The Bowl of Souls: Book 01.5 - Hilt's Pride (15 page)

“How many times did they bite you?” he asked.

“None.
Though you probably smashed a hundred of them with my body,” Beth said. With great effort, she sat up and rolled to her knees. She held her hand out to Hilt. “Well? Help me up.”

“How did you not get bit?” Hilt asked as he pulled Beth to her feet. He drew back his jacket sleeve to show a series of angry red marks along his forearm. “Yntri and I are covered in welts.”

“They’re spiders,” she said as if it was obvious. She gazed up at the last stretch of cliff ahead of them. It looked quite mild in comparison to the rest of the climb. “Creatures don’t attack me. I’ve told you before.”

“But they quelled you. How would that still work?” Hilt said.

Beth shrugged. “I don’t know. Believe me, I’ve asked myself that same question countless times. Maybe they missed some piece of my magic. Maybe it was deep down inside me in a place they couldn’t touch. I don’t know. I can’t control it. All I know is it’s the last piece of magic I have left and I can’t even see it with my mage sight. Who knows? Maybe it’s the way I smell.”

“I doubt it.” Hilt chuckled. “I mean, we could all use a good bathing, but it didn’t work for Yntri or I.”

“That’s not what I meant, idiot,” she said with a glower. “But thanks for pointing that out.”

“Oh come on.” Hilt said. “I said we.”

“I know what you meant,” she said and walked to the wall in front of her. “Besides, your excuse doesn’t work. We both know that Yntri just smells like almonds.”  

 Beth started up the final stretch of the climb in the lead. Yntri chuckled and clicked at Hilt. 

“Yeah, yeah.
I know,” he grumbled and took up the rear.

Once at the top of the cliff, the stream, circled around to their left. The water was so warm that it steamed in the cold air, surrounding the area in a thick mist. They followed the stream for a short distance, but they couldn’t make out their surroundings so they walked away from the water and stood at the edge of a rocky ledge hoping that the mist would disperse enough that they could get their bearings.

The didn’t
have to wait long before the wind changed and blew the mist away from them, revealing their goal. They could see the highest peak clearly now, standing across the ridge ahead of them. It was surrounded by a sheer cliff a hundred feet high.

“No, not another cliff,” Hilt complained. “I have had enough climbing to last a lifetime.”

“No whining,” Beth reprimanded, gazing at the mountaintop. “We are almost there.”

“Are you sure we’ll even be able to climb that once we get there?” Hilt said. “That cliff looks pretty steep.”

“There will be a way. I know it,” she said with confidence. “The prophet would not send us this far if there wasn’t a way to reach the top.”

The frustration on Hilt’s face melted away and he sighed. “You are right, Beth. This is just the last stretch.”

An excited series of clicks and whistles rang out from the mist. Hilt looked at Beth and shrugged. “He’s found the source of the stream and wants us to
come
see.”

They headed back into the mist and could hear the gush of the water before they saw it. Yntri appeared before them and grabbed their hands, a wide grin on his ancient face. He pulled them along the water’s edge until they saw it. Beth and Hilt stopped and stared.

Rising out of the mist was a great boulder at least twice Hilt’s height. A human hand print was impressed into the rock about a third of the way up. A large hole opened at the base of the palm and hot water gushed out.

“What is this?” Beth asked.

In response, Yntri trotted up to the boulder and ran his fingers over the hand print in the rock.
All the while, clicking at them.

“He says that this is the source,” Hilt translated. “This is the water that carved out our path in the cliff face. This is the spring that feeds the lake below.”

 “I see that. And it is strange that there is a hand print there, but what does that mean to us?” Beth asked.

Yntri sat on the ground cross legged next to the boulder and placed his Jharro bow across his lap. He took a small tin out of his pack and opened it to reveal a white paste. He clicked at Hilt for a moment, then closed his eyes and began to sing. It was a low intonation interspersed with clicks. While he sang, Yntri dipped his fingers into the paste and began rubbing it into his skin.

“What is he doing?” Beth asked.

“He is preparing himself,” Hilts said, his brow knit in concern.

“Preparing for what?” Beth asked, a sudden ominous chill running up her spine.

“He says we are nearing a holy place. He is preparing for battle.”

VII

“What does he mean when he says we are nearing a holy place?” Beth asked. “And why does that mean a battle?”

She turned to see Hilt’s concern turn into a smile.

“That means holy guardians,” he said, gripping his sword hilts with both hands.
“Whenever there is a holy place where men are not allowed, guardians are placed.”

Beth swallowed. “What are these guardians like?”

“Misshapen beasts.
Immortal hungry creatures whose only reason for existence is to devour those that come too close,” he said, nearly giggling with excitement.

Beth put her face in her hands. She had seen that expression on his face before, right before he blundered into the cave looking for the behemoth. “And I take it these holy guardians are one of these creatures of legend you are so eager to fight.”

“No, but they are the next best thing. No one makes it past the guardians.” Hilt noticed her expression and frowned. “Don’t look at me like that, Beth. I didn’t come here seeking them out.”

“Yes, but if they are holy guardians, why would we want to find them?” she asked. “Let’s just leave them alone and get to the top of this mountain.”

Hilt looked at her in disbelief. “Don’t you see? The top of the mountain is exactly the place they will be guarding. It has to be. Look, Yntri knows it.”

