Sharani series Box Set

by Kevin L. Nielsen

  “Perhaps not anymore, though that’s debatable, I’d think. Either way, the Rahuli are something of an anomaly, a curiosity at best.” Talha tugged at the collar of her half-robes with two fingers. “But we digress from our topic. As we reincarnate into new lives, our soul—that which lives inside us and is the essence of who we are, were, and can become—remains the same. Though it is more complicated than this, suffice it to say that for those of us at a higher Iteration—those further along the Path—have access to the memories, skills, and talents of our prior lives.”

  “Through our dreams,” Lhaurel whispered. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth. Her pulse fluttered, and the nausea that had started to subside swelled once more.

  “Precisely. You have access to the Orinai language when your unconscious mind slips back into a time when Elyana was the life your soul was living. Her memories and abilities come through when you don’t consciously think about them. Your sleeping mind knows what your present mind cannot even begin to fathom.”

  “I—” Lhaurel struggled to articulate the jumble of emotions and thoughts dancing around inside her head. Nothing in the seven hells had prepared her for this.

  Talha laid a hand on Lhaurel’s knee. Lhaurel wasn’t sure if she should shy away from those red nails that mirrored her own, or else find comfort in the familiarity.

  “It will take time for you to come to grips with this truth.” Talha’s voice returned to her normal teaching tone. “True religion is a hard thing for one to understand, especially when that one is raised as a pagan. But know this.” Talha’s grip hardened on Lhaurel’s knee, all trace of comfort or empathy vanishing in a moment. “In the end, it doesn’t matter if you began as an unbeliever, a pagan, or a heretic. You are one of the Seven Sisters now. The lives of the Rahuli—your people—depend on you convincing not only me, but every one of the Sisters that you are truly one of us and that you believe.”

  Lhaurel nodded and swallowed before licking dry lips. The act did little to quell the squall within her stomach. She wanted to chew on her bottom lip—it was a nervous habit she’d picked up years ago—but she stopped herself. Talha was right. It didn’t matter. She had to believe, in the end. She had to force herself to learn and understand.

  “More than that,” Talha continued. “Your own life depends on your acceptance of these things. Sellia and the other Sisters will not return powers to an unbeliever or one who could betray them. If you don’t have your powers returned, you will die. As I said, there are consequences to not having access to your abilities. Once used for the first time, your body becomes dependent upon it. You have a few months yet, which is ample time for us to return to Estrelar, but if you do not become what you must, you will be allowed to die and the Sisters will simply wait for your next Incarnation to be born.”

  The words from her dream echoed in Lhaurel’s mind, words which mirrored what Talha had just said. Lhaurel looked down at her hands again, then tore her eyes away.

  A large part of Lhaurel recognized the seed of truth in Talha’s words and even yearned to become a larger part of the Progressions, a part of something that transcended one simple life. She wanted her powers back with a hunger that terrified her. Lhaurel wasn’t sure if that part of her was actually Lhaurel talking, or Elyana speaking through her “soul,” but that didn’t matter much either. Not really. The emotions were real and Lhaurel felt them.

  “To that end,” Talha said, “I have much for you to study on our journey down to the locks and from there on the barges down to Estrelar.” She pointed at the books she’d left on the table. “These are the ones I want you to read after this evening’s Devotional. You will simply need to be present at that. Tomorrow, however, you will need to speak. I will train you on how to meditate and access the skills your sleeping mind already knows. This will aid you in learning the Orinai tongue and speak it without the butchery you’ve shown up until now.”

  Talha got to her feet. “Should you need anything, knock twice on the door. One of your priestesses will be outside it at all times and should be able to assist you.”

  Lhaurel nodded, unable to articulate the mess of emotions and thoughts churning within her that twisted her insides into knots. Talha smiled. “Despite what you may think, I really am glad you’re one of my Sisters. I will be here to help in your studies as often as you wish, but a large part of what you must learn is specific to your own Path. For this, I can only guide you, I cannot teach. All I can do is show you the ceremony, pomp, and presence required to be a Sister.”

