Sunlord (5 page)

Capac unslung his knife and the rifle and lay them on
the ground at the entrance to the hut, showing respect by not
carrying weapons into Elder's abode. He bowed his head, pulled
aside the leather door flap and ducked through. His Eloprin eyes
needed very little time to adjust to the dim light as he stood for
a moment surveying the room. A cooking fire in the centre of the
hut illuminated the interior with a flickering yellow light, the
air hot and stuffy. A wall of pots and baskets were stacked up
against the walls and various sacred emblems were piled
unceremoniously nearby. A movement caught his eye, and Capac
focused to see Elder sitting upon a weaved cane chair attending to
a prostrate form that lay in the sleeping furs.

Capac raised a palm in greeting. The Elder returned
the gesture.

"I have been expecting you. As you can see, we have a
visitor."

Capac hunkered down and peered into the furs.
Contained within the folds was a very unusual creature. Its robes
were brightly coloured yellow and blue like those of a parrot, the
layer of mud on them doing little to cloak their gaudiness. It was
flabby and fleshy, a feverish sweat beading on its forehead.

"Will it live?" he asked.

The Elder rocked back on his heels. "Nobilor's
hunting party came back with him a few hours ago, and he was in a
bad state. Nobilor says he found the creature unconscious by a
water pool, and decided to bring him back. He was shivering
incredibly."

"Swamp fever," put in Capac.

The Elder nodded. "I wrapped his wounds and gave him
some O'lorl root and broth, but without the medicine man I don't
know what else will be of help."

"How is Forneak developing? He was the medicine man's
apprentice, perhaps he could offer some advice."

"I've seen him already. He had not finished his
training when the medicine man was killed. The boy was no help.
Here, he is stirring."

The Currach mumbled in his feverish sleep, his hands
waving weakly to ward off unseen foes. As he rolled over Capac saw
one shoulder wrapped tightly in blood soaked hides.

"Is that shoulder wound bad?" he gestured.

"No, it is superficial. The fever is his worry; I've
seen members of their race fall to it. Pass me that pot, maybe I
can get him to take a little more broth."

Capac grasped the wooden pot in question that hung
over the fire and passed to the Elder. The Elder forced a little of
the liquid between the lips of the Currach. Half a minute later he
put the ladle down and let the creature rest.

"The only thing we can do now is to keep him warm and
wait."

"What do you think it wants? Currach almost never
venture into the forest, and never alone. It must have been out
there for weeks."

The Elder was silent in thought. "He is a mystery all
right. We shall see what he wants when he awakens, I suppose."

Capac grunted. "Yes. That's if our village is still
standing."

"You found some Sunlords?"

Capac nodded. "Huso and I took them out and stole
their weapons, although I fear we may have infuriated them."

"Hah!" laughed the Elder. "Let them be angry. They
will soon know fear!"

"You sound like Huso."

"Then he is a wise man," grinned the Elder. "Tell me,
you say you stole the Sunlord's weapon?"

"It is here." Capac darted out of the doorway and
reappeared an instant later with the heavy rifle held in his hands.
He passed it across to the Elder.

"A curious device," he muttered and he experimented
with the shape. "Not a club...Leave it with me, I may be able to
make something of it."

Capac stood. "I will leave you now, with your
permission. Huso is awaiting me outside, and I'd like to get a
start out before sundown is upon us."

The Elder acquiesced. "Just be careful out there, you
are the best hunter we have. I'd hate to lose you to the
Sunlords."

* * *

The forest was dark and the villagers had retired to
their huts. Door flaps were lashed open and fires kept low as the
summer air was hot and still. The Elder sat cross legged at the
entrance to his hut watching the deepening shadows advance, hearing
the sounds of the emerging creatures of night. The Elder watched as
score 'shian' fluttered across the white moon, silhouetting their
small bat like forms for an instant as they passed.

He drew slowly on his pipe of Jawkra weed, inhaling
the sacred odours that gave one dreams and insights.

He started as something fell before his open door
flap. Quickly the shadow resolved itself from the black backdrop as
it stepped into the firelight of the hut.

