by Susi Wright
The monster reacted violently with the sudden pain, thrashing from side to side, making for the surface in a desperate attempt to get rid of its attacker. Xandor stabbed and anchored his dagger deep into the thick base of the slime-oozing stump, hanging on to it with both hands. Straddling the creature this way, his booted feet, one on either side, were almost level with its beady eyes. As the leviathon broke the surface, coming into view of the Gaians on board the ship, Xandor used the extra force available to him while out of the water, to kick both eyes with all his might. The eyeballs popped in a spray of sticky fluids.
Reacting, the massive body breached up out of the sea, raising Xandor high into the air. Three bowmen, poised on the ship’s deck, sighted the monster and loosed their arrows into its sides and back, followed immediately by a second round. Simultaneously, other warriors, brandishing the fishing spears they had taken from the ship’s stores, dove in to the sea. Among them was Roland. Excited by the recent fighting, every minute of which he’d dutifully stayed at Churian’s hip, he dove with them dagger-in-hand, forgetting his promise. He was deaf to Churian’s loud recall. He joined the others as they swam in close to the writhing hulk, avoiding first the monster’s lethal, jagged edged flippers, then the thrashing barbed tail, to bury their weapons deep into its scaly skin. One of the divers continued down past the melee, instructed by Churian to make all haste to retrieve Serafina’s body from the reef.
Churian assisted the men in the water by adding a good dose of mental confusion. The monster showed signs of tiring from the fight and loss of blood. Its jaws snapped reflexively as its body jerked from side to side. Suddenly, with an incredible burst of energy, it dove beneath the surface. It came up again at full speed, leaping completely out of the water and crashed down into waves on top of one of the young warriors, knocking him senseless.
The boy was killed the next instant with one swipe of the stinging tail and, before anyone could react, was swallowed whole. Adrenaline-charged and spurred on by this shocking development, the others continued hacking with swords, daggers and fishing spears, desperate to finish it. Xandor’s main concern was to save Serafina and the rest of his Gaian brothers from a similar fate in the jaws of this hungry beast. He leaped from the head, pulled a spear from the beast’s side on the way down and swum beneath its soft underbelly, driving the shaft with all his might upwards into its heart.
The leviathon shuddered and slumped in the crimson water. Turning over, it floated belly-up on the surface, carrying with it the five exhausted warriors. Gasping for air, they clambered up on top of the carcass. There they sat, subdued, in customary silence, mourning the loss of the youngest of their clan.
It was Roland. They had all known the instant he was killed. They would not judge his recklessness. Courage was never misplaced. He had merely been unlucky. Churian, as always, felt regret at the loss of a good and brave warrior. Some things could not be controlled.
According to tradition, Gaians also respectfully acknowledged the death of a foe. The creature was simply hungry. Such losses of precious life, on either side of conflict, always tempered the elation of victory. Courage and sacrifice were inseparable. The thin line of survival was a reality of Existence.
In the sadness of the moment, Xandor’s eyes were drawn to the scene at the ship’s rail. Serafina’s lifeless body, having been retrieved by one of his comrades, was being hauled aboard by the others. He felt strangely numb at this moment, completely unable to feel a connection or to make any sense of it all. What was the point?
CHAPTER 22
Destruction
The landscape stretched far into the smoky distance, charred and black. Not a living thing remained, no trees, no birds or animals. No people.
The only sign of life-energy was negative, evil, lurking in the piles of glowing ash which dotted the dark wasteland, replacing everything good that had existed before. Even on the distant hills, flames danced like crazy tribesmen after a murderous victory. Overhead, the gathering clouds and smoke moved with unearthly speed across the moon, quickly crowding the night sky as if to block all escape.
