by Susi Wright
She actually had him at the mere mention of danger. He understood things well enough. “Good! Finally, you are off your pedestal. It's about time someone recognised my value!” Close enough to see his wide grin in the dark, Espira thought he seemed like a lap-cat with cream. If it were possible, he would actually be purring right now. At least his mind was off mischief!
A long silence followed before Ardientor sighed heavily, serious again. “There are questions that eat at me! If you are so knowing . . . tell me something our tutors never could. You seem better at everything than I am. Do you think I will ever catch up?”
Espira was careful with her reply. “I think we will both continue to improve . . . if we try. Don't forget, I am three years older. I see no reason why you should not be able to develop in the same way. The Eternal Flame is endless . . . it is all about training to receive and control it!”
“You sound just like Gran-mama!” He stalked away a few strides. “Tell me something new! Do you see me . . . ever equal to you? Be honest, sister, you must have an insight on it. It worries me that I have no sense of a big future for myself, other than a few bright moments!” His personal turmoil was all too evident in his tone. Espira did not want lose the progress they had been making. She decided deflection the best option.
“You know, Ardi, at this moment I can not see past the end of my nose . . . I am as tied up as you right now! We must focus on what we know to be important – the quest!”
“I do understand that . . . but, Essie . . . I have to say this, because I have never admitted it before. I have enough sense to know that we are definitely not the same, and probably never will be! Yes, we both have amazing gifts and potential, but we also have human flaws and they are intensified by our hybrid blood, just as Father told us.
“I know that my fault is jealousy and anger. Sometimes it overwhelms me! I have felt it become hate and it scares me! Will I ever be able to control it? I do not see any of that in you . . . what is your weakness – your struggle – there must surely be something that prevents you being perfect?” The uncertain edge in his tone demanded assurance.
She had engaged in similar soul-searching over the years, but unlike Ardientor, she had long been aware of her strength and her weakness. It was a double-edged sword.
“Perfection does not exist. Believe me, I have a major fault, just as dangerous, because I find it almost impossible to control. Ardi, I love too much!”
Ardientor huffed with disdain. “Dear sister, I can't see how that is a fault. It's exactly why everyone always favoured you! All sweetness and light . . .”
“Aah . . . but Ardi, that is exactly why it is dangerous!”
Ardientor had no clever answer to that, so he turned his attention to other dangers – ones they could both do something about – those promised in the quest.
“I give up – since you need me so much!” Conspiracy coloured his tone. “What do you want me to do?”
Espira did not need her night vision to know, her brother's cheeky grin was back. “Will you come with me then, to meet with the others? They are nearby. Between us, we can work out exactly how to help Papa, and we must be ready to move quickly!”
Eager to make full use of Ardientor's improved mood, she came to her feet, making haste for the exit of the cave. With the promise of such an exciting adventure, he would certainly follow. Like herself, he had Gaian warrior blood, a free spirit and courage in spades. Both had been liberally endowed with the hybrid version of the ancient skills for a reason: they were not born for a mundane life. Theirs promised to be a destiny full of noble quests. Once informed of the plan, she expected Ardi would be in, boots and all, and there would be no thought of going back.
She did not expect a sudden yelp of pure delight.
Yes! I almost had it . . . we are going to fetch the dragon!
Espira froze in her tracks. “What . . . did you say?” She whirled around and felt a sudden rush of emotion from him. Elation. She met his eyes and saw guilt mixed with a challenge.
He frowned. “I didn't say a word, Sister. How did you – ?”
“By the Flame! I heard exactly what you were thinking. I can feel everything again. You must too! How else would you know about that? The edict has been wavering . . . and now it is gone, which means Papa needs us more than ever, but I am not sure why. Let's go, we can't waste any time!”
Ardientor needed no further encouragement; the way was clear to fulfilment of his brilliant idea, which had glimmered just hours ago, albeit with some minor changes. It meant he must work with his sister, but suddenly that didn't seem to matter. And the Elders might have to be involved, now Espira had gone and told them about it.
