Call of the Herald - Young Adult Epic Fantasy

by Brian Rathbone

  "You'll think of another plan," she said with a sharp nod. "Our only recourse cannot be a suicide mission for any of us. I will not accept that."

  "Why, yes, of course. There must be a better way," Benjin replied without looking at her.

  Catrin looked out into the night, terrified by the thought of being without Benjin. He made her feel safe. Without looking at the others, she went to her bedroll. She knew her anger was driven by fear, and that was the only way she could hide it.

  * * *

  "Now what do we do?" Chase asked once it appeared Catrin was truly asleep.

  "For now we just have to keep moving toward the cove," Benjin said. "We have few other options."

  "Maybe you and I should leave now and scout the way," Chase said.

  "I don't like that idea at all," Strom said.

  "There has to be something we can do," Chase insisted, his own desperation driven by fear. Survival almost seemed too much to hope for given the circumstances.

  "When we get closer," Benjin said, "we can sneak away to spring the trap. We'll speak of it no more until then. Catrin won't like it, but it's what's best for her."

  "And what then?" Strom asked, anger clear in his voice. "You go off and spring the trap and die, and what happens then? Catrin, Osbourne, and I go off and fight the world? Cat's right; you're both being idiots. Should we run through the desert to see if it's hot? No." He paused a moment to return the stares currently aimed at him. "When we get close, we watch and we wait. If we're clever enough, we'll see some sign of activity before they see us. I'm not sure what we do from there, but that's a far cry better than running in there and jumping around like a couple of idiots with torches and getting yourselves skewered."

  There was a long moment of silence when Strom finished speaking. He crossed his arms and dared anyone to challenge him.

  "Nobody said we were going to go running in there," Chase said, slightly downcast. Strom glared at him.

  "Especially not jumping around with torches," Benjin added.

  Chapter 16

  This life is but a brief tenure, one of many perspectives a spirit must experience in the quest for eternity.

  --Sadi Ja, philosopher

  * * *

  The clear skies and cool air would have been perfect for hiking, but they were accompanied by gusting winds. Funneled closer to the sands by the narrowing grassland, Catrin and her companions were relentlessly pelted with stinging sand. They held pieces of clothing over their faces, but their eyes still suffered.

  "Be watchful for water. We need to replenish our supply as often as we can," Benjin said. They saw troughs left by a previous deluge but no water. Catrin mentally explored the landscape as they traveled, hoping to find a spring, but the only water she sensed was deep beneath the sand.

  "Do you see that dark column of rock? Is that a waterfall?" Strom asked.

  "If it is, it's awfully small," Chase said.

  Catrin cast her senses toward where Strom indicated, hoping she would detect water. She tried not to be upset when she found nothing, but she realized she had truly expected to be successful. Determined to make a thorough examination, she tried running her senses across the distant soil from another angle. Her spirit soared when she felt the slightest pressure of resistance.

  Focusing on that place, she sensed a very small amount of water, but water it was. "You are both correct. It is a small waterfall," Catrin said, and despite some sideways glances, they began walking toward the waterfall. As they approached, the land rose at odd angles and was difficult to traverse; loose rock and scree made matters worse.

  A small flow of water trickled down the rock face, a shallow pool at its base. The water was cool and clean, and they refilled their empty flasks. They tried to wash themselves in the small basin, but their results were only cursory. The murmuring water gave an air of tranquility; a tall tree provided shade, and moss grew thick over the rocks surrounding the basin. It would have been idyllic to stay there, but they knew they had to move on. Despite efforts to find anything edible, they had not found a morsel since leaving the valley. They were running out, thanks to the dunking most of their food had taken, and needed to find something soon.

  As they departed, the wind died down, making the rest of the day's hike bearable. The northern coast loomed in the distance like the edge of the world. Trees and vegetation became sparse, and gouts of dust rose from their boots with each step. They continued on, well after sunset, despite their weariness. The nearly full moon in a clear sky provided ample light, and the air became cooler, almost comfortable. Catrin was still wary of seeing more comets. She yearned for the exhilaration of their energy yet feared the consequences.

