The Aperture

Chapter 3

An Unexpected Encounter

“How many did you see?” Jalban asked in a hushed tone while unpacking from his back his morning star, a weapon consisting of a hefty wooden shaft with a spiked ball at one end.

“One so far.” Rahl replied.

“Man, animal, or beast?”

“Not sure yet.”

Sword in hand, Rahl walked slowly down the road, taking each step with caution.

“I’m going with Rahl,” Jalban told Connie. “Have a spell ready in case we need it.”

“Whatever you say,” she answered Jalban.

Jalban followed closely behind Rahl. Connie remained where she was, peering down the road from the saddle on her hanyak, watching for any sign of movement. She pondered what Jalban meant by asking, “Man, animal, or beast.” She wondered what the distinction was between an animal and a beast. Just in case something unpredictable happened, Connie squeezed the reigns of the just in case something unpredictable happened.

Rahl stopped suddenly at thirty paces and turned to his right. He saw someone or something hiding in the bushes. He motioned Jalban forward. Once Jalban was at his side, he crept into the thick underbrush, his double-edged sword poised above his head, ready to strike. There was a sudden movement behind one of the bushes. Quickly, with the deft swipe of his sword, he struck the base of the bush, easily severing its trunk. The bush fell to the side. Behind the bush stood a young boy dressed in rags. Rahl quickly recognized the boy as the street urchin Alyndia had given the silver to back in Roggentine. The boy turned to run. Instead, he tripped on a clump of vines at his feet. Rahl lunged at the boy and fell upon him. The boy struggled silently and vigorously. But though his movements were quick, he was no match for Rahl’s mature, strength. Pinned helpless beneath Rahl, the boy suddenly went silent, as if now resigned to his fate. Jalban was there in a moment, and now stood above them. His jaw went slack when he set his eyes on the boy.

“By the gods!” Jalban said. “It’s the boy from Roggentine!”

Rahl got to his feet, all the while clutching the boy firmly by his ragged shirt. “Where’s the money you stole, you thief?” Jalban quickly grabbed the boy and began searching through his clothes for the silver Alyndia had inadvertently given him.

“Back away from the boy,” Rahl said.

Rahl pushed Jalban away. Jalban stared at him with sudden anger in his eyes, his spiked morning star in hand.

“Why did you do that?”

“We don’t know why he’s here,” Rahl replied, discounting Jalban’s anger.

“But he took Alyndia’s money.”

“This is true, but she gave it to him. Do you remember? This boy may be a thief, but he did not steal from Alyndia.” Rahl turned his attention to the boy and queried him quickly before Jalban could act again. “Why are you here? Why did you follow us?”

The boy did not reply, but stood in Rahl’s gasp, his eyes downcast.

“Answer him, you vagrant,” Jalban said, glaring at the boy.

The boy said nothing, appearing too frightened to answer. Rahl then noticed a stripe of blood on the boy’s forearm. Evidently, he had been scratched by the underbrush when he had subdued him. “The boy is hurt. Do you have anything for him?”

“Well, I do, but he hasn’t told us why he’s followed us.”

Rahl scanned the woods around them for others. For the density of the forest they were in, he noticed it was becoming prematurely dark, and there were plenty of places for others to hide. He addressed the boy in his clutch. “Are you alone?”

The boy nodded.

A moment later, from somewhere in the underbrush, a baby began to cry.

The boy tried to run off again, but Rahl thrust him to his feet with one arm.

“Didn’t you just say you were alone?” Rahl asked the boy.

“He’s my younger brother.”

Rahl looked around, attempting to pinpoint the origin of the crying. “You mean you brought an infant to these woods? This is no place for a defenseless child. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be out here alone as you are?”

“I had no choice.”

Rahl shook his head. “Jalban, go out there and find the boy’s younger brother, and have a look around to make sure no one else is following us.”

Rahl pulled the boy out onto the road. When Connie saw them again, she rode back to them.

“It’s the boy from the city,” Rahl said.

The boy’s eyes widened with excitement and pleasure when he saw her. “Lady!”

Connie climbed down from the hanyak. “What is he doing here?” she asked Rahl, who kept a firm grip on the boy.

“He followed us.”

