Kamira grunted as she fell face first to the ground, the air blown out of her as her ribcage impacted the roots of the old maroon tree. Sword in hand, her opponent, a soldier of the night guard, charged and she barely had time to roll out of the way as the sword slashed the root, cleaving into it. It only took a heartbeat for the soldier to pull the sword free, but that was more than enough for Kamira to be back on her feet, facing the soldier as he turned.

“You should yield now,” he said, his short-cropped black hair glinting with sweat. So arrogant, so young, so pretty. “I disarmed you.”

Kamira glanced to where her short sword lay, but the soldier pivoted to prevent her from making a run for it. “You haven’t beaten me,” she said, clearing a bit of blood from her lip. She must have bitten herself during the fight, she thought, because the soldier had not touched her face at all. “Come and finish it.”

The soldier charged again, lifting the sword on a high arc. Too high. Kamira waited until he was committed and sprung to the right, the soldier’s left, spinning away from the sword and connecting to the soldier’s face with her fist. It was the first real punch she had connected and it made the soldier stagger.    

As he turned to face her again, Kamira dove, grabbed her sword from the ground and rolled back to her feet. Armed again, she smiled as the charging soldier. The swords clunk and locked. The soldier’s long sword and stronger arms gave him the advantage over Kamira and her short sword, and her arms ached with the strain.

“Yield, Kam,” he said again, his face so close to hers that she could feel his jagged breathing. “You can’t win.”

Maybe he was right. He was stronger and a very good swordsman, and even though he was somewhat slower than Kamira, it had not played to her advantage yet. He was probably going to win, and if he did, Kamira would accept it, but she would not yield. She’d never give up without trying, however her disadvantage.

Kamira jerked her knee to hit the soldier between the legs, but clearly missed her target, because it had no effect other than creating some space between them. The soldier swung twice as Kamira stepped back, out of his reach, with her sword hanging low. She needed a breather. Her shoulders and arms burned in soreness. How long had they been fighting?

“You can’t win,” repeated the soldier again, but was that a hint of doubt in his voice? “When are you going to learn?”

“Never,” said Kamira lunging at the soldier, a rain of steel on his defensive stance. At one point, she went for his sword arm, he fought right handed, and grabbed him by the wrist, but before she could take advantage of the hold, he had grabed her own wrist with his other hand. Not good, she thought as they struggled like a pair of drunk dancers on the uneven terrain.

She was about to head-butt the young man, but hesitated, thinking that she might break his nose, and as was bound to happen sooner or later, she tripped on a root and both of them fell to the ground, his weight on her too much of a burden, and before she knew it, his sword was at her throat.

“You’re dead,” said the soldier panting. Rivulets of sweat running down his face and falling on Kamira’s.

Kamira let go of her sword and accepted her defeat. There were ways she could have extended the fight, but she was exhausted. Only then did the soldier relaxed and turned around, lying flat on the ground, next to her, with a sigh.

“I thought you were going to beat me this time,” he said, almost out of breath.

“I thought I was,” she responded, her whole body aching, but she turned on her side to look at the soldier, placing a hand on his chest. “I could have.”

The soldier looked at her. His luminous green eyes shining in the twilight, as the second sun rushed down to the horizon. “Is this something you do often? Challenge soldiers to duels?”

“Only the handsome ones,” she responded, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his lips. “But there were none around, so you had to do.”

To her delight, the soldier laughed. He had one of those laughs than make you want to laugh too. “I’ve never been beaten this hard, and much less by a girl. I think I’m having second thoughts about our marriage.”

“It’s a little late for that, love,” She said, resting her chin on his chest. One could lose herself in those deep green eyes. “You should have thought of that before you talked Minister Aran into handing me over to you in marriage. In three days, we’ll be husband and wife.”

“If you don’t kill me before then,” he said with a sigh. “Every time we fight you get better and better.”

Her arm muscles protesting, Kamira raised herself a little to better look at her betrothed’s face. Her hair, black, like his, falling over his chest. He raised his right hand and caressed the point of her ear the way she liked. She closed her eyes, wishing that the moment could last forever.

It didn’t.

The forest around them exploded with the sounds of battle. Yells, shouts, signals, screams, and battle cries mingled with the sounds of iron and steel, the hooves of animals, the squeaks and wing flapping of birds.

“What’s happening?” asked Kamira jumping into fighting stance, her sword back in hand.

Her future husband didn’t answer. She turned to see him and to her horror, saw an arrow protruding from his mouth. He tried to say something, but only a garbled spurt of blood came out.

“Enndar!” Kamira cried, the name of the man who was to be her husband, the young soldier that had asked for her hand in marriage, and now collapsed before her.

Behind him, Kamira saw the killer. A humen archer, very tall, and with straw colored hair on his head and face,aiming his bow at her. 

Kamira jumped out of the way as the arrow whistled by, her hand going for one of the knives on her belt and throwing it in almost the same motion. By the time she hit the ground, the knife’s hilt was all that was visible in what had been the humen’s eye socket.

Tears blocking her vision, she turned towards Enndar’s inert body with only one word in her mind.

Why?

But there was no time for contemplation or grief. What seemed like hundreds of humen were charging through the forest, in the direction of the People’s City, and several appeared on the clearing where she stood.

Kamira  retrieved her knife from the humen’s eye with her left hand, and wielding her short sword with the right, prepared to receive the attackers.

Kamira forced her tears to stop, her pain to give way, This was not the time for these things. It was time for revenge, time to kill or be killed.

The blood-red sun approached the horizon, turning everything into darkness, and still Kamira could only think of one word.

Why?

 

2: A Morning Hearing

It was too early to be running around camp. They had come to the People's City, Sacred Home, to participate in a festival, and even though the festivities were scheduled to begin right after second sunset, Kamira found herself having to report to her commanding officers. All the Houses of the Oni were out enjoying themselves in what was clearly a vacation. All but the House Of Aran, of course. Lord Minister Aran had become somewhat paranoid, thinking that somehow the humen barbarians were planning an attack on the People's City of the Oni, and was keeping his guard on high alert.

Kamira ran among the tents to reach the large pavilion where Lord Aran awaited. She was late. Again.

While all the other Lords and Ladies had accepted the invitation to stay in the city proper, Aran had chosen to remain out with his troops, most of which were clearly unhappy about it, given that they had traveled here with the idea that they were to participate in the Festival of the Solisusque, which celebrated the day when both suns were the farthest from each other on the sky. It was also called the Harvest Festival, and it marked the date when preparations for a fast-approaching winter had to begin. It was a time of rest and celebration, but instead, the soldiers of House Aran were encamped with their lord.

"You're late," said Lord Aran as soon as Kamira entered the large tent, her eyes adjusting to the relative dark interior. "The House Lords are in a festive mood, and won't wait long for us."

"Apologies, Lord Aran," responded Kamira with a quick bow - Lord Aran was already walking out.

Lord Aran was tall for an Oni, and towered almost a head over Kamira, who had to exert herself to keep up with his long strides without running. His golden hair, still unmarred by white, was trimmed short, the way he demanded all his soldier to be. Kamira had cropped her own hair short a few times, but she didn't like the shape of her head, so she always ended up letting it grow again. When she was in uniform, like now, she wore it up.

"… responsibility." Lord Aran mumbled.

Kamira missed what came before, but assumed that it had to do with her being late. She opted not to ask.

Lord Aran had told her that they would walk to the city, but with Kamira being late, he had to call for a pair of sorxes, the six-legged horses that he favored. Kamira would have loved nothing more than a regular, comfortable horse, instead of riding on the mid-shoulders of a lizard-scaled sorx, but she had no say on the matter. Her buttocks would be sore later.

The ride was mercifully short, as the camp was closer to the city proper than Kamira had thought, and the Garden Palace, where the meeting was to take place, was next to the River Xin, in the outskirts of the city proper. Kamira intended to go to the city the next day, to see the some fo the famous sites, including the Library of Swnwi, the goddess of fate, where the silent monks worked, and also the Hall of Initiates, that she had seen as a little girl, when she was initiated, but barely remembered.

"Close your mouth and pay attention," said Lord Aran, his tone whispering of irritation. "Let's go in."

They handed their reins to a pair of stable boys, although one of them might have been a girl, and walked the garden path, among the flower beds of red and gold, in honor of the two suns. Kamira had never seen the gardens before, but she had heard people talk about how they were changed constantly to reflect whatever was being celebrated at the time.

"Welcome to the Garden Palace, Lord Aran," said a thin Oni, with a long nose and even longer ears. He had black hair, like Kamira, but didn't look like anyone she knew. "The lords of the other houses are waiting inside, if you'll follow me."

They did as they were bid and were led to a pair of large doors on the first floor, where they were instructed to enter.

The inside of the hall was lit with torches of red and golden flames in an alternating pattern. Another detail to celebrate the Solisusque, Kamira thought.

Lord Aran was shown to the only empty seat at the long table, and Kamira stood by the wall behind him. There were others like her in the room, but not many. Clearly, most in attendance had not brought attendants, and only she and two others were soldiers. The rest were house servants or minor nobles.

The mood of the room was less serious than Kamira expected. Some of the Lords sneered at Lord Aran as he took his seat.

"My apologies for the delay, my Lords and Ladies," said Aran.

Kamira felt the heat go up to her ears and lowered them a bit. Fortunately, she was standing under a red torch, so no one noticed her embarrassment.

"Nothing to worry about, Lord Aran," said an older Oni with striking long hair of silver and gold wearing a white tunic with golden fringes. "We were enjoying good wine and even better conversation. Care for a drink?"

"I'm sure my Lords and Ladies would like to go back to their festival preparations," said Lord Aran, predictably, "I'd rather get to the subject at hand, if it pleases you."

"A practical man," said the older Oni, "so, tell us, Lord Aran, what was so urgent that needed to call this meeting on the eve of Solisusque?"
"The humen Barbarians are going to attack the city," he said without much introduction. "I'm afraid we need to post watch for the duration of the Festival."

Kamira suppressed a sigh. She usually liked Lord Aran's blunt honesty, but this room was clearly not in his favor, and the loud reactions proved it.

"Order!" the older Oni said, lifting his right hand, palm facing the audience. "We'll allow Lord Minister Aran to present his point. Lord Aran will be kind enough to tell this council why he thinks that the humen will attack us when we have the largest gathering of the year."

"We're gathered in numbers, that's true," said Aran, his eyes scanning the room. "But we are on our lowest alert. I believe that out of the seven Houses, only I have established a watch and regular patrols."

"Because no one is going to attack us here, in the center of our land," interrupted the only female there, slapping the table with an open hand. She had large eyes, with dark bags underneath, as if she had not slept in a decade. She also wore too much carmine on her cheeks and her hair was too black to be natural.

"My spies have spotted the barbarians heading this way," said Lord Aran to no one's belief.

"What about the Xinnians?" asked the only person in the room Kamira had met before, High Captain Niva, a broad-shouldered Oni Kamira had met during some joint military training. He was wearing full uniform, including the formal sash over his breastplate where various medals hung. He was also the only one sitting at the table who carried a weapon. "Before they reach us, the barbarians will have to go through the Xinnians."

Kamira knew the answer to that. She had seen the reports. The Xinnian army had been dispersed and destroyed by the barbarians. For years, they had been a barrier between the Oni and the barbarians, but they were gone. It was still hard to believe that the barbarians had won, and that they had any interest in attacking the Oni, and the room quickly showed it when Aran explained it.

"We have done nothing to provoke them," said the woman, whom the others called Lady Torula. "Why would they attack us?"

"We don't know the reason," responded Lord Aran, looking at interlaced hands. "But they continued setting up for battle after the Xinnians retreated. Why else would they remain other than to attack us?"

"How can you know?" asked Lady Torula. "The barbarians are animals, base creatures without higher rational thought. How can any of us know what they think?"

There was a lot of agreement from the room, some of it loud enough to cause the older Oni to call them to order again.

Lord Aran was good at hiding his irritation, but Kamira knew him well enough to recognize the little things, like the way that vein on his forehead became more noticeable, or the way the tips of his ears turned crimson.

After that, it was more of the same. Lord Aran trying to convince them of what he thought was imminent danger, and one Lord or another questioning his conclusions. In the end, only one person ended up supporting Lord Aran.

"Let me ask this council one question," said Captain Niva, pulling himself up to his total stature. "If there was a chance that Lord Aran was right, wouldn't it be wise to listen? I propose we set up a perimeter patrol for the duration of the Festival."

"This is non-sense," said Lady Torula. "Are we going to let a military commander tell us what we should do? Of course a military commander would seek to activate the military."

"That's when Lord Aran looked back and beckoned Kamira to cone closer. "This is a lost cause," he confided as she leaned over and lowered her left ear to listen. "I need you to go to my House Captain and tell him that our House Guard is to be on alert for the duration. I want patrols doubled and an ocasional perimeter check around the entire city."

"Even other Houses encampments?" asked Kamira incredulous.

"Yes," he said. "They may choose to do nothing, but we can't afford that luxury."

"Lord Aran," said Kamira biting her top lip. "I promised Asia that I'd take her to the opening ceremony tonight. She really wants to see the lights."

"My daughter is not a child anymore," he said. "She'll understand. Now, go."

"Yes," she responded, turning to leave the room.

"This is completely ridiculous," was the last thing she heard Lady Torula say as she left the room.

3: Kamira's Message

Kamira came out of the Garden Palace in a hurry and collected her sorx from the stables.

What was she going to do? She had promised Asia, her Soul Sister, that she would take her to the Festival, but Lord Aran, as head of his house, commanded her in her capacity as an army striker. One way or another, Kamira was going to dishonor an oath tonight, and she did not like it. Not one bit.

Then there was the matter of the attack of the barbarians. She hated to admit it, but the Lady Torula had a point. There was no way that the thoughts of humen could be discerned by beings of higher intelligence. How had they managed to defeat the Xinnians? If the spies were correct, the Xinnians had broken and their armies had fled the battlefield, but that made no sense. The Xinnians were a breed of humen, like the barbarians, but lived closer to the Oni and were more civilized than the savage barbarians that came from the West, from beyond the Ring of Fire. The Oni had brough the Xinnians to an elevated state of civilization, or at least as high as humen could go. Their armies were better equipped, more disciplined and smarter than the barbaric horde, yet they had lost.

Kamira rode hard toward camp. She wouldn’t dare ride a horse as fast on the forested terrain, but sorxes were much more stable, less likely to trip or hurt themselves. She needed to get to camp as soon as possible. The red sun was still above the horizon as she rode, and the ceremony of the lights would not be held until after the second sunset. Perhaps, she could get to camp, deliver her message to the House Captain and return to the City in time to watch at least some of the lights with Asia.

“Ho, there!” yelled a soldier, jumping out of her way as she entered camp at full gallop. “Watch were you’re going!”

Kamira yanked the reins and the animal responded accordingly. She jumped off her saddle, and ran to the Captain’s tent.

“What do you want?” asked the soldier guarding the tent. He was clearly upset, and Kamira thought it must have been because he had been assigned guard duty on Solisusque.

“I need to speak with the Lord Captain,” Kamira responded, walking towards the tent’s flap.

“The Captain is not here,” said the soldier, blocking her way with his spear. “I can give him your message of you wish.”

“Where is he?” asked Kamira. “I need to see him. Lord Aran gave me a message for him.”

“Do I look like the Captain’s confidant?” the soldier said, spitting on the ground. “He could be anywhere, probably drinking or gambling with his high born friends.”

Kamira knew the House Captain’s reputation. None of what the soldier suggested would surprise her. “Where do you think I can find someone who can tell me where to find him?”

“Peh,” the soldier spat again. “The only reason I ever ask where the officers go, is to avoid going there myself. I don’t know. Ask around.”

“Happy Solisusque,” said Kamira turning around, back to her sorx. Where was she going to find the captain? She rode around camp for some time, the red sun getting closer to the horizon every time she checked. Then she saw a group of soldiers throwing sticks and decided to ask them.

“Yes, we saw him,” said one of them, a young lad, not even in his fifties, “I heard him say that he was going to the perimeter to tell the patrols that they could come back to the city for the ceremony. Good for morale, he said.”

Now, that was unfortunate. It was exactly the opposite of what Kamira had been sent to do. The only good news was that each house had been assigned a portion of the perimeter, so she had a delimited area to canvas in order to find him. Also, Enndar, her betrothed, had been unfortunate enough to draw a perimeter assignment, so perhaps she could see him. He could help her look for the Captain.
Thanking the young soldier, Kamira kicked her sorx into a gallop. The sky was getting darker.

Her search took much longer than anticipated, and as darkness descended upon the forest, she slowed her pace, not because she couldn’t see - she was Oni, and the Oni see perfectly well in the dark, but because the ceremony was about to begin, and she was not going to make it to the city in time. Circumstance had decided which of her vows would be broken tonight.

She found a pair of Strikers on patrol and asked about The Captain. They had not seen him, which could mean that he was moving in this direction, unless he delegated the delivery of his message to others.

“If you see him, tell him that I bring an urgent message from Lord Aran,”  she told them.

“Yes, ma’am,” responded one who wore his golden hair in thin braids, in a fashion that young girls had stopped using for years.
Kamira kept looking, now in a leisure trot. Anytime now, the sounds of the lights would begin, and it would be harder for her to find the Trackers or the Strikers that were on patrol, but for now, the only sounds she heard were those of the forest creatures and the rushing waters of a nearby creek.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

Kamira stopped immediately, but didn’t turn to see the Oni who had spoken. She smiled. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was Enndar.

“I”m on a very important mission,” she said, her back towards the man she loved. “How dare you detain me?”

“I threw a pebble in the creek earlier and it skipped three times,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“Three times?” she asked. “Did you ask for a wish?”

“Of course,” he said, laughing. “I wished that a beautiful lady would pay me a visit.”

“Oh?” she said. “My apologies, then. There’s no one beautiful here, and certainly no ladies.”

“Pebbles can be fickle sometimes,” he said.

Kamira turned her sorx around to see him. Enndar was not riding. He was a Tracker, and they usually ranged on foot. He was a beautiful man, with broad shoulders and black unruly hair. He had a scar on the right side of his face, barely above his lip, but that blemish only made him look more interesting to Kamira. “I was so sad that you drew perimeter guard,” she said.

