by Russ Linton
"I don't suppose you could introduce me to any of these noblemen friends of yours?" Izhar asked.
She'd never mentioned such acquaintances. How much more did Izhar know about her? Sidge was nearly to her side when Kaaliya dumped the bundle of wood in the pit, sending a fine cloud of ash into Izhar's face.
As Izhar sputtered, she replied, "While I've appreciated your company on this journey, I'd prefer to keep my contacts private, Cloud Born."
Izhar swatted at the dust and eyed the scattered pile of fuel. "I can hardly start a fire that way."
"Exactly." Kaaliya winked at Sidge. Any indignation he felt at her treatment of his master was erased.
"Let me take care of it," Sidge offered as he set down the pan along with his master's breakfast. He squatted near the pit to neatly arrange the firewood. He wanted whatever small spark he might create with the corestone to catch. And there was simply a proper way to arrange and space each timber, according to size, shape, and density.
While Sidge worked, Izhar brushed at his robes, only succeeding in creating gray plumes of dust. The plumes bothered Sidge more than the layered ash. Aside from the white stole—no, especially the white stole—the uniform layer had actually improved Izhar's appearance. Despite this, Sidge finished with the firewood and began beating at Izhar's robes to help clear them.
"I'm fine." Izhar waved him away. "Here," he said, removing his corestone and handing it to Sidge.
Sidge felt the invisible push against his palm. He inhaled, searching for the crisp air of home and found a gritty mouthful of ash instead.
"Sit. Focus." Sidge knelt as instructed and Izhar placed a hand on his shoulder. "Feel Vasheru in your palm. Your arm. He exists in the spaces between what is. Draw him from the air."
Sidge fought to clear his mind.
"Now, recite the first mantra," said Izhar.
The world fought back.
He first noticed the firewood in the pit, perhaps spaced a little unevenly for an optimum fire. He then saw Izhar's unkempt beard quiver under his breath. The netting on the vardo flapped in a light morning breeze. Birds swooped across the sky, that damned, empty blue expanse, their formation lopsided. A fly landed in the pan, rubbing tiny arms in anticipation of a taste of the last of the travelers' food. All around them, tall grasses swayed and taunted. Kaaliya stared innocently into the distance, but Sidge could tell she was wondering if this time he'd be able to do it.
Izhar grabbed the hood of Sidge's robe and tossed it over his eyes. "The mantra."
Eyes partially covered, Sidge began intoning the first mantra of Fire. He visualized himself finally succeeding after years of practice and recitation. He imagined a tiny spark building in the center of the hollow pendant. From there, the energy would curl along the copper cage and feed into his palm. Next, a gentle turn of his hand and the brilliant spark would leap into the fire pit, igniting the tinder.
A simple twist of the hand.
A gentle turn.
Another twist.
He restarted the mantra.
Izhar's reassuring voice came muffled to his crushed antennae. "Calm. Calm in the storm, acolyte. Calm in the storm."
He tried again. One more time. Another. Another.
Sidge's antennae drooped.
It was no use. With an angry snort he tossed back the hood. "I can't concentrate here. Perhaps Cloud Born Gohala is right."
Kaaliya, who no longer stared off into the hills, shook her head sympathetically.
"Gohala? That loudmouthed bastard?" Red plumed along Izhar's cheeks. He cast a sidelong glance at Sidge and exhaled deeply. The hand which Sidge could feel on his shoulder patted and withdrew. "You'll get it. Soon enough. Don't worry."
Izhar sat, took the stone, and held it between his fingers so Sidge could see. He upturned his other palm and pressed the fingertips together for channeling. Each time, he waited until Sidge reproduced the motion to his satisfaction.
Soon, the mantra rolled from Izhar's lips in a deep baritone. His eyes disappeared into his skull. Maybe this was the secret, mused Sidge, defeated. He had to look into his own head, an action he couldn't possibly replicate.
There was a sharp snap and Kaaliya yelped. Her mouth dropped open in protest, as she rubbed at her backside where a tiny blue spark had struck.
"Misfire," Izhar said.
"Master!" Sidge gasped.
