Keepers of the Ancient Wisdom (Kalie's Journey Book 3)

by Sandra Saidak

  The warrior laughed. “Put down that toy and I’ll let you live!” he shouted. “I have no wish to sully my honor by fighting a woman!” He swung at her sideways, knocking Kalie off her feet and drawing blood. “Had enough?” He reached for her, giving Kalie the opening she needed. Springing up, she sliced her blade across his unprotected forearm. The warrior bellowed, and Kalie doubted he would ever hold a weapon in that hand again. Unfortunately, he was as deadly with his left hand, though evenly matched now that they both held only daggers.

  The enemy warrior was relentless, pushing Kalie back to the edge of the dam. Then, his head exploded, and Borik was pulling her to safety.

  “Thank you,” she panted, but Borik was already back in the thick of things.

  And then it seemed the tide was turning in their favor. Alrik was leading the reserve forces Kariik had left behind in Stonebridge. He backed slowly to where Riyik was holding his warriors together, fighting as a perfect unit. If Riyik could just keep the center from collapsing, thought Kalie, they might carry the day.

  Alrik drew closer, shouting something to Riyik that he could not hear in the chaos. Alrik pointed, and as Riyik turned to see what he was pointing at, Kalie saw Alrik raise his knife, close the distance between them, and bring the blade down toward Riyik’s back.

  “Riyik!” screamed Kalie. At the same instant she uttered the useless warning, Kalie flung her knife at Alrik. While designed for throwing, the distance seemed hopeless. Yet the weapon caught Alrik on his face, just below his right eye, spoiling his aim. His blade landed in Riyik’s shoulder with a sickening thud Kalie could swear she heard. Riyik went down and Alrik leapt upon him, pinning Riyik and rendering him helpless to prevent the second blow.

  As Kalie struggled helplessly against the human tide to get to Riyik, Borik slammed into Alrik. The two men grappled, but Alrik could not match Borik’s strength—or his rage. With a scream of “Traitor,” Borik pushed the other man from the dam where he slid down the steep side, collecting a landslide of small rocks along the way, to land unconscious at the bottom.

  The dam was collapsing, as leaks of all sizes sprang from between the rocks. The battlefield had become a moving, scratching thing of mud and rock, like something out the nomad’s own hell. With Alrik gone and the place they had been ordered to hold turning on them, Varlas’s men began to retreat.

  Kalie reached Riyik at last, one of the few moving toward the dam, while others—everyone, it seemed—were running away from it. “Get a healer!” she screamed, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his shoulder, and wondering if she should remove the knife.

  “Get him away!” cried another warrior, and Garm was there, helping Borik to carry Riyik to safety.

  “Wait!” called a woman. “We have to hold back the water until we get the signal!”

  “No help for that now!” called another voice that seemed close to Kalie, although she would not take her eyes from Riyik to be sure. “Get away, everyone, or you’ll be crushed or drowned.”

  On a nearby hillside—the same one Melora had taken her first step, Kalie realized—Riyik was laid with the other wounded. “This man needs a healer now!” Kalie screamed, but the healers were doing their jobs exactly as they had been trained, and Kalie knew there were more serious cases.

  Then Alessa was by their side and Kalie nearly wept with relief. “What are you doing here?” she cried.

  “I had a dream that I would be needed.” Alessa was focused on Riyik, but she spared a quick glance at Kalie. “The same night Alrik announced he was taking a group of his best men to guard the dam.”

  Kalie collapsed against the hillside, her vision blurring. No one knew what to do. The blood-red sunset felt like a message of doom.

  Then a shout caused Kalie to look up. Three flaming arrows flew in a perfect arc.

  The signal to break the dam.

  “Thank the Goddess,” someone was saying. “It would not have held much longer.” People were taking their places with levers and long poles, muttering about how the damage had changed things.

  But they did it. While Alessa and the other healers continued to work as if nothing was happening, a great rumbling shook the earth. The water burst free and filled, then overfilled, the riverbank that had for so many days been nothing but a trickle.

