Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  She huddled down compacting herself into a tightly held ball, hoping the intense wind would ease long enough for her to feel her toes. Just as she tucked her chin as closely to her chest as she could, she felt a deep vibration in her chest. However, it was not the resonating vibrations she had first felt within her and then sensed around her; it was the deep base of a threatening growl. She looked in its direction and saw the wind-driven snow part for the massive body of a purely white beast.

  Jolted into action, she stood up, the wind driving the chill more deeply inside her naked limbs causing them to all but groan in response. Movement was a necessity, but a painful one. Nevertheless, she began backing away slowly, her feet crunching in the snow. Long ago, as part of her training, he older brother hand taken it upon himself to educate her in all the intricacies of bears, focusing on surviving them rather than fighting and defeating them. No doubt resulting from the horrible scene he had witnessed, his irrational fear for them was imparted directly to her. Igniting this fear, the bear growled again, resonating within her chest. She took several more small, apprehensive steps backward seeking to retreat. Retreat to where? She was on the top of a mountain, naked and freezing. She had nowhere to go and no weapon with which to fight.

  “Who are you?” again the dwarf’s question struck her memory deeply. Indeed, who was she? Was she the fear she felt at the hands of her training under her brother? Was that even part of her, should it even be part of her? She could not deny its impact as she grew up under his relentless tutelage, but in the same light, she could not deny its entrapment of who she believed she could be. But who was that? Who was that woman resting just on the edge of her understanding, just beyond his generous yet binding attempts to teaching her to become everything he thought she could become? Perhaps that question would never be answered. Perhaps she was forever doomed to live without a connection to her innermost authenticity.

  All thoughts of potentials and identities were chased away as the huge bear reared up on its hind legs and bellowed a roar of vicious challenge and dominance. It seemed, even before this trial was to end, this bear had already judged her as nothing more than food to feeds its empty belly. Her fear struck. Inside her mind where she rationalized fears from an innate understanding of survival, her fear asserted its dominance. She turned and ran.

  Or at least, she took two steps in preparation to run. But then she remembered the vibrations she felt so long ago in the forest. There was no fear to them. Nothing of their resonance spoke of anything learned, but remembered, as if everything learned from birth was an inadvertent attempt to supplant the essence of one’s true identity. And because there was no fear in her vibrations, she need not fear now. For fear was nothing more than a learned expression of doubt.

  She reached out for the vibrations as she turned to face the bear still posing an enormous threat as it came crashing down onto its two huge front paws. It roared again. She held fast waiting for her vibrations to connect to the same she had felt before. As the bear charged, attempting to overrun the small woman with all of its power and strength, it rose up again on its hind legs. As it crashed down upon Zyndalia, expecting to bludgeon its prey with one powerful, two-pawed stomp, it met snow instead. At the very last moment, she summersaulted to the right. But bears were not the sluggish fighters most of the world thought they were. Turning quickly, it swiped with its right paw barely catching her on her shoulder. Such was the beast’s strength, as partial as the swipe had been, it still sent her sprawling. With her limbs tightening their blood supply reserving it for her essential organs, with her shoulder throbbing from the pain, and with her hope dissolving, she attempted to reach out one more time.

  Success. Mirroring her vibrations, she found the other set, this time in perfect unison with hers. Bolstered by her success, she rolled away from the bear as its teeth bore down toward her neck. But it did not hesitate to continue its pursuit. It swiped again, but she dodged right. It swiped again, and again, she dodged successfully. The more she dodged, the more familiar she became with the vibrations. Although they were not hers, they were familiar in a way they could be only if they were hers. She coiled back on her haunches the way a snake coils around itself preparing an explosion of moment. Collecting itself, the bear reared up and roared again. This time though, instead of inspiring fear within her, it inspired a rage, an answer to the challenge.

