The Inner Circle: The Knowing (5 page)

‘
Is someone going to tell me what
“seeol” means?’ Seteal put a hand on her hip. ‘Or are you going to
keep me guessing all night?’

‘
A seeol is something that
shouldn’t exist,’ El-i-miir turned to Seteal. ‘That thing has no
meaning, no aura, no Way. It is the offspring of a whisp and its
very existence is a violation of reality.’

‘
Gather the horses,’ Far-a-mael
ordered, dusting off his robe and throwing a cloak over his
shoulders. ‘We cannot stay here any longer.’

‘
It’s too dark to ride,’ El-i-miir
replied.

‘
Then we’ll lead the horses until
morning,’ Far-a-mael insisted. ‘We cannot risk that creature’s
return. I don’t think I’ll be able to fight it off a second time
and to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I did this time. Without
an aura, I’ve got no idea whether it responded to me or it
transformed according to its own will.’

‘
We’re in Narvon Wood,’ Seteal
stated, glancing through the foreboding trees.

‘
What of it?’ Far-a-mael
barked.

‘
If we’re going to the Frozen
Lands, we’ll have to pass back by Elmsville,’ she said. ‘We can
stop and let Father know what’s happening.’

‘
Fine,’ Far-a-mael replied, much
to Seteal’s and apparently El-i-miir’s surprise.

‘
But Gil’rei--’ El-i-miir began to
caution, only to be cut off before she could proceed.

‘
Shut up and get the horses,’
Far-a-mael snapped. ‘I took the liberty of collecting yours for
you,’ he directed at Seteal.

‘
You have Darra?’ she asked
incredulously. ‘Whatever. When can I see my father?’

‘
We should be east of Elmsville by
the early hours of the morning,’ Far-a-mael grumbled. ‘If by then
you still wish to stop by, I’ll be happy to oblige.’

‘
Good.’ Seteal smiled to show her
satisfaction, despite feeling a little uneasy about what the old
man had said. Why wouldn’t she still want to stop in the morning?
What did Far-a-mael think would change her mind in the meantime?
And more importantly, why did he want her to?

*

He clutched the bark beneath his talons. He squeezed
it until he felt his claws pop through the surface. He was so
angry. He was so sad. What had he done to that poor animal? The elf
owl watched the strange beings from his place in the highest branch
of a nearby tree, his vision not at all hindered by the dark.

The violent memories were beginning to fade. They
always did so rather quickly. The owl was never able to remember
all the lives he’d taken as his other self. The memories would
fade, but the memories of the memories never did. He couldn’t
remember the killing, but he knew what he’d done. He knew he’d
extinguished life--not for nourishment, but for pleasure. His other
self relished the kill. The evil inside of him fed on ruthless
destruction. It thirsted . . . he thirsted. In that form, no
greater pleasure could there be found than to rip the heads from
other souls and watch their blood pour out. Sometimes he bathed in
it. It was delicious.

On returning to his smaller self, he was forced to
live with the guilt of what he’d done.

The elf owl watched the strange animals as they
gathered their belongings and packed them atop larger, four-legged
animals. He’d never encountered anything like them. They were
strange and beautiful. And when they communicated, the sounds they
made were infinitely more complex than those of any animal he’d met
previously. They spoke with gestures, facial expressions, and the
audible sounds generated through their mouths. Indeed, they were
complex beings.

There’d been a short time during which the elf owl
had attempted to live with others of his kind. He’d found a female
once and she’d expressed such fear of him that it took a long time
to get close. When he was finally able to approach her, he’d
discovered her inability to connect with him in any meaningful
way.

For a long time, the bird observed other animals,
but they were unable or unwilling to interact with him. They ate
and mated. They reproduced and raised families. Some killed for
food. Others ate grass or leaves. The creatures he’d met
undoubtedly formed some rudimentary kind of affection for one
another, but the elf owl could never ease his feelings of
isolation. No matter how he tried to fit in, he was too unlike the
others to do so successfully. This tiny world that appeased the
creatures of the woods left him feeling completely and utterly
alone.

