Hand of the Hunter: Chosen of Nendawen, Book II (28 page)

Hweilan knew where he was going with this. Kunin Gatar and Menduarthis had come to much the same conclusion. That one of her ancestors was … other.

“You know something,” she said. “You know what it is—that, whatever it is, inside me. You know. ‘I can help you get away,’ you said. You wouldn’t have said that if you hadn’t figured it out. How did you figure it out?”

Gleed smiled. It was the look he gave when he was entering the role of teacher, very pleased with himself at knowing things others didn’t.

“You would do well to remember that I did not always live in this crumbling old tower, that my lore is deep, and that I know others beyond this place. Your mother left her people. She seldom spoke of them to you, did she?”

“A little. She told me stories, taught me some of the traditions.”

“But nothing intimate. In fact, I’d wager she never once spoke of her own parents, and that if you ever asked, she seemed less than pleased at the question. Would I win that wager?”

“Yes,” Hweilan said, and her memories of those times suddenly seemed very fresh. Merah’s life in Highwatch had not been unhappy, but neither had it been easy. Her father’s mother had never been able to see beyond the “half-elf barbarian” with whom her favorite son fell in love. Hweilan had always assumed that her mother had left her people and their traditions to bring some peace in the household and to try to fit in to her new life. It had never once occurred to her that Merah might have had reason to leave the Vil Adanrath.

“Your mother’s mother,” said Gleed, “was Thewari of the Vil Adanrath. That much I have learned. But your mother’s father … I have searched and asked everyone I know in all the former lands of the Vil Adanrath—I even went to their new home and asked enough questions to make me leave with their arrows at my back—and I cannot find the name of Merah’s father. In all the world, I can think of only two people who might be able to tell you.”

Hweilan tried to think of who that might be. She couldn’t think of a single person, so she finally said, “Who?”

“Your mother.”

That brought a flare of pain and anger to Hweilan, and she almost shouted that her mother was dead. But then she realized that for one such as Gleed, death might not be an insurmountable barrier. So she said, “And the other?”

“Lendri.”

She let that sink in, but still it made no sense. “You think Lendri’s ghost has to tell me of my grandfather, and that might … what? Help me escape from Nendawen when the time comes?”

Gleed pursed his lips and took his time before answering. “Why Lendri has come to you … I don’t think he is being driven to tell you of your grandfather, no. I think this Lendri
has a different fate. But I do think that finding the name of your mother’s father—and Lendri might well know—could be a key to a great box of secrets. I cannot give you those answers. But I will counsel you this: We all serve someone, Hweilan. You, me, Ashiin … we serve Nendawen. And Nendawen serves a greater one above him. His master may well serve someone above him. In this world and all the others, there is no such thing as complete freedom. We all serve. If the time comes when our Master’s leash no longer fits you … well, you would do well to find one that does.”

“And you think my grandfather—”

“I think this old goblin has given you a place to look,” he said, his voice harsh and solemn. “One you should keep to yourself. And right now, that’s all I think.” But then his voice softened. “Sometimes the teacher can hold your hand, and sometimes the teacher can only point the way. In this, I am only pointing.”

They sat in silence awhile, Gleed staring at Hweilan and Hweilan staring but seeing more inside than out.

When Gleed finally spoke again, Hweilan knew by the tone in his voice that the conversation was over. He laid a most reverent hand on the bow in her lap, and said, “You are ready to use this?”

Hweilan held his gaze. “More than ready. But Ashiin said it first needs sacrifice.”

Gleed closed both eyes slowly and nodded. “Yes. And that comes tomorrow.”

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

The Feywild

T
HAT NIGHT
, H
WEILAN WAS AFRAID TO CLOSE HER
eyes. Not because of the thought of sacrifice and awakening the bow—there was trepidation there, yes, but that was tinged with more eagerness than anything. The simple fact was that, given her past experiences with Gleed, she was half afraid that she’d close her eyes and wake up naked in the woods. She promised herself that no matter what Gleed offered her to drink, she would refuse it.

But as it turned out, Gleed would allow her nothing.

“You will eat or drink nothing till dawn. Let your strength be my teachings, the visions of Kesh Naan, and the wiles of Ashiin.”

She lay awake that night as long as she could, eyes half-closed, watching Gleed as he fed sweet grass and oak leaves into the fire and waved the smoke over his face, muttering as he meditated. But no matter how hard she tried to stay awake, her body was exhausted. The strength from Ashiin’s potion had long since worn away, and Hweilan seemed weaker than ever. Long before midnight, she slept.

Gleed woke her, prodding her with his staff. The chamber lay in darkness, lit only by a somber glow of embers from the hearth.

“Up,” said Gleed. “It’s time. Bring your weapons.”

He led her outside. Stars still sparkled overhead, but a thick mist lay over the lake, hiding the far shore and woods. Dawn was only a glow in the east. But something was alight on the far shore, a flicker of red through the fog.

They crossed the bridge, and Hweilan saw that the glow was a large fire burning in a ring of black stones.

“It begins at dawn. One drink from the stream,” said Gleed, “then we prepare. And bring some water back with you.” He handed her an empty skin.