“And yet, here you are,” he said with his infectious smile. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Are you going to kiss me?” she mocked, imitating his deep voice. “You have not earned it.”

He laughed openly. How lucky she was to have him! He was not noble, or rich, but neither was she. Yes, she had been raised as a soul sister to the Princess of House Aran, but she did not belong there. She was made of forests and rivers, as she liked to point out, not of gowns and dance halls. Enndar was also honest, slow to anger and one of the most generous persons Kamira had ever met. He had flaws, certainly, but sometimes Kamira had to think hard to describe them.

“And what do you require of me?” he asked with a bow. “What’s the price for your kiss?”

“I need you to help me find the House Captain.” Said Kamira. “I have an important message for him.”

“To find the Captain, then.” he said. “I know where he is.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” said Enndar waving a hand in a western direction. “I was above that tree over there, and I saw him. He’s headed our way, but seems to be stopping on each watch station. He’ll be here soon.”

At that very moment, Kamira heard the first explosions coming from the city and a number of startled birds flew into the darkness. The alchemist had started the lights ceremony. She looked up to the sky, but from where she was, she could not see the lights themselves, but only a faint glow on the sky.

“I missed the lights,” she said, dismounting. “I promised to take Asia to the festival, and instead, I’m here, with you.”

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I know I’m a poor substitute for a princess, but I’m helping you find the House Captain, as you requested, so how about that kiss?”

“You didn’t do a thing!” she protested. “He’s coming this way.”

“You’re cheating,” he said. “I did what you asked.”

Kamira looked at him. His protestations were in jest, she knew, and it was clear that he was making an effort not to laugh.

“Cheating?” she asked, feigning indignation. “How dare you?”

He smiled.

“Draw,” she said, her gleaming short sword ringing into the darkness as she pulled it out of her scabbard.

“Really?” He asked. “You didn’t have enough the last time?”

“I’ve been practicing,” she said. “Draw!”

“Since you ask so nicely…” he said drawing a long sword with a hilt carved in the shape of a falcon.

The two swords clanged in the night as far away, the explosions continued.​

4: The Festival

Asia stood in front of the mirror while two busy servants fluttered around, working on her dress. It was made of the finest lavender silk with white trims and accents, and if the servants mentioned one more time how complementary the dress was to her creamy skin tone, she was going to run them out of the room and finish the dress herself.

"You're going to be the best dressed princess in the Festival," one of the servants said, for at least the third time. "Everybody will know who the Princess of House Aran is."

Asia didn't particularly care about that. Her Father was a practical man, not inclined to splurge in expensive clothes. She had to plead with him about the importance of the Far-sun festival, and how she had to represent her House with honor, but it was not until Kamira interceded in her favor that her father had relented.

"It is not fair!" she complained, looking at herself in the mirror. A bored, plain-looking girl, with the same gold hair and emerald eyes as everyone else in House Aran stared back at her. "She promised! She told me she would take me to the Festival! Why does she have to do everything Father says instead of doing what I ask for once?"

"I'm sure Kamira pleaded with your Father not to go," said one of the servants, the one Asia called 'Plumpy'- when she was not present. "Besides, I'm sure she will be back in time for the lights."

Asia looked out the large window. The red sun still hung high, but she had little hope that Kamira would be back in time. This must be her father's doing. Ever since her mother's death, he had been overprotective, and only allowed her outside with an escort, or with Kamira, who as a Striker, was an escort of sorts, but a more pleasant one.

"It must have been something important," added the other servant. She was new in Lord Aran's service, and Asia was still deciding on a nickname for her.

"Important?" she asked, shaking a fist. "What could be more important than a promise made by a Soul Sister? He should have allowed her to keep her promise and send someone else to do whatever it is that she's doing."

The two servants finished with the dress, and she stormed to the window, knocking over the small chair that was behind her.

"You may leave," she said. Staring out the window, over the canopy of the forest that extended as far as the eye could see.

She stood there for some time, ruminating on her misery. Why couldn't she ever get what she wanted? She had hoped to go to the Festival, see the performers and the lights, and perhaps be kissed by a boy.

She had always been curious about boys, but fear of her Lord Father always kept them at a distance. She had no aspirations to a love story, she knew her responsibilities as the Princess of her House meant that hers was to be a strategic marriage, a political marriage, and not one of love, like in the stories. She understood all that, but for once, she wanted to be a little more like Kamira, so carelessly free to choose whom to love and whom to kiss. Suddenly as the red sun reached the canopy, tinting everything in its sickly blood shade, she had an idea.

She shot a quick glance at the mirror, to make sure everything was in place, and laughed in glee as she ran down the hallway and the double stairs that led to the entry hall. It was going to be brilliant. A maid and a butler were having a conversation there, and looked startled to see the laughing Princess running down the stairs, so she slowed down her pace and nodded to them in whatever semblance of dignity she could muster. They bowed and curtsied respectively as she turned to the back of the manor, running again as soon as she was out of sight. The kitchens were empty, save for a single cook, who snapped to attention when he saw her.

"Can I serve you anything?" he asked. It was not normal for a princess to walk into the kitchens without an escort.

She waved him off and walked past to the back door. It led to an inner court and a night water garden, called that because of the small pond and the stalks of fire weed that grew among the flowers. Kamira extended a hand as she passed and shook the fireweed. She had always loved to see the tiny specks of light come up from them when she moved them. On a dark night, the reflection on the pool must have been glorious, but it was still early, so the fireweed, although still fun, presented not much of a spectacle.

On the far side of the garden, there was a heavy metal door. It was rarely opened, but she'd been told while touring the manor on their first day, that it led straight to the guardhouse. She lifted the heavy knocker, which was shaped like a fist, and knocked.

There was no response, so she knocked again and then she heard the noises of someone meddling with the locks on the other side.

She adjusted her dress and her hair and composed herself. If she wanted to get away with this, she had to project confidence and class.

The door opened and a young soldier stared at her wide-eyed.

"I'm Princess Asia Baz-Aran," she said, giving him time to bow to her. "I'm your Lord's guest, and I need an escort to the Festival."

"The Festival?" asked the guard, a puzzled look on his face. He was probably the newest member of the guard, forced to stay behind while all his peers partied.

"Yes, the Festival," said Asia impatiently. "You know? That celebration everyone's been talking about for weeks?"

"But why do you need a guard to escort you?" he asked.

Asia decided that his nickname would be 'Fool.'

"I'm not allowed to go out in public without protection," she said, "and the escort my House assigned to me has been delayed. The opening ceremony is about to begin, so I was told to ask one of you to escort me there."

"I'm not supposed to leave my post," said Fool. "If something happened at the house-"

"There's no one there," she said pointing back to the house. "Everyone, except a few servants, left for the Festival already. Besides, It will only be until my escort arrives."

"So it won't take long, you say?"

Not long after, with her soldier escort, Asia walked among the rows of peddlers who lined the roads, each one displaying wares more fascinating than the next. There were entire rows of fine silks, which Asia delighted in, several tables of fine glass bottles, and even one who sold very small round animals, no larger than a palm-sized ball of fur, which he claimed were magical creatures, capable of protecting their owner from curses and evil spirits.

"I want one of those," she said, half expecting that the Fool would buy it for her, as Kamira would have done, but he was not Kamira, and just stood there, fidgeting with his belt.

"Look," she said, pointing at the next table. Another silk merchant. This one however had a special looking iridescent silk, very soft to the touch, and depending on whether you moved this way or that, it was green, blue, or something in between. "Isn't this the most beautiful fabric you've ever seen?"

"That's Lanneary silk," said the old merchant, lowering his ears in a humble posture. They always did that just before they told you their prices. "The secret of making it is only known to a few master artisans in House Lannear."

"A drunken Lanneary once told me how they make it," said the Fool, surprising Asia with his forst words since leaving the manor. "He said that it is made from the shite of a worm."

"That's ridiculous!" the merchant protested as Asia dropped the fabric on the table.

She didn't believe something as beautiful as that fabric could come out of the rear end of a worm, but she walked away nevertheless, just in case.

Next was a lady, dressed in multiple layers of colorful fabric. "Happiness in a bottle," she said, holding a small flask between her index and thumb. Her table was covered with flasks and bottles full of liquids of many colors.

"But for you, young Lady," she said putting the vial down and picking another one, a very small one, filled with a clear liquid. "This is a vial of Sandora's Tears. Not that you need it, mind you, but one drop of this in a man's drink will render him unable to resist your charms. He'd be totally and irresistibly in love with you."

"How much?" asked Asia. She was going to be kissed tonight.

"When do you think your escort will arrive?" asked The Fool as they walked away from the potions lady. "It's getting late, and I should go back to may station."

Asia looked at him. No, he wouldn't do. If she was to be kissed, she wanted to be kissed by a strong one, like Enndar, the soldier Kamira was to marry. Now, that was a good looking man. There was no way she was going to allow her first kiss to come from the Fool. "Oh, look, there they are!" She said pointing towards the general direction of the crowd. "Thank you for bringing me here. You can go back now."

The Fool bowed, clearly relieved and squirreling away, melted into the crowd.

Asia took a deep breath. She was alone. Finally.

The music started then. Apart from the lights, the performers were her favorite part of the festival. She walked through the crowd and reached the plaza where they were. There was a band playing in the back, and several acrobats doing somersaults while a fool, a real one, tried to imitate them, failing, to the crowd's delight, in the most ridiculous ways. On the side, a magician, made stones disappear into puffs of fire, only to appear behind a spectator's ears. Asia clapped when the magician turned a red flower into a white bird which flew away as soon as he released it.

Then, as the magician finished his routine, the lights began.

That was the most magical thing on the festival. No one, except the Alchemist and his assistants knew the secret of making the lights, and it was rumored that sorcery was involved. The lights came form a cart, flew high to the sky and exploded into a myriad colored sparkles. Some were geometric shapes, like spheres and pyramids, but others resembled animals, or flowers.

One of the younger assistants to the Alchemist came closer to Asia. He had a tall, but thin frame, and longer black hair framed his narrow face. "A flower for the most beautiful lady on the grounds," he said opening his hand. A small flame, barely more than a spark, escaped, going up above Asia's head before turning into a red flower with seven petals. Asia squealed with delight as each petal turned into a smaller white flower before dissipating and showering her with sparkles.

"Thank you," she said. "That the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!"

"Your smile makes it all worth it," he said. "My name is Aledsei. Who might you be?"

"I'm Asia," she said, omitting her house name while fingering the little vial of Sandora's drought. "Buy me a drink?"

Sandora didn't take long to do her magic and soon Aledsei gave Asia the kiss that she desired and much more that she had not anticipated. They had retreated to the tree line, away from the crowd, who were still enjoying the lights. The sounds of the explosions drowning the couple's moans as Aledsei's potion-induced passion overcame them. There was a little voice inside Asia's head, telling her that mayhap this was not a good idea, but the voice was so far away, and Aledsei held her in such a strong grip that she ignored it.

Asia did not notice the change immediately, but the noises of the lights and the delighted crowd gave way to screams of horror and the sounds of battle. She pushed Aledsei away, a hard thing, as consumed as he was with his love for her, and fixed her dress. His first reaction was to reach for her again, to kiss her some more, but she punched him on the chest. "There's a battle!" she yelled.

Aledsei looked confused initially, but then the realization hit him. "I"ll protect you," he said, grabbing her hand. "Come with me."

He stood in front of her, half naked and without a weapon, as armed hairy giants dressed in animal skins plowed through the people as if they were mere children.

It all happened so fast. One moment, they were standing away from the carnage, mere spectators of the massacre, and the next, one of the barbarians saw them, and pointed at her with his finger. Asia tried to run, but the barbarians had them surrounded. Were these really humen? They were scarier than in the stories. Dirty, with an awful smell, the barbarians communicated with each other in choppy, grunt-like sounds. Aledsei stood in front of her, a gallant protector, a brave lover willing to die for the object of his affection.

And that's exactly what he did.

One of the invaders laughed as he pierced Aledsei's chest with his spear. That was not combat. That was plain murder.

Tears came freely to Asia's eyes now, and she threw herself at the murderer. She was not sure what she expected to do, but she certainly wanted to claw his eyes out, to bite his ear, to knock his yellow teeth off, to give the monster pain.

All she achieved was to be grabbed by the waist by the smelly monster and thrown over his shoulder as she punched him in the back to no effect other than to make his compatriots laugh.

"Let me go," she screamed, twisting her body this way and that to no avail. "You murdered him! Help! Somebody help me!"

But this time, for the first time that she could remember, there was no one around to answer her call.

5: The Belomari Attack

The barbarians appeared as if out of nowhere, raining noise, flesh, metal and fire all around her. Kamira was not sure how she was still standing and fighting when all she wanted to do was drop to her knees and mourn the death of her lover. She felt numb inside, a single accursed word swimming in her head.

Why?

She had no answer, and yet, somehow, perhaps out of instinct, she fought on. Maybe her years of Striker training were finally paying off, helping her remain on her feet, even though her heart was not in it.

Kamira groaned as a blunt instrument hit her on the arm, the force of the impact throwing her off balance. She stepped back. Facing her, were two large opponents, one of them armed with a double-edged battle axe, the other one with a wooden club lined with metal rings. Flexing her hand, she thought that nothing had been broken, but when she tried to throw the last of her daggers at the barbarian, a jolt of pain shot up her arm, making her drop it, useless, to the ground.

Armed now only with her short sword, Kamira stepped back again, avoiding the humen attempt to surround her while opening and closing her fist to test the extent of the damage.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she restrained them. Pain would have to wait, as grief was already doing. Even her dead lover would have to wait. Now all that mattered was staying alive and getting to the city to find Asia. She had failed to deliver Lord Aran’s message, but she could still protect her soul sister.

The club-armed barbarian swung at her violently, but she rolled out of his way with ease. That was the thing with humen, they were large and strong, but also slow. As the barbarian recovered from the attempt, she charged at him, cleaving him on the chest with her blade. The other barbarian was on her now, and she had no time to remove the sword from the humen before the axe reached her, so she twisted, and using her sword as leverage, pulled the humen between her and the axe. A horrible bone-cracking sound combined with the barbarian’s scream as the heavy axe hit him on the shoulder.

As the humen fell to the ground, Kamira pulled her sword out. The other barbarian hesitated for a heartbeat, seeing that he had hit his own comrade, and Kamira swong her sword, cutting his throat. The humen fell to his knees, staring at her with wide, unbelieving eyes while his mouth formed inaudible words. Kamira kicked him on the chest, making him fall back, if only to stop him from looking at her.

Free from the two immediate enemies, Kamira had one last look at the Enndar’s body before leaving.

He’s not there, she thought. He’s long gone. That’s just a body.

As fast as she could in the middle of a forest attack, Kamira ran towards the city. Along the way, she spotted bodies, friend and foe, on the ground. She couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as if the number of friends were much larger than that of foes.

Three times she was interrupted, once by an archer who asked her if she was hurt - she was not sure if she answered, and twice by enemies, which she dispatched with barely a thought. There was only one thought in her mind now.

Protect Asia. I have to protect Asia.

Somewhere along the way, Kamira was fortunate enough to find her sorx, who had scampered away from the attackers. It took her a bit of effort to sooth the beast, but once she did it, she managed to ride the rest of the way.

Let’s see you trying to stop me now, kattas.

By the time she made it there, Nor, the golden sun, was giving some color to the sky above. Nights had the shortest hours during Solisusque, but it still surprised her that the night had gone by while she fought. By the time she arrived, the battle had subsided, and only the groans of the injured and the cries of the grieving pierced the silence.

Kamira leaned over and grabbed a passing soldier by the arm. “Have you seen Asia?” she asked.

The soldier looked at her with vacant eyes, and Kamira let him go. That’s when it hit her. There were bodies spread all over. Only a few Oni walked the streets, and those who did were either injured or carrying the dead and injured. How could this have happened? Lord Aran had been right. The humen must have used the cover of the festival sounds to make their attack.

Asia was not here. She couldn’t have. If she was…

No. Kamira shook her head. She would not think of that. She rushed towards the manor where Asia was lodging, only to notice that it had been attacked as well. There were no soldiers anywhere to be seen. She dropped off her sorx and ran inside, where she saw three bodies, all soldiers, laying on the manor’s great room.

“No!” she cried, running up the stairs to Asia’s chambers.

The door was open, the room ransacked, one dead body, a servant most likely, lay dead on the floor. There was no trace of Asia or anyone else.

Kamira ran out again. Where is she? As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw Lord Aran entering the Entrance Hall.

“Have you seen Asia?” he asked, before she could, destroying the momentary glimmer of hope seeing him had brought.

“No, Lord Aran,” she said. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Aran, opening his arms to embrace Kamira, but she didn’t accept his embrace. She couldn’t accept it. She did not deserve to be comforted, much less by Lord Aran, so she simply stood, frozen in place.

“I failed you, Lord Aran,” she said, not able to restrain her tears any longer. “I didn’t deliver your message.”

“What?” asked Aran, a pained look in his eyes. “Why?”

“I took too long,” Kamira confessed. “I went to see Enndar first, and now he’s dead, because of me. Now everyone’s dead!”

Aran did not say anything. He simply stood there, pain and disappointment carved in his usually stoic expression while Kamira cried in silence. Yes, she had failed him, the man who almost raised her, who welcomed her into his house, even allowing her to be initiated soul sister to his only daughter. She had also failed him as her military leader.

Now, with the immediate threat to her life subsiding, Kamira found herself unable to contain herself any longer. The pain, the images and sounds of death, Enndar’s mutilated body, and all else she had seen came to her in a rush, making her body tremble and shake in an undefined mixture of sorrow and rage so concentrated that she could taste it.

This is my fault. All of this is my fault!

Lord Aran was deeply hurt as well, Kamira could tell, even though a stoic politician like him would be loath to demonstrate it.

“You’ve forgotten your oaths, Kamira,” said Lord Aran, his firm tone shutting the small glimmer of light remaining in Kamira’s soul. “I could have sent anyone else to deliver the message, but it was too important, so I sent you, the one I trusted most.”

