Firstborn

6 — The Same Day, in the Forest

Shorn of his armor and city-made clothes, Kith-Kanan padded through the forest in a close-fitting deerskin tunic and leggings such as Mackeli wore. He was trying to circle Mackeli’s house without the boy hearing him.

“You’re by the gray elm,” Mackeli’s voice sang out. And so Kith-Kanan was. Try as he might, he still made too much noise. The boy might keep his eyes closed so he wouldn’t see the heat of Kith-Kanan’s body, but Mackeli’s keen ears were never fooled.

Kith-Kanan doubled back six feet and dropped down on his hands. There was no sound in the woods. Mackeli called, “You can’t steal up on anyone by sitting still.”

The prince stepped only on the tree roots that humped up above the level of the fallen leaves. In this way he went ten paces without making a sound. Mackeli said nothing, and the prince grinned to himself. The boy couldn’t hear him! At last.

He stepped far out from a root to a flat stone. The stone was tall enough to allow him to reach a low limb on a yew tree. As silently as possible, he pulled himself up into the yew tree, hugging the trunk. His green and brown tunic blended well with the lichen-spotted bark. A hood concealed his fair hair. Immobile, he waited. He’d surprise the boy this time!

Any second now, Mackeli would walk by and then he’d spring down on him. But something firm thumped against his hood. Kith-Kanan raised his eyes and saw Mackeli, clinging to the tree just three feet above him. He nearly fell off the branch, so great was his surprise.

“By the Dragonqueen!” he swore. “How did you get up there?”

“I climbed,” said Mackeli smugly.

“But how? I never saw.”

“Walking on the roots was good, Kith, but you spent so much time watching your feet I was able to slip in front of you.”

“But this tree! How did you know which one to climb?”

Mackeli shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I made it easy for you. I pushed the stone out far enough for you to step on and climbed up here to wait. You did the rest.”

Kith-Kanan swung down to the ground. “I feel like a fool. Why, your average goblin is probably better in the woods than I am.”

Mackeli let go of the tree and fell in a graceful arc. He caught the low branch with his fingertips to slow his descent. Knees bent, he landed beside Kith-Kanan.

“You are pretty clumsy,” he said without malice. “But you don’t smell as bad as a goblin.”

“My thanks.” said the prince sourly.

“It’s really just a matter of breathing.”

“Breathing? How?”

“You breathe like this.” Mackeli threw back his shoulders and puffed out his thin chest. He inhaled and exhaled like a blacksmith’s bellows. The sight was so absurd, Kith-Kanan had to smile. “Then you walk the way you breathe.” The boy stomped about exaggeratedly, lifting his feet high and crashing them into the scattered leaves and twigs.

Kith-Kanan’s smile flattened into a frown. “How do you breathe?” he asked.

Mackeli rooted about at the base of the tree until he found a cast-off feather. He lay on his back and placed it on his upper lip. So smoothly did the elf boy draw breath, the feather never wavered.

“Am I going to have to learn how to breathe?” Kith-Kanan demanded.

“It would be a good start,” said Mackeli. He hopped to his feet. “We go home now.”

Several days passed slowly for Kith-Kanan in the forest. Mackeli was a clever and engaging companion, but his diet of nuts, berries, and water did not agree with the elf prince’s tastes. His belly, which was hardly ample to start with, shrank under the simple fare. Kith-Kanan longed for meat and nectar. Only Ny could get meat, the boy insisted. Yet there was no sign of the mysterious “Ny.”

There was also no sign of the missing Arcuballis. Though Kith-Kanan prayed that somehow they could be reunited, he knew there was little hope for this. With no idea where the griffon had been taken and no way of finding out, the prince tried to accept that Arcuballis was gone forever. The griffon, a tangible link with his old life, was gone, but Kith-Kanan still had his memories.

These same memories returned to torment the prince in his dreams during those days. He heard once more his father announce Hermathya’s betrothal to Sithas. He relived the ordeal in the Tower of the Stars, and, most terrible of all, he listened to Hermathya’s calm acceptance of Sithas.

Kith-Kanan filled his days talking with and learning from Mackeli, determined to build a new life away from Silvanost. Perhaps that life would be here, he decided, in the peace and solitude of the ancient forest.

One time Kith-Kanan asked Mackeli where he’d been born, where he’d come from.

“I have always been from here,” Mackeli replied, waving absently at the trees.

“You were born here?”

“I have always been here,” he replied stubbornly.

At that, Kith-Kanan gave up. Questions about the past stymied the boy almost as much as queries about the future. If he stuck to the present—and whatever they were doing at the moment—he could almost have a conversation with Mackeli.

