Pilgrim of the Storm

by Russ Linton

  Placing a finger on his mandible, her lips formed a word.

  Mercy.

  Sidge staggered away from the well, gasping, and fell to the ground. Water on his eyes transformed the garden into a blur of green and blue. He lay there, panting. On his mandibles, the cool touch lingered. The touch of an Urujaav.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Water streaked Sidge's lenses. A blurry shape closed in and something, a branch maybe, rapped on his chest. The troll. He had no more patience for those walking topiaries.

  "Leave me be!" Swatting at the branch, he sat up, trying as fast as he could to get to his feet.

  The branch smashed into his chin. His head collided with the stone path and water sprayed from his face in a fine mist. The earlier headache born of thornsap returned in a vengeful explosion of white-hot bursts. More shapes closed in. The focused point, too solid, too smooth to be a branch, ground into his throat. He tried to grab it only to find his arms pinned.

  More water shed from his eyes as he thrashed.

  Four armored men surrounded him. The butt of a spear crushed his throat. Two more spear shafts, flat to the ground with guards kneeling atop them, held his arms. Wicked, curved knives shone in their hands. A fourth held his gada at the ready.

  An unyielding gaze from the spear wielder at his throat challenged Sidge through a visor designed to mimic the face of a Moonstrider. The spear pressed harder. "Why were you flying above the palace grounds?"

  Sidge tried to speak and only a gritty rasp escaped. Like the pile of fish he'd seen on the deck of the junk, he could only squirm. Captured. Waiting on fate.

  The pressure eased.

  He gasped for air, a motion that had him spreading his mandibles. Knives readied in the hands of the kneeling guards.

  "Forgive me," coughed Sidge. Words poured out amid strangled gasps. "I am an acolyte of the Stormblade Temple … here at Master Izhar's request."

  This information didn't seem to impress the guard.

  "An Ek'kiru Storm Priest?"

  "I am the only Ek'kiru at the temple," Sidge forced out the words.

  The guard who was doing the talking, gestured. With the haste of an eager acolyte, the gada wielder hooked the iron maul to his belt and fell to a knee, rifling through Sidge's robes. The guard produced the small bent twig which he tossed to the side. Mouth twisted in disgust, he dug under Sidge's collar and groped the lining of the robes down along the part in the front. When he was done, he walked to the well and shoved his hands in the water.

  "Nothing. No weapons."

  "So you say," said the other kneeling man. He edged the hooked knife toward Sidge's mandibles. "Shall I disarm him, commander?"

  Desperate, Sidge started to cry out when the butt of the spear slammed into his throat.

  The leader raised a finger and the knife withdrew. "Where is your master?" Pressure on the spear relaxed again.

  Sidge gulped air and spoke as fast as his constricted throat would allow. "Master Izhar took a skiff to the palace docks. Please, let me find him and he will explain."

  The commander's small eyes bored through him, a weapon in their own right. Sidge tried to remind himself this, the Palace of the Living Attarah, was the guards' house. This was their duty. It was even reasonable that a flying intruder had alarmed them. Even an intruder in temple robes. Even though their actions violated every mantra of the Rule that governed how pilgrims were to be received.

  He struggled to stay calm, but indignation hollowed out his will. Indignation followed by his earlier shame. In the past few days he'd likely lost his right to be called an acolyte. Maybe these guards could sense the shame, like the stains on his robes only he could see.

  But if he wasn't an acolyte, what was he? An "Old Blood", as the trolls had said? And what had the Ek'kiru yoked to Gohala's wagon called him? Bahadur? Hedgedweller had even made up a name: Crooked Tree. Everyone seemed to have an idea about what he was or was not.

  He was Sidge.

  Or maybe he was just another filthy bugman.

  He examined the kneeling guards and allowed himself to feel the crushing pressure of the spear shafts on his limbs. They were right, his mandibles could be a weapon. He was close enough he could snap the spear in two. And if they carved the bony protrusions from his face, would he even care? He'd have a mouth, uncaged by terror. If they couldn't make good on their threats, he'd spill their blood and collect it in a cup.

