Heart of Shadra

by Susan Faw

  Shikoba took the mask from the Shamankas. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Put it on. Try activating it by sending your magic through the mask. See if you can see with your ancestors’ eyes.”

  Shikoba tugged the mask on. She vanished behind the narrow slits. Standing in the dark, she searched for the core of her magic, trying to activate its powers. Fire stirred in her chest. It was closely connected to her anger, and the easiest for her to grasp at will. She sent the spark of fire into the mask and felt it heat around her face. The eye slits glowed like angry cat eyes, then faded away.

  Chutzpa watched her efforts, his jaw dropping open with fascination.

  Shikoba searched for water and spirit elementals within her pool of magic but came up empty. “I don’t think I have water or spirit magic. Only fire.” She pulled the mask off and put it on the table.

  “Maybe you are not the one meant to use the mask. It could be meant for another,” suggested Marsai. “Will one of your sisters be joining you on this quest?”

  Shikoba shook her head. “No. We are tasked with bringing down the barrier in our own provinces.”

  “What happens if you succeed? Or if you fail in your task?” Chutzpa raised his hands to ward off Shikoba when her angry glare swung in his direction. “Hey, calm down. It’s an honest question. I don’t know much about magic, but I do know that having a back-up plan in case the first one fails is not a bad thing. Do you know how to bring down the boundary? I mean, it has stood for over five hundred years. It can’t be a simple thing.”

  Marsai nodded. “The stranger is wise. What is your plan, Shikoba? If you cannot wield the magic of the mask, what is your plan?”

  Shikoba’s fierce eyes flicked from one to the other. None escaped her glare. She folded her arms across her chest. Her legs were planted wide, and her back straightened. “Then I will find one who can wield the mask,” she hissed. “I will not allow a small thing like this to defeat me. That one will serve us or die.”

  “Ever the charmer,” muttered Chutzpa. “Do me a favour and be sure to stay about twenty paces ahead of me while we travel. That way your enemies will miss me with their arrows. I am sure we will gather a crowd of disgruntled Shadrian.”

  “Consider it done. I would rather not be associated with you.” She turned her back to Chutzpa, cutting off the conversation.

  Marsai’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, her lips moving silently while beseeching the ancestors for patience. “You try my endurance, girl, never mind those who have gone before. Now this last item. The moccasins.” She picked up the soft deerskin and traced the beadwork pattern stitched onto the upper surface. “These, are exactly what they seem. I am sure you recognize them, Shikoba. They are the moccasins of the tribal queen—your mother, Aisha.”

  Shikoba moved closer to the Shamankas and took the moccasins, her eyes roving over their surface. “No,” she said softly. “I thought they were prayer moccasins, but I had no idea these were her very own pair. How do you know?”

  Marsai pointed at the handiwork. “Each queen must stitch her own prayer moccasins on reaching the age of ascension. This is to assure that their dance is not influenced by other dreamers and that they reflect her spirit. As you know, prayers are passed on through the soles of the dancer’s feet. She cannot wear another’s moccasins. Your mother would have made these when she was your age and then put them away until she was called to take over the rule of your tribe.”

  “Then how did they come to be in Jintessa? That makes no sense.” Talk of her mother made her long for her company. “Is she well? I haven’t had time yet to go and visit, although I want to. We have been here but a short time.”

  Marsai’s face closed as she hid her feelings from Shikoba. “Your mother is missing, Shikoba. She has been missing for some time now. A couple of years at least.”

  “Missing! What happened? Where is she?” Shikoba’s grip tightened on the suddenly precious moccasins. “Is she alive?”

  “We do not know.”

  “Tell me what you do know,” she demanded, her ire rising to flush her cheeks.

  “Two summers ago, she and her entourage failed to return from a pilgrimage.”

  “Where was this pilgrimage?” Shikoba asked, her voice low with suspicion. “Where did she go?”

  Marsai sighed. “She went to the sacred salt caves beyond Pangolin Town, where this young man has just been to,” She gestured to Chutzpa, “and barely escaped with his life, I might add. Since your mother disappeared, no one has returned from there. What we know are rumours carried by traders, but it is said the caves are being mined by outsiders.”

