by PJ McDermott
Sequana screamed in rage. His swordplay consisted of bold thrusts and cuts using his superior strength. He displayed no finesse but was merely intent on crushing his victim.
Hickory hobbled on her damaged leg defending herself as best she could. Her leg was too weak for her natural athleticism to allow her any advantage.
The Pharlaxian cut left and right, his heavy blows forcing her into a corner. Her blade flew from her hand and spun through the air, then clattered onto the floor.
He pointed his sword at her chest. “Now,” he said, “it is ended.”
A blast from a horn sounded from outside, accompanied by the voices of people cheering. Sequana frowned and glanced through the open window behind Hickory’s shoulder.
The dawn was breaking.
Hickory used the temporary distraction to drop to the floor and reel into Sequana’s legs. He teetered before regaining his balance, but Hickory retrieved her sword and lunged at his belly. She released her grip, leaving the weapon impaled there.
Sequana’s legs gave way and he sank to his knees. Feebly, he swung the Sword at her but she swayed out of its way and flung herself on his arm. He threw a fist and it grazed the side of her head, but she hung on and wrested the Sword from his grasp.
Bereft of his treasure, Sequana moaned and slumped sideways onto the floor. He gripped his stomach with both hands, but could not staunch the flow of blood. His head fell slowly to the floor and a look of rapture came over his face. “Barbish…”
Painfully, Hickory rose to her feet and staggered towards the window. A huge crowd had gathered with Royal standards fluttering in their midst. Albetius stood on a cart in the middle of his people. He raised his sword and the crowd cheered again.
Hickory turned to Sequana, squirming on the floor. “Your reign is over, Sequana,” she said.
The door burst open and her people rushed through, led by Jess. “Hickory,” she shouted joyfully, “you’re alive!”
Gareth hugged her and she winced.
“You’re hurt!”
“Only flesh wounds,” she said, then offered him the Sword. “Here, take this and put it somewhere safe. Hide it where only you will find it, and tell no one where it is.”
“This is the sword of Connat?” said Gareth.
“Yes, and it’s bloody dangerous. He almost killed me with it, and he’s no swordsman,” she said, looking at Sequana and shaking her head. “It drove him mad, psychotic. He believed he was invincible.”
Saurab put his hand on Hickory’s shoulder, and Jakah slapped her on her back. “Well done, excellent job. You’ll be pleased to hear that Albetius and his people have won the day. To be honest, there wasn’t much of a fight. All Sequana’s nauris seem to have disappeared, and looking at these three, that’s not surprising. He did this?” He frowned at the dead soldiers and looked at Sequana’s prone body.
“Uh, huh. He thought they were trying to steal the Sword,” said Hickory. “What’s happening with the Teacher?”
Jess smiled. “He’s doing well. He’s on his feet and eating. Apparently, Saurab didn’t hit anything vital.”
Jakah said, “Hard to believe it, but he missed.” He laughed.
Saurab looked as though he was about to reply, but closed his mouth.
“There’s a celebration going on downstairs, how about we join them for a change. Let our hair down,” said Jess.
“I think I can stand a little celebration,” said Hickory, “but I need to have this leg attended to first. I’ll meet you in the square in an hour or so.”
Deceiver
So, Albetius is king once more. I think he will be a generous ruler. He has, I believe, grown in the last weeks,” said the Teacher. He wrapped the bandage around her leg tightly. “I think that will do until you return home.”
“Thank you. You have marvelous healing skills. It feels stronger even now,” said Hickory. “So, what’s for you now? Will you return to Avanaux? It’s still dangerous there for you. You’re a thorn in the side of the High Reeve, and he will keep trying to get rid of you.”
A smile touched the corners of his mouth. He did not seem concerned by Hickory’s observation. “I think I will stay in Kandromena for a while. Albetius will need a friendly ear and sound advice although he may not appreciate it at first. Avanaux will always be there for me.”
Hickory stood and tested her leg. “I’d better get going. The others will be wondering where I am,” she said.
