Chapter 3

Chayse slammed his hand on the healer’s door and looked down at the weathered boards. Blood dripping from his fingers puddled like a dark blister, staining the wood. With a sigh, he slid down the wall, hoping his foster mother hurried to answer the wards he tripped when he hit the door.

He surveyed the street behind him. The glow of the torches he expected to follow him, instead, reflected in the heavier clouds over the bay. He could only speculate his friend Mek had drawn the torch-lit mob after him and out of town.

Good luck catching Mek. Chayse knew his half-giant friend made for the woods to the north. Mek’s ability to blend into his surroundings had saved his companion on more than one occasion and Chayse had no doubt his ally would win free and meet as planned. Leaning his head back against the doorjamb, Chayse closed his eyes.

The door creaked open, throwing him off balance. He gasped, stifling his cry of pain as his wounded arm and small pack collided and the scent of lemon verbena and sage drowned him. Above, the face of the healer and one of the last two people that cared about him in the whole of Bitterun, heck in all the world, he figured, looked down.

Fayln enfolded him in ample arms and helped him stand. Silently, she drew him into her home and assisted him to a cushioned chair next to a small, neatly made bed. Her large eyes seemed older, tired, and he realized three seasons had passed since the last time he visited... since they argued.

Although his face warmed with shame at his neglect, he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop the words that tumbled from his tongue. “Niun is dead.”

The words seemed to hang in the sweet-scented air, dispersing the dregs of old arguments as he dropped his pack and tears flooded his eyes. His foster mother’s face was unreadable, but her eyes suddenly glistened as she turned away. She moved about the room, lighting more of the candles before disappearing into a back room, still without making a sound.

When she returned, her face held only compassion, although the red in her eyes spoke of her grief. And the slight tremor in her hands, each clutching a steaming cup of kala spoke of how deep that grief went. She passed a mug to him, looking him over with a careful gaze. “There was more than Niun’s blood shed this night. Where is Mek?”

“Alive and headed north, I thi--.”

“Then who else died?” Her voice cut his answer short and returning to the hearth she removed a steaming pot from the embers.

Chayse grimaced, thankful for the time to compose his thoughts while the healer puttered as if it were a normal Fatday afternoon. Soon she returned with a small tray filled with pots and soft rags.

“Finish the kala and talk to me.”

“Mek and I stopped by One-Eyed Haldrun’s Place after deliveries for Niun. The owner, himself, appeared at our table before we even settled with a mug. He said Toric Stormrider docked earlier in the day and was looking for me,” Chayse paused. The flash of anger in Fayln’s eyes at the mention of the Captain’s name echoed back to his earliest memories.

“And?”

“Toric is dead.”

“Did you kill the Captain?” Fayln tugged at the blood-clotted fabric of his tunic.

“Ouch,” Chayse yelped. “No, I didn’t kill him. Toric killed Niun.”

He watched Fayln dip a cloth into a cooling pot of herb-infused water, and thankful for her gentle hands, he tried to hold still as she loosened the crust of blood and cloth.

“We need to remove the tunic. I can’t heal what I can’t see.”

Chayse felt a slight tingling sensation and grinned when the shirt he wore appeared on the bed next to his chair. “I forgot what a great bedside manner you have.”

The old woman’s brow rose and she glanced at the bed. With a shrug, she turned her attention back upon his injuries. “That care is reserved for the few. Tavir weaving can get you killed or enslaved as easily as lauded around here. I’ll look for a clean tunic for you after we finish.”

The healer’s fingers skimmed above his wounds, and she hummed a song he remembered from long ago. Soon the pain was only a memory and Fayln once more studied his face with a sharp eye.

She rummaged through an old chest at the bottom of the bed and soon handed him a worn but serviceable tunic. “Now talk.”

Chayse took a deep breath and smiled. “The apothecary’s front door stood ajar when we arrived. Mek noticed out-of-place shadows toward the back and circled around to investigate.”

