by Cat Bruno
“Where is Aldric?” she cried aloud as she scrambled over the side of the wagon.
Her legs were unsteady, and Syrsha fell to her knees, cringing as pieces of rock tore at her pants. No one came to her aid, she noticed.
“Gregorr, why do I not see Aldric?”
When the fennidi would not look at her, Syrsha pushed herself up and ran to him.
“Tell me what has happened!” she begged, stretching her legs to strengthen them again.
“He rides ahead, no more than that. With his moon-misted eyes watching, the fennidi asked, “How did his hands become burned, Syrsha?”
“I know not what you mean,” she stuttered, hearing accusation behind his question.
He stepped closer. “Syrsha, you have been asleep for three days and nights. We would have thought you dead, if not for your life pulse beating.”
“No,” she hissed, falling backward from him. Next, she was running toward her horse, which had been tied as a trail horse to Liang’s mount.
Caryss called back, “I will explain all just as soon as I find Aldric.”
Her fingers, shaded in blue and chilled still, hurriedly untied her mount. Without speaking to the others, she leapt on and forced the horse into a gallop. It did not take long for her to catch up with the mage.
“Aldric!” she screamed, waving an icy arm at him.
When she stopped just to his side, Syrsha asked about his hands, explaining that she had just woken up. His skin held a yellow tint and his hands were wrapped in strips of white linen from elbow to fingertip. The sight of the mage made her pause, unable to say more. Afraid that he might fall from his horse with fatigue, she tried to reach for him. But Aldric would not let her any nearer.
Behind them, the rest of the group approached, hooves pounding on the browning grass of the road.
Finally, he slowly explained, “I thought you trapped, faela, for you were gone longer than ever before, and I could do nothing to rouse you. I called for you over and over, until I had little voice remaining. Gregorr might have helped, but I could not leave you to find him.”
“I called upon too much of your power,” she mumbled in apology as some memory returned.
“You must have had need of it,” he sighed in resignation.
“What of your hands? Did they become like ice? The same happened to Blaidd and me. While the rest of me is afire, my hands feel as if they have been buried in snow.”
Syrsha watched as his eyes clouded with confusion. None of them knew, she realized then.
“The Lightkeepers had Blaidd and Blaze,” she hurriedly told the group. “My cousin was near death, and I had to use blood magic to wake him. Jarek has left the King’s City! It was he who saved my cousin and the Islander. And there is another man with him, too.”
“Slow down, Syrsha,” Aldric uttered as he raised his bandaged hands.
The sight of the bleached strips of linen waving with the swirling breeze made Syrsha silent. She knew that she was to blame for his injuries and looked away from the mage, heartsick and overcome with guilt. Blaidd lived, yet Aldric might not ever fully recover his mage-skill.
“We must find a way to heal your hands, Aldric,” she finally stated.
“In time,” he shrugged, looking over her to where the others joined them. “You must start from the beginning and tell us what happened.”
As soon as Syrsha eyed Otieno, she realized that the Akkachi was not relieved to see her awake. His stare was dark and filled with fury, more so than she was accustomed to seeing, even from the stern man. When he jumped from his horse, Syrsha’s hands felt for her daggers. Her swords were gone, and, within moments, she realized that her knives were as well. While she slept, one of them must have stripped her of the weapons.
Her movements did not escape the diauxie’s notice.
“You will find nothing to defend yourself, faela,” he spit in warning, his eyes like she had never seen them. His face was mask-line, stony and unreadable.
Fully healed after so much rest, Syrsha did not back away from him as he stepped forward. Her nose twitched and her vision darkened, as if an enemy approached.
“I need no weapons, Otieno,” she countered, knowing that the others watched, but would not interrupt.
Her teacher did not strike, much to her surprise. Stopping within a step from her, he called on her for an explanation. There was neither kindness nor accusation behind his words, or none that she could hear. But his gaze was haunted with shades of midnight still. And he looked upon her with distrust. Gregorr had climbed from his mount as well and lingered near, anxious to hear what had occurred.
