Circling Birds of Prey

by Katy Winter

  Lastly, he became aware both men had shorter beards than would be expected of men of their maturity, the growth pointed rather than flowing. Earlier he noticed the younger man's branded wrists and the faint facial scars that he thought might declare their status as the warlord's warriors, but nothing else made much sense to Choja. He wondered idly why one scar was on a left cheek and not the right, then remembered that one denoted the earliest sign of warriorhood, the other slavery. Clearly the blond man was a warrior for longer than the dark-haired one and was some cycles older as well, possibly ten or more cycles. He hadn't taken much notice of the jewellery the men still wore, mostly because the tribesman wore much as of habit and because it was known Churchik were lavishly bedecked with jewellery. It was a southern fashion.

  Choja sat between the two pallets to think. Two hours later he stirred and looked down at Bethel, made him drink again then moved to Sarssen to give him more water as well. When he tilted the blond head back, placing the cup to bruised lips, the warrior's eyes opened, startling Choja who saw the eyes were as green as his own, not Churchik blue. He lifted the cup.

  "Drink," he commanded calmly. The warrior obeyed though Choja saw relief and confusion in the green eyes. Sarssen tried to speak. "Don't speak, warrior. You're badly hurt." The warrior struggled to speak. He managed a half-croak.

  "Boy?" Choja pointed to beside him. "Alive?"

  Choja shrugged, aware as he did of the flare of anguish in the warrior's eyes. Sarssen turned his head painfully towards Bethel. Choja didn't move. Sarssen lifted a weak hand, his eyes so pleadingly fixed on Choja that, reluctantly, Choja took the hand in his.

  "What do you wish me to do?" he asked courteously.

  "On the boy - forehead."

  Choja looked an enquiry, paused, then lifted the limp hand across to Bethel. He sat back on his heels. Sarssen's eyes had closed but now they flew open, the pupils dilated. When the eyes as abruptly snapped closed again Choja saw the brief flurry of tremors that rocked the big man before his hand fell from the boy and the warrior became unconscious.

  Choja then turned his head to Bethel and almost reared back with shock. Eyes that could've been Chlorien's looked into his, helpless pain and terror in their depths. When Choja lifted a cup to the swollen lips he saw how obediently the boy swallowed every time the cup was tilted, then he watched how Bethel too slipped quietly away.

  Choja and his men stayed in the same place for two days. Both Bethel and Sarssen drifted during that time, Choja rarely leaving them. Early on the third morning he sat cross-legged in the tribesman's way eating with sticks from a bowl that was half-empty, until he had the strange feeling he was being watched. Chewing quietly, he turned to the blond warrior. There was calm resignation in Sarssen's eyes that made Choja look hard at him. He saw the lips move.

  "Are you feeling easier, warrior?" Sarssen nodded. He turned towards Bethel, anxiety deep in his eyes. "The boy drifts, warrior, as you've done, but he seems to hold his own. Does that reassure you?" The warrior nodded again. Choja picked up a full cup from beside him. "Drink for me." Sarssen obligingly swallowed until the cup Choja held was empty. "Can you speak?"

  "Yes," whispered Sarssen.

  "Do you have a name, warrior?"

  "Sarssen."

  "And the boy?"

  "Beth."

  "If I bring you a little food, can you try to eat?"

  Seeing compliance on the warrior's face Choja rose, to return with another bowl. He eased Sarssen up onto piled skins. Sarssen flinched but made no sound. He let Choja patiently feed him, one small mouthful after another, their eyes every so often meeting and holding. When Sarssen put up an unsteady hand to Choja's wrist, Choja went to lower the bowl until he heard a whimper beside him.

  He looked across to eyes that stared blankly. Bethel's lips moved with incoherent muttering. Choja felt Sarssen's grip on his wrist tighten and quickly responded by placing the blond man's hand back on Bethel's forehead, watching with interest how the boy immediately quietened and his eyes closed as if he were suddenly asleep.

  "You're no ordinary warrior, are you?" Choja said flatly to Sarssen.

  "No," agreed Sarssen, in the thread of a voice.

  "Are you one of the warlord's men?"

  "Yes."

  "But there's something different about you, warrior, isn't there?" Choja looked at the warrior's face again. It wasn't entirely a Churchik one, he was sure of that. "You're not fully Churchik, are you?"

  Choja could've sworn he saw the faintest flicker of a smile in eyes that were emerald green compared with the darker tribesman olive, but the eyes closed too quickly for him to be sure. Sarssen slept restfully.

