The Frightful Dance (The King of Three Bloods Book 2)

by Russ L. Howard

  Sur Sceaf smoothed a lock of Lana’s silky hair behind her ear. “Don’t leap to a wedding just yet. She has not fully accepted me, and she may not. I will need the help of all my bride-covey to teach her our ways. Even though she’s told me she’s resolved her resistance to being one of seven wives, there is much I have not told her for fear of arousing all her doubts again. In point of fact, she knows very little of our laws and customs. We have to handle her delicately or I fear she could succumb to the traditions of her people. She’s very forceful, when we tell her that she has to have the approval of all the bride-sisters, she might tell me it’s too much.”

  “Hast thou proposed to this wildcat, yet?”

  “Yes, according to Sharaka tradition, we are now promised to each other, but each of us may still call it off without any consequences.”

  “If thou dost love her, I will love her too.” Lana looked up into his face. “Remember how it was when thou didst propose to me? My father thought thou wert little more than a lusty devil, and my mother even warned me I might find thou hadst horns and cloven hooves. My sisters said thou wouldst turn into a serpent right under the covers. I was almost afraid to look under the blankets that night, because they had filled my head with so many superstitious fears.”

  “I have been eternally grateful that you were brave enough to venture such a gamble.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  Lana grew very serious. “I haven’t seen my parents in sixteen winters, Surrey. I don’t know whether they will receive me or continue to shun me. All these years and not even one letter. I can’t even bear to think about it.”

  “Then don’t! We’ll cross that bridge when we get to Salem.”

  Chapter 5: Good Bye to the Cat Queen

  The world candle burnt bright that next morning at Fort Rock. The great gates swung wide open. The healing blessing he had received from Pyrsyrus seemed to have worked some sort of miracle in his body. It was a firm Herewardi belief that kings had the power to heal and work miracles which doctors and leechers could not touch. Most of his pain had greatly diminished. His body now felt lubricated in its movements, the stiffness gone, and his strength was swiftly returning.

  The queen’s vanguard had made a broad sweep of the desert with special attention to the route Sur Sceaf’s caravan would be taking, whereas Sur Sceaf’s departure was to be a leisurely one. The queen had presided over a farewell breakfast during which Syr Elf had plied Pyrsyrus and Jackie Doo with endless questions, which gave Sur Sceaf time to get acquainted with the heorls and elders of Fort Rock. Va-Eyra had procured a red uniform for him, along with other necessary items of clothing.

  The queen’s pavilion had been set up as usual before the gate of the fortress where Sur Sceaf was to receive the pledge of fealty from all the heretogas assigned to him. The queen stood surrounded by her heorls and elders along with Syr Elf, the cats, and her ladies in waiting to bid them Godspeed and farewell.

  Dressed in his uniform, Sur Sceaf escorted Lana out of the Queen’s Hall to the carriage of Pyrsyrus’ wives which pulled up betwixt the front of the pavilion and the gates of the fortress. The jaguarundi banners and the fyrd banners whipped in the crisp desert winds that carried the odors of sage, juniper, and horses to his nostrils.

  As he lead his wife to Pyrsyrus’ carriage, Lana whispered in his ear, “I’m still humming from last night,” with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “So am I.” He kissed her and Lana blushed at the public display.

  Lana pointed, “Oh, look everyone is already lined up. There’s the queen and all her courtiers and the young Prince Syr Elf is there with those darling otter cats. We’re late. I told thee we didn’t have that much time.”

  Sur Sceaf grinned down at her. “But you forget, Liebchen. They’re not going to leave without me.”

  Looking about, she said, “Oh seest thou over there. It is Ilkchild on his golden horse amidst all those white ones.” She paused to reflect before declaring, “That family always has to be the odd bird. Don’t they?”

  “Yes, their uniqueness enriches us all,” Sur Sceaf said as he kissed Lana again, before helping her into the carriage. “I’ll see you tonight when we make camp.” He walked near the carriage and kissed Lana one final time. Damned he was glad to see her.

  Pyrsyrus’ wife, Donya Margarita grabbed the side of the open carriage and asked, “How come I do not get that kind of send-off from my husband, and ju do?” The other wives laughed and teased Lana, who colored even more prettily. The livery groom brought White Fire to Sur Sceaf, who grabbed the pommel and mounted up. It felt good to be back in the saddle and doing things again.

