“Will this help?” Blakstar asked.
Tevvy looked up, surprised by what the kortexi held; one of his eyebrows raised slightly. “Where did you get that?”
Blakstar looked slightly sheepish. “As I traveled through the element of water, journeying up the Mountain of Vision, the path entered a tunnel that was filled with the wealth of the world. This key,” he held the key up again, “lodged in my sandal. I hung it around my neck without thinking about what I was doing.” He shrugged. “Something about the way you said ‘key’ and ‘lying around’ brought it back to mind.”
Tevvy took the key from Blakstar and looked at it closely. After a moment of carefully looking at both sides of the key, comprehension bloomed on the awemi’s face.
“What is it?” Thal asked.
“This key is incredible!” Tevvy exclaimed. “I have never seen its like anywhere!” He looked up from the key at Blakstar. “Can I borrow it?” he asked. “I want to show it to my father; he will be very interested in it.”
Thal laughed. “What makes it so special?” he asked.
“It is both mechanical and teka in nature,” Tevvy replied, “like the lock.”
Blakstar shook his head. “If it actually opens this lock,” he said, “you can have it.”
Tevvy smiled up at the kortexi, then turned and slid the key into place. “Here goes,” he said, turning the key. The lock clunked audibly, but no hidden door opened. Instead, green light surrounded the pedestal, glowing intensely. Tevvy moved quickly away from the pedestal, taking the key and shielding his eyes; Thal and Blakstar mimicked his action. Even though the light was very bright, they could still see what was happening; the pedestal reshaped itself, the pieces Tevvy had chipped off flew up from the ground, returning to their original place and form. The broken pieces of the statue, strewn across the ground, flew back to the pedestal, were surrounded by intense green light, and reformed into the majestic shape of Shigmar. Once the statue had reformed, a ball of light shot into the air moving swiftly north.
“What was that?” Tevvy asked, still squinting in the intense light.
“A signal of some kind,” Thal replied. He turned to Blakstar. “What is north of Kalbant?”
“Krystal Lake,” the kortexi replied.
“And beyond the lake?” Thal asked.
“The mountains,” he replied, “but no other settlement.”
“Strange,” Thal commented, looking back at the statue. “Was there any writing on the pedestal before?”
Blakstar shrugged. “I’ve never been here, so I do not know.”
“Tevvy?” Thal asked, turning toward the awemi.
The awemi shook his head.
Thal sighed, looking west. “She who would know has gone,” he said, looking back; he stood thinking for a moment. “We better make a copy of it, just in case,” he said, turning to go to his horse. He rummaged through one of his saddlebags, pulling out a piece of parchment.
Blakstar frowned, then looked back at the pedestal.
“It’s in a different language,” Tevvy noted, running his hands over the writing.
Blakstar leaned forward to look more closely at the pedestal, then looked at Thal. “Did you notice the oddity on the corpses we examined?”
Thal moved back to the pedestal and took out his rod. “Do you refer to the mark branded on each forehead?” he asked, squatting next to the pedestal, his rod glowing. He moved the tip of his rod over the writing, then tapped the parchment, muttering. The writing on the pedestal was now copied onto the parchment.
“Yes,” Blakstar said, moving off to look at other nearby corpses.
“Why didn’t you do that,” Tevvy asked, “with the writing in the stasis room?”
“The writing in the stasis room is one that is disputed,” Thal noted, “so I took the rubbing of it to show that I did not create it to say what I wanted it to say. I imagine that, sometime in the future, we will have to take people into the stasis room so that they can see for themselves what the writing says. This one,” he went on, “looks to be written for us.” He paused, and Blakstar heard the rustling of his robes. “On those, too?” Thal asked.
Blakstar looked up and nodded.
“What mark?” Tevvy asked.
“The sign of Gar,” Thal said, “the same sign that appears somewhere on each of the chosen.”
“Why would they take the time to brand corpses?” Tevvy asked.
Blakstar turned back to the pedestal. “Because they knew we were coming,” he said.
“And they want us,” Thal said, pointing at himself, “to take the blame for what has happened here.”
“Didn’t someone say that Klare comes from this village?” Tevvy asked.
Thal nodded. “That is why she ran off,” he replied, but stopped suddenly. “Not Klare, too!”
“We better go and find the others,” Tevvy said, “in case this is a trap.”
Klaybear hurled past another smoking ruin, dreading what he would see; he pulled up short, staring at the rubble before him. Klare knelt on the ground next to what must have been a body. Although her back was to him, he could tell by the way she knelt that she was healing; he could feel her manipulating elemental forces. Looking around as he moved slowly forward, he saw that very little remained of her family’s home. The house had been completely destroyed; only a few stones of the foundation remained in place. The whole area was covered with smoldering rubble and broken bits of what were once personal possessions. Even their animals had been butchered, lying strewn among the wrack. As Klaybear got closer to his wife, he could see her sister kneeling opposite Klare, watching as Klare worked, one hand on her mother’s forehead. Jally looked up, hearing the sound of his approach, her dirt-stained face streaked with tears, and a strand of her brown hair was stuck to her forehead, falling over her nose.