  Sarssen mended quickly, his injuries vicious but he had no broken limbs and no organs were damaged. He was reluctant to speak and refused to be moved from Bethel. Only when Bethel became conscious did his vigilance relax. Bethel woke to see Sarssen and Choja watching him. He coughed weakly. Choja stared down to one who could've been an older Chlorien, the resemblance clear now bruises on the white face faded, the cuts on the brows and the lips were almost healed and the swelling, that had made the face unrecognisable, gone.

  Choja saw the same finely chiselled face, even more delicate than Chlorien's, with the high sculpted cheekbones and almost pointed chin, the skin naturally soft and creamy, though at present it looked drawn and like parchment. Dark, velvety purple eyes that were huge in the thin face were framed by long, curling eyelashes that splashed the upper cheeks when the eyes were closed and the full sensual mouth had a tragic droop to it. Choja guessed the full grown beard would be silky. The young man was absurdly beautiful, even weak.

  There was the same effeminacy about this boy as there was about Chlorien. Taking a hissing inward breath, Choja thought this boy and Chlorien could well be twins though this boy was very tall. Choja chided himself. He thought of Schol and realised Chlorien would be very tall by now as well. Choja puzzled over how this boy could be so like Schol's son, yet not another son. He smiled at Bethel.

  "Your name's Beth?" Big eyes went to Sarssen for reassurance. "Have you a brother called Chlorien, boy?" There was a slow shake of the head.

  "Do you know anyone called Schol?" Again came the shake of the head. Choja turned to Sarssen who spoke softly.

  "Schol?" he asked thoughtfully. "A scholar by any chance?"

  "I don't know if he was a scholar, warrior, but he was certainly a learned man, yes." Sarssen bent over Bethel.

  "Scholar, boy," he prompted gently.

  "An exceptionally tall man with tawny hair and very blue eyes," said Choja quietly.

  "You remember the Scholar, Bethel, do you not?" There was a struggle in the dark eyes, then Bethel nodded. Sarssen stroked Bethel's cheek. "He remembers Scholar, tribesman. He remembers him clearly because he knew the man very well."

  "Ah!" murmured Choja with satisfaction. "Is he this boy's father too?"

  "Father?" asked Sarssen blankly.

  "Sar," whispered Bethel. "Sar."

  "Yes, boy," reassured Sarssen. "Sar is your father, so rest easy. Tribesman, did Scholar have a girl with him called Myme Chlo?" Choja shook his head. "Did you help them?"

  "Yes, we helped them."

  "Was the boy slender with dark hair like Beth's?"

  "Yes, he was a slight lad with violet eyes. Scholar called the boy his son."

  "Ah," murmured Sarssen, leaning back on cushions but his eyes very keen. Bethel lay quite still, his eyes closed. Jochoh carefully lifted him to give him something to drink. "This boy had a sister one cycle younger than himself. I think, Choja, the boy you cared for was Beth's sister, dressed as a boy for her protection and safety." Choja's look was frankly incredulous.

  "No, Chlorien was a boy," he stated in a way that brooked no argument. Sarssen shook his head, his expression amused.

  "Myme Chlo - Chlorien. The names are not so far removed one from the other, are they, tribesman?"

  He met Choja's look of disbelief, heard an exclamation from Jochoh and
chuckled as he watched Choja turn his head to concentrate his attention on the still figure.

  He studied the young face objectively. Even with the boy's preposterous eyes closed, Choja saw, again, the effeminacy he'd always seen in Chlorien, only in this young one it wasn't weakness, it was just extraordinary beauty astoundingly untouched by brutality. He thought ruefully that, indeed, it was a girlishness he'd seen in Chlorien and it was something he'd just come to accept was a part of the pretty boy that would pass with maturity and confidence.

  Then he thought of the mage's odd protectiveness of the boy, remembering, with a wry twist to the lips, his farewell with Chlorien and his comment to the mage –

  "The boy has become like a son to me."

  He gave another sharp inward hissing breath. Jochoh stared thoughtfully at Bethel. Choja realised, as he gazed at the wracked boy lying so white and helpless, that it didn't really matter whether Chlorien was a boy or a girl - he simply cared deeply for Chlorien. And here lay a boy who could be Chlorien, hurt and frightened. The tribesman went to his knees beside Bethel, taking one of the slender hands in his.

