by Aderyn Wood
Gradually Iluna shook her head. “Not yet.” Her dark eyes filled with tears. “I simply don’t have the energy. Perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, but now, I don’t think I could overpower him, as well as this Gudmund – and Yuli.” She glanced at Anton who squeezed her hand.
“What if Cypra and I were to help you? Feed you energy through the Otherworld. Could it work?”
Iluna considered this. “As a last resort, perhaps. But it won’t be enough to best them – not if they work together.”
Izhur turned to Cypra. He knew by her look of fear that they were thinking the same thing. Izhur took a breath and exhaled. “Iluna, this Grand Council – I’ve a very ill feeling about it. It may go badly for you.”
“I know, Uncle. I know what you’re thinking.” She shook her head. “But it’s a blur to me. I can’t quite see our way through it. During my trance I was given a lot of knowledge, but it only comes to me in fragments.”
A shout from outside made them jump. “... a Grand Council, assemble yourselves.”
Izhur swallowed. “It is time.”
“The Grand Soragan has called for a Grand Council. Assemble at the evenfire. A grand Council …” the voices repeated.
“Let me take Iluna,” Anton’s voice cracked with emotion. “We could run, hide. We’ll be far away before they’re even ready to begin this farce.”
“It won’t do any good, Anton,” Iluna said. “They will find me sooner or later. There’d be plenty of willing volunteers to track us if we left now. No, we must attend like everyone else. Come, help me up.”
∞
Izhur watched the assembled clans from his spot in the circle around the evenfire. People were quiet, calm, as they sat in formal lines according to clan. Could it be that Xaroth’s influence extended to all of them now?
“Brothers, Sisters, in the name of Ona, our great mother, I have called this Grand Council for we have a grave decision before us.” Xaroth stood tall, his twisted staff at his side. He looked even older now; deep wrinkles lined his skin. Yet his voice carried effortlessly to every person present. “The enemy clan, the very one that attacked and killed our brothers and sisters of the Otter, have returned this Agria.”
Panic sounded in the shouts and gasps of the throng. The essence around the evenfire roiled. Izhur took a deep breath. The excitement was almost tangible.
“They were camped very close to Ona’s Valley, preparing to attack us. It is only due to the vigilance of myself and Yuli that we became aware of them, and managed to run them off. But, sadly, they were drawn to us through one of our own, a traitor.”
More gasps. Izhur closed his eyes for a moment.
“Who is this traitor? Show him to us. We will burn him,” somone shouted. Izhur couldn’t see who, the flames of the evenfire blocked his view.
Xaroth held up a hand. “We have captured one of the enemy. Yuli, bring him forward.”
From beyond the evenfire Yuli came forward holding a man in front of him who had his hands tied with leather. The man was very tall, with long gold hair streaked with silver; it hung over his broad shoulders. He walked obediently toward the evenfire and slowly turned to face the throng.
“One of their leaders,” Yuli shouted. “His name is Gudmund and he speaks our tongue, because he has been taught by the traitor.”
“Gudmund,” Xaroth intoned. “Do you deny that you are the leader of this enemy clan?”
The tall man looked at Xaroth and lifted his chin. “I was the leader of the Nordesans.” Gudmund spoke their Onan language but the words sounded very different. Still, he was easy enough to understand and every member of every clan listened intently. No one moved.
“We came here to slay your people and take your lands.”
“Kill him,” someone shouted.
“And how did you find us?” Xaroth asked, ignoring the calls of his own people.
Gudmund snarled. “One of your own showed us, through the trickery of the Malfir.”
There was uproar at this. “Who is this evil person? Show us!”
Izhur swallowed. So this was Xaroth’s trick. He looked for Iluna in the crowd. Would Anton have taken her? Hidden her?
“Her name,” Gudmund’s nostrils flared, “is Iluna.”
The uproar boomed and someone sounded the drum, beating it in a wild rhythm. BOOM DOOM, BOOM DOOM. Movement rippled in the throng and the crowd parted. Ulath and Ugot held Iluna between them and pushed her in front of the Grand Soragan. She stumbled. Her leg pained her still.
