by Pedro Urvi
It had all happened in an instant.
Komir stepped back in awe.
The candle, the bedside table and part of the bed were now completely frozen, covered by a layer of ice and frost.
Amazing! Wonderful!
I…froze the candle… and part of the furniture… unbelievable…Awesome!
He looked at his battered hand, where an ugly burn was evident and hurt terribly, but he was very happy ‒ more than that, he was exultant ‒ he had worked magic, his idea had worked, he had managed it by himself, without any help.
This is great! I’ve worked magic! Incredible!
He was so happy he skipped all over the room like a little boy with new boots on, capering and dancing, forgetting for a moment how much his hand hurt. He could only think of what he had achieved.
The medallion emitted a whitish flash.
Huh, what’s it doing now? What’s going on?
He held the medallion on his chest with his good hand and looked at it, half-fearful, half-excited.
A new white flash filled the room.
Something was happening, he did not know what but he had no control over it. The medallion ruled with its own intelligence. A dense, mysterious mist began to take shape around Komir. For a moment restlessness and nerves enveloped him, but they were soon replaced by a feeling of gladness: he was causing the phenomenon, even if involuntarily.
The ancient, powerful energy issuing from the medallion became mixed with his own, creating a link of enormous strength, like braided rope. He could actually feel the power of the medallion united with his own, pulling on it, forming the link. It was a curious and ominous feeling. He felt he was being used.
The strange mist rose around him, forming an esoteric circle.
Everything around him vanished, the room was no longer there, he was in a different reality. All vanished in the enigmatic mist summoned by the medallion. Komir reached out with his hand, tearing the mist apart with his outstretched fingers, but there was nothing to be seen on the other side.
Gradually a figure began to take shape in front of him, before his very eyes. He could almost touch it, but for some reason he was aware that this image was not there but in some other place, very far away. At once he thought of the beautiful girl he had seen coming out of the mist once before. This made his heart beat faster in anticipation. A knot gripped the pit of his stomach as he was held by the female image forming before his eyes. He wished it was her, the young woman who had enchanted him.
But it was not the girl with great eyes the color of the sea and curly golden hair. His heart grew calmer, and the knot in his stomach, erased by disappointment, vanished quickly.
A young woman began to take shape before his eyes. Little by little the image became real, and Komir watched her with great interest. He was looking at a pretty brunette with two long braids which fell over her thin shoulders. She wore pants and a tunic of tanned leather in a style Komir had never seen before. Her mahogany eyes were almost the color of rubies, and in them he saw alarm. But what impressed Komir most was the color of her skin, which was red. He had never seen such a shade on the skin of any human being. It gave her a wild, exotic look. He wondered, surprised, where she might be from.
Seeing that she was looking at him with obvious fear in her eyes, Komir raised his hand in a greeting which tried to be friendly and reassuring.
The girl drew a short sword.
Komir, taken aback, retreated a couple of steps.
Hundreds of leagues from the Flying Pony Inn, in the shade of the Fountain of Life, a young Masig was experiencing a strange event she could not understand and which filled her with fear.
Why is this happening to me, oh Mother Steppe? Is this a dream, or could it be a vision of the spirits? Iruki asked herself, her heart beating furiously with unease.
Who’s this man? And what does he want of me?
She tried to ask the apparition what it wanted, but no sound came out of her throat. She was mute. This alarmed her even more, she could not speak, she could not cry for help. What was going on?
She looked around, but everything had disappeared, swallowed up in this enigmatic mist which had treacherously enveloped her moments before. She was aware that she was inside the Masig tent of her father Kaune Warrior Eagle, but she could see nothing. Had she traveled to the spirit world without realizing it? Was the young man a spirit? Was this spirit a good or an evil one?
She remembered the stories of Ilua Hidden Path, the Healer of the tribe. The spirits visited them in times of need and happiness, some were bearers of good news and blessings for the tribe, but others were bearers of evil and would try to trick them into their treacherous purposes. She had to remain alert and protect herself. She brandished the sword she had found in the Temple of Water, although she had no idea how to wield it. She was really using it like another tool, to help in the quartering and preparation of the carcasses the men of the tribe brought back with them. As it was extremely sharp it allowed her to cut and prepare the meat very quickly.