Swallowing hard, he pulled the shirt over his head, trying not to get twisted up in the emotion but keep only to what happened. “I went in the front door and found Niun gut cut on the floor.”

“What about Toric?”

“He came out of our private quarters with my sword in one hand and his, still slick with blood, in the other. Toric threw me my sword, a bemused look on his face. He said, this was the third time he had ordered my death, and he was there to carry out the order personally this time.”

“I thought you said you didn’t kill him.”

“I did, and I didn’t. Toric had me out-skilled from the beginning, but he took his time playing with me. I fought on until he pinned me against the store counter and somehow disarmed me. My sword flipped over his shoulder.” Chayse stopped again, shaking his head as he thought about it. “Mek, Mek came in, and seeing my sword on the floor he scooped it up.”

Again he shook his head, thinking about his big friend. “He is not a swordsman by any stretch and my sword is not a club.” He looked into Fayln’s eyes, knowing he didn’t need to complete the details.

The healer nodded slowly, her mouth like a fresh, thin scar across her face. “Mek will ever be your faithful friend and protector. What about Niun, you said he was gut cut. Were you able to talk with him before he died?”

“I was,” he said and gulped down the last of his kala, relieving his tear-clogged throat. Fayln refilled his mug, and he continued, “He told me where to find his lockbox. Then he removed the wards so I could open it. Within, there was a fold of parchment, sealed and addressed to a Marley Stonebender and he revealed an enchanted bag with a few coins in it.”

His foster mother frowned, rubbing her hand along the side of her nose. “I seem to remember the name. I believe the old apothecary and he worked together at one time.”

Chayse nodded. “Niun said the bag and letter had always been for me, he was just waiting for the right time.” He grimaced, his heart aching for his lost friend and mentor, but he continued his story. “He said if I wanted help, puzzling out my past to find this man and give him the letter. The Tavir Academy in Sedd was where Niun suggested I begin my search for him.”

“The bag was his invisible one, I assume. Did he say anything about Toric?”

Chayse’s brow raised in surprise, but he nodded, this time with more enthusiasm. “He told me to search Toric’s waist pouch. I found an intricately carved chest made of petrified ironwood so small it can sit in the palm of my hand. Even I could tell it was heavily warded. Niun said it was the key to that chest Toric looked for, the chest Toric told him, he took from my mother when the Shadowspray sank her ship.”

Chayse noticed Fayln stiffen, and he rushed on, his mind bubbling with questions as he spoke. “I took only the chest from Toric, then Mek and I set the place ablaze, giving those that died there this night release to their rewards in the spirit realm.”

Had milk run in her veins, the old woman couldn’t have looked paler. She pulled a footstool close and sat. “I promised your mah not to tell you what I knew of her until you came of age and truly I knew little. It was a promise to protect you sworn by Mek and myself at your birth.”

Chayse reached out grasping her hands, his eyes pleading. “Tonight I came of age. I can never go back. Niun and Toric are dead, the apothecary in ashes, and Mek and I, Mek and I are dead if we stay on this side of the Bitteruns Mountains.”

Fayln drew her hands out of his and stood. She retreated to the flickering shadows cast by the candles’ flames before she spoke. “Niun spoke truly. The Fates have tossed the runes and tonight is a night of reckoning. There is a flat chest beneath my bed, pull it out.”

It slid out easily and Chayse sat back, the plain flat wooden chest at his feet. He yanked at the latch, but it remained in place. A memory from the night he turned eight flooded his mind, and he glanced over to where Fayln stood in the shadows.

That night almost nine years ago, she announced he would apprentice with Niun on the far side of Hyrs-Loba. After Niun left and Mek slept, he had crept back to this room, hoping to convince her to let him stay. Chayse watched that night from the curtained entry as Fayln knelt and pulled this same chest from beneath the bed.