  "Believe me, boy, I wouldn't hurt you." Choja watched the big eyes open wearily. "I won't hurt you," he repeated.

  He saw a faint flicker in the eyes before they closed again even as Bethel tried to speak. Jochoh carefully lifted him so he could again put a cup to Bethel's mouth. Bethel drank then slipped away again. He came to only a short time later, the opening eyes going from Jochoh to Choja and then, briefly, to Sarssen. Bethel blinked as if he tried to establish where he was. He blinked tiredly at Sarssen, then closed his eyes as if the effort to move was too much. The warrior touched Bethel's forehead.

  "Is the pain still there, boy?" Bethel gave a nod. "Can you not close your mind to it?" Bethel shook his head. Choja listened with interest. He wondered just what skills these men had. "Does my touch help, boy?" The big eyes opened.

  "My lord," whispered Bethel tearfully. "My lord, are you real?"

  Sarssen stared anxiously at closing eyes and kept his hand steady on Bethel's head until the young body relaxed and the hand Choja held went limp. Choja let it go.

  "My lord, is it?" he asked harshly. Sarssen leaned back on his pallet, stretched and crossed his ankles.

  "Yes, Choja. To him, I am `my lord'."

  "Why is that?"

  "What do you know of the Churchik, Choja?" Choja's shrug was eloquent. His one word summed up his attitude.

  "Enough!" He saw the instant comprehension in the green eyes briefly holding his own.

  "Your contempt is understandable, Choja, but I cannot help my birth."

  Sarssen hadn't seen emotion in the dark eyes that looked so intelligently and searchingly into his until now when he saw the flicker of a smile touch the wintry green.

  "No man can help his birth," the tribesman agreed, sitting back easily in the sand. "Tell me about yourself, warrior."

  "There is little to tell, tribesman. The Churchik are a martial people who live in a very highly structured military hierarchy that is rigidly patriarchal. Rank is therefore of social importance and it rules our lives." Choja nodded his understanding. "At the top of that structure and with unlimited power over all those beneath him is the warlord who has a council of elite warriors called haskars. They, too, are men of influence and power. Only the chosen haskars are on the Warlord's Council. It is a signal honour to be so chosen.

  Next in rank are the tempkars. I am of that rank, Choja, and I defer in all things to those above me. I call those above me `my lord'. I am inferior to them and accept that is my status. And so on it goes, from tempkar to acedar, to beduar, to plain warrior." Choja nodded at Bethel. "He is beduar, tribesman. For one who is not Churchik, to even be a warrior is extraordinary enough. That he has status above that as a foreigner is unheard of among the Churchik. His role is an oddity and places him uncomfortably at times. As does mine in some ways because we are both personal slaves of the warlord."

  "I know," said Choja quietly, seeing surprise register on the warrior's face. "I suspected there was something unusual about the pair of you so I opened your mouths. You both wear the brand of the warlord."

  "Yes," sighed Sarssen. "It is a very long story."

  "When Tempkar Sarssen, you have the energy to speak I will certainly have the time to listen." He saw Sarssen's deep yawn. "Tell me this, warrior. Do you heal the boy?"

  "I am trying, Choja, very hard, but I fight a decision of the boy's to die. It is no easy task for me because I am weakened and the boy's will is remarkably strong."

  "I believe that. Like your own, warrior?" Sarssen smiled.

  "Perhaps," he conceded, on an even deeper yawn.

  "I'd suggest that's the reason you're both alive," commented Choja, his eyes back on Bethel. "Why does the boy wish to die?"

  "Beth's life has been -," Sarssen hesitated. "He believed I died beside him, Choja. Once before he was torn from one he cared for and struggled to live beyond that. This time he simply lacked the will to do it again."

  "You're saying you mean much to the boy?"

  "The warlord made us brothers, tribesman."

  "But it's deeper than that, isn't it?" persisted Choja. "I've seen the scars on your chests and know what the rites signify. Ours of bonding are similar but that doesn't explain the depth of the boy's tie to you."

  "Maybe not," was the non-committal reply.

  "Where's he from?"

  "Samar."

  "From a city-state called Ortok?"

  "Yes."

  "He's brother to Chlorien."

  "I am sure of that," said Sarssen sleepily.

  "But Schol isn't Chlorien's father?"

  "I believe their father was one Alfar, a young scholar, but Beth relates closest to his eldest brother, Sarehl, because it was Sarehl who brought up all the children including Myme Chlo. Their father died when Bethel was very young."