  She roared in return. Bellowing from the very center of her vibrational union with this other but identical entity, she matched the bear’s intensity and ferocity. When her vocal display of dominance ended, so did her resemblance with any aspect of the woman she had been before. Indeed, she was no longer Zyndalia the woman, she was Zyndalia the Wolf, Zyndalia the Beast. Standing taller than even her opponent, she raised her huge jaws and howled into the sky calling upon her kin to answer. From the mist of the wind driven snow emerged no less than ten snow white wolves. Though the visage of her alone would have been enough to thwart any animalistic instinct driving the bear to pursue its prey, the addition of her kin caused the bear to retreat quickly. Through their combined minds, she acknowledged each of them, thanking them as the great bear turned its tail and ran.

  Later, when the dwarven scouts would periodically search the slopes of their mountain home for signs of intruders, they would find something they had not seen in a very long time. Not since before they had been driven underground had they lived among wolves. Long had been their companionship, dwarf and wolf, as they lived together and hunted together. But again, that was from a time long since forgotten except by the oldest of dwarven historians. Perhaps Zyndalia and her kin would awaken that memory. Perhaps her Judgement of Rock and Stone was necessary not for her, but for them. Either way, as she stumbled down the base slopes of the mountain, still chilled to her absolute bones, shivering more violently than she had ever shivered before, Yoosoin was there to collect her as she had been during the Trial of Fire. As she drifted into a void of rest and peace, held by the Stone Maiden’s strong arms, she felt her bond with Inglorca gently lick the sides of her identity. In this moment, this fleeting time between unconsciousness and wakefulness, when dreams and reality blend to form a greater understanding of hopeful truth, she knew who she was. She was Zyndalia, General of the Hunt.

  *******

  “Where is Jaro?” she asked Dregor, urgency now in her voice.

  “Maybe he saw something valuable to steal,” said Dregor, drawing a sideways glance from Soliana.

  “We should wait,” she said.

  “We cannot any longer. You heard what he said last night. If we miss this opportunity, we will not be offered another,” said Dregor.

  Taking one last look around the entrance to the docks, she paused, hoping he would appear. But he did not, and Dregor was right. They could wait no longer. “Very well. Let us find Dorgo’s ship.”

  The Sombren Docks were among the largest in the Silver Empire. As such, nine people of tattered appearance walking within them was no strange scene. In fact, it was so commonplace that none of the guards paid them any attention, not even Soliana. True to what Jaro had said, there were four main docking piers, each of which extended far out into the port bay. The first two were reserved for merchant ships only so the loading and unloading of commerce and goods could be better protected and more easily accessible by the guards and transport carriages. The second was reserved for various ships with birth ports and arrival ports beyond the Silver Empire. There was a whole set of import and export taxes levied and a whole different set of guards set to enforce any disturbance to the collector’s efforts. The fourth and final pier, the largest, was dedicated to housing the various ships of the Silver Empire’s navy. This is where the largest ships docked, although at this particular time, there were none of the heavy warships. That is not to say there were less naval vessels, they were just the smaller ones, though they were still formidable.

  Following Jaro’s instructions, they found the Pirate King’s ship docked at the far end of the second me
rchant pier. It was a large vessel, not as large as the High King’s Warmongers, but it was impressive nonetheless. Its sails were a deep red, almost black. Set against the dark wood used in its construction, the sales completed the ominous demeanor of the large dragon carved and set into the bowsprit. The dragon was reared on its hind legs with its wings unfurled and blending into part of the bow. It was said, that if one listened during battle, one could hear a roar coming from the mounted statue as its cannons exploded and thundered against the wills of its foes.

  As they approached the large vessel, they saw many of its crew carrying various chests, boxes and crates up the makeshift ramp onto the deck. As her eyes drifted across its length, she saw Jaro standing against its rail speaking to another of The Dragon’s crew. When they had finished talking, Jaro placed both of his hands on the railing and looked off into the distance for a moment.

  “There he is!” said Dregor. “Why would he not tell us he was planning on getting here a head of us?”

  “I do not know, Dregor. But I am glad he is here,” she said. She watched him walk down the ramp to where they were standing. His face’s swelling had lessened since last night, although the colors were beginning to brighten.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it,” he said approaching them.