Izhur stood; he had to stop this! “Xaroth, how do we know he is not lying?”
But Iluna spoke before he could finish. “It is true, Soragan. I am the traitor.”
Izhur blinked. No! What was she doing?
“Yes, she’s a witch.” A woman’s scream cut through the din, and the drumming stopped. Hennita rushed forward. “She has stolen my husband from me with her charms!”
“My baby was taken!” another woman yelled, and Izhur saw Ayla from the Eagle, tears streaked her cheeks. She’d lost her baby to a mountain cat on the journey to Agria. How could she think Iluna had anything to do with that? “It was the witch who took my daughter. I saw it!”
More people came forward. All of them shouting injustices and spitting at Iluna’s feet; some calling her the Malfirena. Ugot stared at Izhur, a smug smile on his stupid face.
More shouts came out then, and the anger and rage of the crowd grew like a beast with a life of its own until someone shouted, “Burn her! Burn the witch!”
“Brothers, Sisters.” Xaroth’s voice carried through the chanting and quelled the fire of their rage the way rain blinks out an oil pot. “This is a fortuitous moment. Our own Yuli must undergo a powerful ceremony, one that will give him the strength to protect us from such dangers in the future. But this ceremony will require much energy. Burning the witch will indeed give us the energy needed for Ona’s work to take place. At dawn we will invoke the ritual – an ancient one. Yuli will bind with his totem, and we will be protected by him. At dawn, the witch will burn!”
They took up the chant again. “Burn her! Burn the witch!”
Izhur looked to the purple sky, his mouth open. What had they done?
Anton
Anton lifted the flap of the weathered brown tent and peered at the sky with tired eyes. The nightsun descended slowly. He closed the flap and looked back at Izhur and Cypra who sat huddled over an oil pot. “It is almost dawn.”
Izhur nodded. “You know what you have to do?”
“Yes,” Anton replied. “But are you sure this will work? Cypra, how can you know if you’ve never done this before?”
Worry and fear mingled on Cypra’s face, creasing her brow. “It’s our only hope, Anton. Don’t be concerned with my role in this. I am after all, a very experienced Soragan. At least I was before they took my clan. I know what to do. The fact that I’ve not done it before doesn’t mean I won’t succeed. Just be sure you get the message to her.”
Anton nodded. “Yes, Soragan.”
Cypra smiled. “You best go now. People will awake and assemble soon.”
“And remember to come back for her satchel. She will need it,” Izhur said.
Anton glanced at the satchel. They had packed it full with Iluna’s few items, her tunic, cloak and bowl, a water skin, her little bone carving of Shephet, and as much food as they could jam in.
“May the Mother watch over you,” Izhur added.
Anton took a breath then opened the tent flap, and stepped into the night.
The encampment was quiet now. Most had gone to their sleeping mats to restore their energy. The Grand Soragan had told them they would all have to give of their essence if the binding ceremony was going to be a success. The excitement of the coming events had run through the clans like chain lighting. Older people recalled Dream Day tales of Doom, and told long stories to their grandchildren of humans transforming into lions and dragons. Everyone wondered what animal Yuli would transform to.
; A wolf, Iluna had told him, twice the size of an ordinary one. And what terror would his brother wreak then? But Anton had no time to wonder about it. He had gone with Izhur and Cypra as soon as the Grand Council had finished. The Grand Soragan had ordered a group of hunters to get a stake ready for burning, and to tie Iluna to it. It had torn his heart to leave her, but Izhur had insisted, and he’d left with him and Cypra to discuss Izhur’s idea. At least they had a plan now.
They had to get her out, far away, Izhur had said. That was the only way to save her. The hatred and distrust people felt for Iluna was irrevocable, thanks to Xaroth. It made Anton angry to think of it, but a future hope dimmed his rage. They would run away after all. They’d live together, in a distant land, just the two of them. They’d be happy.
He had to hurry. Anton quickened his pace, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He spun on the spot to see the familiar form of a muscled hunter standing solid before him.
“Father.”
Zodor put a finger to his lips. “Follow me.”
