by Lana Axe
“Excuse me?” Imrit replied, lifting his eyebrows. Who was this woman to speak to him so?
Moving closer to the old man, she said, “I see fire in your heart. All-consuming flame.”
Imrit studied the old woman’s face. Years beyond measure were written in its lines, two white eyes staring up at him. Her hood concealed most of her hair, but a few oily strands of gray fell loose on her shoulders. Power radiated from her, the magic of the ocean itself. This was no ordinary woman. “Away, Sea Hag,” he said to her, attempting to walk away.
The old woman caught his arm, her grip much stronger than he expected. The years had not diminished her strength. “Greed,” she said, her breath hot against his face. Looking deep into his eyes, she said, “You will trade that which you love above all to attain the power you seek. Limitless power shall be yours, but it comes at a heavy price.”
“You know nothing of me,” Imrit said, pulling his arm away.
“Be warned,” she spat. “Your lust for power will leave you powerless in the end.”
“I’ve no use for your shortsighted prophecy, Sea Hag,” he shot back. “Be gone with you!” He pointed to the sea, a heavy clap of thunder shaking the old woman to her bones. A wave of blue threatened to slam against the coast, but she held up a hand to calm it.
“Heed my words, Magician,” she said to him. Turning away, she walked into the ocean, disappearing within its depths.
Rattled from the encounter, Imrit did his best to shake it off. There was still work to be done. A ship had to be hired. But the Sea Hag’s words stung bitter and gnawed at the edges of his mind. Creatures of ancient times, sea hags were known to have the gift of foresight. It was rare when they chose to share their knowledge with a human, especially without a price tag attached. This one had obviously meant to frighten him. It had worked.
Taking a few deep breaths, he tried to put the matter behind him. He looked out over the water, the rolling blue waves soothing his troubled mind. He had to go on and try to forget the Hag’s words. Once again he opened his mind, touching each ship with magic. In the distance he spied a ship with striped sails of gold and green. That one, he said to himself. Passage to Ayumai was assured.
* * * * *
Back on the road, Taren felt much cooler and safer. He removed his robe and draped it over his arm, allowing the sweat to dry from his shirt and pants. Outside the jungle the wind was not so still. A pleasant breeze gently rustled his hair as he followed the path, which soon opened into a city.
The La’kertan city was a sight to behold. It was built all of wood, but not in the way Taren was used to. The buildings were round with thick wooden supports, thinner strips of what appeared to be bark serving as walls. The roofs were thatched palm leaves, their green coloration having dried to gray long ago. If he had to guess, he’d think they had felled the trees and hollowed them out in order to construct their city. Some buildings were large enough that it must have taken thirty or more trees to craft it. Yet still the jungle grew wild, with no threat to its existence. Taren appreciated that. These people were thriving without overtaxing their resources.
Most of the La’kertans paid him no mind, instead going about their daily business as if a complete stranger hadn’t walked into their midst. One woman carrying a basket eyed him curiously, turning her head quickly when he attempted to make eye contact.
“Excuse me, miss,” he called to her.
She stopped short and dropped her shoulders. “Yes?” she replied.
“I’m looking for the Temple of Auk,” he said. “Is it near?”
“Oh yes,” she replied. After a few fast blinks, she tilted her head and dared to look him over. With a nervous laugh, she said, “Keep on the road north, and once you’re outside the city it’s about three miles. You can’t miss it. It’s the only building of stone in this area, and it’s very big.”
“Thank you, miss,” Taren said with a nod.
She stared a bit longer as he walked away, but when he glanced over his shoulder she scurried away. He smiled to himself, wondering what she must have thought of him. He doubted many humans visited here.
The city spread farther than Taren expected, the road growing wider as he reached its center. A massive stone fountain decorated what appeared to be the marketplace. Brightly painted stalls ringed the fountain in a circular pattern, all decorated with colored scarves and flags. One voice tumbled over the next, each merchant hawking his wares to a different tune. It was far more interesting than in Ky’sall, where plain wooden stalls stood in rows. Taren enjoyed the spectacle, wishing he had time to browse.
