"What else is there for us to do? We can't return to Epros and hide forever. The White Tigress thought Jaska worth our sacrifices, and if anyone could defeat Salahn, it would be a redeemed Jaska Bavadi."
Ohzikar sat in silence for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was somber, barely audible. "Perhaps you're right, but I cannot forgive him our brothers' deaths or the sins he committed. And, you know, he won't be our hope as a redeemed man. We need a man so scarred by his sins, so determined to cleanse the evil he has committed that he will breathe fire and shake the foundations of the earth if need be. Worst of all, to defeat Salahn, he will need your help."
"And yours."
Ohzikar threw his head into his scarred hands. "And mine."
Zyrella put her arm around him, kissed his ear, and whispered. "You can let go."
He nearly sobbed but then gathered his composure. "No, I can't."
"Our brothers would weep for you."
"But I was their captain. I cannot mourn them."
Zyrella well knew that templars were supposed to follow the ideals of stoicism. Still, Ohzikar was a sensitive and caring man. He needed to let go. Zyrella would have told him that it didn't matter anymore, that none but her could see his weakness, but Ohzikar needed his self-respect.
And what of herself? She was holding in those same emotions that ate away at him. Perhaps she could help them both.
"Ohzi, may I weep for our brothers on your behalf?"
A tender half-smile curled his lips. "Yes, mourn them for the both of us. They were the best and most loyal friends. Servants of the goddess to the last."
Ohzikar put his arm around her and cradled her head against his chest for several hours, until the cold wind dried her tears.
~~~
Four days passed. Jaska barely drank the soup poured into his mouth. He raved and thrashed until Ohzikar bound his hands and feet to keep him from hurting himself. Zyrella, despite her exhaustion, scribed runes of silence to dampen the sounds that left the cave.
Ohzikar served as their lookout and repaired his armor and shield. Zyrella meditated and danced subtle spirit-katas to restore her internal energies. She slept long hours and ate voraciously. Otherwise, she took care of Jaska and recited to him the Codex of Kashomae the Gentle Savior, who was the spirit-mother of the White Tigress.
A mournful gust moaned through the canyon. The canvas sheet snapped taut with sharp cracks. Zyrella's sunstone, a simple quartz rock embellished with the rune of Taal Eos the Sun King, burned at quarter-strength, the equivalent of a single candle. Ohzikar slept bundled in a blanket at the entrance. Jaska, for the first midnight yet, slept peacefully. Zyrella rested her head against the lumpy, damp wall. Though she intended only to nap, she drifted into a deep sleep.
Zyrella dreamed she flew above the prosperous land that was the only home she knew, a land quite different from arid, violent Hareez in which she hadn't lived since the age of three. Below her, the golden, autumn-harvest fields of Epros' valleys wound around hills topped with ancient ruins and modern citadels. Olive orchards and grape vineyards dominated by tile-roofed villas stood interspersed among the grain fields. Throughout the land, farmhouses and granaries clustered together into neat villages, each built around a central green and a communal well.
Zyrella soared above Arga, a village on the southern coast. Her heart warmed to see the familiar, quaint homes, the vineyards and fields, a score of modest fishing vessels, and herds of sheep trailed by young men with staves and dogs. On the tallest hill, the ruins of an Eirsendan shrine lay beneath a grove of sprawling oaks. There, among the vine-wrapped marble pillars and moss-covered flagstones, Zyrella's grandmother had instructed her in the arts of being a priestess to the White Tigress. They had used the shrine with the blessing and support of the local priestesses of Yaraya, a wolf goddess also mothered to divinity by Kashomae. Yaraya had taken pity on the White Tigress' refugees, and her magics had protected Zyrella from Salahn's scrying as long as she remained in Arga.
Studying in Arga, Zyrella mastered before the age of twenty many sorceries a normal priestess might never know. When her grandmother passed away, Zyrella joined Ohzikar and the other templars in fighting with the resistance movement in Hareez. That was when the Grandmaster had noted the power she wielded and divined who she was. After the palymfar and Hmyr Karphon's army defeated the resistance, they returned to Arga, minus five of their brothers.
