Shadows of Aggar (Amazons of Aggar)

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  “It continues to be the problem. Our Seers have failed in that search. As for the rest of us…?” The Historian paused, glancing about almost hoping someone would contradict him. “We can do nothing without the pilot’s star maps.”

  The Council Speaker looked at each of them. “There is no question then that we must participate in the rescue? The Maltar’s realm is a large one.”

  “Actually there is time.” The Historian straightened. “It is fully a quarter tenmoon — almost six Terran months — before the Chairman begins his border tour.”

  “Then help them, yes, but within our traditional restrictions,” the Old Mistress cautioned. “Let the Terrans use their agents, not their flying technology.”

  “An overland search then.”

  “With a Shadow,” Elana whispered, and in the licking tongues of the fire she again saw the brown eyes of her vision-maker.

  “Exactly.” The Speaker smiled with satisfaction, tolerant of whom the words had come from. “If we do not permit a rescue flight, Baily will send one of his cultural liaisons north to find this pilot-spy. We will match one of our Shadows with the agent he sends.” The others nodded consideringly, and the Council Speaker went on. “At present the Terrans have five of their cultural liaisons here on Aggar. Three are too clumsy for our purposes. However, the two women the Terrans identify as Amazons are quite skilled — they have a reputation for accomplishing difficult feats. They are also uncannily astute.”

  The Mistress frowned. “The Amazons have always learned more about us than we intend them to.”

  “It does make them dangerous,” another warned.

  “But they are different from other Terran peoples,” the Historian pointed out. “Much of what they learn never makes its way into the Terran Imperial records.”

  “They do seem to answer to a higher ethic,” observed the Master.

  “Trust?” the Mistress suggested, almost with surprise.

  “In truth,” the Council Speaker said, nodding. “It is the reason that one of them may very well succeed.”

  The dawn had passed when the Council adjourned. They withdrew, assembling into smaller groups as they went, and gradually the Grand Hall grew almost empty.

  Sighing, the Master stood, helping the Mistress to her feet. Elana touched the elder woman’s shoulder, nodding towards a few that had gathered at a far door.

  The Speaker left the others and returned to them. “Would either of you care to greet this Terran Commander Baily this morning?”

  The Master chuckled and shook his head. “I’ll leave that to you, my boy. My diplomatic ways have been long frayed into cynical sneers.”

  “As your numerous students have noted,” the Speaker rejoined with a smile. “And you, Mistress? Will you hear this man today?”

  “Certainly not!” she snapped, indignant at the thought. “When you have decided who you will entrust to our Shadow’s care, then I will meet, if necessary, with this Baily, but at no point do I intend to be diplomatic. That, my boy, is why you are the Council’s Speaker.”

  “A born arbitrator,” the Master chuckled. “He does a good job of it too.”

  “Thank you.” The younger man smiled broadly and then his gaze came to Elana. “And you are the Eldest Prepared?”

  Elana affirmed it with a tip of her head, careful as always to avoid meeting another’s gaze because of her Blue Sight.

  “It was wise of your Mistress to summon you. Do you think you’ll be Shadow to this Amazon’s adventure, Elana?”

  “Perhaps.” She noted that he had addressed her by her full name and wondered just when the Mistress had decided upon the change.

  “Well enough.” He turned back to her mentors with more pressing matters. “I have sent the runners to retrieve the details we have on these Amazons. They are ordered to present everything to you for inspection before passing it on to us.”

  The Mistress nodded. “We can meet later — when you have finished with Baily.”

  “Yes, that will be the time for more decisions.” The Council Speaker bowed slightly and, returning to other responsibilities, he took his leave of them.

  The Master muttered as they mounted the stairs, “I do not envy this Shadow. The risks to Aggar and the Terran Empire demand the lifebond. We need a Shadow to place his or her life between success and failure. But the lifebonding… it becomes a painful risk in itself in the case of an off-worlder.”

