Die for the Flame (23 page)

Ranna led the way now, and they were a day’s journey from where her village had been camped the day of the battle, the day Orlan had saved her life from the attacking Karran and carried her away to the ferry and to another life. She felt an excitement building in her as she kicked her horse into a smooth lope. She did not expect any of her people to be at that camp, and besides, her village often varied the location of its campsite each year, sometimes placing it farther to the east.

She argued with Clarian when he called for a break and a rest for the horses. She wanted to push on, but Clarian wisely advised that if they should need to use the horses to get away fast, a rested horse was a faster horse. He saw the trees on the skyline in the distance and knew it was the campsite they were seeking. Ranna saw them too, and there was no stopping her as she pressed her horse on. Clarian could do nothing but follow, and as the day closed they rode into the old camp area. No one was there, but stones were piled where skin houses would go up, and wooden poles were stacked neatly nearby.

Ranna dismounted and began walking through the area. Clarian led the horses to the stream that ran through the trees. The grass was good, and soon the horses were hobbled, tethered and grazing contentedly. Clarian threw the tent up near the stream bank on a bed of soft grass and built a small fire. As Ranna prepared their evening meal, she hummed the tunes of songs she had almost forgotten, and Clarian smiled as he recognized how happy she was to be back in her homeland.
Will the Kobani accept us without conflict?
he wondered, hoping.

After they ate, he doused the fire and walked out into the darkness to try to see whether any campfires were flickering in the far distance, but the night skyline was black. He sniffed the air to try to smell the scent of any burning fires, but the air was clean and fresh. By the time he returned to the tent, Ranna was rolled up and sleeping. He chose to sleep out in the open away from the tent and away from the soft sigh of the stream, so that he could hear better. He found a high, grassy place on the other side of the stream, and he propped himself up against some rocks, wrapped his blanket around him, and drifted off. He dreamed of Lillan, and in his dream they were riding their horses, and her hair was streaming out behind her, and she was laughing, her great, dark eyes flashing at him with happiness, and then suddenly a look of horror crossed her face as she looked forward. He looked forward too and saw that they were riding into the Forest of Darkness, which was looming up ahead. He shouted at her and pulled up on his horse, but the horse would not slow. He saw gleaming eyes shining out from the darkness awaiting them, and then they were swallowed up in the blackness.

He awoke with a start. He swore and jumped up, throwing off his blanket, rubbing his face and eyes. The night was quiet, and the land was faintly lit by the crowded stars overhead. He listened, turning his head in each direction, and scanned the dark horizon but heard and saw nothing. He picked up his bow and slipped back through the trees to check on his mother and the horses. As he glided up to her tent, he could hear her soft breathing. One of the horses was lying down in the grass, while the other two were motionless except for the occasional swish of a tail. He reckoned it was an hour or two until dawn, but he could no longer sleep. A slight chill from the cool night breeze blowing from the south penetrated his shirt. He walked back through the trees to his rock and picked up his blanket, slinging it over his shoulders. He leaned against the rock and waited for the dawn, his thoughts dark with images of beautiful Lillan, now lost to him forever, and loneliness swept down upon him.

Ranna and Clarian rode for three more days, pushing farther to the south and southeast across the almost featureless plain. Ranna remembered the way, although to Clarian, the flat plains looked monotonous, without any distinguishing milestones. They saw small bands of wild horses that prudently galloped off at the sight of the riders and herds of wild antlered creatures that looked like cattle but were smaller and lighter and scampered away when approached. Winged predators drifted on the high winds above, now and then diving at small furry creatures on the ground.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

T
he next day two riders approached them from the south. Clarian had spotted the riders earlier in the morning and made no attempt at concealment. Clarian and Ranna and the two riders were all angling toward a line of trees that suggested water. By late morning, they faced each other across the small meandering stream.

