by Aderyn Wood
Part V
Black Eagle Mountain
Summer
Rayna’s cavern
5,847 years ago…
Rayna
It was late morning when Rayna woke. She’d needed rest after the long trek from the Dragonshade Mountains. The journey had taken more than two turns of the moon, and she’d barely stopped once she caught a sniff of home. She stretched her feet, relishing the warmth of her furs.
“No place like home.” She eased up out of her bed, and stretched her arms high, a croaky groan escaping her lips.
“You're getting old, Rayna dear.” Speaking to herself was a habit developed after so much time in solitude. “Older than I ever thought possible.”
After a night back on her feather mattress, her hip didn’t ache as much, but she still limped through the compact space of her dwelling to stoke the coals in the fireplace. She added kindling from a basket collected at the summer’s onset, well before she’d embarked on her journey. The fire came to life and she hung a small pot of water atop the flames.
Rayna inspected her little rondhus, in truth half a cave. She’d found it an age ago. It proved an ideal spot for her to settle. Halfway between the Drakian isles and the vast range she called the Dragonshade Mountains, and not so far from other important places either. A little further up, along a winding goat trail, a natural lookout provided a view of the shimmering blue sea on a fine day, and any passing longboats. The forest was abundant with food and other necessary resources to make her comfortable. Many summers past Rayna had closed the cave off with a wall made of wood, clay and stone, and included two little cutouts for windows. Her old friend Mook had helped with the labour, and in little more than a moon’s turn she’d built herself a humble home in the mountain forest.
Rayna looked around with a satisfactory nod. “So good to be home.” It was an ordered mess, just the way she liked it with a row of shelves near the fire that held her cups, cookware, dried herbs and pickled vegetables. She’d cut a larder into the rock at the back of the cave and there she’d stored smoked meats. She kept her bed along the cave wall, and a little chest nearby with her small treasures – the locks of hair from her daughters, raven feathers and a little rock carving given to her by her mother. It was also where she kept her most prized possession ‒ a diminishing lump of dragonshade wrapped in an old piece of linen Mook had given her.
She shifted her gaze to the window cutouts. Morning light framed the edges of the shutters. Beneath them sat her square table, made in the simplest fashion, with two stools. It’d been a long time since she’d needed two stools, for Rayna had only ever had one guest. “Dear old Mook,” she whispered. She hadn’t seen him for ten summers or more.
“Now, don’t you be getting nostalgic, old girl.” Rayna flicked her feathered cloak over her shoulders and opened one of the window shutters. The morning mountain air was cool indeed, but it was a clear day, a good day for tilling her garden. The trees held the first flush of yellow on their leaves.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’d best get some crops in if I’m to survive the Dark Wynter.”
Rayna boiled up the last of her oats for breakfast. Then took the straw broom to sweep the rock floor. A layer of dust had covered everything in her absence. She set about tidying and cleaning, wiping the shelves and table, shaking out her bed furs, and everywhere dealing with the dust.
Her thoughts turned to her journey as she worked. After two moon’s turns she’d arrived to the mountain city of Sargo-Teg to find it empty of its usual inhabitants. Rayna had wandered deep into the city. Down into the mountain’s many levels, tunnels and nooks, calling out and peering into the darkness with a flame-torch, but her calls only echoed back to her, unanswered. The city was abandoned. The strange little people called the mountain-folk, nowhere to be found.
Rayna opened her front door to sweep the dust outside, then returned the broom to its corner.
“Where did they go?” she asked the broom handle.
She considered the last time she’d visited Sargo-Teg, over eight summer’s past and shook her head. “They’d not said anything about leaving. I’d remember it.” She frowned. “When am I supposed to bring Yana to them?”
A squawk broke the peaceful morning air, and Rayna turned from the broom to see a flutter of purple-black feathers fly through the window and perch on a branch fixed to the wall.
“I wondered where you’d got to. Had your breakfast then?” Rayna asked.
The raven squawked again, before preening a wing.
“Yes,” Rayna said. “It’s good to be home, Rhast. And it will be even better when I get this place in order.”