  Elana glanced at him, confused. Shadows were always lifebound… why would it be any different with an off-worlder? Then abruptly she realized she had answered her own question; the off-worlder would eventually return to the stars, and lifebound — the separation would mean the Shadow’s death.

  Together the three paused at the top of the steps; the somber knowledge hung between them. The old man turned slowly to face his two dearest companions. “There are some pairs which separate, and yet the Shadow lives.”

  “Yes, in our years, three have survived the loss of their companions,” the Old Mistress confirmed quietly. “In each case there was great distance between the companion and the Shadow. And the actual death of the companion was sudden.”

  The Master considered it. “The space craft would put great distance between them too. It would do it quickly — suddenly. Would it be similar to such a death?”

  “But the Amazon would still live. There has been no instance of surviving the separation, if the companion still lives.”

  “But such distances… to another star? A distance greater than such separations.”

  “At speed greater than any before.”

  Elana’s icy gaze went from one to the other. These two were the mentors who knew most about the intricacies and knottings of the Shadowmate. Theirs was the sum of all written, remembered — suspected — knowledge of the Preparations, and here, for the first time in her life, Elana saw them uncertain of answers.

  “All three Shadows that survived were young — strong,” the Master said. “Each had a purpose to live for.”

  The Mistress nodded. “Each was consumed by their mission and adventure. Emotionally, none were committed absolutely — irrevocably — to their companion.”

  “Should we hope then that this Amazon is not charismatic?”

  “No,” Elana interjected flatly, grimly.

  “Speak your mind, child,” the Master prompted.

  “If it were I selected as Shadowmate, I would choose death to perpetual frailty and insanity,” she said evenly.

  The quiet stretched for a moment, then the Mistress said, “The Amazon may ask to be accompanied off-world.”

  The Master suggested, “Some Shadows would find that just as undesirable.”

  “And some would be enthusiastic,” the Mistress countered, a gleam in her eye.

  “Let us hope,” the Master ended, “that one will be appointed by the Fates. This choosing will be complex — and painful.”

  The Mistress grasped Elana’s hand. “Speak to no one until we’ve heard from the meeting with the Terran Commander. When we know more, then your thoughts will be most needed — and your words of discouragement to the less prepared.”

  Elana’s eyes dropped to the flagstone floor. She understood; for the few who would meet the qualifications, one or two would be too rash to grasp the situation fully. She would dissuade these even if it meant a change in their amarin.

  The Master half-bowed in his parting. “I will see to the vault’s findings.”

  The Mistress absently patted Elana’s hand once more as they found themselves alone. Neither was sure whom the reassuring touch was for. “Carry on with the tumbling this morning, Elana. See to it that those lazy newcomers fall on their shoulders and not their stupid necks. I am in need of an hour’s sleep.”

  “Yes Mistress.” Gently the slender woman bent and placed a kiss on the thinning gray hair.

  Without another word the old woman left her. Resolutely, the evening’s happenings were set aside, and Elana turned for the still sleeping dormitorie
s.

  † † †

  With a sudden burst of speed Elana bounded over the rocky crest of the trail to finish her run. The south wind met her with a refreshing if chilly touch; the yellow sun’s warmth was faint in this late autumn. A deep, satisfied breath came from her lungs, and with hands on hips she walked in a slow circle waiting for her pounding heart to settle. A small bit of pride stirred as she noticed the healthy caramel blush to her skin; she was in the best shape of her life. She wiped the salty water from her brow and enjoyed the feeling of sheer aliveness in her body. She felt her balance — eager but tempered with patience, strong but clever under the Old Mistress’ tutoring. She was ripe, but for what destiny? She stilled to stare out across the forest below.

  As usual for trainees running or tumbling, she wore her thighlength tunic and short knits beneath, not woolen tights, and the strength of her thighs glistened with perspiration as she stepped off of the trail. The hides of her soft leather boots protected her calves and knees as she pushed through the thorny scrub. Her expression grew more serious as she scaled the side of a mammoth weathered stone that jutted from the mountain’s slope. She gained the top of it and settled, dangling her feet above the treeline.

