by Aderyn Wood
Her enemies. Did Izhur know that Yuli was among them? Yuli smiled despite the burning pain of cold.
“Do you know her totem?” the woman asked and Yuli’s ears pricked all the more.
“I haven’t performed the rite. It seems – disrespectful. She is not my prentice.” Izhur’s voice was now tinged with sadness and Yuli grimaced. Izhur had always favoured Iluna and no doubt wished that she was his prentice, too.
“I think I can tell you her totem without having to perform the ceremony.” The woman’s voice was light, cheerful – almost.
“How so?”
“I observed her, a lot, last Agria. She spent most of her time with a creature that we don’t see much in our lands of the south, but can be found in Ona’s Valley. Although they are not as common as some other birds there.”
“So it’s a bird you think?”
“Yes, an oft maligned bird at that. With wings so black they shine blue.”
The raven. Yuli’s eyelids widened so much that he could feel the icy air in the corners of his eyes.
“You think that is her totem?”
“I’d be willing to stake my life on it.”
Yuli stood and covered his mouth when he almost cried out. The pain in his feet shot up through his legs when they tried to take his weight. But he had to leave.
He crunched through the light blanket of snow as quietly as he could. They were going to train her; to make her powerful. A deep pang of jealousy welled in the darker layers of his heart. How dare she be more powerful than any of them. She was nothing more than a tamatu.
∞
There is more than one path to power.
Yuli dreamt.
But now his eyes fluttered open and he sat up, panting, cold sweat trickling down his back. Dark coals cast a glow throughout his family’s tree-dwell, like the colour of blood in his dreaming. His family members slept soundly, their breath deep and slow.
Yuli shook his head. The dreaming was clear and vivid, and it left him hot and cold, energised and spent, all at once. The images replayed in his mind. Dark granite. Iridescent patterns. A blue moon. Blood. So much blood. And the sound, that voice – so familiar.
There is more than one path to power.
It was a dreaming. One he must heed.
Quietly he stood, dressed, and slipped down the steps into the snowy night.
Anger, dark and brooding, simmered deep within and it warmed him. He clutched it with his heart, embracing it like a desperate lover. He stalked to the rough path that began on the outer circle of trees, beyond the comfort of tree-dwells. A cloudy moon lit the way and snow softened the hard edges of the stony track, glistening in the blue light of night.
He walked quickly. Ruminating on all that was shown in the dreaming. Yes, it was the way; the only way.
There is more than one path to power.
His head bent and his legs marched. Anger and promise bubbled and boiled, and he barely felt the cold.
Soon the path came to its inevitable end. There it stood, as it always had, in the center of the large rock chasm – the winter altar. The light covering of snow did little to hide the iridescence of blue that was triggered by the moonlight, etched in the intricate carvings created scores and scores of uncountable winters past.
Moonlight appeared intermittently between snow clouds and the iridescence in the patterns would shine bright before blinking out, only to shine again when clouds passed. So beautiful. Yuli walked to it, his concentration never wavering. He would risk anything to stop her. But to do that, he, too, needed power. Yuli knew the truth of it, deep down, and the dreaming had shown him. He had but a fraction of the gift that she had. His disinterest in his lessons and lack of discipline in practise had not helped him to improve in his younger years. But that had changed since the last Agria. He had refocused his energy, his concentration. He now took his lessons very seriously. Even Izhur had complimented him on his improvement. But he needed much more if he was to best her.
There is more than one path to power.
He reached the altar and bent to kiss it. The icy snow stuck to his lips and burned. Then he looked up. Imbrit’s moon shone directly above the altar. Snow flakes fell in circles and whirls. It was midnight.
He raised his left hand and with his right he removed the little ceremonial knife from his belt. The knife made of bronze magic that all Soragans and prentices carried.
He struck both hands in the sky and at the top of his lungs he shouted into the night. “Malfir! Spirits of Malfir, hear me. For I have need of you and will make this promise in your sight. I, Yuli, son of Zodor, son of Ida, future Soragan of the Wolf, I give myself to you. Teach me, give me your great power and I will be your ever faithful servant.”
