The Redemption, Volume 1

by Clyde B Northrup

  So great was the power and majesty of the kortexi, that the purem drew back for a moment, but the ponkolu laughed loudly at the three caged in the creaking wagon, the others quickly joining him although their laughter sounded forced.

  “You keep thinking that way, kortexi,” the ponkolu spat, “because it will make breaking you all the more pleasurable.”

  Blakstar turned back to his companions. “How is he?” he asked softly, pointing at Klaybear who was slumped on the bed of the wagon.

  Thal shook his head. “How are we going to get out of this?” Thal asked. “That is the more appropriate question.”

  Blakstar looked forward at their weapons lying just in front of the cage on the bed of the wagon. He wanted to stand up, but the wooden bars overhead were too close. “Isn’t there anything you can do?” he asked, pointing to their weapons.

  Thal shook his head. “Although you cannot see them, we are surrounded by black maghem and red kailum. Just at the edge of my hearing, they are chanting their ortheks, keeping the shield around us. If I tried to, say, lift my rod to me, the orthek would bounce back at me lifting me into the shield where I would be burned by the teka fire surrounding us. I think they hoped I would try. They certainly baited you and Klaybear for that very reason: to see you hurl yourself against the bars and be burned.”

  Blakstar sighed and looked around. “Where are they taking us?”

  “To Shigmar,” Thal said softly, “do you not recognize the road we travel?”

  Blakstar nodded once after looking around them again. “At this rate, we will not be there until sundown.”

  Thal nodded. “You rest,” he said, “you look like you could use it.”

  Blakstar laughed once. “Rest,” he chuckled, “as if I could.”

  “There is nothing else you can do,” Thal replied. “My mother . . . ,” he started to say, and Blakstar saw the tear forming in his eye, “she always taught me to take advantage of the opportunities placed before me. Since there is nothing we can do right now, you might as well enjoy the ride.”

  Blakstar shook his head, but chuckled again in spite of their hopeless situation.

  “I’ll wake you the moment anything changes,” Thal added.

  Noon came and went; the afternoon moved toward sunset, ticked off by the constant “creak-creak” of the wagon’s wooden axle as the wheels went round and round. The ponkolu and purem continued to taunt the three caged, alternating between direct insults and vulgar stories of their violent exploits. Seeing the anger and frustration growing in his two companions, Thal touched both of their foreheads with a finger, creating a tiny envelope of silence around each head, so that neither could hear what the purem were saying; both rested fitfully after that. Thal sat cross-legged with his elbows resting on his knees, passing the time by meditating upon the facts and history of what had happened over the past few days, and what might happen in the future. He kept one ear on the conversations of their captors, hoping to glean more information that might help him to see new patterns among what he already knew, when he noticed the creaking of the wagon had ceased. He focused on his surroundings and realized at once they had stopped moving. The purem guarding the wagon were whispering among themselves, wondering, as Thal, why they had stopped. He saw no sign of the ponkolu. It was an hour before sunset; as Thal looked around, he saw they had stopped near the place where he and his companions had first entered the road as they traveled north from Shigmar: the city of the kailum must be just around these hills. The purem began looking around nervously; from their whispers, Thal gleaned that they should have met another company by now, to escort them, but the company had not arrived. Thal felt, and then he could hear, the chanting of the red kailum and the black maghem change, as if some of the voices had stopped chanting. He listened more carefully, saw the two purem driving the wagon exchanging nervous glances, and heard the chanting change again. He touched his companions, cancelling the silence he had placed around them, roused them but held both still, to keep them from sitting up and alerting their purem guards, who were still looking around nervously.

  “Hold still,” Thal whispered to them through clenched teeth. “We’ve stopped, and it sounds like some of those maintaining the shield around us have turned to do something else.”

  “Can you break through?” Klaybear whispered.

