Whispers of the Wind, Echos of a Sword

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         Emra awoke to an urgent nudge at her side. Opening her eyes, she straightened from the windowsill where she had been laying her head. She blinked against the mid-morning glare, trying to distinguish who had awakened her from the shadowy interior of her bedroom.

         “Emra…” came her father’s voice. “I need your help immediately.”

         Perplexed by the strange urgency in his voice, she frowned. “What do you want me to do?” Emra felt disoriented by her nap and sudden awakening. In fact, she wasn’t certain she was truly awake at all.

         Emra took in her father’s disheveled exterior. His cloak was dirtied and his boots, which remained on his feet, were scuffed and muddied. The Senator never wore boots indoors, nor did he risk tracking in dirt. “I need you to warm some hot water as fast as you can. I also need rags, several of them.”

         Emra opened her mouth in surprise. “But why, Father? Are you hurt?” She stood, steadying herself on the back of a chair. The wood felt cold and hard beneath her grasp. She could not be dreaming.

         The Senator took long, hurried strides across the room to her clothing chest. “I’m perfectly fine, but do as I say.” He opened the chest and stooped over, sifting through the clothing until he found a plain, russet gown. He looked up at his daughter and with a brief smile. “May I borrow this?”

         Emra gaped at him with mystification. “Of course… but why?”

         “All will be explained.” he said, trying to console her. “Please bring the things to Lorelle’s room.” Before she had a chance to question him further, the Senator exited with the gown bundled beneath his arm.

         Even more perplexing than her father’s strange requests, was his direction to Lorelle’s room. The Senator had locked Lorelle’s room soon after her leaving and no one had stepped onto its premises for more than a year.

         Realizing she would come to no conclusions in her bedroom, Emra flitted downstairs and set the cauldron over the fire. She gathered as many rags she could find and sat beside the furnace to watch the water.

         From Lorelle’s room down the hall, she could hear faint scuffling from her father’s still-booted feet. A few minutes later, Emra knocked at its door with heated water and rags in her arms.

         Her father opened it right away and Emra noticed blood on his tunic. “Father!” Emra gasped in horror. “What’s going on?” Her arms became shaky, forcing the Senator to rescue the water before it spilled to the ground.

         “Go back to your room, Emra.” The command was a firm one, but Emra was not easily put aside.

         Her father reached for the rags on her arm, but she snatched them away, clutching them to her chest. Emra stared up at him with the same, stubborn determination compared to his own so many times before. “What’s going on?”

         The Senator surveyed his daughter from the flashing of her eyes to the fierce set of her chin. He sighed and suddenly felt many decades older than he really was. “Wait for me, Emra.” He pleaded, more than instructed. “I swear to you, all will be explained.”

         Reluctantly, Emra relinquished the rags from her arms. She did not press him further, but her eyes told him she would remember his promise. The Senator nodded in voiceless thanks and moved aside to close the door.

         Emra had a single flash of the room’s interior, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of a feminine, dark-haired figure stretched out limply upon Lorelle’s bed.


         It was several hours before the Senator finished his task. Closing the door softly behind him, he went in search for his daughter. He found Emra seated beside the furnace with firelight playing upon her face. She wore a crimson wrap tucked beneath her chin. Strands of hair had escaped from her braid, forming a halo-like glow about her face as she stared into the dancing flames. She looked so tranquil; so at peace, he felt reluctant to disturb her.

         Senator Emiligan began to back away, but then stopped. He couldn‘t keep it from her forever. Sighing, he took a seat and moved in beside her. Emra did not remove her eyes from the fire though she shifted to the side to create more space. “Sorry if I’m disturbing you.” The Senator apologized.

         Emra shook her head. “It’s all right. I knew you were there.” She turned her gaze onto him as if awaiting his promised explanation. “Who is that woman in Lorelle’s room?”

         The Senator took a deep breath, steadily kneading his hands together. How much could he tell her without endangering her safety? He had to tell her something, yet truth seemed too risky. “She’s going to be staying with us for a little while.” Senator Emiligan began, testing his ground. “She needs our help right now.”

         Emra looked into her father‘s face, studying him. “Was that her blood, then… On your tunic?” Her father had exchanged his soiled clothing for fresh ones, but the sight of blood remained in her memory.

         “Yes,” her father answered, “She was hurt badly. There was an accident, you see… But she should recover now she has received proper care.”

         “So who is she?” Emra continued. “Where is she from?”

