Trials

by Pedro Urvi

  The sound of the water lapping rhythmically against the shore was too hard to resist, and she began to dream. She saw herself, some not-too-distant day, being invested as Healer of the tribe in front of her father, who looked on proudly. She saw that her knowledge of healing surpassed even that of her mentor. She knew every medicinal plant and could easily prepare any healing potion. She saw her people living free of disease thanks to her care. Children played happily, and the warriors did not die from infected wounds. Suddenly a fateful shadow hovered above her. She looked up and against the clear blue canvas of the sky saw a huge vulture, its great black wings outspread. Her heart skipped a beat. Fevers, desolation: that vulture was bringing death to her.

  And she opened her eyes.

  A short distance away, four huge barges were approaching stealthily from deeper within the lake. Iruki stood up in alarm. The Masig scouts had not been aware of the barges moving over the water. Now they were close at hand, Iruki saw they were soldiers, dressed in yellow and black mail. They were Zangrian soldiers! Iruki was on the point of shouting when the alarm was sounded.

  “We’re under attack! From the lake!” yelled one of the look-outs.

  Arrows flew from the four barges to the Masig camp site, carrying death to the braves of the steppes. One arrow grazed Iruki’s head and she threw herself instinctively to the ground.

  “Take the barges, Masig brothers!” ordered Asur White Wolf.

  The fight which followed was terrible. Cries of war filled the idyllic surroundings. The clamor of the battle became deafening, men yelled, steel struck against steel. The Masig warriors fought with the bravery and fierceness of cornered lions, but the Zangrian soldiers outnumbered them. Iruki counted more than twenty men in each barge, all wearing mail and helmet in silver over yellow and black. They were well-equipped with steel spears and rectangular shields with painted yellow and black stripes. They were an assault group. Iruki could not understand why she had not seen them coming. The attack must have been very well planned. With only tanned leather and bone to protect them, the Masig were no match for their opponents, but they fought fiercely. Each Masig warrior was worth three of the enemy soldiers.

  One Zangrian soldier fell before Iruki with a terrible axe blow on the face. Frightened, she moved back until she had retreated into the forest, and here she drew the short sword she had found in the tomb of the Ilenian king. It would not be much use to her, since she did not know how to use it, but she would defend herself to the death. She grasped it with both hands and went on retreating. The fight was turning into carnage, with the screams of the fighters growing more desperate. One Masig warrior was pierced through with an enemy spear, but before he died he buried his knife in the eye of the soldier who had killed him. Iruki watched despairingly as one by one all the brave warriors of her party fell, crushed by the superior numbers of the Zangrians.

  A red-bearded officer was ordering his men to form a defensive line. Asur White Wolf finished off the last of his attackers and turned to face the barrier. Only the great warrior and one of his men were still standing. The Zangrian officer had fifteen men forming the barrier. Iruki’s heart sank. There was nothing they could do against so many. They were lost!

  Suddenly she heard a noise to her right. She turned, wielding her sword, and found herself face to face with a Zangrian soldier. He made a move to attack, and Iruki stepped back. The soldier gave her the evil smile of someone who knows he will be victorious over a weaker rival. He attacked with his spear. Iruki tried to fend it off with her Ilenian sword, but did not manage it completely. The sharp point of the spear caught her arm, cutting it. This enraged her and her rebellious spirit awoke. She began to deliver two-handed strokes like a wounded panther. In the face of this fierce attack the soldier took a step back and covered himself with his shield. Iruki went on striking right and left, seeking to punish that wretch. But the soldier recovered and began to block her thrusts with ease, his shield stopping every blow. Panting from the effort, she stopped for a second to breathe. At that moment the soldier gave a heavy blow with his spear, which caught her on the temple. Iruki felt a sick pang, stumbled and fell to the ground, losing consciousness.

