Wavebreaker

by A. J. Norfield

  It was only then that Dalkeira noticed Trista standing there, eyes spread wide, mouth slightly open. The dragon froze mid-movement. She put down the leg she had lifted to inspect and sat down quietly.

  “Trista. What are you doing here?” asked Dalkeira.

  “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? That was amazing!” said Trista, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

  All her annoyed feelings of that morning disappeared in the face of such a marvelous display of…of…Trista had no idea what to call it.

  “How long—? When—? How did you—? Amazing!”

  “You are not angry, then?” said Dalkeira, tilting her head.

  “Angry? Why would I be angry about this?”

  “Dalkeira was afraid that you would be angry because she didn’t tell you right away,” said Duvessa. “But don’t be too harsh on her, my child. Part of it is my fault.”

  “You’ve both lost me,” said Trista, confused. “How long has this been going on, then?”

  “Since the sunken city in the Endless Sands,” said Dalkeira, using the Minai term for the desert settlement. “I want to become stronger for our journey west.”

  “West? Why? I thought we were going to stay here.”

  “For a while, yes. But we need to go west,” repeated Dalkeira.

  “Why?” asked Trista. “Why do we need to follow this road into nowhere? It’s nearly gotten us killed at least half a dozen times already. It’s safe here. We can stay. Be happy.”

  “Happy? I will not be happy until I know what’s out there calling me. I want to go.”

  “And what about what I want? What about Decan? What he needs?” said Trista forcefully. “I don’t understand where all this is coming from. Did you not say you wanted to stay here? Why did you not just tell me?”

  “I wanted to tell you, but it was never the right time. You were constantly occupied with Aslara, or focused on Decan, or the baby. And when we speak, you do nothing but yell at me,” said Dalkeira defiantly.

  Though Dalkeira’s words sounded strong, her eyes swirled nervously. Bright green spots phased in and out of the deep blue colors of her eyes.

  Trista felt her skin crawl in anger. Dalkeira’s accusation immediately triggered the will to defend herself. Preoccupied with Aslara? Paying attention to Decan? Yelling? It had been Dalkeira who had acted so rude to Aslara in the first place!

  The image of the leading mother drifted into her head. Trista took a deep breath and forced herself to step back from the whole situation.

  What would a leader do? How do I reach beneath the surface of anger to the ocean of reasoning?

  “I—” started Trista.

  She stopped and let out another deep breath.

  “I appreciate your honesty. I’m sorry you felt that you could not come to me with this. You are one of the most important things in this world to me. You should be able to tell me anything, and I should be there for you when you need me.”

  The acknowledgment brought an unseen smile to Duvessa’s face. In front of Trista, the dragon visibly relaxed but made no effort to continue their conversation.

  “Perhaps it is best to call it a day, my child,” suggested Duvessa to Dalkeira.

  “Not yet, old woman,” said Dalkeira as she turned around. “I still want to practice some more.”

  The dragon walked off toward the large tree roots nearby.

  “What’s she doing?” asked Trista.

  “She feels connected to the flows of life that run through the Taori. It makes it easier for her to concentrate.”

  Dalkeira positioned herself between the roots, facing the water. Trista noticed there were strange patterns on the cave wall behind the dragon. It looked like the written script in the books of the merchants who visited the village. But there were two different forms. One was circular, large and flowing. The other patterns were much smaller, with sharp corners and lots of tiny stripes.

  “What are those strange scribblings behind Dalkeira?” asked Trista, observing the dragon slowly wading into the water.

  “Words of the first sha’cara. Honoring the Taori. Giving value to the balance of life,” said Duvessa. “Our stories tell that the winged ancient called on her sisters and formed this cavern, this mountain, where first there was nothing. They moved the earth, brought the water; thus this sanctuary for the Minai came into this world. Their stories were made part of this place.”

  Dalkeira was chest-deep in water now. She lifted herself onto her hind legs a few times, as if to get the movement right.

  “Stories? There’s more?” asked Trista.

  “Oh dear, oh my. Simply look around, my child, and you will spot them quite easily.”

