Soulweaver, p.27
SoulWeaver, page 27
part #1 of Chronicles of the Eyes Series
“Since what?” Weaver asked, finally seeing a chance to get answers about Llyons that the man refused to give up. “I know something bad must have happened to him. He gets quiet sometimes. Well, quieter than usual, which is very, very quiet. It made traveling with him boring at times.”
“Yes, he is the silent type, isn’t he.” She laughed, “More can be said through actions than words.” Wynn said in a deep, good-natured impression of Llyons that brought them both to giggling. “I’ve always been one for showing appreciation through words myself, but not Llyons. He is a man of deeds, and it’s something everyone here honors and respects him for. His words, when he chooses to use them, are as good as gold.”
“As for what happened,” she continued, “I’ll tell you, as I believe you have a right to know, seeing as how you’ll be living with him. But it’s probably best if we keep this between you and me, alright?”
Weaver sat forward, nodding, as the anticipation began to rise within his chest.
“Let me see. I believe it must have been about seven years ago now when it happened. Llyons was out hunting with the pack – providing food for the clan. A terrible accident happened, one that I will be for Llyons to share with you someday if he decides too, and his wife, who was pregnant, died. After the funeral, Llyons disappeared for nearly a year. No one could find him, not even Jarr.” Weaver could see the pain in Wynn’s face as she spoke. “When he did return, he wouldn’t tell anyone where he had been or what he had been doing. Most of us believe he was just living feral with Turro, trying to lose his humanity and drown out the pain. They both smelled incredibly foul and had lost so much weight they were almost unrecognizable. Once back, he just sort of fell back into life: doing work, serving with the Elders, hunting. But he never truly came back. He had always been a quiet man, but he became truly silent. A part of the Llyons we knew was left in the wilderness somewhere, a part I thought lost forever... that is, until you showed up.”
Wynn was starting to smile at him. “You being an outsider and becoming an Eye is actually unheard of and strictly forbidden. If Llyons brought you back, and broke our laws to do it, means a piece of the old him is coming back as well: the fierce and bold defender of goodness I once knew.”
Weaver was consumed with questions: Who was Llyons’ wife? What accident? What was the pack? And what had he been doing for an entire year alone? But at this moment, only one question needed asking: “What do you mean, it’s forbidden?”
Wynn opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a powerful pounding beat upon the door, causing them both to jump.
“Come in,” Wynn called, composing herself.
The door swung open, and a massive man with a thick black beard, dressed in a heavy ensemble of fur, filled the door.
He spoke through thick, meaty lips in a harsh, deep voice — far deeper than Llyons’s.
“Bring the boy. We’re ready for him.”
30
FIVE MONTHS LATER . . .
The night air was brisk, yet dry, stinging Weaver’s lungs as he inhaled. He looked up briefly. No moon tonight. The dark would have been oppressive if it weren’t for his enhanced eyes; as it was, he still found it difficult to see. The dark blues and greys had just enough saturation for him to pick out shapes in the night. He took another step into the darkness and heard a slight rustle and the rushing of air.
Weaver ducked just in time to have a massive, clawed paw swipe over his head.
Lunging forward, he tucked into himself and landed on the ground shoulder-first, rolling away. By the time he made it back to his feet, he continued his momentum to land on all fours, his beastial form taking shape even as he completed the roll.
Turning, he faced his assailant: a massive grizzly bear, standing on hind legs amongst the small grove of trees he had been walking through.
Adrenaline flooded his veins, his already excellent senses heightening further still. He could smell the bear now and hated himself for not catching it sooner. The brittle snow under foot never betrayed the tracks of the beast, and he wasn’t sure how it he had managed to get so near it without him seeing the trail, even in the dark. Luckily his ears, and gut instinct, were working properly; he had always been able to trust them in a sticky situation.
