Chapter Five
Previously:
Tyruc meets his end in the Final Battle of the Thousand-Year War. Instead of fading into the void of death, he is offered a second chance by the divine, wolf-like being named Asena. But the price is total submission to her mysterious master. Tyruc accepts, and a new fate is sealed for him as a Herald of Som.
The first sensation restored to Tyruc was smell. The light scents of wood and clean linens gave way to more powerful odors of baked goods and frying fat. His hearing came next, and it was teased by the rustling of windblown leaves, squabbling birds, and clopping footsteps.
The soft bed beneath Tyruc cradled him. His arms rested by his sides, and a downy pillow cushioned his head.
It is time, Tyruc, came the voice of the flame-wreathed wolf he had met in what felt like a dream.
“Just a little longer?” he slurred, his mouth tacky and stale-tasting.
Asena replied warmly, You have slept long enough.
Tyruc groaned as he sat up and shifted backward against a wooden headboard. He cracked one eye open against the gleaming light of morning.
A simple bedroom greeted him. Gauzy curtains shimmied in the warm breeze drifting through the window. A bureau of dark cherrywood sat to the left of his bed, a large mirror mounted atop its counter. Across the room, a pair of wingback chairs and a coffee table surrounded a small fireplace.
All in all, it was modest, cozy, and completely unfamiliar.
Tyruc peeled back the patchwork quilt covering him, slipping his feet over the edge of the bed onto a chilly wood floor. As he leaned his weight onto his feet, his legs buckled, and he collapsed backward onto the bed’s edge. Seated there, he saw his reflection in the mirror atop the bureau.
The medium-built man looking back at him was dressed in white linens, complemented by olive skin, brown eyes, and chestnut hair. Said hair was shaggy and unkempt, covering his forehead and ears; his face sported dark whiskers.
I don’t have a beard, Tyruc thought, but his reflection suggested otherwise. An intense dizziness disrupted him, rolling him in waves of lightheadedness that prevented him from recalling how he had come to be in this place.
You are disoriented, yes?
“Yes,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a beard before.” An idea nagged at him that his worries were perhaps larger than just facial hair.
Have you found your feet?
He looked down at his bare extremities and replied, “I should imagine they’re at the ends of my legs.”
The space inside his mind buzzed in a prolonged pause.
I suppose an attempt at humor is a good sign of your recovery.
Tyruc stood and wobbled unsteadily. He shuffled a few steps away from the bed to the center of the room, which was covered by a large rug with floral patterns woven across it.
“Where am I?”
A safe place for travelers. You have been protected here while you slept.
“How long have I been sleeping?” he wondered aloud.
Until the appointed time of your awakening.
Apparently, he thought dryly, realizing too late that the ephemeral voice could likely hear not only his words.
You will have many questions, and they will be answered in time, Asena promised. For now, know that you have been blessed with an opportunity to start anew, forgiven of your past and given purpose for your future.
But when Tyruc went to draw on memories of that forgiven past, he only found vague imprints, and if he tried to focus on them, it threatened to send him into another bout of dizzied confusion.
“Wait, did you take away my memories?” Fear crept up his bones. He stood in the center of a strange place, no memory, no resources, and an ethereal voice in his head. Could he trust that voice? Was he safe?
That last question hung heavily on his mind. It felt terribly important in a distant way, a way that seemed no longer so important, like a discarded crutch after a healed injury.
Asena tutted reproachfully. Nothing so dramatic, Tyruc. You are still waking from a very long slumber; your memory will uncloud as you reorient yourself. Do you recall the deal you made?
If his other memories were an overcast sky, then there was one moment that shot through the clouds as a radiant beam of light. Azure fire, a colossal wolf, and the sweet name of the one offering him succor: Som.
Tyruc dipped his head as his growing anxiety ebbed. He still wanted to know more, but he held his tongue against the barrage of questions. He owed the wolf and her master that much.
A considerate silence came before Asena spoke again. It has been some time since I have mentored a new Herald; I forget that the transition can be difficult.
“As you said, we made a deal,” Tyruc replied. “So, you’re a goddess or something, right?” The question slipped past his defenses.
Asena let out a bark that may have been a laugh. You are relentless in your curiosity! I will explain later. For now, you have work to do. You have been awoken today with a purpose, and we do not have time to dally on memories or mythology.