“Jally,” he said as he knelt next to Klare, “where is the rest of the family?” he asked, fearing her response.
Jally turned her head and glanced toward the place where the house had been. “They never got out,” she sobbed. “Father pushed mother and I out first, then went back for the boys. The whole house exploded; the purem were everywhere; they took us and they . . . ,” she burst out crying, unable to speak for a time.
Klaybear looked down and saw his mother-in-law, unconscious; Klare worked frantically to keep her alive. One glance told Klaybear that she was losing the battle, although the wounds were not obvious; there were bruises all over her mother’s body. As he watched her work, she lifted her hand from her mother’s forehead, and Klaybear saw something that knocked him from his knees back onto his hands; his hood fell off.
Jally looked up and saw the mark burned into Klaybear’s forehead. “You!” she exclaimed, pointing and rising to her feet. “It’s you! You killed my family and destroyed my village!” She reached out with clawed hands and leapt at her brother-in-law.
Klare looked up, shocked by her sister’s outburst. “Jally, no!” she said, putting out a hand to try and stop her.
Before Klaybear could move, Jally had her hands around his throat. “We were defiled because of you!” she hissed through clenched teeth; her fury loosened the hair stuck to her forehead, revealing that she was branded with a similar mark.
Her hands were suddenly pulled from his throat, but the action left parallel scratch marks on either side of his neck. Klaybear gasped and saw Rokwolf holding the still struggling girl.
“No!” Jally shrieked. “He killed my family and my friends; he must be punished!” She struggled futilely in the seklesi’s grasp.
“Do something!” Rokwolf shouted.
Klare reached out a glowing hand and said, “supno,” putting her to sleep; Jally went limp in Rokwolf’s hands. The seklesi laid her carefully on the ground next to her mother.
“What happened?” Rokwolf asked, pulling his twin to his feet.
Klaybear was still too stunned to speak.
Klare shook her head. “She, for no apparent reason, attack
ed him.”
Klaybear was staring down at the two foreheads. He pointed. “Look at their foreheads,” he said. “I was so shocked when I saw your mother’s forehead that I fell back, my hood fell off, and your sister saw the mark on my forehead. That was when she attacked,” he finished, letting his arm fall to his side.
Klare’s eyes filled with tears. “Why?” she sobbed. “Why would they do this to my family, my village? My father and brothers killed, my sister mad, my mother . . . ,” she stopped, bowing her head, her body shaking.
Klaybear knelt and took his wife in his arms; Rokwolf looked around.
“Where were her father and brothers?” Rokwolf asked in twin.
Klaybear nodded toward the rubble that was the house. “Inside,” he said, “the house exploded.”
Rokwolf moved carefully forward, stepping over the tumbled foundation, eyes scanning the wreckage. He could see where the walls had been, but there was little else recognizable among the rubble. He moved through the house, looking for places where someone could have sheltered from the explosion. “Wasn’t there a cellar?” he asked, still speaking in their private language.
“A root cellar,” Klaybear replied, “but it was entered from the outside of the house.”
“At the back?” Rokwolf asked.
Klaybear nodded. “Yes,” he said. Klare’s sobbing had quieted, but she still clung to her husband. “How is it,” he began, shifting to common, “that you have any energy after using the kortexi’s sword to open a door? When he sent Delgart and Marilee to you in Holvar, he slept for over six hours.”
Rokwolf had moved out of the back of the house, looking for the cellar entrance. “The kortexem are the best fighters in the land, having great skill and knowledge of weapons,” he said, “but if they have a single weakness,” he went on, pulling the broken cellar door off of its opening, “it is in the use of weapons endowed with teka; they are not allowed to use them. In fact, they shun and refuse to use them, so they receive no training in the use of these kinds of artifacts.”
“Aah, of course,” Klaybear said, suddenly understanding. “I’m surprised Thal did not think of it.”
Rokwolf stopped talking for a moment as he climbed into the cellar, emerging a little later. He came around the rubble that was the house back to where Klaybear knelt next to Klare, holding her in his arms. “It is as I feared,” Rokwolf noted, “when the house exploded, the ceiling of the cellar collapsed and filled with rubble. If anyone is still alive in there, it will be difficult to extract them.”
“I can try and detect any signs of life,” Klaybear said, releasing Klare reluctantly and rising, “but Klare is better at it than I am,” he finished, looking down at his wife, who had turned back to examine her mother and sisters.
“I cannot leave them,” Klare said, “neither one is very stable at this moment.”
“I can go,” Klaybear said. He moved off with Rokwolf to investigate the cellar.
Rokwolf switched back to twin. “You have very little time,” he said. “Your Headmaster was quite insistent on the four of you getting into the tomb quickly.”
“The four of us?” Klaybear asked.
