by Jo Sparkes
The Terrin gestured to the log before speaking. “Sit, my friend. This is the last pleasant stop we will have for days.”
Marra gratefully dropped to the grass before realizing Kirth remained on her feet.
“You brought me to that Tower many years ago,” the elder stowed her water. “Did you know then it was a sham?”
The Terrin’s fangs grew long, but Marra doubted it was a smile. “I did.”
“I always thought Agben had a law against lies,” Kirth said. “That we agreed, Terrin and Skin, to faithfully share knowledge. That being of Agben was a stronger bond than any difference of species.”
“We have not broken faith. I have not broken faith.” Tinge plucked out a grain ball, but took no bite. “The Tower of Zaria stands deep inland. Unlike Agben, the priests had no desire to mix with skins. For centuries they sent only parts of the prophecy, bits of teachings. It was never Agben’s place to question Zaria.
“Then, when I first became a student, Zaria changed. They set the small tower on the coast, inviting skin priests to come and share. When you asked to visit the Tower, I took you.”
“I was told that was the Tower. The Black Tower on the Dim Continent.”
“You told yourself that. And we - the Agben Terrin - were not free to share the truth.”
Kirth stayed standing for a blink of the sun. And then, finally, she sat. “Why do you share now?”
“Because of Zaria’s deception. They lie to you skins - they lie to me. Whether the lie is told to Agben Terrin, or to female Terrin, they lie.”
“Lie to female Terrin?” Marra gasped, and wished she’d held her tongue.
Kirth looked at her for the first time that afternoon. “Remember the Terrin sexes live separately.”
Tinge nodded at Marra. “One may have secrets. There are many things not told to Zaria, things not shared with the men of my land. But a lie is blasphemy…it goes against the goddess Eutykia.” And at Marra’s confusion, she added, “The goddess of luck. The seventh constellation to the north.”
“Did you escort Rain to the second tower?” Kirth asked.
The Terrin shook her head. “When she asked, I took her where I took you. But on her next visit, she insisted on going alone. She repeated that every visit after, staying longer each time.”
“Or traveled to the true Tower?”
Tinge shoved the last of the grain ball between her fangs, and licked her fingers. “I would never have believed it before today. But now - yes. Yes, I think it quite possible someone took her to the true Zaria Tower.”
Marra watched their faces. Kirth furious, anxious. Reading Tinge’s feelings beneath her fur was more challenging, yet her fangs had almost disappeared, which must mean something. Her voice sounded…rattled.
Or Marra might just be imagining her own emotion in the Terrin.
As the days passed, Marra found herself anxiously watching Kirth. The elder’s mood did soften, if exhaustion could be labeled softening.
Tinge set a hard pace. They hurried over soft grass, hacked their way through heavy foliage. At one point, in a sleep-sling suspended from a single leaf with a stalk thicker than any desert tree, sudden rain poured down so hard she couldn’t even see the other slings when she chanced a peek. Tinge pronounced it a day of rest. Pondering the lack of anything to do, Marra fell asleep.
She woke to the sun poised at the same point on the horizon, and gradually realized a whole day had passed. The steady drum of rain was gone, replaced by an odd symphony. Birds, she realized. Whole flocks of them.
Carefully splitting the folds of her sling, Marra levered out to step on vine-covered rocks. Kirth’s snores gently trembled one of the two sleep-slings. The other dangled empty in the breeze.
Soft rustling noises drew Marra around a tall and hugely wide bush - or perhaps it was a short tree. She found Tinge squatting on the ground, fingers busily weaving long grass threads.
“May I help…?” Marra’s voice trailed off as she realized she had no idea what the Terrin was doing.
“No, little Marra.” The fangs lengthened in amusement. “Does Kirth still sleep?”
Marra nodded.
“Tis good to let her wake naturally today. Eutykia was kind with her storm - I forget how quickly you age.”
“But…we all age each year.”
Tinge purred deeply, laughing. The first laughter she’d heard in days.
