Pilgrim of the Storm

by Russ Linton

  While Sidge was relieved to see no harm had come to Izhar, his attention was quickly drawn to Kaaliya. She reclined next to his master, propped up on one elbow. Her travelling hat had been tossed aside and the same glowing spiders wielded by the troll crowned her dark hair. Light from their bodies streamed down her hair in frozen rivers. He'd never seen anything so beautiful.

  "Ahhh, Sidge. Glad you could join us." Izhar had hitched his robe to his knees to form a fold where he cradled several of the white fungi. "I was worried, acolyte, but they assured me you would be along."

  "Glory to Vasheru that you are in good health, Master." Sidge placed his palms together and made a rapid bow, his gaze never leaving Kaaliya. "But how is it you were here longer than I? We both were eaten by the forest at the same time."

  The troll spoke first. "Between life and death is only Truth. You shed the Lie."

  "What does that mean?" Sidge buzzed his wings in irritation. "Any of this? Please, Master, why are we here? How?"

  "Relax, Sidge. Our host simply has an odd way of sending out an invitation," replied Izhar, as he carefully plucked a spongy bulb and added it to his collection.

  "But I never saw him … her along the road," Sidge mused, turning to the troll. "How did you even know we'd arrived? Hey!"

  The troll kicked Sidge squarely in the shin and reeled back a knotty foot and kicked again.

  "Stop it!"

  "Can you tell I'm here?" came the troll's throaty reply.

  "Yes, of course." Sidge snapped and stepped away.

  "He's new, go easy on him." Kaaliya gave Sidge a look begging for patience.

  "Hardly new," said the troll. "He's traveled with us before."

  "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I—"

  Kaaliya stood and brushed the dirt from her pants. Despite the uncomfortable proximity of the troll, Sidge's lenses fought to chase the movement of her hands first across her thigh then her backside. Simple movements. He could let himself be entranced by them.

  "Oakworm," Kaaliya started to address the troll but was quickly interrupted.

  "Call me whatever name you will, cave daughter, but your words ring hollow like the fallen tree," said Oakworm.

  Sidge shook his head at the absurd rambling.

  "Trolls speak in riddles," said Kaaliya. She quickly recanted as Oakworm growled. "Truth. A truth hard for us to fathom."

  "His kind sleeps on the edge of endless dream," said Oakworm, turning to face Sidge. "He should understand more."

  Sidge huffed. He understood everything he needed. The word of the Attarah and the divine inspiration of Vasheru were all anyone needed.

  Oakworm growled again and thrust its wedged chin toward Izhar. "Have you enough?"

  Izhar nodded and braced a hand on the ground while Sidge raced to his master's side to help him stand. The extra attention only caused Izhar to juggle the spores gathered in his robes.

  "Thank you, acolyte, but I can manage," Izhar groused.

  "Yes, Master." Sidge retreated with a bow.

  Oakworm ignored the back and forth, his amber-filled eyes staying squarely centered on Sidge. Eyelids from underneath the bark shell snapped open then closed in the wrong direction sending an involuntary shudder up Sidge's chitin.

  "How many feet do you have?" asked Oakworm.

  "Two," stammered Sidge and Oakworm grumbled in disagreement. Sidge ignored him. "Why are we here again, Master?"

  "These." Izhar indicated the bundle of fungus.

  "Truth which your master will not understand," said Oakworm.

  Sidge ignored Oakworm's stare and spoke before the creature could release more inane babble. "Well, I still don't understand either, Master."

  "These are puffcaps," said Izhar. At a loss, Sidge scratched his forehead with one antenna and shrugged. Izhar continued. "The trolls have their own visions, much like Vasheru's Wisdom."

  "I can only imagine," Sidge scoffed. He stepped away expecting another kick from Oakworm but the creature only kept staring with those bizarre eyes.

  "They do not call upon the mighty Dragon, but upon their brothers instead."

  "How does a fungus do this?" asked Sidge.

  "More folktales, I'm afraid," answered Kaaliya. "The trolls are brothers with the plants. Trees and grasses which grew long before humans or even trolls. Seeds left by the passing of the Formless."

  "But, these are more mysteries which the mantras do not speak of," said Sidge.

  "You are absolutely right, acolyte," said Izhar. "However, the Forge does say, 'Wisdom often chooses the house in which it dwells', does it not?"