Rayna’s gaze fell to the satchel that hung on a hook by the door. She lifted it and brought it to the table and sat on one of the stools to unpack the few items within, a dagger, a cloth of junip berries she’d stopped to harvest on the journey, and a seashell she’d found on the edge of a mountain. It had given her such pause to wonder how in the old gods’ name such an item had come all the way from the sea to the mountaintop that she’d scooped it up and brought it home with her. Finally, she withdrew the largest item, secure in a square of rabbit fur, unwrapped it and placed the treasure on the table – a black, glimmering rock. It was a lump of pure dragonshade, and there was plenty more where it came from in the mountain city. Great shards of shiny black rock, already cut from the walls, just sitting there in their coffers, undefended.
Rayna felt rather guilty taking it the way she had. But there was plenty there, and the mountain-folk had always given her a little gift of it whenever she’d visited. Her own store of the dark substance was low, so she reasoned it wasn’t truly thieving. They’d want her to have it, to help bring Yana to them.
Rayna shook her head as she gazed at the black stone. “Where did they go? Old One, will you not give me some sign?”
Rhast squawked.
Rayna sighed and wrapped the dragonshade carefully in the rabbit skin and stood to place it in her wooden chest with the other lump of rock. She’d spent days in contemplation, and whole nights in meditation. Neither had given her any answers and she would get no answers now. “No,” she whispered. “Their disappearance remains a mystery.”
She moved to her shelves and handled clay pots and vials, looking through her stock of seeds and herbs. She should place her thoughts on other matters, for now. She was low on garlic seed, rosemary flower and tumer root for a start. She must get her garden bed in order.
Rayna opened the door again and stepped outside. Rhast flew with yet another squawk and landed on her shoulder.
“Ouch! Mind where you put your claws, Rhast.”
The raven quorked.
Outside, Rayna welcomed the sun’s warmth and walked to the south-facing slope where she’d made her garden bed. It was overrun with weeds.
She removed her feathered cloak and placed it over a fallen trunk, and Rhast flew up to a low branch. “Only one thing for it, Rayna old girl. Hard work never did kill a soul.” She bent to begin pulling weeds.
By mid-afternoon she’d planted garlic, onions, cabbage, carrots and mountain leaf. A good start. Come the winter, she’d be equipped to keep starvation at bay.
Rayna returned to her cavern to retrieve her satchel, an empty waterskin and her old worn staff, then wandered into the forest. Rhast followed through the canopy. It was time to gather what she could from the forest’s larder.
She headed for a copse of pine trees. This time of year their cones would be fat with the little white nuts she enjoyed so much.
The forest thickened and the air cooled making Rayna shiver with the thought of the black stretch of nights and days to come. “You’ve lived through more Dark Wynters than most people see wynters. You’ll live through this one too,” she told herself, but the shivering grew to a violent shudder before it stopped, and Rayna wondered if it were an omen, or just more signs of old age.
She tightened her cloak as she came to a mountain stream that eddied gently into a pond. A flock of wil
d ducks were enjoying a patch of sunshine on the pond’s surface and Rayna paused to watch them.
“Hello ducks,” she said, and she thought of her granddaughter back in Varg Isht. Yana had taken to duck-herding with ease, just as Rayna had expected. Her smile faded when she though of Yana. “How long before I see you again, granddaughter? Next summer, mayhap. And will you be ready?”
Rayna stooped to fill the skin with the stream water, and sat on the bank in the sunshine to enjoy watching the ducks. All her worries left her as she lost herself in the simple pleasure of nature.
A piercing screech ripped through the air above, followed by a squawk from Rhast who dipped his wings and landed with a thump next to Rayna on the bank, before cocking his head to keep an eye on the sky.
“What is it?” Rayna asked.
Rhast quorked before another shrill cry sliced the air high above.
That call is familiar. Mountain eagle? No, though similar. Rayna’s mind twigged with a distant memory. “No, it’s impossible.”
She stood, leaning heavily on her staff, to peer up at the sky. The screech came again and the rush of recognition gripped Rayna’s awareness. “Desert eagle,” she whispered. “And far, far from home. Just like the shell on the mountaintop.”
