by B A Vonsik
“He will use you and discard you,” the old Tellen kept at annoying Ezerus. Not speaking of it, Ezerus feared the old Tellen spoke truth.
“I said SILENCE!” Ezerus demanded with raised heat in his tone and now his own anger-filled gaze burning. No reaction from the Tellen. No fear. Why is he not fearing me? Ezerus asked himself.
“He is dangerous to all you care of,” the old Tellen kept at Ezerus.
“You know nothing of what I care for,” Ezerus replied in a sneer.
“Your beloved Shuruppak,” teased the Tellen. Ezerus did not know what to think of the Tellen’s words and so remained silent as the Tellen kept on about things. “That is his goal. Though, he must first achieve something in the Lands of the Ancients before making for his prize.”
“You see things that are not, stoner.” Ezerus chided, hoping his insult would put the Tellen off and make him silent. “He has no need of the ancient relics or knowledge to take Shuruppak for himself.”
In days of old, the Shunned were the power and authority of the lands where the Dingiir did not tread. Not understanding how he knew such things, Ezerus searched his thoughts and memories. Where did that knowledge come from? How do I know such things? The presence teased at him from somewhere deep in his mind, whispering words he could not hear, yet gave him knowledge. At that realization, Ezerus suffered an uncontrolled shiver he hoped the Tellen and others did not see.
“He will use you in your station . . . sully your name,” the Tellen kept at Ezerus in his even, measured tones. “Sully the name of the Subars.”
“No . . .” Ezerus started to challenge defensively but caught himself and stopped. Getting himself under better control, he stared at the Tellen with disdain for his boldness and fascination at his insights . . . even if his conclusions were difficult to see as predictions. “The Subars are independ—”
“Are of Shuruppak,” the Tellen both interrupted and finished. “They are the shadow hand of quiet authority in Shuruppak. The hands that guide and shape the decrees of the Zas by fear of what can be accused, of secrets threatened revealing if defied, by lies when the truth does not serve their purposes . . . spread for the good of Shuruppak.”
How does this one know of such things . . . of the Subars? Ezerus’s instincts and loyalty to the empire compelled him to respond and deflect, shade the truth to ensure good governance was maintained . . . for the good of Shuruppak. He fought an urge to counter the Tellen’s conclusions. This Tellen’s understanding is far beyond most . . . especially for one so far removed from the centers of authority. Ezerus felt exposed. Desiring a dismissal of this Tellen . . . and that presence, and a return to the shadows of authority he felt comfort in, Ezerus abruptly stood, knocking over his stool. “One from the wilds of Brigum doesn’t know the goings-on of Shuruppak!”
Ezerus spun on his heels turning his back to the Tellen before striding for the door . . . his escape. He opened the door hoping to make his getaway without comments. This just wasn’t to be.
“You must fight the Darkness, or it will consume you—become you,” the old Tellen pronounced a foretelling.
A shiver rippled through Ezerus. The Darkness . . . in his thoughts . . . his mind . . . his heart, desiring to consume all of him. His entire life the Darkness journeyed with him, teasing him, goading him, tempting him, causing him to lose his self-control in fits of frustration and rage at the unfairness of things denied or not rightly offered. The Darkness held him firmly in his younger days until he was taught to accept the inequities and to focus on changing the slights of living by an unassuming elder who lost his Light at the hands of free-marketeer ruffians. A traumatic loss for Ezerus, fatherless from when he could remember and motherless not so long before meeting the elder. Ezerus focused his pains and sufferings into a strategy to change the world. So, formed the goal, then the plan, and then the achievement of Subar where his hand offered stern guidance to the powerful and a stiffer hand to the unruly. Quiet, the Darkness remained in recent times, at least eleven cycles of the Dur’Anki, allowing him the self-control and disciplined social skills to enter service in the Sakes of Ur where he quickly climbed the ranks of profession earning the favor of those above him and of the more ambitious and ruthless Houses. Then, in his boldest of moves, uncovering a plot of disloyalty among those serving the Zas, exposing them with accusations, flirting with the truth to ensure judgments favoring their guilt. The execution of the Disloyals brought a sense of safety to the Zas who sponsored Ezerus’s appointment to the Subars. A beginning. The Darkness quiet but never gone as long as it felt satisfied, even if only a little. Now, the presence of the Shunned in his mind threatening the loss of his self-control and self-discipline, his ability in keeping his focus on what mattered . . . that which mattered to him, Ezerus, the Subar. Looking back at the old Tellen, Ezerus offered a confession. “My lurking companion is the Darkness.”
