Fire Sanctuary

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  “No, you’ve had to do everything. I’ll do it,” Lyte said, holding up a warning hand. “Sit.”

  Braan sat down. “Did it ever occur to you I get tired of other people doing everything?”

  “So we’ll take turns. Eat.” He settled against one wall, looking out at the stars. “That low one, what planet is that?” He had watched it several nights. It had come to herald ride’s end.

  “I believe it is Niamh.” Braan burrowed down next to a hazelle, pouring himself some saffra.

  “Niamh? I thought Niamh was the morning star.”

  “In winter. In summer it is the evening. It will set soon; the season is early yet.”

  They sat in almost companionable silence, watching the planet set. Lyte let his thoughts drift, following them down a path leading back to his illness and a question that had bothered him. “Braan,” he began, “something I’ve wondered about ... Corymb has hated you for how long? And has even tried to kill you. But you were the third son; whatever his warped mind wants—the trine mines, the throne, power, a new hierarchy—logically you are out of the running. Why kill you?”

  Braan did not turn his head. “If something happened to Tal, I was next in line. Deveah would have been ruled unfit by the guaard. That is the one thing Corymb could not and cannot get around—the guaard. The synod might have taken Deveah with a strong prime minister, because of the twins’ youth and Deenn’s wild ways. But not the guaard.”

  Lyte felt uneasy. “So Deveah was a front all along? Then what was he—Braan, did Corymb know that both Tal and Deveah would die? Was he hoping that Jaacav and the guaard would fail if the Axis pulled out and a coup—” Lyte sat up. “Do you realize—How long has he dealt with the Cied?”

  “Let it go, Lyte.” Braan’s voice was easy. “If it is true, only Corymb, Baakche and his assassin know the truth of it. The assassin is dead, Baakche a mad one, and Corymb certainly will not tell us. The guaard watches.”

  The commando considered the implications of the Nualan’s words, and a vision of power flickered at his mind’s edge. A form of democracy? But what if a corrupt Atare and guaard ... “Do you check out the genes of off-worlders who marry Atares?” Lyte said abruptly. He was ashamed of his rudeness, but it was another question that had gnawed at him during the dark nights.

  “After staying among us so long you still fear without thinking—for Moran and for yourself?” Soft, but still a question. “Do you think Shinar would allow anyone to touch, to change the child she carries? And you have the nerve to ask me that. Do you think a council appointed to look for ‘healthy stock’ would have allowed me to marry Enid?”

  Lyte was silent. Wrapped up in his concern for Moran and his own paranoia, he had completely forgotten about Enid. “My apologies. I did not live with it, and it slipped from me. Did you check out Moran?” he persisted.

  Braan smiled. “No. Where would we check? Our file person knew Moran and said there was nothing to investigate. He was as he appeared. Moran told Roe about his parents, siblings and temper before he knew who she was. It was enough. The biases of observers are not for us. Each person stands on their own merits here.”

  “You sure a commando is enough for a guaard?” Lyte asked a mug of saffra later. “That guy with you didn’t sound as if he were joking. His last words, I mean.”

  “He was not. Loyalty—total loyalty to the Atare and Ragäree—is the first criterion of a guaard. He would die without hesitation for me. He does not think you would. Therefore, in his eyes you are an unsatisfactory guardian. Let us drag this fire further in.” Braan grabbed the edge of the fireproof tarp and hauled it deeper into the cave. One hazelle flopped down with its spine to the curved opening, another crowding to stand in the back. Braan tended the fire so it was burning brightly again. Lyte, uneasy, moved away from the cave opening and around the boulders to the fire.

  “Anyway, the kid didn’t look happy that I was going and he wasn’t.”

  “You are not much older than that ‘kid.’ He was irritated because although I had just asked him to remain with me, obedience to the Atare is very important to a guaard. Dylan needs him now. With me, he would have been unnecessary—or dead.”

  “I don’t—”

  “All Atares have a special guaard; first, one chosen for them as a child, then one they choose in their adolescent years. Mine died while I was off-world, and since I was not the heir and times were peaceful, no one pressured me to find another. As Atare, I must have several companions to protect the office. Negligent of me to wait so long. I took Noah the night we left.”

