by K T Munson
The idea struck him suddenly; two sets of wings that tilted and moved separately. That would allow for the range of motion his original design had failed. He studied his daughter who he realized was watching him closely. He smiled at her and slung an arm around her shoulder.
“I have a new idea we must test out when we go home,” Deckard said and with a sigh, “and I will tell you a story about your mother.”
Evanora’s eyes nearly filled with tears, excitement, relief, and hope; all danced around in her watery eyes. Deckard searched her face and grudgingly agreed that Marisol had been right. Evanora wanted desperately to know about the woman who was her mother. Deckard decided that he would tell her something about the woman her mother had been; he would tell her the story of how they met and hoped she would be content with that.
Chapter 18
Hadrian
When he did finally open his eyes he was surprised. Not just because they had left him alive but because he was bandaged and settled inside a tent. When he started to sit up, Hadrian’s face contorted in pain. He was thankful he was a fast healer or the burden of his wound would have been far more daunting. With an un-ceremonial grunt he slowly rose to his feet, which wobbled a second before stabilizing.
Hadrian searched for a weapon, but found nothing except his sleeping area. He had come close to death before but his blade had carried him through. He was a man of flesh and choices and he had chosen an honorable death. Instead he sat in an old tent, a wounded man.
He straightened his back as best he could; holding his wounded side. He had best face his fate, whatever waited for him on the other side of the tent. He pushed at the flap as he walked out. He ducked a little to get through, though his wounded side protested. When he was outside the tent, all of the men turned to him.
They stared at each other in the quiet of the early morning. No one moved or seemed to breathe for a few moments as his breath came out as a thick mist. Finally one man rose, he was older and one of the men Hadrian had crossed swords with.
“What do you want of me?” Hadrian said, his lips pressed together as he addressed the older man.
“The strong lead,” he answered coming forward to hold out Hadrian’s sword. “Even near death you defeated our leader; now you have become our leader in turn.”
Hadrian blinked at them; he had not expected that. He studied their faces and saw for the first time various marks and scars covering their bodies. These men had seen hardships and he remembered their previous leader had said they had been slaves.
“I will not lead you around creating slaves,” Hadrian all but growled, gripping his sheath in his free hand.
“That was Drolo’s way; he believed that only the strong should inherit the planet,” the old man said emotionless.
Again he let his gaze sweep through them before he said, “You will follow me wherever I take you?”
“We are the Seventy-Seven Blood Riders,” he said but paused and glanced around, “Well now we are the Sixty-Five and you.”
“So there are Sixty-Six of us?” Hadrian responded, the irony of the number was not lost on him. “Then we are now the Sixty-Six Saviors and we ride to free slaves, not make them.”
Stunned silence followed his announcement but he could see right away they were not opposed. It had been a very long time since there had been a movement against slavery. Ostapor was the weaker of the two and no one dare attack them directly because of their hold on the Knife. Eswan needed Ostapor, so the full power of Eswan protected Ostapor. Yet a group of men, independent of any country despite the cause would be enough.
“What is your name?” The old man asked.
“Hadrian,” he answered before adding, “You were all slaves once. I have seen what it does to others and I ask you to give others what you have taken. Speak among yourselves, decide, because I believe every man must make their own choice.”
He moved slowly, but didn’t allow his injury to make him hobble or stagger. He grabbed a cup and scooped up some broth and mushrooms. He blew on it before taking a sip. Everyone watched him as he felt the liquid sunshine of the broth fill his belly with strength. It is amazing what a hot drink on a cold morning can do. It revived him almost instantly and he walked back to the tent and ducked inside.
He heard the whispers start instantly and listened to their discussions. He finished the last of the broth though it burned the roof of his mouth and the mushrooms were not all the way cooked. He set the cup down before falling on his side, exhausted. Their words swirled around him like angry hornets as he fell back into a delirious sleep.
When dawn came he awoke with a start, the muscles of his body protested as he tried to rise. Someone had covered him with a blanket and he pushed at it slowly to rise. He stumbled from the tent, his lips were dry and throat parched. When he exited the tent he found a group of men waiting for him. There were a good handful of them all staring at him intently.
Hadrian licked his lips and swallowed before he spoke, “Your decision?”
“Those before you will follow you,” he said and stood to meet Hadrian’s eyes. “There is honor in your cause.”
“Then we go to Ostapor, to reclaim the freedom of enslaved men,” Hadrian said taking a step forward. “We shall free them from their unnatural bondage for no man should ever take away another’s free will.”
The men started to cheer around him, pumping their fists in the air. Hadrian watched them calmly these men that had sworn themselves to him and his purpose. He was careful to remain still, his exhaustion had reached its peak but his resolve had as well. Vica had renewed him; it was not finding a new faith it was about finding purpose. He had saved those villages and now he wanted to save more. He felt it was his purpose—it was why he still lived.
He looked at the men; all bore tattoos, many marking them as slaves. Yet they had turned them into something else, they had been redone. Others had cut the tattoo from their flesh. Some created their tattoos as a rebirth; others cast it out in order to start anew. Their skin, hair, and weapons portrayed from whence they were taken.
