Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

  But she dragged herself up and moved on, step after step, day after day.

  The fourth day out, with miles of snaking tunnels behind her, her light source grew dimmer and dimmer, then winked out altogether, leaving her in total darkness. Overwhelmed by the sudden blackness, more profound than anything she had ever known, the ranger fell into a crouch and drew out her sword, praying for light, some light, any light.

  And then her magical blade erupted in flames, and Brynn shrieked in surprise and dropped it to the stone. It lay there, burning, for just a moment, then the fire went away.

  After she had recovered from the shock, Brynn fell to her knees, search­ing all about and finally gathering up the fallen blade. Then she stood again and presented the sword before her, and willed it to ignite once again.

  It did so, as bright as any torch. Since she had no idea of how long the fire might last, Brynn started away immediately, and with renewed hope.

  Days slipped past. Brynn walked among the shadows, climbed hand over hand up black chutes, and crossed an underground river, the waters freez-. _ cold. She went on at times with the sounds of other creatures, predators rkely °ff m t^le shadows about her, and at other times in complete silence. She kept her focus on her goal, wherever it might lie and tried not to think f Cazzira’s remark that most who died in the Paths of Starless Night did so

  of old age.

  On and on she went, through the hours and the days, and though her torch did not seem to be based upon any finite fuel, for it did not dim, the battered woman nearly surrendered on many, many occasions.

  Nearly. For Brynn was a ranger, elven-trained, and Brynn was To-gai-ru. Her people needed her; she could not fail. It was as simple as that.

  One morning, or perhaps it was evening, Brynn squeezed through a nar­row opening into a wider, ascending chamber. It was a tight crawl, and an exhausting one, and so she paused in the larger area to catch her breath.

  And felt a current of air.

  Not the rising hot air of lava, but a true breeze.

  Invigorated by the thought that her ordeal might at last be at its end, Brynn rushed along the tunnel. But as the minutes became an hour, she slowed; and when another hour passed, and then another, the woman had to stop and take her rest.

  She walked on again after a short nap, and the feeling of the air became lighter about her, and the breeze seemed to intensify, just a bit.

  And then she saw it, far ahead: a dot of light, real light, daylight!

  Brynn extinguished her fiery sword and stood there staring numbly at the pale light.

  And then she ran, as fast as her legs would carry her.

  She exited the tunnel on the side of a mountain, but not too high up. Down below her, spread wide, were the blowing, brown-green grasses of her homeland, of To-gai.

  At long last, Brynn Dharielle had come home.

  PART T

  GRASSES in THE WIND

  / have a strong belief that where we live greatly influences who we are and how we view the wider world. The people ofBehren are quite different than To-gai-ru, and both are different from those people I met, Aydrian Wyndon included, from the kingdom north of the mountains, Honce-the-Bear. And by all accounts, the fierce barbarians of Alpinador are far removed from any of the other three human races.

  Many people confuse the implications of these differences, though, for in truth, we all share a similar hope for our lives, that of improvement for self and community, for a better world for our children, for the continuation of our ways. Many people use the differences of the four cultures, exemplified by variations in appearance, to demean another race, and thus to elevate themselves. Even with my profound hatred of the Behrenese Yatols who conquered my homeland, I must try not to do that. I must try to recognize that their beliefs are the result of different experiences in a different land. Societies, like individuals, develop in response to the world about them, to the realities of the climate and the environment, the dangers and the joys they can find.

  For the To-gai-ru, I prefer the old ways, the culture that evolved in response to the realities of the steppes. I believe with all of my heart that the old ways are the better ways - for us.

  For we are a product of our culture, and our culture is, in great part, a product of the land around us. The people of To-gai are nomadic, because our survival is dependent upon the animal herds; whereas the people ofBehren are settled, for the most part, in city enclaves. Their cities, all on fertile grounds, are often separated by miles of barren, blowing sand, and thus, their travels are limited by the harsh environment. Many of the characteristics that define the two races, To-gai-ru and Behrenese, are results of those different lifestyles. The To-gai-ru are riders, the finest in all the world, hunting on strong and swift ponies; we love our ponies as brothers sharing a journey. The To-gai-ru are archers, the finest in all the world, using great bows from horseback to bring down the beasts that bring us shelter and food. Because our lifestyle is so intertwined with the fruits of the steppes, we revere those beasts. We thank them for that which they give to us. We understand the delicacy of the land about us, the balance that must not be disturbed if our culture and our people are to survive.

  The Behrenese, in contrast, more often ride the plodding camels that carry them across the great expanses of desert dunes. They farm more than hunt, for their land provides little game. They fashion and practice with weapons meant for war, not for hunting. There is a different mind-set necessary for a culture based on farming, I think. The Behrenese harvest and hoard; they do not live day to day, as do my neople They look to that which will increase their yield and their wealth, rather than merely reveling in the simple joys of existence. As they huddle deeper within the cities and farms, as they fashion the land more and more to their specific needs, they lose sight of the greater world about them, one that thrives on diversity.