The large bird came into sight, gliding above the canopy and Rayna’s mouth fell open in wonder. Its wingspan was easily longer than the height of a tall man – truly a formidable thing. “But you do not belong here.”
Rhast chirruped as though in agreement.
Rayna shielded her eyes with a hand and squinted. The eagle clutched something in its vast claws. And flew directly above to release it with talons spreading wide. The thing tumbled down and fell with a splash into the stream. The ducks panicked and fled to the lower bushes and hiding places of the forest floor. The thing resurfaced and Rayna’s eyes widened as she took in the wet and bloodied feathers of a wild duck.
Rayna snapped her head up, but the desert eagle was now nowhere to be seen, and she returned her attention to the limp fowl, floating dead in the pond.
A line of ice raced down Rayna’s spine, and through her limbs to her fingers and toes. A deep sense of foreboding gripped her. “An omen.” I know it.
Rhast squawked and took flight while Rayna turned and retraced her steps on shaking legs, heading back to the cavern.
It would take her at least one moon’s turn, and Dark Wynter would be fast on her heels, but she had to try. The old ones had finally answered her and the time to return to Varg Isht was now. Rayna only hoped, she wasn’t too late.
Part VI
Praeta
Sommer
Seventeenth year of King Thasus’s reign
5,847 years ago…
Sargan
Sargan dreamt. He stood just inside the temple gates. The obelisk shimmered blue in the noon sunshine, its bell ringing incessantly just as it had when his mother-queen had died. He was naked, apart from the belt, and his new sword hung heavy at his side. Beyond the obelisk and the sundial stood the tall temple doors, made of wood but encrusted with lapis lazuli.
Sargan only had to make it to them and he could enter the temple, say his vows as an initiate and begin his life’s dream to become a priest.
He walked with heavy steps, but someone blocked his way. It was Rabi the rat, wearing his big-toothed grin and handling a sword with that easy swagger. He struck, and Sargan closed his eyes and jumped back. Laughter boomed. The temple grounds were filled with onlookers laughing hysterically as Sargan stumbled, naked still.
Rabi had disappeared and Sargan’s royal cousin Ilbrit took his place. He came for Sargan with speed and anger and again Sargan closed his eyes. When he opened them the temple had disappeared, along with the crowds. Sargan now stood in a swamp in the middle of an oasis. His feet sunk into the slimy pit and the more he struggled the more he sank. “You will know humiliation,” a voice like Zamug’s echoed, but the mud had covered his skin, his mouth, his nose…
Sargan woke and sat up with a yelp. He flung his arms to the side. Something slimy clung to him, like the mud in the dream. For a heartbeat he calmed, knowing it was just a nightmare, but then he registered the sensation. It was real enough. He yelped again and threw back the bed covers. His roll had been filled with muddy jellyfish.
Sargan screamed and jumped from his bedroll. He ran in crazy loops and circles on the open deck.
Strong hands grabbed him from behind and spun him around. Alangar. “Sargan,” the overseer shouted. “Calm down.”
Sargan blinked and took slow breaths.
“What’s so wrong?” Alangar asked, a frown on his face.
“Slime. Mud. It was disgusting,” Sargan stammered, still breathless.
Laughter bubbled along the deck. Sargan peered beyond Alangar’s shoulder where a crowd stood in the dawn light facing him. His cousin Ilbrit among them.
“Someone played another trick on you. That’s all.” Alangar’s voice was calming. “You’re all right, my prince.”
“Sargan!” Hadanash pushed through the crowd and came to stand next to Alangar. “What is this foolishness?” He studied Sargan’s wet and filthy tunic with puckered lips. “What in Phadite’s name have you been doing?”
Sargan puffed his cheeks. “It was Ilbrit. He keeps playing his foolish tricks. He put jellyfish in my bedroll!”
“I did no such thing. There’d be no room for them in the hog’s bedroll,” Ilbrit yelled out, and a renewed round of laughter followed.
