Chapter 41

  Hitasa sat quietly at the center of a wide couch, alone in one of the rooms above the main hall of the Batulan-bar Hunters’ Lodge. Half of her leaflets were stacked on a stand next to the couch. It was late at night. The door was closed. Voices spoke in an adjacent room, one of them Metsa’s. The elf matron had the other half of the leaflets. She was showing them to her “guests” in the other room. They would shortly join Hitasa for a special demonstration. For now, Hitasa rested her hands in her lap and waited.

  On the wall across from her was a long cabinet with glass doors revealing a row of carved stone tablets on the shelf. She wanted to stand up and look at what was written on the tablets, but that would be snooping. They probably held some information sensitive to the hunters of this lodge. It wasn’t her place to look where she was uninvited.

  She heard laughing coming from the adjacent room and stood up anyway, glancing once at the door and then crossing the room to look through the glass at the carvings inside. The tablets were stacked like books in a bookcase, so she opened the door and pulled one out.

  “Yesui Gegenke, ogtol salk summons scythes of wind,” Hitasa read aloud to herself.

  The tablets were Yesui’s spells, kept in stock in case she was ever given leeway to further publicize her power.

  The carved stone was difficult to transport, impossible to spread, and easy for an informer for the Wolf Brigade to spot. The stone was also easily destroyed. It was the only form of publication the dragons would entrust to a hunter. It was rare that the dragons would let the hunters hold onto the tablets themselves. Usually, a human would keep the tablets in a sealed vault and return only one tablet at a time to a hunter when authorized.

  Hitasa knew Yesui held a special position in the Batulan-bar Lodge, and that probably gave her unique privileges to hold onto her own spells. Returning the tablet to the cabinet, Hitasa sat back down on the couch.

  Thinking of Yesui reminded her of Dalex and his “job.” She wondered how it was going. Had they reached Dugan yet? Dalex had said they would be riding and not flying, so the journey had probably taken all day. Would he begin the hunt right away, or would he take the night to rest? He could probably dispatch whatever monster was plaguing the town quickly enough to be back in Batulan-bar the next day.

  He was such a strange man. Hitasa didn’t know many humans, but those few she had met were nothing like Dalex. Really, no one was like him. He acted common, but even then, his personality and mannerisms didn’t match any elf or beastkin Hitasa had ever met. It was as if he didn’t belong, and, if she were to take him at his word, that was the strictest truth.

  Did she believe him when he said he was from another world? Not simply from one of the other six Worlds of Gaia, but from somewhere entirely outside the realm of her existence? The longer she spent around him, the more plausible it seemed. But then, where was he from, and how had he come to be on Gaia Eta? Why was he here? She knew he was searching for that precious metal, adamantine, but what was it for? Why had he crossed the impenetrable void to look for it here? What would drive such a man to travel so far from his home?

  And why did Hitasa so often take the chance to follow him around?

  What had he meant when he said he could make printing easier? Hitasa’s hand was still sore from writing five hundred copies of the manifesto. But what other way was there to do it? Maybe Dalex knew people with good handwriting who would be willing to copy the manifesto with her. Maybe they would help her with the spell stewing in the back of her mind. Now that her’s and Sitoa’s work had been recorded, “Astregn means the crushing star” had replaced the manifesto to bounce around inside Hitasa’s head.

  The next time she saw Dalex, she would ask him for more paper and demand he explain the easier printing method.

  That was, of course, her primary use for him. Dalex was more or less her sponsor; her source of writing tools. What other reason was there to follow him?

  Her mind went briefly blank. There is shame in our history.

  The door opened, knocking her out of the oncoming stupor. Metsa held the door open for four elves to enter. Hitasa had never seen any of them before. Two he-elfs and two she-elfs, they stood in a line just inside the threshold, giving Hitasa curious looks. Metsa finally came into the room, Staja close behind her.

  “Please, have a seat,” Metsa said, gesturing to four chairs set up opposite Hitasa’s couch. The four newcomers each took a chair and Metsa and her son sat down on the couch next to Hitasa, taking up her flanks. They didn’t touch her, but Hitasa still felt squeezed between them.

  “This is the author of the letter we just read?” one of the male elves asked, his annunciation staccato and impatient. His eyebrows had a narrow, judgmental slant, and he talked with his chin in the air.

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  “Indeed, Brother Limilin,” Metsa said. “This is Hitasa. She wrote it with the assistance of her brother, Sitoa.”

  “Dangerous work, that,” Limilin said. “And where is your brother, child?”

  Hitasa hesitated a moment, then opened her mouth to explain, but Metsa did so for her.

  “He was killed by Jean Castreier. It happened not quite a week ago in Telman.”

  “I had heard he was in that area,” a she-elf with braided blonde hair and a sharp face said. She gave Hitasa a pitying look. “I am sorry for your separation, child. I am sure you will see him again in the forest.”

  Hitasa nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “You are kind, Sister Saltava,” Metsa said on her behalf, which was not what Hitasa was thinking.

  “I must say,” the other he-elf cut in, his eyes wide as if he might be on the verge of tears, “I do not understand why you have brought us here, why you have shown us these writings and their author. Even with the Wolf Brigade’s attention elsewhere, it is too dangerous to be discussing these things. You risk far too much, Metsa.”

