Rise of Serpents

by B A Vonsik

  “Words, Tellen.” The Baraan’s gruff voice trailed off as he turned and walked back to the street, his long brown braids swinging with each stride. Rogaan stood stunned at the open door as the Ursan walked away with confidence expecting Rogaan would comply, though Rogaan did not know what to make of the situation until the Ursan took his place among an unlikely bunch of Kaal’Ursa and Ursans. The Kaal’Ursa being the brawling fighters of the pits, good battling one-on-one with hands and weapons, though mainly concerned with winning their next fight and the Honor of The Pit. The Ursan were different. They the warriors of conventional battle and warfare, though more often hired blades and spears of caravans, wealthy merchants, unaligned estates owners, the Houses, and even some temples. Trained in weapons and fighting styles of many kinds, Ursans made good coin as mercenaries across the lands and were renowned for their formidable negotiation skills, especially for contracts in which they gave service.

  The seven never to lose in the pits stood in the middle of the packed dirt and stone street with a hooded figure standing next to the biggest of them, a Kaal’Ursa. Rogaan watched the big pit fighter’s last victory by pulling another Baraan’s head from his neck. A bit gory for Rogaan, but most of the prisoners cheered the kill. The Kaal’Ursa’s name escaped Rogaan, but he knew that that one liked to kill. Rogaan’s attention shifted to the hooded figure. Vein-patterned black and gray pants emerged from the bottom of a dark hooded cape. Pax, Rogaan breathed. Whatever this is, it was planned, or they would never have been able to capture Pax.

  “Follow,” the gruff-voiced Ursan demanded. “He has words for you to hear.”

  The seven started off walking back to the main street with Pax, still hooded, being guided and pushed along. A flash of anger passed through Rogaan as he accepted neither he nor Pax was in control.

  “I hate being handled,” Rogaan mumbled to himself as he followed. The seven in front of him, some who worked for Kirral, the rest he was uncertain of, moved on at a purposeful pace. Who has words for me? Rogaan grunted in wonder as they went. “Another matter Pax will be blaming me for.”

  Chapter 3

  Deal

  The cool night air lightly carried the scent of fish upon it as the big Baraan pushed Pax, still with a dark hood over his head, across the hovel’s main street before disappearing into deep darkness between a large wood building on the left and a fair-sized shack on the right. The path between was narrow with the other six “escorts”, several ahead of Pax with the rest between him and Rogaan, bumping and scraping at the wood planks of both structures despite being single file. The narrow way stank of urine and other things he chose not to dwell upon. Rogaan’s night eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, giving him a gray picture of what lay before him and to his sides, irregular wood planks with bumps and several cross beams protruding into the narrow space. Darkness forced on Rogaan an unease he still did not master. He thought his fear of it would have worn thin after all these months on the island and in the Farratum prison before. His disappointment kept the hairs pricking stiff on his skin. He stepped carefully, bringing up the rear of the line looking behind as much as to the Ursan in hide armor in front of him.

  They exited the narrows into a small foot-worn field that appeared to be a training circle for those preparing to fight in the pits. Gentle, almost soothing, tremors under his feet betrayed the sense of foreboding Rogaan felt. Beyond, a cluster of small wood shacks surrounding a large building, the largest Rogaan had put eyes on since his imprisonment on this island. It appeared to be where they were prodding Pax toward. The “escorts” weaved their line between the shacks and around cook fires surrounded by clusters of poorly clothed Baraans, both young and old. All fell silent at their approach with few resuming talks until Rogaan was well beyond them. The “escorts” paid no heed to those they passed by as if they did not exist.

  As they approached the north side of the large central building, Rogaan found the foundation and steps to be of granite stone blocks . . . rare on this island patch. And well-made and fitted together, Rogaan noted. Fires wafted more than a stride high from braziers to each side of the wide stone top step. Their line Ursan and Kaal’Ursa kept an even pace walking past the four spearmen flanking the steps, two at the first and two more at the fifth. Atop the steps, Rogaan saw the stone platform provided open space four strides wide running the length of the timbers of the single-story building structure which stood some twenty-five strides in both directions from him. A well-hidden place amongst the wood shacks . . . an illusion to the eye until you are upon it. Rogaan wondered at the builders. No Baraan or Evendiir built this place.

