by Russ Linton
A final whisk of Corva's antennae dragged through its fleshy mouth and the great beast boomed, "You're not from Abwoon?" He turned to his golden-shelled friend. "Nor Sli'mir's realm either!"
"Eh?" It was Yurva's turn to shuffle out of the yoke. He slipped off the padded hooks and when he scuttled forward, the front end lurched. Blunted shouts of protest echoed within the gilded wagon.
"What an interesting way to discover the humans. Wearing their robes, their scent," said Yurva.
"I told you, I'm from the Storm Temple," choked Sidge. He regretted returning to speak with the haulers.
"Bah, you wouldn't have come from the swamp anyway," Corva chuckled, a deep grating sound. "Not with those tasty morsels driving your wagon."
Yurva crowded next to Corva, forming a black segmented wall with their underbellies. More antennae lashed out, batting against Sidge's chitin and even slipping under his collar. Sidge shivered and swatted them away.
"Most interesting. You have lived among the humans for a long time. How long?"
"Yes! Yes, tell us about them!" cried Corva. "Why is it they burn their food?"
"Is it true they carry their eggs in their belly and burst when their brood are grown?" asked Yurva.
"I must be going. My master, he needs me."
"Master?" Both swung enormous heads, their horns colliding with a crack neither seemed to notice.
Yurva turned first, tilting his head to the side. "Are you a full member of this hive?"
Corva scratched his horn with his antennae.
"Yes. I am an acolyte. I have … I have duties. My master is injured." Pressing his upper palms together, Sidge let his wings loose and took off toward the vardo. Behind him, he watched the two beasts stand in stunned silence, even as Master Gohala emerged, shouting at them to return to their harness.
CHAPTER XIII
Izhar lay on a makeshift bed consisting of two traveling chests pushed together, piled with robes and saddle blankets. Eyes closed, face drawn, he gave no sign of his normal, jovial appearance. His breathing was steady and the coursing energy of Vasheru's Wisdom had left no marks, although it seemed to Sidge the silver streak in his beard had grown wider.
Izhar's relics had been reshelved to appear organized, but they were not. It would take Sidge an hour at least to rearrange the incense again, alphabetically, by scent. Meditation chimes originally sorted first by material, then by note in ascending scale, had been hastily piled in an open drawer. Several vials had broken, and while the evidence was gone, Sidge knew the mess should be cleaned before the wood soaked in the more pungent oils assaulting his senses.
Kaaliya sat at Izhar's side, one booted foot on the edge of the chest, the other tucked beneath her. Sidge recalled her haunted look earlier and was relieved to see she appeared more relaxed.
Sidge started to ask her what had been wrong, but it struck him how foolish he would sound. The whole situation was wrong. Horrifyingly wrong. And, not to be forgotten, their day had started with a visit from a naked mute. He quietly prayed the man had wandered off.
"Chuman," whispered Kaaliya, as if finishing Sidge's thought.
"What about him?" Sidge pulled the curtain tight to the frame behind him and snatched up his broom.
"When you told me to clear out, I went to unhitch the horses. They were mad with fear and about to drag you and Izhar downhill. Chuman followed, like a puppy. At first, he stood there and watched while I fumbled with the tack. Then he practically dragged the horses to the side of the road. Held both their leads while they fought."
"Okay, so he's big. Strong." Sidge huffed.
"That's not it." Absently, Kaaliya shook her head. "I went to help. He handed me the reins and …" Her distant gaze found his. "What is the Wisdom like? Is it truly lightning?"
The sudden change of subject startled him but he answered as best he could. "The Wisdom is a great mystery. It is knowledge and, at the same time, the fiery bolts of the tempest that scour the Stormblade Sheath." Sidge spoke slowly as the vivid dream returned to his mind. "Only the Stormblade can call the Wisdom into himself and survive and it is not called upon outside the rituals of the temple." Sidge recited a passage from the Forge, "Where death meets life. Where the beginning ends. Where the end begins."
"But it would otherwise kill?"
Sidge nodded, unsure where she was going with her questions. "If not mastered, it would consume the wielder who called upon it."
