Fires of Aggar
by Chris Anne Wolfe
Orchard House Press
Port Orchard ◊ Washington
Fires of Aggar
copyright 1994, 2008 by Chris Anne Wolfe
published by Orchard House Press
ISBN 978-1-886383-42-5
First edition 1994
Second edition November 2001
Third edition July 2002
Fourth edition April 2004
Fifth edition September 2007
First Kindle Edition October 2010
9 8 7 6
Cover and interior design by Buster Blue of Blue Artisans
Cover artwork by Catherine Valley
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except in the case of short excerpts for use in reviews of the book.
Printed in the United States of America.
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Orchard House Press is an independent press dedicated to publishing timeless books and games across all genres. The orchard and house logo is a trademark of Orchard House Press.
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Dedication
To Dr. Eileen Smith
because without you there wouldn't have been any more writing nor the opportunity to meet—
Jennifer Anna DiMarco
and without you, Jennifer Anna, there wouldn't have been such joy.
Acknowledgments
My thanks go to my friends and family for their loving support, especially to Bonnie N. and Bob G..
I also continue to be incredibly grateful to the City of Hope National Cancer Center
where kindness seems to be contagious.
A Note from the Publisher
Unlike readers all over the world, I came to know Blue-Sighted Elana and the Amazon Diana quite late. Shadows of Aggar was published and nominated for a Lambda Literary Award in 1991, but I didn’t pick up my copy until 1993 — the year I met Chris Anne while touring with my own science fiction tale. To say the least, I found Shadows of Aggar, with its eitteh flying-cats, powerful women and magic-and-mayhem adventure unforgettable.
Our friendship grew and in 1994 I was thrilled to help Chris Anne go over the final draft of Fires of Aggar. It meant so much to me that she trusted me that much. We spoke late into many nights, going over scene after scene until she was happy with every sentence, until every line of dialogue sounded true to the rhythm and lexicon of Aggar and the dey Sorormin. Later that year, Chris Anne worked with Orchard House Press to publish Annabel & I and Bitter Thorns.
Before her death on July 2nd, 1997, Chris Anne — one of Ohchard House Press’ first authors and a dear friend — had published four novels: Shadows of Aggar, Fires of Aggar, Annabel & I and Bitter Thorns (reprinted in 2000 as Roses & Thorns). Each novel is unique but all have one thing in common — they gave women the stories they longed for.
Chris Anne’s gift was to reach into the hearts of women readers and find the words they most want for their own. Her books begin with timeless foundations, familiar plots and archetypal characters, but examined in a different light they reflect and reveal the lives, desires, and strengths of women every where.
With Shadows of Aggar, Chris Anne recreated the classic warrior/mage adventure, and in Fires of Aggar she brought us a tale of culture clash and political intrigue through the eyes of two couples. Annabel & I has been likened to Somewhere in Time and Roses & Thorns retells the Beauty and the Beast myth — both books star two heroines. Chris Anne’s novels are what she gave back to the community she loved.
In 2001 we released this beautiful new edition of Fires of Aggar and a matching photo cover edition of Shadows of Aggar. Annabel & I was also reissued with a romantic new cover. Perhaps most exciting, however, was the entirely new book published in our Delimit Nonpareil series, Chris Anne’s autobiographical/fantasy, Death, Sweet Suitor Mine. This powerful and moving short piece was released in a full-color, limited edition. An anthology of short stories, Amazons of Aggar, some written by Chris Anne, others written by loyal readers, is in the works now.
Because of Chris Anne’s clarity of vision, she resisted any changes to her work that might alter her intent — from shortening a scene to removing an ellipse. Luckily, the staff here at Orchard House Press understand the vital importance of an author’s input. It seemed only fitting that when Chris Anne’s previous publisher decided they no longer wanted to reprint the Aggar books, Chris Anne asked OHP to release author-approved editions. We were honored by the opportunity.
As many of you already know, Chris Anne was diagnosed with cancer the same year Shadows of Aggar was initially published. Though her health did not always allow her to respond, all letters from readers were forwarded, and she assured us that they were read and treasured. Thank you for writing.
Orchard House Press will continue to donate a portion of the proceeds from the sale of Chris Anne’s books to cancer research. We will also insure that her work is never allowed to go out of print. Chris Anne’s gifts will always be there for new readers to discover and old friends to treasure.
Sincerely,
Jennifer DiMarco
Orchard House Press
Chief Executive Officer
Fires of Aggar
by Chris Anne Wolfe
Prologue
In the long, declining years of the Third Galactic Empire, the Terran Imperialists struggled to defend their interstellar borders against all encroachers. But the greedy ambitions of their own factions ultimately sabotaged the stability of their trade and civilization. Their stranglehold faltered. Intergalactic war broke out. The end became inevitable.
