Crown of Vengeance

by Stephen Zimmer

  Logan and the others instinctively grouped together in a circle, facing outward with their backs to each other. He could not see any other clear options, as they were completely surrounded by the stern-looking warriors. It was certainly not in their interest to profess to fight.

  “Stay where you are!” one of the nearest of the warriors commanded them in a hard, resolute tone.

  Despite the black and red paint, and several tattoos, the warrior had a very handsome visage. He possessed a balanced symmetry to his wide, expressive eyes, full lips, and slightly broader nose, which complimented an ovular face. He was among the taller of the surrounding warriors, with a sculpted body that brought out his well-defined chest and bulging shoulder muscles.

  He was every inch the image of strength and vitality, and definitely did not look like the kind of man that one would want to cross. Logan looked slowly to the others with him, seeing looks of utter confusion on the faces of some, and comprehension on the faces of others.

  “Who are you? Why are you in these lands?” the figure then inquired, with manifest caution underlying his insistent manner.

  “My name is Erika,” Erika then responded, “and we really don’t know where we are, why we are here, or even what is happening.”

  Logan glanced towards his companions again.

  The perplexity had seemed to increase on the faces of those who had looked the most confused when the warrior had initially spoken. They were eyeing Erika sharply, and Logan could see the questioning look in their gazes.

  It was then that he took note that the ones wearing the pendants, like himself and Erika, looked to be the most comfortable. A distinct thought came to him, but he was not yet ready to try and test it. A throng of fierce-looking warriors of unknown intent, bristling with weapons, prompted him to severe caution. He did not want to make one comment or gesture that would be misconstrued to an unfavorable result. Nobody had to tell them that their lives were hanging in the balance.

  “I’m Kent,” Kent replied nervously, after Erika had spoken, his eyes wide with anxiety. He suddenly stammered out, “We don’t know where we are, and if we trespassed, we did not mean it. She’s right, we don’t know what’s happening here.”

  The others remained quiet, staying rigidly in place. The ones without the pendants on continued to look dumbfounded, and appeared to be growing increasingly worried.

  Only Derek did not look to be overly ruffled by the unexpected developments unfolding all around them, his eyes constantly roving among the warriors. From what Logan had come to know of Derek, he surmised that his disciplined companion was carefully assessing the warriors’ intentions. He wished that he could ask Derek what his initial impressions of them were.

  Logan pondered some of the thoughts tugging more strongly upon his mind. He had found it very intriguing that the old stranger in the blue garments, clearly a native to this strange world, had spoken the language of Logan’s group without any difficulty. It was even more curious that these woodland warriors spoke Logan’s own tongue so fluently.

  Logan was not about to believe that everyone within an entirely new world spoke his language. Something very strange was occurring.

  He glanced down at the blue stone pendant, as comprehension advanced in his mind. Though he knew he was taking a risk, he felt that he had to alert his companions that had not yet donned the amulets. The exchange with the surrounding warriors was tenuous at best, and Logan wanted everyone to be able to answer if questioned.

  “It’s something with the pendants,” he whispered to Janus, Derek, and Antonio. “Trust me.”

  The others looked towards him with puzzlement. Even Derek’s brow furrowed at Logan’s words.

  The warrior addressing them abruptly looked to Logan with a sharp gaze, before glancing back quickly to Erika. Logan froze in place, hoping that his whisper had not provoked the warrior.

  The warrior then looked past all of them, towards a couple of warriors that had just emerged from the woods. The two were now standing directly opposite him, on the other side of the trapped group.

  “They do not wield the dark magic,” one of the pair of emerging warriors proclaimed, holding out what appeared to be a large quartz crystal for all to see in his right hand. He stared intently at its glittering surface, before looking back up again. He nodded and continued in a confident tone. “I am sure of it. The woman is not a witch, and the men are not shamans. They do not use the dark magic.”

  The first warrior that had addressed them, the one that clearly appeared to be the band’s leader, looked back to Logan’s group. His steely look echoed the unyielding tension in the air as he silently regarded them.

  “Who are you? What are you doing in these woods?” he demanded. “Each of you, speak your answer.”

  “I am Erika, and I do not know how I came to be here,” Erika answered, the first of the seven to venture a response.

  “My name is Kent … McNeeley. And it is no different with me,” Kent stated nervously. “I have no idea where we are right now, or how we got here. I swear. That’s the truth.”

  Logan and Mershad answered similarly, but when it came to the last three in their group, there was an uncomfortable pause. Janus, Antonio, and Derek looked both confused and incredulous.

  A look of frustration quickly grew upon the leader’s face during the uneasy delay. He turned his attention back towards Erika, even as Logan whispered to the remaining three.

  “Just tell them your name, and why we are here,” he urged.

  The leader of the warriors whipped about, and riveted immediately upon Logan.

  “They heard me as easily as you did. Why do they not answer me?” the warrior challenged Logan. “Tell your companions to answer. Your lives may depend on it. We will take no chances here.”

  As if for emphasis, he raised up the axe gripped in his hand, his chiseled arm muscles flexing at the movement. Logan had little doubt as he watched the fluid movement that the warrior was well-seasoned with the deadly weapon.

