The Bonding (The Song and the Rhythm) (6 page)

“We know you’re hesitant to believe us, Sean.” The wizard’s voice was calm, soothing, and very convincing. “But we assure you we mean you no harm. We only want to help you live a little bit of your dreams.”

Merdel leaned forward, his eyes searching Sean’s. In that instant, it seemed the blackness of the mage’s eyes suddenly expanded, and the silver flecks began dancing. It was very odd and made Sean’s head spin. He shook his head to clear it but found his eyes groping back toward Merdel’s.

The bearded wizard’s smile was friendly. “Surely you know this. Thorne, Rush, and Dart behind me also want to help you. I know they seem strange, but in time you’ll see they are not so fearsome.” Merdel winked. “Not even Thorne.”

Sean giggled, wondering as he did why he sounded like a kid. His eyes remained locked on Merdel’s.

“Give us just a few more minutes of your time. I’m sure you will agree.” Again Merdel’s eyes seemed to expand, and the silver specks became stars glittering in the sudden void of Sean’s mind.

The youth staggered back, his hands clutching the sides of his head. It felt like it would explode if he let go.

Drath took a step into the room to keep Sean from falling. “Are you all right?” His concern sounded genuine.

Sean nodded and winced at the pain it caused. “I’m okay. I woke up with a headache this morning.” His voice was strained. “I had a bad dream last night.”

“Really?” Merdel stepped into the short hallway and gently grasped one of Sean’s arms. He and Drath helped him into a chair, and when the others had been seated, Merdel turned his black eyes back on Sean, though the silver flecks no longer danced. “I have an interest in dreams. Tell me yours.”

4

“Cousin, shut up!”
Dart sounded unusually bitter about something, and Sean guessed it must have been the four silvers he’d had to surrender when Sean didn’t collapse at the end of their day-long trek.

“No!”

“Yes!” Both elves glared hotly at each other.

“No!!”

“Yes!!”

“No!!!”

“Both of you shut your fire-burned traps before I nail them together!” Thorne glowered at the bickering elves.

Dart turned to his cousin, his face suddenly calm. “Cruel, isn’t he?”

“Aye. Amazingly so.” Rush, too, seemed to have forgotten his anger.

“Two silvers says he threatens us again.”

“Three.”

“Done.” Dart nodded.

Both peered at Thorne expectantly, waiting for him to yell at them again. It appeared he wanted to very badly, for his face reddened and his hands clenched into fists. He scowled out of his deep blue eyes, but the cousins were unaffected by the weight of his gaze. Sean couldn’t fathom how they managed it. The dwarf finally let out a long, steadying breath and turned away from the two elves. Dart frowned, and Rush, smiling, held out his hand. The brown-haired elf dug into his lessening money pouch and gave his cousin three silver coins. Rush thanked him politely and put them into his own pouch. Sean was confused as to how all this started but decided it wasn’t worth thinking through.

The elves looked at each other as if they couldn’t understand why everyone was regarding them so angrily. This was only their fourth such disagreement today. Finally, they shrugged and set off to hunt down their meal, muttering to each other about what had occurred and wagering on how long it was going to take them all to calm down.

Once they’d left, Thorne sighed heavily. “Sometimes I’d like to strangle those two.” He stacked small twigs and moss into a neat pile, then dug in his pockets for his flint and steel.

Drath chuckled. “All of us would.” They all laughed quietly, expelling their frustration.

“Do they do this often?” Sean asked as he tried to massage the stiffness out of his legs. Dart had almost won that bet, but his longing for adventure had kept him from falling on his face that first night, just as it had provided the final impetus for him to join these men on their quest.

“Almost constantly.”

“How do you put up with it?”

Merdel shifted from his seat across the growing fire. “Ignore them, mostly, but it’s not easy. Besides, we’d be lost without them.”

“Why’s that?”

Drath snorted. “Dart is one of the best trackers and archers I’ve ever seen or heard of. And Rush is…well, Rush is Rush.”

“What?”

“He’s a thief.” Thorne muttered sourly, as if he didn’t approve of the elf’s lifestyle, then struck more sparks onto the waiting kindling. He leaned to blow on the embers as the fire was finally lit.

