Wrath of the White Tigress (16 page)

"You are not that man."

"I disagree, for I carry his burden."

Zyrella couldn't stop her desire, couldn't halt whatever sorcery afflicted her with such passion for him. She put her hand on his arm. "We can't resist this forever. I don't know what it is. I have never felt anything like it, have never heard of anything like it, and I'm not certain it should be resisted."

"Zyrella!" Ohzikar called, climbing onto the foredeck. "There you are." He noticed their expressions: Jaska's tortured, Zyrella's of spurned desire. They had dealt with what must be dealt with, he knew, but he feared the outcome might not be as he hoped. "I finished those tasks you set for me."

She put on a false smile as he deliberately stepped between them. "Thank you, Ohzi."
 

"Of course." He turned to Jaska. "Anything I can do for you? There's little to entertain me on a voyage such as this. A man can practice arms only so much when waiting to be attacked."

Jaska had been lost in thought. It took him a few moments to catch up and respond. "No, I don't think so. I was about to study Salima's sigils again."

"I'm going to take dinner early," Zyrella said. "You're both welcome to join me."

Jaska stepped away. "I'll pass." He paused for a moment and looked back. "Zyrella." She met his gaze, but he said nothing else. He walked away.

Ohzikar stood with her, watching the sun cast its shimmering reflection across the water. "Anything you want to talk about?"

She shook her head. Ohzikar placed his arm around her and she nestled deep within his embrace. Her warm scent carried him into a reverie of love and desire, pleasant and comfortable. This was love, or at least all the love he needed.

~~~
 

Sea spray kicked up by the war galley's ram drenched dark-eyed Adynarh. He cursed the ship's captain and the unseasonably foul weather. He cursed again when the sorcerer Eholar glided toward him, his grey robe skimming across the deck without getting wet. Only a conceited fool would waste his energies on magic to keep himself dry.
 

Eholar's pudgy nose lifted high into the air, and with his pig eyes, he gazed at Adynarh.

Eholar served as the Grandmaster's second understudy, below Mardha. He proudly skulked about the temple grounds, and when the Grandmaster was in a patient mood, he was allowed entry into the inner circles. Adynarh hated Eholar's casual manner toward evil. He neither reveled in it nor held distaste for it. Eholar treated the killing of a sacrificial child as no more special than drinking a cup of water.
 

His frown of distaste hidden by his mask, Adynarh said, "Tell me you have good news."

"I do, Master Adynarh. I have located our enemies. The priestess is on a ship. It is masked and difficult to track, but it is out there. Your instincts were right."

"Not my instincts, Eholar. Grandmaster Salahn detected her moving east."

Eholar's face darkened with jealousy. "Ah, I see."

"Could you tell whether Jaska was with her?"

"No, but where else could he be if he's in her enthrallment?"

"You don't believe him a traitor?"

"Could you, master?"

Adynarh stared out at the fog-shrouded sea. "Anything is possible."
 

"Do you know the workings of the spell that allows us to track this priestess like none other?"

"No, I don't. Why?"

"Curiosity … I was rendered unconscious before undergoing the ritual."

"It was the same for all of us, even Jaska."

Eholar raised a crooked eyebrow. "Well, it is no normal sorcery he cast upon us, at least not without the blood of a relative."

A suspicion struck Adynarh who often heard and saw more than he was supposed to. "The blood of a relative?"

"That is the only way I know to do it, though doubtless our immortal grandmaster has other means. Still, maybe he once held a relative of the priestess captive."

When Adynarh had awoken from the ritual, a mark of blood had dotted his forehead. And soon after, he had seen a woman with a fresh wound upon her hand.

"If we have such a captive, it is a secret we are not meant to know." Adynarh stepped away, paused, and then shook his head. He decided to seek hot wine and food, to sleep for a while. "You're in charge, Eholar. I need some rest."

The sorcerer bowed. "Of course. I will speak with the captain and alter our course, if it pleases you."

"Do what you think is best in those regards. When we are close to them, I will help you scout through the Shadowland."

Thoughts he had no wish for circled through Adynarh's mind. He retreated to his cabin where he kept two slave girls and a keg of wine to relax the tensions that plagued him.

