by Lexy Wolfe
“Storm.” The woman looked up at Tyrsan. “I know you have been adamant about answering challenges as a Swordanzen. But your patterns have changed. You have a tribe to protect.” He put his fist over his heart. “And a tribe who will protect you. Allow us to answer any challenges in your stead. We are na’Zhekali, after all.”
The woman opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again. She smiled. “A warrior must know their strengths and weaknesses. An Alanis must be wise enough to trust in others’ strengths.” She squared her shoulders. “I will…stop hiding things from the tribe. At least, I will try to change habit. Forgive me for not…for not trusting you to allow you to know.”
“Feh. You trust us,” Bella stated in droll tones. “You even trust me, though gods know why. You also twist yourself into knots trying to protect all of us from yourself.” She waved her hand. “Enough of that foolishness, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Storm agreed. She looked up at Taylin as the healer ran her fingers across her brow and along the side of her cheek. “I feel better. What did you do?”
“Just muted the sensations that have been the most troublesome for you.” She smiled wanly. “The reason you’re miserable is you have morning sickness. I can only assume it is hitting you so hard because Desanti pregnancies are accelerated. All the misery of us northborn condensed into a shorter time.”
Storm sighed, leaning against Ash. “Oh. Joy.” He chuckled at the echo of Emil’s grumbling laments, hugging her. But the glimmer of worry did not leave his eyes.
Several of the Desanti stood at the open entrance of the na’Zhekali tent, looking out at the gray sky in wonder as the soft patter of rain filled the air. Seeker shook his head. “I heard from others it has rained like this sometimes since my sister and I had left Desantiva, but I did not dare believe it.”
“There will be no danger of flooding,” Mureln assured as he sat in a corner, playing a quiet song on his mandolin. “It will stop before sunset.”
Windsong sighed. “While I am relieved there will be no harm, it saddens me that it will not last longer.” Shock suffused her expression and she looked over her shoulder. “Githalin Storm!”
The slight warrior stepped into the common area as the approaching, heavily cloaked figure reached the entrance. She smiled faintly and beckoned him to enter. “You are always welcome in na’Zhekali territory, Alanis Tyluri.”
The man stepped in, lowering his hood. “I am surprised more of your tribe are not out celebrating this blessing during the Time of Gathering.” Windsong took his cloak, hanging it on a rope to dry while he joined Storm on one of the floor mats. “Surely they welcome the rains as much as our people for the lack of water in our lands.”
“Oh, we are all happy to see it, but we experienced them up north. After enduring the feeling of soaked clothes, we are happy enough to watch and listen, but remain dry.” She leaned over to a large pot, ladling some broth into a cup, sipping it, and offering it to their guest. She got some for herself as he wrapped his hands around the mug.
“It is warm without fire?” He closed his eyes, inhaling the steam as another would the fragrance of a fine wine before drinking. “Not that I am not grateful. I am not as young as I had been and these days, I feel the bite of the night air more and more.”
“My lifemate warmed the stone the pot sits on. He is with others of his people teaching how to foster the land so plants can survive better. Taylin is giving instruction on improved healing techniques that do not require magic.” She tilted her head. “What brings you here, Garyt?”
“Do you intend to come to Citadel with your tribe?” Everyone looked to the pair hearing the question.
“Yes. We planned on escorting the Githalin Su’alin and her chosen guardsmen to answer which of us was to return.” She closed her eyes as she took a sip. “Has Roshisan been difficult?”
“More and more over the years.” Garyt sighed, shaking his head. “As much as he tries to project strength and control, it has been slipping from his grasp more and more. And the tribes agreeing to allow civil relations to be established with the Northborn is only further showing that. He barely speaks words of respect for Guardians of Time, especially now.”
Seeker crossed his arms. “Father has always been a hard man, but I cannot imagine he would be as dishonorable as you say, Alanis Tyluri.”
“Believe me, I do not feel it is about honor, nor do I think he considers himself to be dishonoring anyone. He is feeling dishonored himself. And I suspect he is growing desperate to bolster the Path of the Spirit.”
