Altaica
Page 29
‘I knew he’d be difficult …’
‘Difficult is not insane. Isaura, in the end he chose his path.’
‘And Gabi’s parents?’
‘They made their choice too. We all make choices every day. We can’t know all the ramifications.’
‘The girl …’ Isaura said quietly.
‘Yes, the girl. You flail yourself with that one small life, who would have died anyway. What about that bothers you? The reaction of the others? Why should you care for the opinion of others? You are not a murderer, and you know it. What really bothers you? That you did it, or that you’d do it again?’
Isaura winced as she broke eye contact with the lady.
‘You had the strength to make tough decisions. Do not deride yourself for it. Without you they would most certainly be dead. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You wanted change, you wanted freedom to be yourself. You ran from the Zaragaria. Now you run from who you are. You can’t run from what you did. None of us can. Nor can you change it.’
Would I? I would certainly have left Hugo behind. I should have trusted my gut on that one. The girl …
‘The sum of all your experience, all your decisions have brought you to this one moment. They have made you. Now your fate hangs upon your choice. What will you choose?’ The lady waited.
‘So, this is my moment of judgement? What I choose will decide if you send me to the paradise or the underworld? Somehow I didn’t think I’d get a say in it.’
‘You get a say, because you are not dead. You slipped into the spirit realm and in your misery and self-loathing you returned here. You have a new home waiting with your friends.’
‘I am home.’
‘Do you really feel at home here? Pio misses you. He bombards me with prayers for you.’
Isaura smiled wistfully, briefly, but suspicion still nagged at her. ‘Why did you really come for me? If it was just about prayers, then I’m sure the others on the boat prayed harder than I did.’
‘Because you asked for help. Because I heard you … You and Pio are rare. Your presence can be felt in both realms. That is something I have not encountered for a very long time.’ She shrugged. It was a remarkably human thing to do and allayed some of Isaura’s natural distrust. ‘And because your courage moved me. You can be reunited with your friends, but you must want it. I can drag you back, but unless you want to go, it will not work. Part of you will always stay here in … The Wild.’ She canted her head. ‘That is an apt name. You think of it as an entity?’
‘You already know the answer, but yes.’
‘Will you stop running? You must choose. If your spirit remains here any longer you will die.’
Pio’s music surged forth, calling her home. Isaura smiled wryly. He’s as persistent as always. ‘How do I get back?’
‘Let go of what brought you here. We will take you back.’
Let go? Isaura’s gaze left the lady as she looked at her home and thought of the village—all filled with the dead. Was it worth it? Yes, if they still live. The guilt and misery? No, but it changes nothing for me or them. If I stay … nothing. No pain, but nothing else.
When she looked back, the lady was gone. Before her stood only the old woman and the Asena. The matriarch eyed her knowingly.
Umniga was bewildered. Between one moment and the next, the image before her had transfigured from that of the trees into Isaura, yet somehow she had missed the transformation.
‘Isaura?’
Before she could reply, the lady’s voice whispered, Do not tell them what transpired.
‘Yes, who are you?’
‘Umniga.’ She understands me?
‘Who are they?’
‘The Asena.’
Isaura nodded, as if she knew that already.
Umniga’s brows shot up. ‘The elder is the Asena matriarch,’ she said reverently.
Isaura stared at them both, thoughtfully and expectantly. Finally she said, ‘I thank you for finding me. I want to go home.’
* * *
It was past dawn, yet still very early morning. The fog seemed to surround the sacred grove but had not entered it. Karan was the only one to notice, the others were engrossed with watching the ritual. Pio’s playing, which had been vibrant and wild, was now more restrained. It still spoke of joyfulness but also of peace, like resting at home after an arduous day or journey. Slowly it became more subdued.
Karan noticed a build up of pressure in the air, just as before a storm. He watched the centre of the circle intently. ‘Do you feel that?’
Āsim, reluctantly roused from his reverie, shook his head.
Pio’s playing stopped. He dropped the flute and collapsed.
