The Prophet - Prelude - The Trial of Sa'riya

by Don Newton

  “It’s Ok boys,” Darryl rubbed their beaks, “maybe we can kill a Draggon later today…”

  The Griffins trilled an understanding and sat their lion backsides on the hard stone of the ledge, watching the two Na’Geena warriors and Sa’riya.

  She grabbed Karl’s face in her hands. “You shouldn’t have come; I know what I’m doing.”

  “They’ll kill you, Sa’riya!” Karl grabbed her wrists. “How am I supposed to stand by and let that happen?”

  “There are things you don’t know,” she said, “and I can’t explain right now. Do you trust me?”

  “You have to ask?” He let her go and turned away, looking out across the expanse of Purgatory Steppes below: the remains of ancient pyroclastic flows from the dormant volcano above. The badlands stretched as far as he could see—folded waves of cooled lava frozen in time—a violent sea of unmoving rock.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Of course not. But I need to rely on your trust right now.”

  “What is it you’re not telling me?” he asked.

  “I still can’t tell you, for your own safety, and mine.” She reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a large crystal: it was the size of her palm, and it held a bright silver fire inside it. She placed it in his hands and wrapped her own around them. “Keep this safe. Break it two days from now where we first met.”

  He was quiet for several moments, searching her face for clues she wasn’t giving him. He slid the crystal into one pocket and pulled her close, squeezing her hard. “I hope you know what you’re doing…”

  “I do.” She turned to Darryl. “Take care of him…”

  Darryl put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Well, we both know he can’t take care of himself, so…”

  They turned from her and walked to the Griffins, throwing one leg over their backs and grasping the riding cord strapped around their chest. The beasts stretched their wings and launched themselves into the air, their screech echoing from the mountainside.

  Sa’riya watched them fly away until they were out of sight, then she turned and headed back toward the arch, wiping a single tear from her cheek.

  ***

  Damian Callus couldn’t remember a time when humans hadn’t been at war with the Draggons. He was thirty-five years old, and every year was filled with memories of blood and violence. His father had fought them, and his grandfather before him. His younger brother Vernon was leading the defense of Thalos Plains right now: he hadn’t seen him in months. War has a way of separating families.

  They’d tried reasoning with them, but it’s difficult to have a reasonable discussion with someone trying to kill you, and so they fought on, with no end in sight.

  The Na’Geena were their saving grace; without them and their weapons made from fallen Griffin claws, humans might have died out long ago. But because they had allies in those Draggon-slaying warriors, that didn’t mean they were safe—far from it. The Draggons took the alliance with the Na’Geena as a personal insult: them being their chief enemy.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, am I boring you?”

  It took Damian a few seconds to realize he was the target of the question, lost in daydreams as he was. He sat up in his chair and leaned on the edge of the conference table, focusing his attention on General Haley. “No sir, sorry, I remembered something…”

  “Anything to do with this operation?” Haley asked.

  “No sir, it was nothing, I apologize.”

  “Well, get your head in the game. Your team may have the highest success ratio of all the covert-ops units, but something this bold has never been tried—it won’t be easy.”

  “I’m with you, sir.” Damian smiled.

  Garrick poked him in the ribs and grinned.

  The General continued. “As I was saying, our intelligence is based partly on observation, and partly on magic.”

  “Magic?” Kain focused his good eye on the General, absent-mindedly rubbing the scar that ran from his forehead to his jaw and sewed the other eye closed.

  “Yes.” Haley pushed his chair back and stood. “Seems we have an ally in one of the Gods.”

  “Which one?” Damian asked.

  “That would be me.” Kavan walked into the General’s office from the adjacent sitting-room; wearing gold robes and carrying a polished metal staff with a dull black gem embedded in one end—he waved his hand at them when they tried to stand. “Don’t get up.”

  “Kavan,” Haley saw the blistering look Kavan aimed at him, “Lord Kavan, has agreed to assist us in this operation: it’s the only way you can get inside undetected.”