Anton swallowed. No, he would not be stopped. Not now. “Father, I can’t – I—”
Zodor’s eyes burned. “Follow now.” He hissed and stalked off toward the river.
Anton took a deep breath. Years of training to be the obedient son was ingrained into his very skin. The nightsun still lingered high enough. There was time, just a little. He bit his lip and followed his father.
Zodor crossed the river and sat on a large boulder on the other side. Water gurgled and bubbled over a shallow ford of rocks – a calming sound. Anton put both arms out to balance and jogged over the ford until he stood before his father. “What is it, Father?”
Zodor held his hands in front of him, fingertips touching and thumbs crossed – the sign of warding against evil. Anton’s nostrils flared. Did he think Iluna would curse him out here?
“You’re going to try and save her, yes?” His father’s voice was flat.
Anton bent his head. His pulse raced. He’d never been able to lie to him. “Yes, Father.”
Zodor nodded sharply and looked up to the sky. “You have a plan? With Izhur? Cypra?”
“Yes, Father. We have a plan.”
“And do you think it will work?”
Anton doubted it, now that his father knew. “I don’t know. It probably won’t.”
Zodor stood, rubbing his hands together. “Much evil has befallen us, son. Too much. It has to stop.”
Anton rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, concentrating hard on stopping the tears that blurred his vision. Iluna was as good as dead now, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He wouldn’t be able to get her the message. The nightsun danced dangerously close to the horizon. He shouldn’t have gone with his father.
“It has to stop now,” his father continued. “So tell me. How can I help?”
Anton blinked. “What?”
Zodor put a hand on Anton’s shoulder. They stood face to face, Anton as tall as his father.
“Iluna saved me that night. Your mother has told me all. Although, somewhere deep inside, I knew it. She is a good girl. She’s never been the ill omen that Xaroth spoke of. No, that title belonged to another.” Zodor’s eyes flicked to the camp across the river. “So tell me, son. How can I help you? We must save her.”
∞
Finally, Anton took his seat at the very back of the throng, near a wattle bush. Its pungent scent filled the air, but hid Cypra well enough from everyone else. She sat crosslegged now, with eyes closed, her breathing deep and regular. Both the nightsun and the moon had descended past the western horizon. Atoll’s star danced just above it and a red glow lit up the clouds to the east. The last day of Agria dawned.
In front of the evenfire a large stack of dead wood had been gathered and Iluna was tied to a stake in its centre. Her head was bowed making her hair appear even messier than normal. Her shoulders slouched – she looked tired. He knew she was still recovering from her attack on the enemy, and her leg pained her. Anton tried to calm his heart, but Izhur had stressed the amount of energy this kind of magic took, and Iluna was exhausted. At least he’d got the message to her. His father had helped, distracting the other hunters who finished building the stack for burning, so that he could talk to her. She knew their plan and her part in it.
Fellow clan members now sat around the evenfire, taking up their usual positions. The ceremonial drum started a steady beat and the buzz of excitement grew. Anton clutched a stick and snapped it in half. These people, his people, they were the monsters, blindly following Xaroth’s rule.
Yuli stood at the front facing the crowd, his pale robe crisp and clean. Anton’s lip curled into a scowl. His brother’s greed had much to answer for.
Izhur sat in the circle with the other Soragans. Gudmund sat among the Soragans, his hands bound in front of them, not that he was truly their prisoner. It had been part of his secret agreement with Xaroth and Yuli; he wanted to see the magic that was about to unfold. Anton grimaced and turned back to Cypra. She nodded.
The drums stopped and silence descended. The Grand Soragan stood with the help of some of the prentices. He limped forward to address the crowd. He seemed just as exhausted as Iluna, but his voice never faltered. “This dawn we shall renew an ancient ritual – one that has not been performed for generations. We will show to Ona and all of the Benevolent Ones that we still have much to offer.”
There was a cheer and the Grand Soragan held his hands out for silence. “Each of us will go into trance. Every man, woman and child needs to offer up their energy if we are to be successful and witness Yuli bind. We Soragans will draw your energy to help with the ritual. Exhaustion will follow, but with this new power that Yuli is to acquire, we will have more protection from our enemies in the future.”
