipping off his horse to dig up edible roots.

“We are running very short of supplies, and we have still some way to travel. I would have had sufficient for my own purposes, but I did not reckon on having to satisfy both of your prodigious appetites, and we are climbing too high to live off the land any further, so I’ll have to see if I can find some game,” he said, the regret evident in his voice. He withdrew a small bow from his saddle-bag, and flexed it experimentally.

“I’d hoped I’d not be needing this,” he said.

Touching the bow to his forehead like a salute, he faced in turn to the north, south, east and west, whispering something under his breath at each turn, and then remained still for some minutes, staring fixedly at the mountains which frowned down upon them, as if listening for an answer.

“Boy, he’s really taking it hard, isn’t he?” said Ethan to Donal.

Jac heard him.

“Hunting is not something we do lightly, Ethan,” he explained, his expression very grave, “We take game only for food, and even then only when in the most dire need, otherwise the balance would be upset. So before we begin to hunt we signal our regret and respect to the Wild; and sometimes, sometimes we get an answer, a plume of wind, a bird-song, a leaf or twig dropping to the ground. How we

interpret these signs depends usually on hard-earned experience; sometimes yes, when we go ahead and hunt, sometimes no, when we starve, and sometimes neither, when we just take our chances.”

“Are you wary of spirits, then?” asked Donal, “As a young man I was also superstitious, but now, you will remember, I have become a staunch unbeliever.”

“Not of spirits nor ghosts, Donal,” Jac answered, “But those wiser than me would say that it is because we feel part of the Wild; if we injure it recklessly and without proper cause, we are really doing an injury to ourselves. Although,” he mused, “it is much more than just a feeling. Strange things can happen to those who are incautious and lack proper courtesy and who do not observe the correct rituals.”

“What was that you were saying under your breath before,” asked Ethan, “I couldn’t quite hear it.”

“What every hunter in the Wild says,” said Jac softly, “I go to seek my brother,” and with that he disappeared silently between the rocks.

“I sure hope his brother is a big fat goose, I can just feel that gravy running down my chin,” said Ethan, “But hey, I didn’t see no sign.”

“Look up there,” said Donal, his tone wistful, and Ethan saw a skein of geese flying high and fast above them, their formation like an arrowhead against the sky.

They found a comfortable moss-strewn bank beside the path and there they sat and chatted amicably as they waited patiently for Jac’s return. He reappeared after an hour with a small deer slung over his shoulder, and with Donal’s help, it was swiftly skinned and gutted, and the meat stored away in the saddle-packs. The remains were placed carefully at the side of the path.

“Nothing is wasted in the Wild,” Jac said, as they rode away, “Goodbye, little brother.”

“I’m only surprised you didn’t leave them a knife and fork as well, maybe a few little fancy cakes for dessert, and a beer or two,” said Ethan, looking around at the peaks which were steadily rearing higher on every side, “Any bears in these mountains?”

“Indeed there are, my friend, bears and mountain lions in plenty. But don’t worry, for they are dangerous only to those who persecute them, and I’m sure that is not your intention, Ethan,” said Jac.

Ethan, feeling a bit guilty, avoided his eye.

“But look, Donal,” continued Jac, with more enthusiasm, “Ahead of us, and not so far away now, lies the top of the pass; once over it you’ll be able to better see our destination. More importantly, the path will become much easier and safer. We will be able to ride and Ethan will be able to rest those big feet of his again.”

He pointed to a narrow gap in the cliffs ahead of them, towards which their path twisted. Relieved to be near the top, their pace began to quicken, and as they did so the cliffs drew closer and closer on either side till the path had become just a dark cleft between two steep rocky walls, with room for only one at a time. Donal led the way, with Jac following after and Ethan last of all. Above them the sky was now just a distant strip of pale opalescent blue and the horses grew skittish and fractious, disturbed by the narrow confines of the pass and the echoing of their hooves on the bare rock.

“Worried about something?” called Ethan from behind, seeing Jac stop and look around questioningly.

“Just my instinct,” said Jac, “We are very vulnerable to ambush here, though I haven’t seen or heard anything to be concerned about – it just seems too safe to be wholesome. Mark my words, something is going to happen.”

“Well, you’ve been pretty close to the mark so far,” said Ethan, “and something bad seems to happen to us every time we get too comfortable, so let’s keep a weather eye out.”

