Kimera

[Santinka]

 

[Santinka]

Kimera

By Santinka

Bright ruby coals glowed in the dark room of Logh’s forge, billowing intense heat that made the smith sweat. A thickly muscled arm swung heavy blows with a hammer onto a white-hot piece of metal, time after time.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Lifting the beaten steel off of the anvil, Logh laid it into a bucket of water in a mass of hissing steam that enveloped his whole figure, leaving only the dimmest silhouette.
Fenn watched from behind a table, mesmerized by his master’s work. It would not be a lie were one to say, even in jest, that Fenn dreamed every night of the forge, for that he did. The coals called to him in his sleep, with beautiful words that he couldn’t understand, but awoke a deep longing inside him. Longing that was stronger than his longing for a family, or for friends, or for someone to talk to.
Logh folded his bellows, hung the new sword on the wall, still hot, and climbed the oak stairs to the loft where he slept. Fenn waited until Logh’s snoring, loud as a bellowing ox, came from the loft, then crept from his hiding place and toward the forge. He poked the coals with an iron rod, stirring them up, then knelt in the dirt beside them, staring at the hungry flames and imagining another figure, striking metal over and over in rhythm of clanging iron. It was himself, older and stronger, a famous smith, perhaps even of silver and gold and precious things. Fenn smiled and flexed his muscles, grabbing a hold of a rod and, with all his might, he tried to bend it, as he had once seen Logh do when he was angry. The iron was unyielding, and Fenn soon gave up and went back to his daydreaming.
It was night, and Logh had stayed up late to finish the sword. It was a commission, an honor, and none were so skilled as Logh in making weapons.
Fenn saw something very strange in his imagination that night, something that most certainly did not belong there. A creature, very young he thought, was curled tightly in a bed of coals, but it was by no means burning. As he watched, vexed, the creature, whatever it was, opened one, crackling tawny eye, meeting Fenn’s awed gaze with its own unsettling one, and grinned. Fenn gasped in shock and the vision was gone, replaced by the ordinary flames he loved so much. He frowned. Where had the creature come from in the first place? He had never seen anything like it before.
Looking at the flames for just a moment more, Fenn went far back to the old stall that was his room, glancing in to make sure he had no unexpected visitors(such as Whistle, a stray cat that sometimes settled on his bed). There was nothing there, to his relief. Whistle was a stubborn old cat when she wanted to be. What he didn’t see was the tawny eye that opened in the forge fire, an innocent mystery, and perhaps something more, twinkling in its eye.



For days on end after that, Fenn saw that strange creature every time he looked at the fire. Over time it seemed to grow larger, but instead of being afraid, Fenn felt a kinship with it. Here was a creature from the fire, and it must love the dancing flames as much as he did, and so he went on, not worried.
One night, Logh sat down with him on the work bench. The blacksmith was a hard master, but he was a friend as well.
“Lad,” said he, in his deep, rough voice. “You have been staring into the fire. The villagers have seen you and there are rumors going around. You know how they are. They panic over nothing. What are you looking at anyway?”
Fenn frowned. Was it that obvious? “It’s just the fire,” he said, thinking to dismiss it.
Logh laughed. “I’m not so simple as that, boy. You love the forge, but you stare at it like it breathes.”
Fenn smiled wryly, deciding that honesty might be best. “I see her in them,” he said. “She has great golden eyes and she watches me.”
“Her? Fenn, you are not trying to tell me it is a woman in the fire?” Logh asked, one eyebrow jumping.
“No! Not a woman. She’s…just…she’s like a creature from a tale,” said the blacksmith’s apprentice. “Like a lion almost, but different.”
“How long have you seen this…creature?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Since the night you finished the sword,” he said.
“You are not to tell anyone about this Fenn, you understand?” Logh said, looking him in the eyes, a frown touching his forehead.
“Yes sir.”
“And don’t stare at the fires anymore. People are fickle beings. They scare like—”
A loud, fast knock on the door interrupted him and he frowned. No one came to the forge this time of night. Logh didn’t accept customers until morning. All of the villagers knew that.
Logh went to answer the door, and Fenn heard muffled voices that sounded like arguing.
“I’ll not bargain for less than it’s worth,” the smith said, his voice raised. “You’ll pay the price we agreed upon or you’ll take your business elsewhere.”
“Oh? I don’t think so,” said the other voice, and Fenn heard Logh grunt, like a charging bull, and the door thudded, as though into flesh.
“My hammer boy!” Logh shouted, and Fenn grabbed the big hammer from its place, racing to the front door, where Logh held it closed.
“What’s going on?!” the apprentice asked as the smith accepted the hammer.
“Bloody vermin,” Logh spat. “He’ll take the sword, pay or no’, but not if I have anything to do with it!” The smith barred the door and hammered the bolt closed. “Back door boy. Bar it.”
Fenn did as he was told and raced back to the forge, where Logh appeared to be arming himself. “Wounded his bloody pride I did,” he muttered to himself. “Won’t let that go. He’ll kill me now.” The smith looked up and grimaced. “You boy—you have to go. Take the sword. He won’t touch it. You’ll have to run. He’ll kill you too if you stay.”
“But—I don’t—I can’t!” Fenn cried, astonished.
“I’m more the fool though. Noble. A noble! Didn’t my paddy allus tell me to pick my fights?” Logh seemed not to notice Fenn anymore as he swung his hammers.
There was shouting outside and a crash.
“Here he comes,” said the smith, and he pulled the sword off the rack. “It’s yours now, boy.”
Fenn took the sword and panicked. “He can’t do this!” he said. “It’s not right!”
“He’s a bloody noble, lad, he’ll do what he wants.”
The door crashed off its hinges and men poured into the room.
Fenn backed toward the forge, not knowing what to do.
Four men came at Logh all at once. He caved in one man’s skull and smashed another into the wall. The other two came at him from different sides. Logh fought them, roaring like a bull. Another man entered the forge room, watching the men beat the blacksmith down.
“No!” Fenn shouted, finding his voice. The new man noticed him then, and started forward, drawing a long blade from beneath his cloak.
“You, boy…I think I’ll get rid of you. You won’t be a problem then, will you? No witnesses, no trouble. Yes, I think I’ll kill you now.”
Fenn had dropped the sword in his panic and as the man advanced he dove for it, swinging it up in time to block a blow. The shock of impact numbed his arms and the man struck the sword, sending it out of Fenn’s hands. A hard kick sent him sprawling back into the dirt.
The nobleman brought the long-bladed dagger up over Fenn’s head. “You know, I think I’ll rather enjoy this,” he mused with a wicked grin.
A loud crackling sound split the air, and Fenn looked up as the flames leapt. Heat seared his face and he saw the tawny eye of the creature, looking past him with something dangerous dancing in her eye. The fire roared and the creature stood, as huge as a lion and fur bristling the color of coals. Hot coals.
With a thunderous roar she leapt from the flames, long teeth flashing. The nobleman screamed and fled, but the other two men were not so quick as he, and the creature brought them down, snapping their necks like twigs. Fenn ran to Logh’s side, but it was too late. The smith had already crossed the void and there could be no calling him back.
Fenn choked out a sob and ran for the back door, struggling with the bar. It took only seconds but to Fenn it felt like hours he struggled with it. He threw it aside and caught sight of the sword.
It’s yours now, boy.
Without a pause to think, he picked it up, slipped it into a plain sheath and ran, never imagining how many dangers that one action would throw him into. Behind him, the beast from the fire followed, glowing orange in the night.



