Thera Awakening

by Steve Jackson

  It wasn't just a fit, Rathe realized. The other shaman! The foe had torn through Kel's defenses, her veil. But how could he save her? He held his sword, but there was nothing to cut.

  But what could he do? He stared at his useless hands. The ring, mark of a priestess, mocked him.

  A tortured moan was torn from Kel's throat. Beyond words, she had doubled over and dropped to all fours. Her belly heaved, mouth open as if to retch. But nothing came out. Her face was twisted in anguish.

  Someone was killing her! Thera help him, he had to act! He focused his desire, imagined the rune in his dream, the complete rune that he had seen before it shattered.

  He saw it as a black glass lens that would show him the truth. He willed himself to see what was hurting her, to pierce the veil, to perceive what Kel saw—and suddenly, he could.

  A half-dozen palm-sized insects swarmed over Kelandra's body. Cruel clawed legs dug into her flesh. Jaws bit, tearing and gouging. The creatures were like tiny Tse'Mara—and yet unlike them, for these were solid black, living chunks of darkness without detail, save for a single spot of color. And the wounds they opened in her body closed seconds later of their own accord!

  And yet, they hurt her—Kel writhed in agony. The creatures might not be able to do lasting harm, but the pain was real, and Rathe feared what injury they were doing to her mind and soul.

  As he stared, horror-stricken, Kel clutched her throat and gagged. Her mouth opened wide. A spiky head emerged from her gaping mouth, followed by barbed legs. It pulled its way out. Like the others, it had a blood-red rune glowing on its belly.

  The blood-rune! The same as on the Tse'Mara. Kel had called it a shadow, a perversion. But on his finger was the real rune. What if light met darkness? Rathe made a fist, touched his ring finger to the creature in her mouth—and it melted into black smoke.

  The other creatures drew back, halted their attacks. Black antennae swivelled. Invisible eyes stared at Rathe. Wings spread, a challenge—or a preparation to attack?

  But Rathe held up the ring, focused on it. His first success had given him confidence. "You are nothing," he told them. He forced a smile. "Shadows without substance. Reflections in a broken mirror." He shook his head. "Less than nothing. Begone!"

  And the creatures melted into darkness.

  The battle was over. In the corner, Orvig groaned, rubbing his bruised head. The snake, Akeshi, lay still and lifeless.

  Rathe knelt in the dirt circle, holding Kelandra cradled in his arms. He called her name, over and over.

  Suddenly her eyes flew open.

  "Akeshi," she said. "He's dead."

  "I know," Rathe said, remembering the snake's actions. "He tried to save you."

  Her shoulders shook. Rathe realized she was crying. He hugged her, holding her tightly until the sobs subsided.

  She turned to face him, wiped away a tear, eyes red. "I don't—it's just, after Adra—" she paused. "When everyone else was gone, he was the only one."

  "You're not alone now," Rathe said. Gently, he stroked her hair. "Not any more."

  "Yes," Kel agreed. One arm went around him.

  Rathe felt her body relax.

  In a moment, she was asleep.

  Chapter Five

  Orvig was shaking him. "Rathe! Wake up, boy."

  Rathe blinked sleep out of his eyes. The hut's door was open. The faint light of early morning spilled through.

  He looked around. There was no sign of Kel. "Where is she?" Rathe asked. He sat up.

  "Outside by the forest. She's laying her snake to rest. She said she wanted to be alone."

  "Did she look all right?" Rathe worried. "She could be in trouble."

  "She is trouble!" Orvig said. He touched his forehead, winced. There was a bright purple bruise there. "She seemed in good shape. But something happened last night, boy. She began speaking. Or something spoke through her. Then what? Her spell went wrong?"

  "I don't know, exactly." said Rathe. He pulled his clothes on absently, thinking back. "The throg shaman—I think he sensed her. He struck back, somehow killed Akeshi. The snake was her familiar, trying to protect her. Then he went after her. But we got her out of

  "We? My head may have been ringing like a master's anvil. But I know I didn't do anything."

  Rathe nodded. "It's hard to believe. It was killing her—an illusion, maybe. I don't know. I concentrated on the rune, the one in my dream, and I was able to see them." Rathe grimaced.