  Sidge saw Kaaliya give a mischievous grin. Which of them had recited the line first? Had she inspired this strange diversion, or his master? If so, he could see how that could happen. Mistress Kaaliya inspired many things, but this was a step removed from a fascination with commoner's tales. He wanted to ask how this could possibly help Izhar's ascension to the Stormblade's seat but regardless how he felt about Kaaliya, he was reluctant to discuss temple matters in front of her and her friend.

  "Master," Sidge bowed deeper and shuffled forward. "You have taught me all I know, and often you pursue a path which the other Cloud Born do not appreciate. But this …" Sidge waited to see if Izhar's cheeks colored or his eyes narrowed, but the master remained poised. "This seems highly irregular."

  "Don't worry so much, Sidge. A little experiment. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. Humor a commoner's son, eh?"

  Izhar's call to his own past was a common appeal which often led Sidge to set aside his questions. Yet normally, Izhar mentioned these commoner's tales not as doctrine or practice, but merely as an aside or as a moment for teaching where he let Sidge draw his own conclusions. It was easy for a pupil to humor his master in those cases and his experience on seeing the Cerudell arch had piqued his own curiosity. But seeking wisdom from Trolls for a path to the Wisdom seemed to be a step too far. Sidge was becoming less sure he could humor these ideas if he wished to himself be a Cloud Born one day.

  He bowed as Izhar turned to Kaaliya and said, "We're ready."

  Kaaliya faced Oakworm and, she spread her arms out, fingers curled to the sky. All sense of her playful demeanor disappeared and she addressed the troll with courtly grace. "Grow under the light of Truth, Oakworm."

  "Hidden in the depths of the earth, cave daughter," its resonant tone matched Kaaliya's formality.

  Their host raised his glowing arm. Thousands of the tiny spiders took to the air in a glowing swarm; their light spread across the ceiling, bleeding into dark crevices between root and stone. Kaaliya closed her eyes and her jaw clenched. Izhar took note and did the same.

  Roots above them squirmed to life and wove their way toward them and all Sidge could do was watch. He wanted to scream for the creature to stop its sorcery, but the grasping tendrils ignored him entirely. They encircled Kaaliya and Izhar, and soon they were both gone. Sidge cast wildly about before centering his focus on Oakworm.

  "You are of old blood. Decide where you belong," growled Oakworm. "This age or the Timeless."

  The roots unwound where Sidge's companions once waited and their furry tips pointed at him, feeling their way through the air, blind horrors seeking him. With his friends gone and the menacing look in the troll's eyes, he imagined roots binding his body and crushing his chitin like a raw egg. He struggled to pull his hood over his enormous eyes.

  As he became entwined, fear released him. Not only fear, but everything. He was drifting in darkness. He was floating in a well, bathed in gentle touches and song.

  At peace.

  CHAPTER VIII

  When he first emerged from Oakworm's realm, Sidge couldn't understand what his compound eyes saw. Forest still surrounded him, but the trees were spaced farther apart and their heavy limbs drooped with vines and tendriled branches. The mountains were a distant shadow against the sky. Izhar and Kaaliya lounged by the vardo while the horses grazed idly.

  His companions rose as though nothing had happened—Sidge later
learned they'd already had their moment of confusion and had been waiting for him to arrive for the better part of the afternoon. They'd sympathetically let Sidge stammer and puzzle over the predicament. Izhar had been concerned but Kaaliya had assured him the trolls meant no harm. They'd puzzled out they were several days further south along the road to Stronghold. Neither of them could explain how the trolls had managed the feat, though Kaaliya appeared unsurprised.

  Sidge gladly left the bizarre experience behind. They rode for another week, encountering many empty miles and small villages along the way. Where exactly they'd ended up, or any further strange looks from villagers and farmers, didn't matter anymore to Sidge. Kaaliya rode next to him.

  They spoke, or rather, Sidge spoke. Kaaliya was endlessly curious about the temple, one of the few places apparently in the known world she'd never been. He told stories of the acolytes and his life there. When pressed, she'd tell him about her childhood, but only with short, cryptic lines. Mostly, she told fantastic tales of her travels and the sights and people she'd seen.