No longer able to face her House Lord, Kamira fell to her knees, bowing in the deepest form of supplication known to the Oni. “Forgive me,” she pleaded, wiping tears off her face with the back of her bloody hand. “I have failed you, and your House, but please allow me to remain a Striker, so I can find out what happened to Asia.”

Aran stared at her, expressionless for some time before responding. “I’m not in the habit of giving second chances,” he said, turning around to leave her.

Having grown up in his household, Kamira knew that Lord Aran was a stern and strong man, yet also just and merciful. She deserved to be removed from his service, but she hoped for one last assignment. She had failed Lord Aran, but she could still had Asia, and her father had the power, with a word, to make Asia her mission.

“I have much to do to help the People of my House now,” said Lord Aran as he walked away. “Please, leave me.”

“Say the word, Lord Aran,” said Kamira, still on her knees, facing the stone floor. “Give me the order to find Asia, and on my honor as a Sriker, whatever is left of it, I swear that you won’t see me again until I’ve returned her to you.”

Lord Aran paused, as Kamira’s sweat and tears fell to the floor. “You failed me, yet you dare ask me for another mission? Go back to your post, until I decide what to do with you.”

Kamira hesitated. Lord Aran was right, she knew, but she had failed enough. She woud not fail Asia. Not again.

“Lord Aran,” Kamira said, climbing to her feet. “I offer you my resignation. Please release me from the service of your House.”

That got the man’s attention.

“What are you playing at, girl?” he asked, turning around to face her. The fire in his eyes would have made Kamira melt before him, but not now. “Are you trying to leave my service to avoid taking responsibility for your actions?”

“No, Lord Aran,” she said, no longer shaking, no longer trembling. “I know I have failed you, and if you deem it appropriate, I’m willing to accept whatever punishment you think I deserve, but I want to be relieved of your service so I can keep my other oath, the oath of the Soul Sister.”

Lord Aran watched her intently, a mere glint of tears on his tired eyes.

“Your resignation is denied, Striker Kamira,” he said, his eyes cutting her like a hot knife cuts a candle. “I do not accept it.”

Kamira didn’t flinch. She knew this was a possibility, and was prepared to break her House Oath if needed. Lord Aran would have to put her in chains if he wanted her not to go after Asia.

“You have a new mission,” said Lord Aran standing tall, and removing the House ring he wore on his right hand. “Striker Kamira, you are assigned to find my daughter Asia and ensued her safety. Bring her back to me, if possible, and if not, promise me that you won’t rest until she is avenged.”

With that, Lord Aran offered his ring to Kamira. This she had not expected. She had asked for the mission, and he was giving it to him with the ring. Lowering her eyes, Kamira went down to one knee. “I swear it, Lord Aran,” she said, extending her right hand to him as was custom. “I shall not rest, drink wine or enjoy the pleasures of the flesh until my mission is accomplished.”

“Find her, Kamira,” said Lord Aran as he placed the ring on her middle finger. “Stand now, and go on.”

Kamira did as she was told, and giving her military salute with her fist to her breast, she turned to leave.

“One more thing,” said Lord Aran as she approached the door. “You and I may be weak or fail at times, but let no one say that House Aran forgets its promises. You were initiated as a member of this House, and that is what you will remain.”

“Thank you Lord Aran,” she said. Moved by his rare show of affection. “I’ll remember it.”

“And for all the gods, Striker,” he added. “Clean yourself up, you look terrible.”

For all the pain she felt, Kamira couldn’t help but smile as the door closed behind her. Yes, she had failed, but she had no time to dwell on it. She had entered the manor as a terrified failure, but was walking out as a determined Signet Ring Officer.

Her oath as a Striker had now become one with her oath as a Soul Sister.

Failure was not an option. 

6: Caged Lady

The hours of the night were at the shortest due to the solisusque, and the first dawn found Asia lying in a cage. Out as far as she could see, she was the only person the barbarians had captured. Everyone else they had encountered had been put down by the sword, axe, hammer or whatever instrument of terror the barbarians called weapon. She had been carried, kicking and screaming to the top of her lungs and thrown unceremoniously in a filthy, wheeled cage. At first, she had tried to rid her dress and her hands of the muck that covered the inside of the cage, but it was too much, and now she was covered in it. Worst of all was the stench. If the barbarians had kept animals inside that cage, they had not bothered to clean it before throwing her in it.

A pair of lumbering, hairless animals with long tails and thick, short legs pulled the cage, guided by an older barbarian who prodded at them with a sharp stick. Four more barbarians accompanied them. All through the night, Asia had tried to communicate with them. She tried bargaining, insulting, pleading, and threatening, but nothing she said made them react in the slightest. She had reached the conclusion that none of them spoke Oni, and decided to save her breath, and her tears.

Asia tried to calm herself down by controlling her breathing, just like Father had told her since she was a little, fearful girl. Never in her life had the young Princess been as afraid, as full or terror as she was inside that cage, but she needed to remain calm. She needed to observe her surroundings and be alert. 

Where are they taking me?

The nascent sun, this year it was Orr, told her that they were traveling westward, but beyond that, she knew nothing.

The constant rolling of the cage, which had initially been mildly annoying, was getting her sick by now. She kept changing positions to try to mitigate the soreness of laying down on the constantly swaying surface. By the time they stopped, she felt as if they had been riding forever, but she knew it had only been a night and half the morning.

They made camp at a small clearing adjacent to a creek, where the barbarians allowed their beasts of burden to drink. The animals drank very slowly, or could drink vast amounts of water, because they drank for a long time. By the time the old barbarian prodded the animals to get out of the water, his fellow barbarians had set up camp and had a small fire going.

Why are they stopping? If we stay here for long, maybe my Father’s soldiers will find me.

A pair of barbarians gathered around the campfire, one sitting on a blackened log, probably a remnant from a previous camp on the same place, while the other tended to the flames. Asia could not see the other two.

She must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes, it was high noon, and the older barbarian was offering her a charred piece of fire-roasted rabbit. She immediately refused the offer, in no uncertain terms, but the humen tossed it into the cage anyway, as if Asia was an animal to eat filthy flesh.

She did accept the water he offered her, however, drinking so greedily from the metal cup that the humen offered her a second and third cups.

After eating their meal, the humen sat around the fire, talking among themselves in their language as Asia speculated about their intentions with her, her ideas becoming increasingly worse with time.

“Can someone open the cage for me?” she asked, even though she knew no one would understand her. “I need to relieve myself.”

No one answered.

Several long hours later, and with no one paying her any attention, Asia was reduced to tears by the effort. She tried to think of something else, to change positions, to hold herself, but in the end, when she could hold it no more, in a decidedly not princess-like manner, she wet herself. 

Asia was trying to adjust the position of her dress so she would not be rubbing against the wet parts when the fire erupted in a loud band, shooting flames in every direction. Covering her eyes from the bright light, Asia cowered to the back corner of her cage, as far from the fire and the heat as she could get.

What is happening?

Before her, a new battle was raging. Had her father’s soldiers come to her rescue? A ray of hope touched her, but it didn’t last, for she soon realized that there were no soldiers at all. A small group was attacking the barbarians.

Asia didn’t recognize the strangers, but they were much better warriors than the barbarians and she could not deny that she felt a jolt of wicked pleasure every time one of the enormous humen were felled.

The battle was over quickly, and Asia took a good look at the newcomers. Three of them were humen, none barbarians. One of the humen had black Xinnian hair and eyes, but the other two, a man and a woman, were taller and had earthen-colored hair. The male’s eyes were very blue. The other three members of the group intrigued her more. Two of them, another male and female, were clearly of her own Oni race, of the golden haired kind, but Asia had never met an Oni, of any House, who would wear clothes and armor made of animals. Who were these people?

The last member of the group was the strangest. He was short and stocky, like the Kar-a-Tun that dwelled under the Ring of Fire, but instead of being hairless like the cave dwellers, this one had hair, and a lot of it. His hair was white and long enough to fall, braided, both sides of his head. Another wide braid was formed by his beard and moustache. Asia could not tel what kind of creature this one was, but she knew one thing; They had attacked and killed her captors, so they could only be allies.
 
“Help me!” she cried to them. The male Oni turned to look at her in obvious recognition. He made as if to come to her, but the female Oni held him by the arm and held him back. The group took a brief look at her and huddled in a discussion, except the Tun-like being with the white braids, who went around the barbarian’s corpses, looting them.

Are they bandits?

“Help me,” she told the braided creature when it passed next to her cage, but he looked at her indifferently. “Do you understand me?”

Who are these people? Why did they attack? Why don’t they get me out?

After a long discussion, the two Oni approached her cage as the rest of the group sat by the fire.

“Who are you?” asked the male with a thick accent. “Where were they taken you?”

“My name is Asia,” she said, she didn’t know these people, but hopefully they knew her. “I’m Princess of the House of Aran, and these humen attacked my land and took me away. I don’t know where they were taking me.”

For some reason, Asia’s story didn’t seem to please the female, who looked at her with a mix of anger and, strangely, pity.

“Who are you?” Asia asked, trying to keep them engaged. “What are your names?”

The male seemed about to answer, but the female placed a hand on his arm, like she had done before, and he remained silent.

So, the girl is in charge.

“Aren’t you going to help me?” she asked, as they walked away. “Get me out of this cage!”

They didn’t help. Ignoring her pleas, they gathered with the others and had an animated discussion around the fire. Of course, it was in another language.

Asia sat on the filthy muck in the corner of her cage again. All she wanted to do was cry, but she remembered her father, and how he always said that the duty of a Princess is to look, observe and think, so she concentrated in piecing together what she had learned from the newcomers. Since she had only seen the humen and the white-bearded Tun from a distance, she focused on the two Oni.
 
Both the Oni wore hooded cloaks, which with the warm weather of mid-solisusque, was unusual. Perhaps they were trying to hide. The female had more authority than the male, even though she looked younger, and had a star gem mounted on a gold necklace hanging from her neck. Star gems were extremely rare magical artifacts, only given to nobles as part of a marriage proposal, which would make the Oni girl a noble, and by both custom and necessity, would make her the leader of that group, but why was she accompanied by them? Perhaps she was not a noble at all, and had stolen the star gem. Both Oni had a family resemblance to House Aran, but Asia was certain that she knew every noble in her House, and she had never seen this one.
 
The argument by the fire grew quite animated. The humen female, who was a skilled warrior, stood up, pointing at Asia as she yelled at the others. She wished she knew who her allies were in that discussion, because for all she knew the woman could be telling them to help her, sell her or kill her.

The conversations lasted for a long time, and when it ended, the two Oni approached her again.

“Are you hungry?” asked the female, her accent strange, her pronounciation more fluid and refined than that of the male, yet foreign to Asia’s ears.

This one’s had an education. Can she be a scholar?

 “I am hungry,” responded Asia, truthfully, even though the filth of the cage and her dress made her nauseous.

“We can offer you some bread, and berries,” said the female, “but first, we need to clean you up.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Asia wholeheartedly. “Thank you kind lady… How should I call you?”

“You should not,” said the girl flatly while fumbling with a ring of keys, trying to see which one would open the cage.

Having a closer look at them, Asia reevaluated her initial assessment. These two were no nobles. They seemed to have military training, and were probably deserters.

I wonder if I should have told them who I am.
 
The female Oni helped her out of the cage, which turned out to be harder than Asia expected, with how stiff and crammed her body felt.

“That dress is ruined,” observed the female Oni as she escorted Asia to the creek. “Throw it away. You can wash the rest.”

“What?” asked the princess. “This is the only dress I have.”

“If I’m not mistaken you have layers of underwear beneath it,” said the girl,” so I don’t think your modesty will suffer at all.”

“But it is underwear,” protested Asia. “It’s not proper.”

“Believe me, girl,” said the Oni with a smirk. “Where we’re going, you’ll be over-dressed in your underwear. If it gets cold, I’ll let you borrow a cloak, but I doubt it.”

I’m not going to cry in front of her. I’m not going to.

The creek was cold and shallow, but Asia found a small pond that reached up to her knees and sat in it while the female Oni kept watch. In the end, she had to agree. The dress was not made to be washed, and the fabric was frayed beyond use, so she took her dress off and let it drift downstream.

Mayhap someone will see it and wonder who owned it.

As best as she could without taking it off, she washed her underwear. This was something she’d never done in her life.

“Time to go, Princess,” said the girl after a while.

Asia stood up, water draining off her linen chemise in rivulets. She felt naked, but in truth, her chemise extended below her knees and her braies extended past that. Underneath, she also wore hose, but that was frayed as well, so she ripped the bottoms up, leaving her feet naked a little above the ankles.

When she walked back to the campfire, she saw the male Oni washing the floor of the cage for her. The thought hit her that just the day before, she had been complaining about her bed at the manor, and now she was about to thank a stnager from dropping some water on her cage.

They had also taken away the dead rabbit and brought a few pieces of bread and a handful of berries, which she devoured with a passion she had not felt since the Kiwi vendors brought her some of their sugary confections.

 “Try to sleep,” said the female Oni escorting her to her now clean cage. “We’ll leave tomorrow at first light.”

“Can we forgo the cage?” Asia pleaded. “I won’t try to escape, I promise.”

“We can’t free you,” said the Oni. “I’ll take you out in the morning so you can stretch and relieve yourself, but we have to take you with us.”

“But why?” Asia asked, fighting back the tears as the Oni Pushed her toward the cage. “Why did you attack the humen in the first place if you were not coming to help me?”

“Sorry, but I can’t tell you,” said the Oni, helping her into the cage. Asia decided not to resist. “Please don’t ask me any more questions.” 

“Who gave you a star gem?” she ventured to ask anyway, not because she expected an answer, but because she thought making conversation would diminish her shame of being almost naked. Also, she wanted to see her reaction.

The Oni took a glance at her necklace, and stared at Asia with narrow eyes. “I said no more questions,” she said, covering the necklace under her cloak as she pushed Asia back toward the cage.

“Please,” pleaded Asia again, “don’t make me sleep in the cage. I won’t try to escape, I promise.”

But the Oni would not be swayed, and in the end, simply gave her a shove and locked her up.

7: Spiders

The Temple to the Goddess Acunodes, in the outskirts of Sacred Home, near the intersection of the Altun and Xin rivers, was not on the path of the barbarian attack, but news of the attack had arrived in the form of injured people seeking relief. With fragmented information, the Temple initially attributed the injuries to a bad conflict between Houses, but as more and more people began to arrive, a clearer picture of the seriousness of the situation emerged.  

“Iddo!” yelled the Headmaster. “Come over here and make yourself useful.”

The young acolyte shook his head, trying to clear up his mind, and did as he was told. Everything was happening so fast. How could this be happening? Sacred Home had never been attacked directly before. It didn’t take long for the Hall of Prophecy to be filled with the dead and dying. The Temple was a place of knowledge and learning, not a house of healing, but it was the largest intact building available and blood was a very persuasive argument. The injured needed help, and the Temple was not going to deny them.

Hands shaking, Iddo helped Headmaster Su-Suei move an injured woman unto a table and position her on her side. She moaned weakly as the two men moved her.

Why does it have to be so much blood?

As best as he could, while still helping, Iddo kept his eyes averted as the Headmaster cut the woman’s dress open to work on her injury. Iddo did not look away out of modesty, although he would not have admitted to that, but out of his strong feelings concerning blood.

He had to look at it, however, as he had to keep the wound dry, or as dry as possible, for Headmaster Su-Suei to apply sutures to it. It was a long, horrible gash extending from the bottom of the ribcage to the hip bone. The Headmaster called it a ‘clean cut,’ but Iddo could not see how it could be called that.

The Headmaster’s work was not doing much to stem the flow of blood, but Iddo was making such an effort not to see, to keep the content of his stomach inside himself, that he did not notice that the woman had stopped struggling. He was surprised when the headmaster dropped his hands in defeat.

“For all the gods,” he complained, not for the first time, “we are scholars, not healers.”

In horror and disgust, Iddo let go of the body, which flipped to its back on the table. An arm dropped from the table and hit Iddo’s thigh, making him jump back and cry out.

“She’s dead,” said the Headmaster, his face clearly showing his disgust for Iddo that he usually kept hidden. “You’re no good here. Go fetch some water, you useless idiot.”

Iddo knew the Headmaster had little respect for him. He had known that for a long time, and yet, hearing him utter the words still managed to hurt him. But what was to be expected from someone as weak as he was? “I’m sorry, Headmaster,” said Iddo, lowering his head in contrition as he turned to leave. “Apologies, Headmaster.”

On his way out of the Temple, Iddo avoided the most critically injured, for he was sure that if he saw more blood, he would faint. Outside, next to the door, Iddo found several empty buckets. The younger acolytes, who could not help in any other way, had probably put them there. He grabbed two of them as he walked out, taking in a deep breath of fresh air and the relief that came with it.

The River Xin, one of the two that bordered Sacred Home, was not too far from the Temple, and there was a path to it, lined with lampposts. The Oni did not need the lamps to see, but to keep the spiders away. Now, the lamps were off, and as Iddo walked the dark path to get to the water, every shadow seemed intent on jumping at him and ensnaring him in a spider web to be eaten.

It’s all in my head. There are no spiders here. Those are shodows, not spiders.

Iddo cried out and dropped one of his buckets when the shadows moved and he came face to face with a pair of luminous, green eyes.

“Did I scare, you?” said the all-too-familiar voice of Cleonides Torula. “Good thing those buckets were not full, right?”

His fellow acolyte, several years his junior, but already taller and stronger than Iddo, Leo was coming from the river with two buckets already full. His robes were wet, but Iddo could still see the blood stains that showed that he had been helping the priests too.

“What a shame you are, Little Iddo,” said Leo shaking his head as he walked past him. “Be careful, lest the spiders bite you in the rear.”

Iddo did not reply. As Leo continued up the meandering path and vanished from view, Iddo took a deep breath, picked up his buckets and continued down the path. Was he really as useless as the Headmaster thought? He knew he was not as strong as the other young men. That had actually played a part in his decision to take the robes, but he was smart, and had done well in his studies, even on the most obscure and difficult subjects. The Headmaster simply did not like the fact that Iddo was related to one of the House Lords, and no matter how many times he explained that Lord Aran was a distant cousin, everyone in the Temple considered him a spoiled noble.

