Tanza

by Amanda Greenslade

  Those Jarians who were enslaved were completely uncontactable—their Rada-kin were probably warded—but I had been in contact with the escapees. Namal had led the group of about 60 into the grotto and collapsed the tunnel behind them. With supplies from the emergency stash, they were travelling through the darkness, rationing the torch oil, water and food. The going was slow because more than half of the party were children, and many of the rest were elders and the sick or injured. There were also seven women with babies under a year old and two pregnant women, so the group had to pause every few hours. Though their situation wasn’t desperate, it was uncomfortable and many of them were sick with worry or grief.

  ‘They’re strong people,’ Rekala counselled me. ‘They’ll get through it.’

  ‘Krii is with them.’ Tiaro added her agreement.

  It occurred to me that Krii being with them didn’t necessarily mean they would be free of suffering and death. It meant he was with them through anything, offering his comfort and guidance. As Krii had lived in this world of pain and death, it meant he was fully aware of the needs of his people. Having suffered through some of the worst pain possible, he was able to lead the way no matter what one of his followers was going through. With a sigh, I put aside my concerns—Ciera had bidden me to wait until we went to Centan.

  I brought my attention back to the room I was in, confirming to myself I hadn’t missed anything important. Something off to the side of the dais caught my eye. I sensed Rekala sit up to get a better view as a pair of men about my age carried out a small golden cupboard with a gilded and etched glass front. Inside hung an ancient scroll with spidery black words written in straight lines from top to bottom.

  ‘This is the oldest scroll of Anzaiia we now possess,’ Duke Alger announced. ‘It was unearthed in the Chilwen ruins six months ago and has been meticulously translated and cross-referenced with our other copies of this book to produce an even more accurate version. As most of you know, a team of scribes recently completed over a hundred copies of the new Tanzan holy scrolls, including the updated interpretation of all the books written by Astas. They will be available after the service at no cost, but if you wish to contribute to their work, you are, of course, welcome to place an offering in here.’

  He held up a large silver pot, which was engraved with the sigil of the scribes.

  ‘I wonder what else is new about this version,’ I whispered to Sarlice.

  She nodded, sharing my curiosity. From time to time, the Jarian scribes announced a new version of the holy scrolls, usually when fragments were recovered from far off lands, verified and integrated with our master texts. I wondered how much the Jarian holy scrolls differed from the Tanzan holy scrolls. Although Tanzans were banned from entering Telby, that hadn’t stopped ambassadors like myself from journeying to Tanza and back again several times over the past decade.

  ‘The work done by our scribes is vital to our continuing efforts to serve Krii,’ Duke Alger was saying. ‘In many of the early books, Krii himself is equated with these words, as if it is his own blood written on the pages. Every word of the original holy scrolls was divinely inspired and as we uncover new manuscripts or codices for translating them, we glimpse the final days of our world. There are prophecies revealed in here…’ He tapped the golden cupboard, ‘that point to the destiny of all Kriites. We each have a duty to study it and determine what Krii requires of us in the days to come. The Zeikas are massing against us, so now, more than ever, is a time for us to be steadfast in our faith and strong in our understanding of Krii’s words. Let us now praise him for his love and for giving us this guide for how to conduct our lives.’

  Keryn Alger took his place in the front row of the audience and waited for the musicians to continue the service with songs of praise and worship. It wasn’t so different from home.

  A strange kind of peace descended over my heart. I concluded that anyone willing to go on living in this world knew and accepted the fact that it contained evil and suffering and, therefore, couldn’t blame Krii whenever something went wrong. For, if they valued their own life and accepted the chance to live it, how could they blame the creator for allowing the world to come into existence despite knowing that it would fall? Even though he had known what would happen, Krii gave us this chance to work things out for ourselves. That didn’t mean prayers were useless, just something to do continually with unswerving faith and loyalty no matter what happened. I directed my frustration about Jaria’s suffering at Zeidarb and his followers, but even that seemed unimportant in this place of worship.

  I visualised the white wolf form of Krii running across the face of a mountain with glittering snow spraying up from his claws. A dozen vigorous-looking wolves ran in his wake, frolicking almost like puppies in their joy. Some were sandy coloured, sorrel or brown and others were every shade of grey from silver to black.