  An abrupt turn in the mountains and the rush of the pounding surf signaled their destination, and the exhausted group made camp in a stupor. In the morning they would turn east, marking another milestone in Catrin's mind. Another step completed and another step closer to safety--at least that was their goal. They ate a little that night, trying to conserve what they had.

  The next few days were long and uncomfortable. They found no game and no water, though Benjin did find some edible roots and a couple of rare herbs.

  "Beware the cactuses," he warned as the plants became so numerous, they were nearly unavoidable. "Those with fine, hairlike spines can be worse than those that look more intimidating. Stay alert and avoid them if possible."

  The next day they picked their way along the coastline, and the mountains dwindled to hills. In a few places, as the terrain allowed, deep blue waters could be seen in the distance. Those waters were surrounded by a barrier reef and were said to be littered with rock outcroppings and extensions of the reef just beneath the surface.

  Strom stopped abruptly, startling the rest of the group. "I saw a bright flash of light--over there," he said, pointing into the distance behind them. They watched for a few moments but saw no more flashes or signs of movement.

  "You most likely saw one of two things: a soldier's gear reflecting light, or a mirror being used to send a message," Benjin said.

  "Do you see that cloud of dust?" Chase asked, pointing into the desert. It appeared out of place. It did not look like a funnel cloud and seemed too narrow and isolated to be caused by wind.

  Benjin shaded his eyes and gazed into the distance. "Take cover! Now!" he ordered.

  "There is no cover," Strom observed darkly, but his voice shook with panic. All that dotted the landscape were small bushes and a few straggly trees, and a mass of riders was thundering straight for them, leaving little doubt they had already been seen.

  "Boil them!" Benjin swore. "Draw your weapons and guard each other's backs. If we must die this day, then let's go down with a fight."

  Belt knives and short swords seemed like a pitiful defense, but Catrin committed herself. She considered stringing her bow, but she knew it would do her little good in close quarters. Her hands shook and her heart pounded. She had never been so terrified. The roiling dust cloud grew closer, and she imagined hundreds of soldiers bearing down on them, intent on her destruction.

  "Let them come," Strom said through gritted teeth. "I'm tired of running and hiding. Let this be done now."

  They stood grimly, determined to face this enemy. Catrin's instincts shouted that they should find some hole to hide in, but she knew they would be found.

  The shimmering air obscured the riders even as they came into full view, and they slowed gradually as they approached. They used no reins, which was foreign to Catrin. She saw, though, it was so each rider could carry spears, crossbows, and slings.

  The horsemen were at ease in the desert environment. They expressed no hostile action, but neither did they appear overtly friendly. They just moved forward with the confidence of those who know their land and their horses. Lean and muscular, their mounts' coats were lustrous, and their manes thick. Even their fetlocks bore long, thick hair that draped over their hooves.

  "The tribes of Arghast approach," Benjin said. "Sheat
he your weapons and hold your ground. Don't do or say anything unless I tell you. It's said they'll generally only attack if you insist upon crossing the desert." The riders slowed their horses some fifty paces away.

  Catrin estimated more than a hundred horsemen spread before her, and she studied them, needing to understand this new adversary. There were several distinct variations in their clothing and saddles. The differences were subtle, almost imperceptible. One group had thin, dark sashes across their chests. Another group was distinguished by the braided manes and tails of their horses and yet another by tattoos branded on their horses' withers.

  Only the occasional rattle of a harness broke the silence, and the riders made no attempt to communicate, seeming content to wait. Catrin glanced at Benjin, who stood patiently. She could see no sign of emotion on his face, but she could feel the anxiety of his energy and marveled that he could hide his emotions so well.

