by Lexy Wolfe
"No need to explain." Almek said serenely, "My students had matters well in hand."
"I noticed that," Tyrsan observed, looking over the group. He arched an eyebrow at Jaison, but said nothing regarding his altered appearance. "Bella had contacted me about the message that she correctly assumed had been diverted. I have just verified the dormitory you requested is available and is being readied as we speak." He stopped short, his eyes falling on Taylin, then dropping to her swollen abdomen with a frown of concern. "Are you certain you want them in the upper level quarters, Dusvet? They are rather remote from the rest of the settlement."
"I am quite certain, yes. It has been quite a long day, and I would like to allow my students time to settle in and become familiar with Sanctuary." He glanced at the two desert mounts. "And there is ready access to the outdoors that the drizzen can occupy."
Tyrsan jumped back when the drizar suddenly stuck his nose close, sniffing at him critically. The evil looking creature hissed softly, baring his long teeth before turning away with an indifferent air. His look shifted from beast to Storm. "He likes you," she stated with a shrug.
"Of course," the Dulain replied dubiously, eyes on the beast. He shook his head sharply. "Be that as it may. We will do what we can to accommodate you and your companions, Desanti." He looked to the others, apologetic. "Please, do not think Dremmen is representative of Fortress." His attention was most on Storm and Ash.
"I am familiar with his type," Ash stated, voice tight. He glared in the direction Dremmen had disappeared, standing protectively close to Storm. "I had to deal with many of his sort in Forenta."
Storm sniffed as she put her hand on the drizar's jaw, scratching him absently. The beast lifted his head, making an odd noise like the purring of a cat with a sore throat. "In Desantiva, I used to kill his type." Her companions dissolved into laughter at the Unsvet Guardians' expressions, especially when she looked at them with open incomprehension over their amusement.
From the shadows of a tunnel archway, Dremmen glared at the group for several minutes before he stalked into the darkness.
Part Two
Learning Time
Chapter 1
The feeble flame of a single candle cast its meager light into the darkness, flickering as if cowed by the darker shadow that stood in the black depths. Another far fairer figure paced the room in agitation, the light glinting off of a Guardian mark on his right cheek. "I warned you this day would come," the dark figure intoned threateningly. "It was only a matter of time before Desanti would return to Fortress."
The pacing man stopped, pale eyes flashing in the single candle's light. "I am not worried about a pair of dogs from the desert," Dremmen snapped. "Their kind has always been inferior to my people. My concern is the Illaini Magus. If he can master both Forentan and Guardian magicks--"
The shadowy figure glided over to stand behind Dremmen, its black hands resting casually on the Unsvet Guardian's shoulders, fingernails like claws. The Guardian stiffened as the figure leaned close, its cowl concealing its face in darkness. "You should not so casually dismiss the threat the Desanti pose to my plans."
"You mean our plan," Dremmen dared to correct.
The tips of those claw-like fingernails caressed Dremmen's throat lightly. The Forentan man shuddered and swallowed nervously, tightly closing his eyes. "If it makes you feel better, our plan. But," he added warningly, "if they were as inferior as you claim, they would not have endured the final attack on them at the end of the Great War."
"F-forgive me," Dremmen finally said, voice quavering. "I did not mean t-to doubt you, Master." He deflated with relief when the shadow released him. Unable to quell the urge to banish the sensation of claws by rubbing his throat, Dremmen stated, "I have done all I could to discredit the Dulain's claim of the Desanti's innocence, but he has the Dusvet's favor." Scowling, he vented his outrage at the personal slight. "He dismissed me like some mundane pet in front of everyone in Sanctuary!"
"Patience," the shadow admonished. "These things must be done carefully. Subtlety is the key to deflecting suspicion later and obscuring the divine's ability to see our true intents." The figure leveled a hard look on the Unsvet. "If you wish to become Dulain in Tyrsan's place, you will not fail me, Dremmen."
Dremmen straightened up. "I will not fail you, Master. I swear upon my soul."
