[Grey Wanderer]: 331.myshoes.chap1

Prologue

  “Before you mock who I am, walk a day in my shoes.
  “I was kidnapped away from my parents when I was three. I remember little of this captivity because Dashell rescued me. Then he left me in the hands of some trusted friends of his. When I was eight, raiders attacked the village, killed my guardians, and carried me off into slavery. I was passed from owner to owner, a difficult slave who would not be tamed. Finally Dashell came and rescued me when I was fifteen.
  “We traveled together for several years, the happiest years of my life. Sure, there was danger, but I did not fear it with Dashell guiding me. He taught me how to fight, how to plot a battle, how to prepare food in the wilderness, how to tell what was edible, even on a strange world. Dashell was my friend, my guardian, but most of all; he was my father. I am certain he would deny such a role if you were to speak to him now, but that is what he was to me. Even when I was exposed to rek’til-shonvii he stood by me. When I was up at night screaming with the nightmares it brought; when I tried to kill him in a rage I couldn’t control, he stayed with me. He taught to hold it back, to keep it checked, and to use it when my need was dire.
  “It was only five years ago, so I would have been eighteen at the time. He had been searching, and had located my true parents. Dashell took me to meet them. My father is the king of Tokvan, a kind man; but I wanted nothing of him. When Dashell left me with my family, I followed him. Out in the wilderness we fought with words. Dashell wanted me to remain with my family; I want to travel with the only family I knew. It nearly came to blows.
  “The last I remember of Dashell was him grabbing my arm, then forcing a drugged cloth over my nose and mouth. The expression in his eyes was one of absolute pain, something I have only recently begun to understand. I can remember saying ‘I hate you’ before losing consciousness.
   “From what I have been able to gather, he placed me in the care of a roving performing troop and left me. After several months of wandering with the troop, I finally sought out my parents to have someone I could turn to in my life. I learned to love them as the family they are. To this day, I know not where Dashell is. I wish I did, so that I might tell him I do not hate him, and thank him for what he did.
   “Before you mock who I am, walk a day in my shoes.”
* * *
(This is where Evelyn picks up the story)


Chapter One
Old Friends


Aana woke to the sounds of birds. At first she thought of the small tree she had planted just outside her window that the birds always sat in. She opened her eyes, expecting to see the yellow ceiling, painted with hundreds of minutely detailed bluebirds, but instead there where real ones, hopping around the branches of the trees surrounding her, chirping lustily as they fought over choice tidbits of food. A slow smile spread across her face as she rolled up her blankets. She shivered a little as she splashed her face with cold water from a small brook that babbled its way through the trees. True, back in the palace she would still be blissfully asleep under a swan’s-down quilt, with a fire in the hearth warming the air and a basin of hot water ready for her wash, but Aana was happier where she was. The comforts of the palace where not close to enough to counter her restlessness or her longing for the freedom she could only feel out of doors. She always felt cooped up, like a dog in a kennel a few sizes too small. Out here she was at home. She was out doing what she had wished to be doing for years- looking for Dashell… but she had no idea where to look. As Aana chewed a rather rubbery root she had found, she decided that she would head north. There she would find many small villages where she could find supplies she hadn’t managed to find at the palace, and ask after Dashell.
So she kept the rising sun to her right each morning, and the setting sun to her left each evening. When her way crossed a town she bought more bread, a pair of wool gloves, and water skins with some of the gold she had brought, and asked everywhere about Dashell. She described him so many times that her words began to sound the same each time. ‘Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for an elf. Not tall, with silvery hair- but he doesn’t look old. Have you seen him?’ But always the answer was the same; no. Oh, they where nice about it; they where very sorry of course, but still, the answer was no, no one had seen a silver-haired elf. Aana didn’t loose heart though. She did not loose heart easily. She continued her search westward, paralleling the mountains that formed Tokvan’s northern border. She knew that sooner or later she would find something, for he had frequented that area when she was with him. She traveled like this, wandering in pursuit of a whisper, for over a month.
Back at the palace they where losing enthusiasm. They had searched wildly at first, nearly all the knights volunteering for the job. But if Aana hadn’t turned up after one year they would declare her death for the second time. That was the way of things.
Aana continued on through the wilderness, stopping at all the villages and towns to ask, until she stumbled across a camp of gypsies. They turned out to be the very troop that Dashell had left her with before, although she didn’t recognize them until Hartym, the leader-mother of the troop who had taken Aana under her wing, appeared. She was carrying two large buckets of water, while a pair young boys did flips in front of her. The whole camp was a bustle of activity and bursts of songs.
