He wrestled with the choice for just a moment, then decided that fishing was more to his liking. The stalking of game required too much concentration and right now he was in the mood to stand upon the sand, with the wind in his face and his eyes focused on something farther away than the end of his arms.
Talon grabbed his pole and creel and headed out of the door.
The sun had set by the time Talon started back up the hill. In a few short minutes he had managed to catch two large jack smelts, more than enough for his supper. He would cook them over the wood fire in the hearth, upon a metal grill, and add some spices Magnus kept in a small chest. He wished he had some rice to cook with it, and realized how much luxury he had been exposed to by Leo in the kitchen at Kendrick's. His mother often prepared fish, and served it with whatever roots or berries the women had gathered. Sometimes a corncake, hand-rolled and cooked by the fire, made with honey, berries or nuts, would be served along with the game. But Talon now appreciated food far more than his mother would ever have imagined. It was amusing to think he was probably the best cook in the history of his people.
As he rounded a small bend in the trail near the summit of the bluff, he stopped. The sky was still light with the just-set sun, but darkness was quickly descending. He sensed something.
He listened. The woods near the hut were silent. There should have been noises, the scurrying of the day animals seeking out their lairs as the night predators made their presence known. Night birds should have been flitting about, seeking insects.
Instead, there was a stillness that could only mean one thing: men were nearby.
For an instant Talon wondered if Magnus had returned, but somehow he knew this wasn't the case. It just felt wrong.
Talon suspected there might be others on this island, people living south of the ridge whom Magnus didn't want him to meet, at least not right now, but Talon didn't think it likely they'd come calling unexpectedly. He put down the fishing rod and creel, then realized he had left his weapons in the hut.
He pulled a scaling knife out of the creel, a poor weapon, but better than nothing, and advanced slowly towards the hut, his every sense extended. He listened, he looked, he sniffed the air.
There seemed to be a presence near the hut, something unfamiliar, outside his experience. He had thought it might be someone someone at or in the hut, but now he considered it to be some at or in the hut, but now he considered it to be some thing. thing.
A figure stepped out of the door, almost too quickly for his eye to have caught the motion, but in that instant he recognized a human-like form, but one devoid of features. Detailless black from head to toe it was a silhouette that flickered past his consciousness into the darkness of night.
He halted, keeping his breath as shallow as possible, using every sense to determine where the creature had gone. A slight shift in the air behind him alerted him to someone moving rapidly and silently at his back, and he dropped to his knees. Without hesitation, he struck backwards with the scaling knife, a slash that would have taken any man somewhere between knee and groin.
An inhuman warbling cry erupted through the night as the blade struck something, and Talon was knocked over by a tremendous blow to the right shoulder, as if a large body had fallen into him.
Talon used the momentum of his fall to tuck and roll back up to his feet, and as a gust of air went past him, he knew he had somehow dodged a blow from another unseen assailant. By instinct alone, he sensed that two attackers were behind him, and he leapt forward, towards the hut. If he had any hope of surviving this attack, he had to reach his sword.
The hair on the back of his neck rose up as he neared the door of the hut, and without looking back he dived through the door, landing hard upon the floor as something invisible cut through the air where his chest should have been.
He slid on his stomach under the table and turned, coming up quickly with his sword. He cast aside the scabbard and kicked the table towards the door, to slow whoever might be coming through.
The table struck something just inside the door and Talon saw the darkness in the doorway move. A figure appeared framed in the door, one he could see only because of what it blocked out behind, for light from the early evening sky still illuminated the branches and leaves, but the silhouetted form blotted out all detail.
Then the thing was in the hut. Talon saw only a man-shape of featureless black as if light was not reflected off its surface. He knew there was another, still outside, so he retreated to the hearth and impulsively grabbed a burning brand from out of the fire, holding it aloft in his left hand.
The creature's hand lashed towards him and Talon ducked to his right. Pain erupted across his left shoulder. The creature's hand retracted and for a brief instant Talon thought he saw a faint movement in the air, as if a lash was being drawn back. Talon didn't have to look to know he had been cut by some invisible weapon. He could feel burning on his shoulder and feel dampness spreading as blood seeped from the wound.
There came a flicker near the door and Talon knew that another of his unseen assassins had entered the room. Another flicker out of the corner of his eye warned him and he fell to the right. More pain shot down his arm, but he knew that had he not moved, it would have been his throat bleeding instead of his arm.