The shadow glided close again, a single finger tracing circles over his heart. "Upon your soul? How quaint you should swear upon the only thing of value that you had already sold for your ambitions." Hollow laughter filled the small room as the shadowy figure left.
Dremmen scowled, fists clenched. "I will show you, Master. I will show everyone. I am no one to laugh at!" He angrily swiped at the flame to extinguish it, letting the darkness swallow him.
Chapter 2
In the early morning when few were out in Sanctuary, Jaison emerged from the tunnel onto the second tier above the main level of the mountainside Guardian settlement. The Unsvet paused as his eyes adjusted to the change in light, gaze fixed on the distant, impassable mountain range known as the World Spine.
A patina of greens, browns and white from the late winter snowfall decorated the valley that separated the solitary mountain of Fortress from the dominating wall of ice and rock in the distance. He looked down in the direction of the sister settlement of Sharindel, imagining the daily activity there of the shorter-lived mundane folk who served the Guardians.
"Strange," he mused aloud to himself. "I have spent more of my life here than in Desantiva where I was born." He absently scratched the single, metallic orange mark on his right cheek that marked him an Unsvet Guardian of Time. "And suddenly it feels as foreign to me now as it did then." He held his hand out, studying the natural color he no longer concealed. Dark Vodani olive mixed with the copper of his na'Zhekali father, making him appear to have been cast in bronze. "Perhaps even moreso now." He shook his head sharply to dismiss the moment of reverie. "Best not to keep the Dulain waiting," he muttered. "Or I'll start catching up to Bella on the number of punishment patrol assignments."
Heading towards the end of the terrace furthest from the tunnel, Jaison paused at the gate of the privacy wall surrounding the Dulain of Sanctuary's private courtyard. The na'Zhekali man paused at the gate, listening for a moment before taking a deep breath and entering.
Barefoot, clad in only trousers, Tyrsan swung his quarterstaff as he stepped through his training routine. A bare flick of a glance acknowledged Jaison's presence. The huge man continued his routine until its conclusion. Sun glistened off the Dulain's fearsome musculature as he turned to put the training quarterstaff back on a rack with several others and picking up his usual one. He picked up a towel to dry his face and neck, not looking at Jaison. Only when the tension eased across the Dulain's shoulders did Jaison speak. "You wished to speak with me, Dulain Tyrsan?"
Tyrsan looked over at him, rubbing his brow with the back of his hand. "Yes, Jaison. Come inside." Reaching down to grab his tunic, the one-time soldier headed into the modest house. Resting the staff against the wall, he walked over to the small table in the center of the sparsely decorated room. "Explain," he stated brusquely.
Jaison froze halfway between the table and the door. "Sir? Explain what?"
"This," the man replied, waving his hand at Jaison. "This suddenly looking more like a Desanti than a Vodani. I know Almek specifically requested you be the Desanti's liaison, and I do appreciate your assistance with them. The Desanti woman seems particularly volatile." Jaison suppressed an outright smirk at the understatement. "However, adjusting your physical appearance, however you managed that, is excessive. Being patronizing is no way to win over any true warrior."
Jaison averted his eyes and did not speak immediately. "This was not for them, Dulain. It was..." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I cannot honor my father's people and continue to conceal that part of my heritage. This is my true appearance."
"Your father's people?" Tyrsan echoed, p
erplexed. His expression changed from blank confusion to shocked surprise and finally settled on incredulous indignation. "You said it was your father's blood that allowed you to pierce the veil that hid Almek from scrying. That it was something to do with Desantiva. That was why? You are half Desanti?! And for all these years, you have hidden this from everyone? From me?!" he roared. "Even knowing I have needed someone with Desanti blood to help bring balance to Fortress since before Almek brought you here?!"
Jaison winced as Tyrsan flung his tunic onto the table in frustration. "For the love of gods, why?! Had I given you reason to distrust me when I took you in and mentored you those years when Almek was called away in his duties to the goddess? Or was it from some spiteful grudge against me because I am a warrior who was not born Desanti?"