The Teacher’s eyebrows knitted together, and he turned to the doorway, listening. “Something is wrong. Trouble comes.”
Hickory helped him onto the patio. The sounds of people screaming were clear now. The Teacher scoured the skies. “There!” he said, pointing. A giant shadow blocked the sun.
A chill ran down Hickory’s spine as she saw the giant creature swoop on the crowd. “The Riv-Amok.” She shrank back. “Why has it come here?” She guessed the answer. This predator cares nothing for the affairs of the Erlachi. It is here to feast. She heard Gareth and Jess communicating through their SIMs, trying to organize a defense.
The Riv-Amok screeched, furious at the puny beings’ attempts to deny her. Its wings beat mightily and the earth tremored as it landed.
“I have to try and stop it.” The blood drained from Hickory’s face and her hands were trembling. She knew she couldn’t muster sufficient empathic suggestion to control the creature.
“Take me down there with you,” said the Teacher.
Hickory was shocked. “No! You are too badly hurt already. I won’t place you in more danger.”
“Hickory, listen to me. You do not have the power to sway this creature. If you attempt it, he will kill you in her anxiety to understand what you are. I can help, believe me.”
People were running in every direction, and the Riv-Amok was snapping at them right and left. A soldier bravely tried to protect a young female and the creature lifted them both up in its beak, flipped them in the air, and swallowed them whole. It raised its beak to the sky and shook its wings in triumph.
Suddenly, Hickory saw Gareth dart from the crowd and plunge his sword into the beast’s breast. The animal roared and knocked him flying with a wing and then plucked the sword free with its beak. Saurab and Jakah ran forwards as Jess dragged Gareth clear.
Hickory wanted to run to them, but she couldn’t leave the wounded Teacher by himself. They struggled towards the carnage as quickly as they could manage, the Teacher with one arm over her shoulder, and she dragging her injured leg.
When they were a hundred feet away, the Teacher halted. “This is close enough. Leave me here. Go help your friends.” He sat on a wall to gather his breath.
Hickory looked from the Teacher to her friends. “Saurab! Look out,” she yelled frantically. She ran forward, limping, as the giant predator stretched out its talon to seize Saurab.
The little Dark Sun dived under the claw, rolled to one side and bounced to his feet, sword in hand.
Jakah struck at the animal’s foot, and the Riv-Amok screeched. It swung its tail, knocked him to the ground and then pinned him underfoot. It stamped on him until Jakah was a bloody mess then tore strips off his body and devoured him piece by piece.
Saurab stared at the horrific sight. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His sword clattered to the ground, and he turned to run but slipped on a puddle of blood and fell.
The beast swallowed the last of Jakah and turned its attention to Gareth. He crawled away crablike on his back as fast as he could go. The animal pursued him and trapped him underfoot.
Hickory released an empathic shout. “No!” The Riv-Amok froze and raised its head, searching for the source.
Deceiver—it is you! Show yourself. I will find you.
“I am near. Stop this killing and I will reveal myself to you. You are not wanted here.”
Who are you to say whether I should come or go? I feed. I cannot exist without eating. What manner of being are you? Where are you? Let me see you. It growled in her mind, a t
hreat, yet a desperate longing too.
“Let the Erlachi people go from here and I will show myself. But this, I tell you. I am not of this land. I am from a distant world.” She felt great waves of emotion overwhelm her. Sadness, resignation, and regret for something hoped for but never possessed.
Abruptly the mood changed to anger, then rage, and finally hatred. I will rend you limb from limb, I will rip out your eyes and suck the tears from them. It turned to Saurab, struggling vainly to free himself. Do you care for this one? His voice was as sweet as honey.
Hickory clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the creature from her mind.
No? Then you mind not if I eat him.
She screamed.
The anger built up inside her. She could feel the blood pumping furiously through her veins and into her brain and the surge of power building in her.
Hickory’s SIM implant responded by created a magnetic field around and through her skull. She could hear the sharp snapping of synapses separating and new linkages being established.