  "Aye," said Orvig. "Shadows, you said."

  "Shadows of the Tse'Mara," Rathe answered. "They bore the same rune as the real thing. I remembered what Kel had said, and thought the whole rune might have power over them." He smiled grimly. "It did."

  "You commanded them to vanish?" Orvig said. "And they did." He shook his head. "I saw you. It was strange—or maybe not so strange. You had her look..."

  "What do you mean?" Rathe said.

  Orvig didn't speak for a long moment. "I saw it on your mother's face once. When she was healing a boy who was near death. He was at the brink. She wouldn't give up. And she brought him back." The dwarf looked sober.

  "Was my mother a rune-mage?" Rathe said.

  "She was, boy." Orvig looked sober. "I think you are, too."

  Smoke swirled skyward from the crackling pyre by the forest's edge. There was a smell of burning meat and incense. Kel was there, dressed in her skins, but wearing her feather cloak.

  "I make no mask for Akeshi," said Kel. She turned to Rathe. Her eyes were dry. "His spirit goes to the winds."

  "To the winds," Rathe repeated. He rested his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Kel."

  She shrugged him off. "We have to go," Kel said. She had a bundled pack at her feet. "I can't stay here."

  "Especially since that fire said 'here we are' to every throg and insect within a dozen miles," grumbled Orvig. "Couldn't you just bury him?"

  "Orvig," warned Rathe. But Kel didn't take offense.

  "He's a snake, not a man," she said, still watching the drifting plume. "He has no mask. It's the way. The fire doesn't matter, anyway."

  "What do you mean?" Orvig said.

  "Rathe should know," Kel said.

  Rathe considered—"Gods!" he exclaimed. "The shaman—does he know we're here?"

  "Yes," Kel said. "That's how he attacked me. I'm sorry, I should have told you." She plucked a twig from a tree, snapped it. "I just..."

  "You weren't in any shape," said Rathe. "None of us were."

  It was true. The battle had left him exhausted.

  "So we move out." Orvig sighed, staring at the tiny funeral pyre. "Where? We still don't know where to find Jhen."

  "But we do," Kel said. "I saw your sister."

  "What?" said Orvig.

  "The lost soul..." said Rathe. "That was Jhen?"

  "Yes," said Kel. "She seemed unharmed."

  "Unharmed!" A grin spread over Orvig's face. He reached up and hugged her. "Kelandra of Adra, I thank you."

  "It was hard won," Kel said. She squeezed free. Then her face softened, melted by Orvig's joy. "She looked so young!"

  "We grow slowly," said Orvig lightly. He stepped back. "She's older than you, I'd guess." He took Kel's hand. "Tell me! What else?"

  "Oh. She's underground. A small chamber, rough hewn. Water drips from the ceiling. She was counting the drops. There was someone with her. A throg, I think. He was very old. They were speaking."

  "What did they say?" Rathe asked. Jhen was alive!

  "I don't know. They spoke in the throg tongue. A light burned just outside. A lamp. It hurt the throg's eyes. That's all."

  "Jhen knows the throg language?"

  "She's good at things like that." Orvig said. "She's a trader."

  "Jhen wasn't all you saw," Rathe said. He didn't want to press her, but... "You spoke of the Shadow's Teeth."

  "We know that name," Orvig said. "The foothills by the broken lands, where the forest ends." He looked at Rathe. "Do you still have Hoth's map?"

  "It's bac
k in the hut," he said. "Is that where she is?"

  "I think so," Kel said. She was still holding the twig. Now she knelt and began scratching in the ground. "Here we are, at Adra," she pointed. She picked up a pebble, eyed the sun, then plunked it down.

  "Gothmeg," she decided, "a day north." She drew a line running north and east. "The Shadow's Teeth."

  "But where in the Teeth?" Rathe asked.

  Kel's face fell. "I don't know."

  "You also spoke of the Shaman," Orvig said. "What of him?"

  "Don't press her," Rathe said. "That was when the attack..."

  "No," she said. "It's all right. He was a throg," Kel said slowly. "Younger than the one with Jhen. His face was cruel. He wore a feathered cloak, like mine. But his was stained with blood." She hugged herself. "He had something with him, like a skull, but carved from black glass—its eyes—" Kel began to shake. She turned to Rathe, her own eyes wide. "They opened. They saw! Oh, Gods!"

