Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

"Not anymore. He's gone now."

"To where? I want to know, Goldmoon. What is after this life? Is it full of happiness? Is it filled with misery? You could teach me to-"

"Absolutely not." Goldmoon started walking to the west, back toward the settlement. "You're not ready for this."

"When were you ready?"

She ignored the question.

He walked beside her until the path narrowed and he was forced to walk behind her. "Goldmoon, this truly is important to me."

"Healing people is important."

"I heal people. Goldmoon-"

"The dead are dead. They've no impact on the living, Gair."

"But Goldmoon…"

She stopped abruptly and whirled to face him, her eyes boring into his. "You are not ready."

His jaw was rigid. The veins in his neck stood out, but he kept his voice soft and even. "Why, Goldmoon? When were you ready? You've been talking to the spirit of Riverwind for as long as I've known you."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "So you've followed me before?"

He rubbed his chin. "Listen, Goldmoon," he went on, "don't be upset with me. I meant no disrespect. I mean you nothing but respect. I'm curious, that's all. Talking to spirits must be fascinating. What could be the harm? It doesn't matter if it's difficult. I could master it. I know I could."

"It could master you," she returned sharply. She squared her shoulders. "Gair, speaking with spirits is the dark side of mysticism. Think of it as a door, one that is best left closed and forever locked. One that I hadn't intended opening myself. It just… happened."

"There's nothing dark about you, Goldmoon. There will never be anything dark about you." .

"I am an old woman, Gair, and-"

"Not so old," he cut in. "The years have been very kind to you, Goldmoon."

"I am old and I miss my husband. I talk to Riverwind and only to Riverwind."

"Could you talk to other spirits if you wanted?"

"I suppose so, if I wanted to, but I've no intention of opening this door any wider."

Gair scowled, his expression grim. "I don't think I can learn it on my own."

"No," she admitted. "Fortunately, I don't think you can."

"You know I will bring this up again."

"And I will say no… again," she answered.

He sighed, then grinned, though his countenance couldn't hide his disappointment. "Want an escort back to the settlement? I'm sure breakfast is cooking somewhere." He extended his arm. "It's getting cold out here."

"I told you you should have worn a coat." She reached out a hand to take his arm, wet from melting snow. She paused and cocked her head to the side, sensing something.

Gair turned to the north, hearing it, too. "Sounds like boars," he observed. "I can hear them snorting. Good thing I did follow you, Goldmoon. You could get hurt out here alone. No one should be out alone, not after the bandits." His hand drifted to the pommel of his sword. "Something doesn't seem right."

Gair opened his mouth to say something else, but Goldmoon had turned from him, already starting toward the faint sound. Quietly she picked her way through the hickory trees, her breath in the cold air feathering away from her face like a lacy fan. Gair sighed and followed, rubbing his hands together in a futile effort to keep them warm.

There were eight in the pack in the small clearing, two of them males. One of the males was especially large, with long, wickedly curling yellow tusks that were stained brown at the tips from blood. Their thick bodies were shaggy with winter fur, and they were rippling with fat from the food they'd been storing the preceding summer and autumn. The boars seemed nervous.

"That big one has to be seven hundred pounds," Gair whispered, keeping his voice low. "An old fellow to be certain, and one I'd not want to anger. He's one I'd not want to hunt, either-too dangerous, and his meat would be too tough. Ah, but those others… If I weren't so cold and in a hurry to get back to the settlement, I'd scatter the pack, and I might chase after one of the smaller ones. That one over there, for instance." He nudged her shoulder. "Something is making them nervous, but I can't tell what. Maybe it's the sound of the wind in the branches. Can we get out of here now?"

She shook her head no.

The elf huffed and resumed watching the animals, cursing himself for not bothering to grab a coat this morning. When he'd seen Goldmoon leave the settlement, he was in a hurry to follow her.

Gair and Goldmoon lay side by side on their stomachs, faces peering through gaps in a clump of dead ferns. She seemed indifferent in her curiosity to the cold ground. Gair, his teeth chattering, glanced enviously at her wool cloak.

The boars were pawing at the earth, snorting irregularly, their breath puffing from their wide snouts like smoke from chimneys. They were in no mood to forage, despite a plentiful supply of fallen nuts and pine cones on the forest floor. Instead, they milled uneasily and sniffed the air, eyes darting in all directions, waiting for something. It was as if they were afraid of something.

"They can't smell us," Goldmoon whispered, her words almost softer than the breeze. "The wind is from the wrong direction. They smell something… . I think they're ready to bolt."

"I will calm them," Gair offered.

Not waiting for her reply, he closed his eyes and touched his slender fingers to his temple, a gesture he used to help himself concentrate. His lips moved as if he were talking, though no sounds came out. It was an enchantment to calm wild beasts, one of the first Goldmoon had taught him in an effort to help calm his capricious spirit. He focused on his heartbeat until he heard its rhythmic thrumming above Goldmoon's steady breathing, then above the wind rustling through the branches overhead, and finally above the loud snorts of the boars. He slowed his heart, then sent the thrumming outward, like a wave rippling from him to the pack. This spell, like many others, came easily to him, requiring little real effort and practically no time. He knew it was successful even before he opened his eyes and spotted the boars crunching nuts and rooting beneath the thin layer of snow. Even the largest was at ease.

"Done," he pronounced softly and started to inch away. "They are calm now, and at least with all that fur, they're staying warm. Watching them has made me even hungrier. Let's go get something hot to eat."

Goldmoon remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the pack. She reached out a hand and touched the elf's wrist. "Wait," she whispered. "Maybe you shouldn't have…"

Gair cocked his head and he squinted through the trees beyond the animals. "I think I see something. There's…"

A high-pitched squeal sliced through the air, coming from beyond the pack, which, still soothed by Gair's spell, continued to forage. It was followed by another squeal, then another that ended shrilly and abruptly. Birds shot from the treetops, startling the elf and streaking to the south. They heard the sound of branches cracking and rustling, indicating something was headed this way.

"People," Goldmoon suggested. "Hunters."

"And I've unwittingly provided them with easy prey," Gair whispered, looking at the calmed pack. "Perhaps I could try another spell. I could agitate them, give the hunters a real challenge."

Before Gair could act, the crashing in the woods crescendoed, and three more boars burst into the clearing, followed by hunters, but not human ones. The elf gasped in surprise.

The hunters were manlike, but in form only. Indeed, they walked on two legs, but there most of the resemblance to humans ended. There were three of them, with heads that resembled hyenas and slavering jaws filled with sharp-looking teeth. Their skin was a mottled green-gray, fuzzy, like moss growing on a stagnant pond, and it was dark at the muzzle, almost black. From the tops of their heads sprouted brushy white manes that ran down their necks and disappeared beneath the collars of the ragged tunics they wore. One, with a thick, barrel-like chest, wore a cape, and it was this that made Gair's eyes widen even more in disbelief. The cape, a tattered flag, flapped wildly in the wind. From the design, the elf guessed it was from a ship that had sailed for Cuda, a port city in which he'd wasted nearly two years. During those long, tedious months, he'd never seen creatures like these who were scattering the boars in the clearing.