She felt the pain abruptly metamorphose into a fierce malleable force.
But it was not enough.
She heard the Riv-Amok’s terrible mocking laughter. Is that the best you can do, deceiver?
Like a butterfly caught in a jar, she fought that which confined her power and struggled to set it free.
Hickory. She felt the Teacher enter her mind. Like a bubbling brook on a summer’s day, like the warm breath of a loving father, a sense of belonging to something greater, a family, a friend, a lover, God.
And it was enough. The anger fled. The butterfly emerged, magnificent in its beauty, coaxing and persuading and encouraging through love. The Riv-Amok was her child, a child of wonder and enormous potential, a lonely child who had lost its way and yearned to be returned to its family.
She felt the suggestion to the Riv-Amok from the Teacher.
Return to your own. They are waiting for you. Over the Endless Sea in the coral islands of the Scarf, you will find them.
And I have something you must take with you…
The giant beast roared and spread its leathery wings, launching itself into the air. It wheeled around the city, dipped towards the Teacher, then flew like an arrow westward.
Epilogue
Saurab survived for two days, but even the Teacher with all his skills could not save the little Dark Sun, who had lost the will to live without his friend.
Albetius buried him, and Jakah’s remains with great formality in the Hero’s Cemetery, alongside the Erlachi warriors of the past. Rich and poor alike, came to pay their respects.
Afterward, Hickory asked Gareth for the hidden location of the sword of Connat. He looked embarrassed as he replied, “I took it to the Teacher. I figured he would know what to do with it.”
A week later, Hickory, Gareth, and Jess said their farewells. Albetius sent them on their way with a caravan of yarraks and an escort of twelve Erlachi troopers to see them safely over the border.
As they waved goodbye, Gareth said to Jess, “You know, Mother, I’m kind of looking forward to getting into the pilot seat of the Shahrazad.”
“Over my dead body, boyo. You couldn’t fly a helicopter, never mind a state-of-the-art spaceship like the Shahrazad.”
“Go on. They’re almost automatic, eh? Anyone could fly one.”
Hickory shook her head and nudged her yarrak to the front of the caravan. Let them have their fun, for now. She mulled over what the Teacher had said to her on leaving. Last night, the screams of the Riv-Amok woke me. Something stirs in the Scarf. I fear the Sword is no longer silent.
PART3
THE SCARF
"Through the ages, until proven otherwise, we have considered ourselves to be the center of the universe. There is really no reason to believe humanity is the sole creation in God’s image.”
Pope Innocent XIV, 2086–2105
Temloki
Temloki’s leathery wings rippled in the blustery breeze, rousing him momentarily from his slumber. The journey from Avanaux had been long and arduous, and the sword grew more burdensome with each passing mile. His strength would not last forever, he knew, but it would suffice until he reached his destination. The Scarf. He quivered with excitement in his half-sleep. At last, he would be with his kinfolk.
He’d nested alone these past three hundred years, ever since that dire day Ka-Varla had failed to return from the hunt. He’d woken with her screams echoing through his dreams and immediately left the lair to search for his mate. Temloki tracked her to the marshlands outside the city of Crodal. There, amongst the white water lilies, he discovered Ka-Varla near death. She lay on her side, pierced by a score of arrows, with thick black blood oozing from her belly, swollen with the nymphlet she’d carried these last eighteen months. She lifted her head and keened as he approached. Temloki dripped water into her mouth and brought her fresh meat until she could no longer swallow. Her breathing became weaker and more labored, and finally, it ceased with a sigh. He remained with her until long after she’d grown cold.
Temloki grieved many months for the loss of his mate. She’d been with him near a century, the mother of four nymphlets, all of them dead at the hands of the wingless ones. Each night before they slept, they relived the joy of the chase and the kill and shared their bewilderment over the endless wars between the six kingdoms of Erlach.
