by J. K. Barber
“She,” Jared supplied.
“What?” the scout asked, sitting down on a half-buried block of stone that had fallen away from the main wall, probably well before the hunter was even born.
“The bird, it’s a she,” the hunter said, turning towards her.
“What difference does it make?” Olivia asked.
“To her, a great deal I would expect,” Jared motioned with his head towards where the kestrel had made a nest in the hollowed out recess of a column far above. Time and the desert had not been kind to these ruins; the pillars of stone protruding out of the sand reminded Jared of the rib cage of a long dead animal, its bones bleached by the sun.
“Quite humorous,” she replied dryly.
“In all seriousness, though,” Jared explained. “The gender does matter.”
“How so?” Olivia asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
“Males are more…,” the hunter hesitated. “They tend to see everything else as a threat first, so there’s a certain amount of deference that has to be shown before they’ll talk to me.”
“The females are more easygoing, I assume,” Olivia said smugly.
“Quite the opposite,” Jared replied, enjoying the surprised look on the scout’s face. “Females are more territorial, usually; especially if they have young in the area. If you catch them away from their young or out of season though, they require less deference and more bargaining. The promise of food usually does the trick.”
Olivia smiled wryly. The scout’s veil hung from her head wrap, unfastened, exposing what Jared thought was still a becoming face. Though she was twice his age, the hunter could see what had attracted Talas to Olivia in her younger years. “You’re not alone out here, you know that?”
“What?” Jared replied, confused.
“I don’t mean us,” the scout said, indicating the rest of the Illyanders who were still asleep in their tents in the relative shelter of the ruins. “There are others, here in the Eastern Kingdom, who have your abilities. I’ve never met one but, from what I know, the gift that you have to speak with animals is not unheard of. It’s rare to be certain, but not unknown. In fact, were you not jai-jin, I would imagine you’d have quite a few beads hanging on your utcha.”
Jared was silent for a moment, mentally digesting what Olivia had said. “I’d always wondered about that,” he said finally. “Not about the utcha; about my gift, as you called it. My father was an Easterner, and I wondered if he was like me, though it would make more sense that he was not.”
“Why is that?” Olivia asked.
“I was very young,” Jared explained, “when my ability showed for the first time. At least that’s what Sirus told me.”
Olivia looked at him quizzically.
“He was the man my parents hired to teach me,” he supplied. “And after my parents died, he took me in; raised me as his own. I was very young when they passed and don’t remember a lot about them to be honest.” Jared rummaged through his earliest memories, recollecting the tiny fragments.
“I assume it was your mother who was a believer then?” Olivia asked, pulling the hunter from his reminiscing.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“The Easterners don’t worship the Great Mother,” the scout said, “at least not in the way that we do.” Jared must have looked curious, because Olivia responded to his unasked question. “Near as I have been able to piece together, the Eastern priests interpret Her differently. It’s as though they worship different aspects of Her as wholly different entities. They have a different god of the desert than they do of the sky. There are gods of the night, the day, the sun, the moon, life, death, and rebirth. It’s very confusing to keep up with.”
“I can imagine,” Jared said, nodding.
“It got even worse after the kingdom broke apart,” Olivia said.
“Why did that happen?” Jared asked. “From all that you’ve said, the Eastern Kingdom was very old and very powerful before it fell apart.”
“At one time the whole kingdom was ruled over by a khalif; our equivalent of a king. But the Khalif was more than that. He was a sovereign and a high priest rolled up into one. So imagine one man wielding the power of King Morgan and Mother Maya.”
Jared whistled.
“Exactly,” Olivia replied. “A lot of power rested on the shoulders of one man. But that was before he and his family were killed. The Khalif, his wife, and all his sons were slaughtered; why and by whom, no one remembers. The kingdom was left with no ruler, no spiritual leader, and no clear line of succession. The battle for the throne afterwards was bloody, and it shattered the kingdom. There were many generals who vied for the throne as well as many priests. Each leader gathered supporters and armies and began fighting amongst themselves for the right to sit upon the dead Khalif’s throne.”
“Interesting,” Jared said.
“This happened over a thousand years ago,” Olivia continued. “Yet they still remember that they were once a single people, and many of them still think that way deep in their hearts.”
“Which is why you warned us early on against referring to it as the Eastern Kingdoms, plural,” the hunter said.
“Indeed,” Olivia replied. “To make things even more confusing, I think that at one time, the Easterners all worshiped one deity. They called her Ka, and she was simply the force of life itself.”
“Sounds familiar,” Jared said, his hand rising to the plain silver disk he wore around his neck.
“When the kingdom broke apart, there were several different cults that paid homage to the different aspects of Ka. My guess is that each of these cults grew into their own religion, after a fashion. But even these have been mostly lost to time and the desert.” Olivia waived her hand, indicating the ruins around them. “This was once a temple dedicated to the worship of one of Ka’s darker aspects, I think. Though the images have been worn down by hundreds of years of sand and wind, you can still see traces. If I’m not mistaken this was a temple to Nebthet, goddess of death and the night.”
“Not one of your nicer deities then, I take it?” Jared asked.
