by E. S. Bell
The sightless woman nodded. “She has been waiting for you.”
Captive
Light seeped into the world slowly, filling in the cracks between branch and leaf and vine. They had spent the night walking amidst their captors. Captors or escort? Selena wondered; she and Ilior had been permitted to keep their weapons. The natives walked like silent ghosts through the jungle, saying nothing. The blinded woman called herself Ori, and walked with the same practiced ease and silence. No one spoke. Ori said that all their questions would be answered by Accora.
As the sun rose higher, Selena was able to observe their captors more closely. The native warriors showed no signs of heat fatigue. Selena noticed too that the mud that streaked their skin was intricate and artfully done; great whorls and shapes that reminded Selena of the windpaint of Nanokar.
Perhaps it works in an opposite manner—to deflect heat rather than capture it.
But Ori’s skin was unadorned. Sweat glistened on her lip but if the heat taxed her strength, she didn’t show it.
Some hours later, the jungle released them, growing sparse and thin before giving away to a wide, clear swathe. It appeared as if there had been a fire; sprouts of new green pushed up through dark ash. The forest resumed its dominion over the island some mile or two ahead but in this burnt ring was a large camp. More natives were going about their day amidst several thatch huts. Toward the center of the ring burned a fire pit, and off to the west, a pen made of fallen branches stacked eight spans high. None of natives gave the new arrivals more than a cursory glance.
“Is Accora here?” Selena asked Ori.
“Her home is a day’s walk. You must rest and eat.”
In the daylight, the pits where Ori’s eyes had once been were not so black and bottomless, but the scarred flesh was not so easy to look at. Selena wondered what strength it must take to blind oneself in such a violent manner.
That kind of devotion is admirable. Heroic, even.
Somehow Ori must have sensed the attention for she said, “I forget you are not of the native Yuk’ri tribe who are accustomed to my sightlessness. Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable.” She drew a strip of cloth from her tunic and laid it over her eyes.
“You haven’t,” Selena said, “but most Haru wear a veil. You are Haru, aren’t you?”
Ori gave the cloth a sharp tug. “Not anymore.”
She beckoned and the natives led them to the high-fenced pen.
“The lodgings are more crude than you are used to, I’m sure, but the Yuk’ri take what the forest lets fall and nothing more. This clearing, for example, was made during a lightning storm. For their peace of mind, you must reside here with the others.”
“The others?” Ilior asked.
“Those we took on the beach. Accora doesn’t tolerate intruders but she has decreed that none of those who accompany you shall die until she desires it.”
“Until?” Selena exchanged glances with Ilior.
“Bazira,” he muttered.
A large native man, his pale body painted in swirls and whorls of black mud, lifted a makeshift latch on the pen of uneven branches and opened a crude door.
“Paladin Koren!” Niven rushed forward. “Thank the god.”
Selena embraced the young adherent and regarded the rest over his shoulder—at Julian and the crew of the Black Storm. Grunt sat in a corner, watching everything and everyone with thoughtful eyes. Cat sat in an opposite corner, her expression wary and nervous. Spit dozed beside Whistle, while Cur paced, growling low in his throat
Julian sat with his long legs bent in front of him, his hands dangling over his knees. He raised one in greeting, his face unreadable. He met Ilior’s eye coolly. The Vai’Ensai’s lip curled in snarl.
The makeshift door shut behind them.
“Where is Svoz?” Selena asked in a low voice. Two natives stood guard; she could see their shapes through spaces in the uneven branches, and she had no idea if they spoke Tradespeak or not.
“I was ordered to banish him and I agreed. For now.”
“You didn’t resist capture?”
Julian shrugged. “Wasn’t any fun sitting on the shore with our thumbs up our arses, waiting for the tide to come in.”
Niven cleared his throat. He looked dirty and bedraggled; living in the wilds did not suit him.
“Captain Tergus is not being altogether genuine,” he said. “The plan was to wait until the tide came in and then sail to Huerta. For repairs,” he hurried to add when Selena glanced sharply at Julian. “Repairs and then a fast return. But the woman without any…that is…”
“Her name is Ori,” Selena said.