“All things age. Leaves dry to brittle flakes, falling from branches to crumble in the grass, yet their trees may still be standing centuries from now.”
Digesting this, Marra studied the Agben elder. “And Terrin?”
Another purr. “You are not slow, skin girl. I am two hundred and forty years old.”
Marra gaped.
“My species lives to three hundred and beyond. Steen the Wise, our most revered Agben elder, is said to be three hundred and thirty.”
“You must learn so much!”
“Apparently we do not.”
If it had been Kirth speaking such, Marra would have probed her meaning. With the Terrin, however, she felt too uncertain.
Instead she focused on the odd pocket Tinge was weaving. “What is that?”
“Reeder net,” Tinge said, and set her hand on the ground to push her legs straight. She’d seemed so comfortable squatting, as if it were a natural position for her, and now struggled awkwardly to stand. Not sure if she should assist, Marra kept still.
The Terrin adjusted her hips before standing tall, and then brought her hand out to display the grass weaving spread between her fingers. A sort of webbing pocket looped through the Terrin digits, opening and closing with a gesture of her fist.
“Reeder net?” Marra asked.
“I got the idea from fishermen.”
Tinge strode toward the thicker part of the jungle. Marra followed.
The plants merged here, grasses and shrubs and trees so close that branches tangled and leaves thrust each other aside. She couldn’t judge where one plant ceased and another began.
Tinge snatched up two fallen twigs and handed one to her. Marra said nothing, yet the Terrin seemed adept at reading her expression.
“Do as I do and keep it before your face,” the elder explained. Holding the stick half an arm’s length out before her, she moved into the denser jungle.
Marra followed.
Tinge walked a few steps, her large furry head swiveling side to side, peering into the green leaf shadow. She stopped suddenly.
Slowly raising her hand with the Reeder net, she swept through the delicate foliage, murmuring low in her throat. Then, tugging a glass vial off the Terrin sash, the elder shook her gathered prize over the rim, and sealed it inside.
Curious, Marra stepped close enough to see the shiny green specs moving within.
“Reeders,” Tinge told her. And led the way back to the sleep-slings.
Following, Marra pondered the Terrin’s actions. “The first discipline is to heal,” she mused. “The second is to enhance. The third…does it somehow…”
“Influence,” Tinge rumbled.
“Influence. You influence living things by using bits of themselves!”
“Or affect other creatures with their properties.”
King Bactor, Marra realized. Rain must have used some essence, hair or nails or something, to make them all believe a Terrin was the Skullan king.
“Not influence,” Kirth snorted. “Pervert.”
The elder Skullan sat on a log in their camp clearing, chewing a grain ball. “If you won’t accept ignorance, little Marra, then learn the whole truth. To heal is to restore natural balance. Permanently, if done well. To enhance is to gently guide the body to a new pathway. With wise application and patience, it might also be permanent.
“The third discipline seeks to fool the body. It is a lie, and by its very nature cannot be good.”
Clearly annoyed, Kirth’s glare singed Marra’s feelings. But now that the subject was broached, she needed to understand. “Th
e bug repellent - was that not useful? To keep the insects away from Tinge’s home while allowing the sun and breeze inside?”
“At the cost of killing the insects.”
“But Rain did not kill Tryst.” As soon as she spoke, Marra bit her lip. How much did Kirth want Tinge to know?
Tinge was gazing at Kirth, who flipped her hand in an impatient gesture. Giving permission - not to Marra, but to the Terrin.
“One can create influencers,” the Terrin rumbled, “With bits of creatures instead of whole creatures. But the more powerful the desired outcome, the more essence must be provided. I know not how Rain did what she did, but a heavy sleeping draught for skins could well be done without parts of that particular skin.”
“By using creatures that sleep a lot?” Marra frowned.
“By using other skins,” Kirth replied. “And judging by how well it worked, someone - some skin - most probably died.”
The next village was three days march. Drail relished every step.
