Talon: The Windwalker Archive (Book 1) (19 page)

“
You mean it, Tal?”

“
I mean it, Jah.”

The village became busier by the day as the Skomm prepared for the week of games and celebration. The traders brought barrels of ale, crates of spirits, and sacks of wheat, barley, sugar and spices. Livestock were also brought for the grand feast—namely pigs, chickens and cattle. Many of the white buffalo would be slaughtered for the feast as well.

Talon had never taken part in any of the
Freista celebrations when he was young. They were violent and bloody games of endurance and strength, played by the strongest young men of the tribes. Like all other things, the children of the Vald partook in the games, and they were just as violent as the adults. He had been invited to compete many times by the other children, but they only wanted to beat up on him and make fun, and how Talon had dreamed of being able to show them all.

N
early every chief had won his tribe’s Freista at one time, and Talon knew Fylkin would likely win for Timber Wolf Tribe. Like his father, he was a beast of a man. Talon thought back on the fight between Brekken and Fylkin often. The chiefson had defeated the Vaka with ease. He had the advantage of size, but his size had not come into play. He beat Vaka Brekken with finesse, which proved all the more unsettling. Talon hoped the ring was magic; he could use every advantage.

Over the next week
, they gathered wetweed by day and followed the route to the mines by night. They set the ropes where they would need them and they dug the holes. He took a few days, but Jahsin got ahold of the fireworks Talon had mentioned, though they were nothing like he had expected.

“
What the hells is this?” Talon had asked.

“
It’s an elven firework! I traded a shyte ton of wetweed for it,” he said, wide-eyed.

The
firework was shaped like a snake with wings of paper, a dragon of sorts. He realized the whole thing was paper and he couldn’t imagine how it would be of any use. Still, Jahsin insisted he take it with him on the night of Freista.

The first day of t
he celebrations marked the beginning of the first game. Each tribe chose a Skomm who had come from their village. The seven Skomm were brought to the center of the village in front of Vaka Kastali, and seven metal cages were hung from poles. The Skomm were put in the cages naked, to sit for the entire week with no food or water. The bottoms of the cages held pointed ridges, making any position extremely uncomfortable. During the closing ceremonies, the Skomm were let loose and forced to race. The winner of the race was the only one who lived.

The Vaka trials were also held during the week of
Freista. Many of the younger Skomm or Throwbacks like Brekken competed, often to the death. Talon suspected that promoting the strongest of the Skomm was just one of the ways the Vald controlled them. The rewards for the Vaka were many. They controlled nearly all trade, and the Vald turned a blind eye to the goings on at Vaka Kastali. They got women and wine and all the best of the food. The price was the disdain of the other Skomm, but some, like Brekken, didn’t care. They didn’t feel they belonged with the Throwbacks, anyway.

Jahsin determined
that Talon needed a blade, but he was loath to agree. He had never even swung a sword and had only rarely used a knife, and never in any sort of combat training. Jahsin was adamant, however, and when he came home halfway through the week with a long, sharp dagger, Talon wasn’t surprised.

“
Are you crazy, bringing that in here? We get caught with that and its good-bye plan. We’ll be killed on the spot.”

“
Relax,” Jahsin sang as he wrapped the dagger in leather by holding it by the handle with his knees. “It’s three days ’til we leave this shyte hole. We ain’t gonna get caught.”

“
What if there’s a random search?” Talon asked.

“
Won’t be; besides, we got High Vaka Moontooth on our side. Nobody is gonna mess with us. Ain’t you noticed you ain’t been beat up in a while? Since your bear crushed Vaka Groegon’s skull?”

“
I guess,” Talon agreed. If he was going to be hunted, he may as well have some sort of blade—a rabbit with a dagger.

“I am tempted to intervene—I who urged nonintervention. I study them and their land, always a watcher; how easy it is to judge from afar. But what use is power if it cannot help the powerless?”