“What begins?” said Hweilan.

“Your final test. The hunt.”

“What am I hunting?”

Gleed looked away, staring into the fire. “You are being hunted, girl. By the Master. After, you will begin your hunt of Jagun Ghen. If you survive.”

Those words brought others back to her mind. Words from a dream long ago that she realized had been more than just a dream—
You do not need understanding. You need to choose. Understanding will come later … if you survive
.

That time had come. Fear welled out of Hweilan’s gut, making each breath an effort. She remembered her last encounter with Nendawen, how he had completely overwhelmed her. But, Hweilan reminded herself, she was stronger now—not only in body, but in heart and mind as well. She was ready. She didn’t know if she could survive Nendawen, but she knew she was ready to begin her own hunt. If she died, so be it. Today, the uncertainty would be over, one way or another.

Hweilan walked to the stream, splashed water on her face to banish the last vestiges of sleep, filled the skin, and then took a long drink. As she came up out of the water, she saw a reflection rippling on its surface—a dark shape, its head framed by antlers.

She gasped and sat up. But it was only the branches of a nearby tree. Still, she could not shake the feeling of being watched. She glanced back at Gleed, but he had his back to
her and was busily preparing something near the fire.

It took all her courage to turn her back on the stream and keep her pace at a leisurely walk as she went back to the fire.

“Sit,” said Gleed.

She sat beside him.

“First, you must prepare the bow,” Gleed said. “Then, you must prepare yourself.”

As the eastern sky slowly grew brighter and the stars dimmed overhead, Gleed instructed her on the proper symbols to cut into the bow. She used the same enchanted spike that Gleed had used to give Hweilan her first
uwethla
. Praying and speaking the sacred words, she heated it in the fire till the tip glowed red, then carved the
shesteh
into the bow, Gleed telling her exactly which ones to use.

The last one surprised her. It was
ashiin
, the symbol for “fox.”

She started to ask about it, but then the answer occurred to her. Ashiin had been her teacher in the hunt, had instructed her to stalk and kill as the fox. What symbol could be more fitting?

Gleed took a white leather bag out of the folds of his vest, untied it, and upended it over the fire. A heavy silver powder spilled out. No more than a handful, but it utterly doused the fire and filled the air with an earthy, bitter scent.

“Water,” he said, and Hweilan handed him the skin. He splashed a generous amount on the coals and ashes, then stirred them with a stick, muttering an incantation as he did so.

He picked a cooled coal out of the fire pit and said, “Lean close.”

She did. He used the coal to paint sacred symbols on her forehead, both cheeks, then down her nose and chin. While he did so, she twisted her hair into a tight braid. Holding the finished rope of hair in her hands, she noticed for the first time how long it was. Her last days in Highwatch, her hair had been just past her shoulders. Now, the tip of her
braid touched her waist. Had she really been here that long? She looked down at her arm. She’d never had the palms of a proper court lady, but now they looked exactly like what they were—the hands of someone who spent most days in the wild, using tools of the hunt and killing. Her arms were a mass of scratches and scars, and the muscles under her skin were hard and tight. If there was anything left of the soft castle girl who had come to the Feywild, it was buried deep inside her.

“In life we walk to death,” Gleed said, “but death is no end for those who walk in faith and courage. Look now through the ghost of fire—and do not fear death if it finds you today.”

He lowered his hands, and the familiar sigh he gave told her that the formalities were over. It was almost time.

“You may take any weapon you wish,” he said, “except for the bow. I will guard it. If you survive this day, it will be returned to you, strong once again.”

Gleed reached around the fire, then handed her a large wooden bowl, filled with
samil
, the dark green paste that would mask her scent.

“Don’t be shy with that,” he said.

She took it, dipped three fingers in, then stopped. “No.”

“No?”

Hweilan looked at the sky. The last of the stars were fading and the last of the bats had gone home. “How long do I have?”

“Not long,” said Gleed.

“The Master will have his wolves?”

“Undoubtedly. You need the
samil.
”

“I have a better idea,” said Hweilan, and she ran for the tower.

When she emerged, the last of the stars were gone, and the sky in the east was truly a pale blue. As she stepped off the bridge and onto the lakeshore, a series of howls wafted out of the east.

Gleed’s eyes went wide. “He’s coming, girl. Coming now. What are you doing?”

Hweilan was trembling too much to be careful, so she threw the large satchel on the ground and tore open the flap. When Gleed saw what she was after, he let out a shriek.

“Are you mad? They’ll smell that a mile off!”

“I’m counting on it,” said Hweilan as she pulled the stopper out of the green glass bottle. It was filled with a viscous liquid.
Maaguath
. Hweilan had made it herself. Spread on a blade, it would burn an open wound like fire and prevent the blood from clotting. But it smelled like something that had died in the bottom of a wine cask.

She spread a thin line of it on the back of each of her boots, stoppered the bottle, put it in her pocket, then gathered the other things she needed. She stood, made sure both her knives were secure in their sheaths, then managed to give Gleed what she hoped was a brave smile.

“See you soon,” she said, then ran into the woods.

More howls broke the morning silence. They were much closer.