The Fog of Forgetting (9 page)

Knox shook his head, trying to understand. “A warning? Exorians?”

Mara sighed and pulled her hood back up over her head, contemplating the group of strange children clustered around her. Evelyn took the poncho from Mara's hand and pulled it quickly over her head. It was soft and smelled of pine and a sweetness she guessed came from the grass the basket was woven from.

“A warning that fire does not discriminate,” answered Mara, with a bitter smile. “It consumes all things, no matter how fast, or skilled, or precious.” She gently raised Evelyn's hood, her fingers lightly, briefly, grazing the skin at Evelyn's temples. Before Evelyn could stop herself, her own hand returned the gesture, rising up to touch the angry ridges along Mara's jawline.

Mara removed her hand, squeezing it lightly before she dropped it, and stepped away.

“Dress yourselves now; Calla and I are to take you into the forest. There is much for you to learn if you are to live among us. Five mouths need food.”

Evelyn's dark eyes followed Mara's retreating back, the pupils constricted with anger.

“It's a burn! Somebody burned her!”

“Why would anyone do that?” Frankie asked.

Evelyn snatched another poncho off the ground and shook it at her sister. “I don't know, but you'd better put this on.” She whirled around to the boys. “And you,” she snapped, her voice tight, almost crying. “Get dressed!”

“Jeez, don't blame us—” Knox started, but the fierce expression on Evelyn's face stopped him cold.

W
hat a fine bunch of Melorians you make!” Seaborne boomed, making his way toward them with Tinator.

Knox gave up trying to tie a long leather band around his waist and grinned. Seaborne took it from him and belted it, leaving two equal ends that he crisscrossed over Knox's chest and back and fastened onto the belt. He rocked back on his heels.

“That'll do.” He did the same for the others and laughed when he saw Teddy, whose poncho dragged on the ground. “We'll have to shorten that dress you're wearing, lad; you won't run very fast in that.” He ruffled Teddy's hair.

Teddy leaned heavily into his leg. Surprised, Seaborne patted his back awkwardly and mumbled, “If you give it to me now, I'll fix it up for you myself.”

Tinator laid down his massive crossbow to inspect them, adjusting one thing or another with firm, swift movements. When he was finished, he stepped back. Mara collected their old, discarded clothing and put it in a basket. The children studied themselves and each other in amazement. They
did
look like Melorians, only smaller.

“And now, your weapons,” said Tinator.

Knox caught Chase's eye and mouthed,
Weapons?

Tinator motioned to one of his guards, who brought over a wadded pelt. Wrapped inside was a collection of small hunting knives and throwing axes, all made by hand, and a number of slingshots carved from a dark wood and slung with leather. He gave Evelyn and Frankie each a slingshot and a knife, the blades of which appeared to be freshly sharpened and attached by sinew to handles of worn animal bone. Evelyn curled her fingers around her knife and touched the blade with her index finger. A sliver of crimson oozed to her fingertip.

“Ow!” she yelped, sticking her finger in her mouth.

Calla took the knife from her. She examined it carefully, holding it so that the bright blade caught the sun and glistened.

“This is an excellent weapon. Very light—very precise. It was mine once.”

“Really?” said Evelyn, feeling proud.

Calla gave it back, handle first. “Mind it well.”

“What about mine?” asked Frankie, holding her weapon up.

Calla went through the same motions, handing it back with a smile.

“A blade will find its mark if your heart is true; isn't that right, Father?”

Tinator gave a curt nod. “A weapon is a tool; the intent of its owner wields the real power.”

“Your first lesson!” said Calla, with an impish wink.

Knox was presented with three short knives and two throwing axes. His eyes strayed longingly toward the crossbow lying on the ground, but he managed to say “Thank you.” Teddy was given a slingshot with a soft leather bag filled with perfectly round rocks. When it was Chase's turn, Tinator moved to another basket and withdrew a long sword in a worn leather scabbard. The blade was cast in two metals, one dark, one light, and hammered in a pattern that shimmered like the skin of a reptile. Tinator handed the sword to Chase.

“This is a Metrian-forged blade. It has served its former masters well—may it do the same for you.”

Chase's arm sank with the weight of the sword. He didn't dare pull it out of the scabbard, worried he might stab himself. The two younger boys eyed Chase's sword and looked at one another. Knox's face flushed with envy. Teddy tugged on Tinator's sleeve.

“I want that,” he whined, pointing at Chase's weapon.

“Do you now?” replied Tinator, unsmiling. He gestured to Chase. “Boy—here, let your brother have the sword.”

“That's not fair!” cried Knox. “He's too little. I should get the sword! I'm stronger than both of them!”

