“Thank you,” Dariana says to the boy as she stands. “What’s your name?”
“I’m three!”
“Okay . . . Three.”
The confused woman gently rubs her aching ears, feeling a few dribbles of blood seep onto her cheek. The nomads are busy preparing food for tomorrow’s journey and repairing any tents that were damaged by a brief sandstorm. Her head is still fuzzy as she walks to the large central tent of beautiful, ivory cloth that shimmers in Tavon’s blue moonlight. Armed guards stand at attention at the entrance and they point their spears at Dariana. As if someone has ordered them to stand down, they shift back to their original position and obediently stare ahead. Keeping her eyes on the warriors, she steps into the tent and quickly seals the flap when she sees the carnage around her.
A low table has been overturned and the hammock that Sharne sleeps in is still wildly swinging in a breeze that does not exist. Pillows appear to have been burrowed into by animals and their stuffing is strewn across the rugs. Splotches of dark green ooze are on the walls and they drip to the floor in the form of long feathers. It takes Dariana a few minutes to find Sharne curled beneath a pile of quilts, only her bare foot visible from the correct angle. The woman is barely conscious as she is carried to the middle of the tent and gently laid on a long pillow that has survived the destruction.
“What happened here?” Dariana asks, snapping her fingers at the hammock. The hanging bed stops and dangles limply from the supporting beams. “It looks like someone tried to attack you, but the guards did nothing. Although, I see aura residue on the walls, which means your attacker was not normal.”
“There was no attacker so to speak,” Sharne whispers, pushing herself into a sitting position. Shining aura streaks her face, which she wipes away with a nearby cloth. “As the Palqua, I am connected to the scepter and the beasts inside. We share an essence, which is why I know they are in Bor’daruk.”
“Did something happen to them?” Dariana asks as she pours a cup of water for the holy woman. “I can share your pain if need be.”
“You’re kind, but too quick to offer help,” the other woman responds while sipping at the cool drink. Her face is covered in scratches, especially her cheeks and neck. “Another of the beasts has been killed, which means the great monster within is closer to being free. Due to my connection, the death makes me feel like my very core is being torn apart. It is something I never expected because no other Palqua has had to suffer in such a fashion. So thank you for offering help, but this is my burden.”
“I heard you screaming in my head. Please do not hesitate to seek me out for support if it happens again.”
Dariana flips to her feet and wanders around the tent to clean the aura residue off the walls with steady waves of her hand. She collects the glowing slime in her arms and tries to turn it into a ball, but it takes the form of a griffin sitting on its haunches. A flash of Luke passes through her mind and she drops the aura, letting it splatter across the floor and onto her feet. Her throat dry, the startled woman grabs another glass and greedily drinks several cups of water from a barrel in the corner.
“I see,” Sharne says as she finds the strength to stand. The puddle of aura flows toward her and disappears within her shadow, giving her dark skin a healthier shine. “The griffin that killed the guardian was one of your friends. I sensed something different about her when she attacked and touched my mind. It would appear she is being manipulated into freeing the horror of the scepter. We can assume your other friends are involved too. From the stories you and Nyx have told me, I’m sure they’re unaware of the danger.”
“Then explain it to me,” Dariana says, bowing to the holy woman. She falls to one knee and puts her hands out with her palms facing the ceiling. “Nyx and I have not pushed for information on the scepter. She has taken to using your library to do research, but I know there are some things that only you would know. Please tell me so that I may warn my friends as soon as they’re within the range of my powers.”
With a flourish of her green skirt, Sharne turns her back on Dariana and stares at a paper lantern. The candle flickers behind the white covering and sparks float out of the bottom. They circle the holy woman, steadily becoming a swarm of lights that blocks her from view. Whispers fill the air and Dariana senses that she is being observed by unseen eyes. The touch of invisible hands lingers on the edge of her awareness, disappearing whenever she attempts to focus on the sensation. Her heart stutters when a skeletal figure steps out of the sparks and extends a boney hand to her. Trusting the holy woman, she grips the creature’s fingers and is drawn into the shimmering cyclone.
No longer in the tent, Dariana finds herself next to Sharne and surrounded by a council of aura-coated skeletons. The ghostly beings stand in a circle around them, nothing else but pristine dunes extending in every direction. All but one of the eerie figures are clothed in beautiful robes that are similar to the billowing ones of the Helgardians. The shortest skeleton stands upon a small dune, wearing the crimson and sapphire robes of a Celvaryn priest. Sparks and tiny pieces of hail sputter from the wand emblem etched into the creature’s wide forehead. Wisps of hair are on its head, a few of them catching fire and burning down to the skull. The odd display gets more chaotic as the figure hops off the dune and marches toward the two women.
“Don’t be scared, Dariana,” Sharne whispers with a pleasant smile. “These are the former Palqua of my tribe. I don’t know their living names, but they have all held my position. They will show you what you wish to know.”
“This is not the one we wished to see!” the skeleton declares in a high-pitched, feminine voice. The Wild Magic Goddess’s symbol explodes in a shower of fire and ice, threatening to harm the living women. “I thought you were bringing the other champion. We can already sense her presence and demand she be brought to us.”