A whisper rushed across the fields, bending grain stalks and rustling grapevines and olive leaves. The whisper grew harsh and scoured the fields. Sheep fell as if slaughtered. Vines wilted, the sea withdrew, and oaks withered. Desert sands massed on the horizon, then the scrub of Hareez swallowed Epros.
An instant before she could scream, Zyrella woke. Yet the hellish whisper remained.
"Priestess, can you hear me?"
She scrambled to Jaska's side. "Yes. I'm awake now."
"Where are we?"
"Hidden in a cave, twenty leagues east of the shrine."
"How did I get here? How did you find me?" He swept his gaze around the cave. "Where is the merchant, his daughters?" He struggled to sit up. "I blacked out and--"
"They're fine, back on their way to Epros. I arrived soon after you collapsed and they helped me take care of you the first few days."
While she untied his hands and feet, she explained everything that had happened.
"Why are you helping me? You have every right to kill me."
"I must see the efforts of the White Tigress completed."
Jaska arched his back up from the ground and grimaced with pain. "I'm thoroughly corrupt. I don't deserve life."
"You did evil, that's true, but you weren't in control of your actions, were you?"
He shook his head. "I should have been."
Jaska began to convulse with dry coughs. Zyrella brought him water. He rose on his elbows and Zyrella held the bowl to his lips. He drank then lay back down.
"I don't want to live."
"Then why have you fought so hard these last few days?"
He shrugged. "I've never given up before. I don't know how."
"Then don't make this time a first. Salahn grows in power. Help me stop him. I have no hope without you."
"What can I do? He will exert his control over me again. I am weak against him. Through my dreams he calls to me."
"Your nightmares and urges are resonances caused by an addiction to Salahn's dark powers. And your body grew accustomed to sating many lusts that no longer have an outlet. But you can conquer all of that. The bindings you must fear are in your qavra."
He winced and cringed away from her. "Tell me it is lost, for I must have it."
Ohzikar emerged from the shadows. He knelt beside her and lifted the qavra, dangling it just out of Jaska's reach. "Here it is, palymfar. Your legacy and power, the collar given you by your master. Come for it anytime you wish. I'll give it to you willingly."
Zyrella shoved him, though his bulk showed no response. "Ohzi! That's not fair. Don't tempt him."
"If he wants to do what's right, he must fight this thing. You were correct about its value, but there's one point you overlooked. If we had thrown the qavra away, he would never have recovered. It would have always had a hold on him."
"But even so, it's not fair to do this to him now. I cannot--"
"No." Jaska stared at the qavra. "He's right. I must beat it. I can't let it haunt me forever."
Jaska sat up and reached out. Ohzikar didn't move. He waited as Jaska edged closer. Zyrella almost spoke, almost took the stone away, but Ohzikar warned her off with a stern look. He didn't set his mind against her like this often but when he did, he did so with an unshakable belief that he was doing the right thing.
Jaska reached out, his fingertips nearing the qavra. Zyrella's heart thumped hard. She feared he would give in. But Jaska's fingertips missed the qavra as he pushed Ohzikar's arm away. With his other hand, he grabbed Ohzikar by the collar and pulled him close. Ohzikar's eyes widene
d with surprise.
"Keep it with you, templar, so I'll always know where it is."
"I will. And know this, I'd kill you now if Zyrella didn't believe that something good will come out of you yet."
"Hers is a lost cause and I welcome any slaying that gives me what I deserve."
The two men stared at each other until Jaska backed away. Ohzikar went to his blankets. Jaska settled back on his pallet, his breathing deep and steady.
"I'm sorry Ohzikar threatened you."
A half-smile crept upon Jaska's lips. "We have reached a truce."
"I don't understand warriors. I never will."
"And I don't understand priestesses or their goddesses."
"Fair enough."
"What you've done . . . It's more than I deserve."
"The first time I saw you I knew there was something else deep within you, something hidden away. That is the true Jaska Bavadi."
