by Jean Johnson
“What . . . what is that thing?”
“Fae magic. Help me get the taje-ul into her armor,” Adan stated, setting the bag on the floor.
It took a few minutes, but most of it went on easily enough with a bit of pointing and murmured instructions. Greave-covered boots for her lower legs and vambraces for her forearms, cops for her knees and elbows. The scale mail shirt had to have its side clasps loosened to fit over her belly, but it was designed to be modular, with extra layers overlapping at the seams, so in the end there were still no gaps.
With the pauldrons buckled over her shoulders, the slightly flared “horns” at the end made a perfect carrying spot for the strap of the waterskin one of the humans handed to her. “The taje-ul should not go anywhere without water,” the young man stated, his brown eyes somber. “I would go in your place, but I will follow your command and stand guard instead.”
“Good man,” Jintaya praised. Accepting the helm Adan passed to her, she muttered a spell that swept her hair up into a coil that would cushion her skull from any blows and pulled the helmet into place. Though the physical openings for mouth and eyes were narrow enough to protect from direct strikes, the moment she tightened the chin strap, the full-vision spell woven into its making activated.
Immediately, she could see everything as clearly as she had without the helm. Clearly, and then some, for the spell picked up on the emotional states of each person around her, briefly making each new face and figure glow amber for a moment, before shifting to green for friendly-toward-her. The Fae knew how to wage war properly, discerning friend from foe. The latter would glow red if they were hostile, and remain red tinted. The helms would also give their wearers the advantage of seeing in the dark, though there were still several hours to go before nightfall.
Drawing on her gauntlets, she accepted both madouk and waited while Adan was helped into his own armor. Once clad, he stooped and pulled the last item out of the sack, an egg to match his own. Tossing it at her, he caught the staff she tossed to him at the same time, and pulled his pod off its hook. Jintaya in turn caught her pod by the chain handle, and both of them snapped the devices open. Wisely, Jintaya tapped hers with her staff, nudging it down to a height where she could simply step onto it, rather than jump up as Adan did.
“Halek, you are in charge in my absence. I suggest you send runners after the other Fae. They will be vital in defending our home from any intruders,” she told him. “Adan and I will return as soon as we can with news and hopefully return with Lutun alive and well.”
With a dip of her head, she tilted the foot-pods a little and drifted forward. The others, wide-eyed, parted around her. Once free of the crowd, she pressed down with her toes a little harder, picking up speed. Adan followed.
“To the west-southwest, was it?” he asked.
She nodded and pointed at the rim of the canyon wall in that direction. “I can still sense him in that direction. Set your wind shield and fly up fast and high. I will lead the way until we get close enough to see them. Remember that we will need information. Do not attack to kill unless there is no other choice.”
“As you wish, my taje-ul,” he quipped, using the local honorific.
***
Bone cracked. The sharp sound accompanied a high-pitched, harsh scream. Kuruk ignored the still naked, bloodied youth’s agony in favor of contemplating his contradictions. His pain-babbled claims of “The féj will hurt you for this!” made little sense. Féj wasn’t a word. It was a part of several words, but it of itself was not a word. It had no meaning to Kuruk, though it clearly had a meaning to this Lutun fellow.
His pile of clothes had included the fajenz beads of the White Sands Tribe, yet he claimed to now be part of a Flame Sea Tribe. And the youth displayed a level of courage in the face of his pains that Kuruk could not match to the timid, cowering refugees who had hidden behind the defensive powers of their animadj and her apprentices when they had retreated from the Circle Fire’s oasis. Kuruk did not like these differences.
“I do not like this,” Koro said.
Kuruk started, glancing over at the animadj, who frowned at the whimpering victim. “I was just thinking that myself,” he murmured. “The new tribal name, the newfound confidence . . .”
“No, not that,” Koro dismissed. “His anima is wrong. It’s going somewhere.”
“What?” The scouting leader frowned. “What do you mean, it’s going somewhere?”