  Seven horsemen broke free of the line and walked their horses forward at a measured and deliberate pace. Six of them wore the same styles she had noticed, but the seventh rider was different. He rode clumsily and bore only a tall, iron-shod staff. His horse was tethered to the horse of the leading rider, and he appeared to be struggling to remove his headgear. They were close when he finally got the headgear off, exposing his frayed hair and wide, blinking eyes. Catrin drew a sharp breath when she saw Nat. He smiled sadly and waved as he approached.

  When the horsemen stopped, they dismounted gracefully, except for Nat, who nearly fell out of the strange saddle. The Arghast gave a signal, and their horses backed away. An equally subtle command sent the horses to their knees.

  "What do we do?" Catrin whispered to Benjin.

  "You and I will approach them. The rest of you, stay here," he said.

  Catrin felt her face flush, and her anxiety rose to a new level, but she would show no fear. She and Benjin approached the Arghast but remained silent. The still-hooded man next to Nat stepped forward and spoke in halting words.

  "We leaders of Arghast tribes. I, Vertook of Viper tribe, speak for all tribes. This man say you Herald of Istra," he said, nodding toward Nat, who looked terrified. "True?"

  Benjin nodded his head slightly.

  "Yes, it is true," Catrin answered. Nat seemed relieved but said nothing. The tribesmen considered her answer and spoke harshly among themselves.

  As Catrin turned her head to check on the others, her eyes swept along the horizon, and she saw a light flashing in what appeared to be a pattern.

  "The Zjhon," she whispered to Benjin, and he nodded again. She turned her attention back to the tribal leaders. Their conversation had grown more animated, and hushed tones gave way to angry shouts.

  Knowing the Zjhon's arrival could lead to a bloodbath, Benjin stepped forward. "Gracious tribal leaders, I beg your pardon, but I fear dire happenings."

  "Who you?" Vertook asked.

  "Benjin, Guardian of the Herald."

  "Speak," Vertook said after a moment.

  "Enemy soldiers follow us. They are signaling each other. We will all be attacked if we stay here," Benjin said with a slight bow.

  Vertook turned to the others, and his words led to more shouting. He turned back to Benjin. "Soldiers follow this one too," he said, nodding to Nat, "but we take care of them. We no fear soldiers but will take you to safe place." He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled a long, high-pitched note. Several horsemen broke away from the line and brought five riderless horses forward. Vertook pointed to Chase and the others and waved for them to come forward.

  The approaching horsemen dismounted and presented headgear to each of them. A major difference between these headgears and the ones worn by the tribesmen were that they bore no eye slits, and they would not be able to see where they were led. Each of her party was paired with a tribal leader, their horses tethered to those of their custodians. The tribesmen waited for the others to put on their headgears then helped them onto the horses.

  The headgear was suffocating, and being unable to see left Catrin disoriented and queasy. A sudden cry broke the air, and the horses whipped around, moving off at a fast trot. Holding on to the horse's mane, she tried to synchronize her movements with his, but it was difficult without her sight and what seemed an erratic path, but she let her other senses guide her. Through their physical bond, she made contact with the horse. She felt an overwhelming sense of power and endurance but mostly loyalty. When she dug deeper, though, she could not help but sense the overwhelming sadness. This horse would carry her to the end of the world if he was asked, but the one to whom his loyalty belonged was gone. A feeling of separation and loss washed over Catrin, as her mount projected his mourning. Tears soaked her cheeks and the inside of her headgear; her nose became congested and breathing became even more difficult.

  By the time they finally stopped, Catrin was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. A muffled voice told them to remove their headgears, and she wrestled it from her head. Her sweat-soaked hair clung to her scalp, and even the warm breeze felt cool on her face. She gulped air as if she had been suffocating. Leaning against her mount, she felt as if he were leaning equally on her, as if bearing her here had brought some purpose to his life. It shocked her to sense his gratitude, and she was trying to let the noble animal know she felt the same when she noticed Vertook watching her. He approached, pulled his flask from his belt, and handed it to Catrin. She nodded her thanks and drank. The liquid had a tingling sweetness that was warm going down even though the liquid was relatively cool. She wondered for a brief moment how he kept it so cool then handed the flask back to him.