  Without understanding what was happening, Swan Ray leaped from the coach and began running ahead toward Ilkchild, who was approaching at a gallop on his palamino. She called out, “I told you. He’s come!” Her feet were swiftly covering too much ground before anyone could check her. “Ilker is come for me. He’s come!”

  About twenty feet before Ilkchild, she stopped, stared dumbfounded, and froze. “You’re too young. I—I’m sorry. I thought you were Ilker.”

  Donya was right behind her and took her in her arms. “Oh, my dear sister. It is only Ilkchild, your nigh-son. Not Ilker. May the gods have mercy on your tortured soul, for he is indeed the spitting image of our once good man, but you must come to grips that Ilker found his grave down in Taxus.” Donya turned Swan Ray around, who still appeared stunned with confusion and glanced back over her shoulders several more times as if in disbelief. “Come, let us go back to the wagon, my dear. Even I thought it was Ilker when I first saw him. What a shock to us all?”

  Ilkchild turned his horse and rode off.

  Sur Sceaf’s heart wept in him while he waited till the stern faced, mustached coachman smacked the reins on the rumps of the four-horses. The ladies attempted to comfort Swan Ray. Although they were clothed in all their fine attire, their carriage bore the atmosphere of a dirge and took its position to the fore of the train. He reined White Fire to a walk in the opposite direction, inspecting the expanse of painted horses mounted by stout braves that were Mendaka’s dog soldiers, who were newly arrived to assist in the Quailor evacuation and migration. As he continued down the ranks inspecting his four fyrds, red-coated, and mounted on their white horses, he finally reached the end and surveyed the eight chuck wagons lined up, two by two. He waved to the Hickoryan drivers with their herd of long-horned cattle bringing up the rear.

  Colorful blood red, white, and black flying H banners flew in the breeze all along the line up of horses. Trumpets sounded from the towering rock walls. Twelve drummers in silver tunics edged with aubergine and bearing the device of the queen, beat out a martial rhythm to accompany Sur Sceaf’s return to the pavilion.

  Then Sur Sceaf dismounted, rested a hand on his sword hilt and handed the reins to a waiting groom in the silver livery of the queen. He walked up the stairs of the colorful canopied pavilion, bowed, then hugged his queen sister goodbye.

  She was once again marvelously attired in her long silver cape with its high backed collar. As was customary in formal occasions she retained her rose rood scepter in her hand, a dark walnut wand with a singular-double rose at the intersection of the rood.

  “I shall miss your company so much, dear Brother. You can be assured I’ll be waiting to hear great things of you, my lord. May the gods be with you till we meet again. May they guide your feet, and smite your enemies before you. And may the Valkyries strike death’s threatening blows before you. We shall ever pray for thee.”

  Sur Sceaf leaned close to the queen. “Thank you, dear sister, for all your kindnesses toward me. I hope your loneliness comes to an end soon. Perhaps the Wose, but I doubt he is ready to give up his feral ways just yet.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Believe me, I’ve tried to elicit some response from that feral man. I cannot find a key to open the deep crypt that houses that sunken heart of his. He only ever treats me as a sister, not as a lover, yet he is the only man I can ever conceive of ma
rrying. He alone, could ever measure up to Rusyrus. His mind is not goblin-robbed, but his heart is ever drowning in grief and sorrow too deep for me to plumb. But if I am honest to myself, I feel he resists all my advances.”

  “Be patient, Sis. Although Starkwulf drags a wounded heart behind him he will heal of it all, in time.” Taking a step backward, he beckoned to Syr Elf and said, “I’m sorry we didn’t have more time together, little fellow. Do stop in for a stay when you get to the coast. By then young man, I will have a very special gift for you.”

  Syr Elf beseeched, “What is it, my lord? What is it? Please, don’t make me wait to find out.”

  “Very well, I was as impatient as you when I was a lad. I am going to invite you to study in a skaldic academy on behalf of the Roufytrof to come under the tutelage of our esteemed ambassadors, Brono and Atla. They are due to arrive from the Prester Lands within the next moonth. You’ll not get any finer masters. Your mother says you are so exemplary and dedicated in learning the customs of our folk,” Sur Sceaf pulled from his pocket an ivory key that Va-Eyra had given him to deliver to Syr Elf. “I entrust you with this ivory key, which you shall present to them on the day Brono arrives. Your mother and I have discussed it. The ambassadors will know what it means.”

