by B A Vonsik
His nausea grew worse with each passing moment. Halfway into his ascent, it threatened to overpower him, leaving him hanging from the rocks fighting to keep conscious and unable to climb farther. Making matters worse, pain rippled through Rogaan’s muscles which made it difficult for him to keep hold of the tremor-filled rocks and exposed roots as his breaths turned more painful. He was almost certain his ribs were broken. Rogaan was stuck, unable to climb higher. Fearing he would fall, again, he decided to descend and try to find an easier path up. As he looked for a foothold below, a rope fell past him, then dangled an arm’s length away.
“Grab the rope,” a voice called out to him from above.
Concentrating hard, he fought through blurring vision grabbing the rope with his left hand, wrapping it around his wrist before grabbing the rope with his other hand. He then hung on the rope with all his might as he felt himself ascending in surges. Time started to not matter to Rogaan. All he knew was that he needed to grip the rope with everything he had. He felt hands tugging at him, then the cool sensation of the clay pressing on the back of his head, back, arms, and legs. He realized he was lying down. Looking up, he saw Sugnis hovering over him, with his dark, untamed locks and beard framing a concern-filled face. Rogaan felt hands on him inspecting his head, chest, arms, and midsection. Pain seared through him when hands touched the ribs on his left side.
“Forgive my slow timing of aid.” Sugnis sounded genuinely repentant for something Rogaan did not know what. Looking up, Rogaan’s blurry eyes found his fighting mentor inspecting him with intense focus.
“You used the blade on yourself after all that.” Sugnis sounded sadly impressed.
“No,” Rogaan corrected his mentor with a mumble. He clumsily patted his waist where the blade given to him by Kirral was, still unused. “That blade is in its shell. See?”
“No,” Sugnis said with concern reverberating in his voice.
“What bothers you?” Rogaan asked with slurring words, his vision now almost dark, and his muscles unresponsive to his wishes.
With blurred and waning sight, he saw Sugnis holding a broken partial blade of bone in his fingers. “I pulled this from your side. It seems the Saggis stuck you with his venom-coated blade, after all.”
Chapter 5
Mortals and More
Voices disjointed and distant spoke with words unintelligible. Some sounded concerned while others seemed gleeful, even rejoicing. Nausea and pain endured in the pit left him as he felt himself being picked up and carried, where, he did not know or now even care. All was replaced with calm, a peacefulness. He felt serenity with the warmth of the sun and the cool touch of the wind all around him. The scent of blooms from island vines and decay of that taken from the waters guarding the shoreline of this rocky hold all filled his senses. He could not make out where hands held him or if he was upright, upside down, or something else. Orientation had no meaning. Rogaan vaguely heard voices and no longer sensed motion, nor knew if he still moved. His chest tightened, giving him a moment of pain, then nothing. All sensations gone.
Rogaan opened his eyes. He looked about confused and disoriented. Slightly below him, five strong Baraans and a Tellen carried a pole stretcher, three to each side. Others flanked the six trying to spy a look at what they protectively transported between them. Looking down at the limp body lying on the stretcher, Rogaan gasped in disbelief. Me? No! Rogaan denied what his eyes saw . . . a strongly built, brown-skinned half Tellen wearing hide sandals, a dirty gray cloth kilt and torn tunic with disheveled, shoulder-length, dark brown hair and a short brown beard. This is wrong! No. This cannot be. He called out to the six. No response. They kept at their even pace walking. No matter how loudly he yelled, they ignored him. Rogaan called out to the Tellen, Sugnis. If anyone will answer me, he will. Again, no response to his calls and screams. Reaching out to the nearest Baraan, Rogaan found his fingers sinking into his shoulder. No! How? A plummeting sensation of desperation gripped him as he looked around hoping for answers . . . from anyone. Not a person near or far seemed to see him. Rogaan returned his attention to Sugnis, his mentor’s back to him, with hopes another scream would get his attention. Rogaan then realized he was moving, keeping pace with the group. But I am not walking. Looking to his still body being carried, Rogaan saw a silvery-white glowing cord from his body lying on the stretcher with . . . his glowing naked body floating just behind the six . . . and himself. How? A thought came to Rogaan that he immediately dismissed. Cannot be. He looked at the slivery-white glowing cord again. He recalled the stories of those losing their Lights. He always thought their descriptions as a figure of speech for what could not be understood. I am Lightless . . . dead?