         The Senator pursed his lips together. He had known this would come. But the truth was, he did not have permission to reveal the woman’s identity, not even to his own daughter. It wasn’t that he thought of Emra as unreliable. On the contrary, he held his daughter’s trust in the highest esteem, but if something were to go amiss and their work was discovered… He did not want Emra to be in the middle of it all. No, the less she knew of the stranger, the better. “I need you to do something very hard for me, Emra.” he spoke, looking his daughter in the eyes.

         Emra did not reply, but noticeably awaited his request.

         Senator Emiligan let out his breath and continued. “I don’t know how long this woman is going to stay with us, but I want you to treat her as your sister. I want you to call her Lorelle and, for the time being, treat her as such. If you are ever questioned about your relationship between each other, tell them she’s your sister. Can you do that for me?” He reached for his daughter’s hand. “Please?”

         Emra stared at her father in alarm. “Treat her as Lorelle? What in the world for?” Her hand clenched at the blanket, as if his words touched an open nerve.

         The Senator placed a hand on his daughters cheek to calm her. “I know this must sound impossible to you, but I swear it is necessary. This woman’s concealment is of the utmost importance. I will send you two to the country estate. I would go along, but I have work with the Council. It will be easier for you both there. She needs looking after until her wounds heal. Can I trust you with this?”

         Emra stared into the fire once more, a frown engraved into her child-like face. Her emotions were spiraling within her. How could her father possibly ask her this after all that happened? Didn’t he know his request tore her up inside?

         Emra cleared her face, though her fists remained clenched beneath the blanket. He needed her help… Even if she did not understand what was going on, she had to trust he had everything under control. “Of course you can trust me.” Her voice was filled with a conviction she did not feel, but it seemed to satisfy her father.

         The Senator smiled. “I knew I could count on you, Emra.” He pulled her to his chest, embracing her. But Emra did not hug him back, nor did she remove her eyes from the flames.



         The chinking of clay mugs could be heard far outside of Telmroy’s Pub. The regular drunkards wandered away from the tavern’s doors singing slurred songs as they staggered into the grimy streets. Within the tavern, things were as rowdy as usual. The majority of men were clothed in blue and gray uniforms, each marked with the logo of a silver fist upon their chests. Some sat together in the smoky haze tossing coins into the center of the table and jealously guarding thick jugs of whisky. Those less sober than they stood around the fireplace, belting out enthusiastic but out-of tune ballads of battles and blood. Jovial emotions were running high.

         The troops were home.

         In the corner of the tavern, a man with shoulders of a soldier and the carriage of one in authority, sat alone. His hands were busied on his lap, sharpening the blade of his sword with practiced fingers.

         Tarem lowered the sharpened blade beside his chair and looked down at his palms. They were the hands of a man now, hardened with calluses. He had changed within the past two years, though he didn’t know how it had happened. It wasn’t something that had come upon him over night. Somehow, though, Tarem was no longer the youth he had been before his expedition to Aerinar.

         A familiar and no less diminished bulk of a man spied Tarem from across the room and raised a mug of beer in his direction. His thick cheeks were far too flushed for the room’s temperature and his eyes sparkled with an unusual giddiness.

         Tarem shook his head and waved Bear’s offer aside. He didn’t feel like a drink. After two brutal years fighting the Aerins, he had finally made it back to his homeland. But he felt no peace here. Tarem recalled the countless times when he had prayed to be back home, wrapped within the embrace of his father and sisters instead of dirt and blood. He had reassured himself countless times, that upon reaching his homeland, all would be as it used to. But when he had crossed onto Kheol soil, no magical erasing of his sins had taken place. It was almost as if an added burden had been eased onto his shoulders.

         Tarem knew the bloodshed in Aerinar was far from over. Though the mass of Aerin armies had been dealt with and demolished, the Aerins were simply too thick-headed to acknowledge when they were defeated. Small bands of Aerin warriors roamed the profuse woods, attacking random Kheol troops and then disappearing into the impenetrable forests from which they came. The Aerins were a stubborn people and didn’t have the sense to yield before their utter extermination took place.

         It had been a hard road to earn the trust and respect of his troops as Captain. He had done it, though, and apparently done it well. After General Shadaran was caught in the chest by an Aerin spear, Tarem was the one called upon to lead the troops. Tarem had led the legions well after Shadaran’s death and finally been named General himself, all by the age of twenty-one.

         Bear shuffled over to Tarem and seated himself with a grunt, awakening Tarem from his wonderings.