Clarian could see that they were Kobani youth. Their bows were in their left hands with arrows notched as they sat on their horses facing Clarian and Ranna. Their foreheads displayed blue tattoo designs. They did not smile, and they were wary, their horses sensing the uneasy moment, stamping and snorting at the strange smell of the intruders’ horses.

Ranna urged her horse forward a few steps and raised her hand in greeting. “I am Ranna, daughter of the Sheshin clan. This is my son, Selu. We are traveling to find the camp of my clan.”

The youths sat motionless on their horses, staring intently at Ranna and Clarian. One leaned toward the other and whispered, his eyes on Clarian. After several moments, the two continued whispering. Then one motioned at Ranna and turned his horse around, heading southeast. The other rider crossed the stream and set his horse into a lope, backtracking on the trail Clarian and Ranna had left behind.

Smart boy
, Clarian thought to himself.
That’s something I would have done to see whether there was anyone, like an enemy force, following along behind
.

The Kobani youth refused to answer Ranna when she asked his name. He kicked his horse into a faster gait, and Clarian and Ranna followed him as the afternoon waned into evening.

With the sun low on the horizon, they spotted herds of horses and cattle scattered in the distance, accompanied by outriders. The land gave way to rolling hills, and as they came over a rise, they saw below them in a large depression a sprawling camp with thousands of large skin houses set along a creek lined with willow trees. The camp stretched along the creek as far as the eye could see in both directions. The sounds of village life drifted up, and Clarian could hear dogs barking and children’s voices, high-pitched and happy. Cooking fires sent up plumes of light smoke, and Clarian marveled at the size of the encampment.

Ranna’s heart was beating faster and faster as she guided her horse down the slope behind the unknown Kobani youth into the outskirts of the camp.
Do I have any family left alive?
she wondered and then hoped with all her strength that she would find them and that they would remember her. As they rode among the tents, a few people looked at them curiously. But since Clarian and Ranna looked like Kobani at first glance, they drew little attention.

The youth halted his horse in front of a large, round skin house and dismounted. He looked at Ranna until she and Clarian also dismounted. He held up his hand as if signaling them to wait, and then he disappeared through a flap into the tent. After a few minutes, a well-built older Kobani man came out followed by the youth. The man stepped close to Ranna and peered at her and turned to look at Clarian, taking in his lighter hair and skin and blue eyes. His face registered shock at what he saw.

“Who are you, woman?”

“I am Ranna of the Sheshin clan. This is my son, Selu.”

The man thought about her words. After a pause he spoke. “The Sheshin clan was nearly all killed many years ago by the Grasslanders.”

“Yes, I was there,” she said. “Now I seek what family of mine remains. I bring my son.”

“That was many years ago. Where have you been?” he asked.

“Living in the north among the Karran,” she answered.

His face registered surprise, and as he studied Clarian, he blurted out, “He has the eyes of the Karran!”

Ranna said nothing.

The man continued to inspect Clarian.

Clarian stared back at him, standing tall and proud by his horse. Villagers, attracted by the man’s loud voice, drifted closer to hear the conversation. A small boy came up to Clarian and peered up into his face and into his eyes—blue eyes that were not seen among the Kobani. Clarian glanced down at the boy and winked. The boy took a step backward in surprise and then smiled.

“Come in,” the man said, parting the drape over the entrance to the house and disappearing inside.

Evening had fallen as the man, Teshni, led Ranna and Clarian through the encampment to an open, grassy area filled with seated people. The night before, Teshni had put Ranna and Clarian up in a large tent and had provided them food while they waited for an opportunity to speak to the elders. They had had no visitors except curious children and villagers who passed by staring but saying nothing.

A group of gray-haired men sat on stools under an awning. Teshni led Ranna and Clarian to stand before them. A large fire was burning in front of the awning tended by a woman who threw branches on top. The flames illuminated the tattooed faces of the men, and over their black shirts across their shoulders were capes of various colors embroidered with animal motifs. Their hair was braided with red cords and colored beads. They wore black trousers with red piping down the seams tucked into leather boots and had long knives at their waists.

