Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

  To Yakim all these years later, it had been pragmatism, and not hatred and not any evil lust for power, that had guided his dagger hand that fate­ful day.

  Yakim Douan couldn’t even remember the clumsy Yatol’s name. Nor could anyone else.

  Merwan Ma stood perfectly still, chanting softly the intonation of sacri­fice, his voice blending beautifully with the others standing in a circle about the small table that held the Chezru Goblet. The young attendant held his left hand out across his chest and to the right side, ready to take the knife, while his right arm was out before him, his forearm resting on a padded shelf, his wrist dangling above the sacred vessel.

  He was blindfolded, as were the others. In fact, Merwan Ma, as principal attendant to the Chezru Chieftain, had been the only one to enter this holy room with his eyes open, guiding the others to their respective positions. Then, with a prayer, Merwan Ma had taken his place and reached below the table and turned the lever. He had watched the red fluid level slowly drop­ping as he had applied his own blindfold.

  That lever and release under the table was counterweighted, designed to slow the flow and then close altogether as the blood in the bowl drained. This group would not replace all of the liquid, but only about three-quarters. A bell sounded as the lever closed, the signal for the sacrifice to begin. And so it had, with the chanting. The man immediately to Merwan Ma’s left took up the treated knife, reached forward, and cut his right wrist, then counted out the appropriate time, in cadence with the verse of the common chant, as his lifeblood dribbled down into the chalice. When the verse ended, the man passed the blade to the man on his left and the process was repeated.

  And so on, until the knife came full circle, back to Merwan Ma. The at­tendant, his right wrist crisscrossed with lines and lines of scarring, finished his duty stoically and efficiently, then reverently placed the blade back on the table.

  As the song finished, Merwan Ma lifted the blindfold off of his head and looked down at their work. Some blood had spattered outside of the great goblet, as usual, and the level wasn’t as high as it should have been, though within the marks of tolerance inside the chalice. Had it not been, Ken the sacrifice would have been declared void and one of the men gathred about the table would have been killed and replaced, with only the tending Yatol and Merwan Ma exempt from that fate.

  But the sacrifice was acceptable, the level of red fluid more than suffi-ient to hold the sacred goblet until the month had passed and the next sac­rifice ensued.

  Merwan Ma nodded at the handiwork - he’d have to come back in later and clean up the sacred vessel, of course, but other than that, the duty was done. With perfect precision wrought of months and months of practice, he took up the hand of the man on his left and led the group, joined as one line, out of the room.

  In the anteroom, as soon as the door was closed, the others pulled off their blindfolds and tightened the bandages on their wrists, congratulating each other on a job well-done.

  The exception, as usual, was the one Yatol in attendance. The older man looked to his wrist first, securing the bandage, but then, as he did after every sacrifice, he glanced at Merwan Ma.

  The attendant saw little fondness in that look. Many of the Yatols were not fond of him, allowing their own jealousies to overcome their dedication to their religion and their god. He was not a Yatol, after all, not a priest, and yet, when the Chezru Chieftain went to his reward, Merwan Ma would, in all practicality, become the most powerful man in all of the Chezru domain. He would be the initial selector of the new God-Voice, and would have full voice at the ensuing council of confirmation. He would then oversee the early years of the chosen child’s life, and while he would then have no voice in Yatol formal policy, it would be his voice most often heard in the next chosen God-Voice’s ear.

  Some of the Yatols were not pleased at this arrangement. Merwan Ma had even overheard a pair of particularly obnoxious priests mumbling that in times long past, a Yatol, the highest ranking of the order below the Chezru Chieftain, had served as attendant, and not a mere Shepherd.

  Merwan Ma took it all in stride. He had been selected, for whatever rea­son, and his duty was clear and straightforward. He could not allow petty human frailties and emotions to deter him from his duty. His calling was to God, through the words and edicts of the God-Voice, his beloved Chezru Chieftain. It was not his place to question, nor - he reminded himself then and there - was it his place to accept or internalize the expression the attending Yatol was now sending his way. That look reflected that man’s weakness, and it was not a weakness that Merwan Ma meant to share.

