The Knife's Edge (28 page)

Rydel looked taken aback by the order. Karil put a hand to his muscled forearm. “Relax, dear friend. We all have our part to play if we intend to survive.”

“You two can help her,” Maris added, eyeing Ayva and Darius.

“Gladly,” Ayva said and Darius grumbled with a nod.

Maris turned to Mura.

“And for me?” the hermit asked.

“You, old man, set up watch with the elf. Keep an eye to the outskirts of our little camp. Alert me if you see anything,” he ordered. Mura’s brows furrowed obviously detesting the title old man. Gray couldn’t disagree. Mura’s age, while a mystery, could not vie with the Ronin. A Ronin was immortal, or so the stories said.

Maris turned to Gray as the others began to set up camp. “Come,” he bid, heading towards a small thicket.

“Where are we going?”

The Ronin didn’t answer as he rode silently away and spurred Fael’wyn.

Gray was all too aware of whom he followed, a Ronin. He shivered and looked over his shoulder to see Ayva watching him from afar. He held her gaze, until he slipped into the thicket of bamboo and beyond.

* * *

Ayva watched the two enter beneath the strange forest of tall green poles. What in the seven hells is he doing now? She thought. Why does he trust him like that? She shivered, thinking of the Ronin with his white flame of hair, ice-blue eyes and sly gate, the man, if he was a man, reminded her of a wolf. What could Maris want with Gray?

“Thank you,” a voice said before her. Ayva looked back.

An elderly woman with curly gray hair took the blanket that she extended.

“You’re welcome.”

The woman set up her bedroll beside a man and a little girl. She watched as the man helped the little girl into the bedroll, tucking her in and planting a kiss on her forehead. For a moment, she remembered her father tucking her into a warm bed with crisp clean sheets. He would hum her favorite lullaby as she drifted off to sleep with the scent of sweet spices and the tang of hops from the kitchen.

Ayva shook her head, pushing the memory aside as she wiped her eyes. She looked again to the forest. Nearby, Mura cursed, stinging his hand upon the fire.

“Mura…”

“Yes?” he asked, looking up, burnt fingers in his mouth.

She realized she actually couldn’t tell how old he was. Lines marked his face, alongside his fall of gray and black peppered hair. However, his eyes were a mystery that spoke of years of wisdom, but full of youthfulness.

“You’ve known Gray for sometime… Why?”

“You mean why is Gray, Gray?”

“Exactly.”

The man laughed. “I’m afraid that’s a difficult question to answer. In truth, the boy has always been a mystery. Even when I first met him. Even more so back then, really.”

Ayva bit her lip again as she knelt by the man’s side. In the corner of her vision she saw Darius working with two young boys, helping them set up their bedrolls. The small boys seemed eager to please.

“Where did he come from?” she asked.

“Farhaven,” Mura answered, and as he spoke, he waved a hand over the piled sticks. A fire sparked, lighting the twigs.

She gasped. “You can wield it too?”

Mura gave a self-satisfied nod. “Yes, I have the spark, but only slightly. All those from Farhaven have a touch of the spark, though not many but the elves, Reavers, or Dryads can wield it. And to answer the question, whatever Gray can do, and wield is far different.”

The spark, elves, dryads, Reavers… Ayva’s mind spun with the words, and images flashed in her mind. She was filled with questions and wasn’t sure which to ask first. “Then you’re from Farhaven too, just like Gray.”

“From the land of the elves.”

“Eldas?”

Mura nodded with approval in his eyes. “Indeed,” he said excitedly, “Very impressive, not many in Daerval know such things.”

Ayva warmed under the praise. “Yes, well, I spent my life in Daerval, but my father always said that my mind was elsewhere.” Again, the thought and memory of her father caught her off guard, and her voice failed her. Mura seemed to notice. When her throat lessened its constriction, she spoke, “My mind lived in Farhaven.” It was her father’s words.

“A fine place for a mind to live,” Mura said. His hand touched her shoulder, and she looked into his warm eyes. She could easily see how Gray loved this man. He appeared gruff on the outside, but kindness radiated from him.