Then, without turning, she called out to him and bade him enter. He remembered his fear and shame at being caught spying on her when all he really wanted to do was to talk her into letting him stay. She didn’t chide or coddle him then and she didn’t chide or coddle him now.

Confused, he pushed the box back from the chair. “Why didn’t I remember this chest?” he asked, kneeling.

Not waiting for the healer’s answer, he ran his hand across the smooth top and jerked back with a hiss when the wood sliced his palm. Blood seeped into the wood surface and he felt a warmth rush through him. Chayse looked up to find Fayln beside him.

“Lift the latch, Chayse.”

The memory of what she said that night filled his mind. The ward will keep this memory hidden until your blood cries out, in need, to the echoing essence inside this chest. There was an audible click, and he looked over at the healer. “Will you talk now?”

Fayln sat on the stool once more, her hands clasped in her lap. When her gaze met his, he knew she’d tell him the tale he’d waited all these years to hear.

“Toric brought your mah here, still damp and with a broken foot and bruised near from head to toe. He told me to dry her out and clean her up, but leave the broken foot.”

She shrugged when Chayse looked at her sharply. “He liked his things to remember their place. He named her Fie, saying she was a seductive abomination. She spoke no common and with her exotic looks, you are lucky it was Toric that became enthralled with her. For those places like The Twisted Lotus would not have let you grow in your mah’s belly.”

“Are you saying that sea slag truly was my father?” He felt her eyes burning into him as he spat out the words.

“I am saying because he took a liking to her kind of spice, he allowed her to live with me while she healed, learned common and how to behave as his slave and newest trinket.” Fayln shook her head and sighed. “Although she never mentioned the chest or what was within, the Captain thought I could convince her to tell me how to open it. He became obsessed with it.”

Curiosity over the contents of the chest on the floor before him warred with his need to hear Fayln’s words. He pulled the up on the latch and the top swung back on its hinges. Chayse frowned. The contents seemed underwhelming compared to the size of the chest. Somehow he thought there would be more, but a single tattered journal took up most of the space.

The same length as his slender hand and laced shut with a trio of carved wooden beads and loops, the three fingers thick book felt smooth and supple to his hand. He held it up.

She nodded. “The Captain gave her that the first time he came back to see her. It was from the things they looted off her ship. I guess Toric was trying to woo her in some way.” Fayln shrugged and with a yawn said, “More likely he hoped she would someday reveal her secrets to it and he would get them. I gave her a quill found among my collection of trinkets, and she wrote in the journal daily until the day of your birth.

He thumbed the first bead, and it popped through the loop. The middle bead took a little more work, but soon the journal flopped open. Neatly drawn script filled the pages he fanned through.

“Can you read it?” the old healer asked, moving to peek over his shoulder.

Chayse shook his head as he scanned the pages.

“Neither could he.”

“It isn’t in common. I wish Niun was here. Did you ever show it to him?”

“Indeed, Niun moved back to Lhys-Loba the year after your birth. I let him study the script with the hope he might decipher her language. It was to no avail. Perhaps that is why he wrote the letter to that Marley fellow.”

Chayse nodded absently, stroking the smooth leather of the journal. “You were telling me about my mah,”

“Ah yes, so I was. As I was saying, Toric... visited... often over the next fortnight. If pleased, he gave her a token of who she had been. The second time he brought a small odd-shaped flute made of crystal. She called it a fleyta or something like that.” The healer paused, a smile gracing her face as she continued, “Oh, the delight on Fie’s face was something to warm, even a heart like Toric’s and when she played it. When she played, the world seemed a better place for a time.”

The oddly shaped crystal flute lay nestled in folds of material. Chayse snagged his finger on its silken edge and lifted both from the chest. Covered in reddish-brown stains, the cloth still felt grand and expensive.

“It was that scarf that called out to your blood. For it is yourn and your mah’s blood it wears. That was the third gift the Captain gave her before he set sail. Seasons came and went without him returning and your mah’s belly grew as did her ability to understand Common. She spoke little and never about who she was or where she came from, but she was inquisitive and gentle and I found her good company. Then came the day the Shadowspray and the Dark Armada sailed back into the bay.”

