by B A Vonsik
“Listen ta them, Rogaan . . . please,” Suhd pleaded with her own wet eyes.
Aren found himself agreeing with the young Baraan. His head felt a little light and swooning, and he held a desire wanting to please her . . . wait! Aren shook his head. That damning scent of sway of hers. It’s strong. Shaking his head again, he recalled the group’s arguments and found himself agreeing with Pax and the best for them was staying with the Makara. But that seemed unlikely. He looked at the half Tellen to see what he was to do.
Rogaan’s demeanor softened, but his frustration at knowing his father a prisoner of Luntanus Alum and with a purpose unknown, didn’t diminish. “For now, we keep ourselves safe. Seems we stay here with the Makara or hide in the lands on the southern shore of the Ur.”
“Da Makara be no good for ya all,” the second commander continued with his explaining of their situation. “Dey will no be welcomin’ ya. Crew is small and tight with each other. And when we ground, we be in da shallows where mu-usumgal and more will be lookin’ for meals, makin’ a ruckus as dey do. Not long after, da walkin’ jaws and claws will be drawn ta da shore and shallows. Da south shore is ya only way.”
“I am good with that . . .” Trundiir’s deep-sounding words trailed before he let out a loud, foul-smelling belch. He then continued with a look that he might not keep his stomach down. “More sooner . . . more better.”
“But we—” Pax’s attempt to negotiate was cut off.
“We talked of dis,” the second commander reminded. “It be ya father’s wishes. It be firm land for ya.”
“How do we get to shore if we are grounded in the shallows?” Rogaan asked with a solemn sincerity, but clearly to cut off further protests by Pax.
“Ya be given passage in one of da rowin’ boats,” answered the second commander. “It be ready now.”
A strong urge to leave the ship for the shore welled up within Aren. Surprised at its powerful draw, he looked south to the thin beach. It was sparsely peppered with snapjaws, featherwings, and leatherwings, and a mix of land-dwelling tanniyn both small and large. Then, there were the shallows as they neared shore . . . Would there be more of those water-dragons? A dangerous place. Still, it allowed them an escape. This strong urge to head south almost made Aren yearn for it. Confused at this sudden desire to head in that direction, he asked himself, Is this more of Suhd’s scent of sway?
“Leave . . . now?” Pax asked of the second commander in a tone that made Aren think Pax felt a sense of abandonment.
“Da . . . Vassal be in da forward cabin with his Sentii tendin’ him,” the blue-clad second commander explained. “It be some time before he be recovered enough ta be lookin’ for ya. We be keeping the Makara off da grounding as long as we can to give ya time.”
“Time for what?” Suhd asked innocently.
“Time ta disappear,” the second commander made his offer clear in purpose. “Give da boat back ta da waters when ya get ta shore. It be makin’ it harder for his Sentii ta find ya. I fear da Vassal’s plans for ya all be no good its end.”
Yes . . . came the whisper from within. Powerful now the desire came at Aren. His mind protested at the dangers on the shoreline they had to overcome. Away from the Vassal . . . from the Shunned, the inner whisper kept urging Aren.
“Yes!” Aren burst out. Quickly recovering from his momentary sense of surprise and embarrassment, he continued with less than the sincerest motives. “His offer gets us away from this fight between this Shunned and the Vassal. On shore, our white-bearded, belching friend can lead us into the wilds where we can hide from the Sentii and their master and the Shunned. We can figure through the rest once we get safe.”
“I am for it!” belched Trundiir with a closed fist bump to his chest, his greenish complexion worsening.
“I am too,” added Rogaan with less enthusiasm and lacking the fist bump.
Pax held a fierce protest in his eyes until his sister gently took hold of his arm and made a pleading case to him. “Brother, ya all I be havin’ anymore. This Shunned and Vassal scare me ta darkness. We need ta be gettin’ away. Father’s friend be givin’ dat ta us.”
Emotions rippled over and over on Pax’s lean face. Fierce protests formed from the sorrows of a determined brother . . . the protector of his sister. Aren watch in curiosity wondering which side of Pax would win. When moments passed with all watching in silence Pax’s contortions, he finally spoke. “We will be leavin’ da ship.”
