Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

  He laughed. How quickly things change. Not long ago he’d been repulsed by her touch, by her dark skin and her weakness, and he’d been humiliated at being bonded to a foreigner and an asha. Now she spoke as one who’d been with the tribes her entire life, and she made him feel he still served the people. He didn’t know if it was the bond that made him feel such devotion or the strength she’d shown against the mergol and Jal’kun. He supposed it didn’t matter. He would give his life for her—something he would have been incapable of doing for a woman before leaving on the raid with the old okulu’tan and Pai’le, even for his firstwife.

  “It itches,” he said, scratching at the moss on his side.

  “That is a good thing. It means the wound is healing,” Li’sun said from the doorway of the hut.

  “It would be far less annoying if you simply used magic and saved my body the effort.”

  “I could. So could Ni’ola with a few lessons. But natural healing is stronger, and there is no hurry.” He held a gourd with a stopper in the top in one hand and a small sack in the other. He lifted the gourd up. “But I have brought something that will help.”

  Ni’ola’s hands shivered against his back. “The palic is foul,” she said in his ear. In the Esharii language, the words had a double meaning, applying to both the medicine he carried and advice he gave.

  Li’sun laughed. “Not this time. Today I bring something better—honeyed wine. We have gained a new spirit-walker, for better or worse, and a fearless pachna along with her. Normally, there would be a feast, but with Ky’lem’s wounds and your . . . uniqueness, we will forgo the usual celebration.”

  “Do not dance around the truth like an Arillian merchant, Li’sun,” Ni’ola said. “A celebration would anger those who believe as Jal’kun did and it would create resentment among those who remain unconvinced I belong here.”

  “Forgive me.” Li’sun bowed his head. “Your words hold truth where mine do not, but even for me it is difficult. I still see a foreign asha’han when I look at you, but that is not who you are. This will be your greatest strength and, I fear, your greatest weakness.”

  “Might as well rub poyla pepper in their eyes now so they get used to it. Her place is here,” Ky’lem said. Ni’ola served the tribes now. Ky’lem knew this like he knew how to breathe—the bond gave him unquestioning certainty. He would not let these men treat her like an outsider, no matter who they were. She had earned her place.

  Li’sun shook the wine. “Will you still share a drink with me? Here alone, we may still celebrate.”

  Ky’lem had no reason to say no. So far, Li’sun had been their ally. Why, however, was the question he wanted answered, and this would be a good opportunity to learn the spirit-taker’s motives. He looked to Ni’ola for her approval, although there was no need. He felt it through the bond. Ni’ola nodded anyway, for Li’sun’s sake.

  Li’sun removed his sandals before stepping onto the multicolored rug that lined the floor. From the bag he carried, he withdrew two crudely hammered cups. The edicts were very clear. An asha’han was not permitted the strong drink until she married—all knew this. Li’sun refused to let his eyes fool him a second time, and after setting the first two down, withdrew a third cup. “You are no longer an asha’han or a foreigner. You are an okulu’tan and a servant of the people,” he said, placing the cup down next to the others.

  Ky’lem agreed, and even though he knew the truth of the words in his heart, it still surprised him a little. He wouldn’t have believed it a short time ago, but his view had changed rapidly over the past several days. It had always been ability that counted with him, and Ni’ola had proven herself a powerful okulu’tan, but more than that, in facing the mergol alone, she’d proven herself brave enough to drink with any Esharii. It will take a thousand years to convince Pai’le and the other tribesmen to agree, but I will find a way somehow. I must if I ever want to unite the tribes.

  Li’sun poured the wine. “A smaller amount for our new spirit-walker. I am not trying to be rude or doubt your strength, but you are not accustomed to fermented drink.” He passed a cup to each of them.

  Ky’lem drained his in two deep swallows. It was a strong wine, pleasant and sweet, and it brought a warmth similar to Ni’ola’s magic to his chest.

  Ni’ola looked from the cup to Ky’lem and back.

