by Jewel Adams
A small girl with short blonde curls in pink silks stepped forward. She looked barely old enough to take up her birthing rites. Melane wondered how Shemon expected the girl to survive outside these walls, doubting that Karla had ever stepped outside the guarded gates.
Next came the Weaver, Carril. The woman was a familiar face among the Lamar apprentice. She carried a serene gentleness in her nature that the young ones loved.
“Selana!” The tall, plain looking, older woman stepped forward, seeming confident in her acceptance of the task ahead. The Weavers were a guarded lot, always making people believe they knew more than they shared in their teachings. Melane felt their knowledge might help this one succeed.
The Begonés choice pleased Melane more than the others. Krista was one of the farmers from the north fields. They spoke many times when she rode guard over the land. The woman knew the territory and what dangers to expect. She was strong and never showed any weakness in her toiling labors. Krista was also very beautiful, holding a rare color of auburn in her hair. Most Nemows were blonde and brown-haired women. Unconsciously, Melane’s hand rose and touched her own striking black locks.
“Melane!” Jenna’s voice stiffened the girl in unspoken denial.
“Go up, Melane…always the lucky one!”
Lilli would never have believed how hateful Melane’s thoughts became towards her friend at that moment. Pulling on all her disciplined strength, she stepped unfaltering towards Shemon. Her inner scream Why me? never passed her tightly held lips.
“The chosen will go and prepare for their journey, meeting back here tomorrow at dawn.”
A strange feeling seeped over Melane, drawing her towards the cold set eyes driving into her own. Narmar! Ice set in her young bones over the woman’s openly hateful sneer. Many times she felt or saw the old priestess’ eyes upon her, but this was the most blatant.
“Melane?” Shemon followed her charge’s troubled attention; a dark curse marred the regal features over the reason for Melane’s distress. “Come Melane, we must talk…now!”
The unexpected sharpness cut the old priestess’ grim hold, reddening the girl’s face. Melane followed in the wake of Shemon’s tense steps. Throughout the years, she learned to recognize the emotional signs in her foster mother. The woman’s anger was unsettling, increasing her own dark emotions over what she had just been selected to accomplish.
“Wait for me inside, Melane.”
Obeying the woman came as easily to her as the defensive fighting skills always a part of her existence. Just as she heard, without thinking, Shemon’s orders to the Lamar guard to take their positions outside her chambers. The act was out of character for Shemon, but Melane only registered the thought, not the questions it posed. Her own concerns were too persistent.
“Do I detect disapproval in those enticing eyes, or is it Narmar’s hatred that worries you?” The door shut and locked behind her words. “Sit down Melane, shed the armor, we have much to discuss this last night before you leave.”
Doing as she requested, while working to unfasten the buckles at her shoulders, she spoke. “Only the Begoné’s, Krista, can survive the wilds.”
“Do you doubt your own abilities?”
Melane’s eyes blazed without thinking at the insult.
“No, I thought not. You are right of course, about the Syron and Weaver. They have not the stamina to meet the task.” Shemon held up her ringed hand, stopping the girl’s obvious question. “All the sects have to be involved in order to accept what the future could bring forth.”
Dropping the armor and weapons into the cushioned chair, Melane’s sleek body stretched out in freedom, raising the flimsy smock up to her bare curved buttock.
“Shall we speak freely and honestly this night, my daughter?”
“Have we not always?”
“No, my child.”
Melane’s eyes fell away from the ones that looked too deep.
“You have never really hid your troubles from me, Melane. Tonight I feel we should speak of these worries you carry.” The dark thick lashes raised slowly before the patient woman. “Melane?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us start with, Narmar.”
“She is a priestess.”
“She is an evil old witch! Her fears have stolen her heart and fouled her mind to what is good and decent. She is, and always has been, your enemy!”
Dropping into the chair under the force of Shemon’s unexpected vehemence, Melane struggled to hold her composure. “But why? I have never spoken a word to the woman--good or bad--yet, I know your words are true.”
