Rexrider (First World's End Book 1)

by Mark Angel

  “Kotalivo,” Tamik said in a low but distinct tone of voice.

  “What does it represent?”

  “The first Grandmaster Guardian.”

  The solid wooden doors groaned open and among those standing waiting to greet Tamik were the ruffians from his low meridian scuffle. Each man wore the crimson-trimmed green sash of a Senior Guardian, confirming in Tamik’s mind, if he still had any doubt, that the altercation had been a test.

  The ruddy-faced doorkeep simply said, “You’re late,” and directed Tamik to pass through the wall, the backside of which hung heavy with vines bearing sweet fruit.

  “It would have been nice if you’d shown up here on time,” the muscular redhead said. “We’ve been waiting for you since before dawn. Now we’ve missed the pre-fast meal.”

  A brief spasm of laughter left Tamik. “My apologies for my tardiness, I had a rough tour at the barrier gate. After bumping my head, I seemed to have overslept.” He faced the pair who had fought him and sneered, “I suppose I should thank you both for your participation in my first watch.”

  “Our pleasure,” the redhead grinned, revealing a set of straight white teeth. “And make no mistake, rexrider, there is always more where that came from.” He balled his right fist and punched it into his left palm with a soft pop.

  At first, the implied threat disoriented Tamik, but he could not picture being induced into another brawl—within Guardian’s Gulch of all places. Then the man put Tamik at ease by rotating his covered fist into the salute of an equal, right fist covered by left palm at chest level.

  Tamik exhaled, and released a controlled laugh.

  The taller man from the darktime scuffle saluted as well, saying through a gap-toothed grin, “We’re visiting from the Southern Kith.” He too, briefly saluted Tamik as a peer. “That’s why you didn’t recognize us. And we were honored to participate in your training, although I can’t say that it was the light hearted matter you now seem to be making it.” His smile broadened as he rubbed his ribs.

  “And I could use a cold compress where you kicked me in the knee,” the redhead mentioned.

  “It was the stone wall that hurt your knee, and I could use one too!” Tamik said rubbing the lump on his head.

  As both men were now dressed as Senior Guardians, Tamik saluted them as superiors. Then he was off along the familiar road through the gulch to the Guardians’ Lodge. The two Southerners fell in behind him as escorts. He did not know why he warranted such treatment, or even if it was just a coincidence they were going in the same direction as he, so he continued on as if they were not there.

  But now he felt a little self-conscious about his spurs scratching against the cleanly swept paving stones. Among all beast handlers, only rexriders wore spurs, and that made him feel even more different from the men behind him.

  He passed many residents of the Gulch, most of whom he recognized, greeting each one appropriately. When Tamik glanced up into the blue sky while inside the Gultch, it always seemed unusually high. The sheer cliffs on either side of this long and tapered canyon gave the appearance of closing in from above as the ravine narrowed to a width he knew to be 27 strides at the base. As he approached the Lodge, the canyon floor widened again to about twice that. The details of the surroundings blurred due to familiarity, nothing sticking freshly in his mind but his quest to find his mentor. And now his tardiness weighed heavily upon him.

  The outer chamber of the Lodge loomed in front of Tamik. The back of the structure was carved deeply into the stone of the cliff. The projecting parts of the building were constructed with smooth rectangular stone blocks, extracted while creating the inner cavity The joints between the stone were sealed against the weather with mortar. Tamik knew the chamber could easily accommodate hundreds of people although it looked much smaller from outside.

  For nearly every dawn in the eight sars since his father had first brought him here, Tamik had met Sortan in the courtyard outside the Lodge, where he usually enjoyed a brew of purple tea leaves with other Senior Guardians. Not this turn. The courtyard was empty, and though several Senior Guardians mingled quietly at the entrance to the Outer Chamber, none was his mentor. Tamik thought of the several turns during his training as an Initiate and Junior Guardian when he was prohibited from entering the Lodge at dawn, and wondered if this was one of those. He gave a general salute at the door expecting to be turned away, but he was promptly directed toward the Inner Chamber. Perhaps Sortan would be found there.