Connie looked at the scrawny boy, not quite believing such a thing could be true. He was dressed in soiled rags, and his worn-out, meager footware hardly afforded his feet enough protection for such a long walk.

“But we’ve been riding all day,” she said in amazement. “Why did he follow us?”

Rahl addressed the boy. “You heard her. Tell us why you followed us this distance.”

Just then, Jalban emerged from the trees with a small knapsack slung over his back and awkwardly cradling a filthily-wrapped baby in one arm and holding his morning star in the other.

“Found the baby,” he said. “I didn’t see anyone else. It seems the boy is alone.”

Connie rushed up to Jalban and peered at the child. The child was dirty and thin, but it appeared healthy. It appeared no more than three or four months old, and it peered up at her with large, green eyes.

“Whose baby is this?” Connie asked as she took the baby from Jalban, who was more than happy to give it to her.

“It is my younger brother, Kebal, good lady.” The boy replied to her. “I had to take him from the city.”

“Why so?”

“They were going to take him away from me.”

“Who?”

“The Ministry of Children.”

“The Ministry of what? Of children?

Jalban replied for her. “The Ministry of Children is a part of the local government at Roggentine. They collect orphan and homeless infants and sell them to child families for a sum. The children are then raised as servants or laborers, depending on who buys them.”

Connie gave Jalban a wry smile. “Kind of like an adoption agency where they sell the children into slavery. This is a backward country you live in, Jalban.”

Jalban frowned at Connie. “I do not understand what you mean. It is a merciful treatment to a child that might normally starve on the street, or worse, grow up to become a thief or murderer,” he replied.

Connie addressed the boy again, “Didn’t you say you had a sick mother you wanted to take to the temple?” Where is she?”

“I lied,” the boy said, his eyes dropping the road. “We haven’t a mother. She caught fever and died after my brother was born.”

“How about your father?”

The boy’s eyes remained downcast at this question, then he looked up to her with his deep green eyes that were much like his infant brother’s. “But you, rich, good lady, would take good care of him. I know you would.”

Connie made a tight-lipped grin. Motherhood was never her forte. “Is that why you followed us out here? You want me to be your baby brother’s mother?”

The boy reached into a hidden pocket sewn within his rags. He pulled out the silver coin she had given her earlier. Rahl released his grip on the boy when he saw what he was going to do. The boy bowed to her while holding out the silver coin for her to take. “Here, good lady. Take this back. Please take my bother with you.”

Connie stood before the boy with his infant brother cradled in her arms, aghast at the boy’s earnest plea. She found herself feeling upset. A wave of euphoric vertigo washed over her. For a moment, the feeling of depersonalization rose up again, and she felt like a spectator to the whole scene rather than experiencing it firsthand. She felt like she was going to faint. She clenched her teeth and fought the feeling. The sensation subsided.

Jalban broke in, unaware of Connie’s struggle. “This is preposterous. This is Alyndia, Sorceress of the Elements, Daughter of Alitrea. She has more important things to do than raise your brother.”

The boy’s expression brightened. “Yes! Then you can teach my brother how to cast spells!” he said to her. “I knew you were a sorceress when I first saw you.”

Connie shook her head. “Look, boy—what is your name?”

The boy got to his feet again, still holding out the silver coin to her. “I am Sind, son of Letina.”

“Sind, I hate to disappoint you, but these guys have it all wrong. My name is not Alyndia. And I am not a sorceress. My name is Connie Bain. I am a citizen of the United States of America.”

“Here we go again,” Jalban said, preparing his spiked morning star for the first blow.

Rahl looked on stoically. The boy gazed up at Connie. He appeared puzzled but hopeful.

“I don’t know anything about magic, sorcery, or even how I got here,” Connie continued. “But if it’s money you want—” She pulled out her money pouch. “You can have the whole pouch if you can just direct me to a—” She tried to conjure up the word for telephone, but the language she spoke didn’t have an equivalent within its vocabulary. Before she could say another word, Jalban snatched the money purse out of her hand.

“Alyndia! Are you possessed?” he asked. “Now you’re giving away all your money?”

“Please, lady, will you take care of my brother?” the boy asked again.

Jalban grabbed the boy and thrust him back away from her. “No, she will not take your brother. You must take him and go back to Roggentine, where you belong.”