  “It is customary to drink deeply from the first cup. It shows trust in the host,” Li’sun said.

  Ni’ola snorted. “There is no need to school me in Esharii customs,” she said with more than a little vehemence in her voice. She met his eyes and held them. “Perhaps I don’t trust you.”

  “I . . . well . . . that is . . .” Li’sun stammered.

  She laughed. “My delay was not due to mistrust. I was contemplating how much my life—and my body—have changed.” She examined the liquid a moment longer before putting the cup to her lips. When she did, she didn’t stop drinking until she’d downed it all.

  She is brave and strong for one so young, but she will need that strength in the coming days. Jal’kun is not the only spirit-taker who will challenge her. Together, they would overcome those who opposed her. It was what lay after them that remained unclear to him . . . and there was still the command to marry her one day—and the second one about her child. He turned his mind to the itching of his wounds to keep from betraying his thoughts.

  * * *

  —

  Ni’ola slapped the cup down in front of her. The honeyed wine was sweeter than she remembered, but behind the sweetness came a rush of fire that burned her mouth and throat. She did not let it show on her face. She could not afford to show weakness in front of Li’sun, or to any of the other okulu’tan, for as long as she trained in the village. The Esharii despised weakness above all else.

  “I know you have little trust for us, but Jal’kun did not act on behalf of the village,” Li’sun said while refilling the cups. “He should not have interfered with the test.”

  “He did more than interfere. He tried to kill both of us before we arrived . . . twice.” It was more than Jal’kun and his attacks that made her wary of the okulu’tan, and even though she had a few small memories of Li’sun teaching her in the future, it was not enough for her to truly trust him yet.

  Li’sun frowned. “I thought as much when we found the bodies of the mergols. It was too much of a coincidence that the beasts chose to challenge one another at the same time you traveled nearby. Unfortunately, I had no way of knowing who controlled them.”

  “It makes no difference,” Ni’ola said. “It was all part of Ri’jarra’s plan. He knew Jal’kun would attack us. Just as he knew I would not pass the test on my own. He planted the seed of weakness in Jal’kun’s heart long ago. It’s almost funny. I was failing. I could not break through the barrier. If Jal’kun had simply let things be, Ky’lem and I would be dead.”

  “But—” Ky’lem started to protest and stopped. Confusion and disbelief flew across the bond. It was too far-fetched for him to believe.

  “It is true, Ky’lem. The old spirit-walker still manipulates us from the great beyond.”

  Li’sun nodded. “As I said before the test, many who’ve prepared for years fail to survive, but Sollus aided you in the fight—whether that was through Jal’kun or Ri’jarra is irrelevant. It was Sollus’s will for you to succeed.”

  “I still don’t understand this test,” Ky’lem said. “You tie a wounded person to a log and place them on the lake, and if they survive, they are okulu’tan. It makes no sense.”

  “That is because you do not feel Parron’s hunger. An okulu’tan must be able to resist the call. If he cannot, then his life is forfeit.”

  “Parron? What do the Fallen have to do with the lake?”

  Li’sun looked to Ni’ola and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  Ni’ola was confused. The okulu’tan was asking her for something
with that look, but she had no idea what.

  A smile flitted across Li’sun’s lips. “So you don’t know all of our customs. I confess this pleases me. I was beginning to worry at how much knowledge traveling the ways had given you. You traveled far. Too much knowledge too quickly and . . .” He paused uncomfortably for a moment. “. . . let us say that those who remember too much from the journey are easily confused and must be kept locked away for the good of the village—their insanity can be quite dangerous.”

  Ni’ola’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that these memories will make me go crazy?” She knew that those who traveled the ways were a little unstable—it hadn’t taken long with Ri’jarra before his death to know that—but the memories so far seemed more of a nuisance than a danger. Many were helpful.

  She felt Ky’lem shudder at the thought of her losing touch with the world around them.