Ethan heard singing then; the tone was high and sweet, as if it was forcing him to listen and pay his full attention to it. Then it became warm and inviting, seeming to welcome him to this new land. He looked at Jac, who smiled back at him. They were really very lucky to have met such a dependable companion, he thought; and damned fine company to boot. They were by now catching up with Donal, who turned to them with a huge grin; they weren’t used to seeing him smile so broadly.

“I have a feeling we won’t be needing these any more,” he said, throwing down his broad-sword and shield, “I like this world more and more each day; I was wary at first, but slowly I’ve been becoming more and more content. It seems so right, so perfect.”

“You are right, it seems absolutely safe now,” Jac agreed, a little pile of knives, stilettos and short-swords forming at his feet.

“Yeah, and would you listen to that music! Ain’t it just grand,” laughed Ethan, playfully pitching his sword further up the pass, where it clattered against the rock walls, blunting the edges that Donal had carefully honed to sharpness.

“That really is a beautiful song,” said Jac.

“We should just sit down here and enjoy it,” suggested Donal, “It reminds me of a lullaby my mother used to sing to my sisters and I.”

“Yeah, I could listen to it all day and night,” mused Ethan, not even trying to sing along - the music was too pure, too perfect to spoil.

The three of them sat down in an atmosphere of great humour and good fellowship; they held out their hands, palms upward and sat in silence for a time, enjoying the moment and the camaraderie. Ethan was thinking about other trips, to Alaska, to Hawaii; Donal was remembering Ireland, and how the beechwoods in spring were green and vibrant, resounding with birdsong and with a carpet of bluebells underneath, like walking on the surface of the sea. Jac was thinking about home and his family, and how much he’d missed them and how he’d soon be seeing them again.

Their pleasant reverie was interrupted abruptly, as if they had been doused with bitterly cold water; the sweet singing stopped and instead they heard a harsh, guttural, wheezy voice.

“I have released them, Kitti; they are no danger to us,” it grated.

As if jolted awake from a dream, the three jumped to their feet in alarm and surprise, looking around wildly for their weapons. Facing them were two unlikely figures; a bulky, hunchbacked man who was stepping cautiously back from them and a slim figure in dark blue, wearing a mask, who was holding their horses, which were untied and obviously relaxed and unafraid. Even the mighty Parsifal, easily strong enough to have pulled away, was standing still and placid.

“Can you depend on it?” the masked figure asked, the voice a girl’s voice, soft and clear, like the singing they had heard, the music still in the voice though the tone was now more suspicious, “You haven’t been wrong before, but the two big ones look as though they might be useful enough in a fight, even without their weapons.”

“They have not been following us, but are pursuing their own ends,” said the hunchback firmly, “Indeed, they are not common travellers. I sense a great confusion and wonder. And this one,” he indicated Donal, “has a deeply mystical aura.”

As Ethan looked closer he saw that not only was the hunchback’s spine bent and crooked, which a long dark cloak did little to conceal, but the muscles of his neck were also twisted and deformed, forcing his head down onto his chest and making his appearance even more bizarre and pitiful, as if every part of his upper body had been squashed and compressed. He wondered what could have caused such severe injuries without actually killing him.

Jac, recovering his senses, stooped quickly and lifted one of his blades defensively.

“Who are you, and what dire rede have you placed on us?” he challenged them.

“Oh, put that sword down,” said the masked girl, “If we had wished any harm on you, you’d be already dead; remember that you were at our mercy only a few moments ago. You have been behind us all the day, and we had to ensure you were not tracking us. We trust no-one these days. So we waited the right moment, and I spelled you briefly while Targon mind-searched you for any evil intent. Lucky for you, he found none, or else we would have cut your throats, probably with one of those sharp little knives the young one is picking up.”

“Well, ma’am,” said Ethan, “I’m real glad we met with your approval; we’ve had nothing but trouble already since we arrived here, so it’s real nice to have someone sing to us so sweetly, and treat us so darned nicely.”

He started to say more, but Jac interrupted him curtly.

“This is no place for loitering or telling stories. We have shrikes behind us, there could be Dran all around; they’ll sing you a song alright, as they toast you over a fire. Let’s get out of here now,” he said.

The hunchback looked up uneasily.

“Shrikes, you say; we will have to hear more of this later,” he said, “Until then my young friend’s advice is wise. Retrieve your weapons and we’ll travel together, if you agree. Our numbers may deter any unwelcome interest.”

Donal spoke for the first time; the spell seemed to have affected him more than the others, and he still seemed dazed.

