by Susan Faw
They had been travelling for several days now, always during the early morning hours when the dew was fresh. Sharisha had said little more about their purpose in going to the Primordial lands and Avery’s father had been equally withdrawn and tight-lipped, as though he didn’t want to know what would be revealed there.
Avery sensed the worry and anger he held tightly. Ever since her mother died when she and Cayden were little, their father had protected them with an almost religious fervour, allowing nothing to come too near them, human or animal.
The day her mother had died, she had gone alone to collect blueberries from the scrubby plants that loved to nestle amongst the rocky hillsides. She did not return. The next day, her father had found the body. Her mother had been attacked, torn to shreds by some animal or animals they had never seen or been able to find, although her father and some of the other villagers had attempted to hunt it down. Avery had been five years old.
From that point on, he refused to speak of it to them, but her father had changed that day. Something other than her mother’s death had scared him; Avery sensed it. She shook her head. Why was she revisiting that memory this morning of all mornings? Perhaps it was the rocky terrain recalling the time to her. Suddenly she realized her father was thinking these thoughts also and as she dwelled on that idea, his thoughts nearly congealed into a solid form right in front of her.
“Papa, are you thinking about the day Mother died?”
Her father gave a surprised start in his saddle, his head whipping around.
“How did you know that?” he challenged.
Sharisha’s dark eyes settled on Avery’s green ones.
“I…don’t know…,” Avery puzzled. “I saw a mental image of what you were thinking.”
Sharisha watched the exchange, her cool gaze hinting at hidden knowledge. She twisted back around in her saddle. “Come. The pass is just ahead. We can easily reach it by noon. We will break for food there.”
***
Cayden unconsciously shoved his blankets off to his knees. He rolled onto his side and settled back to an uneasy sleep filled with dreams. Thunder rolled, lightning flashed.
An eagle soared in the midst of the storm, carrying a blanket woven of curly goat hair in its beak. The eagle dived through the tempest, alighting on the stone sill of a window set in a cottage wall. The ghostly bird hopped down into the room and onto the shadowed arm of the tall thin man who greeted the eagle like an old friend. He carried the shadow eagle over to where a woman in the throes of giving birth writhed in a bed, clearly in pain. The bird lowered the shimmering blanket to the floor.
The shadowed old man murmured a spell that enveloped the body of the woman. A midwife knelt at the foot of the bed, giving no indication she saw the man or the eagle.
She eased the children from the woman’s body and one by one, placed them on a soft blanket folded multiple times and placed on the floor in front of the eagle she could not see. The midwife dipped a cloth into the bucket of warm water and began to bathe the twins. She wrapped the infants in soft blankets and then left them while she ministered to the mother.
Cocking its head to one side, the eagle gazed at the children.
The wisp of a man then began to utter a rhythmic prayer, pulling a vial of liquid from his robes. He dipped his finger in the vial and traced the outline of a leaf on the cheek of each child with a stroke of his finger. The outline flared blue and faded, as the chant continued.
The eagle screeched and hopped closer to the children. It swayed to the rhythm of the chant, bobbling its head and flapping its wings.
Suddenly, the man clapped his hands and the thunder crashed, shaking the cottage, its sound echoing off the polished logs. Blue lightning flickered into the room and touched each of the inhabitants, including the eagle, bathing the room in an effervescent glow.
When the lighting faded, the eagle flew back to the window, blanket in its beak and hurled itself into the storm. Lightning flashed once again, striking the eagle. The blanket vanished. The eagle plummeted into the waves below.
Cayden rolled over once more. His breathing steadied as the storm overhead departed. He did not remember the dream in the morning.
Chapter 13
CAYDEN WOKE TO THE SOUND of movement in the tent. The other men were already dressed, stuffing their belongings into packs and rolling up their sleeping pallets and blankets. Cayden scrambled up and dressed quickly.
“Are we breaking camp?” he spoke aloud to no one in particular.