He fell hard against the wing-arm holding the kettle as he hit the floor, rolling away from where he assumed the assassin to be. The kettle swung back hard into the fireplace and overturned, dumping the remaining stew upon the blazing fire, and the room erupted in steam and soot.
Suddenly Talon could see a leg before him, outlined in the air. Without hesitation, he lashed out with his sword at the creature's leg, and the same warble of pain he had heard outside was repeated inside, at greater volume.
The hut filled with smoke and now Talon could see three figures clearly outlined. They were man-shaped, and they seemed unarmed, yet he knew that to be a false impression. Talon scooted back against the wall.
The others seemed to be casting about, as if unable to see him. Talon gripped his sword, ignoring the fire in his left shoulder, and pushed himself upright, his back against the wall. He was partially hidden by a floor-to-ceiling shelf that Magnus had made him install in which to house the books he studied.
The two creatures who had come in through the door stepped forward, one blocking the door, the other coming towards him. The one nearest the door was limping visibly, and Talon knew instinctively that was the one he had cut with the scaling knife.
Now that he had his sword, Talon felt too confined to fight. He needed to be outside, but only just outside, blocking the door so the creatures could come at him only one at a time. The figure nearest him reached back, as if about to attack with its flail again, and he leapt out, striking with his sword, seeking to drive the thing back. He jumped the fallen table, lowering his uninjured shoulder and slamming into the midsection of the one waiting before the door.
Pain exploded along his back and ran down his left hip. He gasped in agony. The creature to his left had managed to get in a strike, and Talon felt his knees go weak.
As he fell to the ground, he lashed down with his sword and was rewarded with a deep, meaty bite and an inhuman shriek that ended abruptly.
Rolling away, he tried to come to his feet as something flickered through the door. There was a third assailant! He swiped backhanded with his sword in the general direction of the door, and had made it almost to an upright position when pain seared down his left cheek, shoulder and chest.
Shortness of breath, a soaking tunic, and shaking knees meant he was losing too much blood, too fast. His heart pounded and Talon knew that unless he somehow killed the remaining two creatures he was doomed.
There was another flicker at the door and Talon knew that both of them were now outside with him. He blinked and turned his head this way and that, trying to see something of their dark shapes in the night, but to all intents and purposes, they were invisible.
He had a sense of motion to his right and so fell to his left. He had meant to catch himself and come upright, but his left leg failed to obey him, and he crashed to the ground. A searing pain ripped down his right leg. He lost his grip on his sword; and as much as his mind willed his body to roll away, to put distance between himself and the two creatures, he could not force it to do so.
There was another searing line of fire across his right shoulder and Talon screamed out. He was about to die.
His people would go unavenged, and he would never know who his murderers were or why he had been chosen to die.
His final thoughts were of dark despair and deep regret as a blinding white light exploded around him, and he fell into oblivion.
Talon was adrift in a sea of pain. Fire burned his skin and he was bathed in torment. Yet he couldn't move. Voices and images came and went, a few familiar, most alien.
". . . too much blood. I don't know . . ."
Blackness folded over him and then more pain.
". . . survived is beyond my understanding . . ."
A strange sound rang in his ear for what seemed to be the longest time, then suddenly it resolved itself into music. Someone nearby was playing a flute.
Then more darkness.
Time passed in fits and starts, vaguely remembered images, sounds, smells, and textures. A woman's face appeared before him repeatedly. Her features were lovely, but her expression was stern, even harsh. She spoke to others nearby, but often he couldn't hear or understand the words.
Fever dreams gripped him in which creatures of nightmare appeared. A blue being with silver horns hovered over him for a time, speaking in a language of hoots and whistles. Other faces came and went, some clearly human, others with subtle differences, an ear too long, an eyebrow of feathers, or a nose with a small thorn at the end.
Other dreams came, dreams of his childhood at the village of Kulaam. He saw the face of Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, her honey-coloured eyes looking down on him with sadness. He saw his grandfather, Laughter in his Eyes, living up to his name, smiling at him with amusement. He saw his mother and sister, and the other women going about their chores.
He saw himself coming down the mountain, exhausted yet running as fast as he had ever run.
He saw smoke, and death, and fire. And he saw a man on a black horse.
"Raven!" he shouted as he sat up.
A woman gripped his shoulders and said, "Calmly. Relax. You're going to be fine."