  The first two of their line swung wide large, wood, double doors taking up positions holding them open until Rogaan passed. Both wore hide armor with long daggers in their belts that they carried comfortably. They fell in line on the backside of Rogaan’s sandals, making him nervous at their intentions. Lit by six braziers spaced equally around the room, the entrance hall was both grand and stunning in the flickering light of the flames. Nine strides tall at its crest, the pitched roof made of timber beams spaced every two strides held up the roof planks and the gray tiles atop them, which Rogaan caught a glimpse of when climbing the stone steps outside. No Baraan made this place, he was certain of it. The scent of pine was heavy in the air. It soothed Rogaan’s senses as he drank it in with each breath.

  “I see you approve of my choice in aromas,” the voice came from Rogaan’s right. A tall Baraan dressed in maroon robes stepped into the edge of the shadows, his features dark in contrast from the light of the flames. Broad at the chest though only slightly taller than Rogaan, he stood confidently with dark. His stringy hair touched by gray hanging to his shoulders matching the length of his short, graying beard, braided in the Tellen custom. Kirral.

  “Why do you have us here?” Rogaan asked Kirral with an even stare.

  Kirral returned Rogaan’s stare, just as even and maybe a little more threatening. “Direct. To the heart of matters. I see there is Tellen in you.”

  “What do you mean?” Rogaan did not know how to take Kirral’s implication.

  “You behave more Baraan than Tellen most of the time,” Kirral answered with a directness Rogaan found unsettling. As Kirral talked, Rogaan became increasingly uncomfortable. “Self-absorbed. Self-important. Then, you build brilliantly and with the pride of a Tellen, that shack. Too bad the misfortune of its burning. It did raise the value of land for this hovel.”

  “Ya hopper-lickin’ spawn of Kur!” Pax growled from under his hood as he stomped on the foot of the Kaal’Ursa holding him. That succeeded in getting a groan from the big Baraan and a loosening of his grip. Pax pulled away as he struggled with his rope bindings behind his back. It appeared to Rogaan that Pax then was out of his ropes. “Ya burned us and killed a friend!”

  A fist from the Ursan closest to Pax hammered him in the face just as he lifted the hood from his head. Pax half-stumbled, half-flew backward, landing hard on the red and green round rug covering the stone floor. There he lay unmoving for a time. It alarmed Rogaan that Pax could be seriously hurt. Four hands suddenly grabbed Rogaan’s shoulders and arms just above his elbows and held him firmly in place. Rogaan braced his feet set to shake off the unwanted hands when Pax ungracefully sat up to an elbow wiping blood from his nose.

  “That’s the last of my grace you’ll get, youngling.” Kirral spoke directly to Pax. Pax looked up at Kirral returning contempt-filled gaze. “Next time, you start losing parts.

  “Now, where was I?” Kirral held his right index finger up to his lips in a pondering manner while flaunting a sadistic glean in his eyes. Then he turned his attention back to Rogaan, that even stare hinting of threat settled back on him. “Yes. Artful and stoutly built your shack. It had a great amount of appeal. No, I didn’t have it burnt. The locals resented both your skills and more, your will, to make what you could of this place. It told them of their sorry plights. This is home till they take their last breaths.”

 
A pang of guilt and regret rolled through Rogaan. It made him sick in the stomach, beyond anything Pax could cook up in that pot of theirs. My fault. Another Light lost to the Darkness because of me.

  “See, there’s that self-absorbed Baraan in you.” Kirral chided Rogaan while boring into him with his eyes intense and message. “Everyone dies. Well, except the Ancients. Everyone dies, all around you, even your friend’s parents—”

  “Ya howlin’, dung-eatin’ spawn of da daimons,” Pax burst out in insult as he struggled to his feet.

  “Hit him!” an annoyed Kirral commanded his men. Several made a step toward Pax when the Kaal’Ursa closest slammed his fist into Pax’s jaw, dropping him unmoving on the rug. “Where does he think up these insults? I need to remember a few of them.”

