by Ronan Frost
"Is that shoulder wound bad?" he gestured.
"No, it is superficial. The fever is his worry; I've seen members of their race fall to it. Pass me that pot, maybe I can get him to take a little more broth."
Capac grasped the wooden pot in question that hung over the fire and passed to the Elder. The Elder forced a little of the liquid between the lips of the Currach. Half a minute later he put the ladle down and let the creature rest.
"The only thing we can do now is to keep him warm and wait."
"What do you think it wants? Currach almost never venture into the forest, and never alone. It must have been out there for weeks."
The Elder was silent in thought. "He is a mystery all right. We shall see what he wants when he awakens, I suppose."
Capac grunted. "Yes. That's if our village is still standing."
"You found some Sunlords?"
Capac nodded. "Huso and I took them out and stole their weapons, although I fear we may have infuriated them."
"Hah!" laughed the Elder. "Let them be angry. They will soon know fear!"
"You sound like Huso."
"Then he is a wise man," grinned the Elder. "Tell me, you say you stole the Sunlord's weapon?"
"It is here." Capac darted out of the doorway and reappeared an instant later with the heavy rifle held in his hands. He passed it across to the Elder.
"A curious device," he muttered and he experimented with the shape. "Not a club...Leave it with me, I may be able to make something of it."
Capac stood. "I will leave you now, with your permission. Huso is awaiting me outside, and I'd like to get a start out before sundown is upon us."
The Elder acquiesced. "Just be careful out there, you are the best hunter we have. I'd hate to lose you to the Sunlords."
* * *
The forest was dark and the villagers had retired to their huts. Door flaps were lashed open and fires kept low as the summer air was hot and still. The Elder sat cross legged at the entrance to his hut watching the deepening shadows advance, hearing the sounds of the emerging creatures of night. The Elder watched as score 'shian' fluttered across the white moon, silhouetting their small bat like forms for an instant as they passed.
He drew slowly on his pipe of Jawkra weed, inhaling the sacred odours that gave one dreams and insights.
He started as something fell before his open door flap. Quickly the shadow resolved itself from the black backdrop as it stepped into the firelight of the hut.
"Myshia, is everything all right?" asked the Elder.
The Eloprin female shivered with shock and distress as she entered the hut. Like all Eloprin females her flesh had a flawless milky white, almost grey complexion. At the nape of her neck was a protrusion like a large spine bone that would suckle young that rode upon her back.
"I...I have to talk to you," she gasped.
The Elder immediately made way for her. He offered for her to sit upon the mat near the fire.
Myshia had spied an unconscious form wrapped in furs. "Is that him?"
"Yes that is the Currach, he is still deep in fever." The Elder ladled a small bowlful of soup from a cooking pot and offered it to the female. "Child, tell me what is wrong."
Myshia took the offered food with trembling hands.
"I dreamt about him."
The Elder was speechless.
"It was vivid," Myshia continued. "They are becoming more and more vivid every day. It was the same dream as before, except this time it came upon me with force..." She broke off, her voice too choked to continue.
"There, my child," soothed the Elder. "I cannot begin to imagine how confusing it must be for you."
"I wish I never had the Gift!" sobbed Myshia angrily. "I don't want it."
The Elder rocked back on his heels. "Your mother had the Gift too, you know. Of course, it was much milder than yours. She would have premonitions in her sleep about the future and knew when people would die. It scared her too. She used to come to me to talk about it like you do now, in secret, away from the rest of the tribe. Fearing shame. But my child, you must face and accept your Gift like your mother learned to do."
"I cannot live with the lives of others haunting me!" shrieked Myshia.
The Elder recoiled. Her dream must have been extreme to have worked her up like this. "Tell me what you dreamt, little one."
"I was floating again, drifting out of my body and leaving it behind. I saw a fire, a huge bonfire, and men were dancing around it dressed in furs and animal masks. They had my baby and tossed him back and forth. My baby was crying, screaming, and I couldn't do anything."
