A Quick Sun Rises

by Thomas Rath

  Suddenly, she felt a jarring in her ears, an off note that invaded the serenity of her imminent death that felt so dissonant as to shatter the peace that had fallen over her. Again the music of the swords began, this time becoming even more harmonious as she anticipated the sounds; the melody certain now in her mind as her swords moved against Naye’s adding her part of the symphony of death that had drawn her in.

  This time the discordant sound was even more grating as Jne had caught up the rhythm and the harmony swinging her swords around as Naye continued her attacks. And again the melody seemed to restart and Jne suddenly realized what she had discovered. Naye had fallen into a pattern, the last part of which was an opening that she could exploit. She let herself drop back into the tempo waiting for the moment she was certain would come and wasn’t disappointed when the discordant sound grated at her senses. It wasn’t that Naye’s motions were exactly the same every time and being repeated, but the way she moved together with her weapons had combined into a pattern that had left itself open at a certain moment like the bad note of a repeated song—and this time Jne would exploit it.

  Jne crossed her swords over her head almost before the overhand strike had come and then pulled the right one away to deflect Naye’s attack with her left. She stared at her mother with a look mixed of pity and triumph that Naye picked up on too late as she thrust forward with both swords at once. Jne pulled her eyes away as she stepped forward, ducking under the attack while raising her left sword to push it up. Carrying her motion around Jne swung counterclockwise giving her back to Naye while bringing her right sword around to place it squarely into her mother’s chest cleaving her heart in twain as the blade slid out her back. Naye realized her mistake just as it was happening, the look of pride and disbelief mingled on her face now set as her eternal death mask. Pulling her sword, Jne watched as her mother dropped to the ground knowing she was dead before she hit the dirt.

  Jne stared at her for a moment, uncertain what her emotions might reveal knowing she had defeated her mother in judgment and that she now lie dead at her feet. She was afraid that there might be sorrow and regret knowing she had taken the life of the woman who had given it to her twice now but those feelings never seemed to materialize. She had beaten an opponent with greater skill than she yet who had fallen prey to comfort in her own skills.

  The crowd suddenly erupted in cheers of approval as Jne raised her swords in salute, her honor now fully restored. Those who only moments before had shunned her as an outcast now greeted her as one of their own and would welcome her as a member of their family to their homes without the slightest reservation. Unable to repress the smile that broke out on her face she shouted, “I am Jne of the Rena’ja Tja.” Turning to each of the marks of the compass, she repeated her claim of heritage and honor as a full member of the Tjal people before turning back to her mother’s body. Squatting down, she wiped the blood from her sword on her mother’s pants before reluctantly sheathing them both. Her blood still pumped hot in her veins with the exhilaration of battle and though she was bleeding and tired, her hands still ached to hold her weapons.

  There was no dishonor to herself or her mother by her actions and none would have expected any less. The spoils of battle and the laws surrounding them were very strict in Tjal society no matter what relationship there might be between combatants. Her mother was no longer there, only her shell remained, and nothing could be taken to the afterlife once one was dead. All her mother’s possessions now fell to her. Removing the sash that wrapped Naye’s waist, Jne moved to tie it around her chest to stop the flow of blood that was still seeping from the wound she’d received but a gnarled hand stopped her in the process. Looking up, she looked into the smiling face of the old woman who not too long before had been prepared to take her head.

  “Welcome, child,” she said. “Let us tend to that wound properly before it bleeds you out or you catch the fever from it.”

  Jne stood and nodded. “I would welcome that,” she said gratefully, “but first I must address all who are present.”

  “Such things can wait, child,” the old woman persisted, reaching out to take Jne’s arm. “Come; let us see to you first.”

  Jne did not reply but pulled her arm away and shouted to the crowd that was already starting to break away; most anxious to get their tables and wares out for the day’s bizarre, while others began moving away toward the lanes leading out. “Hold,” Jne called out and then repeated herself three more times before every eye was finally turned to her and a relative silence had fallen on the gathered crowd. “A shadow has grown in the north and now threatens as it moves south and east of us on its way to the old HuMan keep named Bedler. It is not a trifle to be left to HuMans alone for should they fall, and they will fall,” she added for emphasis, “we shall fall with them. I have come to warn and to call upon our people to action, to fight with the HuMans to defend against this great darkness that will surely encompass us all.”

  A rumble of voices echoed through the throng as sudden discussions of her claims grew up in all parts. “You have been too long with the ilk of dishonorable HuMans,” one shouted to her though she could not lock on him from the multitude. “We do not meddle in the dealings of the HuMans.”

  “This is not a HuMan matter,” Jne countered, “though they are the only ones engaged at the moment.” Turning about, to assure the attention of all present, she continued, the heat of the recent battle lending her added adrenaline and strength to argue her point. “Many days past I searched out my people on the northern plains to ask their aid as a great army descended on the HuMan fortress at Haykon. It was as if all creatures of evil breed had gathered together as one to sweep the land free of any and all things good.”

  “And what concern is that of ours,” a voice interjected, “should the HuMans battle their enemies behind their walls of cowardice?”

