Rise of Serpents

by B A Vonsik

  “What does this unnamed giant of a stranger have us entangled in?” Rogaan asked his question concerning their here and now as he turned to see Sugnis properly as Tellens do, eyes to eyes. The turn made too fast caused his head to swirl and his stomach to tell him not to do that again. Surprised, Rogaan took a double look at his island mentor. The Tellen no longer dressed in the rags of prison life. He comfortably donned a worn and stained suit of eur armor with equipment fitting of a Kiuri’Ner . . . crossbow, sword, and long knife. “What . . . What are you?”

  The Tellen shrugged as he approached the deck rail giving a cautious look beyond to the waters. He then took a few steps back as he crossed his arms on his wide chest, all the while swallowing hard. “Let’s just say . . . here to help. Too many ears about without knowing loyalties to speak freely.”

  Bewildered at almost everything about Sugnis, Rogaan stared at him with an open mouth before making to ask his mentor another question about the Tellen’s background and his loyalties. A stern scowl from the Tellen left Rogaan with his mouth open and no questions asked.

  “As to our unnamed ‘friend,’” Sugnis shifted to the question he would entertain. “Walk carefully. He is mightily dangerous and has his own motivations about you . . . plainly.”

  “You do not trust him?” Rogaan asked honestly.

  “I trust him to use you as he needs.” Sugnis tugged at his beard to straighten it to his liking. “His talk about needing your blood untainted of poison was a strange answer. One that foretells . . . possibly a not-so-happy future.”

  “Me . . . What does he want of me . . . or my blood?” Rogaan asked, frustrated with so many unknowns and so many questions.

  “You, young Tellen, are going to have to ask that of him.” Sugnis smiled in that manner Rogaan found irritating. Sugnis’s unspoken words told him that he, Rogaan or Roga of the Blood An, would have to find the answers himself. “I appear to be little more than a stone in his boot and will not provoke him by speaking on your behalf. Though I will be keeping my eyes on you, along with the others.”

  Rogaan was unsatisfied with Sugnis’s standoffish manner concerning their ‘friend.’ Then, confusion hit him of Sugnis’s choice of words. “What do you mean by ‘eyes on me along with the others’?”

  “You should put on the wears our ‘friend’ provided you in our cabin . . . before asking anything of him.” Sugnis blatantly avoided Rogaan’s question, frustrating Rogaan even more. Sugnis took note of Rogaan’s demeanor, then looked as if questioning himself while trying to make a decision. The Tellen then looked up to the skies and spoke. “You’re not alone, Rogaan, son of Mithraam. Now, be off and put on your wears that are more fitting you than slave rags.”

  More confused than ever, Rogaan looked up into the morning sky. Clouds sparsely dotted the blue. He noted the sky strangely absent of leatherwings. They are always above over waters. No featherwings were aloft except for two creatures that he felt a familiarity with, having seen them periodically on the island, though never together. The two featherwings now flew high, confidently, as if unconcerned at being meals by things bigger. Both were a fair size for featherwings, predators Rogaan thought, one brown and white in color, the other darkly black. Confusion taunted him, at how featherwings and eyes had anything to do with him not being alone. Rogaan made to ask more questions, but Sugnis’s gaze warned him off. They just stared at each other for a very long moment before Rogaan broke eye contact. His body still feeling weak from the returning and the poison, Rogaan decided not to argue with Sugnis and disappointedly made way to the rear cabins. He did so almost without trudging his steps.

  The door from the outside deck led to a narrow hallway only a bit wider than his shoulders. The hallway had a low ceiling . . . just a couple of hands above Rogaan’s head, giving him a sense of being closed in upon. Sugnis, Pax, and Rogaan shared a single cabin, the first door on the left. The cabin door was even narrower than the hallway, forcing Rogaan to turn sideways to enter while cursing to himself at his uncomfortable feelings at such closed in quarters. A musty odor struck him upon entering the barely three-by-four strides-sized space. Two sets of bunk beds dominated the space, one set on each wall left and right, and built-in chests of drawers as tall as himself at the end of each bunk set. A single square window with a metal-hinged bezel around glass opposite the door was open, allowing some air in improving the smell of the cabin. Sugnis assigned him the bottom right bunk and Pax the upper. As to the Ursan who boarded the ship with them, Rogaan had not seen him since, leaving the bunk above Sugnis’s “hole” empty. His mentor claimed the bottom left bunk as his own but it clearly did not appear comfortable with the openness of the cabin as a blanket already hung from the top bunk covering the bottom making a cave like hole. Rogaan smiled at Sugnis’s consistency. My assigned mentor . . . evidently. But, assigned by whom and why?

