Pilgrim of the Storm

by Russ Linton

  His eyes glued to Sidge's neck, Farsal struggled to form the words. "Well, Cloud Born Izhar, err, Brother Izhar. The first Stormblade recited the Four Corners and shared his Wisdom with the Cloud Born gathered there. The four. And … well …" Realization dawned on Farsal's face as he came to the same conclusion Sidge had earlier. "The Trials are unclear about whether or not the first Stormblade possessed a stone."

  Gohala glared down at his acolyte. "Do not speak to this heathen unless you too wish to suffer judgment. And you!" He pointed a shaking finger at Izhar. "Are you mad? You truly think a bugman will sit in Vasheru's Sanctum?"

  The possibility hadn't even occurred to Sidge. He was hardly ready for his new status as a Cloud Born, let alone the office of Stormblade. But he now possessed Izhar's corestone so there were certain implications.

  "I may be." Izhar stared down Gohala and Sidge felt the amulet tug around his neck. "Only yesterday you declared me unfit to wear this symbol. Perhaps I now agree. Passing any duties I had been given on to my pupil would be expected."

  "Save your absurd arguments for the Attarah, charlatan! We will speak with him shortly." Gohala rose above the driver's bench and pointed ahead. "Move, you lumbering beasts! Move!"

  Farsal snapped the reins after Gohala's booted foot contacted his shoulder. Leather cracked harmlessly on Yurva and Corva's shells and Corva flitted his wings. Yurva bellowed and the two trudged forward.

  Sidge held motionless as though he could remain unseen as the palatial wagon continued past them. Each of the flanking acolytes' eyes followed Gohala's imperious gaze on the path ahead.

  But in the rhythmic flow of banners and robes, one face turned toward him. Chuman watched; expressionless and heedless of his course, he maintained a perfect distance in the marching order. Sidge tested the air between them with his antennae.

  The grind of axles and wheels on the cobbled courtyard, the tread of the many-legged Ek'kiru, and the clomp of horse hooves gave a percussive beat to the ever-present call of the city. But an almost imperceptible click and a whir swam in the sea of sound, and he was certain Chuman was the source.

  ***

  Sidge was the last to re-enter the palace. He and Izhar had presented their meager offerings in front of the Attarah, and he'd dismissed them without so much as a glance while he carried on a conversation with a nobleman. Izhar's anger at Gohala had kept his mouth clamped shut and the distracted Attarah barely noticed Sidge had greeted him instead of Izhar. Sidge had let Kaaliya's smile fill the room as much as he could, and they drove quickly out again toward the stables.

  Against Izhar's protests, Sidge spent time rubbing down the Paint, who was for once grateful for the attention. Izhar made him promise it would be the last time he did such things. This was the work of an acolyte, Izhar had proudly said. Sidge cringed, and wondered if he'd ever be able to find the numerous pieces of tack and harness again.

  Gray robes mingled with the oranges, reds and deep purples covering the nobility. The attendees danced and laughed, welcoming the newly-arrived priests to the culmination of the night's festivities.

  Music rang lively and infectious throughout the shimmering atrium. Pangs of a bowed lute accompanied the rapid beat of fingertips on tabla drums. The instruments fell silent and the crowd applauded as the drummer trilled a rhythm with his tongue.

  A pocket of curious stares formed around Sidge but he paid little attention. He headed straight for the dais at the center, where Kaaliya sat. He wanted to thank her, or have an excuse to say anything. His antennae slumped as he saw her companion, his new raksha, lounging next to her. She popped a piece of fruit into Lord Chakor's mouth and left her finger pressed to his lips.

  Sidge's wings rattled but her crooked smile turned toward him, dampening his jealousy. She waved with her free hand as her fingertip became a palm on the noble's face, playfully and insistently, pushing him away.

  Sidge hovered along the ground toward her. Drunken gasps and scattered applause followed. He ignored the attention.

  "Sidge! So nice to see you." Kaaliya leaned across the table and propped up on her elbows. She pulled away briefly to swat at Chakor's wandering hands, the joyous light still in her eyes. Chakor laughed and grabbed a goblet from the table. He raised the cup toward Sidge before taking a swig. Sidge gave a perfunctory nod.

  "Continuing on your pilgrimage tomorrow, I see?" Kaaliya purred.

