Shadow of the Ghost Bear (The Tale of Azaran Book 2)

by Arbela, Zackery

  "Kuyei," he whispered.

  "What was that?" Segovac glanced back at him.

  "They are called kuyei."

  Segovac looked surprised. "That's...how do you know that?"

  "I...just do..."

  "Convenient time for a memory to be jogged loose. Yes, kuyei is the name for folk of their kind. Iturai is the name for the particular lot that live in this forest. Most just use the latter, since you're not like to see any others in this part of the world...ah, good afternoon, friends."

  The Iturai warriors halted. Azaran noted how they surrounded the two newcomers. The word of the Green Ancestor stayed their hands, but not apparently their suspicions.

  One of them stepped forward. "Rhennari," he said in accented Eburrean. "I am called Nebaro. You have called on the Ancestor."

  "And her word was given."

  "Hmm." The Iturai looked him over, then glanced at Azaran. "You are not Eburrean. Those brands on your body...for what crime where they punishment?"

  "Crime?" Azaran asked, growing angry at the insinuation.

  "Human fugitives have entered our lands in the past. Usually they make themselves as welcome here as they do in the lands they fled. The Green Ancestor grants you entry, but she can be fooled..."

  His voice trailed off at Azaran's glare. The others sensed the tension and reached for swords or arrows. For a moment violence was in the air.

  "Peace!" Segovac glared at Azaran. "Everyone, stand down! This is a sacred place, let's not taint it with blood born of misunderstanding. Azaran is not from around here. The marks on his body are symbols of honor. He is a warrior, the same as you, and has saved my life on more than one occasion."

  The Iturai warriors thought on this. "Very well," said Nebaro. "The Green Ancestor speaks. Should he break the bond, you know the price that will be paid." He signaled to the others. They headed back into the forest, Segovac and Azaran following along.

  The clearing vanished beyond them and again they were surrounded by trees. They avoided any direct path, instead cutting through the forest in a westerly direction. Before he'd gone a dozen steps, Azaran had stepped on three twigs and nearly tripped over a root. The Iturai looked back at him, their faces unreadable. They moved through the forest silently, like smoke on the wind, every step placed perfect to raise the least amount of noise. They also moved fast - within moments they'd far outpaced the two humans.

  "Good Nebaro!" Segovac called out, slightly flushed. "Perhaps a slower pace is called for?"

  Nebaro gave the order. The Iturai waited for the humans to catch up, waited a bit longer for them to catch their breath, then continued on at a reduced speed. Several of the warriors spoke to one another in their own tongue. Azaran felt the now-familiar crawling sensation in his head, followed by sudden understanding of what they were saying.

  "...making as much noise as a dying pig!"

  "Has as much meat on him as well, I reckon."

  "Why would the Ancestor given sanctuary to them? Another batch of stinky, noisy Eburreans? As if we don't have enough trouble."

  "No one says they have to keep their sanctuary. So many ways a human might give offense. Or if the big one wanders off to water a tree, we plant an arrow in his back..."

  "If you're going to shoot me in the back," Azaran said, speaking their tongue, "have the decency to do it face to face."

  The warriors stopped. The speakings stared at him, mouths in open shock. Nebaro walked over. "How do you know our language?" he demanded in Eburrean.

  Azaran shrugged. "Just something I picked up." It wasn't really a lie.

  Nebaro turned to Segovac. "Anything else I should know about?" he asked in Eburrean.

  "Nothing. I swear on Saerec's holy name."

  Nebaro looked doubtful, but said nothing more. "Come on. We have a long way to go."

  Segovac glared at Azaran again. "Do us both a favor," he said. "Keep your mouth shut."

  "But they..."

  "Azaran!"

  "Fine. I'll be quiet as a stone."

  "I'll hold you to that."

  They walked in silence for a while longer. The sky darkened, and red appeared on what glimpses of horizon could be seen through the trees. Nebaro led them up a hill, whose slope quickly turned steep. "Step there," he said, pointing at a dark line cut into the side. Steps made from logs, giving sure footing. Up they went. The trees grew smaller near the top, so there was an unobstructed view when they came to the summit and looked down in the valley beyond.