The woman tilted her head. “Why would he feel any desperation? He leads one of the sacred Paths.”
“Because the spiritwalkers are warriors where most cannot see and rarely strong where everyone can. They have relied on the patterns of fear and awe to protect themselves. But they are not as they had been in our youth.
“Many of us Tyluri could see they were beginning to shift even before your tribe had been attacked. When you came, trained by the Totani themselves, we saw you as the harbinger of a new age.” He nodded to her wordless offer for more broth, holding his cup for her to fill. “Like the stories of your tribe’s namesake. Rising from the ashes to burn away the shadows that darkened our land.”
Storm frowned, eyes unfocused as she sipped. “Those who walk the Paths have always been feared by those who do not, but Swordanzen were respected and even admired. Su’alin were feared because of their ability to see the truth of the soul.”
“It has not helped that Roshisan has done quite a bit to reinforce the fear people have of the Su’alin.” Garyt sighed, shaking his head as he rested his hands in his lap, eyes on his cup. “Spiritwalkers have rarely been the strongest by the nature of their gifts awakening through brushing the edge of the blade at very young ages.” He noted the confusion of those not Desanti and explained. “With their ability to see people’s souls, it was not uncommon that those with less honor and much to hide would challenge them to duels to the death.”
“Why did he not keep those who were strong warriors in the tribe?” Seeker demanded. “I would have given my life to keep my tlisan safe!”
“Because he is blind to the imbalance he has caused for his own Path. He wants to protect the gifted from those who could never understand by isolating the Su’alin.” Mureln offered a lopsided smile to the two Alanis. “Forgive me for interrupting your conversation.”
“No. You have insight. Please share it.” Storm quirked a rueful grin. “I admit I hold a strong bias against Roshisan. I cannot be objective.”
“I suspect it is much like it was for Taylin’s father. He is the head of her order of healers. To keep them safe, he has restricted them to their temple grounds, but it has only made people more suspicious of them, and thus often more hostile out of fear.” Mureln stopped his playing, his expression grave. “You are a society of warriors. Physical prowess has ruled everything for you. Up north, those who cannot succeed with strength others respect, or at least understand, will use fear to protect themselves.”
Storm frowned, considering the bard’s insight. “Fear is not an effective sword. It is brittle and eventually dulls.”
“It is not effective after some time, no,” he agreed. “People can live in fear only for so long before they either try to escape it, or fight back against it. Unfortunately, it seems the Alanis Su’alin is caught between his own fears and those of others.”
Seeker looked down at the tasad that he had tucked in his belt with a frown. “He will not ask for help. Not from another Path. Especially not the Path of the Sword. He is too proud.”
“I expect him to head return to Citadel to be prepared when you arrive with the Githalin Su’alin,” Garyt stated. “Though none of us know what to expect, of course. The hand of our great father will no doubt be felt in this resolution. I will do my best to try to make him see reason before your arrival to make matters easier, Storm.”
“I appreciate it, but I will not plan for your success. A man
like Roshisan does not become a leader of tribe and Path by being indecisive or easily swayed.” She rubbed her temples with a heavy sigh before giving him a tired smile. “And what of the Tyluran? Are your numbers sufficient?”
“Many have joined other tribes to bolster their numbers and to soothe their need to wander. But we also have many new hopefuls who wish to earn the sword. They will be joining our return to Citadel.” His wide smile tugged on the scar that crossed his cheek. “The news of a second Githalin Swordanzen when you and Skyfire left had lit a fire in many hearts that they, too, might be deemed worthy of a Totani’s love. When news of a third spread?” He glanced at Seeker. “We had to make choices who could return to train with us.”
“And the two Githalin who are not Swordanzen?” Storm wondered.
Garyt shrugged. “Confusion, some guarded curiosity. Not as much hostility as I would have expected with outlanders coming into our land. But do not count on trust being given easily.”