The Elder nodded. Myshia had been having this dream for the past few months and every night the dream would go a step further. The strange thing was that Myshia did not have a child.
"Are you sure it was your baby?" he queried. "The last time you said it may not have been."
Myshia shook her head firmly. "No, it was definitely my baby. I just had that feeling deep inside, as if it had all happened a long time ago."
"This sound more and more like a past life," mused the Elder. "Was there more to the dream?"
"Yes, I saw what happened to my child. The men with my baby taunted him and scorched his flesh in the flames. There was a ceremony and a tall creature in a wolf mask drove..." Myshia quivered and shook visibly, but rallied and gathered herself together. "They drove a stake into his chest then threw him into the flames. He was shrieking.
"That was when I saw the Currach," she continued. "I floated like I was underwater down from the tree that I had been watching from. Someone emerged from the shadows and he turned to face me. I know it was this Currach, just like I know it was my child they burnt."
"What did the Currach do, Myshia, what did he do?"
"I don't know. I woke up."
The Elder mulled over her words. "I don't know what to make of this. Astral travel is a powerful gift and I see it developing in your dreams. Someday you may have mastery over it. As to the Currach I cannot say, he could be a number of things." He glanced over at the sleeping form. "Did you sense any malice in his figure in your dream?"
"I felt no feelings toward him. His appearance was brief."
"In time I think we shall know. Maybe next time you dream."
Myshia shivered. Brief remnants of the dreams still flashed in her mind's eye, reliving that moment of anguish and pain. "I hate that dream," she whispered.
The Elder appeared not to have heard. "As you near child-bearing age the dreams will climax, for that is when the residing spirit in you will emerge. Your dream teacher is trying to get you to wake up to something, but what? In all my years I have never seen such a resident spirit emerge in such a dynamic manner." The Elder sank lower and his lidless eyes glazed in thought as he drew deeply on the Jawkra pipe. "Your child will be a child of power inherited from an old spirit..."
His voice trailed off as he considered the thought.
Myshia's voice was hesitant. "Of the ancient ones?"
The Elder looked up, a sharp gleam in his eye. "A child of the ancient ones? Now that would be interesting." He was startled when he heard Myshia sob.
The Elder saw his mistake immediately. "I did not mean it to sound like that. I don't mean interesting as in some sort of freak parade. No, I mean it could turn the course of the world." His sharp experienced eyes noticed the shudder passing through her shoulders. "Have no fear, my child. I will keep your confidence. I shall be with you every step of the way to aid you. Just remember to face your future. Do not shy away from your destiny."
The Elder sat back on his haunches, remembered Myshia's mother had been about to remove her growing foetus with a blade, fearing she would give birth to the abomination she had seen in her dreams. But the Elder had convinced her to keep the baby, and the birth had proceeded naturally. The child grew healthy and strong, but only weeks later Myshia's mother was found dead at the water pool: she had slit her own throat, the bloody knife balanced between limb fingers. Myshia knew noth
ing of this terrible experience and the Elder believed it was best kept from her.
Shaking himself, the Elder broke away from his memories. He stood, old bones cricking and popping, and plucked up a heavy fur skin. He lay it over Myshia's shoulders, comforting her with his callused yet soft hands.
Myshia raised her eyes, her heart heavy in her chest. She had laid aside the bowl of soup, no longer feeling she could stomach it. Instead she chose to change the subject. "Tell me of the ancient ones," she asked, longing to hear a tale from the wizened old Eloprin, wanting to drift off to sleep with his words in her ears like it had been so many years before in her childhood.