Kaaliya scowled, though her eyes shone with amusement and Izhar returned his attention to the fire pit. Another snap, and the kindling burst into flames. Izhar recited the sheathing to end the channeling, waiting for Sidge to accompany him.
Fire lit, Sidge prepared breakfast. He watched both Kaaliya and Izhar who'd settled on opposite sides of the ring.
"How goes the meditation, Cloud Born?" Kaaliya asked before Sidge could interrupt. He waved one hand to warn her, but dropped it as Izhar's eyes sought him.
His Master sighed. "My meditations have been so brief it's difficult to say."
Kaaliya cast Sidge a knowing glance.
Izhar continued, his eyes locked on the waving flames. "I'm close to it, I'm sure." He thumbed his corestone. "I have to be. Like the silvery shadow of the swine above the pan."
Sidge wished he too had eyebrows to raise along with Kaaliya. Perhaps his master had taken this whole puffcap thing too far.
Before he could press about whatever truth or absurdity lurked in Izhar's observation about their bacon, a movement on the edge of camp caught his attention. Kaaliya had seen it as well. Already, she'd removed the slender knife from her boot and was focused on the same spot, as the tall grass began to part.
Knife held out of view, Kaaliya's eyes measured the disturbance speculatively if not appreciatively. Izhar, meanwhile, continued to stare into the fire.
A naked man had wandered into the campsite.
CHAPTER IX
Sidge supposed the man's form was well-defined. Tall, bulging chest, thick arms, and corded thighs—every muscle was present in chiseled detail.
The stranger's long, dark hair naturally swept back, and waves of deep reddish-brown glowed where the sun struck. His face wore an expression which Sidge took for curiosity. And, unfortunately, he seemed unconcerned about his nudity, which only became more and more obvious as he emerged from the tall grass.
No, more than unconcerned. He was oblivious to his state of undress. Perhaps wherever he came from this was their custom?
Sidge waited for Izhar to address the newcomer, but his master's gaze stayed lost in the fire. Kaaliya's eyes were wary yet wandering. He had to do something. Quickly.
"Hello, fellow traveler," Sidge called, louder than intended. He positioned himself protectively in the center of Kaaliya's view.
Much to his chagrin, she sidestepped. She held her knife loosely and moved closer to Izhar. The stranger wandered near the horses who continued to chew their grass with utter indifference.
"Hello," came the stranger's slow and deep reply, his words directed at the horses. Even the Paint seemed unimpressed.
Sidge was relieved by the growing uncertainty spreading across Kaaliya's face. In their many days of travel, he'd never known her to be at a loss for words or action. The knife twirled idly in her hand.
"We may have some spare robes." Sizing the man up with a tailor's precision, Sidge was pretty sure, as much as he wanted to clothe the man, it would be hard to make good on the offer. They did, however, keep at least one spare set.
The naked man wandered along the side of the vardo, feeling the weathered surface with his palm and tracing the white symbol painted on the side. Next to the familiar carriage it became clear just how big the man was. His arms easily reached the upper rails, and he ran his hands through the dangling assortment of metal chimes and crystals, quirking an ear to each sound. When he got to the rear of the wagon, he began to explore the curtain.
Sidge hummed into flight, positive he didn't want the already disordered contents of the vardo any more ransacked.
Izhar finally stirred. "
Hmm? Is the bacon ready?"
"We've got a guest, Cloud Born," replied Kaaliya. Standing over the seated master, she palmed the pate of his head and guided his eyes toward the man. Izhar grunted in surprise.
Sidge landed right outside of their visitor's reach. Instead of trying to climb the steps, the man seemed content to run the vardo's curtains through his thick fingers.
"He wandered into camp, Master." Sidge explained, noting the flow of lost thoughts returning to Izhar's face. "From the far side. Perhaps you didn't notice."
"How could you miss him?" Kaaliya smirked.
"The robes are not inside there, sir" Sidge said, though only after he'd appraised the curtains to see if they could be used for such a purpose. Kaaliya's stare. The man's brazen disrespect. Sidge rattled his wings. "If you would only step—" He began to pull the wandering hands away and froze as dark eyes fell upon him.