  Li’sun held up his hands. “Hopefully, it will take many years for this to happen, but if you travel the ways again, it will accelerate. Ri’jarra was the only spirit-walker known to have made three ventures without going insane. The mind cannot handle so many conflicting realities. It protects itself and blocks all but the strongest, but as time passes, the memories escape. The insanity and confusion are the price for that knowledge.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. “You needn’t worry yet. You have many years ahead before it catches up with you.” He handed the refilled cup to her.

  Ni’ola took it eagerly. She’d had moments of confusion already, and Li’sun’s words did little to put her at ease.

  “Back to your question,” Li’sun said. “It is up to the okulu’tan how much his, or her in your case, pachna knows. I was asking for permission for Ky’lem to remain while we discussed the truth of the Najalii. It would be rude to speak of it in front of him without asking.”

  Ni’ola sat up straight. “We will have no secrets from each other.” She was sure of the statement, but a pang of something slipped from Ky’lem. It was gone before she could examine it. Guilt or fear? Is he keeping something from me, or does he think I keep something from him?

  Li’sun interrupted her thoughts. “Your people—”

  “Former people,” Ni’ola corrected. “The people north of the mountains are no longer mine.”

  “I meant no insult. Your former people believe in Sollus and respect the Fallen, but many truths have been lost.”

  “Of course they respect Parron. He and all the other gods gave up their immortality to save the worlds of man. Although Draegora was ruined before Parron could stop Tomu, the Dark God was prevented from destroying everything.”

  “That much is truth,” Li’sun said, “but examine the memories you share with Ky’lem from the moment of your bonding. They might give you some of the pieces you are missing.”

  Ky’lem’s knowledge agreed with Ni’ola’s words. The beliefs of the Esharii and the northerners were much the same, though his knowledge was more detailed. The Gods of Light had imprisoned the dark ones from the universe and, for time immeasurable, governed among the heavens in peace. Then the dark ones had escaped.

  To fight them in the heavens would have destroyed the stars and the worlds beneath them. It was Parron, greatest of the gods, who decided the only way to save the universe was for them to give up their powers. So they’d fallen, dragging the dark ones down with them to the worlds of man, leaving behind only the weakest of their kind, Sollus and Faen. Parron and his counterpart Tomu fell to this world, bringing their war to Draegora.

  The two gods fought from one end of the continent to the other for a hundred years, destroying everything in their path. At last, when no city remained and all men stood on one side or the other, the final battle came. When their armies met, the two Fallen held nothing back, each unleashing everything within their grasp to defeat the other. The clash of their might left Draegora a wasteland.

  The northerners believed the Fallen were consumed in the destruction. This was a lie. The Fallen did not die. They were simply drained—becoming empty shells that now rested, rebuilding their strength for the day they would rise to fight again.

  “So if the Fallen are not dead, why haven’t they shown themselves in the last thousand years?” Ni’ola asked.

  “Forgive my irreverence, but I have wondered the same thing,” said Ky’lem.

  “But they have,” Li’sun said. “It was Parron’s hunger for life you felt in the Najalii. You are connected to him, in nearly the same manner you are bonded to Ky’lem, and you have been since the day Ri’jarra linked you to the crystals.”

  “But Parron fought for good. What I felt in the lake wanted me dead!”

  “No. It wanted your oya’sha. Your life is simply irrelevant.”

  Ni’ola spread her arms and sloshed wine onto the rug. “That’s the same thing! Why would the Fallen God of Light want us to die?”

  “The two gods drained themselves in the final battle. When at last the fighting was over and Parron’s army had defeated the followers of Tomu, they found the Fallen lifeless upon the ground, their hands upon each other’s throats—only they were not dead.”

  “Why didn’t they kill Tomu if he was helpless?” Ky’lem asked.