Green-gold eyes widened and Jaison held up his hands defensively. "No! It was not to spite you, Dulain." He looked away, cheeks flushed with emotion. "You know I was just a boy when Almek found me. Both of my parents were dead. The Desanti Elders took me in because I had no family to take me in, Vodani or Desanti. My father was a Githalin Swordanzen much as Storm and Skyfire are. They are not like other Desanti. And Desanti do not... did not... leave Desantiva. Ever. This has been a very unyielding edict of the Desanti people." He met Tyrsan's eyes unwaveringly. "If the Desanti elders had known I had Desanti blood, they would never have allowed me to leave Desantiva, despite being without a tribe." Gravely, he stated, "Storm and Skyfire said they were not challenged because they are god-touched. They would have killed me first."
The earnestness of Jaison's words gained Tyrsan's undivided attention as the large man's rage faded. "Manipulating my outward appearance was a lesson from the Totani. My father was the one who taught me how to look more like my mother's people to protect myself. In Desantiva, there are those who would have attacked me or my mother to draw my father out into a fight. All na'Zhekali tribesmen are... were distinctive even among the Desanti. To challenge a na'Zhekali was something to be proud of. To defeat one even more, regardless of age." Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers through his hair as he said, more to himself, "He asked me to do it to protect Mother and myself, so he need not worry so much about us."
Tyrsan scowled at that. "They would have challenged a child to the death?"
"To draw out other na'Zhekali? Yes." Jaison pressed his lips together. "Desanti society is... as harsh as the land they live in. Children are fiercely protected by their tribe. My situation was complicated because my mother was not Desanti and my father was Swordanzen who are traditionally not tied to tribes while they bear the title. I had a very faint bond to the na'Zhekali, but to become one, I would have had to fight to earn my place. But then my mother and father both died. I had to remain a Vodani in the elders' eyes, because to be a tribeless Desanti is nearly the same as being a carrier of plagues, but no more able to leave."
"Go on," Tyrsan stated gruffly when Jaison fell silent. "Why did you not return to Desantiva when you had matured? Surely my training would have assured you a place among them?"
"I knew I was needed here. Even a hidden Desanti was a Desanti that helped shore up the instabilities." Tyrsan grunted acknowledgment of the subtle improvements. "And... I was afraid to face my father's people, having grown up away from the tribes."
The big man grunted in acknowledgment. "If Desanti are even half as xenophobic as rumors purport them to be, your fear is justified." Waving Jaison to sit, Tyrsan took out a bottle of whiskey and poured for them both. "Was that mysterious sickness you suffered nearly two decades ago a Desanti borne illness then?" He blinked when Jaison took the glass and drained it in a single swallow at the question, mutely refilling it.
"In a sense, yes. Desanti are born with soul bonds to one another. We can feel each other to some degree. Mine was faint but present without the tribal rituals that would have cemented my ties to Desantiva." Jaison closed his eyes. "When I had fallen ill fifteen years ago and nearly died... that was when the na'Zhekali tribe had been massacred." Finally looking up at Tyrsan, he said quietly, "Storm and I are the last and only members of the na'Zhekali tribe. She performed the ritual that made it fact, not simply birthright."
Tyrsan just stared at Jaison for several minutes, his expression at first sternly disappointed, finally melting into a sympathetic resignation. "All these years, I'd been praying to find someone of Desanti blood. To help set to right the rift left after the Great War. And you were here right under my nose all this time. Ironic that I had no idea my prayers had been answered."
"Forgive me, Dulain, but why a Desanti? Aside from the rift instabilities, what could a Desanti do that others could not?"
Tyrsan pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. "Because they need to be vindicated from the accusations that they abandoned Fortress and our goddess. I am sure only another Desanti would be able to find what the others had hidden."
"Dulain, I doubt I would have been much help." Jaison smiled wanly and shrugged. "I probably will not be much help now. I was a child when I left. I was not raised Vodani, and even the Elders did not know I had Desanti blood." He laughed wryly and held out his hands. "By Desanti traditions, I am still a child, even though Storm is barely more than a child herself."
"A child?" Tyrsan leaned forward curiously. "At your age?"