‘Pio!’ came his mother’s frantic cry, but the guards prevented her from interfering.
Then Karan felt a warm wave break over him, travelling through his limbs and settling near his heart.
Isaura moaned, stirred and curled into a foetal position, covering her head with her hands as she began to shake uncontrollably.
Karan strode through the circle, heedless of the Asena and Kenati. ‘Āsim, check the boy and see to the Kenati.’ Quickly he threw his cloak over Isaura, wrapping it about her and covering her face with it. ‘Ssh. All will be well.’ He could still feel her shaking, so he lifted her into his lap and held her against his chest, all the while rubbing her back and arms. ‘I have you. Ssh,’ he murmured. She was clinging weakly to his coat.
Isaura was cold. She felt as if her very marrow was frozen. She could not stop shaking. Her teeth were chattering loudly. Everything around her seemed deafening and even the dull, grey, early morning light was too bright. She curled up, weak, frightened and overwhelmed. A quiet voice spoke to her. Strong arms held her. After so long of being unable to touch anything, of thinking she would never be able to touch, feel, or hear anyone else, she was overwhelmed with emotion, with gratitude. This voice was so calm, so soothing. She felt absolutely safe.
Karan held a water skin to Isaura’s lips. His heart went out to her as, still shaking, she tried to hold it but fumbled. He tipped it slowly and she sipped at the water, too weak to do little else.
‘That’s it, but not too much now,’ he said softly as he withdrew the flask. She tried to open her eyes, but was blinking furiously even in the dull light. He pulled the hood of the cloak about to shelter her face.
‘Thank you,’ Isaura murmured. Very slowly she opened her eyes and looked at the man who held her with a grateful smile. Karan drew a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes were a deep green, but flecked with a glowing vibrant blue that also rimmed her iris. The same blue as the eyes of the Asena.
Book Two: Asena Blessed
coming in 2015
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracy M Joyce is an Australian author of speculative fiction. Her debut novel, Altaica: Book I in The Chronicles of Altaica, is published by Odyssey Books. Tracy has long been a fan of the fantasy genre, but particularly likes novels that deal with deep characterisations and that don’t flinch from the gritty realities of life. This and her fascination with the notions of ‘moral greyness’, that ‘good people can do bad things’ and that we cannot escape our past provide the inspiration for her writing. Combine that with her love of history, horses and archery and you have Altaica.
She grew up on a farm in rural Victoria, in a picturesque dot on the map known as Glenburn. She spent half of her childhood riding horses and the other half trying to stay out of trouble—the only way she did that was by reading books and writing stories. She now lives in Melbourne with her husband, two cats and two (very) lazy greyhounds.
Tracy holds a BA (Hons) from Monash University, spent many years in a variety of administrative roles and fortunately never gave up on her childhood dream to become a writer. In her spare time she tutors a select and unlucky group of students in English.
Tracy loves to hear from her readers.
www.tracymjoyce.com
AUTHOR NOTE
I love history an
d I have cherry-picked from various periods of history in creating Altaica. The pile of books in my research comprises everything from castle and fortification construction, Roman cavalry training tactics, weaponry, armour, poisons, mules, archery (but that is also a hobby of mine), herbology, sword fighting techniques, staff fighting etc (Osprey publications probably deserve a special thank you for their military books). I have combined them all in creating this world.
In the course of my research for this book I kept returning to the weapons of the Mughals and, particularly, the Ottomans because I loved their combination of beauty and lethality.
Researching wolves, I also stumbled across the Turkic myth of the Asena, which I immediately felt could work with my story extraordinarily well. It seemed fitting that I use it since I was featuring Turkish weapons, and when I saw the term Altaic used to describe the language family including Turkish, Mongolian and Tungus—I thought I’d modify it for a title.
By adapting a much-loved Turkish myth and modifying the term Altaic, I have intended no cultural offence.
Instead, please remember this is speculative fiction not historical fiction. I would like you to think these things have been an inspiration for a creative mind and hopefully the result will provide much reader enjoyment.
Thank you.