“I thought I saw…” He let his fingers trail over the rough bark. “Never mind—it was nothing.” Still, he remained by the tree, his hand pressed against the trunk. “I could have sworn…” Muttering under his breath, he gave the tree a hard look and strode across the clearing. When he reached his comrade, he glanced back. “This is one strange forest. I can’t wait to return to RewFaar.”
Almiralyn didn’t move until she could no longer hear the tread of their steps and her senses assured her no more soldiers roamed the area close by to observe her return to Human form. Three Nyti flitted from the shadows and landed on a branch at her eye level.
The tallest Nyti, all of seven inches, pointed his walking stick at her. “Much too close, Almiralyn. Much too close. I was about to fly out and bite his ear. You must be more careful.” Kieel tapped the stick against the branch to accentuate each word.
“I know, Kieel. Thank you for coming.” She smiled at his tidy appearance from his tie tucked neatly beneath his sienna vest to his spotless, olive green pants that spoke to his love of neatness and detail. The only thing about the Nyti leader that suggested disarray was his thick, auburn-gold hair. Like that of all the wee folk, it had a mind of its own.
“It appears we have trouble in the Terces Wood.” He placed a finger on the high curve of his distinctive nose. His stern expression morphed into speculation. “The boys tell me their Wood Tiff friend, Sibee, has managed to get himself captured. How can we help?”
“He is tied to a tree behind the paddock in back of the barn…or at least what used to be the barn.”
Kieel pursed his lips. “Ashor informed me your cottage and barn have disappeared. Is this so?”
Almiralyn sighed, “It’s a long story, Kieel, one I am happy to share at another time. We must rescue Sibee before the soldiers have time to question him.”
The Nyti leader nodded. “It sounds like a distraction is needed. I suggest we scout the situation and then make a plan.”
“Any closer than this to the soldier’s camp, I am safest in bird form. You can talk to me and I will understand, but I won’t be able to answer. If I agree, I will bob my head once…if I disagree, twice. If we need more discussion, I’ll fly further into the forest, and you can follow. Right now, ride with me.” She shifted, and the Nyti settled on her white-feathered back. Taking care to remain in the shadows, she flew to a Tirips tree near the RewFaaran camp and landed on a broad branch covered with silver leaves. It was up to the Nyti to scout and report back. She could only wait, hidden and worried for the lives of her people.
Kieel understood the responsibility for rescuing Sibee rested on his shoulders. The young Wood Tiff knew too much, and, as brave and determined as he might be, it would not be enough if the RewFaarans used torture to obtain information. He also realized that Almiralyn dared not show herself, even in bird form. The foreign soldiers would know about her ability to shape shift. And they would be on the lookout for a white bird with gold-tipped wings.
Leading the boys away from Myrrh’s Guardian, he flew to a tall evergreen and motioned them to land. He kept his voice low and his face serious. “You both understand this is not a game?”
Ashor and Mumshu looked at each other, then back at their leader. “We understand.”
Kieel heard the quaver in their voices and nodded. “Our first goal is to ascertain where Sibee is being held. Stay high above the heads of the soldiers and well within the cover of the trees. Do not fly in the open. Meet me back here as soon as you can.” Pointing them in opposite directions, he watched them zip away with the speed of humming birds from one tree to the next. Satisfied they would not do anything unwise, he secured his walking stick between the long needles of the pine and darted closer to the camp. Perhaps a little eavesdropping would net him some much-needed information.
From a vantage point above the tents that lined the perimeter of the vine-covered ruins, he studied the camp layout and selected his objective—a tent that appeared to be the camp headquarters. Landing in the trampled undergrowth, he crept from stone to stone and from clump of dirt to clump of dirt until he crouched near the back of it. Large feet striding by sent him shimmying, stomach to ground, under the canvas edge. Inside, he ducked behind a duffle bag and peered under a campstool at the huge feet and lower legs of a uniformed Human. On the other side of the folding table, a booted foot scratched the back of a calf muscle and came to rest beside its mate.