"I would like to think so, but no. The true Jaska Bavadi is tainted. Nothing can change that. I am similar to what that other man might have been. That's all."
"It's something."
"It's worthless."
"Not to me or my goddess."
"Oh, I'm worth something to you, but only as a killing machine, but nothing more."
"You're wrong. I can't speak for the White Tigress, but you mean something to me . . . as a person."
He shrugged. "As I said, I don't understand priestesses." Jaska's eyes began to flutter downward. "I will fight the qavra, best as I can. And I will fight for you against Salahn. But I give no guarantees. My will is strong but the nightmares . . . the things I have done . . ."
He shook his head then drifted off into sleep.
Zyrella watched him, wishing she could take away his pain. She couldn't imagine a more terrible fate than Jaska's. The sun rose before she left his side.
When Jaska next awoke, the dim sunstone barely illuminated the cave. Zyrella slept on a pallet along the opposite wall; Ohzikar was absent. Jaska's stomach churned, demanding food. So with creaking joints and trembling muscles, he retrieved dried meat and dates from the supply packs. He sat by the pool and ate.
Jaska was dressed in a grey shirt and pants that cinched at the ankles and knees. His pack, weapons, and uniform lay stacked nearby. No, he thought, those weapons can't belong to me. Mine fell into the river. These . . . must have belonged to my students.
He nearly wept as he thought of the young men he had trained for the last few years. But then what sort of men had they truly been? Salahn couldn't corrupt every palymfar through sorcery. Most, if not all, must be the worst sort.
And Jaska had trained hundreds of them.
He took the razor from his pack and thought of slitting his throat but couldn't. After sitting there for some time, lost in thought, he began to shave, navigating around scar tissue through touch. His barely-lit reflection in the pool showed so much scarring that he cringed to imagine what it must look like in full light.
He paused, holding the razor near his face. His brightest students from over the years must now be some of the most notorious murderers in the world. And he was an assassin himself. He couldn't change that. He would, however, change his prey. He would excise the cancers he had helped unleash upon the world.
"Do you always brood while you shave?"
Having inexplicably let down his guard, Jaska flinched when he heard the priestess's voice. "I'm not at one with myself."
She spoke a command and the nearby sunstone flared to full strength, revealing the smooth lines of her face and her deep-set eyes. "Do you wish to talk about it?"
"My burden is great, priestess."
"I am here to share your burden, that is one of the things priestesses do after all. But please, call me Zyrella."
Tentatively, Jaska spoke to her about the confusion of his emotions. He wasn't accustomed to sharing his thoughts with others. "The reality of what I've done, of who I have been . . ." He shook his head. "I have trained many assassins over the years. I thought them sincere students. I still picture them that way. I cannot see their evil for what it was."
Jaska finished shaving. "How did I do?"
"Well enough, considering."
"My head needs shaving as well, but I don't have the strength. My hands are beginning to shake and it's difficult to move my left arm."
"I can do it for you, if you wish."
"I guess I can allow that."
"You sound unsure."
"It's just that I'm used to taking care of myself."
"You didn't have servants like the other high ranking palymfar . . . or a companion?"
"I refused servants, but I did live with a beautiful woman, perfect and alluring, intelligent and playful. I loved her deeply, but now . . . I don't know."
Zyrella felt a stab of jealousy. "Who is she?"
"Mardha. Salahn's daughter."
"Oh." I should have known, she thought.
"Evil surrounds her in my nightmares, but I don't really know her in waking. You know of her don't you? I can see it in your face. She is nothing like I described is she?"
"I'm sorry, Jaska. Mardha is a bloodletter and demon-binder. Salahn's most devoted servant."
"It's just as well," he said, though it wasn't. He felt betrayed down to the deepest part of his being. The love he had felt for Mardha, and for his mentor, all of it was false and he had nothing except the pity of a priestess and the need of her goddess.
While he stared off lost in his misery, Zyrella started a tiny fire and heated some water. "You should stretch, Jaska, but don't strain yourself."