The young man before her did not make any threatening gesture, but instead was simply looking at her and making calming gestures with his hands to persuade her to put her sword down.
In your dreams, evil spirit! The sword stays in my hands. What do you want of me? What are you looking for?
Iruki struck the air twice, trying to intimidate the spirit.
Have I offended the spirits of the prairies in any way? Is it because I intruded into the Cave of No Return? No, I don’t think so. The Spirit of the Water which lived there is dead. So why is this new spirit coming to haunt me? Is it because I’m the new Healer’s apprentice? But I have no powers, I’m no shaman, I’m not in touch with the spirit world. I just want to help my people, my beloved tribe, by learning to treat wounds and cure illnesses. That’s what really fulfills me and inspires my soul. I want to study medicinal plants and learn to brew tisanes and prepare ointments to help the children when they fall ill, and our warriors when they’re wounded by enemy weapons. But I’m not interested in the world of spirits, I never was, I fear it and greatly respect it.
Since her return from her ordeal with the Assassin, after he had given himself up to the Norghanians, Iruki had spent all her time doing women’s chores, the thousand and one tasks necessary for the life of the tribe. This kept her busy and unable to think about what pained her heart so deeply: Yakumo, the Assassin.
Her father, the tribal Chief, had given her permission to learn from the Healer woman, since she had long been alone and childless and was the sole possessor of knowledge which was crucial for the whole tribe, and in danger of dying out.
This had made Iruki happy, for she had always wanted to become a Healer. Unfortunately, as the Chief’s daughter and because of her beauty, many had been the young warriors who had sought to wed her, and her father viewed this development favorably. Already several suitors had come to her father’s tent with gifts of horses and other possessions. Each time, with a heavy heart, after long arguments with her, her father had had to come out of the tent and turn them all down.
Iruki now knew that her heart belonged to Yakumo, whether he was alive or already dead by the blade of a Norghanian sword. Her mind told her rationally that he must be dead, but her heart kept the flame of hope alive, a flame she would never allow to go out. She had told her father this, and he, after many discussions, had come to understand that his daughter’s heart was broken and that she would never marry any of the brave warriors who came to his door, no matter what great warriors they were or how many horses they brought. Iruki was grateful to the winds of the steppes for having such a good and understanding father. He could make her marry any of the warriors, that was the tribe’s law, but he would never do so.
Since the unfortunate death of her mother more than five years ago, father and daughter had become very close. It had not always been so. Iruki’s passionate, rebellious character clashed with her father’s severity. Besides, Iruki had had trouble acce
pting that she was not of the same blood as her parents. Her mother had found her floating in a basket on the river when she was no more than a baby. It had taken Iruki years to accept that among the Masig blood was everything. After the tragedy of her mother’s loss, the hearts of father and daughter had become one and now their souls walked side by side, each in the care of the other. Kaune Warrior Eagle had finally allowed Iruki to study to be a Healer.
The young spirit from the far beyond made a sign, and she came back from her reverie. He showed her a singular medallion which hung around his neck, one with a great round translucent gem. A medallion very similar to hers, the one she had found at the tomb of the King of the Temple of Water and then kept. This surprised Iruki greatly. She brought hers out from inside her leather tunic and showed it to the spirit. Both medallions were very similar, but the gems were of different colors: hers blue and his translucent.
Suddenly the medallion the spirit held gave out a white flash, and as if answering a call, the medallion round her own neck flashed back with a gleam of sea-blue. Frightened, Iruki nearly fell backwards. She composed herself and looked at her medallion with awe, the blue light was beautiful. Never before had it shone in any way.
The two medallions began to shine intermittently, and Iruki wondered whether they might be communicating. It seemed impossible, but… was the spirit somehow trying to speak to her? He did not look evil… although she did not like the pale spirit’s emerald green eyes at all. She lowered her sword and watched the spectacular exchange of light.