Curiosity indeed burned there, but it flickered deep beneath a cold and empty stare. Far from the expressive human faces Sidge reveled in, this man's could've been carved from a solid lump of wax.
Sidge's antennae tickled, nudged by a sudden and inexplicable vibration in the air. Light caught in the man's eyes, living and brilliant, then faded. Sidge backed away and found both Kaaliya and Izhar standing behind him.
"Hello?" the man replied, in a tone as empty as his eyes.
Kaaliya's expression transitioned from uncertainty to concern and Izhar raked his hand through his beard.
"Are you from Stronghold, good man?" asked Izhar.
"I am from the water," came the man's reply, slow and steady. He raised a finger to the south, where the sea was many days' journey away.
"Curious," said Izhar and he grinned, polite yet playful. "You don't appear to be an Urujaav."
His master. Never far from a world of legends. Urujaav were water spirits, referred to in a handful of mantras from the Trials (and by Izhar's teaching, one hundred and seven indirect references). Taken literally, one of these beings had led the Attarah and his Jadugar to safety through the Labyrinth around Kurath's Sun Palace, and later assisted in building the city of Stronghold.
Most Cloud Born taught a more figurative lesson: the Attarah had followed an ancient river out of the maze-like desert canyons. And at Stronghold, ingenuity and raw power, not water spirits, had constructed the moat and underlying channels making up the city's unique canals and defenses.
Whether they existed in the times of the Trials or not, these water spirits hadn't been seen in recent memory. Besides, the obscure reference could only serve to confuse their obviously dim-witted visitor. As if to confirm this, the man's square head turned sideways.
"Urujaav," he stated, his face a frozen mask. "Do you know where they are?"
Without thinking, Sidge answered. "My master only jests. He has a fondness for commoner's tales." Izhar pursed his lips. Realizing his mistake, Sidge bowed. "Pardon me, Master. I did not mean to speak for you."
"Quite alright, Sidge. You're right, it was a bit of fun. No need to burden our guest with questions." Izhar gestured toward the fire. "You're welcome to sit and relax, traveler."
Without a word of thanks, the stranger blundered toward them. Sidge took several steps back with an arm again spread in front of Kaaliya. Like when he'd protected her from the aggressive man in Cerudell, he would protect her now as well. No need for knives and putting herself in danger. Izhar intercepted the big man, unconcerned, and led him to the fireside.
"A shame," whispered Kaaliya, twirling the knife and slipping it into her boot. "For a man like that to be so … broken."
Like that. This was one of those rare times when Sidge knew exactly what she was saying.
"Those robes, if you please, Sidge," called Izhar.
Sidge was already flying to the top of the wagon.
A bundle of oiled canvas tied to the upper racks held their spare fabric and robes. Sidge's fingers worked fast across the bindings. On the far side of his vision, Kaaliya continued to examine the stranger, who knelt in front of the fire.
Had it been necessary to be so careful securing the ties? When he'd finally fumbled his way through the twist of knots, Sidge hastily dug through the contents, lifting each folded piece between his palms and stacking them on the roof neatly beside him. Most everything in the bundle could best be described as rags.
Faced with the battered scraps, Sidge eyed his own robes. They'd traveled hundreds of miles south from the Stormblade Sheath. Their wagon, the cantankerous horses, and especially their vestments showed every sticky, soggy, branch-snagging, rock-sliding mile.
For the first time in many days, Sidge realized how much it wounded him to travel in such a bedraggled state. True, they didn't have the money for decent cloth and thread, but he could've made a few passable attempts at repairs along the way with what little they had. Of course, he hadn't exactly been productive on his sleepless nights. He watched as Kaaliya moved closer to where Izhar and the man sat. Her knife put away, she listened carefully as Izhar continued to try and strike up a conversation. Sidge dug faster.
At the bottom of the pile, he found Izhar's old robes, which, despite repeated alterations, had clung to his master like the skin of a python freshly gorged on a fawn. Sidge had stashed them away, hoping they would be of use. Naked giants had not been part of his speculation but the old robes were all he had to offer. He yanked them free and heard a clatter.
