The Third Apprentice

by Lana Axe

  Eventually the women rose to their feet once more. Ursla stepped forward and motioned for the men to join them in the circle. Both Taren and Zamna came forward to stand before the Matriarch. Before speaking a word, she drew from the fire a bundle of dried herbs that had been bound with twine. The smoke increased tenfold, filling Taren’s eyes. Doing his best to suppress a cough, he squinted his eyes and tried not to breathe too deeply.

  Ursla waved the smudge stick around both of their bodies, making sure to cover every inch. She circled them three times before placing the bundle back in the fire. Zamna appeared unfazed by the smoke, standing perfectly still with his eyes closed. Taren noticed for the first time that his companion had small membranes covering his nostrils. He momentarily envied the adaptation of Zamna’s race. As a human, he had no such defense against the heavy smoke. It tickled and burned inside his throat.

  The Matriarch flapped her arms in a birdlike motion. The sun had risen higher in the sky, its rays now focused directly on the two men. Taren was forced to close his eyes, shielding himself from the intense light.

  Ursla paused in her motion and raised her hands, holding them with her palms facing downward above each man’s head. “May the gods look favorably upon you. May you journey in safety through these lands. May the world treat you kindly and the spirits of our ancestors guide you on your path.”

  The smoke dissipated, carried along on a gentle morning breeze, and Taren felt it was safe to open his eyes. He beheld Ursla’s shining face, her deep-brown eyes staring into his. Zamna appeared unaffected by the ceremony, but Taren felt a sense of peace. There was no apprehension about the road ahead. He felt only this moment and this place, where the Sisters of Gy’dan lived in harmony with nature.

  Ursla reached into the ashes of the fire and spread them across Taren’s forehead in a horizontal line. He had not noticed the pot of liquid that was steaming nearby, several yellow-green leaves jutting out from the pot. Bending down, Ursla retrieved a large leaf and offered it to Taren.

  “Chew this,” she instructed him. “Then you may enter the crystal cave.”

  Taren placed the warm leaf in his mouth, and an explosion of sour flavor nearly made him gag. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he continued chewing until nothing remained of the leaf. When he opened his eyes, the world was spinning. He saw double and then triple of the woman standing before him. Closing his eyes again, he hoped to avoid falling over from dizziness.

  Ursla took his arm and led him away from the fire. The Sisters chanted once again, their song fading away as he moved toward the tree line. Zamna followed at a distance, curious to see where the Matriarch was taking his companion. He was well aware of the hallucinogenic effects of some plants; he had participated in a vision quest in his youth. He chuckled slightly with a hiss, knowing that Taren would not enjoy the spaced-out sensation he was experiencing.

  Ursla continued to lead him eastward, where a large rock formation stood in the distance. There was an opening barely large enough for him to enter while standing. He stumbled inside, the effects of the leaves making his movements difficult. With each step, he felt he would fall on his face. Inside the cave was a single narrow path with little light filtering its way through. Blindly, he continued away from the opening until sparkling crystals came into view. He had never seen anything like it, and though his mind was still reeling from the intoxicating effects of the herbs, he stood amazed at what he was seeing.

  Shining crystals jutted from the floor and walls, pointing in several different directions. Some of them grew larger than himself. Running a hand along the smooth surface of a crystal, he made note of the coldness trapped within it. He was too far from the entrance for sunlight to enter, but the crystals produced a soft-white glow of their own. Sober, he would have been amazed by this sight. In his current state, he was astounded. Was this place real, or was it some elaborate invention of his mind?

  Taren stumbled forward, making his way to the largest cluster of crystals at the center of the room. Leaning forward, he peered into the center of the formation, expecting to see his own reflection. Instead, an intricate, woven pattern appeared before him. The lines weaved themselves through one another, forming themselves into a tight knot. The symbol! Before him was an image of the item he was seeking. Though the crystals could not speak, he knew in his heart this must be what he was seeing. Looking up from the crystal, he saw the same pattern reflected in each crystal of the cave. A feeling of elation came over him as he peered back into the central formation.

