by Dana Marton
“The spirits favored us greatly by bringing you. May they watch over you every step of your journey.” They greeted me as was customary for a traveler.
Their words rolled off their tongues smooth as water. Like music did they sound to my ears, and I smiled at the pure pleasure. Not even the smell of fish guts wafting from the market could bother me.
Gormil, who had often come to seek my mother in my childhood, stepped forward, his face crinkled with the many lines of his age. “Granddaughter, you are one of our people. What brings you to our harbor with the Kadar High Lord’s Guard?”
“I am Tera, daughter of Chalee, Tika Shahala.”
For a moment he lost all composure and gaped. “Blessed be the spirits,” he said in awe. “We feared you perished.”
Neither the place nor the time was suitable to tell them that tale. “I come as the emissary of the Kadar High Lord Batumar and the Guardians of the Forgotten City.”
More gasps and stares unbelieving.
Gormil gathered himself first. “Come eat with us and rest, and tell us all you came to tell, for we are eager indeed to hear.”
They led us to the Square of Gathering and through the busy market—we drew many curious glances—to the House of the Elders. Before we entered, Gormil asked a woman nearby to bring us food and water.
The House of the Elders had but one room, large and round, with benches all around the walls in constricting rings and enough space left in the middle for a speaker. The first small ring around the podium was reserved for the Elders who resolved disputes and dispensed advice here, and who held meetings during the rainy season when the mud usually flooded the Square of Gathering.
Marriages during the season of thick clouds were held here as well, the only place large enough for such an occasion. On those days the benches were arranged differently, with tables for food and drink disbursed between them.
No sooner did we reach the inner circle than a handful of men and women arrived, some of whom I recognized by sight if not by name. They cleared more space for us in the middle, pushing back the benches, and rolled out a reed rug for us upon which we sat cross-legged, even Onra, although I did not know how she managed to achieve such a feat.
Food arrived on large wooden trays, and my mouth watered at the sight. My favorite fruits, the fleshy red chumga and bittersweet hawee, did not grow in the cold Kadar lands. I could not wait to savor their juices once again.
We did not talk about my purpose among them during the meal. They made polite inquires about how our journey had been and told me a little of the things that had passed since I had left the Shahala shores. They did not know what had happened to Jarim, only that he had not come to market in a long time.
When we were sated and the remnants of our meal had been taken away, one of the Elders offered me his home to rest, but I declined. I had journeyed a long way and did not want to delay any longer. Onra, however, gratefully accepted and was led away at once.
The women rearranged the benches so the Elders might sit in the inner circle, the Palace Guard behind them. Farther in the back stood several people who came in upon learning of the unexpected hearing. Such was the way of my people. The House of Elders and Square of Gathering stood open to all people at all times. We did not need inner chambers and secret rooms. My people preferred to do all things in the open.
“I am Tera, daughter of Chalee, Tika Shahala.” A few joyful cries sounded at my words in the back. “I bring you greetings from Batumar, the High Lord of the Kadar, and from the Guardians of the Forgotten City.”
At that, silence fell in the room, as thick as the walls.
“They are troubled and ask for your help.” I knew I had their attention there, for no Shahala could refuse help to any other person. “You might have heard about the Kerghi hordes…” I told them all I had seen and heard, my journey to Mernor and the evil of Woldrom that threatened all of our people.
But even as I spoke, I saw the disbelief on their faces. Maybe because I was who I was. They last knew me as Chalee’s daughter, a young girl who had not inherited any of the powers of her legendary mother.
So deep was the belief against all war in my people that they could not conceive of participating in the violence of it. They would have all rather lost their lives than take another’s or in any way contribute to a life being taken. From a few sideway glances, I knew some were thinking of my great-grandmother.
They did not like my being the concubine of the Kadar High Lord—I had to give them some explanations—for our people did not keep with that custom, nor could they accept the band of warriors I traveled with, weapons at their sides.
They chose to believe that if war indeed came, it would pass by Dahru, or if not, the Kadar would protect the island. After all, the Kadar lived for war. The Shahala could not conceive of any enemy fiercer. To travel far from their homes as emissaries of war seemed to them unthinkable, to recruit nations for the purpose of killing a downright sacrilege.
I asked for Koro, for he might have believed me and lent his support to my cause, but he was with his father on a trading trip.
I swallowed my dismay. Spirit, be strong. Heart, be brave. Sheharree was but the first Shahala city I had meant to visit.
As the customs of hospitality dictated, the Elders gifted us with provisions and horses to carry us, as the next city lay over land. After some discussion, the captain accepted, although the Kadar looked down on the small beasts whose nervous constitution did not allow for gate travel to battles and thus were largely useless to them. He did not seem certain the horses would have much advantage over a foot march.
Thus we moved on from Sheharree to Recend, and then to Sulbid and Romhar, Galledon and Shmer, and to many other towns all the way to the edge of the Desert of Sparkling Death—so named for the poisonous minerals that killed all who sought to cross it—but everywhere the response of the town elders was the same. A Shalala turned Kadar emissary, such as I was, seemed too strange to them. They could not imagine themselves in the role.