Attempting to pass through the area, he tucked his head between his shoulders. It was no use. A human was out of place amongst the La’kertans, and he drew attention to himself without wishing to. Merchants, mainly female ones, approached him relentlessly, tempting him with their baked goods, handwoven items, works of art, and fine-smelling fragrances.
There was one woman he could not ignore. Her orange scales glistened in the sun, her bright blue eyes sparkling. From the pocket of her auburn skirt, she produced a phial of liquid that swirled in different hues of green. Taren couldn’t resist inspecting it.
“What manner of tincture is that?” he asked, trying to hide the intrigue from his voice.
The young woman laughed. “It won’t win the heart of your lady love, I’m afraid.” Extending the phial toward him, she said, “It will soften your scales, though.”
Taren took the phial and looked it over. Every shade of green imaginable swirled inside the glass, which was slightly warm to the touch. “It’s too bad I have no scales,” he said. Smiling, he handed the tincture back to her.
After tucking it inside her pocket, she produced a small clay pot covered with a cloth lid. “Try this,” she said, handing him the pot.
Inside was a thick yellow salve. Giving it a whiff, he recognized some of its ingredients. “Honey,” he said. Quickly, he added, “Basil, and some others I’m not familiar with.”
“You’re an herbalist?” she asked playfully.
“In Ky’sall I am,” he replied. “Here, I’m simply Taren. I’m not familiar enough with La’kerta’s plants to be anything else.”
The woman eyed him closely. “I think there’s more to you than that,” she said. “I’m Lilla, and should you ever desire to know more of my island’s herb lore, I’d be pleased to teach you.”
“I’d enjoy that,” Taren replied. It was tempting to ask her for a quick lesson now, but Imrit was waiting. Regretfully, he said, “I’m on my way to meet a friend, but I hope I can find you later.”
“I’m here every day at the market,” she replied. “Try some of the salve on those insect bites. It will soothe the itch instantly.”
He had nearly forgotten the welts on the back of his neck. Trying to swallow his embarrassment at what a mess he must appear to her, he dipped his fingers in the salve and spread a thin layer on his neck. Returning the pot, he said, “Much better, thank you.”
She gave a single nod and tucked the pot away in her apron. “I hope to see you again, Taren the Herbalist.”
“You certainly shall,” he replied without thinking. It was silly to make such a promise. He might have to leave immediately and not return for some while. But he hoped he would see Lilla again. She was pleasing to look upon, and the spark of intelligence he saw in her eyes was all the better. She possessed knowledge he would love to have, and he suspected she would make a fine companion for dinner as well.
Trotting off down the road, he avoided all other vendors. When he looked over his shoulder, Lilla had moved on, enticing other customers with her wares. With all his heart he wanted to go back, to learn from her, to know her. The symbol thought differently. He felt its pull, urging him onward. He could not stay if he wanted to. Once this business with the symbol was finished, he made up his mind to return and seek her out. By then the symbol would be under his control, or so he hoped.
As Taren continued through the city, he re
alized the markets hadn’t been at the center. The side away from the docks stretched on and on, and he wondered if he’d ever make it to the other side. At last he could smell the free air of the jungle, and he knew he was getting closer. Only a few more streets and he found himself free of the city.
This time he decided to keep his gaze straight ahead, avoiding all temptation to explore the jungle’s treasures. Before long, a dazzling stone building stood in front of him. It rose toward the sky, rivaling the height of the jungle canopy. Immaculately kept, Taren did not see a single speck of dust on the steps outside. Two strange-looking stone birds stood watch on their pillars, greeting visitors with their beady eyes. Passing between them, he reached for the door.
Inside, the temple was constructed of the same smooth stone. A cool breeze wafted from someplace unseen, and a deep spicy scent floated upon it. Fires burned in three separate braziers surrounding a central dais. The statue of a La’kertan woman in a flowing robe stood at the center, a stone bird perched upon her raised hand. He studied the figure a moment, the silence of the temple echoing in his ears.
“Who let you in here?” a shrill voice snapped.