In return for Mackeli’s lessons in stealth and survival, Kith-Kanan regaled his young friend with tales of Silvanost, of the great wars against the dragons, and of the ways of city-bred elves.

Mackeli loved these stories, but more than anything, metal fascinated him. He would sit cross-legged on the ground and hold some object of Kith-Kanan’s, his helmet, a greave, a piece from his armor, and rub his small brown fingers against the cold surface again and again. He could not fathom how such hard material could be shaped so intricately. Kith-Kanan explained what he knew of smithy and foundry work. The idea that metal could be melted and poured absolutely astounded Mackeli.

“You put metal in the fire,” he said, “and it doesn’t burn? It gets soft and runny, like water?”

“Well, it’s thicker than water.”

“Then you take away the fire, and the metal gets hard again?”

Kith-Kanan nodded. “You made that up!” Mackeli exclaimed. “Things put in the fire get burned.”

“I swear by E’li, it is the truth.”

Mackeli was too slight to handle the sword, but he was able to draw the bow well enough to shoot. He had an uncanny eye, and Kith-Kanan wished he would use some of that stealth to bring down a deer for dinner. But it was not to be; Mackeli didn’t eat meat and he refused to shed blood for Kith-Kanan. Only Ny…

On a gray and rainy morning, Mackeli went out to gather nuts and roots. Kith-Kanan remained in the hollow tree, stoking the fire, polishing his sword and dagger. When the rain showed signs of letting up, he left his weapons below and climbed the ladder to the upper part of the oak tree. He stood on a branch thicker around than his waist and surveyed the rain-washed forest. Drops fell from the verdant leaves, and the air had a clean, fertile smell. Deeply the prince inhaled. He had found a small measure of peace here, and the meeting with the Forestmaster had foretold great adventure for his future.

Kith-Kanan went back down and immediately noticed that his sword and dagger were gone. His first thought was that Mackeli had come back and was playing a trick on him, but the prince saw no signs the boy had returned. He turned around and was going back up the tree when something heavy struck him from behind, in the middle of his back.

He crashed against the trunk, spun, and saw nothing. “Mackeli!” he cried,

“This isn’t funny!” Neither was the blow on the back of his head that followed. A weight bore Kith-Kanan to the ground. He rolled and felt arms and legs around him. Something black and shiny flashed by his nose. He knew the move of a stabbing attack, and he put out both hands to seize the attacker’s wrist.

His assailant’s face was little more than a whorl of painted lines and a pair of shadowed eyes. The flint knife wavered, and as Kith-Kanan backhanded the knife wielder, the painted face let out a gasp of pain. Kith-Kanan sat up, wrenched the knife out of its owner’s grasp, and pinned his attacker to the ground with one knee.

“The kill is yours,” said the attacker. His struggles faded, and he lay tense but passive under Kith-Kanan’s weight.

Kith-Kanan threw the knife away and stood up. “Who are you?”

“The one who is here. Who are you?” the painted elf said sharply.

“I am Kith, formerly of Silvanost. Why did you attack me?”

“You are in my house.”

Understanding quickly dawned. “Are you Ny?”

“The name of my birth was Anaya.” There was cool assurance in the voice.

He frowned. “That sounds like a female name.”

Anaya got up and kept a discreet distance from Kith-Kanan. He realized she was a female elf of the Kagonesti race. Her black hair was cut close to her head, except in back, where she wore a long braid. Anaya was shorter than Kith-Kanan by a head, and much slimmer. Her green-dyed deerskin tunic ended at her hips, leaving her legs bare. Like her face, her legs were covered with painted lines and decorations.

Her dark, hazel eyes darted left and right. “Where is Mackeli?”

“Out gathering nuts, I think,” he said, watching her keenly.

“Why did you come here?”

“The Forestmaster sent me,” the prince stated flatly.

In less time than it takes to tell, Anaya bolted from the clearing. She ran to an oak tree and, to Kith-Kanan’s astonishment, ran right up the broad trunk. She caught an overhead limb and swung into the midst of the leaves. Gaping, he made a few flatfooted steps forward, but the wild elf was completely lost from view.

“Anaya! Come back! I am a friend! The Forestmaster.”

“I will ask the Master if it is so.” Her clear, high voice came from somewhere above his line of sight. “If you speak the truth, I will return. If you say the Master’s name in vain, I will call down the Black Crawlers on you.”

“What?” Kith-Kanan spun around, looking up, trying to locate her. He could see nothing. “Who are the Black Crawlers?” But there was no answer, only the sighing of the wind through the leaves.