  “I’ll check,” Thal whispered back, reaching out tentatively with his mind, which was not thrown back, but the barrier was still there. Yet even as he probed, he felt it weaken further still, and he knew that the time had nearly come for action. Shouting and curses suddenly erupted around them, just beyond the edge of the trees all surrounding the road. “It’s weakening,” he whispered, and after another moment, “get ready,” he noted, “I’m going to try and cut through the shield on the side nearest our weapons. If I can breach it for a moment, I think I can call my rod into my hand, and then I can shatter the shield, and maybe the cage while I’m at it.”

  “Don’t worry about the cage,” the kortexi noted coldly, “if the shield is gone, I will make sure the bars follow.”

  “Together,” Klaybear said as coldly, “we will make the bars disappear.”

  “And the purem guarding us will rue the day they were chosen for this job,” Blakstar added.

  Thal shook his head but did not reply. He checked the shield again and saw that it had weakened further. “Ready?” he whispered.

  They nodded. “The roof?” Blakstar asked.

  “The roof,” Klaybear replied, and both shifted and rolled slowly sideways, until both were squatting on their feet. “For Klare,” Klaybear noted.

  Blakstar nodded. “And all others they have violated.”

  Thal noticed the looks on both faces and thought that if he were one of the purem and saw those looks, he would start running. “Watch me,” he whispered, and he stabbed at the shield with his mind. They heard a pair of strangled cries from somewhere in front of the wagon; the purem around the wagon looked nervously in that direction. The shield opened; Thal reached past the bars with the hands of his mind, lifted and brought his rod through the bars into his outstretched right hand. When his fingers closed around his rod, a bolt of white light shot straight up through the bars over their heads, then the bolt curved suddenly and shot toward the area in front of the wagon. They heard screams of pain, suddenly cut off. “Now!” Thal shouted. Blakstar and Klaybear threw their shoulders against the bars, their normal strength enhanced by their anger over what had happened to Klare, over being captured, caged, and taunted. The rough bars overhead creaked, then cracked, then burst under the force of righteous anger. As the two leaped over the cage to grab their weapons, Thal stood and shot bolts of forked lightning at the two purem driving the wagon, who had turned to see what the noise behind them was, and so both took the bolts full in the chest and were blasted from their seats.

  The purem guarding the cage were momentarily stunned when they turned and saw the cage burst open; those who were immediately behind the wagon were crushed to the ground by the remains of the cage top. Thal saw his two companions grab their weapons and leap off the wagon to the right and left, so he turned around and shot bolts of white fire at the guards struggling to get out from under the cage top. Blakstar leapt off the wagon straight at the puri who had taunted them, hissing through clenched teeth: “You’ve made your last mistake!” Will-giver whistled through the air surrounded by golden fire, neatly removing the puri’s head, the face wearing a startled look; the other three purem on that side did not have time even to block before Blakstar had cut them to pieces. On the other side of the wagon, Klaybear used breath-giver, surrounded by green light, to parry the feeble attempts to attack him, crushing four skulls, one after another, with four swift strokes. Thal blasted the two remaining behind the wagon with white fire, knocking them from their feet, and before they could get up, the kortexi and kailu were there, depriving them of further breath. Blakstar and Klaybear backed up to the wagon, looking all around for the rest of the co
mpany. They stood silent and ready, not moving for several minutes, listening intently until they were startled by the sounds of someone crashing through trees and underbrush.

  Out of the trees and brush at the edge of the road, almost along the same path they had followed previously, crashed the ponkolu, hands holding the left side of his face; blood leaked from between his fingers, blood that smoked in the cool air of late afternoon. He stopped short, seeing the wagon empty, the cage in ruins, and his comrades sprawled upon the ground, their spilled blood beginning to steam and smoke. Blakstar leaped toward the ponkolu, will-giver held high and ready to descend, splitting the skull of the surprised ponkolu. He held still, as if waiting for the death hurtling toward him, dodging sideways out of the kortexi’s way even as Blakstar sliced down. The ponkolu removed his hands from his face and opened a black archway. Before he stepped through and disappeared, they clearly saw that the left side of his face had been sliced open, destroying his left eye. Although falling forward as a result of encountering no resistance to his sword stroke, Blakstar managed to twist and alter his swing, raking the tip of his sword across the ponkolu’s back, causing him to shriek in pain, a shriek cut-off when the black archway closed. Blakstar crashed onto the ground, disappearing for several moments in the underbrush. As he extricated himself from the undergrowth, a new voice startled them and caused him to whip around, will-giver coming up to attack the newcomer.

