by Jason Tesar
The demons, already doubled over in pain, now glanced nervously around, seeking the source of their fear.
Sariel pointed to the groups of women, then clenched his fist, signaling Vinlagid, a Song of Force. Suddenly, he shouted a string of monotone notes arranged in a specific rhythm. The next time he shouted, all one hundred and thirty women matched the sound perfectly. On the next cycle, he sang a long and complicated melody over the shouting, which spanned the limits of his ability. And when he repeated the phrase, Sheyir wove a harmony through his melody that was so beautiful, Sariel almost lost his concentration. Immediately, tears welled up in his eyes as his earthly body struggled with the overwhelming emotions that the combined Songs caused inside him.
The relentless waves of sound crashed against the demons, shaking their footing and forcing them backward. As their talons began to slide backward over the surface of the man’s spirit, gouges opened up along the flesh of his physical body, spilling blood down his shoulders and arms. One demon extended its fanged snout and clamped down on the man’s head, desperate to somehow maintain its grip.
The man suddenly reached up and grabbed both sides of his head, screaming now with his own voice.
“Leave me,” he shouted, with a harsh rasp.
Instantly, the demons were flung into the void, their shrieks leaving a trail of echoes.
Sariel waved both his hands in the air, and at once, the tribe was silent.
In the following stillness, the man in the pit fell forward, collapsing in the mud at his knees.
Sariel exhaled and wiped the tears from his face. “Remove this,” he said gently, kneeling down and placing his hand on the latticed lid.
Obediently, the men of the tribe dropped their instruments and began to untie the chords that fastened the lid. It seemed to take an eternity. While he waited, Sariel shifted toward the Eternal and was relieved to find that a dim light remained at the core of the being in the pit. It was faint, and flickered like a flame on the verge of ceasing.
“Hurry,” he told the men.
No sooner had he said the words than the men lifted the lid off the pit.
Sariel put his hands on the earth and swung his legs over the edge, dropping down into the hole that smelled of urine and feces. Trudging through the shallow muck, he knelt and picked up the frail man, lifting him as easily as a child.
He was pale and starved, but he was alive. Looking up into the sky, Sariel noted that the sun was already nearing the western horizon. Apparently, they’d been singing all day long, though it seemed only minutes. But the fatigue in his own throat and muscles, and the weariness in his eyes confirmed what he saw. Now the tears began to fall from his eyes as his physical body released the emotion it had been trying to hold in. With blurred vision, he looked up and saw the man’s wife standing on the edge of the pit.
Her face bore streaks where tears had washed away the dirt. Her eyes were rimmed with red. But behind her physical appearance, there was something else. Something intangible.
Shifting to the perspective of the Eternal Realm, Sariel recognized it immediately. Where once had been despair, the woman’s core radiated with hope.
* * * *
The setting sun cast silver shafts of light across the path, looking as tangible as tree trunks that had been bent over by the wind. Sheyir walked slowly across the damp soil, enjoying the alternating light and shadows falling across her face as she passed through the silent forest. Now that preparations were ready for the celebration, she was going to inform her father that the people were expecting his arrival.
But her feet moved slowly, hesitantly. She wasn’t in a hurry to begin the celebration like the rest of her people, for this type of occasion was usually when a betrothal would be announced. While Sariel’s recent success was sure to have impressed her father, the elder had no knowledge of their feelings for each other. In time, Sariel would gain the respect of her father, but she doubted it would happen before her impending marriage to her uncle. Still, her father had not yet announced their engagement and she wondered if it might be because he was holding back to see how events would transpire with this newcomer to the Chatsiyr tribe.
I hope that’s the reason!
Her father’s house slowly came into view. It was a massive structure of thick tree trunks and intricately woven saplings, with a tall, thatch roof. She’d grown up within its walls, but now that she lived elsewhere with the older children, it seemed just as foreign and distant as her father. The sight of it, looming in the mist, seemed to remind her that her father was often unpredictable; as if the house itself were telling her, you’ll be married before Sariel can do anything about it!
Sheyir stopped just before the raised platform that served as the floor. Her body seemed unwilling to go forward. It refused to walk into a future that left her bound to someone she didn’t love. Her ears didn’t want to hear the words that would change her life forever. And yet, over her throbbing heart, voices rang clear.
“You only care for power! For dathrah, not tradition!” It was her uncle’s voice.
“I will do as I wish, and you will obey it,” her father replied. “That is tradition.”
A quick silence followed and Sheyir cautiously removed her foot from the first step leading up to the door.
“He’s not one of us. But you have decided already.”
“I have decided nothing! I have only told you to wait,” her father replied. “Why does it matter so much to you? You have many wives.”
There was a long pause this time and Sheyir leaned forward to hear her uncle’s answer, but there was no reply.
A series of rapid footsteps suddenly grew louder.
Sheyir backed away from the steps.
An instant later, her uncle came through the doorway. His head snapped to the side and his angry glare settled on her, while his wide body lumbered down the steps. When he reached the ground, he exhaled quickly through his nose and stomped off into the trees, heading away from the village.