Iddo reached the river, placed one bucket down and getting on his knees on a rocky outcrop, reached out to fill the other with the cold water. 

Then he saw it.

Only as tall as Iddo’s chest, the spider was not as large as it could get. He had seen bigger ones, but never this close. It was just standing there, on the path back to the Temple. Eight hairy legs, each one as thick as Iddo’s arms, and terminating in double claws, firmly planted on the ground. The worst part, as far as Iddo was concerned was the way the body ululated up and down in a strange, macabre dance of death.

Did it see me? Does it know I’m here?

The spider didn’t move, but it was on Iddo’s way, and he appreciated life too much to try to disturb the monster. He looked around to see if he could go around it, but everywhere he looked, he thought he saw moving shadows, clawed legs, staring eyes, and hungry jaws.

It’s going to eat me. I know it’s going to eat me, oh gods, why does it have to end like this?

Slowly, to avoid disturbing the spider, Iddo placed his bucket on the ground and walked backwards toward the water, stepping on the stone outcrop. If the spider charged, he could always jump in, for it was known that spiders could not swim. Well, there were the little ones Leo kept reminding him about, with the padded feet. Those ones could walk on water, and the very idea of the large ones being able to do that as well had terrorized his dreams for a whole season, until his studies revealed that such a thing was not possible.

Another spider came into view, smaller than the first, but not by much. This one had orange stripes on its legs.

One little spider, what can it do? Up comes another and now they are two.

If he had not been so scared, he’d have laughed when the old counting song came, uncalled for, into his mind, but somehow, he could not shake the absurd song from his mind.

Two little spiders, hung from a tree; up comes another and now they are three.

It seemed like he was going to have to jump in the water. He could swim down river for a bit and come out near the bend, which was by the festival grounds. Then, he could take the Temple Road and go back hime from that direction. The festival grounds were well outside of the spiders’ nesting grounds.

Three little spiders, all coming forth; up comes another and now they are four.

It only took a moment of distraction for Iddo to lose sight of one of the spiders. He looked left and right, to make sure he still knew where both spiders were, but before he knew it, the first one sprang after him.
Spiders were slow, deliberate walkers, which may work for them to lull prey into complacency, but Iddo knew very well that the guant hunters were more than capable of sprinting very fast, not to say anything of how high they could jump.

He knew he had to act immediately if he wanted to live.

Turning around, Iddo jumped from the rock and went, feet first, into the water.

Iddo gasped when he entered the water. He knew it was cold, the River Xin always was, but the idea was much milder than the experience. He barely had any air left by the time he surfaced. The current was much stronger than it seemed from the quiet surface and it dragged him along, away from the spiders, but also made it difficult to swim in any direction other than the one dictated by the current. After much effort to get back to shore, he realized that the river was in charge of where he landed, and devoted his effort to stay above water until the river decided where to let him go.

Thankfully, despite all his weaknesses, Iddo was a capable swimmer. He had been swimming for as long as he remembered. Of course, when he went swimming, he didn’t go to the River Xin at Night. The Altun was much warmer, and had no spiders.

Four little spiders, hanging up high; up comes another and now they are five. 

It took him some time, but as soon as he found himself in a shallower part of the river, Iddo stood up and climbed out of the water. The mud was deep, and seemed fixated in gobbling his legs off, but in the end, he managed to get out. The river had taken him farther than he expected, although not by much, and now getting back would take a long time.

On his way, still shivering because of the cold, Iddo crossed part of the city. He had lost his sandals along the way, and his feet grated against stone, grass and dirt.

If the scene at the Temple had been grim, the city was much worse. There were more dead bodies than people to care for them, some arranged neatly in rows, others still laying on their own blood.

Iddo barely heard the soldier calling up to him, asking it he was hurt, and then if he could help.

“I need…” Iddo shook his head. The little spider tune still lingering, bringing hism back to the horrors of his chilhood’s nightmares. “I need to go back to the Temple.”

“Oh,” said the soldier, while pulling a dead body out of the grass, “I didn’t realize you were a Priest. I won’t stop you then.”

Iddo should have dispelled the notion that he was a priest, and on a normal occasion that’s exactly what he would do, but he was not thinking clearly. He knew the blood, the spiders, and now the cold were getting into his head. He knew because, otherwise, Why would he be remembering a children’s song at a time like this?

Five little spiders, please come and see; up comes another and now they are six.

Yes, he was losing his mind.

He knew he should go on. He knew he should return to the Temple and help in whatever way he could, to relieve the pain of the people there, but he couldn’t get himself to do it. Each step became increasingly harder to take, increasingly painful, until he simply stopped and dropped to the ground in a useless heap of tears.

How can this be happening? Oh, Goddess, dearest Acunodes, you know the end from the beginning; you spin the web of the People’s destiny. How can this be happening?

Iddo wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his robe. It was still wet, and dirty.

“Why did the gods allow this to happen?” he said aloud, his voice coarse and broken to his ears.

He could not go on. His pain was too much. He was not like the others, like the Headmaster, like Leo, like the soldiers. They all kept going no matter what, but Iddo was not like them. He was not strong. He only had his studies and his faith, and even that was failing him now.

 

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===============  AUTHOR'S NOTE  ==================

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Thank you for your interest in Soul Sisters. I initially had questions as to where to place this chapter, because chronologically it happens the same night of the attack, but it is on a different area, and I was not sure which was worse, to interrupt the drama of the attack and the aftermath to show this at the time it happened, or to jerk you, the readers, back in time to the same night after they already past it.  Please let me know what you think about that, or about anything else in the story, so I can consider it when I go on a revision pass, which I know I'll need.

Also, if you like what you read, or find a problem with it, letting the author know has been known to be beneficial, so feel free. I'm far from a perfect writer, and I appreciate any feedback, positive and negative (unless it is "you totally suck and should die," of course)

The next chapter will also follow your favorite arachnophobic acolyte (unless you know of another arachnophobic acolyte, that is) as we bring his story to the same point as Kamira's.

Anyway, Iddo was a late addition to the story, as he was not in the outline or the first draft, but he became some sort of a necessity because I needed a character to (CONTENT REMOVED BY ORDER OF THE SPOILER PROTECTION AGENCY) and since he is mentioned in later work as someone who lived on this era, I thought using him here would kill two birds with one stone.  Of course, if his presence ruins the story, I hope you'll let me know.

8: Aramis Aran

The first light of dawn found Iddo alone, laying on the ground on the Temple Road, asking himself questions that he knew, should not be asked. These questions were dangerous, maybe even treasonous, and thinking of them could lead to darkness and despair, but feeling as he felt, Iddo did not care. What darkness and despair could be worse than what he was feeling then?

Acunodes, the Goddess he had pledged allegiance to, was the Goddess of Fate. She knew the past and the future, and if the Verses were to be taken literally, people were strands of the web of reality, which the Goddess spun like a tapestry. This was known. It was, above everything in the Verses, what distinguished Acunodes from any other divine being. That was the reason the High Priest of Acunodes was called a Prophet.

If the Goddess knew the barbarians were going to attack Sacred Home, why had she not told her Prophet? And if she did, Why had the Prophet not shared that with the People? Was it not written in the Verses that ‘the Goddess shall succor her people in their time of need?’ 

How many things had gone wrong for this scene of death and suffering to come upon Sacred Home at the time of the Festival?

With tears of bitterness falling to the ground, Iddo could contain himself no more. If the Goddess was real, as he believed she was, there was no way for all these things to happen.

He needed to know how these things were possible, and he knew what the High Priest would say if he asked him. He would explain, in all his gentle way with words, that mortals should not presume to understand the minds of the Divine. That a higher purpose than we can comprehend was at work here, or that Iddo should not let philosophical questions affect his faith. To get that answer, Iddo would have to reach the High Priest first. A simple Acolyte, Iddo would have to go through the Headmaster, and he knew better than to talk to the Headmaster about his doubts. He still had marks on his back from the last time he questioned the Temple’s doctrines.

If he wanted answers, he’d have to go directly to the source. He had never presumed to have direct revelation from the Goddess, but this was an exceptional moment, he thought, because if he did not get an answer, he would abandon the faith.

“Dear goddess, Acunodes,” he invoked, getting up on his knees and wiping his tears away. “Forgive me if my weakness makes me overstep my bounds.”

He paused for a moment, not sure of what he wanted to say. Sometimes, at prayer time, he had to make an effort to come up with something to say to the Goddess. This time, too many questions swirled around in his head, and he didn’t know which one to ask first. At least the stupid child’s song was gone.

“Dearest Goddess,” he began again. “Why has this tragedy come to pass? Why have the gods allow this to happen to our people? Why did the Prophet kept their silence, or was it you, oh, Goddess dearest, who kept silent in our time of need?”

He stopped, hesitating. Was he, a weak, lowly acolyte, going too far in questioning a Divine? This would certainly earn him, more than a few lashes from Headmaster Su-Suei. What was he doing, offending the Divine, especially the one who could pull a strand out of the life and vanish him from reality?

But I need to know. I need to.

“Acunodes,” he continued, closing his fists so hard that his nails bit into his skin. “Next to your glory, I am nothing but a speck of dust but I pray you listen to my humble supplication, because in my weakness, I need to know. My faith is shaken by this attack, and I wonder if the Divines have forsaken their elect people in their time of need.”

He took a deep breath. This was it. He was actually questioning the Goddess, asking. There was no way back. He had to go on, even if She decided to erase him. “Oh Goddess,” he raised his voice again. “Why have you allowed this great tragedy? Where were your prophets, who failed to warn us? Why was your ear hidden from us?”

Silence.

There was nothing. Not that he usually received direct responses from the Goddess when he prayed, but this time, he could not feel the familiar calmness and peace of mind that usually followed his prayers. That gift, which the Verses called the Divine Peace, was given to the worthy for their strength and comfort, and now, more than ever, Iddo needed it.

As far as prayer went, this had been a short one, but Iddo could not stay there, on his knees, forever, while the injured were dying at the Temple. “Please, Goddess, grant me strength,” he finally said, standing up, “that I may do what needs to be done.”

That said, he bowed in a sign of reverence and continued on his way.

He almost collided with an old man, whom he had not seen approach and was coming from the opposite direction.

“I’m sorry, Old one,” said Iddo, looking at the white-robed stranger. “Are you coming from the Temple?”

“No,” responded the old man, but Iddo should have known that. No one who had been to the Temple would be wearing robes so clean.

“Who are you?” Iddo asked. He had never seen the old man before.

The old mand smiled. There was something comforting about his smile, a warmth Iddo had not felt in a long time. The man's hair, white as snow, cascaded past the man's wide shoulders. The top was collected in a small bun behind his head, but the rest flowed free. Despite his old age, which was apparent from the length of his ears, the longest Iddo had seen, the man stood straight. He looked like the men in old paintings, strong, even in their advanced years.

“Why do you ask if I come from the temple?” asked the old man.

“This is the temple road,” said Iddo, puzzled by the question. “Where else would you come from?”

“I see,” said the old man, looking at Iddo with piercing green eyes. “But lest me be rude, you asked me who I am. I am known by many names. My favorite is Aran, but I believe you already have one of those in this city of yours, so you can call me Aramis.”

Iddo stared at the old man in disbelief. Aramis Aran had been one of the first fathers of the Oni, and back since the time of creation, the name ‘Aran’ was reserved for the heir to his House. To not only appropriate that name, which would have been bad enough, but to use the full name of Aramis Aran, was beyond understanding. Iddo wondered whether the man had taken the name himself, or if his parents were to blame.

“If my name bothers you,” said the old man with a smile. “I can give you another, if you prefer.”

“No,” said Iddo, only then realizing that he had been staring at the old man open-mouthed. “If that is your name, then that is what I will call you. If you’re not coming from the temple, where are you coming from?”

“I come from far away, young lad, very far away,” said the old man with a sigh, “but I'm afraid you are asking the wrong questions.”

“Huh?”

“Shall we begin anew?” asked the old man gently. “My name is Aramis Aran, Messenger of the Divines, and I’m here to answer your questions.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” asked Iddo, looking around, expecting to see Leo emerge from among the trees, laughing at his gullibility. Iddo felt betrayed. He considered himself a good judge of character and he had thought the old man was a good person. A man of such venerable age, should have known better.

“You don’t believe I am who I say I am,” said the old man. A gentle smile still on his lips.

“Of course not,” said Iddo. “If you were the Messenger, why would you appear to me? I’m but an Acolyte, a weak and cowardly one at that. Of what worth are my questions that the Messenger shall appear before me?”

“The Spirit was right, as usual,” said the old man scratching an eyebrow with two fingers. “He said you had doubts, but had a pure heart. I have not spoken with you for long and I already can see it.”

“Who? What Spirit?”

“The Spirit of River Xin, of course,” said the man, laughing. “How many spirits have carried you in their arms recently?” 

“I don’t -”

“Listen, lad,” said the man, placing a large hand on Iddo's shoulder. “I have all the time in the world, but you don’t. Allow me to answer your questions and be on your way.”

“What questions?” asked Iddo. He really didn’t know where this conversation was going. This was probably the worst practical joke Leo had ever made.

“Are you even a believer, lad?” asked the old man. “I was led to believe that I was to meet a Priest of Swnwi.”

“Not a priest, no,” said Iddo shaking his head. “I’m a simple acolyte.”

He did not correct the old man’s use of the name 'Swnwi'. Although none of the priests would ever call the Goddess Acunodes by her informal nickname, it was a known practice outside of the clergy. The name ‘Swnwi’ was just an acronym for ‘She Whose Name We Ignore” with was the literal translation of the name Acunodes anyway, so even though the priests considered it disrespectful to call the Goddess that way, Iddo had always thought that they called her just that, only in a different language.

“A ‘simple acolyte,’ he says,” the old man blurted with a laugh. “An acolyte you may be, my boy, but not a simple one.”

“Excuse me, venerable old one,” said Iddo as respectfully as he knew how, walking past the man. “I need to get back to the Temple.”

“So this is what the Divines have been reduced to,” said the old man grabbing him by the arm with a surprisingly strong grip. “Imaginary beings, to be invoked and pleaded with, yet to be ignored when they decided to ignore their people's pretentiousness in asking for undeserved revelation and grant them mercy. No wonder the DIvines have closed their ears to you. Your concern with pomp and ceremony is more important to you than the Divines themselves. Go to back to your Temple, if you must, but never ask your Goddess for this opportunity again.”

“All right,” said Iddo, shaken by the old man's words. What if he was right? Had not he been asking for guidance? So, what if the old man was crazy? Could not the Goddess use him for her purposes? And if it was all nonsense, he could let the man have his say, and then take his leave. "I will listen to what you have to say."“First off, you asked why the gods allowed this great tragedy to come upon your people.”

“So, now you are interested,” said the old man, adjusting the logs in the fire. “Very well. Sit still and listen.”

The warmth of the fire felt good on Iddo's face, as it dried Iddo’s robes and hair.

Iddo blinked. How was he sitting by a fire talking to the old man? Just a moment ago, there had been no fire, and he had been standing. He was sure of that.

“Fear not, youngling,” said the old man, smiling, and despite all his apprehensions, a warm feeling of calmness, overtook Iddo, a feeling more powerful than what prayer had ever brought him, a feeling that he had not felt since being a little boy in his mothers’s arms.

Goddess have mercy! This is not a prank.

“Aramis Aran,” said Iddo raising himself to his knees in reverence, his face down to the ground. “Please forgive my unbelief.”

“There’s no need to kneel,” said Aramis. “I’m naught but a simple servant, talking to a simple acolyte.”

“But I’ve shown lack of faith,” said Iddo, still prostrated. "I did not believe." 

“You lack faith, that is true, lad,” said Aramis Aran, “but the faith you lack is in yourself. You thought I could not be the Messenger simply because you doubt your own worthiness and think you do not deserve such a visit. However, you have enough faith in the Goddess Swnwi, or else, you would not have sought to ask her your questions directly, as pretentious as that was.”

“Is that true?” asked Iddo. “That I have faith, I mean.”

“Would I be here if it was not so?” asked Aramis. “Only the prayers of a true believer can reach the ears of the Divines these days. Even I considered ignoring your plea, but the Spirit of the River Xin vouched for you, and she is very selective on whom she favors, so I decided it was best to come see this simple acolyte in person.”

“You honor me greatly.”

“You may be of a different mind once you receive answers to your questions, young man," said Aramis, his smile still on his lips, but sorrow in his eyes. ”And for all the Divines, stop kneeling. You are embarrassing yourself.”
 

9: The Tracker

After many false starts, Kamira found a witness. An old potions seller who had been at the festival grounds, claimed that she had sold a phial of Sandora’s Tears, a potent love potion, to Asia. The woman had no more information and did not know where Asia had gone, but she did have something to say concerning a young man, apparently a soldier, who had been escorting Asia.

“Can you describe this young man to me?” asked Kamira, tempering her excitement at finally finding someone with something to say, with the realization that this was probably bad news. Why was Asia purchasing love potions? It was not like she needed them to do as she pleased with a young man. The only reason a long line of suitors was not constantly harassing her home was that Lord Aran had made it explicitly clear to everyone that Asia was not of marriageable age yet.

The woman, her ears skittish, jumping at any sound, described the young soldier to Kamira in vague terms. What else could she expect from someone who had been in the middle of such a massacre? The potions woman had been fortunate that she only has a large cut above her brow. From the poor description, Kamira decided that it must have been one of the guards assigned to the Manor where Asia was staying.

Asia thanked the woman, and armed with what little information she had gathered, headed to the manor. There, she encountered a partially-built funeral pyre, and many dead bodies arranged in a line next to it. Two and ten bodies were there already and a servant was dragging yet another one.

“Where are the guards?” Kamira asked the servant, lending him a hand carryon the body.

Not even the dead deserve to be dragged like this.

“Most of them are dead,” said the servant as they placed the body alongside the rest, “or dying. They set up an infirmary in the guardhouse. You can find a gate through the garden.”