  The war was on, and Kalie could do nothing but hold Riyik’s hand and pray. Then his eyes fluttered open, as Alessa stitched his wound. “Go,” he said weakly. “Get our children. Finish this.”

  Kalie gripped his hand tighter. “But for our children, I would never leave you.”

  “It should have been me,” Riyik said, the words fading, as exhaustion and whatever Alessa had given him finally claimed him.

  “Go,” said Alessa.

  Chapter 35

  On horseback, Kalie reached Stonebridge before dark. There she found a scene of such chaos and terror she wanted to turn around and leap into the sea behind her.

  The river had swept more than one hundred men and horses to their deaths, and trapped hundreds more on the eastern bank. There, Kariik and his men had already gained the upper hand by the time Kalie arrived.

  But hundreds more, including King Varlas himself, had gained the town, and fighting was everywhere. Even if they won, Kalie wondered how much of a town they would have left. The screaming and clang of weapons was different from the battle of the steppes, she thought as she frantically tried to reach her home. There were no women shrieking in fear, running down the streets, making themselves perfect targets for men seeking prizes. Any woman who was outside in this battle was fighting. And the arrogant invaders were fighting in desperation, not glee. This might mean something, but for the moment, Kalie could not think of what.

  Her house, when she finally reached it, was dark and empty along with all the others in the area. And then she realized: anyone not fighting would be inside the temples. Dodging a cursing horseman whose hair was on fire, Kalie made her way to the temples. The fighting was heavy in the clear areas outside, but only because the beastmen had correctly guessed that everyone they viewed at prizes would be inside.

  What they had not expected was the well organized human shield surrounding each sanctuary; the men and women who were fighting for loved ones inside, and the strategies those of lesser fighting skill had developed this long and frightening year.

  In frustration, many warriors contented themselves with plundering empty homes, only to find many weren’t quite empty. Varlas’s men were dying at an alarming rate.

  But so were the defenders.

  Kalie was easily recognized by a woman she had trained with, and admitted to the clean, empty open space where the temples clustered. Like an ocean of calm in a sea of chaos, most were filled with children, adults who would not fight, and people treating the injured. She saw Ruleen and her followers, working as they had promised, caring for wounded of both sides.

  In the next temple, Kalie found Brenia and Martel, calming singing to their children and hers. Here, it was almost quiet enough to hear the singing. Picking her way through other groups and trying not to step on anyone, Kalie finally reached them. Yarik ran to her at once, and Melora, fussing her way toward an all-out tantrum, cut off her crying when her mother wrapped her in her arms.

  “She nursed recently,” said Brenia. “But she might want to—“

  Melora latched on to Kalie’s breast at once, nursing briefly and mainly for comfort. “Varena and Noris?” asked Kalie.

  “We don’t know,” said Martel. “They may have gotten to their boat with some of the others, and taken to the sea. Or they may be safely hidden in their food cellar.”

  Or they may have gotten caught in the middle of all of this, Kalie worried. “I have to go out there,” she said.

  “Do you have any weapons?” Martel asked, eyeing her critically, and seeming concerned by what he saw. She couldn’t blame him: she had been about to join a fight unarmed.

  “Come with me,” he said. “I’ll take you to the weapon cach
e.” Kalie noticed that many who were not praying or tending the wounded were repairing weapons.

  Melora clung to her mother, and screamed when Kalie gave her back to Brenia. I will be back, she silently promised both herself and her children.

  The next temple they went to had been converted into a forge. Janak, red faced and bellowing orders to his many apprentices, was determined that if his side lost, it would not be for lack of the right tools. Kalie suspected that if they won, his efforts could be the reason. She added pieces to her armor, two more knives, some throwing sticks and a spear. She did not think a bow would be useful in the close quarter fighting of the town.

  From the moment Kalie left the protection of the temples, she was caught up in the whirling, noisy world of blood and body parts, war cries and cold determination.