  “Why?”

  “His finesse at saving my life, among other reasons.” Braan had told Lyte briefly about the assassin and Genuar’s visit on their first night of riding. He had a right to know the danger. “I thought you knew about the guaard.”

  “I have thought about it; why it still exists when the Axis requires its members to hold no standing armies except Axis Forces.”

  Braan poured another mug of saffra. “The standing Axis law applies to whatever body governs the planet or system. The guaard is what the name implies—the Atare family’s private guard. They are accountable only to the ruling Atare and his eldest sister, and take any orders from them.”

  “Convenient.”

  “As Moran has said, I wonder how many other planets have similar bodies of warriors.”

  “So that evades the standing-armies law. How many guaard are there at any one time?” Braan did not answer at first. He smoothed his new facial growth and massaged a knot in his shoulder while staring into the fire. It occurred to Lyte that even now the Nualan did not trust him. Then the man spoke, and Lyte was ashamed.

  “To be a guaard, and to be under the ruling house, is special. There are only, by tradition, five hundred active guaard and one thousand standbys. The thousand are on leave, raising families or pursuing alternative careers. Some serve—served—in the Axis Forces. But there are only two ways to leave the guaard, save death; if the current-generation Atare or Ragäree ask one to, for positive or negative reasons, and by one’s own request. It is a lifelong trust that can be short in times of trouble. There are thousands more who have had much of the training and then go off-world to serve the Axis, for the glory of Nuala. When they return here, they are auxiliary, continuing guaard training and on the list for consideration, should a position open up. And every Nualan, from childhood on, is trained in elkita. It is part of the religion—also for health.”

  “Thousands of guaard, or potential guaard. What do you use them for?”

  The Atare smiled faintly. “The last three thousand years—for ceremony. And general family security. Before that, to unite Nuala.”

  For a time Lyte considered the place of royalty and listened to the swiftly rising wind. Suddenly his ears popped.

  Braan reached out to soothe the prone hazelle, which was beginning to look wild-eyed. “It comes. Soon. That is the warning.”

  “Elkita. That was how you subdued the Durite?”

  Braan nodded. “The priests and priestesses teach it. It is very fancy gymnastics and mind over matter ... you would consider it a martial art. They train openly, but you have avoided the temple areas, and therefore the kita, the training ground.”

  “What are the oaths?” Braan looked up, surprised. “I heard two children talking about becoming guaard and ‘sharing the oaths.’” Lyte had to raise his voice; the wind had increased. He was receiving a lot of information and decided to take advantage of it.

  “They are simple. The guaard swears to obey the orders and follow the eldest male and female of the Atare throne generation, as long as those two do not violate the ancient laws of Nuala. In return, all Atare heirs, no matter how distant from the throne, are always trained in desert commando fighting, elkita and self-defense. They should be able to succeed as commander-in-chief at any reasonable age.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sixteen or so. Also, the Ragäree and Atare must always put the raising, training and nu
rturing of the heirs foremost in their minds, above all other pursuits, and be willing to swear before Mendülay that they have done so.” The last was shouted. Then Braan shook his head and gestured negatively in the direction of the cave opening. It was plain that there would be no more conversation. Lyte clapped his hands over his ears, thankful he was not beyond the boulders, much less outside. Braan was already curled up next to the nowbanked fire.

  “Sleep?” Lyte joked. “Through this?”

  It went doubly unheard through the wind. Braan was asleep.

  CIEDÄR

  TWOHUNDRED FIFTYTWODAY, TIERCE

  They were kilometers from the boulders by starrise. Lyte had awoken only once in the night, when the wind stopped. It had been so sudden. Lyte suspected another pressure change had actually disturbed him. Remember to watch for pressure changes....

  “Is there anyone far from here who weighs on your mind?” Braan asked as they rode.

  Lyte shrugged. “A little curly-haired Vergean hustler, and occasionally my mother; without her protection I wouldn’t have lived to my majority.”

  “Parents can be helpful.”

