Authors: T. C. Metivier
“Custom be damned!” Arex slammed his fist into his open palm. “Where have our customs gotten us? Our people killed, our lands burned and our food stolen! The Traika expand, while we are hemmed in like a dying fenail, unable to do anything except wait for the killing blow! Our
customs
kept us from asking for help, our
customs
drove away the offers of alliance from the Sandahar, from the Kedra, from the Daraman! Our customs are proving a deadlier enemy than the Traika! And now our
to’laka
have sensed a dark power arising from within Kil’la’ril, a power which will only grow and further strengthen the Traika! The time to attack is
now
—we have no time to debate this. It is the truth. You
must
see it!”
“We do see it, Arex,” said the hawk-nosed man. “We are not the fools you think we are. We see the danger, and we will act accordingly. But there is a way that these things must be done, an order that has been passed down for generations. What good is it to defeat the Traika if by doing so we offend the gods? Would you doom our children and our children’s children to spend eternity in the fiery chasms of A’Lai Mar?”
“I would do
anything
—” began Arex, fire flashing in his eyes, but then he abruptly grew calm. “No, Penar. I apologize for my anger. I do not presume to defy the gods.”
“And in turn we apologize,” said Celora. “We do not presume to demean the deaths of your warriors and the sacrifices that you have made to ensure our continued survival. We want to see this war won. But we must not act in haste, or we risk a punishment far worse than anything the Traika can inflict.”
“I agree, Celora.” Arex took a deep breath, then turned back towards the Tellarians. “Once again, thank you for aiding our warriors. For that, you are welcome to stay in our village as long as you like. However, I must retract the offer that I made you. The matter must first be discussed among the
kat’ara
. We will send a messenger for you when we have reached a decision.”
Makree nodded in agreement, and Drogni breathed a mental sigh of relief.
Good
. As much as the soldier within him was eager to stop with all this talking and get moving to Nembane Mountain as quickly as possible, the officer within him knew that he and Makree needed to hammer out some kind of unified strategy, and
fast
.
Too much is going on that I don’t know enough about, and that needs to change. And we’re not gonna agree to
anything
they offer until we’ve had a chance to talk it over. And I mean
really
talk it over, not just say ‘it has to happen this way’ and be done with it. We’re gonna have a strategy based on more than just some vague wizardry, a strategy that stands a bat’s chance in Muntûrek of actually working.
And if the Vizier doesn’t like it, that’s just too damn bad.
-12-
Lerana knelt and bowed her head. “Revered
Jo’ma
.”
The old woman did not bother with formalities. “What have you learned, my child?”
Lerana sat. “I do not think that the stranger has much control of his power. He told me that he cannot harness
ko’sha
as we do, but he can sense its use.” She paused, eying the
Jo’ma
for a reaction, then continued. “He said that he can…
see
…
ko’sha
.”
“He did?” the old woman mused. She reached out one withered hand to stroke her enthralled terek’s dark-feathered head, and the vicious bird let out a low warble of pleasure and pride. “How interesting. And you believe that he was telling the truth.”
“I do, revered
Jo’ma
. His mind is a dark place, shrouded with mysteries that I cannot penetrate. But I felt no falsehood within him when he spoke.”
The old woman considered this, idly tapping a skeletal finger against the back of her hand. “With such a power, we could turn the tide of war firmly in our favor.”
Lerana clicked her tongue in agreement. “Do you think that he will aid us?”
“Perhaps,” said the
Jo’ma
. “But they may not be necessary. He himself is of little consequence. We do not need his help; we simply need to take possession of his talisman.”
“Of course, revered
Jo’ma
,” replied Lerana. “But how? Do you propose handing him over to the
Dar’katal
?”
The
Jo’ma
raised a finger warningly. “I think it would be unwise to try to take it from him by force. It may have defensive capabilities beyond its wielder’s control. Recall the tale of the Sky Prince and the Koal’kala. I have no wish to be boiled alive by a storm of divine lightning.”
Lerana bowed her head, ashamed at having suggested such a foolish course of action. “Yes, revered
Jo’ma
.”
“Yet we must have this power,” continued the old woman. “The solution, I think, is plain. You must convince him to remove it himself and give it to us. It should not be difficult; promise him his freedom in exchange for his cooperation. I believe that he will readily accept such a bargain, especially if, as you say, he cannot control the power he wields. He will not risk his life to protect a talisman that he cannot properly use.”
“Yes, revered
Jo’ma
,” repeated Lerana. “It will be done.”
The
Jo’ma
smiled. “You have done well, my child,” she said. “But the stranger is not the only reason that I called you here.”
Lerana heard the subtle shift in the old woman’s voice and knew that she spoke of matters of grave importance. “What is it, revered
Jo’ma
?”
The leader of the
to’laka
drew herself straighter and her expression hardened. “These wars must end. Constant battles bleed our people dry while accomplishing nothing. We are no closer to victory now than we were at the beginning. And every year more of our warriors breathe their final breaths, their bodies lying twisted and broken, their
di’uana
scattering to the winds. It cannot continue.”
“Of course, revered
Jo’ma
,” replied Lerana. “But how? The feuds are old, and they run deep. I fear that no amount of diplomacy will be able to heal them.”