Sheyir swallowed hard and watched him go. The look on his face had been terrifying. But it seemed that Sariel’s efforts were having an effect. At least for tonight, she didn’t have to worry about an announcement.
And this thought caused a smile to slowly spread across her face.
* * * *
It had been three days since the tribe had freed the sick man from the evil spirits that inhabited his body. Already, he was looking healthier. Color had returned to his skin and his gaunt frame had begun to thicken each day with regular meals. His wife, once an outcast, was enjoying the restoration of her family’s status among the tribe.
In the spirit of the celebration that Sheyir’s father decreed, Sariel thought it was the perfect time to introduce the Chatsiyram to something that many other human tribes had already discovered for themselves—fire. After instructing the tribe not to be alarmed at the dangerous, but useful element, he enlisted the men’s help in digging a pit in the center of the meeting place. Using some old thatch from a run-down shelter, Sariel showed the men how to use friction to generate embers which could be coaxed into a flame. Once lit, he explained that adding denser materials would prevent it from burning itself out. Being expert builders, the men took quickly to the concepts and marveled at Sariel’s vast wisdom.
Now, under an evening sky, the tribe gathered around the blaze and enjoyed its mesmerizing appearance and the warmth it provided. While the children danced in the background, the women roasted a variety of fruits as Sariel had shown them. When the meal was ready, Sariel watched the expressions on the men’s faces as they tasted the intensified, sweetened flavors. It seemed that this new technique would be popular among the tribe.
“In all the three hundred and twelve cycles of the sun that I’ve lived, I’ve never seen or heard anything of its kind,” Sheyir’s father said.
Sariel turned around quickly, startled by the older man’s stealthy approach. “I’m pleased you like it.”
“Ha!” the o
ld man barked, as he came alongside and lowered himself to the ground. “I don’t mean the dancing light or the food,” he corrected. “What you did about the sickness. You have great dathrah, beyond anything I know.”
Sariel smiled. “I told you I came to help.”
The elder turned his gaze to the dancing light, as he called it, and his eyes seemed to look past the flames. After a moment, his face widened into a grin. “My name is Yeduah. And I’m honored to meet you.”
Over Yeduah’s hunched silhouette, Sheyir stood a few paces back, illuminated by the dancing flames. She placed a hand over her mouth and turned away, her eyes glistening with tears.
“My name is Sariel. And I’m honored to meet you,” he replied.
CHAPTER 14
BAHYITH
Pri-Rada Himel of the Iryllur stood with his arms crossed, overlooking an immense valley of lush forests and meadows. Between the patches of brilliant green hues, a river of crisp blue cut across the landscape, breaking into smaller tributaries as it neared the horizon. Himel’s six wings lay against his back in resting position; but even retracted, their enormous size was intimidating.
The Pri-Rada turned his head and looked back over his shoulder as Sariel approached. “Join me,” he said quietly.
Sariel glanced at the two massive guards standing a few paces away on each flank before stepping up to the edge of the cliff to join his superior.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Himel asked softly.
Sariel knew the Iryllur was leading up to something—making a point, but he decided to play along anyway. “Yes, my Rada.”
“Would you have this valley given over to the Marotru?”
“No, my Rada. Of course not.”
The Pri-Rada continued to stare out across the vastness of the tranquil beauty before them. “Then why have you come to me instead of working through your immediate superior, unless to voice your disagreement with the mission to a higher authority?”
There’s the point, Sariel thought. “My Rada. I do, indeed, disagree with the mission. But it is not because I want to see the enemy win. I am Iryllur, just as you are. I remain faithful.”
“But you are not … just as I,” the Pri-Rada countered, without raising his voice. He turned his head to look at Sariel and his numerous wings flexed slightly. “The higher orders have been tasked with thinking, and the lower orders with doing.”
Sariel felt suddenly aware of his own wings—inferior in both size and quantity. He looked to the ground for a moment, then turned to the Pri-Rada. “Then why did you agree to meet, if not to hear my concerns?”
The superior turned his gaze back to the valley and crossed his arms. “Because I have concerns of my own. When someone under my authority voices opposition to our mission, it is a problem—”
“Regardless of the reason?” Sariel asked quickly.
The Pri-Rada inhaled slowly, pausing for a moment before answering. “Regardless …”
Sariel could see his superior’s irritation mounting, but his own frustration was quickly becoming more of a concern.
“The Viytur gather and analyze the intelligence. Myself, and the other Pri-Radas, turn the intelligence into useable information. And you soldiers act on it,” he explained calmly, as if to a new recruit.
“I know the process!” Sariel blurted out, unable to control himself in the face of such ridicule. “I’m questioning the intelligence. Why are you assigning my strike team to this operation?”
Himel turned his body to face Sariel and all six of his wings flared out to the extent of their reach. “Are you afraid of your mission?”
Sariel stepped backward and suddenly noticed that the guards had come a few steps forward. “No, my Rada.”
“Are you one of the Marotru?”
“No, my Rada!”
“Are you faithful to the Holy One?”
“YES, MY RADA!”