They were a nation of healers and the students and protectors of nature, the children of the land. They learned about all the plants and animals at an early age, repeating the words of their parents. Their values and their knowledge came from the past. As nature’s seasons stayed forever the same, so did my people. They resisted new ideas and hung to their traditions, which I used to think a great virtue. But I had seen other realms and other people since. And I understood now that by clinging too tightly to the past, a person, and indeed a whole nation, could risk forfeiting their future.
Some of the common folk were worried, I could tell from their questions and from the way they watched for the Elders’ decision, but at the end, they all followed their leaders as their parents had before and their parents before them, all the way back in history. So everywhere I told them to fortify their towns, and if they could not stand against the enemy, to come to the safety of Karamur. But even as I spoke, I knew few if any listened to me.
And thus we turned back without winning a single ally, to return with a heavy heart in defeat. We traveled the narrow trade routes which edged the great desert, then entered the endless woods for a shortcut to the port city where our ship waited.
Many times in my life I had wished I could take back some ill-spoken word or rashly done deed, but once the river flows into the sea, how can you ask for its sweet water back? You cannot, and it is the source of great regret at one point or other in every person’s life. But I regret no other day as much as I regret the one we spent camping by a small lake but a day’s ride from the harbor of Sheharree.
We stopped to fill our water skins, clean ourselves in the lake and rest, for the trip was difficult for Onra, whose belly was swelling larger with each passing day. The men set up my tent in a clearing, and I left Onra with six guards to rest there while the others escorted me through the thick woods to the lake so I might take a bath.
We had done this many times during our journey, and I trusted
Batumar’s men. They formed a circle around me, facing away. Not one turned a head. Not once.
I enjoyed the clear water of the lake, a rare treat. But I did not tarry, as I knew the men were just as eager for the water. Once I finished and they escorted me back to our tent, they would take turns coming back in small groups while the rest guarded me.
For Onra, water would be brought to the tent, and I would have to help her there. The arrival of her babe neared, but we expected to reach Sheharree the next day. We planned to wait there until the birth so she might have the benefit of not only my assistance but that of the Shahala midwives as well, who were famous for their skills throughout the land.
I dressed and called out to the guard that they might turn around. I wore a Shahala dress and thudi, bestowed upon me by one of the many gracious hosts I had on that journey. Around my waist was tied Onra’s charm belt—too small for her now—and from that hang many phials of moonflower tears I had collected on our travels.
I had acquired the phials before leaving Sheharree and tried to fill one each time we camped, knowing how much the medicine would be needed once war arrived. And in truth, it helped already, for the phials jingled against each other with an ethereal music as I moved, soothing my spirit.
I waited until the guards arranged themselves into their defense formation around me, somewhat uneven as not all of them were there, then walked with them back to our camp through the living forest, amidst bird calls and leaves softly whistling in the wind.
But then other noises cut through the harmony, faint as if from a distance—men talking, twigs crunching under boots.
At first I thought the sounds came from the rest of our guards left behind at the clearing, but soon I realized it could not be so, for the men we heard were many. The Captain of the Guard next to me held up his hands to silence us. We crept forward until we could see our clearing and the guards there standing at arms looking toward the road.
The captain signaled for us to stay back, and soon we saw from the cover of the thick brush a troop of foreigners approaching. They rushed and surrounded our men as soon as they saw them.
The attackers were three times as many as us and ready for battle, well-armed with maces, flails, and battle axes. The Palace Guard carried only their long daggers and bows, armed lightly for the sake of speed, for we expected no danger while in Shahala territory.
“We seek the Queen of the Kadar,” the foreigner’s leader, a rugged man whose face was covered with scars to the point of deformity, said in a heavy accent. He looked like a dark spirit in his body armor of black leather, a jagged, double-edged sword in his hand.
“She is at Karamur,” one of the Palace Guard who knew the language replied as the others moved into a tight group in front of the tent.
“That is not the tale told from town to town and village to village. Surrender her or perish.”
I moved to step forward, but the Captain of the Guard pulled me to him and clamped his large, callused palm over my mouth, his other arm holding me tight. I watched immobilized as Onra stepped forth from the tent.
“I am the Lady Tera,” she said, her posture regal as any queen’s even with her swollen belly, her head held high, her gaze challenging and without fear. “Who seeks me?”
The man glanced at our horses that grazed at the edge of the clearing. “Where are the rest of your guards?”
“They went to the lake for water. They should be back in a moment,” she said. “They will not be pleased to see strange men harassing me.”
His gaze slid down her body; then he nodded to his men, and the strangers fell upon our warriors at once. And as fierce as our men fought, they could not stand against the large force, nor could have our whole unit.
Silenced and restrained, I watched through my tears as the enemy cut down those guards to the last man, then seized and bound Onra and lifted her onto the back of a horse. I struggled against the captain, but he held me fast, and two more warriors moved silently next to us to help keep me in place and quiet.