She stared at the boards above them. "Chuman climbed on top of the wagon. I shouted at him to get down but he ignored me. I was wrestling with the horses and couldn't see much, but he stepped into the center. Right where the bolt snaked down from the sky."
Sidge scooted forward, his mandibles open. "Then what?"
"It stopped."
In all the confusion, Sidge had hoped he'd mysteriously brought the wild channeling under control himself, or perhaps Master Izhar had broken free enough to release the building power. He'd been in no mood to ask, but it even crossed his mind Gohala could've contained the power and set things right. No; Gohala would've taken the chance to gloat.
But Chuman? Channeling?
Shouts and a chant rose up outside. Sidge poked his head through the curtain. The Ek'kiru rumbled past, their sparkling shells pale in front of the gilded carriage. Pristine acolytes flanked the mobile shrine wielding silken banners, rippling in waves of silver and slate. The procession disappeared over the hill.
As the trail dust cleared, Sidge saw Chuman, standing in the same spot, the horses' reins in his hands. He was quite sure the man hadn't moved.
***
They packed the shelves in silence, Sidge biting back instructions for proper arrangement and furiously buzzing his wings as he worked. Kaaliya seemed to sense he didn't want to speak. He ignored her looks of concern and only grudgingly accepted help. Outside, he could hear the rest of the caravan rumbling by on Gohala's heels.
Every so often, Sidge would peek out the curtain and see Chuman standing in the same spot roadside. The Nag was content; as far as she was concerned, she'd found the perfect handler. The Paint was restless. His ears twitched constantly and he kept the lead stretched tight.
As quiet as he was, Sidge wanted to speak. To rage. But burdening Kaaliya with his worries, or with Master Gohala's theft, felt wrong. He needed Izhar.
He peered at his master's troubled form. "Will you ride with Izhar? The descent into the valley may be a bit rough."
He was aware of Kaaliya's look of concern and turned his head further so he could avoid her. It didn't help. All he could see now was the inside of the cabin and a reminder there wasn't enough time to completely correct the mindless rush to stow things.
"We could wait for him to wake," Sidge added, "but I'd like to be in Stronghold before nightfall."
"Of course," Kaaliya said. "They'll likely bar the gates at dark. No sense in sleeping out under the stars another night."
Another night beneath the stars, with her … and their new friend. He shook his head. "Let me know if anything changes," he said, before squeezing past her and out the curtain.
He approached Chuman and took the horses. The Paint gladly followed, and while the Nag was slower to react, she came along with a quiet sigh.
Sidge hitched the team without trouble, Chuman maintaining his roadside vigil. He retrieved the chains, so he could lock the wheels for the steep descent ahead. This precise descent was why Farsal had spent so much time with him at the temple. By now, there was no sign of Gohala's carriage on the road. The two powerful Ek'kiru must have made the harrowing descent with relative ease, under Farsal's capable hands.
When he was done, Sidge climbed onto the bench.
"Are we going to the song?" asked Chuman.
Sidge had forgotten about the melody. The song of Stronghold tickled the air even still. Ancient magics, Jadugar, or Urujaav. Trolls and bloody images. Sidge didn't care. He wanted to be in the city so Izhar could wake there. So they could progress on this pilgrimage, and stay t
rue to the Attarah's path. Regardless what Master Gohala said, these were his traditions.
"Yes we are."
Chuman crossed the road and hauled himself onto the bench. Wheels creaked under his weight. Sidge buzzed his wings. The Paint whipped its mane and the horses set off toward the drop.
Sidge let the glorious view of the valley sweep away his concerns. Countless trails wound their way out of the hills, speckled with travelers. Clouds of white sheep floated on the hillsides, driven ahead of the people, all funneling toward the city walls. Deep Night, when the pilgrimage would be received at the Attarah's palace, was only two nights away; the festival would draw everyone from across the countryside. Apparently, just not down this particular road where the pilgrims tread. The reason soon became obvious.
The pastoral scene pitched like a storm-ridden ocean. Sidge gripped the bench with two palms. Chuman's expression stayed flat, as always, and he leaned back to compensate for the extreme angle.