From the ever-darkening sky, large black hail began to fall, thicker and thicker. It was impossible to avoid the charred missiles and even raising an arm to shield his head, several struck him. By reflex, he caught one in his hand and with a glance, saw it was not hail after all but the blackened body of a small bird. The clouds were flocks of burnt and dying birds. The heat emanating from the scene was intense, enough to blister any exposed skin; looking down, he realised that he was completely naked. He was puzzled. Why was he not burning up? Instead he felt cold. . . so cold. . .as if some of his own life-force had been wrenched from his body, leaving little to sustain him. He felt bereft, somehow violated.
Pain wracked his entire body, though there was no external sign of injury; his throat and lungs burned from the acrid smoke and he choked, coughing up blood. As he spat, the red droplets splattered the hot ash on the ground at his feet, hissing and sputtering to bloody steam. The coughing worsened. The droplets became a stream, which in turn grew into a river of blood, weaving like a crimson snake. The serpent moved over the blackened earth, becoming hot orange, then sparked into fiery life, a wide river of molten lava, carving its way through the land and far beyond the horizon. He felt himself slipping away. . . his body melting and becoming that tide of destruction, even as he felt the sting of icy eyes on him, watching it happen. Ruthless. Powerful. Elated with victory.
Luminor woke in a cold sweat; he sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. He glanced at Fralii, still sleeping peacefully a mere arm’s length from him in the bed, surprised his sudden movement had not woken her but glad she was safe here beside him. Nevertheless, something was seriously wrong. Nightmare or vision, it was far more immediate and intense than a brief look at the future. Something real! This dream manifestation was the culmination of a series of insights, elusive glimpses which he had encountered in recent meditations. These were fleeting suggestions of an unnatural force and with this night’s painful vision, he had become certain that it was working its evil at this very moment. Dark. Destructive. Something supernatural. . . and focussed on him. His inner being had been intruded upon. He felt it drawing strength from him. How could that be possible? His mental shields were usually ironclad. His own powers were Supreme in this Existence. Had his comfortable, happy life made him soft? His meditation this dawn must give him answers.
A few moments of contemplation were enough, considering the extreme state of awareness in which he had awoken. Without doubt, there was going to be a battle. . . and it would be soon. It could not be fought in the mind alone; there was also a strong physical aspect to it. His opponent was extremely powerful on both planes. Not human. This being questioned Luminor’s position as Supreme Lord, coveted his power. It threatened the security of the Alliance, particularly since just two days ago, Luminor had been elected as Governor of Baram when the previous governor, Rand, had died of a heart attack. Luminor now shouldered the responsibility of guiding the council and protecting not only his own people but the human population as well.
The benefits of the Alliance had spread throughout Baram; news of it had surely trickled over the borders by now. The hopeful mood was growing far and wide. From the joyous celebrations after his appointment, it was obvious he had earned the respect and love of everyone who lived under the Alliance. They deserved his protection. Of course, there would also be enemies. It had only been a matter of time until he met opposition. And here it was. This tyrant would have to be stopped, but there was no way Luminor was going to allow the battle to come to Baram.
He decided to call an urgent council meeting, apprise them of this development and this very day, work out the first strategy. Then, with complete faith that the Guardians of the Ancient Realm, the Ancestors, were on his side, he would take a suitable fighting force, the best of both armies, and leave as soon as possible. He could trust intuition to lead the way. Despite the fact that his mind was
still reeling from his nightmare and the revelation it had brought, he was certain that direction was south-west. His contemplation had thrown up two glimpses of the future. In a very short time, perhaps only days from now, his missing band of Questadors, Xandor’s group, would face terrible danger in that place. And, as incredibly perverse as it seemed, was a certain truth that, for the first time in history of their race a Gaian lord would face a Gaian foe.
CHAPTER 23
Duty Calls
The smooth pale-green belly of the leviathon rose up roundly from the bloody water like a small island; the long spear that had pierced its heart protruded skyward from it, a clear sign of the claim these warriors had taken on its life. The five sat in a loose circle around it, offering silent prayer in these poignant moments of calm. The taking of any life in such circumstances was a loss in itself, even though it was a matter of survival, the aftertaste as bitter as the grief they suffered for the loss of a brother.