“And I told you that Nyx is not interested in meeting you,” the proud nomad argues to Dariana’s surprise. “I made the offer and she refused. This is another champion who wishes to know about the Beast of Palqua.”
The short skeleton stomps her foot in the sand and turns to face the others. Chattering teeth communicate with chaotic changes in the speed and volume of their noise. It is clear that the council is debating, but Dariana cannot decipher the discussion. She attempts to scan the mind of the short skeleton, but is immediately fed the images of an ogre devouring her face. The vivid vision snaps her back to her own mind and she finds the council staring at her with a renewed sense of curiosity.
“You’re the one we never saved,” the skeletal priestess whispers, getting closer to the silver-haired champion. She touches the woman’s belly and shies away, spitting at the shifting ground and bowing. “You are the crossing of purity and evil. An abomination of necessity that my allies and I chose to ignore in exchange for my bold idea.”
“You were a champion,” Dariana whispers in disbelief.
“I was the most powerful and the greatest failure of our kind.”
“Then please tell me about the scepter.”
“It is not your place to know.”
“I’m a champion, so it is my knowledge to have!”
“Not the right one.”
Sharne clears her throat for attention and bows to the robed skeleton, her hair touching the sand. “I apologize for this and will try to convince Nyx to meet with you. I’m sure we can figure something out. Dariana will help us.”
“Go back to your minds and let me handle the channeler when the time is right,” the skeleton says, turning its back on the women. It tucks its hands into its sleeves and floats back onto the small dune. “It is inevitable that the scepter will fall into this champion’s hands after all the guardians have been dispatched. Once that happens, bring her to Helgard before my creation awakens. Only then can the total destruction of the desert, and possibly all of Ralian, be avoided.”
“So the Beast of Palqua can only be contained within the temple?” Dariana politely asks. All of th
e skeletons laugh and the short one appears in front of her face. “I was under the impression that this beast would burn the desert if set free. Why do you find my question laughable?”
“Oh, my creation will cause great damage, but it is not the true threat,” the undead priestess whispers, grinning a lipless smile. “The channeler may pose even more danger to Windemere. Imagine what would happen if she learned the truth behind the beast. Her people are prone to fits of god-like rage when their own kind has been harmed. We will have to contend with two beasts of magic so powerful that the gods themselves might be forced to get involved.”
“I will talk to-” the silver-haired woman starts before she freezes. Her mind is blank and she collapses into Sharne’s arms, the holy woman nodding at the skeleton.
“I am glad to see she does not remember her first encounter with me,” the boney phantom says with a relaxed sigh. “She is not to know the truth behind my creation. I shall remove your power if you betray my trust, Palqua.”
“I swear, milady, that this will be our secret.”
The sands swirl around the two women and the skeletons disappear into the storm, replaced by the walls of the tent. Sharne drags the unconscious champion to the hammock and struggles to put her inside. She frowns at the sight of dirty boots in her favorite bed, but she can only imagine the amount of sand that would fall out if she removed them. With a tired sigh, she goes about cleaning her tent, always keeping a watchful eye on Dariana’s thoughts.
*****
“I’m sorry I woke you up with something you can’t help me with. I didn’t know you had a rough day, mom, or that you were doing paperwork, dad. Though I’m pretty sure that means you were drinking or napping,” Nyx says with her head pressed against the tabletop. She rubs her amethyst necklace, the gem glowing in her hand. “I’m not being a smartass or whatever it is you called me in Draconic. Don’t yell at him, mom, because you called me an idiot ten times yesterday when I checked in with you. Yes, charging a Spurge should only be done if my brain has been replaced with a bowl of cold oatmeal. I’m not taking a tone with her! You fight with her all the time, dad. Technically, you two still aren’t married, so that excuse doesn’t work. Okay, okay, okay! I’m sorry I took that shot and I’ll never say it again. What do you mean you’ve been discussing a real date? Have you two been talking without me? Yes, I know you’re adults and I made these necklaces to let any combination of us talk. I just thought I should be included in something that big. At least before you get that far along. You two aren’t any easier to get in touch with than me! Not my fault I have to save the world. No, I’m not trying to exaggerate my purpose to guilt trip you, mom. I hear you laughing, dad! Luke’s still alive, Sari’s not in jail, Timoran is still Timoran, and Delvin . . . No . . . I don’t . . . It isn’t like that . . . I’d never . . . I’ve got to go and finish my research. Love you both. Night.”
Nyx softly bangs her head on the table, sending glittering sparks into the air with every impact. She stops when a delicious scent strikes her nose and her stomach rumbles. The realization that she has not eaten since lunch makes her hunger even worse, so she happily turns her head to face Misrae as he enters the small tent. The smiling Tribe King places a large plate of skewered mutton in front of the caster who snatches a piece before he removes his hand. The mug of cold water he offers her is sloppily drained and she wipes her mouth on the sleeve of her yellow shirt, earning a grimace of disappointment from her host.