Tinator squatted, surveying the three Thompson boys with a keen eye. He ignored Knox's outburst.

“Boy, give the little one, Teddy, your sword,” he said again, quietly.

Chase shook his head, appalled. “No way! Teddy will kill himself with this thing. Besides, you gave it to me.” He was secretly thrilled that Tinator had chosen him to carry the sword, out of all of them.

Seaborne cuffed Chase on the shoulder. “Mind yourself. Do as Tinator says.”

“That's crazy!” Chase objected. “He's too little. He won't even be able to hold it!”

“Do it now, or I'll make you,” growled Seaborne. “You will not disrespect Tinator in my presence and call yourself my friend.”

Chase gaped at him for a moment, then handed Teddy the sword. Teddy's knees buckled under its weight.

“I told you he couldn't lift it,” said Chase. “This is stupid.”

Tinator was unfazed. He moved into the center of the clearing and drew a shining broadsword from the sheath at his hip. It had a thick, bronze handle and two thin tubes of bronze that spiraled around his wrist. With his arm extended down, the sword's tip just grazed the ground.

“Come, youngest boy, time to fight,” he said, grimacing. His cheekbones jutted like carved stone above the burnished planes of his cheeks.

Teddy's eyes darted to Seaborne, searching for some clue as to what he should do. Seaborne and the Melorians stood silent, unmoving. Evelyn put her hands on her hips, her face full of emotion, and moved protectively in front of Teddy.

“He can't fight a grown man; it's ridiculous—” she began. “I won't allow it.”

Mara laid a gentle hand on her arm. “It is what he asked for,” she said, silencing her.

Teddy hesitated. It was hard for him to hold the sword in both arms, let alone try and take it out of the sheath and wield it. He dropped one arm and the sword clattered to the ground.

“I don't know how,” he sobbed. He hid his face in Evelyn's poncho.

“Don't worry, Ted. You don't have to.” Evelyn glared at Tinator, whose lips had become a tight line. She picked up the sword. “I don't know about this island,” she said, “but on the island where I was born, men do not pick fights with babies. If you must fight someone, fight me.”

Tinator crossed the few yards between them and snatched the weapon from her. He threw it on the ground.

“In Melor, you will learn to fight your own battles—of which there will be plenty. Do not ask for more.” He turned on Teddy and Knox.

“Wanting what one sees, without thought to one's ability to bear the gift when it is received, is a dangerous form of blindness. You should know who you are—what strengths you possess—before you make your claims.” Then, he scowled at Chase. “You, eldest, have been given this weapon out of necessity only—not merit. Time will tell if you deserve the honor.” Tinator turned his back and strode quickly back to the center of the clearing. He balanced his sword between two hands, turning it over and over, as if he was testing, weighing it, his mind pacing the alternatives.

“Duon, get me the leash,” he ordered, and turned to the group assembled before him. One of the Melorian men sprang to his basket and returned with a woven piece of leather about four feet long.

“Tie them together,” said Tinator, indicating Knox and Chase.

Chase's heart pounded furiously.
What the hell was this?

The man called Duon approached them with the length of leather. Chase thought about running, but the strong hand of Seaborne turned him around so that he was back-to-back with Knox. Duon tied one end of the leash around each of their ankles. When he finished, they faced one another, utterly bewildered.

“Is this some kind of game?” whispered Knox.

“Shhh!” hissed Seaborne.

“The contest will begin now,” said Tinator. “The one who draws first blood shall win the right to wield the sword. The youngest has forfeited his chance.”

Chase and Knox stared at him, their mouths open, uncomprehending.

“I think he wants you to fight,” cried Evelyn. “Don't do it!”

Knox cocked an eyebrow at Chase. “That's what he
wants?
Does he know we fight all the time?”

It was true, Chase thought. They did fight all the time, but now, standing here with full permission to hit Knox until he bled, Chase didn't want to fight him at all.

“Knox can have the sword if he wants it so bad,” he said.

“No!” Tinator thundered. He shoved the boys toward one another roughly. “You will fight for it or I shall set you both loose into the forest and you will learn how to fight with your lives.”

“I don't think he's kidding around,” said Knox. He gave Chase a weak smile. “Now's your chance, Chase. Let's see what you got.” He threw a halfhearted punch at Chase's bicep.

Chase stared at Knox, then at Tinator, then down at the leash tied to his ankle. His brain was having trouble registering that this was actually happening.

“Harder!” Tinator growled.

Knox hit him again. Chase did not respond. He was not going to fight back. He wasn't going to give these people the satisfaction. He took a step back.