“The truth may never be proven.” Shemon’s eyes dropped to the girl’s paling knuckles. Melane always possessed a sense of things and people. How many times had Shemon wished to speak like this to her…daughter. Yes, in all but one respect, she was that and more. Tonight all needed to be said. Shemon hoped it would be enough. “Your birth mother, Sabrina, died very shortly after your birth. The cause was never discovered.”
“Narmar?” The dark mass of hair shimmered in disgust. “Why?”
“It is a question I have asked myself many times. Fear, but of what, I have never learned. That Narmar killed Sabrina, I could not prove, only believe. I also believe she would have ended your life as well, but casting you as a Lamar gave you into my protection before she could carry out the rest of her evil.”
It was not so much Shemon’s shocking revelation that struck Melane, but the enormous implication concerning the casting. She needed to know. “Am I truly a Lamar?”
“Dear Melane, the answer has been known to both of us for sometime. For your safety I held my silence, your own was held in the pain I have seen. I am sorry for that, it was unavoidable.”
Pushing out of the chair the hurt became too great to keep smothered. “You never would have told me if not for the quest?”
“I could lie and say I would have stayed silent, but no Melane, it is I that has chosen the time to tell you.”
All the adrenaline left her. What she felt Shemon was admitting stunned Melane into silence.
“Yes my daughter, I made sure you were chosen tonight.”
She never expected this from Shemon. Seeing how her mother shook over the admission left Melane at a loss to refute the underhanded event.
“Melane, please try and understand; the ruse was necessary. You yourself know how futile the efforts from the Syrons and Weavers will be. The Begonés? It remains to be seen. Child, you are a Lamar, by error is true, but by training and thought you are all I could have wanted for a daughter to follow in my steps. There is no lie in the pride that I hold in my heart for you, Melane. Against all the odds your have proven how deserving you are to hold the rank of grand guard captain.”
Melane’s own pride rose in light of the just words. “I am a Lamar.”
“Yes.” The time had come. “And Melane, you are also Sabrina’s daughter…in all ways.” She waited for her breathless revelation to brighten those crystal blue pools. “You are a Syron, Melane, by birth and in gifts. The powers are surging inside you, screaming for release--not denials!”
“But…”
“No, do not speak of doubts, only truths. Tonight the truth, you are a child of two sects, two skills, two gifts. The combination can reach further than any known to exist in the Nemows. Lamar skills, together with Syron powers, are an untouchable force!”
“Shemon stop, this cannot be.”
“It can and is! Melane, listen to me, not all of the Nemows’ teachings and rules are infallible. Some are derived out of need or control, to benefit the mass, it does not make them right, just necessary.” Her hand smoothed back the soft bangs on her daughter’s beautiful face. “Oh child, open your mind and heart to what is inside you, let the powers come, stop fighting them. You will need all the strength they can give you. Let them help when your Lamar training fails. There will be times when it will Melane, then you will see I am right.”
“Sabrina had powers no
other Syron ever possessed. She could see things in dreams. She had the power to stop or send objects at will. There were others she never spoke of…forces beyond comprehension. I think they frightened her with their strength. She told me once, not even the herbs could restore her own strength when she used certain ones, and once used they were gone forever. Some came naturally, without conscious thought or loss of strength.”
Could it be true? Melane pulled away from Shemon, needing to reflect on her own feelings.
“Tell me Melane? What have you felt?”
“Dreams…I have had the dreams that leave me weak and trembling. Mostly of battles to come. I tried to forget what my mind held, but during the fights my moves came without thoughts, already defending an unseen blow or delivering a killing slash before theirs ended my life.”
“The blending of skills…the two sects.”
Spinning on her, Melane screamed, “But it is wrong!”
“Is it wrong that I saved you from Narmar’s evil fate? Hmm? The woman still fears your strengths, the power that passed from mother to daughter. Oh yes, we have both given you all we possess. Sabrina’s guidance is all that is lacking in your knowledge. It is there--inside--waiting for your call. Never deny what she gave you, listen to Sabrina’s powers and let her help you fulfill the quest.”