"Ah, a tale!" burst the Elder with glee. "It's been a while since anyone has asked me for one." He placed himself comfortably, the light of the fire dancing on the side of his face, the other half in darkness. "The ancient ones are the forest, they are the trees. They are the air around us." He waved his hands before him, as if touching something unseen. "They sculpted the world in the beginning of time and brought life to their creation. The evidence of their presence is felt in many storms - the thunder is the sound of their voices reminding their children they are being watched." The Elder's wide lidless eyes glazed over, his mouth moving of its own accord, the old tribal story flowing freely from his lips. "In the days before our world the ancient ones, or the Mo'tarsh as they call themselves, were like us. They lived and breathed air and walked upon soil many generations ago, a time so lost and far away it is beyond any Eloprin's understanding. The story of their rise is another story, the legend of Mo'hara. In short, they rose up into the sky on wings of light, leaving behind great monuments to mark their passing."
Myshia nodded. She had twice visited the Hanging Stones as part of a regular tribal religious ceremony. The Hanging Stones was a great wall of ruins, stone worn and chipped away with time, a tangle of vines growing through towering, leaning pillars. It was said that the site had once been a home for the ancient ones.
"When the Mo'tarsh departed this earth they left behind a gift - the seed of life. That seed created the first of the Eloprin, the fountain of life from which we have all sprung from."
Myshia smiled. She had heard the legend many times before yet every time the Elder told it he seemed to put extra life into it. She stirred, finishing the tale. "And the Mo'tarsh remain as the stars overhead, the eyes of their souls watching their children."
The Elder grinned. "You make a good storyteller." After a pause he added, "It is getting late. Did you wish to rest here?"
Myshia cast a fugitive look at the Currach sleeping nearby. "I would prefer not to. I don't know if he was the man in the wolf mask in my dream."
"Very well. If you will feel more comfortable in your hut, then I will escort you. Let's get you some rest."
* * *
The Vizier swam in a haze of dizzy lights and blurry shapes. Pain fogged his mind and senses, fever creating terrible dreams.
He awoke slowly, the fabric of the strange dream fading to give way to harsh reality. The pain in his shoulder where the drusk had mauled him had subsided. He remembered seeing the drusk burst from the undergrowth, tusks flashing. He had struggled and the world was a confusion of drusk hide, sweat and blood. From there his mind was blank.
He probed with his mind as consciousness slowly returned. He was wrapped in furs and he felt the heat of a fire at his back. His eyes cleared and he could see he was inside of a tent like structure.
Memory slowly returned. He had been in the forest for weeks upon end searching for the Eloprin, the old maps his only guide. The meeting at the odium seemed so long ago and the city so distant as he trekked through the treacherous jungle.
But where was he now?
He started as a voice whispered in his ear.
"Easy now. Drink some of this, it will make the pain fade."
Thoughts flashed through the Vizier's mind. The voice was not like any Currach's; the accent was deep and guttural. Emphasis was placed on the wrong words and it was spoken so differently it almost sounded an alien language.
"Where am I?" he mumbled weakly.
He felt a spoon at his parched lips and a warm soup dribbled into his mouth. He swallowed greedily as his hunger was reawakened.
He lost consciousness soon after and did not wake until four hours later.
Capac was looking over the Currach when he awoke the second time. He hailed the Elder and together they watched as the Currach drew himself together.
"Who are you?" he asked blearily.
The Elder stepped forward. "We are Eloprin. It seems you ran into some trouble in the forest. What were you doing out there?"
"You're Eloprin? I've come to seek your aid." The Currach coughed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "I've come about the invaders from the sky." The Vizier sat up, then winced as the half-healed flesh in his shoulder pulled. He continued on. "I came to get your aid and together we shall fight back." As he spoke he gained strength and looked more alert by the minute.
Capac was taken aback. "I thought the Currach didn't fight at all. Those insane missionaries preach against all forms of violence. Scroch, he even ate plants and roots instead of killing prey!"
"I...I am no longer a part of that society. I have broken away from the system for the good of both our races. I must get aboard the Starmen's ship and send them away before my people are killed."
Capac was uncomprehending. "The Starmen?"
"I think he means the Sunlords," put in the Elder. "I think his name resembles ours in meaning."