The strangers carried off everything: horses, tents, food, even our dead.
~~~***~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
(The Siege of Karamur)
“Forgive me, Lady Tera.” The captain released me once the enemy had gone far enough down the road so we could neither see nor hear them. “I but acted on the orders of our High Lord. We are to protect you with our lives.”
I seethed with frustration and reeled with despair. I did not wish others to give their lives for mine!
“We could have done nothing,” he said. “Had we come out of the woods, the enemy would have carried off twenty-four dead guards instead of six, and they would still have Mistress Onra, and you as well, my Lady.”
I was glad for as many of our warriors still alive as we had, but as for myself, I would have rather been carried off with Onra than watch her being taken.
“Let us leave at once.” I could not conceive of resting while the enemy had my friend.
We set out and progressed faster than before, even without the horses, as we did not have to hold back anymore on Onra’s account. I could walk the forest as fast as any of the warriors and many times climbed the tall trees to serve as lookout. I could climb highest, being the slightest in weight. As we marched, I showed the men all the edible plants we passed, and although they grumbled for meat, we did not stop to hunt.
We cut across the foothills and boarded our ship in the middle of the night unseen, then set sail for Karamur, even though I begged the captain to remain and see whether we could rescue Onra. But he would not be swayed and kept to the orders of his High Lord, which were, first and foremost, to return me to him in safety. I could gain no other concession but that he would send men back to search for her once we arrived at Kaharta Reh.
This time as we crossed the sea, the wind blew against us and the journey lasted twice as long as on the way to Sheharree, and it seemed longer still, for I had only worry for company. My heart grew sick from having so thoroughly failed my mission.
The Shahala had refused my requests, and I had lost Onra. I wept into my pillow at night and prayed to the spirits to keep her safe.
When we reached Kaharta Reh, we found the harbor filled with ships and packed thick with people of every kind. The first news we heard was that the Gate of the World had fallen and some of the enemy had already come through. Caravans were leaving to Karamur daily—rogue warriors to join the army, farmers and merchants to seek shelter behind the walls of the Kadar’s strongest city.
We stopped at the House of Tahar again, but long enough only to load our manyinga beasts with food and water. This time, in all the chaos, I did find a way to see Talmir and pleaded with him to join us and bring his family, but he chose to stay, his wife too large with their third child to be moved.
Onra’s mother too would not hear of leaving. I had not the heart to tell her about her daughter’s fate, for I believed she would soon be rescued. The old woman thought Onra had gone to Karamur early to await the birth, and I did not disabuse her of that notion.
Tahar had already left before our arrival with his warriors to join Batumar’s army. Soon we were on our way too, following a merchant caravan. The captain sent a warrior to ride ahead and tell Batumar of our approach, and so the High Lord met us on the road.
Without wasting time to get down, he rode his manyinga next to mine and scooped me from the saddle to seat me in front of him. He gathered me tightly against him, and I found myself buried against his wide chest and breathed his warrior scent of leather and steel. I had missed him on the long journey.
“Tugren told me what happened,” he mumbled into my hair and tightened his grip further until I found I could not speak. “We heard other stories.”
I eased back a little but did not move out of his arms, for I had not felt as safe in a very long time. He turned his manyinga toward the city without releasing his hold on me, and on the way up the road, I told him about my failed journey to the
Shahala and how we had been set upon on our way home, and how Onra had been taken from us.
He promised at once that he would do all in his power to see my friend rescued. His words were guarded as if holding something back. He did not say if it is not too late already, but I heard it in his grave voice. I could not accept such a possibility; my very heart refused it.
When we reached Karamur, people greeted us at the main gate as they had greeted Batumar the first time I had seen the city, only their cheers were for me now as well, and many came up to our beast to kiss the hem of my dress. Even women, although they approached the manyinga most fearfully.
Leena waited for me at the palace, in a gown befitting the High Lord’s mother. She hugged me in tears, then asked the servants to prepare a bath. She insisted on assisting me without regard to her high position, and once again I had to recount the long, sad story of our journey.
She, in turn, told me all that had happened at Karamur since we had left, and told me news of Onra, which Batumar omitted.
“The High Lord worried for you. Never have I seen him in such a state,” she said as she poured warm water over my head. “News reached us that the enemy had gone to the land of the Shahala to seek you. They were seen, people said, marching with the Kadar queen in shackles, and the body of the king’s unborn heir carried on top of a lance. We did not know whether you were with child when you left, and you were gone for so long… It near broke Batumar.” She wiped her eyes. “It near broke all of us.”
I cried for Onra, and Leena consoled me as best she could, but I was still steeped in misery when Batumar sent for me that night.
“You heard,” he said when he saw my face, his own countenance darkening.
I nodded, and he walked to me to gather me into his arms. He carried me to his bed and lay down beside me. I did not wait to be pulled closer but burrowed against his warmth, seeking something I could not name. I knew only that at last I felt safe and at home, more so than at the ruins of the house where I had grown up, more so than among my people, the Shahala.