Numb from the realization of his situation, Rogaan looked about again. The rabble of a crowd thinned some as the six made their way toward Rogaan’s . . . Kirral’s, hovel. Urgallis was engaged in celebrative discussion with one of his Ursans to the right of the six as they kept pace with the stretcher. Both Baraans seemed genuinely joyful. Urgallis must have scored large at my death. The five Baraans carrying him were all Kirral’s followers. Most he could not read, though several joked as they walked. Sugnis kept looking back at Rogaan’s body with sorrow and anguish flowing from his eyes and his dirty face bearing evidence of tears. A loud call from a hunting featherwing above drew Rogaan’s attention upward. A single, midsized featherwing followed the crowd in repeated circles, the sky around it clear of all other featherwings and leatherwings. As the animal turned, Rogaan caught sight of what he thought was a dark-tinted glow. Father. Mother. Rogaan started remembering who he was, how he arrived at the island, and why his body lay lifeless on the stretcher. Keepers. Saggis. Poison.
“Noooooooo!” screamed Rogaan defiantly at the heavens, at the Ancients. His eyes fell to his lifeless body, the cord tethering him to it glowing more brightly than before. A question formed in Rogaan’s mind that gave him hope and purpose. He grabbed the cord with both hands and pulled, desperate and hopeful. He remained frustratingly anchored at a fixed distance, unable to move. He tried again and again, growing more frustrated and angrier with every effort. The cord glowed brighter. A whisper spoke. Rogaan thought it everywhere then knew it was in his mind. Its words broken with only some understandable, “…not…time.” Renewed determination filled Rogaan. Again, he pulled hard on the glowing cord. He budged, just a little. Hope. He pulled hard, determined to touch his body, the distance to his goal shortening. More hope. Rogaan kept at it, relentlessly, pulling, desperation changing to determination. A sickly sensation and taste came to him as he closed to just beyond arm’s length from his paling body. The silvery-white cord now glowed brightly in his hands, as if it would burn him; yet, he felt no pain.
Everything exploded, engulfed in bright blue-white light. Quickly, Rogaan’s eyes adjusted, revealing arcs of lightning dancing all around the six. The rabble, to a Baraan, fell to the rocky, vine-covered ground, withering in pain from burns and more. Many vines covering the rocks sizzled, popped, then lay withered with rising wisps of vapor from the intense heat of the arcing lightning as it withdrew. The six stood motionless, carefully looking around trying to figure out what just happened. Rogaan caught sight of him, first, a lone Baraan, tall in stature . . . a head taller than himself, on the trail to the hovel. Dressed in calf-high, bloodred, tanniyn hide boots, a dark hide kilt with red metal-plated thigh-guards, a wide, red, tanniyn hide belt over a dark gray, cloth-weaved shirt, bloodred layered metallic shoulder guards, metallic silver and gold wrist guards and armbands, and a head under a dark gray, cloth-weaved hood. The stranger was armed with a heavy, curved, long knife the size of a sword resting in its sheath at his right side. Memories of his father’s teachings brought images of the Ancients to Rogaan’s mind’s eye. The stranger wasted no time approaching them with determined steps. A Kaal’Ursa opposite Sugnis holding the stretcher panicked and ran off leaving the rest of Rogaan’s bearers to keep his stretcher upright with grunting efforts. Without breaking stride, the strang
er raised his right hand, then struck the fleeing Baraan with intense bolts of lightning. The Kaal’Ursa dropped to the rocks without a scream, unmoving, his body burnt black and smoking.
“Ground young Rogaan’s body,” Sugnis ordered the Baraans. They hesitated at first, not certain they should follow and be found without the stretcher in hand. When Sugnis crouched to set the stretcher on the ground, they all followed, then stood and stepped back as the stranger made his final steps to them.
The eyes of the stranger caught Rogaan by surprise; tilted and radiant green. Now close and with the morning sun peeking under the hood, the stranger appeared very tall, a head and some taller than the Baraans, with a slender nose and chiseled features under a short, trimmed, yellow-white beard and what appeared to be hair of the same color. The stranger was strongly built and wearing well-fitted armor and clothing. He paid Sugnis and the Baraans no attention as he inspected lightless Rogaan’s body. After a few moments of looking at Rogaan’s skin and eyes, the stranger placed his large hands on Rogaan’s body and concentrated. A glow under his white cloth shirt immolated red for a long moment before fading. Suddenly, Rogaan felt sickly.
