by B A Vonsik
His long spear raised to again strike at the unseen below, the red-clad warrior stood motionless as if surprised by the boldness of Rogaan and his questions. The tall, almost giant, warrior appeared in contemplation, maybe of how much to reveal or whether to kill this young Tellen outright. Rogaan felt certain he was no match for this one, but it appeared he was needed . . . at least his blood, and maybe that was worth a bargain for his father and Suhd. Maybe. Long moments passed. The two companions behind Rogaan stirred with shifting feet and whispers. Rogaan felt he had to show boldness and courage if he was to get answers and, hopefully, a bargain. He held his attention on the red-clad warrior, hoping his guardian companions would not strike him down from behind. The ship shuddered as if something large struck it just under the bow. The red-clad warrior looked surprised and frustrated at not noticing whatever it was and for not having speared it. Then just as quickly, he set his long spear back into the holds on the railing, appearing not to give it a thought.
“‘He’ is the scourge of this world.” The warrior stood tall speaking with deference, but also with much hatred and a hint of trepidation. “A mortal Baraan who stole the drink and the food forbidden, consuming them . . . somehow surviving the transformation which should not have been. Then, learning the manifestations of the stones after stealing from the Dingiir their most sacred of Agnis. The One who grew in strength in the manifesting arts learning the forbidden from Enurta and his allies. Those traitorous ones aiding Qingu and his army of Nammu’s wicked creations. The One who reaped much destruction on the old world in the Shiarush War . . . Dragon War, taking the Light from mortals and Dingiir alike. The One who made possible the destruction of the Celestial Halls. The One who became Namerium-I-Emuku, Sworn to Power, and of the Marked. Enurta’s most powerful and deadly priests. The cause giving rise to the creation of the Sentii, the supreme warriors of the Dingiir, and the Kabiri, mortal manifesters of the Agni in the divine service of the Dingiir. The One spurring reason for the creation of the Ra’Sakti, the most powerful devices ever conceived for use by mortal hands. The One who dared challenge the Dingiir . . . the Father of the Dingiir, Ea, wounding the father. The One who escaped the grasp of the Dingiir in the final days of the war. The One who outshined all others of the Marked in power and desires for conquest. He is Luntanus Alum, the deadliest of the Shunned.”
Dingiir . . . Ancients . . . the Sentii . . . the Marked . . . Shunned. Rogaan felt his legs weaken and his body shake. Fearing he could not keep upright, he dropped to a knee trying to steady himself and take a breath. The red-clad warrior turned facing Rogaan, and as he did, his armor glowed red along lines connecting glowing symbols of vertically entwined serpents about a staff on his breast plates. Rogaan’s nape and arm hairs bristled. The serpent symbols intensely glowed before simmering down such that Rogaan did not need to shield his eyes to look upon him. Who is he? Do I dare bargain with him?
“Charged by the Ancients, I am to end this affliction on earth . . .” The glowing red warrior stood tall and commanding as his companions . . . His guardian servants behind Rogaan dropped to a knee. His voice now deeper and reverberating all about the ship, “. . . and vow to destroy this Shunned and all who aid him. I am Vassal to Vaikuntaars, Gatekeeper to the Realms of Heaven.”
Chapter 12
Makara
Dark eastern skies and golden haloed clouds to the west told all that dusk was almost upon them. Despite his great strides to the contrary, Rogaan still felt anxious about the darkness and fretted about this cycle of night to come. Not only would the moon be near renewal of another twenty-eight-day cycle providing little illumination through the night, but the Makara would be close enough to battle the three heavily armed ships of the Farratum forces . . . and evidently, one of the fabled Shunned. So, Rogaan understood from the Vassal, before being dismissed by him until the early morning. Rogaan now sat on a small barrel on the open aft deck closest the entrance to his cabin. Next to him, sitting on another small ale barrel, was Sugnis, now with better coloring in his face and in a better mood. Having adjusted his sitting position relative to Sugnis to ensure the deck breeze carried his mentor’s odiferous aromas away from him, Rogaan spied about for his troubled friend. On the deck above he found him, where Pax leaned over wood railing talking with that dark-haired, blue-clothed sailor who claimed to know Pax’s father. They appeared to be getting along quite well. As jealous as that made Rogaan feel, he felt better for Pax having someone to talk to instead of keeping on with his brooding.