She cleared her throat, “But you’re not an elf.”

Mura chuckled. “No, I am not, but one does not need to be an elf to live within Eldas.”

“I heard differently,” she said. “I thought it was elvin law that humans are forbidden to pass the borders of the Relnas Forest and enter into the Kingdom of Eldas.” Again, she read surprise in his eyes and delighted in it.

“How do you know all this?” he leaned forward, the fire dancing in his features. Nearby, Ayva overheard an old woman telling a story, ushering the children to sleep.

“Gray’s not the only one with a mysterious side,” she said.

“Indeed. Well then, you’re right again. However, consider the phrasing of your own words. Humans are forbidden to pass the borders of the Relnas, but one could be born inside without passing through, correct?”

“You were born inside Eldas?”

“I was,” he said. “I am an exception to the case, for that and other reasons.”

“That’s amazing! To be born within the city of the elves, you’re so lucky. I can’t even imagine the stories you must have. Sometimes I wish that I was born an elf.” She realized it sounded silly, but Mura just looked at her, not indulgingly, but interested and she continued her confession. “Other times, in my dreams, I see myself as just a cloud and I whisk beyond the Gates to see what lies beyond Daerval.”

Mura smiled genuinely, “That sounds like a lovely dream. When the imagination has no answer for the unknown, what you see must seem limitless. Modesty aside, however, Farhaven is a world just like you imagined. A world of magic and one without limits.”

Ayva’s heart nearly burst hearing those words. “I knew it!” she said, gripping her skirts. I must sound like a little girl. “So, you knew Gray from Eldas then?”

“I wish,” Mura said, tossing another stick into the fire and brushing his hands, “Perhaps it would be easier to understand the boy, or at least to be able to help him with his answers, but I only met Gray once I came to the Lost Woods, so I don’t know where he lived in Farhaven, but he has the mark of a Reaver.”

“A Reaver?” Ayva asked. “You mentioned that before, I’ve never heard of it.”

Mura stared into the fire. “Casters and wielders of magic, the spark. They are few but powerful. They live in the great city of Farbs, but reside in the restricted and infamous Citadel, a great black keep in the heart of the desert city. It is the hub for all the human kingdoms, the capital and a great bastion of power, wealth, and knowledge.”

The words again flowed through Ayva, conjuring images. “Gray lived there then?”

“Likely, but he is nothing like a Reaver. Nor does he wield the power of one.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “It’s all magic, is it not? And why not a Reaver if he bears the mark?”

Mura shook his head, as if realizing whom he was talking to. She saw the look in his eyes. It was the same look her father got sometimes—like he was trying to piece out a puzzle in his mind. “Of course not, my apologies.”

“No, I want to know,” she pressed. “Please.”

Mura pulled out an apple from his pack. He carved it as he talked, offering a piece to her. “Let’s see, where to begin? The power of a Reaver is the power of the eight elements, fire, water…”

“… stone, moon, sun, flesh, metal, nature,” she finished.

“Ah, very good,” he said waving his knife with emphasis. “But did you know that each element stands for a kingdom?” He raised a sliver of apple, as if to simulate one of the kingdoms. She shook her head. “They were nine empires of old, called the Great Kingdoms that held sway over all the lands. Each element represented one of these cities. They were the famed cities destined to unite the world in a time of bloodshed and bitter conflict. And they accomplished this. For five hundred years, the lands knew peace, creating the age of the Lieon, or the Everlasting Peace. In the end, it was not meant to last.” He bit into the slice of apple. “These same kingdoms broke the sacred alliance and shattered the world.”

“The Lieon,” Ayva whispered. Mura nodded, chewing. Something about the numbers didn’t add up to Ayva, but she held her peace, captivated.

Mura prodded the fire, then looked up. “My mind wanders from my point. What was I saying? Ah, yes, the power of the Reaver. It stems from the eight elements, and they harness them with varying degrees. Their ranks split up as Neophytes, who wear gray, and then the infamous Reaver, who wear the scarlet robes. It is a title gained after many years. Some Reavers may only don their robes at the age of ninety or a hundred, and some never—it is a very difficult challenge to live the life of a Neophyte, let alone pass the Seven Trials.”