“You’re not much on manners, Lady Nyx,” Misrae politely says as he takes a seat at the circular table. He looks at the six neatly organized bookshelves that sit within the tent. “It appears you cleaned up our library and sorted everything. I see category labels too. Thank you for taking the time.”
“The mess was driving me crazy,” the half-elf mumbles with a mouthful of juicy food. A stern glance from the dark-skinned man makes her swallow the mutton and bow her head. “I’m sorry for the rudeness. I was starving and frustrated. Thank you for bringing me some dinner again. I promise I’ll pay attention to the time and my stomach tomorrow. After all, you don’t have to watch over me, Misrae.”
“I still feel sorry for how I treated you during our first encounter,” he states, cautiously taking a piece of meat from the plate. “It was disrespectful to the woman who may be able to bring my tribe to our ancestral home. That is why I have accepted the responsibility of making sure you are comfortable. At the very least, fed, bathed, and rested.”
“I’d appreciate it if you don’t try to take that second item into your own hands. Though I guess I do need to wash up since we’re near a pond. I’ll take Dariana with me.”
“She is busy with the Palqua for the night, so I will have some guards watch over you when you wish to go,” Misrae declares while he licks the tangy sauce from his fingers. He sees a glint of anxiety in her eyes and smiles at her. “I promise they will all be female. My people are not very concerned with being naked in front of each other due to bathing being a luxury. I shouldn’t expect you to feel the same way.”
“Thank you and I’ll try not to take long.”
Nyx burns the sauce off one of her hands and reaches to a shelf for one of the few books she has not memorized. Laying it out on the table, she goes back to her dinner while flipping pages with a casual wind spell. Misrae watches her lips move as he refills her mug and claims another piece of mutton. The lantern dims slightly, snapping the caster out of her trance and causing her to flick three floating flames into existence.
“What is it you’re looking for?” the Tribe King interrupts while he offers a handful of dried fruit to the half-elf. She blindly grabs a few raisins, so he places the rest on the table. “You told me yesterday that you found very little about the scepter, so I’m confused on why you’re still in our library. Is there something else that has caught your attention?”
“The scepter research is a dead end,” Nyx admits, rubbing her eyes with her only clean knuckle. She stares blankly at one of the floating lights above her head until Misrae knocks on the table. “I found a few mentions of Helgard, so I’ve been gathering as much as I can about my temple. Most of it is useless like a list of names, a few mentions of treasure, and what I think is a crude picture of a dragon named Cudgel.”
“The dragon sounds important because you’re now aware of the danger,” the nomad points out in an attempt to be helpful. At the sight of her annoyed glare, he leans back and holds out his hands. “I apologize. I’m sure you have very little to worry about when it comes to natural dragons and most are benevolent creatures. What was the useful information?”
“Why is it taking so long to get to Bor’daruk?”
Misrae nearly chokes on his water and covers his mouth to avoid spraying it on any of the books. He coughs and hacks to get the liquid out of his throat, pounding on his chest for no other reason than it seems like the right thing to do. A few tears run down his face and he wipes them away with a napkin. With a deep breath, the Tribe King regains his composure and looks Nyx in the eye to confidently defend his actions. Instead, he sees a rolling flame in the middle of her violet orbs and decides a simple explanation would be safer.
“We’ve had to take a winding route to the city because of the political situation among the nomad tribes,” Misrae explains as he goes to pull a long scroll off a shelf. He unrolls it to revel a map of the desert with oddly shaped patches of color covering the region. “The other large tribes have been in the desert longer than the Helgardians. We became nomads when we were exiled from your temple and we were made nobility for some reason. This has caused some bad blood between us and the other tribes, but the scepter kept the peace because of the legends surrounding it. Without our holy relic, we are open to attacks, so we have been using scouts, birds, and the Palqua to keep an eye on our enemies. It has caused us to backtrack and progress at a cautious pace. Please understand that we have children and elderly who need to be defended in case of an attack.”
Nyx places a gentle hand o
n the man’s tattooed head as she has seen other nomads do when being respectful. “It wouldn’t be right for me to demand that you put my family ahead of your tribe. I trust that we’ll get there soon. Looks like another day or two if we go straight through that green patch. With me around, you won’t have to worry about being attacked. I can be surprisingly intimidating.”
“You have my people’s thanks and loyalty. Do you wish to share your findings?”
“Your tribe was forced to leave Helgard because of one of the champions,” Nyx answers as she grabs the last piece of mutton. She heats the meat with a quick burst of flame and takes a bite out of it, the fire still crackling on her tongue. “I can’t pronounce the person’s birth name, but he called himself The Crafter. His specialty was modifying creatures and making golems, so he tried to make a living weapon to kill our enemy. It backfired and everyone involved was killed when they sealed the creature into the scepter. The other monsters of the temple were used as layered guardians to contain the Beast of Palqua. Any of this sound familiar?”
“It’s remotely similar to a children’s story about the noble beasts of the many tribes joining forces to defeat the fire demon,” Misrae admits with an amused smile. “It would appear your destiny is tied to the fate of my tribe. I hope we can finish our business with the Grasdons without bloodshed and swiftly escort you to Helgard. Do you want any help with piecing together your findings?”
Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) Page 22
