Paul Thompson - Firstborn

“Rise, noble warrior.” Kith-Kanan raised his head. “Rise, son of Sithel.” The voice was deep and melodic. Mackeli, still bowed, gave no sign that he had heard.

Kith-Kanan stood slowly. “You know me, great one?”

“I heard of your coming.” So enticing was the majestic creature, he wanted very badly to approach her, to see her more closely, to touch her. Before he could put the thought into action, she said sharply, “Stand where you are! It is not permitted for you to come too near.” Kith-Kanan involuntarily took a step back. “Son of Sithel, you have been chosen for an important task. I brought you and the boy Mackeli together, so he could be your guide in the forest. He is a good boy, much skilled in the ways of beast and bird. He will serve you well!”

“What do you wish me to do?” Kith-Kanan asked with sudden humility.

The unicorn tossed her head, sending pearly waves of mane cascading along her neck. “This deep forest is the oldest in the land. It was here that leaf and limb, animal and bird first lived. The spirits of the land are strong here, but they are vulnerable, too. For five thousand risings of the sun special ones have lived in the forest, protecting it from despoilers. Now a band of interlopers has come to this land, bringing fire and death with them. The spirits of the old forest cry out for help to me, and I have found you as the answer. You are the fated one, the one who carries iron. You must drive the despoilers out, son of Sithel.”

At that moment, Kith-Kanan would have fought armies of dragons had the unicorn but asked. “Where will I find these interlopers?” he said, his hand coming to the pommel of his sword.

The unicorn took a step backward. “There is another, who lives with the boy. Together, you three shall cleanse the forest.”

The unicorn took another step backward, and the forest itself seemed to close around her. Her alabaster aura shone briefly, and then she was gone, vanished into the secret depths of the greenwood.

After a few seconds Kith-Kanan recovered himself and ran to Mackeli. When he touched the boy’s shoulder, Mackeli shook himself as if coming out of a trance.

“Where is the Forestmaster?” he whispered.

“Gone,” said Kith-Kanan regretfully. “She spoke to me!”

A look of awe spread over Mackeli’s sharp face. “You are greatly favored, outlander! What did the Forestmaster say?”

“You didn’t hear?” Mackeli shook his head. Apparently the unicorn’s message was for him alone. He wondered how much to tell the boy and finally decided to keep his own counsel.

“You are to take me to your camp,” he said firmly. “I will need to learn everything you know about living in the woods.”

“That I will gladly teach you,” Mackeli said. He shivered with excitement. “In all my life, I have never seen the Forestmaster! There were times I sensed her passing, but never have I been so close!” He grasped Kith-Kanan’s hand. “Come! Let’s hurry. I can’t wait to tell Ny about this!”

Kith-Kanan glanced at the spot where the Forestmaster had stood. Flowers had burst up where her hooves had touched the ground. Before he could react, Mackeli had jerked him into motion. At breakneck speed, the sure-footed boy drew Kith-Kanan deeper into the forest. The undergrowth got thicker, the trees larger and closer together, yet Mackeli never faltered. At times he and Kith-Kanan had to wriggle through gaps in the trees so tight and low they had to go on hands and knees.

Just before sunset, when the crickets had begun to sing, Mackeli reached a large clearing and stopped.

“We are home,” said the boy.

Kith-Kanan went to the center of the open space, more than forty paces across, and turned a circle on one heel. “What home?” he asked.

Mackeli grinned, the effect weirdly emphasized by the red lines of paint dabbed on his cheeks. Jauntily he walked forward to the base of a truly massive oak. He grasped at a patch of relatively smooth bark and pulled. A door opened in the trunk of the tree, a door made from a curving section of oak bark. Beyond the open door was a dark space. Mackeli waved to Kith-Kanan.

“Come in. This is home,” the boy said as he stepped into the hollow tree.

Kith-Kanan had to duck to clear the low opening. It smelled like wood and spice inside, pleasant but strange to his city-bred nose. It was so black he could barely make out the dim curve of the wooden walls. Of Mackeli he could see nothing.

And then the boy’s hand touched his, and Kith-Kanan flinched like a frightened child. “Light a candle or a lamp, will you?” he said, embarrassed.

“Do what?”

“Light a—never mind. Can you make a fire, Mackeli? I can’t see a thing in here.”

“Only Ny can make fire.”

“Is Ny here?”

“No. Gone hunting, I think.”

Kith-Kanan groped his way along the wall. “Where does Ny build his fires?” he asked.

“Here.” Mackeli led him to the center of the room. Kith-Kanan’s foot bumped a low hearth made of rocks plastered together with mud. He squatted down and felt the ashes. Stone cold. No one had used it in quite a while.

“If you get me some kindling, I’ll make a fire,” he offered.

“Only Ny can make fire,” Mackeli repeated doubtfully.

“Well, I may not be the stealthiest tracker or the best forester, but, by Astarin, I can make fire!”

They went back out and gathered armfuls of windblown twigs and small, dead branches. A weak bit of light cut into the hollow tree through the open door as Kith-Kanan arranged the dry sticks in a cone over a heap of bark and shavings he had whittled off with his dagger. He took out his flint and striker from the pouch at his waist. Leaning on his knees on the stone hearth, he nicked the flint against the roughened iron striker. Sparks fell on the tinder, and he blew gently on them. In a few minutes he had a weak flicker of flame and not long after that, a crackling fire.

“Well, boy, what do you think of that?” the prince asked Mackeli.

Instead of being impressed, Mackeli shook his head. “Ny’s not going to like this.”

Lightened by the fire, the interior of the hollow tree was finally visible to Kith-Kanan. The room was quite large, five paces wide, and a ladder led up through a hole to the upper branches and the outside of the tree. Smoke from the fire also went out through this hole. The walls were decorated with the skulls of animals—rabbit, squirrel, a fierce-looking boar with upthrust tusks, a magnificent eight-point buck, plus a host of bird skulls Kith-Kanan could not identify. Mackeli explained that whenever Ny killed an animal not killed before, the skull was cleaned and mounted on a peg on the wall. That way the spirit of the dead beast was propitiated and the god of the forest, the Blue Phoenix, would grant success to future hunts.

“Which of these did you kill?” Kith-Kanan asked.

“It is not permitted for me to shed the blood of animals. That’s Ny’s work.”

The elf boy slipped back his hood. “I talk to the animals and listen to what they say. I do not shed their blood.”

Kith-Kanan sat down on a pallet filled with moss. He was weary and dirty and very hungry. Mackeli fidgeted about, giving the prince frequent looks of displeasure. Eventually, Kith-Kanan asked Mackeli what was wrong.

“That’s Ny’s place. You must not sit there,” the boy said irritatedly.

Kith-Kanan heaved himself off. “This Ny has more privileges than the Speaker of the Stars,” he said, exasperation clearing his voice. “May I sit here?” He indicated the floor of the hollow tree, which was covered with pine needles. Mackeli nodded.

Soon after that exchange, Kith-Kanan asked for something to eat. The elf boy scampered up the ladder and, leaning out to the center of the hollow space, pushed aside various gourds and skin bags that hung by thongs from the ceiling. He found the one he wanted and brought it down. Sitting cross-legged beside Kith-Kanan, Mackeli bade the prince hold out his hands. He did, and the boy filled them with roasted wild chestnuts, neatly peeled.