"Sunlords," mused the Vizier. "An apt name. I need to get aboard the Star-, I mean Sunlords ship."
"Aboard? Are you crazy?"
"Some call me that," laughed the Vizier. "I have a plan. My brains combined with your cunning will enable us to succeed."
A silence followed.
"What is your name?" the Elder asked.
"They call me the Vizier back in the city. That's my rank in the Council."
Capac glanced at the Elder. "What sort of name is that? What is your real name?"
The Vizier hesitated. He hadn't used his real name since childhood. His position dictated what his name was and he had no need for another. "I once used to be called Ashian, of the Bire household, but that was long ago."
The Elder nodded his approval. "It is better to be known as one's self rather than one's role. My curiosity is aroused concerning this plan you speak of, but I see you are still weak. Try and get some more rest Ashian Bire and we can talk again tomorrow. There is some soup there, help yourself."
Ashian was grateful. He sat up a trifle groggily and grasped the small wooden bowl in his white hands, cupping its warmth to heat his cold hands. He sipped from it and when sated fell back into the furs. It wasn't long before he sank into a deep sleep once more.
"What do you think?" Capac asked once the Currach was asleep.
The Elder shrugged. "Either he is insane with fever or a very brave Currach."
Capac was silent. The Currach's strange quest had chilled his blood; whoever would dare to go to Sunlords home?
* * *
Ashian recovered slowly and the days past as his strength returned. He had beaten the last remnants of the fever and could think clearly once more.
He was mostly ignored by the rest of the villagers, but Ashian knew that behind his back they whispered about the strange new creature. But suspicion of the unknown was understandable for he was the first Currach many of the villagers had seen.
As the week passed he became overwhelmed with the generosity of the Elder, this was certainly not the 'wild savages' Orlin had spoken of. Ashian had also spoken to and thanked the Eloprin hunter who had found him and brought him back, a man called Nobilor. The hunter had gruffly accepted the thanks and walked away.
As Ashian recovered the Elder coaxed more of his story out of him. The old Eloprin was very interested in his plan to attack the Sunlords full frontal.
"Have you had any encounters with the Sunlords?
" asked Ashian one day as they sat in a clearing by the bathing pool.
"My village was destroyed by them," muttered the Elder with passion. "The survivors are those you see before you, and many carry the scars of attack. I have pledged to avenge those who have fallen to the Sunlords fire."
"The Sunlords threaten to destroy my city, too. When I spoke to them-"
"You spoke to the Sunlords? You didn't tell me of this before."
"I was taken aboard their ship among the stars and there I was taken to speak with the leader."
"I don't understand, the Sunlords' home is the burning sun." The Elder gestured up in the sky to the glowing yellow orb.
"No, they live in a steel city in the sky. They are not gods."
"Indeed? Many of the villagers refuse to fight them for fear of invoking the wraith of the spirit world. They think that the Sunlords are invincible and to fight is useless."
"Aye, many of my comrades in the Council thought as they do. But your fear must be overcome, for that is the greatest barrier."
"Capac and Huso are the only hunters who have killed a Sunlord," mused the Elder half to himself. "They said once it was dead voices still emerged from it, like it spirit was still alive. But this didn't bother Capac, and Huso, well, he follows Capac like a puppy. Those are the only hunters who dare raise weapons against the gods from the sun."
"You must introduce me to this Capac."
"You have met him briefly when you first awoke a week ago. He was the Eloprin who was with me when you first spoke to us."
Ashian's brow furrowed. "I cannot recall his face. I was still half-asleep when I spoke."
"Well, you will get a chance to speak to him soon. He is returning from a week-long hunting trip this evening. He was out with Huso to see if the Sunlords are amassing against us."
"Why should they be?"
"Capac killed two of their number and I'm sure they won't let it pass unheeded."
Ashian agreed. "When the rebels attacked the Sunlords they were killed within five hours. Traders from the Old Coast Road reported that very little was left of them."