  A stocky Senior Guardian, whom Tamik knew only casually, stood at the door to the Inner Chamber and beckoned him to enter. After the young rexrider went in alone, the door closed.

  The Inner Chamber was a small underground cavern deep inside the cliff. It was triangular in shape with an arched ceiling of solid stone, and was brightly lit by gas lamps plumbed at even intervals well above head-level. He rarely had the occasion to enter this place and the recollection of his first visit flitted through his mind. Now, at the long wooden table sat the Grandmaster Tsi’galivo, alone, drawing designs on his slate board. His lean figure was fit and toned, his hair short and grey. The man spoke without turning from his work.

  “Who comes here?” he said gruffly.

  “Tamik, Melok’s son. I was directed to enter.”

  Tsi’galivo snapped his head around and fixed his eyes on Tamik. He repeated with firm enunciation, “WHO. COMES. HERE.”

  The Grandmaster’s gaze was a hot wind blowing up from the prairies of his eyes. Tamik froze at attention before remembering the proper response to the inquiry.

  “A messenger of the Divine.”

  “What came you here to do?” Tsi’galivo asked it in the same firm tone, but less intensely.

  “To increase Divine Light in the world.”

  Tsi’galivo stood and saluted the young man as a peer. “Then good morrow, Master,” he said, greeting the Secondary Rexrider/Junior Guardian as if the young man were more highly ranked.

  Tamik saluted as a subordinate, his covered fist against his brow. It was a habitual response as he was unaccustomed to being greeted as a master of anything.

  “Good morrow, Worshipful.”

  The Grandmaster nodded and sat down. “The morrow from a dome of darkness wields the Sword of Light that puts the stars to flight,” he said, and showed Tamik his slateboad. He had sketched an exquisitely executed motif. It was a simple, yet clear depiction of a bull rex with a rider on his back, sword drawn as if under attack. Then he asked softly, “Do you remember?”

  Tamik shifted his weight in an effort to achieve a more comfortable stance, pausing to consider the Grandmaster’s question.

  “Remember what, Worshipful?” he finally asked.

  “That you have the Power.”

  Tamik tried to focus. First a physical test, now a mental one. He dared not pretend to know the answer.

  “I have the Power, Worshipful?”

  “Yes, young master. Tell me about your Power to engage the Flow.”

  Tamik churned over the knowledge he had gained. The Flow was the linking force between all Being and Spirit; a river eternally streaming from the heart of heaven to the heart of the planet through his heart and the heart of all people, and then back again, through the heart of all sentient beings. He began to recite the Litany of the Power: “It is the well from which all true Masters receive their Power. It is the substance of Mystery, that musical vibration of Manifestation audible only to the well-trained ear. . . life’s fundamental essence, inherent in every person.”

  Tsi’galivo invited him to expound with an encouraging expression.

  “One can use it to bless as well as to curse, and to inspire the ecstasy of death, thereby compelling any living creature to die willingly at the hands—or jaws—of its killer.” The Junior Guardian had improvised slightly. “Master Slayers use it to kill livestock.”

  Then Tamik repeated the ancient adage: “Only by engaging the Flow before the blade, does the sacrificial flesh remain sweet and free
of the bitter waters of fear. For, only the beast slain with the proper application of the Power is considered clean.”

  The Grandmaster Guardian folded his hands and placed his two index fingers to his lips. He watched Tamik.

  Tamik continued, confident enough to put a more personal spin on his telling. “Rexes use the Power when they emit their hunting roar. They take their victims in a death grip, while growling inaudibly. Raptors use the Power when they screech in the ear of a dying beast. These acts free the deed of killing from its inherent cruelty, by sending those dying back to the Divine in ecstasy.”

  Of course there was another side to the Power, a horrifying one, as Tamik knew all too well. He vividly recalled that cold turn long ago when he was nine, faced by a young Master Skywatcher who had invaded his sister’s dwelling and there abused the Power.