“And that purpose would be…?” Tyruc ventured, but this time Asena did not humor his inquiry. He stretched and yawned loudly, but then stifled himself when the creak of wooden floorboards came from somewhere nearby. Tyruc waited a beat, then another, listening for more movement.
The questions would not stop ringing in his head. How long have I been here? Where is “here?” What kind of people will be out there? Am I safe?
Tyruc shook his head to ward away the pestersome questions. He moved to the door and gripped the handle. He roughly combed his other hand through his hair a few times to tamp it down and then opened the door to discover a dim hallway.
To the left, the hall terminated at a curtained window, and to his right it stretched on with several doors to each side. Another creak came from beyond, so he followed in its direction despite the knot in his gut.
The delicious scents of cooking grew stronger the further Tyruc ventured. The homey smells warred with the stillness of his surroundings.
At the end of the hall, a flight of stairs invited him downward, but darkness transformed the descent into a treacherous pit. Another sound, this time of a heavy door groaning open and then closed, cautioned him to take the stairs on tiptoes.
Halfway down, his foot found the source of the creaking. He winced. Paranoia convinced him easily of all manner of ill-fated outcomes should he be caught. They’ll catch me sneaking around, throw me back in that room, lock me away. Never mind that Tyruc had no idea who “they” would be or why they would do such a thing.
His ears rang in the silence.
No reprisals came.
He slunk down the stairs, one step at a time, to arrive in an unlit foyer.
Several doors exited from the room. A pair of double doors to his right led outside, but on his left, across from the doors, was a high counter. The wall behind it held a panel of key hooks and featured a delicately carved sign.
“The Honeycomb Inn.”
The words were also embossed in glittering letters on a leather registry atop the counter. Next to the book was a hand-penned note reading:
At the harvest market
Be right back!
Asena’s vague description of his lodgings had stirred Tyruc’s imagination to think of an occultic halfway house or something else equally esoteric. This was apparently anything but.
“I do remember what an ‘inn’ is,” Tyruc whispered to his invisible guide. “You could have just said that.”
There was a door behind the counter, which was closed from guests by a bar flap, and then another door to the right of the counter heading in the same direction. Tyruc moved to the door on the right. It swung noiselessly when pressed.
Tyruc peeked his head around the door to spy a simple tavern sunlit by a pair of large bay windows flanking glass double doors. The door behind the inn’s front counter opened behind a bar, separating the staff area from the patrons.
Plates, bowls, and cups sat abandoned on several of the tabletops and across the bar. The delectable smells were strong here, but there was precious little food left on any of the tableware.
Tyruc entered, following the L-shaped bar as it curved to the left. The pair of glass doors opened onto a veranda. A door behind the bar presumably led to a kitchen. One other door was tucked into the corner of the room with a curtain placed over its frame.
The black fabric was pulled back and the door sat ajar, enticing Tyruc onward, but a clatter from the lobby startled him. He backed up reflexively, bumping a table with his hip and sending a glass to shatter upon the floor.
A vulgar word flew from Tyruc’s lips, and another followed when his bare foot came down on one of the shards. Voices from the lobby approached the dining area. Tyruc fled to the glass doors on instinct.
We need to work on your vocabulary.
Leave my vocabulary alone. Tyruc slipped out onto the veranda. He sank down next to the door, putting his back against the wall and examining his foot. He hissed as he extracted a piece of glass from the bleeding gash.
“You heard that too?” a woman asked.
Tyruc froze as he listened to the two muted voices coming from the tavern. If he moved, the two of them would undoubtably see him through the glass door or the bay windows. He was trapped there.
You are not trapped. These people mean you no harm.
But Tyruc’s foggy mind had fully clouded. His old nature flared up, gripped his pounding heart, and convinced him of a need for escape.
The voice of Asena sighed. Old habits do die hard.
Inside the tavern, a deep grunt, nearly a growl, responded to the woman’s question. “Over here. Broken glass.”
“I told you we should have cleaned up before going out.”
“We would have missed the morning rush if we had.”
“Oh, listen to you. ‘Morning rush’ my foot,” the female voice tittered. “You just wanted to beat Armek to the good booth.”
The male laughed in return. “True enough. You think Sareit will be all right handling the booth by herself?”