For many, that self-destructive path had always been recognized — the downfall anticipated. Among those wiser peoples were the Council of Ten and dey Sorormin. Separated by innumerable light years and by varied resources, the two cultures had none-the-less become intricately entwined. Once, during the height of the Terran Empire’s reign, the Council of Ten on Aggar had enlisted the aid of an Amazon from dey Sorormin to prevent an intergalactic border war that would have annihilated Aggar’s very existence. In exchange for that help, dey Sorormin — the Sisterhood — had found themselves gifted with a daughter of Aggar who brought with her the Blue Sight. And as that precious gift of mystical powers spread amongst dey Sorormin’s descendants, the Sight came to enhance the Sisters’ most cherished values of conscience and spirituality.
So when the time of the Terran’s imperial demise came, the Council of Ten again sought the aid of dey Sorormin’s Amazons. The Sisters were angered at the injustice of Aggar’s plight. No culture, no people deserved to be thoughtlessly eradicated by the feuds of their neighboring star systems. But Aggar was a metal-poor planet, without the resources or technology to defend itself. Caught in an endless era of steel swords, stone mortar and glass kilns, their world was powerless against the careless whims of galactic politics.
But dey Sorormin was not.
In a decision of conscience, a fleet of Amazons left their home world and answered Aggar’s need. With them, they brought the technologies and raw materials for their battles… and they brought their families, their livestock, selected seeds and skills as well as their values to Aggar. These Sisters knew that the starry battling would be done only when the invaders succeeded, and the Terran’s Empire was destroyed. By that day, interstellar travel would be dangerously limited if possib
le at all. The Sisters knew they would not be able to return home.
The Council of Ten had known this too. It is why they did what they could to prepare a welcome. As the quiet guides of Aggar’s own conscience, the Council had urged the kings and merchants and common folk to embrace these honorable guardians — these Daughters of the Stars. And when the end of the Empire came, stranding the Terrans of the Aggar outpost and the Amazons of dey Sorormin, the rulers of both the Northern and Southern continents welcomed the exiles.
The Amazons were the first to accept the kindness, and they began to build their settlement north, in Valley Bay. But the Terrans balked at such patronizing charity. Instead, they clung to their base grounds jealously.
The Amazons respected Aggar’s precarious balance of technology and culture, carefully adapting and interacting with other folk while still preserving their own ways of dey Sorormin in Valley Bay. The Terrans hoarded their technical skills and resources, shunning the Ramains’ Queen’s offered assistance, shunning even counsel in matters of farming and lands.
In Valley Bay, the Sisters created their governing circle, much in the fashion of their home world’s communities. Seven women were chosen. Six of them varied in skills and wisdom — they formed the Ring. The seventh was selected from among the most talented daughters of the Blue Sight — she became their Ring Binder. Always powerful enough to reach into the stars, always possessing the rarer ability of out-of-time Seeing, the Ring Binder literally bound Valley Bay’s settlement to dey Sorormin’s home world. Stretching across the light years to that distant welcome, the Blue Sighted daughters of Valley Bay and the Blue Sighted daughters of Home kept the ties strong, kept the harmony of dey Sorormin alive and well in Valley Bay’s descendants.
The Terran encampment was not so blessed. In struggling to refute their isolation, in feigning to assert some sort of independence, they tenaciously held to their imperial ways. As their resources dwindled, they drew more and more upon their technological superiority. Even as they lost the skills to maintain or repair most of their machinery, they relied upon their weaponry to raid and pillage the neighboring trade routes. Eventually, the overland routes from the Southern Continent closed as the merchants choose to sail ships rather than better arm their caravans.
Time passed, and the daughters of dey Sorormin became more and more a part of Aggar’s soul. Trade and trust grew between the Ring of Valley Bay and the Ramains’ Royal Families, as well as with the other folk of Aggar. The Sisters lent the Council of Ten support in those gentle urgings for tolerances, and they lent strength to the Royal Courts against injustices. They opened their hearts and their homes to the women of Aggar, and the settlement of Valley Bay grew richer in its turn.
The Terran Clans found less and less prosperity, however. As the generations passed, they grew only more isolated and sullen in their grievances. Mistrusts grew between the Khirlan District and the Clan folks. Anger spawned hatreds. Isolation spawned fears. Until inevitably, the rising turmoil ignited a fiery violence — and once again, there was need of the Amazons’ aid…
◊ ◊ ◊
Part One
One Shard Called Honor
Chapter One
A winged shadow rippled up across the sheer rock of the embankment. The shape veered off, falling from those jagged cliff tops, then reappeared. With a sudden drop, the small winged-cat fell through an air pocket, and briefly she relished the coolness of cleaner scents, until the heat rose to catch and lift her again. The golden tips of her sable fur ruffled in the caress of that ill wind. The eitteh banked to the north away from the escarpment, seeking altitude before circling back.
The new horizon did not offer her much greater solace. The great, gaping holes of the Firecaps spewed in the north, orange bleeding in a mire of swirling black. The volcanic land stretched to infinity, and the winds it sent south were tainted with a sulfurous stench. The air was blistering hot and grubby with ash. There was grit that tasted of carbon and sand. It was not a place fit for human nor beast.