He’d prodded Adeena to ask the Right Hand for the best place to take them. He wanted a real game, not just one easy mark. And he wanted to watch Terrin play.
Drail wouldn’t admit, even to himself, the other idea bubbling in his head.
It was only after they started the journey that he discovered Jason had intended a different tack. “Our mission,” the Defense Master told him quietly, trailing far back from the guide’s lead, “is not to dominate the Terrin comet arena.”
Arguments rose to his lips - about the importance of maintaining the appearance, of keeping doubt from Adeena’s thoughts. Instead Drail clamped his mouth shut.
Jason gave him a hard look. “In the future, let me ask the questions.”
Their next comet game played against the standard three opponent teams on the field. The competition was better, but not overly so. The Hand of Victory easily claimed its second win.
In the feast that followed - it seemed such feasts were part of the comet day experience - Adeena took charge before Jason spoke, asking for the best village to mount their next challenge. And from the man’s scowl, Drail knew he would be blamed.
So he sought to assuage his own curiosity. “Do Terrin play comet?”
“We love the game,” the Leader’s Right Hand growled. “Eutykia herself takes a hand. The greatest glory awaits those who compete in the Gathering Game.”
“The Gathering Game?”
“Every five years the villages gather to share old stories and new ideas,” Adeena explained. “Most Terrin attend. It’s a rare village that does not send a leader or Right Hand.”
“Have you been?” Jason asked her.
Lowering the pea pod she munched, Adeena shook her head. “The Gathering occurs once every five years. And before you ask, gamesmen, the next Gathering is three years away. I cannot escort you through the jungle for quite that long.”
No rumble-laughs greeted her sally, which was unusual. Male Terrin always indulged the girl guide.
Instead the Right Hand spoke. “The Gathering is three moons away, little Adeena. We ourselves leave in a handful of days.”
“But…” the girl’s voice died.
“Would skins be allowed to attend?” Tryst spoke quietly.
The Right Hand turned to his Leader. The two shared a long, long look.
“You will be our shaka. Our gift to the Gathering,” the Leader said.
They wasted two more days before setting out from the village. Tryst begrudged every blink of the sun.
A Gathering occurring between Gatherings did not bode well. Jason counseled that such activity meant further attacks, deeper plots. That they were being sent to it suggested not all Terrin were in on the plot - which made sense. The whole Skullan race was not told of the King’s more dangerous plans.
Their expensive guide needed directions, which apparently proved complex. Adeena spent an entire midday meal alone with the Right Hand, only to meet again with the Leader for the whole of the afternoon. Why they could not travel with the village was never fully explained.
As preparations for the evening feast began, Tryst fumed.
Drail slapped his shoulder encouragingly. “She’s careful, which is as it should be. This is not a place to wander lost.”
“Each blink of the sun favors the Terrin. More time to plan, more time to act, and less time for our response. All due to a girl’s confusion.”
“That’s unfair,” Drail told him. “Skins have never traveled to a Gathering. The terrain may be vastly different, the path unmarked. We should trust her.”
“You seem to trust her enough for all of us.”
“She’s clever. And has courage.”
“Unlike Marra?” Tryst demanded before he could stop himself.
Drail gave him an odd look. “Marra is very brave.” He spoke as if explaining something to a child. “Adeena has confidence, so she carries her courage on her shoulders. Marra’s confidence is a mere seedling. Her courage is the willingness to proceed regardless.”
As the gamesman strode away, Tryst acknowledged the truth of his words. Adeena strode proudly through the world, while Marra slipped quietly on her way. Yet the desert girl faced every challenge head on, never wavering. He’d come to admire her unfailing determination to do the right thing no matter the consequences.
Adeena reminded him of the noble ladies his grandsire wanted him to marry. Secure, demanding…tall. And he had no use for any of them. The only warmth he felt for any female was for a Trumen nobody who had saved him on the Flats of Beard.
Tryst turned on his heel, looking for Jason. He needed to occupy his mind with strategies for the Gathering.