  The boy’s eyes blazed with excitement and pleasure. “You don’t know how happy that makes me, Ma-Bro,” Syr Elf exclaimed, clutching the white key to his chest. “I can’t wait to learn the hidden wisdom. Wose says I already have a sense for it. But on the weekends, I shall want to come to the docks of Ur Ford to learn from Uncle Pyr.”

  “Well, for now, help your mother, and care well for El and Fae.” Sur Sceaf leaned down and ruffled the fur on the two otter cats who purred and preened regally.

  The Desert Queen cleared her throat as a cue. “You may review your troops and receive their long swans now in token of their fealty to you, my lord, and though you will not receive my rood, know that I am always in your service up here, independent and sovereign in my viceroyalty. Soon it will be time to lay the ax to the noxious Pitter root, and I shall be there for you. Trust me.” The queen stepped backwards and raised her voice as she addressed everyone, “Lord Sur Sceaf, please address your troops and receive their token of fealty.”

  “I look forward to my return and wish you well, Queen Va-Eyra.” He bowed at the neck, turned and addressed the battalions of men before him from the steps of the pavilion. “Friends, brothers, warriors, and citizens, we embark this day for the Land of Salem to graft the third of our three tribes onto the mighty tree of our new nation. Fyrd commanders, we go as an army to safely lead the Quailor Folk, first to DiAhman, where the Sharaka will join the migration, and thence to Witan Jewell for a brief sojourn before we end our arduous journey in Maiden’s Head and Ur Ford on the coast. All are formed in rank and I will lead out. The chuck wagons and the provisions will bring up the rear along with the Hickoryan drivers who shall provide us with the fresh meat we will need on our journey. Now, I will receive your long swan batons for their ceremonial binding and as token of your fealty. Then we march. So mote it be.”

  “So mote it be,” resounded back amidst the sounds of horses snorting and whinnying on the inside of the courtyard as well as on the plains outside the gates. The march to Salem had begun.

  Chapter 6: The Quailor

  After a half moonth of good weather and uneventful travel, the party woke up to an overcast morning. A gentle, but heavy mist blanketed the lower elevations of land throughout the Whilamut Valley compelling the women to raise the covering over their carriage so as to protect their finery from the effects of the heavy moisture in the air. The Quailor Settlement of the vast Salem Viceroyalty was predominately flat farmland for as far as the eye could see until it abruptly ended at the foot of the mountains. A pointed steeple stuck up out of the earth with a golden statue atop it, a remnant of the Amerikans, fenced off by the Quailor as a forbidden zone, they believing it was some sort of heathen idol associated with pagan times and religions.

  Sur Sceaf repeatedly sent out two dog soldiers for reconnaissance. They reported back that the way was clear for entry.

  It was mid-morning when Sur Sceaf led the caravan down the familiar dirt road leading into the settlement of the Quailor. On the outskirts of the town, where most of the farms and barns were located, wooden fences painted white lined the dirt road. The large red barns bulging with hay were decorated with intricately painted hexes to ward off any evil spirits. Vast flocks of milk sheep and fat cattle grazed in the lush pastures to the west side of the road. On the east side of the road grew vast fields of buckwheat, winter wheat, and barley.

  It had been more than ten winters since Sur Sceaf had been to Salem, a tiny community with very few homes that were little more than stick cabins at that time. Now it appeared from the outskirts, that it had in the meantime developed into a beautiful, well-ordered, well-maintained agrarian community with two story houses, and elaborate barns, nicely maintained fences and well-kept roads. His Mo-Fa would have been proud to see how prosperous and peaceful it seemed. The closer they came to the town center, the more he felt his Quailor blood well up in pride, for they were a people he could admire for their diligence, efficiency, and self-sufficiency. Yet, he resisted their stern religious teachings, and their intolerance for the spirit medicine of other tribes. Tribes they called ‘infidels’ amongst themselves.

  Mendaka rode up beside him, “You have to hand it to the Quailor, though they are not the best of hunters, they never lack for meat or milk.”