“If I go and seek the Selams, do you honestly believe they are real?”
“All legends begin with fact.”
“They would be males?”
“The prospect frightens you?”
“Shouldn’t it?”
“You have faced the Kibra.”
“They are animals, beast before all else. The Selams may be the same.”
“Only finding them will tell you.”
“Should I succeed, can you really think to obtain mutual rule?”
“That decision will have to be faced. I do know, without them, we face annihilation at the hands of those beasts out there. We are losing Melane. The Syron’s numbers have dwindled nearly to half. Without them we will slowly die. Even worse is the suffering the raids are bringing upon us. So many others have been needlessly killed. The Begonés will eventually revolt, their death counts are climbing each day.” Shemon stared into the glaring denial shining in the girl’s gaze upon her. “And the Lamars, dear Melane, you know the losses we have suffered. Your own regiment is down by a third and they are our best warriors. So you see we have no options.”
“They could refuse.”
“Offer what ever it takes to win their agreement. I give you the authority to act and speak for me. What ever is asked, Melane.”
Did she really mean what Melane believed, “Shemon?”
“Yes Melane, even the Syrons. One sect for the whole civilization is a small price. The civilization will flourish, if we rejoin the Selams. We will just have to learn to tolerate the males.”
Chapter 2
Selams
The ground lay heavy with dew, sparkling under the fresh morning sun. Melane pulled up on the leather reins halting the easy gait of the Kaymog. His sharp horn cocked in his usual manner as if he too searched for hidden danger. Running her fingers through his thick fur, Melane massaged the great bulk of muscles in the thick neck. “All seems quiet, hey Rolley?”
Her soft laughter over his great snorted reply preceded the long powerful strides as they continued north. “Am I right to go north, Rolley?”
When his head rose and fell it made her wonder if he could really understand her. She talked to him enough. He had been with her since Shemon gave her the Kaymog when she turned thirteen. A fine strong mount, he taught her how to ride that first month. She still wondered over her own stubbornness on remounting him every time he dumped her on her backside. She even conquered his deliberate shifts in directions. The Kaymog’s ability to maneuver at their highest speed in any direction, made them invaluable in battle. Rolley’s great size gave Melane an additional advantage, allowing her to tower over all other riders in battle. His powerful hind legs stretched out, doubling most Kaymog’s strides. Not a one in the stables could best them in a race.
His upright height, when moving, was Melane’s only problem, for he rose into the trees, threatening to unseat her against the limbs. Rolley always seemed to duck low enough to include her in his avoidance. She felt better having him with her. He was also a good guard. Kaymogs hated all other beasts and Kibras more than any other. He could smell them before she could see them. All the hairs about his neck would bristle out in alarm if one were near. The Kibra’s inability to break any Kaymog as a mount became the one advantage the Lamars still retained. Having these animals meant a Lamar’s very life.
Melane’s feelings for Rolley went deeper than those associated with weapons or mounts--he was her companion. She felt he cared for her, too. Many times in hand to hand combat, Rolley actually fought the Kibra. Though his small, stubby front paws didn’t extent far, the long claws could rip through a tree to get at the nourishing sap and did mortal damage to an enemy that came too close. She never witnessed another Kaymog act in such a defending manner.
“Is it the power, Rolley?”
Shemon’s words went long into the night. Melane learned many things about the council and her foster mother last night. More than once, she actually heard Shemon’s acceptance for what she found fault with because of necessity for the whole.
Many of Melane’s own questions began to see the light of truth, but she still felt confused over the answers. Like the Syrons, and what made them the life givers in the eyes of the council. Why not the Weavers or Begonés? If Shemon knew the answer, she held her silence, she said only that the ancients decreed it so. To Melane’s young mind it was a lame excuse. Reasons. Yes, she wanted answers for so many things.
