Chapter Thirteen The Most Loyal Friend #4
But then he remembered what Leah and Tomaz had said about anger being his best, most loyal friend.
So he reached out to it and found it waiting, like a well-trained dog.
He embraced it and turned it against his Mother and his siblings.
His head began to fill with all of the terrible things that they had done to him, all of the injuries he had suffered at their hands, both before and after his kidnapping.
And in his anger, the guilt and shame of not doing what they wanted or thought was right burned up and disappeared. And he found that he was tired, and what he wanted to do was to go to sleep. And so he did.
And the next day, when he woke, he did not reach out through the Talisman to feel the forest around him.
He made a silent promise to himself that he would not use the Raven again, though a part of him, a very small part in the back of his mind, told him that Leah had spoken sense about this as well.
But for now, in his anger, he decided to forego using it altogether.
Days passed, and it was as though a shadow that had lain on his heart had been lifted, and he was just a young man traveling through a forest. He began to speak more freely with the Exiles, sharing memories with them.
At first, he was reluctant, because he thought that they might ask for important information about the Empire.
And in the end, he knew they did want that.
He knew that they would take any information he gave them and store it in the back of their minds for later use.
And he knew too that if he finished the journey with them, that he would find their leaders and be made to talk.
But for now, here in this seemingly endless forest, he let those thoughts and worries go, and found he truly did enjoy the company of these two Exiles…
these two people. His brightening mood, coupled with Leah’s newfound smiles, made for an infectious aura of good humor.
Leah continued to needle him, teasing him about this or that, but for the first time she was doing it in good fun, and after a while he was able to score a point or two back against her, to uproarious applause from the always-ready-for-a-good-bad-joke Tomaz.
On one of these days, when they stopped in the early afternoon while the sun still shone through the trees and birds filled the air with music, the Prince pulled out his deerskin. He’d thought long and hard about it and had decided to make something simple.
He stretched the hide out, smelling the deep, leathery scent that reminded him intensely of Tomaz, and drew his dagger.
First, he cut an oblong hole in the center.
He pulled out Tomaz’s needle and thread and was about to sew the cut-out piece to the top of the hole in order to make a hood, when the big man came over and stopped him.
He looked at what the Prince was doing, nodded once, and said, “do it this way.”
He demonstrated what he thought the Prince should do, first making a few stitches along the inside of the cut-out flap, and then using extra pieces of the deerskin to make the whole thing more flexible. Finally, the Prince got the idea, took the needle and thread, and sewed himself a hood.
He picked up the garment, shook it out, and threw it over his head.
It fell, long in both the front and back, almost to his knees, and about halfway down his ribs on either side.
The hood he’d attached was easy to pull up or down, and, most importantly, the thing was warm and wouldn’t fall off.
It was simple, and inglorious, and the Prince loved it.
“A drape-over?”
He turned and saw Leah watching him. The Prince felt Tomaz’s hand encompass his shoulder.
“Certainly is,” said the big man.
The girl eyed it critically, and then nodded. The Prince felt a soaring feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Looks good, actually. I think the proportions would have been wrong for anything else. How’s it feel?”
“Warm,” the Prince responded simply.
Tomaz chuckled. “Well, that’s the most important thing,” he said, and then he turned away to start prepping the evening fire.
Their journey continued, and as it did there were a few nights when, restless, the Prince and Tomaz would spar. The first night, Tomaz had thought he was joking.
“Princeling, I’m sorry, but I could break you in two with a hard sneeze.”
“Then do it,” the Prince said, adding a biting, taunting twist to the words that he had learned from Leah. She laughed as he said it.
“Fine,” the ex-Blade Master said as he rose to his feet. “But no blades. We can use staves if you want to find some likely-looking branches.”
After some searching, they found some. And, as predicted, the Prince was soundly beaten several times in a row.
“Again!” he said, after being knocked down by the big man’s staff.
He could already feel bruises forming on his arms and legs where the wood had struck him, but he was ready for more.
It felt good to be active. The cuts on his wrists, and the wounds he’d received from the Death Watchmen, had all healed well, and he felt whole.
He had been too long away from the practice yard, anyway, and knew that he was in desperate need of exercise.
Obligingly, the big man readied himself again.
Most every night from then on found them at it again, and though the Prince struck the big man a number of times, he never landed a serious blow.
Tomaz, though big as a small hill, was faster than the Prince would have predicted, and never tired.
It seemed as though he could move forever.
He reminded the Prince of his brother Ramael and his sister Dysuna.
Ramael, the Prince of Oxen, had a similar build and, bearing the Ox Talisman, could perform feats of strength that were impossible for a common man.
Dysuna, the Prince of Wolves, never tired—in fact, she never rode a horse because she could run the length of the Empire without stopping for food or rest.
Leah, on the other hand, refused to spar.
“Why not?” the Prince asked, trying to remember the way she had taunted him about something else a few days earlier. “Are you poultry?”
“Chicken,” she corrected him. “Am I chicken.”
“Yeah,” he said, “well, are you?”
“Sure, princeling,” she said, too sweetly. “You tell yourself whatever you need to to keep your manhood intact.”
And throughout it all, the Prince held onto his anger. And slowly, as the girl had predicted, it began to eat away and dissolve his doubts and guilt and shame. And as time continued to pass, hope grew in him that he might be able to free himself from the Empire entirely.
They made camp a day outside Lake Chartain, and he fell asleep fully at peace for the first time that he could remember.
When he woke, it was to find a Defender of the Realm holding a sword to his throat, silhouetted against the rising sun.