  "You feel better now," he said roughly.

  She thanked him and realized her eyes had adjusted to the fading light. She was surprised to find herself in the mountains, but these were not like the mountains of her home. They looked more like enormous piles of clay that soared high into the sky, taller than any she had seen before. They formed an almost complete ring around the small valley, and it was cool in their shade.

  The tribesmen attended their horses, removing saddles and scraping sweat. They used large leather bags to water the horses. It took Catrin a moment to locate Benjin and the others, and she was relieved to see them unharmed. When she found Nat, he was limping toward her, leaning heavily on his staff. The ride had been rough on him as well.

  As Catrin strode forward to meet him, no one moved to stop her. She walked past many tribesmen, who paid her little mind, seeming to be utterly consumed with tending to their mounts. The leaders, though, were gathered in a tight circle, obviously involved in another heated argument. When she reached Nat, he spoke out of the side of his mouth.

  "We have much to discuss, but I can't speak freely," he said just above a whisper, and at the same moment, the tribal leaders separated. Vertook glared at Nat, and he moved away quickly.

  "Calm and confident, li'l miss," Benjin whispered as the leaders approached. Catrin tried to appear composed, despite her anxiety.

  Vertook swaggered up to them. "You, Catrin Volker, claim to be Herald of Istra, yes?"

  "Yes," Catrin replied, wondering why they would ask her again.

  "Prove it," he said simply.

  Chapter 17

  That which is not broken can be made better.

  --Ivan Jharveski, inventor

  * * *

  Frozen in place, Catrin was terrified that trying to prove her powers and failing would mean their deaths. Even success would be fraught with danger.

  "Do your thought-isolation meditation, now," Benjin said to her even as Vertook's glare demanded his silence.

  She wasn't certain she could do it, but she had no better ideas. She sat on the ground, cupped her hands, and closed her eyes. Her mind was hammered with intense thoughts too fleeting to grab on to. She focused on her frustration, squeezed her eyes shut, and ignored everything else.

  The gasp from a tribesman distracted her, and she channeled it into annoyance, letting it feed her anger. She forced her mi
nd to be consumed by a raging tirade that included a litany of irritants and annoyances. Each grievance was slammed into that thought. While some part of her cautioned against such anger in a meditative state, she slammed that thought inside too and let it feed the rest. She had no choice but to give this effort all she had.

  When her energy reached its apex, Catrin could find only an angry haze of emotions. She raised her cupped hands slightly and threw them out wide. Concentrating on a second, more positive thought, she slammed her hands together, smashing the accumulated mass of negative energy with the positive charge. A blast of hot air rolled away from her, and booming echoes resounded.

  Catrin opened her eyes to see what she had wrought. Benjin had sat down heavily, looking as if he had been assaulted. The others looked as if they had been struck by an enormous hand, so dumbstruck were their expressions.

  The leaders once again convened in a circle, and the meeting almost instantly transformed into a brawl. Men quickly separated those who fought, and soon they were back to their heated argument. Several more scuffles erupted, and Catrin waited in silence for the madness to play itself out. No one said anything, lest the enraged group turn on them.

  The fighting reached a crescendo, and it seemed all of the tribal leaders were involved. An elderly man advanced toward the writhing mass, shouting, waving his arms, and pointing at the men. Catrin did not know what he said, but his words seemed to demand order.

  The brawlers removed their headgears and began to treat their wounds. Vertook's nose was bloodied, and he began to stuff small bits of cloth up his nose to stanch the bleeding. The old man lectured the leaders while they dressed their wounds, and it was plain that he shamed them. When the meeting reconvened, it did so in a much more subdued fashion. After what seemed an interminable time, they appeared to come to some conclusion, and they turned to face Catrin. Vertook stepped forward.

  "We not believe you. Proof not enough," he said, having difficulty speaking with his nose plugged. Catrin heard his words and felt a cold, sinking feeling in her stomach. This was not going well at all, she thought, and Nat's stricken look confirmed her fear.