“What is the matter?” asked MistyTrail.
“There is nothing the matter,” replied Tamar. “Seeing Etta just brings back memories of my childhood when I lived in a village like this one. It is far different than living in Morada. There are no shops, or healers, or libraries. There is nothing here but a few shacks. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.”
“You grew up in a village?” asked Mistake. “I thought your father was an elder, a man of great importance. He has such a fine home.”
“My father became an elder because he received respect for his thoughts and deeds,” replied Tamara. “We were a poor family living in a simple village before he was chosen to be an elder. The queen owns his fine home. When Volox ceases to be an elder, he will lose it. He will have nowhere to live.”
“That is why he didn’t want us staying with him,” surmised Mistake. “He should have just said so. We would not want to endanger him or his career.”
“Fair enough,” sighed Tamar, “but moving you to this village is a mistake. Let’s turn back. I will find a decent home for you in Morada. These shacks do not even have water in them. I am sure that the wind blows right through them.”
“No,” replied MistyTrail. “I want to stay in Etta. You may be right about the quality of the housing, but Mistake said that the people here welcomed her. That is far more important in my mind. With the exception of you and your parents, I did not feel as though I belonged in Morada.”
“I agree,” Mistake interjected enthusiastically. “Just leave us, Tamar. It is better that it does not appear as though we were banished to this village.”
Tamar frowned. He stared at the village and then at the girls.
“Go,” chuckled MistyTrail as she hugged Tamar. “We will be fine. Give our regards to your parents. Tell them that we are happy and well.”
“And come visit when you get time,” grinned Mistake.
Tamar shook his head with uncertainty, but he eventually turned and walked away. Mistake and MistyTrail watched him leave and then turned towards the village.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Mistake. “The villagers were nice to me, but they were excited to see Eltor return. Without him around, they may not be as nice. In fact, they may see us as the reason the boys are in prison.”
“These are simple people,” declared MistyTrail. “I look at them and see Sakovans or Qubari. They will look at us as outsiders for a while, but they will judge us by our actions and nothing else. If we must live in Elvangar, this is as fine a place as we can find.”
“Plus it has the advantage of being close to the hidden ship,” Mistake nodded vigorously. “Maybe when we tire of it here, we can sneak back to Fakara.”
“No way,” laughed MistyTrail. “I am never sailing with you again. Let’s go to the well and see if we can meet some villagers.”
On the way to the well, Mistake saw an old man sitting on a rock, smoking a pipe. Lazy curls of smoke rose above the man’s head. Mistake tapped MistyTrail on the arm and nodded towards the old man.
“That is the magician,” Mistake said. “Let’s go talk to him. Maybe he will know a family that we can stay with.”
Mistake and MistyTrail turned and walked over to the old man. He did not look up or acknowledge them in any way. Mistake and MistyTrail sat on the grass in front of him and said nothing. After a silent stretch of minutes, the old man sighed.
“Have you never seen a pipe before?” he groused. “Run along and play with the other children.”
“We are hardly children any more,” retorted Mistake. “Do you not remember me? I came through the jungle with Eltor a while ago.”
The old man looked up and stared at the girls. He nodded in recognition.
“Can’t hardly tell the two of you apart,” grumbled the old man. “Which one have I met before?”
“Me,” said Mistake. “MistyTrail is my sister. My name is Mistake. You met me when Eltor and I came through the jungle.”
“You just said that,” retorted the old man. “Do you think I am old and senile?”
Mistake frowned, wondering if she should have gone to the well instead. MistyTrail started laughing softly.
“What are you laughing about?” grumbled the old man.
“Your act,” replied MistyTrail. “You remind me an old Sakovan friend. I am sure that if you had a cane, you would threaten to beat us with it unless we left you alone.”
“A cane?” smiled the old man. “That is not a bad idea. Yes, I could use a cane. Sakovan? I have not heard of that village. Where is it located?”
“It is not a village,” answered MistyTrail. “It is a large country a long ways from here.”