“I would like that,” he said slowly, bowing slightly to the hunchback, “There is much I would know about the trance we were placed in.”

“Enough talking,” shouted Jac.

He took his horse’s reins from the girl with bad grace, and started up towards the top of the pass at a fast pace.

“Take it easy, Jac,” called Ethan, bemused at the young man’s bad temper; he had always seemed so poised and self-assured before this latest incident.

“After you, ma’am,” he said to the girl, gesturing that she should go ahead of him. Her posture indicated surprise at his action.

“By the way,” he continued, “I am Ethan, my lookalike is Donal and the bad-tempered one up ahead is Jac, though usually he’s a sweet young guy. I didn’t quite catch your names.”

“Kitti,” she said, her tone surprisingly shy, “and my friend is called Targon.”

“Maybe you could give us another song,” said Ethan, “Now that would be real sweet; though without making us stupid again, if you don’t mind.”

Kitti went on ahead, and the other three followed together, walking abreast as the trail widened.

From the top of the pass the downward trail was steep, but wide and neither slippery nor treacherous. Further off in the distance they could see more mountains rearing skywards, though not so high as the ones they had passed, and not all of them were capped with white snow. Beyond them again was what seemed to be a patch of green, like a distant meadow.

“That could be the valley Jac was talking about,” said Ethan, “Though the way things have been going for us, I doubt if it will be as easily reached as it seems.”

“We may ask him when we stop tonight,” said Donal, “He seems in an unhelpful mood at present. Perhaps he blames himself for us being caught so easily, though you and I were equally at fault. He is much too hard on himself; if not for him, the shrikes might - no,” he reflected, “they surely would - have taken us with little trouble.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ethan, “We’ll cheer him up later, we’re good at that. Maybe he just felt stupid in front of the girl. I’d say that under that mask she’s a pretty little thing.”

He was surprised at the glare this drew from the hunchback, who then moved on ahead to walk protectively beside the girl, his bulky form almost obscuring her from those behind.

“Pretty touchy, wasn’t he? Did I say something wrong there?” asked Ethan.

“Folk here are indeed quick to take offence,” his companion replied.

For a while the path, while still leading downwards, became easier, and on the less severe gradients they were able to ride, and even canter on occasion, though not at any great speed. First heather and low scrub, then trees began to appear again on either side of the path and on the surrounding hills. After a while they were travelling as if in a huge tunnel, so high on all sides was the forest of mighty pines and so dense their leaves. The forest floor was deep and soft with layer laid

upon layer of pine needles, and any sounds of human voice or hoofbeat were muffled and indistinct. Jac had remained ahead when, at once, Targon stopped and held up his hands to the others, who halted obediently at his gesture.

Looking to the left of the track, just in among the first line of trees, Ethan saw a great stag with huge spreading antlers; even bigger than a moose, he thought, and a damn sight more graceful. He smiled in admiration, for they had seen little wild-life on their journey down the mountain, and he had always loved deer; to look at, and not just to eat, he remembered. The stag stood unmoving, it’s posture relaxed and unafraid; dark eyes were fixed on Targon.

Kitti whispered in answer to Donal’s questioning look; “They are speaking, or perhaps I should say, sharing with each other. Targon can mind-meld with the more intelligent animals; it is like the mind-search, only gentler; much, much gentler.”

For a few minutes the group was still, watching and waiting while the mind-meld continued. Then Targon shook his head and looked away; the stag reared, as if in farewell, and disappeared among the trees as quickly as if it had become suddenly invisible, despite it’s great size. Targon turned to the others, his expression haunted.

“It is a rare gift you have,” said Donal.

“What is the word from the wild creature?” asked Kitti.

“The forest is full of rumour and danger,” said Targon, “and the wild creatures are wary. There are shrikes abroad, and even more fell creatures, although I could not learn more of these. They are not on our trail, but we must be vigilant.” He would say no more for the time being, seemingly a little shaken by the encounter.

“It always affects him this way,” said Kitti, as they continued on their way, “He feels their pain and fear, and he has to try so hard, so very, very hard, to overcome this and gain their trust. But what is even worse for him is to feel their freedom and strength, and to then have to yield it up and abandon it. Returning to his own crippled body is always a wrench. Sometimes I wonder that he comes back to us at all.”

“What would happen then?” asked Donal.

“For sure, I do not truly know,” she answered, “but I think his spirit would wander free with the wild creature, and we would be left with an empty spiritless hulk.”