  He spread his mandibles and his antennae wriggled joyously. "Yes, much thanks to you, Mistress Kaaliya. And …" He quirked his head toward the nobleman, who was waving his empty cup at a tray-bearing servant—one of the red Ek'kiru he'd seen in the stables. "Your friend."

  Kaaliya half-laughed and moved closer, her hand cupping Sidge's antennae as she whispered. "Don't thank me yet." Without looking, she batted away another wandering hand and raised her eyebrows as if to say See what I mean?

  This close, Sidge could feel her breath on the tiny hairs of his antennae. Her slender form bent at the perfect angle. Her olive eyes rivalled the purest cut of treestone. He almost didn't blame Chakor's boorishness. Almost.

  Kaaliya's eyes widened. Her hand shot toward Sidge, and for an instant, he recalled the man and woman carved into the relief on the building, their lips pressed close. He wished he could close his eyes and savor the moment. Instead, she shoved a hand into his collar and drew the corestone from his robes.

  "How?" she asked, amazed. "I saw you were the one to present to the Attarah when you returned, but Izhar still looked out of sorts, so I didn't think much of it."

  Sidge found he couldn't speak. He was aware of more small eyes on them now. The once-curious stares confused and unsettled.

  "Tell me, Sidge!"

  Chakor crawled across the table, scattering plates. His eyes fixed on the stone. "Oh my," he said, grabbing for the pendant and yanking Sidge close in his drunken grasp. "Can this get any better?"

  Kaaliya rolled her eyes. She peeled Chakor's hand off the pendant and asked, "Wait, is this Master Izhar's?"

  "Yes. Well, I guess it is mine. He gave it to me."

  Kaaliya giggled, rose, and performed the pilgrim's bow. "Master Sidge."

  His mouth open in silent laughter, Chakor glanced between them and clambered atop the low table, attempting to mimic the motions. More eyes turned their way, and Sidge was relieved when Kaaliya dragged the noble down.

  "Behave, or this night will not get nearly as interesting as promised."

  A raised eyebrow and the noble's eyes flashed. "You wouldn't dare."

  "Oh? You don't think?" Kaaliya laughed and Chakor grabbed her waist, pulling her toward him. Sidge's antennae curled as the two fell to the pillows laughing.

  "There you are." Izhar pushed his way through the crowd. "I see you've found our raksha."

  "Yes, yes I have." Sidge mumbled, his mandibles still facing the table where Kaaliya and Chakor wrestled. The display wasn't any more raucous than the rest of the festivities, but the good spirits everyone else seemed to embrace were not finding their way into his chitin.

  "Good." Izhar gave Sidge a firm shake. "We'll need to speak with him about supplying for the rest of the journey."

  "Master Izhar!" Kaaliya disentangled herself from Chakor. She reached across the table and grabbed the corestone around Sidge's neck. "Why didn't you say anything about this? You just sat there, brooding."

  "Mistress Kaaliya. Raksha." Izhar partially bowed to each. "You know, my dear, the second presentation everyone is always too drunk to care. Plus, I'd recently spoken with Master Gohala and wasn't in the mood for pleasantries."

  "Why, this has gotten better," said Chakor. "A pleasure to meet you Master, or, if I am reading this correctly, Acolyte Izhar. I'm most honored to meet another person so enchanted by my cousin."

  "Cousin?" asked Izhar.

  "Yes. The arrogant ass shares some relationship to me along a branch of the family I'd rather see pruned."

  His former master and his new raksha shook hands vigorously.

  "No reason to
draw too much attention," added Sidge. He remembered Gohala's fury and scanned the room for him. First in, Gohala and his acolytes had arrayed themselves as close to the Attarah as possible and joined in the feast.

  "Nonsense," Chakor laughed, his bronze irises even more prominent in their bloodshot settings. "Cloud Born, let's go greet the Attarah, shall we?"

  Kaaliya raised an eyebrow. Izhar's gaze wandered toward the Attarah's raised chair.

  "But whom to take?" Chakor purred with delight, seeing the indecision on their faces.

  "I'll go first," said Izhar. "An explanation may be required. Plus we'll need to speak about supplies." He turned to Sidge. "If my new master agrees."

