Shorn: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Shorn blinked, realizing he’d come to a halt while lost in his memories. It was strange how bright the memory still was, even while so many memories of his past had faded. He didn’t like to admit it to himself, but it still hurt. He thought it always would.

The path he followed intersected a road that ran roughly north and south, and Shorn paused to consider his next steps. He’d left Qarath with no real destination other than to see Shakre. Now he had choices to make.

North would take him in the direction of Fanethrin, the city the Guardian Kasai had taken as his own. Shorn had no interest in tangling with that creature.

The only thing he knew about the south was the Gur al Krin desert was that way. He’d spent enough time in that place after Netra broke the prison. He had no desire to go there again.

Which left west. In that direction, several days away, there was a large mountain range. A sizable pass cut through it. What was on the other side, he had no real idea.

He could almost hear Wulf Rome right then, telling him to at least take a map…

 

A couple of days before he left, Rome came to see him in his apartment in the palace. The Macht sat down at the table and set a bag beside him on the floor.

“You’re really going to do this thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Shorn hoped Rome wasn’t going to try and talk him out of it. He’d already been through that with Netra. It had not been pleasant.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask, but you haven’t, so I’ll offer. Let me set you up with a stout pack mule. Obviously, I don’t have any horses that can hold you, but you know that. I’ll give you tools and weapons too. A tent. A month’s worth of food.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It is not done.”

“By who?”

“Those who walk the hack’in dragh, that’s who.”

“How about a map then? Very handy when you’re going somewhere you’ve never been before.”

“No map.”

“Because it’s not done.”

“Because it is not done.”

“Surely, you’ll let me send you on your way with a bag of coins. You’ll need money, especially since you’re not taking anything useful with you.”

“No coins.”

Rome shook his head, genuinely perplexed. “It’s a strange thing, what you’re doing. What exactly are you doing, anyway? Netra told me some of it, but I still can’t make sense of it.”

“The hack’in dragh is a quest or journey from my people’s ancient past. The wanderer leaves all possessions behind except the most basic. The belief is that the wanderer, stripped of all the things that tied him to his world, would discover some essential truth about himself.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose that makes sense.” It didn’t sound like he thought it made sense. Which Shorn hadn’t expected anyway. Rome was the kind of man who cared about things he could take hold of. “Is this something your people do a lot when they…you know, when things go wrong?”

“It is not. It is doubtful anyone has done it for hundreds of years. Those in power would not approve.”

“Then what made you decide to do it?”

Shorn lifted his hands. “I do not know what else to do.”

“Where’d you learn about it?”

“My grandfather. When I was small, before I went away to the Khivoz, he told me tales from the old days. He was always talking about the old history, from the time before we were conquered.” Shorn didn’t know it at the time, but the things his grandfather talked about were considered dangerous by Themor’s leaders. Most of the old histories had been destroyed.

“Hold on.” Now Rome was interested. “You said your people were conquered? Whoever did that must have been something. I can’t even imagine taking on a whole world filled with people like you.”

“It was long ago. We were still primitive, like you.”

“Hey, now! Primitive? That hurts.”

“But you are. As we were. We tried to fight, but their weapons were like nothing we had seen before. Their ships were like small moons. They defeated us easily.”

Rome leaned forward, rapt. “What did they want?”

“Us.”

Recognition dawned. “Slaves.”

“Yes. For fighting. They were looking for soldiers. They rounded us up and herded us onto their ships. We were taken to Themor.”

“Everyone?”

“No. Only those who were of fighting age and the older children. The rest were left there.”

Rome’s hands had curled into fists, and he frowned. “That’s monstrous.”

“Themor became our training ground. It is a brutal place, filled with dangers. Many of my people died in the early years. Our conquerors built the Khivoz. All males were required to go there. They taught us how to make war.”

“They sound like nice folks.”

“Their rule lasted nearly ten centuries. About three hundred years ago we rose up and regained our freedom.” Shorn thought about what he’d been taught growing up, how the skill and bravery of his people had finally won out. But his grandfather always said that wasn’t true. The Themorians only won their freedom after the conquerors’ empire collapsed, is what he always said. That was also something their leaders didn’t want talked about. He’d had no idea how subversive his grandfather was—and his father, too, to a lesser extent—until he was older.