"Myshia, is everything all right?" asked the
Elder.

The Eloprin female shivered with shock and distress
as she entered the hut. Like all Eloprin females her flesh had a
flawless milky white, almost grey complexion. At the nape of her
neck was a protrusion like a large spine bone that would suckle
young that rode upon her back.

"I...I have to talk to you," she gasped.

The Elder immediately made way for her. He offered
for her to sit upon the mat near the fire.

Myshia had spied an unconscious form wrapped in furs.
"Is that him?"

"Yes that is the Currach, he is still deep in fever."
The Elder ladled a small bowlful of soup from a cooking pot and
offered it to the female. "Child, tell me what is wrong."

Myshia took the offered food with trembling
hands.

"I dreamt about him."

The Elder was speechless.

"It was vivid," Myshia continued. "They are becoming
more and more vivid every day. It was the same dream as before,
except this time it came upon me with force..." She broke off, her
voice too choked to continue.

"There, my child," soothed the Elder. "I cannot begin
to imagine how confusing it must be for you."

"I wish I never had the Gift!" sobbed Myshia angrily.
"I don't want it."

The Elder rocked back on his heels. "Your mother had
the Gift too, you know. Of course, it was much milder than yours.
She would have premonitions in her sleep about the future and knew
when people would die. It scared her too. She used to come to me to
talk about it like you do now, in secret, away from the rest of the
tribe. Fearing shame. But my child, you must face and accept your
Gift like your mother learned to do."

"I cannot live with the lives of others haunting me!"
shrieked Myshia.

The Elder recoiled. Her dream must have been extreme
to have worked her up like this. "Tell me what you dreamt, little
one."

"I was floating again, drifting out of my body and
leaving it behind. I saw a fire, a huge bonfire, and men were
dancing around it dressed in furs and animal masks. They had my
baby and tossed him back and forth. My baby was crying, screaming,
and I couldn't do anything."

The Elder nodded. Myshia had been having this dream
for the past few months and every night the dream would go a step
further. The strange thing was that Myshia did not have a
child.

"Are you sure it was your baby?" he queried. "The
last time you said it may not have been."

Myshia shook her head firmly. "No, it was definitely
my baby. I just had that feeling deep inside, as if it had all
happened a long time ago."

"This sound more and more like a past life," mused
the Elder. "Was there more to the dream?"

"Yes, I saw what happened to my child. The men with
my baby taunted him and scorched his flesh in the flames. There was
a ceremony and a tall creature in a wolf mask drove..." Myshia
quivered and shook visibly, but rallied and gathered herself
together. "They drove a stake into his chest then threw him into
the flames. He was shrieking.

"That was when I saw the Currach," she continued. "I
floated like I was underwater down from the tree that I had been
watching from. Someone emerged from the shadows and he turned to
face me. I know it was this Currach, just like I know it was my
child they burnt."

"What did the Currach do, Myshia, what did he
do?"

"I don't know. I woke up."

The Elder mulled over her words. "I don't know what
to make of this. Astral travel is a powerful gift and I see it
developing in your dreams. Someday you may have mastery over it. As
to the Currach I cannot say, he could be a number of things." He
glanced over at the sleeping form. "Did you sense any malice in his
figure in your dream?"

"I felt no feelings toward him. His appearance was
brief."

"In time I think we shall know. Maybe next time you
dream."

Myshia shivered. Brief remnants of the dreams still
flashed in her mind's eye, reliving that moment of anguish and
pain. "I hate that dream," she whispered.

The Elder appeared not to have heard. "As you near
child-bearing age the dreams will climax, for that is when the
residing spirit in you will emerge. Your dream teacher is trying to
get you to wake up to something, but what? In all my years I have
never seen such a resident spirit emerge in such a dynamic manner."
The Elder sank lower and his lidless eyes glazed in thought as he
drew deeply on the Jawkra pipe. "Your child will be a child of
power inherited from an old spirit..."

His voice trailed off as he considered the
thought.