With that Yuli brought his hands together and the knife slashed at his left palm. Blood dripped down onto the altar and made a pattern in the snow. Yuli counted eight breaths and put his hands down to study the pattern of blood. At first it looked like nothing but splotches of dark red. But soon he saw the symbol – and it was vivid. The head of a wolf, looking for all the world like it had swallowed a raven.
Izhur
The blue light of Imbrit’s moon shone over the camp and mixed with the orange glow of the fire to illuminate the grim faces of the assembled company. Soragans, hunters and circle elders from all Ona’s clans had arrived over the last two days. The Wolf had done their best to make room in the comfort of their tree-dwells, but a few tents had to be lashed together with thick skins and furs to keep the winter cold at bay.
They met under the Tree of Knowledge rather than in it. Fitting everyone into the tree’s shelter would be impossible. Izhur had looked to each of them in turn as he spoke, summarising again the tragic events that had resulted in the extermination of an entire clan. He turned to Cypra often, measuring his accuracy in the detail of his telling by the sadness in her eyes. It still seemed like an ancient evenfire tale the way he told it. But it was a living threat.
“Sister Cypra, we of the Eagle were very sorry to hear of this tragedy. You know that our kin have strong connections. Only last Agria we had two couple bonds between our clans. We grieve for you, and your great loss is also felt by us.” The elder, Janae, had tears in her eyes as she spoke.
Cypra nodded. “Thank you, sister. Your words are a comfort.”
“We also grieve, sister. Know that you are welcome in the Bear,” Belwas said.
More words of condolence and comfort followed, and Cypra breathed deep, her eyes glistening.
Izhur’s heart lay heavy in his chest as it often did now. Such words of comfort were a poor replacement for one’s homeland. And Cypra was homeless. It was warming that so many offered her a place in their clan. But he knew the truth of it – she would never again be Soragan, for she had no one left to guide and protect. Xaroth had already questioned her presence in this new temporary Circle. But Izhur had put a quick stop to that. “Of course she will be present, Grand Soragan. She is the only witness to this unknown enemy.” He’d been as blunt as he could, but Xaroth had only stared with those black beads for eyes, his expression speaking his dissent.
“Is there any detail that I have left out, Cypra? Anything we have perhaps looked over or not seen? It is important we consider all information so that we know what to do next.” Izhur was keen to keep her opinion relevant. She was, after all, one of the more powerful Soragans among them. Or at least had been.
Cypra shook her head. “Izhur, we’ve been over this many times. I have thought of little else since arriving here. I’ve searched the dark recesses of my memory for anything I may have overlooked, but I cannot add to the account you have relayed to us tonight.”
Izhur nodded.
“Why would this happen?” Lacyl of the Lion clan spoke. He looked into the fire, his young hunter eyes searching for meaning.
“We cannot know for certain. But the way they looted and stole from the clan, filling their satchels with every possession they could find, perhaps they are
thieves?” Izhur responded.
“It could be more than our possessions they want. They took people, too. Yes?” Belwas asked.
Cypra nodded. “The children.”
“Perhaps it’s the land itself they covet. Our lands.” Hentyl was the third eldest among the Soragans. He was known for sending runners to the Agria lands once a year to make sure no other clan was claiming its gifts when they weren’t supposed to.
Izhur grimaced. Such disputes were a common theme in the Dream Day tales of Doom. It was not unrealistic to believe that battles over land would cloud their future too.
“Has anyone returned to the Otter’s lands since Cypra arrived here?” It was Yuli who spoke.
Izhur frowned. The boy knew prentices were supposed to remain silent at such meetings, to learn from their elders so that they would come to the role of Soragan with wisdom, rather than always favouring their own opinions. Soragans who lacked the skill of listening were no Soragans at all. Izhur was about to remonstrate the boy, but the Grand Soragan interrupted.
