by Allan Cole
Safar strayed so far away from the others that Leiria admonished him, saying it was his duty as their leader to keep himself safe. Safar knew she was right, but despite several promises to stay close he kept forgetting and giving Khysmet his head and then there was no telling how many miles he might travel before he remembered his last promise.
One day she swore she'd stay with him herself and she brought along a spare horse so she could switch back and forth to keep them both fresh. By nightfall she'd worn out both animals and herself and it was all she could do to prop herself up to eat when dinner was ready.
Safar had gone to some trouble for her, catching a brace of pheasants and roasting them over the fire with wild herbs to sweeten the flesh.
She sighed, saying, "This is when I miss palace life. All those servants to tend your every need. If we were in Zanzair right now, I'd snap my fingers and order up strong wine and a good massage and then I'd have them carry my poor boneless body to the bed, where'd they'd tuck me in for the night."
"I can help you with the wine," Safar said, popping the stopper off a flask and pouring her a cup. He handed it to her, grinning. "I'd best not offer my services as a masseur. Not if we want to remain just friends, that is."
Leiria laughed. "A lot of good it would do you," she said. "I'm so tired you'd be sleeping with a corpse."
"There's nights when that wouldn't stop me," Safar joked, "and let's just say this is one of those nights."
Leiria gave him a look. "You don't want to start something you can't finish, Safar Timura," she said. "So don't tease a woman who still has delicate feelings for you."
"I know that, my dear, dear Leiria," Safar replied. "It's only how I'm feeling tonight, which I can't help."
Leiria yawned, sleep suddenly very hard to resist. "We need to find you a woman, Safar," she said. "We need to…" and she fell asleep in midsentence.
Safar watched her for awhile, admiring her clear strong features and inviting figure. He thought of the days-and nights-when they were lovers, then the memories became too disturbing and he rolled up in his blanket and tried to follow her into sleep. He drifted for a time, thinking of nothing, then he heard Khysmet nicker, soft, not in alarm, but calling, calling…
…And Safar was astride Khysmet, riding through a soft wood full of trailing ferns and sweet mosses. The air was misty, almost raining. They came upon a small glen filled with wildflowers and nourished by a musical brook.
Khysmet whinnied and Safar saw something moving through the mist and then it swirled away and the most marvelous woman he'd ever seen floated into view. The mist parted more, like a veil being drawn back, and with a shock he saw she was riding the remarkable black mare he'd seen in the vision.
Then his eyes were drawn back to the woman. She was achingly, exotically beautiful. She had long limbs and ebony skin with long waves of hair tumbling to her waist. She was nearly naked, wearing only a loin cloth and a light chain vest that swung open as she rode, showing her long torso and small, shapely breasts. She had a bow over her shoulder, along with a quiver of heavy arrows. Strapped to her waist was a short, broad-bladed sword.
Khysmet snorted, shifting back and forth as his blood warmed at the sight and scent of the mare. Then the rider and her steed sensed their presence and froze. Both turned to peer through the mist.
Safar felt a thrilling jolt as his eyes met the woman's. They were large and dark and full of wary interest as she examined him in turn. Her face was long, with high cheekbones, brows like black swallow wings, a slender nose slightly hooked over a sensuous mouth.
He saw that mouth twitch with humor and then the woman raised her hand to him as if in greeting.
Safar waved back and started forward, Khysmet quivering under him, filled with burning thoughts of getting closer to that mare.
The woman laughed-it was a rich husky laugh, a laugh out of the deep places in the forest, full of mystery and delight and no little danger. She wheeled the mare about and plunged back toward the wood and the mist swallowed her up. Safar heard the laughter trailing behind her and he urged Khysmet forward.
The stallion didn't need the urging and he exploded after the mare, crossing the meadow in a single jump and plunging into the mist.
It was a delicious chase, a chase full of thrills and near encounters that only added to the fire burning in both man and horse. The mare was Khysmet's equal and the woman was more than Safar's match when it came to pure riding. She led him on a merry hunt through the forest. Sometimes she'd let him draw near then dash away under branches so low Safar was nearly swept off, while she ducked down and easily evaded them. Or she'd disappear for so long he'd be hurled into depression thinking he'd lost her, then she'd burst out of a grove, hold the mare just long enough for Safar to get near, then wheel and dash away again.