  “Hold, chosen!” came a voice from in front of Blakstar, but it was not a harsh, puri voice, rather it was soft and melodic, like a breeze gently shaking the trees. A tall, alabaster-skinned figure stepped out of the trees, holding up his right hand, palm toward them, in the symbol of parlay.

  Thal raised one eyebrow. “I had understood that the vedem had a policy of non-interference with the other races.”

  “Your information is correct,” the musical voice of the vedi replied. He was at least two feet taller than Thal, who was the tallest of the three, with hair like golden sunshine. His eyes were deep blue and his ears pointed. He carried a bow, longer then the bows they had seen carried by their seklesi companions, with a quiver of arrows slung over his back. The sleeveless vest and breeches he wore were feathered, his knee boots of leather and colored golden brown. A long curved dagger hung from his belt. “I am Neflo, son of Nefli, leader of the vedi contingent sent to aid the chosen of the One. I have words that I must give to you, the words of our seers. Grab your things, and your mounts, and follow me.” He turned and passed back under the trees.

  The three companions exchanged looks, then grabbed their packs and belts, untied their horses from the wagon, and led them in the direction the vedi had gone. Blakstar detoured to the front of the wagon, releasing the brake and slapping the nearest horse, starting the wagon moving again, then followed the others into the trees. They found the vedi waiting a short way under the trees. When all three of them approached, Neflo held up both hands in greeting.

  “We have destroyed the purem who held you captive,” Neflo began, “and I think we owe you some explanation of why we have broken our policy of isolation. Our seers knew over twenty of your years ago, that the first of the chosen had been born into the world, and that events were moving toward a foreseen confrontation. A few years before the first chosen was born, the seers saw that we must come to the aid of the chosen at this moment else all races would be enslaved under Gar’s rule. We obeyed the seers, although with much reluctance. We were also instructed to give you a warning.”

  “A warning?” Thal asked, one eyebrow rising slowly.

  Neflo nodded to Klaybear. “A warning about breath-giver: our seers have seen that it will cause great damage to our world; you must return it to the tomb for safe-keeping without using it.”

  “Without using it?” Klaybear said. “We cannot; we were told that it is the only way we can save Shigmar.”

  Neflo shook his head. “You will not save the city with breath-giver; you will destroy it, as surely as the armies come against the city will destroy it, but many will survive. You must go into the city and lead the survivors away. The seklesem army is trapped within the pass and will not come before the city is destroyed. Your only hope is to save the people.”

  “Shigmar told us the only way to save the people is with his staff,” Klaybear countered.

  “Also,” Thal added, “we have been told that the staff is necessary to end Gar’s rule; we need the staff for that.”

  “That ending may not happen for many years,” Neflo retorted, “even our seers cannot see when that will occur.” He looked at Klaybear. “How do you know that it is the only way to save the city? Have you, personally, explored all possibilities? Using the staff will bring a terrible burden upon your head; the seers have seen this, and we know that you have not explored other options, and that you do not have to pay this terrible price. Even your first kailu himself could not see other possibilities.”

  Klaybear and Thal both raised their eyebrows. “How do you know that?” Klaybear asked.

  “All wethem are blinded by their choices,” the vedi replied, “even Shigmar himself was blinded by his choices, by the things he chose not to see.”

  “What didn’t he see?” Klaybear asked.

  “Not what he didn’t see,” Neflo replied, “but what he saw and refused to recognize.”

