Sisters of the Storm_Triad

by Guy Estes

  The smoldering muscle weighed about forty pounds, so eating the entire thing was impossible. Fortunately the legend said only a few bites were necessary to yoke the dragon’s strength, and these must be taken raw. She carved off a morsel with her dulled blade and let it plop into her hand. This flesh was far more tender than the monster’s exterior. Steam rose from the soft, squishy meat in her palm. Aleena shrugged, thinking the faster she did this the less unpleasant it would be. She popped the meat into her mouth so quickly she forgot to hold her breath to spare herself its foul taste.

  But it wasn’t foul. It was delicious. It was, in fact, some of the finest meat to grace her palate, and thanks to her abduction by slave traders she hadn’t had a decent meal in four months. She obeyed the desire to take more, her head swimming with the divine flavor. The heady feelings were suddenly replaced by a sensation akin to the first time she held a solid, sharp sword: power. Invincibility. Feeling as though she straddled the entire world as if it was a tamed animal, hers for the taking, and there was not a thing anyone could do to stop her.

  Aleena consumed a few more bites before the feeling of omnipotence surged through her entire body, charging every nerve and sinew, every bone and muscle. She found her body would no longer remain still. Her feet started tapping and shifting, her fingers drumming, as though impatient. Her fists clenched and unclenched, as though thirsting for challenge. Her fidgeting evolved into rapid pacing. Aleena ate three more bites for good measure. The new power demanded release. She walked around to the dragon’s head and studied the horns, each one about two feet long. Taking a firm hold on one of them and a deep breath, Aleena tugged.

  When not using axes or a large saw, removal of a dragon’s horns, the few times it had actually been done, typically required a good harness and a team of draft animals. This time it required only the hand of a seventeen-year-old girl, for she wrenched it out of its socket as if she was pulling a stake out of a garden. With a silly grin, Aleena repeated the feat with the other horn. An exultant cry burst from her lips, her face turned skyward and her hands, each clutching a great horn, held up. Feeling the new power rushing through her like a river’s cataracts, demanding release like a passionate opinion, she took two more bites from the heart (just to be sure) and shot down the canyon at a full run.

  Aleena sped down the ravine. In addition to the dragon’s strength, she discovered she had the dragon’s senses. Her heightened perceptions gulped in every detail of her surroundings (like the small lizard hiding in a fissure of rock, the sound of its heartbeat, the scent of its hide) as she accelerated beyond the maximum human foot speed. Her passage created a tail of dust kicked up in her wake. Her new energy, demanding even more release, produced a slight burning sensation throughout her body. Aleena complied by quickening her pace even more. Growing tired of the ravine’s sameness, she pushed off the ground and cleared the fifteen-foot high ravine wall with a bound and continued on the flat desert plain.

  About two hundred yards ahead she spied a lone huntsman upon a horse, along with his cat. Desert huntsmen did not use hounds but swift spotted cats that were said to outrun the wind itself. Mischievous laughter rolled in Aleena’s chest and her grin broadened as she closed the distance. Her gaiety rose when she saw the huntsman’s swarthy face blanche as an outlander girl on foot, her golden tresses streaming as she cackled like a loon, passed his galloping horse. The hunter’s cat saw Aleena and responded to her unspoken challenge, pulling even with the girl, then slowly passing her. Aleena, hands held out at her sides in joyous exultation, exerted a tad more effort and outpaced the streaking cat. The huntsman pulled his horse to a stop, then, and sat watching this strange girl, who was laughing like a fool, zip off into the distance. He wondered if the sun had finally addled his wits, but then he saw the trail she’d left in the sand. He elected not to tell anyone about this, though, else they would declare him mad and banish him to this desolate place forever.

  Aleena cruised across the tawny expanse, ecstatic as an eagle on her first flight, but then her mind caught up with her racing body and began the annoying but life-saving habit of thinking.

  What would happen if I stumbled at this speed? Would it kill me? Will this power’s demand exceed what I can give it? After all, my legs can only move so fast. Do I control the Strength of the dragon or does it control me? Let us find out.

  Aleena turned back in the direction from which she’d come and attempted to slow down. Nothing happened. She exerted greater concentration in commanding her legs to slow, but the ground continued to blur beneath her and dust continued to follow her like a comet’s tail. A cool shard of fear lanced her belly. Would the Strength of the dragon take over her and demand output until her muscles tore free from her bones?

  Damn you, you are my legs and you shall obey my will, not that of some dead worm!

  With greater effort Aleena succeeded in slowing her legs. Slowly, Aleena reined them in until she was standing on the ravine lip. She climbed down and walked back to the dragon’s carcass. Her heart tried to escape from her chest, not from the exertion of her run but from the exertion of restraining the Strength that demanded to be used. If it could wait until she got back to her conquest she would happily employ it.

  When she returned to the dead dragon, Aleena’s gaze was instantly arrested by the heart that still sat there. The very sight of it inspired hunger in her. Such a fine flavored meat demanded further consumption. She ate more of it before giving the Strength more work. Her scimitar was seriously dulled, but the Strength was bearing up quite well. It was fortified as Aleena took more bites from the heart. She no longer bothered to cut off pieces. She simply bit mouthfuls right from the heart. She pushed her fingers through the dragon’s adamantine hide and pulled strips of it right off.