  And as they hoard, they covet, and greed feeds upon itself. They remove themselves from the natural pleasures and beauties, and replace these honest joys with created necessities: wealth and dominance. Only in assembling hoards of useless wealth do the Behrenese leaders, Yatols mostly, justify their existence to themselves. Only by building great burial mounds, filled with glittering jewels and sculpted artifacts, and built on the broken bones and backs of slaves, do the Behrenese leaders seek to assure their stature in the netherworld.

  How they have lost their way! A presiding Yatol might have a treasury of golden goblets, too many to inspect or to hold, while his people live in squalor outside the crafted walls of his home - walls that he must construct for his own defense because his people live in poverty.

  A To-gai-ru chieftain who so hoarded the wealth would be put out by his tribe - if he was fortunate. A nomad cannot build such defensive walls.

  The hierarchy of Behrenese society established itself, Yatol to peasant, and the wealth ofEehren was long ago divided among the leaders, though they are in constant strife attempting to redistribute the specifics. But as a whole, that wealth total is settled, and so to elevate the whole, wealth and class, the Behrenese needed to look beyond their own borders. With To-gai-ru serving as slaves, even the peasants ofBehren are uplifted; and with To-gai ponies to sell to Honce-the-Bear, the kingdom increases its overall wealth.

  So their useless treasuries will grow.

  So their tombs will become larger and more elaborate, filled with more wasted jewels, and built upon more broken bodies.

  It is a simple fact of my life that I hate the Behrenese. But I must hot err, as I spoke of earlier, in confusing the society with the individual, I hate the culture that has grown in the desert kingdom, the culture that has felt a need to invade my own land and enslave my own people. I hate the Yatols who did not turn away from this murderous and

  heinous course, who instead claimed this conquest as their religious right, the true path of their god. Greed and arrogance go hand in hand, it seems.

  I hate them, and I will free my people, or will die in the attempt.
r />   But I must not err. I do not hate the Behrenese subject, the poor peasant caught up in the whirlwind of Yatol furor.

  I must remind myself of that through every step of my journey if I am to remain true to the goal. I must remind myself of that through every battle and conquest, or I am surely to have my heart shattered and my purpose perverted to that which I most despise.

  - brynn dharielle

  chapter

  * 11 *

  Kin and Kind

  rynn wandered the hills and valleys of the southern slopes of the Belt-and-Buckle Mountains for nearly two weeks before finding a pass that would take her down to the grassy steppes. The going was easy, though, with plenty of food and cold, fresh water to be found, and no monsters or animals threatened her step.

  The only battle she knew during those days and especially those nights was the one that continued to rage in her heart and mind. She had lost Belli’mar Juraviel, who had been her truest friend for the last decade of her life. She had escaped where he had not; she had run away while the dragon had burned him, or eaten him, or just crushed him flat to the stone.

  Still, the young ranger knew that she had been given no options, that by the time she had awakened far below the dragon’s lair, Juraviel was already long dead. And she knew, in her heart and in her mind, that her present road was the correct one, the one that would be expected of her by Lady Dasslerond, and by Juraviel himself. Her life’s goal was not to avenge her dead friend, or even to return to his people to report his death.

  No, Brynn Dharielle’s life’s goal lay before her, spread wide on the grassy fields of To-gai.

  And so it was with a heart both heavy with sorrow and light with antici­pation that Brynn made her way, day by day, step by step, with the sights and smells of her beloved To-gai thickening about her.

  On one splendid morning, the young ranger awoke to the soundxof thun­der, and it came not from the sky, but from the ground below. Eagerly, Brynn crawled to the lip of the plateau where she had camped, looking down upon a grassy lea set among the mountain stones. A herd of pinto ponies, brown and white and black and white, charged about the field be­low her, agitated.

  Brynn looked around, but saw no sign of any predators in the area, and no sign of any men. She studied the herd more closely and realized that the mares and the foals were running about mostly to stay out of the way of sev­eral agitated stallions.

  Brynn nodded her understanding. One of the younger stallions was likely challenging the dominant male. The woman propped herself on her elbows and watched the spectacle unfold before her.

  She soon discerned that there were three stallions involved in the ruckus. A large old male, scarred by many bites and kicks, was chasing two others in turn, warding them away. He was the leader, obviously, and the largest of the three - Brynn put him at fifteen hands and near to eight hundred pounds. He was more brown than white, showing only a few splotches about his thick torso, as was the second of the stallions, who seemed to be the primary challenger.

  But it was the third of the group that truly caught Brynn’s eye. She fig­ured him to be the youngest of the three, and he seemed to be spending more time keeping out of the way than in mounting any real challenge to the dominant male. His legs were white, his splotches rich brown and out­lined with a lighter shade of brown. His mane was white, with a black tuft, and his tail black, and showing a white tuft; unlike most of the others in the herd, he had not the single blue eye, but a pair.

  He seemed to Brynn to be a smaller version of Diredusk!

  The young ranger bit her lip, hoping that the small pony wouldn’t be too badly injured in the ruckus.

  The dominant male rushed at him, and he lowered his ears and head, ducking away in submission.

  Or at least, he seemed to be, for as soon as the dominant male swung back to deal with the more aggressive challenger, the small pinto spun about and bit him hard on the rear flank, and when he turned to respond, the smaller horse bolted past, running in between the dominant male and the other challenger, leaving both startled and rearing, their forelegs clap­ping together hard.