“Now, someone fetch me some weapons,” Trundiir grumbled through another smelly belch.
“And a pair of boots . . . and some clothes and a walking stick,” Aren added, now that everyone was listening.
Chapter 19
Serpent’s Awakening
Desolation. A world aflame in the rain of stars falling and exploding in the moment of union between that above and what is below. Alone. A lone survivor standing on slick footing among heaps of human carnage spread across a fresh wasteland . . . Fetid leftovers of war. No. Not a survivor. Regrets and disgust filling the rancorous air spoiling all in the clash of beliefs between those of mankind and those above. The initiator . . . The cause holding a crimson blade stained in wet crimson in hand while suffering the putrid wafts of burning flesh mixed with stinging clouds of acrid death. Sickening the smell. Horrifying the gaze. Repugnant the touch. Haunting to the Light, tainting it. A vision—but of what? he asked of no one. Recoiling from its experience, he needed to know.
What am I seeing? Where am I? he asked both himself and the haunting presence besieging him.
“You serve me,” the presence declared.
I am the Subar serving only the Supreme—he defiantly countered, attempting the declaration of his own allegiances before being abruptly cut off.
“Very well,” the presence emotionlessly uttered, yet with a certainty of outcome to be.
Ezerus suddenly realized he felt suspended and adrift . . . cold. Opening his eyes, he confirmed himself submerged in gloomy chill waters atop dark depths. The dawn sun’s rays were only able to penetrate the surreal immediately surrounding him. How did I get here? he asked himself, still disoriented. Where is here?
A large shadow passed at a distance beneath him. He felt it in the water as much as caught it in a glimpse. Then, another passed, smaller, closer, but no less dangerous. Alarmed and wanting an escape, he forced himself to look up, finding the Khaaron’s keel near though appearing unreal through the watery distortions . . . his liquescent burial box. Drifting away, the Khaaron’s top decks continuously lit up in the blues, oranges, reds, and blinding whites of the Powers. He shivered, not of his cool, watery embrace, but of being so close to the Powers of Agni. Must get to the surface to breathe, Ezerus both told and warned himself. His breath was starting to wane, and his chest hinted at that inner burning that would command him to gulp at his surroundings for air. Something teased his mind to turn and look around. Without warning, out of the darkness, a massive shadow emerged from the depths bearing down on him with jaws agape displaying its outer and inner rows of deadly spikes.
Nowhere to go, no means to defend himself, Ezerus braced for the imminent impact. He reflexively tensed his whole body and shut his eyes tight, not wanting to know the exact moment the beast and darkness would take him. He swirled about violently on powerful currents of churning water before the spikes closed on him, painfully, then forcefully propelling him through the waters at speeds not of his abilities. He expected the bite to drive the tooth-spikes deep into him, but they only pushed into his light armor compressing his ribs. Opening his eyes, he met the open hand-size orb of the beast’s left eye. It looked at him yet appeared more interested in the waters beyond. The water-dragon jerked him back and forth, forcing Ezerus’s breath out . . . It was almost gone, hastened by the beast’s instinct to thrash before pitching upward toward the water’s surface. Fighting to keep from gasping for the air that was not there, Ezerus struggled against the burning growing pain in his chest. He knew what was coming. The water-drag
on would break through the surface of the water, then swallow him brutally. The race between needing to inhale air or water was near its end. Ezerus knew he couldn’t will himself not to breathe much longer. Still submerged, darkness started its final embrace upon him as the burning in his lungs grew unbearable.
Then, the darkness gave way to brightness as he and the water-dragon broke through the watery surface. Ezerus sucked in air as deeply as he could while being propelled above the water. The toothy-spikes released him, but a glance confirmed they were all around him . . . four terrible rows of white spikes in the top and bottom jaws. As he reached the peak of his slowing airward travel, Ezerus felt a moment of being weightless, suspended in air. It felt pleasant, the bliss before the pain. That presence surrounding him in the water felt stronger now, swirling about his body. It grabbed him, violently, painfully, before jerking him through the air in a blink. A sense of both weightlessness and of being dragged about, Ezerus tumbled when his feet raked through the water. His tumbles found him headfirst in the water, taking in the liquid up his nose, causing him to gag and cough as he continued tumbling—a left arm and shoulder in the wetness. Then, his back. Then, his left leg and back. Then, his right, before his head plunged back into the waters. Ezerus held his breath for the moments this time upside down in the waters. His tumbles continued until slamming painfully into something with a dull woody “thunk.” His head a swirl, Ezerus looked about trying to shake off his disorientation. He floated just above the waters in the gloomy dawn. Scintillating vaporous tendrils held him firmly in a painful embrace, almost crushing him. What in Kur . . .?