  “How do we even know that Darkonus will be there?” Garrick turned to Kavan who’d walked to the window. The reddish-yellow light from the suns gleamed off the side of his shaven head.

  He spun around and aimed a black-eyed glare at Garrick. “Because I’ve seen the moment he returns to Krasus Cauldron: the exact time.”

  “And when might that be?” Damian cocked his head.

  “Three days from now, at sunset.”

  “Yellow or red?” Kain asked.

  “Right in the middle, actually,” Kavan leaned the staff against the wall and sat in a large leather chair, “but you won’t know it, because you’ll be deep inside that mountain if everything goes according to plan.”

  Kain pushed his chair back and stood, he made a harrumph-sounding noise and strolled to the shelves behind Haley’s desk; he grabbed a bottle of something amber-colored and a glass.

  “Yeah, this plan…” he poured the liquid into the glass and downed it in one gulp, “is this the best we can come up with?”

  “This is my plan, Sargent,” Haley glared at him, “are you questioning my tactics while you steal my whiskey?”

  “No sir,” he poured one more and returned to his seat, plopping his considerable bulk into the chair and spinning around to face the General, “I’m questioning the wisdom of relying on magic.”

  Garrick nodded and turned toward Kavan. “I have to agree. I don’t understand why a God would be interested in assassinating the Draggon-King. What are you getting from this? No disrespect intended, your lordship…”

  Kavan smiled and nodded. “I can see how you might question my motives, but it’s simple, really. I have nothing against Darkonus. My problem is with the war: every Draggon attack kills followers of mine, and that must stop—this is the most expedient means to accomplish that goal.”

  Kain and Garrick turned to Damian with raised eyebrows.

  “I guess I can understand that.” Damian grabbed Kain’s glass and emptied it. “Why don’t you end it yourself though, why use us?”

  “Draggons are resistant to magic, there’s only so much I can do,” Kavan explained. “The best use of my powers is to put you in a position to kill him; the effect will be exactly the same.”

  There was a long moment of silence as they exchanged looks and nods.

  Damian turned to General Haley and stood. “I guess we need to go see Karl and set that part of the plan in motion…”

  “One last thing.” Kavan reached into his pocket and extracted three silver chains; suspended from each was a shining black stone—he passed them to the warriors. “Wear these, they’ll allow me to find you wherever you might be. You may need them later.”

  “What are they for?” Damian turned the stone over in his hands, he felt a strange pull from it, like electricity running from his fingers into the black pendant; it wasn’t unpleasant, just odd.

  “Tap them twice, and I can transport you back here from anywhere.”

  “Well, that’s handy…” Kain smiled and rubbed his scar.

  ***

  Markus pulled Darkonus to a quiet corner of the Council chamber, looking over his shoulder at the others to ensure they couldn’t be overheard. “You need to win this.”

  Darkonus watched his face and the way he fidgeted: his hands folding and unfolding the pleats in his dark-gray robe. “What’s so important about this? We’ve nev
er cared about the other races. Why did you suggest me for Inquisitor?”

  “Because I know you’ll do what’s necessary.”

  “And you still haven’t told me what that is…” The fire in his eyes lit Markus’ face.

  “She’s different,” Markus said.

  “In what way?”

  “In a dangerous-to-Draggons way.”

  “What do you mean? She’s just another K’Pa. The only difference I see is this one fell in love with a human. We don’t fear them… they can’t hurt us.” Darkonus glanced at Nu’reen. “Most of them, anyway…”

  “You don’t understand, Darkonus. Maybe you will after you hear all the testimony.”

  “I think you may be losing your mind, Markus. You are quite old…”

  Markus’ face twisted in rage and his pupils flared; his fingers circled Darkonus’ throat and raised him from the ground with one arm. “You may be the Draggon-King,” his grip tightened, “but it’s only because I allow it; don’t forget that.”

