Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

Brush crunched, and Treysind appeared suddenly at Calistin's side, taking no apparent notice of the flying steel for the moment. "Hero! Hero! What's wrong, Hero?" His distress was tangible. "Is ya hurt?"

Calistin howled in frustration and anger. His insides felt like liquid fire. He swung wildly, sending Treysind into panicked retreat. He wanted to shriek at the heavens until his throat turned raw, to fight enemies until one finally claimed him, to die hacked beneath the blows of a million swords. "I do have a soul, you foolish wench. I… have… a… soul!"

"A course ya gots a soul, Hero." Treysind soothed from a distance, hand over his mouth and nose to filter out the odors of death. "Ya's got more spirit than any four other mans tagether."

Calistin froze, then turned to stare at his unwanted sidekick who now watched from behind a tree trunk.

"Ev'ry human gots a soul," Treysind continued. "Ya is human, ain't ya, Hero?"

The question seemed utter nonsense. "Do I look like a horse to you? Of course I'm human."

Treysind shrugged, hand still clamped to his face. "Then, ya was born wit' a soul. Did ya sell it ta demons?"

"No!" The very suggestion enraged Calistin. It was exactly the accusation he expected to hear from some lazy fool who would rather attribute skill to nefarious magic than to credit long hours of practice and hard work.

"Is ya gived it 'way ta some magic creature?"

"Gived it…?" Calistin shook his head. "What nonsense is this? Certainly not."

"Then,"Treysind announced simply, "ya still gots it.Which means ya do gots a soul."

"Of course I have a soul!" Calistin turned his back on Treysind, as if the boy had initiated his doubts. Then, realizing how stupid that sounded, he shrugged and laughed. "Everyone has a soul." But his attempts to shrug off the Valkyrie's insult, even shouted out in anger, fell short. Restlessness assailed him, overcoming the fatigue of his many battles. Calistin did not know how, but he had to prove it. "I need some time alone."

"I's keepin' m'distance, Hero," Treysind promised. "We's all needs some sleep." He started to glance around the woodlands, then stopped. His gut heaved.

Calistin ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, allowing it to fall in a random array of boyish spikes. It was just long enough to annoy him; he looked a bit older with it closely cropped. Treysind misunderstood. Calistin was not talking about a short break to rest and regroup. What he needed was time, and a lot of it. His last thousand attempts to rid himself of the boy had failed, and he expected no better results now. Nevertheless, he felt the need to try. "Treysind, don't you think your debt to me is paid?"

Treysind looked at his own feet, seeming more uncomfortable than confused. "What ya meanin'?"

"I mean, you saved my life many times over today." It was not true, but Treysind had to believe it to justify his intrusions during combat. "We're even now, right?"

Treysind released his hold long enough to shake his head vigorously. "It ain't a matter a 'even.' Ya saved m'life. Now I's obil'gated ta keep ya from dyin'. Fo'ever."

"Forever!Your mission is doomed." Calistin laughed, the humor a strangely welcome relief. "No one lives forever. Even with the Great Treysind as his bodyguard."

"Tha's my intentshin," Treysind replied, with all seriousness. "Pa'haps yas'll be tha first."

"Second," Calistin replied. "Because to protect me forever, you'll have to live forever, too."

"Whither or not I's succeed's in tha hands a tha gods." Treysind finally smiled at a realization. "What, by tha way, live… fo'ever."

"Yes, but I am not a god." Calistin's own words sparked a revelation. But I think I recently spoke to one. He suddenly thought he knew the identity of the woman, and it made him decidedly uncomfortable. Golden necklace, unbelievable beauty. Could that have been Freya? The urge to drop to his knees became unbearable. He was seized with the undeniable need to pray. "Treysind, could you check and make sure my brother came through the battle?" It was a ruse to rid himself of the boy. Calistin had spoken to Saviar since the bulk of the hostilities had ended, and Treysind knew it.

Nevertheless, nodding vigorously, Treysind rushed to obey his Hero's request. Calistin dropped to the ground. And prayed.

Treysind hurried through the brush, avoiding bodies, nose pinched against the horrific odors that defined the death and destruction around him: feces and blood, metal, sword oil, urine, and rancid fat. It all blended into a hideous, overpowering stench that threatened to overwhelm him. Before long, he could taste it, and plugging his nose seemed more folly than sense.

The forest around had gone quiet. Many small pyres burned, surrounded by Renshai with bowed heads, praying for the souls of their dead, for their own survival, for courage and skill in future battles that would likely see them in their burning companions' places. Treysind knew his own fate was not much different. He had bound himself to Renshai, and their enemies would not differentiate him from them. They would assume him a Renshai, with his red hair and pale eyes, and they would slaughter him with the same exuberance. And yet, Treysind could not leave. Despite the constant threat of murder, despite their many battles, the Renshai had become his people, the only ones he had ever considered his own. Treysind had never felt so safe, so happy and secure, as he did in Calistin's presence.

As the stench became a part of him, Treysind noticed it less. Even the sight of openmouthed bodies with wide, glazed eyes ceased to bother him anymore. He finally found the courage to rummage through the enemy's belongings. He took a short sword from the hand of a dead Northman, then slipped the belt and sheath from the corpse's bloating body. From another, he took a pack, tossing out spare clothing, washing supplies, and other unnecessary gear to stuff it to the brim with foodstuffs from every nearby pack. He also kept two utility knives he uncovered and a purse into which he threw every coin he found. Burdened by his booty, Treysind headed out to find Saviar.

Not far from the spot where they had assisted Calistin, Saviar and Subikahn continued the argument the recent battle had interrupted. Saviar found himself, once again, in a war of words that seemed unnecessary and blatantly foolish. "Subikahn, you're too bright to act this thickheaded. Now, of all times, the Renshai need to stay together."

"Agreed." Subikahn ran a finger along the knurling of his hilt. They had already cleaned and tended the blades in an irritated silence. "And, as long as they stay out of the East-"

"Which is the only place they can go." Saviar had bound the superficial wound on his calf and tied up his flapping sleeve.

"-lands, I will remain with them," Subikahn finished as if his twin had never interrupted.

"It's the only way they can go."

"And the only way I can't."

Saviar sprang for the loophole, "Except that, as a Renshai, you're also banished from the North and Westlands."

Subikahn's brows wormed upward. "Which means the only places I can legally go are the Faery Worlds and Asgard. And, since I'm not a contingent of elves who can open portals to other worlds, and the gods aren't rushing to invite me around to tea, I'm limited to those places humanly reachable."

"So," Saviar pressed, "since every part of the world is equally off-limits, it makes the most sense to remain with your brothers and your tribe."

"Yes."

Saviar's hopes soared. He finally seemed to have gotten through to Subikahn.

"Unless they choose to go eastward."

Saviar closed his eyes tightly, feeling his head begin to throb. "Subikahn."

"Yes?"

"Didn't we just establish that all directions are equally off-limits to you?"

"No."