Ka-Varla and Temloki were the last of their kind on the northern continent, and after his mate’s passing, Temloki lived in solitude, emerging from his cave only to hunt, his sorrow and hurt souring to anger and hate. The rage festered inside him day by day until all thoughts but those of revenge fled his mind. He brought terror to the wingless ones, the Erlachi, demanding they give him their children, their mates, as they had taken his. His revenge knew no limit. Many of his victims he swallowed whole to satisfy his hunger, but others he tore apart slowly for the pleasure of watching them die. His appearance at the gates of any city created hysteria amongst the population and earned him his epithet, Riv-Amok, ‘bringer of death.’
And in two hundred years he had never heard another voice until the warrior from the stars whispered in his mind. At first, he thought he dreamed again of Ka-Varla, then with mounting excitement, he hoped the whisperer might perhaps be one of his own, miraculously come from a far country to seek him out. But hope turned to bitterness when he realized the stranger was nothing but a wingless warrior. He sought her out, but her will was strong, and she evaded him. In the end, he devoured two of her companions before the White One commanded him to leave and take the sword to the Scarf.
In the first days of his journey, he fancied he’d heard the weapon murmur to him, urging him forward with promises of great treasures, but he laughed at it. Nothing created by the hand of a wingless one could hold sway over him.
Temloki grasped the sword more firmly in his talons and coasted lower, cocking his head to survey his new home: a hot and steamy place with salt-encrusted white rock cracked and broken into a million pieces by rivulets of seawater, and seemingly devoid of life. There was nothing for him here. He groaned, but beat his massive wings and flew on.
The sun sank beneath the sea, and the planet Prosperine’s two orange-dusted moons rose high. The aurora unfolded like a curtain, and the sky was blanketed with pulsating sheets of emerald, ruby, and turquoise. A thin ribbon of gold rippled slowly across the heavens and sank beneath the horizon. Temloki cared naught for this natural beauty and fastened his eyes on the land below.
Gradually the terrain changed. Occasional patches of lichen and algae joined together, and the salted crust gave way to rushes and ferns and then to swamps infested with biting insects and creeping plants. Bushes and scrubby trees emerged, growing taller by consuming their own branches, leaf litter, and the occasional dead animal. The land rose in places, forming hillocks and ridges in the otherwise flat vastness.
A flicker of light caught his eye, and Temloki turned towards it,
his heart suddenly aflame.
Trouble in the Scarf
Admiral George Lace, Earth representative at the Intragalactic Agency, stared at his adopted daughter, his fingers tapping the table between them. “You’re telling me this sword has magical powers that enhance the strength of whoever happens to own it?”
Hickory squirmed in her seat. She was aboard the admiral’s flagship, the Jabberwocky, being debriefed on her recent assignment to Erlach. She found it hard to accept this man as her father, preferring to think of him as the Admiral, with a capital “A.” After her mother had died giving birth to her younger brother, he’d offloaded both of them to his sister, Maddie. For ten years, the only communication Hickory received from him was an occasional birthday card with his name printed on it. In the last five years, there’d been nothing. Then, out of the blue, she’d been transferred from the Alien Corps to work with him on a mission to Prosperine.
Hickory was a neoteric, one of a small percentage of the population born with nascent empathic ability, a rare mutation that emerged during the Dark Age following World War III. As a result of this, she could sense the emotions of others and tell when someone lied or distorted the truth by reaching out to them with her mind.
She knew the Admiral scorned anything hinting of the paranormal. She spread her hands wide. “I don’t say magic, sir. Sequana’s strength could have been coincidental, but the Sword of Connat-sèra-Haagar affected his mind. Those who knew him say his whole personality changed in the weeks before I killed him. He remained a charismatic leader of the rebellion and a brilliant thinker much loved by his followers, even after his defeat. Then, a few months after acquiring the sword, he became paranoid and suspicious of everyone around him. I believe the sword helped Sequana to become powerful, but in the end, it also made him vulnerable. The legends of the Avanauri say that the sword magnifies weaknesses as well as strengths.”