“Depends,” Olivia said. “The Easterners believe in the cycle of rebirth, as we do, so death is often viewed as just a transition from one life to another. Also, keep in mind that night is seen as a relief from the desert’s oppressive heat. It’s the main reason we’re resting during the day and traveling at night, to spare you the worst of the furnace that the Aishe can become.”
“So, Nebthet is good?” the hunter inquired.
“I didn’t say that,” Olivia grinned. “Demons are born at night, according to Eastern beliefs, so the argument could be made that Nebthet is the mother of demons. But, most people here hold that there are certain aspects of nature that are neither good nor bad; they simple just are.”
“Like when the Great Mother brings the winter. It does not mean that She is punishing us or is taking Her warmth from us. It is simply part of the natural cycle of things that we accept.”
“What is?” Sasha inquired, emerging from behind the wall where she and Jared’s tent had been set up. The eroded structure offered some shelter from the winds that scoured the Aishe desert during the day. Gabriel was wrapped tightly against the coming cold. Once the sun descended below the horizon, the temperature would drop greatly. Not surprisingly, the twins had been unfazed by the cold at night, having grown up in the World’s Edge Mountains. Jugger plodded along in Sasha’s wake. The large mastiff had only rarely left Gabriel’s side since the day he was born; a fact that had been remarked on many times by Sasha and her family. Jared nodded his greetings to the canine, but Jugger only shot the hunter a scathing look and blew sand from his nostrils. The animal was not happy about being in the deep desert; however Jared knew Jugger would never abandon his vigil over Gabriel for as long as the dog lived. As far as the mastiff was concerned the infant was just as much his child as it was Jared and Sasha’s.
“Nothing,” Olivia said, fastening her veil across her
face once more. The gesture puzzled Jared, but he did not question the scout. “We were just having a bit of philosophical discussion.” The older woman stood as Sasha brought Gabriel to Jared’s outstretched arms. The hunter cradled his son, tickling the infant’s nose with his finger. Gabriel smiled a toothless grin and then began blowing bubbles of spit. Jared couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
“I see that your friend returned,” Sasha said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Having just woken up, the swordswoman had not yet put her hair into its usual braid. Jared looked at the gray streak at Sasha’s temple, another strange aftereffect of the Mother’s gift. Though not as noticeable in Sasha’s red hair as it was in Katya’s raven-wing colored mane, Jared’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the colorless strands. The swordswoman had taken the premature graying in stride. “There are more important things at stake than my vanity,” she had said, though Jared had seen Sasha fiddling with her silver locks when she thought no one was watching.
“My what?” Jared responded, looking up from Gabriel’s clear blue eyes.
Sasha gestured towards the high column where the kestrel had settled in for the evening. “The falcon,” she said. “What did he tell you?”
“It’s a she,” Jared responded.
“Whatever,” Sasha said irritably. Olivia snorted behind her veil. The swordswoman ignored it and repeated her question. “What did it have to say?”
“It’s as we hoped,” the hunter reported. “Salamasca’s army is moving towards that village to the west.”
“Are you sure?” Sasha asked. She wasn’t questioning his ability to speak with the kestrel, but this would be the third village to which they had traveled trying to head off the Ice Queen. The first village they had arrived too late. Salamasca had left behind smoking tents and a charnel house of bodies. Talas had suggested that they burn the bodies to give them a proper burial, but Olivia had said that the Easterners had different customs than those taught in the Temple. For the dead left behind it was too late. The Easterners believed the body had to be washed first and then burnt, or entombed if they were wealthy enough, before the following sunset. The villagers had been dead for several days before the Illyanders had arrived. According to their beliefs, the spirits of the dead Easterners were now cursed to wander the Aishe forever, never knowing peace or rebirth. Olivia had kept her veil in place for the short time the Illyanders had perused the sulta, and Jared did not think it was because of the stench.
The second village they had ventured to had been untouched. For some reason, known only to the twisted mind of the Ice Queen, Salamasca had skipped the village entirely. The Illyanders observed the undisturbed sulta from a distance before moving on. Olivia had then led them to the ruins in which they now sheltered.
“Are you sure she’s going to hit this village to the west?” Sasha asked again.
“Simza,” the older woman supplied. “The sulta is called Simza.”
“Her army is definitely headed in that direction,” Jared replied. Both the hunter and swordswoman nodded at Olivia, acknowledging the sulta’s name but continuing on in what they felt were more important matters. The scout shook her head slightly in what might have been disapproval but said no more.
“Which means she’s going to pass this way,” Sasha said. Jared could see the swordswoman’s mind working as she spoke.
