by Aderyn Wood
“Don’t be stupid, Iluna,” she said to herself with gritted teeth. “You have no future with him. Get him out of your mind.” She took a deep breath and in the next moment her focus returned to her task. Her mind was as disciplined as any hunter’s – more so. She would not think of Anton again that day.
As the berries came into sight it was late afternoon, and sweat beaded on her upper lip. She bent to pick a handful of the treasures and popped them in her mouth. Their sweet juice refreshed her. She took another handful and munched on them as she walked to the clearing, thinking about the raven.
In the clearing she brushed her hands together and swallowed the last mouthful of berries. It was time to reach out for him. She had a good feeling today. Last night she’d had a dream. The raven had spoken to her, asking her to meet him at dusk. She looked up and to the west. It was difficult to see the daysun on account of the thick canopy above, but the pink of the sky told her that dusk was at hand. Imbrit’s moon already floated high above, and Atoll’s star would rise soon.
She stilled her breathing and closed her eyes, focusing on reaching out to him. As usual she sensed all the life of the forest – the ancient trees, the insects, the life of the moonberry bushes nearby – all pulsed with light and vibrations.
She knew how to alter them now – even the rocks in the mountain. If she wanted to she could cause an avalanche by strengthening her essence at just the right place. She smiled, and then stopped herself. She must never be pleased with herself about this gift, Izhur had told her. That was the path to evil. The gift was a heavy responsibility to bear and she must treat it carefully, respectfully. He was right. Izhur was always right. And she owed him her life.
But Izhur and Cypra, while their lessons were useful, they had little understanding of the real extent of her power and knowledge. She had continued her solitary lessons with nature. The force of Ona alone was her greatest teacher, and she guessed that she now had more power than any other Soragan in all the eight clans.
Maybe even more than the Grand Soragan. Had he sensed that? Perhaps that was why he was so hostile toward her. Was she a threat to him?
Izhur and Cypra also did not know why she sought the raven so desperately. They knew the raven was her totem – a dangerous secret. Ravens were known for evil more than good and if word got out to the other Soragans, or Yuli – especially Yuli – then it could mean that Iluna would be cast out. She didn’t want to be cast out. Her life was lonely enough as it was, even if she had Izhur and Cypra to spend time with now. Wandering the wilds all alone would be unbearable.
She put the thoughts aside and focused. Soon she would hear his wings. He had news for her – important news about the future attack on their clans. She had seen it in her dreams. That was why the raven was important.
There was a tug on her consciousness and she knew at once it was him. She stilled her heart and called to him through the Otherworld. He flew toward her now. Her excitement caused her to lose her connection. That’s when she heard the sound of wings flapping and then he came into sight – blue black wings shining in the dusk light.
He squawked and landed on a low branch, eyeing Iluna.
“Hello, my friend.” Iluna smiled. It was good to see him again. As always, something felt complete when he was near.
She approached him with her hand held out, her palm filled with the blue moonberries. The bird picked at them delicately and swallowed. Drops of juice sprayed out and Iluna laughed.
“You still like them, don’t you?”
The raven squawked, then stopped eating. He became still and his eyes met Iluna’s directly.
A wave of nauseating dizziness overcame her before she entered the Otherworld and a series of images befell her all at once.
A foretelling.
She saw the future. No, a future – one that could come to pass. She flew behind the raven, and watched the beat of his wings. Slowly, but powerfully, they flew over the mountain peak. The snow at the very top glistened in Imbrit’s light. They swept over at a great height so that the mountains became small, like anthills.
Why must we climb so high? she asked.
Because they have strong magics, the raven replied.
Iluna focused, wondering if their magics were stronger than her gift.
They flew south of the mountains and Iluna recognized the shapes and essences of the landscape they had traversed on their way to Agria. They were now about a day’s walk from Ona’s Valley and the raven spoke into her mind again.
Look close.
