Sisera's Gift 2: Sacred Blood

by Robyn Wideman

  The tent was home to an ingredient supply store, the oldest in the city. It was renowned in alchemy circles as the place to easily gain hard to find ingredients. There was an urban legend in the city that the old woman who ran the shop was the same woman who had opened the shop. According to legend, the woman was five hundred years old. Even the most stoic would give a little chuckle when they heard the story.

  The old woman went by the name of Zena Ebonywood.

  Now.

  When Tarak first met the old woman, she was much older than she was now and she went by the name Hettie Moonfall. He came to the city many years ago, when he was still in training to become a priest of the Brotherhood. Magra had sent him to Droll with the express purpose of visiting the shop and acquiring a rare and deadly poison.

  During his studies, Tarak found many references to a coven of witches referred to as the Brides of Garron. Following the trail, through old ledgers and manuscripts, Tarak also found many connections between the Brides and North Port and, more specifically, this very ingredient shop. From all his studies Tarak concluded that the Brides must be the keepers of the old magic, the magic the Brotherhood use to kill so many of the dragons that they agreed to banishment instead of continuing the war. When Magra presented him with the quest, he happily accepted and departed immediately.

  …

  When he first entered the shop, he was a very different man from when he finally left. When he arrived in North Port, he immediately sought out the supply store. He wandered through the market from dawn until dusk every day for a week but could never find the legendary shop. He knew it must be there because Magra told him it was there. One day he came to this tea shop to try to calm his frustrations. He had never notice the dark red tent before. Just as he was about to ask the serving girl what she knew about the place when Hettie came limping in. She walked right up to Tarak. She appeared to be inspecting him.

  “Magra’s dog.”

  “Excuse me?” Tarak said defensively. He was surprised and nervous about the sudden appearance and manner of the old woman. His first instinct was to bash the woman on the head. Thankfully he did not succumb to this urge. He would not have survived long had he attempted it.

  “Magra. You are Magra’s dog.”

  “I am no man’s dog.” Tarak tried to sound confident but there was something about the old woman that had the young but seasoned warrior off his guard.

  The old woman laughed openly in his face. “You are foolish, aren’t you?”

  Tarak looked around the tea room but it was completely deserted except for the serving girl. She stood in the corner of the room behind the counter, her face alive with laughter. Tarak frowned at her but then it occurred to him that she was somehow working with or for the old woman.

  “Yes.” Tarak’s voice shimmered with confidence.

  The old woman head shot up at this reply, a look of interest crossing her face.

  “Yes, I am foolish”—Tarak continued—“and yes, I am Magra’s dog.”

  The old woman threw her head back in laughter. The serving girl joined in. Tarak knew that his response was the correct one.

  “Bark for me, dog.’’

  Tarak barked like a dog which sent the two reeling with renewed laughter. Tarak could see tears welling up in the corners of the old woman’s eyes. He did not know what do next.

  “You are a hoot,” the old woman said. “Look at you a great big man barking like a dog. Oh my, Magra picked a good one.”

  The old woman walked over to the serving girl and whispered in her ear. The girl looked at Tarak and smiled. She then disappeared behind the curtain into the back room. The old woman straightened her cloak out and walked past Tarak toward the exit into the street.

  “Follow me, dog,” she said over her shoulder, motioning with one hand that he should follow her. Tarak got up from his seat and did just that.

  She crossed the path, which went from the avenue of a busy market to the dust quietness of a ghost town. She pushed aside the entrance flap and they entered the large red tent. When his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting Tarak could see small boxes and crates packed the tent. The smell was one that he could recognize but at the same time, he could not place it. The interior seemed a lot bigger than the tent had. Tarak thought that it must be longer than he previously had thought.

  “Sit there.” The old woman pointed to a small stool in front of a small fire that was heating an aromatic stew. “Stir that.”

  Tarak picked up a ladle and dipped it into the frothy mixture. The thick liquid began to bubble slightly more as he turned the spoon around the pot. The steam that rose filled his nostrils. He began to feel light-headed. He began to waver in on the seat and soon his world went black.

  When he awoke, he was laid out on the floor of a barren room. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in on him because they were so close. He tried to sit up but he found he could not move his body. He tried to call out but no words left his mouth. He closed his eyes and listened. There was no sound. His mind raced at the possibilities. What was happening to him? The time passed but he could not tell if it was hours or minutes. He faded into sleep.

  When he awoke again there was a cloaked figure standing in the corner of the room. Again, he tried to call out but still, no sound emerged. The cloaked person opened the wooden door to the room and shut it behind it. Tarak again closed his eyes and listened for sound. This time, however, he could hear movement, shuffling a perhaps, and the sound of low-speaking voices but he could not make out what they were saying.

  The sounds got closer until the door opened. Tarak opened his eyes again and found the old woman staring down at him, accompanied by the cloaked figure. The figured pulled back the hood to reveal the serving girl. She looked different, though. The old woman nodded and the serving girl stuck out her hands. She whispered something under her breath. Then Tarak felt his body move and he found himself levitating. The girl was using some sort of telekinesis magic. Tarak was thrilled as much as he was terrified that he had no control over his destiny at this moment.