All night Fenn ran, until at last he stumbled and fell, too tired to get up, too tired to grieve. Instead he slept where he fell.
When he woke, the creature was stretched beside him, radiating heat. Fenn couldn’t find the strength to be afraid, and somehow, her presence comforted him. He stared at her for a long time, trying to figure out what exactly she was. The fur on her back was the color of hot coals, fading to flame yellow at her paws. Her fur had an almost feather-like quality about it, very fine and thick. Ram horns curled behind her ears, the color of jet stones. And she was hot, like Logh’s forge had been, except that she did not burn to the touch. That was very strange to Fenn and he tried not to think about it too much.
Instead he stood and groaned, rolling stiff shoulders that crackled. Beside him, the creature rose up on all fours and yawned like a cat, stretching her front paws and digging her claws into the earth. She shook herself and looked up at him.
“What now?” he asked.
His heart nearly stopped when she replied, “I don’t know any more than you.”
“You t-talk!” he said when he remembered to breath. She eyed him up and down.
“So do you,” she said.
Fenn sat down hard, wincing as his already sore muscles hit the ground. “What—I—do you have a name?” he asked a bit breathlessly.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
She regarded him for a moment, and he wondered if she would speak at all.
“Isarana.”
Before, he would have asked her questions at that moment, hundreds of them, Fenn knew, but he just couldn’t call them up now. Logh’s face as he had last seen it was too fresh in his mind. Instead he got to his feet and began to walk. Isarana followed him with a rumbling growl, her heavy paws padding softly on the damp earth.