“Aye.” Merdel nodded. “But Sean already knew that. And Rush is more than that. They’re both thieves, good ones, too. Rush is better, but he also has some special abilities that make him more than just a thief.”

Sean turned curious eyes on the mage. “Like what?”

Merdel grinned. “That, my friend, you’ll have to ask Rush. It’s not my place to tell you.”

The youth frowned. “I don’t think I can endure another one of his elaborate stories. He’s worse than my friend Charlie used to be. Do all elves act like they do?”

Thorne sat back, satisfied the blaze was steady now. “Thank the gods, no. They’re all a little light in the skull, but not near as much as those two.” He glanced sidelong at Merdel. “Their collective adherence to this Great God nonsense is their most annoyin’ cultural trait, though for some reason with the cousins it no stops them from doin’ what even
I
know ’tis wrong.”

Merdel sighed but didn’t, for once, take the bait.

Sean took out the sword Thorne and Rush had given him their first night of traveling and held it in his hands, admiring its workmanship. The nine-inch hilt, made of woven bone and ivory, was intricately carved with designs both familiar and fanciful. Some were buildings from his world, the one he was about to leave, and some were warriors and landscapes from the world he would visit tomorrow. He still marveled at the method Thorne described was used to weave the hilt.

One quillon was the pure white of ivory, the other the yellow-white of old bone. The two joined together at the junction of blade and hilt and twisted all the way to the pommel, having been made pliable and then hardened by oils developed by the two races that forged the weapon. The pommel was carved into the shape of two bird claws, an eagle and an owl, that clutched a black and white ball of what looked like marble but that Thorne swore was not. The dwarf would not say what it was, however, claiming it was a secret of his people.

The quillons, jutting toward the tip of the sword at their ends, held similar balls. One, the ivory side, held a solid black ball, and the bone side held a solid white ball. The ends of the quillons were carved into the shapes of leaves, one side an oak and the other a maple. The sword rested in a scabbard wrapped in plain black leather, with a black leather belt attached to it. Thorne had said these special swords were always kept in plain scabbards.

Sean took the hilt in his right fist, feeling the carvings provide a sure, strong grip, and in his left he gripped the scabbard. His right hand tingled slightly at contact with the hilt, as it did each time he touched it, but the feeling passed too quickly for him to ponder it.

With a swift, smooth motion Sean drew the weapon. It whispered out of its sheath in a voice that promised faithfulness and long service in battle. That strange noise tumbled through his head briefly, matching the metallic hiss of the drawn steel, much like when he’d first held it, only stronger now.

The blade curved in a graceful arc from hilt to point, a little more than a Japanese katana but slightly less than a scimitar. It also was a bit longer and came to a more definite point than the average samurai blade. Most remarkably, the blade was two different colors, midnight black and pale white like the moon. Like the bone and ivory of the hilt, the two colors, and hence steels, of the blade had been woven together. That process had been as unbelievable as most everything else Thorne had told him of its forging.

Sean’s eyes roved up and down the weapon, admiring its unblemished surface. The graceful curve of the blade breathed essence. At the tip, he noticed that the last four or five inches were sharpened on the back side, providing a vicious, sickle-like edge and giving it its deadly point. He licked his left thumb and tested the edge. He could almost shave with it.

The youth started to re-sheathe the weapon but instead placed the scabbard carefully by his side. He then placed his right forefinger on the flat side of the blade just in front of and underneath the quillons. Letting go with his other hand, he watched in satisfied astonishment as the sword remained horizontal from blade tip to pommel, perfectly balanced. Somehow he had known the weapon was balanced at this point, as if he had been present when the sword makers had fashioned it.

The sword was surprisingly light for its size, weighing barely two pounds, if that much. Satisfied, he picked the scabbard back up and drove the sword home. It slid with a somewhat reluctant sound into the sheath and rested, waiting for when he next would draw it. Strangely, Sean felt as if a part of himself had been put away with the sword but had no time to question it as Drath approached him with his share of their meal.