  “Parent. Singular. My old man would try to kill me with his bare hands, and my mother would use her threat of leaving with the family name, fortune and reputation as a way to stop him. So I owe her more than the average child. I did the best thing I could for her. When the old man disowned me, I cleared out completely.” Lyte’s tone did not encourage further comment.

  “I can see why Moran became everything for you,” was the reply. Braan glanced at him as he said this and suddenly pulled up his hazelle, seizing the reins of Lyte’s mount.

  “What the—”

  Braan reached back to the pack animal and lifted off the largest water gourd. “Why is this not under your robe?” The words had an edge of incredulity and irritation to them, a tone Lyte remembered from a day of discipline, when Braan had both appointed new judges and passed down sentences for crimes. The Nualan had removed his lower veil. “There is no way to fully explain the danger! If a storm arose, we could be separated from each other and the animals in seconds! Always carry water on your person, under your robe and against your body. Do not drink out of it while we have the others. It is only for emergencies.” Braan pressed against his own robes, outlining the other large gourd, strapped to his ribs. “And for Mendülay’s sake never open one during a storm!” He held it out by its strap to Lyte.

  Neither commented on the obvious: that Lyte had watched Braan do this every day of their trip since they passed out of the Sonoma Mountains. The warrior had not thought Braan was hoarding water; he realized that he had not thought about it at all. Lyte masked his own personal irritation, as he saw Braan was more furious with himself for not explaining it thoroughly than with his companion. Nodding, he took the gourd.

  “Now,” Braan added.

  Lyte parted the robe, lifted his caftan and carefully wrapped the gourd’s strap around his body above his joqurs waistband. “Anything else?” Lyte asked.

  “You have spoken to the guaard about diablos, sandspouts?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I think of anything, I will mention it.” Veiling again, even the upper veil, Braan pushed the hazelle into its trotting gait. Following suit Lyte fell into line behind the man. He caught himself wishing that he could reassure the Atare. Lyte had heard about the sandstorms, but the season for them was not now, and they were more frequent further south. The guaard had not thought it important enough to expound on. Last night was bothering Braan. A freak storm ...

  Your mortality shows, my friend, Lyte thought without rancor. Too much is on your mind, and your hopes wither with every step we take. Lyte was not ready to offer words of comfort aloud, though he did not know why—why he wanted to, why he could not. They rode in silence until well past sext.

  In the distance, looking deceptively close, were mountains. A range rose high before them, its baked face a smoldering menace. The tips of the peaks beyond were half-hidden in haze. There was no visible vegetation. Succulants grew in the crevices, Braan had said, usually only in light for an hour. Water could be drained from them; they could be eaten. Emuvv was one; tropc was another.

  Secondmeal had been sparse, eaten without shade, mainly to rest the hazelles. They had sat in a circle of the animals, the dry, tumbling remains of monsoon grasses whirling by them. Braan had lifted a small rock, revealing a flurry of small crustaceans digging into the sands. Krwb, the major scavengers of the deep desert. The scene had given Lyte involuntary shivers.

  “Why did you come?”

  The question startled Lyte, snapping him out of daydreams. An answer burst from him. “Because I belong here.”

  “Agreed. Why now?” Lyte pulled alongside to look at the man. “I mean, with Shinar’s time so soon.... I intended to ask you to come, anyway, but ...” Braan trailed off when he realized Lyte was chuckling.

  “My error. Shinar had the child the night we left. A healthy boy, and she appears fine. We’re going to call him Ried.”

  “Sounds good. I have never named any of mine. It must be nice. A name is important. So, your responsibility to stay ended, you decided to follow Moran?” Braan rolled on.

  “You know better, Atare. Let us not play games. You need help, and I’m vain enough to think that I’m just the warrior to give it to you. If Corymb seizes power, I am one person he won’t want around. The kid? Shinar being Arrez’s daughter might protect them, but then again, maybe not. I’ve got a stake in your leigeship, and I intend to keep my eye on you at all times,” Lyte replied, flickering the reins at a cloud of tiny insects swarming around the hazelle’s head.

  “We will let that stand as the whole reason. Noah would be pleased.”

  Lyte did not comment. Everything in his head was very confused. “Could you have gone alone by sea safely, if your goal was there?” he asked instead.

  “Certainly. I was well trained by my childhood guaard.”