  “The ignoble use of the Power constitutes the only capital crime,” he said, recollecting the brazen stare of the invader that once penetrated his mind so deeply. “When you are caught in its hold, it feels as if . . . as if . . . your life is draining away, yet you are not afraid . . . you are resigned to die, relishing that ecstasy of death conjured by the very predator that you should most fear.”

  He noticed he was almost whispering. He glanced at Tsi’galivo and bowed his head contritely.

  “Yes,” the man said softly. “You possess quite a good understanding of the Power. And I imagine that you also remember when not to use it.”

  Tamik nodded bleakly. His past experience with the skywatcher flooded back into him in full detail, as if something the Grandmaster had done had opened a gate which had held those memories at bay. A slight tremor passed through Tamik.

  “Yes, Worshipful,” he replied with tightlipped resignation, “the Power.”

  “Good!” Tsi’galivo said cheerfully. “I only suggest that you should use it wisely.” His smile was broad and sincere. “Good-bye, Tamik.”

  The Grandmaster remained seated, and saluted the young man, this time as his subordinate. Tsi’galivo then wiped his slate clean and started to draw something new.

  Tamik turned toward the door, wondering what, if anything, he was supposed to have gained from this encounter. Perhaps it was meant to force him to recall the experience he had tried to put behind him. At one point he had thought the Grandmaster might impart some wisdom regarding how to use the Power. Instead, he got a slough of unwelcome thoughts that drained him. Unbalanced, he found it difficult to put one foot in front of the other as he began to leave. Disappointment, if not a hint of betrayal, best described his present mood—that and the sudden onset of utter exhaustion.

  “By the way,” Tsi’galivo called from behind.

  Tamik turned around hopeful to hear some secret insight. The older man’s eyes remained on his work as he spoke. “Should you ever need assistance putting the Power to good use,” he said, “feel free to ask me, or any other true Master. And if you are not near a Master when the need arises, seek one out in your heart and take three deep breaths gathering in Divine Light. One of us will come to your mind after your third exhalation.”

  Tamik nodded, nearly red-faced with frustration. His every encounter since the low meridian cusp of this turn seemed either adversarial or pointless. And the newly refreshed memory of his childhood encounter with the rogue skywatcher lay festering on top of them all. His limbs felt like stone as he made his way out of the Inner Chamber. His business at the Lodge had never really been with Tsi’galivo anyway. He had come to find his mentor and hoped this search for Sortan would help keep his mind off of these other things, at least for awhile.

  “Excuse me, Senior,” Tamik said to the doorkeeper, who he realized was now the muscular red headed fellow from the Southern Kith. He forced himself to keep his voice respectful. “Do you happen to know where I may find Senior Sortan?”

  “Senior Sortan is no more.” The comment sounded almost light-hearted.

  Tamik said nothing. Grief welled up inside him. Is this what this has all been about? He thought. A distraction to prepare me for devastating news!?

  The Outer Chamber, filled with Senior and Master Guardians, fell silent. Tamik turned around and realized all were watching him, listening attentively. The doorkeep’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder from behind. Tamik shook it off. The Senior Guardian laughed aloud. Tamik’s grief instantly turned to anger at the man’s insolence. He ignored the redhead and broadcasted the same question to those gathered.

  “Does anyone happen to know where I may find Senior Sortan?!”

  “My friend!” the doorkeeper said with the same gleeful air. Tamik turned around. It took every ounce of his will to keep his hands to himself. The Senior Guardian continued to grin. “Nothing bad has happened to your mentor. He has been raised to the sublime degree of Master Guardian. Senior Sortan is no more! Only Master Sortanivo!”

  Quiet chuckles came at Tamik from every direction. He coughed out a laugh as well, but it was forced. He felt both embarrassed and relieved.

  “All right, then,” he said as graciously as he could. “Do you happen to know where I might find Master Sortanivo?”

  “Somewhere between here and the Eastern Kith, I should think.”

  “The Eastern Kith?”

  “Yes. Gone to do his Master’s work elsewhere.”

  Well aware that a guardian’s raising assignment was often cloaked in secrecy, Tamik inquired no further. “Of course,” he said. “Thank you.” He saluted formally again as a subordinate.