Finally they came to the forest's edge and the mysterious horsewoman cantered out. There was a long patch of narrow ground bordered by a steep cliff. Safar's heart tripped when he saw she could go no further.
Then she turned her mare to face him, dropping the reins as if to show the chase was over. The mare nickered for the stallion and Khysmet trotted forward, eager to join her.
The closer Safar came, the more beauteous and exotic the dark stranger seemed. Her long arms and legs were remarkably graceful. Her ebony skin gleamed as if it were burnished and her smile was a bright welcoming light. But it was her eyes which captivated him most, so wide and dark and full of humor.
When he came within twenty feet or so, she raised her hand again. "Please stop," she said, in a voice that was low and full of warmth.
Safar did as she asked but his heart was with Khysmet, who grunted in protest when he reined him in. He obeyed but with great reluctance and once again Safar was struck by the horse's strength of purpose.
Any other stallion would have thrown Safar off and hurled himself upon the dancing mare.
"So you're the famous Safar Timura," the woman said. She looked him up and down and seemed to like what she saw. "I must say, I'm certainly not disappointed."
"Who are you, my lady?" Safar asked. "Please grant me the boon of your name."
She laughed and shook her head. "Why, I can't tell you that," she said teasingly, "for if you knew it I could deny you nothing."
Safar's mouth became dry, his throat parched as a desert thicket.
The woman tossed her head, tresses floating in the wind. "Oh, but I probably shouldn't worry about that,"
she said. "If I were pleasing to look upon, perhaps I'd have reason to worry. But as it is…" a graceful hand swept down and up, indicating her lovely form … "I fear I'm too plain for one such as you."
"Who said you were plain?" Safar said. "Tell me and I swear that great liar will soon lack a tongue for so offending you."
Another musical laugh. "Only my sisters, Safar Timura, and it would be a vast relief if I had sisters without tongues. They're such dull-witted chatterboxes. But I think my mother would object, so, alas, I must refuse your kind offer to rid them of the means to torment me."
"I am the one in torment, my lady," Safar said. "To be kept in ignorance of one such as you is the deepest of miseries. If you can't find it in your heart to say your name, at least tell me your reason for being here.
Are you lost? Is there some way I can assist you?"
Her ripe lips twisted in amusement. "Lost? I think not. A Spirit Rider is never lost!" A small laugh.
"Although one of my sisters was confused for a month or two. But that's because she dallied with a handsome lad and forgot her duty. My father punished her-much too mildly in my opinion."
Safar goggled. Spirit Rider? He'd never heard of such a thing.
"As for assisting me," she continued, "it's my duty to assist you, Safar. My father sent me to warn you of grave danger."
Now it was Safar's turn for amusement. "Danger? How unusual." he said dryly. "What, pray tell, could be a greater danger than Iraj Protarus?"
The woman frowned, "Protarus? I d
on't know this name." Then her face cleared. "Ah," she said, "you mean the strange one who pursues you."
"The very one," Safar said.
"I can't say if you will survive this Protarus fellow," she said. "He's a shape changer in league with other shape changers so it's impossible to predict the outcome."
"Then I repeat the question, my lady," he said. "What could be worse than Iraj Protarus?"
"You will meet it in Caluz," she said. "There you will face a challenge as great as the shape changer and all his armies."
Safar's heart raced. "But I must go there!" he said harshly. "Lord Asper commanded it!" Intuitively he knew she understood who Asper was.
"Of course, you must!" the woman exclaimed. "Otherwise you'll never reach Syrapis."
"Then what's the sense of the warning?" Safar asked. "I already know Caluz is dangerous."
"It's much worse than you think, Safar Timura," she said. "Whatever preparations you have in mind-double them!"
"I will," Safar said.
"One other thing," the woman said. "My father bade me to say that what you seek to defeat your enemy-this Iraj Protarus, I presume-can be found at the temple in Caluz."
