“He is dark of skin,” she breathed. “He is more like us than the pale ones. I have heard of the dark ones, but all the Outworlders I have seen have been pale of skin and eye.”
“He is an Ancient One,” Ibrham told her. “They are all dark skinned. The other humans call them First Landers, or sometimes Vaishnavas because they follow a god called Vishnu. Ten thousand years ago, they came from the Far Place and became masters of our lands; two thousand years ago came the Second Landers, the ones we call the Fair Ones. There were wars, but, unfortunately, they did not kill each other off. The warlord Eisentor battles the few First Landers in Mirwand Dur when he wearies of persecuting our kind. The Ancient Ones protect their fortress-estates, but the Fair Ones have become the rulers of the land.” The old Tholotant sighed. “One master or another—it makes no difference to the likes of us, for the masters will always be human.”
“He has sunk into unconsciousness,” Bryll reported. “Death is not far off.”
“Then let him die,” Ibrham snarled. “It will be one less human, one less tormentor.”
“Help me get him into the wagon,” Bryll said. “He is too heavy for me to lift alone.”
“Daughter, you cannot be serious!”
“We cannot let him go to the Dark Sister,” Bryll said, gazing into the deepening sky and seeing spirits there. “We must help him, even if he is human.”
“No good will come of this,” the elderly Tholotant grumbled.
They wrestled the human out of the brush, up to the road and into the back of their wagon. Bryll climbed in after and pulled the end flaps closed and tied them. Ibrham lit delicate copper lanterns on either side of the wagoner’s beach and snapped the reins above the drays. The wagon rumbled up the rutted road under the dusty gaze of the cyclopic god. Ibrham recalled the way his headstrong daughter had looked at the human’s face and breathed a prayer to One Eye.
In the back of the wagon, by the glare of a tiny hanging lantern, Bryll removed the layers of armor—bronze, leather, quilted fabric—exposing the wound and the weapon that had caused it. The disc was of a metal she had never seen before, and it was sunk deep into the flesh, into the bone beneath. She carefully removed the weapon. After staunching the blood flow, she crushed herbs, mixed oils and applied a poultice to the wound. The human’s skin burned. Having done all she could for the physical wound, she applied her slender golden fingers to his head She walked the dark paths of his mind, feeling much, understanding little.
Ujjain moaned, caught in the fever of dream.
* * *
Against the praetor’s wishes, Ujjain had contracted to serve under the banner of Lord Jarl, a Second Lander, in his holy war against the Shiva-worshipping Mourdants in Touvalasis, where the First Landers had once held sway. Ujjian’s arguments, that he would return with honor and treasure, perhaps even a fragment of the Ship, fell upon ears that refused to hear. The praetor sat cross-legged upon the stone-flagged floor of his meditation chamber, garbed in a saffron robe, prayer beads clutched tightly, refusing to see the young man standing before him.
“I must prepare to depart,” Ujjain said. “My time here grows short. I cannot delay any longer.”
The wizened black man stared steadfastly forward. His eyes were half-closed and his withered lips moved to silent chants. No matter what the young man in front of him said, no matter what argument was put forth, he refused to see him.
Stirred to anger, Ujjain stalked out of the chamber. It was twilight and the darkening sky was filled with moons and the curving arms of the Galaxy that both the First Landers and the newcomers called Home. Ujjain stalked through the columned central courtyard of Citadel Bhalwaphadasas, amid the sweet-scented bowers.
“Greetings, Cousin,” called a voice from a column’s shadow.
Ujjain whirled about, his hand automatically darting to the handle of his dagger. “Mathura.”
Mathura bowed his head ever so slightly.
“What do you want, Mathura?”
“Nothing more than to wish you well, Ujjain,” Mathura told his elder cousin. “I seem to be alone in understanding why you do this thing. It is by your action, thought it be despised by many now, that this decaying family has a chance for a vital future. You serve the Second Lander now that we might later be able to throw off the yoke of oppression.”