  It was true. Now Trista knew what to look for she spotted several other places with similar symbols on the wall. Some were very hard to read because of the water’s reflection. Others had not withstood the decay of time very well, but they were plentiful, and spread across the cave.

  “And the smaller symbols?”

  “Similar words in a language long dead.”

  Satisfied by the preparations, Dalkeira spread her wings and took a deep breath. Her chest swelled with air. For a moment, she looked like a statue; perfectly still, holding her breath as she concentrated.

  Dalkeira stomped her front legs into the water as she made a powerful forward movement with her wings. She extended her neck, low over the water, and let out a roar that echoed across the surface. Moving away, the water pushed itself up into a wave three feet high. It rushed forward, pushed by an invisible force. It grew in size as Dalkeira directed more water into it. It swelled another foot just before it smashed into the wall at the other end of the lake. The thunderous noise of water subsided as the clear liquid slid from the red rock back into the lake again.

  “But how? How is she doing this?” said Trista in disbelief. “You say the first sha’cara moved the earth. If that’s true, and both are considered winged ancients, does that mean that every dragon can do something like this?”

  “I don’t know, my child. Before Dalkeira, I had never seen a winged ancient before. She calls it her watertouch; and that’s what she does. She touches it, without ever reaching for it. She feels drawn to the water. Says she can see it, too. Not like we see it, but as if many tiny pieces of water make one whole.”

  “I remember she once told me something similar, many days ago. But I never expected her to be able to command water like this.”

  Trista turned back toward Dalkeira, who launched another wave. This time the dragon tried to divide her concentration between the wave and two spheres of water she pulled up from the lake. With a push of her mind, she launched the first sphere after the wave. The second sphere fell apart as she lost control of it, but the first one crashed into the back of the wave, disrupting the flow of it. It quickly dissipated before it could reach the other end of the dome.

  “You know, my child, that was a very important first step you made back there,” Duvessa said in a soft voice from behind Trista. “Perhaps there is still hope for you both.”

  “And why are you helping her?” asked Trista in a flat tone, suddenly feeling as though Duvessa tried to steal Dalkeira away.

  “Because she asked me.”

  The life listener fell silent, as though waiting to see how the waterclan woman would respond. But Trista didn't speak, instead trying to figure out what she could have done differently.

  “I can’t hear her anymore, you know,” said Trista after a moment. “I used to hear her all the time. So often that, sometimes, it was just too much with everything going on. But now I try to reach out and she’s not there. She pulls away. She's gone, and I hate the silence of my own thoughts.”

  “Oh child, she’s not gone. She’s right there. Waiting for you to reach out once more—or perhaps waiting for you to listen more closely. You know she practically threatened to eat me if I did not help you and your brother? She’s very strong-willed, that one.”

  “That she is.”
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  Trista let out a chuckle, followed by a sigh.

  “But how am I supposed to fix this? Where do I begin?”

  “You’re mistaken, my child. You’ve already begun. You just need a little help. Help that perhaps the ways of the Minai can offer,” said the old woman. “Has Aslara mentioned the ba’roshia to you at all?”

  “Ba’roshia? Not that I know of,” said Trista. “What is it?”

  “It is our ritual of bonding. At the end of the introduction period, sha’cara and Minai both enter the lifedream. They do so to experience each other’s world. To receive better understanding of one another and to forge a bond that cannot easily be broken,” explained Duvessa. “From what Dalkeira told me, the way you got to know her was not in very peaceful surroundings. It sounded…forced. Perhaps the ba’roshia can make amends and complete the process started during your introduction. It won’t be easy, and there’s danger involved. Some who enter the lifedream lose their way…”

  Trista had no idea what ritual Duvessa was talking about, but she agreed that those first weeks had not been pleasant for any of them. Being constantly on the run, she had to divide her attention between the dragon and her brother. She did not know what kind of ritual this was, but if it meant she and Dalkeira could become close again, she was more than willing to try.

  “Just tell me what to do.”

  Chapter 25

  Assassin

  “She wants to do what?”