“A country, eh?” the old man replied with interest. “I haven’t heard of it anyways. So you are foreigners then?”
“We are,” nodded MistyTrail. “We have come to Etta to find a family to live with. We would like you to teach us magic.”
The old man took the pipe from his mouth and looked at the girls with a new interest. MistyTrail saw a slight sparkle in the man’s eyes.
“There is no family to take you in here,” the old man stated. “Everyone here is poor. They feed the mouths they have and no more. What makes you think that I can teach you magic?”
“I saw you doing magic for the children,” interjected Mistake. “I know that you can do it.”
“Aye, I know magic,” the old man said as he pointed to Mistake with the end of his pipe. “I asked what made you think that I could teach YOU magic.”
“I am not sure,” frowned Mistake. “I have been told that I have some slight abilities, but MistyTrail knows more. She healed my leg on the Island of Darkness. Surely, you can try to teach us.”
“Island of Darkness, eh?” echoed the old man. “Sounds like you two have done some traveling. You might even have a good story or two in you.”
A woman from the village walked over and stood before the old man. She put her hands on her hips and stared at him.
“Garl,” the woman said with motherly authority, “put that pipe out. You know that you should not be smoking. You think you are sneaking off here to light up, but we can smell your pipe up in the trees. Put it out now.”
The old man grumbled and tapped his pipe on the rock. The burning bocco fell to the ground and he reached down and scooped dirt over it. Only after the pipe was properly extinguished did the woman turn around and leave.
“Are pipes not allowed in Etta?” asked MistyTrail.
“They are allowed,” grumbled Garl. “Just some people stick their nose in other people’s business.”
“Then why did you put it out?” asked Mistake.
“Slari is nothing if she is not persistent,” sighed Garl. “She will stand here all day and complain if I continue to smoke. It is more pleasant around here if I put it out and wait for her to disappear.”
Garl fell quiet and stared at the ground again as if there was no one around him. Eventually, Mistake rose and stared across the glade.
“I guess we will have to sleep in the open,” Mistake said to MistyTrail.
“We have done it before,” nodded MistyTrail as she rose.
“That is it?” grumbled Garl. “How am I supposed to believe that I could actually teach either of you anything if five minutes is the limit of your interest?”
“Our interest is sincere,” replied MistyTrail, “but we would never force ourselves upon anyone. If you are willing to teach us, you will find that you have our complete attention. Will you do it?”
Garl stood up and stared at the girls. He started walking towards the glade and turned around to see the girls still standing by the rock.
“Come on,” he grumbled. “Do I have to teach the two of you how to walk, too?”
MistyTrail grinned and immediately started following Garl. Mistake hesitated, wondering if she could put up with the man’s demeanor. She shook her head and followed her sister. The old man walked clear across the glade to an old tree. His arm rose and his f
ingers wiggled in the air. A ladder made of rope fell out of the tree and hung from some unseen place.
Garl grabbed the rope ladder and started climbing up. MistyTrail and Mistake followed him. At the top of the ladder was a fairly large platform with a very small shack upon it. Garl opened the door to the shack and walked in.
“There are only three rooms,” Garl said. “This room is for sitting and talking and anything else you might want to do besides sleep. The room on the right is mine. Never enter it. The room on the left is for storage. You will have to find someplace to put the things that are in there, but that is where you will sleep.”
Mistake pushed the door open and peeked into the storage room. It was loaded with an odd assortment of junk. The room was so small that Mistake wondered if she and MistyTrail could even sleep side-by side after the junk was carted out.
“Where are we to put your belongings?” asked Mistake.
“You will find room for them,” shrugged Garl. “Be careful with them. They are precious. You two get settled in. I am going for a walk in the jungle. Maybe I can smoke in peace there.”
The old man left and Mistake shook her head as she surveyed the room full of junk.
“What is all this stuff?” she asked. “There are some books that look like they were tossed about. Look, a coconut. Why would he keep a coconut in his house? And bird feathers? This man is crazy, MistyTrail.”