“Ori, thank you. Ori and her native friends arrived soon after you left. The sirrak wished to tear them limb from limb but Captain sent him away.”
“That was merciful of you,” Selena said dryly, moving to sit beside Whistle.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps it was incredibly stupid,” Julian said. “Who is this Ori? She doesn’t look familiar.” He cocked a dry smile. “And I never forget a face.”
“Ori was Haru.”
“The Aluren nuns who blind themselves?” Niven asked. “Of course. I’ve never met one in person. Such devotion…”
“Is insane,” Julian finished.
Niven shot him a dark look.
“The Haru are the most devout sect of the Aluren faith and therefore the most deserving of respect,” Selena said tiredly. Ilior sat beside her and she rested her head on his shoulder. “However, Ori claims she is no longer Haru.”
Julian snorted. “So she gouged out her eyes for nothing? This is why I don’t hold to any religion,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes as if to take a nap.
Niven gave him a frown, then asked Selena, “Why would a former Haru serve a Bazira? Surely Ori hasn’t turned to the Shadow face…?”
“Remember Byric’s words,” Selena told him. “Accora may not be Bazira any longer.”
“And Ori is no longer Aluren.” Julian shook his head. “Got an island full of apostates. Except for you two.”
Ilior growled low in his throat. “I believe you’ve been instructed not to speak to her, Captain,” he began, but Selena laid a hand on his arm and Julian ignored him anyway.
“If your Bazira is no longer Bazira, what happens to your quest? You’ll kill her anyway? An innocent?” He snorted. “I doubt that.”
“She’s hardly an innocent,” Niven said. “Her past crimes can’t be washed away simply because she no longer answers to the title of Bazira.”
“Our Fourth Principle states otherwise,” Selena reminded him.
“What’s that?” Julian asked.
“The Fourth Principle states that there is always hope for those who have descended into darkness and our duty as Aluren is to light the way and guide them out.”
“And you believe that?” Julian asked quietly.
“Of course,” Selena said. “I believe I told you as much on Isle Uago.”
He regarded her a moment, about to speak. The small pen was quiet, listening to the exchange. He shrugged instead and settled back against the log wall, one hand on the hilt of one scimitar strapped to his waist, for the crew still kept their weapons. “This is the only religion I need.”
“Then I feel sorry for you,” Selena snapped.
Julian’s eyes were cold. “If you light the way for this wayward witch instead of kill her, what happens to your wound?”
Selena said nothing, no words came. She shook her head, and closed her eyes, precluding further conversation. She curled up tighter against Ilior, hoping to sleep but it eluded her. What happens to your wound? The question resounded in her mind again and again, refusing to let her rest.
Night was descending when the natives opened the door to their makeshift cell. Ori stood among them, small and delicate and clothed in linen instead of grass and mud. The cloth that concealed her eyes was still in place.
“What is this?” Selena asked as the natives ushered her crew out. �
�What is happening?”
“Before you can be brought to Accora, the kafira must ask the native spirits for guidance,” Ori said. “You will not be permitted to bring your weapons.”
“What is a kafira?” Niven asked.
Ori turned her sightless gaze to him with uncanny precision. “You would call her a medicine woman in Tradespeak. She is a holy woman or adherent of the tribe, entrusted with communing with the island spirits.” She addressed Selena. “Accora has been good to the Yuk’ri tribe; they will not allow you to see her until the spirits have been consulted. It is not a dangerous communion,” she added. “You will be safe. I ask again that you leave your weapons…or we’ll have to assume the hospitality between you and the Yuk’ri is no more.”
“Hospitality?” Julian said. “We’ve been in an animal pen for the last ten hours.”
Ori turned to Selena. “I promise no harm will come to you. I can’t make the same promise if you refuse.”