The members of the crowd craned their necks to get a good look at the strangers, and the whispering grew into a loud buzz. Word had spread rapidly across the camp that a Kobani woman had arrived with a strange-looking son. One of the gray-haired men pointed at Ranna and then to a stool that had been placed before them. Ranna stepped forward, and Clarian moved to follow her until Teshni put up a hand to halt him. Ranna’s heart was beating fast as she seated herself, facing the elders. She recognized none of them, nor anyone from her clan. She wore her healer’s necklace of silver and colored stones prominently around her neck, so that they could see she was a healer and someone of importance. She clutched her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking as she surveyed the expressionless faces of the old men.

The fired crackled, and the crowd quieted to hear what would be said. One of the old men glanced at another beside him, a long scar across his neck, who gave him a nod to proceed. “Teshni tells us you wish to speak with us. That you have traveled far and that you are one of us. So…speak.”

Ranna drew in a deep breath. “I am Ranna, daughter of the Sheshin clan. Many years ago the Karran attacked my village and killed many. I was wounded badly and left to die. A Grasslander, who had come to our village each spring for many years to trade and knew me, found me. He hid me in a wagon away from the other Grasslanders who were killing everyone, even the wounded. He took me in his wagon back to his home in the Grasslands and cared for my wounds. Several times I almost died. Somehow, I recovered. I was a young girl then. In time, I married the Grasslander and became his wife.”

The crowd erupted in conversation, and the old men turned to each other with stunned expressions. The old man raised his hand for quiet, and the crowd stilled.

He motioned for her to continue.

“There is a ferry on the great river far in the north. We lived our life there. We had a son. I named him Clarian Selu. He stands there.” She pointed at Clarian.

One of the elders jumped up and thrust his finger toward Clarian, shouting, “But he’s a Grasslander!”

“He’s also a Kobani!” shouted Ranna back.

“That’s unthinkable!” shouted another.

“There’s never been a mixed-blood Kobani!” a frail elder shrilled.

“Well, there is now!” barked Ranna.

The crowd began yelling, and several people stood up and pointed, and Clarian turned to show them his face, which he kept emotionless. He did not like how this was going, but he knew he had to overcome the Kobanis’ hatred of the Grasslanders somehow.

The elder with the scar rose and held up his arm for quiet, and after a few moments, everyone calmed down. “Where is the Grasslander’s father?” he asked.

“He died fighting the Kobani years ago,” Ranna said.

“Why are you here? You are more Grasslander than Kobani,” he said.

“I have always remained Kobani in my heart,” she said. Then she stood up in anger and pointed at the man with the scar. “Who are you to tell me I am not Kobani?”

After more buzz from the crowd died down, he asked Ranna, “What do you want?”

“My son asked me to bring him here. He has an important story to tell you. But first I must tell you about Selu, my son. He is a warrior. He fought in the Grassland Wars.”

“Against the Kobani!” shouted a man who stood up in the crowd.

“Kill him!” screamed a young warrior not far from Clarian, drawing his knife and starting toward him. Three men grabbed the warrior’s arms and held him back, restraining him with difficulty.

Clarian drew his long knife, its blade flashing in the firelight, and held it high for all to see. “You will not find me so easy to kill!” spoke Clarian in the Kobani language, with a loud battlefield voice that carried over the crowd. The threatening young man changed his expression and did not seem so sure of himself as he gazed upon Clarian’s determined face.

“Quiet!” commanded the man with the scar.

“Is not your son called Clarian by the Grasslanders? He is known to us,” called out an elder. “He is responsible for killing many Kobani! He is more Grasslander than Kobani!”

