The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1) Page 18

  Gallun and Gellen seemed in much better spirits as the tonic effects of the tea worked more deeply. The two of them split the remainder of the tea in the pot and drank it.

  The ocelot stood and approached Gully. The idea that the animal was one and the same as the patriarch was something with which Gully was still struggling. The ocelot stood a few feet away and sniffed at the air around Gully.

  The patriarch said, “Forgive my rudeness, Bayle. You smell faintly of the marshes and bogs south of here. Do you spend time there?”

  “Yes, patriarch. That is where I grew up. My father had a cabin, and I still spend time there when I can. It is mostly unreachable because of the bogs, unless you know the specific path, and that is where I was raised.”

  “Your parents, do they still live in the cabin?”

  “No. I never knew my mother. My father disappeared over ten years ago,” said Gully. His hand wanted to reach for the pendant, but he kept it still in his lap.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said the patriarch. “He is, I suppose in your Iisen view, a star in the sky now.”

  “No,” said Gully firmly. “My father is still alive, somewhere, Maqara probably, with many other Iisenors and Merchers, and is therefore not a star.”

  “Hmm... yes, possible,” said the old man thoughtfully.

  “He never followed the Iisen religion, though, anyway. I’ve never fallen in with it myself, either, as a result. My foster brother is quite faithful to it, however, and prays to his mother and father almost nightly.”

  Aian the Patriarch grew silent for a long time, and took no notice as Exoutur and the human half of Raybb approached the fire. Exoutur asked, “May we join you, father? You have been in conversation for a long time.”

  “Yes, yes, my son. We have had much to talk about. And now I am curious about something else, something that stirs in my mind for some reason,” said the patriarch, almost distantly.

  Exoutur and Raybb sat across the fire from Gully, Gallun and Gellen, and held hands. It caused a fresh set of questions to pop into Gully’s mind, but the patriarch spoke before Gully could ask them.

  “Did your father ever speak of your mother?” he asked Gully.

  “No,” replied Gully.

  “Did you ask about her?”

  “A few times, but he would only reply that there was no need for me to have a mother. He would say that—” Gully stopped, suddenly remembering the words of his father, and it caused a lump in his throat. He tried again, “He would say that...” The words did not want to come out and Gully had to fight the sadness back, a sadness he had not felt so vividly in years. “He would say that they would be all I needed for a family. That they would always be there for me.”

  “They?” asked the patriarch softly.

  Gully tightened his face, feeling the sharp pain of his father’s absence in a way he had not felt in a very long time. “Yes...” said Gully. He forced himself to focus on the patriarch’s question. “Yes, we had a pet fox.”

  “And your father’s name was Delescer? What was his first name, Bayle?”

  Gully shook his head, “No, Delescer is the name of my adoptive family, the ones that took me in after my father disappeared. They are the ones that gave me the name Bayle Delescer so that I would feel more a part of their family.”

  The patriarch sat forward in his chair, very interested now. “So, Bayle is not your given name? What is your given name? What is the name your father called you?”

  Gully felt unwilling to open his heart and be teased for it, and he replied, “It does not matter. It is a nonsense name.”

  “Please, Bayle, humor me,” asked the patriarch again. The others at the fire seemed to all be leaning forward, anticipating Gully’s answer the same as the patriarch. “What was the name your father used for you?”

  Gully sighed and felt a stinging in his eyes from too much talk of his father. With a shake of his head, he replied, “Di’taro. He... called me Di’taro.”

  The patriarch smiled and whispered, but Gully still heard the words plainly. “Little fox...” said the patriarch, caressing the words as he spoke them, his face showing a fondness for the words not expressed in a long time.

  Gully’s eyes flew open and he gasped, “How did you know that?! How did you know what that meant?!”

  The patriarch ignored him and said to himself, “Interesting, though. Di’taro is usually a term of endearment for beloved children and not a given name.” He said, more directly to Gully, “Di’taro... the word ‘di’taro’ is old, very old... Balmorean.”