Gudmund sat still, his eyes watching all with ardent fascination. Anton frowned. He wanted to shout, to tell them all to wake up and see how they had been fooled. But he sat quietly. He couldn’t risk the plan.
The drumming started once more and the Grand Soragan spoke to Yuli briefly before putting his hand on Yuli’s brow. Then Yuli lay on the ground. This was probably where Yuli began his trance to dream of his totem, or whatever he had to do. Iluna would be doing the same now. She hadn’t moved. Her head still hung low. When he looked over behind the wattle, Cypra had her eyes open, watching. Soon she would also go into a deep trance.
Xaroth and the Soragans sat in their circle. Their eyes closed as they chanted to the drum’s beat. Then everyone else joined in, closing their eyes and concentrating. The hum of over ten one hundred people held a power of its own. Anton kept his eyes open. He would watch all.
Yuli twitched every now and then, and, as the trance went on, the twitches became more violent. Xaroth opened his eyes and nodded to Ulath. The young hunter took his cue, and with a burning stick from the evenfire he walked toward Iluna. Anton’s heart raced. He turned to the wattle. Cypra gave him a slow nod. Be calm, it said. But when he turned back the fire stack had been lit and panic swelled close to his heart. If the plan didn’t work, Iluna would burn. Die. He looked back at Cypra. She had closed her eyes, her mouth whispering her own chant.
It had begun.
Even from where he sat Anton could see the gleaming sweat on Cypra’s face. Izhur had said that this would be difficult for her. She had to collect all of the essence of all the clans and Soragans and guide it to Iluna somehow.
The beat grew stronger and so did the chant. Anton could feel something. Like a spark in the atmosphere, the way lightning ignites static energy that lingers in the air.
Something was going to happen.
The flames at Iluna’s feet grew higher, but she hadn’t moved. Suddenly one of the Soragans went down, as though he fainted. Anton panicked not knowing what it meant. He looked to Cypra but she was deep in trance now, the sweat shining on her brow.
Another Soragan went down. Izhur was still sitting upright in the circle, deep in trance like the others, but his robe clung t
o him and his long hair stuck slick to his head. Then the chanting lifted higher, louder and Yuli, unbelievably, seemed to float in midair, as though someone had him on a rope and pulled him up. Anton’s breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t meant to happen to Yuli! The flames around Iluna grew higher. It wasn’t working!
There was a murmuring now and others also opened their eyes to see the floating Yuli. People pointed and whispered. A low rumor spread through the entire crowd as eyes opened and looked in wonder at the miracle before them. But the chant from the Soragans remained strong and the drum continued to beat.
Darkness radiated from Yuli’s core, and thorny black tendrils wound around his torso and limbs. A sudden nausea bubbled in Anton’s stomach, but a light came from the east and when Anton looked he had to put his hand over his eyes to shield them, for it was like looking into the daysun – worse. The brightness grew until it was impossible to see anything at all. Anton closed his eyes and still the light penetrated through the flesh of his eyelids making him see red. He scrunched his face.
Shouts of panic sounded around him as people questioned what it could be. “Where’s Yuli?” someone asked. “Has he turned?”
Then it stopped, as though someone had extinguished the fire, and a scream pierced the dawn – a woman’s scream. It came from the front and was vaguely familiar. Anton blinked. The white light had gone and his mother stood and ran to the front where her son now lay. She bent and picked up Yuli, cradling him in her arms. He was limp. And, judging from his mother’s wailing, Anton guessed his brother was dead. The Soragans were all lying on the ground, spent – even Izhur. The Grand Soragan was just coming to – blinking and looking around – when a loud squawk echoed thorough the valley.
People screamed and pointed up. Circling above them in the dawn sky, a large raven flew. Its feathers shone blue and purple in the golden rays of the early morning sunshine. It was larger than any beast they’d known and its squawks almost deafened them. It circled again and swooped low and a breeze whipped up the evenfire as it passed. Then it flapped powerful wings and glided up, toward the mountains.