Ranna had taken her seat, and she resumed her tale. “But he is also a man of peace. He signed the peace with the Kobani on behalf of the Grasslanders. Now, he ferries people across the great Blue River to and from the land of the Madasharan in the west. Last spring, the night people called the Maggan came out of their forest and attacked the Karran. The Karran selected Selu to command their army. The Karran priests said my son was the ‘Chosen One.’ He defeated the night people and drove them back into the forest. He has come here to speak to you of these things.”

The elders began talking among themselves, some arguing as they conferred, glancing over at Clarian with curiosity. The crowd continued to rumble with conversations. Clarian stood next to Teshni, waiting. The elder with the scar signaled that he had heard enough from the other elders. He motioned to Clarian to come forward. No stool was offered. The crowd went silent as Clarian stood before the elders.

“Speak,” said the elder with the scar.

“I am Selu, son of Ranna, of the Sheshin clan. You do not say who you are. You have bad manners.”

As the elders sat in stunned silence, one could hear the gasps of surprise from the crowd. Even Ranna’s mouth dropped open. Clarian knew from his mother’s training that one always first identified oneself and one’s clan when meeting another. This was proper etiquette. The elders had violated the tradition when speaking with his mother and now with him. It was meant as a show of little respect. Clarian had called them on this point.

A faint smile crossed the lips of the elder with the scarred face. “My name is Kajmin, of the Ademesh clan.” He pointed for someone to bring a stool for Clarian, and when Clarian was seated next to his mother, he nodded for Clarian to begin his story.

“There was a war between the Karran and the Maggan many years ago. It was called the Great War, and at its end, both peoples signed a peace treaty in blood that said there would never be another war. The Karran disbanded its army. No one knew what the Maggan did because no one goes into the Forest of Darkness. They are a fearsome tribe that lives by night, with strange eyes that see in the dark. It was said the Maggan eat their prisoners, especially children. They dwell deep down in the earth in caves. My father was a Karran commander in the war. After the war, my father returned to the Grasslands, to the ferry on the river far to the north of here and taught me how to ferry people and animals across the river. It was a simple, quiet life.”

“Then, one day, the Kobani came out of the plains from the south and began raiding in the Grasslands. This you know well. My father and other Karran of the Grasslands formed up bands of warriors, and at thirteen I began to ride with them to fight against the Kobani.”

The crowd murmured at this information but soon quieted down. “The Grassland Wars went on for many years. Some years there were only small raids by the Kobani, and other years large Kobani forces crossed into the Grasslands and burned towns, and there was much killing. The Grasslanders, also known as Karran people, retaliated with raids into Kobani lands, attacking camps and capturing horses. The Grasslanders did not like to enter Kobani country because the Kobani are a great horse people and very fierce in battle. The Kobani would set traps for the intruders, and many died. My father was killed in one such battle. After much killing on both sides, the Grasslanders and the Kobani signed a peace treaty, and the war ended. This you know.”

“I returned to the ferry where I lived with my mother and my aunt, my father’s sister. Last spring, the Maggan, the night people with the eyes that gleam in the dark, came out of the forest and attacked the Karran. The Karran no longer had an army and had few warriors with which to defend itself. The Karran asked me to lead them against the night people, and I formed an army and defeated them and drove them back into their forest. I defeated the night people by fighting as the Kobani fight, from horseback with bow and lance. I sent my warriors into the Forest of Darkness to attack their underground city and burn it. No one had ever before attacked the night people in their own land. They live beneath the earth in the dark in great caves like rodents and other creatures of the night. Now they hate us more.” Clarian projected his voice so that the crowd could hear him, knowing that their sentiment could well determine the outcome of his visit. Then he continued.

“Some years ago, the Maggan attacked the Doman people, who were farmers and lived near the forest. Today there are no Doman people. They are gone like smoke from a campfire. The night people have cousin tribes far to the northeast. I believe they have contacted them. The Maggan are bitter over losing the war to the Karran. Their leader, Ferman, vows to exterminate the Karran.”

Kajmin raised his hand. “What do they want? More land?”