  Logan imagined the axe hurling forward in a flash, its blade embedding deep in the warrior’s intended target. He certainly did not want that gleaming axe-head to be lodged in his own flesh and bone.

  “I don’t know, but I have an idea why they cannot answer you,” Logan replied quickly, trying to keep his timbre as respectful as he could. “They cannot understand you, as we can.”

  He hoped against hope that the hard-looking warrior deemed his tone to be polite enough. He looked to the three without the pendants, his mind still very conscious of the sharp edge of the axe gripped in the warrior’s right hand.

  There was no harm in answering the question that had been asked, and they were not in any position to bargain.

  “Tell him your names. Answer him,” Logan insisted, looking to the other three. “Do you not understand him?”

  Derek shook his head first, followed by Antonio and Janus.

  “Not a word,” Derek confessed tersely. “I do not know how you are speaking with them. They don’t speak our language.”

  “What did he say?” the leader of the warriors questioned Logan curtly, heightened agitation flowing within his words.

  Logan looked back to the warrior, becoming more certain of his analysis. Derek had spoken loud enough to be easily heard by the leader, but it was quite apparent that the leader had not understood him.

  “He doesn’t understand you, and he doesn’t understand why we can understand you,” Logan offered to the leader carefully, whose impassive expression did not change with the answer.

  Derek then asked Logan in a low voice, “How do you understand him?”

  “Put the pendants on,” Logan instructed him. He turned back towards the leader. “I think we can speak with you, because of these.…”

  He slowly brought up his right hand and fingered the blue stone resting upon his chest, lifting it up to display the object to the leader. The hardened warrior seemed to be further perplexed, and his eyes narrowed as he stared intentl
y at the amulet. It was the most significant reaction yet that Logan had seen from the leader, and his interest in the pendant was very evident.

  “I do not understand this. I understand you, the woman, and the other two. I see that all understand you when you speak. But you speak in our language. And these three do not understand us, and I do not understand their speech,” the figure said, his words outlining the confusing scenario.

  The leader’s eyes flicked between the four wearing the pendants and the other three who were not. He seemed to be searching and studying them at the same time, his brow furrowing more in the intensity of his gaze.

  “It must be some kind of magic, but they are not witches, shaman, or sorcerers. My vision is the same as that of Eagle Spirit. There is no dark magic here,” the second warrior that had emerged from behind Logan with a quartz crystal emphasized.

  The lead warrior looked solemnly towards the crystal-bearing warrior, before quietly continuing in his scrutiny of Logan’s group. He regarded them for a few more minutes, which seemed like hours to Logan.

  As if he came to the same understanding that Logan had reached, the leader stated at last, “Have them place the necklaces on. We will see if you speak truly.”

  Logan passed on the directive from the warrior, with his own addendum. “Put your pendants on, but do it slowly.”

  The others cooperated, and carefully donned their amulets, looking back to Logan, the warrior-leader, and all the others when they had done so.

  “I will ask you again, who are you? Do you serve the Unifier?” the leader asked the trio.

  Though a part of him had fully expected the reaction, Logan was still amazed as he saw the wonder dawning upon the faces of the others, as they suddenly comprehended the warrior’s words. In that moment, Logan knew that the strange old man in the blue robes had rendered each of them a most valuable gift. Yet whether the stranger had given it to them for reasons of good or for ill, Logan could still not tell for sure.

  Presently, the gift was unquestionably an extraordinary blessing. The fact that the presence of the pendants also seemed acceptable, or at least tolerable, to the armed warriors surrounding them was certainly not a detriment either. Eyeing the arrows trained upon them, as well as the axes and the formidable-looking war clubs, Logan did not want to fathom what might have befallen his group had it been otherwise.

  The implications of it all were unfolding quickly upon him. However inexplicable, a genuine type of magic was at work. The realization staggered Logan’s mind.

  “No, we don’t serve any Unifier, and I don’t even know who this Unifier is,” Derek replied slowly, the echoes of his astonishment lingering in his face. “We are lost, far from our own world. I don’t even know where we are right now.”

  An energetic murmur rippled through the gathering of warriors as they heard Derek speak. Logan could see their amazement, knowing that they understood his words after he had put on the pendant.

  Janus and Antonio then voiced their agreement with Derek. As if it was an afterthought, all three then proceeded to give their names to the leader.

  “Where did you get those?” the leader questioned the group, gesturing towards the amulets that had so evidently enabled their ability to converse.

  “A stranger to us. An old man, with a long white beard and dressed in blue robes. He wore a patch over one eye, and would not give us his name,” Erika replied. “He only said that he was a wanderer through this world. He is the only person we have met since we have been here.”

  Logan’s apprehension grew as Erika spoke, hoping that the strange old man was not by some ill twist of fate a great enemy of these warriors. The only thing that now existed in Logan’s world was the expression of the leader’s face, as he tensely awaited the man’s reaction to Erika’s statement.

  To Logan’s great relief, the warrior’s posture relaxed, even to the point that there was the hint of a smile on his otherwise indifferent face.