*
*
*

“Will you
please
stop doing that?” Drath stood abruptly in frustration and paced around the edge of the clearing. Turning back, he saw Sean brooding, his eyes turned to the ground. The tall man knew that look well. It was when Sean most doubted himself, and it caused him great pain to see his newfound friend berate himself as he so frequently did. He also knew he had to act quickly if he wanted to salvage Sean’s spirit.

“I’m sorry, Sean. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I get so frustrated when people with obvious ability doubt themselves. You have a strong will and good basic skills, so you can handle what we want of you.” Drath raised his hands quickly to forestall another of Sean’s ready protests. “Let me finish this time.” He knew the youth’s argument would be full of how much they overestimated his abilities.

“No, fighting with your friends is not like fighting for your life against a stranger. But it is preparation for that. Most men learn by beating up their friends with sticks. I know I did, though I was the one being beaten up more often than the one doing the beating. In fact, my arm still twinges every now and then from a whelp Thorne laid on me several years ago. If he hadn’t done that, though, I would’ve lost my arm in the fight I had a month or so after that. So, you see, play-fighting can teach you many things. Plus, it teaches you safely.

“You’re probably not going to be as good as you want to be, but no one ever is. You can’t defeat everyone, because no one can do that. Not even a Swordsman. There will always be someone better. What you can do, though, is become the best you can, and stop doubting yourself.”

Drath now squatted directly in front of Sean. “Your imagination is too big for you, because it makes you dream things that aren’t possible. You must remember—imagination is good for learning, but only to a certain extent. If you try to do too much, you’ll end up getting hurt or killed. Worry about what you
can
do, then push yourself to do better. Save the really wild stuff for the bard’s tales. The heroes in those stories can do anything. But that’s what makes them good stories, and it’s also what makes them hard to believe.”

Sean nodded but still didn’t look up at Drath.

“Sean.” Drath leveled his gaze on his companion’s bowed head. “We want to help you. We all know you’re afraid of joining us. And that’s okay. Anyone would be afraid of what you’re doing. But we’re here to help you overcome that fear and adjust to the environment you’ll be in soon. Whether you believe me or not, you have a mind capable of accepting the things you need to, and they are the things you want to accept. You have a lot of determination.” Drath chuckled. “Anyone who reads as many books as you do must have a wealth of it.”

Sean joined the older man in the joke.

“You see.” Drath nudged his shoulder affectionately. “You
are
able to look at things rationally. If you can laugh at yourself, then you can accept yourself. Everyone has faults.”

“You don’t seem to!” Sean’s outburst showed his easy humor had vanished.

Drath laughed outright at that. “You think so, huh? Well, you’ll find out soon enough how wrong you are. Believe me, anyone with as crooked a nose as I’ve got, not to mention my bad breath, is full of faults. But that’s not my point. Yes, you make mistakes, and you make yourself look stupid from time to time.”

“Oh, this is a wonderful way to cheer me up.”

Drath shot him a dark look. “Will you let me finish?” He collected his thoughts. “Everyone makes mistakes. All you can do is learn from them so you can avoid making them again. Berating yourself for something everyone does is silly, and doubting yourself and denying your abilities because of those same mistakes is even worse. Instead of being so negative, why don’t you work to improve yourself? See your faults for what they are, and that will give you a way to defeat them. Believe in yourself, Sean. It’s the only way to survive in any world. Self-doubt kills more people than swords.”

Drath studied Sean, hoping he might finally be getting through, but the youth still sat with his shoulders hunched and his head down, making Drath doubt he’d done any good at all.

When Sean looked up at him, though, Drath changed his mind.

Deep in the youth’s pale eyes, a light had been kindled. It was delicate and unsure, but it was there. It might be small in the face of Sean’s enormous self-doubt, but Drath believed it would not be extinguished. The fire of his spirit had at last been lit, and it would take great care to keep it going and see that it grew. Soon enough, Drath hoped, Sean would have enough confidence in himself to keep his will intact on his own.

If Drath had known what else had been brought to life in this ignition of Sean’s will, he would have lost all doubts.

*
*
*