  “We were beginning to wonder the same about you?” replied Soliana.

  “I told you I was going to leave earlier to make contact with Dorgo first. Just to make sure everything had been arranged properly. You do not remember?” he asked.

  “No,” answered Dregor, “we do not remember that.”

  “Well, no matter. You are here now and in just enough time to come aboard,” he said with a warm smile.

  “Tell me, Jaro, what would you have done had we not made it?” asked Soliana, as he began leading them to The Dragon.

  “I would have wallowed in the throes of sadness and dismay,” he said as Dregor snorted. “Oh, I am sorry. Is that not what every beautiful woman wants to hear? That her absence drives the man of her dreams into a paralyzing sadness?”

  “Indeed, it is. But I have not met him yet,” she said, “though I have heard Dorgo is exceptionally well endowed.”

  As the smile on Jaro’s face faded into a true expression of dismay, Dregor and the others laughed heartily. All except for Linsia who covered the ears of her daughter while shooting her husband a stern glare.

  “I apologize, Linsia,” said Soliana. “My intent was not to offend.”

  “Then what was your intent?” asked Jaro.

  “To convey the truth,” said Soliana prompting another round of laughter, this time, even from Linsia.

  When they boarded The Dragon, they were met by a large gathering of armed men, all dressed in the ragtag garments typical of pirates and their scallywag lifestyle. Emerging from between then walked a tall, slender man, his face dominated by a jet-black beard rivaling the most intricately woven of the dwarves. He wore a black hat, curled up on the sides and back with a red dragon depicted on its center. He wore a grey tunic laced loosely at the top by black strings. Covering his tunic, he wore a long deep red overcoat fastened just above his waist with a single, skull shaped metal clasp. He wore a thick leather belt, worn from years of use, around his waist fastened by another skull shaped clasp, larger than the one on his overcoat. Hanging from his belt was a sheathed sword, thin and long, like a razor-sharp stinger from the great sea rays. His boots were the same color as his hat, jet black, and folded over just below his knees. His trousers, woven from a loose-fitting material, were a shade darker than his tunic. In all aspects save one, he was the quintessential representation of pirating epidemy. However, his eyes bore none of his pirate lineage. Indeed, the spoke of command, but one nurtured from the crib of a prince reared for years and years to be a king. Had she not been aboard a ship surrounded by his crew of brigands, she would have thought she stood across from royalty.

  “You are Soliana?” he asked in a smooth voice as he looked her up and down.

  “I am,” she answered.

  “Is he the one, Boatswain Agorro?” he asked one of his crew.

  “He is the one,” answered the man.

  “You are not much of a ghost at all,” said Captain Dorgo. “Take them,” he said as he turned around, walking back into the mass of his crew.

  Upon his order, his crew acted with lightning precision and speed. The three closest men, including Boatswain Agorro grabbed Soliana. “Get your hands off me!” she shouted.

  Dregor moved to help her, but was captured by three other men. Linsia and Nithana were taken captive quickly as were Pitros, Resaria and her three boys. “You cannot do this!” he shouted.

  “Captain Dorgo! Captain Dorgo!” shouted Soliana. He looked back, a sort of sadness in his eyes, pulled open the door to his quarters, disappearing inside. “We had a deal!” she shouted.

  “So did I,” said Boatswain Agorro. Turning to Jaro, he added, “Well done.”

  “Jaro?” she asked him, completely confused.

  “I had no choice,” he whispered.

  As she and her followers were roughly taken into the belly of the ship by the raucously laughing crew of The Dragon, she would not see the pain he bore in his eyes, the betrayal that would seed itself in his soul. She would not see the guilt bearing down on his heart like an avalanche of snow and mountain destroying the small village in its path. She would never know that this avalanche had been set into motion years and years ago, before they had ever met. She could never know that for it to stop, for the destruction resulting from his life to end and for him to finally be free from it, he needed to pay this last debt. She would never know that this was the only way.

