The Sons of Hull (7 page)

Nevertheless, the beauty of the scene before them was undeniable. Despite his sharp grief, Vancien could not help but marvel at the precision of the great cleft. The Child’s Pass, it was called, and its creation was a story Vancien had heard ever since he, too, was a child.

“Hey, Sirin,” he said, trying to ignore the rawness in his voice.

The munkke-trophe turned, disgruntled at the interruption. “What?”

“Do you know the history of this place?”

“I don’t care, actually. As long as it serves my purpose.”

Vancien gritted his teeth. “I want to tell it to you.”

The other began walking again. “You can talk if you like. Perhaps I’ll listen.”

So Vancien paused a moment to ponder the entire tale, using the distraction to help push the pain to the back of his mind. Then he began.

__________

It was the early time and Kynell had just planted the divine oastrada tree. Everything was young and beautiful in Rhyvelad. Zyreio had not yet buried his tongue in the windswept plain of Jasimor. Peace was not a dream, but a reality, and man agreed with man. The range of Duvaria was stretching its mighty limbs, settling itself upon the mantle. It was a beautiful and ferocious place, and wise men knew not to go to the place where the snow and the cold had made their home.

The time soon came for Kynell to call upon the faithfulness of his people. Life had been simple and comfortable. Faith was easy; Kynell gave them all that they wanted. Zyreio, too, had a people, though few in number. They viewed existence much differently and only in their land was there strife—indeed, they fed upon it. Their god watched over them, occasionally protecting their lives but never their minds. Then, one bright morning, Zyreio came to speak with the god of the Prysm.

“Your people are weak and faithless,” he said.

Kynell did not become angry at this insult, for he knew that this was what Zyreio desired. Instead, he welcomed Zyreio and bade him be seated.

“How are your people, Zyreio?”

“They prosper.”

Kynell knew this was not the case; he had watched in sadness as Zyreio’s followers stole from and sometimes murdered their brothers and sisters. They grew fewer in number day by day and many had already crossed into Keroul, Kynell’s land.

“Why have you come?” he asked.

“I have come with a request,” Zyreio began. “Your men and women have it easy. They listen to you because you give them what they want. This is not love. This is convenience. My people do not get what they want. I test them. I probe them. I know they love me, because I do not make it comfortable for them.”

“You want me to punish my faithful?”

“I want you to test your faithful and see how deeply their faith runs.”

Enough was said and Zyreio departed. Kynell considered his request. He did not doubt his loved ones, but he knew Zyreio questioned their devotion. Perhaps if the followers of Obsidian saw the faithfulness and the peace of his people, they would abandon Zyreio’s corrupt ways. Yes, this was good. This he would do.

The next morning, Kynell called his men and women to him. They came, as they always did, laughing and talking. Not one suffered and not one grieved. He told them of Zyreio’s doubt, and asked if any would be willing to abandon their comfort and follow where he led. In this way, they would prove to Obsidian followers that they were a strong, devoted people. All came forward, but Kynell chose only five: a young man of great energy, a young woman of great warmth, an old man of great wisdom, an old woman of great courage, and a lame young girl whose family had recently come from Zyreio’s realm.

The people wondered at this last choice but did not question Kynell’s wisdom. Instead, they went to their homes to continue their day’s work and pray for the five who would be traveling.

Kynell gathered his journeymen and women together and told them that what they were about to do was a great deed, one that would require energy, warmth, wisdom, courage, and—he stopped and looked at the little girl.

“What will you give?” he asked her.

She did not know, but she knew she was too weak and young to give what the others could give. “I will give you whatever I can,” she finally said.

This pleased Kynell. But he knew the journey would be difficult. He would send them across the Duvarian Range, where the snow and the cold lived. There would be steep rocks and deadly cliffs. They must help each other and trust in him. All would be well.