  Kaaliya had been to the Ek'kiru's gateless walled city of Abwoon, where the pilgrimage would face the desert and begin their return trip. He listened closely as she described the carefully patterned streets of the city and buildings of dried mud that clustered around a single massive dome. How she'd scaled the gateless wall to see inside but been politely turned away when she climbed down to explore. Humans were required to keep to the trading settlement outside the wall. She'd been so exhilarated by the flight back in the arms of a large Ek'kiru, she'd nearly climbed the wall again.

  Sidge had already sized her, a tailor's habit. They were about the same. He could probably lift her if he tried, though he wasn't sure enough of his wings to do so yet.

  She even spoke of having spent time among the Ksijaav, warriors of the Skypainter Peaks. To reach those far off lands, she'd bartered passage with a trader around the northern shore of the Attarah's realm and seen the Undying Storm from the open sea. He'd only ever seen his home from the walls of the Temple and the lone dirt path which they'd embarked on at the start of the pilgrimage.

  Izhar rode in the cabin on most days. His chanting became a noise like the grinding of the vardo's wheels. He would emerge for meals, for Sidge's channeling lessons, or occasionally to trade with the villages, but recently, he'd stopped appearing at all. Sidge had to take him his meager supper, and be mindful of his meditation—which no acolyte would dare interrupt.

  He would've worried, had it not meant more time alone with Kaaliya. But Sidge could feel those moments drawing to an end, the closer they got to Stronghold.

  One morning, at a roadside camp on the edge of the Paharibhumi, he and Kaaliya were resting by the coals of the previous night's fire. The world was waking around them and the sun crept over the grassy hills. Trails of smoke trickled skyward, the only sign of the tiny villages nestled beyond the ridges.

  Kaaliya often didn't sleep, like him in a way. In those darkened moments, they'd grown closer and she would lie with her head in Sidge's lap, staring at the stars. He, too, would stare.

  "What's it like?" Sidge mused as he ran a combed forearm through Kaaliya's hair. If midnight could flow like water, that's what her hair would be.

  "Hmmm?" murmured Kaaliya, only half a step out of the world of sleep.

  "Hair. What's it like to have hair?" Sidge asked as he continued to comb. This was a ritual he'd fallen into several days ago. She hadn't asked him to, he'd just done it, the knife in her boot be damned, and she'd sighed blissfully.

  Kaaliya stirred but her eyes remained closed. "Blocks your vision in bad weather, and draws coin in the good."

  Sidge considered and accepted the typically evasive answer.

  "How much longer?" Kaaliya murmured, her eyes closed.

  "Until we make Stronghold? Didn't you say half a day?"

  "No, I mean until the puffer rises. We've been here for the better part of two days. Haven't we?"

  "The horses needed a rest," Sidge lied. "And I cannot disturb Master Izhar's meditation."

  "Meditation. Sure," said Kaaliya.

  He stopped combing and wagged his head. "The puffcap deepens the mediation. Promotes the flow of energies and aligns them with the will of Vasheru."

  Or so Izhar had reassured him along with his steady references to trolls and their kinship with plants and trees and the wanderings of the Formless. More Trials mysticism.

  "Uh-huh," Kaaliya mumbled and touched Sidge's forearm lightly. His arm resumed the sweeping motions. "For all the people I've taken to gather puffcap, religious enlightenment was never a consideration. For them, escaping their life in whatever hallucination the plants offered was enough."

  Hallucination. When she spoke the word, he knew this sounded closer to what a troll might offer, especially after having met Oakworm. But Sidge could only take Izhar at his word. He owed him that.

  "I can't say I wish Izhar weren't more orthodox, but he is my master, nonetheless," he said. "Besides, I thought you weren't in a rush."

  "I'm not," Kaaliya replied and took in a deep, relaxing breath. "But we all need to be there before Deep Night."

  "I know."

  After their unscheduled stops, he would normally have shared her anxiety. But they'd learned from commoners as they traveled that the pilgrimage hadn't yet passed through. Their encounter with the troll had placed them far ahead of the caravan. Even with their temperamental team of horses, they'd maintained the lead.

  Master Gohala would be furious.

  The wagon rattled and Izhar bellowed from inside, "Sidge! Sidge!"

  Unsure if he wanted to ask her to move, Sidge was relieved when Kaaliya sat up and arched her back in a lazy stretch.

