33. Harper
33
They were still days away from the plagued village. Harper spent the long days of endless trudging mostly in silence, dawdling at the back of the group, even farther behind than Ragnar. Not even Aedon could chivvy away her glum spirit after almost accidentally poisoning Erika. “She’s really not so bad once you get to know her, you know,” he said as they pushed their way through grass so long, it was as if they swam in it.
She made a non-commital grunt in response.
“Honestly, Harper. Chin up.”
“I hardly think Erika’s opinion of me will change. The sooner I return to Caledan, the better.” Frustration rose, bitter on her tongue.
Aedon stopped beside her, and she stopped with him. “Do you truly think that?” He looked almost hurt at the suggestion.
She scowled.
He shook his head. “Then you are a fool. Harper, this is your birthright. You were meant to be born here and live here. It’s going to take a little catching up, but you ought not be defeated at the first hardship. Are you really so easily persuaded away from your path?”
Harper bristled. “No. I just?—”
“Exactly. You just nothing. Life isn’t meant to be easy. You’re doing pretty well for only being here for mere days. I mean, you’re not dead yet. That’s actually a pretty huge accomplishment.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Well, yes.” For once, Aedon didn’t puff up with self-importance. “But still. You’re alive. Besides, if you left…” He took a deep breath, “I’d miss you.” His words halted her steps and she glared up at him, her face blooming with heat and her tongue stumbling to form any coherent word.
He gave her a wink and, whistling a jaunty tune, jogged ahead to catch Ragnar. It took a long moment for her to gather herself and follow him. Had he just said that? What did that mean? And… what did she want it to mean? It left her skin crawling, so unfamiliar was she with attention like that—but there was something pleasurable there too, a low heat in her stomach that had nothing to do with the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.
Harper swallowed down the unfamiliar feelings. Aedon was right. She had never been one to give up easily. Why start now? Sure, she’d nearly poisoned a woman who seemed to hate her for no reason, but it had been an accident. Everyone made those. There’d been no harm done—and that was what mattered. She forced herself into motion. This was all becoming too uncomfortable.
When they stopped for a midday meal in the middle of the wide valley, she plucked up the courage to approach Erika. “Please can you teach me about poisonous berries?” she asked in her most powerful voice, though it quaked a little with nerves.
Erika regarded her with a flat stare. “Ask Ragnar.”
Harper had no reply, only the burn on her cheeks of embarrassment, and turned away to hide her scowl.
Ragnar threw a dark look at Erika. “Sure, Harper. I’ll teach you, though Erika is better at it than I. Perhaps she can give some tips when she sees fit to get off her high bloody horse.” He glared pointedly at her.
She ignored him.
Ragnar glowered. “Fetch some water, please, Harper.”
They had followed running water fairly closely all day, and the stream remained nearby. Harper disappeared into the long grass, her eyes on the hazy hills in the distance. She almost fell into the stream, which was far closer than she had thought, and bent to fill the waterskin and pot.
“You don’t have to be like that with her,” she heard Ragnar say angrily.
Harper froze. He’s talking to Erika?
“Like what?” Erika replied, her quiet voice muffled by the swaying, rustling grass. Harper strained her ears.
“You don’t have to be such a damn harpy to her!”
“Don’t speak to me like that.”
“Like you speak to her? I won’t have it, woman.”
“Don’t call me woman!” Erika’s voice rose, shrill against the breeze.
“Calm it, you two,” Brand said, his gravelly tones breaking the friction between them.
“You know, you both know, how damn hard it is to be an outcast,” Ragnar pressed. “Erika, I thought you would relate to it more than anyone. How did you feel when you were shunned, cast away from everyone and everything you knew and loved? I bet that was like falling into another world, wasn’t it?”
“You don’t know anything about that,” Erika spat at the dwarf, “and you have no right to speak of it!”
“I think I do, because I also know what it’s like. It feels like your entire world has fallen away. Like everything and everyone has died. You’re alone, and everything is a clean slate—it is a blessing and a curse.” Ragnar’s voice sounded desolate. Harper’s heart ached for him.