“So why does he choose to come back at all, to such hardship and misery as his form inflicts on him?” Donal asked again, and he saw her stiffen proudly and forlornly.

“Because of me,” she murmured, as if to herself, “He stays to look after me.”

Donal was silent for a while, contemplating such quiet bravery; the hunchback’s wheezing now seemed more audible to him than before, even from many yards behind.

“Has he always been so crippled?” asked Donal eventually.

Kitti turned to look at him sharply, a retort ready on her lips, but there was neither scorn nor pity in the Irishman’s expression, and her eyes softened.

“As long as I have known him,” she sighed, “But I will tell you about him later, if he wishes me to. If his lungs were as big as his heart he would be healthy indeed. At any rate, he is usually wary of strangers, but he seems to like you, Donal.”

“The mind-search was not new to me, Kitti,” replied Donal. “I have seen many such marvels in my travels in the east of our own world, and my own people were an ancient and mystical race, who once had great powers of the mind. Perhaps I retain a shadow of those powers; or perhaps,” he smiled at her, white teeth flashing as they passed through a rare patch of sunlight in a forest glade, “Targon sensed that I just liked your singing.”

The atmosphere had become warmer by the time they stopped for the night. A fire, being adjudged to be safe, was quickly kindled and Kitti and Targon were soon seduced by its warmth and by the aroma and flavour of the coffee - “Not much of it left though,” lamented Ethan, “a few pots at the very best,” - and they joined the others by the fireside.

“A remarkable beverage,” said Kitti, “but like many things, it smells better than it tastes.”

Then, turning towards Ethan, and quite without ceremony, she slipped off her mask. He tried not to stare, feeling Targon’s eyes upon him, and wondering if this was some kind of test. She had a pretty, lively, young girl’s face, with blue eyes and occasional freckles. Her teeth were bright as she smiled, and her blonde-silver hair, now loosened and untied, flowed down onto her shoulders like a waterfall of

old-gold in the firelight. But Ethan was shocked to see two long, brutal white scars running symmetrically from the corners of her lips up along her fine narrow cheek-bones and disappearing into her hair-line, which was close-cropped above her temples.

Despite his best efforts to hide his surprise, she saw his startled expression, and in distress her hands went involuntarily up to shield her face, and she stood up as if shying away from the revealing firelight. Targon growled, but before he could say anything, Ethan had already jumped up and escorted Kitti back to her seat by the fire. Then he reached forward and gently tugged her hands away from her face.

“You don’t need to do that,” he said, “It’s not as if you have an ugly mug like mine.”

“Yes,” said Donal, “And of the two of us Ethan is accounted by far the prettiest.”

Kitti laughed in spite of herself, and the hunchback grunted in appreciation. Jac alone seemed uncomfortable, and he looked away, out into the dark, forested night.

“A scar should not be considered a flaw,” continued Donal, “Indeed, it may be like redemption inscribed in the flesh, a sign of steadfastness, a memorial to something endured, to something lost. In my old world I bore many irredeemable scars, though none as bitter and malign as yours. But it seems we share other virtues as well; during the mind-search today I sensed that you are both good and trustworthy folk.”

The hunchback started in surprise.

“Yes, Targon,” said Donal, “it seems the mind-search works both ways. Even as you were testing us, you were being revealed to me in turn, and you would do well to remember that. Others, less well-disposed towards you may have the same ability. I would tell you our own stories, and perhaps you would do the same. I feel there is much we can learn from each other.”

The hunchback grunted again.

“Aye, and ye are honest folk too, even if the lad is overly sensitive. You tell them,” he said to Kitti, “I become short of breath after long speech,” he explained to the others.

Donal spoke first; his life, his death, and his return were recounted dispassionately, and taking his cue from the Irishman, Ethan did the same, though he could see that Jac was disconcerted by their candour. Jac then took up the story from their first meeting, though his account was more sparing, Donal noted. Kitti and Targon listened in silence.

Jac, however, thought they were less surprised than they might have been about what must have seemed an outlandish and unlikely story. He also saw a glint in Targon’s eye when he described the flight of the dragon overhead.

But there was no mistaking their concern at other parts of the story. Kitti blanched when Jac spoke of the vision in the glade.

“Have the Inquisitors the power to reach this far already?” she said, looking at Targon, “It sounds surely like one of their chieftains. And we had not expected to see shrikes so far west in the woodlands; this is bad news, very bad,” said Kitti, gazing out beyond them into the dark as if expecting to be attacked at that very moment, “They are not likely to be able to find us, except by accident, but if the shrikes are here, can the Inquisitors be far behind?”