"You mean the oracle?" Safar asked. "The Oracle of Hadin? I know something about-"
She stopped him with a raised hand. "I can say no more. Go to Caluz just as you planned," she said.
"Accomplish what you intend to accomplish. But remember, Safar Timura, in Caluz all is not as it seems.
Seek the truth beyond the veil of lies."
Suddenly the woman and the mare began to fade. "I have to go," she said.
"Wait!" Safar shouted.
She shook her head, becoming fainter and fainter until she was like a ghost. She waved to him.
"Farewell, Safar Timura," she cried, then turned the mare and plunged toward the cliff.
The woman and her steed were translucent, now. At the cliff's edge the mare leaped high.
The woman shouted, "Until we meet again!"
"Where shall we meet?" Safar cried after her. "Where?"
She vanished, but her answer was left floating in the air:
"Syrapis!"
Safar came awake with a start. Across from him, Leiria was still sleeping peacefully. He glanced at the campfire and was surprised to see it exactly the same as when he'd fallen asleep. The vision had seemed so long, yet only a few seconds had passed.
He rose quietly and went out to where Khysmet was tethered. The stallion perked up his ears as he approached, but he stood quietly, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
Safar laid his head against the horse, stroking the sensitive nose. "Were you there?" Safar whispered.
"Did you see?"
Khysmet huffed and stamped his feet, switching his tail back and forth.
Leiria called out. "Is something wrong, Safar?"
"No, Leiria," Safar answered. "Nothing's wrong. Go back to sleep."
He stroked Khysmet. "Syrapis," he whispered. "Syrapis."
Palimak was bored. Day after day he rode with the small group of wagons making up the Timura family caravan with little to do but get into mischief. The roadside scene passed so slowly and with so little change that the smallest thing became major entertainment. A rodent dashing across the track, an ox lifting its tail to defecate and birds taking a dust bath were among the more stirring sights he'd seen that day.
It wasn't so bad for the older children, he thought. They got to run around the wagons, or dash off into the fields to explore and play games. Sometimes they'd disappear all day and wouldn't catch up to the main caravan until nightfall. Oh, how he wished he could go with them. Why one of his cousins had seen a bear and her cubs just the other day. Now, wouldn't that've been something to see? Maybe he could've made a pet of one of the cubs, or at least played with it a little, What really offended him was that his cousin was a girl. This made life seem even more unfair.
There was little privacy when on the road, so he couldn't play with Gundara and Gundaree as much as he'd like. The Favorites hated it when so many people were around and tended to be grumpy when he summoned them. Always complaining that people could peek into the covered wagon anytime they wanted.
To Palimak it seemed as if he was always getting into trouble, especially when he played with his magic.
Although he never meant any harm, sometimes things just didn't go as planned and he was always being scolded as if he'd done it on purpose.
He was still sulking over an incident earlier in the day. After his grandmother had put out the wagon fire he'd explained quite plainly that he'd only been trying to help. But she didn't listen-they never listened! — and he'd gotten the scolding of his life and was banished to the smelly old supply wagon.
"Now, let's see what mischief you can get up to in there, Palimak Timura," his grandmother had said in her most scornful tones. "I'm sorry there's nothing but moldy flour and wormy corn to occupy your Lordship. Now maybe you'll have time now to think about all the heartache and worry you're causing me."
"I'm sorry, Grandmother," he'd said in his most contrite manner. Unfortunately, she wasn't so easily soothed.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mocked. "When I'm in my grave from the worry you've caused me you'll know what sorry really is!"
Palimak poked a finger at a damp floursack. He didn't know what she was so upset about. It hadn't been that big of a fire, after all. And he could easily have put it out himself. If he could've remembered the fire putter outter spell, that is.
He still didn't know what had gone wrong with his experiment. The whole idea had originated with his grandmother's and aunts' complaints about how dark it was in the wagons. There was always a lot of mending to be done and they said they were going blind from sewing in such dimness. Because of the danger of fire and the roughness of the road no one was permitted to burn an oil lamp while the wagons were moving.