“ARE YOU A SOLDIER?”
“YES, MY RADA!”
“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”
“RADA TALAD!”
Sariel’s body shook as he woke. His skin was damp with sweat. He was lying on the ground, looking up at the inside of a thatched roof. He lay still for a moment, breathing deeply as if fear and anger were things that this body could rid itself of with each exhale. When he composed himself, he climbed to his feet and walked out of the shelter into the morning light.
* * * *
“Come back soon and tell me what you find,” Sheyir heard her father say.
Yeduah and Sariel were standing on the outskirts of the village, speaking in private. Sheyir’s heart was racing as she hid among the trees, listening to the exchange between the two men.
Why is he leaving?
She had not spied on anyone since her childhood, but it seemed to be a regular occurrence lately. She wished it wasn’t necessary, but since Sariel had arrived, many unusual things were happening in her village and she couldn’t contain her curiosity. Reaching up, she parted the vines and peered through the leaves.
Sariel nodded, then turned and walked into the trees to the north.
Where is he going?
Sheyir waited until her father moved back toward the village before she left her hiding place. Running as swiftly and quietly as possible, she paralleled the path that Sariel had taken. A moment later, she stood on the eastern bank of the stream that flowed from Bahyith toward Arar Gahiy.* In her haste, she had passed him, and now searched in panic until she saw him coming along the shore.
Sariel walked with his head down, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
Sheyir’s heart beat frantically in her chest as she moved upstream toward him.
Sariel finally looked up when Sheyir was nearly close enough to touch him. His forehead smoothed and his lips curled into a smile.
“Weren’t you going to say goodbye?” she asked above the sound of the water. His bright blue eyes almost looked as if he’d been crying.
“I was hoping you’d follow me out here,” he said quietly, looking over his shoulder. “You know I cannot express my feelings for you openly. At least, not yet.”
Sheyir’s heart leaped to hear the word feelings. “Where are you going?”
Sariel reached out with both hands and pulled her closer. “Your father gave me his name last night,” he said, looking down into her eyes.
“Yes. I know,” she replied with a smile. The feeling of his touch was exhilarating, but his leaving and the look in his eyes were deeply troubling.
“I’m making great progress toward gaining Yeduah’s trust,” he continued. “But he will never allow us to marry until I’m fully accepted into the tribe. I must have his complete trust.”
Sheyir’s face suddenly felt hot. She and Sariel had spent a considerable amount of time together in the past few months and had exchanged many tender moments. But they’d never spoken of marriage. Nor had they even spoken directly about their feelings for one another. It was assumed, but never voiced until this moment.
“To marry?” she repeated.
“That is, of course, only if you’re willing,” Sariel added.
Now tears welled up in Sheyir’s eyes. To hear a man speak so passionately was utterly foreign to her. But she loved it. In fact, every conversation with this man was more exciting than the last. And even the simplest moments between them—times they sat in silence and watched the flow of the river—were more thrilling than the best times she’d experienced before they met. “I’m willing,” she said softly.
With his strong arms around her, he leaned down and brought his face close to hers. For a moment, she could feel his breath against her lips. “I love you Sheyir,” he said. Then he kissed her softly.
Sheyir knew instantly that she’d treasure this moment for as long as she lived. She laid her head against his chest, and listened to the beat of his heart. Finally, she looked up again. “Why do you have to go? Is he not satisfied with what you’ve already done?”
Sariel pulled away slightly t
o see her face. “It’s not really a question of being satisfied. I have an ability that he finds useful. It is in the best interest of his people to gain as much benefit as possible from it. Either someone powerful made those figurines or taught those men to make them for themselves.10 Your father and I both know that either possibility is only a signal of a grave threat to your people.”
“Can’t you ignore it? Why do you seek out danger?” she pleaded.
Suddenly, something behind Sariel’s eyes flashed. It passed over him in an instant and he immediately concealed it, making Sheyir think she’d wounded him deeply.
He blinked heavily before speaking. “The last time I ignored my intuition, people died.”
Sheyir stared into his eyes, wondering when the day would come when he would tell her what had happened. She was suddenly aware of how little she knew of him. How many lives he must have lived. How many things he must have seen.
“I’m going to find the source of this threat and learn anything that your father would consider useful. And I’ll continue to help him for as long as it takes. Eventually I will be considered one of the Chatsiyram.”
Sheyir laid her head against Sariel’s chest again and watched the stream flow by, soaking in the comfort and safety of his love. In that moment, whatever doubts were clinging to the back of her mind drifted away. And all that was left was confidence that she wanted to be with this man, this Baynor, for the rest of her life.
“We could just run away,” Sheyir offered, not realizing what she had said until the words came out of her mouth.
“It would not be right for me to take you away from your people. I want to do this the honorable way.”
Sheyir smiled at this, moved by Sariel’s unwavering dedication and enjoying being the object of it. “Then go. But guard yourself and come back safely to me.”
“I will,” he answered. “And thoughts of you will sustain me.”
CHAPTER 15
FAR NORTH OF HARAGDEH