  "Of course," Sidge said. He knew if he were truly a Cloud Born, he should protest, but he found his courage waning and appreciated Izhar's offer. And Chakor's departure could not happen soon enough.

  "As for supplies, name it and it is done," said Chakor. Their raksha rose, unsteady. "And don't wander far, Master Sidge. You're next to greet the Attarah."

  Kaaliya sighed as the two wandered toward the royal seat. "Two peas in a very strange pod." Sidge's insides melted at a sudden flirtatious tilt of her head. "Care to dance?"

  As much as he wanted to, he couldn't say no.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  Every disparaging look from within the crowd struck Sidge's lenses as Kaaliya guided him toward the minstrels. He kept a close watch on Izhar and Chakor, who approached the Attarah's seat in deep discussion. For the first time it was difficult to focus on just Kaaliya.

  Sidge saw her lips move but the words didn't register.

  "What?"

  "You aren't staring," she repeated.

  "Oh, yes."

  "Relax." Kaaliya took his hand and pulled him closer. "Let them talk. We dance."

  Music enveloped them, and the rhythms of bodies began to match the pang of the drums. In the Temple, Sidge had only ever heard the bell and Izhar's occasional mangling of his small wooden flute. Given the mastery of the flutist in this group, Sidge vowed to never correct his master's self-deprecating commentary again. Accompanied by fast-fingered drumming and dexterous play on a graceful arched harp, the three musicians worked in perfect synchronicity, their faces drifting between otherworldly concentration and blissful acknowledgment of their companions' skill.

  Kaaliya swept away, then returned as Sidge's arm reached full extension. He reeled at the odd motion and flailed with his free hands. Seeing his struggle, she stepped back and let her arms and hands run free, twisting and writhing into measured poses. He reproduced the motions as best as he was able. Knees, feet, hands and even her eyes became a part of the dance and Sidge felt like a tangle of too many limbs. Unable to keep up, he moved closer.

  "How well do you know this noble? This Chakor?"

  Kaaliya paused and scanned the crowd. She dipped away with the beat as she responded, not making eye contact. "He's an old friend."

  "And? Why do you sound worried?"

  Kaaliya pushed off, her palms flat against his and prancing lightly on the balls of her feet.

  "He and Izhar together create a whole new definition of trouble." She spoke even as the rhythm heightened and her movement followed. "It's why I was reluctant to introduce them when Izhar first asked. But when I saw you sitting there before the Attarah, soaked to your shell, I had to do something."

  "So you convinced your acquaintance to be our raksha?"

  "No, you did that."

  "Me?"

  "You sealed the deal when he saw you speak back to the Living Attarah. I only made the suggestion."

  Sidge closed his grip on her palms and kept her from gliding away. "Why do you think this Lord Chakor could be trouble?"

  She danced close, ignoring the stares. "He has his secrets. While all the nobles trace their lineage back to the days of the Attarah," her eyes swept the room, "only one is chosen as the Living Attarah's advisor. A Jadugar. He uses that air of mystery to great effect."

  "So I've heard," said Sidge. Kaaliya took the opportunity to turn and dance a tight circle. Before he could figure out if he was supposed to follow her, she was facing him again. "Is that why the Attarah put up with his insolence?"

  Kaaliya laughed. "They have a thing. Sort of like Gohala and Izhar."

  "A rivalry?"

  "Yes. Chakor is the only man richer than the Attarah."

  "Richer?"

  At this point, Sidge was staring but at the dais, not his dance partner. Izhar bowed deeply before the Attarah while Chakor spoke with grand gestures. They had been joined by Gohala, who watched the nobleman's theater with a withering gaze.

  "Wait. They're cousins. Does this mean Gohala can trace his lineage to the Jadugar?" asked Sidge. Kaaliya's rhythmic form moved to block his view and she shrugged.

  In all the structure and law set down by the mantras of the Rule, none were ever clear about the Jadugar and their continued role. Izhar had of course been the only Cloud Born to posit this as a possible sign of the ancient sorcerers' significance along with the other mysteries. Those were indeed troublesome ideas if Izhar hoped to see his former acolyte as the Stormblade.

  Sidge felt a sinking feeling in his gut. As a new Master, he would need to decide which teachings to promote - his mentor's or those of the rest of the Temple. While he'd seen many signs Izhar's beliefs held truth, the new revelations could fracture the peace in his only home.