  He ushered the group out of the anteroom, then went back into the sacred room, consecrated cloth in hand, and reverently wiped clean the sides of the Chezru Goblet, satisfied that the sacrifice of blood that day would secure the goblet and the health of the church for the next month.

  chapter * 3 *

  Walking with Purpose

  rynn and Juraviel rode in virtual silence for many days after their fight with the goblin band. Despite Juraviel’s cutting words and sound reasoning, Brynn could not let go of her anger toward the elf for what he had done to her, for what he had forced from her. For he had made her kill, had taken her out of their way so that she could feel her blade sinking deep into the heart of an enemy, so that she could smell spilled blood and see the stains, so that she could witness death at her own hands, horrible in a way that she had never known. Brynn Dharielle had witnessed much death in her early years in To-gai, after the coming of the Behrenese. She had witnessed the murder of her parents - from afar, but close enough to hear the screams. Nothing could be more terrible than that!

  But this last experience was troubling and horrible in a different way. This time she had been forced into the role of assassin, and the smell of blood and the screams had come to her of her own doing, and with a siz­able amount of guilt attached.

  Belli’mar Juraviel had done that to her, and his justifications rang hollow in Brynn’s ears as the pair made their way along the southern trails. For more than a week, they went about their duties with hardly a word ex­changed. They each knew what was expected of them, in setting the camp and preparing the meals, and in keeping watch throughout the night. Every now and then, Juraviel would offer a friendly comment, but Brynn usually just deflected it with a grunt or a halfhearted chuckle.

  Things began to warm again between them the second week. When Ju­raviel offered a sarcastic or teasing comment Bryn started to give him back one of her own, and by the end of the second week, the pair had even traded exchanges longer than single sentences.

  „The Belt-and-Buckle,“ Juraviel said to her near the end of the third week after the goblin fight, when Brynn walked Diredusk up beside him. They stood atop a ridge that had sloped up gradually from the forest, but dropped off dramatically before them. Below, the forest spread wide and thick; and, far to the south, they could see the jagged outline of distant mountains.

  Far distant, and Juraviel was quick to dampen the brightened look that arne over the woman. „Do not be deceived. The mountains of that range are more huge than anything you can imagine.“

  „I came through them once,“ Brynn reminded. „And I walked their southern slopes.“

  „When you were a child, so many years ago that you hardly remember the truth of their scope.“

  „I saw them every day when I was a child, and from much closer than this vantage point!“

  „Indeed,“ Juraviel replied. „Much, much closer. We can see them, and each day they will seem a little taller. But just a little, and by the time we ac­tually reach them, they will tower so high above us that they will block out the sun itself. Our road is far from finished.“

  Brynn looked down at the elf, who stood staring to the south. To her sur­prise, her irritation at JuravieFs words could not take hold. No, Brynn ap­preciated Juraviel at that moment, more so perhaps than she had since their departure from Andur’Blough Inninness. Only then and there, standing with t
heir goal somewhat in sight and yet still so far away, did Brynn truly understand the sacrifice that her mentor, her friend, was making for her. He was giving up months and months, years even, away from his home and kin, and for what? For no personal gain that Brynn could see, however much Lady Dasslerond preferred the To-gai-ru over the Behrenese. When Ju­raviel returned home to Andur’Blough Inninness, if he managed to stay alive throughout the war and return home, the daily routines, the daily joys and sorrows of his existence would not be dependent upon whether or not Brynn had prevailed in To-gai. What did it truly matter to Juraviel and the Touel’alfar whether the To-gai-ru or the Behrenese ruled the windy steppes of that far-distant land?

  And yet, here he was, uncomplaining, traveling beside her, leading her to her destiny.