Admitting the sways on his heart and thoughts made the first step toward Ezerus accepting his darker nature. He denied it most of his life, the beast inside, but this morning’s turn of fates increasingly gave him courage, strength to care less of other’s thoughts of him and to embrace himself. Contemplating his newfound self and unclear fate, Ezerus walked the busy decks in the late morning as the Khaaron continued its voyage drifting without steerage on the Ur River. Scattered clouds and a slight breeze carrying the faint scent of blossoms, salt, and decay spoke of a calm day that he was thankful for, allowing him his solace without suffering tilting footing. The limited number of oars available on the ship was of little use with the missing tiller and against powerful currents flowing eastward, then westward, dominating and determining where they went. The sails, all either heavily damaged or destroyed by fire and the Powers, were being pieced together by the crew. His hairs uncomfortably prickled at the thought of the Powers. They unsettled him. They were kin to the Darkness, though much more dangerous. Pushing away such thoughts, he returned to his stroll. A waft of burnt wood mixing with the salty air filled his nose as he slowly maneuvered around bustling workers as he sought a way to make the most of his situation. Accept the inequities. Change the slights. Some of the crew gave him less-than-favorable glances and some full disapproving looks as he passed. Obviously, they expected him to pitch in with repairs. That is beneath my station. Much of the Khaaron’s crew and many of the Tusaa’Ner were now busy repairing the ship as a small gathering at the stern, carrying large planks of wood, looked in the attempt of providing enough tiller to at least point the ship in a direction desired. Others piecing together enough fragments of surviving canvas to make one large and one small sail that the deckhands started installing to the masts. Two of the badly damaged masts had reinforcing structures of wood and chains constructed around them. Where they got that much wood was a mystery to Ezerus. Accept the inequities. Change the slights. Accept the inequities. Change the slights.
A distant whisper, barely noticeable, teased and taunted his thoughts. Not again. Louder the whisper rose until Ezerus almost heard what it was telling him. The whisper spoke again. Still, Ezerus didn’t understand it as it drew him, pulled at him. What is it saying? His head down, he found himself looking at the stairs to the aft cabins. A glance around the ship allowed him to spy the outer area around the cabins and command deck. No Luntanus Alum. A great relief swept over him, though he didn’t know why. The Shunned wanted him alive. For how long, that was a different question, but at least for today, Ezerus felt safe. Louder spoke the whisper. “Enter.”
Realizing he had climbed the stairs from the main deck to the cabin deck without remembering doing so made Ezerus a little unsettled. Try as he did, he couldn’t recall climbing them. Am I day-walking? The loud whisper spoke to him again. “Enter.”
Ezerus looked around once more at the crew and Tusaa’Ner busy with repairs. Nobody was close enough to speak to him so. He felt an unseen tugging at him, toward the cabin’s hallway door. Enter it says . . . Ezerus felt what lay beyond the door to be where he should be. He entere
d. A step inside brought him to a halt as his eyes adjusted to the lamp-lit narrow hallway. Three doors, one to either side of the hallway and a set of double doors at the end of the hallway were all stained in crimson. A body, once in Tusaa’Ner armor, torn apart limb from limb and head from chest lay all about with freshly split blood soaking the decking. Shocked at the unexpected scene, he stood looking at the mess trying to make sense of it. The scent of blood and spilled innards filled his nose and for a moment, made him gag. Ezerus didn’t recognize the poor fellow laying in pieces as he fought an urge to back away and return to the exterior decks. Despite the gore, he felt to be in the right place . . . almost. The door to the left cabin swung open.
“He wishes your attendance,” an out of sorts Ganzer announced to Ezerus. The aide to one of the most powerful Zas in the outer lands of Shuruppak looked frightened and sickly. Not so frightened and more curious, Ezerus stepped inside the cabin.