  Seasoned veterans, the men kneeling beside him picked up on the possibility of violence like the subtle density of the air before a calling of the Fire. Their knives came to the ready and their eyes darted to their leader.

  Vasheru's beard!

  He was losing his composure. This was not a battle he either wanted or could win. He fought the anger.

  Even if the troll was right, an inability to channel would only prevent him from ascending to Cloud Born. He could always return to the temple and tend to his duties at home, in peace.

  "A thousand apologies, sir," he said, composed and sincere, as if he'd been the one who'd pinned the man to the ground, helpless and twitching. "If you wish to summon Master Izhar, I will gladly wait in the company of your guard. He is most likely in the presence of Cloud Born Gohala."

  He hated that he had to speak Gohala's name to get any kind of reaction, but the spear pulled away. Those hard eyes narrowed, blending with the shadow of the helm and the leader turned to his men.

  "You, to the palace. Find out from Master Gohala if he is expecting this creature." The gada-wielding guard snapped to attention and hustled through the gate. "You two, you're here with me."

  A look of disappointment crossed the face of the guard who'd suggested dismembering him. Sidge wanted to be further away from that one. "Pardon me sir, may I sit up? I do not wish to cause further trouble for you or your men but perhaps I could meditate on the will of Vasheru until your companion returns."

  Satisfied with the deferential attitude, the leader ordered his men to stand. They sheathed their knives and gathered their spears, taking up positions beside him.

  Sidge sat up slowly, hands open. His wings crackled, one place he didn't feel pain but he dare not test them to see if they were damaged. He gave a half-bow to the commander. "Vasheru guide you, kind sir."

  In a cumbersome, calculated manner devoid of sudden movements, he pulled his legs into the lotus. He settled his hood over his head. Damp weight pressed against his skull and the edges of his eyes. Antennae muffled and vision tunneled, he tried to meditate as the two spear points hovered nearby.

  Soreness burned in his throat. Joints ached where the spears had crushed them against the ground. And when he tried to drive the pain and glinting weapons from his thoughts, they wandered to teacups full of blood. The song. The water spirit's touch.

  It wasn't long before a familiar face approached the gate and Sidge nearly cried out.

  Farsal walked briskly with hands clasped behind him and back straight. He wore a mask of contemplation for the guards yet Sidge could see the alarm in his eyes.

  Sidge hung his head and placed his palms together. Slow. Deliberate.

  "Good to see you again, brother!" Farsal said, emphasizing the final word. He extended a hand and warily eyed the guards. "Come, I've been sent to bring you inside at our masters' insistence."

  The commander made no sign or gesture but watched them skeptically.

  Rather than stand on his own, Sidge allowed Farsal to help him to his feet and he bowed. The greeting was returned. "Has Master Izhar spoken to Cloud Born Gohala yet?"

  "Soon," Farsal said. He gestured to the gate which led into the palace grounds and gave a pleading look to the commander.

  The commander's answering twitch of approval was on the verge of imperceptible. Sidge didn't want to go at first and only did so under Farsal's insistence.

  Once they were moving, Sidge kept pace even as everything inside told him to run. Run and not return. The guards watched, intense and quiet, hungry. Any excuse for their feral instin
cts to take over.

  As they passed into the courtyard, Farsal whispered, "What happened?"

  "A misunderstanding," Sidge replied. Farsal waited for more and Sidge couldn't summon the will to explain. Movement across the courtyard spared him the awkward silence.

  The palace gate began to rise, surrounded by more of the Moonstrider-helmed guards. For a moment, Sidge foolishly believed the grand gate opened solely for the approaching acolytes. Misunderstandings sorted out, they were to be greeted honorably as the Rule required. Soon, however, he spotted the true reason.

  A magnificent palanquin entered the courtyard through a separate arch. The gilded and finely-carved litter reminded him of the splendor of Master Gohala's wagon. Deep red curtains shaded the interior below a pointed roof. Symbols lined the trim and drew much of his attention, for he thought he recognized these same symbols from inside the well. An armored escort walked ahead of the palanquin, clad in bronze helms visored with demonic faces.