Watching his opponent closely, he shifted his ears to his right, left, and behind. He didn’t want to be caught off guard again. A slight crunch of the snow behind him and slightly to the left let him know there was at least one more enemy, he guessed about 30 yards away. Keeping his left ear rotated behind, Weaver watched as the bear heaved its upper body forward and changed into a man roughly the size of a horse. The dark outline of the brute reached behind itself and drew forth a massive object, which Weaver knew to be a maul.
The man charged.
He knew he would have to be quick. There was no way he could match the strength of someone that size. Sprinting forward, he watched as the man pushed the enormous hammer up over his right shoulder — his attack would be in a large, lateral sweeping motion. He still hadn’t changed from wolf form yet, which meant he was close to the ground: the blow would have to swing low to hit him. He would have to time it just right.
Watching closely, Weaver could just make out the slight shift of the man’s elbow moving forward as the mighty swing began. Heaving upward, Weaver jumped into the air, arching his back and throwing his upper body forward into a flip. As he did so, he shifted into his human form. The massive maul swept under him, just missing his feet as he flipped to the right of the attacker. As he passed, he threw his hand out and just caught the side of the man’s burly shoulder, then pushed outward from within. A sharp snap and burst of light blurred from his hand as electricity rushed from him into the attacker. Finishing the rotation of the flip, Weaver hit the ground on his rear, the snow softening his landing. He watched as the man stiffened and fell forward to the ground, muscles seizing.
Reaching behind with both hands, he drew the twin daggers out from behind his back as he regained his feet. The smooth handles were aggressively cold in the chilled air; the bare metal grips bit into his palms. They were savage, thirsty. Weaver rushed the downed man, blades kept low at his sides. He would have to be swift: the second attacker was still out there, lurking in the darkness. Reaching the large man, he lifted his right blade into the air, readying for the ending plunge, but as he lifted his arm he knew his mistake.
There was a whooshing sound, soft against the silence of the still night, and then a dull and painful thud hit him in the side, just below his raised arm. Weaver fell back, dropping knives and clutching his side. He could see the long, thin shaft of an arrow with a broad, wooden stunning tip bounce off into the snow.
“You opened yourself up.” The deep voice came through the darkness.
“I didn’t know you would have a bow!” Weaver shouted back. “You could have broken my ribs!”
The dark shape of Llyons walked out from behind a tree. “But I did not.”
“Umpf,” came an even lower voice from the huge man lying on the ground next to him as he sat up. “And you could have fried my insides, but you don’t hear me complain’n, do ya.”
“I knew not to overdo it,” Weaver muttered.
“As did I,” Llyons responded.
Weaver rubbed his side, but knew it was useless to complain. “I assumed you would attack on foot. I wanted to end the first threat before having to tackle the second.”
“Never assume, Weaver.” Llyons said.
“Right,” came Rueben’s gruff voice as he stood and stretched his arms. “Assume’n makes a donkey’s ass outta me’n you,” he said with a chuckle. “I was impressed with your little fly’n trick though, I wasn’t expect’n that one. I even wrapped Skull Crusher’s handle in extra leather to keep yer little shocks off’a me,” he said, motioning to the enormous metal maul that still lay in the snow.
Weaver grinned. “I had to switch it up a little, I’ve lost every direct attack I’ve tried on you. So that at least is a victory – downing the great Reuben for the first time.”
“And only time,” the man huffed as he bent over and picked up his weapon.
“Victory is short-lived if you win the battle but lose the war, Weaver. Only finish a threat if the rest of the battlefield is a known commodity,” Llyons began. “You would have been bettered served ascertaining my location before making time for the kill.”
Weaver’s smile dissolved. Had it been a real battle, he would have died.
“However, there are very few among us who have ever bested Reuben in hand to hand,” Llyons continued, “and without even drawing their weapons.” Llyons gave the other warrior a light tap on the shoulder where Weaver had shocked him earlier. “Growing soft?”
“Gett’n older certainly hasn’t made me any softer!” Reuben roared, “The boy just surprised me, that’s all. A lucky shot. If it weren’t so infernally dark out, he wouldn’t’ve gotten away with it!”