  "It's all right," Rathe said. "You're back. It's over."

  She took a deep breath, gathered her thoughts. "It looked like a human skull. And on its forehead was a rune. The rune that was carved on the Tse'Mara."

  "This skull—what was it?" Rathe asked. "A talisman?"

  "An object of power," Kel agreed. "But it was also alive, Rathe. And—I'm not sure, but I think it was in pain."

  "It was made of glass?" Orvig asked.

  "Volcanic glass," Kel said. "Obsidian, like Rathe's ring."

  "And like the temple in my dream!" Rathe exclaimed.

  They left the village quickly. "Adra is dead," she told Rathe. "There's nothing left for me here."

  Kel led them north, by the secret paths her people had known. The day was cooler than it had been, for clouds were gathering in the west. They saw a black bear and two cubs, but no sign of Tse'Mara, man or throg. Once, they heard a beat of wings. Kel shooed them into the bushes, but it was only a large hawk.

  "Next time, don't pick a thorn bush," Orvig said. "Ouch."

  "I've some salve," said Kel. She pulled a small clay pot from her pack. "Here, let me."

  "I thought the Tse'Mara hunt only by night?" Rathe asked.

  "They do," she answered "but it is by choice, not law. Their eyes are poorer, and the light bothers them. But I think this shaman could drive them to hunt by day, if his will was strong enough." She shrugged, then raised an eyebrow at Orvig. "Better scratched than dead."

  When night came, Kel said they were some miles east of Gothmeg, Adra's sister village.

  "How much farther?" Orvig asked.

  "We must find a river, the Erderli," she told them. "It runs cold and swift. I think we'll reach it around noon next day, if we keep up this pace. When we reach it, we follow its bank for half a day, then turn east."

  "We've made good time," Rathe said.

  "Yes," Kel agreed. "Tomorrow we'll see mountains."

  Kel drew the first watch, Rathe the last. It was a few hours before dawn. The night was cloudless and bright with stars, but a chill wind whistled among the hills.

  His watch wore on. Orvig lay sleeping like a log, his breathing slow and steady. But Kel's blanket had slipped off, and she stirred fretfully, murmuring, as the wind whipped through her hair. He bent to listen, fearful that something was wrong, that the fit had returned. But it was only names she was speaking: Akeshi, other names—relatives, lovers? Did she walk with them in pleasant memories, when they still lived? Or was it a nightmare? He hesitated, reluctant to wake her. Then, afraid she would catch a chill, Rathe drew the blanket back over her. He reached out and touched her cheek. She stirred slightly, then seemed to settle down.

  Both of them had lost their parents, Rathe realized. They shared that bleak bond. He held up his hand to the starlight, stared at the ring on his finger. Kel had her memories, however painful, while he could only summon vague images. His mother's scent, a snatch of cradlesong, a toy he had played with.

  But he still had Orvig. He gazed at the sleeping dwarf. He wished Orvig had told him about his parents' fate before. And yet, he could not get angry. He cared too much for the old dwarf. To his heart, Orvig was his father, too. He would find Jhen, he vowed. Orvig's family was his own.

  Dawn came, and with it a thick mist.

  "I doubt we'll see mountains in this soup," Rathe told Kelandra over breakfast. "Or be able to find our way."

  "It will slow us, but it will also hide us from prying eyes." Kel answered. "We need only find the river."

  "If we don't lose our way and fall in quicksand instead," grumbled Orvig.

  "Trust me," Kel said.

  They marched in silence, the enveloping fog stifling conversation, muffling all sounds, even their footsteps. Soon the ground was no longer flat, but undulated in a series of a low hills. They moved slowly but steadily, Kel apparently unafraid of becoming lost. She held her spear out, occasionally stopping for a second, moving it back and forth, much as a blind man would use a walking stick. It was odd.

  Rathe decided to try something. He imagined the rune—Thera's rune—and concentrated, willing himself to see, in the same way he had seen the shadow-beasts.

  A warm amber glow was coming from the spear, from the third rune along its shaft. As Kel moved the spear back and forth, it changed in intensity, the glow increasing as she pointed it to the left. Kel nodded to herself, and led them off in that direction.