         “’Tis wrong not to drink on a day like this, Tarem, me boy!” Bear scolded boisterously, shoving his mug of beer into Tarem’s hands. “You can take a sip er two, but then you gotta getch your own.” Bear burped and stared at the mug protectively.

         Tarem returned the jug to his friend with a dismissing grimace. “You’re drunk, Bear. Go join your idiotic comrades.” Tarem tipped his head toward several fellow soldiers attempting to dance a disoriented jig.

         Bear gave a lopsided grin and retrieved his mug happily. “So what if I am drunk and prefer yer company? ‘Tis the last time I get to dip in the drink with the fellahs before goin’ back to the family and farm.” Bear leaned in close to Tarem’s ear as if sharing a secret of marvelous importance. “I’m a farming sort, Tarem, did you know that? Born and raised as such.”

         Tarem’s brows rose in surprise. Bear? A farmer? He was certain the drink had loosened Bear’s tongue more than he would liked. Tarem had a hard time picturing him exchanging a sword for a spade. “By Urgon…” Tarem gasped. “I’d never have guessed. A farmer? It can’t be true!”

         “Cha!” Bear raised his fist in the air to silence him. “Keep your voice down, young thing. ’Tis honest work, farming… though a bit slow.”

         Tarem gazed at his friend in wonder, trying to envision him working in the fields. The results were comical. “So what did you grow on that farm of yours?” he said, feigning interest.

         “Oh, corn, beans, squash and the like…” Bear spoke around the rim of his earthen mug. Beer dribbled down his chin and onto the front of his shirt, shimmering like droplets of gold in the firelight. “But why should it bother you any?”

         Tarem grinned at him mercilessly. “So I can look for your stall when I visit the marketplace, of course.”

         Bear’s stained lips puckered into a frown. He locked his arms over his hefty chest and scowled. “’Tisn’t a jest, Tarem, me boy. It’s me job.”

         “Of course, of course…” Tarem admitted with a half-hearted sigh, though a cynical smile remained at the edge of his lips. “I’m sorry, Bear.”

         Bear took a large swig of the strong liquid, filling his plump cheeks and swallowing slowly. Then, surveying Tarem closely, splashed the remaining contents of the mug into his companions lap. Although Tarem’s voice had been entirely repentant, his face suggested otherwise. “No, you’re not, you troublemaker! I swear by Tagar’s temple! If I had known what an impudent thing you’d have turned into, I’d never have approached you that first day!”

         “Perhaps so.” Tarem admitted, shaking off his trousers. “But what is past is past… And you’re stuck with me until you go back to your hoe and garden.” Feeling in a jollier mood, Tarem pointed towards Bear’s mug. “Perhaps I will have a taste of that.”

         “Well its too late now, you bugger! It’s completely dry.” Bear tipped the cup towards the floor as if to prove its emptiness. “I’m afraid if you’re looking to mooch some drink off of me, you’ll have to lick it off your pants.”

         Tarem smiled at his friend and waved the offer aside. Randomly, he reached for his sword and began to fiddle with it’s hilt. He twirled it between his palms as if its touch was a comfort to him.

         “Why do you play with that thing now?” Bear asked, letting his mug roll from his fingers and clatter to the floor. “You’ve no need of it. You can go back to those pretty, young sisters of yours.”

         Tarem pursed his lips together and slowly shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think I’ll be going home.”

         Bear snorted. “What do you plan on doing then?”

         “I don’t know.” Tarem admitted, and then shrugged. “I’ll probably enlist again. I’ve nothing better to do. Perhaps I’ll be stationed closer to home this time.”

         Bear stared at him doubtfully. “What’s the use of being near home if you don’t plan on visitin’ it?”

         Tarem didn’t answer. He knew Bear had no way of knowing. Tarem yearned to see his home and sisters again, but some things were just not meant to be. His family possessed odd sympathies, he had come to realize, and very unrealistic ones. Because of them, his homecoming had become an impossibility.

         There had once been a time when Tarem believed wholeheartedly in what his father did, but that was no more. Tarem liked to think that he had advanced his reasoning since that overcast day two years ago. He thought like a Kheol General now and that was something his family would never come to understand.

         Tarem knew what he had to do. It was best for both he and his family. His family must think him dead. He knew they’d rather think him a loyal, but dead brother, than an alive traitor.

         Bear observed his friend’s silence with a grunt. “You’ve got a strange way of things.” He leaned over and stared into Tarem’s eyes as he had done the first day they met. “But you’re a man now and you must learn to handle your own life.”

Don't forget to check out the third chapter!

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