  “What did he refuse to recognize?” Thal asked.

  “Only he could tell,” the vedi replied.

  “Then how are you so sure that he did?” Thal pressed.

  “It is the flaw of all wethem,” Neflo replied, “the flaw in your makeup that makes you such easy prey to evil, so quick to turn from the good. Have you not seen this flaw for yourselves, in the way you have been treated by those who should be aiding you, because of the marks you all wear, marred as you are by Gwondreu himself?” He paused to look down at each of them. “One’s destiny can be changed by choosing a different destiny, by choosing not to accept it.”

  They looked at him, stunned by his words.

  Neflo raised one hand. “This is what we have come to tell you; we exhort you to take the staff back and not use it to save your city. For the sake of the people, for your own sakes, do not use this terrible power of breath-giver.” Without waiting for them to respond, Neflo turned and disappeared into the shadows under the trees like a rush of wind through the branches.

  Chapter 19

  Melancholia can be as debilitating as any other mental disease, and in some ways more deadly, for the person so afflicted becomes unpredictable, saying and doing things she would otherwise never say or do . . . the larger the trigger, the more unpredictable the response. . . .

  Relana, Headmistress of Shigmar, 2370-2414

  “What was that all about?” Blakstar asked as he, Thal, and Klaybear led their horses up the hill, following nearly the same path they used when climbing this hill two days ago. Klaybear had been silent since the vedi had left them.

  “I do not know,” Thal admitted. “The vedem are a strange race that remains isolated from the rest of us. They are not evil, but they have never lifted a finger, before now, to help anyone but themselves.”

  “So why would they help us, now?” Blakstar asked.

  “You heard what he said,” Thal noted, “about their seers.”

  “What are seers?” Blakstar asked.

  Thal sighed. “They are ‘see-ers,’ and they look into the future, much like the visions of the kailum, or the vukeetu of the maghem, who get glimpses of the future. However, with the vedem, their council of seers is their ruling body, directing the actions of all the vedem, wherever they reside.”

  “But why would they tell us,” Blakstar protested again, “to return the staff and not use it, when we have been told over and over again that we need the staff to destroy Gar?”

  “No idea,” Thal admitted. “They did not share much with us, only that they had to rescue us, and their opinion that we should not use the power of the staff to save Shigmar.”

  Blakstar shook
his head and looked around. “We are getting close to the hilltop,” he noted, “I am beginning to hear the sounds of the battle beyond.”

  “Yes,” Thal agreed, “we must be cautious.” He looked around. “Should we leave our horses here?” he asked.

  Blakstar shook his head. “No, I want them close, in case we need them.” They were coming to the edge of the trees. “Wait here,” Blakstar said, putting a hand on Thal’s arm to stop him. He handed Thal his reins. “I will go ahead, in case there is another company of purem waiting.”

  “Or one of the aperum,” Thal muttered.

  Blakstar smiled and put one hand on the hilt of his sword. He turned and moved forward up the hill, crouching down and crawling as he came to the edge of the wood. He soon disappeared from Thal’s view.

  “What did you think of Neflo?” he asked softly, turning to Klaybear.

  The green kailu only shrugged.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Thal added. He looked back in the direction the kortexi had gone. “I wonder how the others are?” he asked.

  “We could find out,” Klaybear replied, holding up his staff.

  “With the morgle on the other side of this hill?” Thal replied, “have you lost your mind?” He smiled to show his companion that he jested.

  Klaybear sighed. “You are right; I think I have lost my mind.”

  “Hardly,” Thal retorted, “I’ve studied those who have lost their minds: they chew on their own hands or beat their heads against walls; a few are perfectly sane one minute, foaming at the mouth and barking the next. I have not seen you behave in any of these manners.”

  Blakstar came back, his face wrinkled.

  “What is it?” Thal asked.

  “I was right,” the kortexi replied, “there was a company of purem waiting for us.”