  “It concerns us when that same threat finally turns its evil upon our heads as it certainly has already,” Jne countered. “You are not hearing me!” she shouted, frustration growing. She did not come all this way to lose in the battle of mere words. She was one to act, not be acted upon. “Whether you feel there is justice in the wars of HuMans does not matter here. As I searched out my Tja, I found nothing but the signs of pitched and desperate battle and not a soul alive to tell the tale.”

  Her last statement created quite a stir in the people listening and it was long moments before she dare speak again so that all might hear. Another voice spoke out before her. “That does not prove that we face danger. Do you know for a surety that none of your Tja remains?”

  Jne shook her head. “I did not have the time to search the area or scout out survivors,” she admitted but added with gaining vehemence, “Do I hear that the Tjal fear to take up the sword to battle? Has Tjal blood grown so thin as to turn from a fight?”

  A great shout of anger responded to her words and some had been offended enough to reach for their swords. Raising her hands, Jne called for quiet that came slowly and then not completely so that she was forced to shout above the din. “Along with an army of thousands, they have a wizard and giant creatures that rain death from the sky. I have seen and battled them myself. Their very skin is steel so that no sword can penetrate their hide while they breathe out death on all those who stand against them. It is such a creature that I am certain attacked my Tja, and if I am correct then there is very little hope that many, if any at all survived. This is the enemy that will overtake our own lands if we don’t act now to gather the Tjal-Dihn in to fight back. The remaining HuMan army marches for Bedler’s Keep where they make their final stand. Who will gather with me to give their life in head on battle rather than wait to be caught in their sleep and die in shame?”

  Again, her words caused no small stir. The old woman at her side grabbed her arm forcibly and pulled her in the direction of her home. “Come child,” she demanded in a tone that left no room for discussion. “You have spoken your piece and will have to know patience
while your claims are discussed. The heated words that so easily flow when one’s blood pulses from battle are not always chosen with the greatest care. Plus, your wound will have your life if you don’t let me mend it straight away.”

  Jne resisted. “I will come,” she sighed, the crowd breaking into smaller groups now to discuss her claims and whether or not they would accept them. “But not before I claim what is rightfully mine.” The old woman let go of her arm as Jne turned back to her mother’s body and gently removed her swords from her already cold hands. With some effort, she removed the sheaths from her back and replaced the swords that she now claimed as her own and carried in her hands. The body was then left for others to dispose of as was proper for a woman of her skill. Though she was beaten, Naye held no dishonor in her death and would be afforded all honor and dignity at her funeral pyre though none would come to mourn her loss. It was not the Tjal way to give ceremony to the dead but to burn the body quickly to keep disease in check and eliminate the smell of rotting flesh.

  Jne followed the old woman, her thoughts suddenly dark dousing the inferno of joy that mere moments before had filled her at regaining her honor. The fires of battle were waning now and had almost completely been extinguished by the time they reached the old woman’s dwelling. Leading her past the small foyer, Jne was taken through the cloth that covered the opening on the right into a large room in the back where she was invited to lie on a small couch while the old woman busied herself in gathering water, cloth, needle and sinew with which to stitch the nasty wound that still wept blood across Jne’s chest.

  Slipping down into the cushioned sofa, Jne was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Whether from the loss of blood, the afterglow of battle or the release of so much emotion and worry she was not certain though the press of the cold, wet cloth on her wound brought her quickly back to full consciousness. The pain was enough to chase all wariness away as if demanding she fully experience the pain that came with stitching her up.

  “I am Soyak,” the old woman said with a smile as she pressed the needle through Jne’s skin in the first of many painful pricks that were required to tie up her flesh. The pain was greater than she’d expected and more than once she whimpered as Soyak pressed the needle through her opened wound drawing with it the striped and dried sinew that acted as thread. How she wished Thane was there to use his Tane and close her gash with a single word. The thought of Thane brought a small smile to her face that was quickly replaced by a grimace as the needle again was pressed through her flesh.

  Though her interactions with the crowd had been strained and difficult, she felt certain they would see the error in their thinking and send for others to come and help. It had been a risk to call in question their willingness to fight but she no longer felt like she had the time or the energy to speak with diplomacy. The Tjal were direct, never shying away from what was true and honest. She had merely followed those instincts though she admitted to herself that most likely Soyak had saved her life by insisting she leave when they did. Jne was in no position to fight another person on a question of honor. Another stab to her wound made her grip the cushion as if attempting to wrest the life from it. Each one seemed more painful than the last.

  “How many more?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “Almost done, child,” Soyak answered slowly, her full attention on her work. “You will have a beautiful scar when it heals,” she added and then bit off the surplus sinew she had just finished tying off in a knot. “There now,” she said as she pushed herself up straight once more. “All finished. Just a little eola root juice to keep infections away and then a clean wrap and you’ll be good as new in a week or two.”

