Journey of Awakening

by Shawna Thomas

  Tobar’s lips moved without issuing a sound. Finally, words formed soft and decisive. “My son is lost.”

  Silence weighed down the room. Sorrow etched deeper lines in faces browned by the sun; fingers brushed the tassels of the central rug.

  Sara met Zeynel’s gaze. What did they mean? Why was Danladi lost? Zeynel regarded Tobar.

  “Do you mean the Zorcani will kill Danladi?” she asked.

  Tobar stood and paced the small enclosure. “No, but it will be as if they had.” He looked at the others, his gaze blank.

  “I’m sorry. I...I don’t understand,” she stammered.

  “It must seem as though we speak in riddles. Forgive me. You are a guest at council, an honored guest.” Tobar settled back on the cushion. “An Akier’s greatest blessing is his firstborn son. The occasion is a sign of Tei’s favor. More than that, the firstborn of an Akier is Tei’s chosen keeper of the ancient bloodlines originating with the Ancient One himself. In the last season of rain, Danladi reached maturity. You call me Akier, and indeed I govern, but I am only Regent Akier until the year of Danladi’s twenty-fifth summer. Danladi is the keeper of the Heleini bloodline and true Akier.”

  “It is the law,” Durriken confirmed. “Honored by each tribe.”

  Sara turned to the old man. More animated than she’d ever seen him, Durriken reached for the amarin. She handed it to him. Durriken pointed to a fawn-colored square crowded with tiny symbols in darker yarn on the rug. “You see, our law decrees that if the Akier of a tribe dies before he passes on the bloodline to his heir—his firstborn son—the bloodline is lost.” He tapped intricate dark weaving on a field of gray. “If the Akier is sick or his life in danger and he has no son, he can transfer the bloodline to another Akier’s son. That son becomes his own.”

  “But, what if a firstborn son dies before becoming Akier?” Sara asked. “Can a father not reclaim the bloodline if his son is too sick to govern or dies? He could have another son, and pass the bloodline on again.”

  Durriken shook his head. “The law is clear and cannot be changed.” His bony finger hovered to a stop over a sage green square. “Blood flows forward, to the future, not back. Only the Akier can pass on the bloodline, not the Regent Akier.”

  Zeynel nodded to the fawn square. “Another Akier’s son. It can be any son of any Akier. Of any tribe.”

  Sara met Tobar’s gaze. “But if I understand correctly, Danladi is not an Akier’s son any longer. He is an Akier himself, and the son of a Regent.”

  Eyes full of sorrow spoke as clear as his voice. “All Akiers are also the sons of Akiers. I was the Akier when I passed the bloodline to him, so he is an Akier’s son. The Zorcani took Danladi to further their bloodline.”

  “The other tribes follow these laws?” Sara asked, understanding.

  “These laws are ancient. They originated when the tribes were united as one. Yes, they are sacred to all the People,” Duriken replied. “They are followed by every tribe.”

  “Then without Danladi, the Heleini have no Akier. What does the law state then?”

  The elders glanced at one another, silent.

  A spindly man who had been smoking a long pipe in a shaded corner of the tent cleared his throat. His face, cragged like a riverbed, rearranged in a gesture of sorrow. “If Danladi arrives to the Zorcani stronghold before we rescue him, they will make him Akier of their tribe. He will have the Zorcani blood, which will overwhelm the blood of his birth, and the Heleini bloodline will be forever lost. Without an Akier, the Heleini, our way of life, will fade until there is nothing left.”

  “If we can retrieve Danladi, will he be reinstated as Akier of the Heleini?” Sara asked.

  The elders shared another glance.

  Durriken spoke, his voice almost apologetic. “He is the Akier of the Heleini still. He carries the sacred bloodline and always will until he passes it to his successor, as Tobar did for him. But you see, if he is given the Zorcani bloodline, his Heleini blood will become void.” His fingers traced wine-colored writing. “An Akier can lead only one tribe.”

  Sara pondered the issue. “So if he’s been made Akier of the Zorcani and we rescue him, he would still be Akier of the Zorcani?”