The owl flittered from tree-top to tree-top,
following the animals he’d attacked earlier. After how close he’d
come to killing them, he knew that he didn’t deserve their company,
but his curiosity got the better of him. Too long he’d endured
without stimulation and refused to allow this opportunity to slip
from his grasp. An embarrassed part of him danced for joy at the
prospect of companionship. Perhaps these animals would be able to
communicate with him. Perhaps they would share their ways with him.
Perhaps they wouldn’t. But just maybe . . . maybe they’d let him be
their friend. He so wanted a friend.

*

They’d been riding for a long time and Seteal’s
lower back hadn’t waited long to start complaining. The fact that
it had drizzled all night didn’t help either. She rubbed her hands
vigorously. The landscape to the west remained shrouded in
darkness, but Seteal knew the area well enough to determine that
Elmsville was only a few miles away. Her father would ordinarily be
up reading the Holy Tome over breakfast.

Few people read the Tome anymore and even fewer
placed any real value in its writings, but Gifn had always
believed--or, perhaps, chosen to believe--that the ancient texts
were the true word of Maker. Seteal gazed at the woodlands to the
east where a gentle morning glow filtered through the branches of
hundreds of naked trees.

Exhaustion would’ve long ago driven Seteal to beg
for respite, had she not been so determined to show no weakness.
The three of them had walked and then ridden many miles throughout
the night. Surely that was a great enough feat for anybody. Seteal
glanced at El-i-miir and was pleased to find that she too looked
weary.

As the sun peeked sleepily over the horizon, Seteal
recalled a nursery rhyme her mother had used to sing. It was such
vague memories of her mother that led to wondering why her father
hadn’t told Seteal the truth . . . if indeed it was the truth. The
memories faded and her thoughts became indistinct. Seteal was
overwhelmed by emptiness and knew nothing, was nothing . . . and
then knew something else. The elf owl was following them.

The knowing fled as abruptly as it occurred. Seteal
regained awareness of her surroundings.

‘
Far-a-mael,’ she called out to
the stooped figure seated atop the leading horse. ‘Or Gil’rei, or
Gil, or whatever it is.’

‘
Yes?’ He glanced over his
shoulder but didn’t slow down.

Seteal had to raise her voice over the wind. ‘We’re
being followed by the seeol.’

‘
What do you mean?’ The Gil’rei
ceased abruptly and spun his horse to face her. ‘Is this a
knowing?’

‘
I don’t know.’ Seteal shrugged.
‘You’re the ones who call it that, not me. It is what it is. I know
it’s following us and that’s all there is to it.’

‘
She’s right.’ El-i-miir nodded
confirmation, stopping her horse beside Darra. ‘Something is wrong,
but it could be anything. How can you tell that it’s the
seeol?’

‘
I thought you couldn’t sense it?’
Seteal said questioningly.

‘
Knowing something is wrong in the
Ways and seeing a being’s soul are two very different things.’
Far-a-mael snorted, shaking his head at her ignorance. ‘We cannot
know it’s the creature, but we can tell that the Ways have been
disturbed. If the seeol is tracking us, as you say, we must make
greater haste.’

‘
We’re east of Elmsville,’ Seteal
reminded the old man of his promise. ‘I have to see my father
before we continue.’

Far-a-mael grunted dismissively and turned his horse
northward. ‘Perhaps.’

‘
You promised,’ Seteal demanded,
only to be ignored. ‘Old fool,’ she grumbled and turned her horse
westward.

‘
Have you no idea what I could
teach you if only you’d show a little respect?’ Far-a-mael fixed
her beneath his stony expression and set his horse at a trot beside
hers. ‘Perhaps I should demonstrate.’

‘
Look, I get it,’ Seteal crumbled
beneath his glare. ‘You’re in charge and I’m sorry, but I cannot
let this rest. I have to see my--’ She gasped as the deepest sorrow
wracked her body. She spiralled into a world of darkness. She
drifted in the very bowels of torrid, where she burned for all
eternity in fiery torment. She mourned as her mother’s death became
new, the whisp’s cold hands embracing her. She screamed as her soul
shuddered and rippled before snapping into the cruel company of
death. Death. The agony bored into Seteal’s heart, ceasing only
when she was a quivering mass of tears, her face buried in Darra’s
mane.