Bored as he was, Palimak became intensely interested in their difficulties. Interest turned to a child's concern for his loved ones. What would his grandmother do if she were blind? And his aunts, what if they couldn't even see their children to kiss them? So he'd turned his agile little mind full force on the problem.
Instinctively, he went at it backwards. What was the result he wanted? That was easy, he wanted light without having to burn anything. There were two ways to go at that, he'd decided. The first would be to take the light out of the fire and throw the fire away. You could then pour the light into bowls, or something, or even glass jars with stoppers on them so the light couldn't escape if it were so inclined.
Probably the jars would be best, he thought. For reasons he couldn't explain he imagined light might be pretty rebellious and would always be trying to run away.
The second method would be to somehow trap the light. You could catch it in some kind of net, or whatever, as it ran away from its source-the sun or a campfire-then you could store it in great big casks with spigots like wine barrels. Then whenever you needed some light all you had to do was turn the spigot and fill up a jar.
He could envision his grandmother and aunts with jars of lights all around them, sewing away with no trouble at all and praising him for being such a smart and thoughtful little boy. The image pleased him immensely and he worked even harder.
He'd quickly dismissed the idea of trapping light and storing it. The trouble with light was that it was even runnier than water and much thinner so you'd have to have really big, big barrels, maybe even bigger than a house-which was the largest object he could imagine-to hold just a little bit. Which wouldn't last very long either, so that was really stupid. Fine, then. He'd try to separate the light from fire and see what happened.
This feat proved to be surprisingly easy. Oh sure, Gundara and Gundaree helped, but it was his idea and he'd done most of the real work. One night after everyone had gone to sleep he'd filled a bowl with oil, lit it with a candle, then summoned his Favorites. After a few false starts due to the usual quarrels between the two, he'd cast the spell.
"Come out, little light," he crooned. "Come and play with Palimak. We'll have lots of fun and good things to eat and you won't have to smell that stinky oil all the time. Come out, little light. Come out and play with Palimak."
He scooped his hands forward, skimming across the wavery fire and to his amazement he suddenly had a double palmful of light spilling onto the tent floor. It made little glowing puddles with scattered drops all around. Then the light began to fade-running away, as Palimak thought of it-and he quickly turned a jar upside down over the largest puddle. Inside the jar the light was only a soft glow at first, then it suddenly became much brighter.
Palimak clapped his hands with glee. He'd done it! He looked over at the bowl of oil. There was no light coming from it now. But he could smell the burning oil and when he put his hand close he could still feel the heat of the fire.
That night Palimak slept the peaceful sleep of a smart little boy, a kind little boy, a boy who'd just saved his grandmother and aunts from blindness. He'd smiled to himself as he slept, the jar of light clutched in his arms, dreaming of all the hugs he'd get and all the nice things they'd say about him.
When he awoke the light was gone. Palimak was in a panic trying to figure out what had happened. The stopper was on tight. The spell he'd used to enforce the jar's light-holding properties was still strong.
Then he'd looked at the bowl of oil and saw that it was empty and the invisible fire was no longer burning.
Palimak frowned. It seemed obvious that although he'd separated the light from the fire, some connection had remained. When the fire had burned up its fuel the light in the jar had gone out. Well, that was no good. You still had the same problem as before, which was that you can't have a fire in a moving wagon.
But, wait! Nobody said anything about outside the wagon.
Palimak had labored until late that night working on the solution. The next morning-this very morning, in fact, this most boring of all days with its almost squashed rodent, stupid oxen and dusty birds-he'd put his plan to its first, and final, test. A brass burner was suspended beneath a rarely used wagon. A fire was lit, a small one so no one would notice. Light went into a jar. And the jar was hidden under Palimak's coat until the caravan set off and he was alone in the wagon. Then out it came, glowing very nicely, although maybe only enough for one person to sew by. So what? That was no problem! He could make a jar for each of them, being sure to hang the same number of burners under the wagon. Then when the light got dim all somebody had to do was jump off the wagon, toss more fuel into the burners and the light would be strong again. Palimak figured he'd volunteer to do the jumping off to start with. Later on someone else could do it, like that cousin of his who thought she was so smart because she'd seen a bear with its cubs. As if anybody couldn't do that!