Hadanash frowned and gripped Sargan’s elbow turning him about face and forcing him to the galley’s stern, away from the others. “These childish tears have to stop.”
Sargan sniffed. “Ilbrit’s the child—”
Hadanash gritted his teeth. “He only does it because he gets such a ridiculous reaction from you. Every time.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve grown into nothing but a soft dumpling, brother. You want them to treat you as a man who deserves their respect? You need to start acting like one.”
Sargan squinted, and tore his arm away. “And how do you suggest I do that?” His voice cracked. “How does a man act in your opinion, brother? No, let me surmise the answer. A man must exhibit acts of thuggery with a sword, acts of stupidity with jellyfish and the like, get as drunk as a parrot every night, and mate with anything and everything that moves. Is that it, brother? Is that how a man is defined?” Sargan’s voice was horse, but he kept shouting anyway. “The demons can take your manliness. It’s not for me.”
Hadanash looked at him, the scowl still on his face. “It’s well you’re my brother, for if you were anyone else you’d be fish fodder by now.”
Sargan blinked. The anger left him and a sad weariness replaced it.
“Today we meet with King Thasus. Pull yourself together and do your best to pretend to be a prince of Azzuri. If you shame us, Father will hear of it.”
“I didn’t know we were to meet with Thasus.” Father told me nothing.
Hadanash gave him an unkind smile. “There’s much you don’t know about this mission, little brother. Best you don’t, lest you cry.” He turned and stormed back through the deck shouting orders for the men to get to their oars.
“We could arrange a little accident for your royal cousins,” Ubranum said, nibbling on a dried apricot.
Ru smiled as he withdrew a long dagger he kept concealed under his skirt. “Well, now, that’s an idea. My blade thirsts for a little drink of blood, and royal blood would be most satisfying. No offence, Prince Sargan.”
Sargan looked at his band members, but Alangar clasped Sargan’s cheeks with two hands and turned his head back to face him. “Stay still, my prince, if you want this kohl to look any good.”
Most of the men had left the galleys the moment the fleet had docked at Praeta. They’d been given leave to explore the city, with the orders to ready for their departure at dawn the following day. Hadanash had sent a messenger to the palace, and then ordered Sargan to prepare for their meeting with King Thasus.
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Hadanash took the only bath available at the stern of the galley, and had the one servant attend him. Kisha used to be Heduanna’s servant, but since the incident with the whipping, she’d been assigned to Sargan’s brother. Kisha was also the only woman on the ship, but her status as the Prince’s servant kept her well-protected from groping hands.
Sargan made his preparations at the other end of the galley by the bow, and his band members attended him. Ru and Tizgar provided him with a bucket of lukewarm water to wash with. Nanum and Lu had worked on one of his linen tunics, the cleanest one, scrubbing the stains as best they could. Alangar tried to comb out the knots in Sargan’s hair and apply kohl to his eyes, and all the while Ubranum and Ibbi discussed various methods for Sargan to get revenge on his cousins.
“What about snakes?” Ibbi asked.
“Snakes?” Ubranum replied, a quizzical look arresting his handsome face. Ubranum was popular with the young ladies, and quite a few of the men, due to his good looks, but he wasn’t the sharpest sword in the king’s contingent.
“I could get some in the bazaar,” Ibbi continued. “A couple of cobras should do it. We could put them in Ilbrit’s bedroll.”
“Too hard to control,” Ubranum said.
“And what about their poison?” Lu asked. “What if they bit him?”
“Well, it’d give me something to wager,” Ibbi said, waving a little clay tablet about. “Whether he’d die or not.”
“What would the odds be?” Lu asked, raising an eyebrow.
Ibbi looked up to the sky as he thought. “He’d survive, I’d say.”
“Of course he would,” Alangar replied. “Ilbrit’s too pugnacious to die just yet. There, all done, my prince.” Alangar stepped back to study his handiwork. “It’s not the prettiest job, but it’ll do.”
“Thank you,” Sargan said, blinking his heavy lids with their newly applied kohl. “Well, this is as princely as I’m going to look today. I best wait on the dock for my brother-prince.”