~~~

Exotic mushrooms and blue famalata petals crackled and simmered, their fumes masking the scent of burning camel dung. As the dream-smoke filled the interior of the goat-hide tent, two hand-drums tapped steadily. At midnight they stopped. There was silence except for deep breaths, sizzling fire, and the whispered voices of still-distant ancestors.

Sweat poured down Rahazakir's naked, hard-muscled body. The council of elders had decided the Yritti Tribe needed the energy of youth in its guidance. Thus, they had chosen as their leader Rahazakir, an exceptionally skilled young man who was blessed with early wisdom.

Across from Rahazakir sat Goat Shaman, an aged man of twisted bones and tattered, leathery skin marked with crimson runes. Goat horns protruded from his skull, placed there through some dark art. He was also naked, except for the goatskin sewn onto his shoulders. Shadows and smoke lay between these two most powerful men of the Yritti.

Goat Shaman shook his rattle and cast powder into the fire while Rahazakir chanted. The flames burned green then blue before returning to normal. Goat Shaman rolled a set of ancient knucklebones and read the omens one last time. Finding them positive, he said softly, "We may proceed. The Bright Spirits bear no animosity toward us, and the dark spirits lurk too far away to steal our dreams."

Rahazakir ceased his chants and spoke. "Beloved Yritti ancestors, hear me, I seek your wisdom. I beg your aid for the sake of the tribe."

A howling wind swirled the smoke into a tight vortex. The fire went out. Hanging chains of finger bones rattled, and tiny metal chimes tinked. Bottles and scrolls on a shelf shook. The goat hide tent fluttered and lifted and was nearly ripped from its pegs and cast into the night.
 

The wind stopped. Then, in the darkness of the tent appeared luminescent apparitions in shapes almost human but vague and faceless. Hollow voices said in unison, "Speak of your trouble, but speak quickly. This world brings only pain and despair. We would never leave our shining realm but for the love we bear our descendants."

Trembling with awe of the Bright Spirits, Rahazakir rose onto his knees and spoke as firmly as he could manage. "I have led the tribe farther east than normal, where escaping the Stain will prove more difficult. Food and water are less plentiful, sandstorms are worse, and the terrain is treacherous. Ultimately, the Stain may corner us against the mountains.

"North would be safer and provide for the tribe, but I have felt a strong calling to go east, a calling I cannot explain. I would hear your judgment on this, with Goat Shaman as my witness." A valid witness he would be, too, for Goat Shaman didn't like having a young chief for a rival.
 

The Bright Spirits replied, "We fear this dream of yours." Rahazakir cringed and could feel Goat Shaman's growing smile. "We see your path; it leads to a vengeful man called the Slayer. And much you will risk on this journey toward him, close will the tribe come to complete ruin."

Goat Shaman said to them. "We are sorry, revered ancestors. Forgive our young chief's foolishness and the hesitance of his elders. We shall turn back and--"

The Bright Spirits flashed and rumbled, "We are not finished! And we have not spoken to you, shaman. Await your turn, if a turn you deserve."

Goat Shaman bowed his head into the sand. "My lords, I beg you forgive my enthusiasm for the tribe's well-being."
 

If speaking with the ancestors weren't so serious and dire a ritual, Rahazakir might have laughed at Goat Shaman's pride-fall.
 

The spirits then said, "If the people wish to continue a safe life, as safe as life can be wandering across the desert pursued by the cloud of dark evil, then go north. But if you would risk everything to gain freedom from the Stain, go east. If you help him with his burden, the Slayer could free you. However, he could also lead you to desolation."

Rahazakir stirred. "What shall I do, my lords? Is it worth the risk?"

