by Jason Tesar
His breathing was coming in ragged gasps now, as he expended precious energy to reach the bush growing in the dark soil between the jagged rocks of the slope.
It looked bigger from below, he thought as he slumped to the ground beside it. Within minutes, he had picked all the bright red clumps from the leaves and put most of them away in his bag. After eating a handful of the tart berries, he loosened the ties and removed the skins covering the bottoms of his feet. The soft grasses that had been stuffed inside were matted and wet with blood.
He hissed softly as he probed the sensitive skin with his fingers. His feet had toughened considerably over the past weeks, but the cut on his left heel seemed to be getting worse.
Too much walking. Holy One, please protect the feet of the one who goes to deliver your message.
Reclining against the rocks, Enoch looked out over the terrain ahead. The shoreline below continued to swing eastward and it appeared that the steep slopes would lessen in the coming days. Already, dense groupings of trees were becoming more common in the spaces between the crags of stone. Far ahead, a group of dark shapes were clustered together in a flat clearing before the water—a herd grazing on the thick grass. Enoch watched their lazy movements and it reminded him of the animals of the plains near Sedekiyr.
Suddenly, a massive shape burst from the wall of trees to the north. It ran on two powerful hind legs and kept its enormous head low to the ground. Even in this posture, the dull green creature was roughly four times taller than any of the grazing animals.
The herd scattered immediately. Loud, mournful bellows escaped the frightened animals as they ran in all directions. A few hobbled awkwardly for the water and plunged in without hesitating. When the predator reached them, they were floundering wildly and unable to escape.
Enoch crouched low and held his stomach as he watched the attacker rush into the shallow water with its jaws open, its head tilted to the side.
The creature clamped down on the nearest animal and shook its head violently from side to side. The water foamed white, then red. A harsh growl cut through the panicked splashing. Seconds later, the smaller animal was nothing more than a limp shape hanging from the jaws of the predator that carried it back into the trees.
Enoch crawled backward on his hands and knees and lowered himself to the ground when he was out of sight. His heart pounded in his chest. The rock felt cold against his face and the smell of wet soil filled his nostrils.
I was headed there! And I still have to walk through that place! How am I going to survive this terrible land?
At once, his heart slowed and the tension left his muscles. He felt the presence of the Holy One. Beyond his hand lying flat against the moss-covered rocks, he saw the bush that he’d picked bare of its fruit—the bush that had seemed so important only a few minutes ago, but turned out to be not worth the effort. He smiled when he realized what had just happened.
Holy One, it is Your guidance that sustains me. Not my own. Forgive my fearful heart.
* * * *
BAHYITH
“What did he say?”
“I mean you no harm,” the young man answered.
Another leaned forward. “He said he came on a journey from far away.”
The conversation of the males was almost too faint to hear. Sheyir picked up a bundle of wide-bladed strands of grass and submerged them in water, pretending to be occupied by the work at hand. But she listened intently to the discussion taking place nearby.
“He was very big, like the stories of the murderers from the east. But his skin was pale and his hair was white.”
“His eyes were like the deep waters,” another young man pointed out.
Sheyir’s father crossed his arms and leaned back from the circle. As the elder of the tribe, it was his responsibility to interpret the signs and give direction to his people.
Like the other Chatsiyram, Sheyir’s fate rested solely on the wisdom of her father. With the exception of his choice of husband for his daughter, he usually made good decisions. But Sheyir already knew what her father’s reaction would be to a visitation by such a strange and intimidating man. What surprised her, however, was the way her heart began to beat faster when she thought of him. And though he wasn’t human and could fly away at any moment, she nevertheless feared that the Chatsiyr males would somehow hurt him.
“I do not like the words you tell me,” her father responded finally.
Sheyir pushed another bundle beneath the water and kept her eyes down. But her ears strained to hear her father’s judgment.
“You will take the young men and find where he went. You will kill him so he cannot bring trouble to our people.”