  Krii reached a tumble of white-capped rocks and he perched himself on the very tip of one, looking down over the vast plain of snow beneath. The whiteness gave way to the green spruce trees of a tall wintry forest. Krii howled softly. Together, the rest of the pack sent their voices echoing across the valley.

  I blinked and came back to myself when the songs finished, fancying that I could still hear the haunting howls of the wolves from my vision. A prophet was on the stage waiting for a young woman to make her way through the crowd.

  ‘Thank you Escotia,’ he said once she was by his side. He began speaking a strange language. The woman’s voice rang out over the hall, interpreting his words. I watched in amazement—the gift of utterance was common in Jaria, but the gift of interpretation was very rare.

  ‘Krii calls on the people of Tanza to prepare themselves for change,’ she said. She concentrated on the prophet’s words for a moment. ‘A new calling has come to the Sleffion.’ She paused and listened. ‘Krii gives us a proverb: “Wise are they who exercise their faith, growing day by day in pursuit of their destiny. Foolish are they who are satisfied and wait for the end to ensnare them”.’

  On our way out after the service, Sarlice and I eagerly picked up a copy of the new Tanzan holy scrolls, and dropped a donation into the box for the scribes. A tiny orange skyearl peered at us from his perch on the scribes’ table.

  ‘Newcomers from Telby are you?’ he squawked, forming the words with an accent similar to Ciera’s. I couldn’t help comparing the skyearl to Ciera, even though he wasn’t much bigger than one of Ciera’s eyes. The differences in their size and colouring was vast, but for all that they looked very much the same, right down to the shiny domes on the tiny skyearl’s snout. Sarlice nodded and offered him one finger, which he shook vigorously with both of his dexterous little forepaws.

  ‘Found your Sleffion-kin yet?’ he queried.

  ‘Not I,’ Sarlice replied, ‘but there’s nought to say I actually will. Talon here has, with Emperor Ciera. Say, you’re not bonded yet either, are you?’

  ‘Nope,’ he acknowledged, cocking his head and scrutinizing her with one golden eye. There was a long silence as the two stared at one another. The people crowding around the table seemed to fade out of their awareness. I looked from one to the other, appreciating how the rich orange of the skyearl’s fur matched Sarlice’s coppery-bronze hair.

  ‘Your name is Sarlice, isn’t it?’ the skyearl chirruped happily.

  My guide’s body went even stiller. ‘Aye, and you are Thita.’

  ‘How did you…’ The words died on my lips as I realised there was only one way they could have deciphered each other’s names without ever speaking them.

  The tiny orange skyearl flew suddenly to Sarlice’s shoulder and snuffled her hair. She stroked his back and he crooned into her and rubbed his jaw along her cheek, scent-marking like a cat. The claws of his four tiny feet clutched at her upper arm and his feathered wings flapped excitedly.

  ‘I have a strange and wonderful sense about you…’ A smile, if it could be called that, creased the line of his mouth upward. ‘I never knew wh
at it would feel like to finally meet my own Sleffion-kin.’

  ‘Nor I,’ Sarlice replied, staring at him in fascination.

  ‘Velkin, will you take over for me, please?’ Thita asked of a human-sized skyearl in the crowd. ‘I’ve just met my Sleffion-kin!’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Velkin replied shuffling between people on his hind legs until he reached the table. He opened the coin chest Thita had been using and began taking money from those eager to buy the new holy scrolls. I paid for mine and received a scroll-case from a human behind the table.

  Sarlice was already moving outside with Thita, her interest in the new Tanzan holy scrolls temporarily forgotten. I followed them, torn between my fascination with the scrolls and my joy for Sarlice’s new kin. Rekala wended her way through the forest of people around her and butted her head against my hip. I stroked her forehead affectionately and chuffed to her in greeting. When I looked up Sarlice and Thita were completely engrossed in conversation, so I decided to take a peek at the treasured manuscript.