  “Yes.” Durriken nodded. “Unless he gives the Heleini bloodline to an acceptable recipient first—and there is none in the mountains—he will be Akier of the Zorcani and the Heleini bloodline will die.”

  “And if there were?”

  “If there were,” Durriken replied, “he could transfer it to that person and then the Heleini bloodline would continue in the new Akier.”

  Sara nodded, chewing on the inside her cheek. “So we need to stop them from making Danladi Akier of the Zorcani?”

  “And we will.” Tobar’s gaze touched all those around the circle. “They must wait until the moon is silent again to perform the ritual. It gives us time, but not much. We have no choice. We must recover Danladi before he arrives at the Zorcani keep.”

  A murmur of assent rippled the group. Tobar rose and threw back the tent curtain, already barking orders to the men waiting outside. Robes rustled as elders helped one another to their feet.

  Sara reached for his sleeve. “Tobar.”

  The Akier froze in the doorway, glancing first at Sara’s white hand against his robe, then to her face.

  “Healer?”

  Sara’s heart boomed her chest. What did she know? Tobar was experienced, sensible. She’d seen him rule his people. What if she was wrong? She took a deep breath. “Tobar, this is not wise. I beg you to reconsider.”

  Tobar’s eyes softened. “Healer, we must leave at once. When the Rabishi bring Danladi into Zorcani lands, they will find us waiting to reclaim him.”

  “Don’t you think the Rabishi expect that? They made no effort to cover their tracks. Have you considered they, or the Zorcani, are even now laying an ambush for you, waiting for you to follow?”

  His eyes darkened. “If so, we’ll be ready.”

  “I see.” Sara took a deep breath. Tobar’s pride was involved. She’d have to tread gently.

  “And so you will meet the Rabishi in battle. We’ll say you’re victorious—”

  “Of course we’d be victorious. We fight for our future.”

  Sara nodded. “Yes. Supposing victory is yours... What will you lose? How many more warriors will die, and what’s to stop the Rabishi from killing Danladi when you attack? A battle with the Rabishi puts your son at greater risk.”

  Frustration edged Tobar’s words. “Then what would you suggest?”

  “If I understand your laws, Danladi is to be the Akier of the Zorcani people because their firstborn son, their Akier, is dying. Correct?”

  “Go on, woman, we have little time.”

  “Then I will heal the Zorcani Akier and bloodshed will be avoided.”

  Tobar’s nod was slower this time; a glint of hope entered his eyes. “But the Zorcani have a healer. I’m sure they tried everything.”

  Ilydearta burned against Sara’s skin. “No, Tobar, not everything.”

  A surge of power welled from her torso through her limbs. Sara removed the necklace from under her blouse. A murmur echoed throughout the tent. Blue light flashed off rippling walls and reflected in Tobar’s irises. His eyes widened as his pupils contracted and filled with wonder. The tent grew silent.

  “The Zorcani do not have me.”

  Part Four

  The Birth of a Legend

  The sound was all around her and in her and she was the sound and it was her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Word spread through camp. It wasn’t in the way the Heleini looked at her, but in the way they didn’t. She couldn’t tell what was going on behind the dark eyes but something fundamental had shifted. They still treated her with cour
tesy, but it was now tinged with the respect given to something one didn’t understand. Besides, since she had revealed the necklace, she’d felt the weight of Zeynel’s gaze when he thought she wasn’t looking. Had it been wrong to reveal Ilydearta? It had felt right but now uncertainty plagued her. The Heleini didn’t seem to recognize the stone, but knew it to be some kind of powerful talisman.

  Sara threw back the tent flap and stepped into the warmth of the tent, flicking the clasp of her cloak and shaking off beaded drops of water before stepping up to the fire. The gentle patter of rain soothed her spirits but had quickly transformed the dry dirt outside to sticky mud.

  Zeynel sat cross-legged, feeding sticks to the fire.

  “Everything’s ready. We’ll leave at first light.” She glanced toward the tent’s entrance as she pulled off her boots. “Rain or shine.”

  Zeynel nodded without comment.

  “Tobar and a few of the elders will go a short distance with us.” She paused. An escort out of their camp. No. That was unfair. Tobar had wanted to accompany her. She’d argued that a show of force would harden the Zorcani hearts. Their best chance to return with Danladi was for her to go alone. He’d agreed, but he wasn’t pleased with the idea.