  Talha gave Lhaurel an odd little bow—head bent slightly to one side and one arm crossed over her chest—and left, leaving the lamp and books on the table. Lhaurel stared after her for a long moment and then, with a surety that she didn’t actually feel, reached out and picked up one of the books.

  * * *

  Lhaurel stood next to Talha later that night, as the woman spoke at length about—as far as Lhaurel could understand—the pursuit of Knowledge as a means of Progression. The sailors and the few warriors who accompanied Lhaurel, Talha, and their priestesses were all attentive, even if a few seemed to only be acting the part. The Devotional, Lhaurel decided, wasn’t too dissimilar from the Roterralar Gatherings, though the context was far more surreal and ephemeral in nature.

  Lhaurel had spent several long hours in her room in a mixture of contemplation and study. Talha’s revelation about having multiple “lives” and one eternal “soul” was staggering. It was incredible. It was ludicrous. Lhaurel had difficulty grasping it. In the end, though, Lhaurel’s thoughts had turned back to the Rahuli people, to Khari, Shallee, Farah, and Gavin. She remembered what she’d done in the Oasis when the genesauri had come. She remembered what she had promised the Sisters in exchange for her people’s protection. In the end, despite not really understanding, much less believing in what she’d been taught, Lhaurel had turned to the books and done as she’d been asked.

  Though the reading was tedious—Lhaurel had never enjoyed reading to begin with—it was also enlightening, clarifying many of the things Talha had already tried to explain. Ironically, it appeared that Talha had penned a number of the books herself, which, according to the first page of each book, was simply one part of a far larger discourse.

  A hand on Lhaurel’s shoulder pulled her out of her thoughts. Lhaurel started, suppressing a small yelp of surprise, then Lhaurel looked down at the hand and saw one of her priestesses. The younger one from when the bandits had attached. Josi, that was her name. The young woman gave a slight nod in one direction and Lhaurel turned to see that the Devotional had ended while she’d been lost in her own thoughts. The sailors were busying themselves about their duties, coiling ropes or clambering up nets to check the massive canvas sails or various other tasks. Talha stood in the middle of a small group of sailors a few steps away, one of her priestesses standing on each side of her.

  Lhaurel took a careful moment to study the crowd around Talha, immediately noticing that each wore the same color brown clothing as the shufari Talha’s priestesses wore. One of the sailors wore a brown knit cap; another wore a sash of the same color. Some had a variety of tattoos in that color, but worked into a specific symbol—a triangle split by six vertical lines—which Lhaurel found oddly familiar though she knew she’d never seen it before. One of the sailors, a swarthy fellow with a dark complexion which appeared to be from more than just time spent in the sun, clutched a pendant in his fist, the chains wrapping up and around his neck. He seemed deep in conversation with Talha, his head bowed and tone hushed, even reverent.

  Josi, the young priestess, nudged Lhaurel in Talha’s direction. Not knowing what she was supposed to do, Lhaurel hesitated, but eventually did as bidden, walking to the other Sister with measured steps. Lhaurel’s priestess followed. Talha’s priestesses and the others around Talha parted to allow Lhaurel through, like a herd of sheep before a sandtiger.

  Talha finished talking to the men, who bowed low as Talha turned away, gesturing for Lhaurel to
follow her. Lhaurel felt her tension ease. For a moment she’d thought Talha intended her to speak to these men or at least listen to their petitions and prayers, but—thankfully—it was a much simpler matter. Lhaurel nodded at the sailors as she passed and they all bowed even lower.

  Talha led Lhaurel back down into the innards of the ship. Lhaurel paused for a moment before leaving the deck, taking a moment to look up at the darkening sky. A few stars already shone brightly in one corner of the deep blue expanse. Night closed quickly on the horizon, darkening the skies. Lhaurel sucked in a deep breath of the cool, fresh air and followed Talha down into the darkness of the ship.

  * * *

  Talha closed the door to Lhaurel’s room and then walked over to the table, where she’d had one of the priestesses place an array of mottled white and purple candles.

