Danticus Stormwell

The Shawl, Shevahla

    THE DAWN'S MORNING LIGHT crept over the great white-bark walls that surrounded the village they called the Shawl, and it seemed almost as if Danticus gazed upon the Kingdom Ellmen himself. From the sparse green and rugged hill they stood on, Danticus could see the vastness of the village laid out before him. Nestled between the glistening white shoreline and the dense purple-leafed forests that colored the lands like wine, the Shawl, and her people, made their home. Enclosed in those tall white walls were the huts, temples, pools, and people that gave the village life, and Danticus could hear the sounds of civilization on the wind. A beautiful place...with such a dark secret...

Or so Kara had said to him. As he and Shana stood there, bathed in the waking light of a new day, they both felt as if their feet had turned to iron. Neither of them was eager to face Akem, to tell him his daughter was dead and gone, but it was better to suffer a wound quickly than slowly, Danticus supposed. They couldn't stand there and avoid a hard truth forever. Eventually, the iron rusted away, and the shackles fell from their feet. They both found themselves descending the hill, making way for the Shawl. They'd be at the gates soon enough, Danticus reckoned. Within the hour, at least.

Shana hadn't said a word the whole morning, waking him with a less than gentle shake of the shoulder when the rest of the world still slept in darkness. She led the way quietly, sparing not a word or glance at him, and Danticus couldn't blame her. Her mission was to help him find Kara and return her to her father. It was a task she thought she failed, believing Kara instead to have been torn apart and fed to beasts. It pained Danticus to see her like this and to know he was the reason for it. He had come to admire her in a way, Her agility, bravery, prowess...she was unlike any woman he had ever met, though truth be told, he didn't know many women. He thought of those he did know; Jenabelle Thornshield, who he had come to view as a sister. She was beautiful, courteous, dainty, well-spoken, charming, all things courtly women should be. She was just like Adelyn, Danticus mused. He hadn't thought of her much lately. With every day that passed, she faded more and more from his memory. Danticus wasn't sure why, but he figured such things were natural, with all the stress of recent events. Jorden, the Order, his cousin, his life before Shevahla, it grew more distant as the days turned to nights. I just need my ship, Danticus reminded himself. A ship will see me home, and I'll remember all that I've lost.

Danticus followed Shana as the dirt trails wound and curved down the sloped hills before them. The wind blew gently through the grass and turned the hillside into a shimmering emerald sea. It truly was a beautiful day for such dark and terrible news, and it seemed to Danticus that the Gods found an ironic sort of humor in this. Perhaps it was the God the Shevahlans called the "Maker", and not the God we know as Ellmen, Danticus thought sourly.

The Shawl grew larger as they came closer, and the moment of reckoning would soon be upon them. Shana kept her pace steady and her eyes straight ahead, like a soldier marching into the jaws of battle. Danticus followed behind, and couldn't help but find his gaze ever downwards, enchanted by the rhythm to which Shana's hips swayed. With every stride she took, Danticus studied her long slender legs, her supple and toned feminine bottom, and the dimples of her lower back. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as of late, not since that night he had been inside of her. That had been the only time so far, but he prayed the first time would not be the last. It was a funny thing, life. He nearly despised her only a short time ago, when she ran him ragged everyday, fed him only worms, grass, and slim portions of meat, left him up in that tree, and strangled him when he told her of Kara. Now, he was praying to whoever might answer that he could taste her again.

The notions of Shana naked and riding him again made him hard, and in turn, made walking awkward. Enough of that, Danticus, you're about to tell a father his daughter is dead. He needed a clear head, and nothing muddled a man's mind more than his unspent seed. A short time later, they were only a short distance from the grand gates of the Shawl. Five Shevahlan guards approached them, but from where, Danticus didn't see. They seemed to spring out of nowhere, as if the light hid them from the world and decided to make them visible. The Shevahlans were cunning people, Danticus had learned, and he both admired and feared them for it. The five guards were dressed in hardened leather and animal skins, but only one of them had the white ink tattoos that traced his limbs and the feathers that adorned his hair. They lowered their bows as they recognized Shana and the stranger from another land. The one with the tattoos and feathers was the one that spoke to them.

"Shana," he said as if he saw a ghost. "You're back." He studied them with dark almond-shaped eyes, and they seemed to darken as he came to a realization. "Where is Kara?"