All of a sudden a powerful beam of blue light shot from her medallion to meet another, of white light, from the spirit’s medallion. Both beams met halfway, intertwining and melting as if they had fused into one.
Iruki felt very strange, for the beam of blue light did not only come from her medallion but drew on something within her, in her chest. Something very strange was taking place and it alarmed her, she felt as if the beam was tugging at her own spirit, at her soul. She saw how it dragged at her whole body. She resisted the pull that was dragging her forward, towards the spirit. She did not allow the strength of the beam to push her, but leaned back with her whole weight. An intense pain ran through her body.
Before her the visiting spirit was resisting too. He seemed to be trying to keep his balance in the face of the force which was impelling both of them.
Her body was burning from head to toe as if the prairie fever had infected her, spreading throughout her whole being and bringing unbearable pain with it. Iruki could not understand what was happening. What was that beam of light which issued from her chest? Why was she experiencing such unbearable pain?
The spirit must be evil, it’s punishing me! Why? What have I done to offend the spirits? The pain is terrible. He’s come to take my soul from me and carry it with him to the spirit world! But he won’t! I’ll fight him with all my might, with all my strength.
She resisted the pressure of the beam with all the weight of her body, frightened but determined.
The link between the medallions finally completed itself.
And suddenly both beams went out simultaneously. When the force which was tugging at her vanished, Iruki fell to the ground with a mighty thump. Cowed by the experience and convinced that this evil spirit had come to take away her soul, she got to her feet, grabbed the sword with both hands and looked at him fearfully.
The evil spirit grasped his medallion and pointed at her, indicating something with his hands which she could not understand. But Iruki wanted nothing to do with this being. She would not let him take her soul. There were many legends in her tribe which spoke of ghosts from the Beyond who visited their victims in dreams, to gain possession of their souls. Some came in human form, some in the form of animals, but most were evil. Oni Black Cloud, the shaman of his father’s tribe, always warned them about the dangerous world of ghosts, apparitions and visions. Only through prayers and rituals could they obtain blessings from the good spirits and keep the evil ones at bay, like the one before her with his great emerald eyes.
The mist which surrounded her, eclipsing everything else, began to fade slowly, as if a breeze were helping it disperse. The spirit also began to fade, his image turned transparent and a few moments later vanished completely. Iruki sighed with relief. When she looked around she realized she was in the middle of her father’s tent once again, holding her sword high.
“Are you all right, my daughter?” Kaune Warrior Eagle asked with great concern.
Iruki looked at her father, then at her uncle, Unco Owl of the Lake, who was standing beside him, with an equally worried look on his face.
“Lower your sword, please, before you hurt anybody with it, or yourself,” her uncle said.
Ashamed, Iruki glanced at the sword and then lowered it.
“What happened to you, my daughter? You were here, or at least your body was, but it was as if your mind were somewhere far away. You did not listen to us or see us. You seemed to be having a nightmare, only with your eyes wide open, you weren’t sleeping.”
“Did you have a vision? A premonition perhaps?” her uncle asked.
“A spirit has visited me…”
“You say a spirit, daughter?” her father said. “That is a great honor, one reserved for the shamans.”
“Why the sword then, Iruki Wind of the Steppes?” said her uncle.
“It was… an evil spirit.”
“Let us call Oni Black Cloud,” said Unco Owl of the Lake.” The shaman must know of this at once. It might be of great significance for you, Iruki, or even for the tribe. We must always show great respect to the world of the spirits.”
“Evil? How do you know it was evil?” her father asked. “Was it a great Black Bear? A giant crow perhaps, or a vulture?”
“No, it was a young man with intense green eyes.”
“A man, you say, so how do you know he was evil?” asked her uncle.
Iruki looked towards the entrance of the tent, then at the sky, then turned to her family and said:
“Because he tried to take my soul.”