With as much detail as she could recall, Syrsha explained how the healer had betrayed Jarek and Blaidd, calling upon the Lightkeepers for assistance. She told them all of how Jarek had sacrificed his safety and identity as he fled the King’s City to rescue her kin. She told them of the ship captain and of the atraglacia. More than once she mentioned how Jarek had called the storms to protect the men as they raced away from their captors. In her excitement, Syrsha did not succeed in keeping the emotion from her voice, and, when she had finished, Otieno looked at her strangely.
“You have made peace with Jarek,” he said as she quieted.
Trying in vain to clear her face, she answered, “He has chosen a side, Akkachi, and I now owe him much.”
Behind her, Aldric asked, “Why was this last visit so different than the others? We feared that you would not wake.”
Only then did she hesitate.
With halting words, Syrsha explained, “Jarek was storm-struck, and I could not reach him. Blaidd was half-dead from the atraglacia ward and could not hear or see me. I had to use the dagger to wake him, and, even then, blood magic was needed. There were a dozen Lightkeepers or more, and Blaidd and Blaze had been stripped naked and their swords seized. To free them, I had to drop my own ward and protect them with what little energy I had remaining.”
She was facing the mage again, and his gaze was much more understanding than the Islander’s. He sensed what little choice she had.
“What will Jarek do now?” Aldric asked.
“I know not,” she told him. “The last thing I remember is watching as the gray-bearded man steered them clear of the port.”
“You are certain that they escaped?”
Nodding strongly, she said, “They are gone from Cordisia. Of that I am certain. When I am recovered, I will seek out Jarek again.”
“You will do no such thing!” Otieno fumed, although he still did not reach for her.
“Your time-walking nearly caused your own death, and who knows what will come of Aldric’s injuries. For now, you will not leave Tian.”
She did not argue, not this time.
Yet, she called loudly, “In two moons time, I head home. We must find a combat master soon, or this trip has been for naught. I will not have Jarek and Blaidd fight my war while I languish here.”
“Two moons is hardly time to learn such skills,” Otieno stated dryly.
“I learned the bow in less,” she countered, reminding them that Liang had been a fine guide.
To Liang, who had remained nearly silent for the last half-moon, Syrsha asked, “Do you know where we are? Can you find me a teacher by the morrow?”
For the days that Syrsha had slept, the others continued. While the grasslands appeared unchanged, the road had widened, which suggested that they neared a city. Ahead, painted signs written in Tiannese symbols directed travelers. Looking more intently, Syrsha noticed gabled roofs, curved and long, on the horizon. Unable to read the hand-scrolled words, she pointed toward the sign and asked what town they came upon.
“If we continue east, we will come upon Sholin Temple. I have heard of the place, although I have not visited it myself,” Liang answered. Her eyes were the only ones that did not contain anger and judgment, Syrsha realized.
After looking toward the signs again, she added, “Oh yes, now I remember why the name sounds so familiar. The temple is
famed for being home to many of the striped laohus. I do not know how to name them in Common.”
Remembering when last she heard the word, Syrsha smiled. “In Cossima, they were called great cats, for there were none stronger, not even the ones that ran the swiftest. So this temple breeds the laohus?”
“Aye, but more. They fight them. It is a great privilege to face off against them, and an even greater honor to best one.”
“I have heard of such battles,” Syrsha explained, knowingly. “In lands near Sythia, they do the same. Would we be permitted to enter the temple, Liang? I would see these cats before I leave Tian.”
Nodding, the girl said, “For coin, any can enter. But as with any Tiannese temple, you must follow all rules. I do not know how Sholin is managed, but it would be much the same, I think.”
To the men, Syrsha said, “I am inclined to visit the temple, with your agreement.”
It was Aldric who quickly asked, “Will we be safe inside the temple grounds?”
“Aye. A Tiannese temple is often a place of solace. Some go there to study; others seek peace. Some, the old and sick usually, go there for healing. None will harm us there, or they would be banished and dishonor would fall upon them and their kin.”