“There is something . . . like a cord, braided into his being. It is taking the pain that should have roused anima-sparks for me to capture and use and instead is sending it somewhere . . . and the strength of that sending is growing. At first it was thin, like a thong,” Koro told him. “But it has grown thicker, like a rope.”
“Yes! That is exactly it,” Pak offered, lifting his head from his fire-tending efforts. They had used burning embers to try to force the youth to tell the truth. “It thickens, because it is shrinking. Master Koro, I think whatever is on the other end is drawing close. Look, it thickens again and shifts its angle!”
The young animadj pointed, but while Koro nodded and grunted in agreement, Kuruk saw nothing. He had neither the patience nor the time to learn how to see faint emanations of anima. Still, he could act. “Charag! Stop torturing him. He hasn’t told us anything new for a bit. Tureg, keep your hawk’s eye on the horizon. Koro, point the direction this . . . rope is stretched, so he knows where to look.”
“I see . . . yes. Tiny specs on the horizon,” the archer stated after a long moment. He pointed, then frowned, shaded his eyes, and started. “My eyes! Whatever they are, they are moving fast! Faster than a stooping hawk!”
As soon as the keen-eyed man said that, Kuruk could see them, too. Golden specks that soared straight and fast, like birds stooping on prey. But instead of a steep, near-vertical dive, these two specks were moving along the ground. No, above the ground. Two golden, glittering figures, vaguely human shaped, both crouched and mostly still like statues, but each gripping what looked like a staff.
They grew steadily larger; then one of them pointed, the other nodded, and the pair split, swooping outward. Tureg quickly nocked an arrow to his string, turning to track them, but they moved too quickly for him to fire. The pair swooped around the scouting party, crossed behind them, and came back around to the front, swerving inward as they slowed down. In the span of five heartbeats, they had encircled the group, proving the pair could chase down any runners in a matter of moments.
Once again, they circled. They seemed to be human, albeit ones with winged head things made out of gold, and scaled shirts and gleaming legs and arms. Brighter than bronze, paler than actual gold, whatever the stuff was, it was a metal and would no doubt be difficult to pierce. But unlike Tureg, they carried only metal-wrapped staves, and one of them not only seemed to be female, but . . .
“A pregnant woman?” Kuruk scoffed as she drifted to a stop to one side of him. The male—or at least flat-chested—figure stopped several yards to the left. Kuruk eyed the woman and flipped his hand at her. “Is this what I am supposed to fear? You float like dandelion puffs, but you are slow and fat with child!”
“Release Lutun.” Her voice was smooth, strong, and disapproving.
“Who are you to make demands of me? I am Kuruk, master warrior of the Circle Fire, and this is our slave!” he challenged. “You’re a slow, fat, pregnant woman with a single man who does not speak. You carry staves, and we carry blades and arrows.”
“I am Taje Djin-taje-ul, leader of the Fae Rii, leader of the Flame Sea, protector of these lands. There are no slaves within the lands of the Flame Sea, and there never will be. Leave now, and take word back to your taje and your people. If you try to invade, you will not succeed. However, if you approach in peace and are willing to trade, then your people will be allowed within our lands. Choose carefully.”
“Trade? Only in your people as our s
laves. Burn them,” Kuruk ordered his animadjet.
Koro and Pak shouted, hurling balls of fire . . . which collapsed into anima-sparks and struck the two golden-clad figures, vanishing instantly without any sign of harm. The older of the two tried a shielding spell . . . and gaped as his magic broke free of his control the moment the gilded male held out his hand, somehow absorbing the energies.
Tureg struck next, firing off two fast shots, as fast as an eye could blink thrice—and both arrows thunked into the air a short distance from each figure. Neither of them blinked; neither of them flinched. A crunching thwack, wet and unpleasant, got a reaction however.
“Lutun!” The armored woman swerved forward on her floating lumps of not-gold, hands flinging out as she tossed something at the corpse, something that slapped golden light on the severed flesh and kept the two halves from bleeding out.