The eitteh whirled to search once again that nearly featureless rock of the embankment. The barrenness was uninviting, and her scrutiny of that faint, upper trail would have been wasted other times. But today she was rewarded in finding the Amazon’s small caravan.
A pair of stub-tailed sandwolves, taupe and beige in fur with massive shoulders tapering to slim hips, shambled along well ahead of the horses. Long trained as scouts, the canines moved with their heads hung low and swinging from side to side as they loped along, being cautious of scents that may or may not be found. The shadow of the eitteh passed before them, and they halted, lifting high blunted muzzles of hairless hide. Eyes as clear as the sands of their ancestral Southern Continent reflected a quiet intelligence; they recognized their winged visitor. The smaller of the sandwolves turned and trotted back along the trail while the other continued forward.
The horses behind were plodding along with heads down bent into the winds, and they paid no heed to the sky above nor to the sandwolf returning from the front. There were three mares. Each of them was well-muscled, broad in the chest and square in build, and each was a blood bay of rich ruddy-red with high black stockings to match both mane and tail. They were obviously not simple pack animals, and in fact, even the packs on the leading pair seemed too small and light to be of much consequence.
Instead of canvassed packs, the third mare carried a lone Amazon. Dusty ash had obliterated the color of her long coat-like garments; her hood and scarf were equally as layered with grey. The dozing slouch of her shoulders and the size of her mare belied her true height; but right now there were no raiders to warn off with impressions here. Nothing was ever very exciting — unless of course, darkfall found one still astride a beast and still leagues from the shelters; then it could become all too exciting along these steep paths.
A sudden shriek rent the afternoon stillness. The sandwolves spun, noses to the air — the Amazon wakened, sword half unsheathed. Again came the cry. The haunting echo blew apart, heart-piercing and unsettling in its humanness. But it was only one of the men-cat.
Both the sandwolves and Amazon breathed easier as the sword was resheathed. They were in no danger from those mournful beasts. There was no way down from the upper heights onto this trail. Besides, no matter how savage the eitteh males were, one lone men-cat would have had no chance against the larger sandwolves.
The smaller sandwolf waited until the horses finally began to pass her. Then crouching, she darted beneath the last mare’s belly to the rider’s right — protectively placing herself between her favored human and that fathomless precipice of the trail’s edge.
The Amazon pulled the scarf down from her face and leaned over, curious of the sandwolf’s appearance. The creature whined, then with a single yap tossed her head up, and the woman’s copper gaze went skyward.
The female eitteh was circling again.
With a muttered half-oath, the woman recognized the messenger of Valley Bay. It was no wonder the wailing men-cat had awakened.
With rueful disgust, she glanced at those Firecaps in the north; because of them the air currents were too dangerous for the winged-cat to risk landing on this trail. She twisted behind, looking for bearings, then ahead and confirmed they were indeed near the end of this isolated stretch. Soon, barely shy of two leagues, the path would cut south through this ascending cliff, and a league after that they would drop beyond the scent of sulfur and find the southern Gate House. Whatever was happening, the news would best wait until that hearth was reached.
News — what could be good? It was always a risk sending the winged-cats to any of these ranges during the spring mating season.
Resigned, the Amazon waved the airborne messenger on, then touched her heel to the bay. The sandwolf bounded forward to herd the pack mares along faster, and the small troupe picked up their pace. There had been enough napping. It would be better not to tempt the Fates so soon in this journey; it appeared, there would be enough opportunity for th
at later.
◊ ◊ ◊
Darkfall had not quite reached the southern side of the embankment as the group rounded the high rocks which marked the haven of the Gate House canyon. It wasn’t much of a canyon, but it was large enough to corral a good dozen beasts and to support a stone cottage to house as many riders.
The horses livened their steps at the smell of fresh water, and the sandwolves shambled aside to let them pass. The rider swatted at her sleeveless coat and hood, sending up clouds of dust in the twilight and bringing forth the bright copper-bronze color of the fabric with the golden threads and buttons of its quilting. The larger of the sandwolves sneezed, shaking her head with squinting eyes and a huff or two as the dust threatened to engulf her.
Laughter rang clear as the Amazon uncovered herself, pushing her hood back as the youngest sandwolf sneezed again. She shook her hair loose, its copper shade exactly the match of her sparkling eyes. It was an unruly tousle tied back at the nape of her neck, caught in the folds of scarf and hood.
“You would do well to trot a wider circle, Ty,” she teased, and the older sandwolf, Ril, expressed her agreement with a drooling, long-toothed grin.
The sound of her voice brought another Sister from the stone hut, a tall figure clad in plainer garments of green and tan. She carried a wooden bucket of grain for the horses, but her empty hand lifted in a friendly greeting. “Mother’s blessings, Royal Marshal—”
“Marshal indeed!” taunted the newcomer. “Have I been gone so long, Tawna?”
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