Children of the Wind (2)

Ein gaped. The man continued to stare at them, looking between Ein and Evaine as he finished threading his belt through the waistline of his trousers.

"I know you're there," he continued. "Though I'll admit, I might have missed you had you not brought those two girls along. You move well for an Aimless."

Cinnamin finally succeeded in prying Ein's hands away, losing her balance in the process. She tumbled out from behind the bush in a scattering of snow, shortly followed by Evaine and a wary Ein.

"Sorry about that," Ein said. "My friend here is a bit of a pervert. We didn't mean to spy on you."

Evaine punched Ein in the shoulder.

The man shook his head. "It's not an issue," he said. "If the Wind wills it, then it shall be so." He gathered his sack of belongings and slung it over his shoulder. "What brings you here? The festival doesn't begin for another night. You'd be hard-pressed finding any of us willing to perform for free."

"We were just curious," Evaine said. "It's not often we get troupers visiting, and I've never met a Wydling before. I was wondering what sort of customs and traditions your people had that were different to ours."

"Like bathing traditions?" He raised an eyebrow.

Ein could have sworn Evaine blushed, but she turned her head quickly.

"Being a trouper looks fun," Cinnamin quipped. "Ein says it's dangerous, but I don't believe him."

The man chuckled. "Perhaps in times past. But the Wind shifts, and brings with it change. Danger will find you even if you try to avoid it." He gestured towards the camp. "Come, I'll take you to our Listener. Might I ask what your friends are called, Ein?" He looked towards the two girls.

"Evaine," Evaine said, and then pointed to Cinnamin. "And this is Cinnamin."

"Nice to meet you." Cinnamin bowed politely.

"I am Aren," the man nodded. "Let us be on our way. Perhaps we can answer some of your questions."

***

The troupe was largely friendly, though also cautious in the stares they gave them. Aren took them straight into the camp, past the two men guarding the wagons. They narrowed their eyes at Ein, taking in his lean physique for a brief moment before looking away, apparently satisfied he was of no threat. They didn't so much as glance at Evaine or Cinnamin.

Aren must have been some sort of highly regarded figure among the Wydlings, as none of them dared voice their disapproval even if it was apparent in their eyes. Each step he took had a confident air to it, every nod and greeting filled with purpose and discretion. If it weren't for his presence, Ein suspected they would have been asked to leave long ago.

Aren took them to the largest tent of them all, almost as large as the main foyer of the Sleeping Twinn, and ducked through the open flaps. With some hesitation, Ein followed him. The inside of the tent was dimly lit by warm lanterns hanging around the circumference like some cross between a common room and the private quarters of an army commander—not that he'd seen either.

A single desk stood in the center with stacks of crisp papers atop it, pens and an inkwell, and a square trunk at its foot. There was a miniature stove in one corner, next to a rectangular table with a plate and a wooden mug atop it. The air was thick with the smell of scented candles.

"Father," Aren greeted. "We have visitors from the village."

Bedrolls were scattered around the edges of the tent. Beside one of them sat a wiry man with salt and pepper braids and a stubble-lined chin, his skin the same shade of bronze as Aren's. The man looked up at the three and bowed his head.

"Welcome," he said. "I am Herod, Listener of the Wind, current leader of the Wydlings. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"This flower is Evaine," Aren said. Evaine's cheeks flushed a light red. "And the little one is Cinnamin. The silent one is called Ein."

"May the Wind blow in your favor," Herod greeted and stood up, his limbs creaking as they unfolded. At his full height he was almost as tall as Aren. He might have been about the same height as his son in his younger days, but old age had begun to take its toll on the man.

"We don't have much to offer in the way of food except bread and cheap wine. Times are tough, as you might understand."

"That won't be necessary," Ein said. There was a sudden groan from the bedroll beside Herod. He bent down, and it was only then that Ein realized there was more than just a bundle of sheets on the sleeping mat. A man lay sleeping under the covers, tossing and turning in delirium.

"How is Baird?" Aren asked.

"Physically, he is well," Herod answered. "His wounds have closed and there appears to be no infection or disease taken root. However, he appears to be suffering from particularly dire nightmares."

"What happened?" Evaine asked. The answer came to Ein a heartbeat before it was spoken.

"Relicts." Aren looked downwards, eyes burning black. "You might not believe me, but I swear it's the truth. I swear it on the Wind itself."

Cinnamin's hand tightened on the hem of Ein's shirt.

"You were attacked by relicts?" Ein asked. "Did you see them? When did this happen?"

The sleeping man kicked off his sheets. Herod pulled them back up, but not before Ein caught a glimpse of sweat-stained bandages wrapped across his chest.