"We need to speak with the Chief," Shana said curtly.

"What of Kara?" the guardsman asked again in a tone Danticus would describe as less than pleasant.

"That is for the Chief's ears, Oren," Shana snarled.

Oren nodded his head gravely. He stood aside to let her pass, and Shana did so without word or hesitation. Danticus reluctantly followed, and he could feel the eyes of the guardsmen on his back as he went. They passed through the great gates that guarded the Shawl, and were soon swallowed up by the village. Danticus had only traveled through the one time when Akem fetched him from the hut outside the village so long ago. It remained unchanged, almost as if he were reliving that same day. He wasn't, he knew. He wasn't missing an arm this time (he had the shadowglass arm), and it was Shana who led him, not Akem. He did have a hard time deciding who was fiercer between the two.

They strode quickly down the great trail that reminded Danticus of the Vein, the traveler's road in Jorden that led to all other roads, the main artery that pumped blood throughout the heart of the kingdom. In the middle of the great road were those upright and proud large feathers, feathers from the greywings that the Shevahlan's worshipped before they went extinct. The work of the Tahlo, Danticus remembered Akem telling him. It was no wonder the people of Shevahla hated them so. It was the same story with man and elf. Some rivalries can't be reconciled.

At some point, Danticus passed the hut where the shaman Coba gave him the shadowglass arm. He wondered if the shaman were in there now, praying to those great bird skulls and scattering withered flowers into the pool of glimmer water. Finally, the great trail turned to stairs and sloped upwards. They were great wooden planks wedged into the earth, and they led to a greater and higher part of the village. Danticus hadn't come this far the last time. Some ways away, at the end of the trail, was a great building that looked like a temple, made of dark stone and white bark. That has to be where Akem lives, Danticus reasoned.

It wasn't soon later they were at the doors of the temple. It was a wide construct, near three stories tall, The center was a grand circular hut underneath a marbled black dome. Atop the dome was a greywing, carved of stone with a wingspan near fifty feet, Danticus reckoned. It was a marvelous statue, and it made Danticus wonder what an actual living, breathing greywing would have looked like. The notion both frightened and excited him.
On all four corners were tall white pillars, with large feathers jutting out in directions opposite of each other, and the temple looked as if it had wings. There were guards everywhere, each wearing a unique feather headdress that made them look more than men. Black war paint was smeared across their eyes, and each had tattoos like eagle talons on their shoulders, and intricate patterns that traced their chests. They didn't move a muscle, but their eyes followed Danticus' every move. They must be Akem's Kingsguard, or whatever their Shevahlan equivalent would be, Danticus reasoned. He then noticed each of them had jet black shins and forearms. Shadowglass, he realized. ALL of their appendages are of shadowglass... The thought unnerved him. It must have been a willing process, he realized. A man willing to forgo his natural limbs for the arcane was a man Danticus did not wish to cross steel with.

The feathered warriors stood aside as they let Shana and Danticus through. The inside of the temple was adorned with woven tapestries of tribal symbols, birds, and that same black sun with three white feathers. In the corners of the temple were braziers afire that gave life to a pleasant earthy aroma. Shevahlans congregated and conversed silently across the temple hall, played music from wooden pipes, and danced, all under the watchful eye of Chief Akem. He sat in a modest wooden chair in the center of the temple, and his face was of stone. His eyes went wide when he saw them approach. He stood from his chair quickly.

"Shana, Danticus," he said with cool formality, though Danticus could hear the restrained eagerness in that deep enchanting voice of his. "What news have you? Where is my daughter?"

The room quieted as Akem spoke, and all eyes were on Danticus and Shana. Shana immediately went to one knee and bowed her head. She closed her fists and rested them firmly on the ground. "Akem, Chief of the Skies, Harbinger of the Maker, and Protector of our people, I..." she choked on the words. "I have...I come with grievous tidings."

Akem drew a sharp breath, and his eyes hardened. "I would hear it, Shana."

Shana looked up, and she had tears brimming along her violet eyes. "Kara is dead, my chief. The Tahlons saw to it that she would never return to us."

The news seemed slow to reach Akem. He stood there with an unwavering expression, stone-faced and unreadable. Finally, his eyes softened, and his jaw muscles rippled as he clenched his teeth. "What proof do you have of this?"