Soon, they would cut out a sufficient portion of the meat from this tender belly flesh and take it aboard the ship with them. This would be shared with their clan later this evening after they put the vessel aground. The sandbank was visible in the distance, a furlong offshore. From there, it was a short flight to the beach by cloak. Perhaps, if it could be beached and salted, the remainder of the huge carcass could feed many hungry mouths for days to come.
Two of the warriors began the task of cutting large slabs of blubber. Zenth and another man dived down to wrench open the jaws, on the off-chance that the boy’s remains were lodged in the creature’s gullet, despite knowing it was most likely impossible to retrieve Roland’s body for a funeral under these horrible circumstances,
They came up empty-handed. Xandor sighed. This was not the first loss of a brother, nor would it be the last. By rote, he performed the traditional motions of helping the others to cut meat. His mood was listless, almost trance-like. At this moment, he couldn’t muster the slightest desire to go back on the ship. On board, he would be forced to look upon Serafina’s beautiful face and form, drowned, drained of colour, her intriguing spark which had somehow become an integral part of himself, snuffed out. Her fiery spirit, robbed of its vitality and its higher purpose, was gone from this Existence like so many others. Without fanfare.
His melancholy was interrupted by Churian’s voice from the ship’s rail. “Hurry aboard brothers! We must must set to man-handling this heap aground. It will need every hand to the task!” Churian, in his travels, had picked up something of seamanship. He knew enough to get them closer to the mainland, to ground the vessel, despite its torn sails, with the help of the incoming tide.
Xandor looked up. His mentor’s eyes were focussed on him, even though the address was for the whole group. He felt guilty to be wallowing in his own grief, allowing a pall of negativity to take hold of his senses. In that moment, he was reminded that he had asked for this quest and accepted the responsibility which came with it. Churian’s sad expression had a certain warmth and kindness, not the expected censure for Xandor’s self absorption. There was regret – he had lost Roland, the youngest one under his charge. Beside him, Sumar’s gaze reflected the same encouragement. Not for the first time, Xandor was grateful for Churian’s wisdom and Sumar’s unfailing support. He counted himself lucky for every one of his present company. Their loyalty and friendship would see them all through this setback and the many the challenges ahead.
Come to think of it. . . he’d suddenly begun to feel much better. He was still confused as to what exactly had brought about this lighter mood, but whether prompted by conscience or hope, it mattered not. He would pick himself up and continue what he had started.
Sumar stood at the rail, having just said something, but a sharp gust of wind had swept the words away. Xandor’s blank stare had prompted his friend to repeat what he had said, raising his voice to a yell to make sure it carried. Xandor did hear the second time, though he wasn’t sure if his ears, or his mind, were playing tricks.
It sounded like, “She lives, my friend. . . .she lives!”
He saw Churian’s nod, to which his heart leapt, dancing a merry beat in his chest; he sheathed his knife, forgetting to wash it and dove in to swim back to the ship, missing Sumar’s next words.
“But, I warn you, brother, she is not happy with you. . .or me. Not at all!” Sumar rubbed the stinging red mark that was developing on his cheek. Serafina had slapped him soundly across the face, twice, when she had emerged from unconsciousness moments ago. At first, dragging a reviving breath of oxygen, she had reacted violently to the face of a man hovering directly over her. One slap. Then, his hastily-blurted apology for the fact that he and Xandor had been responsible for the storm and endangered her life, had only served to make her angrier than a zabuk leopard! That had earned him a second blow to the cheek. Bearing the brunt of this hostility, Sumar felt a certain amount of righteous indignation, though he had no trace of spite in his character. Nevertheless, he was not about to repeat the warning. He couldn’t resist hoping that his friend, now rushing to her side unprepared, would get to feel a fair share of her anger. He had a sneaking suspicion, however, that things would actually play out contrary to his wishes.
Xandor was elated, Serafina was alive! But why had he not sensed it? Perceptive powers always, always, seemed so elusive, sometimes creating more questions than answers.