In the excitement, however, Ardientor had completely forgotten about his young revolutionary friends. Loyal and true, they waited in the forest with bated breath, to see how their idol would carry out his astonishing promise to them.
*
The column crawled at a snail's pace as it negotiated the highest passes, even with clement daytime weather. For days, these ominous peaks threatened with predictable regularity to live up to their name. The hours after dark were a nightmare. Freezing gales and swirling blizzards were visited upon them nightly; most men struggled to catch a few hours warm enough to sleep, despite Luminor's campfires, kept blazing at great expense to his energy. Rations were becoming smaller, so everyone suffered a constant edge of hunger to add to their woes. Even the Gaians, who had selflessly foregone the morning meal and alternate evening rations for days, had begun to feel it.
Huge avalanches completely changed the landscape during the night; Gaian scouts had to go out before every dawn, to re-plot their route for the coming day. Sometimes a blanket of misty sleet fell, even if the wind had died down.
One such morning, groups of men were huddled around the embers, while they awaited the return of the dawn fliers. Some blew into their hands; others slapped their cloaks repeatedly and sang rousing verses, as if to dispel the dampness from their garments and their spirits. The samblars were saddled, their riders ready to mount and go, and pack animals, with their shrinking cargo of supplies, stomped and snorted, eager to be on the move.
Ji stood with his usual group of friends; each held the reins of his samblar in one hand. The other hand cradled a small bowl of porridge, so runny it could be sipped. Even so, they were grateful for small comforts. Things were going to get much worse.
“At least it is hot, eh, boys?” said one of them, blowing into his bowl and promptly draining the last of his ration with a loud slurp and a belch of satisfaction.
“That is as it may be – I thank the Stars for oatmeal, I truly do! But that was one hell of a night, no?” exclaimed another.
A third man, Beris, chimed in, speaking through his teeth as if in excruciating pain. “Ten hells, my man! I thought parts, other than my fingers and nose, were going to freeze off! My bedroll was furthest from the fire!”
The first man guffawed. “I can understand why you would be worried, brother Beris . . . the smallest parts freeze off first!”
About to agree, joining in the banter, Ji glanced at Beris' face, wincing at the sight of his comrade's cheeks, painfully ruddy from cold; his lips looked so sore and cracked that just forming words must be agony. At least the man's fingers were in mittens and his privates were inside thick, woollen braies, and one would assume, safer there. Ji wondered if the stores could stretch to a small application of Prian ointment to ease the obvious beginnings of frost-bite.
Beris was a tough, middle-aged man, a veteran of many campaigns, who rarely complained and would not presume lightly to use valuable medical supplies. Pride could keep a stoic like him away from the medic, but with many more days of sub-zero temperatures to endure, one could not underestimate the insidious nature of such injuries. And a soldier, however resilient, could not discharge his duty with his face and fingers – or anything else – half-burned off.
Ji decided to ask the captain for a small amount, for emergenc
ies. The state of Beris' lips looked urgent and the man might be more willing to accept an application of the balm if he thought it was standard issue. Ji had seen others, less affected, apply it every day.
He returned his rinsed bowl and procured a small tin of Prian with no argument; before they mounted up to move out, Ji passed it around for general use, satisfied to see Beris put some on his lips.
“Mount up. Move out!” boomed out across the encampment, as the fliers took to the air. Riders gathered their reins and mounted.
Ji rubbed the muzzle of his restless stallion. “Ready boy? I know you want to be away!” Then, grabbing a handful of tufty mane, he leapt onto Storm's back, hardly needing the nudge of heels to surge forth into another day.
Thank the Ancestors! The sun was coming up, with the promise of a few hours of clemency.
The next day, the fickle sun abandoned them altogether.