  Aleena continued butchering the dragon after skinning it, taking frequent bites from the dragon’s heart. She had finished setting the last of the meat to dry and was going back to the heart for another bite when she made an interesting discovery. The heart was gone. She looked around, but only the brown sludge of bloody sand remained. She looked down at herself and saw no difference. At no time during the consumption of the heart had she felt the slightest bit full. How in the seven hells did she consume forty pound’s worth of meat in one sitting?

  After butchering the dragon Aleena set about restoring the edge of her scimitar, running a stone down the edge until she’d restored its keenness. For three days and nights she engaged in any and all physical activity she could, for the Strength of the dragon could not be denied. On the fourth day the Strength left her. She tried to hold onto it, but apparently it had a will of its own. It retreated to some corner of her spirit and Aleena fell into an abysmal sleep.

  * * *

  It was three days before she awoke, stiff as a corpse. The very idea of movement hurt. Even her hair seemed sore. She had been sore from demanding far less from her body than she had when she tested the Strength of the dragon, so it was hardly surprising that it demanded a high payment for her little experiment. For the next hour Aleena coaxed her body into working. She would start by moving a finger or toe, then two, then three. Then she’d start to move a hand or foot, followed by a wrist or ankle, then she’d move on to larger muscle groups. Little by little, the different areas of her body responded. All the while Aleena reminded them that work was the best therapy for them. When she was fully mobile again, she rewarded her taxed and sore body with a breakfast of dragon meat while turning her thoughts to getting back home.

  Recalling her geography, Aleena knew that she had a long distance to travel. Sharleah was on the eastern slopes of the Ophirees Mountains in a subtropical latitude. The mountains there ran north to south. In Sharleah’s latitude and further north dwelled elves and dwarves in addition to humans. Not far south of Sharleah, in the tropical region, the mountains abruptly turned and ran east to west. Then, at their westernmost extremity, they returned to their north-south orientation. All together, the Ophirees ran from
the northernmost to the southernmost extremities on the east coast of the continent. The great Primean Ocean was to its east. Consequently, the eastern side of the Ophirees was wet and humid while the western side of the mountains was drier. West of the mountains sprawled the steppes for thousands of miles, home to the Amazons. The Borlin Sea, a huge landlocked body of freshwater, was on the western edges of the steppes. The grasslands then continued west before giving way to forest, home of races of elves and giants, then another huge ocean. North of the steppes were the Northern Wastelands. South of them – and Aleena’s home – lay the deserts of the Southern Badlands, where she presently was and where some of the more remote, mountainous regions were said to be home to a race of cyclops.

  What she must do, then, is head north. When she met the mountains, she would have to cross them. Once on the opposite side, she would then have only to follow the contours of the Ophirees, first to the east, then they would turn north, to find her way back to Sharleah.

  The dragon horns would make the journey a bit easier, though. A very rare commodity, they were used as everything from cures to disease to aphrodisiacs. They would be more than enough to get her a good horse and tack and a few other weapons and supplies. Even if she disregarded all thrift she would have ample finances. She began to plan her route home.

  The first problem Aleena discovered was that in order to obtain the supplies she needed she would have to go to a town. She dared not return to Akhbeer. That would be walking right back into the slave cages. Going to any of the surrounding settlements would be equally disastrous, for she was certain the officials would have posted her as a runaway. All sets of eyes in the Southern Badlands would be searching for her, thanks to the handsome reward posted for runaways. In her case the reward would be even higher than normal, given she’d been set to sell for a very high price and the thrashing she’d given the slave traders and guards of Akhbeer during her escape.

  Aleena sighed. If they could not be traded then the dragon horns were useless to her. So where did this leave her? She dared not risk contact with even the shepherds and other provincial folk. She would have to stay out of sight and survive in the desert wilderness. Donning some of the local clothes could help, but not very much. Even though she had just reached her seventeenth summer, Aleena stood a statuesque six feet, head and shoulders taller than the local women and noticeably taller than most of the men.

  Aleena reevaluated her situation. She found herself without transportation, extra weapons, and extra clothing. She would not be able to carry much meat with her, so she would have to kill what game she could find. She might find some fruits wherever she found water, but often enough a water source in the desert consisted of a smelly seep rather than a lush oasis. All desert travel was governed by the location of the water sources, increasing the chances of encountering locals, as they would be making use of those water sources. Even as she thought of that, she realized that the slavers’ best chances of capturing her would be to lie in wait at water sources, so she would have to approach them with extreme caution, regardless of her thirst. In addition to all of this, she would have to travel unseen in a place that largely consisted of open space. But her biggest problem was going to be water. Without an animal mount, she wouldn’t be able to carry much with her. Deserts, Aleena sardonically concluded, would not be such bad places if only they had water.