  "He and Chlorien must be very close in age."

  "I believe that is so."

  "Schol told me Chlorien was his son."

  "Maybe she is," responded Sarssen, his eyes closing in spite of his efforts to keep them open. "The warlord believes we are his sons."

  "And do you?"

  "Of course," murmured Sarssen. Choja quietly sank back on his heels and went into pensive, silent pose. Sarssen slept. Bethel didn't move.

  ~~~

  The next morning saw Sarssen dressed and sitting thoughtfully outside his and Bethel's oubla, his gaze taking in the stretch of sand that undulated for miles, leaving him with no sense of direction. He acknowledged he was truly lost in this inhospitable landscape. He wore desert talma and the desert tunic hung about him closely. He rapidly adjusted to bare feet. As a small child he'd run barefoot through the grassy lands that were his home but Sarssen had no memory of that. From the time he'd been the warlord's boy he'd worn boots other than when he was taken roughly to bed. Now, he enjoyed the sensation of warm sand between his toes. He curled them at the pleasurable sensation.

  He was relieved he and Bethel still wore some of their necklaces and the rings they'd been given by the warlord. The bracelets were gone, as were most of the ear-rings but already Sarssen was making up some tale that would satisfy the warlord when they were questioned about the disappearance of jewellery. He hoped it would be plausible.

  Sarssen's main concern was Bethel. The young man responded but too slowly. Sarssen rose and re-entered the oubla, followed almost immediately by Choja. The desertman came so quietly Sarssen was caught by surprise. He turned his head.

  "How do you mean to help the boy, warrior?"

  "I am trying to give him the will to live. He must realise I am alive and that there is much for him to gain from continued existence."

  "Would telling him of his brother -." Choja broke off, gnawing on his lower lip before he continued. "Would Chlorien help?"

  "Yes, I believe speaking both of the scholar and the sister would help him considerably. I did not know them but I believe the boy was very
close to Myme Chlo and had deep affection and respect for the scholar."

  Choja was crouched beside Sarssen who lounged next to Bethel's pallet. Bethel was still asleep.

  "Do you know who scholar is, warrior?" Sarssen saw a half-mocking look in the dark green eyes that met his.

  "I could take an educated guess," he answered, "but I'd rather you told me."

  "He's a mage." Sarssen gave a deep, long sigh of comprehension. "Does that surprise you, warrior?"

  Sarssen shook his head, asking, "How did you know?"

  "It came from just watching him and sensing the power that surrounded the man. It was also his eyes, though I can't explain that. We also quickly knew the old man with he and Chlorien wasn't what he seemed." Sarssen looked up from contemplating Bethel, his expression bewildered.

  "What old man?"

  "They had a Gnosti with them, one who answered to Jaim." Choja gave a sudden laugh that made Jochoh, just entering with food, pause and stare at his father astonished.

  "A Gnosti," murmured Sarssen, his hand going to his short beard then stopping. "I am used to a long beard," he explained to Choja. "As part of the ritual of sonhood we were shaved."

  "That puzzled me, too," admitted Choja, taking one of the bowls held out patiently by Jochoh.

  "You are privileged to have met one of a race of people thought to be mere fantasy by most on Ambros, tribesman."

  "Indeed," agreed Choja, indicating that Sarssen was to eat. "Jaim was chagrined we guessed he was other than an old man though we didn't know exactly what he was. He was much too alert, even though he thought he'd done well. He's an excellent cook."

  "Now why," mused Sarssen on a mouthful, "would a Gnosti be this far east of his home and risking recognition among folk who had no belief in them?"

  "You believed in the Gnosti, warrior. You aren't shocked, nor I suspect are you overly surprised."

  "No," confessed Sarssen, grinning in a way that made him, Choja thought, look very much younger.

  "Why not?"

  "I was taught to respect all beings on Ambros, tribesman."

  "But who taught you of them, warrior? Not the Churchik, surely?"

  "No." Sarssen was meditative a moment. "We have a mage and a Gnosti. The mage is in Ortok and rescues Myme Chlo for some reason, but is unable to help the brothers who are torn apart. One goes north and is re-united with a younger twin brother in time. They find the youngest too. The other twin brother becomes the southern sorcerer's apprentice, Bethel becomes the warlord's slave but Myme Chlo is taken to safety by none other than a mage and a Gnosti. Why, Choja, why?"