“Of course. She’s completely capable, you know. And very independent.”
“More than I like sometimes.”
“Dallor—”
“I know, I know,” the man grumbled. “Who do you think broke the glass? Nobody shoulda been in here.”
“Maybe it fell by itself?”
Tyruc held onto the hope that they would leave it at that. He scanned beyond the veranda to survey his surroundings.
The inn sat atop a grassy hill situated at the center of a modest country town and boasted a vantage point over the area. Hills grew into distant peaks to the west and trailed off into plains toward the east.
From above, the town looked like a target with the inn sitting at the bullseye. A curving lane hugged the base of the hill. Storefronts lined the opposite side of the circuitous road, and alleyways cut between the buildings like spokes on a wagon wheel. The alleys connected to a concentric lane and another block of buildings with tidy gardens in the fields behind them.
The inner lane was currently crowded by myriad booths with canvas canopies, wagons filled with summer produce, and tables cluttered with curios. The dull rumble of overlapping voices carried up the hill from the dozens of people greeting and haggling with one another.
Tyruc looked for his escape route, but a sentence from inside caught his ear.
“Do you smell it?”
Smell what? Tyruc wondered, but the woman answered.
“Blood… Someone could be hurt.”
“Or could be up to mischief.” The man made a snuffling sound. “This way. There’s a trail leading outside.”
From somewhere in the town, a clanging bell resounded. It rang frantically, raising an alarm.
Tyruc bolted. He barreled down wooden steps into the yard behind the inn. As he ran, the veranda doors flung open behind him and voices called out in surprise. He did not turn to look at his pursuers.
Tyruc.
The cut on his foot screamed as it slapped against grass and dirt. He was not certain if the two from the inn were chasing after him, but he pushed himself to go faster regardless.
Tyruc, you must listen.
He came to the bottom of the hill, intending to slip into the crowd of townsfolk. However, the crowd no longer milled amiably; they were running, too.
Panic seized Tyruc. The ringing bell must have been to alert the town to his escape and the townsfolk were coming for him, he was sure.
But they did not pay him any mind. They ran past him, abandoning their stalls and conversations.
A stout man crashed into Tyruc. “Get out of the way, you fool! The jackals are coming!” He lumbered around Tyruc to run with the rest of the fleeing townsfolk.
A howl followed by a maniacal chatter echoed from beyond the buildings, and it was answered by a chorus of sharp yips.
Tyruc, it is time. You are no longer the coward you once were.
His feet were moving again, churning against the dirt road.
Som has released you from the binds of fear and selfishness.
Hysteria rolled off the rushing crowd like a disease, threatening to take hold in Tyruc each time someone bumped, jostled, or shoved him.
These people have prayed for protection. Som has answered that prayer.
A tall, ashen-skinned teenager with bright red hair caught Tyruc by the elbow and begged, “Have you seen a little Frostfolk girl?” His lower canines protruded when he spoke, and his vivid green eyes were tight with fear. “I was holding her hand, but she tripped and got separated from me in the crowd, and now I can’t find her.”
Tyruc only then registered that he had been running against the flow of the crowd. Toward the danger, not away from it. The fog over his mind lifted like morning mist burned off by the first warm rays of sunlight. His old nature melted away to reveal the new Tyruc, the one born in a dream of fire and wolves and the name of Som.
Come, Tyruc. There is work to do.
The young man still gripped Tyruc’s arm. “Sir?”
A flash of dun-brown fur darted across a nearby alleyway. More chattering cries teased around them, steadily closing in.
“What’s your name?” Tyruc asked, keeping watch for the encroaching creatures.
The young man hesitated before answering, “Volok.”
“All right, Volok, here’s the deal,” Tyruc explained lowly. “I’m going to find your sister and bring her to you at the inn. You are going to wait there and be ready for her like a good big brother, okay?”
“But—”
“No ‘buts.’ I can’t look for her and keep you safe at the same time.” Tyruc heard himself say the words and realized with a start that he meant them.
Volok squinted at Tyruc. “Do I know you?”
Tyruc cocked a half smile. “You do now. I’m Tyruc, Herald of Som, and I am going to find your sister. I give my word.”
Coming up in Chapter Six:
Tyruc must protect the town and its citizens from an invading pack of monsters, but he must first harness the new powers he has been gifted.