by Russ Linton
But how could that be right? Calloused hands? She'd earned them back much too quickly.
She let her hands drop. None of that mattered. She wasn't a courtesan; she was a Jadugar. A Jadugar sitting on Pama with the motions of the heavens frozen around her. She needed to stop worrying about what had been left behind and start exploring.
A shift in the breeze brought another change in the mantra, almost as though it rolled down the mountainside. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked up expecting a boulder to come hurtling toward them. Her fear turned to amazement as she found the source.
An unexpected procession wound down the path. Men approached the ledge, their bodies pale beyond the fair skin of the Ksijaav or even beyond the drained state of death. They wore simple, crimson dhotis. All three of them moved as one, intoning the mantra she'd once thought belonged to the Pamanites.
Talemok's antennae explored the new vibrations. He seemed unperturbed and though Kaaliya knew he'd felt their approach, she smacked his shoulder before struggling to her feet.
"Company," she said. "Three men."
Talemok unfolded his backward-hinged legs and faced them. "Not men."
"What are they then?"
The Ek'kiru stayed rooted at the edge while she took a handful of steps toward the foot of the path. If these weren't men, she didn't know what else they were. Giants of a sort, they were a head taller than most, and their shoulders filled the narrow path. They descended in a steady cadence, their muddy brown eyes never wandering.
"Chuman?"
They didn't stop. She let Talemok draw her back, and the three passed.
White paint coated their skin, a purity that shone against the granite. Every inch caked in the stuff, yet they were recognizable as the muscled stranger she'd met outside Stronghold. The triplet giants gathered around the megalith. The deep baritone mantra continued to issue from their lips. As one, they squatted and curled their hands beneath the chain.
Their thighs furrowed with deep lines and calves flexed, but they made no progress. Under the strain, their mantra never wavered. She began to see they weren't yet trying to lift the giant chain, they were only holding steady like the sun and moon.
Sidge had told a story, a story about seeing more than one Chuman gathered under the Undying Storm. She remembered that night, as well as his drunken but fervent ramblings. Dismissing him had been a mistake perhaps, but this was no mystical vision.
"A ritual of some sort?" she asked Talemok.
"You can ask."
"They don't seem very talkative," she replied.
"No, that."
She craned her neck to view the path which the Ek'kiru could see as easily as the men gathered in front of them. A robed figure descended, clad in gray robes like a Stormpriest, but the hue shimmered, shifting from blue-gray to green, aqua then sapphire.
"You mean him?"
She stared hard as the figure's purposeful stride drew him closer. A man, for certain, with sandalwood skin and dark, tousled hair. He appeared young, his beaming smile expressing the kind of joy not reserved for strangers.
Talemok didn't answer. He'd had to do more than his share on the climb, perhaps the Ek'kiru had finally cracked under the strain. It could even be he'd found an Ek'kiru version of exhaustion, but she knew better than to question his senses.
"How do you mean these aren't men? What do you see?"
"Those at the chain, it isn't what I see with my eyes, it's what I feel from their insides," said Talemok, splitting his attention between the path and the megalith. "And that one," he nodded to the young man. "I see man and Ek'kiru. I see water spirits and fiery demons. No two lenses show the same. What I see, what I sense, I cannot fathom."
What was there to fathom? More than young, he was boyish, she could see it in his features. All smooth-faced and radiant, he had skin that had yet to carry the greater burdens of life. She could feel his cheek under her lips…
"Spider!" he said, flowing down the path, one hand hitching up his robes the other outstretched. "Gods! You made it!"
Absently, she brushed aside Talemok's hands. He'd reached out to protect her. She didn't need anyone. She could take of herself…couldn't she?
Shailen drew her close, and her eyes lost focus, boring into the path from where he'd come. He said more words but they didn't quite reach her. She closed her eyes. He felt real. Smelled real. Without the dank odor of the Pit, he had an aura undeniably his. She was a child again, unsure and without answers.
He stepped away but kept hold of her arms. "I knew you'd follow me. Of all the people in the wide world, I knew you'd find this place."
She felt the fatigue return. Limp and ragged, she had no response, no way to convince her mouth to form a smile, let alone words. Shailen continued to speak.
"Look at you," he said, raising her arms and inspecting. "A picture of beauty." His hands found hers and he traced the callouses with his fingertips. "So much climbing has left its mark," he said, the radiance of his smile, dimming. "No matter. You're finally here."
She yanked her hands away and held them against her, averting her gaze to the ground. The motion left her feeling a weakness she thought she'd left behind in the Pit so long ago. So long.
Kaaliya fought to hide her powerlessness. "Where's here?"
