Sign of the White Raven: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Carpathday, Day 4, Harvest Moon. 8765 Sudean Calendar

Aleron felt much better, five days after the arrow. The wound seemed to be healing well, so they left the dressing off last night, but he still needed the cravat to support the weight of his arm. He chewed the bark for the first two days, but hadn’t needed it since. Remarkable stuff, whatever it is, he thought to himself. It’s too bad it’s so hard to get at home. Technically, the medicine would be illegal in Sudea, as the only means to obtain it is smuggling from Kolixtlan. He felt next to useless, with only one working arm, he was little help in sailing the boat, but a crew of five was more than enough to operate day and night. He did what he could to help, now that the sickness passed, but it amounted to little.

The mouth of the Acatlpol was now in sight, as the sun crept over the eastern horizon. A look past the stern revealed sails silhouetted on that same horizon, but their pursuers were at least a half day behind them and unlikely to be able to navigate the river. Another day’s travel upriver would have them at their destination. One of the crew informed Aleron that they had a place to conceal their vessel up a minor side branch of the river, where they could go to ground and evade detection with the locals. The same crewman revealed to him that a cult to the Allfather had a strong following in the area to which they travelled. Cipactli and most of his men belonged to the same cult, many recruited from the region the boat now approached. Aleron filed the information for future use; a homegrown opposition movement might be a useful asset when the war escalated, as he was certain it would.

Aleron focused his gaze on the western shore, the heavily vegetated bank just gaining definition to his sharper than human eyesight. A steady breeze from the northeast afforded good speed for the westward moving ship, faster than they would have managed with a straight westerly wind. The cool wind felt good on the back of his neck and he knew he would miss it when they entered the shelter of the forest. The weather promised an unseasonably warm and humid day. The ship took them to a more temperate region of Kolixtlan, compared to the capital and southern areas they recently left. The Acatlpol River lies at nearly the same elevation and latitude, opposite the Equator, as Arundell, so this was an early spring day for the north, still a month and a day from the northern Summer Equinox. Once they passed the river’s mouth, the tall sheltering trees would likely render the sails useless, compelling the crew to switch to oars.

***

“So the lad declared for the throne, I hear,” Cladus remarked, as he settled in to the rocking chair, opposite the one Hadaras was about to sit in. He visited the couple every now and again, as he passed through the area. Jessamine glided about, preparing tea and giving the males a moment of privacy, before she joined them. “And I hear that you are just who I suspected you are.” The news of Aleron’s claim to the throne, validated by him drawing Andhanimwhid before a multitude of witnesses, travelled like wildfire throughout the country and beyond. News of the reemergence from legend of Goromir travelled as fast.

“Yes, he drew the sword, declared his right to the throne and flew off in search of the Steward’s daughter,” Hadaras replied. “As for the second thing, you suspected?”

“I thought you seemed impossibly old and impossibly strong, when we first met, so I had my suspicions then. Have you heard from him?”

“Not for about a week. What bothers me is that I can’t even sense his presence anymore. It’s as if he disappeared entirely.”

“Yet you sensed not his death?”

“No,” Jessamine interjected, “I’m certain we would have sensed his spirit passing through the veil, if that was the case. He is alive…somewhere.”

***

The small “fishing boat” sailed smoothly up the mouth of the river. As luck would have it, the wind shifted to a westerly flow, funneling straight into the channel they currently plied, allowing them to continue sailing, rather than rowing against the current. Aleron wondered about his luck; sometimes, everything seemed to come too easily, like in the fantastical stories he read as a child, where the heroes always came out on top. Sure, there were hardships and setbacks, but he and his companions could as easily be dead as escaping into the wilderness. What if Cipactli was just a thug, like most in his position? What if the arrow hit a span further down and center? What if Bruno missed meeting the ship in Cape Town by a day or two? Everything seemed to come together too perfectly every time and he feared for the day that it would all come crashing down. His shoulder loosened up considerably since the morning, so he abandoned the cravat and pitched in to help with the rigging, rather than brood on the future, but brood he did, anyway. Hadaras spoke of prophecies regarding his return to the throne and he let slip of another one, but refused to discuss it further, no matter how hard Aleron pressed him.

 

“It’s not time for you to know that yet,” his grandfather insisted. “If you know and understand it fully, I’m afraid you will change something to avoid it, even unintentionally,” Hadaras explained, the last time Aleron inquired about it.

 

He wondered how much fate had to do with his “luck” and how much actual control he had over his own life. Once, it seemed ages ago, he pictured himself carving out his future, on his own terms, by the strength of his wits and his sword arm. Nowadays, it seemed he had little control over where his life was going and it frustrated him. He wouldn’t trade Eilowyn for any imagined future, but he sometimes felt that her love was a matter of fate as well. Am I just some sort of game piece of the Allfather’s in an age-old competition with the Adversary? Is that all any of us are and if so, am I integral to the overall strategy, or simply a gambit, to be discarded when my usefulness is over? He vowed to spend some time in the royal library searching for that prophecy, when they finally made it back to Arundell.

