Journey of Awakening

by Shawna Thomas

  Cais examined the other men around the fire. “I cannot ask you to do this—”

  One of his men placed a hand on Cais’s shoulder. “There is no need to ask. We will follow you.”

  The rest murmured or nodded their agreement.

  Cais closed his eyes and turned back to the trader. “Once again your council is wise. We will do as you say. Will the witch be with them?”

  “If they come down, I’m sure she will be. Be careful, she’s powerful. Strike her down first and the others will crumble. She will have her...teacher with her. This man is old but also powerful.” The trader stared at Cais until the Rabishi swallowed. “He must die. After he does, destroy the ring he wears.”

  “I understand.”

  “You must act quickly, Son of Niku, or the Rabishi will be no more. And for the sake of your people, whatever you do, do not let the witch leave Zorcani lands.”

  “We are in your debt, Trader.”

  “Then listen and I will tell you how to erase that debt. The witch wears a necklace. It is a powerful amulet. Guard it with your life and bring it to me—your debt will be forgiven.”

  “You are most generous.”

  Bredych shrugged. “What are friends for?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Smiling encouragement to a clump of moss determined to thrive in an unlikely crevice, Sara stepped out of the stone building and into the dusky morning. She’d checked on Shandor but Vadoma had been hovering over him all night. With the boy well on his way to recovery and the Zorcani healer reinstated, there was no reason for Sara to linger and many reasons for them to hurry back to the Heleini.

  Ice dressed a translucent coating over the buildings’ striated rocks and a dusty layer of snow covered the open ground, like powdered sugar sprinkled on a cake. She breathed in the crisp air, filling her lungs. Even at this early hour, a few footprints already marred the white surface. Sara pulled the heavy fur cape around her shoulders and followed the tracks.

  Most of the tsera nestled against the mountain and one another, sheltered by the deep overhang. Only a few round buildings stood under the open sky; Gunari had told her these were meeting places. He also explained that though this village, Foros, was the largest, it was only one of several spread along the face of the mountain, some delving deep through the rock and into vast caverns that never saw the light of the sun.

  Sara veered out from under the overhang, making fresh tracks in the snow. Standing at the edge of a precipice, a forested valley spiked with snow-crusted trees stretched below her. A pale blue crept across the sky, overwhelming the stars and heralding the sun. Sara turned from the valley to face the Zorcani village. Smoke now trickled from the rounded roofs to eddy along the rock then dip to entwine with lazy icicles before vanishing into the endless sky. Baskets of chere, the crystal used to light the inner caves and passages, sat next to each doorway, waiting to soak in the weak light of the winter sun.

  The night before, Gunari had presented a weakened but fully alive Shandor to the Zorcani people. Danladi was released into Sara’s care and now slept peacefully in the tsera she’d just vacated.

  A bray disturbed the morning’s silence and broke through her reverie. Sara walked toward the sound to find a cave to one side of a tsera, its entrance barred by a low gate. Inside, a woman stroked the side of a large long-haired horned animal. Several more of the creatures mulled around the dark cave. The pleasant smell of manure and dried grasses mixed with the fresh morning air. When the animal quieted, the woman settled on a low stool, her back to Sara. Soon she heard the hiss of liquid filling a container. Sara smiled. A gentle push on her leg made her look down. A small girl, her face almost hidden in a furry hood, looked up at her with the biggest blue eyes she’d ever seen. In outstretched arms, the girl held a small bowl of candied citrus. Sara glanced up to see a woman waiting a short distance away in the doorway of a tsera. She took the dish. “Thank you very much. These are my favorite.”

  The little girl smiled and ran back to her mother’s waiting arms.

  When she returned to the tsera she shared with Shandor and now Vadoma and Danladi, her steps slowed. This was what had kept her up when the others were sleeping and what she had been dreading. She hated goodbyes and this one would not be easy.

  Vadoma was sitting over the fire preparing the ever-present pufe and a sweetened drink that had been left to sit overnight, then reheated in the morning.

  Wordlessly, the woman handed Sara a steaming cup.

  She took a sip, letting the warmth seep into her bones, and glanced toward the back.

  “They are still sleeping. “

  Sara nodded.

  “Shandor and the Zorcani owe you their lives,” Vadoma began, then a smile rearranged the lines on her face. “I owe you my life.” She reached out and took Sara’s hand, squeezed then released. “It is good to see I was not wrong about you. Now, I’d like to finish what I began.” The old healer stood clumsily to her feet to rescue a shallow, wide bowl. “Have you ever heard of the water readings?” she asked.

  “No.” Sara shook her head.

  Vadoma nodded. “My mother taught them to me. Water is one of the five elements and the most telling. Many do not realize the body contains much water. Because like calls to like, you can tell a great deal about a person by what the water reveals. If—” she paused and met Sara’s gaze, “—you know how to read it.” She brought the bowl forward. “May I?”

  She took Sara’s offered hands and dipped them in the water. “Now wash.”

  Sara rubbed her hands together then at a signal from Vadoma took them from the bowl.