Sumar brushed passed him on deck, serving a timely reminder of the facts. “Before you get carried away by your feelings. . .When are you going to tell her?”
Xandor merely replied with a nod, already aware that his attraction for this woman was misplaced in the course his life must take; he should try to rid himself of it, as difficult as that might be. He suspected that could take some time. For now, he cautioned himself to keep his emotion hidden while he put some necessary moral distance between them.
He entered the cabin, his eyes drawn to her as she lay recovering on Skrim’s cot. He noted that her numerous gashes were already covered in a thin application of Prian paste, very likely administered by one of his comrades. He did not miss the fact that someone had removed her wet, torn gown, replacing it with a loaned warrior’s tunic, presumably while she had been unconscious. If he hadn’t spent so cursed long wallowing in self pity, sitting on top of that dead creature, he could have been that someone! A brief pang of jealousy, though unwarranted, made him take mental note to discover who was walking about shirtless at this moment. . . even though all he could justifiably do would be to thank the man.
He had expected to waver in his resolve, momentarily teetering on the brink of rushing like some lovesick puppy to embrace her. But for once, he managed to cloak his emotion and restrain himself admirably; he held back everything he really wanted to say and do, giving her instead a platonic smile as he greeted her. “Dear sister, I am very glad you survived! And someone has tended your wounds. So – ” his eyes cast about the room instead of meeting hers. “So. . . did you discover that you could hold your breath for an exceedingly long time?”
Looking at him was a balm in itself, thought Serafina. He stood framed in the doorway, his long silver hair dripping wet from his recent swim. The topaz-flecked eyes glittered with excitement and a brief unreadable emotion, quickly shuttered before he looked away. She studied the handsome planes of his face. Her beautiful angel had once again saved her life by killing the terrible sea creature that was about to eat her. She was unable to give credit to anyone but him. At that moment, any remnants of annoyance vanished, replaced by undeniable adoration. She saw no reason to hide anything, beaming a bold affectionate smile at the man of her dreams. “I’m so glad to see you. You are so brave! Thank you for saving my life! Again. I know I fainted. . .but still somehow kept my breath. Such a strange thing happened. . .from another place, I watched my body in the water. . and you. . .and the monster. I saw everything! Was that magic? Was it mine. . . or yours?” She continued to gaze at him with wonder, question upon question. . . and that dangerous, permeating
warmth.
His eyes were inexorably drawn back to hers. His weakness pained him. Even while he kept his expression neutral, he secretly acknowledged the heated attraction that tugged at every fibre of his being. But he could not let her start thinking she might have any kind of future with him, other than clan-ship. He felt uncertain if his cool facade would be betrayed by the water on his body threatening to turn to steam. Once more, he exercised warrior-like detachment to break the eye contact and busied himself with pouring her a drink of water. He handed the brass goblet to her before turning to exit the cabin, with a departing piece of advice given in his capacity as her first Gaian tutor. It was deliberately brusque. “Drink! Regain your strength. We will soon fly ashore – your first flying lesson – then, you will meet your Gaian brothers and sisters. And a new mentor, Nerisse, who will take over your care and lengthy education!”
Almost as an afterthought, he threw the next information over his shoulder, ignoring her look of abject disappointment at his previous statement. “I shall leave tomorrow – to continue my quest!” and closed the door behind him.
Xandor strode blindly to the ship’s rail before he let out his breath in a rush. His knuckles white as he gripped the top-rail, he stared out to sea sadly and allowed the sting of regret to wash over him, knowing he had just delivered Serafina an emotional blow. It distressed him to think she was probably crying, feeling lost, perhaps even in some way, betrayed, even though there had been no open admissions, much less any kind of promise or pledge. There really had been no other way. It had to be done before she planted her affection any deeper on him. He was pledged, through honour, to another woman and, even more importantly, to a quest that demanded his complete devotion. She was young with a whole new life and purpose ahead of her. She had the talent of a healer. In time, she could heal herself. He sighed, with a heavy heart, hoping fervently that he would be able to do the same.