Weaver was smiling again despite the pain radiating from his side. What Llyons said was true. Only a couple of the men in the village had ever bested Reuben in hand-to-hand combat, and most of the time, those were flukes. Llyons was the only one who was consistently equal to the ‘Mountain Bear’ in combat, and Weaver had just managed to join the short list of very proud warriors who could say, that at least once, they had beaten the Bear. Fluke or no.
“Sure, sure,” Weaver teased. “Blame it on the night, Reuben, that’s fine by me. But from now on you must refer to me as Weaver, Grizzly’s Bane!”
Laughter from Llyons brought about a tensing of the shoulders from Reuben, “Well then, mighty Grizzly’s Bane, would’n you like to face me again? Now, perhaps?”
“Oh no, no. I’m much too tired from slaying bears tonight, perhaps another time.”
“I’m sure you will,” Reuben growled through his teeth, killing the smile that was living happily upon Weaver’s face.
“I believe tonight’s lesson is complete,” Llyons said, laughter still in his voice as he retrieved the stun arrow from the ground and pointed it at Weaver, “Let us return home.”
Careful to protect his injured side, Weaver, leaned on his left arm and used his legs to push himself up out of the snow.
“Here, lad.” Reuben said, holding out Weaver’s twin daggers, “Be sure to clean all the snow offa ‘em, and dry ‘em proper. We can’t heave ‘em go rusting now, can we.”
Weaver shook his head and took the blades. He wiped them off quickly against his fur pants, reached back over his shoulders, and sheathed the weapons.
Reuben began trudging his way through the shallow snow back towards Estradea. Weaver followed, and Llyons brought up the rear. Walking behind the giant man brought a sense of déjà vu. Five months earlier, he had followed the same man from Wynn’s house to the Arnn for the Warnn of Elders. He had been terrified of the massive bearded man, a fact that was only compounded when he had stepped outside the yurt to find a huge grizzly bear waiting for them. He may have started crying if it hadn’t been for Wynn, who stayed by his side. Even though they walked in silence, her calm presence was reassuring enough to keep his feet moving.
Now he couldn’t imagine being terrified of Reuben — that is, unless the mountain of a man was actually trying to kill him in earnest. He was more family than anything else, a sort of adoptive uncle. After the Warnn had ended, and Weaver had been made part of the tribe, Reuben was the most constant of visitors to Weaver and Llyons’ yurt, apart from Wynn. He too was an Elder, and one of Llyons’s oldest and dearest friends.
What all had happened that night at the Warnn, Weaver never knew. Llyons wouldn’t say. The extent of his knowledge on the subject was that Llyons had been given some sort of punishment, though he didn’t know what, and that he himself was given a ritual welcome as part of the tribe. That night Weaver officially became Llyons’s son and an Eye of Lothandenrel.
That wasn’t all that had changed, though. In the past five months, he had learned so much about being an Eye that it still made his head spin. The strangest, but most exciting part was how his bond with Amara had changed them both. She was a part of him now and listened to all his commands without wavering, just at Turro did with Llyons. What he liked best though, was the body link. Amara grew at a wolf pup’s rate — which meant that in five months, she had already grown to half her adult size. This meant that Weaver had grown just as fast. Not even quite eleven years old, and he already looked a young man. His voice had begun to deepen, and his body had grown both in height and stature.
Every day, after chores, Llyons would train him in hand-to-hand combat, archery, and the arcane. He had already grown strong enough to pull back his bow and was becoming an excellent shot. Magically, he pushed himself every day. Spending time meditating on his inner strength and pushing the output of his electric gift to its limit, he had become quite adept at accessing his gift. Frustratingly, though, he still couldn’t create a current that would arc out from his hand as the truly gifted Skywards did to send bolts of lightning into crowds of foes. For now, at least, he was limited to transferring shocks through object contact, which still proved extremely useful. The metal blades that rested on his back made excellent conduits for transferring his charged vice into victims.