  “So you do not know if she is alive or dead? Surely a search party was sent out for her?”

  “Of course. Thirty warriors left immediately to search for her and her party when she failed to return.”

  “And?” The scowl had returned to Shikoba’s face.

  “The warriors did not return, either. Worse than that, we found evidence of dragon fire at their last trackable location.”

  Obsidian growled. We are walking into a trap, little one.

  Madrid, said Sarcee.

  “The emperor,” said Shikoba aloud for all to hear.

  “The emperor,” agreed Marsai with a sad nod.

  Shikoba straightened, taking in the room in a glance. “I leave at dawn. With or without you, Tunisian.” She gathered her things, shoving them back in her pack and, without another word, left the room.

  Chapter 16

  Here There Be Monsters

  THEY MADE AN ODD CARAVAN as they left the hoots, chirps, and gurgles of the swamp behind. The sounds faded away to be replaced by a stiff breeze that rustled the dead foliage of last autumn that still clung to the skeletal limbs of trees. Shikoba shivered and pulled the deep hood of her fur mantle closer around her face. The Shamankas had provided warm parkas for herself and Chutzpa, claiming that Shikoba had been gone far too long and was liable to suffer frostbite or worse. Shikoba had argued, of course. She was no beggar.

  But Marsai had insisted, stating, “The cloaks will hide your identity. It would not be good to be recognized along the way.”

  Shikoba was grateful for the protection. Marsai rode at her right side, clothed in a similar warm covering, swaying gently on the back of her mount. Chutzpa, who was old enough to marry, rode at her left with the bearing of a warrior chieftain. Tall in the saddle, the furs he wore left his arms bare, his muscles flexing with the tightening of the reins as his horse’s head bobbed to its gait. His head was bare, but his fur collar was buttoned up to his chin to keep his neck warm. He wore dark hide gloves to match Shikoba’s, and a knife was sheathed in a pocket stitched into his tall boots. His pants were tucked into the top of the boots, leaving his knife accessible. Shikoba knew he carried another knife in his other boot and a long sword rode at his hip, belted over the furs.

  “You have a surprising number of weapons for a farmer, Tunisian.”

  Chutzpa turned his head in her direction, studying her face. Shikoba rode with a similar number of knives strapped to her body, but he couldn’t see where she hid them all. He would probably be slapped for asking where they were. But the weapon that really caught his eye was the ebony staff strapped to her saddle. The wood was elm, rubbed with a black pitch and sealed with a substance that made it glow. Or maybe it was magic that made it glow, he was unsure. But he had caught a flickering blue light at the oddest times while they rode.

  “My weapons have always been with me. Even on a farm, there are creatures that could be dangerous.”

  She snorted, grinning. “You are afraid of a fox or a coyote? Or maybe a deer?”

  Chutzpa smiled in return. “I wish it were so. We keep those for pets. No the real threats are the eagles. The most dangerous kind is the Golden Harpy. They grow to the size of a man with long burnished talons and black striped beaks that curve to a wicked point. Their chests are gold, but their wings and backs are black. They are almost impossible to spot in the sk
y, due to their colouring, or in the bush for that matter. They can blend into dark and light and disappear from sight. To surprise one is fatal. You will never see it coming.”

  Shikoba nodded. “It sounds like a worthy adversary. I am impressed. Have you ever fought one?”

  “Yes.” The smile faded from Chutzpa’s eyes.

  Shikoba waited for him to reply. When he remained silent, she tilted her head. “What happened?”

  “I inherited the farm when my father and mother were killed by a nesting pair of Golden Harpies.”

  “Oh.” Shikoba rode in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to pry.”

  “Yes, you did. It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

  Marsai leaned forward in the saddle, breaking the tension. “We are approaching the road. Where is Obsidian? We need her to scout ahead of us.”

  Shikoba’s eyes scanned the blue sky overhead. Obsidian, can you see me? Is the way clear?

  As though from a great distance, Obsidian’s voice whispered. I have flown from a great height and only found one tumbril caravan. It is about two hours behind you, as you now travel, but it is moving swiftly. I could not see anything else from this height in the dark. I will return to you now.

