Rise of Serpents

by B A Vonsik

  Whoa! Aren just realized he manifested Agni Powers and tossed them hundreds of strides. Yet, he was unsure how he did it. The featherwing dove again, striking its intended target on this passing swoop as Rogaan took notice of the leapers Aren struck with the Powers and sent an arrow into the one rising from the ground. The leaper reeled from the arrow to its chest before limping off into the trees. A new series of squawking grunts stopped all the leapers in their moments . . . all with snouts high as if waiting or listening for something. More squawks sounded causing them to turn and run off to the south. Aren watched as the leapers departed, their pack now smaller and with a few struggling behind trying to keep up. Then, Aren stood in shock and with a sense of awe looking at his hands. What did I do? How did I do it?

  A caw from above drew Aren’s attention high. The dark-colored featherwing passed over him before turning back toward Rogaan. Aren noted a sparkling glint from the featherwing as it turned, allowing the sun’s rays to strike it just right. Below, Rogaan held his Sentii Blood Bow high above his head and waved it at Aren. Wanting not to waste any more time than necessary out in these wilds, Aren quickly made his way down the ridge and across the narrow valley to join up with the half Tellen. As he trotted, Aren realized the spinning symbols were gone from his mind as too the whispering had stopped.

  As he got close to Rogaan, Aren spotted a leaper lying prone under a pine tree. Its chest unmoving. Arrows, one in the chest and another in its head, appeared to have ended its life. Rogaan approached the down leaper. A swooshing sound drew his attention to the dark featherwing making a low and near pass before it climbed back into the sky. Glancing at the half Tellen, Aren found Rogaan frozen in place holding his Blood Bow watching the featherwing to the exclusion of everything else.

  “Does it do that often?” Aren asked Rogaan of the featherwing.

  “What?” Rogaan asked as if realizing he was being spoken to. “No. The black one has been watching me for some time. Never has it done anything like . . .”

  “Manifest Agni Powers?” Aren completed the half Tellen’s words.

  “Yes,” Rogaan answered with a visible shiver. When he looked to have recovered from it, he asked Aren a question. “Do you do that often?”

  “What?” Aren wasn’t certain about what Rogaan was referring to.

  “Send lightning,” Rogaan clarified.

  “It’s new to me . . . just happened.” Aren found himself answering honestly despite wanting to sound as if he knew what he was doing. Wanting to change the subject, he pointed at the Sentii-made bow in Rogaan’s hand. “You’re good with that.”

  “You should see my shunir’ra,” boasted Rogaan.

  “Are there any more of those leapers?” Aren sincerely asked, hoping that they were all gone. “I think not,” answered Rogaan.

  “Shunir’ra?” Aren didn’t understand the reference.

  “My blue metal bow . . . my masterwork according to Tellen traditions.” Rogaan attempted to describe without a long explanation. “I made it to demonstrate my skills for my acceptance into the Tellen clans.”

  “Yet, you live in Brigum . . . in Shuruppak?” Aren asked, not completely understanding why Rogaan was seeking acceptance into Tellen clans. “Aren’t the Tellens and their clans in Turil?”

  “Yes, though my father holds true to the Tellen traditions, and if I am ever to walk among the clans, I must receive Zagdu-i-Kuzu,” explained Rogaan. When Aren put on a confused expression, Rogaan further answered. “My recognition . . . my Tellen Coming of Age.”

  They then stood awkwardly looking at each other for a short time. Aren decided to remain silent in their uncomfortable exchange of stares to see what Rogaan was thinking.

  “Why are you here?” Rogaan finally asked.

  “. . . I’m not going to stay in that cave,” Aren answered, hoping it would be enough for the half Tellen. Rogaan just stared at him with an impassive expression. Aren could tell Rogaan was mulling over something in his head. Likely if he thinks I’m speaking the truth, and if so, what to do.

  “Dung,” was all Rogaan said as he walked to a fallen blue and gray leaper where he retrieved his arrows.

  “Pardon my understanding . . .” Aren retorted.