  “Talha,” Lhaurel began, but the Sister held up her hand to silence her. Lhaurel snapped her mouth shut, but crossed her arms and formed her lips into a hard line.

  Talha set one of the candles in the center of the room. There was something on the bottom of it that allowed it to remain motionless against the constant rocking of the ship. Talha moved with practiced grace as she lit a taper from the lantern on the table and then lit the candle affixed to the wooden floor. Lhaurel wondered at having an open flame on board a vessel made entirely of very flammable wood, but didn’t ask.

  Once the wick had caught, Talha turned back to the table and extinguished it, plunging the room into an odd half-gloom.

  “Sit, Lhaurel,” she said, gesturing to a spot on the floor.

  Lhaurel did as bidden, taking a seat on the wooden floor with her knees bent over one another. She was still wearing the white robes that reminded her of the mystic robes, for which she was grateful. Since the front of the skirt was open and she wore leggings beneath, it was a simple matter to flare the skirt out behind her and still maintain a comfortable seat. Talha took a seat on the other side of the candle, mirroring Lhaurel’s sitting position. The solitary flame danced and flickered, casting odd shadows over Talha’s perfect, ageless face and blood-red hair. Talha smiled, revealing her painted teeth, and Lhaurel had to hold back a shudder.

  “I know there are questions you’re holding in a very loose grip right now,” Talha said, her voice barely above a whisper, “but now is not the time for questions. No, now is the time for you to cast aside your own thoughts and look deep within your mind, to look back to the past lives you have lived and the souls of past Iterations and incarnations.”

  Lhaurel swallowed and attempted a deep, steadying breath at the same time, which only succeeded in making her cough. She forced her lungs to be calm by breathing in and out through her nose, which highlighted the oddly familiar smell coming from the candle burning before her.

  “Watch the flame, child,” Talha intoned, her own gaze fixated on the solitary light. “See how it moves with the gentle caress of the wind. Let your mind follow the motion of its passing and allow your eyes to wander from the dark epicenter of the wicking to the bright flickering of its tip. Watch it burn and allow it to consume your thoughts. Let it take your terror, steal your stresses, and carry off your cares. Breathe in the deep smell of its hunger.”

  Talha’s voice flowed steady and calm, an odd counterpoint to the flickering flame. The motion of the ship made the fire dance even more than normal, but Lhaurel followed the motion with her eyes. She breathed in, focusing on allowing her emotions to burn away within that flame. She felt foolish at first, but after several long minutes of watching the flame she realized that her mind had let go of most of her previous concerns.

  “Breathe,” Talha said, her voice barely a whisper. “Take in the scent of the lavender and spice, feel the wax slowly melting away. You are the master of your own mind, Lhaurel. You are one of the Seven Sisters, a guardian of the Path and a guide along its course. Your emotions cannot control you. Let your thoughts and mind guide your path.”

  Behind the candle, Talha’s outline blurred and all Lhaurel could see was the solitary flame against a field of darkness. It was just her and the flame. Alone and silent, within and without. Talha’s voice sounded as if from a great distance away.

  “Travel back, Lhaurel,” Talha said. “Travel back to a time when you were not yet Lhaurel, but someone else. Travel back up the Path you have previously trod.”

  The flame danced and a bead of wax slipped down the candle’s side, trailing down to the floor like a purple tear. Lhaurel felt her thoughts recede even deeper into the dark places of her mind until they were all but forgotten, a distant sound that no one was present to hear. Nothing existed outside the candle’s flickering light.

  “Go back into memory long forgotten,” she said. “Go back to the time when you were Elyana.”

  The light consumed her.

  Chapter 10: Hospitality

  “Honor . . . honor denotes an adherence to a code of moral conduct and action. The question remains, however—whose code?”