‘
That, I can teach you,’
Far-a-mael stated. ‘Your lessons begin tomorrow.’

‘
But my father,’ Seteal rasped,
lacking the strength to do much more than hold onto her
horse.

‘
There’s no time,’ Far-a-mael said
with finality.

‘
But . . . ’ Seteal whimpered,
weakened by his assault.

‘
There’s no time,’ Far-a-mael
repeated. ‘You simply don’t understand the gravity of your
situation. You’re too weak. Invading your aura was far too easy.
You’re much further along than I realised. We cannot allow for any
more delay. We must return to the Frozen Lands
immediately.’

‘
But you promised,’ Seteal
pleaded. ‘Father will be worried.’ She sounded like a snivelling
child, but unable to withstand the weight of sorrow Far-a-mael had
injected into her aura, Seteal found herself quite unable to muster
up a steadier voice.

‘
As I’ve told you before, you’ll
be able to reach him by letter once we’ve reached the Frozen
Lands,’ Far-a-mael insisted with a condescending shake of his
finger. ‘With Mister Eltari’s knowledge of the Elglair, I’m sure
he’ll appreciate the urgency of your situation and look forward to
seeing you on your return.’

Seteal opened her mouth only to discover that she
was too exhausted to speak. Cold and numb, she rested her head and
became lost in the rocking motion of her horse.

At midday the travellers stopped to eat some dried
mammoth meat, something Seteal had never tried before and was in no
hurry to do so again. El-i-miir sat beside her, perhaps hoping to
make conversation, but tired and confused as to whether she was a
prisoner or a guest of honour, Seteal looked away and stewed on her
suspicions.

Warmth tickled the back of Seteal’s neck and
slithered along her spine. She remembered the scent of summer and
her mother smiling. Her eyes . . . her eyes. Her perfume. Seteal
raced through the fields outside with her father. She heard herself
giggling and smiled. The sun touched her cheek and with it she felt
an eruption of laughter escape her chest. Everything was going to
be fine after all. Her father would understand.

Seteal gasped and turned aggressively to face
El-i-miir. ‘Cut it out,’ she said through clenched teeth. The cold
wind bore into the back of Seteal’s neck and her spine ached
against the tree on which she leaned. Her hands were frozen solid.
And she was angry.

‘
I was just trying to help,’
El-i-miir muttered apologetically as the remaining traces of
soothing emotion fled Seteal’s consciousness. ‘You seemed
sad.’

‘
I am sad,’ Seteal replied
irritably. ‘I’m sad because it’s appropriate that I be so. Don’t .
. . don’t do that again. You have no right. Stay out of my
head.’

‘
Fine.’ El-i-miir got to her feet.
‘I was just trying to make you a little more comfortable, but go
ahead and feel miserable if that’s what you really want,’ she
muttered over her shoulder and walked away.

‘
Get up.’ Far-a-mael’s voice
shattered Seteal’s dream and her eyes popped open. She’d fallen
asleep. ‘It’s coming. We have to go,’ he said urgently.

Seteal hurried over to Darra and hefted herself into
the saddle. She had no desire to reencounter the creature they’d
met the night before. If that meant riding beyond the point of
exhaustion, so be it.

In the hours that followed, Seteal passed the time
by looking from Far-a-mael to El-i-miir and back again. The longer
the Elglair rode, the grimmer their expressions became. The seeol
was closing in.

It was late afternoon when El-i-miir broke the
silence. ‘Look,’ she said softly as they approached the halfway
point across an open field. Seteal glanced back in the direction
from which they’d come and sure enough, there it was.

The elf owl stared at them from its perch atop a
tree stump protruding from the long grass. Seteal didn’t have any
great knowledge of avian behaviour, but as far as she could tell,
the little bird was tired. It was scarcely able to keep its eyes
open and had puffed out its feathers in an attempt to keep
warm.

‘
It’ll need to rest eventually,’
Far-a-mael muttered more to himself than to anyone else. ‘We’ll
travel until sunset. It doesn’t look as though it can handle much
more.’

Seteal moaned inwardly, identifying with the bird,
doubting that she could handle much more either.