Like Narmar’s hate. Even Shemon still feared its reach for Melane. She knew that was why she placed Lamar guards with her until they reached the boundaries of Nemow’s kingdom. It was also why they left under cover of darkness, before the other questors.
Melane decided on going north to find the Selams. Always the Kibras came up from the south. She did not think an equal force would tolerate the Kibra’s presence anywhere near their lands. For that reason, she decided on the farthest direction away from the beasts. The north was an unknown wilderness beyond the great forest. The Nemows were not explorers or conquers, having no need to venture beyond their vast holdings. Whichever way any of the others decided upon, Melane’s heart felt heavy over their survival. All were facing unknowns, few possessed the abilities to deal with nature’s dangers, be it elements or beast.
She thought again over what the Selams would be like, shivering when the ugly image of Kibras couldn’t be dismissed. The huge, barreled hulks, were thick and coarse, with dark tufts of hair on their shoulders, chest and legs. Like the beast they behaved like, their unkempt mane of hair and long rutted beards could never hide the snarling male beneath. Should the Selams come close to these hideous features, Melane knew, she would not find the courage to confront them. She held little fear of bringing shame to Shemon, sure they would end her life.
They traveled on past the great forest, over the rolling green hills and gentle stream clustered tree groupings. The land was much like Cibrac, until the terrain became steeper and Melane saw the ominous mountains ahead. Almost purple against the afternoon sky she thought the high peaks appeared like formidable guards. Rolley sensed the threat as well, slowing his steps in caution.
“It is what hides in their folds we must prepare for, my friend.”
Was this the Selam’s land? The closer they came to the fierce cliffs and giant trees thrusting out of the jagged rocks, the more she felt the foreboding over what the inhabitants would be like. The Weavers taught that the exodus of the Selams had taken many directions. Very few Nemows accompanied the fleeing Selams as most mates perished from the illness that struck only the males.
Mates? The word conjured up images of wild beast, making Melane shudder and push away the idea.
She had seen very little animal life since entering the ravine between two large mountains. There could be new dangers behind the thick tree trunks that could hide her twice over. Every noise caused her to tense and get ready for what might jump out.
Their tedious travel during the warm afternoon exhausted her, making her seek out an early shelter for the long night ahead. The large contorted tree beside a stream afforded the lofty retreat she preferred to the ground. Rolley seemed content with his foraging. Melane never lost sight of his raised horned head as his great grinding jaws as they devoured the brush. Daring not to light a fire, she ate the cold provisions of grain and nuts, washing it down with the cooling handfuls of the clear running water.
Before the light failed, she whistled for the Kaymog. Using his great height, she climbed from his shoulders onto the thick supporting tree limb. Tying a rope about her to the trunk, to prevent any mishap, Melane settled into the hard perch. Rolley curled up beneath her at the tree’s base, looking more like a docile mog, some pet of a child, than a warrior’s steed.
Sleep wasn’t a luxury that night. Rolley’s low growls and Melane’s own stiffened senses followed the dark lumbering shapes in the night shadows. Darting yellow and red eyes circled about the strangers in their midst. Melane’s hand never relaxed its hold about the sword, her other laid close to the knife and sling hanging from her hip.
~*~
The trim legs were planted apart to hold the lithe stretching form as Melane worked out the night’s stiffness. Rolley bent down beside her. “Impatient to be away my friend?”
Mounting his wide bulk, “Can’t blame you, the night was too long. Shall we follow the creek?”
The huge clawed paws splashed loudly in the small stream. Disliking the prospect of facing many more nights like the last, she tried to imagine where, within these mountains, the Selams might settle. As the morning stretched out Melane found no signs of any presence, other then tracks of unfamiliar beast.
Conquering a difficult climb that forced her to dismount Rolley, letting him find his own way over the boulders, she came upon a large sparkling pool. A soft sheet of water fell over the high cliff surrounding the inviting pool. Dark green trees bent low along the deep edge as if they too sought the cool water.