“You did well defending yourselves,” said Targan, “Three shrikes against three men; the odds against you were very great. I have heard of five soldiers slain by a single one of the creatures. Shrikes are tenacious and hard to kill, and their bites are often fatal.”

“I can confirm all of what you say. The jaws were like a vice; my scar does not do the wound justice,” said Donal, “But for Jac, I might have been crippled. I will forbear to show you the proof.”

“Ah go on, you big show-off, let’s see it,” teased Ethan, and he whooped and hollered as Donal lowered his britches to display the evidence of Jac’s healing skills.

Kitti turned to Jac with more interest, obviously impressed.

“You are a healer, then; you look much too young. I had not realized how well you had done, escorting these two innocents to the safety of the mountains; and past three shrikes as well. That was quite a task to undertake.”

Jac was mollified.

“But for Ethan’s spear I would have needed a healer myself. Such a throw it was!” he protested, “I’d have sworn he’d been practicing for years. Instead, he tells us, it was his first cast.”

“It was indeed a mighty cast,” agreed Donal, “For an actor.”

“An actor? Throwing a spear?” Kitti was astonished, and once more the spear was taken out to be inspected and admired.

As he handled it, Ethan again felt it tremble, it’s touch like a kiss, like a promise, but a promise of what, he wondered.

“What do you think of it, Targon?” asked Kitti.

The hunchback took the spear carefully from Ethan, cradling it, and closed his eyes in deep concentration for some long moments.

“It is far beyond my skill,” he said eventually, “but I sense that it is very ancient, and very perilous, although perilous to who or to what I do not foresee. There is also a special bond with you, Ethan; more than that I cannot tell. But I believe that you knew, or that you had guessed, all these things already.”

“Just don’t point it at me,” laughed Jac, his good humour at last restored, as Ethan carefully stored the spear away.

“And this gun, as you call it, were you wise to throw it away?” asked Kitti doubtfully.

“I had my reasons,” said Ethan, trying to explain his action once again, but seeing that Kitti was unconvinced, wondering if he had done the right thing. On a whim, to throw away what might have proved to be a valuable weapon; had he been a fool?

“A pity,” she mused, “It could have been so useful to us.”

“Aye,” said Donal, seeing Ethan’s uncertainty, “and even more useful to our enemies.”

“Perhaps you could tell us your own stories now,” said Jac, also sensing Ethan’s reluctance to discuss this matter further.

“I am afraid we will seem very dull by comparison; a warrior reborn, a healer who can fight, a magical spear and an actor too. The Inquisitors harry them, and shrikes chase them through the forests, and dragons fly over them; quite a story,” said Kitti.

Ethan grunted; “Perhaps my previous profession could be our little secret from now on - just between ourselves, if you like. I’ll hardly be ever taken seriously as a warrior if you guys are cracking up all the time.”

“Agreed,” said Targon, “Unless, of course, we need an understudy some day.”

“I, as you may have noticed, am a singer, and I also play the fiddle and lute,” began Kitti, “And Targon, despite his clumsiness,” she gave the hunchback an affectionate pat, “is a passable harpist. We met some time ago; not only did our musical talents compliment each other, we were also both,” her tone became bitter, ” .....outcasts.”

“Targon has a deformity of the spine which makes him twisted and strange to the eye - like me, a victim of the Mfecane.”

Jac nodded in sudden understanding.

“I have already told Donal and Ethan of the terrible things the Inquisitors have done,” he said, “I have seen some of their handiwork before, but all were dead. You must be among the few to have survived.”

“True,” said Kitti, “For some they deliberately allow to survive, to spread fear and terror, and send a warning of the powers of the Mfecane throughout the Free Nations. Show them, Targon.”

The hunchback obediently stood up and peeled off his shirt, revealing a curved and abnormally twisted torso. Then he turned his back, and they saw a complex latticework of criss-crossed scars, like a spider’s web in the waning firelight. The muscles were knotted and bulging on either side of the scars, signs of the years of useless antagonism. Jac stepped closer, his clinical interest awakened. He slowly traced a scar with his finger.

“No crude random slashing this. Look, here, here, here, and here again,” he said, indicating the place each time, “These cuts were made with serious intent, and with great, if perverse, skill.”

He pointed; “See how the cuts were made to bisect each individual muscle, to ensure that Targon would never be able to straighten his back. I can understand why no healer has been unable to cure him.”