It was hours before Fenn realized he was hungry. It was another hour before they found a village. Isarana rolled her shoulders and curled on the ground. “I’m staying here,” she said. She settled a paw on the sword and closed her eyes.
Fenn looked at her for a moment, went to the village, thinking to work for food. Bartering the sword never crossed his mind.
The first place he found was an inn. He didn’t even look at the sign as he went in and talked to the owner. He worked all day, splitting wood, carrying water and peeling potatoes. When finally the evening drew to a close, the innkeeper gave him a sack of food and sent him off.
He had eaten half of the food already by the time he reached Isarana. She was not impressed with his meager earnings and refused the raw vegetables.
“I prefer meat,” she said, and with that disappeared for some time. He was asleep when she came back, and she woke him with a hot breath.
“We need to go,” she said.
Fenn didn’t argue. His mind was too tired.
It went like that for weeks, staying in one village to work for food, then going to the next. Some days they wouldn’t find a village, and Isarana would hunt for them both. Whatever it was she caught, from rabbits and ducks to deer, he cooked it over an open flame. On the first night he did this, she startled him by stepping into the flames and curling up. For several minutes Fenn couldn’t see her at all, until she opened her tawny-gold eyes.
In this way, they decided, she must hide if ever someone came upon them.
In one village, Fenn worked at a smith’s forge, carrying out the familiar tasks with as much skill as he could muster. He had missed this life much more than he had let himself realize. As he went about his tasks, the smith’s daughter, a girl named Shona, made herself known. She asked him questions about everything—where had he been in the world, what was his favorite drink, did he like dogs?
“Where are you going?” Shona asked. Fenn was caught off guard by that question and had to think for a moment.
“Corinsh,” he answered after a moment. It was the city of artisans. He could find a master blacksmith and be apprenticed there without too much question perhaps. Isarana could hide in the forge, and he could lead a normal life again...if he could only find the way.
“Really? I think the ocean is close to there. Do you suppose there’s really such a thing as mermaids?”
Fenn told himself that she was very annoying, but at the end of the day he was sad to leave Shona. He had forgotten how nice it was to talk to someone. Isarana could speak, but she knew very about the things that Fenn did.
He slung the sack over his shoulder and walked out of town, hands in pockets and staring at his feet. The woods were thick on the east side, and that was where Isarana waited for him.
As soon as he was safely hidden in the borders, Isarana came to greet him as she always did. It was then he heard a muffled gasp and “oh!” and spun to find none other than Shona! Heart in his mouth, he darted into the trees, Isarana already far ahead of him.
“Wait! Oh! Please wait!”
Fenn stopped in shock and looked back.
“What?!” he gaped incredulously.
“Please wait! I want to see her!”
Fenn, completely incapable of moving, let alone refusing the girl, was powerless as she walked tentatively toward them, for Isarana had come back when she realized Fenn was not behind her.
Shona looked into Isarana’s eyes with fascination. “They’re…sparkly,” she muttered. “What is her name?”
“Isarana,” he blurted. Isarana purred, a rumbling sound for a creature her size.
“It’s a beautiful name,” Shona told her, rubbing Isa’s mane heartily. “Why don’t you stay?”
“What!” Fenn gasped.
“Why ever not?” Shona demanded, looking up from Isarana for the first time. “You can stay in the barn for as long as you like. I’ll bring you food if you’re worried about being seen.”
Fenn was shocked again when he found that he couldn’t refuse her. Not for lack of trying, but that she was very good at ignoring him, and Isarana made a sound suspiciously like chuckling under her breath.
It surprised him still when he found himself in Shona’s barn that night. He had the sneaking suspicion that if her father found him he might end up dead, but soon he was loathe to leave. Shona came to talk to him often, explaining that it was her job to care for the animals and so no one would thing twice of her constant disappearance.
Isarana kept her speech to herself and Fenn found no reason to bring it up, but one afternoon, he found that Isa could speak to him anyway, and he could speak back, without ever saying a word out loud. They held long conversations in the empty hours of the days, and often Isarana would tell him about mysterious things…like magic, sometimes. It was then Fenn would always remember the forge, and the sadness that came with it.
Fenn. It wasn’t your fault that this happened, do you understand that? That man was bad from the start. He would have tried anything to get that sword.
Fenn glared at the blade angrily. “The sword. Hah! Isa, I would trade this sword for Logh any day!”
It is good that you picked it up, Fenn. It was forged in the fires of my birth, she replied. There is magic in it. “Magic,” Fenn muttered to himself, holding the sword up in both hands. The word sounded special just then, something that could change his future, balancing on a high wire just waiting for him to find it. All his life, magic had been something feared by all, despised and hated. Here and now, this magic, was completely different than anything the villagers had talked about. It was like Isarana. It was friendly and beautiful but dangerous as well, the same way anything is dangerous given the right circumstances.
Days passed, then a week, then two, and Fenn began to like Shona. He liked her very much he found, and she seemed to like him. He was even considering asking her father if…but no. He was putting her in danger, by being here. For all he knew, that nobleman was looking for him. Besides, he didn’t have a livelihood anymore. Still, they began to realize that they loved each other very dearly, from all of the talks they had, and from the nights when they stared at the stars together, laying on the green grass of the paddock, and a stolen kiss or two.



One early morning, Shona came in, her face troubled.
“Something wrong?” Fenn asked, sliding from a haystack. She handed him a parchment wordlessly. It was scrawled in fancy script.
“I—I can’t read it,” he said, giving it back and looking at his feet. He had never learned to read. Shona looked up, her troubled expression lost for a moment as she sized him up with her black eyes.
“I’ll have t’ teach you,” she said, then looked down, clearing her throat nervously. “I—it’s a decree, a warrant of sorts. Listen:

By order of the Duke of Valles
For the apprehension of two criminals
last seen in Shemitt Township
Former blacksmith’s apprentice and monster
for the murder of the smith Logh and two others.
Duke Retoneard offers a reward to any who capture the boy and his beast, suspected of witchcraft, and the return of the stolen sword they carry. Boy may look for work at blacksmith’s shop.
Villagers be warned.”