  I’ll say. Lyte’s next question was forgotten. His ears suddenly popped. Braan reined up and scanned the horizon. Sand, sand forever, and the last peaks of this mountain range, stretching away north.

  “Veil. Let us go.” Braan slapped his hazelle into a run, dragging the pack animal behind him; Lyte followed fighting both his mask and his beast. A quick glance to his right showed dark clouds coming from the southeast, dimming the mid-afternoon light.

  “Can we beat it” Lyte yelled.

  “We can try. Remember what the guaard told you!” was the answer, Braan’s anger evident in his voice. Pushing the beasts hard, too hard in this heat? The warrior stole another glance over his shoulder and was appalled to see how fast the storm was moving. The mountains were so close, they had to reach the mountains, to endure the storm without the mountains ... The hazelles needed no urging; they sensed something was wrong. The mountains were perhaps a league northwest—

  Darkness. It descended so abruptly, the animals slowed to a walk without signals. Lyte reached forward, his hand closing on the pack hazelle’s tail just as visibility vanished. Where was the sand?

  It struck. Lyte shriveled into his caftan, unable to absorb the fact that he could feel the stinging grains through two layers of cloth. There was nothing but wind; Braan could have been screaming into his ear without effect. Sliding off his beast, careful to retain his grip on the second hazelle, Lyte wrapped one arm around his mount’s neck and waited. In a few moments the pack animal started moving. Hoping desperately he was following Braan and not a loose creature, Lyte pushed his rider beast forward.

  The guaard spoke the truth. The blowing sand was not as bad closer to the ground. The off-worlder felt nothing on his feet except wind gusts. He had not thought about the darkness—of course, it would be dark. Rocks, small ones, but large enough for both him and the hazelle to trip over. Lyte’s grip on the pack animal loosened. Only for a moment; long enough. Lyte forced his beast to keep moving, trying to catch up. Then he stopped.

  Braan would
not be able to find him, even if he noticed that his partner was missing. Lyte could no longer see the hazelle he was holding, and the temperature had dropped, rivaling the previous night’s cold.

  He decided. Forcing the hazelle to lie down, he banked himself against it, pushing at the sand to pile it to either side. The animal had already curled up as best it could, burying its face in Lyte’s robes, its horns across his legs. The man made sure the special veil filter was in place over his nose and mouth, dug himself down as deep as he could, and waited.

  Chapter Nineteen

  CIEDÄR

  TWOHUNDRED FIFTYTWODAY, COMPLINE

  It was past nightfall when the storm finally blew itself out. Braan stuck his head out of the opening cautiously. Nothing. A faint evening breeze had begun, but no sand, no gale-force winds. In front of his crevice lay the half-buried carcass of the pack hazelle, already drained of its fluids by krwb. He had lost his rider beast entering the mountains: it had stepped in a rock fault and broken its leg. Sand, the deadliest enemy of hazelles, had killed the pack bearer. Their lungs could not veil to protect them from the blowing, burning grains.

  Braan sat a moment, his head bowed, trying to face the loss of Lyte. Even the elements conspired against them. If he had made it to the mountains ... It was not until the hazelle broke its leg that Braan realized he had lost him. In the storm season groups always traveled roped together. If he was ever in the desert with an off-worlder again, he would use ropes, no matter what the time of year.

  An agonizing scream rent the darkness, chilling the man to the bone. Katt—an adult male, a hungry one. On the scent of prey he was confident of—Here? The main diet of katt was tazelle and brush rodent, timid fare but swift. Lyte. Braan jumped up, pulling out his blaster and setting it on high beam. Mastering the rush of adrenaline, he swiftly crept in the direction of the cry, up into the mountains.

  oOo

  The third new moon had just popped up when Braan reached the katt’s plateau. He almost jumped back off the ledge when the beast roared again, until he saw the caves. An echo made the animal seem closer. Moving as noiselessly as possible to the entrance, Braan pulled out one of the two flares he had brought up and lit it. He heaved it as far into the cave as he could and stepped back to hide in the scrub brush. Nothing. No vaaze, no katt. Whispering a quick prayer Braan stepped into the cave.