“Very close to it,” Olivia said. The scout squatted, took out her dagger, and drew two circles in the sand and then a line between the two. She indicated one of the circles. “This is the village she just took.” The scout pointed towards the other circle. “This is Simza. If she follows her usual pattern, she’ll fly along this path,” Olivia indicated the line. Jared heard the older woman’s voice catch as she said the world “fly.” The scout had been incredulous at first when the Illyanders had told her about the Ice Queen’s mount and understandably so. Dragons had, until recently, been legendary creatures even here in the Eastern Kingdom. The tales from the few survivors of Salamasca’s earlier attacks about a “giant winged creature descending from the sky,” had been dismissed as the gibbering of refugees, driven mad by days in the desert’s harsh sun. Even the scout had put no stock in the reports. Still, Olivia had taken Jared and his friends at their word and adjusted her thinking accordingly. “We’re here,” the scout’s dagger drew an X in the sand slightly to the side of the line connecting the two circles. “Which means our best chance is to hit her there.” Olivia pointed north to a tall butte in the distance and drew another X on the line to indicate the position of the giant stone column. “And hope that she’s scouting alone still.” The older woman had managed to talk to a refugee from one of the first sultas that the Ice Queen had attacked. Salamasca had assaulted the village by herself from the back of Walron, her draconic mount and Sirus’ clutchmate, slaying the tepey immediately and intimidating the rest of the village into surrendering. After that, her burgeoning army had simply swept in from the desert and settled in. The surviving Easterners were given the choice of joining the Ice Queen’s army, being fed to her dragon, or being dragged into portals of darkness by her Shadow Walkers, never to be seen again.
The scout looked up. “The only question I have is that if she’s on the back of her dragon,” again the hesitation, “how are we going to get her to land?”
“Leave that to me.” Jared recognized the voice before he looked up, though the speaker looked somewhat unfamiliar to him. He obviously recognized Sasha’s twin, but the woman that strode towards them was not the one he had first met. Katya’s hair was unbound, flowing in the desert breeze. Her normally black tresses had a shock of gray at the peak above her brows and a matching streak at her temple; a mirror to the one in Sasha’s locks. The Master Sorceress’ normal velvet dress was gone, replaced by a long flowing black robe made from the same material that they all wore. Her gold fringed mantle was nowhere to be seen. “I’ll pull her from the sky, one way or another.” Katya grinned wryly at her sister, who matched her sorcerous twin’s smile.
As Iluak and Talas joined them, Jared wondered if his face matched their worried expressions.
Jared unstrung his bow after checking the string for the fifth time. He leaned the length of wood against the low wall beside a canvas quiver containing a score of arrows. If he needed more than that, then things will have gone horribly wrong. The rest of his companions were on the other side of the ruins preparing to journey to the place where they would confront the Ice Queen. Jared, Sasha, and Gabriel had taken their own little corner of the devastated temple so that they did not disturb anyone else. Gabriel had been fussy lately. Whether it was the harsh conditions in the Aishe or that his son sensed something was wrong, Jared could only guess. The hunter slung his sword onto his back, once again patting his hunting knife and the other blades about his person. Backpack, belt pouches and water skins were all in place and secured. Jared was ready to travel. He turned to cross the ruins and join the rest of the Illyanders.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Sasha asked. There was a noticeable ember of anger in the swordswoman’s voice.
“Pardon?” Jared replied, confused. He had not heard her approach and did not know how long she had been watching him. The redhead stood a score of paces away at the edge of a mostly intact wall, her arms folded across her chest. The hunter guessed that she had circled from the far side of the wall, the crumbling stones hiding her approach and the sound of her footsteps. If Jared hadn’t been distracted by her obviously mounting temper, he would have complimented the swordswoman on her cunning.
“What,” she said deliberately, “do you think you are doing?” Each word was crisp and precise, as if bitten off as soon as it left Sasha’s mouth.
“I’m getting ready to move out. What does it look like I’m doing?” The hunter looked at the redhead, confusion plain on his brow.
“It looks to me like you’re planning to go back on your word, is what it looks like.” The ember was quickly growing into a flame. Jared had s
een the look in Sasha’s eyes before and had never liked being on the receiving end of it.
“I think we have a better chance…”
“We are NOT having this argument again, Jared!” The swordswoman said vehemently, cutting off his response.
Jared motioned for Sasha to keep her voice down. “Quiet,” he said. “We don’t want….”
“I don’t care if King Morgan in Illyander can hear me!” she yelled. “You gave me your word!” Sasha closed the intervening distance and drove her finger into Jared’s chest. “Your word.” She punctuated the sentence with another poke of her digit into the hunter’s sternum. “You said you would take Gabriel when we attacked Salamasca. You promised that you would take our child far from the fight when we finally confronted her. I can’t….” Sasha’s eyes were suddenly brimming with tears.
Jared reached out, pulling her to him. She resisted, half-heartedly beating her fists into the hunter’s chest. “I can’t… can’t do what… I need to do,” she sputtered. Finally relenting, Sasha wrapped her arms around Jared, holding him tighter than she had ever done before. She took a deep shuddering breath before continuing, never loosening her grip. “I can’t do what I need to do with you, both of you, there,” she said. Jared didn’t need to see her face to know that the tears were now flowing freely from her eyes.
“But I thought…” Jared tried to respond before being cut off again.
Sasha pulled back just enough so that she could look into his face, but never letting go of their embrace. “No,” she said adamantly. “You have to do this for me… for him,” she was quickly regaining her composure but didn’t bother wiping the tears from her face. The rare sight of Sasha crying was the one thing that Jared could not resist and he suspected that she knew it. “What I… what we are about to do is for him… and for you,” she said. “If we don’t stop her, then who will?” she asked.