Shawna Thomas

by Journey of Dominion

  “The mountains are as forbidding as they are beautiful, but I’ve learned not to judge anything, even landscape, by its first appearance. The people in the lower regions are like you’d find in any village around here, but the people of the heights.” She smiled. “They are a unique group—cautious but friendly. They believe they are the descendants of the goddess of the north wind and a rock troll she fell in love with and seduced.” Ilythra smiled. “They are very religious. Twice a day they’d blow a horn. Not an ordinary horn, mind you, it was longer than you and me together end to end and made a deep, mournful sound...like a baka cow in heat.”

  Mohan chuckled.

  “The horn called them to their prayers. They would bow to the north, touching their forehead to the ground three times, intoning a chant I could never decipher.” She paused to recall the sight of a hundred people bowing in unison. “They love color, not surprising in their gray-and-white world, and they wear layers and layers of beautifully dyed and embroidered fabric. Female babies had one ear pierced at birth and when she took a mate, her husband would pierce the other. Every day the men would take the goats down the mountain to find pastures free of ice and then take them back up again at night to shelter them in their caves and padlocks.”

  “And food? What did they eat?”

  “It was...interesting. I never asked what we were eating.”

  The hiss of the fire competed with Mohan’s laughter as juices from the fowl dripped into the fire.

  “Did it take you a long time to cross the mountains?”

  “Yes. I climbed the mountains after the thaw, spent the first cold season with a group of natives and the second with a group of traders. When the traders left after the thaw, so did I. And here I am.”

  “Where are the traders?” Mohan was immediately more alert.

  “Not the ones you seek. These had a route much farther south than this.”

  “And before that you were in the Faisach?”

  “Yes.” Memories of the Faisach paraded across her mind. She’d known love and hate for the first time in the desert lands. Fierce joy and fiercer sorrow. She absently twisted the ring on her finger. Shandor, a small innocent boy, emaciated and left to die; Zeynel, blood blossoming across his tunic. She closed her eyes and swallowed back a lump in her throat. There would be a reckoning.

  “Are the warriors there as vicious as they are rumored?”

  It was Ilythra’s turn to laugh. “They can be.”

  “You’d mentioned you saved an Akier’s son...” Mohan prompted.

  Ilythra sighed. The memories were both sweet and bitter. “Yes. And Danladi saved me.”

  Mohan waited. It was one of the things she liked about him. He didn’t find it necessary to taint a silence with needless words.

  “At the time I traveled with Zeynel, my mentor. My friend. He and I entered the Faisach and met one of the tribes of the Faisach: the Heleini. The Heleini Akier’s son was missing. I found him. Not long after, a rival tribe attacked the camp and stole Danladi.” She paused. “Though the tribes of the Faisach are related and still called themselves ‘the People’, they were splintered by old feuds until the three remaining tribes, the Heleini, Rabishi and Zorcani, became hostile to one another.” She picked up a stick and drew random shapes in the dirt.

  “What happened to Danladi?”

  “One of the Rabishi took him to a tribe in need of an Akier in exchange for their cooperation in the war that would follow. The Rabishi needed the Heleini’s land because theirs had become barren.”

  “And you rescued him.”

  “It wasn’t that simple. The People’s rules of ascension are complicated, but the mountain tribe needed Danladi because their Akier’s son was dying and no one else was qualified to lead.” Images of Shandor’s dark, soulful eyes brought a lump to her throat. “Their tribe, the Zorcani, would be lost. So Zeynel and I went up the mountain, healed the Zorcani heir and then left to return Danladi back to Tobar, his father.” Ilythra swallowed, waiting for Mohan to ask about Zeynel and dreading it. Why was he not with her now? What had happened? He didn’t and because of that, she wanted to tell him. She sighed. “The Rabishi attacked us soon after we descended from the mountain. In the battle that followed, Zeynel was wounded. I couldn’t heal him, and he died.”

  “I am sorry.”

  The emptiness that once had threatened to swallow her opened up as a gaping chasm. “So am I.”

  “How did the Akier’s son save you?” Mohan asked after a pause.

  For a moment, Danladi’s face swam before her, his dark eyes fierce, displaying the warrior he was becoming. “During the battle, protecting him was my main concern. A Rabishi warrior had me in a death grip, and I was losing consciousness. Danladi stabbed the man’s leg, giving me an opportunity to escape.”

  Mohan stared at the flames. “And you were in love with his father?”

  Ilythra dropped the stick. Nothing in her tale indicated that she had any feelings toward the Akier. How did he know?

  “It’s in the way you said his name,” he answered her unasked question, his usually playful smile soft. “You can always tell if a woman is in love if you pay attention to how she says a man’s name.”

  And what good did love do her? Even if circumstances had been different. Marriage, family wasn’t her path. Ilythra tossed the stick into the flames. “Yes, but it was a long time ago, and now I’m hungry. When is this bird going to be ready?”

  “Patience not one of your strong suits, eh?”

  “Not really.” Ilythra moved to pick up a half-full water skin. “I’ll be back.”