While a heated discussion thundered around him, Kieel explored the terrain of the soldier closest to him. His eyes traveled from feet to knees, up the long back to broad shoulders and a thick neck, and on to a head covered with graying, brown hair. Partially visible on the far side of the table were an arm and a boney shoulder. The face, or at least what he could see of it, appeared to be narrow. An eye squinted behind gold-rimmed spectacles, and the mouth formed a cruel line beneath a wide-nostriled nose. The subject of the discussion changed. Kieel switched his focus and listened.
“All the coordinates indicate the cottage and the barn should be right here,” said the first man. “Grantese Tesilend is positive he was not moved.”
“Tesilend was unconscious when we found him, so his opinion is invalid.” The second man took off his spectacles and wiped a lens with a pristine handkerchief. He replaced them and adjusted his stool, his sneer emphasized by the light from the open tent flap. “The Wood Tiff creature confirms his story. Could this guardian woman have made them disappear?”
“Doubtful, Cantruto.” Broad shoulders shrugged. “But when you consider that we are not only looking for twins, of which there is no sign, two women, a magic fountain, and giant crystal…” The words trailed into silence.
Cantruto narrowed his eyes. “Maybe Nissasa is right. Maybe the Largeen Joram is senile.”
“I’d be careful if I were you. Tents have ears, and Lorsedi has a long reach.” Although the response was calm, the back of the man closest to Kieel straightened, and his chin came up.
Cantruto came to his feet, leaned across the table, and glared a challenge. “You threatening me, Mondago?”
The Tinpaca slid a stylus between his fingers. “No, I’m warning you.” He rested the tip of the stylus on the table and held it upright with an index finger. “I suggest you remember whom you are addressing. It would not be seemly for me to put my adjutant in the brig on a mission this important.” The stylus clattered on the tabletop.
“Yes, sir.” Eyeing the stylus, Cantruto sat down.
“After our meal, you will interrogate the Wood Tiff.”
Cantruto unsheathed an evil looking knife. “It shouldn’t take too long to break the little bugger. I’m betting that all I have to do is cut off one finger—”
“The Wood Tiff is a child, not a spy, Cantruto.” Tinpaca Mondago’s face was neutral; his voice was not. “We will question him together.”
Kieel had heard enough. Rescuing Sibee was a priority. He would report what he had heard to Almiralyn as soon as he and the boys had a plan in place.
28
ConDra’s Fire
DerTah
B rie turned slowly, taking in every detail of her tent at the Eissua Oasis. Woven hangings in muted blues and golds circled the dark walls and created an alcove for sleeping. The ground was covered with blue and burgundy striped rugs thrown over black canvas. A raised bed draped in blue, a soft-looking chair, a washstand, and a small table with an oil lamp glowing on its top created an atmosphere of comfort. Large cushions scattered around the space added cheerful splashes of color. Brie sighed. So much has happened . She stifled a yawn. By the Fathers, am I tired! What I need more than anything is to be clean and take a nap.
Nichi poked her head in the tent flap. “ConDria like clean?”
“Would I!” Brie grinned.
Nichi held up a robe and towel. “This way.”
Behind the tent, tucked in a group of trees, was a cubicle draped with goatskins. Three buckets of water steamed beside it.
“Hot water!” Bri
e shook her head. “Where on DerTah did you get hot water?”
Nichi grinned. “Hot springs close by. Narrtep and Dansboys bring.” She showed her how to hang a bucket on a big hook attached to a thick rope. A pulley system positioned the bucket above her head. The Dansgirl handed her a stick with a hook on the end. “Tip with stick and water rains. When need more, change bucket. Goat soap there. You good?”
“I’m good. Thank you, Nichi.” She stepped into the cubicle, stripped off her sand-laden clothing, and tossed them outside. Reaching up with the stick, she tested the tip of the bucket. It tilted and dumped. Water drenched her from head to toe. Delight gurgling up from her belly turned to spontaneous laughter. With the goat soap, she worked her hair into a cap of lather and scrubbed the dried sweat from her body. Enjoying the luxury of a two-bucket rinse, she pictured her fatigue draining away with the dirty water.