  Rogaan stood staring at Kirral with a mix of unsettled regrets, contempt, and anger. He felt a surge building within him and thought to encourage it, use it, though something with Kirral seemed off to him. Kirral gave Rogaan a long look as if the Baraan was reading the finer markings of his Light. Not wanting Kirral to sense his fear of him, Rogaan decided to speak. “Insults come easily to Pax. He has had a terrible time of—”

  “No more your whining about your or his loss,” Kirral cut Rogaan off, then mentored him in a most unkind way. Rogaan felt insulted and more so, confused. Kirral pointed at the unmoving Pax. “And rebind that one. Do better this time.”

  “Time to leave all that youngling thinking and Baraan ways behind you,” Kirral returned his attention to Rogaan. While staring at Rogaan he spoke to everyone in the hall. “Stories have it up and down the Ur, this one defying those who desire him lightless. Beating dagger and spear and tooth and claw from Brigum to Farratum. And his guardian, the Dark Ax, himself, in the Farratum’s arena. That must have been a show for the ages, him killing the ravers.”

  “I killed one of the ravers,” Rogaan injected and corrected with an indignant flair.

  “That’s better,” Kirral smiled as he seemed to enjoy Rogaan’s hot temper and defiance. “There is more Tellen in you. Yes, and what a tale they speak of. You besting a number of Tusaa’Ner below in the prison to climb tall ropes to save your father in the arena above and toppling a raver with nothing more than strength and brashness.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Rogaan asked in awe of Kirral’s knowledge of him.

  “I keep eyes and ears on those who most shape lives . . . especially my own,” Kirral answered soberly. “Your guardian put me here half my life ago. Him and that dark-robed master of his. I’m the first prisoner of the new Shuruppak to enjoy this rock.”

  Danger and warning thoughts filled Rogaan’s head causing him to drip sweat. Panic welled up inside as he looked about the room trying to think of a way to get away, escape with Pax. Rogaan struggled to find a way out of the situation while Kirral watched Rogaan react to his words. A smile graced the Baraan’s bearded face.

  “I can help you win the island from Urgallis.” It was all Rogaan could come up with in his thinking.

  “Urgallis . . .” Kirral smiled big at Rogaan. “That half-witted, self-bloated . . . ‘howling, dung-eating spawn of daimons’ . . . The words do work. Urgallis is a useful piece to play in the game. He’s the brute everyone, except his chosen few, hates and fears. Takes the attention from me. I get to be the good one stopping that idiot from hurting the rest of the prisoners. It brings me good graces with the prisoners, Sakes, and others above them who think they control this island.”

  “What is it you want of me?” Rogaan asked with a defeated yet defiant tone. I am facing the real power of this island prison. Rogaan’s hopes of a good turn in outcomes here sank to the bottom of the deep Ur River.

  “Almost a Tellen,” Kirral struck Rogaan another insult for his too Baraan of an attitude. “First, I want to know who is sending these Saggis’s at you. Why do they want your Light darkened and cut from your heart so badly?”

  “The Keepers . . . I think.” Rogaan answered honestly before he thought to use the information as a bargaining stone.

  “Keepers of the Way . . .” Kirral lifted a hand to his beard pinching it as he drifted off in thought. He paced a short distance, then returned to Rogaan still deep in his thoughts and his beard between his fingers. With eyes focused on something unseen in the distance, “Prophecy. Of the Return and the defiling of the Divine Laws. Causing the Ancients to punish us all. That is what the Keepers are about trying to prevent.”

  “I have not heard of such a prophecy, this Return.” Rogaan spoke as if he were the authority on all things historical, myth and legend, or prophetic. After all, his father taught him much in all subjects.

  “No,” Kirral spoke in a mocking tone. “The Keepers believe in the Return. It drives them to seek out anyone wielding the glowing stones, to keep them from using that of the Ancients. To keep all from drinking or taking a bite of the Food of the Ancients. To see the Divine Laws are followed by humanity.”

  “Too much attention—” One of Kirral’s strong-arms started to speak, the Ursan dressed in hide armor, who knocked on Rogaan’s door.

  “Yes!” Kirral cut him off both with words and a glare. The Ursan fell silent at his leader’s prolonged stare. The others in his ranks all heard the same message. Be seen, not heard.

  “Too much attention?” Rogaan asked of Kirral in repeating the Ursan’s words.