  * * *

  Mohan watched Ilythra fade into the forest. He hadn’t had any sisters or aunts, but he’d lived in close proximity with enough women to know that Ilythra needed time alone. And he couldn’t blame her. Mohan skimmed through her tale, picking up things she said and more important, the things she didn’t. When he’d first met her, his primary thought was how to bed her, but now his banter was only playful. She was fun and a challenge to spar both with words and swords.

  He’d heard of Ilythra, of course. The Benai had close contact with the traders, and the traders loved to tell tales about the wandering healer. He’d only half believed the tales were about a real person. The deeper legends of the Wanderer were known only to a handful of people. Some of who would try to take advantage of her. Anger filled his chest. His fierce protectiveness for the small woman shocked him. She was more than competent with weapons, and she’d taught him a few tricks in hand-to-hand, but the task set before the Wanderer of legend was vast, bigger than anyone should have to take on alone.

  He knew she carried one of the ancient stones. He could almost sense it. Like a shadow at the corner of his eye. He would never ask to see it, though he had to admit to curiosity about the legendary talisman. He also knew who she searched for, and why, but still hadn’t made up his mind whether he should break an ancient Benai oath and tell her what he knew or let her find them on her own. She would find them, he knew, if she survived long enough. He would take her to his people, to Taliba, who could tell the future and could help her on her quest. He absently rotated the spit, listening to the juices hiss in the flames. But how to convince the healer? And then he knew. He wouldn’t take her to them; he’d bring them to her.

  His thoughts turned toward Tarak. Was his brother well? Maybe his loyalty to Ilythra was misplaced. If he continued with this plan, their arrival in Jartas would be delayed. Three days to a healer in a nearby village, two or so to wait for his troupe to catch up. The detour only added five or six days to the journey. Less than half the time he saved riding with Ilythra, even if he had to ride behind.

  For now, his brother was safe. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew. Ilythra, on the other hand, would be taking on more than she knew. Tomorrow, he’d begin signaling his people where to
meet him. He’d take Ilythra to the healer so she could restock her supplies and his troupe would meet them there. He hoped the seer, Taliba, had good things to say.

  Mohan maneuvered the bird off the spit, burning his fingers in the process, as Ilythra walked back into the camp with a full skin of water.

  “I was beginning to think I’d have to eat this alone,” he said.

  “Not if you wanted to wake up in the morning.” Ilythra smiled as she settled next to him.

  “Now that you mention it, that is my favorite way to start the day.” Mohan licked his lips and grazed her jaw with the tip of his finger. “Can I tell you of another?”

  “You can feed me before I get grumpy.”

  Relieved her words had lost their melancholic tinge, he filled a bowl with food and handed it to her. “At your service, milady.”

  * * *

  “What are you doing?”

  Mohan twisted to see Ilythra standing behind him. Her face was unreadable and her voice soft, but her body gave her away. Tensed for action, she reminded him of a cat about to spring—and he was the mouse. Fear prickled across his skin. This woman could easily kill him. But she won’t.

  The sun had begun to set, and Ilythra had gone to check their traps to see if they’d caught anything for dinner. She’d agreed to detour to the healers to restock her supplies, but he hadn’t told her anything else. He’d been taking every opportunity to carve the sticks that would signal his troupe in secret, but this time, he hadn’t heard her approach. He stood, holding the half finished message in his hand, and wondered if she knew she’d adopted her favorite sword-fighting stance. He gripped the stick harder. “I’m sending a message to my troupe.”

  Ilythra glanced from the object in his hand to his face and raised an eyebrow.

  “Why?” Her voice remained soft, but her stance didn’t relax.

  “I want them to meet us at the healer’s.”

  Ilythra’s shoulders relaxed a fraction but she continued to stare at him. “Why are you hiding it from me?”

  Mohan regarded the stick in his hands. Why was he? His first reaction was defensive. He stilled the response before it left his lips. He’d been carving the sticks when he thought Ilythra was sleeping and placing them along the path behind them. He should have known he couldn’t hide it from her. She was too aware of her surroundings.

  “There is someone I want you to meet.” He rotated the stick to finish the message. “One of my troupe.”

  “Why the secrecy?”

  He could tell by her voice she hadn’t moved.

  Mohan rubbed his short beard. “I...Ilythra, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to meet Taliba and my people. I guess I thought it better to get them here first and ask later.” His anger spiked. He didn’t like being on the defensive. “Look, I’m not used to having anyone to answer to.”

  To his surprise, she moved to sit across from him. “Fair enough. How does it work?” She nodded toward the stick.

  Mohan let out a breath. The woman was as unpredictable as a spring storm. He scooted next to her so he could show her the symbols carved on the wood. One thing he’d learned about his companion, her curiosity was insatiable. He pointed to a mark. “This is my symbol.” He pointed to another. “This one tells when I want to meet them, and this one shows where.”

  Ilythra traced the raised wood with a finger. “What is the degree of accuracy? I mean, what if they never find them?”