“Take it easy, Al,” Geldun implored of him. “You’re not fully healed and if you reinjure that shoulder, it will take that much longer for you to heal.”

“I’ll be careful Gel, but I need to start moving it sometime, don’t I?”

“Moving, yes, working, not so much. Go help Eilowyn with the lighter chores instead. If you tear a muscle, it will take forever to knit and you may not ever get all your strength back.”

“I just want to be useful, for a change,” he retorted.

“And what I’m doing isn’t useful?” Eilowyn called out from the stern.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ellie!” he called back. “I meant, you know…men’s work…I mean…”

“Keep digging Al!” Barathol commented, with a low chuckle. “The hole’s not quite over your head yet!”

“Just get over here and help me Aleron, before you dig yourself any deeper,” she commanded him. “Men…stiff necked, hard headed men,” she muttered as she returned to packing their belongings for the overland journey. Aleron succumbed to the pressure and reluctantly made his way to the stern, His friends grinning all the way. Even the Kolixtlanis gathered enough from the exchange to wear silly grins as they worked the rigging. They needed to have everything packed up and ready to go, for they needed to leave the boat as soon as they had it moored and concealed. Sheepishly, he bent to gathering up their belongings and supplies, packing their few bags and bundles. He no longer possessed a pack of his own, so he began to fashion a bundle from his blanket, so he could carry his share of the load. After several moments of awkward silence, Eilowyn sidled up to him, draped one arm over his shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. “Silly man,” she whispered in his ear, as she released him to return to her work. She thought, as they worked, of the man she decided to spend the rest of her life with, however long that might prove to be. The infatuation she felt as a fourteen-year-old girl now held deeper meaning for the young woman of nineteen. She loved the intelligent and resourceful, if often rash and impulsive man who would be King over Sudea and she knew he loved her, in return. Now, more than ever, she knew he would do anything to protect her, with the proof of him chasing more than halfway across a continent to rescue her. For all of that, the future frightened her. As they huddled together, these many nights, he often confided in her things he told no one else, dreams he had, some verging on prophesy and none painting a happy conclusion, as in the storybooks.

Aleron was convinced that he lost his powers as punishment for his rash decisions in Kolixtla that resulted in the deaths of scores of people. His dreams told him all his abilities came from the Allfather and were not his to squander selfishly. It could very well be that saving her was a selfish act on his part and she suspected that Aleron believed as much. She did not believe that, but she could see fault in how he facilitated their escape. Killing the King, unintentional as it was, could do no good in smoothing relations between Sudea and Kolixtlan. Ehacatl would seek to avenge his father and his soldiers, that much was a given. Other things he said worried her even more. He told her of old elvish prophecies that he apparently had a role in fulfilling. No one would give him the specifics, but his dreams told him he would face the Adversary one day, just as the first Aleron had. If his dreams foretold reality, they must indicate the Nameless One would someday escape the confines of his prison, to walk the surface of Aertu once more. Eilowyn looked over at her beloved, as he rolled his bundle into a sort of satchel. No matter what he thought he might have to do, upon returning to Arundell, the first two things would be a coronation and a royal wedding, both firsts for Arundell in over a thousand years. Regardless of what might come, he will be my husband when it comes about and I will make the most of our time until then. With the bags nearly packed, they could soon settle in to wait for landfall. By mid-day, the twists and turns of the languid river shielded the ship from the wind and four of the men took to the oars, with the fifth taking the steering oar.

That evening, with the boat, masts stowed and concealed in a camouflaged slip, they made their way a league inland, to the farm of a family associated with Cipactli’s organization. The travelers took shelter in the barn loft. If they were found out by the authorities, the family had at least a chance to disavow knowledge of the fugitives. “I’ve had worse beds,” Barathol stated to whoever was listening, as he settled into a pile of straw.

“Tomorrow, you will head northwest; that direction will take you through mostly forested lands with few farms,” one of the Kolixtlanis instructed. “We will move northeast and wait until it is safe to go back to the ship. Good luck to you and may the Allfather guide your steps.”

“Thank you, for all your help,” Aleron replied, as he settled in beside Eilowyn. He still knew none of the Kolixtlani’s names. They agreed that was the best course of action, so if any of the Sudeans were captured, they would not know enough to incriminate the three men. Geldun agreed to stand the first watch as the last dregs of daylight faded and they settled down to sleep.

Here you will find Chapter 5: https://julianbenoit.wordpress.com/2014/04/21/the-fugitive-king-chapter-5/