Selena nodded at the crew to obey. They left their swords—including Selena’s sapphire-encrusted Paladin’s sword—in one corner of the cell. Julian laid down his scimitars with a readiness that told her he kept several other weapons on his person.
Good, she thought. And he has Svoz and I have my magic. We are not altogether defenseless should Ori prove to be false.
They were led across the encampment to a hut made from fallen tree limbs and dried leaves the size of paddles. Dusk was rapidly giving up the sky to night and the first stars were coming out. The moon was new; a bad omen, Selena thought.
Inside the hut sat three Yuk’ri natives, two men and one old woman. All three wore dark mud over their pale skin. The old woman’s breasts were exposed, in the manner customary to the tribe, but heavy necklaces of seashells and strange stones lay heavy over them. Her hair was silver and long, with shells and grasses braided into it in intricate patterns. Her eyes were clear blue and cold as the water in the Ice Isles as they watched Selena and her crew enter.
“Blue eyes?” Selena whispered to Ori. “The tribespeople are dark.”
“It is an anomaly among the Yuk’ri to be sure, and likely why she has become the kafira of the tribe. The island gods have marked her.”
Selena took her seat around the centerpiece of the tent: a ring of small white stones that glinted in the falling light. They were arranged in a perfect circle and as night cloaked the island totally, the white stones seemed to glow faintly in the dark.
The medicine woman struck flint to tinder. Sparks flared and burnt out in the dark and then a small flame burned on a small torch made of dried leaves. In its light, Selena stole a quick glance at Julian. He seemed apprehensive; not at all pleased with the situation and when he met her eye, he shook his head. But other Yuk’ri natives stood behind the crew, each holding their long spears and poison darts.
The kafira touched the torch’s flame to a nest of dried leaves amid the white stones, and a new flame ignited.
The natives passed a small sack of some substance among them. One took what looked like a small nut from the pouch, swallowed it dry, and then passed the pouch on. The pouch was not given to her or the crew. On the other side of the flames, the kafira set aside the small torch and took up a long pipe. A small bowl, no larger than a thimble, was set at the end, and this the kafira brought near the hovering fire.
“Akar godda deskaru’sheh,” she said and a lick of flame swept over the pipe bowl. The kafira spoke again in a reverent tone, perhaps giving thanks, and then she inhaled. She did not draw the smoke into her lungs, but her cheeks puffed, holding the pungent-smelling vapor in. Selena’s warrior instincts itched and her hand reached for her sword that was no longer at her side as the medicine woman released the smoke, blowing it out in an impossibly large cloud that permeated the entire tent.
The effects were immediate. Selena’s head felt lighter than air and she was sure that she would float straight off the ground. She gripped handfuls of the dirt floor to try to hold herself down. Then her fear of drifting away was replaced with awe, and the sensation of the sand in her fingers. It was as if she could feel each grain as it rolled across her skin. She smiled. To her left was some sort of commotion: Julian was trying to stand up, but the natives forced him back down with stony words and pikes leveled at his throat.
He’s going to be fine, she thought pleasantly. A wonderful sleepy feeling was stealing over her. She watched the fire and could almost imagine its warmth.
In the ring of white stones, the flame danced. The flickering orange and copper and white licks of fire took the rough form of a woman with a swirling gown. She danced and spun and wheeled about. Selena watched, delighted, even as some small part of her warned her that she was helpless, that she and the crew were being drugged and that the natives could walk the perimeter of the circle slitting throats and she wouldn’t know it until it was her turn.
She managed to peel her gaze from the dancing flame. The natives who guarded them seemed unaffected by the smoke and she remembered the strange nut they had consumed before the pipe was lit. They were immune, but this didn’t concern her. They made no threatening moves. Only watched. There was no danger, only joy. The rest of the crew were smiling and watching the fire with the same pleasant bliss; even Cur was chortling silently, and Spit stared open-mouthed, a rivulet of saliva hanging from his chin. Grunt appeared as content as one might after eating a huge, filling meal, while Whistle watched the dancing flame with unabashed awe. Cat’s dark blue eyes shone with unshed tears of peace. Ilior’s head was bowed, his shoulders free of tension, and a contented smile on his lips, as if some great burden had been lifted from him. Julian wasn’t smiling but he was no longer fighting to leave. Instead, he watched the fire in its ring of stones with a hard, unblinking stare, concentrating.