  “So, the Wanderer favors you. That is a good sign indeed,” the leader commented, his lightened tone reflecting the visible ebb of tautness from his face.

  “What about the army we saw back there?” Logan ventured cautiously, casting a glance back towards the west. “Who were they?”

  Several looks were exchanged among the surrounding warriors. The leader tensed again at the mention of the army, and for a moment Logan feared that he had just blundered into making an unnecessary provocation.

  Fortunately, the leader’s face settled back once again, after a moment’s pause.

  “I might ask you the same question,” the leader replied somberly. “The Unifier brings many from other lands. Some from very far away. I see clearly that you are not of our land. What are we to think? Yet the Wanderer favors you greatly. He could not be fooled by the arts of the Unifier. And if you worked the dark magic, the crystals would not be deceived. I do not yet understand any of this.…”

  The last words seemed like an exasperated confession, as the leader fell into an extended silence. Logan could see the frustration plainly enough upon the warrior’s face, and knew that he and the others were not yet out of danger.

  Derek then declared, “We have nothing to do with that army back there. Not one thing. Honest. We have no idea about what that army is, what it is about, or where it is going. We truly know nothing. We simply heard its passage when we awoke this morning, and went to see what it was.”

  “See if any have the markings,” the leader urged, addressing some of the warriors to his right.

  The indicated warriors stepped forward without hesitation, directly approaching the seven. Logan and his companions offered them no resistance, as the warriors grasped their wrists with firm grips, looking very closely and carefully at their bare arms. Logan wondered what they could possibly be searching for, as he continued to cooperate fully with the unexplained inspection.

  “Nothing,” one of the other warriors reported at last. “None of them bear the markings.”

  At the warrior’s response, the leader let a small smile emerge. The grip on the shaft of his axe noticeably relaxed, as he lowered it down slowly to rest at his side.

  “That is another good sign. It seems more likely that you are speaking the truth. For those pledged in full loyalty to the Unifier bear the markings, and it is certain that you are at least not one of them,” the leader said, his tone considerably warmer. “I did not think that the Wanderer could be deceived, especially by a dedicated servant of the Unifier. Such a taint cannot escape the Wanderer’s gaze.”

  The leader hesitated, and his voice took on a more somber tone, as the slight smile faded into a stony mien. His eyes flitted between all of them, not meeting their eyes, but looking lower on their bodies.

  “But there is still so much about you that is unknown. Your strange garments are different than anything I have ever seen. Not in any of my travels have I seen such garments.

  “I once journeyed to large trade gatherings in the great city of Carcasse, within Gallea. Garments from far places in this world were traded there, yet nothing like those that you now wear.”

  The leader’s voice then took on the air of a rendered judgement, as his gaze rose back up to meet theirs.

  “As there is much that we do not understand about you, all of you must return with us to our village. You have not yet been found to be enemies, and as such, you will be treated as guests, with honor. You will receive food and shelter in our village, but you may not travel free until the Council says that you can do so.”

  His eyes narrowed to a penetrating glare, the lines on his face becoming as rigid as stone. “But if you are liars about your purpose and allegiances, you will not walk alive from these woods.”

  Logan had no doubts at all that the leader and his surrounding warriors could fulfill that grim pronouncement quite capably, and swiftly.

  The leader looked off towards the west, as if he was taking momentary notice of the distant, marching army. The rumbles were not entirely gone, thoug
h the very faint sensations had dwindled to the brink of becoming completely imperceptible.

  “You shall walk with us, as we must go from here now,” the leader stated firmly, turning back to them.

  He gestured for Logan and the others to approach him, as the full group of warriors gathered closer together, in apparent readiness to move onward.

  “I am called Ayenwatha,” he introduced himself. “And know that you are considered guests of the Onan tribe, one of the tribes of the Five Realms of the Sacred Fire.”

  At a signal from Ayenwatha, the combined group then moved out, proceeding deeper into the forest towards the east. Logan was simply glad that they were heading away from the direction where the marching army had been, relieved to be putting some distance between his group and the massive force.

  The ground underfoot finally carried no more traces of the army, and the tranquil sounds of the living forest filled the air once again. The wind flowed through the leaves of the trees overhead, creating brief openings that sprinkled rays of sunlight onto the lower growths, which were inundated with snowy white flowers. Had circumstances been otherwise, Logan would have rapidly found himself taken in by the timeless serenity reigning all around him.

  Ayenwatha remained close to where Logan walked alongside Janus, just ahead of their other five companions. Logan chanced a look back towards the others. None looked to be the worse for wear. He exchanged a glance with Antonio, who gave him a rueful grin.

  Logan discovered that each of the seven members of his group had a tribal warrior striding close behind them, as they traveled in a loose column through the woods. The implications were clear enough. The seven might well be considered guests, but their escorts were taking no chances.

  He was not about to do anything to provoke the black and red painted warriors. He had already espied some grisly mementos being carried by a few of them. Bloodied swathes of skin, with locks of hair still attached, hung from the hide belts of those that bore them along.