"You must weigh this gamble and choose. Such a decision the world-departed cannot make."

The Bright Spirits closed on Rahazakir and touched him on the forehead. To be touched by the ancestors was a great honor and blessing. Rahazakir was so mesmerized that he forgot to avert his eyes.
 

"You are blessed with sight, young chief. Temper your instincts with careful wisdom."

Suddenly, the tent was empty except for the two men. The smoke cleared. The fire remained lifeless. Rahazakir climbed to his feet, steadied himself on a tent pole, and recovered his breath. Then he stumbled over to Goat Shaman who lay prostrate. Rahazakir bent down and held out a hand. "Come, we must speak with the Council of Elders."

"I am dishonored," Goat Shaman moaned. "Reprimanded by the Bright Spirits."

Shocked at how this fearsome shaman had become like a child, Rahazakir tried to patch the man's self-worth. He needed his help and couldn't wait on the ascension of a successor. "Come, Goat Shaman. You spoke truth when you said yourself overeager in protecting the tribe and seeing to its interests. I'm certain that's why they didn't condemn you."

Goat Shaman looked up into Rahazakir's broad face and knew he faked the smile, the gestures of friendship as well, but they needed each other. And perhaps Rahazakir spoke true, that the ancestors hadn't disdained him. Goat Shaman took the chief's hands and stood on uneasy legs. "Thank you, my chief." And both men realized that was the first time the shaman had called him not merely chief but my chief.

They walked out into the cold desert air. Six women awaited them a hundred paces from the shaman's tent, which sat alone, away from the tribe. These women helped them to the nearest tribesman's tent, washed them with sand and precious water, then fed them dates and a little meat. Dressed in clean leather tunics, the two stood before the council with the sun rising over the sands behind them.

Rahazakir looked on the eight elders, all shrouded in goatskin cloaks, their faces hidden in the shadows of deep hoods. For the first time he held no fear of what they might think of him. The Bright Spirits of his ancestors had blessed him.
 

"What pronounced our ancestors?" said the Prime Elder who wore a sash of woven horsetails across his torso.

Goat Shaman, who held the council's tie-breaking vote, met Rahazakir's eyes. The two appraised each other warily then Goat Shaman nodded in understanding.

Rahazakir stepped forward. "Respected elders, this night I learned why in your wisdom you chose me at so young an age. I have been gifted with future-sight. The ancestors confirmed this, and they blessed me with their touch."
 

The elders looked to Goat Shaman who pronounced it true.
 

Rahazakir continued. "Great risk lies ahead but so too does a chance for freedom from the Stain." He explained all that had happened, except for the ancestors reprimanding Goat Shaman. "We will move further eastward. We will face this destiny, or die. No longer will the Stain of our ancestors drive us onward endlessly. We will have freedom or death. That is my decision."

Over the next two days, Jaska continued to train the mercenaries in the methods of the palymfar. He also rowed each day, straining his muscles and then rebuilding them as best as he could through meditation and rest.
 

On the third day, Ohzikar followed him to the oar banks. "Why are you driving yourself so?"
 

"To rebuild my strength. And because I can lose myself in the work. Palymfar meditations remind me too much of the life I once led."

"But you'll be exhausted if a fight comes."

"If necessary I will restore myself with magic and defeat my enemies through force of will." Jaska stripped off his shirt, revealing the deep scar Ohzikar had placed on him. Neither man regretted the mark. "Besides, a fight won't come today."

"What makes you think so?"

"I can't feel it."

"You trust your instincts that much?"

"A palymfar trains his instincts beginning at a young age, and I have better instincts than most."

Ohzikar pulled off his shirt and tossed it beside Jaska's. "Relieve two rowers. I'm joining you."

"Why?"

"Because I need the workout, because I'm bored. And because I trust your instincts."

Jaska found no mockery in Ohzikar's even face. "Well enough."

Tieros Rowman greeted Jaska Bavadi and the templar who followed him. "Come back for more, eh?"