“I do not expect it. Trust must be earned, and I intend to teach my tribe how to earn Desanti trust.”
He squared his shoulders. “The Keeper had asked about you. The question remains. Do you have an answer I should relay?”
Storm’s expression closed off as her emotions to her tribe had. “I see. I have no answers to give.”
The old warrior smiled. “I expected not.” He drained his cup and set it down before he got to his feet. “I look forward to testing against that giant outlander with you. We’ve been watching him train and he is quite impressive.”
“Dusvet Tyrsan will be a solid opponent, Alanis Tyluri. He is not quite as fast as I am, but he is very strong. And wise.”
Garyt arched an eyebrow. “High praise coming from you, Alanis na’Zhekali. We will eagerly await your return to Citadel. Since you are without enough drizzen for your numbers, I will have a few of ours brought to you. A gift to the First Tribe.” The two clasped hands in a ritualistic gesture of farewell before he reclaimed his cloak and walked out into the rain.
“Who is Keeper?” Mureln wondered, perplexed by Storm’s sudden, odd behavior. He frowned when she said nothing, going back to the sleeping area.
“It is probably more accurate to ask ‘what is Keeper?’ than who,” Seeker answered in a quiet voice. “And if you know of Swordanzen secrets…”
“Then she won’t tell us. Nor will you.”
A wan smile turned up the corners of Seeker’s lips. “I have never met Keeper myself.”
Mureln shrugged, getting to his feet. “I’m sure if we need to know, we will find out. But until then, I expect we will be departing the gathering early as we had the last time we were here. We should start preparing.”
With an efficiency that daunted the non-Desanti, the Swordanzen broke down the na’Zhekali’s First Home encampment. In short order, they secured the gear on the pack drizzen that had been gifted to the tribe.
Mureln watched in fascination. “I wish Emil and Emaris could see this. The gypsy folk would be envious.”
“You could always share what you saw with Emil and Emaris through the temporal lenses Ash and I made for everyone,” Terrence pointed out, indicating the one he wore.
“I will be when we stop to camp again.” The bard chuckled. “A shared memory is not quite the same as in the moment. Not sure if Emil would be muttering under his breath, cussing loudly, or trying to figure out how they manage to accomplish this so quickly. I wondered why Skyfire always seemed so impatient with us when we first traveled through Desantiva’s deserts.”
Forbidden from aiding the other Desanti, Storm sat astride the drizar, her arms crossed with a blend of amused disgust and resigned annoyance as he crooned after one of the riding drizzen. “You are going to be impossible to live with, aren’t you? A herd of your own.” The beast pranced where he was, uttering a peculiar chortle. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head. “If the horses weren’t more likely to die, I’d have deferred so many being given to us. The Vodani in Home Port will no doubt fawn over them, given their reaction to seeing us.”
“Is he the only full male in Desantiva?” Ash wondered. Storm looked at him in confusion. “When I was invited by several of the other Alanis to choose drizzen from their herds, there were no other drizar anywhere.”
“Drizar do not tolerate yielding their wills to any others. All drizzen consider the tribes they belong to as part of their herd, and allow themselves to be second to humans. The relationship between the tribe and herd is symbiotic and benefits both.”
Her expression softened as she leaned forward to thump her mount’s shoulder. “I treat drizar as an equal to me. He was a brother to me when I had no family.” She waved a hand toward the expanse beyond the valley. “And, I a sister to him when he had no herd.”
“The drizar are solitary, but not only because of their nature,” Star added. “Few of the herds tolerate their presence beyond the rut. No one knows why some drizar can remain with a herd and others are allowed near only during the mating season. The only males most tribal herds have are failed or immature.”
Nolyn chuckled. “I imagine it is a balance within the herd’s power structure.” He shrugged. “At least up north, all creatures that live within a group have a defined social hierarchy. If a drizar is not required to lead, then he needs to be willing to yield his dominance to a strong female.” Storm’s mount narrowed his eyes at the man, baring his teeth in a baleful hiss at him. The mage made a gesture toward him. “See? I must have guessed right. He is blushing.” Nolyn casually avoided the drizar’s nipping.