Kamira thanked the servant and crossed the charred remains of what had once been a beautiful garden, and entered the guardhouse. There were several cots set there, a dying Oni laid on each. A nurse was treating a wounded guard, and Kamira passed by, realizing that he was not the one she was looking for. The only guard who looked anything like the description she had been given was sitting on the corner, propped against the walls, wrapped up in a blanket and shivering.
 
“Listen,” she said, touching the guard’s exposed arm. His skin burned to the touch. He barely reacted.

“I need your help,” she said. “Can you hear me?”

The man grunted. “Water.”

Kamira looked around, but the only drinkable thing she found was wine. “Here,” she said, helping the soldier to a couple swigs.

He seemed to breathe a little better. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m Kamira,” she said. “I need to ask you something important.”

“You can ask,” the guard responded with a pained smile. “I don’t know if I can answer.”

Kamira smiled back at him. She had to hurry. In his condition, who knew how long he would remain lucid? “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Her name is Asia, and she was lodging here at the manor. She’s Princess of House Aran.”

“I know her,” the man said, nodding as a fit of cough interrupted him. Kamira held him steady and gave him a little more wine, not sure if she was helping. “I took her to the festival. What do you need to know?”

“What happened to her?” Kamira asked. “I need to find her.”

“Don’t know… Left her there when escort… arrived. Probably dead.”

So, this young man had not been the target of the potion. “I’m sorry to keep bothering you. I know you need rest, but do you know who her escort was?”

“No…”

A dead end.

“Where did you leave her?”

Even the effort of retrieving a memory appeared to cause the young man pain, as he grimaced, but Kamira needed to know. “The lights…” he said, weakly, after a pause. “She was going toward the lights.”

“One last question,” Kamira said. “Did you see her buying a potion?”

“Yes, I think,” he said. “Just before I left.”

“Thank you very much,” she said, touching the feverish soldier’s face. “You did well.”

After making sure the young man was properly supported by the wall, Kamira stood up and made for the nurse, whom she found cleaning blood off if a knife. How many of these young nurses had been forced to become battle surgeons?

“Can you see to him?” she asked pointing at the guard “He has a fever.”

“There’s nothing we can do for him,” the nurse said after taking a quick look. “He’s bleeding inside.”

Kamira looked back at the guard. Internal bleeding and a fever? He was as good as dead, and he was suffering so much. “Listen,” she said to the nurse, “he doesn’t deserve to suffer so. Can you end it?”

“The nurse stopped what she was doing, placed the knife on the table, and fixed her eyes on Kamira, indignation flashing in her eyes. “I don’t know who you think you are, young lady,” the nurse said, perking her ears high, “but we are healers, not killers. You should know better than to ask me such a thing.”

“I’m truly sorry,” said Kamira, turning away from the nurse.

It was true, she should have known better. Life, in all its forms was sacred to the Oni, and this one was, on top of that, a healer. Kamira shook her head at her own foolishness.  

Opting to leave through the street door opposite from the one she had entered, Kamira walked by the soldier again. His eyes were closed, and his breathing labored. She touched his blood-covered arm, but this time the soldier didn’t respond. Now that she thought about it, he smelled of death already. “You will be all right,” she told him. Checking to make sure the nurse was not looking in her direction, Kamira grabbed the soldier’s head with both hands and gave it a quick twist, breaking his neck.

Kamira kissed the dead soldier on the forehead, and wiping away her tears, left the guard house.

Returning to the Festival grounds, she found the place where the Lights had been, which was now covered in ashes. There she saw bodies being collected as well, bot contrary to those in the manor, the ones here had been piled up unceremoniously on top of each other. These would be burnt as well, Kamira knew, but there would not be a formal funeral, or even a funeral pyre. At best, they’d be tossed into a large bonfire.

There were also bodies of humen on the pile, a major disrespect to the dead, if Kamira had seen one. She looked through the dead bodies, finding a measure of relief when none turned out to be Asia. Then she explored the area a bit more. Because of the Festival, a large crowd had been there, so whatever was not burnt was badly trampled, but on the outer limits of the clearing, under the trees, there was less damage, so she tried to look there.

Under a large ironbark tree there was a body. It was a young Oni, wearing only a tunic, and no shoes, coat, breeches or cape. He laid face down on soil darkened by his own blood. The one thing that called Kamira’s attention was that the tips of his fingers were blackened, like a coal boy’s.

“There’s a body here,” she called to one of the body collectors, who nodded in acknowledgment from the clearing. Whether Oni or humen, all bodies had to be burned, lest a plague spread among the survivors.

Kamira walked past the body and noticed, next to the tree, a bundle of clothes. Upon closer examination, she found the shoes that were missing from the young man, so, using her feet, she spread the clothes out and found that he was not a poor coal boy as she had thought, but had expensive clothes of fine fabric.

She also found a fire starter, a small empty bottle and a white and lavender ribbon that did not seem to belong with the rest. She picked the ribbon up and examined it. It had a flowery smell, reminiscent of bath powders. Could it be Asia’s? She didn’t recognize it, but that didn’t mean much when the Princess could have clothes made on demand. Kamira folded the ribbon and placed it on her belt pouch. Next, she examined the bottle. The remnant of liquid in it, one drop, perhaps, was clear and had no scent. She took that as well. She would go back later to confirm her suspicions with the potions lady, but right now, she had to gather as much evidence at the scene as she could.

“I changed my mind, leave him,” she told the body collector when he approached to take the body away. “I need this area investigated. Run to the nearest soldier and tell them that Striker Kamira request a Tracker. If they protest, tell them I have this.”

“Yes, mistress,” answered the collector eyeing the ring Kamira wore. The collector beckoned to a young boy who was carrying a log.

As the boy approached, Kamira turned back to the collector. “Tell him that there is a woman by the stalls, a potions lady. I need her as well.”

The collector gave instructions to the boy, who perked his ears at the opportunity to leave his grim assignment and ran away to do as he had been told.

“Is there anything else, mistress?” asked the collector.

“Just tell the others that this area is not to be disturbed until the Tracker is done,” she said, letting the man go continue his work.

 

 

“Yes, this is Sandora’s Drought,” said the potions woman, licking the rim of the small bottle. She had arrived soon after Kamira sent for her, but it had felt like a very long time. She seemed more in control of herself now, or perhaps it was because now Kamira was asking about something she felt comfortable with.

“The young woman you sold this to,” Kamira said, her feelings straddling the desperate need to know and the fear of knowing. “What was she wearing?”

“She had a fine dress,” she woman said, looking up in remembrance. “I think it was light purple, but it had ribbons.”

“Like this one?” asked Kamira, drawing the ribbon out of her pouch.
 
The potions lady handled it and smelled it. “Yes,” she said. “I may not remember the exact color, but I never forget a smell. This was what she was wearing last night, the girl you seek.”

 

 

The tracker arrived much later. It turned out that there were not too many available but since the boy had mentioned Kamira’s signet ring, a captain had ordered one to be found and brought to her immediately. He had introduced himself as Tracker Renor, of the Third Wing or something, but Kamira had set him to work the scene immediately.

“A couple laid here,” he said, his hands spanning the area next to the tree, where the clothes laid. “They were probably still there when the humen attacked. The girl stood here, which means that the boy stood in front of her, probably to defend her.”

“And?” said Kamira as Tracker Renor walked around, his expert eyes scanning things she could not see.

Kamira had always held doubts about the actual capabilities of trackers. Sometimes, she thought they made up half of what they said they saw, but she had seen some of them perform great feats, and she so desperately wanted to find Asia that she was willing to believe anything this Tracker told her.

“They had no chance,” said Renor. “The humen came from all around, and the boy was unarmed. He died quickly, if that is any consolation.”

“And the girl?” Kamira asked, an unwanted tremor in her voice. “What can you tell me about the girl?”

“The girl, right,” said Renor, his eyes darting back to the floor, his hands extending in front of him to frame the scene.

“The girl stepped forward, stepping on the boy’s blood. He was probably dead by then. She had a struggle with the humen but they held her. One of them lifted her and carried her away… That way.”

Kamira looked up. Renor was pointing towards the Forest. “They took her?” she asked. “Alive?”

Renor nodded. “Seems that way.”

“We have to follow their tracks.” Kamira finished. “You are coming with me.”

“As you say,” responded Tracker Renor. “You have the signet ring; you make the rules.”

Signet ring or now, with the situation at Sacred Home, Kamira did not dare ask for a search and recover party until she had hard evidence of Asia’s whereabouts. For now, she had a Tracker, which was the next best thing, and, more importantly, she was on the trail.

“I’ll get you, sister,” said Kamira as she followed Renor’s steps into the forest.

 

 

10: Seductress

Asia woke up with a terrible head and neck pain. Her captors had not allowed her out of the cage and she had found sleeping so hard that day and night seemed to fade into bursts of interrupted sleep and dazed wakefulness. Twice, if she remembered correctly, the female Oni had taken her out so she could relieve herself, and she had also brought her food and water, but no matter what, all her attempts at conversation fell on deaf ears. She would get orders and direction, but no answers.

The boredom, and her stupor, ended when she heard the group discussing something quite animatedly. She looked forward and saw what appeared to be an encampment of some sort.

There were large bonfires, which affected her dark vision, but as they approached, she noticed that it was a camp of Tun Warriors. The Tun were short people, most of them only reaching the shoulders of a male Oni, but Asia was short, and the taller Tun would reach her nose. The Tun were muscular and broad-shouldered, one of their thighs probably wider than Asia’s torso. They had no hair anywhere on their bodies, and their skin was smooth and slick. They all looked exactly the same.

The white-haired Tun that accompanied her captors was different. While his body had similar proportions, he was hairy, and his skin, where visible, was darker. He was the one who took the lead now, to converse with the Tun.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked the male Oni, who was the nearest person to her cage.

“Can’t talk to you,” he responded, looking at her with wide eyes.

He is afraid… Why?

Was it Asia’s perception or was he also sad? His eyes lacked something, and at first Asia had not been able to identify it, but now that she was looking at him from a closer distance, she realized what it was. His eyes were green, like all the Oni, but they were missing the inner light, the Oni normally had. They looked lifeless and flat, like humen eyes. Green eyes, yes, but not Oni.

“Listen,” she said, venturing a guess as to why he was sad. She had nothing to lose. “I know you don’t want to keep me captive.”

He looked at her but didn’t say a word.

“You don’t have to keep me in this cage,” she continued. Her words, clearly having an effect, making him hesitate. “Look, this cage is hurting me. I’m not sleeping, the constant movement is making me ill, and my whole body hurts.”

“What do you want?” snapped the young Oni. “I’m sure you could sleep if you wanted too. Besides, I can’t help you. Stop talking to me.”

He walked away from her. If someone on that group was going to help her, it was going to be this one. The Female Oni was gentle and treated her with a modicum of respect –as long as one did not consider the cage situation— but she was hard, unbending. The rest of the group, she had no hope for. They avoided her at all costs and showed no sign of understanding or empathy.

Now they were entering into the Tun encampment proper, where hundreds of Tun, if not thousands, busied themselves with whatever it was that they were doing. This was the first time he saw them up close. In the past, she had seen her Lord Father meet with a Tun delegation in a negotiation field, but she had been kept behind, and only saw them from a distance. This close, she could smell the sweat that shimmered on their skin, and it reminded her of old eggs, not quite rotten, but past their prime.

Asia wrinkled her nose but continue to look at them. Part of their sameness, she realized, was because they wore identical uniforms. Dark metal armor covered their chest, shoulders and loins, but their abdomen and backs were naked, except for the crisscrossed belts that held their armor and weapons in place. At first, she thought they were armed with spears, but upon closer view, she noticed the tips extended backwards into curved blades. The blades, like their armor, was dark, almost black, and burnished to a shine that reflected the large fires on their camp.

What was the connection between her captors and the Tun? Had she been taken from the barbarians only to be handed to these creatures? Why were her captors meeting with them?

She was still wondering about these matters when her cage came to a stop. Soon, it became apparent that they would spend the night there. The female Oni brought her bread, a yellow and red fruit that tasted very sweet, and some wine. She saw them, even the two Oni, partaking of the meat of dead animals, and was grateful that they respected her beliefs in the sanctity of life, even if they themselves seemed unconcerned.

Night fell fast and once again, she laid down on the hard cage to try to sleep.

It did not happen. She was too uncomfortable to sleep, even though her body required it. Normally, she could have remained awake for days. One time, she had challenged Kamira to see who could stay awake the longest, and Asia had won. How long had that lasted, a week? However even she knew that sleep was the only thing that could heal the pains and aches on her body. She could not find a position that she could keep on for long enough to sleep, however, and just when she thought she would faint into slumber, the image of her dead lover had been there to haunt her.

His death had been her fault. Why had she given him a love potion? Her stupid desire to be kissed had made her a murderer.

A murderer.

She tried to shake the thought off. She knew that fear, sorrow and lack of sleep would eventually be too much for her, that she would lose her mind, unless something changed soon. She only had to look at her mother, the Lady Eddine to see what long-term grief can do to a person. Once a vibrant, sweet, nature-loving woman, now reduced to grief, sickness and paranoia.

She had to think of something; do Something. Her father had a favorite speech about changing one’s circumstances or changing one’s attitude. How did that go? It had to do with trying to affect your situation to the best of your ability, but when that was not possible, to try to adjust your attitude.

But what could she do? For a moment, she entertained the idea of hurting herself by hitting her head against the metal bars of the cage. What would her captors do then? They might take her out of the cage, or she might lose consciousness. One way or another, she would get some rest.

It was a short-lived plan. As soon as she got to the bars and tried to hurt herself, she realized that she did not dare. She was too afraid to  hit her head against the bars.

Gods, why is this happening to me?

Crying, she laid back on the cage again. She would not be able to change her situation, not in any way she could think of. How could she work in her attitude? Asia closed her eyes and tried to think of a happier time. The morning of her two and ten-sixes birthday came to mind. She had convinced Kamira to drop several clumps of salt into the broth the cooks were making for her sick mother. It had been fun, until they realized that their intended target, the cooks, did not taste her mother’s medicinal broth and brought it to Eddine directly.

Her Lord Father had been furious, and was about to punish the cooks, but Kamira spoke up and confessed that it had been her doing and her idea. Lord Aran had been very disappointed at her and decided that as punishment, and in a manner of apology to the cooks, Kamira would work the kitchens for one full moon, and for good measure, Asia would be her helper. She never found out for certain, but she always thought that Lord Aran knew that she must have been the one behind the salt idea.

For the first time since her tribulations began, Asia found herself smiling. Then, the thought of how ridiculous she must look laying  there, in the middle of her tragedy, smiling, made her laugh.

“What’s the matter?” asked someone from behind her. It was the male Oni. “Why are you laughing?”

The question made her laugh even more. This was so stupid!

“I’m happy because of your hospitality,” she said, her laughter simmering down. “I’m really enjoying this tour of the Xinnian countryside, and the accommodations are exquisite.”

The male Oni seemed confused, which pleased Asia, and gods knew she could use any little measure of pleasure she could get. An idea took shape in her mind.

“You know?” she said, “Since you won’t give me your names, I’m going to name you myself. What should I call you? I know. You will be Moni. Yes, I’ll call you Moni from now on.”

“My name is not Moni,”

His response made Asia laugh again. Laughing at him, even in her precarious situation, made her feel that she could gain at least some control of the situation.

Gods, I need help. How do I get into this man’s head?

“Oh, Moni,” she said, smiling. “I’m so glad you are here to keep me company. Your friend Foni is not as ‘funny’ as you are.”

“Who is Foni?” asked Moni.

Asia just laughed at hearing him say it. She had decided on Moni and Foni as standups for Male Oni and Female Oni, but he didn’t need to know that. Perhaps making nicknames for everyone else would help her pass the time.

Suddenly, another idea came to her. It was true, it seemed, changing her attitude allowed her to think better.

“Hey Moni,” she said, arranging her hair. “Do you find me attractive?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard me, Moni,” she said, seeing how he blushed. “Do you like me? Am I beautiful to you?”

“Well,” said Moni, looking everywhere but at her. “You are, but I’m not interested.”

“Oh?,” said Asia leaning against the metal bars of her cage, trying to get closer to him. “I know I don’t look my best, but I am a Princess. Did I tell you I’m a Princess? Oh, yes I did, I am a Princess, and I have beautiful dresses, and lots and lots of silver. If you take me home, my Lord Father will make you richer than you can even imagine, and mayhap he will even grant you my hand in marriage.”

Moni stared at her for a bit. Was her trick working? Her mother was fond of saying that men only ever wanted two things: Money and honey. She was offering both, to see whether one or the other would work.

“I have a girl waiting for me back home,” he said gently. “I’m not interested in your hand.”

“So, you have a girlfriend, what does it matter?” asked Asia. “I bet she’s not a Princess. Take me home, Moni, and whether you want my hand in marriage or not, I will make you so rich that any girl, including your girlfriend would die to be with you.”

Moni stared at her for a while before responding. “I don’t know how I can make it clearer, Princess. I cannot help you. No matter what you offer me. Besides that, for all you know, my girlfriend could be a Princess.”

“Is she?”

“You know I cannot tell you,” said Moni with a sigh. “I should not even be talking to you. I just heard you laughing and thought you had gone mad in the head.”

I think I’m mad in the head

She needed a different strategy. What could make a man not be swayed by money or women?

“Do you like boys, instead, Moni?” she asked, looking for the slightest indication, fishing for a weak point in Moni’s armor. “I have no problem with that. I can make sure that you get anyone you want. I have soldiers, if you like that, and boy servants.”

“You are a sick person, you know?” asked Moni, grimacing. “Do you think you own people; that you can hand them out as payment? I do not like boys, but if I did, I would not accept one as a gift, just like I would not accept a woman as a gift, because people are not property.”

Asia had to change tactics. Quickly. This was not working as she had hoped, and making Moni mad at her would not help her in the slightest.

“I’m sorry, Moni,” she said, lowering her ears in a submissive pose, while from behind her hair, her eyes remained affixed to the man.  “You are right. I should not have spoken as I did. It is not who I am. It was my desperation talking, not me. Can you forgive me?”

Moni nodded.

Good. Take it easy now; find out what he really wants.

“What do you want, Moni?” Perhaps the direct route would work better with him. “There is almost no limit to what you can get if you rescue me. Name your price.”