Sheyir suddenly turned her head in the opposite direction and squeezed her eyes shut. She imagined the stranger again and the melody he sang. She remembered his words.
Please don’t go, Sheyir. I’ve come a long way to see you.
“Fly away,” she whispered to the stranger. “Wherever you are, fly far away.”
* * * *
NEAR BAHYITH
Sariel waited patiently on a flat rock in the center of shallow water, downstream from the Chatsiyr village. In the fading light of dusk, he sat motionless, listening. He wondered how long it would take for the men of the village to discuss the matter, reach a consensus, and decide to track the strange man who had shown up unannounced and invaded their privacy. With his eyes closed, his ears became attuned to the concert of sounds—insects buzzing, water trickling, birds chirping. Then he heard it—a faint sound that was out of place amid the persistent noises of the jungle. A swish of grass that didn’t follow the rhythm of the breeze drifting through the stream bed.
Sariel rose to his feet and readied himself for the coming confrontation. Somewhere, out in the darkness, the Chatsiyr men were closing in to eliminate a threat. Even though he was expecting them, it was still quite startling to see the empty riverbed gently reflecting the last of the daylight, suddenly populated with dozens of silhouettes. Though they weren’t hunters, they certainly would have been up to the challenge. They moved quietly for a group of herbivores.
More young men appeared in the grass along the opposite bank of the stream. And he knew that if he were to turn around, he’d see still more behind him. Casually crossing his arms, Sariel waited as the men moved closer, now only a hundred feet away.
They continued to close in, tightening the circle, holding their spears either in a two-handed grip or above the shoulder, ready to throw.
Just a little closer. There, that should work just fine.
Keeping his body in the Temporal Realm, Sariel began to shift his consciousness toward the Eternal, just enough to escape the limitation of the evening darkness. From this new vantage point, where the existence of all living beings could be seen as glowing orbs with tendrils stretching toward the Eternal, Sariel watched a simple melody expand from his lips and drift through the air, bursting into tiny points of light when it reached the Chatsiyr men. Though inaudible within the boundaries of the Temporal Realm, he could still watch the results as he shifted his consciousness back to where his body remained.
All of a sudden, birds dropped from the evening sky, diving for the insects that their senses told them were there.
The Chatsiyr men flinched, as the small, winged creatures apparently swooped to attack them. As the men moved closer to the pale stranger who stood confidently upon the river, the birds’ movements became more aggressive. Finally, they stopped and began to back away.
Sariel smiled to himself as he watched them retreat. Surely they would be awestruck by the power of someone able to command the creatures of the sky. He’d shown them mystical influence with restraint. No one had been hurt. With any luck, the Chatsiyr elder would hear the incredible story from his subjects, and would see this stranger not as a threat, but as a potential ally.
One step closer to Sheyir.
CHAPTER 5
NEAR BAHYITH
The following mor
ning, Sariel had more visitors. He knew the previous night’s confrontation would have one of two outcomes. Either the men of the village would return in greater numbers, hoping to overwhelm him by force, or they would come peaceably, bringing their elder to make an alliance with the powerful stranger. Sariel hoped the latter was true and that his demonstration was sufficient to prevent any further attempts at violence. When he saw the small group of Chatsiyram traveling in the open, his hope increased.
They walked slowly beside the stream, understandably cautious. The youngest men with smooth faces walked in front. They carried khafars in their clenched fists. Older males followed closely behind, with close-cropped, bearded faces that shifted continually, looking for additional signs of danger. When they were within speaking distance, the group halted. The young men in front parted into two groups.
The elder, whose beard fell well past his chest, moved forward from the back of the group. His hair and beard were braided and adorned with long blades of grass that made a swishing sound as he moved. He was slightly shorter and thicker than the rest, but his movements were still agile. Stepping to the front of the small delegation, the elder stood with his arms relaxed at his sides. He carried no weapon and remained silent. His eyes scanned Sariel from head to toe, but his face betrayed no emotion.
