Where The Ni-Lach Read online

  Darker shadow within shadow; a sudden movement to the left of the fireplace caught his eyes. He saw the silhouette of a man slowly rise from the chair that was Haradan’s. Though he couldn’t see the man’s face, size alone told him who it was.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Dhal released his knife and moved toward his foster father. “Haradan, you startled us. Why didn’t you answer? Lar-aval said he saw you in the Deep. Gi came to find me. How long have you been waiting?”

  Haradan’s fist caught Dhal on the point of the chin. The explosion of pain in Dhal’s face was followed by the shock of his body slamming against the floor. For a moment or two his brain went numb. It was Gi-arobi’s shrill whistled warning that stirred him to his senses.

  Dhal felt hands on his tunic front, pulling him up. A hand slapped across his face. His eyes flew open. Haradan’s face was only a hand’s length away. Stunned by the attack, Dhal tried to speak, but with his tongue and mouth numb and slick with blood, the words came out mumbled.

  Scowling, Haradan shook Dhal. “What did I tell you before I left?” he roared. He shook Dhal again, hardly giving him time to think. “Damn it! What did I tell you?”

  Grabbing Haradan’s wrists, Dhal tried to regain his feet, but Haradan’s right fist lashed out again, knocking the young man backward into the table.

  A shock of pain caught Dhal in the lower back, then he was on the floor bracing himself on his hands and knees. He shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness that clouded his eyes. He saw Haradan’s boots in front of him. A hand caught in his hair, jerking his head back and up. Haradan’s strength was too much for Dhal. Flopping him over onto his back as easily as he would turn and skin a nida, Haradan knelt over Dhal, his eyes hard and angry.

  The last Dhal remembered was hearing Gi’s whistled challenge, then a wave of darkness descended.

  Dhal woke to the touch of something cool and wet resting on his forehead. When he opened his eyes he found himself lying on his bed. He could hear Haradan moving around out in the main room. What had prompted the older man to attack? Dhal wondered. What wrong had he done? When he turned his head to the lighted doorway joining the two rooms, the dull ache that had been with him upon waking rumbled to life.

  Sure that Haradan’s violence would have frightened the olvaar away, Dhal was surprised to find Gi still there. A sharp intake of breath alerted Gi-arobi to Dhal’s waking. Gi pushed his furry face down near Dhal’s and spoke softly in trader. “Dhal not move. Hurt. Blood on face.”

  He gently patted Dhal’s chest.

  Dhal started to answer but stopped when he heard Haradan’s footsteps approaching. Gi read the apprehension in Dhal’s eyes; leaning close, he blocked his friend’s view of the doorway. “Haradan not angry now. Not to be afraid.”

  As Haradan entered the room, Gi moved back against the wall, but one small furred hand stayed on Dhal’s shoulder. Dhal watched as Haradan set a pan of water on the floor and pulled up a chair. Sitting, Haradan leaned over the table between their two beds and brought the candle to the edge of the table so he could better see the damage done.

  Their eyes met, and Dhal wondered if Gi had misread Haradan’s temper, for the scowl on his face was anything but comforting. Haradan glanced over at Gi-arobi, then without a word he squeezed out the cloth he had left soaking in the pan of water.

  Dhal closed his eyes, willing the pain to go away, while Haradan washed the blood from his face. Then, letting his mind turn inward, he made a quick survey of the broken blood vessels in and around his nose and mouth. He found all of them in the process of clotting. Once assured that no bones had been broken and that all bruises were minor, he turned his attention to the small amount of blood seepage. The repair work was minimal. Before Haradan had rinsed his cloth a second time, Dhal was finished with his self-healing.

  After inspecting his work, Haradan’s eyes locked onto Dhal’s. “I told you to stay in the Deep, did I not?” he growled softly. “And you promised me that you would. But you couldn’t keep that promise. No, you had to go wandering.”

  “Only to Drimdor, Haradan. With Xarlan,” Dhal said quickly. “He asked me if I would help him with a load of bread wheat. Surely it wasn’t wrong to help Xarlan.”

  “Wrong to help him, no! But I can’t say the same for the boy you healed! You know what I’ve told you, that you were to keep your healing hands off people!”