  “Don’t you worry, dog. We are not going to hurt you,” the old woman said as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Very much.”

  The two women took Tarak out of the little room into a wide chamber filled with bookshelves and work benches. There was a table in the middle of the room that was bare except for a white linen cover. The serving girl used her magic to place Tarak on the table. The old woman began to busy herself with preparations of some sort at one of the nearby tables. Tarak tried to move his head to see what was happening but his motor function still failed him.

  The old woman turned back to Tarak and smiled.

  “You must be wondering what is happening to you right now. If I was to let you show emotions right now I would bet you would be shitting in your pants.” The old woman howled with laughter. “My name is Hettie Moonfall. What is yours?”

  Tarak thought she must be messing with him but when he tried to reply the words found their way out of his mouth. “Tarak Kader.” But when he tried to say anything else his voice failed once again. Tarak could not help but feel hopeless frustration. All his training and battle experience and he could not defend himself against two women.

  “Tarak Kader. Hmmm.” The old woman was lost in thought. “I think I knew a Kader once. Many years ago…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes showed that she was lost to her memories. “Anyway, Tarak Kader, I just need to make sure you aren’t some sort of spy or assassin sent to ruin us. We are just going to perform some tests on you.”

  The old woman pulled a gnarled stick from underneath her robe and held it over Tarak’s face. He could see that embedded in the head of the stick was a shimmering purple stone. The stone gave off a slight bit of radiance. Hettie spoke some words that Tarak did not understand. When she finished, the stone began to glow more brilliant until Tarak had to close his eyes. The old woman moved the stick down over his body until the light that shone from the stone had
covered his entire body at least once. Tarak opened his eyes again and once they had readjusted to the gloom he could she the old woman mouthing more uninterpretable speech. The stone changed color and began to glow a deep yellow. She started at his feet and moved her way up in the same way she did before. This time though there were spikes of pain moving up Tarak legs. Where ever the light hit, sharp pains felt like they were coming from the bone out. Tarak eyes widened in fear as the light moved up his thighs. As the light passed his crotch Tarak wailed silently. The pain was excruciating. He could see the serving girl chuckle from her post behind the old woman. Hettie’s face revealed that she did not find the scene quite so amusing. As the light moved up his chest Tarak felt like his insides were tearing themselves apart but it still was not as bad as his nether regions. Until it got to his head that is. As soon as the light hit his chin Tarak felt like the light was tearing his face off. His eyes shut immediately and he lost consciousness.

  When Tarak awoke again he was in a soft bed covered with down blankets and surrounded by goose feather pillows. When he tried to move, his body responded. Tarak leaped up from the bed only to fall into it again.

  “Careful there.” The serving girls voice was sweet in Tarak’s ear. “You’re not quite ready to up jumping around. Not quite yet anyway.”

  Tarak pulled himself into a seated position on the bed and lay back on a mountain of pillows.

  “I would like some answers.” Tarak felt like he had not heard his own voice in long time.

  “You will get them,” the serving girl said. “We just had to make sure you weren’t cursed or mystically trapped or any of that good stuff. There have been bad people looking for us for a hundred years.”

  “Who are you? Why are people looking for you? Why are you hiding in one of the biggest markets in the biggest port on the Gray Sea?”

  The serving girl laughed. “So many questions! I will let Hettie tell you everything you need to know.” The girl walked over to Tarak and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Everything except that my name is Violet.”

  Tarak chuckled. “That is something I need to know.”

  “Oh yes. It definitely is.” Violet smiled and gave a seductive wink.

  “Violet. Let the man alone. We have much to talk about.” The old woman entered the room through a solid wood door on the side of the room. “How are you feeling, boy?”

  Being called boy made Tarak smile. It was a step up from being called a dog, though.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “We are in the red tent you were searching for so feverishly. You know we watched you walk by at least three dozen times. Every time you looked in and walked away it gave me quite the chuckle.”

  “So, you knew me before I came to the tea shop?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “How?”

  The old woman laughed. “Such a seeing power is trite when you are me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Hettie Moonfall. I told you that.”

  “Are you a powerful sorcerous? Or something like that?”

  “I am simply an old woman who sells ingredients.”

  It was Tarak’s turn to laugh. “After what I have just endured I very much doubt that.”

  Hettie took a steaming kettle from over the fire and poured the steaming liquid into two earthenware cups. She picked up both cups and walked over to Tarak, holding one out for him to take. Tarak hesitated.

  “It’s tea.”

  Tarak took the cup and gave the contents a quick sniff. The scent of sweet peppermint filled his nose and ignited is senses. He brought the cup up to his lips and took the smallest sip. It was delicious. He then quickly placed the cup down on the table next to the bed. Hettie looked inquisitively at him.

  “So, I don’t slip on the bed when I pass out again,” he said with a straight face.

  Hettie burst into laughter. Tarak soon joined in.

  The old woman grabbed a stool and placed it next to the bed. She sipped at her cup silently for a few moments before placing it next to his on the bedside table. She fixed her cloak and sat looking at Tarak as if she was waiting for something.