  Grotesque laughter brought her back. She did not know where she was. She looked around and saw that she was lying on the ground. Her hand still held the Ilenian sword, and the blood that flowed from the cut in her arm was soaking the pommel red. She looked up and saw the despicable Zangrian laughing. The point of his spear was aimed at Iruki’s stomach. She looked right and saw Asur and the last of his men facing the barrier of Zangrian soldiers. They were lost, they would all die there, and with them her father, her tribe and all the Blue Clouds would die too. Oni Black Cloud’s vision would come true. Despair overwhelmed her so virulently that she almost thrust the spear into herself. But something happened at that instant of despair. Iruki heard a murmur in her ear, a faraway whisper which came from the dawn of the age of men. She thought that the pain must be making her lose her sanity.

  The Zangrian soldier asked her something in his own tongue, but Iruki did not know the language and did not understand.

  The same whisper reached her from afar, and she realized it was in her own head. Who was talking to her? Why could she not hear clearly what it was saying? And the murmur became stronger: the more she listened, the more the voice grew in intensity and clarity. She could almost understand what it was saying now.

  Blood… I request… and your servant I shall be… Iruki managed to make out.

  When she heard the word blood, Iruki looked at her bloodied hand. Suddenly, the pommel of her sword shone with a flash of pure gold. Iruki had already witnessed something similar. She knew what it meant, and she was aware that she was confronted with Ilenian magic.

  His blood I desire… will you give it to me? she heard the voice in her head say. She looked at the soldier and at last grasped what was being demanded of her. But what she could not understand was where this whispering was coming from, cold as it was dangerous. She looked around expecting to see an Ilenian Guardian Mage, but there was no one. The soldier seemed to be losing his patience. He raised his spear: he was going to skewer her!

  “I grant you what you wish!” cried Iruki, without knowing who she was calling to.

  The spear came down forcefully towards Iruki’s stomach.

  But her Ilenian sword, as if it had a life of its own, blocked the blow, deflecting it to one side. The spear embedded itself in the ground under its own momentum two fingers away from her ribs. Iruki was astonished. She had deflected the spear ˗ or had it not been her at all? But how? What was going on? The soldier grunted and raised the spear again to finish her. At that moment Iruki felt something unexpected: the golden flash from her sword ran through her whole body. As if she were being borne along by an unknown force, she rose to her feet in a single smooth leap-turn. The soldier attacked, thrusting the spear towards Iruki’s heart. Once again, without her having any control over her arm, the Ilenian weapon deflected the attack to one side. The soldier spat on the ground in rage.

  Don’t be afraid, young warrior… his blood is ours… my blade shall drink the red elixir of life and rejuvenate my existence. I shall guide your body, my warrior soul fills you now… don’t resist… let me get that which I yearn for and I promise you shall survive… As she heard this in her head, Iruki understood. It was the sword which was bewitched. It had conjured some kind of powerful enchantment ˗ Ilenian magic˗ over her body.

  “Go ahead, my body is yours,” said Iruki with her heart filled with fire as she looked at the beautiful sword in her hand.

  The soldier came at her again. This time the sword parried the blow, so the man moved closer to her. With dizzying speed, the sword amputated the attacker’s arm cleanly. Spear and limb fell to the ground before the astonished gaze of the soldier. Before the Zangrian could cry out with pain, the sword sparked. For an instant Iruki did not know what had happened, then the soldier’s head fell off his shoulders and rolled to
the ground. Iruki was in shock. It had been absolutely incredible. Her body had moved to the sword’s orders, carrying out the movements it dictated to her as if she had been a perfect swordswoman.

  Ahhh! The elixir of life coats my blade once again. It restores youth to my soul. Years beyond counting have passed since the last time… I remain at your service, young warrior. You I serve now, my mistress.

  Iruki stared at the sword with her mouth open.

  “Run! Quick, Iruki, run!” Asur’s urgent voice got through to her.

  She turned and saw him coming. His arm and leg were bleeding. A dozen soldiers were after him. Without a second thought she began to run as fast as she could into the forest.

  They ran and ran up the mountain. Like the gazelle pursued by the lion.

  Iruki reached the top of the hill. She was surrounded by woods and underbrush. She was panting, her lungs burning from the effort. She stopped and risked a look back. A little lower down, Asur was finishing off one of the soldiers who had caught up with him. The rest, weighed down by the heavy armor they wore, had stopped half-way up.

