The Eye of Time

Untitled Part 3

For the next few days, the village huddled under grey clouds and persistent rain, sometimes heavy but mostly just an irritating, soaking, drizzle. Syllan had watched Weyllan slouch off after the meeting, leaving his cousin and adopted brother, Kefhan, to entertain the visitor. Syllan had been invited, along with Tokhan, to eat with Kefhan and his young wife Kirah, and they had been introduced to other families and young people in the village and nearby. Weyllan, still slightly truculent, at last overcame his despondency enough to join them on an excursion.

The young men were passing a small farmstead when they spotted Dutehar helping a pretty young weaver set up her loom. Syllan realised they had, at last, discovered his companion's latest love-interest, and he turned to Tokhan, shaking his head in mock resignation. Both Islanders laughed, and even Weyllan was seen to break into a watery smile. They sat down to talk as Dutehar's new friend began weaving while he meekly passed her the yarn when she asked for it. As evening came, the skies cleared and they made up their minds to go hunting early the next day.

On the day of the hunt, Weyllan for the first time took the lead, working his way up through the hills into a long valley dotted with small clumps of woodland, where he was certain they would find game. As they followed an old deer track through the tall grass, Syllan fell in beside Kefhan.

"He seems confident," he said, waving towards the young seer. "Do you often hunt here?"

"I bow to my cousin when it comes to hunting," was the reply. "He has a feeling for where the animals are. It goes beyond simple knowledge of the game. It is as if he can listen in to their thoughts when he wants to, and track them with his mind. Not that he isn't also good at reading sign the usual way – he excels at that too. If Weyllan says the deer are grazing this valley today, then we will find them. And he will shoot one, mark my word!"

And so, it proved to be. Within a short time, they had located a herd and taken positions, spread out along the downwind flank of the animals. Weyllan brought down a young buck with a sure arrow to the heart that dropped it with barely a sound, and Syllan got a clear shot at a large doe that fell kicking in the grass until Tokhan dispatched her with his flint knife. Kefhan's shot came a little late and only grazed his target, since she sprang away when Syllan's doe went down. They removed the buck's antlers to prevent damage and snagging, then tied the animals to long poles cut from the trees nearby. Feeling more cheerful than they had for several days, they set off down to the village, hefting each of their substantial burdens between two men.

As they cut up the meat outside Kefhan's house, Weyllan for the first time struck up a conversation with Syllan.

"That was a good shot you made back there," he began. "Just a handspan lower and the doe would have dropped quietly through to the Other Side. I think perhaps she was tensing to leap as you released, so that she crouched a fraction as the shaft flew to her."

It was a subtle way out of having to admit he had missed the heart, and Syllan warmed to the other young man. "Perhaps, but in truth I think I was not concentrating enough." He wiped his knife absently. "I am a fair shot, but I think I will never be a gifted archer, like you."

"When I work the fires and when I hunt, are the times when I feel the power course through me," acknowledged Weyllan. "As I take aim, I see a shimmering line that joins me to the beast, and so long as I shoot along that line, the arrow flies true. I am not convinced that I will ever be able to see what really is and what will be, the way my uncle can, but I can see the death of a stag or sense the moment a rock will release its spirit, even though the lid is hard on the melting pot."

" I fear I have not even that degree of vision." Syllan smiled but shook his head ruefully. "My father Atharon has some. He even went on a vision quest as a young man and is accepted as a seer, but I have never been called. In the end, it matters not at all, since my elder brother, not I, will take the chieftain's cloak when my father dies. He looks to be a more powerful seer than our father. I wish him well in that, and hope he lives long enough to bear sons so that I need never have the burden of ruling our people placed on my shoulders!"