  The Senior Guardian saluted him back as a peer.

  Tamik stood looking at him with a blank face, but hilarity again ensued from around him. The red-haired youth stepped forward and placed one hand on each of Tamik’s shoulders.

  “Congratulations, brother!”

  Half-a-finger of time passed where Tamik considered shaking loose before the levity of the moment sank in. Tamik managed to respond, “For what, Senior?”

  “Call me Dergon, Brother. You are being passed to the degree of Senior Guardian. It is my pleasure and honor to participate in your advancement rituals.”

  Tamik would have felt more foolish than he did, if he were not still seething from all the twists and turns this morrow had proffered. Still, his reaction was tempered.

  “I’m a Senior Guardian now?” he asked warily. He had been tricked more than enough times for one day.

  “You passed the Master’s Dialogue, didn’t you?”

  Tamik paused to consider before answering, “I suppose so.”

  “You look as if you don’t believe me.”

  “No disrespect meant, Senior, but—“

  “None taken. I imagine you feel you’ve been through a bit of a whirl this turn. But now we can retire to the Refectory, where you will see we are quite serious. You may have missed the celebratory pre-dawn meal,” Dergon continued, “but there is still the rest of the ceremony to be enjoyed, so if you would lead the way. . . ”

  Dergon indicated for Tamik to head toward the dining hall. The newest Senior Guardian fell in among the others, and they entered a long, dimly lit passageway through the stratum rock paneled with etched redwood. The scent in the tunnel recalled a sunny post-meridian stroll through the forest on the plateau above. Tamik's smile broadened as more people patted him on the back, and he proceeded into the second largest chamber in the Gulch.

  The room into which they emerged was much brighter than the Lodge. Several narrow yet imposing glass panes swept upward on Tamik’s left, giving free passage to the natural light through the mostly rock wall. Many of the windows had been opened allowing the fresh morning air to circulate.

  “We’ll be sitting at the head table for the occasion with the rest of the promotees,” Dergon added in good humor, “and it is my duty to inform you of your first assignment as a Senior. Throughout the upcoming Guardian’s Games, you will be the local guide for all us visitors from the Southern Kith. I suspect we will see much of one another during the coming turns.”

  Tamik nodded,
trying to take it all in. Part of him still expected this to be an elaborate hoax, but who would go to so much trouble for this sort of prank? He was not important enough for that. And now he could see a small group of other Junior Guardians from his cohort sitting at the head table. He passed between two rows of people that had formed along the walkway, composed of a mix of Senior and Master Guardians, an assembly meant to honor him as he made his way to his place at the head table.

  He started to feel light-headed, and the expansive room seemed on the verge of swirling around him, but he was suddenly grounded by the distant roar of his father’s mount from deep in the paddock, and halted to listen. He doubted if the others even recognized the scarcely audible rumble as the call of a rex.

  When the rexrider stopped Dergon nearly crashed into him from behind. “What is it, Brother?”

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot stay,” Tamik stammered, dismayed by his own words. “I mean, I would very much like to stay here in the Guardians’ Lodge and receive this honor, but my father has insisted I go with the pride to hunt, and we leave soon. I must go tend Gar-rex.”

  The joviality drained from Dergon’s face. “So you really are just a rexrider pretending to be a guardian,” he said sternly.

  “I am a guardian,” Tamik said firmly. His energy and convictions returned to him in full measure. He held up the riding gear he had almost forgotten was hanging from his shoulder. “But I am also a rexrider. And the duty I owe to my father and his mount must now come first.” He bowed deeply to his guide. “I assure you, I would rather show you and your companions the wonders of Stonehaven than hunt from the back of a prairie rex. Nevertheless, I must go, or the beasts will soon be hunting among the livestock in the inner paddock, or worse. I think my duty as a guardian would be best served by helping get those hungry creatures out into the wilderness to find prey.”

  Dergon nodded grimly, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course he is right!” a voice boomed over the swelling murmur of discontent that had begun to build. Master Tsi’galivo had entered the hall. “I suggest you present him with his honors now, so he may attend to those more important duties which await him.”