And she did, focusing her vision on the land below. They swept a little lower to allow a better look, and Iluna wanted to escape. But she held her mind tight. There beneath them was a camp so large it was at least thrice as big as all of their clans put together. More than a hundred fires dotted the landscape, and people moved about everywhere. A strange energy pulsed, one that Iluna didn’t recognize. It came from their hunting tools.
They call them weapons, the Raven told her. And they are made of a substance called ironstone. They melt it out of the earth and shape it to their liking.
These weapons. They are to be used against us?
Yes.
Iluna fought a sense of panic, fought the need to race back to herself and fly down the mountain to tell Izhur. She had to learn all that she could while she was here.
Look, the raven bade her, flying lower still.
Iluna focussed again and she sensed what he meant – a group of people, men, perhaps ten. Their light wasn’t light at all – rather, a shadow. The same darkness she’d seen in the Grand Soragan – a deep, dangerous void.
They are the ones with the magics, the raven said. They want to destroy you and yours.
The panic rose and Iluna worked hard to control her focus. How was she to defend her people against so many?
Come, there is more I must show. The raven glided up into the starry, moonlit night and Iluna followed. They came into cloud and the vision changed here to a scene, suspended above a camp. People were below her, but they weren’t her people. Their hair was light, like gold, and their skin was pale like the white sand of the river. Their clothing was different too. They wore shorter robes, tied together with straps of leather, and made from a material that was neither hide nor grass. Their legs were covered in the same material, somehow stitched together to allow free movement. All had sandals on their feet. They were a skilled people to craft such clothes. Everything was different – their clothing, tents, cooking equipment, their hunting tools – all similar but different.
You’re looking through my eyes, the raven told her. This is what I saw not two days past.
A remembering.
In the vision the raven took flight and Iluna watched as the ground disappeared below and the tops of trees came into view. She circled and came down again within the forest, and landed on a low branch. Her view was obstructed by leafy branches but in the distance she could see a group of the magic people talking in a circle. She also saw the distinct sleeve of a Soragan’s robe. No, a prentice’s robe. The white sleeve embroidered with a circular pattern, moved as the arm gestured toward the north. She could hear their voices, but not their words; too far away. The prentice moved to the side. She could almost see his face.
Danger! I must take you back! The raven’s voice was almost a squawk and she sped through the Otherworld, slamming back to her physical form. Her eyes opened. She lay on the ground in the clearing. The raven took flight, circling up, heading toward the moon. Her body ached, exhausted from the visioning. Fatigue made her eyelids heavy. A dry twig snapped behind her and she slowly turned her head, her neck aching with pain. Yuli stood there, his eyes burning. Then he, too, turned to go and as he did she noted the circular pattern on his white sleeve and a chill went through her spine.
Izhur
Izhur flung open the flap to the Soragans’ tent and welcomed the fresh night air. He needed to cool his head. The dimwitted discussions of his fellow Soragans were becoming tedious
. He ground his teeth as he made his way to the evenfire for a cup of chamael. They should have been talking about the attack on the Otter two winters past, but every time he raised it the Grand Soragan had guided conversation to other matters. Even Belwas believed there was no longer much danger. It was as though something had a hold over them. They all went along with the Grand Soragan’s wishes. Izhur got the distinct feeling that if Xaroth told them all to jump off the mountain they would. He frowned. Why did he have such an influence?
Izhur found the chamael bubbling in a large clay pot, its sweet earthy aroma rose with the steam. But he had second thoughts when he saw the skins of alza that swung on a large tree branch beyond the evenfire, and his footsteps carried him to the tree. He took a nearly empty skin and popped the top off, not bothering to use a cup, and downed a mouthful of the sticky substance. The fire of it ran through his veins. He took another swig before stalking to Cypra’s tent, his hand gripping the alza-skin.