“Aana! Well ‘o all dah surprahses ah didnee ‘spect yah. Yah’ve come tuh visit us?” Hartym asked with her thick accent and broad smile. Aana shook her head.
“No, Hartym. I did not even know that you where here, but I am happy to have found you,” Aana said, noticing with some surprise the way she still dropped her contractions when talking with Hartym. “I am looking for Dashell, have you seen him?” Hartym’s face lost its cheer with surprising rapidity, and she lowered her voice.
“Deese ent things to be spekin’ of in dah open. Yah’ll only scar da little ‘uns. Yah ken come’n spek insahd.” Hartym handed her buckets over to the two boys and led Aana to a brightly colored wagon and pulled her inside. It was the same as Aana remembered: carpeted, with stacks and piles of bright cushions nearly covering the carpet, which was a gaudy green. There was a small portable stove consisting of a small metal pot on legs with a fire in it and a grate that sat over the top. Hartym was just taking a kettle off of it and pouring cups of hot tea. Aana sat on a pile of green and mulberry cushions and accepted a cup. Hartym sat across from her.
“Now, what wahs yah sayin’?”
“Dashell.” Hartym took a long drink of tea, nodded thoughtfully, and then began.
“Well, whan Dashahll brought yah here yah wern’t ‘wake tuh hear what ‘ee said. Da poor dear wahs most ‘pset, doh he tried tuh hide it as ‘e always did. Funny ‘ow ‘e does dat. Anywhoo, he didn’t reahly leave, ahs you taught ‘e did, which o’course is what ‘e wanted you tuh think. Dashahll hid in anader wagon tuh make sure dat you lehft dis time a’cause ‘e though that you might go tryin’ to foller ‘him again. Ahfter yah did ‘e trahvled wid us fer a while. Ahy tink dat ‘e woulda gone da next day, bu’ dah Sperrians got ‘ere first. Dey was ‘appy tuh see ‘im, but ‘e weren’t so pleased tuh see dem. Dey said dat Dashahll had killed one ‘o dem, so ‘ee ‘ahd tu go’n sit in dah pris’n ‘till ‘ee rotted.
“Well, dey took Dashahll. ‘ee fought ‘em o’course, buh dey hid ‘im wid a big stick from behind an’ ‘ee passed out long enough fer dem tuh tie ‘him up real good. We tried tuh talk ‘em out ‘o takin’ ‘im, buh dey wouldn’ ‘ear o’ it. Dey said dat if we ‘elped him we wehre just as bad as ‘e was. We ‘ad to let ‘im go. Ahy ‘aven’t seem ‘im since.”
Aana remained silent. Her face was still, but her hand clutched her teacup very tightly.
“Ahy’m sorry, Aana. Dere was nuting we could do.” Aana studied her tea. So that was what had happened to him. Dashall had stayed by her until he was sure she was going to be safe, and because of it he was trapped or dead. She didn’t blame herself though. Nor did she blame Hartym. She knew that that wouldn’t solve anything.
“Do you know where they took him?” It was a slim hope, but she had to ask.
“Aye, I know.” Her heart leapt. “In dah roots o’ dah mountains on dah border ‘tween Sperr an’ Tokvan.”
“I’ll go there then.” Hartym eyed her sharply, but then nodded.
“Ahy didnee s’pect nutin eslse from yah. But stay wid us tonight.”
Aana did, and was glad of it. She had forgotten how refreshing it was just to be with these people. They danced and laughed and sang as easily as most walked and spoke, and they had good food besides. Aana was temped to stay longer, but she resolved to move on. Still, by the time she left the sun was high and her pack was much heavier. The food they had given her was good, and it would be a nice break from what she could gather or catch in the woods, but she didn’t really need it. The most useful thing they had given her was a knife. Before she had been using her throwing knives to cut up roots or skin rabbits, but that wasn’t the best for knife, root, or rabbit. The kitchen at the palace always had someone in it, so she hadn’t been able to snitch any cooking knives. Hartym also gave her a scarf, yellow with blue lines that curled into complex knots and patterns. So, armed thus with full pack and light mind, she set off again. She hummed as she walked. The noonday sun was beaming through the leaves, throwing down rays that illuminated dust-motes and made bright spots on the forest floor, making for a peaceful and warm atmosphere. Suddenly there was a loud rustle off to her left and Aana dropped to the ground as a reflex. The rustling continued, and then there were sounds of growling. Aana crept closer and saw a young fox entangled in a snare. The trap had clearly been set long ago and forgotten, since the string was beginning to rot. Aana approached the fox. It went into a frenzy of fear, snapping alternately at her and the string, getting itself more and more tangled, throwing dirt and leaves into the air with his thrashing. Aana dodged in and grasped its head, both covering it eyes and holding its mouth shut- a trick she had learned from Dashell to keep an animal calm and from biting. Working with her free hand, she cut the strings in a few places, and then untangled what was left. Once it was free, she released the fox. It bolted away, but stopped and looked back at Aana. Its flanks heaved and Aana could see its ribs through its fur. She set a scrap of meat on the ground for it and continued on.