All of it was a mystery in Ayva’s ears, and she only feared Mura would stop.

“Of course there is a final rank, that of Arbiter—only three Arbiters exist, and some say, ever have. They live thousands of years, having harnessed and obtained a level of the spark that some say is not feasible for mortals. Rumors abound that they uncovered ancient powers and that now they give their souls to the dark. For that and other reasons, many nations fear them and the magic of the Citadel.” Ayva shivered, and slid closer to the fire. “Needless to say,” Mura whispered, “Reavers and those from the Citadel do not seem like Gray’s sort.”

Ayva threw a stick into the fire, absently chewing on the apple slice in thought. “I see…”

“Moreover,” Mura said, staring deep into the fire, “the power of a Reaver is not what he wields.” The orange flames snapped, as if soaking in the story as well. “Reavers wield all eight elements, but the forbidden ninth—that of wind. The banished element. A power far greater than all the other elements that died out long ago in all races, and some say never existed, except in one man. The traitorous Kail.” Mura stared out towards the bamboo woods. “And now two.”

“Gray,” she whispered.

Darius approached, lumbering under the weight of sticks filling his arms. “Where’s Gray?” the rogue asked. Mura grumbled and Ayva fell silent. Darius snorted, “With the Ronin again?” He tossed the kindling upon the ground.

Twirling a scrap of kindling between her fingers, she watched the bamboo woods. Nearby, the villagers had all settled down and a deep night was sinking in. Where are they? She shook her head. “Stubborn fool,” she muttered, throwing the tinder into the fire. Making me worry like a girl waiting for a dance.

Darius looked towards the forest, “I don’t get it. Maris is so worried about roving bands of nightmares and they are still out there?”

“Are you worried about Gray?” Ayva asked.

“No,” he said quickly, sounding flustered, “I’m worried about us, I mean, the villagers.” He grumbled and composed himself. “The Ronin, our supposed fierce protector, is out gallivanting in the woods. What good is that?”

Ayva hated to admit it, but she agreed and eyed the shadows. What if the dark army is out there right now?

Karil approached, offering comforting words, or answering questions to villagers as she passed, and all seemed to listen and trust her Ayva realized curiously. She approached, moving like flowing water. “You have to trust him,” the elvin queen said.

“How did you hear us?” Ayva asked incredulous.

“An elf’s hearing is quite different than humans,” she replied. Karil knelt at Mura’s shoulder but looked to Ayva as she spoke. “He will come back. You must trust him to do the right thing.”

Rydel appeared, pulling back his heavy cowl. She hadn’t seen him approach, but it didn’t surprise her. The man was quieter than a shadow. Tall and imposing, she was afraid of him, but equally intrigued. “It is only natural that he spends so much time with Maris,” he said. “The boy and the Ronin hold a strange connection, something ancient it seems.”

Mura grumbled again, “Not natural.”

“I agree,” Darius said.

She couldn’t argue with Rydel, for Gray did seem tied to Maris. A Ronin. Darius shook out a blanket and handed it to her. She accepted it with a smile and then pointed to the mountains ahead, dark and imposing in the night. “Why is the road we are following called the Lost Road? I’ve heard you call it that several times now.”

“A good question, with a dark answer,” replied Karil. The elf pulled back her hood and motioned for Ayva and Darius to sit beside her. Ayva was taken by her features—her tall pointed ears, sharp nose, high cheekbones, and silver eyes. She was breathtaking. Darius seemed equally taken. Again, a sliver of envy shot through her.

Karil spoke, “The story is short and bittersweet. The road at one time led to the Great Kingdom of Hoalin, or the Shining City as many call it now, the shining bastion of all the Great Kingdoms in this land, said to exist even before the Gates. During the Lieon, as one of the destined nine Kingdoms, they fought for the safety of the lands of good. Then it came time for the Shining City to send their famed war leader, Menithas, to the frontlines when Eldas was under siege. He and his army did not show. It was a betrayal of the deepest kind. Thousands of elves died.”