  A pile of a mess was Pax’s bunk. Rogaan recognized his friend’s bunched-up island tunic and other clothes. They did look like rags, he admitted. A neat bundle of clothes and equipment lay on his own bunk. He recognized most of it . . . his clothes from home, huntsman armor, his backpack, and the flint-edged long knife from the Brigum Hunt. Rogaan smiled at the familiar items and for a moment forgot his situation. How did he find all of this? Next to his clothes and backpack, a stout bow of composited woods and two quivers of flint-tipped arrows lay. Not my shunir’ra, but a good-feeling bow.

  As Rogaan changed into his old clothes and equipment, he thought of the one piece that was missing . . . his shunir’ra, his masterwork bow. The one item showing all he was no longer a simple apprentice youngling, but an adult to clan and family . . . in Tellen society, that is. Lost, for all I know. Regret and embarrassment filled Rogaan at that thought and anger at himself for putting himself into the situation needing to give his blue metal bow to the Tellen Sharur. Where is it now . . . in the Tellen’s hands, or worse, in the hands of Farratum or Kardul? His anger turned to remorse as it reminded him of his Zagdu-i-Kuzu, his Tellen coming of age ceremony and celebration. The celebration was to be held after he returned from the hunt. A celebration that never was. The return to Brigum, only to be hunted by the Farratum Tusaa’Ner and the Band . . . and more locals. Rogaan relived the mess of a situation in his mind a few moments before pushing the painful memories away. Pax’s and his escape from Brigum came at a great cost . . . Rogaan’s War Sworn uncle, brother to his mother, killed protecting him. Recalling that memory, Rogaan fell into despair. How am I ever to explain this to Mother? He did not even know her whereabouts since his fleeing Brigum but suspected . . . hoped . . . she was safe on the estate of House Isin. I hope with protections her family name can give. More despair filled him with thoughts of his father and friends. Rogaan feared little could stop the Zas of Farratum from their nefarious goals. Their reach seemed unlimited. And then there were others; Akaal the mysterious cutthroat in the Valley of the Claw, Kardul and his traitorous followers, the Dark Ax, dark robes, the Zas and their factions, the cutthroats . . . Saggis’ of the Keeper of the Ways, these newly revealed “eyes” mentioned by Sugnis, and now this powerful and deadly “friend.” Rogaan felt small and lost in it all, being carried on winds blown by others with their schemes and doings driving those winds. Feeling overwhelmed, he realized how much he missed his best friend.

  Usually in such times, Pax would do strange or silly things to improve his mood in saying something stupid or utterly nonsensical before they would go off getting into more trouble. Rogaan smiled at those memories, then fell into another saddened frown. Denied his best friend because of the tragedies in their travels, Rogaan felt more regrets and fears he did not know how to fix. Both of Pax’s parents now lightless in the maws of the ravers . . . and Pax’s sister, Suhd . . . Her face brought a smile to Rogaan, a captive . . . a slave proclaimed by Farratum law. Rogaan’s chest and heart tightened with that image in his mind of Suhd being handled by others in her servitude. The pain of that unwanted image angered him. How do I get this out of my head?
But, even those images at times seemed kind compared to the memory of the look in his best friend’s face each time he and Pax meet eyes. Pax blames me for the loss of his family, both the death of his parents and enslavement of Suhd by the Zas. Rogaan felt the pain of it all and agreed with Pax. It is my fault.