  Later, she would be told that she fought like a demon; that no one had seen the like. She would remember little of it. Her vision narrowed to a red-tinged tunnel, through which she could see one snarling, black-clad man after another. With spear and knife she fought, killing, wounding, running, until it all became a blur. Once she nearly killed a man on her own side, so lost she was in the frenzy that had taken her.

  The cry of the hunt awoke Kalie to fact that she had been spotted as danger who must be eliminated. At least six men were chasing her down a dark lane with empty houses on either side. She dodged between two buildings, knowing better than to enter one and become trapped inside. Another group came from the opposite direction, trapping her. Two men she did not recognize died trying to protect her.

  In a move these beastmen should have been familiar with by now, Kalie scrambled up the wooden side of a house, using the low thatching to vault herself onto the roof.

  Then the night was lit up with flame. When Kalie could see again, the house she stood on was in flames. It would only be moments before the dry thatch which kept her out of reach of her enemies became more deadly than they. Warriors gathered to cheer for her demise. “Come on down, so we can have some fun before we kill you!” called one.

  “You owe us that much for the trouble you’ve caused!” said another.

  “Let’s just watch her burn!” said a third. “Who wants to fuck a bald cunt anyway? I’ll bet her daughters and sisters will be more to our taste!”

  The jeering became undistinguishable, and now other houses were burning. Kalie flung her throwing sticks into the crowd, finding the occasional grunt of pain satisfying. It was, Kalie realized, the moment where she had to choose how she would die.

  And she didn’t like it.

  And then, her salvation arrived. Not with a troupe of her own warriors, or even a single fighter like Borik who was worth ten, but with the arrival of Varlas, King of the Wolves, riding in all his gaudy splendor to see the unnatural woman everyone was speaking of brought down.

  The roof she stood on was burning now, but Kalie stood for a full ten heartbeats, taking in every detail of Varlas’s armor, hair, and even how he sat his horse. Then, as the section of roof next to her gave way, he moved forward for a better look.

  Knife in hand, Kalie jumped, landing full force on the arrogant king who had come to claim her land as his own. Struggling, they fell from the horse, landing with Varlas on top of Kalie. For the first time in her life, that was exactly how she wanted it.

  Weapons bristled around her, but Kalie was in little danger as long as she had these fools’ king as her shield. With her knife at his throat, she pried herself into a sitting position, the thrashing horse guarding her back, the king covering her front.

  “Drop your weapons or your king dies!” she screamed.

  The men froze, but no one backed away or lowered a weapon. Most simply readjusted their position to get in a killing shot before Kalie could cut Varlas’s throat. She had to act fast. “Tell them to drop their weapons!” she hissed in the king’s ear, sliding the knife up his face until the tip rested against his left eye.

  “Step back! Lower your weapons!” he shouted to his men. “I’ll handle this demon-bitch myself!” With that he twisted with such force that Kalie was nearly thrown off. The horse that had protected her got himself upright and bolted. Only Varlas’s arrogant order saved Kalie’s life.

  Leaping like a cat, Kalie mounted the king like a horse, pulling him off balance once again. He sat heavily, Kalie still on his back, and the rage he felt at looking like a fool pulsed through every part of him. This time, Kalie removed his left eye with her knife. While Varlas howled, she again whispered in his ear, but this time it was to make a deal. The only deal that could prevent her home from becoming a funeral pyre.

  “Tomorrow, Vargas, you can be a one-eyed king, or you can be hanging from our temple roof with your balls stuffed in your mouth. You choose!”

  As Kalie’s knife moved to his remaining eye, Varlas yelped, “What are you talking about?”

  “This war will kill both our sides if we don’t stop it now,” said Kalie, loud enough for everyone in the growing crowd around them to hear. “Do you even have enough men to rule us now if you win? Do you think my people will forget their Goddess and their honor and join your side to replace the men you’ve lost?”

  “I wouldn’t take such filthy cowards as my warriors!” shrieked Varlas. But the men around him knew their enemies were no cowards.