“Somehow, you have to pick yourself up and carry on. When did you become so bitter and twisted, Erika? Harper hasn’t done anything to you. It isn’t her fault. Quit acting like she’s the chip on your shoulder. You think she’ll achieve anything if you’re always putting her down? Telling her she’s stupid? That she can’t do it? We’re a team… nay, a family, and right now, I couldn’t be more ashamed of you, sister. You’re acting exactly as you were portrayed. This is the behaviour you were cast out for. This is the person people feared you would become. Do not become her.”
She did not answer. When Harper heard the rustling of grass coming closer, she bent low, hidden amongst the tangle of foliage, as Erika passed close by, leapt over the channel of water, and strode out of sight. Her heart hammered as Ragnar’s words echoed in her mind.
What is he talking about? Harper clutched the pot between her hands and returned to camp, the tense atmosphere there dissipating with her arrival.
“Ah, thank you, Harper. Much appreciated. You’ve saved my old hands and knees.”
She set the pot down and smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “Oh,” she said, struck by a sudden thought. “I might be able to help with your hands.” She had noticed how he sometimes struggled to pick things up and fumbled when he held things.
“May I?” She gestured toward his hands.
With a quizzical glance, he offered one to her. Harper settled on the ground at his side and took his gnarled hand between her own, massaging it slowly from palm to fingertip. Ragnar groaned in bliss. She worked on one hand in silence before transferring her attention to the other. He sat back with a sigh when she was done, flexing his fingers and examining his hands.
“That was wonderful, Harper. Thank you. That’s really eased my aches. Where did that come from?”
“My old—” She wasn’t sure what Betta had been—part mother, mentor, caregiver, friend. “—friend suffered terribly with arthritis, and this used to help. She couldn’t pick things up, her fingers were so overworked. In the winter, it got that bad she could barely use her hands.”
“Well, I thank you.” Ragnar’s smile was genuine and warm, reaching right to the corners of his crinkled eyes. “That feels much better.”
“Are you offering those to everyone?” A swoop rushed through her belly as Aedon seemed to appear from nowhere beside her, his voice low and suggestive, and the heat of his body close enough to radiate to her. The skin on the back of her neck prickled at his proximity. “Can’t be giving the old dwarf an advantage over us at chatura, you know.”
Crashing through the bracken spared her from answering. Erika returned. There was a long moment of awkward silence. Harper held her breath.
“Here,” Erika said abruptly, thrusting a handful of berries toward her. “Red ones are occa berries. Edible. Nutritious. Green ones are poisonous. Don’t eat them.”
“Thank you.” Harper caught the berries before they tumbled to the ground, and Erika strode away again. Harper examined the berries for a long moment, noting their shapes, sizes, tones, and distinguishing features. They were nothing like what she foraged for in Caledan.
She offered the red ones to Ragnar for his tea, but he refused. “Have them as a snack. I think we’ll drink up and move on. Slim pickings here if Aedon the Great Hunter hasn’t found anything.”
Aedon held up his hands apologetically.
“Jerky it is.” Ragnar pulled some strips of dried meat from his pack and passed them around.
Harper ate it without complaint. It was rich, tangy, and extra salty, but too small to fill the gnawing hunger in her stomach. It was as if Aedon could read her thoughts, for he offered her some of his own.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugged. “You need it more than I. Did they starve you in Caledan?”
Harper pulled her cloak around her self-consciously. “No. I mean… It’s just a hard place to live. The king takes his tithe, then the lord takes more. There’s not much to start with, and even less when they’re through.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.” Aedon shared a glance with Brand.
“That doesn’t happen here?”
“The king is greedy, but not so much for peasant’s food. He prizes dragons and magic.”
“You said all dragons belong to the king. How is that?” Harper could not imagine the dragons from her stories being subjugated.
“By law, all dragons in Pelenor belong to the king, who can do with them as he pleases. Of course, all of them become members of the Winged Kingsguard, his personal winged army. He has no other use for dragons. Besides, I hear they’re a bit more malleable if you can train them out of the egg. Otherwise, they’re rather hard to tame.”