  Sarcee? What do you see?

  I am following three men and a tall woman on horseback. They ride toward you. They will be on you in about an hour. They seem to be searching for a trail. They stop to investigate any kind of disturbance along the roadside. The men are heavily armed. I do not see any weapons around the woman.

  What do they look like? Can you show me? said Shikoba. A mental image flashed into her mind. It wobbled with Sarcee’s flight as he glided from tree to tree to keep them in sight.

  “Four riders approach us. Sarcee says we will cross their path in about an hour. He says they search for something. Obsidian says there is a wagon train about two hours behind us coming fast.” She met the Shamankas’s eyes. “What course of action do you counsel? You are still not fully healed.”

  “There is no other path but this road, which the horses can navigate. The swamp is fluid on both sides for the next two days of travel. I could guide us through the swamp, but it would be on foot the entire way and a very slow journey. One would need to go ahead with the horses and meet us on the other side, and that one would stand out to any who passed by.”

  “The Shamankas is correct. Alone, on horseback, I was able to follow the wagon train and hide when others came by. But we will not be able to hide this time if we travel together,” said Chutzpa.

  “I do not like the idea of splitting up.” Shikoba frowned at nothing in particular. “Who is it that they search for? Is it you, Chutzpa? That would be the most obvious and likely conclusion to draw. You could be endangering us by being with us.”

  “It could equally be you, Shikoba, that they search for,” said Chutzpa. “Have you already forgotten the dragon fire?”

  “Who is to say the dragon fire was meant for me? They could have been trying to flush out the Shamankas,” Shikoba said with a stubborn twist of her lips.

  “So all of us are wanted, hunted, or a target.” Marsai laughed. “I say we stay together. There is safety in numbers, and we have eyes with which to see.” She waved a hand toward the air. “Let us continue on the road, but use caution.”

  Chutzpa nudged his stallion with his heels into a trot, taking the lead and increasing his distance from them.

  The Shamankas nudged her mount closer to Shikoba. “He is not the bad sort, you know, Shikoba. You should be grateful to have his aid on this quest.” When Shikoba opened her mouth to protest, the Shamankas said, “I know he is not of our people, but Gaia is a big world and the barriers coming down will increase the interaction between us all. You need to learn to be accepting of other races and peoples. You are in the position you are, entrusted with the bringing down of the barrier, because our forefathers could not get along. Mistrust and hatred is what gave the emperor his power. That and a healthy hatred of anyone, especially those with magic, who would stand in his way. We were ripe for takeover, and now look where we are, struggling to prevent the elements of magic and those who can wield it from being extinguished like a watered firepit. We opened the gates and handed the emperor the keys. It is our own fault that we are divided and conquered. That is our world, to my great shame.”

  Shikoba sighed. “I know. I will try.” She let out a long breath. “But does he have to be so annoying?”

  “All men are annoying, Shikoba. But what would we do without them? They keep nature in balance. Come, we should not get too far behind.” They urged their mounts into a faster gait. They rode in silence for a space of time. The quiet was calming, but then Shikoba shivered. She sensed danger ahead, although she could not fathom its nature. The road cleaved two huge boulders that were easily taller than the stark treetops. Her horse gave a nervous whinny that was picked up by the stallion ahead.

  Chutzpa reined in his mount, his eyes searching the dark tree trunks for a hint of the sensed danger. “This is good place for an ambush,” he muttered, his hand slipping to the top of his right boot. He loosened the catch over the knife, poised to grab the bone handle.

  A growl sounded from the right, followed by a second and then a third answered from the left bush line. The wind shifted and the smell of raw sulphur spilled into the bowl. Eyes glowed in the bush to both sides.

  Chutzpa drew his knife, his head swiveling from side to side as he tried to keep all the pairs of eyes in sight at once. “What are they?” he whispered, shoulders tensing to throw.

  “They are Mongrels. The offspring of wolves and spirit elementals. Demon dogs. They exist in the shadows and are drawn to battle. Worse than that, they exist to deliver the dying to the underworld. They are not of this world. Your knife will not affect them,” said the Shamankas, her gaze flickered over the woods.