  “But he was bleeding to death, Haradan! He would have died!”

  “Better him than you!”

  “But I was in no danger,” Dhal protested.

  “Not then, you young fool—now! Your healing of birds and animals is one thing, but when you start healing men how long before someone starts asking questions? I made record time from Annaroth the minute I heard the rumor about a miracle healer in Drimdor. I knew it was you. And it won’t be long before others know!”

  “But what wrong is there in saving a life, Haradan? What wrong in healing men?”

  Haradan shook his head. “It’s time for the truth. I knew it would come.” His scowl was gone. Reaching out, he pushed the hair back from Dhal’s forehead.

  It had been a long time since Haradan had raised his hand to discipline; by the way Haradan now touched him, Dhal knew he was sorry for his actions.

  Haradan turned Dhal’s face to the lamp light. “How long has it been since you’ve washed your hair? Or eaten the brannel I left for you?”

  Hair? Brannel? Dhal was at a loss. Had Haradan been drinking?

  Haradan’s voice softened. “Answer me, Dhal. How long since you’ve eaten any brannel?”

  “You know I don’t like it.”

  “How long?”

  Dhal thought back. “Two weeks, no longer. But I feel all right without it, Haradan. Perhaps I’ve outgrown my need for it. But what has my eating brannel have to do with—with what happened in the other room, with my healing the boy?”

  “Everything,” Haradan answered. “It’s all tied together. By leaving the Deep, by healing that boy, you made a terrible mistake, one that may just cost you your life! I tried to warn you, but then, who can keep a draak in its shell forever?”

  Dhal shook his head. “Haradan, I don’t understand a thing you’re saying. Hair, brannel, draak shells…What are you talking about?”

  Haradan drew a deep breath. “There’s something you must be told, Dhal, but I don’t know how to start. You are—” Haradan seemed to choke on his own words. Cursing softly, he dropped his head. “God help me, I can’t tell you!”

  Dhal laid his hand on Haradan’s arm. “Tell me.”

  Haradan took Dhal’s hand, holding it in a crushing grip. His eyes searched the younger man’s face, then he nodded, somewhere finding the strength he needed to continue.

  “Dhalvad, before I tell you what I must, I want you to know that I think of you as a son, a true son. That between us nothing is changed or ever will be. I was angry a little while ago because I was deathly afraid for you. When I came home and found you gone I feared that they had come before me, that I would never see you again. And then you came in, so carefree and happy. I struck out at you when it was only you I wanted to protect. I know this isn’t making any sense, but please believe me when I say that I do love you, that no matter what the future holds, I mean to share it with you.”

  Haradan was not a demonstrative man, never one to fondle or caress. For him to openly avow his love was little less than astonishing. Startled, Dhal lay still, hardly daring to breath, wondering who “they” were and what danger Haradan foresaw for him.

  “You asked me what hair, brannel, and draak shells have in common. The answer is nothing, unless you put yourself in the place of a baby draak before it breaks through its eggshell. There’s safety in concealment, Dhal, for the baby draak and for you. The draak hides inside its shell, you hide behind the dye with which you wash your hair and the brannel that I’ve forced you to eat all these years.”

  Dhal frowned. “I wash my hair with dye?”

  Haradan nodded. �
��You always were a trusting child. All these years and you never once questioned me. Without the special soap I make every cold passage, your hair would be green, Dhal, not brown.”

  “Green?”

  “Yes. And without the brannel you have eaten all these years, your eyes would be crystal gray.” Haradan hurried on. “Dhal, you are Ni-lach, one of the Green Ones, those who were hunted out of existence by men who feared what they couldn’t control.”

  Dhal frowned, sure that Haradan had been drinking.

  “You don’t believe me,” Haradan said softly. “I can see it in your eyes.” He stood. “You don’t believe me, do you?” he demanded. Looking down at Dhal, his fists clenched as if he would like to use them once more, Haradan growled a curse, then turned and went to the small table between their beds. He rummaged in the top drawer for a moment.

  What is he after? Dhal wondered. Haradan withdrew something from the drawer. Dhal felt a twinge of uneasiness as Haradan returned to his side.

