by A. R. Cook
Dear Dezzy,
Paki says you would prefer to stay at the Earth Temple for the time, and although I wish you were here for us to talk, I understand. I am glad to hear you found Chiriku’s grandfather. The Great Philosopher is currently resting from the Flightspeak he sent out, and he tells me we won’t know if his communication was received until someone responds. He hasn’t sensed anyone trying to send a response to him yet. I will let you know when we get Flightspeak from the Elfë Tiagas.
Dez, I pray that you have truly forgiven me for angering you the other night. I would never intend to hurt your feelings. Now, more than ever, we need to stick together. May Nature smile kindly on you.
With love, Clova
Desert Rain folded up the note and put it in her pocket. She thanked the messenger, and told him to tell Clova that everything was all right and she would wait for further word from her. The messenger nodded enthusiastically and rode off.
Desert Rain hoped Clova didn’t think she was staying at the sanctuary to avoid her, since Clova could be sensitive to that sort of thing. She sat down by the edge of a rock-lined pool and ran her fingers over the water. Already she was feeling antsy, but what else was there to do for now? Her thoughts turned back to the black pouch. She pulled it out, and looked around to see if she was alone. There was a cleric tending to the flowers, but she was far off and not paying any mind to the Hijn. Cautiously, Desert Rain reached into the bag, and wrapped her long fingers around the cool, metallic hilt within. She withdrew the sword about half way, marveling at the silver and sapphire sparkling in the sunlight. It seemed surprisingly lighter.
“That’s quite a weapon,” came a voice.
Desert Rain dropped Silverheart back into the pouch, yanking the drawstring quickly. She snapped her head up to see an elderly man standing a few feet away from her. He was incredibly familiar, with his braided greenwood staff and his patient face. “You should be careful with that,” he cautioned.
Desert Rain recognized him. Her hand unconsciously went to touch the blue bracelet on her arm. “You’re…you’re that shaman! The one who took Jubis.”
The shaman nodded. He looked different from before, as when Desert Rain had first met him, he had appeared human. He now wore traditional Ahshi attire and he had pointed ears. He had become elven, but not quite Ahshi, for he had no Ahshibana, and his features were not so delicate. It was more like he was his own variety of elf.
Desert Rain stood up and bowed to him. “Please, tell me, what am I to do now? I feel like I shouldn’t be waiting around here, but I don’t know where to go or what—”
“Have patience,” the elder said, coming over to the pool. “When it is time for you to act, you will know. For now, I have come to show you something.”
“Show me…?” Dread bled across her mind. “It has to do with Katawa, doesn’t it? What has he done? What did he do to the others?”
The shaman gestured for Desert Rain to calm herself. “There is no point for me to show you images that you can do nothing about. A comrade of yours needs to tell you something.” He lifted his staff and touched the bottom of it onto the surface of the pool. The ripples vibrated across the water gently, then faster, then more violently. Desert Rain leaned over, and peered into the center of the pulsating waves. The waters became tainted dark, a midnight blue, and within this inky pool came faint, foggy whisps, like transparent ghost fish gliding through.
“What is this?” Desert Rain asked warily. She stared at the gurgling waters of night, and could see an outline of white haze that was hard to distinguish what it was. She stepped forth, kneeling down at the pool’s edge. She got the feeling that she really didn’t want to look, but she summoned the courage to look down into the water. What startled her was that she had no reflection; it was like staring down into a misty chasm.
She waited, not seeing or hearing anything coming from the dark water.
“What am I supposed to see?” she asked the elder.
“He cannot sense your presence,” was the answer. “Call to him.”
Desert Rain bit her lip, and took a deep, deep breath. He who? She warily reached a hand into the water, and her fingers passed through the outline of white haze. Retracting her hand, she gathered her thoughts and leaned over the pool. “I don’t know if you—whoever you are—can hear me, but I hope you mean good by me and maybe have something good to say.” She was feeling awkward with what she was saying, for she had no idea who it was she was supposed to be addressing—she still couldn’t see anything in the pool. “The shaman says that you have something to tell me, and if you can speak, I’m willing to listen.”