Night fell, and neither Mackeli nor Anaya had returned. Kith-Kanan began to fear that something might have happened to the boy. There were interlopers in the forest, the Forestmaster had said. Mackeli was clever, but he was innocent of the ways of ambush and murder. If the boy was in their hands…and Anaya. There was a strange creature! If he hadn’t actually fought with her, felt the solidness of her flesh, he would have called her a wraith, a forest spirit. But the bruise on his jaw was undeniably real.

Growing tired of the closeness of the hollow tree, the prince cleared a spot in the leaves to build a fire outside. He scraped down to bare soil and laid some stones for a hearth. Soon he had a fine fire blazing. The smoke wafted into the darkness, and sparks floated up, winking off like dying stars.

Though it was summer, Kith-Kanan felt a chill. He held his hands out to the fire, warming them. Crickets whirred in the dark beyond the firelight. Cicadas stirred in the trees, and bats swooped into the clearing to catch them. Suddenly the prince felt as if he was in the center of a seething, crawling pot. His eyes flicked back and forth, following odd rustlings and scrapings in the dry leaves. Things fluttered overhead, slithered behind his back. He grasped the unburned end of a stick of wood and pulled it out of the fire. Dark things seemed to leap back into the shadows when Kith-Kanan brought the burning torch near.

He stood with his back to the fire, breathing hard. With the blazing brand before him like a noble blade, the elf kept the darkness at bay. Gradually the incessant activity lessened. By the time Solinari rose above the trees, all was still.

After throwing the stump of the burned limb back on the dying fire, Kith-Kanan sat down again and faced the red coals. Like a thousand lonely travelers before him, the prince whistled a tune to keep the loneliness away. It was a tune from his childhood: “Children of the Stars.”

The chorus died when his lips went dry. He saw something that froze him completely. Between the black columns of two tree trunks were a pair of red staring eyes.

He tried to think what it could be. The possibilities were not good: wolf, bear, a tawny panther. The two eyes blinked and disappeared. Kith-Kanan jumped to his feet and snatched up a stone from the outside edge of his campfire. He hurled it at the spot where he’d last seen the eyes. The rock crashed into the underbrush. There was no other sound, Even the crickets had ceased their singing.

Then Kith-Kanan sensed he was being watched and turned to the right. The red eyes were back, creeping forward a foot or so off the ground, right toward him.

Darkness is the enemy, he suddenly realized. Whatever I can see, I can fight.

Scooping up a double handful of dead leaves, he threw them on the embers of the fire. Flames blazed up. He immediately saw a long, lean body close to the ground. The advance of the red eyes stopped, and suddenly they rose from the ground.

It was Anaya.

“I have spoken with the Forestmaster,” she said a little sulkily, her eyes glowing red in the light from the flames. “You said the truth.” Anaya walked sideways a few steps, never taking her eyes off Kith-Kanan. Despite this good news, he felt that she was about to spring on him. She dropped down on her haunches and looked into the fire. The leaves were consumed, and their remains sank onto the heap of dully glowing ashes.

“It is wise you laid a fire,” she said. “I called the Black Crawlers to watch over you while I spoke with the Forestmaster.”

He straightened his shoulders with studied nonchalance. “Who are the Black Crawlers?”

“I will show you.” Anaya picked up a dead dry branch and held it to the coals. It smoked heavily for an instant, then burst into flame. She carried the burning branch to the line of trees defining the clearing.

Kith-Kanan lost his hard-won composure when Anaya showed him what was waiting beyond the light.

Every tree trunk, every branch, every square inch of ground was covered with black, creeping things. Crickets, millipedes, leaf hoppers, spiders of every sort and size, earwigs, pill bugs, beetles up to the size of his fist, cockroaches, caterpillars, moths, flies of the largest sort, grasshoppers, cicadas with soft, pulpy bodies and gauzy wings…stretching as far as he could see, coating every surface. The horde was motionless, waiting.

Anaya returned to the fire. Kith-Kanan was white-faced with revulsion. “What sort of witch are you?” he gasped. “You command all these vermin?”

“I am no witch. This forest is my home, and I guard it closely. The Black Crawlers share the woodland with me. I gave them warning when I left you, and they gathered to keep you under watchful eyes.”

“Now that you know who I am, you can send them away,” he said.

“They have already departed. Could you not hear them go?” she scoffed.