Shona looked up at him and he could see that she was nervous. He swayed on his feet and imagined falling to the ground. If he did, he would stay there forever, until he died, or Shona’s father found him. She was scared of him now. She believed.
Fenn stood, looking down, his mind so dazed that he could not think. “I should go,” he said, staring hazily at the door, trying to make himself move. Isarana snorted and closed her eyes, not moving at all.
“Oh no you don’t!”
Shona grabbed his arm and jerked him back, shoving him into the straw. She pinned him down, her face next to his and her fists full of his tunic. “You’re goin’ to tell me what happened, every word or so help me I’ll drown you in the pig’s trough. I’m not lettin’ you go tha’ easy, whether you did it or no’ you understand?!”
Fenn gulped. “Yes’m,” he murmured. Shona’s black eyes flashed dangerously and she let him up. Fenn rubbed his arm for a moment where she’d grabbed. “You’re scary,” he said, not looking at her.
“Good.”
Isarana yawned. You handled that well, she said. I’m not sure you deserve this, she muttered, and stood, shaking herself. She slunk toward Shona.
What’re you doing?! Shona stepped back in alarm, eyeing Isa warily. Isarana drew herself up to her full height, bringing her own eyes level with Shona’s. Shona gasped, suddenly too frightened to move. Isarana blinked her tawny-gold eyes slowly, deliberately, showed her teeth, growling.
Fenn’s mouth dropped open and he tried to think of what to do. What could he do? Isa was as big as a horse! He couldn’t stop her if she wanted to do anything! He was near to putting himself between her and Shona when Isarana spoke.
“This is my story as well, Shona Smithdaughter. Are you going to stop me from leaving?” she said, and though her voice itself was not loud, it resonated deeply in her chest and to Fenn it seemed that the ground shook. A shaky sob of fear escaped Shona’s lips and she trembled. Fenn was angry with Isa now. He had never seen Shona so afraid, and Isarana did it to her with intent, focusing all of her fierce power on the girl.
Enough! Fenn wanted to shout. Stop it now!
He ran toward Shona as Isarana relinquished her gaze. As Fenn reached her she collapsed and he caught her, staggering back. She shook with fear, her eyes closed and sweat beaded on her brow. Fenn glared at Isa angrily. “How could you!” he snapped. Isa growled, sending a puff of smoke from her nostrils.
It was necessary, she said, and seemed to shrink some, back to her normal height. She batted his pack to him. She needed to know that we are dangerous. She cannot keep us here forever, Fenn. We are not pets, and she is in danger so long as we are here.
Fenn turned his gaze back to Shona. She swallowed and, still shaking, opened her eyes.
“It’s okay,” Fenn said quickly, hoping desperately that she would believe. “You’ll be okay, she won’t hurt you.” You’d better not, he thought fiercely.
Shona sat up and scooted away from him, wrapping her arms around her legs and staring at them both. Fenn cringed, backing away, one hand gripping his arm.
Shona licked her lips. “Tell me,” she croaked, less of a command now and more a feeble demand.
Fenn backed away slowly, to stand beside Isarana. His eyes grew suddenly shadowed and he withdrew the sword from its place, laying it across his knees, never taking his eyes off of Shona. He knew that he looked guilty then. It showed in her eyes, with a mixture of fear and betrayal.
He took a deep breath. “I didn’t kill Logh. He was my master. The closest thing to a father I had ever had.”
Fenn told the tale, all of it, from the making of the sword to Isarana’s birth, from the treachery of the duke to Logh’s death. It took longer than he could have guessed, and he fought the grief that remembering brought back.
Shona listened to it all without a sound, hugging her knees and staring up at them both, her face shadowed and grave.
“It’s all because of this sword,” he ended bitterly, staring at it where it lay sheathed in his hands. “If not for it, then I would still be Logh’s apprentice.” I would still be home. I would still have a place to belong. Fenn closed his eyes and buried his face into Isa’s fur, breathing in the scent of smoke and flame that came off of it.
For a long time Shona just looked at them, then she stood and left the barn without a word. Fenn felt his heart twist painfully as he listened to her receding footsteps, and he stood. “We…should go,” he said finally. He packed his few belongings from where they’d been hidden, last of all the sword. He didn’t want it, he realized. It had caused him so much pain, brought devastation to his life, and yet…
Keep it, Fenn. We may have need of it soon, Isa warned.
They waited for nearly three hours after that, however. Fenn hoped to see Shona again before he left, but finally, he knew they could wait no longer. He pushed open the back door of the barn and froze.
Three men on horseback rode between the houses and yards of the villagers, as if searching for something. Fenn closed the door slowly, crossing to the ladder and climbing to the loft. He looked out the big window in the front, afraid of what he might see.
Horses crowded the village square. Shona and the rest of the villagers were standing in a crowd, many looking confused as to the reason why they’d been called. Duke Retoneard stood silent as the town caller read a decree that Fenn couldn’t hear.
Fenn didn’t wait to see more. He climbed down the ladder, telling Isarana what was going on as he went.
No more waiting, she said. We leave now.