Charag yanked his axe free, backing up from the beheaded corpse. Whirling, he grabbed Pak by the elbow and shouted, “Run!”
Kuruk backed up, staring as the woman hopped off her chained pair of half eggs and knelt by the corpse. “What did you—”
“I bought us time!” the big warrior argued, and started running. Turning, Kuruk followed him, as did Koro.
“Djin-taje, do I kill them for this?” the other figure—male by the voice—called out.
“No!”
Kuruk stumbled and turned, moving backward and wondering why such a powerful animadj would forbid it. They had all the power, all the advantages . . .
“Take the water and follow them,” the pregnant woman called out, tossing a waterskin at her companion. “Drive them out of Flame Sea lands, but do not kill them. Not this time. I must stay and save Lutun.”
Save him? When even from Kuruk’s angle, the youth’s head had clearly rolled away from the shoulders by a foot’s length? Realizing the floating male was headed his way, Kuruk turned and ran. If this was what awaited them, then the Circle Fire might not be able to take on a tribe protected by two who could float like a dust mote in a sunbeam, who could drink in the anima as the sand soaked up rain, and who could stop arrows midflight without gestures or words. That alone was far more casual magic than anything the twelve animadjet, masters and apprentices alike, could muster in his own tribe.
The unnamed male decided Kuruk was running too slow, for with a flick of his staff, he shot a ball of fire of his own at the scout leader’s heels. Feeling the heat, smelling scorched earth, Kuruk ran faster, desperate now to survive the long trek back to his home.
Their taje had to hear for himself how no open, straightforward attack could gain them what they desperately needed to know, how to defeat such powerful strangers.
Chapter Nine
Year 6, Month 1, Day 3
“And then, while I was suffering the shock of being released to my death, the glowing gold soul of Taje Djin-taje-ul took me up in her arms, and approached my body, and with her great magical powers, put my head back onto my neck, and made my bones all straight, and made all the scars and the pains and even the littlest of bruises go away,” Lutun recited to his daughter as he carried her into the underroom set aside for toddlers in the theater hall.
The tribe’s adults were going to finish celebrating the start of low summer, heralded by the coming of the dry, hot winds that would blow away and evaporate all the clouds in the region, leaving nothing but at most a haze overhead. Lutun had fathered his child via the very willing Parren during a similar ceremony some four years before and was hoping to be so blessed again—if not a child by her, then by the lithe, graceful Fali, or maybe the curvaceous, strong Rua. He could not bring himself to look upon Djin-taje-ul in the same way as the other women, though. Not after having literally been brought back to life from a thorough beheading.
Djin-taje-ul—or Mother of All, as she was now being called behind her back—had claimed it was only possible because she had been right there and had “caught” his spirit and healed his body before his flesh finished bleeding and dying. Zudu claimed this was the truth; after a slow count to one hundred, those who had died from heart-stop could not be revived, no matter how hard one beat on their chest or blew into their mouth.
“Father, if Mother-All c’n make owies go ’way,” little Luti asked him as he lowered her onto one of the pallets provided for these festival nights, “why do I get ’em?”
“Because a little pain, a little owie, teaches you to be more careful, to be more cautious, and to pick your path through life with an eye on the consequences of your actions. It is only those who are in great need whom she will heal.” Brushing back a curling sun blond lock and tucking it behind her human-round ear, Lutun kissed her on the forehead. “Now, close your honey gold eyes, and dream of birds flying.”
Yawning, Luti nodded and closed her eyes. Her father stayed, watching her as she fell asleep. It didn’t take long; she was still very much at an age where naps were a good idea. So were most of the others whom parents brought in to lay down to sleep. The elders of the tribe were happy to child-watch, while the adults and teens deemed old and wise enough were happy to celebrate, and the teens not deemed ready for adult love-play were given the solemn duty of standing guard on nights like this.