Though Llyons made him practices with swords, hatchets, and axes, the two spent most of their time honing his skills with the daggers. It was plain to see that while Weaver would not stay a runt forever, he would never grow into a domineering frame. Llyons decided to capitalize on his natural affinity for speed over strength. The light blades were the perfect weapon: quick, agile, and deadly. A most elegant solution to his problem.
Though he had grown stronger, being overpowered was Weaver’s weakness. A thin frame was something that he would not be able to escape or change. He would simply never be like Reuben or Llyons. Instead, focusing on reflexes, Llyons taught him the ability to read body language and predict attacks. This meant he could react before his opponent knew what was happening. Coupled with lithe, lean muscles that leant themselves to blurring speed, Weaver had found a battle style all his own. It had proved effective against bulky, powerful opponents . . . like Reuben, and the thought brought the smile to his face again.
“Dang it all, this infernal darkness is make’n walk’n impossible. Where’s that fairy light a’ yers, boy?”
“What’s the matter, Reuben, your bear eyes not cutting it at night?” Weaver teased.
“Ya know darn well we don’t see ‘n the dark as well as ya mangy mutts do,” the broad man snarled.
“Well, I’d love to light up the path for you, but Llyons told me to leave my star in the yurt. Apparently, using it would have been cheating.”
“Indeed it would have,” Llyons agreed.
“Well then, one a you gangly creatures is gonna hafta come up here ‘n’ lead the way. I’m full-up sick of run’n inta trees.”
Weaver laughed, which made his side hurt, but cut around the large man and took up the front. He lead them as best he could through the grove, but grinned every time Reuben cussed under his breath as a stray branch hit him in the face. Before long, they were back in view of Estradea. The small village on the hilltop was warm and inviting, with soft orange glows peeping out from small windows and under door jams.
“Finally,” muttered Reuben. “It’s time for some grub eh, boys? Why don’t ya come to my place fer some stew?”
“Thank you for the offer, Reuben, but I am afraid that Weaver and I have made plans to dine with Wynn tonight.”
“Is that so?” Reuben asked, his voice raising an octave. “Well, then, don’t let little ol’ me keep ya from a fine even’n with a fine lass.”
“It is not an event of special significance,” Llyons responded dryly, to which Weaver couldn’t help but giggle.
“Sure, sure,” Reuben teased knowingly, waving a hand at them as he began to move off in the direction of his home. “Ya boys have a nice night now.” His low laughter echoed into the crisp air of the night as he walked away.
“Loathsome bear,” Llyons huffed under his breath as he began in the direction of Wynn’s.
“He may not be very good at seeing in the dark, but who’s to say he isn’t good at seeing other things?” Weaver said with a smile.
“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing!” Weaver ran ahead to Wynn’s door and pushed his way in before Llyons could respond.
“Well, there you are!” Wynn said gleefully as he came in.
“Hi, Wynn! Guess what? I took down Reuben tonight!”
“Reuben! Really? How on earth did you manage it?”
Weaver could feel himself beaming from ear to ear. Wynn was the best to share news with. Her excitement always matched that of the person telling the story, making the energy exponentially grow.
“Well, it was pitch black, I could hardly see a thing, and he got the drop on me. But I heard him in the nick of time and dodged. He attacked me as a bear, so I got into wolf form and waited. He shifted back and grabbed Skull Crusher and charged me. I waited for the right moment, then did a flip over his shoulder, and in mid-air I did a shift change and took him down with a shock!”
“Oh my goodness! You did a flip and attacked him at the same time? I can’t even imagine!”
“Yup. And he went down like a sack of potatoes! Isn’t that right, Llyons?”
The warrior walked through the door and shut it behind. “That is correct, though I may warn against telling this story with such gusto outside of this circle. Making Reuben angry won’t be in your best interest.”
Wynn laughed. “That old bear has the shortest temper I’ve ever seen, but do you honestly think he would be mad about Weaver’s excitement in his mighty feat?”