  Gully’s eyes widened at the implication of what the patriarch was saying. Gallun’s and Gellen’s eyes had also grown wide, and Exoutur and Raybb began to murmur to each other at the revelation.

  “Describe your father to me, Bayle, how you best remember him,” requested the patriarch.

  “He was a large man, broad shouldered. He had black hair, as black as the darkest starless night, with a matching beard. His eyes were dark and piercing, too,” said Gully.

  “So... he looked very little like you,” said the patriarch. “But he looked very much like us.”

  Gully’s mouth dropped open. He looked at the men gathered around the fire, and for the first time, the resemblance between them and his own father jumped out at him. The thick beards and dark eyebrows, the shiny black hair, the slight olive tint to the complexion of the skin.

  “Bayle, or perhaps Di’taro, I would like to suggest that your father is not actually your father. Or, at least, he did not sire you, although it is clear he loved you very much. Do you always remember your pet fox being around? Think carefully.”

  “Yes,” said Gully, “Even in my earliest memories, Pe’taro was always there. And you are right, foxes do not typically live that long. I always assumed, later, that it was simply because he was loved and well cared for. But you are saying my father was one of you, are you not? He was a balmor and I never knew it!”

  “I find it difficult to think otherwise,” said the patriarch. “It would seem likely he had a fox as a familiar, which is the only way to explain its long life. I also think it likely that your father was hiding himself away carefully. For our own safety, even we do not venture into the bogs in the southern part of the woods. That could be the only reason to live there, to guarantee secrecy.”

  Gully was completely dumbfounded. His world felt violently upended.

  “But then, who am I?” asked Gully.

  “Bayle, think carefully... do you remember, before your father disappeared, and it would have likely been right before he disappeared if it happened... do you remember him ever cutting the palm of your hand, then his own, and then pressing the two together?” The patriarch’s voice was almost breathless in anticipation.

  The patriarch added quickly, “It would be the palm of your left hand specifically, and his left palm, specifically. Do you remember?”

  The question was preposterous and it confused Gully. He shook his head, “No, my father would never hurt me. He loved me very much! He never did anything like that. He would never have hurt me!”

  The patriarch said, “It is not an act of malice or of punishment. In fact, what it expresses is the exact opposite. In our culture, it is called a blood seal and it serves as an act of adoption and an irrevocable family bond. It is a ritual typically performed with witnesses, and is cause for a celebration. Usually it happens when the child is old enough to understand it, probably when he or she has reached eight or nine years. The adoptive parent cuts the child’s left palm, and then his own, and the two are pressed together, allowing the blood to mingle. Once done, the child is immutably a member of the family, as surely as if the parents had sired the child themselves. If your father had adopted you, it would explain the lack of a mother and it would explain why you do not look like him.” The patriarch seemed rather disappointed that Gully had no memory of the blood seal. He asked idly, “What was your father’s name, then?”

  “His name is Ollon,” said Gully.


  The patriarch frowned and thumped his knee with his thumb a few times while he thought. “Hmmm... not a name that comes to mind as meaningful to me. It could be Balmorean in nature. But it could also be Iisen. It is hard to say for sure.”

  Gully thought for a moment and looked at his left palm, which had started itching again. “I have no memory that he ever cut my palm, patriarch, but...” he said, “I do have a faint scar across my left palm that has always been there. It itches quite often, as a matter of fact.”

  The patriarch looked very interested again. The ocelot stood and walked right up to Gully and the patriarch said, “May I see it? My ocelot eyes are better than my human ones, if you will allow it.”

  Gully held up his palm where the ocelot could examine it. Gallun and Gellen were leaning over trying to get a close look as well.

  Exoutur said with great interest, “Does it look like a knife wound, father?”

  The patriarch said, “I would seem to me it does, yes. Raybb, I would like your opinion, though. You are the most familiar with knife wounds in the clan.”

  Raybb stood and took Gully’s hand. He examined it and said, “It would be almost impossible for it to be anything else. The cut is straight, centered in the palm. I would be very surprised to find out this was something other than an intentional knife cut.”