  “In Farratum’s jail . . .” Rogaan continued. “This Lucufaar wanted something from you. Tormented you for it. You kept whatever your secret is from him. Then, on the ship, he threw Powers about as if a Black Robe. Someone powerful. What I have been told is he is Luntanus Alum, one of the Shunned . . . one of those legends that should not be.”

  Aren remained silent at realizing this half Tellen to be more intelligent and observant than he thought. And . . . Rogaan knew more than he could know. He must have learned from someone with knowledge of the Ancients and the Old Times.

  “You should be cowering in that cave . . . hiding from him,” concluded Rogaan. “Instead, you are running about these wilds chasing after me. You obviously know where I am going, and that means getting closer to that Shunned. Why are you here, and what do you want?”

  Much more intelligent than he appears, Aren acknowledged to himself. Being the untrusting kind, he wasn’t about to share his inner secrets with the half Tellen. I must give something to this one, or he’s going to push me away. Aren considered what to say as the half Tellen pulled more arrows from several more leapers, then preceded to cut claws from the tanniyn arms and feet. Surprisingly, Rogaan cut into but not through the flesh of fingers and toes of the leapers, then used his strength to rip each of the claws from the flesh, grunting as he did. The claws came free, almost bloodless, trailing sinew that the half Tellen then easily cut away. Aren used Rogaan’s distraction to mull over what to reveal. What? How much? Rogaan’s been honest and respectful with me as much as I can tell. Hmm . . . Let me test his openness with me.

  “What is that featherwing to you?” asked Aren seeking an answer he wasn’t certain of. “It clearly is intelligent, and it possesses the Powers of the Agni.”

  “It has been flying around me ever since they placed me on that ship to the island.” Rogaan appeared to be sincerely answering. “It sits high on perches watching me at times or takes to the sky up high circling about me. It flew by distracting several Lugasum cutthroats and a Saggis Light-Takers while on the prison isle. That kept my Light and me one. What it did moments ago is the first I have seen, and now that I have, I think it has one of those . . . Agni Stones, as he named it, harnessed to it. I dismissed what I thought was a gem on it before, though now, much sense it makes that it is one of those Agnis.”

  “Who is ‘he’?” Aren asked of Rogaan’s reference to the “naming” of the Agni Stone.

  “The Vassal,” answered Rogaan. “That is what he calls himself . . . the warrior in red armor we carried to the forward room on the Makara. The one who did battle against the Shunned on your ship.”

  A chill swept over Aren. Too many powerful ones suddenly revealing themselves. And these cursed symbols and whispers in my mind. Something large and dangerous is to happen . . . soon. Aren started warming up to Rogaan being one of few people who was honest and trusting toward him, and the half Tellen didn’t even want something from him. “Why are you speaking so freely with me?”

  “I have no reason not to trust you,” was Rogaan’s simple answer. “You still owe me.”

  “Owe you?” Aren was genuinely caught off guard and surprised at somehow owing this half Tellen when he just saved Rogaan’s life.

  “Why are you here?” Rogaan asked again.

  Aren mulled over what to reveal, then considered how he would speak it . . . the truth. For the first time . . . ever, Aren decided to take a chance sharing a secret with someone. “I have symbols I see in my head. They torment me with their puzzle, and they often come with pain. For some reason, when I’m near you . . . They go away.”

  “Do you understand why?” Rogaan asked.

  “No,” Aren answered honestly and without hesitation or reservations. That felt good to speak honestly with someone.


  “I need to be getting to Anza . . .” Rogaan changed the subject of conversation. “I am going to see my father freed.”

  “How will you accomplish that . . . alone?” Aren asked with a slight bit of concern for the half Tellen.

  “I will work out a way,” answered Rogaan.

  “Why not have your friends . . . Pax and his sister help you?” Aren asked curious to why he separated himself from the others.

  “They have already paid too high a price being my friend,” Rogaan answered with what sounded like a tightened throat as he turned to start making his way up the next ridge. “They will be safer with Trundiir in that cave . . . away from me.”