  Brynn stooped a bit and draped her arm across Juraviel’s small shoulders. He turned a curious expression toward her, and she smiled in response and kissed him on the cheek, and then, when he returned her smile, she nod­ded, silently conveying her appreciation, silently explaining to him - and she knew that he understood - that she at last understood and appreciated that she could not possibly make this journey without him.

  That was the truth that Brynn Dharielle realized, standing there on that varm afternoon, the southern breezes blowing through her dark, silken lair. And as she had grown on that day of her dark epiphany, when she had learned what it was to kill, so she believed that she had grown even more ris day, the day of her second epiphany, the next stage of her maturation along the road to her destiny.

  A good leader understood her enemies.

  A better leader understood, and appreciated, her allies.

  The days blended together, but with each dawn Brynn noted that the mountains did indeed seem taller, if only just a bit. She tried to put it out of her mind, for she was becoming as anxious as if those mountains were not just the landmark that would lead into her land, but marked the very steppes of To-gai itself.

  One day on the road, with Brynn leaning forward eagerly, her body lan­guage speaking clearly to the fact that she believed her final goal was al­ready in sight, and almost in hand, Belli’mar Juraviel threw a bit of cold water over her.

  „It is good that we make the foothills of the Belt-and-Buckle before mid­summer,“ he said casually. „For then we have a chance, at least, of finding our way through the divide before the winter snows begin.“

  Brynn’s expression as she turned to regard him was one of curiosity and confusion.

  „For winter will come early up in those high passes,“ Juraviel explained. „Oh, down here, amidst the trees and this far south, I doubt the snows ever pile very deep, or indeed, if it ever snows at all. But note that the caps of the mountains are still encased in snow, though summer nears its midpoint. I suspect that we will not have to climb very high, and not very late into the winter season, before we find the passes fully blocked.

  „Of course, that is assuming that we even find a pass,“ he finished grimly.

  That last sentence had Brynn’s eyes widening tellingly. „You do not know the way through?“ she asked, almost with a gasp. „But you were there - or your people were - barely a decade ago! When you rescued me from the Chezru! Surely the Touel’alfar have not forgotten the way already!“

  „Lady Dasslerond was the one who rescued you,“ Juraviel explained. „She has ways, with her gemstones, to travel great distances quickly. When she had you in tow, though you remember it not, she and her attendants lulled you to sleep, then used the power of the emerald stone to turn a hun­dred miles into a short walk.“

  „Then why didn’t Dasslerond do the same thing now?“ Brynn demanded. „We could have saved weeks of travel! And the mountains would be no barrier, while you sit there telling me that we might not even be able to get through them!“

  „The road is preparation for the trials at its end.“

  Brynn snorted, obviously not impressed with that argument. „And what do we do if we cannot find a way through the mountains? Do we sit in their shadows and share dreams that we know cannot come true? Do we turn back for Caer’alfar and beg Lady Dasslerond to do that which she should have done before?“

  That last statement brought a glare of disapproval that reminded the voune ranger that there were boundaries concerning the Touel’alfar she should not cross.

  She pressed on anyway, but in more reserved tones, trying to justify her outrage. „My people are enslaved. Every day that we tarry is another day of nisery for the To-gai-ru. The revolution could be taking place by now.“

  ge]Ji’mar Juraviel chuckled and shook his head, and Brynn, thinking that she was being mocked, narrowed her brown eyes.

  „If Lady Dasslerond had summoned the power of the emerald and placed you within a To-gai-ru village enclave, do you believe that you would have stepped forward and simply taken control?“ the elf asked. „By what declaration would you have been named as hero and leader?“

  „By the same declaration I must use, I suppose, when at last we arrive in To-gai,“ came the sarcastic response, and Brynn added under her breath, „If we ever arrive in To-gai.“

  „If we find no way over the mountains, then we shall turn east along the foothills, all the way to the coast, to the city of Entel, where we will secure passage to Jacintha easily enough.“

  Brynn knew the name of the second city, Jacintha, and understood the extent of the hike.