Rahl spoke firmly to Jalban. “You must cool your spirit. This is Alyndia’s choice.”

Connie looked down at the child in her arms. It looked up at her with its green eyes and tawny-brown hair with an overtone of green. She did not like the idea of Sind carrying the infant all the way back to Roggentine by himself, especially now that it was getting dark. “We must keep this baby with us,” she stated finally.

Jalban let out a sigh of disgust. “Why must we keep this child? We were not the ones that carried it all the way from Roggentine.”

“So what are we going to do, Jalban? Leave the baby here in the forest?”

“No, give it back to the boy.”

“And what will he do with the baby? Walk the distance to Roggentine by himself?”

“That is exactly how he got here, and that is why he is with us now. I say we send him on his way with the child.”

Rahl broke in. “I agree with Alyndia. We should keep the two of them with us, at least until morning. The forest is growing dark, and with the darkness comes danger. Tomorrow, we can send them back to Roggentine in safety with the next merchant group that passes us on their way to Roggentine.”

“But these children are not our responsibility,” Jalban said.

“Yes, but now that we know of them, we cannot rightly leave them to brave the forest alone.”

Connie smiled on hearing Rahl’s compassion, and he appreciated his practical thinking. Jalban released the boy, picked up his weapon, and stormed back to the hanyaks. Sind ran up to Connie and embraced her. Connie stood there, feeling slightly awkward with the boy’s arms around her waist. Rahl surveyed the pale patches of sky between the canopy of leaves and branches above the road.

“Nightfall will have come before we make the village. We must set up camp.”

The four of them traveled a bit further up the road until they found a suitable clearing in which to create a camp. Jalban and Rahl scoured the immediate area surrounding the camp for enough firewood to last the night. Connie and Sind unloaded the hanyaks and cleared some underbrush to allow for a suitable place to sleep. Rahl and Jalban dropped a heap of firewood nearby and set up some wood in a small pile at the center of the camp.

Rahl and Jalban turned to Connie and waited.

“Why are you two looking at me?”

Rahl spoke, “Usually the magic user conjures the fire.”

“Oh, do you have any matches?”

“Use your spell,” Jalban said.

“What spell?” Connie asked.

“What do you mean by ‘what spell’? I’m not the spellcaster here. You are.”

Connie crossed her arms imperiously. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Alyndia, hasn’t this game you are playing gone on long enough? For the love of the gods, please conjure the fire. It is getting dark.”

“Oh, I see! You want me to cast a spell to start the fire,” she said with sarcasm. “Why didn’t you say that’s what you wanted me to do?” With those words, Connie waved her hands in front of the pile of branches Jalban and Rahl set up. “Abracadabra!” she shouted as she thrust her hands at the pile. The wood remained unchanged, and no obvious fire began. After a few seconds, Connie turned to Jalban and Rahl. She shrugged. “It didn’t work. Does anyone here have a—?” She could not find the word “match.” She immediately thought they did not exist here.

Jalban looked at her crossly. “I cannot believe this. I don’t know what you are trying to do, but you are becoming an embarrassment to your mother, Alitrea. You should think about what that great woman would be saying to you right now if she were here.” Jalban muttered something to himself as he walked off to pull his sleeping blanket off the hanyak.

Rahl remained where he was, impassive, frowning at her with a knotted brow. “I had heard you were an impressive prestidigitator of the art. So far, I am unimpressed.”

“I kept telling all of you, but you won’t listen—” she began.

“Leave her be, Rahl,” Jalban shot back at them. “If she wants cold, salted meat for supper and to sleep in the dark, then let her be.”

Rahl’s frown morphed into a steely glare. He withdrew his sword. Connie backed off a step, immediately, Sind, who had been watching nearby, ran up between them and shielded Connie with his body.

“Don’t you hurt the lady. You must hurt me first.”

“No,” Rahl said in an expressionless tone of voice, “I’m not going to hurt the lady, but I’m going to stand here until she starts the fire, or else.”

Two hours later, the four of them sat in near darkness with growling bellies while the infant wailed mightily out of hunger. Connie worked on starting the fire. Her method was to use a trick she learned in an agency-sponsored survival camp she once attended, in which a fire could be started by twisting pieces of wood one against another with a short length of twine suspended across a bowed branch. Though she knew the process, she had done it only once before, and that was several years ago, and she recalled that she wasn’t very good at it then, either.