  The old healer immediately examined the whirls and eddies in the basin. She made a low sound in her throat that sounded like a hum. When she lifted her gaze to Sara, her eyes were full. “You have a long path, varied and filled with light and dark—but dark that ripples with power, and light to rival the sun. It is a lonely path, one you will often walk alone. And there’s something I’d never seen before. Your footsteps will sow life, not the life a mother gives her child but...beginnings.” Vadoma smiled. “I do not know why this should surprise me, for haven’t you given a beginning to the Zorcani? But as with the Zorcani, what those you leave behind do with their beginning is up to them, for good or evil, but whichever they chose will affect you greatly.

  “As for you, you are to have no rest, nowhere to call home, no beginning until your task—”

  Mumbling from the pallet stilled Vadoma’s words.

  “It is enough. I wish you well, Sara. When your task is complete and you rest from your wanderings, you will always have a place among us.”

  Sara returned Vadoma’s hug. “Thank you.”

  “Now, I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes to Shandor. He loves you, you know?”

  “I know.”

  Vadoma rose and left the tsera.

  Sara watched as the flap settled back in place then went to sit by Shandor’s pallet.

  “Sara?”

  She reached for the boy’s hand.

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I was afraid you’d leave before I got to say goodbye.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “You know, you don’t have to leave. Father and his warriors could take Danladi back.”

  “I promised Danladi’s father I would bring him home and promises are important. But it’s more than that. I have a mission, a job to do.”

  He looked up, eyes bright. “Then return the Heleini Akier and come back with Father. Stay with us the winter at least.”

  Her heart sank. “I can’t.”

  “But where would you have a better life? Here you can have fresh cream every day from goats’ milk, learn the language of the mountain wind and the paths of the stars, and enjoy harvest in the autumn and the warmth of goat-hair blankets when th
e snow flies. There are grandmothers and grandfathers who tell wonderful stories, many guides and protectors. What else could you want?”

  Sara didn’t answer, hearing clearly the one thing he didn’t speak but meant to say. Here is where he is, and he wishes us to be in the same place. Anything she could say would sound like noise. She reached for his hands and bowed her respect. When she straightened, his eyes had grown large and his lower lip trembled. She opened her arms and the child buried his head in her bosom. Shandor, the Akier of the Zorcani, lord of the heights and keeper of the mountains, sobbed.

  * * *

  Sara rose from the bench in front of her tsera. The sky, the pale blue of winter, stretched over the gray mountain. Patches of white lay inured to the weak light of the sun and the footsteps of the Zorcani. Gunari approached with half a dozen men, Zeynel among them. Her friend’s gaze seemed far away, as though he was privy to something no one else could fathom.

  Danladi wove through the throng of adults and rushed to Sara, throwing his arms around her legs. “We are going home today.”

  “Yes, I know.” She stroked his hair.

  A flicker of confusion crossed the boy’s face as he turned toward Gunari. “I have greatly appreciated your hospitality, Regent Akier.”

  Gunari laughed. “Tobar has done his duty by you, son. But do not worry that your enthusiasm wounds me.” His eyes clouded and his voice lost its spark. “Returning you is only the first step in righting a wrong I have committed against you and your people.” He turned to Sara. “You are ready?”

  “I have only to grab my things. I’ve said my goodbyes.”

  She ducked into the tsera to grab her pack. A wind whined outside, but inside, the fire danced light around the small enclosure. Sara had shown Vadoma several exercises to help increase the strength in Shandor’s limbs and the boy’s muscles were sore, so Vadoma had taken him to the hot springs. Sara glanced around. She’d spent many hours here. Funny how quickly something began to feel like home. She was going to miss this place and the people in it; she turned and left the warmth of the tsera.

  Danladi approached her, the grin on his face infectious. “Can I walk with you?”

  Sara took his small hand in hers, reveling in the warmth as his gloved fingers curled around her palm. “It would be an honor, Akier, to walk beside you.”

  There was no time for relief or a sense of satisfaction in healing Shandor, they needed to get down that mountain as soon as possible.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The bitter cold seeped through even the warm coverings of the Zorcani. A cold mist fell from dark clouds, not heavy enough to call rain or snow but enough to make the footing treacherous. Their garments were lined with thick—surprisingly luxurious—goat hair and made waterproof by many applications of grease from a plant growing near the hot springs.

  The Zorcani had little use for horses, but it made traveling slow. She’d heard several hilarious tales of foolhardy attempts to ride the shuputi, their large goatlike animals. The beasts served well as pack animals but were too stubborn to ride and, in the end, it was faster to walk, but the Zorcani kept several horses in a protected corral at the foot of the mountain in case they needed to travel the Faisach. Their problem was reaching the foot of the mountain.

  They walked in silence, each step carefully placed to avoid slipping on the transparent layer of ice clinging to rock and sheltered from the steady barrage of moisture. Sara scanned the sheer drop on one side of the path; a slip could be fatal. It was humbling to realize she and Zeynel had walked this path in a snowstorm with no visibility. Once again, she silently thanked Gunari for gifting her and Zeynel with the unique shoes the Zorcani wore in the winter. Artisans had sewn burs collected in the fall onto thick leather soles, giving a measure of traction on the slippery rock.