“That doesn’t seem fair, either.”
“It’s the law,” Aedon said, as if it were that simple.
“You’re quite right,” Brand said, catching Harper’s gaze and scowling. “Just because it’s law doesn’t make it right.”
“Exactly my thought,” Harper murmured.
“You’ll find a lot of that here in Pelenor,” Brand said, “though I’m guessing Caledan is no utopia, either.”
“No,” said Harper sadly. “There are plenty of people with power who abuse it, plenty of outdated or unfair laws, and just those who think they can take what they will.” She meant the lecherous men in the inn, but as her gaze strayed to her companions, she realised they were quite possibly the same, though in a different manner. Something uncomfortable settled in her stomach at the thought.
“Such is the way of the world,” Aedon said. “This is why we’re here. To bring a little bit more fairness back.” When he saw the flicker of skepticism on Harper’s face, he nodded. “You’ll see.”
“How big do dragons grow?” she asked quickly, keen to cover her tracks. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Harper. Criminal or not.
“Huge. The size of a house or more,” Aedon said. “It is said that King Menoth’s own dragon, some four hundred and thirty years ago, was as huge as a hill.”
Brand snorted. “Poppycock.”
“Were you there?” Aedon challenged him, puffing with indignance.
“No, and neither were you, young elf.”
“Don’t ‘young elf’ me. I’m older than you!”
“In years, but not maturity,” Brand sniped, grinning as Aedon’s cheeks reddened with annoyance.
“How old are you?” Harper asked curiously. She glanced between them. Brand looked older than Aedon by far. Maybe in his late thirties to Aedon’s mid twenties. How long is a year here? she wondered. Maybe they measure it differently.
“Old enough for everything to ache when I wake up,” Brand grumbled.
“Shouldn’t spend so much time banging weapons about then,” sniped Aedon. “I, my dear Harper, am one hundred and eighty-four summers young.”
Harper gaped. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yes, quite. We live a lot longer than humans, you know.”
We? “Wait. You mean… I will live that long, too?”
“Oh, undoubtedly.”
“How long?” Harper whispered.
Aedon shrugged. “It depends on how strong your elven blood is. Perhaps we will find out one day, but it’s not something to worry about now.”
“Right.” Reeling, Harper sat back. Just when I think I can handle all this, another surprise comes my way.
“We need to move on.” Ragnar stood, brushing the dust from his trousers. “We still have a long way to go.”
“Must I?” Aedon sighed. “What I’d give for a break.”
“Less of the cheek,” Ragnar said, bustling past him.
“I don’t know what in Pelenor you’re talking about,” Aedon protested, the picture of unconvincing innocence.
“You’re the biggest reprobate of us all,” Brand called back, already out in front.
“Charming.”
Harper jogged to Erika, who strode down the trail at her usual breakneck pace. “Thank you for the berries.”
She shrugged. “No problem.”
“Hey, Erika!” Aedon caught up. “Wait up. Ragnar’s washing pots in the stream before we head out. You know, now Harper’s here, she needs to know how to defend herself. Why don’t you show her how to use a weapon whilst we wait?”
Erika gave him a stare that could have surely reduced him to cinders, as if she simply could not imagine anything worse.
“Please?” Aedon gave her his best smile.
Erika scoffed at him. “Fine.” She pulled out one of the twin blades strapped to her back and thrust it at Harper. “Here.”
Harper reached out, nearly dropping it as Erika let go too soon. She caught it clumsily, almost slicing herself in the process.
“Lesson one. Pommel. Grip. Guard. Blade. Point.” Erika pointed to each part of the blade in turn.
Harper examined it. The handle was made of an ivory-coloured material she did not recognise. Not wood, metal, leather… Bone? she wondered. It was smooth from use, a grain ran vertically up the length of the grip, and strange characters were carved into the side. The pommel was a slightly widened knob on the end of the grip.