A cool breeze made her towel off quickly and slip on the robe Nichi had provided. She stepped from the cubicle and searched the ground for her clothing. Not finding them, she scurried around the tent, and ducked into its cozy warmth. Laid out on the bed were fresh clothes and a new kcalo the color of the night sky.
Taken aback by the generosity of the Atrilaasu, she held up a creamy blouse. Red, blue, and orange embroidery decorated the neckline and created a wide band of color at the bottom of the long, full sleeves. She slipped it over her head, stepped into loose fitting pants of the same color, and fastened them with embroidered ties at the waist and ankles. Sliding her feet into goatskin sandals, she rummaged around in her pack for a comb. After much tugging and pulling, she managed to tame her red curls into a semblance of order. Fastening a beaded headband in place, she picked up a small mirror from the washstand and studied the results of her labor. Not bad . Donning her kcalo and tying it in place, she stepped from the tent into the cold desert night.
Ira sprawled on a cot in the boys’ tent. Torgin, Esán, and Seval had gone to shower. He would go later. Having a few minutes alone was worth being dirty a bit longer.
It had been crazy with Fire ConDra and Brie becoming the ConDria and Yaro appearing just in time to save them from the Sebborr and, finally, Esán showing up in their midst like a phantom. Good thing Nichi had come along, or they would all be stumbling around in the desert, freezing to death.
What’s next? And why am I feeling so angry all the time? He sat up, rested his elbows on his knees, and propped his chin on his hands. Staring at a woven rug, he tracked the intricate pattern with his eyes, imagining it was a trail back to Myrrh. Torgin makes me want to punch him. Seval is more afraid of everything than Torgin. Esán is always taking up Brie’s time. Why does that matter? He straightened and ran a hand through his unruly hair. And there is something lurking at the outskirts of my memory…something important. What is it?
Laughter heralded the return of the others. He gathered his things together, including the new clothing provided by the Dansmen, and pulled the tent flap aside. Cold night air whooshed through the opening, ushering Torgin in first, then Seval, and finally Esán.
“Just wait ’til you see the shower.” Torgin shivered in his towel and hurried to his cot and his new clothes.
Ira ducked out the door and strolled around the tent. More laughter followed him. Why am I staying to myself? Maybe I’ll feel more sociable after I’m clean . Three buckets of steaming water waited by the cubicle. Wonder who refilled ’em? He stepped in and stripped, tossing his clothes over the side. Water pouring down on his head, made him laugh with delight. Sand and sweat, followed by his bad mood, washed away with warm water and goat soap. He toweled dry and dressed. His dirty clothes had vanished. He’d worry about that tomorrow. Besides, he liked the feel of the new, loose-fitting shirt and pants. Slipping on a pair of sandals provided by his hosts, he skirted the tent and walked to the lake’s edge.
Two full moons reflected on the surface made him gaze up at the sky. He recognized nothing. Familiar constellations he had learned about at the Education Center in Idronatti were nowhere to be seen. The colors of the moons—one huge and saffron yellow, already sliding down its descending arc; and one smaller and glacier blue high overhead—intrigued him. Barely cresting the tops of the palms at the far end of the basin shone a third moon, creamy white and crescent-shaped. The vista, both beautiful and strange, created an unexpected longing in him for Myrrh.
Light from the tent flap opening created a dimly lit path and then disappeared as Torgin, Esán, and Seval strolled in his direction. The end of being alone . He sighed and then smiled to himself. It’s time to celebrate, and that means food.
Torgin’s green eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “Let’s find Brie. I think it is time for a meal, and I’m starving.”
Esán and Seval chorused their agreement.
Ira gave Torgin a playful punch in the arm. “Race ya to Brie’s tent.” He sprinted across the sand, his bad mood a thing of the past.