Earlier, when the cycle of the Ur’s waters flowed back to the west, the Makara’s partially filled sails and oars were all it had to keep the ship moving down the river eastward, though slowly. The crew was obsessed with doing so. Now, with the wind dying down and the waters flowing eastward, the oarsmen below kept the Makara moving toward morning faster than the waters. Learning the names and meanings about ship things and their doings from the Mu-Lusuh . . . the water-thieves running the Makara, Rogaan understood there would be one more cycle of the Ur’s waters flowing westward . . . with the incoming tide of the sea before they caught the trio of ships. How the river and the sea were connected was something that hurt Rogaan’s head. All he understood of these tides and times was that they would assault the three larger ships after the next cycle of water changes, after the waters first flowed westward, then, again, eastward, toward the sea.
The sanity in attacking three ships . . . all larger, and Rogaan’s assumption of them being more heavily armed, was a question he and Sugnis posed to both Vassal and crew. None even hinted a doubt concerning their plan. That unnerved Rogaan. Even Sugnis expressed misgivings of the Makara, a smaller vessel attacking these three ships that were previously owned by the Ebon Circle . . . owned by the Master Dark Robe himself, and that he took the ships from an attacking force of the Senthien some many years back. Warships. A shiver from butt to head shook Rogaan. This is insane!
The Makara’s gray sails had been dropped and tied down during the last cycle of the tide waters. Raised now were black sails, making the ship almost invisible against the night sky and dark waters. An order went out among the crew and given to both Sugnis and him to put out all lamps and for no puffing out on deck or in windowed cabins. The crew’s discipline and matter-of-fact ways in making the ship run impressed Rogaan and gave him a hope that they might know what they are doing concerning this insane attack plan.
“Stay unruffled, young Rogaan,” Sugnis’s deep and grumbling voice almost sounded like his old self. “If things go wrong, it won’t take but for a moment to have your Light swallowed by the behemoths of this river.”
“Water-dragons do not have me worried . . . too much,” Rogaan replied with a false bravado that he thought did not conceal well. He felt a bit put off about his mentor’s casual attitude concerning dying. “It is this Vassal and the Shunned . . . the Shunned, he seeks. These things are of old tales, what my father told . . . taught me before I could properly use a forging hammer.”
“Haven’t you seen wonders enough in recent times to know your father’s teachings were of history and not tales?” Sugnis asked with a reverberating belch, one he seemed pleased with.
For a moment, Rogaan thought his mentor might turn sick again, but it passed. He hoped the Tellen was over the worst of getting what the crew called his “water-legs.” He feared Sugnis’s fighting skills would be needed before the breaking of dawn and wanted nothing hampering him. As to the wonders . . . Yes, his eyes had seen many unexplainable things. Things told in tales of old, of villains and heroes and the great struggles for mere survival. Still, how can these things be happening now . . . with me in the middle of them?
Rogaan looked forward on the ship to where the Vassal and his companions still stood at the bow. Tirelessly, the Vassal continued spearing things in the water as his pair of warrior sentinels kept his blindside guarded. Pointing to them he asked Sugnis, “And what is that about?”
“He be keepin’ da mu’usumgal from slowin’ da Makar
a.” A lean, dark-skinned Baraan sailor dressed in dark grays, puffing a lit rod, spoke while approaching Rogaan. “When in waters dey claim, dey be challenin’ da ship hittin’ da bow. Da beasts see Makara as one of dem or worse and dey be defendin’ territory. Sometimes da mu’usumgal damage da hull . . . da big ones, anyways. And when dey go ta kill a ship, dey do just like dey do da own. Dey rip da tail off. Ships . . . wreck da rudder. He . . . be obsessed catchin’ dem Farratum ships and wants no slowin’ of dis one. So, he keeps at teachin’ da mu’usumgal who be da big one out here and off da hull.”