“How was it tonight?” she asked as he entered. Five oil pots sat bunched in a corner, providing enough light for Cypra to sew a tear in a robe – Iluna’s, no doubt. He pursed his lips. She should have done such tasks outside under the light of Goda’s nightsun, but Cypra had become more and more withdrawn, avoiding contact with others as much as she could. Her eyes looked up at him, the robe put to one side. She missed being a Soragan. And he missed her support.
He sat on a reed mat and took another swig of the drink.
“It must have been bad if you’re drinking, Izhur.”
“It was.” He swallowed the last mouthful.
“I have some pomegranate wine here.” She pointed to a clay jug in the corner of the tent. “Would you care for another?”
Izhur nodded. For some reason he wanted to get senseless. Having things not make any sense in a sober state of mind was becoming too much to bear.
Cypra took a cup and filled it. “What did they talk of tonight?” she repeated her question as she handed him the cup.
“The usual ox dung about how we should release Iluna of her gifts. Who should do what, how the ceremony should take place.” He frowned.
“We’ve put too much into that girl to allow this to happen.” Cypra poured a cup of wine for herself and sat opposite Izhur.
“I know. But what can we do about it? Every time I try to protest or even question their reasons, the Grand Soragan takes control of the others. I’ve tried suggesting that we simply continue the way we have, since Iluna hasn’t done anything wrong, not ever. But Yuli…” Izhur took another sip. It was too infuriating to consider what his little upstart of a prentice had said.
“What did Yuli say?” Her voice was calmly encouraging.
Izhur stood and refilled his cup, the oil pots danced with his movement. “Yuli told them about the way she had healed Zodor. Inventing a far fetched story of how she forced the medicine woman out of the way for the chance to perform her ‘demon magic’, he called it. And how he believes his father has never been the same since.”
Cypra coughed on her cup. “That’s one strange interpretation of what happened. Zodor has changed, but for the better I’d say.”
Izhur shook his head. “Yuli – he’s always had this deep hostility – no – anger toward her. He hates her. I can’t help thinking it’s my fault. There is no doubt I favoured her during our lessons. Yuli irritated me. He was a weak, spoiled child who always wanted to run back to his mother, rather than undertake his lessons as he was supposed to. No doubt I let that irritation show.”
“You think he was jealous of her?”
Izhur nodded. “And that’s why the Grand Soragan has taken Yuli under his wing.” Izhur paused to take another mouthful of wine. “Xaroth is now talking about a special ceremony for Yuli.”
Cypra frowned. “A ceremony for Yuli? What is it?”
“It came as a shock to me, and it will shock you to the core.”
Cypra opened her mouth to speak, but the flap of the tent opened and she fell silent as Iluna stepped in, breathing hard. Something was wrong.
“Iluna, what is it?” Izhur’s voice, a whisper.
The girl stepped forward taking a momentary glance back toward the flap.
“I found the raven,” she said.
“Iluna, that’s wonderful,” Cypra replied.
Iluna raised her hand. “He showed me many things.” Her breath was quick, like she’d been running.
“Have some water, child.” Izhur passed her the water skin and watched as she took a large gulp.
She wiped her mouth and her breathing slowed.
“Tell us what he showed you, Iluna.”
Her large dark eyes found his. “That clan – the ones who killed the Otter – they will attack in less than two days.”
“What?” Fear was written all over Cypra’s face. “No.”
“There’s more,” Iluna said before taking another sip of water.
“Go on.” An ice cold warning crept along Izhur’s spine.
“Yuli and the Grand Soragan,” Iluna looked at them with a face beyond her sixteen years, “they are in league with them.”
Iluna
The raven quorked and landed on her shoulder. Iluna smiled as she held up a palm full of moonberries.
“Hello, my friend. Won’t be long now.”
The Agrian sky grew purple above with Atoll’s star now at its zenith. It was well past midnight. The raven squawked again and she tickled his beard the way he liked it. His feathers were soft, and his warmth calming. Her breath shuddered as she exhaled; there was much to do.
“Iluna?” a voice whispered and the raven took flight.