Myshia's voice was hesitant. "Of the ancient
ones?"

The Elder looked up, a sharp gleam in his eye. "A
child of the ancient ones? Now that would be interesting." He was
startled when he heard Myshia sob.

The Elder saw his mistake immediately. "I did not
mean it to sound like that. I don't mean interesting as in some
sort of freak parade. No, I mean it could turn the course of the
world." His sharp experienced eyes noticed the shudder passing
through her shoulders. "Have no fear, my child. I will keep your
confidence. I shall be with you every step of the way to aid you.
Just remember to face your future. Do not shy away from your
destiny."

The Elder sat back on his haunches, remembered
Myshia's mother had been about to remove her growing foetus with a
blade, fearing she would give birth to the abomination she had seen
in her dreams. But the Elder had convinced her to keep the baby,
and the birth had proceeded naturally. The child grew healthy and
strong, but only weeks later Myshia's mother was found dead at the
water pool: she had slit her own throat, the bloody knife balanced
between limb fingers. Myshia knew nothing of this terrible
experience and the Elder believed it was best kept from her.

Shaking himself, the Elder broke away from his
memories. He stood, old bones cricking and popping, and plucked up
a heavy fur skin. He lay it over Myshia's shoulders, comforting her
with his callused yet soft hands.

Myshia raised her eyes, her heart heavy in her chest.
She had laid aside the bowl of soup, no longer feeling she could
stomach it. Instead she chose to change the subject. "Tell me of
the ancient ones," she asked, longing to hear a tale from the
wizened old Eloprin, wanting to drift off to sleep with his words
in her ears like it had been so many years before in her
childhood.

"Ah, a tale!" burst the Elder with glee. "It's been a
while since anyone has asked me for one." He placed himself
comfortably, the light of the fire dancing on the side of his face,
the other half in darkness. "The ancient ones are the forest, they
are the trees. They are the air around us." He waved his hands
before him, as if touching something unseen. "They sculpted the
world in the beginning of time and brought life to their creation.
The evidence of their presence is felt in many storms - the thunder
is the sound of their voices reminding their children they are
being watched." The Elder's wide lidless eyes glazed over, his
mouth moving of its own accord, the old tribal story flowing freely
from his lips. "In the days before our world the ancient ones, or
the Mo'tarsh as they call themselves, were like us. They lived and
breathed air and walked upon soil many generations ago, a time so
lost and far away it is beyond any Eloprin's understanding. The
story of their rise is another story, the legend of Mo'hara. In
short, they rose up into the sky on wings of light, leaving behind
great monuments to mark their passing."

Myshia nodded. She had twice visited the Hanging
Stones as part of a regular tribal religious ceremony. The Hanging
Stones was a great wall of ruins, stone worn and chipped away with
time, a tangle of vines growing through towering, leaning pillars.
It was said that the site had once been a home for the ancient
ones.

"When the Mo'tarsh departed this earth they left
behind a gift - the seed of life. That seed created the first of
the Eloprin, the fountain of life from which we have all sprung
from."

Myshia smiled. She had heard the legend many times
before yet every time the Elder told it he seemed to put extra life
into it. She stirred, finishing the tale. "And the Mo'tarsh remain
as the stars overhead, the eyes of their souls watching their
children."

The Elder grinned. "You make a good storyteller."
After a pause he added, "It is getting late. Did you wish to rest
here?"

Myshia cast a fugitive look at the Currach sleeping
nearby. "I would prefer not to. I don't know if he was the man in
the wolf mask in my dream."

"Very well. If you will feel more comfortable in your
hut, then I will escort you. Let's get you some rest."

* * *

The Vizier swam in a haze of dizzy lights and blurry
shapes. Pain fogged his mind and senses, fever creating terrible
dreams.

He awoke slowly, the fabric of the strange dream
fading to give way to harsh reality. The pain in his shoulder where
the drusk had mauled him had subsided. He remembered seeing the
drusk burst from the undergrowth, tusks flashing. He had struggled
and the world was a confusion of drusk hide, sweat and blood. From
there his mind was blank.