A small, bent stick skittered on the copper roof. There were no overhanging trees on the grassy hillsides, so the stick must have tumbled out of the pile of cloth. Then he recalled the lesson in Izhar's chambers. This was one of the oddities he'd been asked to pack and bring with them.
Sidge picked the stick up and held it. Small and roughly textured, he noticed the insides were a strange pearly color. Not wanting to waste any more time, he shoved it in his pocket, gathered the old robes, and floated down from the roof to the fire.
"Ah yes, those will do nicely." Izhar turned to their guest and motioned to the gray bundle in Sidge's arms.
The man ignored the offer, fixated on the fire. Before anyone could act, he snatched the skillet, cradling it in his giant hands. The pan hissed against his skin. Sidge's antennae sprang upward and he started to reach for the skillet. "Sir, that must be quite hot."
Izhar grabbed Sidge's arm, watching the man intently.
The naked man ignored the bacon and ran a finger through the grease, bringing it close to his face and staring as though his hand had recently sprouted there. He tested the still clear grease on his lips and brought the skillet to his face.
Sidge detected a hint of the bacon grease on the air and watched it drip to the ground. Another odor, acrid and sweet, mingled with the bacon, and he noticed he wasn't the only one holding his breath, waiting for the man to react.
A moment later, the wooden face, speckled with crumbs, peered over the rim. Bacon hissed in the skillet, dry and removed from the heat. Where his hands and mouth had touched the hot pan, his skin had an angry red appearance.
Izhar forced a smile and released his grip on Sidge's arm. Kaaliya watched with wide eyes.
Sidge snatched the skillet, his thick skin allowing him to grab the iron handle unharmed. The handle was warm to the touch and he tapped a finger on the bottom of the pan and only to be rewarded with a sharp bite from the heat.
"Hungry, I suppose," Izhar muttered. Kaaliya shook her head in wonder.
Izhar took a corner of the robe and dabbed at the angry red trail on the man's chin where hot grease had dribbled. He winced sympathetically, but still gained no reaction. When he was done, he shook the robes out and draped them over the man's head.
The stranger offered no resistance. Nor assistance. Beneath the robe, he made slow motions, feeling his way about in the darkness. Izhar struggled to guide thick, errant arms through the sleeves.
Setting the pan down, Sidge buzzed forward and peered into the robe's empty neck. Arms above his head at awkward angles, the man gazed up as though at the bo
ttom of a well and calmly measuring the means of ascent.
"Boys," Kaaliya called.
Both Izhar and Sidge met her gaze and stepped aside. She strode toward the hulking form and the squirming beneath the robes stopped. The stranger might've been nothing more than a block of granite settled deep into the earth. Kaaliya looked tiny and fragile next to him.
Sidge watched with awe as her light touch drew the massive form to his feet. He'd seen bolts of lightning dance across the sky and splinter into countless rivers of light. He'd seen the Stormblade wield the power of the heavens. But the ease with which Kaaliya drew this monument from the ground was more potent, more real than any of those things.
She spoke softly as she pulled first one arm through and then the other. "Apparently these fellows have never dressed another man before." She tugged lightly on the lapel. Strands of dark hair sprung through the neck. A second pull, and his head popped out, eyes already locked with hers. Standing on the tips of her toes she smoothed the collar then stepped away.
"I suppose it will have to do," she said.
"That it will," Izhar said.
As Sidge had figured, the robes were much too short, hanging right above the sculpted calves, and the seams strained in a new place—at the shoulders, while the midsection hung loose and wrinkled. And was it him or had the burns on the man's face already begun to recede?
"I suppose," Sidge added. "He looks like he's molting. Don't you think?"
Neither Izhar nor Kaaliya answered, both unable to take their eyes off this man. This intruder. Sidge buzzed his wings.
CHAPTER X
Sidge found travel through the lower Paharibhumi boring. Winding between the hillocks, the flagstone-walled road was well-traveled and free of holes or washouts, which was good. But there was little to see besides grass. Waving, flickering grass. Blocking it out meant putting up his hood and being unable to see up and to his left, where Kaaliya had been forced to sit.