With a jolt of surprise, Taren turned to find the speaker. He was a tall, thin La’kertan, dressed in a white robe. “Um, well,” Taren stammered. “No one let me in,” he finally said. “The door was open.”
“No it wasn’t,” the man argued. “You had to pull it open didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Taren admitted. “But it was unlocked.”
“Of course it was,” the La’kertan said, crossing his arms. “The Temple of Auk is open to all.”
Taren couldn’t help but smile. “Then why are you questioning my presence?”
“All La’kertans,” the man corrected. “Humans don’t come here.”
“I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed,” Taren replied. “I apologize. I’m only here to find a friend of mine.”
“Humans are most certainly allowed,” a female voice said. From behind the dais, a La’kertan woman appeared. Her scales were soft blue in color, her eyes a piercing black. Though commanding, her alto voice had a roughness to it, suggesting her advanced age. One would not know it to look upon her, since she otherwise appeared to be in her prime. Dressed in a white robe, its edges trimmed in gold, she descended the steps and approached Taren. “My acolyte has misunderstood. La’kertans, humans, elves, and all others are welcome here.” Pursing her lips, she gave the La’kertan man a look of admonishment.
Drooping his head, he said, “Forgive me, High Cleric. I was mistaken.”
“You are forgiven,” she replied.
The man scurried away, his slippered feet moving silently across the stone floor.
“I bid you welcome,” the woman said. “My name is Ynaja, and I am the High Cleric here at the Temple of Auk.” Pressing her steepled hands together, she bent slightly at the waist.
Taren awkwardly mimicked her bow. “Greetings, High Cleric,” he said. “I meant no offense by my presence. I have come seeking my friend Zamna. I was told he might be here.”
“First, let me apologize for my acolytes cold greeting,” Ynaja said. “Suspicion is cast on all warm bloods who come here. Such visits are so rare that I’m afraid our kind tend to forget good manners. I hope you were not offended.”
“Not at all,” he replied.
“The one you seek is here,” she continued. “Zamna is on a vision quest and cannot be disturbed.”
“Vision quest?” Taren didn’t expect that. In the short time he’d known Zamna, the La’kertan didn’t strike him as the religious type.
“Yes,” she replied. “Zamna will atone for all his transgressions, meeting all those he has wronged in his lifetime. It can be both strenuous and enlightening, but highly necessary if he is to achieve balance.”
Stunned, Taren didn’t immediately respond. Zamna was an assassin. For him to meet everyone he had wronged was unthinkable. How many lives had he taken? How many were innocent? “Who determines whether someone was wronged?” he asked. It was possible some of his targets deserved their fate, but it wasn’t for him to decide. Murder was never justified, but in Zamna’s eyes, it was sometimes necessary.
“The one who was wronged,” Ynaja said. With a shrug, she added, “Or the one who committed the wrongdoing. It is difficult to say, but anyone who embarks on the vision quest will meet many, even those they were not expecting. The Eye of the Auk misses nothing. It is a part of all of us.”
A riddle of an answer. The sorcerer had expected no less. “How long do these vision quests normally take?” he wondered.
“However long is needed,” she replied. “And no longer.”
Of course, he thought. “On average, how long would you say?”
“Five days,” she replied.
Surprised by her short answer, he asked, “How long has Zamna been on his?”
“Seven days.”
Taren’s jaw dropped open. It would appear Zamna had much to atone for.
“You must understand,” Ynaja said. “He is on a spiritual quest, one of self-discovery and growth. When he emerges from the trance, he will be a new man.”
Trance? Immediately concerned for his friend’s health, he asked, “How is he receiving water? Has he eaten?”
Ynaja clicked her tongue. “We La’kertans are hardy. Unlike humans, we do not require daily nourishment. I assure you, he is in perfect health.”
She was correct. Taren had forgotten that as a reptile, Zamna’s nutritional needs were not like his own. He felt himself blush, embarrassed to have made such a mistake. “Do you have any way of knowing if he’s nearly finished?”