  “Good, we don’t want to join you either. So let’s try this. There will be much empty land with no one to work it. Some of that land will suit your needs quite well—whether you continue your nomadic life, or decide to try your hand at farming. You and your surviving men, and any women who choose to go with you will be granted your own territory. We will make a treaty, which you will swear by your gods to uphold. If any of your men break the treaty all of you will die. And you will end up back on the temple with your balls stuffed in your mouth.”

  “Who are you to make such an offer?” Varlas demanded. “Queen of this land?”

  “If that’s who I need to be,” retorted Kalie. “Or you may call me Keeper. A keeper of the ancient wisdom.” But only one of many, she thought.

  Chapter 36

  The night had grown too dark for anyone to know who they were fighting, so a truce was declared. The sun was cresting the eastern hills before all the dead were laid out and the wounded gathered for care. And by the end of the day, an agreement had been reached between the two warring sides, although as Ruleen reminded everyone, only one side had wanted the war.

  There were meetings and discussions, but the most immediate concern was disposing of the dead. Neither side was allowed the rites they would have liked, for the piles of bodies were far too deep and the weather was far too hot. To avoid pestilence, bodies had to be burned, or piled into ravines and covered with earth and stone. The only dead who were able to insist on strict adherence to ritual were the wives of Varlas’s warriors, who filed to the burial sites wearing their best clothes and jewelry, only to lay down beside their husbands and stab themselves, or be strangled by surviving male relatives.

  “Amazing,” said Otera as she watched.

  “One word for it, I suppose,” said Kalie, turning to leave. She’d seen enough of it while living with the tribe. All she wanted now was to go home and care for Riyik and see her children. And perhaps have a long hot bath.

  “It will at least leave us with fewer mouths to feed,” Otera persisted. “Since our brilliant leaders have decided that feeding those who will soon return to kill us is a fine plan.”

  “While many of us go hungry this winter,” Danarie said bitterly.

  Before the hostilities could officially end, however, there was the matter of Alrik, whose misfortune it was to be taken alive. In a trial which Kalie would have preferred to miss, and Riyik did, Alrik was brought before Kariik and the leaders of Stonebridge, and made to answer for his treachery.

  “What did Varlas offer you to betray your king?” Kariik asked, looking and sounding like more of a king than ever.

  Varlas stood watching the proceedings, but spoke up fr
om his place. “I offered him nothing! He came to me before our tribes even left the steppes. He promised me he could deliver the best this land had to offer. In exchange, he would rule the territory of his choice, as a brother king.”

  Kariik paled. To learn that greed or the sight of the odds might have changed a man’s allegiance was bad enough. But this…? “So you were a traitor from the start,” the shaken king said.

  “No man who holds with his gods or his honor is a traitor!” Alrik retorted. “You would have had us bow to women, and give up all that made us men—and warriors! You murdered my nephew—a good man who took nothing that was not his by right—and all for what? A life of digging in the dirt like worms? Of trading instead of taking? Of handing your balls to your wife, and then asking her permission to let you use them? It is you who are the traitor, Kariik!”

  “But it is you who will die a traitor’s death, while I go on to lead our people to a bright new future. And I notice your ‘brother king’ did not offer to share your fate.”

  At that, some of Alrik’s smugness slipped, but he only said, “And what of my dear wife, who helped me every step of the way? Who showed me how the dam could be used to defeat you, rather than save you? Will she not share my fate? Or will you spare a traitor for no better reason than it has a cunt instead of a prick?”

  Kalie hated this bastard. There was no way Alrik could prove his accusations, but the fact was, given Kestra’s mental state, he could easily be telling the truth.

  “Let her die with her beastman husband!” shouted Griva. “She could have returned safely to her old way of life. She chose his instead.”

  The smile on Alrik’s face made Kalie want to scream.

  “Kestra will be secluded in a distant temple of healing until she regains her sanity, or until she dies,” Alessa said. “Let that be the end of the matter.”

  “The real Kestra was strong enough to find away to warn us,” Kalie added. “Despite her fear of her husband. That should count for something.”