  Asur reached her side. “How are you, Iruki? Can you go on?”

  “I’m all right, but you’re losing a lot of blood. We have to dress those horrible wounds, or else you’ll bleed to death.”

  “There’s no time, we must go on. They’ll recover and come after us. We have to go on.”

  “Listen carefully, Asur. You’re no good to me dead. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself in vain. We have a good lead. We’ll make use of it to patch you up, then keep on running.”

  “Iruki, you must survive, for the sake of your people…”

  “Asur, you’re a great warrior, leader of the war party. But they’ve all gone to the spirit world now. There’s just you and me left. Now I make the decisions. I’ll heal you, and then we’ll go on.”

  Asur looked into Iruki’s eyes. She returned the look, letting him know that she would not back down.

  Asur nodded.

  At almost the same time as the Zangrians renewed their chase, Asur and Iruki ran down the other side of the mountain. They leapt over rocks, scrub and fallen trees as though they were great cats. Iruki had stitched the warrior’s cuts and plastered them with a salve to prevent infection. As the healer she now was, she always carried with her a variety of plants and potions in leather pouches at her belt. Living up to his name, Asur was running down the mountain like a wolf. Iruki, fearlessly, let herself fly after him. When they reached the edge of the forest, she had gathered such speed that she could not stop, and fell headlong into the lake.

  Asur jumped in after her and pulled her out by the waist as if she weighed no more than a feather.

  “Thank you, Asur. I could not stop.”

  “It’s no time for a swim,” said the warrior. And for the first time Iruki saw him smile.

  His handsome manly face reddened, and he lost all trace of his usual seriousness. Any young Masig woman would wish for such a mighty strong handsome warrior. Iruki could see in his vibrant eyes how much he desired her. Despite that, her heart was spoken for. It belonged to Yakumo, and nothing could ever change that, no matter how great the temptation.

  “We have to go on,” said Asur, looking north.

  “Wait…”

  Iruki was looking with surprise at some green-blue lilies she had never seen before.

  “Let’s not waste time, they’re just some more weeds,” said Asur, gesturing at the danger behind them.

  “Let me check…”

  It was blue! Blue! Blue!

  Such was her joy that she leapt with excitement.

  “We found it, Asur, we found it! This is the Sky Weed! The Sky Weed!”

  “Are you sure, Iruki?”

  “As sure as that we’re the children of the steppes.”

  The death of all those brave warriors would not have been in vain. Iruki tested them the way Ilua Hidden Path had taught her. And she obtained the extract.

  Asur smiled and helped her collect the rest.

  “There are some more on the northern bank,” she told him. “You go for those while I gather the ones on the southern bank. The more we have, the better chance of healing our people.”

  Asur hesitated, looking in both directions.

  “All right. But please don’t linger. The enemy is close at hand.”

  “Asur, the lilies are what matters. They must reach our people. Promise me that.”

  The warrior looked into her eyes. His face was serious, his brow furrowed.

  “They’ll get to them, Iruki, I promise you. Now, let’s hurry.”

  The two separated and went to the two points where they could see the lilies floating, with that unusual green-blue color. Iruki hurriedly gathered as many as she could and put them in the leather pouch she had prepared for them. Her heart was filled with joy now that she had found the thing that would save the Blue Clouds from extinction. She began to move back towards Asur, who was already signaling her to hurry.

  But Iruki stopped.

  Halfway between her and the warrior on the lake shore there were a dozen Zangrian soldiers.

  She looked at Asur, far away, and he at her.

  “Save the Blue Clouds!” Iruki yelled with all the power of her lungs and the rage in her heart. “Save them!”

  Asur looked at her. He raised his strong arm, holding the pouch with the Sky Weed high, then ran to the north. Eight soldiers ran after him.

  Iruki looked at the remaining four soldiers for a moment. They started in her direction. She turned on her heels and ran towards the south.

  Run like a cheetah, run, she said to herself, without looking back.