  “There is no battle here. There is no blood. What has drawn them?” The shadows shifted, and Shikoba caught a glimpse of a massive, grey shape that slid impossibly between the narrow trunks. It moved between them, but its shape and size was not diminished. Rather the trees seemed to bend out of its way.

  “They are drawn to the anticipation of war.” Marsai raised her hands into the air. Clutched in her right fist was a dry gourd, decorated with strange symbols and markings. She shook it, moving it in an arc through the air. It made a rattling sound and a shimmering mist floated in the air. “Keep moving toward the pass,” she commanded, in a low voice. “I will hide our trail from them.”

  Chutzpa clicked his tongue to his nervous mount, urging him along the road to where it sliced through the cathedral of stone. He could feel the eyes on him and hazarded a glance at the Mongrels. More eyes had appeared. The brush took on the glow of fireflies that were not the cheery bright flashes he associated with the meadows of his youth. These dots of flame were laser-focused and deadly.

  Shikoba urged her mare close to the tail of Chutzpa’s stallion and dropped the reins, as she eased her staff free of its harness. She butted it’s end in the crook of her knee, gripping it firmly with both hands, swaying gently in the saddle as her mount shoved her nose to the flank of the stallion. Shikoba’s heart raced in response to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The crystal heart pulsed in sync with the one concealed within her chest. The magic swelled, and the tip of her spear crackled with energy.

  Chutzpa entered the pass, his silhouette absorbed into the twilight shadow. The beady red eyes vanished behind the stone, but they could still feel their presence, like a feathery caress on their arms, causing the tiny hairs to stand on end. Chutzpa squinted at the exit of the rock, struggling to see what was drawing the Mongrels. The clatter of the horses’ hooves echoed loudly in the confined space. It was impossible to hear what might lay on the other side of the pass.

  “Evil approaches.” Marsai searched for movement in ribbon of sky above. The sparkling mist released by the gourd settled to the ground behind their passing, bubbling between
the rock faces and swirling to form an opaque wall. The eyes of the hunters vanished behind the dense shield.

  The end of the pass loomed nearer, hastened by the clop, clop, clop of hooves. The eyes returned, inviting them to exit at their own peril. Chutzpa could see no way to sneak past the Mongrels and whatever else was laying in wait for them. He grimaced, hoping against hope that it was not those who had pinned him with an arrow a couple of days past.

  Gritting his teeth, he drew his sword and yelled, “For Zax! For Tunise!” and dug his heels into Fire Dancer’s side. The stallion snorted and leapt to obey the command, racing ahead and through the yawning opening.

  Shikoba dug in her heels and dashed after Chutzpa, screaming, “For Shadra! For freedom!” She brought her staff to bear on the first thing to move on the other side of the opening. The tip flared to life, ensnared in a rippling blue flame that ran down the shaft.

  The red eyes shifted, shimmered and resolved into a single monstrous gout of flame. A massive male dragon reared on tree-trunk-sized hind legs, its arms reaching toward the trio as the horses bolted, scattering. Shocked and appalled, Chutzpa screamed in unison with Fire Dancer as fire raked his side. Fire Dancer was as good as his name, dodging the flames with a surprising agility. Tongues of flame scorched the earth where they had been only seconds before. Fire Dancer raced around the side of the dragon, past the clawed feet that attempted to squash them as Chutzpa rode past. Chutzpa gripped his sword and dragged it along the scales of the dragon, knowing that it would not hurt the creature but hoping to distract it from his companions and leave a clear route of escape. Sparks flew along the scratch of the blade.

  Shikoba’s mare, guided by her knees only, turned to the right. Shikoba urged the mare in closer to the dragon. She raised her sphere and heaved it at the join between body and front arm. Lightning surged from the metal tip, striking the beast with the bolt. There was a bang and thunder rumbled, reverberating in her chest. The dragon howled. Its mighty head swung around with great jaws descending to snap at the annoying, biting gnat. Shikoba flattened herself against the neck of her horse and grabbed the bridle on the right side, pulling the horse’s head and knocking it off its intended course. The dragon’s teeth found empty air but not by much. Shikoba straightened and turned around to assess where to attack next. Then she saw him.