He began the simplest stretching routine, the one first taught to orphans recruited by the palymfar. His movements were limited but he did his best. Eventually he paused, brooding about the young orphans who always adored him.
"Still thinking of your students?"
"Yes. I can't bear having taught them how best to commit evil upon others."
With a hand on his back, she guided him to the pool. "Kneel."
Zyrella rinsed his head with the hot water then smoothed a few drops of oil across his scalp.
Jaska's body tensed, his eyes narrowed. "I molded them into what they are, and now I must see them destroyed. Each and every one." His voice sounded so cold and relentless. Chills ran down Zyrella's back. "I'll do whatever I must to restore the palymfar to what they once were, to what they should be. I won't rest until then. You were right, Zyrella, I can't give up. I have too much work to do, too much to atone for."
Zyrella cringed at what she had unleashed, even though it was what they needed. He would have been better off had they let him die. But he had been born for this work. This was the destiny Salahn had feared. She only hoped Jaska's turning hadn't come too late.
As Jaska returned to his pallet, Ohzikar crept away from the cave entrance where he had been listening in hiding. He didn't understand Zyrella's attraction to the man, and he wasn't sure what he should do about it.
~~~
Jaska spent three days walking and stretching, eating as much as he could, and building up his strength. Complete recovery would take much longer. The Jaska Bavadi of old had moved with supreme efficiency and complete awareness. Stiffness plagued him now, and worse, his mind was scattered to the winds, broken by the realizations of what he'd done.
The three sat together in the cave, eating but speaking little. Distrust hung between Jaska and Ohzikar. The qavra's presence did little to help. Jaska's eyes often strayed to it, and a forlorn, desiring look plagued his face. Ohzikar countered with a narrow-eyed scowl. Jaska had many days to go before his addiction would break if it were even half as strong as those opiate addictions Ohzikar had witnessed.
Suddenly, a chalk rune on the cave's ceiling flared a brilliant white. Ohzikar leapt to his feet and grabbed his weapons. Zyrella put out the fire.
"I'll scout the canyon," Ohzikar said.
Zyrella hugged him as the rune faded. "Be careful."
"What's going on?" Jaska asked.
Ohzikar ducked outside as Zyrella replied. "Someone attempted to scry us. They weren't successful. Otherwise, the rune beside that one would have flared as well."
"I should go with him. I know how they operate. I probably taught them."
Zyrella put a hand on his arm. "Let Ohzikar do it. Save your strength. He knows what he's doing. We fought palymfar with the resistance, while you were away helping Karphon take Xampaji. Besides, Ohzikar is wearing a scrying ward and you aren't."
"I feel useless."
"Now you know how I feel most of the time. Ohzi and my other templar guards have always . . ." Her voice choked and Jaska looked away.
"I'm sorry . . ."
"It wasn't you. Another man and his acolytes killed them. It's done, and there's nothing we can do to change it." Zyrella drew one of his students' qavra from the pouch tied to her belt sash. "As for fighting the enemy, I have cleansed this qavra of palymfar spells for you. Unfortunately, I don't know how to purify your original."
With an expression of distaste, Jaska eyed the small jet stone embedded in the leather choker. "I can't."
"But you must. Without your powers, you won't be strong enough to combat Salahn."
"I will manage."
"That's a lie, and you know it."
"What if all palymfar qavra can betray me?"
"Impossible. With this one I have erased the previous owner's aura. No spells exist within it, nor does one exist on you."
"But even a lesser qavra such as that one might awaken things within me. Things that I have buried in the past. The old methods may entice me into committing the old acts again."
"If so, you will have to conquer those things. To succeed, we need all your abilities. You know I'm right."
Without looking at her, he nodded. "It must wait, though. I'm not strong enough to bond with the qavra now."
"I can help you."
Zyrella held the qavra out toward him. He stared at it. Minutes went by before Jaska reached forward. His fingertips came within inches, but then a look of horror crossed his face and he withdrew. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He licked his lips and furrowed his brow.
Wrath of the White Tigress Page 5