A Peculiar Stranger

A peculiar stranger

Morag D

The world was on fire. A most ordinary day had turned into a horrid, chaotic maelstrom of fire and steel and blood in the blink of an eye. The spot where the vanguard had been a moment ago held nothing but a scorched patch of earth. Comrades screaming, running. Ambushed! The trees were burning, dropping embers and ash on the wounded fleeing in terror, and still the sky rained fire. A blazing branch missed her by inches, the wave of its heat washing over her. She screamed at the running to re-form, to hold, to fight, screamed until her lungs hurt. A few brave ones rallied to meet the onslaught, but they were cut down as the enemy advanced. Too many! She turned and ran, crashing into the burning forest, tripping, almost falling, then running again. She could not remember when she’d lost her shield, but it did not matter. Her arms were scorched where the heavy armour did not cover them, and the plate mail felt like a furnace, but it did not matter. Surviving mattered, and holding onto the spear. You must never lose your spear.

After a mile or so the heat faded, and the sounds of battle had ceased. Her heart felt like it was about to burst, her legs were burning and it hurt to draw breath. She stumbled and fell, caught herself on a branch and slumped down to the ground. Panting she leaned against a trunk. She needed to rest, just for a moment. Not for long, surely they were close behind. Just for a moment. The forest was cool here, and dark, soothing after all the heat. She felt the panic subside. Then a twig cracked close by.

She woke with a start, heart thumping wildly against the inside of her chest, instinctively groping for her spear. It was dark in the steppe. No trees, no battle, no pursuit. Just cold sweat, telling her it had only been a dream. Another one. Her small fire had almost burned down, and a soft breeze played with her hair. The peacefulness seemed nigh on ridiculous after the nightmare’s chaos. And yet… There was another crack in the undergrowth, just behind her. She jumped up and whirled her spear around with lightning speed and a catlike ease that spoke of much practice in such things. A bit too much, for her taste.

“Woha! Easy.”

Just beyond the tip of her spear stood a hooded man, hands held up in an apologetic gesture. He was tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in the traditional long robe of the dervishes. He seemed unarmed, but then looks can deceive. That billowing robe offered ample opportunities to hide weapons.

“I mean you no harm,” he said. She noticed that he hadn’t stepped back although her sharp spear was closely threatening his throat. The man had some guts. Another fighter, most likely. She had met too many of those in her life.

“I’ve seen your fire, and truth be told, I’ve got somewhat lost. Would you allow me to sit with you?” The deep voice spoke with a barely noticeable Istani accent, a bit like her own. A travelled man, then, and with some education. Still he showed no signs of nervousness.

“What are you doing out here?” she growled.

“I’m just a traveller. An adventurer, if you like. I got lost.” He shrugged, as if getting lost was no big deal for him. “Will you let me sit down? I’m very tired.” He slowly reached up and slid back the hood that shrouded his features in darkness. The face that emerged from the shadows was dark and weather-beaten, strong and bearded, but not unkind. His dark brows and deep-set eyes gave him a slightly stern look. Although the wrinkles around his mouth spoke of much laughter, his eyes had a hard glint in them. A man not to be messed with.

“Apparently you wish to die a painful death, stranger, sneaking up on people like this,” she said, but she allowed herself to relax a bit and lowered her spear. Not entirely though. You must never drop your guard.

“Tell me your name,” she demanded.

“Grim.” He frowned at her.

“That’s what the wars do to you,” she replied harshly.

“No, that’s my name. Grim.”

“Strange name,” she said, not accusingly but as if stating a plain fact. The stranger snorted. “Tell me about it,“ he said with a small grin.

Having positively decided that the interview was over now, the dervish settled himself down at the opposite side of the half-dead fire, looking completely at ease. He moved with calm determination, slowly but efficiently and wholly without the silly flamboyant gestures other magically talented guild-members tended to use. She noticed that the fire was not entirely between them – the stranger had picked a spot that was far enough away from her to make her feel a fraction more comfortable, but making sure that the brightness of the flames did not stand directly between them. He wanted to keep an eye on her. Definitely a fighter. Or perhaps it was all just coincidence. Inwardly she chided herself for all that bad faith. Had she always been this jumpy? Probably not, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Bad faith was the reason why she was still here, where others were not.