People of the Dunes, or Sand People, there were at least two. Some had been born in Qundor, Itan, Damshir, and Nymeria. At least one wore the clothing of Sylon. He imagined of those most had come from Lorian, sold by their family or their community. Very few he imagined were born in Eswan or Ostapor; those born a slave were less likely to try to escape, as it was the only life they knew.
Then he saw the man furthest back from the rest, his face wrapped and his eyes set. He was from Vargos, of that Hadrian was certain. He was one of the men Hadrian had fought that had lived. It had been so long since Hadrian had fought a man from Vargos that his swordplay had stalled Hadrian’s advance. He had likely recognized Hadrian’s Water Dancing, but that was only his foundation, which is why Hadrian had been able to disable the man from Vargos with a single punch, in the end. He had learned that nasty bit in Eswan.
“To end the reign of oppression,” Hadrian yelled when they had quieted down and raised his fist, “For freedom!”
Chapter 19
Ashira Rohan
Women danced around her and sang to her; songs of happiness and fertility. She listened to them as they clothed her, dressing her in the finest clothes. They covered her in jewels, from wrist to elbow. Her hands and fingers were covered in drawings and one of her cousins painted her feet. They danced around her celebrating her great life bound to another.
Ashira sat, staring at nothing as her mind reeled. She thought she had made peace with her fate and this marriage. Alas, as she sat and her mind felt nothing but doubt. He had promised to have a temple complete before she returned to their fortress. ‘Fortress’ sounded so much more frightening than a palace. She wished very much she could be married in their home, the royal city of Guildafrey, so that she might see it one last time.
Sitting there, she shook like a leaf, her fear coursing through her veins. She looked up in surprise as a knock came to the door. She sprung to her feet.
Her cousin had finished and she hadn’t even noticed. The women stopped singing and Ashira felt her heart clench.
Cain’s head slipped in and he smiled at her as he said, “Ladies, my brothers and I wish to speak with our sister.”
“Blessed be,” the women said. As they left, each touched her for luck.
Cain held the door open for them as she stood on the edge of fear once more. Cain always made her feel safe. Mohit had been their star but Cain was her protector. Rodni was the heir and Tarly was the jolly one. When the last girl had left they shuffled into the room and she forced a smile on her face.
“I am so glad you came,” she said reaching for them as they made a circle around her.
Cain grasped her hand but she could see the concern on his face as he asked, “You look pale.”
“Marriage anxieties,” Ashira said, pressing her other hand to her stomach. “I believe one of the women called it butterflies.”
“We only wanted to check on you,” Rodni said almost uncomfortably, he was not comfortable with emotions, or expressing them.
“I assure you he is just as frightened,” Tarly said slapping her shoulder with a great laugh. “Surely he is suffering nothing as tame as butterflies.”
Ashira laughed despite herself, Tarly always could make her laugh, even when she wanted to cry. She looked at her brothers and fought to keep her tears from falling. Taking in each of them in turn she felt the grief of Mohit more acutely. Cain must have seen in on her face because he tightened his hold on her hand.
She turned to him and felt a smile touch her lips. “I shall miss you three most of all.”
“We will hardly survive without you,” Tarly said coming forward to take her face in his large hands and kiss the tears off her cheeks. “I may be funny, Cain strong, and Rodni smart but you are our backbone. I do not know where I shall go when I can’t figure something out.”
“You shall turn to one another,” she said glancing from Tarly to Cain to Rodni. “I cannot be here any longer. I have brought us peace, now you must build the greatest kingdom in the entire world from it. Promise me that no matter what happens you shall not break this peace.”
“I cannot promise that,” Cain retorted sternly. “If you are unhappy I shall fly to you in an instant and rescue you from the clutches of misery.”
“I know,” Ashira said, and felt another tear quiver down her cheek, “That is why you must promise. Father and Roanoak’s people cannot endure another moment of this terrible war.”
Tarly spoke up first and said, “So long as I live, I promise to keep the peace.”
“As heir to Roanoak, I shall ensure this peace continues,” Rodni spoke, not to be outdone.
“I shall keep the peace so long as you live,” Cain agreed and Ashira knew that she could not ask for more.
“Now kiss me on the cheek and wish me a harmonious marriage,” Ashira said with a little laugh of relief as she wiped the traitorous tear from her cheek.
Tarly kissed each cheek, wished her a pleasurable marriage, with a wink that made her laugh before turning and leaving. Rodni bent and kissed her cheek and wished her every happiness before he too left. She swallowed her emotions and looked up at Cain expectantly. He stood, rigidly staring at her and she waited patiently.
She went on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek before she whispered, “I will miss you more than I can describe in words.”
Cain pulled her into a sudden hug and he spoke softly as he crushed her. “The streets will be full of people who are weeping for the loss of their greatest princess.”