“Welcome,” Sariel greeted. “I have food. Will you join me for a meal?”
The elder’s eyes narrowed slightly.
A meal was a clear peace offering in their culture, but it was usually prepared by the women. Sariel was alone, and clearly not a female.
“We will eat with you,” the elder replied after a long silence.
Sariel nodded and turned, motioning for them to follow. He led them slowly toward his temporary dwelling where he had a small pile of fruit arranged on the ground, atop a bed of broad leaves. It represented a few hours of morning gathering.
The Chatsiyr males quickly gathered in a circle around the food and seated themselves on the ground. Without any formalities, each young man reached forward and took one piece. The man on the elder’s right side grabbed two and handed one to the tribe’s leader.
“You mean us no harm,” the elder said, accepting the cone-shaped fruit. Then, without taking his gaze from Sariel, he expertly peeled the firm, red skin to reveal the edible flesh inside.
Sariel couldn’t tell from the inflection whether this was a question or statement, but he thought it was a good place to start the conversation either way. “This is true,” he replied.
“Why are you here?” the elder asked, then took a bite of his food.
“I have journeyed from far away. I came to help you and your people.”
The elder stopped chewing and his eyebrows shot upward, then quickly plummeted. “Who sent you?”
“No one,” Sariel admitted. “I am only traveling through your land. And if I am able, I will help anyone who has need.”
“Because you have dathrah,” the elder stated.
Sariel had heard this word only once before, but he remembered it well. Any wisdom or ability not common to the typical tribe member was seen as supernatural in origin, or dathrah. “Yes,” he admitted.
“How did you learn this dathrah?”
Sariel thought for a moment. “It was given to me a very long time ago. But I see you have dathrah, as well.” Having reached the first milestone of the conversation—getting the elder to recognize his powers—Sariel now wanted to move on to the next objective. “You can see what others cannot.”
“Yes,” the elder confirmed. His eyebrows lowered slowly while the rest of his face remained unmoving. “How do you know this?”
With his confrontational style of communication, the elder was making it difficult to steer the conversation. Though Sariel wanted his powers to be established in their minds, he didn’t want them to dwell on it. Instead, he hoped to progress to an understanding of their needs and how he might help. If they invited him into their village, regardless of the terms, he would have a better chance of establishing a relationship with them and thereby gain access to regular contact with Sheyir.
“Because you came to me without a khafar. I can see that you care about the safety of your people. Tell me, are your people protected? What have you seen with your dathrah?”
The elder was silent for a moment.
Perhaps I’ve gone too fast. I should have waited before questioning his weaknesses.
“You will come to our village and we will talk more.”
He blatantly avoided the question, but Sariel was pleased nonetheless. The invitation alone showed an extraordinary amount of progress in such a short time. Though tempted as he was to celebrate, he still had a long way to go. The elder hadn’t yet introduced himself. When names were finally exchanged, then he would know that he had accomplished something significant with Sheyir’s father. And that accomplishment would lead him to his ultimate goal.
* * * *
NORTH OF SEDEKIYR
The steep, rocky terrain gave way to lush fields and forests again as Enoch moved eastward, still keeping the shoreline on his right side. In the silence of this solitary journey, it was the whispers of the Holy One that kept him going, fueling his tired body. But the sightings of large beasts roaming the land were becoming more frequent. They were a constant reminder that he was not alone or safe from danger.
Another eight days brought him to a second narrow stretch of land between two bodies of water, which he named Ne-Banyim.* As he moved through this area and away from the water, the land rose again. Enoch’s progress slowed considerably as he encountered hill after hill, and he found his energy sapped before the end of each day. Eating as much as he could find to maintain his strength, he continued pushing eastward. After nearly two weeks through this tiresome land he crested a hill and caught the first glimpse of the mountains from his dream. Katan Har-Marah they would be called from that day forward—the Lesser Mountains of My Vision. Having finally reached the land of Nowd, Enoch stopped early that day and rested to regain his strength. After spending the night atop the knoll with the mountains in the distance, he turned northeast and began the last leg of his journey with renewed vigor.