“The three key holders and Tevvy,” Rokwolf replied. “Given what has happened here, your wife will not leave her mother and sister, so I will stay with her and watch over her, until you return with the staff.” Rokwolf put one hand on his twin’s arm. “It is almost as if the Headmaster knew what we would find.”
“How could he know her home would be attacked?” Klaybear asked.
Rokwolf shrugged.
Klaybear climbed into the cellar; Rokwolf knelt beside the opening to watch. Klaybear raised his hands, surrounded by green light, concentrating on the rubble filling the collapsed cellar; beads of sweat formed on his forehead, beginning to run down his cheeks; the mark on his forehead pulsed with dull red light. After a few silent minutes, the light surrounding his hands went out, and he lowered his hands slowly. Klaybear sniffed and wiped his face on his sleeves after climbing out.
“You reminded me of the kortexi weakness with teka weapons,” he remarked, trying to turn his thoughts and their conversation away from the tragedy before them.
“Yes,” Rokwolf replied, “they are banned, so they are not trained in the use of teka-enhanced weapons, unlike we seklesem, you kailum, or the maghem. When you use your staff or rod to work with power, you draw energy from all that surrounds you, then channel that energy through the orthek you weave.”
Klaybear nodded. “That makes sense,” he said, “and it is something that we would not have thought of, since we are trained from the beginning to draw energy in the way you describe.”
“So Blakstar,” Rokwolf went on, “does not draw on those other sources as you do, not knowing of them, which means the energy is drawn by the weapon of power directly from him, draining him of strength. He will have to be careful with that sword in battle, as it will drain him completely of strength if he does not learn how to wield it without weakening himself.”
Klare looked up as they walked back to where she knelt beside her mother; her eyes filled with tears and red from her weeping. Klaybear saw her, recognized her sorrow, teared up himself, and moved forward quickly to take her again in his arms.
Rokwolf watched them kneeling and holding each other, sharing each other’s grief, for a moment before turning away, stabbed by jealousy. Why, he wondered, did she continue to reject him? He thought of the methaghi’s vision of his future, knew she would be a part of that future, and wondered, again, why she could not see that? But even as he wondered this, another face intruded upon his thoughts, the one other figure that had appeared in the methaghi’s vukeetu; he ground his teeth and shoved her face into the dim recesses of his mind. He had lost his place, his position among the seklesem, his command, sent here to lead this group, the chosen, everyone told him, and constantly be with his twin, who had caught his mate. Jealousy flared again, turning to anger, and he stalked off toward the east, intending to find out what the others were doing. He ignored his brother’s query about where he was going, walking quickly out of their view. He nearly ran over Tevvy, who was following their tracks.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Tevvy asked, leaping aside.
Rokwolf looked up and stopped, but did not speak immediately. “What did you find?” he asked after a moment of silence.
“The monument was destroyed,” Tevvy replied, “but we found a way to repair it, and, in the process, we set off some sort of signal and found a message written to the chosen.”
“Message?” Rokwolf said, puzzled. “There was only Shigmar’s name before.”
“Klare’s family?” Thal asked, brow wrinkled.
Rokwolf sighed. “Her home was destroyed,” he replied slowly, “her father and brothers killed when the house exploded. Her mother and sister were taken and violated by the purem; I don’t think either one will live long.”
“No,” Thal whispered, his eyes tearing.
Tevvy shook his head; looking back, he saw Blakstar’s face mottled with rage, saw him reaching for his sword. Tevvy touched Rokwolf’s arm and pointed.
Rokwolf grabbed the kortexi’s arm and shook it. “They are miles away,” he said, “there is nothing you can do!”
The words affected Blakstar, and he looked at Rokwolf, his eyes focusing on the seklesi. He relaxed slowly, releasing his sword, letting the breath he was holding escape in a sigh. “I don’t understand why I get so angry when anyone mentions . . . rape,” he struggled to say the word, “it makes me want to . . . ,” he went on, but stopped and looked away.
Rokwolf patted the kortexi’s shoulder gently and turned to Thal. “You said there was a message for us,” he said, “what message?”
Thal wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe. “I haven’t looked at it closely, but I did see the chosen mentioned.” He took the parchment copy from inside his robes and started to read. “Let’s see,” he said, “Long ago when the young earth made, no, that verb is plura
l, it must be, when the earth was young, they made wonderful things, they sang great power, um, they created a sword, rod, and staff, hmm, there’s an ‘if,’ so that phrase continues, that would put the rebel son to flight if they trap, oh, but that doesn’t make sense, so the creation of the sword, rod, and staff must have put the rebel son to flight and then, if they catch him–the rebel son–they will put him in a lonely cell,” he paused, “all right, I think it goes on, when the appointed time comes they will discover the three, destruction loosed, puri chiefs not bound, which must mean they are set free to cause the destruction, then, ah, here is what we are looking for, the staff hidden in the north, cross over clear water, find the shrine on a lonely hill, I hope you chosen are strong, not skilled,” he finished, looking up from the parchment.
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 41