“No, I couldn’t.” Kith-Kanan glanced around at the dark forest, blotting sweat from his face with his sleeve. He focussed his attention on the fascinating elf woman and blotted out the memory of the Crawlers. With her painted decorations, grime, and dyed deerskin, Kith-Kanan wasn’t sure how old Anaya might be, or even what she really looked like. She perched on her haunches, balancing on her toes. Kith-Kanan fed some twigs to the fire, and the scene slowly lightened.

“The Forestmaster says you are here to drive away the intruders,” Anaya said. “I have heard them, smelled them, seen the destruction they have caused. Though I have never doubted the word of the great unicorn, I do not see how you can drive anyone away. You are no ranger; you smell of a place where people are many and trees few.”

Kith-Kanan was tired of the Kagonesti’s casual rudeness. He excused it in Mackeli, who was only a boy, but it was too much coming from this wild woman.

“I am a prince of House Royal,” he said proudly. “I am trained in the arts of the warrior. I don’t know who or how many of these intruders there are, but I will do my best to find a way to get rid of them. You need not like me, Anaya, but you had better not insult me too often.” He leaned back on his elbows. “After all, who wrestled whom to the ground?”

She poked the dancing bowl of flames. “I let you take my knife away,” she said defensively.

Kith-Kanan sat up. “You what?”

“You seemed such a clumsy outlander, I did not think you were dangerous. I let you get the advantage to see what you would do. You could not have cut my throat with that flint blade. It was dull as a cow’s tooth.”

Despite his annoyance, Kith-Kanan found himself smiling. “You wanted to see if I was merciful, is that it?”

“That was my purpose,” she said.

“So I guess I really am a slow, dumb outlander,” he said.

“There is power in your limbs,” she admitted, “but you fight like a falling stone.”

“And I don’t breathe properly either.” Kith-Kanan was beginning to wonder how he had ever lived to the age of ninety, being so inept.

Mentioning breathing reminded the prince of Mackeli, and he told Anaya the boy still hadn’t returned.

“Keli has stayed away longer than this before,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.

Though still concerned, Kith-Kanan realized that Anaya knew Mackeli’s ways far better than he did. The prince’s stomach chose that moment to growl, and he rubbed it, his face coloring with embarrassment.

“You know, I am very hungry,” he informed her.

Without a word, Anaya went inside the hollow oak. She returned a moment later with a section of smoked venison ribs wrapped in curled pieces of bark. Kith-Kanan shook his head; he wondered where those had been hiding all these weeks.

Anaya dropped down by the fire, in her characteristic crouch, and slipped a slender flint blade out of her belt pouch. With deft, easy strokes, she cut the ribs apart and began eating.

“May I have some?” the prince inquired desperately. She promptly flung two ribs at him through the fire. Kith-Kanan knew nicety of manner was lost on the Kagonesti, and the sight of the meat made his mouth water. He picked up a rib from his lap and nibbled it. The meat was hard and tangy, but very good. While he nibbled, Anaya gnawed. She cleaned rib bones faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly.

“You should not thank me. Now that you have eaten my meat, it is for you to do as I say,” she replied firmly.

“What are you talking about?” he said, frowning. “A prince of the Silvanesti serves no one but the speaker and the gods.”

Anaya dropped the clean bones in the fire. “You are not in the Place of Spires any longer. This is the wildwood, and the first law here is, you eat what you take with your own hands. That makes you free. If you eat what others give you, you are not a free person; you are a mewling child who must be fed.”

Kith-Kanan got stiffly to his feet. “I have sworn to help the Forestmaster, but by the blood of E’li, I’ll not be anyone’s servant! Especially not some dirty, painted savage!”

“Being a prince does not matter. The law will be done. Feed yourself, or obey me. Those are your choices,” she said flatly.

Anaya walked to the tree. Kith-Kanan grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “What have you done with my sword and dagger?” he demanded.

“Metal stinks.” Anaya jerked her arm free. “It is not permitted for me to touch it. I wrapped a scrap of hide around your metal and carried it from my house. Do not bring it in again.”

He opened his mouth to shout at her, to rail against her unjust treatment of him. But before he could, Anaya went inside the tree. Her voice floated out. “I sleep now. Put out the fire.”

When the fire was cold and dead, the prince stood in the door of the tree. “Where do I sleep?” he asked sarcastically.

“Where you can fit,” was Anaya’s laconic reply. She was curled up by the wall, so Kith-Kanan lay down as far from her as he could, yet still be in the warmth of the tree. Thoughts raced through his head. How to find Arcuballis and get out of the forest. How to get away from Anaya. Where Mackeli was. Who the interlopers were.

“Don’t think so loud,” Anaya said irritatedly. “Go to sleep.” With a sigh, Kith-Kanan finally closed his eyes.