Westhaven by Rowan Erlking (best sci fi novels of all time TXT) 📕

Loid hopped back in the stance, already looking like he would start to dance. Almost immediately others around perked up as if the entertainment had started. Some shifted on their seats on the ground.

But Key waved his hand to shoo him away. “I’m a swordsmith, not a swordsman.”

“Ah, come on! We used to do it all the time.” Telerd gave Key a shove towards Loid. “Fight him! It will be fun!”

Key staggered forward, feeling his ankle irons rub. He limped.

“Are you ok?” Soin set a hand on Key’s shoulder.

Wincing, Key eyes smiled, tears still in them. “It’s nothing. I’ve just been walking a too much lately.

“Do you need your ankles wrapped?” Tiler turned his eyes back down again, nodding. “You know, that helps.”

Key shook his head.

“Why are you coddling him?” Telerd said, putting himself between them again. “Kemdin has more energy than all of us. He’s made out of iron.”

Tiler braced for a fight.

But Soin crouched down and felt into Key’s boots. He then looked up. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t have the skill t-to take those irons off. M-my magic is pretty l-limited.”

“You should have taken Sadena on her offer,” Tiler said, folding arms as he looked away to avoid Key’s glare.

Key didn’t glare long though. He sighed as he said, “Fine. When we get back, I’ll have her take the irons off. I’ll just keep them somewhere as a reminder instead.”

Immediately his Bekir friends looked dismayed at hearing he planned to leave again.

“But w-what about this ankle?” Soin touched it. “Y-you are mmmissing a lot of mmmuscle here. W-what happened?”

Shrugging, Key hobbled to a place to sit and pulled off his boot. “It got infected.”

His lake friends stared as Tiler still looked away.

“It was long time ago,” Key said, trying to reassure them. Then he chuckled. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not a weakling. I just need rest a bit. We’ve been on the trail for a week. All of us in my group are exhausted.”

“No kidding,” Tiler said at last. He walked past Loid and jabbed him in the side. “You let him rest tonight, then you can have your stupid sword fight tomorrow.”

Tiler then tromped away back to where Rainold and the rest were working.

“What was that all about?” Telerd grumbled.

But Soin watched Tiler go, his smile at Key’s return slipping. “I th-think he’s jealous.”

Loid frowned, glancing at Telerd. They stood close to Key who watched Tiler go. He then exhaled and shrugged, rubbing his ankles again. Up until then Key had thought Tiler stayed near to him because he had pitied him. Jealous? It didn’t seem like Tiler at all.

All of them rested that night. Key returned to his friends from the Herra camp later that evening and discussed with them a their plans for what they had to do next, mostly going over Sadena’s orders to make sure they didn’t just think he was being bossy. Rainold was to remain in the south to teach those in the camp to read. They had already arranged it with Lowman after hiring Dalis. Polan offered to stay with Rainold to ensure they were not double-crossed any, just in case Lowman was really trying to just sate them with promises just to get rid of Key whom they could tell the southern leader now regarded with a brooding sense of fear. It was in Lowman’s eyes and the way the insurgents of Kalsworth watched Key handle things, especially with the Bekir men. Key had enormous influence with the people from the lakes.

The rest of the group from Herra planned to head east to Barnid, then north to Wenden where they were to meet up with Callen who had been sent to organize the insurgents there. When they had finished with their meeting, each of them divided up to make their private plans, though Key climbed into his bedroll without another word.

When the morning broke, Key was up early. So close to those from home, he hurried to find his friends from Bekir Lake. His companions from Herra went in search of him once they discovered he was gone. They found Key sparring with Loid in one of the clearings. The other Bekir refugees watched and cheered them both on.

Standing on the edge, the Herra men observed the dance that seemed to go between the two young men. But when Key broke the dance with sword moves of a Herra Hills man and defeated Loid, Tiler smirked.

The crowd watching gasped, though they cheered with surprise. The noise stirred more out of their sleep.

Telerd congratulated Key with pats on his back soon as the fight was over. The two Bekir men then led to Key to another part of the camp. Seeing that Key was safe, the Herra men split off to do as they had planned the night before. Key noticed them out of the corner of his eye even as Loid and Telerd led him towards the Bekir Peninsula refugees. 

Everyone from Summi village practically leapt up when they saw him, declaring aloud that Kemdin Smith had returned. Arms embraced him, hugging him tight. Kisses with tears in them, many sobbed for joy. Hugs pressed against his cheeks and face. Hands groped his hair, feeling the scars on his chest and touching every hurt that the general had given him even as they led him to where he could sit down. They brought over food, drink, and something warm to wrap him in so he could be comfortable. His aunt embraced him the most, squeezing him to her chest as her tears fell on his hair as she sobbed aloud that he was alive and safe. When he had the chance for breath, Key asked them what had happened to the village after he had been taken away. And they told him.