He gave them everything they would need: blankets and gloves, water and food, and each a small horn to blow when they needed his help. Then they set out, the young man carrying the lame girl and helping the old woman, the young woman helping the old man. For a long time they walked up and up, occasionally stumbling on slippery rocks and narrowly missing some dangerous cliffs. But the young man would always press forward, the old woman feared nothing, the young woman encouraged them all when they grew weary, and the old man wisely pointed out which way they should go. The young girl was silent, enjoying her friends’ company and admiring all that they did.

Sometimes they had to use their horns when a wall would be too steep or one of them slipped and was injured. Always Kynell showed them a path or mended a broken limb. Many times the way wasn’t easy and the mending was painful, but they knew this trial would not last long. With Kynell’s help, they made it across the Range to a land of great beauty—more fertile than any they had seen before and more spacious than any they had ever known.

“What a place!” the young man exclaimed. “I wish all of our families could come here!”

“It would be a long trek,” the old man said. “It would take much planning.”

“We could do it,” replied the old woman.

“They would love it here,” the young lady said. “It is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen. We must go back and tell them.”

They all turned to begin their journey home, but when they looked at the Range, they found that a huge mountain had appeared behind them. The path they had taken had disappeared and all that was left was a smooth wall of stone.

The four who had spoken cried out in dismay. “How can we climb that?” they cried. “Are we trapped in this beautiful land, away from our family and friends?” All blew their horns, but there was no response. The mountain did not move, nor did they.

Finally, the little girl struggled down from the young man’s shoulders and spoke to them. “You are strong,” she said. “Courageous, wise, and loving. But where is your faith? Surely you do not think Kynell would abandon us here. Come, let us try.”

With that, she approached the wall of stone and propped her lame foot upon a small rock, reaching as far as she could for a grip above her head. She slipped, but before any could stop her, she got up and tried again. All day she tried and no one could tell her any differently. “Kynell,” she would whisper. “Help us get home.”

That night she had no more energy, no more courage, no more love, and no more wisdom to find another way. She was tired. So as the others explored the great trees and rivers, she laid down at the foot of the mountain to sleep.

The next morning, she awoke to the sound of her friends laughing and crying tears of joy. She looked up and saw that at the exact spot where she had scraped her lame foot trying to climb the mountain, there was a bright green path.

“Kynell has cloven the mountain in two!” exclaimed the old man.

And so he had. He had seen the young girl’s faith in him and rewarded it. The path was straight and wide, cutting right through the heart of the great mountain. So it was called the Child’s Pass and so it was that Kynell’s people built the city of Lascombe in the rolling hills north of the Duvarian Range.

__________

Vancien’s eyes were bright as he finished the story. It was one of his favorites, and now he was looking at the place where it had actually happened.

Sirin was less than impressed. “Hah!” he snorted. “A child’s tale for the Child’s Pass!”

“You don’t believe it?”

“By the Plains, it’s not even that interesting of a story. ‘She laid down at the foot of the mountain to sleep.’ How quaint. Bah!” He made a dismissive gesture with his paw.

“Then how else did the cleft get here?”

“The munkke-trophes dug it out with their bare paws. I don’t know, bratling. I just know it’s here and I’m using it.”

Vancien shook his head. Rather than argue, he began to inspect what he could of the magnificent surroundings, for his story had carried them full into the mouth of the famous pass itself. Apart from the sleek walls, it was quite different than what he had expected. In his dreams, he had always pictured it as the same bright green path the girl had discovered. If he had given it more thought, he would have realized that it would be a main thoroughfare by now, since it was the quickest link between Lascombe and the regions south of the Range. Taverns, inns, and shops lining the canyon walls filled his vision. The activity was not that of commerce, however; breach was upon them and in the Range, breach was just as dangerous as hiverra. No one stayed in the Pass through that season, since the snow could pile three times the height of a man. Everyone was breaking camp: women scurried about, collecting laundry and wages, men struggled with tent poles and rebellious voyoté, and children tried their best to get underfoot. Though the evening was fast deepening into night and many of the seasonal inhabitants had already departed, those who remained provided enough bustle to make the place look alive.

Sirin stopped in front of a tavern. “I am positively parched. We will stop here for the night.”