  “I understand your reticence, Brother Pelku,” Metsa said, “But we have a once-in-a-lifetime chance. And I don’t mean any of our lifetimes. I refer to the lifetime of our race. We will all be dead and gone, squeezed of our life force and mana, within the next hundred years; maybe two hundred if the dragons do not increase their pressure on our people.”

  “I think we are all well aware of the elvish plight,” Limilin said. “Do not talk to us like we are children. What is the chance you speak of?”

  “Dalex of the Expedition Seven,” was all Metsa said in explanation.

  Limilin laughed. “You think this chaos he’s created will last? He’ll get bored with terrorizing the humans in Batulan-bar and move on soon enough. I’ve seen men like him before. They claim the title of hero and take pity on a few elves, but then they lose interest in us and either leave or start treating us like toys. We’d be better off turning him over to the Wolf Brigade the first chance we get.”

  Hitasa spoke up, “I don’t think that’s the case with Dalex.”

  All eyes turned to her. Metsa frowned, then said, “He has agreed to assist us in building a rebellion to take Gaia Eta back. He will provide protection for as long as we need it and bolster our military might thereafter.”

  “You believe he would do this?” Pelku asked, his voice fearful. “He’s more likely to be a spy, sent to trick us into gathering all the remnant dissidents into one place so they can wipe us out.”

  Hitasa had to stifle a laugh. “If you knew him, you would realize how absurd you sound.”

  Metsa gave her a sharp look. “Hitasa please, we will come to you soon enough.”

  The elf matron’s voice hit Hitasa like a slap. She sat back into the cushions of the couch, recoiling from the rebuke. From Metsa’s tone Hitasa inferred that it was not what Hitasa had said that had bothered her, but that Hitasa had spoken at all.

  Was she not allowed to speak?

  Metsa took a breath and gave the four elves before her a serious look. “Dalex of the Expedition Seven is indeed a volatile personality, but I have seen with my own eyes what he is capable of, and you have all born witness to his good deeds. I have known men who faked their charity, showing false pity toward our people as you suggest. Dalex is not one of them. And if you do not trust my word, you may leave now and I will seek you no more.”

  The room was quiet for a moment. Limilin looked offended but kept his mouth shut. Pelku seemed momentarily encouraged by Metsa’s words. Among the she-elves, Saltava only appeared thoughtful, and the fourth elf whose name Hitasa did not know might have been on the verge of sleep for the droopiness of her eyes. She had not spoken a word since entering the room, and Hitasa was relatively certain she had not heard the she-elf’s voice when they had been in the adjacent room, either.

  “You want our help then,” Limilin finally said. “You say you want to start recruiting. It’s impossible. Even if we have this human backer as you claim, no one will come to us.”

  Metsa spoke again, “There is another reason I brought you here today. More than one boon has dropped into our lap.”

  She turned to face Hitasa, giving her a knowing look.

  “Her?” Limilin scoffed. “Her writing is inspiring, but that will not be nearly enough to turn the hearts of more elves.”

  “The power of her words will be of great help to us,” Metsa said, “but that is not why she is here.”

  The hair on the back of Hitasa’s neck stood up. Something was wrong. She and Metsa had only ever discussed her and Sitoa’s manifesto, along with her desire to publicize new works, including a personal spell. What else was there?

  “Why don’t you introduce yourself, Hitasa. And please, give them your full name.”

  The request hit Hitasa like a felled tree trunk. Her full name? For several seconds, she couldn’t speak. “I did not come to you to spread my family name.”

  Metsa cocked her head. “Then why did you tell it to me on the Welcome Waters after our hunt?”

  “What is this?” Pelku asked at the same time as Limilin demanded, “Who is she?”

  “It was a moment of weakness,” Hitasa told Metsa. “It was code to make you listen to me. You know exactly what my name means. I did not think you would use it as a weapon.”

  “This is important, Hitasa. Your name will bring others to our cause. It will legitimize what we are trying to do here.”

  “Oh no, it will not do that. This name is a curse.” Hitasa was sweating. She got to her feet. “This was a mistake. You don’t understand.”

  “What is wrong, girl?” Saltava asked, the kindness in her voice entirely unwelcome.

  Hitasa strode to the door and laid her hand on the handle.

  “Who is she!?” Limilin said, growing increasingly frustrated.

  “Her full name is Hitasa of the Perhethion,” Metsa said before Hitasa could escape. “She is, from my calculation, the great, great, great, great, great, great, great granddaughter of Elder King Perhethion, the last true king to rule our people.”

  Hitasa threw open the door and marched out of the room. The last she heard was Metsa demanding to know where she was going. But Hitasa was already down the stairs and walking through the main hall toward the exit.

  Was this her fault? Should she have impressed upon Metsa that Perhethion was not the name the elf matron thought it was? Hitasa had expected everyone would know the truth. It was Elder King Perhethion who had brought the elven kingdom crashing down. He had not started its decline, but he had certainly ensured the collapse.

  Hitasa didn’t know where to go. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  And then one thought came to mind.

  Let me know if you need help.

  She spoke, desperately hoping that the invisible ring hovering over her head was listening to her.

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