While she studied the stranger, the dervish had muttered something under his breath and the flames had resumed a merry, albeit bluish dance. Handy. The man had also produced some food from a pouch, dried strips of meat and some desert fruit, and offered some to her. She was starving, and the prospect of something to eat made her mouth water.

“No, thank you,” she said. She had seen comrades drop dead from poisoned food offered around various tables and campfires too often. The dervish shrugged indifferently.

“Suit yourself.” For a while they sat in silence while the fire crackled happily and the stranger ate. After some time he looked up, considering her intently for a few seconds. She frowned. What? Would he compliment her next? People said she was beautiful. They said that her dark skin was perfect, her white hair that of an angel. Perhaps she had been, once, but it felt like a lifetime ago. In truth she was scarred and nightmare-ridden. The wars had claimed her beauty. But they had also claimed her will to care.

Suddenly the stranger’s face lit up.

“I know you,” he said. “You led the charge on Gandara.”

On Gandara and half the rest of the civilised world, she thought. And some uncivilised places too.

“So?”

“I was there. I was in your division.”

“Good for you. Does that make us friends now?”

“Have you always been this grumpy?”

“What’s it to you, anyway?”

Frowning, the dervish returned to his meal. She felt empty. The bad faith had slapped her again, and the stranger too, for good measure. You could at least make some effort. And then what? She had no place in her life for friends. Not in this life. And yet there was something about this peculiar stranger that made her regret her last words. At least speak to him, a voice from the past said inside her head. Slowly she shook her head. Then she forced the anger from her face.

“I’m Eryn,” the dark-skinned woman said. It wasn’t much of a peace-offering, but it was spoken without the bitterness and the razor-sharp edge her voice had held before. Grim looked up and in turn offered her a half-smile.

“Pleased to meet you.” More silence, only this time embarrassed rather than laden with violence. She wasn’t looking at him and instead had absent-mindedly started poking at the blue fire. Not that it needed stoking. He remembered her vividly now, a powerful young commander in the skin of a beautiful girl. The men had adored her. The women had followed her willingly. A rising star. That was before he’d left the Sunspears, all those years ago. The woman across the fire was different in many ways. Older, twitchier and much more aggressive. And grumpy. When she stole a glimpse at him he could see sadness and bitterness in her unusual purple eyes. But even though a thin scar now ran from her left eye to the corner of her mouth, she was still beautiful, still radiated this powerful energy that had drawn all those soldiers to follow her. And she had given them victory. She still carried the shield that was etched with the Sunspear symbols. He shook his head and snorted silently.

“Sunspears,” he said dismissively.

“What about them?” she retorted, aggression back, armed and ready.

“Nothing. I just… disagree with their ways. I quit.”

“Ways?”

“Submission. Obedience. All that never-fight-alone nonsense. In a fight, you’re always alone. There might be comrades next to you, but they can only help you so far. When things get tough, you’re on your own. I was better off without them.” Grim shook his head again as if to rid himself from old memories. He had left the Sunspears and their ways behind long ago. The decision had not been made lightly. You did not turn away from the Sunspears lightly. They were all that was something in Istan. A future, a reputation, respect and honour. Submission and obedience.

Eryn had gone silent again. Her hand touched her shield instinctively, thoughtfully, as if looking for reassurance. When she spoke, her tone was flat.

“They’re all I’ve ever known. They gave me a home when I was an orphan. They gave me training and perspectives. They taught me how to fight and survive. I owe them everything.” Words spoken readily, but without conviction.

“They gave you a brainwashing,” Grim said, trying hard not to sound too offensive. “They’re good at that, believe me. They make you think they’re the only truth out there. But I’ve been around a bit, and I’ve seen other truths. So have you.”

“Who are you to judge them?” she retorted sharply. “You quit. What do you know?”

“Yes I quit. And from what I can see, maybe you should have done the same.” The silence was back once more. He hadn’t meant to give her a lecture, but when it came to Sunspear mentality, his mind was set, and not too favourably.