  Darkonus fell back to the floor. He clutched his throat with both hands, coughing and drawing breath in ragged gasps. He fell against the chamber wall as Markus walked away.

  “Do your job, Darkonus,” Markus glanced over his shoulder, the light flashing off his teeth as he smiled, “or I will find someone who will.”

  ***

  Carion circled the village. Karl didn’t need to guide him: he knew his way home. He landed in the center of the square and waited for Karl to remove the riding-strap. He flew once around the square and headed for the stables the Na’Geena kept for them; Karl whistled at him as he passed. Carion dipped one wing and trilled at him, skimming the treetops as he sailed away.

  Karl walked past the vendors in the central square, waving at the ones he knew and nodding at the few he didn’t. They knew who he was—he wished he knew them all better—but there were too many.

  The road led up to the Chieftain’s cottage: it sat on a low hill overlooking the village. It wasn’t any larger than the other dwellings, but it did have a continuous guard surrounding it. Two Na’Geena warriors flanked the arch that led to his door. He approached the fatter one.

  “Harlas, how’s that wife of yours, I see she’s feeding you well.” Karl slapped him on the belly.

  Harlas laughed and grabbed his wrist. “She told me to insist that you come to dinner at weeks-end. You can’t refuse; she’ll kill me, Karl…”

  “She’s killed you before, I think, yet you seem to survive…” Karl chuckled.

  “That’s because I’m smarter than her.” Harlas leaned closer and whispered. “Please don’t tell her I said that…”

  “How are my children?” Karl asked.

  “Jerain has them in the garden;” Harlas pointed toward the rear of the cottage, “they’re learning about flowers, I think.”

  “Good, Erador could use more beauty.”

  Harlas nodded.

  Karl continued down the path toward the garden. The ground leveled out behind the cottage forming a natural plateau: Jerain had turned it into a living landscape, complete with trellises and arbors. There was a fish pond in there somewhere, though Karl had never seen it—Sa’riya said it was lovely. He found them sitting on a bench, Jerain kneeling before them, holding the petals of a flower in her hand.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked.

  “It’s not as advanced as the other variety…” Jakob said, “the variegation is less pronounced.”

  “That’s true, but do you see these striations along the leaf?” She ran her finger along the bottom of the petal, pointing at the veins. “What does that tell you?”

  “That the growing season is longer?” Harrod asked.

  She smiled at him and shook her head. “No, the distance between the striations indicates their desire for water. The closer you get to the equator, the more of these plants you’ll find, and the striations will be farther apart—”

  Harrod turned and saw his father, he ran to him: a three-foot tall image of himself grabbing his legs. Karl picked him up and tousled his hair.

  “Did you do what you needed?” Jerain asked, lifting Delia from her crib.

  “I’m really not sure,” Karl said. “Sa’riya says I have.”

  “Then you should listen to her,” she smiled.

  “Is mother Ok?” Jakob tugged on Karl’s sleeve.

  “She’s fine right now…” Karl tousled his hair.

  “But maybe not later?” he asked.

  Karl put Harrod down and pointed toward the kitchen. “Go in there, and let me talk to Jerain for a moment.” He looked at Jakob. “You too.”

  Harrod and Jakob disappeared around the corner, and Karl pulled the crystal from his pocket. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  The crystal pulsed with energy: silver magic rising and falling inside.

  “Sa’riya gave you this.” Jerain nodded.

  “How did you know?” he asked.

  “Because I feel her inside it.”

  “I left her on the side of a mountain. She can’t be here…” He stared at the crystal, watching the throbbing silver light inside it.

  Jerain squeezed his arm. “All I can tell you is, keep that crystal safe.”

  “That’s exactly what she said…”

  ***

  Ka’rin looked out over the desolation of Purgatory Steppes and sighed. “This is such a terrible place to be.”