“An excellent question. And what is the answer, Izhur?”
Izhur breathed deep and opened his mouth to speak.
”No, not as yet,” Zodor intercepted. “It has simply been too dangerous, Grand Soragan.” He rubbed his belly where his wound still healed.
Izhur blinked. It was not the first time the hunter had surprised him lately. Zodor seemed to have gained some wisdom since his brush with death.
“Nevertheless, I did suggest it, Grand Soragan, not long after Cypra came to us. It seemed to me that gathering such information was important. But our wise Soragan disagreed.” Yuli gave Izhur a smile that revealed strong white teeth. Like a wolf.
Izhur pursed his lips. The boy was becoming bold, and too confident, and was now even happy to contest his own father. “Our Circle of Eight deemed it best to make a decision once all of us were together. That way we wouldn’t be at such a risk of losing more lives. This group destroyed an entire clan. They are dangerous. That much is certain.”
“A wise decision,” Belwas said.
“But perhaps it is time to send a group back to the Otter lands. We must know if these new enemies now reside there. They may plan on moving north next. We don’t want them to do the same to the Wolf, now do we?” Xaroth’s voice was almost a whisper.
“I agree,” Zodor replied. “With more of us it will be safer. Although I would prefer that we wait until spring. I suggest that each clan provides one or two of their best hunters. We meet at the Snake’s lands, as they are closest to the lands of the Otter, in the first full moon of the spring. Together we will investigate and bring back the information we need to make a further decision.”
“Yes, we need to gather more information. But to send our best hunters will leave the rest of us a little vulnerable,” Ugot said.
Zodor shook his head. “One or two hunters from each clan will not make a big difference. We will leave behind capable men who’ll be more than able to protect everyone. And we’ll be quick. Without the women and children we will move like wolves on a summer’s night.”
“Women?” Hilda interjected, the glow of her long spear reflecting in the fire. She’d made the weapon herself using bronze magic at the last Agria. It had a long sharp spike, and she honed the edge every day with a flat piece of rock so that even the slightest touch would draw blood. “I’ll remind you that the Ox’s best hunter is a woman, Zodor.” Hilda smiled as she spoke and there was a murmur of laughter. She was almost the tallest person there, and her hunting strategies were renowned.
“I stand corrected,” Zodor replied with a respectful nod.
Izhur believed Iluna’s premonition – they were all safe for now. But he couldn’t let the others know such thoughts. “I would also suggest that we carry on our daily scoutings to check for any activity around the immediate country of our clans. At least until our hunters return,” he added. “With enough notice there is a chance we could fight back, or escape if we have to.”
“Agreed,” Xaroth replied, and Izhur’s eyebrows rose in surprise. How refreshing it was to have him agree for a change.
“And the Soragans should conduct daily protection rituals. The spirits are likely to warn us of hostile activity,” Cypra added.
“Excellent idea,” the Grand Soragan said.
Izhur squinted. Why was he agreeing all of a sudden?
“So we have a plan.” Cypra summarized the decision and they all consented to meet the following night to discuss ideas that may come to them in their dreams.
Izhur stood to leave. He wanted to check on Iluna. She’d been particularly withdrawn and elusive since the arrival of the other clan members. It was full moon, usually the time for their moon meal that he looked forward to sharing with her every cycle, although tonight this would not be possible. He had to maintain a distance.
“Izhur.”
He turned to see the Grand Soragan waiting for him. The flames of the fire caused a strange red glow to emanate from his bald head giving Xaroth an almost ominous appearance. Izhur blinked. “Yes?”
“Walk with me a little.” Xaroth put a hand on Izhur’s shoulder and led them away from the fire, leaning heavily on his staff as he limped. Izhur shivered. The snow had stopped falling a few days ago but the air remained icy.
“How’re your dealings with the girl?”
“The girl?” Izhur asked between tight teeth. He knew who the Grand Soragan meant, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
“The witch.”