Danticus stepped forward, Kara's necklace clutched tightly and dangling from his hand. "This, Chief Akem."

The doubt in Akem's eyes turned to disbelief when he laid his eyes on the necklace. Both Danticus and Shana agreed the necklace was enough, and there was no need to give him the letter. No father should have to hear how gruesome a death his daughter suffered at the hands of a savage people. Gently, Akem took the necklace from Danticus. He looked back at him with vengeful eyes. "Where did you find this?"

"The Tahlons had it, Chief Akem..."

"Was it around her neck?" Akem asked the question in a way that suggested he didn't want to know the answer.

"No...it wasn't," Danticus said quietly.

Heat seemed to rise from Akem as he pulsed with anger."What happened to her? What happened to my daughter!"

Shana rose from her knee. "It is something we would spare you from knowing, my chief. The Tahlons will pay with their blood!"

"They will pay with more than just their blood..." He turned and went back to his chair. Before he sat, he looked over his shoulder. "Leave me...all of you."

Shana bowed, as did the rest of the Shevahlan's that were scattered around the temple. Danticus turned to follow but stopped when he heard Akem. "Not you, Danticus." Danticus briefly caught Shana's eyes when they heard that, but she turned around quickly and made for her exit.

Danticus turned to face Akem. He was seated in his chair again, that hard look returned to his eyes.

Danticus took a breath. He felt his nerves tingling in his spine, ablaze with worry. You must not falter...you must not reveal his daughter is alive, and that she ran to escape some evil here...it would mean your head. "Chief Akem...what would you have of me."

"The truth," Akem said solemnly. "What happened to my daughter?"

Danticus lowered his head. "She has passed, my chief."

Akem grunted. "So it would seem. I did not ask 'what of' my daughter, I asked you what happened to her. The truth, boy, or I will have that shadowglass arm back and return you to the sea where we found you."

Danticus nodded his head slowly. "The Tahlons fed her to their dogs...I'm truly sorry."

Akem's brow furrowed, and his lips twitched. He leaned forward and balled his hands into fists. "You swear it?"

Danticus did not falter. "I swear it."

Whatever little hope Akem had, Danticus saw it shatter in his eyes. Perhaps he thought Danticus was lying, that this was some ruse or trick, but no, Danticus could see he took it for the truth. He sat back in his chair and cast an empty gaze. It would be a few moments later before he would finally speak again. "The Tahlons will know the taste of blood. I will not rest until every one of them has rotten away."

"A most deserving fate, Chief Akem," said Danticus.

Akem met Danticus' eyes. "I suppose there is still the matter of your ship, to discuss?" His voice was flat and lifeless.

Danticus felt his heart quicken. "Yes, my chief."

Akem nodded. "The stipulation for your ship was that my daughter was returned home. This was not done."

Despair ate away at Danticus' soul when he heard that. I was supposed to go home... He wanted to say something, anything. Maybe he would tell her she was alive. That news would surely change his mind, and bring him to tears of joy. Danticus killed the idea as quickly as he had it. Instead, he only said, "My chief, I had done what you asked. I found your daughter."

"I did not want her found, I wanted her brought home. There is not even a body for me to bury."

Before Danticus could say anything else, Akem continued. "However, I am a man of reason. It would seem my people are now at war, and the Tahlons have seen to that. My warriors and craftsmen will have their attention elsewhere, and I will have great need of my ships...and of you." He stood, and Danticus forgot how tall and imposing the man was. "I would not ask you to fight in this war, Danticus Stormwell. You do not owe me your blood nor your blade." He paused, and seemed to be drawn within himself, thinking and pondering. "Fifty deer," he said finally. "Fifty deer, dead at my feet, and you will have your ship. My warriors will not have time to hunt, and we will have a great need for food. That, and the stags of the land are sacred to the Tahlo. I would see that they know pain as my people have come to know it."

Fifty deer?! Danticus thought incredulously. He wasn't much of a hunter, to begin with, and he was to hunt fifty deer? It would take him weeks, weeks that should be sent sailing for Jorden. He felt as if he wanted to weep. He didn't, though. He only said, "Consider it done, Chief Akem."

Akem nodded. "Fifty deer, Danticus Stormwell. See to it. You may go."