  Raybb re-took his seat next to Exoutur and asked the patriarch, “Would his father have performed the blood seal on one so young that he would have no memory of it at all? It is something not done! It defeats the whole purpose.”

  “I believe that he did,” said the patriarch very gravely. “It must have been so important to him that he did not wait for Bayle to age enough to understand the act.” The patriarch considered this for a long time, then addressed Gully, “Bayle, by our laws and customs... you are one of us, as surely as if you had been born to a Balmorean couple naturally.”

  The elder lapsed into a distant silence. He seemed to be thinking very hard and no one said anything for a full minute. Little Wyael crept over closer towards Gully without saying a word, wishing to see the scar for himself, but without disturbing the adults as he had been instructed.

  “But...” said Gully, unable to hold his tongue any longer, “that still does not answer whom I am! My father is not my father? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “No,” said the patriarch, pulled from his reverie, “I do not know whom your birth parents are. But, the man you know as your father, was in fact as much your father as any man could be, and I believe he was a balmor with a fox as his familiar. Bayle, I assure you that you were the most important person in the world to him. The blood seal is never, ever entered into hastily or half-heartedly. In his eyes, you were most definitely his son. Of that, there is no doubt in my mind!”

  Gully sat quietly, thinking through all that he had learned until his head felt like it would split open. He had always assumed that his father was really his father, and maybe he was in all the ways that mattered. But it opened up so many further questions at the same time.

  “Does this mean I have an animal half somewhere? Am I a balmor?” asked Gully.

  The patriarch frowned and said, “You would know if you had an animal form; it is not something you can ignore or overlook. I believe your birth parents were Iisen and Ollon, your father, came to have you instead of them somehow. I am not an expert at this, but the blood seal would not likely transfer enough Balmorean traits to turn you balmor, anyway. Not that that matters... neither of my sons are balmors, either. By blood seal, you are fully Balmorean. Whether or not you are a balmor is of no consequence, Di’taro.”

  Gully stared at those around him. For the first time he realized that Gallun and Gellen had grabbed his left hand and were examining the very faint scar there for themselves. Even Wyael had crept around the fire and was almost next to him now he was so desperate to see for himself.

  “Wyael...” warned the patriarch.

  Gully was caught up in his own memories, trying to see his father again in his head, to see him in the wildly different light that he was now forced to see him. The patriarch’s gentle chiding of the young boy caught his attention, though, and he realized the child was only being curious. Before Wyael could go back to his spot on the other log chastised, Gully held out his hand to him. “He is no trouble. Here, Wyael, you may see for yourself if you are interested.”

  Wyael eagerly grabbed the offered hand and examined the scar fixedly. He also looked up into face of the stranger who did not look like them, fascinated by the man who had appeared in the woods and who was now unexpectedly one of their own kind.

  Gellen rose from the log and stepped in front of Gully. He sank to his knees, facing Gully, and his brown kilt pooled onto the ground around his knees. He held up his left palm towards him. Gully stared at it for a moment, unsure what Gellen was trying to say. Gellen nodded for him to do the same.

  Off to the side came a voice interrupting his action, and it said, “Is that how desperate you are to have people on your side, Gellen, now that you are shunned by your own? You offer your palm in brotherhood to the spy and likely assassin?”

  Gully turned and saw Encender standing off from the fire a ways with his feet spread wide and arms folded across his chest while a few sparkflies blinked placidly around him.

  The patriarch said, “Encender, he is not a spy. And you may be interested to know that it turns out he is Balmorean by blood seal. He is as much one of us as you are, my son.”

  Encender wandered closer and sat next to his brother. He scoffed, “So, it only makes his inevitable betrayal of us that much more egregious!”

  Gully ignored Encender and said to Gellen, “I do not understand. What do you want from me?”

  Exoutur said, “Gellen is offering his left palm to you. It is an informal version of the blood seal. He is, in effect, saying that he considers you his brother and close friend, and would like for you to accept him as the same. It is considered an honor among us to be offered this. If you accept his offer, you should place your left palm to his.”