—
Azzeal, 4996

Talon thought the day would never come
; the weeklong festival seemed to drag on for months. The weather turned stormy on the second day of the Vald games. Fat, dark clouds settled over Volnoss and never left. The wind tore through the village from the east, bringing with it an endless rain. Lightning storms lit the nights and thunder shook the heavens. The rain proved too much for most of the huts to handle, and though they had some irrigation set in place, the storm was unusually powerful. By the fourth day, four inches of water had collected on the floor of Jahsin and Talon’s hut. The Vald saw the violent weather as a sign of the gods’ approval. They reveled in the storms and even called one man who was hit by lightning “blessed.”

Talon
spent the small hours tossing and turning on his cot. Strange dreams came to him—dreams of elves, bears, Vaka, and blood. Jahsin didn’t sleep much either, it seemed, for every time Talon whispered to him in the dark, he answered.

They
prepared as well as possible, setting many trip lines along the side trails, and digging pits carefully covered with sticks and moss. Talon traversed the swamp until he had dedicated the route to memory. He spent his sleepless hours mentally preparing himself for the run to the mines.

He hadn’
t heard anything more from High Vaka Moontooth or his cronies; he could only hope the Vaka kept up his side of the bargain. If the dragonsbreath bombs didn’t kill Fylkin, the whole plan would be for naught.

Talon thought of Chief often, wondering
whether he would be the same wolf he had trained. He hadn’t seen him since he spied the Vaka siccing him on the Skomm villager, and he feared for the worst. If Chief’s temperament had been spoiled, their waiting until now to leave could prove fatal. Had he made a mistake? They might have left weeks ago when they got the boat from Vaka Bjorn. He feared that his insistence on waiting for Chief might get one of his friends killed.

Friends
—the word still sounded foreign to him. He had never dreamed he would find such good friends as Jahsin and Akkeri, or even Majhree. Akkeri had become more than a friend, and showed him a love he had never thought possible. He often felt undeserving of her affection, but he was ever grateful for it. Without her and Jahsin, he didn’t know how he would have survived.

On the morning of
Freista, he and Jahsin went to the commons to have their last breakfast on Volnoss. Many of the scraps from the weeklong games made it to the Skomm cooks’ kitchens, and they enjoyed a rare breakfast of pork and fresh bread. Talon ate as much as he could force down his throat; he would need the energy tonight. The mood in the commons was low, and when they sat at one of the long tables, the Skomm cleared out fast. It was no secret that Fylkin was aiming to kill Talon, and no one, save Jahsin, dared be seen with him. He was marked for death.

After breakfast they headed out for the docks for one last day of wetweed collecting. They had to keep up appearances.
Just because the chiefson of Timber Wolf Tribe planned on killing him, it was no excuse to miss work. The storm became worse than ever, with winds that sometimes pushed them back as they sloshed through the mud and rain. They doubted any boats would be allowed out, but they still had to report to Vaka Bjorn.

Talon’s apprehension grew with the storm. If this kept up or got worse as the
elders foretold, it was going to make the escape that much harder. He was confident about his and Jahsin’s sailing skills, but they had never sailed in this kind of weather. They reached the docks and Talon’s heart dropped. Six-foot waves crashed into the shore and had dislodged one of the long piers. No boats were out, for the ocean heaved and crashed with such force that none could withstand the barrage.

“
We aren’t going to be able to leave,” said Talon as they stared at the harbor.

“
The storm will die down; you watch!” Jahsin yelled over the howling wind.

Vaka Bjorn walked to them from the dock through a curta
in of rain. He stood before them, hunched as they were from the biting downpour. They shared a nod of conspiratorial brotherhood and he motioned for them to follow him. Talon looked out over the churning ocean once more and his heart sank. Those waves would tear them apart.

Bjorn
led them back up the small incline and southeast toward his Hus
overlooking the harbor. The three of them scrambled through the sheets of rain and into the shelter. With much effort, the door was swung shut against the tempest and sound returned to the world. Talon’s ears hurt from the buffeting they received due to the constant wind.