  She got up and returned to sharpening her sword, all the while her mind trying to solve the various problems she found before her. She elected to travel by night as long as she remained in this extreme clime. Traveling by night would enable her to avoid the lethal sun, as well as drastically reduce the chances of her stumbling across someone who would report her to the authorities. The first class education she had received at the academy made her familiar enough with the stars to be able to find her way. She could run part of the way with the sun safely hidden below the horizon. Running through the dank, thin atmosphere of her home, along with her gift, had endowed Aleena with the stamina of a wolf. If she paced herself, she could make very good time.

  At sunset, Aleena extracted herself from the canyon and spent a moment looking at the sinking sun. The spires and onion domes of Akhbeer jutted up in the distance like an obscene gesture. Aleena regarded the scene of wholesale evil for a moment, reflecting on what she'd been through. The events over the past few months of her life, while traumatic, had also been necessary. It had taken something as powerful as first-hand experience with the slave trade to make her see the purpose of her creation, and to embrace it.

  Aleena placed the setting sun on her left shoulder and headed north.

  That first night was a joyous occasion for Aleena. The air of this region was so clear and pure, the very breath of Donya herself. Aleena made good progress, alternately walking and running, drinking in the startling clarity of the stars as they beckoned, comfortable and permanent, like a mother's arms. Aleena breathed a prayer to Tamura and Donya.

  "Thank you."

  She could not enumerate all that she had to be thankful for, so long was the list, but freedom was among the first. She was going home, and she prayed that Tamura and Donya would convey that reality to her parents.

  * * *

  Madigan came out of his vision like a man coming up out of deep water. His divinations rushed away and were suddenly replaced by the mundane world. No matter how often he did it, he always felt that little rush, that drop of the stomach and lurch of the heart.

  “Dear Tamura, she’s alive! Alive and unharmed!”

  He’d tried to learn Aleena’s fate through divinations several times, but each time he’d failed. Detachment from the subject was necessary for good divination, and his emotional bond with his friends’ daughter made that impossible, but he’d finally succeeded. He’d seen her start her journey home. He’d seen that her spirit had strengthened and matured. His heart soared with this certain knowledge, and he shot out of his chair to go tell Ivarr and Ilian the good news. Riona was on the front porch when he got there. Ivarr and Ilian were nowhere to be seen.

  “Riona, I need to see Ivarr and Ilian.”

  Riona looked at him silently, her face bearing no warmth. She was a small, severe woman. Some of the locals had dubbed her the Stone Wasp.

  “They cannot see anyone,” she finally said.

  “It’s about Aleena! I must speak with them immediately!”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s alive! She’s alive and she’s coming home, Riona!”

  Riona’s stony face became harder.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen it! I’ve been trying to divine her fate ever since she was taken and I’ve finally had a vision!”

  “Much the worse for wear, I should think, after spending four months with slave traders.”

  “Quite the opposite! She looked stronger than ever. Where are Ivarr and Ilian? They must know, Riona! They must know their daughter is alive and returning!”

  “I’ll be sure to give them the message. Good day.”

  Madigan hesitated, his excitement falling. How could she not be overjoyed to hear this? He’d known corpses with more cheer than Riona.

  “Riona –“

  “They are indisposed, Madigan,” she snapped. “I’ll tell them just as soon as I’m able, but I’d rather not have them around your… your exuberance in their fragile state. Rest assured, I’ll tell them. Now, good day.”

  Madigan wasn’t sure what was going on, but whatever it was likely a family issue, and because he wasn’t family he thought it best if he bowed out. He went back home.

  CHAPTER 10

  “…strength of character does not consist solely in having powerful feelings, but in maintaining one’s balance in spite of them.” – Carl von Clausewitz

  On the grasslands to the east of the Ophirees and a bit south of Aleena’s home dwelled the Charidean, a tribe of horse traders and worshipers of Asura the Sky Father and Bahna the Earth Mother. On thi
s day, six years after the storm in which Aleena was born, the young boys of the tribe were gathered to begin their educations in horsemanship. Children and adults were both dressed in tunics and trousers of earth tones. The boys were required to stand and introduce themselves.

  “I am Jase, son of Borda.”

  “I am Tarlan, son of Kole.”

  “I am Cahir, son of Auron.”

  Because Auron was the tribal chief, this introduction was hardly necessary, but Cahir understood that even the son of the chief had to abide by the traditions and rules. His friend was next.

  “I am Anlon,” the blond boy said somewhat hesitantly. His green-gold eyes stared at the ground. “Son of Brona.”

  The other boys laughed.

  “You’re supposed to name you father,” Jase said, “not your mother.”

  “My father…” Anlon’s voice had gotten smaller.

  “Left because you’re Chosen,” Jase shouted, his small face alight with malicious glee. “I know all about it! The night you were born he jumped on his horse and rode away because your mother lay with demons and made you!”

  Anlon seized a stick on the ground and swung it hard into Jase’s side. Jase doubled over and Anlon smashed him in the back of the head. As Jase lay screaming on the ground, Anlon reversed his grip on the stick and was on its way to stab Jase with the sharp end when someone grabbed him from behind and picked him up off his feet.

  “No, Anlon,” shouted Lenore, Cahir’s mother and the queen of the tribe. It was she who had grabbed him. “Drop that stick! You’ve done enough!”