She didn’t see it again the whole day, but when she was sitting by her campfire, it came and sat by her as naturally as if it had done so for years.
“Well hello there,” Aana said in the crooning voice she had so often heard the huntsmen speaking to their dogs in when they thought that no one could hear them. “You’ve been following me all day, haven’t you? You really shouldn’t do that you know. Don’t you have a home you should be getting back to?” It cocked its head to one side. “Well you don’t need to,” Aana told it, “but if you get in trouble with your mama for staying out tonight you needn’t go blaming me. Here.” She took a piece of dried fruit and held it out to it. The fox sniffed it dubiously and wrinkled his nose. Aana laughed. “You don’t like that? No, let’s see….” She dug in her pockets for a strip of dried meat. When she didn’t find it, she picked up her pack and began rummaging in that, allowing her hair to fall around her face. The fox growled at some bushes. Aana looked up, and there was an audible gasp, quickly cut off, from the bush. Aana set the pack down quietly and went into a low crouch. Still staring at the bushes, murmured “Do you smell something? What’s over there…?” The fox growled at the bush again, then charged off right into the middle of it before Aana could grab him. Then a very familiar voice said “Peace, peace! Call off your fox.” There was a yelp and the fox came tearing out of the bush, a pinecone the size of its head stuck between its ears. “Never mind.” Aana jumped up, the fox completely forgotten.
“Dashell!!” Before he had even come all the way out of the bush, she had flung her arms around him, burying her face in his cloak and breathing in the familiar, sharp scent of pine-needles that he always carried.
“I don’t hate you!” She was squeezing so hard that Dashell had trouble breathing properly.
“Aana, what in the name of Brai’ten are you doing here?” he choked out.
“I couldn’t find you!” she said as he gently pried her off and held her at arm’s length, both to get a good look at her and to make sure she didn’t try to hug him again. “They said you had been taken to the dungeons under the mountains!”
“I had,” he said. “It was only recently that I managed to escape.”
“Oh, that’s dreadful! Tell me all about it. I have so much to tell you! Come sit by the fire.”
As Dashell made himself comfortable- legs crossed, elbows propped on knees, chin propped on steepled fingers- Aana looked him over. He was thinner than before, his face more worn, but his eyes still shone with interest. They where still just as easy for Aana to read. He was wearing brown pants and shirt with long sleeves, and was wrapped in a dark green cloak. The clothes where different than before, but in the same colors and style. His hair was still long and silvery, hanging to the small of his back in a loose ponytail. As they ate Aana told Dashell about what had happened at the palace since they parted. Dashell told his side of the story. Aana leaned back, closing her eyes, and listened to his smooth, precise way of speech.
“When I left you with Hartym, I remained with them to make sure that you truly went home that time. But she must already have told you that.”
“How did you know I visited Hartym?” Aana interrupted, opening one eye.
“Aana, no-one else would give you a scarf like that. How much did she tell you?”
“Not much. Just tell me the whole thing so I’ll be sure not to miss anything.”
“As you wish. I remained in one of the other wagons by day, and only left it by night so that you would not know of my presence. In truth I rather enjoyed walking at night. Once, to my great relief, you had gone, I remained with them a while longer as they where traveling my way. That was going well, until the Sperrians caught up. They said that I had killed one of them, which is quite possibly true, yet I do not remember the particular incident. They said that because of it I must go to be locked in their dungeons until, and I quote: ‘you die and your flesh is devoured by the rats and your bones lie forever in darkness.’ Not precisely a good reason for me to wish to go with them. I attempted to get away, but they used the rather dirty trick of saying that they would fight me one at a time, then coming up from behind me when I was concentrating on my opponent and hitting me over the head with something.”
“I thought the Sperrians where honorable men!” Aana exclaimed, her eyes popping open.
“They are, to other men. They hold elves in very low regard, I’m afraid to say. They do not believe that we have feelings.” There was a barely detectable edge of bitterness to his voice.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Not entirely. It is a rather ignorant assumption by a people who have only had very limited dealings with us. They believe so because we are much more subtle in conveying emotions than they. They somehow think that no one is capable of having feelings without waving them around like a banner. Because of it they think us cold at best.”