  So much needed to be clearer, Elana thought as she gazed out across the endless green and black of the forests below. The air pressed and swirled past her, blowing hair into her face. Impatiently she pushed the tousled braid over her shoulder and out of her way. And then she grew bold in her impatience.

  “By your Twin Moons, Mother! What have you planned for me?!”

  The stillness of the heights echoed only the wind, and the clouds above were scattered fingers. There was no answer. She hesitated, a moment of doubting her readiness, yet she felt her being centered and knew — not with youthful arrogance or exuberant pride, but with calm certainty — she knew her right as the Eldest Prepared. Again, deliberately pitching her voice low to carry far in the dancing winds, Elana cried with open arms, “Mother! Hear me!”

  A shrill eagle’s call pierced the wind, and quickly Elana turned left to spot its flight. It banked. From high in the sky it crashed into the forest’s depths, and suddenly she was one with the bird. The shadows felt cool. Dappled sunlight streamed down to touch a well-trodden road below. And on the road a figure appeared, riding hard on a tall chestnut. The horse was sweating white, but willingly it pushed on for its rider. Briefly the weathered, angular lines of the woman’s face were clear, then she was gone.

  From her distant perch Elana blinked and found herself alone again. On the horizon, the eagle swooped then lifted, soaring through the blueness until it too was nothing. Grim and clear that her destiny was this vision woman and not the Terrans’ crisis, Elana stood. In her depths she warred with the desire to discard her endless waiting, for it was obvious that the rider was some distance from the Keep and worse, traveling in the wrong direction.

  After two tenmoons of visions, she was tired of waiting. This new venture with the off-worlders was sorely tempting. An adventure that promised great challenge — where the jesting Fates would gather the frayed ends of history and seal the chapter with wax and death or begin an intricate reweaving of tomorrow’s stories.

  But, sullenly, Elana admitted she knew that to play in the destruction or winning of this Terran game — would likely ensure complete failure. This temptation was only one door of many that could court failure. She knew her destiny was bound to that woman on the chestnut stallion — whether it was by the Mother’s Hand or by Fates’ Jest. Her Blue-Sighted visions had shown her enough to know that she must wait for this woman.

  But this Terran challenge — seldom in the history of Aggar were the Shadows’ stakes so weighty! More often it was the countless smaller efforts that were scattered through the centuries that brought Aggar safely through crises.

  She remembered the Empire’s history that she had studied. A terrifying number of civilizations had not slipped past self-destruction. It was amazing Aggar had not been lost as well.

  Elana sighed and returned to the trail. Her lust was not and never would be for power or politics. Her desire to join this mission was not from pride or a drive for fame. Shadows were not to be noted in written histories; they were silent, unnamed partners to those humans whose efforts would determine the future. Shadows were the extra throw of the dice when the Fates seemed to be the least friendly. No, for Shadows, the need was much simpler and much more compelling in its simplicity. It was the urge to adventure… to dare the undoable.

  And just which Shadow was to attempt the impossible this time? She had not been appointed Eldest by mere age or agility. Others were older. Many of the younger trainees could even best her on individual tasks, except for the sprint. But her maturity — that tempered stamina and continual, patient attention to details which was so crucial to survival — was a less conspicuous skill. It was, however, the very skill which might most be needed on this venture.

  Elana began to review the talents of their more experienced trainees who paced themselves naturally. She knew the selection could not be based on a single ability. It would be best if the Shadow could compliment the off-worlder’s own training. The chosen one would need a firm grasp of the northern terrain of both the Maltar’s realms and the Ramains districts, as well as a thorough understanding of the people and languages. A hunter? She wondered if off-worlders ate meats or plants. She would need to review the vault records before she spoke with the Mistress about candidates.