She continued working at starting the fire, cutting and bruising her delicate hands in the process. Rahl had given up his vigilant watch an hour earlier, and now he was starting to nod off with the sword resting on the blanket next to him. After a while, perhaps feeling sorry for her, Sind came over to help Connie. He added the kindling at the friction point at the moment she asked. She cursed mightily to herself as the kindling did not seem to catch fire that easily. It seemed as if the air was actually thinner, either that or the oxygen content was lower. Finally, through enormous effort, they were able to attain some smoldering embers in the kindling, and then, soon, with a great deal more nurturing effort, she was able to attain a fire.

No one said much of anything while they ate their dinner of boiled vegetable soup and fresh pon bread made from the flour derived from pulverized ponda nut. Rahl had brought the bread with him from his hamlet of Threse, the place he was born. His younger sister and husband owned a successful bakery there. Rahl boasted that the bread was baked with such care that it would taste fresh-baked for three days after it left the oven. Connie found the bread delicious. The dough itself had a sweet, chocolaty aftertaste. Most remarkably, Sind ate three helpings of the soup and bread, and then he took a portion of another to feed his brother. After supper, Jalban, in a moment of unseemly kindness as the result of a full belly of warm food, mixed up a batch of white creamy salve for her damaged hands. He applied the salve, telling her it would help her hands heal quicker. He also gave some salve to Sind for the scratch on his arm.

Now it was dark, and the stars peeked through the branches above. Pale green moonlight emanated from somewhere low on the horizon. Jalban rolled up in his blanket and turned in for the night. Sind, with his baby brother, did the same in the extra hanyak blanket Connie had loaned him. Rahl added more wood to the fire and then joined Connie at the sweet spot near the fire, which was the perfect balance between the heat of the flames and the chill of the night air. With her knees tucked against her chest, she stared at the fire that now burned with an eerie blue-green glow while attempting to interpret, in her own psychological terms, all the strange, unbelievable happenings of the day.

For a while, they said nothing to each other, absorbed in their thoughts and the still night air, then Rahl spoke. “Clear night.”

“Yes, it’s a clear night,” she looked at her, throbbing, bruised hands in the firelight. “I hope you all enjoyed the fire I made for you,” she said, her voice conveying more weariness than bitterness.

“Seems like a great deal of work,” Rahl said. “I’ve camped hundreds of times in my years, and I’ve never seen anyone conjure a fire such as you did this evening, least of all by a sorceress.”

“As you said, it was a great deal of work.”

Connie rubbed the palms of her hands with her fingers. Rahl watched her do this. She noticed him staring at her hands.

“What are you looking at?”

“Your hands,” he replied. “They are beautiful.”

“These aren’t my hands,” she said.

“Are they not? In my eyes, they appear to be the hands of a sorceress. They are fine, and delicate. No calluses. They are certainly not the hands of a craftsman or laborer.”

“But I’m not a sorceress. Why doesn’t anybody believe me?” At those words, Connie fought off the strongest urge to cry, but then she got a hold of herself. Connie Bain never cries, and she won’t start crying now, she told herself.

“Your Uncle Jalban insists that you are his niece, and you look and sound like the way you have been described to me, the daughter of Alitrea. How do you explain this?”

Connie shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Rahl. I really don’t know. But I do know for certain that there is a definite case of mistaken identity.”

Rahl gave her a slight nod. He withdrew his sword from its scabbard and began running a sharpening stone up its edge, slowly and quietly, as not to disturb the others. Connie watched Rahl’s expression while he sharpened the weapon. She saw he gazed at it tenderly, just as Connie thought he’d gaze at a lover.

“Are you married, Rahl?”

His mind remained tightly focused on the weapon. At first, he appeared not to have heard her question, then spoke. “Yes,” he answered simply, without elaboration.

Connie’s eyes scanned his left hand for a wedding band of some sort. She saw none, but then she thought that maybe it was not the custom to wear one in this peculiar culture. “How long have you been together?”

“A long time.”

“What is her name?”

“So many questions,” he said without answering. “How about you? Are you spoken for?”