“Maybe,” she said sadly after a while. Grim felt a twinge of compassion. He hardly knew her, hadn’t seen her in Dwayna only knew how many years, and yet he felt oddly sorry for this woman who was all armour and bristling blades and yet but a shell of her former self.

“I’m sorry.” And he meant it. “It’s not for me to criticise other people’s way of life.”

“No, you’re right.” Surprised, Grim looked at her. She continued staring into the fire, talking silently as if to herself. “They give, and they take. They gave me a future, but it was an illusion. They gave me comrades, and now they’re all gone. I’ve fought in countless battles, ambushes, skirmishes. Climbed walls through my comrades’ blood and gore. Killed enemies, and got my friends killed. Now there’s only emptiness…” She looked up sharply. “Balthazar only knows why I’m telling you this.”

Grim smiled sadly. Her guard had slipped for a second, and he could see she was embarrassed about it.

“I was once feeling a bit like you do.” He held up his hand to quench any ‘how-do-you-know-how-I-feel’s and continued. “I’ve seen my share of violence. It kills something inside you. But there’s redemption out there.”

A sneer. “Oh really?” He smiled.

“Yes, really.”

Later, when she’d fallen asleep, he watched her. It had taken some convincing to make her give up her watch. She didn’t trust people lightly. But he really couldn’t blame her for that. The fire was slowly dying down once more, and this time he allowed it to. The steppe was peaceful. In the distance a desert bird called. Grim said a prayer to each of the gods that granted a dervish his strength, and a few words to the new godess Kormir for Eryn. He smiled to himself. She would have dismissed his efforts as superstition. He still did it. For good measure. Then he cast a spell of silence over the camp and waited.

Eryn woke sharply in the morning from that familiar feeling in her guts that told her something was off. She had come to trust this feeling. The sun had just risen and the air was still cool. As slowly and quietly as she could, she reached for her spear, at the same time brushing aside the cloak that had served as a blanket. This was becoming too much of a routine. Maybe the dervish was right. Maybe. Fingers closing around the cold metal, she felt the familiar pulse of the spear. It had been forged in the depths of Abaddon’s realm just after the fall of the Margonites, and she had come to feel comforted by the odd pulsating light that the black metal radiated, as if it had a life and heart of its own. It felt powerful. Few could wield such a weapon, but she delighted in it. Excelled in it.

Suddenly remembering what had woken her, she turned slowly, bringing up her spear. Shock surged through her. In the blink of an eye she had assumed her well-practised battle stance and was about to throw her spear when something made her hesitate. A big, furry beast with massive claws, teeth and horns had invaded their camp at night! Why hadn’t she heard anything? Her sleep was light at best. And yet here it was, all orange fur and black stripes. A charr! An almost fully grown charr, here, in her camp!! Bloody dervish, so much for taking over my watch! Then she realised what had stalled her throw.

The beast was fast asleep, snuggled up tightly to the stranger, who was fast asleep as well and had a hand buried in the charr’s fur. She was so surprised she took a wrong step and promptly stumbled over her pack, bringing her equipment and shield down in a crash. Both charr and dervish jumped. The charr scrambled up and hid behind the stranger. Now that was something she had not seen before. Grim was up in a blink and held his hands out defensively, not too far from the tip of her spear. That was something she had seen before, and not too long ago. She gave him a hard look.

“Explain,” she said. Grim gave her a radiant smile. He half turned and pointed at the young charr.

“This,” he said, “is my redemption.”

Later, when they had broken camp and all were set and ready, Eryn looked once more at the unusual couple the dervish and the charr boy made. The young beast had come to see Grim as his father, and she could see they truly loved each other. Turning away from the gambolling furball, he looked at her warmly.

“Where will you go?” he asked her.

“Don’t know. Where do you go when all friends are dust and all wars fought?” she replied. Was that sadness in her voice? She couldn’t tell.

“Come to Vabbi with us. You might like it there.” What a ridiculous suggestion. And yet she could tell he meant it sincerely. He really was a peculiar stranger. She tried a smile. It felt odd.

“Maybe,” she said.