  She’d seen little of Tobar since the council meeting. She supposed he was busy. No, of course he was busy, he was Regent Akier and the Heleini were braving a crisis.

  Grandfather, Nolwen and Maelys and even Zeynel had warned her of showing the pendant to anyone and she’d flashed an entire council. She regarded Zeynel. He hadn’t moved or said anything since she entered the tent. Is he angry? Sara moved to crouch near the fire. “Was it wrong to reveal Ilydearta?”

  “Wrong?” Zeynel asked.

  Sara nodded.

  “Why did you do it?”

  The flames snaked in a sinuous dance. She shook her head. “Because Tobar was making a mistake and it—a far-reaching mistake.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I did.”

  “You felt it?”

  “No. I didn’t feel...not quite a feeling, more a knowing. It felt right... I...I just acted.”

  A smile lit Zeynel’s features. “Yes, you did. You also knew how to get Tobar’s, indeed the whole council’s, attention. But something you didn’t expect happened: in using Ilydearta, you’ve discovered more of yourself.”

  “But you said not to wield the stone, but each time I have, you haven’t reprimanded me for it?”

  “Who am I to reprimand a keeper?” Zeynel laid a hand on Sara’s shoulder. “When I told you not to use it, you were not its master. It was a bauble. Perhaps a curiosity to you. It was necessary for you to show restraint. Today you showed that you are a true keeper.”

  Zeynel’s gaze softened. “Do you attempt to breathe?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I just breathe.”

  Zeynel nodded. “So it must be with the stone. I can teach you Teann, teach you move with, to feel, and be a part of Teann. Once that happens, you will use the stone as part of you. Like you breathe. If you had tried to use it before Teann moved through you, you would have grown frustrated and used the stone apart from how it was intended.”

  “For my own good.”

  “Perhaps. Now, it is a part of you. You will continue to grow in its use, just as you grow in wisdom as you age.”

  Sara hesitated. A true keeper? She didn’t feel any different today than she had a few days before. Had she discovered herself? She rubbed her chest as though it would ease her doubts. She was Ilydearta’s keeper. For the first time, the title felt right. Maybe that’s what Zeynel was talking about. She closed her eyes. She could almost see her thoughts and convictions, shades of gray swirling in a tumultuous ballet. Thoughts shaped by Teann? At that moment, when she’d uncovered Ilydearta to Tobar, she had believed. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she’d known it was the right thing to do. A moment of absolute certainty and that certainty built strength. But was a moment enough to waylay doubt? For now, it was. She met Zeynel’s clear eyes.

  Zeynel straightened, his eyes outshining the fire. He seemed so adept at sifting down through the layers and tumult of her thoughts. A smile flirted at the corners of his mouth. “You are ready now, Sara.”

  * * *

  “How many did we lose?” Cais ran fingers through his damp hair. The lean-to filled with pungent steam from the men’s drying clothes. He hoped the Heleini were good enough trackers to spot the hoof prints before the rains washed them away.

  “Six, sir.”

  “Six? By Rhios! The attack was a farce, Kale. You were supposed to engage, then at my signal, run. The Heleini should have been half-drunk and confused.” The loss of men hurt; they were his friends, but the Rabishi needed every man they had for what was coming.

  “We did, Cais. But a few were not half-drunk or confused.”

  “Yes, lord.” A man stepped forward, the firelight deepening the hollows in his face, making him look as though he were near starvation. “There was an old man among the Heleini, and a woman.”

  “An old man and a woman?” Cais panned over nodding heads. “So?”

  “Yes, a woman. She killed two,” Kale said.

  “By the river,” Cais cursed, staring into the night sky.

  Kale stepped forward. “Don’t you think we better keep moving? The rain will wash away our tracks but the Heleini will not wait long to strike.”

  No, they would not wait long. His men knew the boy had been safely delivered to Zorcani hands but only Cais knew of the Zorcani hoof prints left behind for the Heleini to find. The faith his men had in him nearly brought him to his knees. He said a silent prayer to Rhios, god of the river. “They will not come after us.” Cais looked at his men. “And we are not going home.”