  “Spoken like a true warrior,” Li’sun said. “Each of the Fallen had children who were given the ability to share the power of their fathers. They commanded armies and fought with such strength that none but another child of the gods could stand before them. When the final battle came, there were many, but in the end, only eight survived, all children of Parron. The eight tried to kill Tomu, to end the struggle once and for all. Yet no blade would penetrate his skin. Rocks cracked against his body and failed to crush him. He could not be drowned because he did not breathe. Even the hottest flames failed to burn a single hair on the god’s head. Nothing could be done. After days of attempting all manner of death, the eight held counsel. The people were preparing ships to flee the desolation of Draegora, to take their followers to this side of the world. It was decided the Fallen would be carried with them.

  “The two most trusted children were given the sacred duty of carrying the Fallens’ lifeless bodies. Eisha Ryn was entrusted with Parron, but something happened on the voyage. Sollus gave Eisha Ryn the gift of traveling the ways, and he learned much before the fleet arrived. In the dark of night Eisha Ryn stole away, escaping south, to this land. He ordered his ships burned so that they would not be found and marched his people overland, to a vast lake surrounded by the huts of the people. Once there, he ordered that Parron be entombed beneath the water.”

  “The Najalii,” Ky’lem said. “The lake of life.”

  “Yes. The lake was already sacred to our ancestors, even before Eisha Ryn and his people arrived.”

  Ni’ola felt Ky’lem’s thoughts. Could this be true? Are we no different than the gray demons—the descendants of the vile invaders who’d spread their seeds across the land? Was Eisha Ryn, the first great leader, revered by the tribes, truly a Draegoran? The thought struck at his heart like a blade. It was a betrayal of all he knew.

  “But this doesn’t explain why he tried to kill me,” Ni’ola said.

  “Patience. I am nearly done. The descendants of the Fallen drew power from their fathers when needed. But the bond went in both directions. Each held unique strengths to use in battle, and for every life they took, they fed power back to the father. Those who survived were the last of their kind, but they passed on the ability to their descendants.

  “You are one of their descendants, as am I, and so also are the other okulu’tan and, sadly, the gray demons as well. The connection to Parron through the blood is what gives both of us our power, and in turn we feed him the lives of our enemies.”

  “You still haven’t answered the question. If I am one of Parron’s descendants, why does he want me to die?”

  “The Fallen are like vast deserts, desiring the rains
to bring life back to them. In his long sleep, Parron knows he is stronger than the dark one, but the gap between them narrows. Because of the gray demons’ corruption and the lives they feed him, soon Tomu will be stronger, and Parron is desperate to awaken before this happens. He would take all our lives if it allowed him to rise before Tomu.”

  “And the dark one, where was his body placed?” Ni’ola asked, even though she could guess the answer.

  “Tomu’s body was placed on a lifeless island and guarded by the other children. In their weakness, their descendants bonded with the dark one. If the gray demons are not stopped, they will destroy us all with their betrayal, and that time comes sooner than any of us would like.”

  Li’sun pulled a small book from the bag he carried.

  “This is the journal of Eisha Ryn, where he wrote his memories from traveling the ways. Only a spirit-walker is allowed to possess it, unless there are none, and then it falls to the spirit leader to hold it until the next arrives. It contains the original edicts, and it has been passed down for a thousand years. Each of those who have traveled the ways has added their words. It is the reason I allowed you to be tested.” He flipped the book open to a page that was marked and read—

  “Let no female descendants be trained in arms or spirit until the rebirth nears, for a woman’s place is not among those who do battle, but with the people, and her duty is bound in continuing the blood.”

  “That is from the edicts, but scrawled beneath it, in another hand, are these words—”

  “So shall it be until Tomu stirs and the child marked by Faen travels the ways. She will name the Sko’dran, and her arrival marks twelve—”

  “Ri’jarra left this page marked with the cloth when he passed the book to me before leaving.”

  “Twelve what? Years?” Ky’lem asked.

  His heart raced. Mentioning the Destroyer of the Night sent such a flare of longing and desire from Ky’lem across the bond that Ni’ola’s own heart pounded with his.