  The little pony cut a sharp turn and barreled back in, and it seemed to Brynn as if he hesitated, as if he was studying the ongoing battle to deter­mine which of the others was gaining an upper hand! Then he went in hard and fast, kicking and butting the dominant male, who was clearly getting the best of the challenger, and by the time the smallest of the three ran out the other way, the two opponents were back on equal footing.

  Soon after, the small pinto came in hard again, this time making a run at the challenger, who had gained the upper hand, and then a third pass, where he clipped both horses, who were fighting evenly at that point.

  „Clever runt,“ Brynn whispered with a chuckle, for she knew that this was more than coincidence. This pony was doing all it could to drag the fight between the larger horses out for as long as possible, and she under­stood that the clever pony meant to wear them both down and win the day!

  And soon after, it happened just like that, with the small pony running ff first the dominant male, then the exhausted and battered challenger. 3 „And so enjoy the spoils,“ Brynn whispered, as the pony turned its atten­tion to the mare that had started it all.

  The young ranger was still chuckling as she packed up her gear and be­an her day’s march. She kept looking back, though, at the clever little Something about him - and it was more than the resemblance to Diredusk - made her feel a connection to this one.

  She was still thinking of the pony the next day, while walking through a wide canyon along the lower trails, when she heard the thunder of the run­ning herd. Brynn quickly moved to the rocky wall and crouched behind a boulder.

  The horses entered the canyon behind her, running hard, running scared, and an ensuing roar, low and rumbling, explained it all to the woman.

  A mountain cougar, and not far away.

  The horses thundered past; they weren’t in much danger, Brynn knew, as long as the trail was open before them, and unless the great cat was already up above them, ready for the spring. The young ranger ducked lower and instinctively clutched the hilt of her fine sword. If the cat couldn’t catch the horses, it might settle for a bit of human flesh…

  She saw it, then, running along the rocky wall behind the herd, moving so smoothly across the uneven rocks that it seemed as if it was cruising across an open field. It was losing ground but stubbornly continuing the chase, ears flat and great legs pumping, adjusting perfectly to the uneven ground.

  Until it saw Brynn.

  The cat froze so quickly, so quietly and completely, that it seemed to melt into the brownish gray stone behind it. Brynn held very still, locking her stare on the spot until she was again able again to mark the large and pow­erful cat. And it was a big one - Brynn estimated its shoulders at over four feet, which meant that one of its paws would more than cover her entire face. While it didn’t seem so formidable compared to the young ranger’s last foe, that horrid dragon, Brynn knew well the dangers of the brown mountain cats, for her people had often encountered them in the summer months, when their travels took them north to the foothills, and often wi disastrous results. Many To-gai-ru had been buried in these foothills.

  But Brynn was no normal To-gai-ru and had been trained in ways supe­rior even to the best of her people’s proud warriors. She resisted the urge to rush back around the boulder, knowing that any sudden movement on her part would surely bring the cat flying in - and it was not too far away for a single great leap at her.

  No, she had to let the cat move first, to trust in her abilities to react properly.

  The passing moments seemed all the longer because the woman didn’t dare even draw breath.

  The patient cat stared down at her, measuring her, and Brynn noted only a very slight, but very telling, movement: the cat subtly shifting its weight from hind leg to hind leg, tamping them down for better footing.

  „Do not do it,“ Brynn whispered under her breath.


  Even as she spoke the words, the great cat sprang, flying down from the mountainside at her. With reflexes honed to near perfection, Brynn fell into a sidelong roll, angling her dive around the boulder so that the cat could not easily adjust its course toward her after landing. She came up in a de­fensive stance a few feet away, the mountain cat standing atop the boulder, eyeing her with slitted eyes. Head low, back legs settling for another charge, it gave an angry roar that shook Brynn to her bones.

  She pushed her thoughts into her sword, then, and fire erupted along the blade.

  The cat roared again, and shrank back, but only for a moment. This one was hungry, Brynn knew, and angry.

  It came on with a suddenness that would have had almost any other war­rior caught flat-footed, too fast for most to bring the fiery sword across in any semblance of defense. But Brynn was a ranger, and was so attuned to animals that she instinctively knew the spring was coming before it had even begun.

  She spun back and to her left, sword coming all the way around as she completed the circuit to swat at the passing cat’s rump.

  The cat cut quick, turning right around and leaping, this time high, for Brynn’s head.

  She fell forward and to the ground, and while she didn’t have the time to turn her sword about to stab the cat as it flew above her, she did manage to punch out hard with the pommel, thumping the cat in the belly, and to push out with her newfound gem-studded bracer, forcing those deadly rear paws aside.

  And as she did, the woman’s eyes widened with surprise, for a pulsing white light, bent and rounded like a shield, came forth from that bracer! As she regained her footing, she tapped her sword against it, and sure enough, it was a tangible thing, a shield of some kind of glowing energy. She wanted to inspect it more, but she had other matters to attend.

  „Go away!“ she yelled at the beast, as it turned again, and as she fell to her standard defensive stance.