The spectacle inside was almost as chaotic as the hallway but without the gore or obvious violence. Ganzer with his uncharacteristically messy, short black hair and rumpled clothes, stood uncomfortably close to Ezerus keeping silent and with his once-mean brown eyes screaming to be somewhere else. To his left sat a frightened Za on a small, disheveled bed. She displayed reddened eyes and tearstained cheeks. Her eyes spoke of disbelief and bewilderment. Her revealing blue gown clung to her almost curvy body in a soaking sweat. Standing across the room, dressed in a lightly built blue Tusaa’Ner armor and with long knife drawn, stood immobilized Za Irzal’s daughter, Dajil. Framed in red-yellow hair, her light brown face held an expression of determination in the presence of horror. Curiously, she stood immobile. To Ezerus’s far right, sitting behind a desk built small to fit properly in the cabin, was Lucufaar . . . Luntanus Alum, the infamous ancient Shunned. A shiver ripped through Ezerus looking at the presence.
“Maybe you desire to spare the wretched lives of their honor guard?” Luntanus Alum spoke without looking at Ezerus, though Ezerus knew he was being addressed.
An awkward silence filled the room as Ezerus’s mind went in many ways trying to think of a proper . . . correct response. The scarred Shunned looked up at Ezerus acknowledging him being in the room with his expecting dark, squinty eyes. Ezerus knew he needed to answer the danger . . . knew he needed to show subordinated strength. “Why?”
A smile spread across the Shunned’s scarred face as he waved his right hand around the room. “Seeing all that is about you and still having the orbs to ask me why. I favor your spine.”
Fear mingling with relief filled Ezerus as he forced a swallow trying to make his parched mouth moist. Luntanus Alum stood, his silvery dark gray hair pulled back in a tail and wearing a lavender tunic with a wide black tanniyn hide belt fitted with a bold silver buckle. The Shunned took in Ezerus for long moments before speaking, “Men-at-arms are needed where we go. These disappointments and that belligerent sakal in the hallway are not trustworthy to lead. You are Subar. In the rankings of Shuruppak, you have the authority to assume leadership. Either you direct these miserable guardsmen, or I will subdue them, likely killing half or more.”
An unexpected twist of fates. By Shuruppak laws, where a Gal is absent to decree who commands in such situations, a Subar possesses the authority to assume any position of rank in all things except making legal decrees, including the daily acts of a Za. Ezerus started to understand Luntanus Alum’s false play as an aide to an aide of a Za to achieve his ambitions . . . whatever they are. The cunning and discipline required to act so, the pride swallowing and pretend subordination to inferiors, Ezerus was uncertain he could have endured it. Still, the question remained to be answered of his commanding the Tusaa’Ner. Ezerus felt uncertain of his ability to command guardsmen in mass, but to refuse this Shunned would be a fool’s act.
“I will command the Tusaa’Ner.”
Chapter 21
Thorns and Strife
The Makara limping off to the east along the shoreline with what remained of her sails stirred mixed feelings in Rogaan. It was midmorning with a strong sun making it difficult to see the ship with any detail now that was sailing just under the yellow ball of brightness to the east and north. Relieved to be off the ship, as any respected Tellen would, Rogaan turned his worry to their small boat and that it might not survive the dangers of the shallows ahead. The southern shores of the Ur River offered scattered beaches both small and of dark sands, rocks really, where water-dragons liked to congregate, or so he was told by the crew. The swirling waters, strong currents, sharp rocky formations, and the beasts were all dangers to overcome—with no guarantee of succeeding—but they had to take risks to get away from forces and beings beyond them, most near the Vassal and his Sentii guardians. Rogaan and his companions launched their rowboat in secret from the Makara with most of the crew thinking it was being prepared for when the ship grounded itself in the shallows somewhere downriver. The Makara’s second commander saw to the spread of the misinformation. Their launch was not without troubles in the choppy waters as Trundiir fell into the Ur when trying to board the rowboat from the Makara’s rope ladder. A stroke of luck, he grabbed the rim of the rowboat keeping himself from plunging deep into the dark waters. In a desperate scramble, Rogaan and Pax pulled the heavy Tellen into the rowboat before a water-dragon got a bite on him.