  “Well, I’m glad not to be one of your friends.” Aren spoke with a mix of sarcasm and honesty.

  “You might want to keep yourself that way,” Rogaan offered as he climbed the hill, cleaning his arrows, then returning them to their quiver as he went.

  Aren hesitated, reconsidering to follow or not to follow this half Tellen. It was only a few moments, but his internal conflict between looking out only for himself his entire life and now giving this stranger trust, was painful in its own way. The ground shook. At first, Aren thought it from the largest of tanniyn but realized it was the ground itself. The Tellen seems confident in what he’s doing. He eventually took a step . . . up the hill. A hope. Then another step and another until he found himself catching up with Rogaan while still wondering if he could truly trust this half Tellen.

  They soon topped the ridge where they both crouched low between groups of thorny bushes and a stand of pine trees, spying on the rising smoke of civilization a little more than two ridges away. High above, owning the sky to itself, that dark-colored featherwing soared. Aren wondered what that creature really was . . . and if to be afraid of it. It had only shown him indifference until it drew Rogaan’s attention to him on the ridge. That must mean something.

  Rogaan soon was off, down the hill. He kept a good pace with Aren easily keeping with him. Rogaan led them through the wilds down, then up forest-covered ridges spotting and giving wide space to plant-eating tanniyn small and huge, and when he found predator tracks, moving quickly away from where they headed.

  Past midday, they found themselves under gathering storm clouds as they hid among more thorny bushes and trees at the top of the last ridge looking over a city a little smaller than Farratum. Aren thought Anza was more of a large town. Keeping low and concealed, they spied over the ridge to get a good look at their surroundings. The city wall was unlike Farratum’s heavy stone and more like his hometown Windsong, made of tall, thick timbers, except at the gates, both on the north and south sides of the city’s western approaches. The gates were of gray stone block construction with tall timbers used for large double doors. Atop the gates flew equal-sized flags; one bearing a scarlet wing and sword symbol on a gold background and the second a gold scepter on a silver background. A low ridge rising beyond and above the timber walls was populated and dominated by seven gleaming stepped pyramid temples and their gardens, each temple brandishing unique-colored flags lazily blowing in the wind; the northern most blue and tan, the next south blue, next the gold scepter on silver, next brown and black, the next one green, next red and black, and the southernmost white. To his frustration, the ridge and large stone temples blocked Aren’s view of the rest of Anza. Of the “city” he could spy, were stables near the gates, tightly spaced stone and timber-constructed dwellings and shops with colorful street-side canopies, log and stone homesteads, and crop fields in between. Cooking fires wafted from many of the dwellings. The streets Aren could spy showed busy with peoples, carts being pulled by either small niiskus or Baraans, and Baraan-carried sedan-chairs Aren assumed carried the well-to-do. Strange the consolidation of temples inside one wall, Aren considered. In all his readings and teaching from his father, only one temple typically sat within the limits of a town or small city, dominating it.

  Another odd feature of Anza was a lone gleaming temple with fortress like circular stone walls sitting on a rise of terrain just outside the “city” near the northern gate. Gold and red flags around the temple were many. On them, Aren could just make out a symbol of a dark circle or golden disk. This temple bore much activity both inside its walls and in the surrounding hillsides of what appeared to be silver-clad warriors with red and yellow coverings and sashes. A number of sarigs, some with mounted warriors, stood alongside the kydas bearing equipment, and niisku attached to several wagons. It appeared the rabble had only one water wagon among them. They’re not going far. It appeared to Aren the temple was amassing a militia for some purpose close by.

  “Your thinking?” Rogaan asked.

  “About your unworkable desire to see your father free of the . . . Shunned?” Aren made more of a statement to the half Tellen than question before being helpful. “Or how to get past the gates and guards without having us taken to Anza’s jail?”

  Rogaan gave Aren a half-scowl, then returned his attention to Anza. The half Tellen appeared to examine every aspect of the “city” with intense focus before speaking again. “Would you not do the same for your father?”