  “Usually, they are set at crossroads between Benai routes and if a caravan finds one, they are honor-bound to pass the message on. This is different, of course. We are not near any of the normal routes, at least not yet. However, before I left, I instructed my troupe to scout daily, checking for messages, and I’d send word of where I was and how close I was to finding Tarak. I want them close, but not too close.”

  “I see. So one of your troupe could be close now?”

  Mohan shrugged. “Does that bother you?”

  “No, unless they attempt to sneak into camp and steal my horse.” The tension drained from her voice, replaced with humor.

  “No Benai would disrupt this camp.” Mohan’s voice grew serious. “I have placed my symbol in various places around the camp at night. Despite rumors to the contrary, the Benai have honor. We do not steal from our own.”

  “Where are we meeting them?”

  “In a little village not far away.” He glanced up.

  “The healer?”

  “Yes. The Benai trust her. I thought...” He faltered. He thought many things but he hadn’t encountered many healers. Perhaps they were like traders and didn’t intrude on one another’s territory. He didn’t know much about the healing arts, but he did know it was damn hard to dry herbs if you were always on the move, with no wagon to call home. Ilythra had explained she gathered herbs constantly when she traveled with the traders. Later, wherever she wintered, preparing tinctures, ointments and extracts helped to pass the time until next thaw. She must have been busy healing. When Ilythra had rooted through her pack he’d seen it was almost empty.

  Her eyes softened. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Four

  When the first structure came into view between the towering pines, Mohan dismounted and reached for Tashi’s reins. Ilythra rolled her eyes.

  “What? I know where we’re going,” Mohan explained.

  Ilythra abandoned the reins to Mohan and his ego. The first few houses sat well back from the road. She glimpsed land cleared of forest where tall green grasses rippled in the afternoon wind. People stopped to stare, raising a hand or hat in greeting before returning to their labors.

  The town was not much more than a widening of the path. Weathered, wood-framed buildings leaned toward the street, while children, dogs and the occasional chicken ran across, dust trailing in their wakes. Everything seemed to be a sad gray, as if all the color had been leeched from the people; even the towering pines surrounding the town were darkened by smoke streaming from chimneys. Small gardens nestled against the houses, small squares of green against the dull landscape. Chickens pecked around the yards while women, their skirts often full of vegetables or children, paused to look at the strangers, hands shielding their eyes from the sun’s glare. A few men sat along a raised platform near a building, their stares lazy as they followed Tashi’s progress. One spat a blackened wad into the street as they passed.

  “Tavern,” Mohan proclaimed.

  “Never seen a town without one.” She didn’t bother to look back at the men but could feel their eyes on her. Next to the tavern was a building that looked like a general store. A man stood in the doorway, broom in hand, watching as they passed. Ilythra glanced across the street, where a stable stood next to a blacksmith. She’d seen many towns since leaving Maelys and this one was no different. Dusty streets with dusty people struggling to survive. Granted, a few towns had been prosperous in comparison: cobbled streets, whitewashed buildings, women with dresses, hats and clean hands. But they were few and far between. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man in the doorway throw down his broom and run to the tavern next door. By nightfall, everyone would know about strangers in town; that one of them was Benai would cause a stir.

  The road narrowed again as the buildings grew farther and farther apart. The forest thinned, and light-dappled ferns and grasses grew side by side with bobbing purple flowers on long graceful stems. Mohan led Tashi down a path veering off the road and leading up a slight incline. The road curved through the trees like a brown snake basking in the sun. At the end of the path, a small house dwarfed by an open meadow came into view. A large oak tree shadowed the structure.

  Mohan patted Tashi’s neck as Ilythra dismounted and stepped aside. The house seemed quiet, almost deserted. Gardens of herbs flanked the house on either side. The plants had a gangly appearance as if left too long unattended. Ilythr
a glanced to Mohan, uncertain. He shrugged. “This is the place.”

  “Yes, but is anyone here?” She reached behind her and loosened her sword for easy access.

  “Only one way to find out.” He walked toward the door. “Even if she’s not here, she’ll be back soon. She has a young granddaughter who lives with her. I’m sure she wouldn’t stay away for too long. Besides, Tashi will enjoy the rest.” He nodded toward a barn at the back of the house. “It’s a good place to spend the night.”

  Mohan stepped onto the small front porch and knocked on the door. No sound issued from within. Ilythra stood ready. Something wasn’t right. He hesitated before knocking again. “She might be out—”

  A young woman yanked the door open. Pale blond hair escaped from a white cap to frame a flushed face. Her blue eyes widened and a hand fluttered from her hair to her apron before it found haven against her throat. “I, oh, hello.”

  Sizzling and popping sounds echoed from beyond.

  “Oh, blast it!” She turned and ran inside.

  Ilythra and Mohan exchanged glances; he shrugged, and together they walked into the house. The front room was clean and sparsely furnished. Newly swept wooden floors gleamed under the sunlight from a window framed by deep blue curtains, reminding Ilythra how dusty she was. A single bed dressed with a colorful quilt sat against one wall next to a door, and opposite stood a large stone fireplace and a table piled with empty jars and bowls of herbs. More herbs hung from the ceiling in various stages of drying.