  Redelfis said, “Just one look at those beefy red and white cows and one can see why.”

  “Those are oxen.” Mendaka told him. “They’ll be using them to pull their wagons and the heavy loads.”

  Sur Sceaf nodded. “I haven’t seen this degree of industry amongst the Rogue Tribes further to the north or any other tribe, for that matter. Yet all of this prosperity could only happen under the wing of a Herewardi fyrd, without which, the Pitters would sweep in here, and devour them like wolves on fat little sheep. Then, it wouldn’t be long until the commissars turned Salem into a forced labor camp until both the people and livestock were sucked dry from overgrazing and overworking before being discarded.”

  Mendaka said, “You know before the pow wow, the chief of the Buffalo Nations offered to let the Sharaka sojourn in their lands among the Hutter Tribe, but the talking chief’s said the Quailor preferred to sojourn under the Herewardi wing rather than lose their sovereignty to the Buffalo Tribes. Besides, the Quailor have doctrinal differences with the Hutters.”

  Sur Sceaf laughed. “True enough. That is why they pay for the services of the fyrd, in kine. They supply us with cattle, sheep, tools, and commodities in exchange for fyrd protection. This arrangement has worked well for both parties for many, many years. Still, they find it irritating that some of their woman and youth marry into the Swan Culture.”

  Mendaka petted his overo on the neck. It nickered that it sensed strange horses approaching. “It’s alright, boy; we’ll see them soon as this fog lifts a little more.” Turning to Sur Sceaf, he said, “I have heard that the Quailor’s god is all on paper and that they rigidly follow the words of this Paper God. Our Thunder Beings can come to earth and they have a new message for each rising generation. But I understand this Paper God no longer comes amongst his people and refuses to see them.”

  “True, it is a book of papers that talks about a people and places we no longer recall in the folk tongue or in memory. Many of the civilizations before our times have sunk into the depths of forgetfulness. Some have drowned in the waters when the Ea-Urth Changes came. Perhaps never to be retrieved. Others died in the long ethnic wars that followed. But somehow the Quailor Holy Book survived it all. Their books are about the dealings of an ancient people and the way their god or gods dealt with them. They call it one book, but it is composed of many from different periods and eras of time as well as writers with very different and conflicting views on life. They try to make it
fit the world of today, but it is like trying to put on your childhood shoes after you have grown to be a man.”

  Now White Fire was exhibiting warning behaviors. Sur Sceaf strained to peer through the pocket of ground fog. “Ilkchild, please ride back and report to Pyrsyrus, that someone approaches in the fog ahead.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “So how does this Paper God speak to his people?”

  “Since no one has seen him in five hundred years, they must rely on the last words he spoke which stretches back even further to thousands of years, even before the Ea-Urth Changes. They call this collection of books the Heilige Schrift. They have renamed these many books and call it God’s Book.”

  Mendaka snorted. “Reminds me of a child I once knew who would not part with his old blanket. Eventually, its mother was forced to sew the frayed remnants of it onto a new one.”

  They rode in silence before Redelfis called Sur Sceaf’s attention to a barn they were just passing. “Sur Sceaf, what manner of drawings are these I see on the barns? Do they represent this Paper God the way the drawings on our tipis represent the Thunder Beings.”

  “They are called hexes. In a way they are very much like the paintings on your tipis and are supposed to ward off witches, werewolves, and evil spirits. I believe they are relics of an earlier pagan age, which the Quailor can no longer remember.”

  “Well, at least from the healthy looks of everything, the hexes appear to be working. They do have strong spirit medicine.”

  They came to a crossroads where Sur Sceaf called a halt. “I don’t remember this road being here.” He rode up next to the sign to read it.

  Redelfis followed, “What manner of curious writing is this? For I cannot make sense of the words.”

  “It is ‘Teutsch,’ the early Quailor tongue. They keep it alive through their speaking and writing as an effort to create a greater barrier between the many recent marriages to the Herewardi and Sharaka that are now taking place. The Ordnung says the Holy Book forbids intermarriage, and now that it’s getting more prevalent, the dycon’s have determined that the sundering of the tongues will be a safeguard against mixing with the heathen. Thus they are encouraging all to speak and interact in Teutsch, only. Teutsch wirt hier gesprochen!”