Vancien eyed the place with suspicion. It was flat up against the west wall, squeezed between an tin-repair shop and another inn. Its windows were shut up tight against the coming cold with dingy pieces of wood. The paint on its exterior walls was peeling and the front door hung limply open, giving the travelers a glimpse of a dark interior.

“It doesn’t appear very safe.”

“Bah! It’s perfectly safe, boy. A few drinks in you and all Rhyvelad will seem safe.”

There was no help for it; the old creature was already maneuvering his cane up the squeaky steps. With a sigh, Vancien followed him.

If the travelers had been fortunate enough to arrive at Child’s Pass in early autore, they would have found
The
Open Mouth
filled to the brim with boisterous patrons and loud servers. As it was, they stepped inside to find only a snoring man in the corner and a barman too busy to help customers. All around were signs of boarding up against the coming snow. Tables were pushed into a corner with chairs stacked atop, crates of liquor awaited their journey south to warmer regions and even the fire was banked low to preserve fuel for the trip. As a result, the entire room was cast in shadows.

This did not affect Sirin. Intent on his drink, he strode as well as he could up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. “Greetings, barman!”

Positioned at the opposite end of the bar, the barman did not look up. “Bad timing you’ve got, Sirin. I’m plumb out of drink.”

“You old fool, you’re never out of drink! Come now, a splash of fine vintage for me and, uh, a jug of barley wine for the lad.”

Vancien shook his head. “Water, if you have it.”

The barman finally finished packing a case of glasses and walked resignedly over to the pair. Behind him, wooden shelves stood empty, bereft of their seasonal weight. A bottle of Lascombe Pure here and a jug of afore-mentioned barley wine there was all that consisted of the tavern’s available store.

“I think I can handle the water, boy. And Pure’s all we’ve got, Sirin.”

The munkke-trophe sighed. “I suppose that will do, Stankley. And what of dinner? And a room?” He looked skeptically at Vancien. “Two, preferably.”

Stankley’s eyebrows drew together, making it obvious that he not pleased at this intrusion. He was a hefty fellow, with bristly hair and hairy arms. Vancien figured he didn’t take his displeasure lightly, and prepared himself to be thrown out any minute.

But Stankley decided on a small dose of hospitality. “We’ve got some eggs we can cook and some bits of poultry. The rolls are cold, but they’ll do.”

“And a room?”

“You’re lucky everybody’s leaving town. Seven athas each for the rooms, ten total for the dinner and drinks.”

“Ten for dinner and drinks! That’s ludicrous! Why, when I was here last, I could get two
full
meals and better vintage than Pure for eight athas!”

Stankley shrugged his burly shoulders. “I’ve got to pay for my journey back, primate. You know that.” He clunked two glasses on the bar, slopping the liquid over his hands. “Have a seat, boy. It’ll be a while, as I’ll cook it myself.” Without another word, he disappeared through a back door into what Vancien presumed to be the galley.

“Are they this friendly all through the Pass?”

Sirin sipped his drink. “Well, it’s the beginning of breach and tempers are sharp. But there’s only a bit of town left, then Middle Pass. Not many people to annoy on the way, I fear.”

“Middle Pass?”

“You’re a useless bratling. All you know of Lore and nothing of geography. Do you think there’s a comfortable tavern all the way through the Pass to comfort your weary hide? You’ll soon learn that not everybody’s out to pamper you. There are two autore settlements on the southern and northern mouths of the Pass, but between those is one path, surrounded by fearful woods. Many travel there and survive—at least, if they journey through the day. During the night,” his voice dropped to an ominous whisper, “mysterious things have happened. Dreadful things.”

Vancien rolled his eyes. “Spare me the melodrama. What have you got against me?”

“Three things: you’re a human, you’re young, and you’re stupid.”

“Then perhaps I’d be better off without you.” It was a surly suggestion, born of irritation, grief, and fatigue.

Sirin set his drink down. “I’m positive you’d be better off without me. I’m a nasty old primate.” He leaned forward, widening his beady red eyes dramatically. “Leave.”

Despite his dark mood, Vancien could not help but laugh. “I can’t. I have to eat first.”