Several long days after that blurred into a relentless, freezing white haze of mist, ice and snow which seemed to have no end, briefly punctuated at dark-fall by a small hot ration of bean soup. The hungry men consumed it quickly, huddled around campfires which sputtered against the blast of the nightly blizzard.
Luminor and his Elite air-benders, familiar with the behaviour of the Wind in the Known World, sensed something else up here, something unnatural about the element. It refused to abate, increasingly so, even with all their best efforts. The weather they had thus far encountered was a law unto itself. Many of the men, including those who were not normally superstitious, once again speculated that a dark force might indeed inhabit these mountains.
Day and night, massive avalanches seemed to happen with no apparent trigger, as if to deliberately thwart their progress. The entire company narrowly missed death twice in as many days, saved only by the efforts of their Gaian brothers who managed to deflect the snow.
Gales of mighty force came up without warning at any time during the day, threatening to blow them all clean off the mountainside. Only by finding tenure in some of the crevasses, or by securing pick and line, could they resist the apparent attempt of the mountain to rid itself of these intruders. Certainly, the wind which roared forth from these peaks was well-deserving of the title men gave it long ago, The Breath of the Gargantuan.
One morning, as the lines of men tramped through thick drifts, alongside a fast-flowing river which had not yet succumbed to the freezing advance of late autumn, Luminor had barely enough time to yell a warning.
There was a rumbling roar and . . . the monster moved.
Chapter 17 : A MATTER OF SURVIVAL
“Someone has been here, Master – not long ago. Methinks, Morvians! More than the injured one and the runt we track . . . at least two-maybe three-others were here. There was a body buried in the snow not far from here, but the snow-cats got most of it. It was probably him!” The scout's language was guttural and clipped. “They must have outrun the hunters!” He came up from a crouch, where he had been examining the ashes of a recent campfire. He lengthened out his tall lithe form to full height, but had to dip his be-turbaned head to avoid the rocky ceiling of the cave.
Taller still, the leader hunched over, his darkly-tanned face in shadow from his cowled headpiece; beneath severe black eyebrows, a pair of canny yellow feline eyes shone. He flashed a cunning grin at the scout, before speaking to his small group of men.
“So, some of them still live. That is good! Perhaps we can put their famous premonitions to our advantage. We shall follow them through these cursed mountains. Track them, but keep distance. As much as they do see . . . Morvians never have, and will never see us. I, for one, will not be going back to be eaten by the giants!
“Those monsters might be cumbersome, but they have eyes like range-hawks, and an uncanny ability to sniff out their prey. With that appetite for flesh, they are almost unstoppable! In all my long life of thievery, I have never seen nor heard of any being able to see through our camouflage. They must have caught our scent, despite our guile. Of course, our beloved children went first!” He kissed his thumb, a sign of respect for the lost ones. “Oh, and such a pity about our women folk while we were off raiding – all five of mine went in one attack! How I miss the warmth of their bodies now, especially my new conquest, El. By the gods, she was a pretty one, and by Rualla, she knew how to please a man. If I had to choose only one, she would have almost been enough!” He grinned rakishly; then his expression became serious. “It seems we men escaped only by sheer luck. Or, perhaps we are a little craftier than our women, to think of rolling in boar-dung before hiding!
“And, for once their obsession with flesh was a good thing – the grain store and some loaves of bread were untouched in that last village. But that was days ago and there are no settlements up here to raid. Pity we could not carry more. Unless we can find some wildlife to hunt soon, we are likely to feel far more than usual hunger. Let us hope for good fortune, so we can survive this crossing. Legend has it that there is a world beyond these mountains. I choose to believe it!”
The scout showed avid interest in his leader's words. “Master Shuul, do you think there are beautiful women in this new world, if we get there? I, too, am missing our Cymbian beauties. Personally, I never found the Morvian women anything but repulsive. I hope we survive to find out!”