Ujjain shook his head. “I never thought you would be one to support me in this venture, Mathura. You always opposed me at Council. In this hour, you have revealed yourself my only friend and ally.”
“Still,” Mathura said after a moment, “you will be far from us, among an alien race…alien gods…alien women who can seduce a man with the strangeness of their ways.” Seeing the rising fury in Ujjain’s eyes, Mathura quickly added, “I support you, and yet I hear the words that fly when you are not present to protect your honor. And those words reach even the ears of My Lady Ahmra. You are the greatest scion of this family to give up so much—your position, your friends…your love.”
“No, I have made a pact with Ahmra,” Ujjain said in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “She will not allow my absence to be used to sever her from her vows. She has promised to remain faithful to me. She understands that we possess a love than cannot be severed by others. No matter what is said, she will await my return.”
“If you return, the family will not allow you to…”
“When I return in glory, adorned in honor and bearing captured treasure from our former homeland, perhaps even a True Fragment of the Ship, they will have no choice but to welcome me back with warm feelings and rejoicing songs,” Ujjain said. “I understand that at the moment they can only see that I will be fighting alongside Second Landers, but the truth will be revealed to them in time. When I return with relics that will once again raise our family to prominence and power, they will understand the importance of what I am doing. They will see not that I served a Second Lander, but that I fought against our ancient enemies, the Mourdants, who followed the rebels in the Dawntime.”
Mathura sadly shook his head. “They lack the faith which is so abundant in you, Cousin. And they do not believe you as I believe you. Many of our brothers and cousins have said, sometimes openly but usually in veiled words of deceit, that the Ship is nothing more than a myth or symbol, a story told to children. Some allow that it might have once existed, but was destroyed, as was the craft that brought the Second Landers here.”
“The Ship exists!” Ujjain hissed. “It exists still in Touvalasis!”
“Yet you can buy a sliver of the True Ship from almost any mendicant priest,” Mathura said. “There are enough fragments to construct a fleet of One and True Ships.”
Fire rose briefly in Ujjain’s eyes at his cousin’s heresy, but the flames quickly died, and he stifled a weary sigh. Their clan was rife with those of little or no faith.
“I must prepare for my journey, for the retainers of Lord Jarl will call for me before dawn.” Ujjain said. “Your words have lifted something of the darkness from my heart, the heaviness which I feel at leaving. After I have gone, you will become the eldest. As such, much authority and responsibility shall fall upon you.”
Mathura lowered his gaze in humility. “I shall succeed you, for the moment, but I shall never replace you.”
“Carry out your proscribed duties to the clan with all your ability, but there is one thing I would ask you to do for me.” Ujjain scanned his cousin’s face for any sign of mockery or deceit, but saw only honesty and sincerity. “Guard Ahmra from those who would sunder the cord that binds us. Swear you will do this thing for me.”
Mathura gazed directly into Ujjian’s eyes. “I swear upon my honor and upon the Sacred Lotos of Vishnu.”
* * *
At the sound of voices, Bryll removed her cool golden fingers from the human’s burning black skin. Her cheek, where it had rested against his, was hot and flushed. She became aware that the wagon had stopped and the drays were nickering nervously. She dimmed the lantern.
“I think we
’ll just have a look in the back for ourselves, old one,” a strong, young voice said. “Who can say what taxable or forbidden items we might find back there?”
Bryll pushed open the canvas covering just enough to clamber through, then closed it behind her. She found herself facing two warriors light of skin and eye, tall astride their six-legged warbeasts. The humans gazed down at her, a young one and an older one. The young one grinned widely while the other frowned.
“A precious little slip of a girl,” the grinning young man said. “I hope your Da wasn’t trying to hide you. No need, you know.”
Ibrham quickly tied the reins and trotted around the side of the wagon to stand next to his daughter. “We do not seek trouble, good sirs,” he said. “We are only passing through the region.”
“What do you seek here, Tholotants?” the frowning older warrior demanded. “From where have you come and to where are you bound?”