Diplomatic Mission
Narmos read his lord and master’s explicit orders carefully for a final time. Isuzeni, High Priest of the Cult of Imork, ancient Lord of the Dead, and personal Counselor to the all-powerful Dark Lady, commanded him to action. He had to carry out his plans.
As a priest of the Cult of Imork, Narmos never questioned either the High Priest’s purpose or his strategies. Isuzeni was the spiritual leader of the Cult, and his power was immense. Everybody, Narmos included, professed respect and reverence for him, even more so taking into account the fact that he was the personal Counselor of the Dark Lady, the new self-proclaimed Empress of all Toyomi. That fact alone represented more power than Narmos would ever dream of having, even if he were to live two long lifetimes.
But Narmos was free to dream, one of the few freedoms a Priest of Imork was allowed under the strict, punitive discipline of the Cult. The will of the higher echelons of the Cult was law, and the slightest contempt or error was punished by death. Terror was the doctrine which ruled the workings of the Cult, fear guided the priests, who blindly followed the established rules which no-one ever dared defy. A single inappropriate glance might mean having your heart drawn out of your chest while it was still beating. An incorrect phrase, a high-sounding word or the slightest reproach might bring on nightmarish torture. Everybody knew, that was the dogma of the Cult of Imork, and thus every wish on the part of the upper hierarchy was obeyed to the letter.
This was why Narmos dreamed that someday he would get to be as powerful as his master, the great Isuzeni. He had served him faithfully for fifteen years, since the day his Gift was discovered by a priest of the Cult in a small farming village when he was ten. Although his parents protested, he was taken to the temple to be indoctrinated, and Narmos never saw them again. The Priests of Imork traveled the continent combing the villages in search of sources of power, of people blessed with the Arcane Gift, so as to
abduct them for the Cult, to mold them and teach them the dark arts of the ancient Lord of the Dead.
Narmos shivered. Just the thought of the word abduct, with its negative connotations, alarmed him. It’s this damned continent, it’s affecting me, changing my acquired behavior. My judgment is being contaminated by my environment. That kind of thought would be impossible in Toyomi, sheltered by the power of the Cult. But Narmos was in Tremia, very far from his home, carrying out clandestine and covert missions for his lord Isuzeni, just like many other agents dispersed throughout the immense continent of the men with round eyes and pointed noses. When his lord had selected him for such an important mission, Narmos had felt overwhelmingly delighted by the honor bestowed on him. The High Priest trusted him, he had been selected among many other priests of the Cult to carry out important errands for the Dark Lady in a faraway, hostile territory.
Narmos, after more than three years on this continent, was beginning to feel different, to have thoughts he would not even have dreamt before. Thoughts of freedom, of free will, of following one’s own path… Forbidden thoughts, punished by death. Those insidious ideas were unthinkable in his native continent, surrounded and watched by the power of the Cult, subject to its iron laws and asphyxiating claws. But here, far away, in the new continent, beyond the reach and control of the Cult of Imork, everything seemed more utopian, almost possible, even plausible.
But dreams are no more than that, dreams, and dawn arrives inexorably and confronts us with the harsh reality we find ourselves in.
He looked at the brief message on the tiny piece of parchment which the trained raven had brought.
He had to take action immediately, without delay.
Rogdon must be attacked.
The diplomatic negotiations must fail.
And fail they would.
Ambassador Albust rode pensively in the center of the column of Rogdonian Royal Lancers. He let his mind lose itself in memories, to the rhythm of his trotting mount. He had been in the service of the Crown of Rogdon for more than thirty years. He had carried out endless functions for the Royal Family, beginning as a Royal Messenger in his youth, going on to being a spy, then after acting as a double agent for Norghana he had finally become Ambassador in the Northern Kingdom. King Solin of Rogdon trusted him, which was a high honor. Thoran King of Norghana, on the other hand, liked him. Albust did not know exactly why the irritable king of the frozen lands graced him with his friendship, but he supposed it might be because they both immensely enjoyed the same earthly pleasures: women and wine, both a-plenty and always mingled.