“Well then they are being stupid. Anyone with half a brain can-”
“Aana....”
“Fine, but still, they have no right to treat you like scum.”
“Indeed. It was still very foolish of me to be tricked by that. Shall I continue?” Aana sighed and sat back against the tree again.
“Thank you. That is all I remember until I was in the cell. They must have kept me drugged. The prison was a moldy old place, and cold, but it wasn’t too bad by normal standards. The worst part of it was that is was directly next to the torture chambers, so you could hear the chains and the screams night and day….” His eyes glazed over for a moment as he lost his train of thought in memory, but then he blinked and continued. “They have a law there that they cannot stop giving someone food unless they know that they have committed a crime and they deserve to die of starvation. Silly, really, since most simply lose heart and die regardless in that place. So in order to prove that I had done something- they suspected that I had killed one of them, but they needed proof- they needed to get me to confess…I mentioned that I was directly next to the torture chambers? -Will you please sit down so I may finish? Thank you. ]\
“Hinges are the weakest part of a door, Aana. The screws they used could be easily undone from the inside with the use of the plates they gave me. I had already loosened them, but there where always guards. I could not drug them; they had taken all of my things. All that I could do was wait. Well I waited almost three years there. It eventually turned out that I needn’t drug the guard; he did it himself. He got himself drunk on ale. I always find it amazing what they do to themselves voluntarily. I got out, but they tracked me for a long way. I managed to lose them in a swamp. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are all dead in it now.
“After that I wandered. I visited an old friend. I started back to see you, but then turned back for I thought that you would try to follow me again. And I was right to think so. You have followed me again, Aana. Why can you not be content in comfort and what is good for you? No, no, I will not have this argument now. I am very glad to see you again.”
“Me too. I can’t believe you waited three years to escape! It must have been awful. Did they hurt you, Dashell? Are you alright?” Dashell held up a hand.
“No questions now. Now we should sleep, unless as a princess you have become nocturnal?” With that Dashell banked up the fire, found a spot particularly thick with pine needles, and wrapped himself in his cloak with his back to Aana. She did likewise, and fell asleep watching his side rise and fall with his slow breathing. Just like old times.

When she woke Dashell was already awake, strolling through the trees in the pale morning light with his hands locked behind his back. They breakfasted and talked, and eventually fell to discussing the future. Dashell wanted Aana to go back. Aana didn’t want to. Only Dashell’s resolve to keep it as a discussion instead of an argument this time kept it under control. The fox interrupted them with a timely yap. It walked straight to Aana and plopped itself firmly at her side.
“No, you can’t come with me,” Aana told it gently. “You’ll be far better off on your own. Besides,” she told the fox, “you have family to go back to. I’d be leading you into places where there are other foxes who will try to chase you off their territory. It isn’t safe for you to come.” Dashell blinked. The fox cocked its head to one side. “No, I don’t need your protection; I’m fine on my own. I survived before you came along and I’ll do just fine once you’re gone. But I can’t protect you too.” Aana’s voice was rising in pitch, trying to convey her meaning. Dashell shifted uneasily. “Don’t be so stubborn. I won’t let you come. Really, I’m telling you-”
Dashell sighted and interrupted her resignedly. “It’s no use, Aana. He apparently cares a great deal for you, and evidently that counts for a lot. If he wants to follow you he will, no matter how much better it is for him where he is, and no matter what you say or do. You might as well resign yourself to the fact.” Aana looked up slowly.
“Does that mean…?”
“Come on, get your things together, and let us get started. I want to reach the river before nightfall.”

That day Aana soared. She was happier than she had ever been; she could stay with Dashell. There would be no more looming sense of dread every time he mentioned her family, no more worry that she would wake up to her last day of freedom. However, the ever mindful Dashell had made her agree to go back to the palace for at least a week to explain things to her parents and set things in order, but that didn’t bother her; she didn’t have to stay.
Aana, Dashell, and the fox went together through the woods, heading west toward the palace. The fox, despite its earlier misgivings, had grown rather fond of the elf, and had taken to walking between him and Aana, dashing ahead or running behind at the littlest rustle of leaves, usually ending up with a mouthful of sticks and a tail full of mud, although once when they stopped in a shady glen to eat, he caught an old rabbit and brought it back for them to admire. Aana took it gratefully and smoked the meat, while Dashell developed a sudden need to scout out ahead. When the sun was just starting to brush the tops of the trees they came to a wide river that crossed the path. Dashell led them to a shallow part not too far upstream, and they took off their outer garments, bundling them on their heads before wading across the river. At first the current threatened to topple Aana over, but then she got a good footing and leaned into it as Dashell had taught her. The fox, on the other hand, leapt into the water, and would have been carried away had Aana not grabbed the little fellow around the middle and carried him. Dashell was first to reach the other side. He found a place where the shore dipped low and climbed onto the bank, then turned to help Aana with the fox. Aana gasped. One of his sleeves had been pushed up to the elbow in the river, and the exposed part was latticed with thin white scars.