With everyone and their supplies in the boat, they let the Makara sail away, leaving them the task of paddling to shore. They paddled hard to fight the strong eastward current aiming their boat for one of those tiny landing spots tucked in between outcrops of craggy rocks. Only a few of the smaller water-dragons were visible there sunning themselves at the water’s edge. That gave them their best chance at surviving and making land. Four of them paddled hard, a still-greenish-skin Trundiir, a not-so-enthusiastic Pax, a complaining Aren, and a focused Rogaan all worked their way to firm land. Rogaan could not shake off the feeling of being exposed on the water and a meal for everything he could not see in the dark depths beneath them. A chill struck him with every look and glance into the water . . . the deep unknown with dangers lurking within unnerving him.
“Da boat be leakin’,” announced Suhd from the rear of the rowboat.
“Seriously . . .” Aren complained while looking into the wet beneath his bench seat at the front of the boat, one he shared with Pax. The situation allowed him an excuse to take rest from paddling. Looking down, Aren appeared captivated by the rising water soaking their packs and gear.
“Keep da paddles goin’, mystic one,” Pax calling out Aren at not keeping up with the paddling put an angry face on the struggling Evendiir. His red face contrasting deeply with his brown tunic gave a sign he found the paddling straining. Aren darted an unfriendly glance at Pax, but after a few unpleasant moments, his paddle went back into the water.
“What ta do about da water?” Suhd asked with more than a little concern in her voice.
“Use da tin pot ta bail it out,” replied her brother in an urgent tone. Suhd searched Pax’s pack for the tin pot. A quick success found her flinging water everywhere with it, though mostly out of the boat.
Rogaan stole a quick look back at Suhd when he thought it would go unnoticed. She is as beautiful as ever. Rogaan found his gaze lingering longer than planned as she half-splashed, half-dumped water over the side of the rowboat, her dull yellow tunic growing wetter with each scoop and throw of water. Ripping his eyes from her found a smirking Pax looking back at him catching his old friend longingly gazing at his sister. Rogaan found it impossible to suppress a smile when Pax, dressed in a dark blue tunic and black pants and boots, kept smiling. Heat flushed Rogaan’s face at being caught so blatantly with his attention not on paddling. Things are starting to feel as they used to, Rogaan noted to himself with a relieved sense of hope. The strengthened hope gave him new vigor and stronger strokes with his paddle. Trundiir, in his stout hunter’s armor covering a dark red tunic and part of his brown hide pants, sat with his dark boots in rising water opposite Rogaan o
n their bench. The white-bearded Tellen only grunted at noticing Rogaan sneaking looks at Suhd, causing even more heat to flush Rogaan’s face. Pax and Aren used their paddles more to guide the boat than anything else with Pax matching Aren’s weaker strokes. Positioned behind Aren, Rogaan curiously noted the lean Evendiir laboring at the physical work yet still found the energy and breath to complain about his sufferings.
Aren, Pax, and Suhd were close to exhaustion by the time they neared their intended landing spot. The beach was indeed between treacherous rocky formations on the southern shore that functioned as perches for diving flocks of featherwings and leatherwings. Occasionally, their boat heaved upward or sideward from waves . . . or worse when it felt as if something bumped them from below. Everyone became alarmed and paranoid about what lurked beneath after the first couple of “bumps,” giving motivation to all to be done with these deep waters. Motivated to push past the pains in his arms, shoulders, and back, Rogaan began paddling hard to get them to shore as quickly as possible. The rowboat nosed up, then down on the small waves near the shore as Suhd kept at bailing the water out. Up again, then down. Trundiir’s complexion took on a deeper green that Rogaan feared could become permanent, but the white-bearded Tellen kept on paddling, matching Rogaan stroke for stroke as their rowboat closed within a stone’s throw of the beach.
Suddenly, their rowboat lurched forward, then backward as screams from Suhd filled Rogaan’s ears. The rowboat creaked and shuddered. Looking behind to Suhd, he found a large-eyed water-dragon beyond her with jaws clamped on the back of the boat . . . its head massive to Rogaan’s eyes. The toothy beast somehow bit down on the stern of the boat without breaking it apart, though it had a strong enough hold on them to start dragging the boat—and them—backward and under.
“Get away! Get away!” Suhd yelled as she jumped forward from her seat and into Rogaan’s arms. Rogaan could only smile at her body touching his, though Suhd just gave him a wide-eye look before jumping forward into the front of the boat with Pax.