“No, we are going on a picnic,” a pockmarked face sneered. Powell is his name, Cayden thought. Laughter filled the tent.
The flap opened and in stomped Sergeant Perez. The men in the tent snapped to attention. Cayden went rigid.
“You have two minutes to report to the central practice grounds. Last man to report in will be taking the place of one of the pack mules that has come up lame.” Sneering at Cayden, who was standing with one sock on and the other still in hand, he left the tent.
The tent emptied faster than a stirred hornet’s nest. Cayden tugged on his boots. Gathering up his gear, he left the tent for the horse lines. There, he found his mare mixed in with the army’s horses. As he went to fetch his saddle and gear from the storage tent, a soldier stepped up to him.
“You cannot take that horse, son. It is now the property of the legion. Don’t you have a squad you have been assigned to?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I suggest you form up with them.”
Frowning, Cayden trotted back to the practice grounds. He was the last one to arrive, much to the glee of his bunk mates and the sergeant.
“Will you look at this? The rabbit has volunteered to replace the mule,” scoffed Perez. “Get over here so we can get you harnessed.” Cayden walked toward the wood-sided wagon piled high with gear. Attached to the front yoke, where normally a pair of mules would have stood, was a freckle-faced lad Cayden’s age. He was one of the men sharing Cayden’s tent. He stared at his feet, face red as his hair.
Perez grabbed Cayden’s arm and shoved him in beside the other young man. Rough leather straps were wound around his shoulders and across his chest and buckled behind him. Attached to either side of the harness was a set of reins which were looped around a piece of wood on the front of the wagon.
Sergeant Perez bellowed for the men to form marching units. He clambered up the side, rocking the wagon with his weight then settled onto the rough seat. One beefy hand took up the reins and the second picked up the horsewhip.
With an exaggerated flick of the reins, he shouted a command to leave. The whip whistled through the air and snapped the tip of Cayden’s ear. Cayden cried out, clasping a hand over the reddening curve, protecting it from further harm. Cayden swore loudly and pulled on the straps. The other lad did the same as they strained to get the wagon into motion. The whip flicked out again and this time the lad beside Cayden yelped and jumped. The whip had caught him on the side of the forehead, leaving a swelling welt.
Cayden’s anger flamed and his face reddened. The rest of the camp was in various stages of preparation to leave. It appeared they were the first group to actually do so.
As they strained to start the wagon rolling, random soldiers lifted bowls of steaming food to them in a mock salute. Cayden’s stomach rumbled loudly. Others laughed and pointed. Perez smirked and flicked the whip again. Cayden’s shoulder stung. Cayden kept his gaze fixed ahead on the path straining against the straps to climb out of the meadow and into the trees. Sweat broke out on his brow and his blood thundered in his ears. He felt a surge rise up his neck and into his face but not from exertion. Fury hummed along his veins, adrenaline pumping.
“My name is Cayden. What’s yours?” he said to the lanky lad yoked beside him, trying to distract himself from his anger.
“Darius,” the lad answered hoarsely.
“How did you end up here beside me?”
“I didn’t get the sergeant’s boots polished in time.”
>
“You polish his boots? Why in the world would you do that?”
“Well, because otherwise I will end up as the rabbit.” A brief grin flashed across his face.
“Oh,” said Cayden, nonplussed. “I guess that’s a good reason. It is my honoured position right now, at least until someone new comes to camp.”
“I doubt it will make a difference even then.” Darius glanced back over at Cayden, adjusting his grip on the leather straps on his chest for better leverage. Cayden thought he saw pity in his grey eyes.
Frowning, Cayden gazed sightlessly down the road they travelled.
“Why should I be singled out? I just got to camp. I haven’t even had a chance to prove myself.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do, Cayden. You are from the cliffs. You are automatically classed as an outsider. You will never be allowed to advance. You will never be given rank. You will be pushed and punished until you break.” Darius shrugged uncomfortably at his own words.
“Then why accept my offer to serve? That makes no sense.”