“Dashell!” He turned, straightening from setting down the fox and saw her face as she climbed out of the river.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Your…your arm! Did they do that?” Dashell winced slightly and covered the marks with a hand, as if blocking them from view
would make her forget.
“It was their doing. Do not think on it; it does not matter anymore.”
“It does, Dashell, it still bothers you!”
“I-”
“I’ve seen you! They hurt you just because…just to make you…just-”
“Calm down, Aana.”
“If I ever…if they even-” It was getting harder for her to breath; her face was flushing alarmingly. “They’ll-”
“Aana! Aana, look at me.” She didn’t want to. Why should she look at the man? He was the one who had…but she was looking at him. His eyes bored into hers, and something happened, something was woken that could rear up and trample her. “Control, Aana.” Control? Control what? Why should she control? That was a stupid thing to do. A stupid idea from a stupid…. While she was angry she could do something, she must do something, quickly before her decisiveness died. But the man had spoken to the other, rearing part, and it reached out and her eyes closed, and the anger subsided, fought down by the other part of her. And then she was the part that had fought the anger down, Aana again, not the anger at all. She stood a long time like that, with her eyes closed, making sure that the anger was stamped down completely and she was in complete control again.
“That’s better,” Dashell said tersely. Her eyes snapped open at his tone.
“I’m sorry, Dashell.”
“As well you should be,” he said composedly after a slight pause in which he silently reprimanding himself for having let any curtness come into his voice. “Tell me, what was that? An outburst. And what for? A past offence that has no bearing on present or future. Where has all your training gone, Aana? You know that you of all people cannot afford to get angry. Have you truly forgotten so much?” Aana had always found her mentor’s quiet disappointment hardest to bear. She looked down a spider crawling along the ground by her feet, but somehow her gaze strayed up to Dashell’s arm, crossed across his chest. He made an impatient noise and twitched his sleeve down; she dropped her eyes. After several seconds she realized, somewhat to her embarrassment, that Dashell was still waiting for her to answer.
“I haven’t forgotten.” She could almost feel the eyebrow arch skeptically. “I’m out of practice. It almost never happened at the palace, and there was something about this one…it came over me before I noticed, I think it was because I wanted to be angry.” She looked up at him, and sure enough his expression was exactly as she had guessed. The single raised eyebrow, the slight compression of the lips, the look he always wore when he questioned her argument for an action he disapproved of. “Look, I know it was stupid, I won’t do it again.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he said lightly. The look was gone. “It is getting late; we should get out of easy sight of the river before we camp.”
Aana sighed and picked up her bundle, following Dashell’s receding back. That was how it always was. A few moments of talk immediately, and then the subject was dropped, and not brought up again until he had had time to think very thoroughly on it. Sometime tomorrow he would probably be ready. She spied the fox’s wet tail waving above a patch of grass and gave it a gentle tug on her way by to let him know that they were leaving, which, being as fascinated by another beetle as he was, he was not likely to have noticed.
“Come on, fur ball,” she said fondly. She continued on, but stopped dead when she heard a low growl. Aana spun, but instead of some wild predator she saw to fox. It was growling at her, hackles raised, teeth bared, snout wrinkled in a snarl. Before she could move it leapt at her; she dodged out of reflex, and it sailed by to crash into a bush.
“Dashell!” He hastened back in time to see Aana shove a sap-soaked cloth in its face, the odor of it knocking it out.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, looking her over concernedly. She shook her head no, but her eyes where on the fox. Dashell knelt by it, felt for a pulse and peeled back an eyelid. The eye underneath was rolled back, but instead of white showing, a red film covered it. The fox’s lip curled in a snarl. He let the lid droop back over the eye and stood up.
“Why did he attack me?”
“Rek’til-shonvii,” the elf answered grimly, wiping his hands on his pants. Aana’s eyes widened.
“Rek’til-shonvii?” A nod. “But how…?” A horrible, impossible idea had occurred to her. “He had it before, didn’t he?” A pause.
“I do not think so. This looks like a first time.” Dashell looked at her closely, as if to gauge her reaction. “I believe that your Rek’til-shonvii is contagious.”