“How many times am I going to tell you that I cannot help you?” asked Moni. “Believe me, I would if I could. We all would like to help, but we cannot, and do not ask why, because that is something you cannot know.”

That said, Moni walked away into the night, leaving Asia alone, her hopes shredded. Of all her captors, Moni was the one she thought she could sway, and she had gone nowhere with him.

Asia laid back on the cage’s floor, her eyes open. She didn’t have enough tears left to cry, so she just sunk into her sorrows. Any pleasant memory she conjured was soon interrupted by the image of her dead lover, of the barbarians carrying her away and of the egg-smelling Tun that surrounded her.

The one thing that pained her the most was the memory of herself at home. Her current circumstances highlighted her past vanity. How often had she complained about things as inane as the color of a dress, the texture of a fruit or the voice of a singer? What would she not give now to enjoy a beautiful dress, a ripe fruit and a sweet song? Above all, what would she not give to lose herself into her father’s embrace or to listen to Kamira’s laughter?

She had been such an idiot; a vain, arrogant and entitle idiot. She had wasted her blessings, her life, and now, she had nothing.

I am as good as dead…

11: Revelation

Lord Aran placed his hands on the table as he looked at the makeshift, crudely drawn map. He had called for a High Council meeting to discuss the crisis, but no decisions could be reached, because Aran was the only House Lord in attendance.

House Lannear, represented by Rozard Lent, the House Lord’s brother-in-law, had informed Aran that Lord Lannear was dead. Lord Lent had sent a message to his nephew, the new Lord Lannear, but had not received a response yet.

Lady Torula had come to the Festival without her husband, who was home recovering from one of his maladies, but she did not attend the meeting. The soldiers Aran had sent to deliver the invitation swore that they gave it to her.

While there were soldiers from all Houses in attendance, the Lords and Ladies of the Houses were absent, so the meeting included much reporting from the situation at various Houses, or the efforts to contact them, but little in the form of actual policy decisions.

The grim reality that emerged from the reports was far worse than Aran had anticipated. The state of emergency had triggered Captain Niva’s ascension to his role as Military Commander of the Oni. Under his command, the Oni finally won some small victories, but they came at great cost, were too late, and mattered little. The barbarians were retreating anyway. Theirs had not been an attack of conquest, but of destruction, and a very successful one at that.

The attack to Sacred Home had not been an isolated incident either. All the Houses, including House Aran had been attacked as well. Messengers from Aran’s House reported a devastating attack, with casualties still being counted. Many of the People had died defending their homes, but if it was any consolation, Aran’s wife, the Lady Eddine, was safe.

Lord Aran assigned a few Strikers and a carriage to go back to his House and bring Lady Eddine, and anyone else who needed assistance, here. He could not ask Eddine to come on her own, mainly for the same reason she had not traveled with him in the first place. She was big with child.

Lord Aran picked up the small wooden tower that represented his house and held it in his hand, contemplating for a moment before putting it back on the map.

In addition to burning the crops, the barbarians had destroyed granaries and warehouses. At this point, it became clear that the damage had been massive, and that if there was a crop this year, they would have to get working on it immediately. Lord Aran proposed that all the Houses gather at Sacred Home, bringing all available seed, so a late crop could be sowed. Perhaps they would have to survive the red winter on grain alone, but they had to plant it soon, while the hours of the day were long enough, because after the red sun began to rule the skies, the weather would turn for the worst.

Without the House Lords and Ladies, there was no vote on the gathering, but Aran did what he could do by himself, announcing that his House would gather in Sacred Home, regardless of what the other Houses chose. He also assigned most of his surviving soldiers to serve under Niva’s command. He only kept the ones he had sent to his House, and three more that he had ordered to stay behind.

And Kamira, wherever she was. 

Everyone went on their assigned duty, leaving Aran only in the company of his three remaining soldiers.

“You two will be my new personal guard,” he said, pointing at each as he picked them. “You might be the smallest House Guard ever, but we will make do for now.”

“What about me, my Lord?” asked the last soldier as the first two took positions next to the tent’s entrance, as behoove a House Guard.

“You will guard Lady Shantel,” said Aran, ignoring the meaningful look exchanged by the other two soldiers, who did not know she had traveled with them to Sacred Home.

“I’m going to talk to her now,” he said, walking to the back of the tent, and crossing the curtain that separated his sleeping quarters from the meeting area.

Lady Shantel sat on Aran’s bed, braiding her long, black hair. She was dressed in Lanneary silks, and an expensive necklace of silver and rubies hung from her neck. “I heard,” she said, not lifting her eyes to look at him. “You are bringing you wife over. What shall I do?”

“You will stay here, of course,” said Aran, sitting next to her. “I will not make you move.”

Shantel looked at him, tears pooling in her deep green eyes. “I have never presumed to take her place,” she said, looking away, “but having both of us in the same place? What will the People say, when they see your wife big with child while you keep a concubine in your tent?”

“They will say nothing,” said Aran, grabbing Shantel’s delicate hand on his. “Look at me, Shantel. You know if I could follow my heart, you would be my wife, but this is something I cannot offer. I am bound to Lady Eddine by marital covenant.”

“I know,” said Shantel, tears falling from her eyes now, “but knowing does not make it any easier. You suffer. You try to hide it, but I see. Every time the Lady Eddine fails to give you a proper heir, you fear for the future of your House, and now with Asia dead-”

“Asia is alive,” said Aran, failing miserably to project strength. “She has to. She’s my only child.”

“I can give you children,” said Shantel, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I can give you as many children as your heart desires, and secure your bloodline.”

Shantel was young enough to give him the heir Lady Eddine had been unable to, and perhaps many more. Eddine’s childbearing years were quickly approaching their end, and she had yet to give birth to a healthy baby. Eddine had been able to come to term four times, and of those, three had been born dead, or had died shortly after. Asia was different. She had been sick and weak like the others, but she had refused to die. She was as stubborn a person as Aran had ever known, even as a baby, and she had chosen to live.

“Shantel,” he said, wiping away tears, “I need you at my side more than ever. Everyone else thinks I am this flawless, fearless leader, but you know I am not that.”

“Yes, you are,” said Shantel, sobbing and punching him on the chest. “You are! You are the leader of your House, and there is no one I would rather have as my Lord at a time like this than you.”

Aran embraced her and remained there, silently, for as long as he could. In the end, he had to give her the bad news. “When Eddine arrives I am going to move with her to the Manor,” he said, caressing Shantel’s cheek. “I hope you will understand.”

Shantel did not reply, but held him tight, which Aran considered a good sign. Why was he putting this fine young woman through such pain? Perhaps he should end it. She did not deserve to be a concubine, but who would take her as a wife now? No, he was responsible for her welfare and her future. He could carve her an estate somewhere on the outskirts of his House, and provide servants to care for her.

“Aran,” said Shantel interrupting his reverie. “I want you to know that I hope the Lady Eddine gives you a proper heir, I really do, and I hope your girl is safe as well. I’ve been praying for both of them, if there is a god who would still listen to me.”

Aran nodded his unspoken thanks, wiped his tears, put on the mask of leadership he wore in front of everyone else, and crossed the curtain to join his three soldiers.

 

The three young men snapped to attention when he emerged from the back of his tent. He stayed there only long enough to give instructions to the one who would be Shantel’s escort. The Lady was not a prisoner; he wanted to make that very clear. She was free to come and go as she pleased, and the guard was only to intervene if she was in danger.

That said, he beckoned to the other two and together, they left the tent. The scene outside was calmer now that most of his House Guard had been sent away. There was smoke in the air, both from the fires the Belomari had started and from the funeral pyres.

“That must be where Lady Torula is,” he said, to no one in particular, “saying her farewells to her departed as I should.”

He was on his way to the center of Sacred Home, when a young man, dressed in Temple robes approached him.

“Lord Aran, is it you?” said the young man as one of Aran’s guards blocked his way. “I have been looking for you.”

“Does the Temple need something?” asked Aran. He had heard that they were taking care of survivors there.

“It is not about that, my Lord,” said the young man. “I need to speak with you, in private.”

“Well, this is as private as it is going to get, young man,” said Aran, not gently, “We are in a state of emergency and these two soldiers are my House Guard.”

“As you say,” said the young man, rubbing his hands together nervously. “Lord Aran, my name is Iddo, and I am an Acolyte of the Temple of Acunodes. I have received revelation from the Goddess, which I think you should hear.”

“Revelation?” asked Aran taken aback. He had expected the Temple to come asking for more resources, not to claim direct authority from the Divines. “You, an Acolyte, received revelation? Don’t we have Prophets for that? Sorry, young man, what did you say your name was?”

“Iddo,” repeated the young man, “and yes, I received revelation. Aramis Aran, your forefather, appeared to me on the Temple Road, and he told me of things that are to come, which I need to warn you about.”

Aran studied the young man. He seemed sincere, although that was no proof that what he was saying was the truth, only that he believed it. “Speak, son,” said Aran in a calmer tone. “I don’t have much time, so please do tell.”

“Thank you, Lord Aran,” said the young man with a graceless bow. “Your daughter is alive, but you will never see her again.”

“Why not?” asked Aran mortified. “Why can’t I see her?”

“She travels a different path, I guess. I never asked,” said Iddo, shaking his head, “but let me tell you about your wife. She is also alive, and will be here soon, but the child that she carries has the same destiny as three others.”

Lord Aran swallowed. How did this young man know about the other babies, which they had kept secret?”

“Your House will survive, my Lord,” continued Iddo. “You will have many children, and will be remembered as King of the People.”

“What nonsense is this?” asked Aran taking a step back. “How can I have many children, if the one person with whom I’ve made marital covenant is unable to give them to me?

“I don’t know how it will happen, Lord Aran,” said Iddo, avoiding his gaze. “But your heir will be borne by the Lady who keeps you company.”

“The Lady? Company? Get out of my sight!” barked Aran. Who was this insolent child? How did he know about Shantel? He probably knew naught, rumors, perhaps.  

“She will give you a boy,” said Iddo as the soldiers pushed him away. “It’s on the threads of Acunodes. Your Lady Companion is already retaining.”

The blood rushed out of Aran’s face and ears. He turned around and stormed back to his tent. Why was he so disturbed by the young man’s words? Was it possible that this young man was telling the truth? If he was lying about such sacred things, Aran would make him pay.

“Lord Aran,” said the young man behind him, “I have more to say.”

He ignored it, and rushed into the tent, taking Shantel by surprise.

“You’re back,” she said, stepping back from the curtain. “What happened? Why are you upset?”

“Are you retaining?” he asked, a finger to her face.

“What?” she asked.

“You know what,” he said, “my seed. Are you retaining my seed?”

“Oh, that,” said Shantel with little emotion.

“Are you?”

“Of course I am,” she responded in an even tone, placing her hands on her belly. “Do you have any idea of the pain and loneliness of being your second? Having this germ of life within me, keeps me going when I have no one else. If something was to happen to you-”

“You cannot have my baby,” Aran interrupted, his hands clenched. “No matter what.”

“Do not concern yourself with this, please,” said Shantel, approaching Aran. She grabbed his hands, a gently pried them open, kissing them. “I know my place. I have been retaining from you ever since we met and never have I failed.”

“It would be illegal,” he said, his mind on the other things the young acolyte had said, “for you to have my baby.”

“If you asked me to do it,” she said embracing him, “legal or illegal, I’d do it, but I know you have a House to rule, a marital covenant to uphold, and a legitimate daughter, so I shall not release my hold. I am not an animal, like the humen, ruled by the cycles of the moon. I conceive if I want, when I want.”

Aran embraced Shantel and held her close. He wished the law could change, that the covenant his own Lord Father had arranged for him, could be dissolved. He would love nothing more than to take Shantel as his covenant wife.
As usual, whenever he felt this way, one thought came to him mind. If he married Shantel, Asia would become illegitimate, and he knew he would never allow that to his Princess.

Curse the covenant. Curse the law, and curse that idiot acolyte for planting these ideas in my head.

“Shantel,” he said, “I am so tired.”

“Come here,” said Shantel, pulling him by the hand towards the bed, “You need to rest. You will not be able to help the people if you are not rested.”

Lying on his bed, next to Shantel Aran asked himself if the People needed him right then. He had been acting as if they did, but to be honest, the dead could not be helped, and until the leaders of the other Houses made themselves available, the living would have to wait too.

There was nothing he could do that would change that.
 

12: The Prophet

When Iddo reached the Temple, he realized he could not remember how he got there. The visit from Aramis Aran, and his conversation with the current Lord Aran had left him in a daze; confused, excited and afraid at the same time. Confused at the meaning of the Messenger’s words, excited at the opportunity to be a witness and to record the upcoming historical events, and afraid of what that meant, not only for the Temple, but to House Aran and the greater Oni population. They would survive, that had been clear from Aramis Aran’s words, but they would be tested as they had never been tested before.

Matters were more subdued at the Temple than they had been when he left. No new injured Oni had been brought in, it appeared, so a modicum of order had been established.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to show his face,” said Leo, walking out the door and coming face to face with Iddo. “Headmaster Su-Suei was looking for you, fool. He will give you two-ten lashes for leaving during an emergency.”
Perhaps Iddo was still in a trance from his revelation, or overwhelmed with his new knowledge, but the threat of the whip seemed mild, almost banal.

“Hey,” said Leo, standing very close to Iddo, his chest puffed up like a noctis bird looking for a mate. “I’m talking to you, idiot.”

Iddo looked at Leo. He seemed smaller, somehow, a stupid little boy using bravado to hide his insecurities. Leo tried to stop him, but Iddo placed a hand on the smaller boy’s chest and pushed him away, making him fall on his bottom.

“Iddo!” complained Leo, looking at him in disbelief.

“Do not get in my way, Leo,” said Iddo, his own calmness surprising him. “I need to talk to the Prophet. Where  is he?”

“Acolytes cannot talk to the Prophet,” said Leo, still sitting on the ground, where Iddo had thrown him, “and don’t think talking to the Prophet will not get you out of your punishment.”

“He will talk to me,” said Iddo walking past the younger acolyte. He was not sure how, but he knew the Prophet would listen, and he wanted to have that conversation before his feeling of Divine Peace subsided and his fears returned.

“Headmaster,” he heard Leo yell, “Iddo is back.”

Headmaster Su-Suei walked out of the back of the room, cleaning blood off his hands with a wet rag. “Iddo,” he said, his face and ears blushed in anger. “What were you thinking, leaving without permission in the middle of an emergency? Go to your room and wait until I call you for your punishment.”

“Respectfuly, Headmaster, I am not going to do that,” said Iddo, looking around for the High Priest, the Prophet, and not seeing him anywhere. “I have a message for the High Priest.”

“You?” asked the Headmaster with a chuckle. “What would an acolyte have to say that the Prophet would need to hear? Go to your quarters now, before I add more lashes to your punishment.” 

“No,” said Iddo walking past the angry man. Perhaps that was not wise. He could get a severe beating for it, but he was not going to fail to give his message to the Prophet. He had been incapable of telling the whole story to Lord Aran, but his Temple was more important. “I will talk to the High Priest. You can punish me later.”

Bad idea.

Headmaster Su-Suei lost it. Never mind the emergency. He ordered Iddo be brought up to the punishment stake, which the other acolytes, led by a very enthusiastic Leo, immediately did.
The stake was not a single pole as its name suggested, but two large poles with metal rings on them. The acolytes tied Iddo’s arms at the wrists and secured the other end of the two ropes to the rings, spreading his arms wide. Of course, they also removed Iddo’s robes, leaving him in a loincloth.

When the headmaster arrived, whip in hand, Iddo was already in position. The acolytes were standing in a circle, to witness the punishment, not out of the pleasure of seeing someone else lashed, but because it was required of them. Leo was the only one smiling.

What possessed me to make me stand up to the Headmaster?

The first lash came as a surprise; it always did, regardless of how much you expected it. It was a sharp sting on impact, followed by a spreading burn. Unless you had been lashed recently, the first impact had much more sting than burn, but as the lashing continued, the pain of the sting diminished while the intensity of the burn increased, until each lashing merged with the next in a fiery agony.

After ten lashes, Iddo lost count. By then, he could not distinguish between tears, sweat, snot and drool; and he was not so much standing as hanging from his wrists.

It stopped.

It is not over… What happened?

Someone was talking, someone else untied Iddo, and a couple acolytes helped him to the ground.

“He showed disrespect. He had to be punished.” It was the headmaster.

Still out of sorts, Iddo felt too ill to look up and see who was questioning his punishment, but he managed to see the white and gold fringes of the man’s tunic.
It was the High Priest.

“I need to talk to you,” he mumbled, looking up at the old man’s face. He was not certain that the words had come out as he intended. “A message.” 

“I will see him in my office,” said the High Priest, “but for the love od Acunodes, someone dress his wounds and give him his clothes back.”

The acolytes did as instructed, except Leo, who said that he was too busy helping the injured. They applied a cooling salve to the whip cuts on Iddo’s back and covered it with a clean linen before helping him get a new robe on. They would not give him the old one, when he was going to see the Prophet.

Soon, one of the senior acolytes brought him up to the prophet’s office, which was on the second floor of the Temple.

“Come in,” said the grave voice from inside the room when they knocked on the door.

The prophet’s office was less impressive than Iddo had expected. It was sparsely furnished, with a small desk next to the only window, and two chairs opposite that. Unlike the Headmaster’s, this office had no paintings on the wall and no sculptures of the Goddess. The only other items in the room were a woven praying rug and an old wooden chest.

“Never been here before?” asked the prophet kindly.

“No,” answered Iddo shaking his head. He had seen the Headmaster’s office, down in the basement, more times than he cared to, but never this one.

“You may sit,” said the High Priest pointing at one of the chairs across from his desk, “unless you'd prefer to stand, that is.”

Iddo sat down. As much as his back burned, he was glad that his bottom had taken no part of the punishment. The last time it did, he had not been able to sit for days.

“I hear you have a message for me?” asked the prophet, leaning forward on his chair, his elbows on the desk.

“I had a vision, master,” said Iddo, more hesitant now that he was in front of the man, “a vision of the Messenger, master. He came to me and answered my prayers to the Goddess.”