  Stubborn Curiosity

  It was around midnight. In the reigning darkness Sonea was walking stealthily along the great library, like a thief trying to avoid discovery. The books treasured there by the thousand watched her with an inert, reticent gaze in ceremonious silence.

  Sonea stopped in alarm. She thought she had heard a sound behind her and fear overwhelmed her, making her heart race. Glancing over her shoulder, with great care, she could see nothing but shadows and books. The scant light from a couple of oil lamps hanging on either side of the corridor was flickering towards extinction. Sonea breathed deep to calm her nerves and went on towards her goal, the place she must not go near, one she had been forbidden to enter: The Council Hall. She reached the door of the room and summoned up all her courage and determination.

  She pushed the heavy door. Fortunately, it did not screech. Slowly, carefully, she peered inside to make sure there was nobody in the hall. Everything was dark and quiet. It was empty. Sonea now began to have qualms, like a tiny hammer in her chest, but her determination to expose the mystery the grimoire was guarding was stronger than any fear that might dissuade her. She thought about the Grand Master Lugobrus, and felt a knot in her stomach.

  “Easy, easy…” she said to herself. “Keep calm and don’t let yourself be frightened. Keep going, or else you won’t reach your goal.”

  Quiet as a mouse, she walked into the hall, then onto the great central desk where the precious Ilenian object rested. Even in the dark she could make out the grimoire, which shone with a faint golden light. Sonea was perfectly aware that she was acting against an express order. If the Council of Five found her there she would be severely punished. They had been very clear about this and she was about to disobey them. The consequences for both her and her tutor would be profound. They might even expel her from the Order, and the thought filled her with horror.

  She hesitated for a long time, contemplating the Ilenian volume and arguing with herself. But something inside her was pushing her to go on, and she was unable to resist. She went to the desk and put both hands on the grimoire. As soon as she touched it, in the darkness of the hall, she felt the impact of the magic enclosed in the arcane volume, as if the light that enveloped it had slapped her. This encouraged Sonea to go on. She would never forgive herself if she let that unique opportunity e
scape her.

  Keep going, don’t be afraid. I just have to do it. I can’t stop now: I’d never forgive myself if I did. I don’t care what those stodgy members of the Council think, I just have to study it, investigate it. I can feel it in my gut, burning to find out what’s hidden in it.

  She looked both ways to make sure she was alone in the hall. Everyone was asleep at that hour, and the library was deserted. No one would bother her in the small hours. No one would discover that she was handling the forbidden grimoire. Filled with excitement, she began to open it carefully, taking great care as she turned the golden pages with their Ilenian symbols and inscriptions. She went out to the corridor, took one of the oil lamps from the wall and brought it back into the hall. She placed it on top of the great desk so that it shone on the book, then covered it with a dark cloth to avoid the light being seen under the door. The last thing she wanted was a sleepless librarian noticing the light and bursting in on her.

  Under the faint luminosity of the covered lamp, the inscriptions shone golden, seeming to the young apprentice to have a mystical quality. The radiance from the volume fell on the countless books of knowledge around her, perfectly ordered against the walls on their solid shelves. It seemed to her that all those books could come to life at any moment. The shadows seemed to be dancing on the treasured tomes. Sonea felt nervous. She shook her head, to scare the ghosts away.

  Don’t be scared, go on, stay calm.

  Focusing on interpreting the mysterious symbols and hieroglyphs engraved on the first pages, she closed her eyes in the hope of reaching a greater degree of concentration. Her delicate fingertips ran over the symbols as she tried to decipher their meaning in her mind. Without wasting any time, she focused on the darkest and most complex passages, which neither she nor her tutor had been able to grasp during their initial analysis of the volume. She worked hard for hours, drawing on all the knowledge her teacher had passed on to her, but she could not manage to reveal anything relevant. Even so, she did not give up: she knew she would understand those symbols eventually. She and Barnacus had been studying the Ilenian symbols for years, in collaboration with other scholars from other lands, like the good Lindaro of Rogdon. But the passages she was confronted with now were extremely complicated.