Izhur grimaced and his knuckles clenched, but he took a deep breath and forced a smile. He and Cypra had plans for her now, and it would be better to play this little game rather than give it away.
“Iluna? The poor little thing. She is quite harmless now. I have stopped all training as was asked of me. I check in on her to make sure she is – safe, if you take my meaning.” He gave Xaroth a knowing look, hoping his feigned collusion would pass as genuine.
Xaroth flicked a tongue. “Good. Safe is good, for all of us, Izhur. One does wonder how such evil has come to pass. I’m sure you take my meaning.” Then he left, clutching his staff as he walked.
Izhur let his breath out and turned on his heel to go in the opposite direction. Such evil? Old fool! Why couldn’t he see that her power could be the greatest asset for all of them? That she could keep them safe? What did he have against her anyway? Izhur stopped walking. What does he have against her?
He turned to look back. Xaroth was just visible in the light of the moon. He was talking to someone else now – a young man in pale robes. A prentice. Izhur squinted, and swallowed. He was talking to Yuli.
Yuli
“Would you like some tea, Yuli? Sethra makes a delightful blend.”
Yuli sat in the large indigo tent that the Wolf had erected for the Grand Soragan. It was the most elaborate tent they had, with two sections – an area for the Grand Soragan’s companions and a private space, separated by a wall of thick bear hide, for the Soragan to sleep and mediatate in solitude. Thick fur cushions and rugs lay strewn on the floor, and the hide of a wooly mountain yak lined the interior, keeping warmth in. It was just as comfortable as the most mud-packed tree-dwell.
Xaroth’s companions from the Snake – Jesama, the elder, and Verit, the hunter, had found space in the tree-dwells amongst their kin of the Wolf to sleep. Only Sethra shared the tent with the Grand Soragan, and the tongues had been wagging ever since their arrival.
Sethra now approached with a steaming cup. She was a beautiful woman with dark hair that came to her waist. She had large eyes and full lips and Yuli couldn’t help but notice the curve of her ample bosom. His eyes kept returning to the outline of her nipples that stood out through the sheer snakeskin vest. She must have been very cold. That vest was almost see-through and her bare arms had only the heat of the fire to warm them.
Yuli took the cup, still trying not to stare at the woman’s breasts, or wonder why she was here at all. The gossip about Set
hra hadn’t ceased since the first night she slept in the Grand Soragan’s tent.
Soragans weren’t supposed to take wives. Yuli had asked Izhur about it, but he knew little. “He calls her his ward,” Izhur had told him as he massaged a temple. Ward. That is what Izhur had called Iluna. No one seemed to get any closer to solving the mystery of Sethra and why the Grand Soragan allowed her to sleep in his tent. But then, Izhur had also spent a lot of time with Iluna. It was common knowledge that they shared the moon meal together. Perhaps this was similar. Iluna wasn’t as beautiful as Sethra, and she never wore vests like that. Even if she had, Iluna’s skinny hips and small bust would fail to take a man’s breath the way Sethra did.
“So tell me, what information do you have to share?” Xaroth asked in his whispery fashion.
Sethra slipped away to the other section of the tent, leaving behind the scent of jasmine and almond milk, and Yuli turned to face the Grand Soragan, clearing his throat. “I overheard something – last full moon – just after Soragan Cypra arrived.”
Xaroth nodded, slowly. “Cypra is no longer a Soragan, of course. But please, go on.”
“Well I overheard two things, actually.” Yuli took a sip of tea and gulped it down; the spices warmed him.
“How fortunate.” Xaroth’s eyes burned.
“The first thing was about Anton, my brother. When he started out on his journey to your lands, to tell you about the Otter, he found the girl at the border of our lands here. She told him something – like a premonition.”
The fire cracked and Yuli jumped.
“What did she tell him?” His voice a whispering hiss.
“She told him that there would not be another attack before the next Agria.”
The flames of the fire danced, giving Xaroth’s shadows a life of their own. Yuli frowned. They seemed wrong somehow; beastly.
“And what did your brother do with this information?”