Shailen turned away, and Talemok took the opportunity to place a hand on her shoulder again, a gesture she didn't mind this time. She'd let him embrace her and lunge off the mountain if he chose, but neither of them made the effort. They remained still as the young man strode to the three Chuman and raised his hands skyward.
On command, the giants thrust upward, hefting the chain over their heads in one fluid motion. One bounce and they hurled it off of the spike. The end link cracked against the ledge, spraying granite flakes. With a sound like crates of glass shattering, the links chased each other into the clouds.
"Where is here?" Shailen repeated the question, his features beaming. "Why, you're finally home!"
CHAPTER XXXIV
A great fuzzy face peered at Sidge with eyes framed in fur and brows sprouted into black protrusions like the shadows of a fern leaf. A pink rope of a tongue flickered across his cheek. The world lurched.
Flying. Mountains passed underneath, their pate of stone receding into lanky trees which grew denser along the slopes. He could almost imagine the soft brush of their needles. He lowered a hand and moaned. It had slipped too far away to feel, but the cool darkness remained inviting. He let his mind swim there.
Light ebbed and flowed. Shadow eclipsed a high-ceilinged room, chasing the light into a golden sliver. The shadows raced by and started again but gray this time. The pattern repeated, over and over. It reminded him of the precise motion of the toothed wheels he'd seen inside Chuman's splayed open chest.
Part of the wall quivered. A drape. Or maybe a flap of red and bloodied skin. Blurred figures crossed his lenses. He'd become lost between two worlds. Or the universe had come unhinged.
What else had broken, and why did he have to witness it?
"Izhar?" he called out.
As he strained his antennae to listen for a reply, the room settled. He lay face down on a litter. Mud walls surrounded him, and sunlight pierced the room through a ring of holes punched in the rounded roof. A curtain made of crimson silk hung in front of the only exit. Cool air wafted down from the openings. An odor stirred by the currents reminded him of the well-worn scent of his old robes. Accompanying this smell was an acrid stench which formed a wet barrier coating the walls and floor.
Where was he? What had happened? Why wasn't he dead?
"Izhar," he whispered.
An antenna wriggled out from under the litter and swiped the air. Sidge jumped and as he did the litter shifted with him. Tight leather bands secured him to the frame. His arms were pinned to his sides and his legs strapped down.
Fast, and on all six legs, the little figure scurried across the room and shot beneath the curtain.
He panicked and
thrashed against the bonds. A wave of agony lanced through his shoulder. Gasping in pain, he froze in place under the straps and gritted his mandibles. A chirping began outside. Sidge panted through the discomfort, wildly collecting every detail of the dimly lit room. A narrow face poked in between the curtain and the wall.
Her lenses were the polished black of the temple walls. Black stripes along her forehead and cheeks anchored the marquise cut of her eyes into jade chitin. Her face could've been carved of the purest treestone.
She gripped the edge of the curtain with a slender hand and peeled the fabric back showing a slender body with tall, narrow wings. Closer to the floor, a smaller face wriggled into view. She hastily swept it aside with her leg.
Her wings released a hesitant but familiar chirp. The eyes. The narrow face. He could see her, feel her, calling to him under the swollen, accusing eye of the moon and luring him into her pool. He didn't want to believe it. A tiny voice in the back of his mind kept telling him he was wrong, but he became convinced—the marsh siren had found him.
He held perfectly still. If she thought he was asleep, perhaps she'd leave.
She canted her head and stepped into the room with first one leg, then the other in an awkward, stilted motion. For a moment, he thought his mind had come unhinged again. She ran her legs together. She wrung her four hands in front of her, and her antennae probed the air. A second cautious chirp echoed in the confined space.
Sidge had the urge to scream, but he could only clamp his mouth shut. She moved closer, and he tried not to show any sign of life. The leather straps creaked as he tensed.
Another chirp and she squatted, her long antennae swimming in the air just out of reach. She produced a series of clicks followed by a louder chirp. An antenna sank toward him.
"Please, no." Sidge withdrew as much as the straps would allow.
As soon as the words left his mouth, her antennae shot upward and she reeled back. "You speak human?" Her own speech jerked with her head movements as though she struggled to spit out each syllable.
"Yes," said Sidge, equally surprised.
"You speak very good," she struggled to say. "For one of Sli'mir's Realm."
"No, I am not a…" Monster? "I am an acolyte. Or was."
She tilted her head awkwardly, and her wings flitted. "Ac-lyte?"
"From the Stormblade Temple." Her wings continued to flit, and Sidge pressed on, unsure who he was trying to convince more. "We pray to Vasheru."
The name of the Dragon rolled haltingly from his tongue, and Sidge knew his failings had finally come to collect the debt he'd taken. This was a debt he'd tried to outrun as he blundered about the marsh. With it, he'd been given everything—a title, a raksha, and a chance at glory in the temple. Unworthy and unprepared, he'd shed his robes, attacked his mentor, then led him to his death.