“No one from your area ever volunteers for service in the legion.” Darius tilted his head at Cayden quizzically. “Why did you? There is no way it’s because you love the legion. No one would believe it even if you swore on the queen’s crown.”
“No, it was not for love of the queen.” Cayden thought quickly. “I want to see the world outside of the cliffs because, as you said, no one ever comes away from the cliffs to see the world. I thought this would be a good way to do it. Food, a place to sleep, you know, some wages to go with it along the way?”
“And the occasional skirmish where you get to stick your sword in someone. Yeah, I know.” Darius was grinning openly now.
Cayden shrugged again, the movement restricted by the leather harness. He was not thrilled by the idea of sticking his sword in anyone. He felt a sick squirm in his stomach at the thought.
“Why did you join?”
“Well, I am from the plains at the base of the Highland Needle, you see. It is grasslands mostly and not a tree to be seen. It’s always dry, even desert-like in some areas. My folks, they have nine kids. I am the eldest. Last year was a hard year. The crops never sprouted as the spring rains didn’t come until it was too late. My pa scraped together a grub stake and gave me my clothes, a good hunting knife, and a skin of water and told me it was time to make my own way in the world. I left that very night and haven’t seen them since.”
Darius paused, thinking. “Then about six months back, near starvation and thinking I would need to steal food from the farms I passed, I bumped into the legion. Well, in actual fact, I passed out in the middle of the roadway and they nearly ran me over. When I came to, I was in the healer’s tent and being shoved into a uniform as soon as I could stand. Guess I got recruited while I was passed out. It’s not such a bad life. I get regular meals and my clothes are taken care of. I get to train on weapons, which is fun…as long as I don’t get stuck by anything. I haven’t seen any real fighting yet.” He paused, his forehead wrinkling, concerned at that thought, but continued his story. “Not sure how that will go, to tell the truth. I was a farm boy. I don’t know anything about fighting, only about vegetables.”
He lapsed into silence. Cayden felt sorry for him. Although he wasn’t much older, he felt ancient in comparison. He grinned over at Darius. “I could use a friend and who better than the guy being forced to help me drag his sorry carcass all the way to the next camp?” He jerked his head back at the sergeant lounging in his wagon seat.
Not surprisingly, Perez guessed at the conversation. The cruel whip flicked out again and this time it cut Cayden’s cheek below the eye, his head still turned in Darius’s direction. Cayden’s hand jerked to his cheek, pulling it away to show a bloody smear.
Darius snapped his head back straight and focused on pulling the cart.
Cayden glared back over his shoulder, his hatred naked on his face. Perez grinned evilly as he pulled out his short knife and proceeded to scrape dirt out from under his fingernails.
Cayden whispered fiercely, “We will come out of this fine, Darius. You’ll see. Don’t let them get to you. If I won’t break, you are not allowed to either. We are a team, you and me. OK?”
“OK,” whispered Darius.
They lapsed into silence, each alone with his thoughts. Dust puffed under their feet as they walked.
Chapter 14
THE AIR AT THE TOP OF THE PASS was cool and thin. Avery took a deep breath and still wanted more. The horses didn’t seem bothered by the thin air, but the short exercise of gathering firewood from the scrub brush around their campsite had her wheezing like the bellows at Ryder’s forges.
Sharisha put a kettle over the fire to brew a pot of tea. From his saddlebag, Gaius retrieved some dried mutton and some flatbread. Avery retrieved some dried berries from her saddlebags, which with the addition of water plumped back up in a few minutes.
Sharisha walked away into the trees and collected some bright green fiddleheads and a full bowl of wild mushrooms, which she then added to a pot with the dried mutton and water and set it to simmer on the coals.
Avery lowered herself to sit on a blanket on the ground near the fire. She was quiet, thinking about the last conversation.
Sharisha had brought her horse up alongside of hers, matching her pace.
“What you do is a very rare gift, my child.”
“What is it I do?”