  More trees, but areas of cleared land as well, on which grew lines of green crops. Scattered between then and then clustering together near the northern end of the vale were tall green mounds, through which tree-tops thrust through near the peaks. Only when Azaran saw people going in and out of them, through doors cut in the base, did he realized they were houses, built around living trees.

  "Hai'pua," said Nebaro. "Heart of the Iturai. Come, Eralai awaits."

  "What's Eralai?" Azaran asked Segovac as they went down the further slope.

  "Not what...who. She is the leader of the Iturai."

  "Their Queen?"

  "Well, I don't think she would put it that way. But yes, that's as accurate a term as there might be."

  "Explain." Azaran stepped off the slop and back into flat land. A field of new corn grew to his left and right, with a narrow path running between them and trees marking the edge.

  "Every seven years, the Iturai select a new leader." Segovac walked along the path, following the warriors as Azaran followed him. "They always choose a child of fourteen years, alternating between the sexes, one year it's a boy, the next a girl, then a boy...and so on. For the next seven years that child rules the Iturai. Only she - or he - can officiate at ceremonies where the ancestors are honored. The Source speaks through the child, giving her the status of an Oracle. Because of this, her words have the ultimate sanction, making it a useful thing for her to mediate when families are feuding."

  "Ultimate power, in the hands of a child?"

  "Well yes...but hemmed in with many traditions that have the force of law. The point is, the Source speaks through her, and that makes her as close to a leader that these Iturai have."

  "And when the seven years are up?"

  "She - or he - becomes an ordinary person again. Usually they are married off, having a former oracle in your family is considered quite a honor."

  They passed by one of the houses. Up close, Azaran saw how they were built. Long poles were driven into the ground at the base of a tree and then bent over until they touched the trunk, the top ends fitted into notches cut into the living wood. As the years went by, the tree grew around the notches, giving the pole a firm foundation in the body of the tree. Smaller lengths of wood were woven through the poles, covered first with clay, then with a thick layer of earth, on which was planted grass, bushes, vines, even smaller trees, turning it into a living wall of green. The closer they got to the northern part of the valley, the older the houses were, so distinguished by the thickness of the shrubbery growing on their sides.

  Iturai watched them go by, open curiosity on their faces. Red-skinned children ran alongside, shouting questions, which the warriors ignored. Adults followed after, until a sizable group trailed behind them.

  In the northern part of the valley the houses were especially thick on the ground, turning it into a town of sorts. Flowers were in bloom on the sides of the houses, giving the usual shades of green contrasting hues of red, violets and blues. Sheds and workshops were in the open spaces between houses, where woodworkers shaping staves of oak, smiths hammered hot metal and various of crafts best performed under the open air took place. All of this stopped as Nebaro led the newcomers past, many putting down their tools and following along.

  So it was that several hundred Iturai stepped before a particularly large living house, built around the trunk of a very tall willow, whose drooping branches had long since merged with the walls, making impossible to determine where the tree ended and the house be
gan. A pair of doors half hidden in ivy stood on the front, swinging out with a soft creak as the people approached. Several Iturai elders emerged, their black hair bound with worked silver diadems. Murmuring arose from the crowd, then just as quick fell silent.

  The woman who emerged couldn't have been older than nineteen or twenty, barely emerged from girlhood. She was short and slender, moving with a pixie-like grace. Her eyes were large, her mouth small, giving her an almost impish appearance. Her hair was bounded up in a crown made from a stags antlers that was ringed in several places with silver and gold - her sleeveless gown ended just below the knees and was bound with a rope belt tied in a complicated knot, from which hung three pendants of bronze, each of which held a glowing jewel in the center.

  Heads bowed in respect. Eralai, Queen of the Iturai, looked on the newcomers with curiosity. "Why have you brought Eburreans to my door?" she asked Nebaro in a bell-like voice.