“May the god, Rualla, and our little Morvian seers, help us find this place!” remarked Shuul. “Let us hope it is possible to succeed in the crossing. Survival first. I say we have more chance up here, tracking these three seers, than going back!” He grinned. “And, about women . . . before his untimely death, my cousin told of one skirmish when he encountered a group of foreigners. He overheard them talking about their journey through the mountains to rescue more of their Morvian allies, but most were killed by Zorgs so their mission failed. He mentioned the striking looks of all those warriors – long blond hair, strange bright eyes and admirable physiques. Cousin Toobul, as you know, was one for the beauties! He joked about it being a shame he only liked women, for the warriors brought none with them. He said, if their women were as beautiful as the men, he would have liked at least one for his harem!” He expected this would impress all his clansmen.
This swarthy-skinned man, extremely handsome according to his bevy of Cymbian women, was a chief. He was distinguished as such from the others in the group by the intricate tattoo from one ear to jawline. A single, large gold ring hung from the tattooed ear, a further embellishment of his station. A brown, cowled turban adorned his head, the same as the others; ochre tunics and spotted fur cloaks swathed their bodies. They were all lithely-muscled, wide-shouldered and very tall. Every movement was sinuous, cat-like.
Shuul folded himself gracefully down to a cross-legged position. Elbows propped on his knees, he steepled hands and long fingers beneath his dark, stubbled chin, as if to emphasise his recent supplication to their deity.
After a few moments of silence, a rumbling in the distance prompted a wary cant of his head to listen. There was an ominous vibration in the rocky floor beneath them, a dangerous sign. This environment was too changeable. Spurred to action, Shuul pointed to the almost empty hessian sack on the ground, and gave the waiting man an order. “Quickly, before we lose their trail! Break the last loaf. We sup, then go!”
*
The shout was useless, even had it come earlier.
The power of the Gargantuan was too great! With a mighty roaring, the valley floor ahead of the column of riders rent in two. Massive razor-toothed jaws gaped as wide and deep as the cliffs around them.
First, it swallowed the river and the level ground beside it, then the lead riders on their samblars, even as they reacted to Luminor's warning. Desperately, they spurred their mounts in a vain attempt to avoid the gaping chasm which advanced towards the ranks, intent on consuming them all. The cliffs around them shook and crumbled; rocks fell on the men further back in the line. Some died instantly, their animals crushed beneath them. Other mounts bucked and bolted. Many other samblars and
riders were injured before the earth-movers, flying in desperate circles over the disaster, could deflect the boulders. All those in the air, avoided the disaster and did their best to save their brothers on the ground, but no one, even Luminor, could stop the rift opening wider and wider.
When the mighty mountain yawned and fed, it seemed there was no stopping it.
The ones that are gone, cannot be retrieved. No time for wishful thinking!
Already, Luminor had lost count of the number taken into the bowels of the mountain; he drew strongly on the flow of energy from the Ancient Realm, gathered it into his core, mentally summoning his warriors' assistance. Those who had an affinity with Earth, instantly joined with him, to hurl everything they had at the towering, toppling wall of granite on one side of the deep valley.
Loosened snow swirled all around. Then, with a deafening thunder-crack, they blew a fissure in the cliff, wide enough for riders ten-abreast to pass.
At the sight of of the gap, men pumped their heels into the ribs of their terrified mounts and began to scramble through, away from certain death in the jaws of the earth monster.
Ji was among those closest to the gap; quick to act, he urged his samblar forward, plunging bravely into the only available way out. His companions went with him. Others followed their call. The magnificent speed and strength of the samblars proved itself now. Leaping to full gallop, their muscular rumps propelled them forward over loose rubble, into the escape route.
Row upon row followed, racing against the advancing rift, up and into the new gorge. It shook and heaved, as if frustrated by their passage, tried to throw them back into the open chasm in the valley. The scrambling tide of riders and mounts surged out of the canyon, oblivious of the quaking rocks beneath their feet. It was their only choice.