*****

Akem had a few of his stewards show Danticus to a small hut on the outskirts of the Shawl sometime later. It was a small little hovel, carelessly brought up between two greater huts, as if it had been an afterthought. Perhaps a dog used to call this little shithole it's home...Danticus thought miserably. There was only a small bed with a straw mattress and a single chest inside, and a rug made of goatskin on the floor. Danticus wasn't expecting a royal suite in Castle Elderstone, but even this little hut made his barracks in the Tower of Rorden look luxurious. The stewards left him shortly after, and he was left alone to examine his room. Next to the chest were quivers and quivers and quivers of arrows, bowstrings, bait, leather wrappings, and of course, a bow. Fifty deer, Akem...I heard you the first time.

Danticus supposed he didn't need more than a single chest; it wasn't like he had traveled to Shevahla with his luggage in tow. Still, it saddened him to know he possessed no more in life that could fill a measly chest. Outside the single window carved into the black stone that made up the hut, the evening sun crept through and brought with it the tidings of night. Danticus welcomed night graciously when its dark skies prowled upon the earth. It was the only time he could sleep, and he seldom slept enough. He was bone-tired, and from everything lately. Valadel, the search for Kara, the confrontation with Akem, it was all so much, and it made him so very sleepy. Finally alone, and for the first since Valadel, Danticus did something he hadn't done since the day his mother passed.

He wept.

Who he wept for, he didn't know. The tears were for everyone, he supposed; his father, Frederic, his mother, Nora, Cristomir, Gallador, Jenna, Adelyn, Tytus, Jazmyn, Joras Freemane, Aryanne, himself...he wept for them all. They had all left him alone in this world. His mother and father left him when he was a boy, and Gallador only took them in because he owed his father a debt greater than any sum of gold. But even he left him, a victim of his own fury, the same fury that had helped Joras Freemane win back his crown from the Oathbreaker. Life was funny like that, Dantiucs supposed.

The rest left him in Valadel, to die alone at the hands of monsters who would sooner consume his flesh than mend it. Did they even look for me? Danticus thought sadly. Did Cristomir even spare a second thought to what became of me? How could he have? He had a woman and child to return to. Surely their lives meant more to him than Danticus' own. Cristomir had to live for them...and Danticus wanted that for them. His tears fell to the floor, and how many did, Danticus didn't know. Eventually, the well ran dry, and the tears stopped, leaving his eyes pink and puffy. He rubbed them with a balled fist, and found his way into his bed. Sleep beckoned, and he followed obediently. He felt close to a heart attack when he felt the hand of someone clamp down over his mouth and awoke him from his brief slumber. He jolted awake in a panic, certain a Tahlon was there for him, ready to open his throat and stain his bedding red with his blood. In the dark, he couldn't make it out who stood over him with their hand over his mouth. Suddenly, a loud boom crashed from outside, and lighting cracked the sky, and gave him only a moment of ice-white light to finally see.

Shana stood above him, her sad violet eyes like little pools of wine, her tangle of black and purple hair tumbling down to her shoulders. Danticus found her hand with his, and she slowly pulled her hand away from his mouth. "Shana?" Danticus said. "What are you-"

Before he could say anything else, her lips met his. They were soft and wet and sweet, and the taste of her was just as Danticus remembered. Natural and free...

He opened his mouth to welcome her, and graciously, she entered. She threw off her clothes and climbed into bed with him, and soon enough, Danticus was once again inside her. All he could hear were her sweet moans in his ear, the crunch of the straw in his bed, the rains falling to the earth outside, and the crack of thunder aching in the sky. Shana's fingers tangled themselves in his hair, which had grown thick and curly, like how he wore it when he was a ranger. She rode him faster and faster with every second that seemed to pass. This time, Danticus held his seed as long as he could, though that wasn't for as long as he would have liked. He felt a spasm of pleasure as it shot out of him into Shana, and the scout slowed her rhythm to a stop. Danticus could hear her breathing heavy, her fingers on his chest, her legs warm and wrapped around him, the sweet ache in his loins. It was a perfect moment, one that Danticus hoped would last forever. It didn't, of course. Shana dismounted him, dressed herself, and left as quietly as she came in, without a word. Danticus had hoped she would stay with him, to share his bed and her warmth in the cold lonely night, but he was left alone with the rain and thunder. She hadn't even spared him a glance as she left.

Alone once again, Danticus thought, as tears streaked his flesh.