  Nebaro stepped aside, allowing the Queen a better view of the newcomers. "A Rhennari, Chosen of the Source, who has claimed sanctuary under the old agreements. The Green Ancestor has given her blessing."

  Eralai frowned, clearly disturbed by this. "Twice in as many months, the Ancestor has allowed humans to take shelter among us! What's next...shall we allow Ganascorec the Aranac to do the same?"

  "Most Honored Eralai," said Segovac, ignoring the glares from the surround Iturai, "we flee here because of Ganascorec. My brothers have suffered greatly under his rule."

  "As have many." Eralai paused for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then she smiled. "Be welcome among the Iturai...what is your name?"

  "Segovac, Honored Eralai."

  She then looked at Azaran. "And who is this?"

  Azaran stepped forward. "I am called Azaran."

  She frowned. "You are not Eburrean."

  "Many have said that," was Azaran's reply.

  "Do you also flee from Ganascorec?"

  Azaran hesitated a moment before answering. "I travel with Segovac. If he flees, then so do I."

  "Ah, a bodyguard." She turned away, Azaran may as well have been invisible to her. "A place will be found for you, Segovac Rhennari, here in Hai'pua."

  "With respect, Honored Eralai," Segovac said, "I am told another Eburrean has taken shelter with you, a man named Gwindec. May I be taken to him, there are matters which we need to discuss."

  "Gwindec." She said the name, then hesitated. "He is with his men, a day's journey to the north," she then answered.

  "He is unwelcome among your people?" Segovac asked.

  "It was his wish to remain apart from from us, to reduce the danger his presence would bring to my people. There is some...trouble between him and King Ganascorec."

  Azaran noted the way she spoke, the reluctance behind the words. She was hiding something. He glanced at the other Iturai and did not see the same thing...a secret she alone shared.

  "Nebaro, show them where they will stay," she commanded. "Be welcome among the Iturai, Rhennari."

  "We are grateful, Honored Eralai."

  She went back into her house. The crowd dispersed after that. Nebaro led them away from the Queens House to another some distance away.

  "She is hiding something," Azaran said to Segovac, speaking in Teregi.

  "She is a woman," came his reply. "They always have secrets. Sometimes it's best not to find out what they might be."

  Azaran nodded. "As you wish," he said, switching back to Eburrean.

  Nebaro led them to the house. The door opened, and they went inside. The interior was divided into two floors, with a stairway so steep it might have been a ladder leading between them. Iturai warriors were on the ground floor, sharing a meal of some sharp-smelling stew cooking over a pot. Nebaro pointed to the second floor. "You will sleep upstairs," he said. "I will tell the men to leave some food aside for you. There is a creek half a mile to the south - when morning comes, you may want to travel there."

  "Why?" Azaran asked.

  "To bathe. You stink. How do you think we tracked the pair of you so easily?"

  With that, Nebaro left. Azaran waited until he was gone, then sniffed his shirt. "I don't smell anything."

  "We are guests here," said Segovac. "If he says we smell, then we smell."

  They climbed up the stairs. The upper floor consisted of a single chamber, with a pair of sleeping rolls on the floor, a table with a washbasin and a single window. "I've seen worse," Azaran said.

  "Anything better than waking with a tree root in your spine." Segovac lay down on one of the rolls with a sigh. "Ah...bliss!"

  "Wait. Before you drift off, what is the plan?"

  "Well...right now I plan on sleeping for a bit, then maybe, if my courage holds, try some of that stew. Be warned though, Iturai cooking can be...strange."

  "Beyond that," said Azaran.

  "No idea. But Saerec will show us the way. We've come this far, after all." Segovac closed his eyes. Within moments he was fast asleep.

  Azaran shook his head. He envied his friend, the way he could face his troubles with such equanimity. "Wish I knew the secret," he muttered.

  One taste of the stew cooked up by the Iturai was enough. Azaran slaked his hunger with the two of the remaining pieces of hardtack. It took a while longer before the feeling returned to his tongue. The desire to punch the smiles off the faces of the warriors lasted a while longer. He went upstairs and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. They were in a safe place, or at least safer than most, yet he couldn't relax, could not let down his guard even for a moment. No danger here, no sign that another unknown person from his past might come crashing through the walls...