  Kirral stood looking perplexed, undecided as to what he would say or do. He paced some more and pinched his beard, then paced some more. Rogaan kept his tongue quiet as he watched the Baraan wear out his rug. As the moments passed with each rug-wearing step, Rogaan increasingly knew Kirral was going to kill him or have someone do it for him. He looked about, again, for a path to escape. There were a number, but none that included Pax. I cannot leave Pax to this one.

  “I planned for you to willingly have your heart silenced,” Kirral confessed to Rogaan as he continued pacing. Rogaan felt shocked at the Baraan’s admission and fear at the seriousness of his words. Kirral continued, “I planned to use your mouthy friend here as a hostage to see just how far you would go . . . to see if you’d allow the Saggis to steal your Light with his hands or blade.”

  “Then why tell me to be more Tellen if my fate is not among the living?” Rogaan asked honestly and confused.

  “I detest self-loathers!” Kirral stopped pacing and met Rogaan’s gaze with a level stare. “It’s just not Tellen. At least, part of you is Tellen; yet, you act as a suffering youngling Baraan wanting sympathies to justify your mistakes and misdeeds. I see it enough from the prisoners sent here. Own your mistakes, accept them, learn from them, show your regret, and ask the harmed for forgiveness; then never repeat the misdeeds. Then stand with head high on your shoulders, not with chin in chest to take on the rest of the world and your death.”

  “And if forgiveness is not given?” Rogaan asked sincerely as his eyes shifted to Pax who was showing signs of recovery from the fist across his jaw.

  “The one to give forgiveness hasn’t yet stopped wanting you to share his pain,” Kirral answered as he curiously looked at Pax. “He may never, as long as you give him that control. If he’s a friend, he wouldn’t want you to suffer as he. If he has become something else, he’s no longer your friend. Now, enough about the abstract; let’s talk details that I’m going to use against you.”

  Rogaan stood utterly confused before Kirral. He started wondering if Kirral’s mind to be sick or injured. The Baraan’s band of strong-arms all wore smiles as they worked to hide their snickering at Kirral’s complex behavior, his multiplicity. No, this is normal for Kirral.

  “You are bringing too much attention to this rock with all the Keepers and the Black Hand going after your head and heart,” Kirral answered Rogaan’s questioning scowl. “I can’t take your Light directly. Not with your guardian. He’ll finish the job he started long ago and destroy everything I’ve built here. So, the second thing I need from you is for you to accept your end willingly. And to make sure you do, I�
��ll end your friend if you choose differently. Deal?”

  “What be dis deal puff and blow be tellin’ ya?” Pax slurred his words as he stirred. He was awake and aware enough to hear of the deal Kirral offered Rogaan. At Pax’s interruption, Kirral’s eyes rolled high.

  “Hit him!” Annoyed again, Kirral ordered his strong-arms. Pax went down with another smashing fist to the jaw.

  Rogaan swallowed hard as he gritted his teeth painfully, expecting them to break.

  Chapter 4

  Pit of Decisions

  Squawks and songs from colonies of waking featherwings and leatherwings increasingly filled the cool, predawn air of the island. Their vocalizations were overtaking the grunts and hissing of the water-dragons and snapjaws patrolling the flowing waters below the cliff and all in between the main island Rogaan sat on and its rocky smaller brother across the narrow channel. The cliffs were thick with flying creatures of all sizes and colorations, the latter hard to see in the gloom. The scent of decaying fish and perfumed blossoms from the island vines carried on the breeze. He would wrinkle his nose at the smell of it all if he thought he would not sneeze. Rogaan’s eyes adjusted to the half-moonlit night long hours ago. His unease of the dark and its unknowns diminished a little over the long months living on this island without the amenities of a civilized world and with it the numerous candles, lamps, and lanterns lighting both the insides of huts and the streets of the hovels. Several ground tremors, large enough for even Baraans to notice, shook the island not long ago. They’re occurrences common ever since he stepped on this rock. Everything around his vantage point from atop a rise of rocks he could see: The Ur River flowing around and in between the rocky islands; a misty patch marches away obscuring the far shorelines of the mainland; the swirls of surface water giving away where the currents were their most dangerous; dark-colored water-dragons breaking the liquid surface to breathe air before returning to the dark depths of the water; the vine- and moss-covered rocky landscape of the island; lights from more cook fires coming from the hovels within eyesight . . . and the clay surface of the fighting pit below.