  Jurak nodded and sneezed. “Yes, and there’s a lot of dust…” He sneezed again.

  “You understand why we need to convict her, don’t you?” she asked.

  “I don’t really care, she’s of no interest to the D’jinn.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” He sneezed. “She’s powerful, but we live in different dimensions, why would we be afraid of her?”

  “Because she’s managed to ascend, Jurak—even if she didn’t mean to.”

  “And you K’Pa are going to hold that against her, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “It’s our second law: we cannot blend with lower races, and especially not humans…”

  Jurak crossed his arms and stared at her. “It’s rather short-sighted if you ask me.”

  “We don’t know what will happen to her power,” she said. “Look what she’s already done.”

  “So, kill her now and sort it out later?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry it has to be that way.”

  “I’m not certain it does,” he said.

  “You mean you may vote against us?” Her eyes brightened.

  “I mean,” he sneezed, “I will vote the way I see fit. You can stop your pathetic attempts to influence me now.”

  Ka’rin walked toward the arch, leaving him standing alone at the edge, sneezing. “Don’t forget, Jurak, a danger to one is a danger to all…”

  Act Two

  “I don’t see how I can convict this woman for following her heart,” Darkonus stood and paced in front of the dais, “so let’s dispense with the first charge, shall we?”

  “K’pa law is clear:” Ka’rin pointed at Sa’riya, “she mixed her blood with another race—and a human at that… It’s forbidden.”

  “But, we’re here to determine if there’s an exception,” Jemma leaned forward in her chair, “and the Inquisitor seems to believe there is. If he can see she had no choice, then who are you to deny it?”

  The Councilors mumbled amongst themselves with nodding and shaking heads, mixed with raised eyebrows and curled lips.

  Caree stood. “I think our best course is to focus on the more important of the charges and leave the question of love to those who feel it. We can’t impose a sanction on someone for, as Darkonus said, ‘following their heart’, so I move to grant the exception to the law in this case.”

  “Noted.” Nu’reen banged the gavel one time. “Does everyone agree?”

  “I don’t.” Markus stood and glared at them. “The other charges stem from this one: if she h
adn’t broken this law and ascended, she wouldn’t have been able to violate the others.”

  “But she didn’t intend to increase her powers…” Jemma stared him down. “Some of you have already agreed that intent is a necessary element. She fell in love: the result was inevitable.”

  Caree nodded, and Ka’rin made a noise that sounded like grudging agreement. Jurak remained silent.

  “Markus, if you have the only objection, I will grant the motion to dismiss the first charge.” Nu’reen glanced at him to see if he would disagree, but he sat back down. “Good, that’s taken care of.” Nu’reen laid the gavel on the bench and stood up. She walked to the metal wall and looked at Sa’riya. “Before we move to questions, I want to clarify this next charge, so we all understand what’s at stake.

  “Under K’Pa law, and D’jinn and Fae’rie law, using our powers in a manner that disrupts human reality to a point where they become aware of us—with the obvious exception of those groups we monitor, for whatever reason—is forbidden.

  “As an example: I monitor the progress of the Na’Geena; I’ve identified them as a pivotal group, destined to shape the lives and future of the planet Erador. They’re the prime enemy of the Draggons in this reality, and since the Draggons can’t hide like the rest of us can, they must be monitored.

  “There are other groups in different dimensions: The Freemen, in the Fae’rie’s dimension, and the Zurai, who the D’jinn are responsible for—”

  “And what is it that makes you responsible for these people?” Darkonus leaned against the wall next to her. “I’ve never understood that.”

  “That’s because you don’t have a connection to Yin anymore,” she said.

  “Yin?”

  “The feminine aspect of the Cosmic Mind. Draggons were shut off from it ages ago; before you were born. Markus might remember...” She looked at the Draggon elder; he shrugged and shook his head. “Draggons have never been attuned to the Orphic energy, and that’s where Yin flows. Draggons are only subject to Yang.”