The grassy plains were gone now, replaced by dense forests dotting the landscape. The mist rising from the ground was thicker here than in Sedekiyr, and seemed to prefer lodging itself in the trees. Moving carefully through the foreign terrain, Enoch turned gradually to the north. Using the memory of his vision, he kept the water always within sight to serve as a reference. After a week, the taller mountain of his dream loomed on the northeastern horizon.
“Gadol Har-Marah,” he said aloud. The sound of his own voice after so many days of silence was almost startling. He stood for a moment, looking at the great uprising of land. Mist obscured the peak, making the mountain seem all the more ominous. And somewhere on the other side of it was the city of Khanok, home of the Kahyin tribe. As he stared into the distance, he lifted a piece of green fruit to his lips and took a bite. It was bitter, but it was something to fill his stomach.
The low screech of an animal brought him out of his thoughts and reminded him that he needed to keep moving. He began walking again and heard the same sound from a different direction this time.
Mating call?
When he heard a third call from yet another direction, his hand tightened around the walking stick he’d acquired only days after leaving Sedekiyr.
Hunting party!
Glancing around, he searched for shelter—a tree to climb, a ravine to cross. Unfortunately, he was surrounded by nothing but knee-high grasses and the occasional tall bush. The nearest trees were several minutes run from where he stood.
Where are they?
From what he’d seen in the last few weeks, predatory pack animals were usually larger than knee-high. So he was immediately suspicious of the surrounding bushes. To the north, the land dropped into a wide clearing free of bushes or any tall vegetation. He began to run without another thought.
&nb
sp; Instantly, other screeches sounded from multiple directions behind him, clearly audible above the swish of the wet grasses slapping at his legs as he ran. He changed his grip on his walking stick and was now greatly relieved to have something that could be used as a weapon.
Descending the hill at a rapid pace, he reached the flat land within seconds and began hacking his way through the waist-high grass. Only a few strides away from the shallower vegetation, Enoch flinched when a creature, larger than himself, rose into view. Instinctively, he swung his walking stick.
The creature quickly dodged to the side and swung something in retaliation.
Enoch caught the blow on the side of his head and his vision went black.
~
When he regained consciousness, he was lying face-down in the grass, hands tied behind his back. His head throbbed with pain and he could feel something wet covering the side of his head and shoulders.
“Luh, Luh. Wu-selema el muhadis arushida,” one of his attackers stated emphatically.
Enoch couldn’t see anything but dirt and the thick roots of some grass stalks. His initial confusion was just beginning to dissipate as he considered the possibility that these animals were, in fact, human.
Someone spoke again in a language Enoch didn’t understand, and another man replied quickly with agitation in his voice, as if they were arguing. Something strong clamped his arm and pulled Enoch painfully to his feet. His shoulder threatened to rip from its socket and, for a moment, the pain in his head was forgotten. Enoch stifled a scream, trying his best to be compliant and somehow survive whatever was about to happen to him.
For the first time, Enoch now saw his attackers face to face—people of the Kahyin tribe. They were all nearly a full head taller than he, with skin much darker than his own. Their size and muscular forms were made more intimidating by the disturbing animal skins they wore. The empty skull and jagged teeth of some reptilian creature protected their heads and hung down in front of their faces. Across their shoulders and backs they wore thick, mottled hides, embedded with rows of spines. The rest of their bodies were naked, and they showed no hint of shame about it. In their hands they each carried a short wooden club with half of its length covered by the tail-skin of the same creature—tiny, dull spines that grew tighter and shorter until they ended at a bulbous, bludgeoning instrument. Judging by the way it swung from the men’s grasp, it appeared to have the weight of stone.