  Murmurs of confusion and speculation echoed in the marrow of his bones. The trader had been clear in his counsel. Cais took a deep breath. “They will go after the Zorcani and the boy. At first light, we’ll head toward the forest near the northern reaches of the Zorcani Mountains to wait.”

  “My lord, how long?” Kale ventured.

  Cais didn’t begrudge Kale the question. Supplies were scarce, the men wanted to get back to families and loved ones. “Not long, my friend. We need only to wait for the sounds of war.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sara stretched the aching muscles of her back and shoulders. They’d left the Heleini camp as the sun crested the horizon. Many had risen at dawn to bid them farewell. The solemnity in the eyes of the Heleini was a reminder she wasn’t just trying to return Danladi, but their future as a people. She and Zeynel had ridden behind Tobar and his men, the pack animals following the caravan complaining loudly of their early-morning labors. A few of the women stretched out their hands and touched Sara’s cloak as she passed, the gentle contact sending bolts of electricity through her when she understood their intent. She’d wanted to stop and tell them she was just a woman like them, but the truth was she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. She only knew what she had to do.

  Sara glanced back only once to see Chavi standing apart from the group, Danladi’s blanket clutched to her chest.

  * * *

  A single bird soared in air currents far above the Faisach. Sara watched as it rose and dipped in the tides of wind. She’d wandered away from the group to be alone with her thoughts; she didn’t know if that had been a wise decision. Her thoughts were overpowering her reason. Tobar and his men were leaving after the midday meal, but Sara’s appetite had vanished.

  Chaotic outcroppings of red shale jutted out of hard-packed earth, like hands reaching to an impossibly blue sky. Sara ran her fingers over coarse-grained sandstone to follow a dark green vein, a tiny spidery river fed by hairline tributaries. The air smelled fresh and clean. It was a beautiful day, a day for b
eginnings. Then why are my thoughts so heavy?

  She heard the earth move beneath soft soles and knew Tobar approached. “I can go with you no farther.”

  Sara searched his eyes as he stopped by her side, wondering if he shared his people’s uncertainly about her.

  “You are more than you appear.”

  “Most people are.”

  Tobar nodded, thoughtful. “A day or two from here and you will be in the territory that no tribe claims. Keep the setting sun behind you. The land will begin to rise. Rest the horses often. Another hard day’s ride takes you to Zorcani land and then the mountain trails. Leave the horses at the foot of the mountain. They will find their way home. We will be looking for them.” He paused. “If you are successful, the Zorcani, if they have any honor left, should provide you with horses for your return journey. Tell them that Tobar of the Heleini—”

  Sara reached up and placed a finger across Tobar’s lips, silencing him. “I know.” He’d already given her advice on every step of their journey.

  A horse whinnied on the other side of the rocks. Strained laughter carried on the light breeze. His gaze was tumultuous, restless, but without fear or reservation. He captured her hand in his and they walked a short distance toward a larger outcropping.

  “There is a legend about these rocks. Would you like to hear it?” His voice was soft.

  “Yes.”

  “When the tribes were weak, newly arrived from the Far South, we lived together on the edge of the Faisach. In those days, the wise ones roamed across the land. For reasons unknown to us, they declared war on one another. Their armies met here.”

  Tobar’s gaze darkened and his hand drew a line across clouds hugging the mountaintops on the far horizon.

  “It is said the sound of their horses rivaled the thunder in the sky. The clash of weapons shamed the lightning. The dead and dying filled this valley and still the armies fought. The sun grew angry at their foolishness and hid her face. The Faisach darkened as though it was night. Even then the carnage did not stop. The earth grew moist with spilled blood and shook in her wrath. Our people hid in the foothills and saw these great rocks thrust up from the depths of the earth. But still the armies fought. The Ancient One looked on his people and wept until the waters washed away the warriors, the dead and the dying. When the sun came up the next day, these rocks remained, stained red by the blood of those called wise. The land was tinted red by a new flower covering the Faisach. The rocks stand here today as a testament that even the wise can act without wisdom. And these flowers—” he reached down and plucked a delicate burgundy bloom nestled between two rocks, “—remind us of the hope for a new day.”