“Do not cry for me,” Ashira said and clung to him for a fleeting moment before laughing. “You are going to crush me to death and ruin this peace.”
He released her and took a step back, she could see the tears bubbling in his eyes. “Tarly had the right of it, we will be lost without you.”
“Nonsense,” Ashira said, before walking over and picking up the red paint and holding it up. “Will you put the six dots upon my forehead?”
He accepted it from her and she sat as he bent to his task. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her troubled mind. She would need to live behind a mask of civility and carefully conceal herself. Although there were many things in Vargos that differed from Roanoak the greatest was the reverence of women. In Roanoak women could own land, in Vargos they could not. Land passed from male heir to male heir.
Ashira could not fail to admit her annoyance at that but she would need to contain herself. She would have to become a shadow of her former self. No sword play, no riding horseback in the forest, and more importantly she could no longer express herself. She would have to play a role, a subservient queen and wife.
“Done,” he said and she opened her eyes, “I remember the day you were born.”
She smiled up at him, and asked, “Was I the most beautiful thing you had ever seen?”
“You were the ugliest thing I had ever seen,” Cain said and Ashira laughed and pushed off him as she tried to rise. “Small and vulnerable. I swore I would protect you, Tarly and Mohit. I failed Mohit and now I fear I have failed you.”
He knelt before her and clenched at her skirts as he whispered, “Say the word and I shall cut down the entire realm and ride with you to the edge of the world so that you can be free.”
“There is nothing honorable in running,” Ashira said shocked. “You love me so dearly that you would forsake your honor and run?”
“I would,” Cain said without an ounce of doubt or hesitation.
Ashira put her hands on his hands and said softly, “I love you dear brother, but my conscience would not allow me to abandon my people. In this moment be content with the fact you have not failed me.”
Cain stood then and Ashira with him before she reached over and placed the overly decorated blue veil on her head and let it cover her. She slipped into the shoes and wiggled her toes a moment before slipping her arm into his. She knew that she was doing the right thing. She must be strong for her family.
They left the room and made their way towards the chapel at the Maiden’s Gate. Cain released her and went to join the rest of her family. She was in awe of the door’s enormity and tried to quiet her beating heart, instead focusing on the music as two servants opened the door.
When she entered music grew louder and petals began raining down on her as she strode towards her husband to be. He stood at the head of the room as the entire room of witnesses sat upon cushions of every color. She tried not to look at them, her jewelry clinking together as she walked and the bell around her waist sounding with every step. She had dressed in blue, the color of an untouched bride. She had worn dark blue for him, as was their custom, when she should be dressed in the lightest blue. It was a small sacrifice, she had decided.
The bell of chastity would be removed on this night and she had to focus her breathing to prevent herself from tripping. When she reached the front, the music stopped and the holy man began to recite the terms of marriage. They were vows of honesty, loyalty, and patience. The list continued on as she stared at the design on his tunic.
When that finished, the unwed in the room came dancing around them with a rope. They tightened the knot until she was only a few inches from him. Her heart nearly stopped but she kept her eyes downcast. The great rope was made of the finest silk and had two great tassels off the edge. They each took a tassel in each hand and turned as the holy man continued listing their commitments.
When it was done they said in unison, “I do agree to abide by my duty to honor this marriage until the end of my days.”
They walked down the petal covered aisle as families came and decorated their opened palm with marks. The more marks the happier the marriage. It was a strange tradition but one Ashira had been happy to agree to. She was worried he would wish her to do other things, but this was easy. They were surrounded, as men and women marked her hand and his.
When it was done and they had reached the door they joined hands and the marks sm
eared together making their happiness one. She felt the warmth of his hand and could not stop her eyes from rising to meet his. He was as handsome as she remembered and she could make out the soft blue of his eyes. They were so striking that they reminded Ashira of deep blue water.
Then she felt multiple hands urging her along at her as the rope was removed and the knot bound as they still held fast to the tassels. She was swept away as they were led down the hall to the gate where a great tent waited for them. Part of her wanted to stop when she saw it but somehow her feet knew to keep going.
A great basin of coals waited for them as they approached. They drew the rope of silk up together and tossed it into the fire. Something destroyed by fire was never truly gone. It was distributed across the world on the wind, binding their marriage to the entire world, for all time.
Ashira spared a glance at her husband; his short dark hair and close cropped beard made him seem unreachable. That wasn’t what made her heart clench it was his unwavering, dark eyes. Fear laced through her as she shifted towards the tent that was covered in layer after layer of fabric, passing through each one until they were alone.
Ashira sat upon the bed and drew her feet back as her knees pulled up and she waited. In all the rush she had forgotten this moment. She set her hands on each side of her and curled them in the fabric of the dress to hide the shake of her fingers. She could hear the sound of everyone fade until there was no sound at all but her breathing.
He sat beside her and touched a hand to hers. She raised her eyes and felt them widen in shock as she jerked them back instinctively. He reached for her and she stiffened, unable to control her overriding emotions. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the fabric of her veil. She cast her eyes down again as he pulled back.