  “I can’t blame you for not believing,” he said, “but this should be proof enough. Look into this and tell me what you see! It’s called a Dron mirror, named after its maker. It’s not as clear as those used by the Sarissa, but it will serve. Look into its surface and tell me what you see!”

  Dhal had never seen any kind of mirror. The only reflection of himself he had ever seen was in a still pool of water. He was astonished that Haradan even possessed such a thing, for Dron mirrors, though of a lower quality than Sarissa-made, still must have cost a great deal of money.

  As he peered into the smooth, clean surface, all kinds of thoughts flickered through Dhal’s mind, including the possibility that Haradan was telling the truth.

  To look into a mirror and see oneself for the very first time— it was an experience that would live with him for many years to come. To see himself as others saw him, to visually trace the outlines of nose and jaw, to see the lips soften and smile with delight. Feature by feature, Dhal studied the image before him: the straight nose, narrow nostrils, hollow cheeks, lips that couldn’t stop smiling, eyebrows that arched up and out, the straight forehead—and the eyes. To look into eyes that until that moment had only looked outward, to know the thoughts behind those eyes without guessing, that truly was a miracle.

  Haradan pushed Dhal’s hair back from his forehead. “Look at the roots of your hair, Dhal. What color?”

  Dhal felt his delight flicker and die as he saw the difference in color. For a moment or two he had almost forgotten the reason for the mirror. His hair was dyed! The roots were lighter in color than the rest of his hair—but green? Dhal peered closer, straining to see. Haradan moved his hand back slightly, so his arm would not block the light. A sudden chill touched Dhal.

  But Haradan was not finished. “Your eyes, Dhalvad, look at your eyes. Not at the very center where all eyes are dark but around the outside of the colored orb. What color there?”

  Dhal did not want to look but he could not stop himself. At first his eyes looked no different than they had only moments ago, brown orb in a sea of white, but then he noticed that the outer edges of the brown were faded, almost colorless, and between brown and white flickered a crystal gray.

  “Without the brannel your eyes become a light gray with flecks of crystal glimmering through. You have the eyes of the Ni-lach, Dhalvad, exotic and striking, but death to you if anyone saw.”

  Dhal closed his eyes, stunned by the truth. He was Ni-lach! He remembered stories, legends of the unmen who killed without cause, who ate the flesh of true men to strengthen their own evil powers. Ugly were the Ni-lach, destroyers of crops, stealers of children, hiders in the dark, killers demon spawned. There were no words gruesome enough to describe such beings! Dhal felt sickness well up inside.

  “Dhalvad!” Haradan’s fingers tightened in Dhal’s hair. “Dhalvad, open your eyes. Look at me! I know what you’re thinking but it isn’t true! The legends are false! Damn it, listen to me!”

  Pulling on his hair, Haradan forced Dhal’s head around to face him. Dhal had no strength to resist, but he kept his eyes closed, fearing what he might see in Haradan’s face.

  Haradan spoke quickly, his voice harsh. “Dhalvad, you are Ni-lach, but don’t condemn yourself as some monster until you’ve heard me out! I must go back in time for you to understand, to tell it all as it should be told. It concerns your parents and how I came to bring you home. The truth this time, not the half truth you have always heard.”

  Though he didn’t want to listen, Dhal had no choice.

  “For me it all began when I was little older than you are at this moment. My master was Adan sar Ospa, one of the merchants on the Sadil docks. I had come from the home of an uncle who had raised me since my mother’s marriage to a landowner in the Blazee District.” Haradan paused to collect his thoughts. “I was twenty-four when I went to work for Saan Adan. It was my job to keep track of the carts going in and out of the dock loading zone. It was the beginning of my fourth year on the docks when the Sarissa declared war on the Ni-iach. One day I was guarding the docks, the next day I was fighting Ni-lach.”

  When Dhalvad heard Haradan stand and move away from his bed, he opened his eyes. Though shocked by the knowledge that he was one of the dreaded Green Ones, he heard the pain in Haradan’s voice and couldn’t turn away from it.