At the back door Fenn peered out to see if it was safe. The horsemen had gone, and the two of them slunk out, Fenn closing the door behind them. They wove between the houses, trying to stay out of sight of the square. They almost made it to the road.
“There! After them!” someone shouted, and Fenn jerked into a run, not daring to look back. Isarana surged ahead of him, faster than any horse while he was too slow.
He stretched his stride as far as he could, putting all of his strength into speed, lungs burning, breath ragged, the wind roaring in his ears, but he heard the horses coming up fast behind him and knew he wasn’t fast enough.
Suddenly Isarana was back beside him.
Get on! She snarled, and he grabbed her mane, swinging up as if he’d done it a hundred times. Fenn leaned flat on her back, not daring to loosen his grip for even a moment. Isarana’s muscles rolled beneath him, sending them forward faster and faster, but it had cost her to drop so much speed, for the horses were right behind them. Suddenly she roared, springing into the air.
Before them the air burst into flames, a solid wall across the road, red and angry, starving waves of flame surrounding them and horses screamed—
They hit the ground and the flames vanished, not a trace of smoke in the air. Fenn looked back. The town, the men, and the road itself had vanished. Or maybe, thought Fenn, we have.
In it’s place was a vast plain, deserted and quiet but for the tall grass, rustling in the wind. Isa never slowed, but ran on, all through the day. As the sun finally sank, she slowed, then stopped, letting Fenn down. They walked side by side, Isa’s head drooping and her tale brushing the ground. Fenn didn’t say anything, but rested a hand on her shoulder.
As the night passed they kept their silence, from exhaustion and fatigue, but also because there was nothing to say. For all that they knew it would happen, leaving filled them both with sorrow, and worry for Shona pressed down on them both.
They gave all villages a wide berth from then on. It was too dangerous. Isarana hunted and Fenn built fires. Over time they began to heal themselves.
On a bright, sunny day, they walked along the road. Fenn was happier now, grief past him, and though Isarana kept to the shadows of the trees, she too, was happy.
They did not see the bard coming. It was a mere moment going over the hill, they had relaxed their guard, and then there he was, in full sight of them, and he stared at Isarana.
“Kimera!” he whispered in awe, his face full of fear. “Lands! A Kimera!”
Without signal the two of them turned to run.
“Wait! Wait for me! I’m too old to run that fast!” the bard shouted, holding his harp against his chest as he puffed after them. “I finally see a creature from legend and it bloody runs away! What is it with the mythics these days, eh?” he went on, muttering to himself. “A Kimera too, sooth!”
Fenn couldn’t help it. He turned around and stared at the man, gaping like a fool as the old fellow hobbled up. Isarana had heard the man as well and had stopped in the deeper shadows of the forest that lined the road, staring curiously.
“And who are you anyway?” said the bard, looking at Fenn. “No one travels with a mythic. It’s unheard of, unless you’re a hero of some type.” The man suddenly pulled a monocle out of his pocket and looked Fenn over suspiciously, as if expecting him to shed his disguise and transform into hero before his very eyes. He clicked his tongue. “Tsk! Just a boy then are you? That hardly makes for a grand tale. Who are you?” he asked again, leaning on a tree.
“Fenn,” said Fenn defensively. “And she’s my friend! Who are you?”
The bard looked surprised. “Why, I am the great Ibanno of the Harp, m’boy! Bard of the old legends, teller of tall tales, collector of all words magic in nature, singer of all songs! Surely you’ve heard of me before?”
“Uh—no, sorry. Did you say magic? Maybe you can help us then,” Fenn couldn’t help but add.
“Aye?”
“We’re running from someone.”
“Sooth! This is a grand tale for sure! You must tell me of yourself, if Milord Mythic does not protest?”
“Milady Mythic,” Fenn corrected. Isarana herself stepped regally from cover, coming to stand by Fenn’s side. Ibanno bowed so low Fenn thought his long nose would brush the ground. Isarana inclined her head graciously in return.
This man is good, she said. He knows the old ways. Yes, but can we trust him?
Even with his misgivings, Fenn told the tale, in part. He said nothing about Logh’s death or Shona’s fear, nothing about the sword or even of Isarana’s speech, and nothing about the flames they had fled into to escape the duke’s men. After he finished however, the bard adamantly insisted that he travel with them.
“I know how bein’ chased feels!” he cried. “Why, once, I sang a song about a count’s daughter. The count I was singin’ for thought I meant his daughter, and I had to up and run afore the man had me executed on the spot!” Ibanno shook his head. “Besides, this sounds like a good song to me, and I like to know what happened firsthand, ‘stead of through a hundred different mouths.”
The harper sang songs and told them stories of his travels and of his favorite places, and it didn’t take long for Fenn to decide he liked the bard after all. He was very easy to get along with. When the questions turned to him however, Fenn answered very little, telling the bard things he already knew.
“So, Duke Retoneard of Valles has been chasing you ever since?” asked Ibanno after having Fenn tell his tale again.
“Yes,” said Fenn, though Ibanno already knew this.
“Codger needs the old what-for, eh?”
Fenn grinned and Isarana made a sound something like a chuckle.
Days passed while they traveled together, and Fenn and Isa began to trust Ibanno of the Harp.