  Most interesting were the four Ek'kiru who bore the poles of the palanquin. They were not much different in size than Sidge and were small compared to their burden. Four limbs scurried along the ground while two more locked the poles against their shoulders. Their carapaces were the color of rusted iron and their eyes were onyx bulbs. Crimson clothes, which he wouldn't quite call robes, draped their bodies.

  Farsal had stopped with Sidge to watch. "A noble of Stronghold," he offered.

  "Which one?"

  "The Attarah's advisor, Lord Chakor, his honorary Jadugar. You may meet him at the feast," said Farsal, moving across the courtyard to the other side of the palace. "Come, we enter over here."

  "Jadugar?" Visions of Izhar's stories filled his mind. Though the name, Lord Chakor, had never been mentioned, something about it sounded so familiar.

  Sidge followed Farsal but continued to watch the main gate. A brief display of ceremony from the armored escort, and the palace guard snapped to attention. As the palanquin started forward, the curtains stirred and twilight peeked between the crimson folds.

  "Kaaliya?" He whispered, coming to a full stop.

  Farsal, who'd kept walking, glanced back with a laugh. "Come! I assure you, the inside is more fascinating than a nobleman's carriage." Sidge let his brother grab his sleeve and drag him onward as the procession disappeared inside and the gates closed.

  Wait, Chakor. Kaaliya had mentioned the name to the guard's outside the gate and in connection with the token she carried. He was certain it was her riding in the palanquin. Hair combing through his forearm while they rested under a half-dreaming sky and her reassuring touch as they rode through gawking villages, all came rushing back to him. He knew he could talk to her about what had happened with the guards, about everything.

  "Over there." Farsal pointed.

  After a long walk, lost in thought, they'd made their way to the north face of the palace. A wide ramp descended into the city platform and underneath the palace walls. Near the ramp was a covered stone patio and a trough. There, in the shade, lounged Yurva and Corva, the great beasts of Gohala's team. More distractions.

  The two large Ek'kiru sat against the trough facing into the courtyard. Sidge remembered their smaller beady eyes, set deep into craggy faces. He was pretty sure those eyes couldn't see behind them. Determined to escape notice, he silently pointed to the ramp and Farsal nodded.

  Without turning, Corva waved and smacked Yurva while he struggled to his feet.

  "Sidge! Hullo there!" Yurva trumpeted.

  Sidge gave an exasperated click and took a few steps toward the patio. He stopped outside the range of either of their whip-like antennae and bowed. "Greetings."

  Corva stooped under the patio into the sun and mimiced the bow. "Greetings." With an eager step he asked, "Did I do that right?"

  Sidge retreated. "Very well done."

  Yurva rocked to his feet and elbowed past Corva. "Don't mind Corva. He finds these customs fascinating. But I think it only shows how blind they are," he said as he licked the end of his drooping antennae.

  "You are wrong, Yurva! Every step is a dance." Corva dipped toward Sidge, putting his hands on his knees. "You must've learned so many things while living among them."

  "They are my brothers. We learn much at the Temple." Seeing Corva's spindly limbs rub eagerly together, he added, "I'm afraid I have an appointment and must be going."

  "Are you," said Corva, his antennae testing the space between them, "going inside?"

  Sidge regarded Farsal. "Why yes. You?"

  Yurva tromped forward. "They don't make doors for us, Acolyte Sidge."

  Corva placed an arm around his brother. "Don't listen to him. We'll get to use the main gates for the ceremony."

  Farsal's pleasant smile shrank to a thin line and he headed for the palace. "We must be going. Master Izhar and Master Gohala shouldn't be kept waiting."

  "Of course." Sidge performed his four-palmed bow and Corva eagerly mimicked the motion. "A pleasure."

  "A pleasure, Bahadur."

  Sidge stopped. "What does Bahadur mean?"

  "Oh!" Corva leapt forward and Sidge shrank from his excited charge. He looked conspiratorily to where Farsal stood by the ramp. "You teach me, I can teach you! Bahadur is like us." He whispered and tapped his green chitin, sparkling in the sun. "The skin of a warrior, of Sli'mir's Brood." Before Sidge could rattle his mandibles and flatten his antennae in distress at the name, Corva was shaking his hands to ward off the panic. "But you are born civilized, to the Ek'kiru. Smart and good-looking!" Corva thrust out his chest and unhinged the green plates on his back toward the sky.