  Slowly, the image of the symbol faded, and darkness descended upon the room. The crystals ceased to glow, but still he stared deep into the darkness. Soon, a second image began to take shape amid the darkness. Soft lights swirled, forming the image of the face of death. Its rotting skin clung to the bleached-white bone of its skull, its mouth hanging open in an eternal, agonizing scream. The image shocked Taren back to reality, his heart pounding in his chest.

  Pulling himself away from the formation, Taren ran through the darkness, his hand raised in front of him to avoid any obstacles in his path. Winding his way through the narrow path, he slowed just enough to avoid losing his footing. The light from the entrance finally came into view, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing back into the cave to make sure the image had not pursued, he felt a chill race down his spine. Emerging into the daylight, he stared at the face of Ursla, who was standing outside the entrance.

  Zamna stood silent, waiting for his companion to reveal what he had seen. From the look on his face, Zamna knew it would be an interesting story. Taren appeared frightened and exhausted at the same time.

  “What did you see?” Ursla asked, placing her hands on the mage’s shoulders. “The cave offers many visions. I can tell you what it means.”

  Shaking his head, Taren replied, “Death. I saw death.”

  “No one can see death,” Ursla explained. “It comes to you when it comes. You feel its presence, but you do not see it.”

  Zamna stepped forward and helped his troubled companion to sit upon a low rock formation. He felt concern for Taren’s rattled state. Perhaps the drugs had been too much for him. The Sisters were much larger than the young mage, and they might have overestimated the dosage. “Is there medicine in your bag that will clear your mind?” he asked.

  Taren thought for a moment and nodded. “A blue tincture,” he replied.

  Zamna hurried back toward the village to retrieve Taren’s bag. Zamna did not believe Taren had blinked once since exiting the cave. Without a word to the Sisters, who were still gathered at the center of the village, Zamna rushed inside the Matriarch’s hut. There, near the wall, was Taren’s pack. Not wanting to return with the wrong vial, he grabbed the entire bag and raced back to the cave entrance. Opening the bag, he presented it to his companion. Taren seemed not to notice, so Zamna searched inside for blue potions. He found four of them.

  Laying them out before the mage, he asked, “Which one?”

  Taren did not reply, his eyes still staring off in the distance. Zamna reached up and grabbed Taren’s chin. Pulling the mage’s face close to his own, he repeated his question. “Which one?”

  Taren appeared to hear him this time, and his eyes moved to the potions laying on the ground. He chose the one farthest right, pointing to it with his index finger. Without hesitating, Zamna snatched the bottle, pulled out the cork, and dumped the mixture into the mage’s open mouth.

  Taren swallowed and coughed a few times before wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Awful!” he spat.

  Zamna sighed with relief. Seeing the young man in a nearly catatonic state had troubled him more than he expected it to.

  Ursla stood patiently, leaning against a tree. “He was in no danger,” she declared. “But you are a good friend to him, pretty lizard man.”

  Zamna shrugged and stepped away. “Are you going to tell us what you saw?” he asked. “You said you saw death. Whose death?”

  Taren shook his head. “No,” he began. �
��I did not see death. I saw a skull. Its skin was rotting, and its eyes were hollow. It wanted me. For what purpose I cannot say.”

  “This is a powerful vision!” Ursla said, coming to her knees in front of Taren. “Bones are an omen of good fortune. Your journey has been blessed by the gods!” She grabbed his hands in her own and kissed them. Rising back to her feet, she said, “Come. We must tell my sisters.”

  They made their way slowly along the partially worn path leading back to the village. The women had watched with interest while Zamna rushed into the hut and left again with Taren’s bag, and now they watched excitedly as the trio returned. Ursla waved her arms in the air in greeting to her sisters, and the majority of the village came forward to meet them.

  Ursla proudly laid a hand on Taren’s shoulder. “He has had a vision of bones,” she announced. “He has been touched by our gods!”