  Jne forced a smile at the thought. A week or two could be all any of them had left if they failed at Bedler’s Keep. Soyak disappeared into another room and then returned with the root she’d been looking for. No longer than her thumb, it was green and when she cut into it with her knife a thick liquid oozed out which she promptly spread over the stitches and then wrapped a clean linen snuggly around Jne’s chest. “The eola will sting for a moment as it works itself down into the wound but will soon sooth away the pain to where you won’t feel it much.”

  Jne’s clenched fists were evidence that she understood the stinging part but soon she noticeably relaxed as the pain subsided into an almost numbing sensation. “Thank you,” she finally breathed in relief, “I owe you much.”

  The old woman made a face and waved her off. “You have been Jinghar among the HuMans too long to forget the hospitality of the Tjal.”

  Jne smiled back and nodded but then quickly her mood returned to a serious one. “What do you feel about what I have spoken?” she asked without preamble. “Would you fight?”

  Soyak’s eyes flashed as if suddenly on fire. “Not would, child,” she said, a warm smile creating added wrinkles to the many that already covered her face, “will! I have waited too long for the chance to leave this world in glory instead of—how did you put it?—wait to be caught by it in my sleep and die in shame.”

  “But will the others come?” Jne pressed, still a little desperate about their situation yet warmed slightly by the vigor of this old woman.

  Soyak shrugged. “None can know. Each has to choose for himself.”

  Jne nodded, her face suddenly very pensive. “You speak truth but I cannot wait any longer to find out. I fear my time here has already been too great and that the battle might already have been fought and decided.”

  Soyak bounced on the balls of her feet like an excited child. “I will get my things then and we can leave as quickly as we retrieve our horses.”

  Jne gave her a surprised look that swiftly turned into a smile of gratitude and acceptance of her offer as a loud gurgle sounded in her stomach reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for some time.

  Soyak laughed. “After, of course, we bid goodbye with a small feast to fill the void that has apparently settled into your belly.”

  “And,” Jne added, her eyes suddenly becoming distant, “a certain purchase I must make.”

  “What type of purchase?” Soyak pried.

  “A svaj for the one I will marry.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was dusk when the rocs finally touched down a safe distance outside of Aleron. What would have taken close to a week had been accomplished in two days thanks to the strength and persistence of their carriers. The birds were on the verge of exhaustion, as were the six people they bore. Domis fell from Azaforte’s back and practically hugged the ground vowing he would never fly again. The excitement that had originally bubbled out of him at finally being able to ride was quickly sapped and drained from his mind just as the food had been from his stomach. Teek had warned him that it had taken him multiple rides before the changes in pressure and the sudden dips caused by wind flows ceased to bother him. Domis no longer felt the desire to reach that point. He was certain that he’d thrown up everything he’d ever eaten in his life that first day they took to the air. Only Thane’s speech on duty and his part in saving thousands of lives got him onto the bird’s back for the second day’s flight; that and the threat of Jace’s steel. He’d ridden Debipena the first day so switched to Azaforte the second thinking it might help but to no avail.

  Jace and Ranse didn’t look much better though neither of them had actually thrown up. Domis figured that Jace was too hardened to allow himself to be sick while Ranse, being royalty and all, probably was not physically capable of doing so in the presence of others. Neither dropped to the ground so unceremoniously as Domis had but neither did they move about much as if waiting for angry stomachs to settle.

  The three Tjal clad Chufa, on the other hand, seemed almost unaffected save only for the scowl on Dor’s face. Though he didn’t have the ghost-like countenance shared by the others, he was still nothing like Thane or Tam who almost beamed with exhilaration and seemed sad that the ride was already over.

  Thane stretched a bit looking north and then south down
the hard packed road that led to and from Aleron. It was empty. “How far?” he asked, addressing no one in particular.

  Ranse came up next to him while looking about intently. “From the last we saw it from the air and the area we are in now, I would say about a mile but no more than two.”

  Thane nodded. “Good. That will put us there just at dark. The fewer eyes that see us the better. We don’t have time for the normal HuMan to Tjal rituals.”

  “We could always take these cursed rags from our heads,” Dor snickered, his voice laced with mischief. “That would certainly eliminate any worry about Tjal-Dihn.”

  Ranse smiled while Jace just stared, his eyes cold and unreadable. Dor paid him no mind though, having become accustomed to death incarnate, as he liked to think of him. Jne was cheery and bubbling over with kindness compared to the prince’s bodyguard who only seemed to find pleasure when blood dripped from his sword. Not that Jace was evil or bloodthirsty but more like a craftsman who was anxious to be about his trade; constantly at work to improve his skills.

  “As long as there’s a bath and hot meal at the end of our road tonight,” Tam voiced her opinion, her tone still too cheerful for Domis and his angry stomach, “I’ll be whatever race you want me to be.” Domis eyed her questioningly but didn’t put voice to his query.

  Thane was surprised at the lack of security that met them when they reached the city’s outer edge. Though the road that carried them was void of any vegetation, allowing the single guard a long look at whoever approached, there was no wall. The whole city was open on the north side. The only visible defensive measure was the river that ran past, which was, in its own right, wide and deep enough for boat travel, but not so much to stop an army with the will to sack the town.