No reaction.
Desert Rain looked perplexedly up at the shaman. “What am I doing wrong?”
A hand shot up out of the pool and grabbed Desert Rain by the collar of her tunic. She gasped, but was too shocked to scream. Pulling himself out of the water, a bearded Ahshi knight general brought his pale, skeletal face close to hers. His face was not peaceful; it was tense with anguish. His hair was so matted with slimy seaweed that it was hard to tell if any of it was hair anymore. His eyes, most frightening of all, were blank-white, blind, staring at nothing. The hand that gripped Desert Rain was nothing more than skin stretched tight over bone, as cold and hard as ice. He gaped his mouth as if to speak, but bared two rows of bloodied teeth.
Desert Rain’s eyes were about to pop out of her skull. The breath in her body was cut short, and her ears folded back flat agaist the sides of her head. She thought for sure, this time, she would faint. But she was held by those blind eyes, the face pleading for help. She managed to stutter the name of the elf she had known but a few weeks ago. “S-s-s-sir V-Valdrase!”
“He calls to them…” the ghost of Valdrase rasped, a trail of dark water flowing from his mouth.
“W-w-who?” was all Desert Rain could stammer.
“The demon…calls to those…he has claimed as his own…” Valdrase gasped, trying to breathe—if ghosts truly do breathe. “My knights…he has them in his grasp…his Distorted…”
“Your men…yes, I saw them! In the mayor’s house…Katawa took them away?”
“They were drawn to him…to his words…He speaks poison…His Distorted…do as he commands…they have no choice…their pain…their minds are weak…”
The truth suddenly struck Desert Rain. She remembered what happened in the Grand Chambers, when Katawa had infected Rukna’s mind with his touch. Those awful words he had spoken, the ones that made Desert Rain feel weak, the words that drove Rukna to attack his own sister.
“Valdrase, I understand. When your other knights return, I’ll tell them—“
Valdrase gripped her tighter. “In the night…the camp outside the city…his Distorted…destroyed them…in their sleep…”
“Great Guerda-Shalyr…” Desert Rain trembled. “I…I’m so sorry. But what can I do? What do you want me to do?”
“They will come…for you…he calls…for you…” Pain contorted his expression, as he turned his head downwards. His fatal wound emerged, dark blood seeping from his gut. But it wasn’t blood, for it hardened as it grew, slithering up his body towards his neck. It consumed him, eating away at his decaying flesh. It was clawing at his face as he rasped his final words: “You…must…balance…the dark…and the…light…”
He released his grip, and plummeted back into the water. When the ripples settled, there was no elven Knight, not a trace of Valdrase anywhere. Desert Rain continued to stare at the empty pool, which cleared into its normal, clean water. It was some time before she was able to regain movement over her body.
“What was that all about??” she exclaimed. She turned to look up at the shaman, who was, naturally, gone. She looked about in all directions, to find the cleric still tending the flowers, and she was looking at the Hijn with a surprised expression.
“Did…you see anything strange?” Desert Rain asked her.
The elf turned and walked away towards the temple.
Ju
st a crazy donkey-eared girl talking to herself, thought Desert Rain.
CHAPTER SIX
An Arrival and a Parting
Days passed, and Desert Rain couldn’t get Valdrase’s ghost out of her mind. She tried to keep herself busy by assisting the clerics whenever she could, either by helping to distribute medicines and food, tending in the garden, or telling stories to the children. She realized how much she had missed entertaining children, and it brought back her favorite memories of putting on plays or singing songs to the Ulomin children. This would lead to her remembering what had happened to those children and their families, to that poor mother afflicted with Distortion. She would spend the nights lying awake for hours, helplessly dwelling on those miserable thoughts.
Chiriku was dedicated to staying by her grandfather’s side, insisting that he would be well soon and they could go home to open the shop again. By the end of the week, he was so frail that he could barely talk. Even the smell of his cigars made him retch. Chiriku ceased teasing him, for he no longer returned the sarcasm. She became quiet, not even making rude comments to Desert Rain when she sat beside her. There were times they sat on their mats in silence, but nothing needed to be said.