If delay tried Tryst’s patience, the actual journey tore it to shreds.
The jungle steamed in the heat, coating the skin in slick sweat. Beneath the foliage, briers snatched at legs and clothing. The boots Adeena had insisted they needed proved her correct.
A handful of days in, the heavy vegetation gave way to a dusty wall of rock. The trees pulled back, the path wound round what appeared to be a gigantic spherical boulder. Circling it, Tryst felt dwarfed by the vast shadow.
Beyond that stretched a steep rocky cliff, which Adeena promised held an easy path, or so she’d been told. Either they never found it, or Terrin possessed climbing skills not physically apparent.
The only consolation was their guide fared worse than their party.
The base of the cliff required careful path selection, but near the summit - high enough that Tryst refrained from looking over his shoulder - the terrain demanded advanced climbing skills. Fortunately Jason had taught him how to wedge a hand into a gap and use his toes to advantage.
The only reason he didn’t like looking down was it reminded him of the last climb he’d attempted, hoping to reach safety in a cave. On that day he’d failed.
The desert men scampered up effortlessly, joking as they swung from hold to hold. Desert children, it turned out, often played on rocky hills because it developed muscles for comet. And perhaps, he suspected, there was little else to do on the Flats of Beard.
Which left Adeena as the only one unable to climb the last third of the cliff.
Drail coached, encouraged, and finally carried her to the peak. Several cutting remarks rose to Tryst’s tongue, and only the sight of the girl’s quaking limbs kept him quiet. When she tried to continue, the gamesman insisted they rest, and unearthed his own waterskin to quench her thirst.
As she sat among the shale, torn between embarrassment at her own frailty and gratitude to the Leader of the Hand of Victory for shoring her up, Tryst suddenly understood his reactions.
Irritation at the girl for not being Marra - and a cold fury at Drail for betraying her.
For the three weeks they traveled, Drail enjoyed the journey.
It was a wild land filled with varied life, both plant and animal. The terrain morphed from soft and thickly green - outdoing the Great Continent - to red and granite hard, as if imported from the Wavering C
ontinent. Adeena even described bitter cold in the northern mountains, where frost piled on frost. The only thing missing was comet, and since the local skins offered little competition, and playing Terrin seemed both unlikely and unhealthy, for the moment he was content to travel.
The others were not, he knew. The Skullan of the party chomped at the bit like horses anxious to gallop headlong across the land. His teammates disliked the strange continent, wanting to finish and go home. Even Adeena acted skittish, no longer sure of her path on several levels.
At the end of the third week they reached a sort of string forest.
The trees stood shorter here, with dangling threads for leaves as soft as the down on a newly hatched duckling. The slightest breeze stirred rippling waves all about them, like a deep green sea. Drail would have doubted any man describing this place if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
Many strings brushed across his face as they walked, startling and a little unpleasant as he felt many more than he saw. Drail assumed the leaves were so tiny as to be invisible.
Instead they turned out to be webs spun by tiny green insects.
Adeena was the first to discover this. “Yute save me,” she cried, brushing at her hair to dislodge anything that might cling there. She wound a gauze cloth around her head to protect her face as best she could manage.
The others followed suit with bits of cloth cut from a spare sleep-sling. Harmless the creatures might be, but finding your face suddenly encased in an invisible web was most disconcerting.
When at last they emerged from the trees, Adeena tore the gauze from her face and flung it away, frantically brushing at her hair in case any stray bug lingered.
Laughing, Drail stepped to help her, plucking a few lingering threads from her blond tresses. Adeena stared up at him, a mingled look of sheepishness and defiance.
Impulsively he kissed her.
Relieved to be clear of the string-threaded forest, Tryst freed his face from its covering just as Drail kissed the girl. His temper, which had been sorely tried recently, leapt into his throat, demanding to shout.
Adeena stepped back, though the soft look in her eyes suggested she liked Drail’s gesture. Likely she would have called a rest period if Jason had allowed it. Instead the Defense Master pushed them on.