The tribe was expanding; their homes were growing more beautiful, their water supplies becoming more plentiful, if still carefully marshalled so that none of it went to waste. There was now a great, shaded watering fountain in the valley of the herds, with covered irrigation channels leading to watering pools, and three terraced hills with streams that flowed down through yet more ditches, watering each garden patch.
They had even settled on a name for their settlement: the land was called the Flame Sea and included all the way out to the sand dunes to the east, south, and west, and half the canyons and ravines northward, but the actual heart of the settlement was now being called Ijesh. It meant bountiful blessing, and it was an appropriate name. Children, fields, flocks, water. They even had visitors, actual peaceful visitors, come to trade for whatever they could find.
Somehow, the Fae had amassed a great stockpile of pure quartz sand for them to crush and form into fajenz beads, but there were more things to sell. Herbs and spices that normally could only be found in distant corners of the desert had been brought back as seeds by the far-traveling Ban and grew fairly well in the terraces. He had brought back seedlings of trees for growing olives and harvesting sweet-burning resins for incense, but those would still require a few more years to fully produce what they needed. Ores were being mined, but as they had no metalsmiths yet—other than Kaife and Adan—they were simply being reserved for local use. The bronzes those two forged were also of a much finer quality, and there had been much bartering for tools and blades made by the two men.
There was even talk of starting a second settlement, though Lutun couldn’t think of them actually needing to for quite some time yet. The Fae were based here; Djin-taje-ul had claimed the pantean was their base, their home, and they would not move elsewhere. Visit, yes, but move, no. Lutun certainly couldn’t imagine living in a place where the homes had to be built by hand, not by Fae magics. Not anymore. He intended to stay in Ijesh for as long as they would have him here.
A stir of noise outside the underroom drew his attention. Leaving his sleeping child, he hurried into the tunnel. The oil lamps had been lit, and bronze-backed wooden doors had been fitted over each opening to help keep out the sand and grit blown about by the winds of low summer. With the great doors closed, he could hear the voices in the main hall, agitated with an edge of worry instead of lively with anticipation and excitement.
Zuki stood there. She was now quite old enough to join in the adult celebrations but had chosen to stand watch as the animadj on scrying duty. She should have been in the animadjet hall. Next to her, Djin-taje-ul had her terrain illusion showing, and the young woman pointed at the glowing cliffs and valleys.
“. . . and another g
roup from the north by northwest, with at least fifty warriors, if not more,” Zuki finished.
Fifty warriors? Another group? Lutun paled at the implications. He was a hunter and sometimes a farmer; after his ordeal, he had no stomach for battle. From the look on their leader’s face, neither did she.
“Any sign of Ban in your scryings?” Djin-taje-ul asked.
Zuki shook her head. Djin-taje-ul looked a little lost at that. Drawing in a deep breath, she braced herself and nodded.
“Everyone, please listen!” Her sharp tone cut through the conversations. In the silence that followed, she outlined the problem. “As you have heard by now, there are hundreds of warriors headed our way. This explains why the visiting traders all packed up and left over a quarter-moon ago, and why no others have come to take their place.”
Taje Halek agreed. “It is clear to me now that they have not left us alone for the last six or more years out of the wisdom of their minds and hearts. Instead, they have plotted. They have spent the last half dozen years gauging our strengths, inspecting our terrain, and carefully making many alliances so that they can attack us with what they deem is sufficient force to overwhelm our magics, slay our warriors, and make the rest of us their slaves.”
“They will not succeed.” Rising, Djin-taje-ul banished the terrain illusion and addressed her tribe. Lutun felt a swell of faith in her, for she rarely spoke so firmly. When she did, things happened. “Tonight, instead of celebrating with our bodies, we will prepare with them. Éfan, you will do everything you can to contact Ban and bring him home as swiftly as possible. The rest of you, go to your homes.
“Bring your food here, and your valuables, in that order. Bring in the herds as well. We will not leave them any beasts to eat and grow strong. Kaife, Parren, Rua, make a connected set of tunnels and holding pens in the cliffs to the southwest, where the animals will dwell; then help bring in fodder and grain.”