Talon realized that he was drenched with perspiration. He felt light-headed. His bandaged body shook with a sudden chill as bumps rose on his arms. He looked around the room.
The room he was in was white with several finely made pieces of furniture, and through a large window he could see a blue sky, a warm day. A scented breeze blew through the window and he could hear voices in the distance.
"Where am I?"
The woman stood up. "You're among friends. I will get Magnus."
Talon fell back against a trio of heavy pillows stuffed with soft down. He rested naked between sheets of fine white cloth, unlike anything he had seen before. The sheets were drenched, and he knew he had just broken a fever. Bandages covered his shoulder, back, his ribs on the left side, both thighs, and his right calf.
A few minutes later, Magnus appeared with the woman a step behind him. "How are you feeling?" asked the white-haired magician.
Lying back on the pillows, Talon said, "I couldn't fight a kitten."
Magnus sat on the side of the bed and put his hand on Talon's forehead. "Fever's gone." He put his thumb on the top of Talon's left eyelid and lifted it slightly. "So is the jaundice."
"What happened?" Talon asked.
Magnus said, "It's a long tale. The short version is that someone sent three death-dancers to kill me. They found you instead."
"Death-dancers?"
"I'll explain it all, at length, but for now you need to rest. Are you hungry?"
Talon nodded. "I could eat."
The woman said, "I'll get some broth," and left the room.
"How long have I been like this?" asked Talon.
"Ten days."
"I've been here ten days?"
Magnus nodded. "You almost died, Talon. Had you been just about anywhere other than this island, you almost certainly would have done. Perhaps a powerful temple priest might have saved you, but few apart from those living here would have possessed the skills to keep you alive.
"The death-dancer's touch is poison, so even if the kill isn't clean, the victim rarely survives."
"How did I get here?"
"When the death-dancers set foot upon the shore, some of us knew instantly something was amiss. We hurried back to the hut once it was clear no attack was mounted here. The death-dancers expected to find a magician, alone in the hut, and instead they found a swordsman.
"Had they been hunting you, you would have died without knowing who struck you down. But they were prepared for magical resistance rather than cold steel and that bought you enough time for us to rescue you."
"Thank you," said Talon. "Who is 'us'?"
"Myself, and others," said Magnus. He stood up as the woman returned with a large bowl of broth and a slice of bread on a tray.
Talon elbowed himself up so that he could eat, but the exertion made his head swim. The woman sat down next to him and picked up the spoon and rather than object, he allowed her to feed him. She was a beautiful woman, possibly in her middle thirties, with dark hair, striking blue eyes and a firm set to her mouth that made her appear stern.
He glanced from her face to Magnus's and between spoonfuls of steaming broth, said, "I can see a resemblance. You never said you had a sister."
The woman smiled and Magnus did as well, and the resemblance became even more pronounced. The woman said, "You flatter me."
"Talon, meet Miranda, my mother."
Talon swallowed and said, "I find that difficult to believe." If anything, she looked younger than her son.
"Believe it," said Miranda. "This is a very remarkable place."
Talon said nothing and continued to eat. When he was finished, Miranda set aside the bowl. At once he started, "What-"
"Not now," she interrupted. "You will have time to ask questions, later, but for now you must rest."
Talon's curiosity was overwhelmed by his fatigue, and even before she had left the room, his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and rhythmic.
Two days after he had regained consciousness, Talon was allowed to get up and walk about. Magnus lent him a staff, which Talon leaned on, since both his legs were weak and sore from his injuries, and he hobbled along next to the magician, who said: "Welcome to Villa Beata."
"That's the name of this place?"
"Yes, it means 'Beautiful home' in an ancient tongue."
They were in a large courtyard, surrounded by a low wall. The buildings around them were all white plastered, with red tile roofs.
"I've never imagined a place like this."
"Those who built it were less worried about defending this place than they were about comfort. There are many stories about how it came to be."
"Do you know the truth?"
Magnus smiled. "I don't. My father claimed to have heard the truth on the subject, but the man who told him the story was known to make inventions when it suited him, so we may never know how this place came to exist."
"Is this your home?"
"This is where I grew up, yes," said Magnus.
Talon looked around and his eyes grew wide as he saw a creature with blue skin and silver horns carrying a large basket of wet laundry around the corner and into a building. "What was that?" he asked.