  The guards had tried to rape her once they shoved her into the cell. However, they were unprepared for her proficiency in unarmed combat. Oh, she played the role well. The frightened, weak woman in distress. As she huddled in the corner drawing the first of her would be rapists into the cell much to confidently than he should have been, she sprang on him like a crouched panther. Before the other three could react, she rendered him unconscious. Predictably, the other three pirates rushed her in an uncoordinated, unplanned manner thinking that three of them could naturally overpower her. They would be wrong. Had captain Dorgo not entered the brig at just the right moment and placed the tip of his sword on the skin of her neck, she would have escaped. Well, at least she would have escaped her cell, though she doubted her ability to escape The Dragon. As it was and by the tip of his blade, she was pushed back into her cell. But she would not stay there for long. Because of her skill and potential threat, she had been removed from the communal brig and placed in the solitary cell normally reserved for punishing the crew. There she would remain, in isolated darkness, wallowing in her utter failure, for the better part of their journey, wherever it would take her, until she heard faint clicking coming from her cell door.

  Over the weeks, or months, or however long she had been captive on The Dragon, she was fed sparingly. She was given water even less frequently, no doubt to keep her weak and compliant. Under normal circumstances, with the fullness of her sensory acuity intact, she would have been able to identify the clicking as the workings of lockpicks; however, because she had been sapped of her strength to the point of delusion, she was not sure of anything anymore. Likewise, had she been coherent enough to see Jaro’s face lit by the light of a full moon and star filled sky, she would have lashed out with all her anger, but because she was not, she assumed it was some form of specter sent to torment her or carry her away to the afterlife. So, she offered no resistance as the spirit lifted her up, carried her to one of the small rowboats fastened just over the railing of The Dragon, lowering it and them down to the waters. This was the second time he rowed away from a boat of pirates, and the second time he did not leave alone. Rowing away from The Gauntlet, he had with him a valuable prize, a map. Rowing away from The Dragon, he had something of much more value, hope. He knew it would be a very long time
before she would forgive him, and perhaps she never would. However, at least he was finally free to explore its potential without the haunting ghosts of his past.

  As he suspected, she erupted when she regained her strength. They had been at sea for three full days since escaping The Dragon and Captain Dorgo, and during that time, he nursed her back to health and strength, at least as much as he could with the limited food he had been able to secure. After her initial outburst, when he was certain she was not going to throw him overboard, he told her the story of how, during his inquiry into Captain Dorgo’s location, he ran into a captain from his past. He told her how he had deceived him into being part of his crew and how he had stolen one of his belongings, a valuable belonging, a map. And he told her how this captain had never forgotten nor forgiven. So, when he learned Captain Agorro had been enlisted into Captain Dorgo’s crew over a night of beatings, he knew he would not be given any other choice. He tried to save the others along with her, but because she had been separated from them, he had to make a choice: she or them. He chose her.

  The next two days saw their food supply run dangerously low, as did their water. The open seas were not as replenishing as the inland lakes. There were stories upon stories of how sailors and pirates both perished when they tried to quench their thirst with the salted waters of the open sea. Then, on the sixth day, after a particularly chilly morning, they saw land in the distance. Sprawling out before them was an expanse that could only be the famous Edge of Creation. It was a raised plateau perhaps over a thousand feet above sea level, ending in a sheer drop. Much like the interior plains of the Orc lands, and even the Orcs themselves, the land mass marking the Northern plains beyond the mountains forgave nothing with its slope. A full vertical climb awaited them. This border was one of the reasons the Orcs remained so isolated in spite of their close proximity to man and elves. If one could organize the Orcs enough to create a port city, there was no possible way for ships to dock and passengers to make land. However, if one was observant, there was one small inlet just large enough for a small sloop to enter. The climb to the top was arduous, but not impossible. Had they brought the necessary rigging for a vertical climb, they would have been able to enter the lands at any point, but because they had no ropes, nor spikes, nor crampons, and certainly no harnesses, they were relegated to using the small inlet and its subsequent path.