  Aren didn’t expect to be challenged in such a manner. The question bothered him as his first instinct answering it was . . . no. Aren felt more unsettled by his unspoken answer the more he thought on and felt about it. And he felt . . . selfish and . . . unworthy of his father. “Curse you, half Tellen.”

  “Curse me?” Rogaan asked in a not-so-a-surprised tone. “Did not my father help you in Farratum when they took you before the Za and Gal, and did you not help us in the arena?”

  “That was different . . .” Aren tried to deny he felt some kinship for father and son. He admitted to himself that it was mostly because they treated him with respect while not demanding anything from him. Aren wanted to tell himself that he was just using this half Tellen until he could find an escape from his situation, but he felt safer being around Rogaan than not. “We were all kept prisoners in the grasps and under the boots of others. Our only means to survive was to aid each other, work together. To get free of them.”

  “Do you feel free now?” Rogaan asked simply.

  Aren thought on it for a few moments. Curse this half Tellen. Is he swaying me with some Baraan ways? Aren reflected on his own sense of self and concluded he didn’t suffer from a weakness like Rogaan suffered from his Suhd. He’s “swaying” me with words and thoughts. Clever he is. Making me feel . . . guilty. Aren didn’t think that was possible, nor did he want to admit it, but this half Tellen was more challenging than others of either of his races. And he was right. “No.”

  “No to freeing your father or feeling free?” Rogaan sought clarity.

  “Feeling free,” answered Aren. “We are all trapped within these happenings. Some by choice. You . . . by kin and blood. Others by friendship and associations. And me . . . curiosity and now . . . need.”

  “You have something in your head that you want to stop?” Rogaan asked.

  “I want it out, but I want what it means . . . it’s secrets” admitted Aren before realizing he spoke so freely of his inner thoughts and wants. “Curse you. Why is it so easy talking with you? I want the knowledge that’s in it.”

  “I have much practice with difficult folks.” Aren assumed the half Tellen spoke of his friendship with Pax. “We will likely need that knowledge. Something very bad is soon to take place. I cannot rid myself of that feeling. And we are part of it, despite our desires.”

  “Yes . . . I have that feeling, also,” Aren found himself agreeing.

  “Im’Kas and my father both told me I needed to endure,” Rogaan continued explaining. “I am. Father too hoped for me to carry his burden after he no longer could, that burden being so important for him to involve family.”

  “Endure what?” Aren asked.

  “What has been thrust on me . . . by all of them . . . all of it,” Rogaan spoke in a reflective manner. “That was at first, nothing of my doing and my b
laming everyone for what was happening. I held no responsibilities in what was happening to me. Though, now, I understand all my desires and choices made my today what it is. ‘Endure’ truly was of my own conflicting desires, my uncertainties and . . . cowardice. I once wanted to be a Kiuri’Ner but did not see or understand all of what it means to be one. My father wanted me in the Ebon Circle, away from all of this. Now, I simply want to see my friends and family safe and free, and that means for me gaining the knowledge and skills of a Kiuri’Ner . . . and more, if I am to have any chance at success.”

  “I think you have unseen friends aiding you.” Aren looked to the darkening sky, finding comfort in seeing the featherwing still circling above.

  “And I do not even know who these friends are.” Rogaan spied the featherwing before returning his attention to the city and temple. “Im’Kas, lightless Sugnis, Trundiir . . . even a little from that Dajil in the Tusaa’Ner, all have aided me. And you. My gratitude for striking with lightning the leapers at my back. I could not defend myself from them all.”

  Aren remained quiet at Rogaan’s expression of gratitude and of what he experienced in recent battles. Aren recalled what he observed of Rogaan and what he saw and felt earlier with the Shunned and Vassal. How he easily turned that knowledge into manifestations, and then the almost euphoric feeling as the Power flowed through him. I want to feel that again.

  “I felt miserable and unworthy of my father and family, of my friends, and of me when blaming everyone for these enduring sufferings,” Rogaan confessed. His face and voice turned to resolve. “I cannot spend my days living in such a way. We are caught up in this, and until it is resolved, my family, friends, and I are not free to live our lives.”