“Not in the proper sense,” she replied. “There’s this guy I was living with for a while. It was hot and heavy for a while, but things cooled. We’re just friends now.”

At those words, Rahl abruptly stopped running the stone along his weapon. He turned to her and stared at her with a perplexed expression. Connie raised her eyebrows to ask non-verbally, Did I offend you. After a moment, Rahl returned his attention to the sword. Not knowing why Rahl reacted the way he did, Connie decided to direct the conversation to a more genteel subject.

“So, I know you have at least one sister,” she stated. “Do you have any other siblings?”

“Yes. I have an older brother. His name is Yalden. You will meet him in a fortnight. I also have two younger sisters, Betallah, and Selinda. They live in Raz-Parad. And you?”

Connie hated to answer this question whenever it came up. “I have three sisters. I’m the oldest of all.”

“Do they have names?” Rahl asked, sounding a little surprised at her answer.

“Yes. Joy, Faith, and Felicity.”

“I thought you were an only child.”

“Most people say that. You see, it’s been years since I’ve had any contact with my sisters. That’s why I don’t talk about them all that often. I don’t talk to my mother either, not since Papa died.”

“But why all this bitterness?”

Connie looked away from him. “That’s nothing I want to discuss right now, Rahl.”

They sat in front of the fire for a long time. Off in the distance, there came a screech of pain from some wounded animal. The screeching continued for about ten seconds, then it stopped abruptly. Moments later, there came a howl not unlike that of a wolf.

“What was that?” Connie asked apprehensively.

“That was a thrake,”

“What is a thrake?”

He described the creature to her. As she visualized it, the creature was, for all practical purposes, a wolf.

“Thrakes have been sighted in these woods, but they are not common. There is enough game that they would have no need to attack humans. “

“That’s good to know,” she said, relieved to hear this.

“It is just as wise that we always be prepared for the event that we encounter some.” He held out his sword. It glinted balefully in the blue firelight. The blade was a lovely work of art with runes in the blood gutter and an ornamented hilt. There was not a speck of rust on it, and it was obvious to Connie that the weapon was well-maintained.

“Lovely weapon,” Connie remarked. “Do you actually carry that thing around with you wherever you go?”

Rahl let out a throaty laugh. “Why, of course I do. I’m a Swordbearer.”

“Still, I mean. Are there others who carry swords like that?”

“All men at arms carry the weapon of their choice.”

“What does it take to be a Swordbearer?”

“Usually the title is inherited. My father was a Swordbearer, as was my grandfather and my grandfather’s father. I inherited the title from my father when I turned twenty years old. Normally, the title goes to the eldest son, with in my family is Yalden, my older brother, but he declined the title when—” Rahl paused. A sad expression crossed his face. “—when the woman he married at a young age convinced him not to accept the title.”

“I’m almost sorry to hear that,” Connie said. “A woman should never hold her man back.” Her eyes rested upon the sword he held. “May I?” She held her hand out to grasp the weapon.

Rahl studied her for a moment. Then, with obvious reluctance, he carefully handed her his prized weapon. “Careful. It is extremely sharp. I had an enchantment cast on it before I left home.”

Once the weapon was in her hands, Connie found its weight unbearable. It dropped to the soil. Rahl quickly lifted the blade from the soil with his boot, and tried to take the weapon away from Connie. Connie did not take Rahl’s cue and got to her feet so that she could better hold the sword.

Rahl backed away from her. “Be careful with that, or somebody is going to get hurt.”

Connie lifted the sword higher to better gauge its weight. She tried to swing the weapon, but found she could not lift it high enough. As scrawny as her arms had become since she was kidnapped, and considering the massiveness of the sword, it might as well have been made of lead.

Rahl quickly took the sword away from Connie. “That will be enough. Leave the swordcraft to me, and I will leave the spellcraft to you.”

“Normally, I used to be able to handle a sword like that,” Connie said as she sat down again.

“Surely you jest,” Rahl scoffed as he settled next to her. “You don’t have the physique to be a fighter, let alone a Swordbearer.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t know I’m an eighth level black belt, and I’m trained in the use of five bladed weapons and three dozen types of—” She wanted to say firearms, but was unable to, so she said, “Missile weapons. I won my first marksmanship medal when I was fifteen.”

Rahl looked at her with a blank expression. “You’re an archer?”