“
Drink?” Vaka Bjorn asked and they both nodded. He motioned toward the small table by the fire, and they took a seat despite their soaked clothes. There was no point in drying them; they would be going back out shortly. Talon noticed again the way Jahsin eyed Vaka Bjorn’s hook hand. Jahsin coveted such a replacement, but the Skomm were not allowed such things.

The inside of Bjorn’
s hut seemed relatively dry, given its proximity to the ocean. At the center of the main room a low fire burned. The wind, blowing through every crack, filled the Hus with a white haze. The table sat close to the fire, and the warmth did well to warm their soggy bones.

Bjorn poured three drinks and
raised his glass. Talon guessed the amber liquid to be rum. The big Vaka offered no cheers, but rather shot his drink back and poured another. Talon and Jahsin drank as well. The spirits hit Talon’s belly like fuel to a fire and sent waves of warmth through his bones. Too many drinks and he would not mind the rain at all, or dancing in it.

Talon
watched Bjorn, trying to determine his mind on their leaving in such weather, but he gave nothing away in his tattooed face. Jahsin was the first to broach the subject.

“
We goin’ to be able to leave in this weather?”

“
What do you think?” said Bjorn with a lazy blink.

“
We’re never going to get off this
feikin
island,” Talon mumbled to himself. His spirits sank as the storm grew more violent.

“
You may; there is a window, albeit a small one,” said Bjorn.

“
What window?” Jahsin asked.

Bjorn ran
his hand through his wet hair and took another drink. He leaned in as if telling a secret of dire import. A light came to his eyes then—one that grabbed their attention and refused to let go.

“
The storm comin’, ain’t been one like it in a long time. They call this kind of storm Thodin’s Eye. I seen one long before either of you was born. The villages were ravaged and many died. The stormed raged much worse than now. Many got pulled into the churning eye, never to be found. It destroyed the harbor and most of the boats. I was yet a lad then, and took shelter with the others in the commons. We waited it out, huddled with the pigs and dogs and other livestock. The storm stopped as suddenly as a cryin’ babe given a nipple. We hurried outside and found time had stopped. All around us was the raging storm, but no sound and no wind found us. I knew that we stood at the center of Thodin’s eye. The peace lasted no more than five minutes, and the other side of the storm covered us once more.”

A spark of ho
pe found Talon; a chance remained.

“
Five minutes?” he asked Bjorn.

“
Less or more,” said Bjorn.

Jahsin shook his head
and his waving hand said, “Wait a minute!” He spoke: “You’re sayin’ the waters will be calm in the Eye of Thodin?”

“
Calm as a suckling babe,” said Bjorn.

“
What’s with you and breastfeeding?” Jahsin laughed. Bjorn scowled at him and waited.

“
So we get out on the ocean and away from Volnoss…but then the storm passes over us again, at sea?” asked Jahsin.

“
More or less,” said Bjorn.

“
Well, it’s something,” Talon reminded his friend. “I would rather deal with those waters than stay on this island another minute.”

“
I don’t know, Tal. If it’s goin’ to pass over tonight, then the waters should be calm enough by tomorrow morning or afternoon.” He looked to Bjorn hopefully. “High Vaka Moontooth will give us shelter until then, will he not?”

“
I cannot speak for the man,” said Bjorn.

“
Well, damn it man, he spoke for you!” Jahsin snapped.

“
Relax, Jah; it’ll be all right,” said Talon. But Jahsin would not be placated.

“
Relaxin’ ain’t gonna change the fact that there is a big
feikin
storm out there that’ll tear us to shreds soon as the eye passes.”

Vaka Bjorn threw back another drink and slammed his
glass face down on the table. “The deal says that if you lead Fylkin to the mines and he is killed, High Vaka Moontooth will see that you make it off the island. He’ll hold up his end of the deal. Just mind that you hold up yours and don’t worry about the storm. If the Eye of Thodin wants you dead, you die.”