Sidge moaned and twisted his head to try and hide the marsh siren.
"Izhar." This time, the name came unbidden. He felt his thorax constrict.
"These are strange sounds. Is this a name given you by humans? Izhar?"
Sidge stared at a single point on the far wall, or at least he tried. He wanted to be lost in a tiny divot he'd found, but she moved to lean over him.
"That is not my name."
"What is your name?"
"Why didn't you ask before?" he snapped. "That would have at least been proper."
"Before?" she tilted her head and reeled in her antennae. "But you have not spoken since we found you in the mountains many days ago."
He let her face slip back into view.
"We've…we've never met before?" He couldn't recall the shade of the marsh siren under the colorless light of the moon, but this one was so similar. The same tangle of limbs and sounds. Opening himself to the idea, he began to detect a subtle difference he couldn't explain.
"Met before? No. Why?"
"I am not in Sli'mir's Realm?"
"No. A flood struck the mountains. We found you on the upper slopes, nearly drowned. Your wing…" One of her long antennae dared to brush his shoulder, and he shivered.
"You helped me?"
She nodded.
"Can you release me then?"
She tucked her head to her chest then rose and stepped away.
Sidge pointed his mandibles at her, and she retreated toward the curtain. "Please?"
A fresh chorus of clicking erupted outside, and she disappeared, the cloth billowing behind her. Her own chirps followed. Briefly, the curtain peeled away from a corner at the floor, and another face peered in.
Twitching mandibles, barely more than nubs, wriggled beneath two thick antennae trunks that tapered into hair-like projections. A grotesque image of a human with inverted nostrils filled Sidge's mind. He drew his antennae in and tried to look away.
He'd been hoping to follow his mentor into the valley. Death would've been too easy. Trussed up in some marsh siren's house, used for breeding, or fed to her hungry children; either would be a suitable fate for what he'd done.
Don't miss the thrilling conclusion, Wake of Alshasra'a, the third and final book in the Stormblade Saga.
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ALSO BY RUSS LINTON
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In the Crimson Son Universe
Empty Quiver
They were never designed to be heroes. Hurricane. Ember. Aurora. Danger. State-sponsored superhumans known as Augments. Weapons created to end a war.
Empty Quiver takes a dark dive into the Crimson Son universe. Not your typical superhero tales, this short collection pulls no punches as it examines the clandestine program that changed Spencer's world.
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Crimson Son
Can the powerless son of a superhero do what his father couldn't?
With no superpowers of his own, Spencer stumbles through a web of conspiracies and top secret facilities armed only with his multi-tool and an arsenal of weapons grade smart-assery. Along the way he rallies a team of everyday people and cast-off Augments, but soon discovers that his father's nemesis, the Black Beetle, isn't his only enemy or even his worst.
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In the Stormblade Saga
Pilgrim of the Storm
Long forgotten gods have passed judgment on the Age of Man. Sidge, a pious orphan, must unravel a lost past to understand their divine will. But first, he needs humanity to see him as more than a slave.
Pilgrim of the Storm is the first book in a unique epic fantasy trilogy from Russ Linton. If you like character-driv
en plots, intricate world building, and want a refreshing spin on the typical genre conventions, then you'll love all three books of the Stormblade Saga.
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Forge of the Jadugar
The Jadugar is scheming. Kaaliya knows the look in his eyes. When he proclaims himself Sidge's sponsor for the pilgrimage, the royal court is in an uproar - a bugman elevated to the ranks of Cloud Born?
Sidge and Izhar follow the mysterious Chuman into the lost reaches of creation. Deep in the marshes, Sidge must face the terrifying truth about his true nature and confront a lie buried at the very foundations of the temple. In Stronghold, Kaaliya delves into the Jadugar's carefully held secrets. But when commoner's tales and legends grace the sky, she embarks on her own journey only to find the past she is running from has finally caught up to her.
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Wake of Alshasra'a
The thrilling conclusion to the Stormblade Saga!
Betrayed by everything he once considered holy, Sidge struggles to arrange the pieces of his broken life. Trapped where no mortal is meant to tread, Kaaliya begins her training as one of the Jadugar.
The warnings are clear: Battle lines are drawn. Gods roam free. The Age of Man is nearing an end. A courtesan and a bugman slave are their only hope, but who, in the end, do they serve?
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GLOSSARY
Abwoon - The Ek'kiru city west of Stronghold on the edge of Kurath's Desert.
Alshasra'a - The Formless. The Wanderer. After Pama, the first god to have roamed creation. Often described as a water spirit.