  „Jacintha,“ Juraviel said again. „The seat of Behrenese power. The home of the Chezru Chieftain who rules the Yatols.“

  Predictably, Brynn’s expression became one of intense anger.

  „You are worldly in many ways,“ Juraviel said to her. „And yet, in many others, you know so little of the wide world. Perhaps that is our fault, but we are, by need, a reclusive people. So, instead of begrudging the delays in returning to To-gai, consider this journey, and the one far to the east that we might well have to make, as a continuation of your training, as preparation for the trials you will soon enough face.“

  Brynn stared at Juraviel long and hard, but she had heard the words clearly, and could accept that explanation to some degree. She reminded herself that the Touel’alfar had rescued her from a life of certain slavery, an existence that would never have led to the possibilities spread wide before her. She reminded herself that the Touel’alfar had trained her in the arts she would need to make an attempt to lead her people. In light of all that history and training and friendship, Brynn suddenly felt very foolish indeed for so severely question­ing Belli’mar Juraviel!

  She looked down and gave a self-deprecating chuckle, then said, „Perhaps I have spent too much time in the company of Aydrian.“

  She glanced back up as she finished and saw that her words had indeed brought a smile to the elf’s fair face.

  „Aydrian will find his own way in the world, I doubt not,“ Juraviel re­plied. „But his temperament would never have proven suitable to the task you have at hand. You are a warrior, but foremost you are a diplomat, a leader with words above the sword, an inspiration through courage and…“

  The elf paused, raising a finger into the air to signify the importance of his point. „An inspiration through wisdom. Without the second quality, you will lead your people into nothing but disaster. It will take more than force to pry To-gai from the grasp of Behren, my young friend. It will take unpar­alleled courage and cunning, and will take a leader so elevated that her peo­ple will die for her willingly, gratefully. Do you fully appreciate the gravity of that position?“

  Brynn suddenly found it hard to draw breath.

  „Do you truly understand that you will one day order your warriors into battle, knowing that many of them will die on the field?“

  Breathing didn’t get any easier.

  „Do you truly understand that you may have to turn your army aside, knowing full well that in doing so you will leave a To-gai-ru village unpro­tected, and that the Behrenese will likely take out their anger against your insurrection on that unprotected vi
llage? Perhaps your actions will lead to more children watching their parents die - or even more horrifying, will lead to some parents watching their children die. Are you ready to take that responsibility, Brynn Dharielle? „

  She stood there, trembling, unblinking.

  „Is the potential cost worth the gain?“

  That last question grounded her again, tossed aside the images of poten­tial horror and clarified the potential victory. Victory for To-gai meant only one thing, in truth, but to Brynn Dharielle, that one thing outweighed all the pain and all the deaths.

  „Freedom,“ she whispered, her teeth clenched tightly.

  Belli’mar Juraviel stared at her for a few moments, then nodded his approval.

  She was learning.

  Lozan Duk watched the curious couple sitting at the campfire that warm summer night in the rolling foothills of the Belt-and-Buckle, a mountain range that Lozan Duk’s people considered the very end of the world. Lozan Duk was not too concerned with the female, for though her skin was darker and her eyes a bit unusual in shape, she did not seem so much different from the other bumbling humans who every so often wandered into these lands.

  But the other one, with his angular features and diminutive form…

  At first Lozan Duk and his companion, Cazzira, had thought the second creature a human child, but closer inspection had nullified that viewpoint. He was no child, and indeed spoke in the tones of a leader. And more than that, this one had a set of features that neither of the onlookers could have expected: a pair of nearly translucent wings.

  A branch to the side shuddered slightly as Lozan Duk’s companion re­turned, leaping through the boughs as nimbly as any squirrel might. „Denkan „ she said with a nod, confirming their suspicions that the wings Were akin to those of a debankan, a butterfly.

  The two hesitated, staring at each other, at a loss. Their histories told of

  lv one race of creatures who sported such ornaments, the Tylwyn Tou, the elves of the day.