  The scrolls were bound with green ribbons and encased in a nyno-scale tube. The first piece of parchment I unrolled contained a list of books and a preface explaining that several books were still missing from Tanzan holy scroll archives and the endings of some were yet to be properly translated. Even in Jaria it had been impossible to find a complete version of the holy scrolls. Not only were some ancient writings lost to time, but the banishment of the Tanzans had caused the destruction of countless sacred Kriite texts.

  I held my breath as I unrolled the scroll of Anzaiia, by Astas, and scanned to the end. The final chapter had been missing from all the holy scrolls in Telby and Jaria since before I was born.

  Anzaiia Chapter 28

  The Prophecy of Anzaii

  As written by Astas in 403 of the Age of Prophets before the birth of Krii

  1Krii walks through the meadows of Shamayim, awaiting the day of his return to the Fallen World in human form. 2Krii is surrounded by the light of four stars and holds ten seeds in his right hand; 3one for each of the final allies including the Kindred of the Wolf.

  4The White Wolf returns to Shamayim and takes the seeds in his mouth. 5He bears each one swiftly to its place on Chryne; 6one to the Council of Water, one to the City of Snow, one to the Land of a Thousand Perils, one to the Spring of Understanding, one to the Running Rock, one to the Shrouded Forest, one to the Plain of Slaughter, one to the Sister’s Hand, and one to the Cauldron of Storms.

  7The final seed he breaks between his teeth and swallows, saying 8‘At the appointed time, the true believers will rise up as one body, tried and tested, ready at last to be at my side.’ 9Krii arises and spits the seed from his mouth. It flies down towards Chryne and, upon landing, an immense tree sprouts from inside it. 10In a new vision, I see the tree’s roots plunging deep into the land, tearing it open and spilling all evil from the world.

  A side note indicated that there was more to follow this prophecy that hadn’t been pieced together yet. I took a deep breath, feeling strangely as if I had some part to play in this prophecy, but then I told myself to stop being ridiculous; the holy scrolls were for all of us. What were the chances of this prophecy even being fulfilled during my lifetime?

  ‘It is still an amazing prophecy,’ Tiaro said. ‘I wonder if the seeds it speaks of literally became the nine Ancient Sapphire Trees that still stand today.’

  ‘Almost certainly,’ I replied. ‘I know some of those places have an Ancient Sapphire Tree. This belt from Jaria contains leaves from the ancient one in the Catacombs of Krii.’

  ‘I wonder what it means by “one for each of the final allies”,’ Tiaro said.

  ‘And what is the kindred of the wolf?’ Rekala wondered. ‘If we assume “the wolf” is Krii, does that mean there will be a chosen one who serves him on Chryne much like we Rada-kin serve you?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I pondered. ‘When I see Krii in the waves, sometimes he is followed by an entire pack, not just one.’

  ‘So you think he will have a group of kindred, or close followers, during the end times,’ Rekala suggested.

  ‘That seems to be what Astas’ prophecy means, yes,’ Tiaro confirmed.

  I was so engrossed in my conversation that I didn’t see Tivac until he was patting me on the back. ‘I just heard the news, Talon. Congratulations! It will be the talk of the town—nay, the realm—for seasons. What a tremendous honour to have the Emperor Ciera for your Sleffion-kin. These are notable days, my friend, and I’m sure glad to be alive to see them.’

  I chuckled nervously at his enthusiasm. Sarlice, Thita and Kestric joined us and Tivac did a double-take when he realised Sarlice had also become a Sleffion.

  ‘So soon for both of you!’ he exclaimed. ‘Thita, how wonderful for you to have met your match.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ the small skyearl replied, gnawing at the feathers on one of his wings.

  ‘Will you all be attending the Bonding Ceremony that’s on this afternoon?’ he asked us.

  My hopes flared. ‘I didn’t know there was one.’

  ‘We could,’ said Thita, nuzzling into Sarlice’s red-bronze hair. ‘I’ve been waiting a long time, why wait another day?’

  ‘How long have you been waiting?’ Sarlice asked.

  He tapped one tiny claw against the fingers of his other forepaw, counting. ‘One hundred and twenty-four years.’ Skyearls matured at around a hundred years of age then ceased ageing. Those over one hundred would only die when their Sleffion-kin died. Those who bonded young had shorter lifespans but often rejoiced in a more brotherly relationship with their Sleffion-kin. Older skyearls tended to take on a mentoring role.