  The women cheered in response. They took turns coming up to place their hands on Taren’s arms. The gesture was strange to him but not unwelcome. Their faces wore shining smiles as they wished him well on his journey.

  Most of them turned to touch Zamna as well, and he did not pull away. He seemed content to stand, his lips pressed together to hold back his protests. Though he would prefer them to leave him in peace, he did not wish to insult them. They had treated him well, and he appreciated their hospitality.

  Ursla led the pair back to the center of the village and implored them to sit a moment. “We should talk before you leave,” she said. “The desert will be cruel, but our gods will protect you.”

  Zamna kept his mouth closed, but inside he did not believe in her gods’ ability to keep them safe. Her belief was merely a superstition. Only his wits and knowledge of survival would protect them in the desert, along with Taren’s magic. Relying on some supernatural being to come to their aid would be foolish. He hoped Taren did not believe in such nonsense. Observing his companions features, he could not tell how he truly felt about these gods.

  Taren was more open to accepting the Sisters’ beliefs. Though he knew better than to depend on their gods, he didn’t see what harm there was in accepting their blessing. “I am grateful to you and your gods,” he replied. Though primitive, these women were worthy of his respect, as were their deities.

  “It has been long since our people traveled into the desert,” Ursla said. “We cannot tell you of the dangers that you might encounter, but we can give you clothing that will be more suited to the land. You need something that is light in color to reflect the heat of the sun. Also it needs to be lighter in weight than this robe you wear.” She felt the thick green fabric of his sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. “This is no good,” she said.

  Taren’s robe was far from the most expensive attire a mage could own, but it was suited to many different environments. Containing magical properties of its own, it was not a garment he would easily cast aside. Still, the clothing these women offered him would probably prove beneficial in a desert, so he was willing to make the change and carry his robe with him in his pack.

  Two women approached carrying small bundles of white material. “We have altered these garments for you,” one of them said, extending a bundle to Taren.

  As he looked over the white robe, he realized it was made of a woven material unlike the animal skin clothing the women wore. This must have cost them a good amount in trade to acquire. Gifting it to him was generous. “I thank you,” he said.

  They handed the second bundle to Zamna, who took it with a gracious nod. His scales would protect him from heat and sand, but he would not refuse their gift. Even an assassin knew when to avoid being rude. Besides, he might need to pass this way again someday, and he wouldn’t want to offend the only people who could lead him through the dense forest.

  Taren observed a hat in his bundle with a flap of cloth hanging loose. “A veil?” he asked out loud.

  Ursla laughed. “That is to cover your face and shield it from wind and sand.” Taking the hat from him, she positioned it on his head and showed him how to secure the flap.

  Taren nodded, understanding the need for such a garment. Desert winds could produce sandstorms that would blind and choke him—a scenario he wasn’t looking forward to. If he had Zamna’s abilities to close off his nostrils, he might feel better prepared. “Thank you for these gifts,” Taren said. “Your kindness is most appreciated.”

  “You will know you are free of the desert when a village appears to your south,” Ursla said. “We traded there many generations ago.” She shook her head, adding, “I would never believe a city dweller could make such a difficult journey through the desert, but the gods have given you a sign. I believe you will survive.”

  Taren felt slightly anxious, but he did not show it. He could not put too much faith in Ursla’s gods, but if they were on his side, all the better.

  “We should get going,” Zamna said. “You’ve had your blessing, but you don’t have this item you seek. So let’s get to it.”

  “You’re right,” Taren agreed.

  “At least stay and have breakfast with us,” Ursla suggested. “There is much forest still ahead of you, and you will need your strength to get through the wild.”

  With all the talk of desert travel, Taren had forgotten he would still have to make it out of the forest. “We’d be delighted,” he said, glancing at Zamna. “We have to eat,” he added with a shrug.