“A vision, you say?” the expression on the prophet’s face did not change. “When did that vision take place, last night?”
Iddo continued, not certain if the Prophet’s tone implied belief or disbelief. “The Messenger appeared to me today, on the Temple Road as I was walking back from the city.”

“The city?” the High Priest raised his eyebrows. “Is that the reason you were being punished?”

Iddo lowered his eyes. “No, master,” he said meekly. “I was being punished because I disrespected the Headmaster, but I really needed to tell you of the vision. Aramis Aran –I mean, the Messenger—He told me I needed to tell you.”

“I noticed you did not answer my question,” said the prophet with the gentle tone that made Iddo wish that he, and not Su-Suei, was the Headmaster, “Why were you in the city when we needed you here?”

“I apologize, master,” said Iddo, three fingers to the forehead in the sign of reverence. “I  was fetching water from the river, and the spiders attacked me, big ones, like this high, so I jumped in the water, but the current was too strong and I couldn’t get out until far past the bend. I was coming from there when I had the vision.”

The High Priest frowned, his interlaced fingers in front of his face, his eyes boring deep into Iddo, who shrunk under the scrutiny. “An unlikely story,” he said to Iddo’s dismay, “yet, when one crosses a forest, one sometimes has to walk a crooked path, and the Goddess we worship is no exception. Please tell me about the vision. This Aramis Aran, how did he look? How did he appear to you?”

Iddo described the Messenger of the Gods as best as he could. Then the prophet asked about the message itself.

“A great disaster is approaching,” said Iddo, trying to remain calm enough to speak clearly, “not the attack from the barbarians, but something else. Something big that will also come from the west and will threaten all the Oni.”

“Something worse than this attack?” asked the prophet; his eyebrows arched high. “Did the Messenger say when this disaster will strike?”

“Not exactly,” explained Iddo, “but he said that the disaster will make it impossible for the People to survive the red winter, so it must happen this year.”

“Continue,” said the prophet, his eyes still firmly on Iddo, “unless that is all.”

“No, master. There is more,” responded Iddo. “Lord Aran’s daughter, Princess Asia was taken by the barbarians. Aramis Aran told me that the gods have a great purpose for her, and for the one that seeks her. They'll both play important roles for the People, now and in the future. I am supposed to become a witness to this great disaster, and write down what happens, so I have to go West to where it will happen, so I can document it.”

“You?” asked the prophet. “Why would you receive this calling, out of all the Priests and Acolytes of Acunodes that work on this temple? Why would you be, not only the one who goes to witness this great tragedy, but also the one who received the revelation?”

Iddo looked down again. He would have preferred not to speak about this, but his oath to the Temple demanded he speak truthfuly. “The Messenger said that no one in the Temple is receiving revelation,” he began, his voice weak and trembling. “He said that the Temple has become more concerned with ceremonies and observances than with true worship. He said that because of our sins, the Goddess has removed her gift from us, and only by paying a great price would I be able to preserve the gift.”

The Prophet did not respond. Iddo knew the implications of what he had just said; if there was no revelation at the Temple, Prophet was essentially an empty title. Aramis Aran had been much clearer, but Iddo was trying to be diplomatic
When the silence became almost too uncomfortable to bear, Iddo looked at the prophet’s face and was surprised to find tears there. “Forgive, me master,” he said, but the prophet waved him off.

“Your words are almost unbearable to me,” said the Prophet after clearing his throat, “If you are telling the truth, Acunodes is offering her People salvation, but by bringing said message of salvation through an Acolyte, and not through her own Prophet, She is rejecting the Temple.”

Iddo kept silent. He didn’t know what to say. He was too weak, too inadequate to say anything useful.

“I would rather this was fiction, the ramblings of a deranged mind, but I’m afraid you have the truth of it. No one has seen the Messenger, much less heard the voice of the Goddess in over two hundred years. ‘Revelation is complete,’ we said to ourselves. ‘The Goddess already said all there was to be said.” We fooled ourselves into thinking that the Prophecies and the Verses were all the revelation we needed. How wrong have we been! It pains me that the Messenger had to go down the ranks, to an Acolyte, to find someone who would listen.”

“But Master,” said Iddo, shaken by the prophet’s words. “Certainly, revelation has not stopped. What of the blessings you give to the initiates? Those are both advise and prophecy, aren’t they?”

The Prophet looked at him for a while before answering. “The blessings have been the same for decades. That’s the reason we don’t record them in the Library.”

“I thought it was because too many of them were being given.”

“Public excuse,” said the prophet, placing two fingers on each temple and closing his eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Iddo, pondering on the implications. Word of this could destroy the Temple. Why was the prophet admitting to it?

“Makes sense, I guess,” said the Prophet, his eyes still closed. “You are going to be the next prophet, so you need to know.”

“Me? The next Prophet?” Iddo was shaking his head. “No, no. I can’t be. I know little, I’m just an Acolyte. I‘m supposed to observe and record what I see, not take leadership of the Temple.”

“You have much tpo learn, my young Acolyte," said the Prophet with a rueful smile. “The Headmaster is the one in charge of the Temple. I provide spiritual guidance and revelation, but with no revelation coming forward, my only duties are to keep records and give sermons.”

“Aramis Aran did not say that I’d take your place,” said Iddo, recalling the details. “He said that I will go West, and will record the events of the great tragedy that is to come. He could not mean for me to take over the Temple.”

“We’ll see about that when you return,” said the prophet, wiping away his tears and standing up. “While we wait, I’ll walk the path of the forest in meditation and supplication, to see if I can regain the Goddess’ favor. When do you have to leave?”

“As soon as possible.”

“I'll have the Headmaster make preparations for your travel,” said the prophet, walking to the door. “I will get you a new chronicle, and you can leave at first light tomorrow. Would you like to drive or ride?”

“Uh, ride?”

“I’ll have a sturdy mount prepared for you, and a travel companion as well, to help.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Iddo bowing to the prophet.

“No, child,” said the Prophet, bowing back. “It is I, who must thank you,”
 
 

13: Kar-a-Tun

"There was a battle here," said Tracker Renor. "The question is who killed these men."

Kamira would have laughed at the obvious statement, but the grizzly view of the dead barbarians spread around what had been a campfire before did not allow for that. By now, the bodies had been ravaged by beasts and carrion birds feasted on the remains. The large black birds had naked necks and heads of pink tissue, and were bold, or hungry enough that they didn't fly away when Kamira and Renor approached.

They had tracked Asia's captors to this place. All they knew was that Asia was being carried on a carriage of some sort, and that the tracks had led them to this place.

"The barbarians brought the carriage here." Renor pointed at the shallow creek that bordered the campsite. "The carriage left that way."

Kamira followed Renor to the place he was indicating. So far, he had been very convincing on his skills, so even when Kamira could not see half of what he pointed at, she believed him when he said that he did.

"Interesting," said Renor, looking back towards the camp.

"What is interesting?" asked Kamira.

"It looks like the dead men were Asia's kidnappers. Their boots match the tracks we've been following, but see here?" Kamira saw nothing. "The tracks are different now. The carriage keeps going in the same direction, but different people travel with it."

"What do you think happened?" asked Kamira, wondering about the implications.

"It's hard to tell." Renor narrowed his eyes, looking around and framing different portions of the scene with his hands.

Suddenly, he froze.

"What?" asked Kamira. "What do you see?"

"Come with me." The tracker ran towards a lower portion of the creek, downstream from where they stood. "There."

Kamira saw it. A piece of light purple fabric was stuck to an exposed root. As soon as Renor pulled it out of the water, Kamira knew what it was.

"Why is Asia's dress here?"

Kamira's throat constricted and her ears shook in involuntary spasms as the potential implications of Asia losing her clothes ran unfettered through her mind.

If they harmed her, I'll kill them all.

"I don't know, Striker," said Renor, looking around the site. "There are no tracks around here, so unless they walked downstream stepping on the water, the dress may have been brought here by the current."

"She still has the rest of her clothes," said Kamira, "Which is good news."

"Actually," said Renor to Kamira's dismay. "This dress is here only because it was caught by the roots. The rest of her clothes may have gone further down already.

Or the body. No, no, I must not think that. Asia is alive.  Kamira closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing to calm herself.

Renor must have sensed what she was thinking. "There is no way for this current to carry a body," he said, "besides, why would they toss a body in the creek when they left all the others in the open?"

He was right. It was a shallow creek, nothing more. Whatever had happened there, Asia was still on her way to the west, and Kamira had to go on.

"We should take a breather," she said, "a short one, before we go again."

For the rest of the day, Renor and Kamira followed the carriage tracks, with Renor pointing out what he thought was happening at each turn on the route. It had been dark for a while when Kamira decided that the glow she could see on the horizon, above the tree line, was not part of the second sunset. By then it was clear that it was becoming brighter as time passed, not dimmer.

"What is that?" She pointed at the light.

"Looks like a fire," responded the Tracker, "a big fire."

When they were close enough that they could smell the fire, they left their Sorxes behind and sneaked through the forest, eventually crawling to a vantage point.

"It's a Kar-a-Tun war band," said Renor, "but, what are they doing here, so far from their caves?"

"Are you sure the tracks lead here?" asked Kamira, less concerned about the Tun being this close to home, and more with having to go across to find Asia.

"Of course," said Renor, shaking his head as he studies the camp ahead. "There must be six-tens of them here."

Kamira was not interested in counting the Tun. Not that she could, because the fires were large and burned so bright that her dark vision was next to useless. She could discern several bodies, perhaps two-tens, moving there, but everything else was lost in a dance of shadows. Trackers were hand-picked—some would say 'bred'—for the acuity of their senses, so Kamira was hoping that Renor was having better luck.

"I can't see her," said Renor after some time, "and there is no way we are going to get in that camp undetected."

Kamira agreed. It was one thing to infiltrate a barbarian encampment—all you had to do was cover yourself in rags—but there was no way they could pass as Tun. Their bodies were too different. A Tun was shorter than an Oni, but much broader, and they didn't wear much cover.

"What do we know about the Tun?" she asked, more to herself that to Renor. "What do we know that can help us?"

"They live underground," answered Renor, "and they are very strong, both in body and mind."

Kamira had heard it said one could teach astronomy to a sorx easier than getting a Tun to change his mind

"That doesn't help, I think." Kamira shook her head. "How well do they see in the dark?"

"That I don't know," responded Renor, "but they have too much light in their camp, so I'd dare say we see better than them."

"If they are as blind as Humen," Kamira said. "All we have to do is put those fires down and we'll have the advantage."

Renor closed his eyes and paused for a moment. "Too risky," he said, "there may be hundreds of them there, not just the six-tens I counted, and there's no way the two of us can put all those fires out at the same time.

"If only the Green Mage was real." Kamira smiled at the memory of her childhood's favorite character. "He could call upon the storm and douse the fires for us."

Renor focused his green luminous eyes on Kamira. "Did you just say 'Green Mage'?"

"Yes, from the Ballad of the Green Mage," she answered. "I'm sorry, I was trying to think of something we could do, and remembered it. It's useless, since we can't conjure a storm ourselves, and the sky is clear."

"That's it!" Renor was looking up. "The sky."

"What about it?" asked Kamira following the Tracker's gaze, seeing the forest canopy as a black silhouette against the starry sky.

"The Tun fear the sky." said Renor with a smile, as if he expected Kamira to read what was on his mind. "Since they live underground, the open sky terrifies them. Their word for it means 'dark abyss.' They believe one can fall into the sky, which explains why they are camped among the trees, and why the fires are so large. They're trying not to see it."

"What can we do with that?" asked Kamira. She was not fond of riddles.

"The Tun are so afraid of the sky that they won't look up."

"The trees!" Kamira covered her mouth. She had been too loud. "We can enter their camp by climbing on the trees. Renor, you are a genius."

"Thank me later." Renor's smile evaporated. "If we come back alive."

Kamira crawled back a little before standing up. She was looking for a good tree to climb when another idea troubled her. "How about smell? Can they smell us?" she asked.

"That I don't know," responded Renor. "To be safe, we should move about five hundred paces south, so we approach them with the wind on our faces."

"Good idea." Said Kamira, and the couple delved deeper into the forest.

Kamira and Renor climbed on ironwood trees. The hard trees would make less noise under their weight, and the Tun had cut down several maroons and white pines for their bonfires –Renor could smell them in the smoke—which would damage their axes less.

"Over there," mouthed Kamira once they got a clear view of the camp. There was a wooden cart with a cage. She could not see inside it, but if Asia was somewhere around here, that's where she would be.

Renor looked in the direction of the cage and used military hand signals to indicate that Kamira should wait while he moved closer to see inside the cage. Kamira nodded understanding and turned her attention to the cage and those around it. There was quite some movement around the cage, but only one person remained next to it. It was a hooded figure, too tall to be a Tun, and was not dressed in barbarian garb. The figure was armed with a bow and a short sword. It was hard to see from there, but there might have been a long dagger on his belt.

A bird chirped, a Southern Finch, which was so out of place where they were that Kamira knew immediately it had been Renor's, call. She turned to look at him and he hand-signaled that there was a woman in the cage.

"Is it Asia?" Kamira mouthed back as she made the hand signals.

"Not sure," came the signal back. "Looks like her."

Kamira covered her mouth to silence a gasp. She had found her! Her soul sister was within reach. Never mind that she was in a cage in the middle of an enemy camp, or that the entire rescue operation consisted of one Striker and one Tracker. She had found her, and one way or another, she was going to get her out of there.

"What are we going to do?" whispered Renor, climbing next to Kamira. "There are too many of them."

Kamira looked at the camp, thinking of ways to rescue Asia, but with her mind obfuscated by her excitement, no ideas came to her.

"That one is one of us," said Renor pointing at the person who guarded the cage. "It's an Oni. What do you think he's doing here?"

Kamira looked. The guard had taken his hood off and she could clearly see the golden hair and pointed ears of her people.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "Who is that traitor?"

"I don't know him, Milady," said Renor squinting to see better. "He looks like he could be from House Aran, but I have never seen him before."

"She's being sold by a relative?" Kamira was incredulous. House Aran was full of conceited, self-absorbed fools, but they were loyal, sometimes to a fault. "Could he be a spy for our side?"

Renor didn't answer. The odds that there was an Oni spy embedded with a Tun war band were abysmal. Lord Aran knew much about enemy movements and sometimes mentioned spies, but he had never said a thing about the Tun. All the enemies he knew about were barbarians.

"I don't know what to do." Kamira rubbed her temples, a habit she'd gotten from Lord Aran. A headache was approaching. "What do you suggest?"

Renor considered for a bit. "I'd go back to The People's City," he said finally, "I'd tell Lord Aran that we've located his daughter and ask for a fist of Strikers to come rescue her."

"One fist?" asked Kamira. "Five against all that?"

"An infiltration unit," explained Renor. "After the barbarian attack, I don't think we are equipped to send enough men to fight the Tun. Our only chance is a small, extraction team to infiltrate and recover the Princess."

The idea was better than anything Kamira could have thought on her own.

"I agree," said Kamira. "Go back. I'll keep an eye on Asia to make sure we know where she is at all times."

"With all due respect," said Renor, "it would be much easier for you to secure Lord Aran's cooperation. He doesn't even know me, and since I'm the Tracker, I should follow Asia."

"No, my friend." Kamira smiled, placing a hand on Renor's forearm. "Because you're the Tracker, you'd be better qualified to follow me if they move her. I don't need a Tracker to follow her now."

In the end, Renor was the one to go. As he left, Kamira leaned against the trunk of the Ironwood, rubbing her headache away with her indexes and thumbs.

14: Companion

Iddo woke up just before first dawn. In his excitement, he had not slept much, but he needed to be rested for the trip, so he had forced himself into a few hours of sleep. Iddo, slid off his bunk, carful not to wake the young acolyte who slept below, grabbed his travel bag and gave it one last look, one final review that he had what he needed.

In the bag, he had the blank chronicle the prophet had ordered for him. It was large and cumbersome, so it took most of the space there. A small rectangular box, which writing supplies was there too. He had taken two bottles of good ink and four quills. If he was to write an important chronicle, he should do it on ink that would last at least as long as the paper on which it was written. Much of the work done by the Silent Monks at the Library was transcribing fading documents. Iddo wanted his Chronicle to last.

The last thing in the bag was an old traveler’s map. He pulled it out and unfolded it for a last look. Not as elaborate and detailed as the maps in the library, it had the main rivers, mountain ranges, roads and cities in the land of the Oni and all the plains surrounding it. The lands of the barbarians were not in the map, but he knew they were beyond the Anul-Ardent, which was the mountain range marked on the western edge of the map.

That’s where he was going.

Iddo folded the map again and placed it in his bag. He headed to the kitchens for something to eat. It was too early to break his fast, but he knew he would find something to eat. The cooks would be awake.

“Going somewhere?” asked Almaden, a jolly old man who worked the kitchens. He was carrying a heavy iron pot under one arm and a sack of grain over his shoulder. “Too early to be out, I say.”

“I’m going on a trip.” Iddo walked into the kitchen and peeked inside a wicker basket that pay on the table. It was full of onions. “May I have one?”

“They are for the stew,” answered the old man dropping the sack of grain on the table, a cloud of dust hitting Iddo’s face, “but you can have one or two. I know you love these things.”

Iddo grabbed the largest onion he could find, removed its paper layer and bit into it. It was sweet and juicy. “Oh,” he said with his mouth full, “you know how to pick them, Master Almaden. Not bitter at all.”

“The secret to a great sweet onion is patience, son,” Almaden responded, taking another large onion and placing it on the table in front of Iddo. “Just one more. I need the rest for cooking.” 

“Thanks,” said Iddo, grabbing the second onion and placing it in his bag while taking another bite of the first one.

“There you are,” said the familiar voice of Headmaster Su-Suei from behind him. “I thought our most important Acolyte needed to head out before the dawns.”

Iddo turned around to face the man, who looked ridiculous still wearing a sleeping gown. Iddo would have laughed, but he knew better. The welts of the Headmaster’s whip were far too recent for him to forget.

“Headmaster, I don’t—“

“Quiet, you insolent fool.” Headmaster Su-Suei turned around and walked away from Iddo. “I don’t know what trick you pulled on the Prophet, but he gave me very detailed instructions concerning you. Follow me.”