  Rogaan stood in his cabin, sick in body with the last of the poison he still suffered and in his despairing heart. He felt helpless to fix, if even possible, everything he had made a mess of. His frustration rose to a boil as he did not even know where to start. The world appears against me and filled with those having designs on me as well as others. Tyrants, small and big, seem to have run of the lands and control my family, my friends. Rogaan’s despair gripped him. Then, the words of his father came to him from when they sat together in Farratum’s jail. “Tyrants reign when no challenge stands in check to the gathering of their power and authority over people.” Father told me I am seen as a danger to those in power and authority, the ones who see the people of these lands needing their rule . . . who covet authority and work influences over the masses in soft steps to keep rebellion from rising, as the Zas and their devotees enslave the people through new laws and new rules enforcing those laws . . . small step by small step. A chill rippled up Rogaan’s spine. I do not see how I can make a difference against this beast when those like the Dark Ax have not won the day. How can I be a threat?

  Rogaan then wondered at his father’s refusal to be freed from the Farratum jails. Im’Kas offered to take them away, almost pleaded with his father, several times. Yet, Father was as solid as a stone . . . and as unmovable, in seeing through their plan. Their plan? Who’s plan? He realized, maybe for the first time, that they all . . . especially Pax’s family, could have been broken free and none of the dark things would have happened . . . at least to them. Why? Why? Why? Rogaan asked himself. Was it Father’s attempt to educate me or his sense of duty to the allegiance they hinted about or something more? Rogaan had not seriously contemplated these things for some moons as his time and attentions were occupied surviving the Farratum jail and prison isle.

  Memories flashed in his mind of the Farratum underworld, its jails filled with those not having broken laws concerning the interactions between citizens, but because they opposed, in some way, the Zas and their secretive maneuverings gathered absolute power over their citizens. Their power solidified solidly in the complicit actions of those administrating for them, those in the Tusaa’Ner . . . the Sakes following their orders blindly, and those serving the Gals with quibbling truths. Visions of the crowds, the masses, in the streets and seated in the arena, seeming to give more and more authority to the Zas for stipends of food and rights they already have and for the promise of refuge from both threats beyond the walls and the worries of living. All this, Rogaan saw and experienced in the short time he was held in Farratum. They . . . The people have become enslaved and do not even realize it with the distractions the makers and keepers of the laws provide. Worse, Rogaan disbelievingly watched the people increasing demand as their right the daily stipends and the removal from the streets . . . the public square, those who disagree with them, those who called out the twisting of common meanings to justify the stipends. The most belligerent to the challengers of this community decay, removed . . . incarcerated, finding themselves with Rogaan in the jail cells and in the arena or banished to eKur’Idagu, the prison isle . . . that vile rock of a place. With a heavy outbreath, Rogaan recognized the world was little as he thought it was.

  Rogaan recalled more of his father’s words. They made better sense to him now, after his experiences. Is this what Father was trying to teach me? No. It is more than that. He and their plans are working to change what has become. Fight the growing tyranny. Then, the foreboding words of Im’Kas rang like a gong in his head. “Your immediate days will likely be unpleasant, but longer days to come will try you harsher.” He spoke as if he saw my future. That frightened him . . . “harsher days to come.” Rogaan stood filled with uncertainty and fearful pains of not knowing what he could or even should do with conflicting thoughts of retreating to a safe place, if one can be found, or to stand against the wrongs. Am I to watch the world and my family and friends suffer while I do nothing? Why am I a threat to those . . . How?

  A new anger rose within Rogaan burning on a stoked and growing fire of self-loathing. Am I to wallow in self-pity or fear in some imagined safe place? He found vile what he saw of himself in his thoughts . . . a truth filled reflection that left him immobilized between doing safe and doing what he could to protect those that could not fight the tyrants. Maybe I cannot make a difference, but then, maybe I can. I do not know if I can do anything for the masses, but I must embrace the unpleasantness of the hasher days to come, if Father and Suhd are to be freed.

  Chapter 11

  Vassal

  Stepping out onto the ship’s deck near his cabin, Rogaan did so with a growing sense of purpose . . . live up to his father’s and his own longings and beliefs to see his father and Suhd free. In short, do what he could to make things right. Rogaan reminded himself of his youngling hero desires to become a Kiuri’Ner, a Protector of Paths. It would have been a life filled with dangers and strife, maybe as is his present. The words of Im’Kas, most famed of the Kiuri’Ner, reverberated in his head, “. . . sometimes requiring all of that we have . . . to whom much is given, much will be required.” I understand better the meaning of what he spoke, though, I am hoping his words for me are not completely prophetic. What will be required of me to see my family and friends free?