  The separated sections blotted out the sun and the veined shadow of wings flitted in the gaps. Dwarfed by the towering Ek'kiru, Sidge knew the guards' earlier fear. If Corva were truly a warrior, it would take more than four guards to pin and disarm him.

  Farsal's call from the top of the ramp shook Sidge from his awe. He bowed, which Corva eagerly returned, and rushed after the fellow acolyte.

  They descended into the interior of an immense treestone pillar that formed part of the base of the palace. Halfway down, the pungent smell of horse excrement and stale grass rose around them. Sidge swallowed a gag, hoping his sensitive stomach from earlier didn't return.

  "Is this the way to the dock entrance Master Izhar used?"

  Farsal shook his head and kept moving.

  "Why are we here?"

  "Master Gohala's demand," Farsal mumbled.

  At the bottom of the ramp, a single lantern hung in the upper rafters and lit the spacious chamber. Dozens of stalls lined the walls, each occupied by horses and mules. Four figures crowded a table in the center.

  These were the rust colored Ek'kiru that had carried Lord Chakor's palanquin. Their robes pooled from the backs of their chairs onto the grass-strewn and smeared floor. In their hands, they held small stones, several of which were patterned on the table before them.

  Their onyx eyes regarded Sidge in unison. Horses breathed tired sighs and stomped in their stalls. Sidge cleared his throat in the dense air.

  He bowed awkwardly as he moved through the room close behind Farsal. Their game at the table seemingly forgotten, the Ek'kiru held still, their antennae tracking him as he and his fellow acolyte approached a sturdy door on the far side. Clean, cool air drifted in as Farsal opened the door.

  "Come on, now, hurry through."

  They entered the palace at one end of a bare, sloping corridor. On the opposite end of the short hallway stood two pillars entwined by graceful human figures. The figures peered outward, their backsides turned to the door. Sidge followed Farsal to the end of the hall and gasped.

  The interior of the palace was the inverse of what was visible outside. An atrium rose high above, the balconies of each level supported by row upon row of carved columns. At the apex hung the moon; a sheet of turquoise heartstone enveloping an ivory circle that glowed with muted sunlight. Beneath it all, a long dais sat in the middle of the inner courtyard, the centerpiec
e of a meticulously placed pattern of heartstone tiles no bigger than his thumb which filled the expansive space.

  "Welcome to the palace," Farsal beamed.

  "Indeed," Sidge said.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Sidge and Farsal knelt outside the chambers of the palace Cloud Born. For this Deep Night festival and for a score before, the living Attarah had always sponsored the same man—Gohala.

  The arch under which they knelt was the most lavish decoration Sidge had seen at the palace. Both pillars supporting the arch were granite priests crouched below an obsidian cloud. White marble enameled their stoles and lapis sparkled in their eyes. Between their heads and the cloud were silver bolts of lightning.

  Sidge and Farsal kowtowed, faces averted, as they waited to be recognized. Gohala had seen them approach, but he'd said nothing. Only one set of eyes was on them: Vasheru's face peered out of the cloud, proud and ferocious, an element of the archway Farsal would be spared as he faced the floor. More and more, Sidge didn't understand what the Mighty Dragon wanted.

  Inside the room, Cloud Born Gohala sat on a raised platform in a low wooden chair, the legs and arms carved to resemble the limbs of a dragon. The rest of the antechamber was filled with rich carpets and gilded frescoes which made Gohala's carriage look quaint.

  Izhar marred the center, his worn robes a cloud on a glorious sunrise. Chuman loomed next to him, although Sidge noted his robes had been replaced with new ones that nearly fit his massive frame. Most likely Gohala's doing, before he'd allow them to enter his presence.

  Izhar steadily raised his voice. "You have no right."

  "With all due respect, brother," Gohala's use of the informal title made Sidge cringe. "I have every right."

  Izhar clenched his fists. "Are you suggesting you have some form of seniority? Only the Stormblade stands above us."

  "For how long?" Gohala asked. "We may be equal now, but your behavior suggests a recklessness which could see you released from your duties. A matter for a Stormblade to consider, no?"