  —From the Discourses on Knowledge, Volume 17, Year 1171

  Brisson’s administration building—as he called it—rested up against a large cliff. The building was an odd, ornate affair, built in three interconnected parts, with the center part twice as tall and wide as the two other sections. A number of glass windows with thick wooden coverings faced outward from the front of the building. The windows were all covered at the moment, but a number of younger boys scampered in and out of the open doorway.

  Gavin waited for one of the boys to dart through the door before stepping into the room himself. He had to blink a few times to adjust to the dim light inside the room. While sunlight streamed in through the door, only a single lantern lit the rest of the space, leaving a strange mixture of yellowish and white light playing against shadow. When his eyes adjusted, Gavin saw an older man sitting behind an oddly thick table, bent over some papers on the desk. The room was shallow, though several doors sat behind the desk in the far wall, presumably leading further into the room. The boy who had run into the room ahead of Gavin stood in front of the desk, one booted foot idly scratching his other calf. The man at the desk—not Brisson or anyone Gavin recognized—finished looking over the papers before him on the desk and promptly folded the top sheet twice and handed it to the boy.

  “Take this to the stores and find the man in charge there,” the man said, his aged voice seeming to whistle with each “s.” “He’ll know what to do with it. Then come right back here.”

  The boy nodded and reached for the letter, but the man didn’t let go when the boy grabbed hold of it.

  “Did you hear me?” The man asked, a hard edge creeping into his voice.

  The boy nodded and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yes, Master.”

  The older man’s mouth twisted into a grimace, but he released the paper and the boy hurried off, nearly running into Gavin in his haste to get out the door.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked before Gavin even had a chance to speak.

  Gavin raised an eyebrow at him.

  The man returned Gavin’s gaze with an impassivity that bordered on absolute. “If you don’t have business here, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” the man said. “I haven’t the time to deal with some petty dispute between you and your neighbors.”

  Gavin felt his incredulity slip into irritation, but only let the barest trace of a frown cross his face. Could this man really not know who he was?

  “I’m here to see Brisson. He wanted to me to discuss what tasks the Rahuli would be most suited for.”

  The older man pursed his lips and gave Gavin an appraising look, as if seeing him for the first time. He tapped a finger to his lips a few times, as if trying hard to remember something, and then gave a small frown, heightening the faint wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

  “Ah, yes, the Rahuli,” the man said musingly. “I’d expected to see someone a little—well, older.”

  “People age differently in the Sharani Desert.”
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  “Really?” the older man asked, riffling through some papers on the table before him in a distracted manner. “And how is that?”

  “Anyone who would have reached your age would be dead by now. The genesauri would have seen to that.”

  The man paused and looked up at Gavin. His dark brown eyes reflected a minor curiosity, but the rest of his posture bespoke a sudden unease, as if he’d expected the response, but not the impassive way Gavin had said it. Gavin gave a small voice to his irritation and continued.

  “There are only a few exceptions to that,” Gavin said rubbing his chin with one hand as if deep in thought. “Take Cobb for example. He’s far older than you, but they don’t make them tougher. The man could give stones lessons in stubbornness. He’s probably one of the finest warriors you’ll ever meet. My grandmother, before she died that is, got to where she was using her wits to see her through the challenges of being an outcast and a woman. Then there were the third type of older people.”

  After a long pause, the man asked the obvious question. “And those are?”

  “The ones who hide behind the tough and clever ones.”

  The man harrumphed and sniffed indignantly. He snatched a piece of paper from the pile at his desk and thrust it toward Gavin.

  “Here’s your assignments for the next fortnight. Assign who you will to fill the duties you’ve been given. We’ll evaluate their effectiveness after that time and reassign them to the activities for which they are most suited.”

  “I believe there may have been a misunderstanding,” Gavin said, glancing down at the paper in the man’s hand without taking it. “This meeting was to discuss those duties my people would have the capacity to accomplish well.”

  “These are the tasks you were assigned,” the man said, brandishing the paper.

  Gavin smiled at the man, still not reaching for the paper. “I think I’d like to discuss this with Brisson, directly,” Gavin said. “Is he back there?” Gavin gestured toward the doors in the far wall behind the man’s desk.