  Gunari glanced toward the east, where thicker dark clouds gathered in the distance. He met Sara’s gaze and smiled. “The storm is several days away, by then we will be off the mountain and on the Faisach.”

  Sara didn’t doubt Gunari’s estimate. The Zorcani weather predictions had been accurate so far. He explained it came from years of living with the mountain.

  “By that time, I expect a storm of a different sort.” The Regent stared far into the distance as though looking past the mountain trail and into the deep Faisach where he knew he’d face the Heleini.

  Sara followed his gaze, picturing Tobar as she’d last seen him, his dark eyes pleading and deep. She closed her eyes, remembering the featherlike touch of his hand on her face and his lips on hers, an image she’d managed to avoid while caring for Shandor. Her eyes snapped open; once again, she saw Gunari’s face surrounded by craggy rock tempered with snow and ice. Her skin cooled.

  She didn’t have time to let some nomad get under her skin; she had a task to do. It’s too late. He already has. Sara ignored her traitorous thought to focus on the problem Gunari would face when he met Tobar. She couldn’t fault the Zorcani’s bravery. The Heleini Regent Akier had a fierce temper, there was no doubt. She could see his black eyes flashing as his jaw set in steel. But she’d never seen him act rashly or without fairness. But what was a fair judgment for Gunari? That was a question she couldn’t answer. How would the Heleini receive her? They’d be thankful she returned their Akier, but would they fear her? When she’d left, they’d treated her with a reverence that made her uncomfortable. Should she spend the rest of the winter there or attempt to find out where the keeper of Crioch had gone? She shook her head. Too many questions. Focus on the now.

  Gunari maneuvered around a small rock outcropping in the path. The Zorcani had committed a crime and desperation was no excuse. This brought forward the third leg in the triangle: the Rabishi. Why would the Rabishi agree to such a scheme, even with the trader encouraging them to do so? They lost six men during the raid, but Sara didn’t understand their motives. A shiver ran up Sara’s spine. The trader. What did he gain?

  “We’ll camp in Vashtusha’s cave tonight. We should reach the horses by day after tomorrow.” Gunari broke through her thoughts.

  “Vashtusha’s cave?” Sara looked down at Danladi, who walked mute by her side; the boy was getting tired, his earlier chatter quieted.

  “An old legend among the people. Vashtusha was the great-granddaughter of Sabo-Wen. She is called the mother of the mountain.”

  “Tell me about her.”

  “Vashtusha’s husband was the son of the first Akier of the Zorcani. We were new to the mountain though it called to our blood. Vashtusha bore three sons. Two died before their third winter. The mountain has no mercy on the weak. The third grew strong but in his sixth winter, a great fever swept the camp. Our Akier was not spared. Vashtusha cared for him as storms raged across the mountain as though trying to drive us from our new home. When she was certain her husband would not see another sunrise, she brought her son to him and performed the sacred rite of transfer even though the boy was not of age. After he died, she covered her husband with stones then gathered her son and her people together. She led them to the shelter of a cave where she cared for the sick and took charge of those who had recovered or been spared the illness. When the fever passed, they buried the dead and whether she was the Akier’s mother or the Regent’s wife, the people did not question her leadership. She organized search parties to explore the caverns; there they discovered the crystals that give light. Vashtusha designed traps to catch the animals that run on top of the snow. Then, before we ate them, she studied their feet to design a shoe that would help the Zorcani walk on the snow instead of through it.

  “After the first winter, she led the Zorcani to gather wild grain and fruit then dry and store them in holes we bore into the rock of caves and lined with sweet grasses. They cured meats and fish and found the waters which steal the heat from the sun.” Gunari paused. “She taught the Zorcani to survive, and then to live and wonder, and
then to thrive.

  “When her son was of age, he was recognized as Akier, married, had children and Vashtusha honored his authority in all things. When she was old, they’d begun building the tsera, but Vashtusha said she didn’t want to die in the open, but in the heart of the mountain where she belonged. So she came to a cave and families took turns staying with her, preparing her food and special treats. Children would play at her feet and amuse her with their stories and then—” he shrugged, “—one day she left to join her husband.”

  “And this is the cave we’ll sleep in?”

  “It’s only a legend.”

  Apparently, so am I. Sara smiled. She couldn’t say that. “You’d be surprised how many legends have grown from truth.”

  * * *

  What’s Cais planning? The thought had tormented him for weeks. Niku paced the enclosure, his home for more than thirty cold seasons. Word had reached him that a Zorcani messenger was seen racing toward the Rabishi camp. Why a Zorcani? What does it mean? The pit of his stomach hollowed.

  He stopped before the Rabishi emblem woven into his rug, concentric rings radiating from one side of an oval. Niku had always thought there was some hidden meaning in the symbol, a mystery, but then his younger son was right about one thing: at heart, he was a poet. “Rabishi, my people, my life. Have I failed you?” He could hear the anguish in his voice.