“We have journeyed out of Mirwand Dur, sir,” Ibrham answered. “As for our destination…” He shrugged as he had seen humans do in their rare milder moments. “We are displaced from our ancient lands. We journey southward until we find a land where we will be allowed to dwell in peace. We would swear fealty to any lord to offer us a haven. I am a worker in metals and my daughter is skilled in the healing arts.”
The young warrior leaned forward in his saddle and winked. “I’m sure she could cure what ails me.” Then he too frowned and turned to his dour companion. “Mirwand Dur?”
The old warrior nodded. “The hold of Warlord Eisentor, who has taken the holy name of the Scourge of Jovah. I thought his fight was with the old idolaters. How do you Tholotants come into it?”
“Some of the Ancient Ones still dwell in Mirwand Dur, clinging to their mountaintops, but they are too few to occupy all the Warlord’s time,” Ibrham answered, choosing his words carefully since he did not know the allegiances and sympathies of these men. “Our lands and properties were confiscated, save what we could carry away, and redistributed to those in service under the Warlord’s banner. Mirwand Dur is being purged of impurities and reminders of times before the Second Landing. We escaped but many did not.”
“Well, that’s far from here and none of our concern,” the young warrior said, grinning again.
“It will be our concern one day when we are called to defend Lord Jarl’s realm from the Scourge of Jovah,” the old warrior snorted.
“We seek only a new home, wise sires,” Bryll interjected. “Not trouble.”
The frowning one nodded. “Have you seen a First Lander as you traveled? He would be wearing battle-armor and a mask of combat.”
Ibrham opened his mouth to speak, but Bryll hurriedly said: “I have never seen a First Lander, sirs, but my father has told me of them. Are they not dark of skin?” She rubbed her own arm. “Darker than am I?”
“They are dark as sin itself,” the old one said. “The one we seek will be wounded.”
“Or he may be dead by now,” the young one said.
“Either way, there is a reward.”
“Only other travelers,” Bryll said. “None such as you seek.”
Ibrham nervously glanced at his daughter, then back to the mounted warriors. “As my daughter says, sirs, other travelers, but none with dark skin.”
“Still, perhaps we ought to check out the back of that wagon,” the grinning young man suggested to golden Bryll, “Together.”
“We have no time for your foolishness,” the other warrior snapped. He turned to Ibrham and Bryll. “Should you see a man such as we have described, report it to any warrior bearing the crest of Lord Jarl, who is the master of these lands.” He touched the ornate symbol above his own heart. “You may do so without fear. Lord Jarl generously rewards loyalty in any creature, but disloyalty and treachery arouses such wrath in Lord Jarl as to make the Scourge of Jovah seem gentle by comparison.”
“Yes, sir, we understand,” Ibrham said, nodding vigorously and subserviently. “We are not looking for any trouble.”
“Sir,” Bryll said. “We will be stopping for the night before long. Is there a place we may camp without breaking the laws of this land?”
“Well, the next settlement along this road would be Hollaton Grove, but it would not do for you to pass the night there,” the old warrior said. “It would be acceptable for you to camp in the woods outside the village as long as they are not posted with a glyph of ownership or fenced off. Those not bearing a glyph of private ownership are the property of Lord Jarl. He is a just and honorable man, servant of Jovah, who recognizes we are living in troubled times. You can enter Hollaton Grove in the morning, but do not tarry. There are other villages where the people are of milder disposition and your skills may be welcomed. Remember the laws and your place, and you shall not be molested by any man of Lord Jarl.” He glanced disdainfully at his companion. “Our Lord frowns upon those who act dishonorably.”
The young man did not bother to hide a sour expression of disgust, but said nothing. They wheeled their mounts about and rode away. As they vanished into the darkness, the silence of the night came surging back.