Syrsha was beginning to understand more of the Tiannese way, and how there was little more sacred than honor. It was not the way with her own kin, although she knew little of the Tribe in truth. Soon, that would change, she figured, thinking on when she could sail for the Tribelands. It would be strange to meet her father in flesh, yet she could think on little else.
“Let us hurry, if no one objects,” she exclaimed, the words fast and warm from her lips.
None voiced concern, and, soon, the strange group walked along a white-stoned path, bordered by neatly trimmed trees. The temple sat at the base of a hill and stretched horizontally. There were no iron-worked gates or steel-backed doors. Instead, the entry was welcoming, with a brightly painted red door framed by large, circular windows. As Syrsha neared, she noticed two stone statues guarding the entrance, both identical and nearly as tall as she. Cut from stone, pale and sun-bleached, yet life-like, the great cats watched.
Wordlessly, she ran her hand across the back of one and wondered what her father would think of such a beast.
Behind the statues was a small set of stairs, constructed of the same moon-washed stone that lay across the trail. Reaching the base of the steps, Syrsha waited.
When Liang was at her side, she murmured, “In the Tribelands, one cannot enter a home without seeking permission. I know not how the temples across Cordisia operate, nor this one. Who is it that we must ask for admittance?”
“The outer rooms are open to all, although most do not allow weapons. Should I go seek out someone?”
As Syrsha thought on what the girl stated, Aldric answered, “I will leave my sword with Otieno and accompany you inside.”
Knowing that she could hardly object, Syrsha watched as the diauxie pulled the sword free, for Aldric’s hands were still bound in linen and useless. Guilt sliced at her, yet Syrsha forced her eyes open. The mage attempted to keep his face clear, yet she saw his eyes, tired and worn, clouded with pain. Her army, already far too small, was shrinking, Syrsha realized then.
Tiannese mercenaries would add to her numbers, yet the land was far removed from Cordisia, a world away and unknown. Her only hope would be to convince some to follow her in the next few moons. Even then, their coin would not last long, for ships and fighters never came cheaply. If I cannot pay them, then I must convince them to trust me. I must win their hearts.
She wanted nothing more than to strip free of her swords, yet Syrsha guessed that Otieno would not let her enter the temple unarmed. For now, she could only wait as Aldric and Liang pushed open the red-stained door, arched like a low-lying, waning moon. The gods here were not ones she learned of during her time in Cossima, yet Syrsha feared them little. I am god-kin.
Although it seemed to matter naught so far from Cordisia.
As the group lingered outside Sholin Temple, Syrsha paced, peeking through trees as she tried to see beyond the building’s walls. They, too, were painted a rusty red, as was much in Tian. Sanded smooth and even, the walls reflected the mid-morning sun, streaking the whitened walkway with rays of fire. But not blood, not here.
Syrsha began to tremble and twitch as she thought of the Sythian Queen’s death. That day, moons before, she had understood what it meant to be a daughter of the Wolf. Here, just outside the temple, where only the sounds of yellow-tailed birds dipping and cooing, could be heard, Syrsha could not hide from the shadows of her past. Her hair, polished with night, spoke of her father. Her skin, waxed with pearls, spoke of Luna. Her blood, hot and immortal, spoke of Nox.
Yet it was her eyes that spoke loudest. Glazed green and edged in thick lashes, they spoke of Eirrannia, and of her mother’s kin, whom she would never know. Her hand clasped the sheath at her hip, and her fingers traced the sprig of lavender sewn there. Up and down, her fingers trailed, until her vision cleared, the red haze lifting.
It was then that Syrsha heard voices calling out and looked to see Aldric and Liang descending the steps, accompanied by a bald man wearing a robe the color of a setting sun. Otieno, Gregorr, and Sharron joined her at the base of the stairs.
Nodding toward the robed man, Liang called, “This is Yao-Tzu, who serves as temple-keeper here. He has come to explain the rules of Sholin Temple.”
The man, of an age with Aldric, gazed upon Syrsha with round, dark eyes edged with wrinkles, which deepened as he smiled.