“How long?” the stranger asked nobody specifically, yet everybody.
“Since sunrise,” Sugnis answered, his hand on his belted knife.
“How long without his breath,” the stranger asked intensely, urgently.
“Not long ago,” Sugnis clarified.
The stranger’s head swiveled as he looked for something, but not finding it, he placed his hand on Rogaan’s chest before concentrating again. That red glow immolated the stranger’s shirt, again. Rogaan felt a presence through the silvery-white glowing cord. The stranger again swiveled his head about until his eyes fixed on Rogaan, not his lifeless body, but Rogaan himself where they locked stares with each other. Confusion gripped Rogaan. The red glow disappeared as the stranger placed another hand on Rogaan’s lifeless head. With head bowed and hands on Rogaan’s head and chest, the stranger mumbled something unintelligible as he concentrated. The red glow appeared once more, steady and strong. The stranger kept at his concentration and mumbling. The intensity of the red glow grew as Rogaan felt a tug, then a pull, a pull as if falling into a great depth ever increasing his speed, a vortex, darkness, pain everywhere, a sickly taste in his mouth, and an urge to suck in a breath. Rogaan breathed, sucking a lungful of air. Gasps and alarmed words surrounded him as he opened his eyes.
“What happened to me?” Rogaan coughed.
“He drew your Light back into your body,” Sugnis answered his apprentice with a hint of awe.
“You are not whole, yet, Roga of Blood An,” the stranger told Rogaan. “The poison in you is strong, stronger than any I expect your kind to endure. Some time and added healings are needed to make you whole.”
“Why?” Rogaan asked the stranger with a croak; his throat felt painfully dry and sore.
The stranger regarded him for a long moment before answering, “I need your blood. Without poison.”
“You protected me twice before?” Struggling though feelings of being separated from the world . . . detached from everything around him, Rogaan sought confirmation he lived. He searched his memories of the stranger, “. . . In the ravine in the Valley of the Claw with that cutthroat Lugasum, Akaal, and then in the streets of Brigum, cutting down the town guard allowing Pax and me to escape.”
“Do not forget the clearing in the forest against ravers and that Dark Ax,” the stranger added as if ensuring the record was correctly scribed. “I thought him your enemy. He proved more formidable than expected, requiring my time to recover. Your kind has made a number of surprises for me.”
“Who are you?” Rogaan asked still with a croaking voice and hazy head.
“Who follows me?” The stranger looked to Sugnis and the four Baraans. An Ursan and Kaal’Ursa waved their hands in front of them as they started backing away. The stranger raised his hands, blasting both with streams of lightning. Their burnt bodies fell to the ground twitching uncontrollably after their screams were cut short. He turned his attention again to Sugnis and the other two looking too frightened to run.
“I follow,” the two remaining Ursan answered almost together as they kneeled. The stranger turned his full attention on Sugnis.
“I go with him,” Sugnis said confidently without flinching while pointing at Rogaan.
The stranger regarded Sugnis for a time. As the moments passed, Rogaan grew increasingly nervous another stroke of lightning would appear. Sugnis held his position and his tongue. Courage of his convictions and loyalties, Rogaan regarded, impressed with Sugnis. Rogaan really hoped the stranger would not strike him Lightless with lightning.
“He mentors me in hand and blade,” Rogaan broke in while fighting through his light-headedness, fearing something terrible was about to happen.
“Then he is not very good at it,” the stranger commented with a stern glance at Rogaan.
“I fought an opponent beyond my skills,” Rogaan offered an explanation as he tried to rise from the ground. He realized he felt exhausted and without the strength to stand. “That I am alive . . . my gratitude to you, and that the Saggis no longer lives, I think, speaks of Sugnis’s mentoring skills.”
“Very well-spoken, young Roga of Blood An.” The stranger stared at Sugnis considering him before nodding to Rogaan. Then, while looking at Sugnis and the two Baraan Ursan, the red-clad stranger spoke pointing at Rogaan as if he were accustomed to commanding and for others to follow. “You all follow. Gather him. He will be weak for a day or more. We sail immediately.”
“What of Pax?” Rogaan asked with the intent to have the stranger help free his friend. “I cannot leave him a prisoner of Kirral or on this island.”