“Diplomacy!” The
Jo’ma
spat out the word as if it were poison. “Diplomacy is a tool of the weak, a refuge for those who are not strong enough to take their destinies into their own hands. Once, perhaps, I would have counseled such a course of action. But the need for that has passed. Kil’la’ril has awakened. Its power burgeons, and our strength grows with it. No longer must we be content with raids and skirmishes. It is time for us to stop cowering within our own lands, allowing lesser enemies to chip away at our numbers. It is time for us to seize our destiny.”
Lerana felt a chill run through her. “What do you mean, revered
Jo’ma
?”
The old woman clenched a skeletal fist, her expression hardening and fire blazing in her eyes. “We will take the battle to them. To their villages, to their homes. We will strike at them with a fury the likes of which the land has never witnessed. And when the dust settles and the fires have burned themselves to ash, only the Traika shall remain.”
The
Jo’ma
’s voice was like winter frost. Lerana felt her jaw sag open in shock. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. The
Jo’ma
spoke of total war—a war of slaughter, of utter annihilation. But that was a direct violation of the First Rule of Den’ja, the most sacred and unbreakable law of their people. “But the First Rule—”
“I know the dictates of the War Goddess.” The
Jo’ma
’s emerald eyes flashed with anger. The terek, as if sensing the change in its mistress’s mood, let out a bloodcurdling shriek and flashed its razor-sharp talons. “Yet I also know this, my child: our people are dying when they could live. We have the power to save them. We have the
duty
to save them.
That
is what matters most. Not the ancient commands of an absent deity.”
The
Jo’ma
’s words were like a spear shaft in Lerana’s chest. Images rose in her mind. She saw her village burning, her people dying. The harsh scent of charred flesh filled her nostrils and the tortured screams of children tore at her heart.
The
Jo’ma
leaned forward. Her voice whispered out like the keening of an evening wind. “You know that I speak the truth, my child. You can feel it in your soul.”
Lerana tilted her head to meet the
Jo’ma
’s eyes. In that moment her mind cleared and her doubts evaporated. The
Jo’ma
had led the Traika well and wisely; she would not take them astray now. “Yes, revered
Jo’ma
,” she said. “I hear and obey.”
“I am glad to hear it, my child.” The
Jo’ma
smiled. “Now prepare yourself. Gather your strength.” All warmth faded from the old woman’s expression. “It will begin tonight.”
* * * *
Roger heard footsteps behind him, and tilted his head up to see Lerana move into view. The shaman settled herself onto the ground next to Roger. “Greetings, Roger,” she said. “I trust that you have not been mistreated.”
Anger flashed through Roger, augmented by his weariness. Try as he might, he had been unable to get anything even approximating sleep the previous night. But he realized that Lerana did not appear to be making a joke at his predicament.
She alternates between politeness and threats, but she doesn’t really do sarcasm.
“Not unless you count being tied up like an animal as being mistreated.”
Lerana raised an eyebrow. “You are not tied up like an animal, Roger. You are tied up like a prisoner. Which you are.”
“If you really think I’m a god, isn’t it a little risky keeping me tied up like this?”
Lerana shrugged. “Perhaps. But if you are a god, and you are uncomfortable, then I would advise you to free yourself. Like I told you before, I do not think that you are a god. I do not know what you are. Perhaps you are a demon, in which case it would be a very bad decision for us to free you. Personally, I think you are just a man who has come into possession of a powerful magical artifact. But none of us know for sure. In the meantime, we will keep you tied up as custom dictates. And, if you
are
a god, and this
is
some kind of test, then you cannot fault us for obeying the customs set down by you and your kin.”
Well, hard to argue with that
, admitted Roger.
But at least she’s not talking about killing me anymore, so that’s an improvement.
In truth, he
had
tried to call upon the powers of his ring, hoping to free himself, but his every attempt had failed. Try as he might, he had been unable to sink into the semi-meditative state that seemed to be required to tap into that magic, and eventually he had given up.
Not that it probably would’ve helped much. So far all I’ve been able to do is feel tugs towards other sources of magic and see some kind of fire-aura around living creatures. Neither of which would do me much good against these ropes.
“Well, could you maybe mention to the guys guarding me that I might be a god, so they’ll back off a bit? Every now and then one of them comes in and sharpens his spear where he knows that I can see him. If you and your
kat’ara
don’t figure out what to do with me soon, one of those warriors is gonna get spear-happy and slit my throat while I’m sleeping.”
Lerana did not seem alarmed or surprised. “As I said, the
Dar’katal
and his warriors want you dead—rather vehemently, I might add. They are displeased that we have decided to keep you alive. However, they will obey us. The last time a common warrior defied the
to’laka
, he died horribly. Rest assured, you have nothing to fear from them.”
Roger did not feel assured.
All it takes is one guy deciding for one second to disobey.
He’d seen it happen before—no matter the consequences, sometimes people just…snapped
However, Lerana seemed pretty sure of herself, so there wasn’t much Roger could do to convince her otherwise.
“I did not come simply to commiserate over your accommodations,” continued Lerana. “I have good news. I have brought your case before the
to’laka
, and they were quite pleased with what you told me yesterday. We have discussed the matter at great length. And we have reached a decision.”
Roger looked up sharply. Hope surged within him, but none showed in his expression or his reply. “What’s that?”
Lerana gave a broad smile. “We are prepared to offer you a deal. Give us your ring, and you may leave our lands in peace.”