  Sarlice, Thita and Kestric made an impressive sight; the flame-furred firetiger, the bright orange skyearl and Sarlice with her rich, bronze hair. I wondered at the colours of my Rada-kin and my new Tolite and Sleffion-kin too; all mostly blue. Sarlice and I had known each other for only a short time, but in that time we had both grown and changed. Here I was, an Astor and she an S.T.R. Since coming together, our lives seemed to have converged into a single path which sped up and strengthened with our combined destinies. Should Jaria and Lyth still be our main focus, or was there something more?

  Ciera’s mind touched mine. He was helping a group of large skyearls build a bridge over the other side of town. He spoke openly through the waves so both Thita and I could hear.

  ‘Are you ready to cast off your immortality this very afternoon, Thita?’ Ciera asked wryly.

  I couldn’t sense Thita’s reaction through the waves, but he spread his wings and wrapped them around Sarlice’s head in a gesture of love. Unable to see, she flailed her hands about comically, causing a gathering of children nearby to laugh.

  ‘You know I am ready to bond,’ I told Ciera.

  ‘Ha! You barely know what it is,’ came his reply.

  I could almost see the light in his eyes, teeth bared and shining against the blue fur of his muzzle. Ciera had a well-developed sense of humour and tolerance.

  ‘It wasn’t always thus,’ he sent. ‘Krii has spent many a decade training me. He will do this work in you, too.’

  I realised my youthful impatience was becoming somewhat of a joke between us.

  He, on the other hand, had mixed feelings about the loss of his immortality. Part of him was uncertain about the future of the skyearls since there was no obvious replacement for him after he was gone. Part of him was tired of being unbound and therefore somewhat incomplete. He found a degree of satisfaction in the knowledge that he might live another fifty or sixty years with his own Sleffion. In some ways, it was as if life was finally starting for him. He hefted a large wooden strut down the length of his back and moved it into place beneath the bridge. I decided to leave him to it.

  ‘Ciera is working, even now,’ I told Tivac, ‘but he is willing to put it off for the Bonding Ceremony.’

  ‘Tivac, what is a Sleffion Bonding Ceremony like?’ Sarlice asked.

  He winked at her. �
��You’ll see.’

  Chapter Four—The Bonding Ceremony

  We rode out of Lantaid with a company of two dozen riders. Sarlice and Duria rode ahead with Tivac on a dun pony. Tivac, who was not a horseman, preferred the more docile (albeit stubborn) nature of ponies. His mount picked its way lazily across the green hillocks. The leaders of the company disappeared through a stand of gorse bushes at what appeared to be the edge of a cliff. As Fleetfoot reached the spot, I felt the rush of open-air against my face. A cavernous gorge opened before us. It was surrounded by enormous cliff faces, dotted with greenery and fallen rocks. Into the distance, down the length of the gorge, was a thin waterfall and river. A gentle breeze flowed up out of the chasm, carrying the faint, wild, scents of river and forest.

  Tivac’s mount moved expertly down the rocky track. Duria tossed her head at each rolling pebble and kept pulling against the reins. Sarlice leaned well back in the saddle so that her weight was on the mare’s hind legs.

  Miles below was a gathering of onlookers, both human and skyearl. The gorge was like a rock bowl cut into the side of a small mountain. At one end, striped crags towered over it. On our side was a steep, rocky cliff-face with clusters of trees and small plants on either side of the track. In the middle of the bowl was a wooden stage, which was covered with carvings of skyearls and humans.

  More onlookers were arriving by air or cloud at every moment. Apparently all those who were bonded with a skyearl already had other ways of getting into the Bonding Canyon.

  Skyearls of all shapes and sizes spiralled through the air above the gorge. Those skyearls who were too small to bear their Sleffion down on their backs performed small shroudings. I watched with fascination as the tiniest skyearls flew in complex patterns through the sky, forming a trail of mist in their paths. The mist became denser and denser until, at the very centre, a mystical white substance formed. Humans walked down through the shroud from the very top of the gorge. It looked ridiculous to my eyes, but I kept my thoughts to myself to avoid playing the part of an utter newbie.