Iddo took another large bite out of his onion, nodded his thanks to Cook Almaden and followed the Headmaster.

Outside, he found three horses, two of them swifters, a white-mane gray and a pure white and one packer, the color of dirt. An acolyte was holding the reins and when Iddo walked around the horse, he saw his face. It was Leo.

What is he doing here?

“Well,” said the Headmaster. “What are you waiting for? Here are your horses, your supplies, and your travel companion. Now go, before I change my mind and keep the supplies. Goddess knows we need them.”

“Headmaster,” said Iddo, his ears as low and humble as he could make them, “I don’t think I should go with Leo.”

“Oh? Your companion is not to your liking?” The Headmaster was clearly enjoying this. “Let’s see, whom shall we send in Leo’s place? How about the Green Mage? Would you like to go with him instead?”

Iddo did not answer. It was a provocation. The Green Mage, protector of the Oni and guardian of the forest was a character in many children’s tales. Iddo had read all of them on his early years at the Temple.

“Well?” asked the Headmaster, his fists on his waist.

“Headmaster, it is just that Leo and I—“

“Hate each other?” The Headmaster pointed at Leo. “The prophet told me to give you horses, supplies, and a companion, and that is exactly what I’m giving you. This is the companion I choose. He’s going.”

“But, headmaster, Isn’t there anyone else? Certainly, if you asked the Prophet—“

“Don’t you presume give orders to me, you ignorant fool,” said the Headmaster. “Mayhap you still have not learned your lesson. Shall I bring out my whip to finish your punishment? This time, the Prophet is not here to stop me before I peel the skin off your back.”

Iddo shuddered, the linen covering his back rubbing uncomfortably against his back.

“Where is the Prophet?” asked Iddo against all his instincts. “Is he gone?”

Headmaster Su-Suei laughed. “I can’t believe you’re still talking. What day do we live in, that Headmasters report to Acolytes?”

“I didn’t mean—I apologize, Headmaster.” Iddo bowed low.

“I grow weary of your face,” said the Headmaster looking at the sky. “First dawn is already here, so I need to start my day. If I find you here when I come back, I promise you, I’ll finish your punishment.”

Iddo kept quiet, not rising from his bow until the Headmaster had gone back inside the Temple. Then he stood up and turned to look at Leo, who was still holding to the reins of the horses.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, “I didn’t want to go with you either, so stop playing the victim. I’m the one who’s being punished here.”

“You mean this wasn’t your idea?” asked Iddo. He expected that Leo had volunteered to go so he could torture him.

“Are you simple? Why would I want to go with you anywhere? And where are we even going?”

“West,” said Iddo, not sure how much he could tell his new travel companion. “We’re going west.”

“To the Xinnians?” asked Leo, momentarily losing his usual anger. “Are we going to get help from the Xinnians? Is that what the prophet wants us to do?”

“I don’t know what the Prophet wants,” said Iddo. He only knew what Aramis Aran had told him. The Prophet had been surprisingly accommodating.

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell?”

“Listen, said Iddo, lifting an open hand between Leo and him. “I know you don’t like me, and to be honest, I don’t like you either. No, no, let me finish. I didn’t ask for you to travel with me, and you didn’t want to travel with me, but it seems we have no say on the matter, so we need to make this work.”

Leo eyed him suspiciously, ears perked up.

“I will tell you what I know,” Iddo continued, drawing his map out and opening it in front of Leo. “We are going West. For now, I think we can follow the Via Lacrimae over here until we reach Onciliat. From there, we’ll probably need to leave the road and follow the River Upstream, but you may have a better idea when we get there.”

“That’s very far,” said Leo, pointing at the map. “Is Onciliat a Xinnian Village?

“A city, actually, but we will go even farther,” said Iddo. “Unless you prefer to stay behind.”

“And be skinned alive by the Headmaster? You got hit on the head or something?  You’re not leaving me here.”

“In that case, I think we should go, before he comes back.”

Leo nodded and handed him the reins of the gray swifter. “The white’s mine.”

Iddo patted the gray on the forehead. It was taller and heavier than Leo’s white, not a preferred trait for a swifter, but Iddo doubted they would be racing, so it would not really matter.

“Ready?” asked Leo, already mounted.

“Do they have names?” asked Iddo. Horses in the heroic chronicles always had names.

“Yes,” said Leo, they’re called ‘horses.’”

Goddess, this is going to be a long trip.

“We should name them,” said Iddo, climbing on the gray. “All horses should be named, so they know to come to you when called.”

And so I don’t have to write the word ‘horse’ so much in my chronicle.

“What do you name a Horse?” asked Leo. “And who gives names to horses anyway. You’re a fool.”

“Well, if you won’t name them, I will. Let’s see, how about Spirit? I’ll name mine Spirit, because it is a spirited one.”

“What a ridiculous name.”

“Want to name yours before I give it an even more ridiculous name?” asked Iddo. “Horses are very smart. Once named, they’ll know that’s who they are, and you will never be able to change it.”

“You’re lying,” said Leo, but the doubt twinkle in his eyes, and his left ear was jittery.  

Of course he was lying. You could train a horse out of his name and into a new one. “Name it, or I will.”

Leo mumbled something, but Iddo could not hear it over the sound of the horses’ hooves. “What did you say?”

“Cloud,” responded Leo. “I’ll name him Cloud.”

Leo kicked on his white swifter and galloped ahead, startling the brown horse, who was tied to his white’s saddle.

“Spirit and Cloud,” said Iddo, smiling at the sound of it.

Perhaps his quest had not started the way he expected, and his companion was not the best, but he was on his way to witness history. He had been chosen for this, and his quest lay ahead of him, just like the blank chronicle in his bag, a story waiting to be written.

 

 

It only took a few hours for his enthusiasm to wane.

The Via Lacrimae was an open road through the forest, so once the two suns were high enough, the heat and the humidity were almost unbearable. Traveling with the hood down could burn your face and ears, but putting the hood up did not help much.

No wonder the Oni never travel this road during Solisusque.

Large drops of sweat fell from Iddo’s face, and his back burned. “Should we stop? I think the horses need rest.”

I need to rest. And shade. I need shade.

To his surprise, Leo offered no clever retort this time. He simply steered Cloud and the packer horse, toward the tree line and dismounted.

Free from their riders, the horses walked a few more steps into the forest and munched on the yellow flowers that grew between the trees at the edge of the road.

“How long should we rest?” asked Iddo. All he knew about traveling was what he read in books, and those never told him that after just a few hours of riding, his body would hurt so bad that he doubted he could ride again.

“Until Oro casts some shade on this side of the road,” answered Leo.

That was a long rest, which Iddo found perfectly acceptable. Since this was an odd year, the golden sun’s shadow would be first, and they could resume their trip under the direct light of the red sun, which was much cooler.

Iddo thought he remembered something about camping in the middle of the day. For the Oni, who could see perfectly well at night, it made sense to travel late, but one had to be careful not to break a horse’s leg.

“Here,” said Leo, cracking a panem into two pieces and handing the smaller one to Iddo. “We’re traveling far, so we need to conserve the food.”

Iddo took the elongated piece of dry travel bread from his companion. “Thank you.”

“I saw a horned tree over there.” Leo pointed past the horses. “Do you like horn honey?”

“Yes,” said Iddo. Everyone liked horn honey.

“Well, let’s get us some.”

Iddo had never seen a horned tree before. He had seen illustrations of the flowers in a field guide before, but would not have recognized the tree. It was large, not as tall as the maroons, but wider. The foliage was bright green and the flowers were large, some being as long as an arm, cream-colored and curved like a hanging horn – hence the name. The flower stem faced down, but the curve of the flower made the funnel-like opening face upwards. The honey would be inside the curve.

“The old flowers have the sweetest honey,” said Leo, “but they are full of dust and dead bugs, so I look for medium flowers. Like this one. You just cut it a little—“

Leo pierced the bottom part of the flower with the tip of his knife and thick honey poured from the hole and unto his piece of panem.

“It’s perfect,” he said taking a bite of his honey-covered panem. “Get yours before it dries up.”

The flow of honey was slowing down, not because the flower was empty, but because the honey itself was crystalizing around the cut, sealing it. Iddo took as much as his panem would hold and by the time the honey stopped flowing, he had a good amount. The honey was less sweet and more fluid than the one he had at the temple, but it was delicious and it really helped downing the dry panem.

Perhaps Leo was not the choicest of companions, or the friendliest, but even though he was much less book-smart than Iddo, he had much more field experience, and that could come in very handy during the trip.

For the first time, Iddo wondered if the Headmaster had been really trying to help him by picking Leo as his travel companion.

“This is very good, Leo,” said Iddo, licking his fingers. “Thank you.”

15: The Socerer's Deal

Kamira dropped off the tree as silent as only the Oni could. She had observed Asia’s kidnappers for a while and they were not going anywhere, so she decided to go back to her own campsite to rest. Even now, with winter still some time off, the water of the mountain creek was cold, and it penetrated her feet as she walked downstream. She was not certain of the strangers’ tracking abilities, but with two of them being Oni, she was not about to make it easy for them to find her.

“Kah-meerah,” said a male voice from behind the trees.

Kamira cursed silently and drew two of her daggers, scanning the area for her interlocutor. “Show yourself,” she said, but there was no response.

Kamira understood that the same creek that helped her hide her tracks, now provide a cover of noise for whomever was hiding in the shadows. Armed with her two daggers, she charged towards the trees.

She tried to charge to the trees, that is.

Something got a hold of her feet, and she stumbled forward dropping on all fours on the shallow waters, but as soon as she made a move to get up, the water froze solid around her hands, including the daggers. Her feet and knees were also held captive by the ice.

Sorcery!

A young man, one of Asia’s humen captors, emerged from behind the trees. He held a staff on his hands, with a blue crystal mounted on top. Kamira could see the energy flow, a faint, twisting stream of white-blue light, from the crystal to the ice that encased her.

If the water had been cold before, now it burned her skin. Puffs of steam emanated from her mouth with every breath and all her body shivered with the cold.

Gods, I hate sorcery!

“Salutations, Kah-meerah,” said the young humen she now knew to be a sorcerer. “Lamentations for alone parliamentary scholar.”

Wha-?  What is he saying?

“X-eenian alone parliamentary diminished,” he added. Kamira could recognize the words through his heavy accent, but she had no idea what he was trying to say. “Libris scholar alone.”

“A- Are you speaking Xinnian?” she said through clattering teeth. “I know the words, but I don’t understand you. Please take me out of here.”

“Lamentations,” said the young humen, “Diminished X-eenian.”

“D- Do you m- mean you’re sorry, you speak little Xinnian?” She asked, thinking that was what the humen was saying. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Littell X-ennian,” he said, nodding.

“All right,” said Kamira, “I understand you. Pl - Please get m– me out of here.”

As soon as the young male turned his staff away, the blue glow dissipated, leaving a clear crystal behind, and the ice began to melt. Had this happened in Winter, he could have left her there to die of exposure or starvation, but the water, despite how cold it had felt to Kamira, was too warm to remain frozen.

It still took much longer than Kamira would have preferred. Why couldn’t the same sorcery that created the ice instantly, make it disappear in the same manner?

Once her hands were free, Kamira threw a dagger to the sorcerer, who just lifted a hand, making the dagger stop as if it had hit an invisible barrier.

Why does it have to be sorcery?

“Negative aggression,” said the Sorcerer, shaking his head, “covenant.”

“Negative aggression, covenant?” Kamira repeated, sheathing her other dagger. It was useless.

“Covenant,” said the Sorcerer, placing his right hand on his left breast, “covenant negative aggression my person.”

Kamira closed her eyes. What did he mean by ‘Covenant negative aggression my person’?

Then it hit her. It was, now that she thought about it, quite obvious. He wanted her to promise not to attack him.

“Yes, yes,” she said, her hand to her breast as he had done. “I promise, I make a covenant.”

The man smiled, picked Kamira’s dagger from the ground and offered it to her. She walked out of the water and grabbed it, overcoming a strong urge to stick it in his chest.

He’s too confident in his witchcraft. I bet I could take him down. She decided not to try it. It was clear that he meant her no harm, so she sheathed her second dagger.

“What do you want?”

The man lifted a finger and fidgeted with something in his pocket. It was rectangular piece of very thin parchment, not unlike the one the Xinnians made, but much finer. It had something written on it. A message.

“Kamira, of House Aran,” the letter read, “forgive me if the nature of our encounter is not pleasant. We are engaged in very important work and can’t allow you to interfere.”

Allow me to interfere? They why did you take Asia, you fool?

“At the moment, our interests seem at odds, but we hope you’ll eventually come to recognize that what we do, we do for the greater good.”

The greater good… Yes. I believe that as much as I believe in fairies.

“Your people have suffered a great, inexcusable tragedy, but one for which we carry no responsibility. However, you have been chosen to secure your people’s survival.

“I have been chosen?” asked Kamira, but the humen sorcerer tapped at the piece of parchment with his index finger in a gesture Kamira took to mean ‘keep reading,’ so she did.

“You’re a great tracker, better than most, but you alone will never be able to take your friend from us, and the help you await from will not be able to reach you where we are going.”

Gods! They know.

“I am offering you a deal. I have a list of six items I need you to procure for me, and in exchange of those six items, I will give you the Princess. You shall encounter no difficulty locating the items, but you are to retrieve them without alerting their owners.”

“You want me to steal for you?” asked Kamira indignantly. “I’m no vulgar thief, you humen maggot.”

“Literature,” said the Sorcerer pointing at the parchment again. “Literature universe.”

Whatever he meant by that, Kamira was not in the mood to decipher. However, the man was offering a deal for Asia, and the least thing she could do was to finish reading the message.

“Accept this offer, and I’ll give you a list of the items you need to procure. I will also ensure you follow us safely to our destination. With the last item, you’ll get instructions as to where to deliver the items, and where to recover your friend.”

Kamira folded the piece of paper, and was about to pocket it when the man snatched it from her. The sorcerer crumbled the message in his hand, and a puff of smoke came through his fingers as the parchment burned itself instantly.

“Determination?” the man asked.

Kamira thought for a heartbeat, but there was not much to think about. It was a deal, and it was going to help her get Asia back, and if the Sorcerer reneged on their agreement, he would become very familiar with her blades. Yes, he was a sorcerer, but humen, could be killed, even magic-wielding ones.

“I accept,” she said. “I’ll procure your items, but you better not be trying to trick me right now, because you will learn why nobody enjoys being my enemy.”

“Malefic – dot, Magnific,” said the Sorcerer with a smile and an extended hand, which Kamira shook hesitantly. She had heard about sorcery during her education, and was not about to test if the horrible things the People attributed to Sorcerers and Sorceresses, were real or not.

After a brief handshake, the man produced a second piece of parchment, this one much smaller than the first, for it only contained a list of items and where to find them.

“Are you out of your mind?” Kamira asked upon reviewing the list going over it again, just to confirm that these were the things she had to get. “A sword, a medallion, a bracer, a book, a set of tools and a religious symbol.”

The list was very clear as to what the items were and where they could be found, but Kamira didn’t understand its purpose. “Why do you want me to steal from your friends?” she asked. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“Negative,” said the man. “Your person acquisition hexagon, my person acquisition Eisha.”

“Asia,” Kamira corrected, immediately realizing the futility of it, “not Eisha.”

The Sorcerer stared at her blankly.

“Eisha works,” said Kamira waving a hand, “but let me tell you something, Sorcerer, do not try to cross me, or I’ll kill you.”

The man nodded as if he understood, but remained so calm that Kamira wondered if he really did.

With that, the man walked away, leaving her alone, to wonder about the wisdom of making deals with humen and to consider whether she was going to procure the items or not.

This is crazy.  Everything is crazy.

Kamira stared at the list again. The sword, the set of tools and the book would be fairly easy to get, as long as she could get close enough to the kidnapper’s camp. The religious symbol, the medallion, and the bracer would be a different matter. She would have to figure out how to steal those from their owners, and two of them were Oni, or as the Sorcerer mistakenly wrote it, ‘Arani,’ a term by which he probably meant someone from the House of Aran.

Traitors both, Kamira thought. They’re lucky they have Asia, or I’d make them pay.

Kamira took off her shoes and set them out to dry, sitting down next to her bag to massage her feet. She could have used a fire, but this close to the kidnappers, she wanted nothing that could give her location away. It was bad enough that the Sorcerer had located her. How had he done that? He had been waiting for her in her camp. More importantly, why did he know her name? Why did he have a letter written to her in her language, if he didn’t speak it?

An idea took shape in Kamira’s mind. Was the Sorcerer working with Asia? No, that could not be, because Asia didn’t know she was following her. Or did she?

Why was the Sorcerer stealing from his own party? This was something Kamira was having a very difficult time understanding. If he wanted to steal from his own group, why hadn’t he done it before? Why did he need Kamira to steal in his stead? Was all an elaborate trap? No, it couldn’t be, because if he wanted to capture, or even kill her, he could have done it as easily as he had frozen the water around her.

Kamira stopped rubbing her feet and rubbed at her headache.

The last item on the list was the most puzzling of them all. The book. She was supposed to steal it last, and it belonged to the Sorcerer himself. Why did he want something stolen from himself? And why did Kamira have to steal it without him noticing?

The only explanation that Kamira could come up with was that he wanted one of his own things stolen to avoid suspicion from the rest of the group. This sorcerer was working at cross-purposes with his team, which made him a traitor-of-traitors. In military parlance, there was a derogatory term for these double-traitors, but Kamira could not remember it. She did remember the concept, however, and how much emphasis her tactical trainer had given to the fact that even when a double-traitor’s interest aligned with yours, a double-traitor could never be trusted. He was not your friend, and the very fact that he was betraying two sides already, proved his unreliability.

The Sorcerer was not to be trusted. Sorcery was not to be trusted. Yes, Kamira would steal the things he wanted, for she saw no harm in that, but she would only only work with him until she got Asia. Once she got her Soul Sister back, she would be free from this evil humen. If he didn’t interfere with her rescue, she’ll let him live, but if he tried to stop her…

Kamira fingered the hilt of her dagger.