The horses' hooves skittered along the trail and the wagon groaned. Sidge drew in the reins as the horses tested their footing on the ancient road. It was free of wash-outs and bumps, but the grade was even more alarming than Sidge had imagined. He kept watch on the vardo behind him, waiting for it to flip end over end.
A loud thump echoed inside, accompanied by Kaaliya's curses. Sidge apologized, even as the wagon skidded, and the horses' hooves increased their pace despite his clutch on the reins. Eager to be on level ground, the willful Paint had begun to canter, jerking the wagon awkwardly to one side as a sharp curve approached. Sidge visualized the vardo breaking free of the tongue and rolling into the valley, while the horses dragged him down the rocky road.
"Whoa!"
Both horses tried to stop. They skidded along stones with wide eyes and toothy cries. Foam flecked at the old Nag's lips and Sidge pulled harder. Beneath him, the solid wooden tongues of the shaft issued stuttered pangs. He'd rather be staring into the face of Vasheru again than navigating this hill.
"Whoa there!"
There was a sliding noise followed by a collision inside the cabin, and the vardo lurched to one side.
"For fuck's sake!" Kaaliya shouted, loud and clear.
Sidge swallowed his apology as the horses took the next corner as though they'd only just seen it. With a sharp crack, the vardo jaunted to one side, two wheels off the ground. Sidge clenched his mandibles together, waiting to feel the weight of everything atop him.
Gray robes fluttered and Chuman slipped to the ground. Without losing his stride, the silent man grabbed the front wheel, teetering wildly in the air, and yanked it down to the ground.
With a fierce jolt, the wheels returned to the road in a cacophony of rattled jars, clattering chimes, and loose baggage. There was no cursing this time, but a cry of dismay and Sidge worried what had happened.
They were past the curve now, and the horses were building speed. Chuman jogged beside the vardo with one hand on the front wall.
"Are you insane?" Sidge shouted.
From within the vardo came a wounded reply. "Apparently!"
"Not you!" Sidge stayed trained on Chuman and slapped the empty bench beside him. "But by Vasheru, Kaaliya! I'm so glad you're—"
"Focus on the damn horses!"
Despite the locked wheels, the Paint was happy to let the grade determine his speed, ignoring Sidge's desperate commands. Eyes on the bottom and neck bent, its hooves pounded the earth. Beside him, the Nag's gait became uneven, her legs striking in off-beat bursts. It wouldn't be long before she lost her footing entirely and the vardo toppled over.
Chuman ran faster. With his hands on the footboard, he slipped behind the Paint and dug in. Muscles rippled along his shoulders and tightened into swollen masses against the ill-fitting robes. Seams strained. Wood creaked. Metal groaned and panged, like the strings of an instrument wound too tightly.
The larger animal fought for freedom; the smaller won.
Trembling, the horses returned to their slower trot, even the Paint huffing with exertion. Chuman stayed fixed with the footboard in his grip and the lower frame of the vardo pressed against the small of his back, forcing the horses into a steady pace. When they made it to the bottom, Sidge had no need to guide the horses off the road; they gladly sought the level patch of earth.
For a long time, Sidge couldn't move. The reins hung limp between his fingers.
"What are you?" he asked. Aside from gaping seams along the shoulders of the robes and a spray of dust and horse spit, Chuman showed no signs of exertion.
A crease formed on his flat brow and he spoke. "I am broken."
Sidge quirked his head.
A groan came from inside the cabin. Dropping the reins, he flew to the rear and threw aside the curtain.
The inside was less of a disaster than he'd expected. Several precautions he'd taken to secure the contents had paid off, while others hadn't. At the same time, he focused on Kaaliya's frazzled face and Izhar's pressed form.
Kaaliya was wedged between the two chests that had originally supported Izhar, her back braced against one and her feet against the other. Sidge's master lay beneath her, squeezed into the gap between the chests, protected.
Sidge rushed to help push the chests apart and scrambled to draw Kaaliya to her feet.
"I'm so sorry. So sorry."
"Knock it off. Nothing to be sorry about, but I'm not going to be doing that again anytime soon."
"Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm fine. He's fine. Maybe a bit bruised, but nothing more. What the hell happened out there?"