“Three nights ago, I dreamed of a red-crowned crane. When I woke, I knelt beside my cot and thanked the gods for such luck and waited for my good fortune to come.”
Syrsha listened as he mused, understanding his words, although she knew that the others could not. With a slight nod to Liang, she silently told her to translate the man’s story. Despite knowing the language that he spoke, Syrsha did not understand his tale, for she had not heard of the red-crowned crane. But it would not serve her well to interrupt, so Syrsha bowed her head, uncertain and unlearned.
With a gentle laugh that rustled his robe, the man continued, “The gods like to play games, you see, and I should not have been surprised to have been so teased. But I am surprised to find the red-crowned crane in human form.”
Her silence caused the man to gently chide, “You are not from Tian, even though the vested girl told me you would understand my words.”
It was always much easier to make sense of the languages of others, than for Syrsha to try to speak the words on her own. After a long pause, she slowly told him, “I am from far west of here and have traveled for moons to learn the ways of the Tiannese fighters. The big man behind me has been my swordmaster since I was a babe and would not let me enter your temple without weapons.”
“The crane should bear no weapons, for she is a bird of peace.”
Syrsha glanced toward Liang, who stood open-mouthed and silent. In Common, Syrsha asked her to explain the keeper’s words.
“Cranes are beloved by all of Tian, and they are known to be bringers of fortune, luck, and long life. To dream of such an animal ensures that you will be blessed on the morrow. Yao-Tzu thinks of you as the crane who came to him in his sleep.”
“I am no crane,” she half-laughed, as the others listened.
To Yao-Tzu, Syrsha stated, “My blood is of the Wolf, but I would hope to bring you luck and fortune all the same. Will you allow us to enter your temple?”
When the man smiled at her words, she feared that he was half-mad. “You will come to see yourself as a crane before you leave here, my child.”
Then, he added, “Here at Sholin Temple, we train in the ways of the laohu. You may enter and seek guidance, but it must be without swords. Inside our walls, only what we come into the world with can be weapon.”
Syrsha haltingly explained to the others that they must give Yao-Tzu their weapons. It came as no surprise that Otie
no objected.
“Faela, I have never been without Enyo, not since she has hung across my back! I will not entrust her to anyone, not even to the temple keeper.”
“What will happen to our swords?” Syrsha called out to Yao-Tzu.
“Nothing. Where you place them, they will stay.”
Again Syrsha looked to Liang for assistance, but the girl only shrugged.
To Otieno, she said, “Yao-Tzu promises that our weapons will be protected.”
“Think on this, Syrsha. It is not wise to enter a building without weapon. There has long been a price on your head. Even here you are not safe.”
“I need an army,” Syrsha countered sharply. “I have gained no allies in the moon years that I have been gone. Aye, I can wield a sword better than most, but I need fighters, Otieno. I cannot win against the Rexterran Army without help.”
“You have Asha’s fighters, who await you in the Cove,” he barked.
“Who are skilled with bow and sword. But think on what might happen if they trained in Tiannese combat, too.”
His eyes flamed. “Against a sword, a fist will lose.”
Shaking her head, she argued, “Against the storm, your sword can win. Let us learn what they can offer, Akkachi. Give it a half-moon, and if you think it wisest to leave after that, then I will.”
“If you are still alive,” he hissed.
But he no longer disagreed, and, for that, Syrsha claimed victory.
“To the left is an area where we can place our weapons, and it is guarded by mage-touch,” she told him, knowing that no such area existed.
As they climbed the steps, Liang marched beside her and whispered, “I cannot vow that your swords will be safe.”
“If they are as fine of teachers as you have said, then our weapons will not be needed until we are in Cordisia.”
Liang smiled as she pulled the curved bow from her back. Syrsha followed, placing her shortsword and throwing knives onto a simple, stone shelf. It was not until she reached for her dagger that she hesitated.
Behind the russet wall, the cry of a great cat bellowed. In warning or greeting, she did not know, but it was enough to make Syrsha pull the atraglacia blade from her boot. After wrapping it in leather that she kept tied around her wrist, she tucked it behind Liang’s bow.