The crossguard was simple, made of steel-like metal, leading into a slim blade longer than a dagger but shorter than a sword. Rippling patterns covered the blade, almost like a frozen metal river, and the cutting edge was so sharp, Harper felt she would cut herself by looking at it. Already, the weight of it tugged her arm inexorably toward the ground. How did Erika wield two of them? Harper eyed Brand’s huge, two-handed longsword strapped to his back. She probably couldn’t even lift that.
“Lesson two,” Erika continued. “Take care of your weapons better than you take care of yourself. That way, they’ll last longer and won’t fail you. A badly maintained blade is as good as nothing.”
Harper nodded. “How do I take?—”
“Lesson three.” Erika seemed determined to get through this as quickly as possible. “Don’t get hit. Block your attacker whenever possible. Cut off their attack. Better yet, avoid it altogether. Footwork and balance are key to that. Lesson four. Hit your target.”
Harper stifled a grim chuckle. “I should have seen that one coming.”
Aedon grinned at her, but Erika’s visage did not waver from grim indifference. “If you can’t hit them, you won’t be incapacitating them any time soon.”
Harper squirmed under Erika’s glare. Could she attack someone? The thought was deeply uncomfortable. “But?—”
“But nothing. The middle of a battle is not the time to be shy, not the time for cowardice, not the time to develop concern for your enemy. If they’re trying to kill you, they should be as good as dead in your book. I can already tell that’s going to be a problem.” She sent a shrivelling glare Harper’s way. Harper had no reply to that. Indignation burned her throat closed.
“Lesson five. Always be ready. Threats can be all around you. You have to constantly know what is in front, behind, and to your sides. You have to be able to assess everyone, right down to the sweet old granny who doesn’t look like she can lift a sword. Believe me, when you’re not expecting it, she can stab you in the back just as good as anyone else. And?—”
“All right. I think that’s enough for now. You’ll scare her off!” Aedon protested. He turned to Harper. “Not all grannies are evil cretins, I promise you. I wasn’t anticipating quite that deluge, but, uh… Erika’s tips are good. Think you can remember them?”
“Hmm.” Not a chance. Erika was a terrible teacher—she clearly didn’t want to share a scrap of true knowledge. Anger seethed in Harper that the woman thought so little of her. She’d done nothing to deserve that.
“Perfect. Perhaps you can show her some of that fancy footwork when we break for camp tonight, Erika.”
“Hmph.” Erika looked less than impressed as she held out her hand, raising an eyebrow at Harper. It took a long moment for Harper to realise she wanted her sword back. She passed it hurriedly to Erika, who spun the blade in her hand expertly and sheathed it on her back once more. Without another word, she jogged away and disappeared ahead to scout as Ragnar caught them up.
“That went well,” Harper said bitterly.
“Oh, don’t mind her.” Aedon waved a hand. “That was actually pretty good. Most words I’ve heard her say all month. She must like you.”
Harper snorted.
“All right. Perhaps that is pushing it, but believe me, that’s friendly for Erika.”
“I feel like she hates me, but I don’t know why.”
“Oh pish. She doesn’t hate you. You can see she’s the type who takes a while to warm to people. It’s nothing personal. When she starts to teach you some proper techniques, I’m sure you’ll be the best of buddies in no time.”
Harper laughed. “I won’t hold my breath for that.”
“Probably wise. You can help me with the fire again tonight. See if we can stoke some of your magic whilst we’re at it, hmm?”
The suggestiveness of his tone curled her toes. She tried to push away thoughts of his skin on hers and only focus on the excitement of the magic rushing through her. If she tried really hard, there was a tingle deep down in the pit of her stomach. It was small and weak, but still there. Maybe, just maybe, like Aedon had said, it was starting to well up. Or maybe it was just nerves. Any good feeling she had left ebbed.
“Sounds good,” she said, her voice painstakingly level.
“Good. You ought to learn how I keep our camp safe every night, too.”
“I thought that was Brand and Erika. You know, with all the swords and scariness.”
“Oh, that’s all for show. Magic is far better at protecting us.” He extended a hand to help her over a fallen tree blocking the trail. Those green eyes of his were mesmerising, and she risked losing herself down a dangerously irrational road indulging any of these fickle feelings he elicited. Harper swallowed, and reached for his hand.