Then word came from the Tiagalands.
It was an overcast day, early afternoon, when Clova Flor arrived at the sanctuary on elkback, accompanied by a cheerful but weary Mac Lizard. He had a few acorn-sized bruises on his forehead.
“Goodness, Mac, what happened to you?” Desert Rain asked.
Mac rubbed one of his sore spots. “Those bug people fight-tkk dirty,” was all he said.
Immediately after jumping off her elk, Clova gave Desert Rain a tight hug, one that she didn’t release how crushing it was until Desert Rain wheezed that she couldn’t breathe. At first, it would seem that this hug was an indication of good news, for Clova was smiling her classic smile and her eyes were bright. But Desert Rain noticed that the smile was forced, and the brightness in her eyes was an artificial light.
Clova was off and rambling before Desert Rain could get a word out. “Oh Dezzy, it feels good to see you. I know it hasn’t been long, but I was getting lonely without you. I was worrying about you the whole time. Yes, it’s silly, but I was hoping that you weren’t still angry with me. And Paki told me all about Chiriku’s grandfather, and I worried about him too. Is he doing any better? I hope it’s not too serious. If Mage Skyhan were here, then I’d have no reason to worry, but—”
“Clova, calm down.” Desert Rain patted Clova’s hand. “There’s no reason to worry. I’m glad you’re here. Why don’t we go inside and you can rest for a while?”
“Perhaps for a minute or two.” She pulled Desert Rain close. “We need to talk, in private.”
The two Hijn sat under a young birch tree in the garden, surrounded by sun-yellow flowers swaying in the cool breeze. Clova gently caressed the flowers, which became even more vibrant in color at her touch. Desert Rain waited patiently, giving Clova time to ready herself to speak.
“How’s Chiriku doing?” Clova asked.
“She’s holding up. You can never really tell how she’s feeling, but I think she’ll be fine.”
“That’s good. I’m sure she’ll be fine too.”
Silence.
Clova sighed with a smile. “It’s really lovely here, isn’t it? Sometimes I come here to spend whole days in this garden. It’s so peaceful. I wish it were sunny out today.”
Desert Rain nodded.
Silence.
“How’s Anthron?” Desert Rain ventured to ask.
“Oh, he’s fine. He was pretty worn out for a day or two, but he’s back to his daily reading and nightly teachings.” She paused. “He got a response to his Flightspeak yesterday.”
“He did? That’s great! I thought we might be waiting for weeks, or might not get a response at all.”
From the look on Clova’s face, it apparently wasn’t all that great.
“Well? What did the Elfë Tiagas have to say?”
“It wasn’t the Elfë Tiagas who responded.” Clova twisted a lock of her long emerald hair in her hands. “It was Kidran.”
Desert Rain was more than surprised by this. “Kidran? Where is he? Is he coming to help us? What did he say?”
“The Great Philosopher said that Kidran’s reply Flightspeak was congenial, as to be expected. He’s in the Tiagalands, in the elves’ hidden city.”
“If he’s up north…did he even try to come to the Hijn Council meeting?”
Clova sighed. “He claims that he couldn’t. There has been a great fear that has swept over the Tiagalands. The Elfë Tiagas have forbidden anyone to leave the hidden cities, not even Kidran. He wouldn’t explain any farther—or the Philosopher isn’t mentally strong enough to fully understand it. Either way, he’s been trapped up there for some time now.”
“A great fear of what?”
Clova shrugged. She lowered her head and turned away from Desert Rain. “It was a risk for him to even answer Anthron’s Flightspeak, since the snowland elves have cut all ties with the outside world, and won’t talk to anyone. They don’t even listen to Kidran when he tells them to reconsider their actions. He tried to send us a letter with one of his snowbirds, but it must have gotten lost, or captured…” She took in a deep breath, but her talk got more rapid and frenzied. “So the Elfë Tiagas won’t even talk to us, let alone help us, and Kidran can’t help, and who knows where in Luuva Gros Woasim is, and I have no idea what to do now…” She sunk her face into her hands, her body shuddering.