“That’s quite a story. Good ending, too.”

Shorn shook his head. “Is it? My people know nothing but war now. There is nothing else left of us.”

Rome ran his fingers through his thick beard, found what looked like a piece of straw and flipped it away. “I wish you didn’t have to leave. Netra is pretty upset. Do you really have to leave behind everyone and everything you know to do this hacking drag thing? Maybe there’s another way.”

“It is called hack’in dragh, and that is how it is traditionally done.”

“Just sounds a little strange to me.”

“Everything you humans do is strange to me,” Shorn said curtly.

Rome raised an eyebrow. “No need to get huffy.”

“I am not getting huffy. I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s what you’re doing right now.”

Shorn stiffened. “If that is all, I have things to do to prepare.” Which he didn’t, not really. But he didn’t want to continue this conversation any longer. He had too many doubts of his own to listen to Rome’s as well.

“Hang on. I’m sorry. I’m sad you’re going, you know? I feel like I don’t even know you that well, even after knowing you as long as I have.”

Shorn nodded. “And I, you. Perhaps when I return, when I know more about who I am, we can get to know each other better.”

Rome nodded and scratched his belly. “And I’ll hold you to that. For now, I have something for you that may help with our problem.”

Shorn frowned. “I am grateful for your gift, but I do not think I will be able to bring it with me.”

Rome’s grin was devilish. “Don’t worry about that. You won’t be taking this anywhere with you.”

Shorn crossed his arms. He was losing patience with this. “What is it?”

Rome lifted the sack from the floor and set it on the table. From it he took a dusty bottle and held it up to Shorn.

Shorn eyed it askance. “What is that?”

“It’s Thrykillian rum.” He looked over his shoulder as if Bonnie might walk up on him right then. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. It’s dirty because I had it hidden in the stables.”

“In the stables? When you have all this?” Shorn gestured at the palace around them.

“You don’t know my Bonnie. She could find a frog in a swamp. And she has Opus to help her. They’ve started ganging up on me more and more, especially since my son was born.”

Rome tore off the seal and pulled the cork. He took a deep sniff of the bottle and sighed happily. “Bonnie doesn’t like me drinking this stuff. She says I get silly, which is just ridiculous.”

From the sack he pulled two chipped mugs and plunked them down.

Shorn put his hand over the mug before him. “Strong drink has never been to my taste.”

“I know, I know. I saw you at the victory celebration. I think you were the only sober person in the whole city. But this is a special occasion. Who knows when I’ll see you again?”

Still Shorn kept his hand in place.

“Please?” Rome made a sad face. “I’m the Macht. Don’t me beg.”

Shorn moved his hand. “One small one.”

A huge grin broke out on Rome’s face. “That’s the spirit! You’re going to love this stuff.” He splashed rum in both mugs, filling them halfway. They were sizable mugs.

Shorn picked his up and eyed it critically. “I would not call this small.”

“And if you were a normal-sized person, it wouldn’t be. But look at the size of you! For you, this is little more than a thimbleful.”

Shorn gave him a flat look, then raised the mug to his lips.

“Hold on. We have to toast.”

Shorn grunted. “Here’s to small glasses.”

“That’s not a toast. Let me do it. You’re getting it all wrong.” Rome held his mug out and clanked it against Shorn’s. “Here’s to the greatest warrior – and the greatest man – I ever knew. We couldn’t have done it without you, you know. I don’t think a one of us would still be standing without your help.”

Shorn inclined his head slightly. “It was my honor.”

They both drank. Rome smacked his lips. Shorn’s eyes widened.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“It is surprisingly so.” Shorn took another sip. “Not too bad at all.”

 

Shorn smiled a little at the memory. They’d finished the bottle that night. He didn’t remember much of it, except that at one point Rome was dancing around the room and got caught up in the rug, tripped and smashed a small table.

He clearly remembered how he’d felt the next morning, though. It was two days before he felt right again.