“That is what Volox said,” chuckled MistyTrail. “I have an idea. Let’s gather and sort his belongings. We can bring them into the main room for now. Then we can get some bedding down.”
“Bedding?” frowned Mistake. “You have got to be kidding. We can’t sleep side-by-side in there without bedding. Add in all of this junk, and we are better off sleeping outside.”
“He is testing us,” countered MistyTrail. “He has given us a seemingly impossible task. I plan to find a solution.”
“What kind of solution?” asked Mistake. “Shove all the junk in his room and see if he notices?”
“No,” laughed MistyTrail. “I think we could make bunks in here, like the Khadorans have. If we create three bunks on top of one another, we can sleep in the lower two and arrange his belongings on the upper one. It would be cozy.”
“Cramped you mean,” frowned Mistake. “Alright, we can get wood easy enough in the jungle. We might even be able to hang some of his junk from the walls and ceiling. I hope this isn’t just a trick to get us to clean his shack.”
“It will be fun,” MistyTrail chirped. “He even has some tools in amongst this junk. Let’s get started.”
Mistake and MistyTrail moved the old man’s belongings out of the small room. They organized it by shape and size to get an idea of the space required for it before heading for the jungle. Mistake cut some branches up for posts and runners, while MistyTrail gathered vines, moss, and gigantic leaves from some type of plant that she had never seen before.
Some of the village children found them in the jungle and asked them what they were doing. When the girls answered, they found that they had lots of help to carry things to the base of Garl’s tree.
Mistake and MistyTrail worked through the day without stopping. When they were done, they had bunks made from stout braches and moss-filled mattresses made of leaves. All of Garl’s belongings were either hung up or arranged on the top bunk. When they heard the old man coming up the ladder, they closed the door to the small room and waited in the common room.
“There has been an awful lot of traffic below my tree,” grumbled Garl. “Are you holding a party up here?”
“We had some children carry things for us,” answered MistyTrail. “They did not come up the ladder.”
“Good,” nodded Garl as he started to open the door to the small room. “I like my privacy. I just stopped back to get some more bocco.”
“It’s on the top bunk,” offered MistyTrail.
Garl opened the door and stood staring into the room for several minutes. Finally, he entered and took a tin from the top bunk. He filled a small pouch with some bocco and placed the tin back in its proper position. He turned and smiled at the girls.
“You are resourceful and hard working,” he declared. “Tomorrow we will see if you have any magical talent. Come along. I have a duck burning over a fire. You must be hungry.”
* * *
The two Kamaril cortains stood staring at the Kamaril soldier who was standing apart from the others.
“Do you know him well?” one of the cortains asked the other as he nodded towards the odd soldier.
“I have never seen him before,” replied the second cortain. “Why do you ask?”
“I first noticed him this morning,” replied the first cortain. “He seemed dazed and confused at the morning meal as if he was unaware of the custom here on the Kamaril estate. My curiosity caused me to talk to him. He claimed that he was in your corte, yet you say that you do not know him. Is that possible?”
“No,” scowled the second cortain. “I know each of my sixty men personally. Let us go talk to him together. Something does not smell right.”
The two Kamaril cortains marched towards the odd soldier. When he saw the officers approaching, the man tried to merge into the crowd of soldiers. One of the cortains shouted for everyone to halt. The group of soldiers immediately stopped what they were doing. The grounds grew silent. The two cortains walked into the crowd of soldiers, the men parting to let the officers pass. They stood before the odd soldier and stared at him. The man fidgeted but did not speak.
“You do not belong here,” stated the first cortain. “Remove your wristbands.”
The odd soldier looked around nervously. His hand started moving towards the hilt of his sword. The curiosity of the crowd of Kamaril soldiers turned to suspicion as they watched the man’s reaction. Another soldier’s hand streaked forward and removed the odd soldier’s sword from its sheath. Several other solders instinctively drew their swords and pointed them towards the odd soldier. The odd soldier slowly removed his wristbands and dropped them on the ground. The first cortain grabbed the odd soldier’s arm and twisted it until the wrist was bared and pointing upward. The crowd gasped at the thumbprint on the man’s wrist.