“I cannot tell where he is on his journey,” Ynaja replied. “Are you in a hurry to speak with him?”
“I would like him to travel with me,” Taren said. “I believe my other traveling companion was hoping to leave soon.” He rubbed the skin of his right arm.
“That is only half-true,” she said, her dark eyes staring through him. “You are eager to go as well.” Glancing down, she added, “Your arm is also.” Her nostril slits flared as she sniffed the air.
Wondering if she could smell the symbol’s presence, he clutched his arm to his side. “I would like to speak with Zamna,” he said.
“Impossible,” she replied, holding up her hand.
He thought for a moment. “Could I enter his vision?”
Ynaja’s brow furrowed. “It is his personal vision. To intrude would be inappropriate.”
“But it can be done?” he asked with a knowing smile. Her reply had given it away.
“It can,” she said. “Has Zamna wronged you in any way?”
Taren searched his mind. Zamna had been a good friend, loyal and unwavering. He had saved his life and helped him retrieve the symbol. But they had shared only a short time together. That was it. “He has been my friend through hardship and failed to inform me of his well-being since. Yes, I have been wronged.”
Giving him a sideways glance, the High Cleric said, “Very well. I will allow you to enter the vision.” Gesturing for him to follow, she led him to a chamber on the east side of the temple.
Sitting cross-legged before a small flame, his hands resting on his knees, was Zamna. His nub of a tail allowed Taren to recognize him from behind. As he moved farther into the room, he could see his friend’s face, his blue-green scales illuminated by firelight. Rows of spikes ran down each side of his face, two yellow eyes remained closed despite the sound of Taren’s footsteps.
Lifting a plain wooden cup, Ynaja offered Taren a potion. “This tea will induce the trance,” she said. “No human has ever embarked on our vision quest, so I cannot say if this is safe for you to ingest.”
Taking the cup, he sniffed its contents. The familiar fragrance of herbs presented themselves to his finely trained nose. Carefully he ran down the list of every ingredient, pleased to find that none were toxic. One, however, was questionable. “There’s something in here I don’t recognize,” he said.
“That is likely the ayahuasca vine extract that you are smelling,” she replied. “It is the tea’s main ingredient, the one that gives the potion its strength.”
Taren vaguely remembered reading something about this vine, but he had no idea it grew on La’kerta. If he was correct, it was a hallucinogen, a powerful one. It was not the safest thing he could put in his body.
Seeing his hesitation, Ynaja said, “You are not required to do this. You can simply wait until Zamna emerges from his vision quest.”
Shaking his head, Taren replied, “I can’t wait.” The symbol would not allow it. With his right hand, he tilted the cup to his lips and drank.
Taking him by the wrist, Ynaja led him toward Zamna, seating him on the opposite side of the flame. The last thing he heard was her voice singing softly, then his world went dark.
Chapter 7
Trapped. Black threads swirled around Taren, weaving themselves into a tight net. Struggling to break free only resulted in the bindings squeezing him tighter, forcing his limbs into painful positions. His world closing in around him, the herbalist could scarcely find his breath. The net closed in, squeezing his chest and tilting his head at an awkward angle. When he tried to cry out, black threads entered his mouth. Choking against them, Taren reached for his magic. It was all gone. Emptiness engulfed him as he fought for air.
Light. A dim light reached between the lines of the net, caressing his skin and reminding him to breathe. Taren relaxed, and the net loosened, allowing him to move freely inside it. Larger and larger it grew as he walked, stumbling at first, on the mass of threads. Pressing on toward the light, he found his footing and broke into a run. The light grew closer, but there was no end to the web as it continued to swirl around him.
Not knowing the source of the light, he could only hope it was less dangerous than the constricting net. The light expanded, spreading inside the net, contrasting the black lines and devouring them. Looking down at his arm, he saw the symbol’s marks were gone, only plain, bare skin remained. Holding up the arm to his face, he reached with his mind for the symbol’s presence. The lines of the net returned. Swirling and spinning they rushed him, knocking him to the ground. All at once they converged, slicing through his body and searing into his arm. Taren cried out in anguish.