A glimpse back to the river caught sight of the massive water-dragon still chasing him at the surface. It sped through the waters leaving a trail of foamy white. Almost upon him again, the beast’s aggressiveness gave Ezerus a panic. He felt himself an easy target—prey—for the beast to finish what it started in the waters below. Unable to move or will himself in any direction, Ezerus yelled out in a bellow of fear as he shut his eyes tight again. The intense pain of his neck wrenching accompanied a jerk of his whole body upward as the red vapors coiled and tightened, propelling him vertically along the hull of the Khaaron. A splash and horrendous “thud” beneath him found the water-dragon slamming into the side of the ship, splintering and breaking hull planks above the waterline as the beast shook its massive head at the water’s surface. Ezerus watched the huge black-and-white-armored hide of the beast sink back into the waters before starting a lethargic swim off to unknown destinations.
Clearing the ship’s rails in his ascent, Ezerus’s upward motion ceased. Now, hanging suspended above the deck by scintillating vaporous tendrils, his skin prickled at being touched by the Powers while simultaneously feeling relieved at not having been a morning meal. His thoughts turned to the irony of his situation. I never wish to experience this again.
“Neither I,” the presence reverberated in his head.
“What?” His skin prickling and his hairs standing painfully, Ezerus looked urgently all about him. “Who . . .”
“It is I,” the presence filled his head as the vaporous tendrils rotated Ezerus upright before setting his boots to the wood deck.
Standing near Ezerus, a familiar lean, clean-shaven face, now half-blistered and burnt. The face’s always neatly combed light brown hair mussed about revealing a singed left ear that almost had the slight point of an Evendiir. Struggling not to gawk as he took in the aide to the aide, Ezerus observed the wiry Baraan’s black and lavender clothing peppered with gashes and burnt spots. The lavender fabric on his left shoulder completely ruined by fire revealed burnt, blistering flesh. Despite the wounds, Lucufaar approached Ezerus with only a slight limp that was new. The Baraan held his demeanor strong and focused, ignoring what Ezerus thought painful injuries. Now noticeable to Ezerus, the color of Lucufaar’s hair slowly turned from light brown to silver-streaked gray as his lean face took on slight wrinkles and folds of a Baraan of latter days. A chill rippled through Ezerus. Standing in front of him, Lucufaar took on a dangerous aura as Ezerus’s eyes watched in disbelief and a growing uneasiness. Most unnerving were the dark, squinty eyes of this new Lucufaar, strong and focused on Ezerus.
“Give me your hand,” the presence commanded him.
Ezerus heard the words in his mind. Lucufaar’s lips had not moved. Ezerus hesitated to comply out of pride and a fear of the unknown. What is happening? he asked in his mind. Lucufaar’s dark, squinty eyes turned crossed with a slight furrow on his brows, convincing Ezerus to raise his right hand. Those dark, squinty eyes then took on a demeanor of disgust.
“Your left hand,” the presence commanded.
Again, Lucufaar’s lips did not speak the words Ezerus heard in his mind. The once-frustrated, subservient-postured Lucufaar was no more. A new Baraan stood in his place, forcing another chill to ripple through Ezerus. Then, an angry disgust in himself gripped Ezerus, being a strong Baraan of a high position in authority within Shuruppak, as the Subar he was compelled to challenge this presence and Lucufaar. “Tell me who you are so I know the name that shall answer—?”
“Answer to no one.” Lucufaar spoke as the idle vaporous tendrils came alive, painfully constricting Ezerus. “I am Luntanus Alum . . . your master.”