The elf continued to rock back and forth, singing his little chant. He had covered two thirds of his body with the white paste and the tin was nearly empty. Beth shook her head.

“But why would the prophet send me to the top of the mountain if no one is allowed up there?” It made no sense. Surely if he meant for her to arrive he would open the way.

“That’s why he sent you to me,” Hilt said, his smile sure and confident. “I am here to help you fight your way to the top. Yntri was here to make you a bow. The prophet planned it this way.”

Beth wanted to smack the smile off his face. It was that stupid pride of his again. Still, she couldn’t refute his logic. Everything had indeed fallen into place to set up this moment. “Just promise me that we won’t fight these guardians unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Of course,” Hilt said as if it was ridiculous of her to think he would do so. “You don’t seek out a fight with holy guardians unless you’re on the wrong side. You only fight them if you have to.”

A frightening thought came to her. What if this really was what the prophet had intended. She went into the forest seeking death. What if he had sent her to die up here instead? What if her whole purpose in coming was to drag these two men along?
Hilt, handsome, honorable, and reckless; Yntri, ancient and wise.
What if they were all supposed to die up here to fulfill some strange purpose?

Yntri finished his chanting and stood. He was covered in white from head to
toe,
his ancient brown eyes the only bit of color. He clicked at them and began to walk.

As they started up the ridgeline towards the cliffs ahead, Beth felt sick with worry. And she was angry with the attitudes of her companions. It wasn’t just about Hilt. Yntri looked so happy. What was wrong with these men?

“I don’t understand, Yntri,” she said. “I expect Hilt to be crazy, but why are you so pleased to go into this battle?”

Yntri clicked a response and Hilt said, “He has felt the weight of importance about your journey from the beginning. But he made a realization last night as you told your tale. For some reason, he feels like the end to his centuries of searching is tied to you.”

Was it as she feared? Beth swallowed.
“But why?
What is he searching for?”

“I don’t know,” Hilt says. “I’ve known him for years and he has never told me.”

“Yntri,” Beth said with pleading tone. “Tell me. What are you searching for on
these pilgrimage
of yours?”

The elf clicked an answer.

“He searches for the true seeds,” Hilt translated. He frowned. “Yntri, neither of us knows what that means.”

The elf gave him a pensive look,
then
directed his gaze to Beth. He moved up beside her and held out his hand. It was covered in the same white paste that covered the rest of his body. She glanced at Hilt, but the warrior just shrugged. Yntri gave an encouraging nod and she held his hand and they continued up the sloping ridgeline.

A strange
warmth emanated from Yntri’s hand. Beth felt it enter her skin. The warmth was familiar and she recognized it as the sap from the Jharro tree. She had felt it when Yntri smeared the venom on her lips. The warmth traveled up her arm and neck, settling between her eyes. Her vision began to drift and Yntri began to talk. As Hilt translated, a vision formed in her mind.

Yntri’s earliest memory was of standing at his mothers’ knee and watching his father converse with a human man. The man came and knelt in front of him and reached out. Yntri toddled into the man’s arms and was lifted up. The man smiled and spoke with him and though Yntri could not remember the man’s face, he remembered feeling safe in the man’s arms.

Yntri’s parents followed as the man took him through the Jharro grove and came upon a tree. This one was young and unruly, only fifty feet high. So far it had rejected the hands of his people as young Jharro were oft to do. But as the man reached out and touched the warm gray wood of the tree, its trunk split open. The man kissed Yntri on the forehead and placed him inside. The tree accepted him within and closed around him, encasing him in sap. He learned of the young tree and it learned of him. When he was born again from its trunk, his parents were waiting for him but the human man was gone.

This man, whom Yntri came to know as the prophet returned to the Jharro grove every hundred years or so.
He would speak with Yntri’s people and initiate the young ones. Eventually Yntri sired his own child and the prophet came to speak with him. He told Yntri of the importance of maintaining the grove and of passing on the knowledge of the old ways and Yntri covenanted to do just that.

The wilderness around the Jharro grove eventually grew wild and untamed. His people maintained the grove and kept it clear of weeds and unclean creatures and kept to themselves. But Men and monsters learned of the magic of the Jharro tree and came seeking its power. Yntri was put in charge of protecting the trees from encroachers, and there were many wars and many deaths.

When the prophet next returned, he was saddened. The grove had been damaged, with many of the trees dead or dying and Yntri’s people had dwindled to a fraction of their number.

The prophet soon guided a large tribe of humans to the grove. They were the
Roo
, an uncultured but proud people that had been driven from their land. The Prophet brokered an arrangement between their people and Yntri’s. The
Roo
could settle in the land around the grove and Yntri’s people would teach them and provide them weapons from the Jharro trees. In exchange, the
Roo
would protect the Jharro grove. The
Roo
-tan nation was born.

The Jharro grove grew again for a time, but slowly. Then it stopped growing all together. The trees stopped producing seeds and one day nearly two hundred years ago, the prophet had returned again. This time he met with Yntri and gave him a mission. Sensing that the grove was in danger, the prophet had traveled the known lands and planted Jharro trees in obscure places. Once a year, Yntri was to leave the grove and travel to one of these locations to try and harvest seeds from these trees. These new seeds would have new life and new memories that would revive and replenish the grove.