The beast flinched when Storm smacked his hindquarters with a sound crack. “You will stop! I did not risk everything to save my lifemate’s tlisan for you to take a bite out of him!” Sullen, his head drooped.
The mage leaned over to murmur in his ear. “There is no shame in yielding to a female. They are quite vicious when they have someone to protect. I imagine Storm was fiercely protective of you when you were both young.” Drizar’s ears flicked forward, eying the man, then grunting in agreement.
Tyrsan adjusted his quarterstaff to accommodate the drizzen he rode. “Since we are departing before the Time of Gathering concludes, I am wondering where are we going from here? I recall you mentioning something about the na’Zhekali needing to return to their ancestral lands.” He corrected himself with a chagrined expression, “Our ancestral lands.”
Storm exhaled, closing her eyes. “Other matters must come first. Githalin Su’alin Star must formally conclude her quest so she and Nolyn can return to Forenta. That must be done at the Citadel.”
“What is that? Another city?” Bella asked with a bewildered frown. “I thought First Home was the only one in Desantiva. Such as it is.”
The woman snorted softly. “There are no cities here. Not after I have seen what they are in the north. There are many sacred places that the tribes tend to during their wanderings. But only two always have someone remain with them at all times. First Home and Citadel. They are…” Her voice drifted off as she frowned, putting a hand to her temple as she struggled to find the word.
Terrence finished for her, the tension around his eyes hinting at the communion with Dzee helping him. “They are like keystones in an arch. Very important, holding all things from collapsing, giving structure to the world. They have existed since Desantiva has.”
“The end of my quest has waited this long. It can wait a little longer, Githalin Storm.” Star met the other woman’s glare without flinching. “The Totani bid you come home. The rest of us are new to the role.” Unveiled, tawny brown eyes waxed gold. “We need you to teach us how to reach the Rumblelands.”
“No.” Storm tugged the drizar’s reins, the animal responding as if he, too, wished to avoid the topic as much as she did.
“You must! The Totani speak for our great father.” She spurred her drizzen after her, the rest quickly mounting and following, leading the pack animals to catch up. “His demands come before all others. You know
this better than anyone!”
“No!” She glared at Star when the more delicate-appearing woman grabbed the drizar’s reins and pulled him to a stop several measures away from the settlement. Only Laurel’s wide, bright blue eyes kept the Swordanzen from drawing any of her weapons.
Star squinted as she studied the other. “You have never been known to disobey the great father or His Totani. Unless there was a reason.” She released the drizar and put her hand on her hip, the other remaining on her daughter’s back to soothe her. “Why now?”
Storm looked away, her expression pained. “I do not know where to go. There is no one place or means to reach the Rumblelands. Being Githalin means sharing a piece of Totani immortality. And their ability to sense where the passages mortals can use are or will be soon as well as open them.”
“But you used to be a Totani,” Star began, startling when her drizzen instinctively danced back as Storm shouted at her.
“What I was is not what I am! I need Thandar and our bond is—” She shut her mouth, turning away in anguish. “I cannot sense the land as I had.”
Star’s expression reflected regret for causing her such pain. “Then it is all the more reason we must go there first, Githalin.” She looked at the others, explaining briefly the problem. “Thandar is a brother of the land, and Storm is a sister. We cannot let them continue to suffer.”
“We should keep moving.” Ash glanced over his shoulder toward the butte. “We are in no rush to be anywhere specific, and I’d rather be away from the other tribes. It is just begging for trouble if people learn Storm is not at her peak.”
“I’ll shoot them in the eye if they try to hurt her,” Lyra promised, surprising her companions.
Seeker laughed outright. “I see why you like her, Brother.” The Forentan woman ducked her head, her cheeks burning bright red as she tugged her hood more forward in an attempt to hide her blushing. “Come. Anibu says we should go this way. Not sure why,” he added. “But it is as good as any to start our journey.”