  Looking forward out across the main deck and its multiple masts and raised folding triangular sails, Rogaan spotted him . . . the one who he believed could help him best. The Makara pitched roughly for a few moments, then settled. The movement unsettled Rogaan’s innards, but he fought back the nausea successfully. Is it the motion or still the poison? A groan to Rogaan’s right found Sugnis leaning over the ship’s rail in an undignified manner. His skin coloring terribly off . . . ashen.

  “He be doin’ dat since ya go ta da cabin,” the familiar voice came from above.

  Looking about, Rogaan found his once-best friend sitting four strides up lounging in the rope rigging of the nearest mast, as if in an upright hammock. Pax wore a smile on his face until their eyes met. Then, that familiar scowl of the jails and island returned. It hurt Rogaan’s heart, but he was determined not to let it keep him from making things right. He decided to keep their talk to matters present.

  “It is the Tellen in him,” Rogaan explained as he fought back unsettling feelings. “We feel the movement of the earthen ground, rocks, and all other things, and the ship’s motion . . . Its creaking is too much for Tellen perceptions, this motion making his innards unsettled.”

  “Why be it different for ya?” Pax asked honestly.

  “I do feel the movements and creaking and footsteps of others as Sugnis does,” Rogaan answered. “I guess it is the Baraan in me that keeps me from illness and sicking-up.”

  A loud upheaval at the deck rail where Sugnis suffered made him question himself. He felt sorry for his mentor, though he had to admit the image of Sugnis leaning over the rail brought on a chuckle. The Tellen seemed as solid as the stones he slept on, but now this, sickened by waters. Suppressing a smile, Rogaan started off with the composite bow in hand for the front of the ship. He did so without looking back at Pax and his scowl. Down ladderlike steps to the main deck Rogaan went, dodging baggy-pant, bare-footed sailors adjusting ropes and riggings of the raised sails, hoping to get the most of the wind. Working his way forward on the left side of the main deck to avoid a busy crew working ropes and other things, he spied over the rails moderately sized and large black-backed water-dragons swimming just below the surface of the waves. He remained surprised at how they were so difficult to see in these dark waters. One of the beasts passing from bow to stern trailed what looked to be blood from its head or neck.

  “Pardi me,” a well-dressed, dark-haired sailor wearing
the blues of one of those in command made to get Rogaan’s attention as he partially blocked the way up ladder-steps to the forward most deck and the railed platform Rogaan sought. Surprised, Rogaan stopped just short of knocking him over before giving the scruffy Baraan sailor a simple questioning look with raised eyebrows. Without pause, the sailor continued addressing him. “I have me a question for ya, if ya entertain it.”

  “Yes?” Rogaan acknowledged the sailor with a guarded tone.

  “Dat young one in da rigs,” the Baraan, slightly shorter than Rogaan, pointed toward Pax relaxing in the riggings. “Are ya knowin’ him?”

  “Yes,” Rogaan answered cautiously.

  “He lookin’ familiar ta me.” The sailor continued with his questions. “What be his name?”

  “Pax.” Rogaan did not know where this was leading and gave the sailor a suspicious look. Ignoring Rogaan, the sailor stared at Pax for a short time before returning Rogaan’s gaze.

  “His fader . . .” the sailor asked, looking at Pax while he did, “was he about as tall as me with dark hair? Did he talk like me . . . as da River Folk?”

  Rogaan still was not certain where the questions were taking them, but the sailor described Pax’s father and very possibly knew him. “Yes.”

  “Daugu?” the Baraan sailor asked with hopeful eyes.

  “Why the questions?” Rogaan decided it best to seek the sailor’s intent in case he meant harm to Pax.

  “I be in Daugu’s debt,” the sailor answered with an honest and pride-filled, clean-shaven face. “Daugu be me pally . . . and be a good one at dat. He be well known among da River Folk before he disappear.”