“You have murdered our chance of finding a home here, Daughter,” Ibrham accused when he was sure they were alone, yet still soft of tone. “We should have handed the dark one over when they asked. They surely would not have punished us for an ignorant act of compassion toward a human. What are we going to do now, Daughter? This Ancient One is obviously the person for whom they search. He may have broken their laws. Oh, Daughter, we now run the risk of incurring the wrath of their Lord Jarl, who appears to be a human being devoid of extraordinary malice. Now that we have lied to these warriors—and do not think they will forget two Tholotants met upon the road—it would be better if we dumped your handsome First Lander into a ravine or a lake and continued on our way.”
Bryll stared at her father with pity. “We cannot not do that.”
Ibrham steeled himself for an argument, then only sighed. “No, I don’t suppose we can.”
As the great spiral god attained its full glory above Jambhudiva, its reddish central eye burning comfortingly to those who believed, Bryll and her father came within sight of the village of Hollaton Grove. Small lanterns twinkled in many of the isenned windows. Keeping the words of the sympathetic old warrior in mind, they found a stand of forest bearing neither fence nor glyph and made camp out of sigh of village and road, where there was no path to be followed. They lit a small smokeless fire to drive back the chill of the night.
Pastel moons moved through the sky. The moons were, in the old vanishing religion of their race, attendants of the great spiral god. The new faiths called One Eye by another name and worshipped it not at all.
Bryll built a small lean-to near the fire for her charge and stayed at his side during the long night. Her father sat against the wagon, eventually dozing. After her father was asleep and could no longer glare disapprovingly at her, Bryll once again moved her cool golden fingers across the human’s dark burning skin; she pressed her cheek against his and once more journeyed along dark avenues of dream, through a desolate mindscape that frightened her almost as much as it fascinated here.
* * *
Ujjain pressed the blade of his curved knife against the scaly throat of the captured Mourdant.
“Release him, Ujjain,” Lord Jarl said softly. “This is no would-be assassin; this is Banor, the Mourdant trader I told you about, the one I dealt with last time I was here. He is not Shaivan, but a follower of the old faith of the Mourdants.”
Reluctantly, Ujjain returned his knife to its sheath. He did not let his suspicion-laden gaze drift from the Mourdant however.
The reptilian Mourdant smoothed his silver-trimmed blue robe and straightened his turban. He saw Ujjain staring harshly at his third eye, still showing a bit below the edge of the dislodged turban, and paused.
“My Shaivan brothers do not hold with the custom of covering the Primal Eye,” Banor said. “They are quite improper in this, and that sh
ould have told you I am not a disciple of Shiva, dark one.”
Ujjain’s eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed. Only the presence and restraint of Lord Jarl prevented him from taking matters further. He watched silently as the Mourdant finished adjusting his intricate headgear, and the glaring third eye vanished completely.
The Mourdant turned his attention to Jarl upon his raised dais, flanked by amused guards.
“The watchfulness and blessings of One Eye be upon your as you quest in these hostile lands, my lord,” Banor said.
Jarl acknowledged the words with a slight nod. “You must forgive my dark friend, Banor. Like others of his race, he has nothing but the past to live for, and none of them can forget they once ruled the Touvalasis region; they neither forget nor forgive your conquest.”
“These lands were ours before they were theirs,” Banor pointed out. Sensing the closeness of Ujjian, he added: “But it was all a long time ago, hardly worth discussing at this late date.”
Lord Jarl clasped his pale thin fingers together under his chin and said, “And there is also the matter of the Destroyer.”
The Mourdant bit back an exasperated hiss and glanced between Ujjain and Jarl, wondering if there was some play of emotions here that he could not comprehend. Humans, like most mammals, were mostly inscrutable to him, but years of trading had taught him how to deal with them, in most circumstances.
“Before the coming of the First Landers, all Mourdants followed the path of One Eye, the way of peace,” Banor said. “It was certain of the dark strangers from the sky who saw the Primal Eye during the Rites of Covering and called it the Eye of Shiva; the First Landers brought about their own expulsion by the demons they themselves created.” The trader seemingly ignored Ujjain and stared at Jarl. “Perhaps it is not memory which drives the First Landers, my lord, but guilt.”
“Hold, Ujjain,” Jarl commanded, freezing Ujjain in his place with a pale glance.
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