“You have the ability to sense the feelings of others. You can also sense their truths, their honesty, or their lies. You can tell if they believe what they are saying or whether they lie to themselves and to others. This can be a two-edged sword. The fanatical do what they do, convinced what they believe is the truth, even if it is the most diabolical of actions. The radical will kill in the name of the lesser gods to please them and the same men will spare wicked lives to avoid the attention of the Great Goddess of the Dark. Knowing what they believe is not necessarily knowing truth and acting on what you believe to be their intent can cause grief beyond measure. This is in part why we are bringing you to Faylea, our capital city. We have elders there who are able to help train you in your abilities and give you guidance. The head of our order, the Spirit High Priestess resides there, and of course the Shining Temple is at the very heart of Faylea. Faylea is the home of the Spirit Clans.”
Gaius rode up on Avery’s other side and focused on Sharisha. “Why does she have them, these special abilities you mention? Where did they come from? Is it something genetic?”
Sharisha gazed solemnly at him. “I cannot say. I do not have that knowledge. The elders will know. They will be able to say for certain. I am merely a Seeker sent to search for those who may be spoken of in our prophecies. We are trained from birth and made to memorize the Elder Scrolls so that we may perform this sacred duty.”
Avery checked the stew. She took the pot off the coals and ladled the bubbling contents into wooden bowls. She handed them around, not meeting either set of eyes. She blew gently on her stew and then took a mouthful.
As she chewed her food, her thoughts strayed to Cayden. Unconsciously, she touched the stone on the chain around her neck. It warmed to her touch and pulsed in her hand. He was alive, if not happy.
She sensed he was spitting mad at the moment. Not unexpected, considering what he had chosen to do. He would have a rough road ahead of him. But there was no reason why he shouldn’t come out of it fine. She hoped.
Meal finished, they doused the fire and packed up their belongings, setting the horses off on a slow walk as the descent was as steep as the upward climb had been.
The thin scrub brush gave way to taller and taller trees. The heat of the day was undiluted on this side of the pass and the day warmed quickly. As they descended, the air grew thick with humidity due to the lower altitude on this side of the mountain range. Flowers appeared, dotting the hillside in pockets. Avery sniffed appreciatively and then pulled back on the reins abruptly.
That fl
ower…it was the one she had smelled in her mind when she fell from Sunny’s back. Avery leapt from her saddle and ran toward the now familiar scent. In the crevice of a rock a fragile orchid bloomed, its white flesh striped with thin veins of pink and blue. The flower bobbed on a bright green bulbous stem that continuously fed it rare nutrients to keep it blooming year around.
Avery dropped to her knees and gently cradled the flower in her hand. She knew this flower. How was that possible? She had never seen it before.
Sharisha watched from her mount, as Avery examined the flower. “It is called Heavensmist. The plant is known to have healing powers beyond the extraordinary. It is never to be moved. If you dig it up, it will die. This is the only place it grows naturally, here at the height of the pass. The plant is protected by our people. We harvest its seeds and grow a lesser, cultivated variety of it on our farms. The pure natural stock is sacred, however. It will cure you if you ingest it, if you are an inch from death, but at the cost of its own life. All of its offspring plants die too. We do not understand why.”
Avery gently stroked the fragile petals. They quivered in response to her touch, the flower turning toward her hand. Sensation shivered through it, like a cymbal vibration. She felt life and spirit rush into her. She breathed deeply and felt completely rejuvenated.
“Come,” Sharisha commanded. “We should reach the first Spirit clan village by nightfall.”
Chapter 15
ZIONA CAUGHT UP TO THE LEGION when the sun was still about two hours in the sky. She was riding her mare named Seeker, after her task that had brought her to this area of the word, and leading a pack mule she had not yet named. Judging by the way it resisted doing any work, she was thinking Troll might be a good one.
When she caught up to the legion, she found them settling into a clearing bordered by cliffs on one side and a small tributary of the larger river on the left. The flats were usually flooded during the spring rains, but at this time, they were dry.