“Clova…” Desert Rain put her arms around her weeping friend. “Clova, it’s all right. Don’t cry, please. I know it looks bad, but we’ll think of something else. Someone will help us. We have to think a little harder.”
On the inside, though, Desert Rain was thinking something completely different. Clova, you can’t cry! You have to be the strong one here! I’m a mess and I can’t think of a thing to do. You can’t leave this up to me! For Guerda-Shalyr’s sake, stop crying!!
“I shouldn’t have left him!” Clova turned back around and hugged Desert Rain as if she’d never let go. “I shouldn’t have left Rukna with that monster! I should have gone back, I should have done something!”
“There was nothing you could have done. You had no energy left to do any magic, not that it could have done anything to fix what Katawa did to Rukna. If you had gone back, you would have been killed!”
“No, I could have snapped Rukna out of it. He wouldn’t have killed me, no matter what kind of mind control he was under. He’s my brother, and I should have fought to save him. I broke my promise to him, Dezzy!” She wept into Desert Rain’s hair.
Desert Rain wasn’t quite sure what to do, other than hold Clova. “You can’t do this to yourself, Clova. I’m sure Rukna understands and forgives you. He would want you to be safe. We’ll get him and the others back, and undo what Katawa has done.”
“You don’t understand.” Clova sat back, wiping her tear-stained face. “When Rukna and I were children, we trusted each other, and that was it. When my mother and his father married, they were both ostracized from their families—you know how elves and dwarves feel about marrying others of different races. I was angry at my mother for making my relatives shun us, and Rukna was furious at his father for making him leave his home in the mountains to live here in the forest. But Rukna and I—we might as well have been brother and sister by blood, we were so close. We promised we would always be there for each other, and protect one another, no matter what. I broke my promise. I…I…” She couldn’t finish, she was sobbing uncontrollably.
Desert Rain took off her bandana and handed it to Clova, who accepted it to wipe away her tears. “I know what pain you’re going through. I had brothers once…” She trailed off, looking away. She composed herself and looked back at Clova. “We’ll get Rukna back. I promise.”
Clova smiled weakly, returning the bandana. “You’re a good friend, Dezzy. If you weren’t here, I don’t know what
I’d do.”
Desert Rain patted Clova’s shoulder. “For now, maybe we should go inside and get some tea. We both need it.”
Night crept in on silent, chilling winds. The two Hijn and the red-headed lizardman sat on their mats in the corner, eating a warm dinner of roasted nuts and cooked vegetables, freshly grown in the sanctuary’s garden. There wasn’t much talk except for Mac going on about his fairy-hunting exploits, which he made sound much more exciting than they actually were. Clova had been offered a private room in the temple, courtesy of the clerics, but she had politely turned it down. She preferred that they kept the room ready for a guest who might need it, and who knew who might come through the temple doors next, seeking aid.
Clova must have had unusual foresight, for the sanctuary did indeed receive more guests that night, ones in desperate need.
A group of humans came shuffling into the main hall, escorted by a pair of elves. Judging by their clothing, the humans were most likely squatters from one of the reclusive villages outside Juka Basin. In front was a disheveled man, most likely a farmer judging by his physique and clothing, carrying a small girl wrapped in a dirty blanket. He was followed by an equally disheveled woman and two young boys. Behind them was another man who lugged sacks of personal belongings. He was well-hidden in his wide-brimmed traveling hat, cascading mantle and muddy-brown apparel. His arms and hands were wrapped in worn leather strips, showing the dirt-caked fingers. He didn’t seem burdened by the sacks he carried, yet his posture reflected a tired, dejected individual.
“Please, we need medicine,” wheezed the farmer with the girl in his arms. “We have been driven from our village, and my daughter is sick. We did not know where else to go. Please, we do not have much money, but my daughter must have medicine.”
The clerics quickly guided them towards a room in the back. Desert Rain watched the family walk past. Driven from their village? By who? Was no place safe anymore?