Four quivers of arrows identical to the ones given him with his bow in the cabin were then laid at Rogaan’s feet by the sailor. When leaning over near Sugnis, the Baraan’s nose crinkled fiercely, but he kept to what he was doing instead of making an issue of the Tellen’s odors. Rogaan suppressed a knowing smile as best he could. Quickly standing up upright and shifting his position more upwind, the sailor announced, “Da Vassal wants ya ta get comfy shootin’ dat bow in da dark. Says he be needin’ ya eyes ta tell out distances.”
“What . . .?” Rogaan asked. “How?”
The dark-skinned Baraan’s almost whitish smile contrasted brightly against his face in the fading light. The sailor took one last, long, pleasure-filled puff on the rod making its end burn brightly before flicking it overboard. “Soon, we be tossin’ bait in da water from da bow. When da mu’usumgal go for dem, he wants ya shootin’ dem eyeballs.”
“In the dark?” Rogaan asked incredulously.
“Much talk of Tellen dark-sight . . .” The dark-skinned Baraan smiled big again. “Ya should be seein’ da dragon eyes all right. Da question be, can ya poke dem out?”
“Who talks of Tellen dark-sight?” Rogaan asked wanting to know how so many folks knew of it and what they thought it was.
“It be well known ta us River Folk and da Mu-Lusuh,” the sailor answered confidently as he looked about the ship while continuing his explanation. “Tellen port guards in Turil almost always see ya comin’ unless ya be da Makara.”
Without allowing another question from Rogaan, the sailor turned and was off into the gloom of dusk and the dark tones the ship seemed to be designed to make. It struck Rogaan that the Makara and its crew were not ordinary river-thieves. “Who are these people?”
“You asking me?” Sugnis asked of Rogaan with a bit of a surprise.
“Who are they?” Rogaan asked again. “I thought I knew much learning from Father and his books. Though the main substance of his teachings be sound, actually experiencing things is . . . more different.”
“That is life, my young friend,” Sugnis cryptically answered with a broad smile.
“That is no help,” Rogaan rebutted.
“What we put in our heads when someone describes a thing or when we read a book is often not a complete picture of that thing . . .” Sugnis offered with his serious face, as he always wore when trying to explain a subject.
“You read books?” Rogaan asked half-seriously, half as a jibe. In all honesty, Rogaan just could not picture Sugnis, with his dirt-stained appearance and his hole in the ground living, a reader of books.
“Experiencing it adds details, substance, scents, textures, and those little things difficult to describe in words.” Sugnis finished his thought while giving Rogaan a sideways glance. “Though it is a pleasure every now and then to read a good book . . . even in my homey holes.”
“I still cannot picture you with a book,” Rogaan admitted.
“A condition of my apprenticeship with—” Sugnis stopped talking dead in the middle of his explanation. He first looked as if he had accidently spoken secrets; then a grump came to his face. “Enough of this familiar talk.”
Disappointed again in not learning who Sugnis was working for and knowing better than to press this issue, Rogaan decided to return to his question, “Who are they of this Makara?”
“The Makara and its crew are famous on the Ur,” Sugnis explained with his voice low. Rogaan looked at him with a surprised expression at him knowing of them and at him not sharing this information earlier. “They thieve from other ships and ports both small and large. They are a smart bunch that seems to be as daimons in the night—here in a moment and gone in the next. And when killing is at hand, they have a solid reputation at doing it.”
“And those three?” Rogaan pointed to the Vassal and his warrior guardians.
“You know more about the Vassal than anyone.” Sugnis gave Rogaan a knowing smile and a tease about his fellow conspirators. “The other two. They are Sentii.”
“What!” More a statement of disbelief and denial than a question, Rogaan stared at Sugnis a moment before looking back to the Vassal’s guards. “Sentii? How do you know?”
“I have . . . experienced them before,” Sugnis explained in a serious tone. “A bunch not to be trifled with without your full attention. Deadly warriors. Though those two are young and without the hardened scowls of their elders. You surprised me holding your own with them and for soundly laying one out.”