Sidge couldn't think of where to start. Chuman's feat was fresh on his mind. He saw Kaaliya's expectant face and Izhar's motionless form. He cleared his throat. "I had trouble controlling the horses, but I remembered what you said."
Kaaliya stared at him for a moment. "Well, I for one am glad you did."
"No. No." Guilt of his lie opened a fresh wound. He kept digging himself deeper. "I should have secured the chests, made a better place for both of you to sit. I was distracted. I cannot afford to be distracted."
He'd spent his earlier attentions on making sure everything was secure but his companions. He needed to be in the present, focused. To learn to leave the unimportant things where they were. He pushed the chests further apart and knelt at Izhar's side.
"Really, it's fine." Kaaliya said. She was lifting her shirt, inspecting her skin. Peeling the tight leather breeches down her leg and checking her thigh. Sidge patted blindly at Master Izhar while she moved.
Focused. Right. He fumbled for words. "Have you ever entered the valley that way?"
"What? Riding on top of a fat priest and a pile of blankets?" Kaaliya scoffed. "I imagine I might if the price is right."
Sidge found it hard to laugh as he both examined Master Izhar for injuries and watched Kaaliya's inspection. "No, I meant, have you ever entered the valley on that road."
Kaaliya buttoned the breeches with a satisfied sigh. "The port usually sees more business than the road. Tradition took you and your gray robes along that devil's ride. Safer, so the Children of Kurath won't get you, or some nonsense."
"You don't believe?"
Weeks of traveling together, and Sidge realized he'd never asked her opinion of Temple doctrine. She'd quoted mantras and even commoner's lore, so her stance was never clear. Maybe it would be easier if she didn't believe. He could seek solace in her heathen ways. Have a new mystery to turn to.
"I believe whatever gets me through the day, Sidge. No offense."
"None taken." At all. If only things were that simple for him.
Kaaliya hopped from the vardo and held the curtain open. "Come on. Let's get to Stronghold. I'll ride on the roof this time. If Izhar slept through our descent, he'll survive the road ahead."
His master's face no longer had the drawn look of a patient, but the soft cast of true sleep. One final inspection and Sidge found no injuries. He tucked the extra blankets and cloth around Izhar, and his master's steady breathin
g slipped into the comforting rasp of a snore.
Sidge let his wings relax and stepped out to catch up to Kaaliya. He made it to the corner in time to see Chuman hefting her into the air. Alarmed, he started toward them. He should be the one to fly her to bench and let her relive the exhilarating ride she'd been given in Abwoon. But he faltered as she squealed, clearly entertained.
Effortlessly, the monument of a man raised her above his head toward the roof. When even his impressive arm span missed the roof of the vardo, she grabbed the edge to start to swing herself over, but with one hand he repositioned her backside in his palm and placed her there himself.
Outrageous. Sidge waited to see the knife flash. Kaaliya only raised an eyebrow, and the smile he'd thought was his graced her lips.
CHAPTER XIV
Darkness came to the valley, the sun setting behind the surrounding hills. Kaaliya rode on her stomach with her head propped in her hands. She seemed to be staring out toward the sea on the far side of the city, where the rising moon crawled out from a pool of growing light.
They hadn't spoken since the descent, which was fine. Both he and Kaaliya were exhausted, preoccupied. He wasn't sure what to make of Chuman. The giant should've been unconscious. Or more likely, dead.
They rattled along toward the lights of the city, a flickering host floating in the spreading blackness. The hum of Stronghold's song grew louder. Beside the road ahead, two lanterns reflected off the glassy surface of the moat creating a blue-green nimbus. He'd never seen light quite like it. No flame. No brilliance of Vasheru's power.
"What are those?" he asked.
Kaaliya chuckled. "Workings of the Jadugar."
Sidge noticed the two guards standing beneath the posts in the rippling light. By their duty, the members of the Stormblade Temple would wield Vasheru's Fire in the Attarah's name to defeat Kurath when he returned. This, Sidge had been taught his entire life and the mantras foretold. Yet, as powerful a weapon as Vasheru's Fire was, the intimidating appearance of the armor-clad guards could not be underestimated.