That chill turned to icy cold terror. Ezerus’s mind panicked with embarrassing fear that he no longer cared who saw or reported. Must get away! Must flee this monster! Ezerus struggled against the vapors as he growled with exertion and frustration. Losing all sense of his surroundings and dignity, he fought against the red vapors coiling about his body with every move he made. In horrid crushing pain in ways he couldn’t describe, Ezerus let out a bellow begging for help from anyone . . . everyone, while looking skyward to the heavens. “Help me, Ancients of Old!”
“Silence!” the presence commanded in a cold tone. “They dare not challenge me.”
Ezerus stopped struggling. He succumbed to the futility of his situation . . . in the hands and unexpected mercy of the most dangerous and ruthless of history’s Kabirs, the Shunned. Wondering how this can be, he settled his mind trying to block out the pain subjected on him by the scintillating vaporous tendrils. His eyes regained their ability to focus, allowing him to look upon his surroundings. Luntanus Alum stood before him focused and determined in an unknown purpose. Ezerus felt the vapors pulling at his left arm, raising it to the Shunned. The daimon of daimons, worst of the Shunned, reached out and took hold of the red gem-encrusted ring on Ezerus’s right hand. A horrible chill ripped through Ezerus. The signet ring of the Subar, giving Ezerus his unchallengeable authority to go where he wished and do what he wished to ensure loyalty to Shuruppak, vibrated and turned warm, then hot . . . painfully hot. Ezerus growled at the new pain, but unable to move his arm or hand to remove it from the pain-maker. He could only endure as the Shunned pressed on the red gem, forcing it deeper into the now soft metal of the ring until the gem touched the skin of his finger. The Shunned spoke words Ezerus didn’t understand, a different tongue and knowledge from his. The red gem glowed. No! An Agni Stone! Ezerus’s mind went wild with fear and disgust as he tried to pull away from the ancient daimon so that he could rip the ring from his finger, even if it meant ripping his finger from his hand. A deep chill spread through his body. He instinctively knew this sensation would take his life if he didn’t stop it or flee from it. Ezerus futilely struggled against everything . . . the red vapors coiling him, the ring, the Agni Stone, the Shunned, the feeling of his Light slowly being drawn from him. It was over in an instant. All the pain gone. Ezerus fell to the wood deck in a relieved and gleeful thud.
Looking up from his prone sprawl, Ezerus saw a renewed Baraan standing over him. The Shunned’s lean face and shoulder still bore scars, but the burnt blisters and skin were no more. His hair now dark gray with streaks of silver, but unburnt and combed straight. The Shunned stood taller in a manner, and his dark, squinty eyes took on a dangerous confidence.
“You are bound to me, Subar,�
�� Luntanus Alum announced. “Your Light is tied to mine, to serve me, as I will.”
Ezerus didn’t fully understand what the Shunned meant by “bound,” but it didn’t sound a good thing. Trying to sit up, Ezerus found himself weak and in pain with every move.
“Why me?” Ezerus asked not expecting an explanation.
“You may be able to endure my needs,” the Shunned answered.
Chapter 20
Tightening Coils
I am Subar. I am Subar. My word is unquestioned. My orders are heeded. There is no station higher beyond the Supremes. I am the Subar, Ezerus told himself over and over again in his mind, trying to believe . . . trying to convince himself. His conviction of his place in the world shaken by the binding and the presence. Looking at the deck planks between his knees, he sat, trying to convince himself but failing despite his chanting. In the depths of his mind, he was there . . . The presence, sensing him, watching him, working his influence on him, judging him. For what he was being judged, Ezerus could only guess. How do I free myself from this . . . harness?
“He has hold of you as well,” a deep voice speaking deliberate words sounded out.
Ezerus looked up from his deck planks, then about the room of the forecastle seeking the source of the words and finding it in between a sleeping male Baraan and female Evendiir. The old Tellen with a boldly braided, gray-touched beard stared back at him. Dressed in a worn gray tunic identifying him as a lawbreaker in bondage, the Tellen sat bound in manacles secured to the far wall. Yet, he stared with eyes that told his spirit had not been broken. Unsettled, Ezerus met the Tellen’s gaze and made his best effort to sound still the authority, “Silence, stoner.”
“Never did find that title appealing,” the Tellen challenged.
“I am one that cares little of what appeals to you,” Ezerus shot back while being taken aback at the Tellen’s boldness.