"You are not an adult in Desantiva until you go into the desert and the Totani approve of you and give you a name." Jaison held his hands out in a helpless gesture at the oddity. "As Storm teaches me about my father's people, I will teach her about being a Guardian. Storm... she is the answer to your prayers, not me." He smiled faintly. "She is a proud woman. You would like her. Or you'll try to kill each other."
Tyrsan snorted. "I have more self control than that. But I will duly note her temper and make efforts not to instigate her. Knowingly, at least." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will not be able to help if I unknowingly incite her to a physical attack."
Jaison paused thoughtfully. "She is Githalin Swordanzen, Dulain. Githalin are both teachers and warriors. She would teach you about the Desanti. But you must ask. As my father used to say, it is a waste of time trying to teach those who refuse to learn."
"Ask her, hm?" Tyrsan sat back, thoughtful. "I have heard she is fairly impressive with those swords of hers."
Jaison smiled inwardly, remembering how his heart nearly stopped the first time he witnessed true Swordanzen training. "You should take the opportunity to watch her and Skyfire il'Kailee spar. I have no words to describe them." Tyrsan mused, lost in thought at the possibilities.
Chapter 3
Lounging back in his chair and propping his booted feet on the long dining table, Emil stretched. "Ye know, if'n we had not walked fer days through tunnels t'get here, I'd ha' not guessed this be a cave." He smirked when Taylin walked over and smacked his feet off the table, his chair dropping back to four feet.
"Emil is a man of eloquent and excessive exaggerations," Mureln quipped, easily catching the bread roll the wiry gypsy flung at him playfully. "I rather like the remoteness of this dormitory from the rest of Sanctuary, especially the lack of an outdoor access to the balcony ledge. Even a bard likes peace and quiet sometimes."
"Yet you traveled with Emil for a decade," Ash commented blandly as he joined the gathering group for breakfast. Without even looking up from his drink, he reached out to catch the roll the gypsy flung at him. He glanced up as Unsvets Bella and Jaison walked through the tunnel entrance, nodding in greeting to the two.
The Vodani woman threw her arms out wide, smiling brightly. "Good morning, Elite Adepts of the Guardians of Time! How are you?!" Jaison rolled his eyes, shaking his head at her exuberance.
"Obviously not smokin' whatever you been," Emil muttered loudly, drawing chuckles from those who gathered at the table. Bella only smiled and blew Emil a kiss, winking at him when his smirking, mute brother Emaris elbowed him. "Ain't right t'be so bubbly. What th' hells has ye so cheerful?"
"Why, because today is the day all of you will be
assessed by a Dahla." Bella poured herself a glass of water and sat in one of the empty chairs. "The Dulain loves Almek as much as we all do, but he wants an objective assessment before assigning each of you mentors." She looked around curiously. "Where is my pretty little archer? I have been so looking forward to finally having someone to teach my art to!"
"Bella, you're being presumptuous," Jaison admonished. "At least wait until after the assessment before claiming a student?" The newly made na'Zhekali tribesman could not help but look around curiously, the group missing only Lyra and the pair of Githalin Swordanzen. "It is very strange to have a complete bayuli-volsha now. I can sense Storm through our tribal bond as if she were right here."
"That is because I am right here," Storm pointed out blandly from behind the copper-marked Unsvet. The others laughed as Jaison and Bella jumped and spun around to stare at the slight Desanti woman. Behind her from the tunnel, Lyra and Skyfire walked in hand in hand, both laughing at the pair of Unsvets.
"By the mistress, I think my heart skipped a beat," Bella complained, a hand on her chest. "Where in the world did you come from?"
Before Storm opened her mouth to reply, Jaison quickly clarified, "Where did you come from just now." He smiled roguishly at Bella. "We know you came from Desantiva."
Bella blinked, stared between Jaison and Storm, then threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, for gods' sake, you mean it is a Desanti thing to be so literal? I thought it was just you being you when you were a boy, Jaison."
Storm raised an eyebrow at Jaison, her arms crossed as she stated blandly in Desanti, "I knew what she was asking. She talks like all Northerners do."