Silence fell between the two, but after a moment she continued, “When Captain Toric saw she was great with child, he flew into a black rage saying…” Fayln stopped, her eyes full of sadness. “Fie, died that night, but Ahlwone commanded the Fates to save you.”

The end of that story was what it was. He didn’t need to hear it. He lived with it every day of his life until now. Now it had changed. Now his mentor took his place in the spirit realm, just as his mah had all those years ago. He wasn’t about to risk putting his foster mother in danger.

Pulled from his contemplation by the adamant clang of alarm bells in the distance, Chayse knew the bells loudly proclaimed Toric’s hatred of him would outlast his life. Soon though the bickering and vying for the Captain’s position would begin and he and Mek would become just another poster on the raider’s wall of the wanted, he would not hold his breath and wait.

Out of his backpack, he pulled the enchanted pouch. Chayse, marveling once more that just by knowing the pouch’s name he could see it. Still, he figured he was left with enough of the unfathomable between the journal he couldn’t read and the flute he couldn’t play/ He wrapped them tightly in the bloodstained scarf and stuffed them into the bag. His fingers bumped up against the little chest he couldn’t open. “Did she ever say anything to you about a key before she died?”

“She never spoke of the chest or the key, Chayse. Toric’s rage and Fie’s death were unexpected by all. I fear you must trust the Fates to provide what is needed, but be warned it may not present itself as you might expect. It is up to you to recognize and use the key.”

He grimaced, his jaw tight with all the pent-up emotions he held as he stared at the bag still in his hand. He didn’t want to hear about the Fates and their influence on his life. Right now, he was more concerned with whether to tie the pouch of useless trinkets to his belt to keep them close or to put it back in his backpack. But the passion in the healer’s soft voice drew his attention back as she spoke.

“The Fates have started this in motion, Chayse. I can feel it in my bones. All four of them have chosen to toss the runes in this round. Chance has set the stage and now a Challenge has been offered. There are two more runes to fall, I fear. Let’s hope Choice and Change present themselves to your advantage.

With a sigh, Chayse tied the pouch to his belt. “Just what I need, another puzzle, but the tunic fits fine.” He chuckled, hoping his response did not appear ungrateful. “You wouldn’t happen to...”

Chayse stopped mid-sentence as Fayln pulled an old but serviceable cloak and a short sword from the bottom of the chest at the end of her bed. She always could stay a step ahead of him, he thought, taking the items from her.

“I’ll not have you go without warmth and protection. Just don’t let Mek use the sword,” the old woman said with a chuckle.

Chayse nodded and finished adjusting his clothes before he shouldered his pack and followed her to the back of the room. He helped her move a large storage chest away from the wall, revealing a door hidden beneath. The door lifted, and he turned back to Fayln.

“Don’t worry about me, unless they find you or Mek here, the memories of Hyrs-Loba are short and without the head, they will scatter soon.” She shrugged. "They will fight until all but one falls away and a new head will emerge. Whoever captains the Shadowspray will head the Dark Armada and that person will call you and Mek heroes.”

“Perhaps we should endure nearby until then.”

Now that the time had come for him to go, he felt torn. This cove was the only home he’d ever known. Chayse glanced down the dark stairwell leading to the underground tunnels mazing the older parts of the city. He looked back at his foster ma, her eyes filled with sad resignation.

She reached up, taking his chin between her fingers as if he were still eight. “Your destiny does not lay here. The blood of the Ancients, if nothing else, makes you an outcast on this side of the Bitteruns.” Fayln hugged him to her for a moment. “Go find Mek. My bet is he waits for you at the old ruins.

Chayse nodded. “Do you have a torch? I’ve excellent night vision, but tunnels are a little more than night.” He stepped onto the first stair and Fayln handed him a lit torch.