The day was cloudy and overcast. As the rain began to pour down, they were fortunate enough to stumble upon an old shelter some long forgotten traveler had built. It was built into the underside of a jutting face of rock that inclined outward, forming a natural shelter, but someone had shored up its sides with tall barricades of wood, making it something of a cabin. They hurried in, lighting themselves a fire and wringing the water from their clothes.
“Listen lad,” Ibanno said without warning. “I can’t sing your tale if you don’t tell it to me.”
Fenn frowned and Isarana growled, hackles rising for a moment. She licked her chops and settled at Fenn’s side. She had never let the bard touch her in all the time they traveled. The bard backed away with his hands in front of him.
“I only meant that you had not told me the whole of it, Milady Isarana,” Ibanno said quickly. “I did not mean to imply in any way that you lied to me.”
Fenn stared at his hand, opening and closing it as if trying to grasp something that disappeared at his touch.
I trust him, Isarana said. She spoke little, but those simple words gave Fenn some comfort and a little courage.
“I don’t care to be in a song. I’m no hero,” he said, still not quite sure. His searching eyes finally rested on Ibanno’s face. “All right. I’ll tell you what happened. But there is no glory in it, at least as far as I can see.”
Ibanno listened then with solemn eyes as Fenn told the tale, the whole tale. He described Logh the Blacksmith as a man of honor, but sometimes rash. “That’s what finally got him, not the iron smoke, like everyone said.”
He described Shona, dark of hair and eye, kind enough to let a stranger boy sleep in her father’s barn at risk to her own honor should someone discover him there. He described the flames that ate the road and took them to another place, and Isarana’s run from then to the setting of the sun and their lonely journey, right up until they met the bard himself.
“You know the rest,” Fenn said wearily. He found himself to be heartsick and grieving still, despite the passing of time.
Ibanno was silent for a long moment. “You’re wrong,” he said suddenly.
Fenn looked up in surprise. “Wrong? About what?”
“You are a hero, lad. You just don't know it yet.”
Before Fenn could find his voice the bard laid down and closed his eyes for sleep.