The hellsoul yanked his arm back and reached for a knife on his belt. Several swords competed for the killing blow as the soldiers around the man swung at his neck. The man’s head flew into the crowd, and the body fell to the ground.
“I want every soldier to immediately return to your barracks,” shouted the first cortain. “You are to remain in the barracks until your cortain gives you permission to leave. Move it.”
The Kamaril soldiers turned and ran to their barracks. Within moments the grounds were empty except for officers and the body of the hellsoul. The marshal of the Kamaril clan came racing out of the mansion. He ran to the body and the two cortains standing over it.
“What is going on?” asked the marshal.
“We discovered a hellsoul in our midst,” reported the first cortain. “I have ordered all men to their barracks. Any man not assigned a bunk in the barracks will be discovered quite soon. I think we should inspect the wrists on every man, one at a time.”
“He did not disappear in a puff of smoke,” noted the marshal.
“No, he didn’t,” agreed the first cortain, “but he bears the mark on his wrist.”
“He also does not belong on this estate,” added the second cortain. “He claimed to be in my corte, and I know that he was lying.”
“Very well,” nodded the marshal. “Check every soldier and everyone else on this estate. I will not stand for any hellsouls among us. Well done, Cortain.”
* * *
Emperor Marak watched the stocking of the shelves in the library of the temple at Changragar. He even helped with the work so that he could personally place the books nearest to the hidden latch. Satisfied that the secret had been maintained, the Torak turned and exited the library. He walked out of the temple and saw scores of Chula hauling supplie
s through the narrow canyon towards the temple. Tmundo saw the Torak and walked over to him.
“You are taking a great interest in Changragar,” stated Tmundo. “With all that is happening in Khadora, I wonder about your reasoning. Why is Changragar so important all of a sudden?”
“The real question,” the Torak retorted, “is why has it been neglected for so long. The spirit of Kaltara lives within Changragar, yet it has been allowed to deteriorate over the ages. Are not the Kywara the protectors of the holy places?”
“We have protected the Golden Gates, the Sacred Lake, and Changragar for centuries,” frowned Tmundo. “No flatlanders have ever seen them and lived, except for you.”
“You may have protected them from flatlanders,” countered the Torak, “but you have not protected them from the ravages of nature. The condition of Changragar is a disgrace to the Chula. The Qubari and the Sakovans have kept their temples pristine. Do the Chula have less faith in Kaltara?”
Tmundo hung his head in shame as he realized that the Torak was correct. Fortunately for the head of the Kywara tribe, Axor appeared from the temple and joined the small group.
“Do not place all of the blame on Tmundo,” advised Axor. “He has followed in his father’s footsteps, and his father in those before him. The Chula tribes were fragmented by the flatlanders, unlike the Sakovans of the Qubari. Only the Kywara had the physical closeness to reach the holy places, so the Chula learned to worship Kaltara wherever they were. The actual holy places became less important to us. Kaltara did not.”
The Torak sighed and laid a hand on Tmundo’s shoulder. “I am sorry, Tmundo,” he said softly. “There are many reasons to restore Changragar. I will explain them all in due time. What brings you up here?”
“I bring messages from Khadoratung,” answered Tmundo. “More and more hellsouls are being discovered, many before they could strike. There is confusion why some disappear in smoke while others do not. The last killed was a Kamaril soldier. The man had the thumbprint under his wristband, but his body did not disappear.”
“That is something that was bothering me, too,” admitted Axor, “but I think that I understand it now. The thumbprint is indeed the mark of a hellsoul, but the bearer can very well be a normal human being. I believe that the first death of a hellsoul initiates the magic of rebirth. When he arises he is, from that point on, only a spiritual being.”
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