"Only yesterday," Herod said. "There was a whole herd of them, vicious little beasts with antlers like deer. We thought them to be wild game at first, thought ourselves lucky. By the time we realized the truth, it was too late."

"Where was this?" Ein pressed. "In the woods to the south?"

Herod nodded. "About half a day's travel. They were surprisingly close to your village. We managed to kill them all, but Baird here was gored in the stomach. He should live, though."

"Gored?" Evaine asked. "Not slashed, like with teeth or blades?"

"Gored," Herod repeated. "With horns. I don't think they had claws, just teeth and horns. Mereth is carving a figure out of wood as we speak; it will be ready by tonight. Another story for our annals."

"Gored," Evaine repeated, staring vacantly at the wall.

"Are the bodies still there?" Ein asked. "Did you bring them with you?"

"Bodies? By the Wind, no," Herod looked shocked. "We cut them into pieces and burned them. Otherwise they will keep fighting."

"Ah."

"What does he mean?" Cinnamin asked.

"There's an old song about the relicts," Aren explained. "We don't know how much of it's true, but better to be safe than sorry." He cleared his throat and sang:

"Relict be dead, relict be gone,

Stabbed through the heart; still fighting on?

Cut off its limbs, cut off its head,

Burn it with fire, relict is dead."

Silence filled the room after that. The wolves and sheep had been slain by either claws or blades, that much Ein was sure of—not horns. Was it possible that the troupe had been attacked by a different species of relict? Just how many of the monsters were out there? What did they want with Felhaven?

"That was a nice tune," Cinnamin clapped her hands. "Do you have any others?"

"I can think of one," Ein said. "Garax the storyteller sang it to us, once."

"Relict be dead, relict be gone,

Stabbed through the heart; still fighting on?

Splash it with seawater, splash it with salt,

it again, relict will halt."

"You have a fine voice," Herod smiled. "Travel abroad and learn the country's songs, and you could go far."

"I have no intention of becoming a bard," Ein said shortly. "The Sleeping Twins is the place for me."

"My farm was attacked as well," Evaine said, interrupting them. "The Mayor insists it was a bear, but I don't believe him. I think it might have been a relict, maybe even one of the those that attacked you."

Ein swallowed. Evaine had come to the conclusion herself; he hadn't even told her about the wolves.

Is it really true? he thought. Is this really the work of relicts?

He couldn't think of any other explanation, yet the idea of the tales being true was just too farfetched. He needed his father's opinion. Alend always had something insightful to say.

Herod drew his lips into a thin line. "I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. Tales of relicts have been popping up all over Faengard lately. I expect your Mayor will want to speak to us about this. Was anyone injured in the attack?"

"My parents were." A shadow crossed Evaine's face. Her voice took on a more sombre tone. "They have yet to wake."

Herod nodded. "I will go and make preparations. Many of us will be visiting the inn tonight; perhaps we can do something for them. I'll have our Songweaver take a look as well." He clapped his hands. "Anyhow. Apologies for all this talk; I'm sure you didn't come all the way here to listen to our troubles. Is there any particular reason behind your visit?"

Ein looked toward Evaine. Cinnamin had fallen silent, the way she did when adults were talking about serious things. She looked between them with inquisitive eyes.

"I suppose," Evaine slowly said, "I was wondering what it would take to join you."

Ein and Aren blinked. Cinnamin gasped.

"What are you talking about?" Ein spluttered. "Evaine, don't be silly. What about Bran?"

"Bran be damned," she snapped. Ein opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind. "The idea of leaving the village is becoming more and more appealing, even at the cost of exile."

"What about your parents? Are you going to leave them behind, after all they've done for you?"

Evaine flinched. "They'll be fine," she said firmly. "I'm not going to argue with you again. Master Herod, would it be possible to join you and the Wydlings?"

Herod rubbed his chin with an amused look. "Is that really what you want, dear flower?"

Before Evaine could reply, Ein quickly glanced towards the exit to the tent. "I think it might be time for us to leave now. Thank you both kindly for having us, and please pardon our intrusion."

Herod smiled. "...Ha. It is nothing. If anything, we look forward to performing for you tomorrow, and taking part in your festival."

"When will you be coming down to the inn tonight?" Evaine asked, still glaring at Ein.

"Before sundown," Herod answered. "Until then, tell the innkeeper to prepare some food and fine wine. We will pay in coin or wares, of course. But make sure you save some for tomorrow, else it won't be much of a festival."

"Certainly."

"It may also be ideal to gather the leaders of your village for tonight," he continued. "Regarding the attacks in the countryside. I expect they'll want to be there, and it would be preferable if we only have to tell the story of our encounter once."

Evaine nodded, and Herod returned to the sleeping man's side.

"Take them back to the village, Aren," he said. "And bring me Talberon. See if he has a cure for nightmares in that book of his."