  "Finally." She yawned, gathering her hair into a tight band and reaching for her hat. Sidge slowly got to his feet and watched her tuck away the last bit of the night.

  "Sidge!"

  "Coming, Master," he called while floating into the air on thrumming wings. The horses eyed him warily from their post at the front of the vardo. After many days of practicing flight, Sidge hoped they would've adjusted to the sound, but the Paint huffed indignantly as he grew closer. He made it to the rear of the vardo in time to see the curtain flung aside.

  "Where are we?" Izhar asked, leaning out to examine the countryside. His corestone embedded in the hairs of his naked chest; his eyes were red-rimmed and wild.

  Sidge backed away slightly and bowed. "Mistress Kaaliya believes we're a half-day's ride from Stronghold, Master."

  "We've gone so far in such a short time?" Izhar sounded confused.

  "The trolls. Remember?"

  "Yes, yes of course," said Izhar.

  He looked to be in contemplation when he spoke, and Sidge expected maybe his master had news. "How go your meditations? Received any sparks of Vasheru's Wisdom?"

  "None." A pained look flashed on his face. "You'll know when I do."

  There was a darkness behind Izhar's eyes Sidge had never seen. Jovial and at times fiery, the Cloud Born rarely let either extreme of temperament drag him into prolonged worry. It had been many days, though, since he'd reminded Sidge "Vasheru will provide." Sidge had even tried to engage him once with questions about the Trials, but had only worsened Izhar's mood.

  Izhar swept behind the curtain with a clatter. He emerged again, wriggling into his thunderhead-gray robes and slipping into the jagged white stole. A healthy layer of trail dust and other more permanent stains had accumulated on the vestments and Sidge cringed.

  Izhar's eyes flicked toward the campsite while he fussed with his robes. "You two have gotten quite close, hmm?"

  Sidge followed the glance and saw Kaaliya stretching. Back arched, even in her formless shirt the tips of her breasts were visible in the chill morning air. He moved quickly to place her in his blindspot.

  "She's a friend." He struggled with the rest of the words.

  "Friends, eh?" Izhar ran a hand down his robes and peered at Sidge through his eyebrows. "B
e careful, my acolyte."

  Sidge nodded, though he wasn't sure why. The gesture seemed to placate Izhar's concern and the Master extended his hand. Sidge took hold and helped him down the steps.

  "What about breakfast? Hmm? Let's get a fire going." His dark mood seemingly forgotten, Izhar grinned and patted the corestone beneath his robes. Time for Sidge to practice his own channeling.

  "Yes, Master."

  Sidge hummed to the lower cabinets. There, packed in a thin layer of meal, he dug out the last two slices of bacon and several eggs which they'd traded a farmer for in the last village. Aside from this, they had two more days of food, at most, and little left to barter with. His own stash of pickled pig flesh could only last another week. He'd stopped mentioning their dwindling supply to Izhar.

  If they failed to secure a raksha in Stronghold, he wasn't sure where their next meal would come from, or even how they'd return to the Temple.

  Floating to the roof to unpack their cast-iron pan, he tweaked an antenna toward the fire pit where Izhar was headed to join Kaaliya.

  "Ahhh, Mistress Kaaliya, I trust you slept well?"

  "Well enough, Cloud Born," Kaaliya replied. Sidge watched her perform a slight bow with a bent knee and upturned palms, exactly as a visitor to the Stormblade Temple might. This was the first time he'd seen her give the greeting and was surprised, what with all the questions she'd had regarding the place. Playful mocking glittered in her eyes and Sidge chuckled despite himself.

  Even Izhar gave a satisfied laugh. "What do you know of Stronghold, Mistress?"

  "You mean to ask whom I know in Stronghold," Kaaliya's direct reply forced Izhar to put his hands up in surrender. "You should have little trouble finding a raksha. You know as well as I do, every member of the nobility claims to trace their lineage back to the Trials."

  "True, but I doubt I know them nearly as well as you do." Izhar's emphasis was lost on Sidge and Kaaliya only rolled her eyes.

  She approached the vardo and grabbed a bundle of wood from under the cabin. Sidge cursed his four fully loaded arms. Wings humming, he glided to the ground with their breakfast supplies and followed her to where Izhar knelt by the fire pit.