  Zamna replied, “Quickly.” He was anxious to get moving and continue the journey. Taren would probably be content to stay here for weeks, and if he had to drag him away, then so be it. Relaxing in a forest village wasn’t making the La’kertan any money, and he was ready to leave.

  The women provided them with a breakfast of fruit and roasted meat. Zamna devoured his and stared at his companion as he took his time to taste each bite of food thoroughly before swallowing. When the mage had finished, he changed out of his green robe and into the desert attire the Sisters had provided. Instantly he felt cooler, and he thought the lightweight fabric might make forest travel easier as well. Laying his robe out flat in front of him, he retrieved a vial of clear liquid from his bag. While the Sisters watched, he placed a few drops on each sleeve and the tail while muttering a low incantation. The travel stains on the garment disappeared before their eyes. The women laughed and clapped their hands at this small display of magic.

  Zamna scoffed, unimpressed by such a mundane use of a mage’s abilities. “Will that same magic be able to stop a sandstorm once we reach the desert?” he asked.

  Taren rolled his robe into a tight bundle and placed it inside his pack. “I doubt I have the power to control the wind,” he admitted. “But I do know a few handy spells that I can cast should we need them.” He smiled up at Zamna as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “This journey is for me to prove myself a master wizard, remember? If the desert is as treacherous as they say, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to prove my usefulness.”

  Chapter 8

  Ursla provided Taren with a larger animal skin pack to wear on his back. Inside, she placed five bladders full of water, along with rations of meat, nuts, and berries. For Zamna she provided only two waterskins. Members of his race could easily go long periods without drinking. Though she did not know how long they would be in the desert, she expected Taren would have more need of the two skins than Zamna would. The assassin accepted them without a word, content to carry water for the man who was leading him to treasure.

  “You can find more water for him?” Ursla asked the La’kertan.

  Zamna nodded. “I’ve had some experience in deserts before.”

  Ursla turned to Taren. “If you get separated, look for birds. They will lead you to water. If no birds, look for other animals.” Glancing at Zamna, she said, “Not reptiles. They don’t go to water much. If you see hills, make your way to them. There might be a creek or lake at the base of those hills. If it’s dry, dig down to see if the sand gets darker. If so, there is water. Keep digging.”

  Ta
ren nodded, happily accepting her words of wisdom. “I have a few potions that will help with dehydration. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

  Ursla’s severe expression did not change. “Potions might work,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve never used one. Remember what I told you, just in case.”

  “I will,” he promised.

  “Go and be well,” she said, slapping him on his back.

  The Sisters followed the travelers to the southern edge of the village, stopping as they got to the tree line. Taren turned and waved, but Zamna only nodded. As they stepped in between the dense trees, the women began to trill, lifting their voices in an unusual song. The sound drifted on the wind, fading away as the pair continued deeper into the woods.

  Though the forest was as untamed as before, Taren felt it was somehow less wild. Knowing that the Sisters had made a home here changed the way he saw these woods. Though the undergrowth was as thick as ever, and he stumbled often on unseen obstacles, his spirits remained high.

  Zamna stayed beside Taren at all times. It had been a matter of luck that they had encountered the Sisters. That trap could have been laid by less-friendly natives. These woods were expansive, and there was plenty of room for rival tribes to exist. The Sisters had mentioned that the men lived separately from them, but they did not say in which direction. Would the men prove as friendly as the women had? Zamna didn’t care to find out. He would keep Taren close to avoid further trouble. If the mage attempted to stray, Zamna would stop him. Their goal for now was to reach the desert. Then they would worry about what might lie ahead.

  For two more days, they trudged through the dense forest. Their travel was slow, thanks to the numerous obstacles in their path. The forest seemed to grow thicker before it began to thin. By the third day, the trees were becoming sparse, and the undergrowth had thinned considerably. They walked with ease beneath the shade of the trees, enjoying themselves for a change. Each step was no longer a struggle, and life was all around them. Squirrels scurried along the branches, and a spotted deer took a break from foraging to observe the odd pair.