“I am adequate at archery, but I prefer fire-based missile weapons. Power over elegance is my motto.”

“So you’re a lady archer? Jalban did not say your family was from the Cantalla tribe.”

“No one said I was.”

The fire was getting lower. Rahl got up and added a few more branches to the fire. Connie yawned. She was getting sleepy. The thrake howled again in the distance. She had perked up again before the end of his long, mournful cry.

“That reminds me, Rahl. I have a question for you: today, Jalban asked you if what followed us was a man, an animal, or a beast. What did he mean by that?”

“I’m sorry he frightened you with his words. Jalban probably doesn’t leave the city very often. You have to expect that of city people.”

“But what did he mean by the word, beast?”

“A creature of Chaos, a twisted one, a being of corrupt spirit and twisted body.”

“What did you say? I don’t think I heard you right.”

“Just disregard the beasts. There are none in this forest. I travel this road twice a year to visit Yalden. I have never seen one, nor heard of one in these parts in several years. Of course, a beast loose on this side of the Icheron wall would be a tumultuous event. Surely you would have heard of it. The last beast that got loose in these parts killed hundreds before it was caught and slain.”

“You mean it was a bear?”

“No, I said a beast, not a bear. And the Ruling Council at Roggentine called upon the Swordbearers to defend their city and outlying lands against the Beasts of Chaos.”

Connie let out a long laugh, shaking her head all the while.

Rahl shot her a look of befuddlement.

“What mirth do you find in my words?”

“The whole thing you just told me sounds so ridiculous.”

“I do not understand you, Alyndia.”

“You should listen to yourself, Rahl. You just told me you carry around that antique sword so you can run around killing monsters. I have never heard of anything so crazy in my life.” Connie laughed some more.

“Lower your voices over there,” Jalban barked from his blanket. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Rahl scowled at Connie. “I should smack you with the broadside of my sword for disrespecting the Order of Swordbearers.”

“Okay,” Connie said, controlling her laughter, realizing that Rahl was not taking her laughter too well. “Tell me what these so-called chaos-beasts look like?”

“They can look like anything. My father used to call them ‘a perversion of what is borne of nature.’”

“Then how do you know when you’ve seen one?”

“They have one thing in common: an unalloyed hatred for all things, good and evil. Even the ancient race of dragons fear them.”

On hearing this, Connie broke into another fit of laughter. “You mean, there are dragons too?”

“Yes, dragons. Some are shape-shifters, too.”

“Shape-shifting dragons?” she laughed some more.

Then he grabbed Connie by her arms and thrust her to the ground. She stopped laughing abruptly when he brought a knife to her throat.

“What are you doing? Get off of me!” She struggled under his weight, but it was no use—he was much stronger and larger than she was.

He stared down at her with a contemptuous gleam in his eyes. Connie knew this look. She had seen it before in her line of work, and she instantly felt frightened. Just the same, she did not allow him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

“Be you a sorceress or pauper, I do not care. I will not tolerate you or anyone making jest of the Order of Swordbearers. We are courageous and honorable. We are sworn to defend the law and order of civilization against the plague of Chaos.”

Now silent and still, Connie returned Rahl’s gaze. Her observation was that, foolish or not, he certainly believed wholeheartedly in his purpose of killing monsters and defending civilization against Chaos. Her instincts told her it was best, at that point, not to press her view of the issue with him.

“I’m sorry, Rahl. I did not mean to mock you or the Order of the Swordbearer.”

Rahl continued, seemingly unmoved by her apology. “You must understand that I am sworn to protect you too, perchance the moment comes that Chaos seeks to take your life.”

“I believe you, Rahl. You will have to forgive me. I haven’t been myself in the last few days.”

“So I have heard,” he said, suddenly releasing her. Feeling drained from the incident, he wearily got to his feet, picked up and sheathed his sword and dagger, then ambled over to his blanket, where he quickly bundled himself up for the night.

Connie remained by herself, sitting sullenly at the fire. She listened pensively to some strange-sounding crickets in the underbrush and other mysterious noises of the night. Though the heat of the moment had passed, she still felt rattled from nearly getting her throat cut a few minutes earlier. Connie Bain never cries, she told herself, fighting off the nearly uncontrollable break down in tears.