He looks like he trying to stare the fire down, Selena thought and sighed. He is so beautiful…
The fire pranced out of the white ring and into her lap. Selena exulted as the flames spun and whirled, pirouetting on her knee. She felt no heat, nor any tingle that meant heat was present. Only a feather-light touch. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her entire life and tears of joy and gratitude welled in her eyes that the Yuk’ri medicine woman should give them such an extraordinary gift. Her heart ached for Ori who was deprived the sight of this marvel, but the grief was short-lived as the grace and wonder of the flame enchanted her again.
She didn’t know how long the fire danced for her; perhaps a minute, perhaps hours. Time seemed to slow down and then speed up again as the fire spun out of her lap and onto Niven’s beside her. The young man’s cheeks were streaked and he shook his head, as if he didn’t deserve such a gift.
A rough wooden bowl of water was passed around. A native loomed over her and helped her to drink. Selena jerked as the water touched her tongue and the heavy cloud of pleasure she drifted upon was momentarily disrupted. The water burned as it went down, and tasted of dead things. But she was given only a small sip and then the native moved to Niven. Selena took deep breaths, willing her stomach to settle, and then heaviness stole over her. Her gaze wandered aimlessly, blearily. She saw the kifara sitting ramrod straight, her eyes shut and her mouth moving. Chanting.
I wonder what her spirits think of us. I wonder if they…I wonder….
She found the ground rising up to meet her and then her cheek was pillowed on dried leaves that felt as soft as feathers. Her eyes remained closed longer and longer every time she blinked until she gave up fighting it. The last thing she saw before a sweet darkness covered her like an old quilt was Julian. The fire was taking its turn dancing for him but he seemed unimpressed by its magnificence. Sweat trickled down his temple and his eyes were hard as he stared at it, not giving in.
An unhappy man shuns such beauty, Selena thought. But another thought, whispering into the encroaching black, hinted that Julian might be safest of them all.
Accora
Selena forced her eyes open. They seemed sealed shut and her head w
eighed a thousand stones. Her warrior instincts urged her to get her bearings, to find her sword, to escape. She’d been drugged last night. They all had. She remembered with chagrin how she’d been enamored with a dancing flame. A figment of her imagination or hallucination. Foolish. And dangerous.
She pushed herself off the ground to sitting. She was back in the makeshift cell. They all were. Dawn’s light had yet to break fully, but the sky was glowing in the east. A torch guttered somewhere nearby; the meager yellow light slipped between the branches. The others still slept, but for Julian. He sat slumped against the opposite wall, watching her through one good eye. His other was swollen shut. Dried blood stained his upper lip and chin, and a bright red rivulet was still leaking from his eyebrow. He held one wrist against his chest and even in the dimness Selena could see it was broken.
“What happened?” Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. She hauled herself to standing and staggered along the pen on leaden legs to collapse beside him. “Who did this?”
“Our native hosts,” Julian said.
“Why?” Selena turned his face this way and that, inspecting the damage. His black coat was streaked with dirt and he had dried leaves in his hair. “I saw you fight the fire—”
“It wasn’t the fire that was the danger. It was the water.”
Selena gently removed his good hand that was holding his wrist so she could examine it.
“The water? No, the dancing flame. That was the magic. Wasn’t it?” His arm was swollen but no bone jutted from his skin. A clean break.
“The flame wasn’t magic, but a leaf that makes you see senseless things when smoked. Common enough on most of these jungle islands, and some other islands too, where that kind of distraction is welcome.” He shook his head. “There was something wrong with that water. I saw it when you and the others drank.”
Selena started to protest but realized she had no argument. It might have been the smoke or the water or the chanting of the medicine woman.