Iluna stepped out of the shadow of a large cypress and into the full light of the Agrian night. Two familiar shapes in long robes stood before her – one with strings of beads around the neck, the other without.
“I am here.”
Izhur exhaled a grateful sigh and Cypra returned her smile. The raven circled above them before landing once more on her shoulder. She’d grown used to his weight now.
“You have trained him?” Izhur’s wide eyes relayed his wonder.
“No, I’ve not, but he sits on my shoulder all the same.” She turned to go.
“Can we not talk here? We are far enough from the camp, surely.” Izhur looked back over his shoulder.
They were quite a way out, but it was not yet safe to speak of plans and such. “Not yet, Uncle. Follow me, and stay close.” The raven flew off again, up the mountain, and the three of them followed.
Iluna set a swift pace, her steps almost a jog, but she had to stop often and wait for Izhur and Cypra the closer they got to the peak. Near the summit, the trees thinned and she waited again. Cypra was puffing heavily. Iluna squinted and sent out her essence to the old woman; a knot in her ribs caused a stitch of pain that slowed her. Iluna released some of her light and wrapped it around Cypra’s torso the way Amak would apply a poultice of herbs. She could feel the pull, the drain of her energy, but Cypra needed the support. They had limited time and much to prepare for. It worked, and Cypra moved faster. Iluna readjusted the satchel that hung over her shoulder, and moved on.
“How much farther?” Izhur asked, a little out of breath himself.
“Just on the other side there is a cave; it is safe.”
“How do you know this?” Izhur asked.
Iluna looked at him. “The raven told me.”
She ignored the questioning look in his eyes and moved on. There would be time for questions after. The energy she fed to Cypra pulled her back somewhat, but soon they reached the peak, and just over the other side, the cave.
Strange line drawings and prints decorated the cave’s walls: pictures of people and animals. There were scenes depicting a hunt, one of a birth, and another of death. Iluna reached out and touched one, her fingers tingled. The drawings were from another time, another people, from scores of summers past.
Cypra sat on a boulder and Izhur gave her his skin of water. Iluna kept feeding her energy
through the Otherworld. Cypra would need it to recover.
Izhur drank from the skin before offering it to Iluna. A bead of sweat dropped from his slender nose and his hair hung in damp tendrils on his shoulders. The climb had taken a lot from them, but this was the only safe place to talk. To plan. To prepare.
“Perhaps we ought to have brought Belwas. We’ll need allies if we’re to stop these killers, and to convince the other Soragans that we need to act,” Izhur said.
Iluna piled the sticks she’d collected in the centre of the cave. “There’d be no use, Uncle. They are all under his spell, even Belwas.” The raven had shown her in a visioning. Xaroth had linked himself to almost every clan member – a weave of black thread touching them all.
“The Grand Soragan?”
“It must be true, Izhur,” Cypra said. “You’ve wondered yourself why they all follow him blindly. This must be the reason.”
Izhur looked to the sticks and dead branches that Iluna had collected while the two of them had rested. “Are you sure a fire is wise? What if we’re seen?”
“The cave faces to the west. No one will see us from the valley.” She gestured with a hand. Outside, Atoll’s star was making its descent, and Goda’s nightsun hovered above the canopy of trees below.
“What about Xaroth? He might search with his mind.”
“The cave is protected, Uncle. Old magic. Open your sight and see for yourself. No one can sense us through the Otherworld here. The raven has told me.”
Izhur frowned, but exhaled a long breath. “If you say so.”
Iluna held her hand above the sticks and whispered a word, “Fire.” At once the bundle of wood came to light.
Izhur sucked his breath. “How did you do that?”
Iluna looked at her elders. They wore an identical expression, mouths open, eyes wide – half shock, half wonder. “There is much you don’t yet know about my gift.”
Cypra and Izhur glanced at each other, a flicker of doubt now crossing their brows.
“Please, Uncle, Aunty, you need to trust me. Listen to my plan.”