“…So they burned it down. All we saw was smoke and fire,” his great aunt said, holding her child to her side and rocking her as if she had to comfort her all over again.

His cousin had been sitting at his right, her arm hooked in his and hugging him close as if she feared he would vanish. It was a good feeling, one he missed. His own arm was around her waist. In many ways, he was home.

“So none of you saw my mother? Not even in the village during the fire?” He asked, already having trouble choking back tears after hearing about the massacre.

“We think she might have drowned,” his second cousin said.

Key choked, covering his mouth. Then he sniffed to smother the tears that ran down his face.

“I’m sorry, Kemdin,” his cousin said. “All of us were diving into the lake. The blue-eyes used their magic sticks to kill so many of us. None of us looked back.”

“But you’re alive,” his aunt who had been sitting on his other side said, reaching out and tenderly stroked his head. “My sister would be glad to know you survived.”

“But my mother,” Key choked again, sobbing. “I had hoped—”

His cousin hugged him tighter. “I know. I know.”

The ground crunched behind him, and Key turned to look. All the Herra men he had come with were standing behind him. Each one watched with their varied expressions of curiosity, annoyance, and concern.

Weston stepped from their group and walked up to Key. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to start packing. We still have a long way to go.”

The group of Bekir refugees turned, looking up at him and the other Herra men. Key’s face quickly turned an embarrassed red. They had seen him cry and probably though he was such a child for it. However he nodded, rising as he wiped his face on his sleeve.

“Do you really have to go?” His cousin still clung to his arm. Her face was wet and her large doe eyes begging for him to reconsider.

Casting her a smile, Key nodded and tried to pull as gently as possible from her grip. “I’m sorry. I do.”

“Can’t he stay here and rest up his feet while you go?” his aunt begged them, searching the faces of Key’s traveling companions with the same look his mother used to have when she wanted him to lie still a little longer after he had been sick. “You can come back for him.”

The Herra men glanced among one another as if considering it. It was in their plans to return to check up on Rainold’s progress after the trip east.

But Key shook his head, withdrawing from is aunt and cousin. They had to go.

“Sorry, Aunt Beda,” he said. “I can’t stay. They’re right. We have to keep on schedule.”

He withdrew from the group with a steady walk, joining the Herra men with his duty clear in his head. He could not indulge himself while others were still suffering.

All those from Bekir stared, watching as he took the hat Weston was holding and fit it on his head. Their eyes examined the Herra men in the same way the Herra men looked at them, somewhat suspicious though with an added sense of loss that Kemdin was no longer the boy they missed, but a man with a purpose. Key could see the longing in their eyes as well as wonder at what had happened to him.

Loid walked over to the cousin that had been clinging to Key and whispered in her ear. She nodded then pushed him ahead to hurry. Loid then jogged right after the Herra men. “I’m coming with you.”

They all turned, though Key blinked. His eyes lightened with pleasure.

“But what about my cousin?” Key asked with a smirk, nodding back to her as she waved good-bye to the both of them.

“Cousin?” Tiler glanced back at the young woman who watched them, a smirk of interest growing in his eyes and mouth.

“My wife,” Loid said with emphasis as he glared at Tiler, “will be fine here with her mother. Besides, they are thinking about going north themselves. You did say there was a refugee camp they can go to, right?”

The Herra men grumbled.

“What are you going to do? Play music for us while we walk?” Berd said with a snort. He looked up and down at the Bekir clothes Loid wore.

Key jabbed Berd in the ribs, glaring at him to knock it off. Though it was merely a joke, Herra humor was very different than that of the lake people and Loid would take offense.

Loid cast Berd a glare. “No. I do the music for money. Towns down here are less suspicious of traveling minstrels, especially when they are obviously northerners. I’ll be able to go into towns better than all of you.”

Tiler nodded. “Good point.”

The others peered at him as if he had lost his mind.

But Tiler cast Key a glance, then looked behind them at the other Bekir men with a smirk. “Is there anyone else you want to bring?”

Telerd had also followed. It was obviously a jibe meant for him. He cast Tiler a hard look before saying to Key, “I just wanted to say good bye.”

Key stopped and turned.

“We’ll meet again.” He clasped Telerd’s hand then pulled him into a hug. “You can count on that.”

Telerd nodded, trying to blink away the tears. They let go, sighing.

But Telerd wasn’t the only person who had followed them. Almost all of the survivors of Summi village had followed them, several bringing out gifts. In fact, it was full fifteen minutes before the Herra men could even get to their things and pack up.

People from the Bekir Peninsula had followed kept on approaching Key even as he stuffed his bedroll and tucked in his one change of clothes, adding extra things to the pack. So much that, he ended up with Bekir style clothes in his pack, traded his floppy hat for a white Bekir style hat to cover his hair that had Bekir Lake bead work on it, and a number of things they could trade for food in other villages. When they had