  "Do you believe the title of Jadugar is more than honorary?" he asked, mostly out of desperation.

  "Whatever gets you through the day." She smirked and took his upper hands.

  In the crowd, each moving body drew the attention of an admirer or two. As Kaaliya gyrated and the music rose, she began to draw more and more. The feeling in his gut began to imitate his limbs, a knotted tension anchoring to the uncertainty he now felt. Kaaliya's glib answer to his predicament hadn't helped and watching her sway in front of him while the others stared only cinched the cord tighter.

  "What does he get from you? This interesting night you mentioned, while we were at the table."

  "Nothing he wouldn't have already gotten. But when you speak a thing, it has a certain power."

  She raised her arms and carried Sidge's resisting limbs above their heads. A sultry smile crossed her lips and Sidge placed his lower palms about her waist, not as part of the dance but to trap her, hold her close. Her hips twitched with the beat while she steadily brought her hands down.

  "And this thing you speak is?"

  "Sidge." Kaaliya's arms fell limp but she kept her fingers entwined with his. "I know you've been living in a monastery your entire life, but is the situation really that unclear?"

  "No." Even though he'd only just begun to understand Kaaliya's choice of profession, the admission made him feel foolish. Embarrassment and resignation unwound the building tension and he let her go. "All these bizarre gifts today. Izhar handing me his corestone. You providing a raksha. Things I never asked for but hoped to earn. You didn't need to do that for me."

  With a shrug, Kaaliya fell back in step with the music. "You give yourself far too little credit. I told you, Chakor chose you; I only planted the seed."

  Unlacing their fingers, she pressed flat palms to his and bowed. She backpedaled and the crowd cleared around her. Her hips kept pace with the furious drumming. Bare midriff flexing with each twist, she slowly turned and watched Sidge over her shoulder, the veil of twilight rolling along the fiery cloth of her sari. In her movements were the engraved images of the mantras, one statuesque pose flowing into another as she leapt and bounded with feet turned outward. A story unfolded of love, betrayal, pain and joy and though he didn't move with her, she made him feel as if he were a part of each coy look and forlorn glide. He'd never imagined he could live a lifetime in the space of a song.

  With the single pluck of the harp, the music rolled to a halt, and they faced each other amid a roar of applause from the men in the audience, their female companions clapping formally and exchanging glances. He'd
barely moved yet she'd left him struggling for air.

  "Brother Acolyte." A dull voice broke the spell, and Chuman towered behind him. "The Attarah would see you."

  Sidge bowed in greeting, though Chuman had already turned and begun walking away. Behind him, Kaaliya was pulled deeper into the crowd and a new, energetic refrain from the musicians closed the once open space between them. She gave Sidge a resigned look amid snaking limbs and joined the dance.

  Catching up with Chuman wasn't difficult. The giant was ramrod straight, plowing through the crowd carelessly. Sidge offered apologies as they moved back to the dais.

  A sudden urge crossed Sidge's mind. He searched the air with his antennae, placing it on Chuman's back. He had no idea where the compulsion came from. His first instinct was it had been a result of Yurva and Corva's introduction via their whipping appendages. The image alone made him shiver, and he began to retract his antennae.

  Until he sensed something.

  A persistent purr tickled the tiny hairs. A catch in the man's lung perhaps. A wheeze or rattle. But the whirring never wavered. Every so often, a discordant click marred the steady vibration, and beneath this, a slosh of water, as though he'd already swallowed too much wine.

  Along with this peculiarity, the man had no odor. Living in close quarters with acolytes, Sidge had grown accustomed to the stink a human body would produce, always being reminded of it when he entered the Temple from the clean, storm-tinged air of the courtyard.

  Perhaps he'd recently bathed. No perfumes or oils, only a heated tub of water. That might explain it. But the strange clicking. It was so familiar. Lost in thought, Sidge careened into Chuman's back.

  "Pardon me."

  Chuman looked down with dull eyes and bobbed his head.

  "The one they call Gohala will be waiting."

  "Best be careful, Brother." If he were to survive under Gohala, Chuman needed to know Temple etiquette better than most. "He is Master Gohala to you. Cloud Born Gohala to myself and those acolytes not under his tutelage."