  “What now?” Tarak asked.

  “Now you tell me about yourself. The whole story. And I want the truth. I know if you lie to me. Trust me on that.”

  Tarak shrugged. What did he have to lose? He launched into the whole story of his youth, his father, Santaal, about being abandoned in North Port and how he met Magra. While he spoke, she listened intently. Every so often she would reach over and take a sip of tea. She perked up when he explained the true reason he sought out the shop. He was there to pick up some poison for Magra but he was also there to seek out the Brides of Garron, the coven of witches that held the old magic of the Sacred Blood.

  “You are from the coven, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Hettie laughed and stood up. She crossed the room and took down a book from one of the overstuffed bookshelves. She brought the book over to the bed and threw it down. She waved her hand over the cover and the book threw back its cover all on its own. The pages flipped until they stopped on about three quarters through the tome.

  “Have a quick read,” Hettie said.

  Tarak’s eyes scanned the page, absorbing the information that given to him. He got to a small sketched picture of a woman. It was Hettie. The book told him that the woman that resembled Hettie was named Glendya Garron. She was the wife of the Saint whose teachings Tarak had recently devoted his life to. Glendya was a powerful witch and supported Garron’s quest against the dragons. The article ended by saying that after Garron lost his life, she disappeared.

  Tarak looked up at Hettie, back at the picture, then back at the old woman.

  “Is this you? Are you telling me that you are a thousand years old?” Tarak could barely contain the excitement in his voice.

  Hettie smiled but remained quiet.

  “This is you! How? You must be more powerful than anyone thought.”

  “These are questions whose answers are not necessary right now. What you need to know is that I am not what I seem but you still must trust me.”

  “And why must I trust you?”

  “Because I am going to make you the most powerful man in the world.”

  Tarak couldn’t believe what he was hearing but the straight look on the old woman’s face told him that she was not joking around with him.

  “How?”

  “We need a champion. And when I say ‘we’ I mean everybody. We need a champion against the dragons when they return and I believe you to be that champion.”

  “So, you are from the Brides of Garron.”

  The old woman furrowed her brow at Tarak and he remained silent.

  “You have much training to do first before you’re champion of anything. You will stay here for a week. I will give you some training to do. The time is not now. When the dragons return, you will come back here and we will give you what you need to battle our enemy.”

  Tarak absorbed what he had heard but remained silent. He prided himself on being a quick learner.

  “You will know when it is time. Things here will be different but still very much the same. Come, we have much to do before I send you back to Magra with his poison.”

  …

  Tarak picked up his tea cup and took a deep sip. He stared at the serving girl. She looked different but she had this look of recognition in her eyes. He felt like she knew him. The way she looked at him while she was serving other customers was inviting. Tarak felt his memories stir deep parts of him. He was not the same man he was those twenty years ago. He pushed back the thoughts and turned his gaze back toward the tent across the way. It was a large bright green tent. The red was better, he thought.

  He sat in the tea shop for a long time. The evening crowd began to creep in as the sun went down. Soon the tea shop was alive, filled with customers who were there for what the shop offered in the off hours of the market. Tarak was amazed to learn that the friendly litt
le tea shop was home to the only place in the city to purchase and consume trilla, a widely popular beverage brewed in the mountains on the east side of Partha. It was known to have psychedelic effects which is what drew the crowds.

  Tarak remained seated, watching the tent across the way, while the room played out it rambunctious behavior. He knew he did not have to worry about being bothered because he knew that no one could see him seated comfortably on the small patio at the front of the shop. What they saw was a large tropical plant decorating the veranda.

  “You have grown up, dog.”

  Tarak gave a little start. The voice took him off guard. He turned his head and found the face of an old woman’s next to his. She was slightly younger than Hettie but had many of the same facial features.

  “You’ve changed,” Tarak said casually, turning to look back at the blue tent.

  “I’ve changed! That’s a good one! Look at you!” the old woman exclaimed.

  Tarak chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. So, you are Zena now?”

  “Do I not look like a Zena?” the old woman laughed. She grabbed Tarak by the sleeve of his coat and tugged him toward the exit. “Let’s get out of the crowd.”

  The old woman led Tarak across the way to the entrance of the blue tent. As they crossed the threshold of the tea shop Tarak noticed immediately that the noise from inside had ceased. He turned his head but all he saw was an empty tea shop.

  The woman pulled the flap back and held it so Tarak could enter. They were in the spice shop. It looked the same on the inside. A wide, spacious room filled with the smells of exotic places. Boxes and jars filled with the mysteries of the world covered the tables and counters.

  “So, are you going to drop that ridiculous charade and let me see the real you? Or would you prefer I tear your spell apart myself?” The old woman smiled at Tarak.

  Of course, she could see through his appearance illusion. He whispered the deactivation words and his magical arm guards let the spell wither and fade. As he did he wondered what kind of reaction he would get from the old woman. He had grown thicker, darker, more scars, the dark leather armor, the power that one man possessed in his appearance.