Rogaan felt both hurt in Sugnis’s lack of confidence in him and with pride having surprised his mentor at surviving the two Sentii . . . even if they were young and without their scowls. It then dawned on Rogaan that Sugnis did not attempt to help him when he was getting his Sentii beating. “Why did you not aid me with the . . . Sentii?”
“They were not about taking your Light . . . this day.” Sugnis cut him off as he stood up. He staggered back and forth with the ship for a moment before gaining his water-legs solidly under him. “The Vassal needs you for something and is not going to see you seriously harmed and certainly not killed. I thought you insulted one of them, and they were teaching you a painful lesson.”
“No,” Rogaan replied. “The Vassal was testing me. He said I was with the Blood or something of that sort.”
Sugnis regarded him for a long moment before stepping toward the railing. He pointed to the bow where a group of the crew was gathering and setting a line of sailors with large fish in hand, each fish almost half the length of a Baraan standing. “Gather up those quivers. The Makara’s crew is soon to toss that bait.”
Rogaan quickly joined Sugnis at the railing, purposely positioning himself upwind of his mentor. Sugnis knowingly gave Rogaan another sideways glance before pointing to the first of the large bait fish tossed from the bow. As Rogaan strung his bow and positioned a quiver over his right shoulder and another on his belt at his left hip, a water-dragon . . . A mu’usumgal broke the surface of the water with part of its body length rising in the darkening night air as it savagely struck the bait from below. A splash not as large as he expected saw the water-dragon disappear beneath the waves. Seeing a small bit of its white underbelly made it easy for Rogaan to judge its body positioning along with its large eye shining brightly in the last of the day’s light. Rogaan now understood. They had overly large, shining eyes. The mu’usumgals were creatures well suited for the darkness and for attacking from below. Nocking an arrow, Rogaan took several deep breaths and calmed himself. He felt his heart slow as he commanded his body so. He did not know how these arrows would fly or the true strength of the bow, but he did not want any unsteadiness on his part to be a reason for missing.
Another bait fish hit the water with a loud splash. Rogaan drew the bow anchoring his fingers to his cheek just at the right corner of his mouth. He strained just slightly pushing the bow out away from him with his left arm. The bow was at its maximum draw length and well suited for him. His eyes and mind focused on the sharp flint stone arrow tip placing it just under the bait as he followed the floating fish. His wait for another breaching target was short. As the beast rose from the water in another savage attack, Rogaan followed its rise leading his shot to the front of its nose and slightly high. Twenty-eight strides. He let loose the arrow. It passed high just above the water-dragon’s head and a little forward of his intended target.
“Strong bow,” Rogaan commented.
“The Vassal seems
to know more of you than feels comfortable,” Sugnis remarked.
Another bait fish hit the water. Again, Rogaan calmed his breathing and focused his eyes and mind on arrow tip and floating bait with the bow at full draw. Another water-dragon struck the bait hard rising almost vertical out of the water with Rogaan following the rise with his arrow tip. Thirty-one strides. Rogaan let loose the arrow. It struck just to the right of the beast’s eye. The water-dragon twisted in the air exposing its white underside fully as it plunged back into the dark waters splashing in a swirl of foam before disappearing into the dark depths.
Another bait fish toss into the almost black waters. The last of the dusk light was fading. Again, Rogaan drew his bow, calmed his breathing . . . his heart and focused his eyes and mind on flint arrow tip and floating fish. A big water-dragon breached the surface of the waves at a flat and shallow angle. Thirty-seven strides. Rogaan let the arrow fly, striking the beast in its reflecting eye. Waters foamed white as the terror twisted and splashed with fins and tail before diving back into the darkness. Sugnis grunted, being impressed with Rogaan’s archery skills and eye for distances.
“The arrows are well made and consistently weighted,” Rogaan commented.
“Outstanding with a bow,” Sugnis stated with pride. “He was not overstating your skills, after all.”
Rogaan looked at his mentor with a questioning expression. “Are you ever going to speak of who you are working for . . . with?”
“No,” Sugnis answered in his gruff grumble of a voice. “If you come to know of them, it means that things are grim, and that we are outmatched . . . badly.”