  Aha, Rathe thought. I was right.

  It was noon when they heard the sound of running water. They had reached the Erderli, as it wound its way north. "You're a trusty guide," Rathe said.

  "It wasn't going anywhere," Kel replied, but she smiled at him, glad of the praise.

  It was mid-afternoon, and they were resting ere they continued on through evening. Orvig and Kel had gone to refill the canteens by the river. Rathe could see Orvig, although Kel had vanished. He frowned—they'd both promised to stay within earshot.

  Rathe sat in the shadow of a tree. Hoth's map was spread out before him, and he was marking the route they had traveled as best he could, filling in the white space. The sun was warm on his back. The forest might be full of foes, and he kept his sword beside him. But for now, at least, it seemed peaceful.

  The sun had burned away the mist, and the river lay before them, its west bank overgrown with willow and sycamore. A trill of birdsong mixed with the chirp of crickets. The day had turned warm, and the sun sent bright shafts through the forest canopy.

  When he heard the rustle above him, he reached for his blade.

  A musical laugh drifted down. He looked up.

  Kel was perched on the oak's limb, long legs swinging.

  "Hey, Rathe—can you catch me?" she said.

  "Kel!" Rathe exclaimed.

  She laughed again, and then hooked her legs about the branch, and swung, upside down, her hair dangling down. "Keep-folk can't climb," she taunted, her voice a sing-song.

  That was it. With a mock growl, Rathe scrambled after her. Laughing, she fled, agile as a monkey. He caught her halfway up, but somehow he was sure she let him. Kel teetered, nearly falling, and he put his arm about her waist to steady her. She turned her head and kissed him.

  "Kel..."

  "For saving my life," she said.

  "May I?" Rathe asked. She looked into his eyes, green as her own, and nodded twice. They kissed again. It lasted a long time before they broke apart.

  They sat in silence, watching the rushing river below them. But their eyes were drawn northward, where the hills grew greater in the distance, until they merged as one with the sky.

  "The Shadow's Teeth," Rathe said.

  "We'll reach them tomorrow," Kel agreed. "When we get there, what will you do?"

  "Find Jhen," said Rathe. "Yourself?"

  "I still have a debt to pay."

  "And afterwards?"

  She shook her head, then looked down. "Oh, cats," Kel said. Rathe followed her gaze.

  Orvig was standing below, holding a string of water bottles. He shook his finger at her.r />
  "Oops," said Kel. "I forgot to help fill the bottles."

  Orvig and Rathe went to wash their clothes in the river. Rathe had cleaned his back at Adra, so he finished first. When he returned, he saw Kel bent over his map. She looked up, guiltily.

  "Sorry," Kel said. She put it down.

  "It's all right," Rathe replied. "It's not a secret." He handed it back to her.

  She ran her fingers over the parchment, looking at the region near Stonekeep. "It's so detailed," she said wonderingly. "Did you draw it yourself?"

  "No," said Rathe. "It was made by Wren, a master cartographer, back at Stonekeep. Do you understand it?"

  "Not really," said Kel. "I'm not sure what the symbols mean."

  "They're like runes," said Rathe. "But not magical. Here, let me show you how to read it."

  He described the map, and showed Kel what the marks for distance meant. "Here we are," he said. He traced a path through white space. "The Shadow's Teeth."

  "That line," Kel pointed. "The Erderli river, yes?"

  Rathe nodded.

  "But why does it stop before Gothmeg?" She stabbed down with her finger. "We're over here."

  "Because our map-makers hadn't been this far," Rathe laughed. "Truth to tell, we're not even sure exactly where the mountains are. When I get back to Stonekeep, they'll make a new map—I'll have to help draw it." He grinned. "But until then, we rely on your talents. You used magick, didn't you? In the fog?"

  "Yes," said Kel admitted. "A rune of direction. But how did you know? Or did you guess?"

  "It's hard to explain." He hesitated. "I focused on the rune, Thera's rune. And willed myself to see. There was a warm glow when you used the spear—you followed it? Is that what you saw?"

  Kel shook her head. "Magick is different for everyone. I felt a kind of tug, not a glow. But yes. The spear guided me."