“None has ever really tried,” Kitti was annoyed at his detached air, “Have you quite finished your examination?”

“Our culture is cold and unkind to misfits,” she continued, looking pointedly at Jac, “and Targon was shunned, and left to rely on his musical talents for survival, enduring jibes and jeers wherever he travelled, insults and callousness beyond measure. I am lucky; I have only these two scars, but they are the marks of the Mfecane and people fear it; and rightly so,” she continued fiercely, “but why should they then persecute their innocent victims?”

“By chance we became partners; outside a tavern I heard him playing. I cannot explain exactly why, but it was like a call to me. Targon was shy at first; years of rejection and humiliation had made him so, but in time our trust in each other blossomed and our friendship grew. After being so alone for so long, it is a great gift, a very great gift indeed, to have a friend; and such a good friend.”

She looked at the hunchback, her gaze softening, while he looked steadily back at her, his eyes unwavering.

“We both have a little magic,” she continued, “My singing induces a trance, while Targon mind-searches for enemies, but, more commonly and much more importantly,” she laughed, “imparts the merest hint of a suggestion of excessive generosity. For this reason we keep on the move, in case our good name goes before us.”

“Where did you learn your magic?” Donal asked Targon.

“I had no learning,” the hunchback wheezed, “The magic is within me, but it remains unfocussed and erratic. I have had some help, though,” he said distantly.

“And the Mfecane,” said Donal, “We have heard Jac speak of it before. What does it mean?”

“Yeah, I’d sure like to know that too,“said Ethan, “sounds like some kind of banana to me.”

Jac interrupted; “I have some lotions which could help the scars on your face, or at least make them less obvious,” he said to Kitti.

“Do they offend you so much?” she said in sudden dismay, tears appearing unexpectedly. In seconds the mask was in place again. She leapt up and left the circle, bedding down some yards away and well out of the fire’s glow.

Ethan looked at Donal and sighed theatrically.

“A fine healer and woodsman you might be, young fella, but you sure as hell have a lot to learn about women.”

“Yes,” agreed Donal, “but Ethan can surely teach you, even as I am teaching him how to use a sword. I am sure he has had much worthy experience.”

“Oh, some, some,” admitted Ethan, settling down for the night, and as the sky cleared under a freshening wind, noticing a Hunter’s Moon for the first time in their new home, “Once or twice, now and then.”

Kitti took the second watch, when the night was darkest and at it’s most quiet. The crescent moon was casting only the faintest sheen of silvery light, but even so she waited till well after it had set, and when she was sure that the others were fast asleep she stole away in the darkness. Stopping a short distance from the camp on a small hillock covered in soft grass and clover, she looked back.

The fire was now barely more than a pile of blackened embers and all the forms around it were still, unmoving; she would not be overheard. She shivered; the night was cool, but there was a pleasant pine scent in the air, carried on a gentle breeze from the mountains they were leaving behind.

She looked around again warily before taking out a cloth pouch from the pocket of her cloak. From the pouch she drew a large silver crystal, which she laid carefully on a flattish lichen-covered rock in front of her. She regarded it cautiously for some moments, as if suspicious that something unpleasant might happen. Then, seemingly satisfied, she sat down on the grass, whispered a few words, passed her open palms twice over the crystal and waited. For a few moments nothing happened; then the centre of the crystal began to glow, first a dull ember-red, then brighter and brighter until she had to shield it with her hand for fear of it’s light waking the sleepers. She glanced back at the camp to see if anyone had been roused, though at that distance she knew that there could be only a faint glimmer to be seen, and the camp remained still and silent.

Then a voice came from the crystal, the light flickering as it spoke.

“Kitti,” the voice was familiar and reassuring to her, and it sounded relieved, “I have been waiting and watching night and day for you. Are you well? And Targon?”

“Yes, Keeper,” she replied softly, “We are both well, and what’s more, we have found him,” her tone became quietly exultant, “we have found the warrior!”

“You have? What is he-,” immediately the voice was also jubilant, but Kitti interrupted.

“But there is something more - something unexpected.”

“Something unexpected?” the voice sharpened, “What do you mean - wait! I can sense something; we are being scryed, they will be able to track you. Your surprise must wait; and do not use the jewel again!! Remember the meeting-place!”

The voice trailed away, and the crystal flared briefly, before fading to a glimmer and then going dark again, it’s dying light reflected in Donal’s watchful eyes.