They didn’t leave the shelter for two days because of the rain. Isarana kept them fed and, Fenn suspected, kept them warm as well, for the fire was not large and the wind was strong, blowing through the cracks in the wood.
It was on the third day that they ventured forth into the weak sunshine. The air was unusually brittle for summer, but the chill did not linger long and soon the mud dried up, affording them easier passage. The two friends talked and laughed while Isarana, radiating warmth, walked between them, talking to Fenn when she wanted, but mostly keeping silent.
All of a sudden Isarana growled we are not alone. She bent low, hackles rising as she stalked forward, her eyes fixed.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” Ibanno asked, starting forward.
“Get down!” Fenn hissed, tackling the bard to the ground.
The bard tried to yelp as Fenn covered his mouth, but the boy didn’t dare let loose. He thought he heard the heavy breathing of many large creatures, and Isa had slipped into the trees, out of view. Fenn put a finger to his lips, signaling the bard to silence. Ibanno realized something was wrong and nodded. Fenn released him.
“What’s happening?” Ibanno asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Fenn replied in kind. “It sounds like horses.”
They worked their way to the ditch, careful not to splash in the muddy water at the bottom. It was cold, and Fenn gasped, covering his own mouth as the water rose to his knees. They didn’t hear Isa slip in behind them.
I cannot get close enough, she said. They are many, all horses and men.
“Isa says horseman, lots of them.”
Ibanno nodded. They waited in the ditch for the horsemen to pass, but when they came around the bend in the road, Fenn saw only three. He frowned. Isa had said there were many!
Where are the others? I can smell them.
After the three men on horseback passed, Ibanno, Isarana, and Fenn crawled from the ditch. Fenn was still uneasy and Isa’s golden eyes roved the trees.
“Is it safe?” Ibanno asked quietly.
Fenn never had the chance to answer. An arrow arced out of the woods and into Ibanno’s shoulder, knocking him down.
“Ibanno!” Fenn dove as another arrow pierced the air where he had been.
Ibanno cursed, plucking the arrow from the leather pouch in which he carried his harp. “Blast, that one’s new! Run Fenn!”
Fenn pulled Ibanno up and they ran as fast as they could in the opposite direction of the arrows, but Isarana drove them off into the trees. They’ve surrounded us, she growled. I can smell them everywhere.
“Save yourself lad. I’m old and I can’t keep up. Stick with me and you’ll get yourself killed.”
But Fenn wouldn’t do it. Not anymore. He had run when Logh had died, and with Shona, leaving her in danger. He wouldn’t do it now. He pulled the sword from its sheath and held it up. “No,” he said. “I won’t run again.”
Instead they waited. Sure enough, the Retoneard himself road in.
“Time for you to give me that sword, boy,” said the duke. Fenn didn’t move from his hiding place behind a tree.
“Think you’re man?” Retoneard jeered at the trees, where the travelers waited together. “Think you can fight us all off, boy?” he sneered. “You should have tried before. Then we wouldn’t have bothered that pretty girl you enchanted.”
No! Isarana and Fenn wailed together in their minds. Horses screamed and men shouted out in confusion, for in the power of this new grief, all heard the keening of the boy and Kimera in their heads. Ibanno sank to the ground, his hands over his ears and eyes screwed shut until their cry had ceased.
Fenn lifted the sword high over his head. Ibanno looked up. “Stop! What’re you doing?! Don’t kill yourself!”
But Fenn didn’t hear him. He roared in pain and charged from the trees, Isarana at his side. The duke advanced on his horse, not noticing the sun go completely dark above him.
To Fenn’s ears the world had muted. He couldn’t hear the horses scream or the shouts of the men as the tried desperately to calm their chargers. Pressure built inside of Fenn’s head, mounting on a colossal scale until he could barely breath, but he didn’t dare open his mouth and let it out. Hands locked around the sword, Fenn pointed it at Duke Retoneard. He saw the man laugh but still no sound reached his ears. He felt he was going to explode from grief and rage.
Dark clouds clashed overhead where the wind was still moving with an angry speed, and bright purple flashes lit them with a dangerous light, but down below, there was no wind at all.
The duke dismounted and came forward. Magic boy? He seemed to say. Fine. Magic. Retoneard’s hands lit with sickly colors and his eyes glinted something insane. I want that sword, he was saying. He drew his own blade, lighting it with the same sickly colors and charging forward. All of this happened in a moment, and Fenn was still running. The pressure inside him was suddenly too great to contain and it tore out of him through his open mouth.
“SHONA!” three voices roared as an orb of fire exploded from them, renting the earth in twain and throwing the duke back. Three voices gave vent to a terrible battlecry as the elements heaved and spun around them. Isarana roared, Fenn roared, and one voice so powerful it shook the world from its very foundations it seemed, roared as well. It was their voice, one and united on a level beyond speaking and hearing, and yet it was heard. The duke’s men and horses collapsed at its fury, falling to the ground as one.
Beside Fenn Isarana was as still as stone, her eyes glowing ember red with a light to pierce a thousand souls, and again her roar split the air, a dreaded beast from a nightmare that would not end. In front of them the duke, angry and more powerful than they had known, rose up from the ground. A single drop of sweat rolled off his nose, splashing with what seemed a thunderous clash onto the ground. All at once the wind was fast and violent, pushing trees over with its force.
Magic suddenly charged through every fiber of Fenn’s being, sending every hair on end as though charged with electricity, a current that ran through him and Isarana and through the earth. Reflected in the duke’s suddenly fearful eyes Fenn’s were the same red coal color as Isa’s. He was not the boy who had worked in Logh the Blacksmith’s forge and watched the Kimera spring from the flames. He was a man, as dangerous as the mythic beast beside him.
The duke fell into the ground, staring up what he faced. Fenn brought the sword down and stopped, point to the man’s face. Lightning flashed above them, and suddenly Isarana sprang, with a roar to match the thunder. Quicker than the lightning that followed, Fenn’s sword was away, and in its place was Isarana’s deadly maw. Again she roared, and the duke, before frozen with fear, now screamed.
Fenn and Isarana backed away from the fallen man, who still whimpered in terror and watched them as though against his will. Fenn’s sword point touched the ground, in his eyes that deadly glare, the eyes that pierced like the Kimera’s beside him. Still as statues they stood, as the wind came to a halt so sudden it was startling. Time seemed frozen for those few seconds of silence so loud it was painful.
With a battlecry to resound in the nightmares of all who heard it, Fenn swung the sword as though to attack, and the lightning crashed down to touch it. Fenn swung the sword, now lightning itself at the duke and Retoneard screamed as it twisted around him and flames ate his feet. It spun around him and then he was gone, rain pouring down in his place.
Fenn turned back into the trees, to find Ibanno, awake and trembling at the terribleness of the things he’d just seen. Fenn raised the sword high as others began to awaken, gripped Ibanno’s arm with one hand and the lightning forked down again, sweeping around them in a raging cyclone encompassed all three, and when it lifted—they, too, were gone.