  Unless the unwitting soul had already been chosen by the Fates? Then all the records in the Keep would be worth naught — and with that ironic thought, Elana smiled faintly and ducked back into the forest’s shadows.

  † † †

  Chapter Four

  The lazy crescent of a midnight moon hung above a wooded mountain peak, and the Old Mistress sighed, shifting her chilled joints. The stone of the garden bench was cold. Dawn was nearing, and the night’s vigil had been a long one. The dampness of the air crept into her lungs, and wearily she forced a cough. She was becoming too old for this, her breathing more often labored now. Yet the shadows cast by the Twin Moons had always been generous to her; they had never denied her their wizened powers… until tonight.

  A bird trilled, and a gray finger of light touched the clouds. Another’s song broke, and beyond the garden wall, the birds’ clear notes began to wrestle amongst the shimmering grey-green leaves and silverpine needles.

  The old woman sighed heavily. The fumblings of these Terrans demanded much, and yet she could find no reason for her Ona to be excluded. In the past an impending crisis would draw so much attention that the smaller threads of Aggar’s tapestry went forgotten until they slipped from the Council’s careful grasp. Always in the silence of night, meditation would bring an awareness of the carelessness and steps could be taken to address the near-forgotten needs. She had hoped that this vision was such a task, something vital and yet less spectacular, that had been overlooked… something to concern her Ona and the vision-woman of those Blue-Sighted dreams. But she had found nothing.

  It was possible, that this vision-woman was not of this time. It was rare even for a Seer to possess the talent of out-of-time seeing — but not unheard of.

  But Elana was a Shadow trainee, she was to be protector and guide. She was not a Seer’s apprentice; she was not one to be seduced and absorbed by that pulsing amarin of Aggar’s very fiber. Indeed she had never held an interest in that dreadful lure of consuming power. No, Elana had not so finely mastered her Blue Sight that she could have seen beyond, to tomorrows.

  Still in those dreamspun visions… Ona had witnessed something. Was it about this current adventure?

  Or perhaps this confusion was from her own ambitions, the Old Mistress ruefully allowed. It was true, she did sorely want the Eldest Prepared to join the Terrans’ excursion — a challenge worthy of Elana’s talents. It was a challenge with stakes of awing proportions. And the treasures beyond — the travels and mysteries in the stars
that might come too? Oh yes, despite all risks, she did want this task for Elana.

  Her eyes fixed on the reddening, cloud-streaked sky as she remembered how she had watched the girl grow and mature. She had sternly reprimanded and disciplined the unthinking risks, the rashness… the stupidities of youth, but as the ignorance lessened and the stubborn childishness came under control, she had seen the emergence of a measured confidence — how it mixed with steely determination, harnessing a passion for conquering the unsurpassable. She had seen that lust for adventure tempered by Training as a sword’s blade was tempered by red hot coals — to unique strength — found so seldom. This time she, as Mistress, had guided that forging. With honesty and with pride the old woman acknowledged the part she had played shaping Elana’s life. But her part would be ending now. Grimly the Old Mistress shifted on her bench, knowing it was not just the cold that caused her discomfort.

  “Mistress…?”

  The old woman pushed her gnarled hands deep into the pockets of her robe. She knew her apprehension would be apparent to the young woman with her ability to read feelings as amarin — as would her annoyance at being caught by surprise.

  Elana hesitated beside a tree, still half-hidden by its curtain of green-grey leaves. Unconsciously her left hand reached out to press against the green bark. She waited, absorbing the stoic strength of the tree’s amarin.

  “Thank you for speaking. It’s unnerving to have you appear so.”

  A fond smile touched Elana’s lips as she stepped forward. “I move only as you taught me, Mistress.”

  The woman relinquished her irritation. “Have you been searching for me long?”

  “No.”

  The Mistress turned sharp eyes on her Eldest as the young woman sat down. There were bluish hollows beneath Elana’s eyes and lines pulled at the corners of her full mouth. “You are tired. You have not slept… again.”