  When Haradan turned around and saw that Dhal’s eyes were open, he continued his story.

  “When I was younger, all I knew about the Ni-lach was what I had heard from others. Because the Ni-lach liked to live near water, many claimed that they originated in the sea, like some kind of fish men. Others claimed that they were aliens from some far-distant galaxy, marooned on Ver-draak in much the same way as true men.”

  Haradan returned to the chair beside Dhal’s bed. “Our historians haven’t been kind to the Ni-lach and perhaps there’s just cause for some of the things they said about them, but I know for a fact that many of the legends told were just that— legends—based on lies meant to discredit the Ni. Your people were different, Dhal. They were tuned to nature and they understood plants and animals in a way that we never understood them. And some were gifted with special talents, such as prophesy and healing.”

  “That is why you didn’t want me to heal anyone,” Dhal said, a glimmer of understanding beginning to dawn.

  Haradan nodded. “No one knew you to be Ni-lach and I had hoped to keep it that way, but now that the draak is out of its shell there’ll be no going back.”

  “Haradan, what started the war?”

  Haradan took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Fear, greed, envy. The Sarissa envied the Ni-lach their long life span, which is twice what it is for man, and they feared the Ni’s special talents, yet at the same time they wanted to share in those talents. Besides healers there were some among the Green Ones who could tame draak; others were capable of sending messages over great distances in mere seconds. The Sarissa never did find out how that was accomplished. It was a fortunate man who managed to hire one of the Ni-lach, for the Green Ones stayed much to themselves, fishing, growing their own foods and creating the most beautiful hand-carved jewelry out of shell, wood, and gemstones. Your people were known for their use of a magnificent green stone in their artistry. They never gave it a name and no one ever learned where the stones came from. It was one of the Ni-lach’s most carefully guarded secrets.

  “The war between the Ni and the Sarissa was fairly onesided, with the Sarissa doing most of the killing. I’m not sure what even actually sparked the war. Some claimed that a famous Ni-lach healer went berserk and killed three of the regent’s family. Others claimed that it was a larger conspiracy, aimed at the eradication of all Sarissa.

  “If that sounds ridiculous, remember that Annaroth is a rich seaport, that all goods traveling north into the Enzaar Sea must pass through the Straits of Annarothal, so whoever controls the city of Annaroth also controls the straits and all passage taxes. Some said that the Ni-lach had been hired by Letsians to destroy
the Sarissa government and open the straits to free passage, but no one ever proved that. But since the war, Letsia pays higher shipping taxes, and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the Sarissa used that last rumor as an excuse to raise shipping rates.”

  Haradan paused, then continued, urged on Dhal’s silence. “There never were many Ni-lach in Annaroth, but along the coast and in the river delta north of the Deep you could see their homes everywhere. When the war started, many of them were caught unknowing of their crimes. Most were killed outright.

  “My own part in the war began when one of the captains of the Annaroth Guard came to the docks to ask Saan Adan for men to help gather up a large contingent of Ni-lach hiding on the south side of the Gador River at the edge of the Deep. Four hours later I found myself standing in a double line of men, awaiting orders from a man I had never seen before, a man who told us that no prisoners were to be taken alive.”

  Haradan shook his head. “It was a strange experience, Dhal, one I never want to repeat. One moment I was a simple dock-worker armed with nothing but the strength of my arm and voice, the next moment I was part of a fighting machine, armed with a sword ready to kill on command.”

  Haradan was staring at the wall just above Gi-arobi’s head, his eyes unfocused, remembering. “Some will tell you that it’s easy to kill. They lie. That day I killed and I won’t ever forget it. The captain was right. There were Ni-lach by the river. It didn’t take much guesswork to see why they had chosen that place to camp. With the river at their back, they had a good escape route. From the number of partially built rafts we found later, it was apparent that they had been preparing to leave by floating downriver to the sea. Another one or two days and they might have made it.”

  Haradan’s words came faster now, as if he would get them all out at once. “There must have been close to a hundred of them hiding in the brush and thickets next to the water, some of them children. When the order came to rush them, they literally exploded from the underbrush. It was like seeing a flock of wild birds startled into the air.”