Brie awoke after her first real night’s sleep in weeks. She stretched and stared up at the strangeness of the coned ceiling. Where am I…oh, yes . Closing her eyes, she filled her lungs with cool air and released it in a luxurious exhale. It felt nice to be quiet without the assault of remembering, of planning, of contriving how to stay…
Memories, good and bad, flooded in. She sat up. Fingertips pressed against her temples, she tried to shroud their onslaught. A moment of blanketed stillness and then the chaos of impressions reformed. Hoping to stem the flow for a few seconds longer, she squeezed her eyes shut, slid her fingers past her hair line, and combed them through tangled curls until their tips touched at her crown. Memories , she thought, are the stories we tell ourselves . Her hands traveled down the back of her head, along the sides of her neck, and dropped like dead weights to rest on her thighs. What are my stories?
Shaking her hair back from her face, she slipped her legs over the edge of the narrow bed and planted her feet on the soft weave of a goatskin rug. Life had changed so much in the past few sun cycles that she no longer recognized herself.
“Who am I?” The whispered words floated on a shaft of sunlight streaking through the loose tent flap and morphed into a series of silent questions. Am I a ConDria? Am I a girl? Am I KcernFensian or RewFaaran or both? She thought about her friends. Esán, Torgin…Ira. And what is this void in my memory? I know there’s something I’m forgetting, something that would fill the emptiness I’m feeling here, alone in a tent in the middle of Fera Finnero.
Dropping her face in her hands, she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. The questions weighed on her as much as the responsibility she carried. She thought about her arrival at Eissua Oasis, of becoming the ConDria, of feeling the shift for the first time. Exquisite memories of water and flight changed her serious thoughts to wonder. After returning to her Human form, she had been glad to step into her tent…alone for the first time in many sun cycles…alone with her stories.
Last night’s celebration had been unexpected. Remembering it filled her with awe.
Women danced, their long dark hair flying around them, men beat out intense, rhythmic music on drums made from clay and tanned goat skin, children sang and laughed simultaneously, and everyone ate from tables laden with more food than Brie had seen in several sun turnings. Through it all, WoNadahem Mardree sat at the fringe of the festivities, the red fox at her feet. Her strange eyes captured the firelight and glowed like the rising moons of DerTah. The small, desert snake coiled on her shoulder, flicked its tongue, and hissed. The crystal dangling from a leather thong around her neck glowed different colors as the celebration progressed.
Brie enjoyed the festivities from a quiet, shadowed corner. The Atrilaasu allowed her a certain amount of anonymity by not making her the center of attention. Even so, their dark eyes found her often, and their smiles warmed her as much as the fire. Nichi had taken Seval in tow and even teased him into dancing a quadrille with three other couples. Ira and Torgin, who had eaten enough for six men, joined in the celebratory games as though they ha
d been a part of the Dansmen’s culture forever.
Finally, as the full, saffron moon reached its zenith, WoNa rose and the Dansmen grew quiet.
“Tonight we are honored to have in our midst the ConDria od Atrilaasu and her companions.” The Oracle’s alto tones sent a wave of anticipation through the tribe. She continued. “I have seen in the place of dreaming the will of the desert spirits. These young people are central to The Unfolding. They must be adopted by the tribe and presented with the protective Vestments of Drango.”
The Dansmen murmured amongst themselves. Brie exchanged glances with Esán, who had joined her earlier. Torgin, Ira, and Seval made their way to her side.
WoNa’s eyes roamed the crowd and came to rest on her and her circle of friends. “All those who cherish this dreaming affirm it now.”
Men, women, and children formed a circle around them with WoNa at the center. A high, pure voice rose in song. Others joined in until the entire tribe sent their chorused tribute soaring into the night sky.
“ConDria rising in our time of need
As foretold by the ancients who planted the seed.
Today we are honored to welcome her home.
She is Atrilaasu where e’re she may roam.”
WoNa raised a hand. The song was repeated a final time, and then silence enveloped the Oasis. After several moments, she raised her voice once again. “As tradition demands I, WoNadahem Mardree, commit to stand as the TorPan of Brielle AsTar and Ira Raast.”
Narrtep stepped into the circle. “I offer to be the TorPan of Esán Efre and Torgin Whalend.”
Seval shot a frightened look at Esán. Nichi moved to his side. A tall man left the ranks and joined Narrtep and WoNa. “I, Strom, the father of Nichook, am honored to sponsor Seval and act as his TorPan.”
The UnFolding Collection Two Page 22