“Fight him!” Tinator cried, shoving Chase into Knox. “Your younger brother thinks he's better than you. You heard him just now—isn't that so, Knox? You do not respect your kin. You think your older brother is weak. Do you not?” He taunted and pushed Chase into Knox again. This time, Knox shoved back, more angry at Tinator than his brother. Chase brought an arm up to protect himself. Knox stepped back.

“Do you or do you not want the sword?” Tinator seethed. “'Tis a simple question!” He leaned into Knox's ear. “If you want the sword, claim it—or are you too afraid?”

Knox's body went stiff with anger. His hand curled into a fist.

“Yes–” Tinator nodded.

“I'M NOT AFRAID!” yelled Knox. He punched Chase square in the jaw, harder than he had ever hit him before, opening his brother's lip. Chase grunted in surprise. Knox didn't care: It was as if all the resentment and frustration he had ever had with Chase came pouring out in one furious burst. He hit him again and then again, pounding Chase's face with his fist before Chase had time to react. A geyser of blood erupted from Chase's nose.

“THTOP IT, KNOXTH!” screamed Teddy. He dove at Knox's knees, trying to tackle him.

Knox, startled by Teddy, grabbed his fist in his other hand, to hold it back from hitting Chase again. Chase held his hand to his mouth and bent his head so his bangs hid his face. Blood poured over his fingers and dropped heavily on the ground.

“God, Knox, why'd you do that? I already told you, you can have the stupid sword.”

“You're a jerk, Knoxth! I hate you!” Teddy shouted. He pummeled Knox's back with his little fists, swinging wildly, and sobbed.

“I hate this plathe! I want to go home! I want to go home, Chathe!”

Chase kneeled and hugged Teddy to him, smearing dark blood across the little boy's blond curls.

“It's okay, Tedders. I'm okay,” he murmured, but feeling like he was most definitely not okay.

Knox stared blankly at his brothers, as if he did not fully understand how all this had happened. He looked at the one hand still holding on to the other tightly curled fist, then up at the Melorians.

Tinator was watching him with a smug, satisfied expression. Knox whipped one of the small knives from his harness and bent down to cut the leather cord connecting him to Chase; then he turned to face Tinator.

The Melorian leaned casually on his broadsword, his mouth set in a grim line, his thick eyebrows drawn like a shelf over his brow. Power began to flow from him like a tide they could all feel and nearly see: electrifying and golden. It shimmered out across the clearing and into the trees like an invisible sea of energy.

Knox picked up the discarded sword from the ground.

“You want a fight? Let's fight!” he snarled, squaring up against Tinator.

“KNOX—NO!” yelled Chase through his cupped, bloody hands. “Don't be an idiot; he'll kill you!”

Knox dropped the scabbard and brought the sword in front of his face. He heard a loud thrumming in his ears; blood pumped through his veins. Everything else had been swept away by the current of energy between himself and Tinator. Knox saw only his opponent, felt only the sword—light and agile in his hands—as if he had always known how to wield it. He rushed straight at the grown man. With a long swipe, Tinator brought his blade down hard to Knox's left. Knox easily blocked the thrust with the flat edge of his sword. A sharp clanging echoed across the clearing. Knox was bleeding now, too; he had bitten his lip with the recoil from the first parry. Tinator advanced on him and Knox retreated in a moment of sheer panic.

“Do not show your fear!” he heard Calla cry from somewhere behind him.

Knox took a deep breath and circled around, leaping to the side and swinging his sword to the right, just in time to ward off another of Tinator's blows. Tinator advanced. Knox windshield-wipered his blade with both hands, blocking each of Tinator's thrusts. Feeling more confident, he stepped closer and jabbed at Tinator's chest. Tinator swiped his blade away easily, then sprang, sweeping the air between them in a blaze of flashing metal. Chase would never be able to understand or describe how, but Knox was managing—barely—to defend himself. Tinator advanced, clobbering him with broad sweeps of his sword. Knox fell backwards a few steps, panting.

“Anytime you want this to end, lower your sword,” Tinator barked.

Knox replied with a clumsy feint. The sword was getting heavier. He stumbled and ducked under a halfhearted swipe at his head. In desperation, Knox put both hands on the sword hilt, circled, and leapt, raking his blade at Tinator's knees. Tinator hopped over the blade and retreated a small distance. He put his sword tip to the ground and casually leaned on the handle.

Knox locked eyes with him. The electrifying current seemed to have burned out. He was gulping at air, his muscles twitching with the effort it had cost to fight against his much older and better-trained opponent.

“Don't give up!” Calla's voice called to him again.