  The past. He stared up into the dark, ignoring the soft snores coming from Segovac's side of the room. Voices in his head...the silent passenger and the other one. The voice from his past...now he had a face to put with it, a face that was filled with contempt. A face that called him a traitor and worse. Hands that inflicted pain on his body.

  They knew each other. It seems in another life the man had trained him. Tarazal...his teacher, and until now, his friend. But how did they meet? Who were his people, Azaran's people. Who did he serve? No doubt that man was coming for him, they would meet again and when they did Azaran doubted he would be willing to sit down over a drink and fill in the many gaps in his past. The answers he sought...so close, yet held by a man who would as likely put steel in his head instead of knowledge...

  Enough of this. Azaran's mind was racing, bouncing from one thought to the next. He needed to clear his head. He left the room, climbing down to the ground floor, headed past the sleeping warriors and out the door. The night sky greeted him, lit with stars, the moon a dim orb in the west, and dominating all, the blue and green face of the Mansion.

  He stared at it for a while, focusing his eyes on that great swirling face while his thoughts died down. The Mansion is what the Teregi called it and it was same among the Eburreans, through they had different reasons for it. The Teregi, being a polyglot folk, had lot of different stories, ranging from it being the Mansion of the Gods (which gods depending on the origins of the one telling the tale) to the Mansion of the Dead or the Mansion of the Imprisoned Demons, with complicated stories attached to all. The Eburreans who held to the old ways of worship claimed it was the home of their fourteen gods, built at the beginning of time from the skull of a giant killed in the chaos that came before. The Rhennari, Segovac said, taught the same thing, except that Saerec turned the skull into a great lantern to illuminate the night and to act as a sign to the the world of his presence. Azaran had no idea what the Ghelenai thought about the matter, or the Iturai's view. But he had a suspicion they were all mistaken, that the truth was either more mundane or miraculous than anything they had come up with.

  Worlds beyond worlds. The silent passenger spoke. And wonders to behold.

  "That doesn't really help me," Azaran muttered, to which no reply came.

  He walked about the village, sinking into a dark moodiness that matched the ni
ght. The clashing thoughts vanished, replaced by a despairing sense of everything he did not know and a conflict between a need to find out and dread of what the answers might be. Without quite realizing it, he found himself before Eralai's house, his nostrils catching scent of the flowers planted in its walls. He paused there for a moment, content to inhale the perfume, to listen to the night wind blow.

  His ears caught a sound...a door opening. Footsteps, moving lightly. He looked to his right, saw a shadow depart from the house. It entered the moonlight and for a brief moment Azaran saw Eralai's face. She was dressed in dark clothes, her face hidden under a hooded cloak. She looked back, making sure no one was following. Azaran slipped into the shadows without thinking.

  She went away from the houses, through the fields and towards the forest.

  Suspicion flared in Azaran's head. Why would the Queen of the Iturai feel the need to sneak out of her own home? He followed after, moving quietly but quickly.

  Wherever she was going, she clearly had little fear of being followed. The belt of fields separating the town from the forest was narrow at its northwestern end - once through she stopping looking behind, plunging into the woods. Azaran tracked her more by sound than sight, the woman apparently in too much of a hurry to get where was going to care how much noise she made. She continued on for perhaps half a mile through the trees, headed to a small hollow through which a tiny creek trickled.

  Azaran slowed, hearing the water, and voices. "You came!" Eralai exclaimed in Eburrean.

  "Of course," said a man. "I gave my word I would come. And my word is all I have left."

  Azaran dropped down, moving though the brush silent as a snake. He moved carefully from behind a tree and saw Eralai, standing before a young Eburrean man, rough from several days travel through the forest. A sheathed sword leaned against a nearby tree, next to an open pack. The man looked barely past his twentieth birthday, his face hidden under a week's worth of stubble. Like Eralai he paid no attention to his surroundings. "You were late though. I was ready to give up, until your message arrived."