  Encender began, “It would be an honor if it were coming from anyone other than a shamed—”

  “’Cender! Enough! Be quiet!” barked Exoutur angrily at his older brother, and for a moment it looked as if Gellen would leap across the fire and hit Encender again, but he held his place.

  Gallun, following the lead of his twin, also turned and held his own left palm up to Gully. Gully stared at the two men, the two twin fighters, who considered him to be a close friend, practically brothers, but he hesitated at their offer. Closeness always carried the threat of loss and pain with it. He had suffered this before and was reluctant to add to the depthless pain he already felt.

  He glanced at Gellen, on his knees in front of him, the firelight reflecting in his dark and unblinking eyes the deep shame he carried for his deficiency as a fighter, no matter what his skills truly were. He saw that Gellen was burying what pride he still had and was reaching out to the person who had saved his life. Gully glanced to his right at Gallun and saw the same look in his piercing eyes and determined jaw.

  For himself, for the pain he might suffer because of it, Gully wanted to politely refuse. But the look in the twins’ eyes made it impossible. He could not do this to two who had already suffered such great shame.

  He wasn’t sure what it would entail, but he timidly held his own left palm up and pressed it to Gellen’s for a moment, and then he repeated the motion by pressing it up against Gallun’s palm as well.

  Gully glanced at the patriarch to make sure he was doing the proper thing, and the patriarch had a thoughtful smile on his face. If the elder shared any of Encender’s feelings towards the twin fighters, or had any misgivings about Gully associating with them this way, he did not show it.

  Chapter 14 — The Dream That Was A Memory

  It was rare for Gully to wake into total darkness. If sleeping outside, there was always the light of the stars or the laughing moon if the hour
was right, and if sleeping inside, there were at least the remaining embers of a small fire providing illumination. So when he awoke, and there was no light at all, he felt choked and disoriented. He sat up, and when his hand landed on the mat underneath him upon which he had been sleeping, he remembered all that had happened earlier that night and where he was.

  He remembered he was in a shanty in the Mercher encampment, something a little more than a tent, but not a full cabin, either. A cobbled-together shack was probably even a rich description. It belonged to Gallun and Gellen, and had no fire or candles lit inside, which is why it was in total darkness.

  Next to him, the almost silent breathing of his two hosts reached his ears. He remained still for a moment until he could locate them, and then slowly crept out of their home, the echoes of the dream that had woken him still repeating through his head.

  He managed to get outside without disturbing the two brothers, and he needed the space to clear the emotions stirred up by his vivid dream. The air had cooled a little, but it was still the darkest of the middle of the night, with no light from Vasahle coming from the sky. Even the sparkflies had gone to bed at this lonely hour, and were it not for the dying fires interspersed throughout the Mercher camp, it would be just as dark outside as inside the shack.

  He walked over towards the closest fire pit and began to think through the dream that had felt like a memory. Or, more accurately, it was a memory that felt like it had to be a dream. It was not unfamiliar to him as he had dreamt it many times, but it had always been a memory before he had started to dream it. In his figuring, it had to be more firmly rooted in his head as a memory than a fiction created by his sleeping mind, except for the one puzzling and impossible aspect of it.

  It was a very early memory of his, and in it, he was of but five or six years. He had decided that he was big enough to help his father with chores, and so he had taken the wooden water bucket and made his way, by himself, to retrieve some water from the stream closest to their cabin. He had been told not to go anywhere that he could not see the cabin door, but he had reached a point where he wanted to be of more use, and more independent. Looking back, he could understand his father’s panic, because there were a number of very treacherous soft bogs between the cabin and the clear-water brook. To his young mind, though, he gave no thought to those and merely wanted to help by fetching some water. He had no sooner made it to the stream successfully, and very luckily, when he heard soft feet thrumming up behind him at a full run. He remembered turning back in the direction he had come, from the cabin, to see the fox, Pe’taro, racing after him. He remembered smiling and laughing at the fox as games of chase were not unusual between them at all.