“Your defiant and ill-mannered companion from Brigum?” the stranger sought confirmation.
Rogaan nodded, “Yes.”
The tall stranger regarded Rogaan as Sugnis and one of the Ursan lifted him to his feet, then carried him with Rogaan’s arms over their shoulders. Rogaan found amazing the knife wound on his left side was closed and no longer painful, though he considered it might be an illusion of his mind.
“Where is this Pax?” The stranger sounded resigned to do something. Relief poured over Rogaan as the free-handed Ursan volunteered to lead them to where Kirral held Rogaan’s friend.
After a walk that seemed timeless to Rogaan, they stood in front of Kirral’s timber house, though at a distance. Rogaan now able to stand on his own with shaking legs, stood next to Sugnis with the Ursan’s continued help. They watched the other Ursan escort the tall stranger into Kirral’s home building through its main entry.
“Who is this one, Rogaan?” Sugnis asked quietly.
“I do not know,” Rogaan answered honestly. “He has been watching over me since Brigum, though I do not remember him so tall. He has been at task to keep me safe . . . I think. He killed a cutthroat Lugasum by tossing him off a cliff in the Valley of the Claw and cut down a bunch of guardsmen in Brigum who captured Pax and me. That is how we escaped.”
“And Im’Kas . . . his Dark Ax reference?” Sugnis asked almost too eagerly, if not protective.
“He and the Dark Axe battled each other in the middle of the wilds allowing us to escape.” Rogaan recounted the event, his head and thoughts a little clearer as a chill rippled through him. “Then, I did not think either of them wished to keep me with my Light. They tossed about strange powers and sorceries.”
“He scares me ta Kur,” the Baraan Ursan commented.
“As he does all of us,” Sugnis spoke with an uncertain reservation.
“Was I truly Lightless?” Rogaan asked Sugnis.
“Seemed so,” Sugnis nodded to Rogaan, then in the direction of the house. “And he returned you from the Darkness returning your Light from where it was off to. I thought it could not be done with someone who has not bonded to the Agni. We need to be ready to escape him—”
The doors to the timber building swung
open. Emerging from the doorway, a bloodied Pax staggered out while looking over his shoulder. Following him out with confident strides, the tall, red-clad stranger picked up Pax throwing him over his shoulder as if Pax weighed a few feathers before striding as without a care to rejoin Rogaan and companions. The stranger walked past the trio without speaking a word, continuing his way with confident steps. Sugnis and the Ursan carrying Rogaan tried to keep up. A short distance farther, the stranger dropped Pax to the ground, then turned to face the house.
“Stay low and behind something,” the stranger warned. The bloodred sheen of his metallic armor plates took on a living quality, moving, vibrating, blurring. After a moment’s hesitation, the four realized something big was about to happen that needed them to move somewhere safer. They took cover behind a nearby mound of dirt and rocks, peeking over and around the tremor-filled rocks to get a look-see of what was to come next.
The tall stranger stood facing the timber building fifty-four strides distant as a figure emerged from the house staggering, momentarily standing in the doorway. Rogaan saw it to be Kirral. He looked injured. The stranger started concentrating, then mumbling as he held his hands out in front of him, as if he were to hold a large pot, and as the shirt under his chest immolated in a reddish glow making his bloodred metallic armor plates appear malevolent. A spark ignited in between his hands, then rapidly grew into what appeared to be a ball of blistering hot red, yellow, and blue fluid crackling lightning across its surface. With a gesture of his hands toward the timber house, the ball of crackling power sped off. It passed through the doorway, burning Kirral in flames as it passed. The Baraan never even screamed as he twitched and fell. A brilliant flash of reddish light inside the building followed by a deafening roar and dreadful explosion splintered the timbers of the structure. It threw the remnants of the building up and in all directions. The stranger stood tall making arm gestures as if throwing and swiping things from his path with his hands. Burning timber fragments arcing high and toward him inexplicably changed directions, impacting left and right of him and the rocks Rogaan and the others hid behind. After the falling debris ceased, Rogaan and the others surveyed the area. The stones making the slab underneath the timbered building now stood split apart, burning and smoldering as parts of the building lay in all directions as some of the lighter pieces continued to fall from the sky for a time. The tall stranger dusted off his hands, then turned north toward the docks in the channel between the islands. He strode past them with confident strides without giving them the slightest of glances.