Fenn buckled to his knees and Isarana collapsed beside him, the world fast going dark. He didn’t know how long he lay there, lost in the darkness that was deeper than sleep and dreams or nightmares. Eventually he wondered if perhaps it was death.
“Fenn! Wake up lad, come on!”
That was surely a strange thing to hear if you were dead he thought, so he searched for it.
“Fenn! Come back you fool. You can’t go off and die without telling me what happened when I was bloody unconscious or I’ll never forgive you!”
Fenn finally found his eyes and opened them slightly. It was all he could manage, but through the blurred lines of his lashes he could make out the form of Ibanno the Harp.
“You…ought not…to…talk when…I’m dead,” he murmured.
Ibanno laughed and sat him up. “You’re alive after all! Lands alive, I thought I’d lost you, rip! Now wake up so I can kill you proper!” the bard choked in relief.
Fenn would have chuckled if he’d had the strength, but he let his eyes slide closed again. He was too tired to move at all. Even breathing cost him great effort. Something warm pressed against his side.
Wake up, little one, said a familiar voice in his head. You have slept too close to the void for too long, and now you must come back now.
“Isa…?” he murmured. He tried hard to stir. He was cold to his bones and it was difficult to find his arms and legs. With tremendous effort he opened his eyes all the way. Ibanno helped him to sit up and Isarana slipped in behind him, warming him. She licked his cheek with her rough tongue.
I missed you, she said. We were afraid you would not return.
Fenn sighed as his eyes slipped closed again. I almost didn’t. Isarana’s warmth was working through him quickly, waking up his body and giving him some strength. He was beginning to feel contentedly sleepy, like he might be able to wake up soon.
“Fenn! You’re okay! Fenn!”
Suddenly someone was hugging him tightly, kissing his face all over.
“Easy, girl! He’s not all together yet and you’ll break ‘im if ye’re not careful!”
All of a sudden Fenn was fighting a battle with his eyelids, desperate to see the face that matched the voice he had just heard. They flew open with a force that made them click and he found himself looking into Shona’s black eyes. “Fenn!” she cried again, and she buried her face in his shoulder. “I thought you were dead oh you vanished in all that fire what else could I think but—oh!”
“Sh-Shona! You’re—”
All of a sudden Fenn had his arms around her. He fell back as the sudden strength deserted him. He felt that great grief that had come with the duke’s words again, but without anger or energy. “He said they’d—I thought you were dead!” he almost cried.
“No! No, they didn’t dare, not when everyone had seen you go like you did, and everyone knowing my father—they were outnumbered, you see? I’m fine, truly I am, but you’re not!”
Fenn smiled weakly. “I am now,” he said.
Shona smiled, but then a stubborn glint he’d come to know crept into her eye. “Oh no, you’re not! I’ve brought you stew and bread and water and you’d better eat every drop! I’ll not have you slippin’ off again when my back is turned,” she scolded.
Fenn did as he was told, surprised by how much strength he gained from Shona’s food. Still, he couldn’t get up, but that would come in time, so Ibanno said. He couldn’t wait until then for Fenn’s story however, and insisted that he be told every detail.
“But what happened to the duke?” Shona asked, after he finished. “Surely he didn’t just vanish?”
Fenn said nothing.
“You didn’t kill him!” she cried in disbelief.
“No,” Fenn said. Isarana looked at him.
Your turn. I don’t know how to describe this one.
Isa growled. All right. I will tell them, she said.
“He is chained forever at the top of the world, locked in the Stones of Isternae. It is a place of torture, and better left undescribed. I will tell you this: it is at the crossroads of the worlds.”
Ibanno choked and gasped, eyes wide. “Isternae of old? That Isternae?!”
Isa fixed him with a tawny golden eye. Ibanno gulped, wrapping his hands around his throat. He refused to explain, and Shona did not push him. Fenn knew about the Stones already. It had been both he and Isarana who had sent Retoneard there.
“What will you do now?” Shona asked, looking troubled.
“Well…” Fenn thought for a moment. “I thought once of Corinsh…” Shona’s eyes looked sad at that, but Fenn smiled. “But I was thinking about apprenticeship. Shona’s father is a good smith.”
Ibanno sniffed.
“What?” Fenn asked.
“Well…” began the bard. “I was rather under the impression that you would be my apprentice. Just think of it!” he continued, eyes shining. “We could travel the world, do as we please, no man to stop us!”
Fenn and Shona both laughed, taking each other’s hands. “I had something a little more stable in mind,” Fenn muttered, smiling at Shona. Ibanno looked back and forth and frowned a little childishly.
“Ah sooth!” he cried. “If I’m not too old for this gallivanting anyway,” he said. “I suppose I could find a little shack—you don’t have a bard here, do you?” he shot at Shona a little anxiously.
“Of course not!” she said, with a grin.
“Ah good. I don’t get along well with playmates,” he mumbled. Fenn smiled for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with a frown.
“Isa? What about you?”
The Kimera nodded, shooting out a jet of smoke. “I think I shall travel. The world is big, and I’ve seen but a part of it.”
“Will we ever see you again?” Shona asked.
Isarana gave a chuckling growl. “Keep your fires lit, youngling. I’ll always visit.”
Fenn smiled. He knew she would, too. He stared into the fire, thinking. First, he must regain his strength. Then he would speak to the blacksmith. He could only hope for that future, but then, tomorrow was always uncertain. No future was set in stone, but as he sat there, with his three friends, that was just fine.  

[Santinka]

About the Author

Santinka is seventeen years old and has been writing ever since she learned how at the age of six or seven. Her hobbies include writing, art of all forms, and hanging out with her friends. Her favorite soda on any given day is Sasparilla or Sioux City rootbeer. She loves animals and has a dog, three fish and three rabbits(at the moment), and has written two and many half books, although none are yet published, but she plans to write as her career. Her favorite authors include Robin McKinley, Tamora Pierce, Stephanie Meyer and Brian Jacques.