  Shiri pushed away Aslara’s hands, which had been massaging her shoulders. Her eyes shot fire. The second-in-command disliked going out on long patrols more and more. Every time she returned, she was greeted with another story about Trista or Dalkeira. It was like Aslara’s head was filled with nothing else but concern for the newcomers. What happened to the time her lover was concerned about her? Interested in her?

  “Duvessa wants to make those two official Minai,” Aslara repeated calmly. “I think it’s a great idea. We can use the help during the big hunt.”

  “Why? She isn’t even a good huntress,” said Shiri, bewildered. “And why is Duvessa meddling in hunting matters anyway? My group has always done right by her guidance.”

  “She’s not. Duvessa believes a ba’roshia is needed, and that’s only allowed if you’re part of the tribe.”

  “But she’s not! She’s just an outsider. And trouble if you ask me.”

  “It has been done plenty of times before. To replenish our bloodlines,” said the leading mother.

  “Would men even be interested in someone like her? With her strange coloring, and skin that can’t stand the sun. And what about her little brother? He’s happily chatting to any girl like it’s nothing. He might already be too old to change his ways,” said Shiri.

  “I’m sure he’ll come around,” said Aslara. “But that’s not what this is really about, is it? Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  “What’s really bothering me? As if this isn’t enough?” snapped Shiri. “Fine, I’ll give you more. You’re so focused on these outsiders you’ve forgotten what we’ve been trying to do. How we’re trying to keep everyone safe.”

  “By hunting and killing the Karnis’h? I told you I would think about it; nothing more. If you want to spend your days trailing the Red Plains looking for them, I won’t stop you. But don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ll approve a full-on attack. We haven’t the numbers. These things can’t be considered lightly.”

  “Really? Because it seems to me you’re not considering it at all. They’re getting closer every year. Tracking us, hunting us. All you do is spend time with Trista. I see how you look at her, all smitten by her unusual looks.”

  “Oh, stop it. I have no such interest in her. You’re a beautiful and strong woman. I’ve challenged the laws of our tribe to be with you. Defied the advice of our life listener,” said the leading mother. “How can you, of all women, be jealous? You have the honor of carrying the title of second-in-command and first huntress, a combination unheard of in our ancestral stories. I couldn’t be more proud that you’re my chosen. Now quit being stubborn. If you can’t see you’ve got nothing to worry about, you need to let Duvessa check your eyes and head.”

  Aslara saw the skeptical look Shiri threw back at her.

  “I just don’t like how you look at her.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “I don’t know. Intrigued. I’d prefer if you stayed away from her.”

  “I can’t do that. They’re new to the tribe; they need guidance, and that’s my responsibility. Besides, I wouldn't be the only one in the company of different women…or men,” added the leading mother.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your late night visits with some of the builders.”

  “You know about that?” said Shiri, taken aback.

  “Of course. What kind of leading mother would I be if I didn’t?”

  Shiri turned away in shame, then turned back.

  “Let me explain, and please don’t be mad about it. I did it for us. For you. I thought it would make you happy to have a child of our own, to share in that miracle of life,” said Shiri, moving closer. “I wanted to give that to you. To fill your heart with more love than you could imagine. Especially since you are unable—because of the title and all—”

  The tribe’s greatest honor was often considered a cruel destiny as well. The laws in place meant a leading mother was forbidden to have children, to prevent a leader from favoring their own flesh and blood. After the celebration of a newly appointed head of the tribe, there was a more saddening ceremony for a leading mother to undergo. A private ceremony between the leading mother and the life listener. It was not without risk, scarring internal organs with one of the strongest poisons on the plains. Infections were a serious danger. But, if all went well, the chosen mother-of-all no longer possessed the physical ability to carry a child inside her.

  Aslara held up a hand.

  “Do I look angry? It’s alright. I accepted this part of my life a long time ago. And what you are doing is perfectly accepted among the tribe. I’m just surprised you have made the attempts to get with child, given your plans to flush out the Karnis’h. Apart from that, I don’t blame you for anything. And I’ll admit I’ve been interested in Trista from the start—but not for the reason you think.”

  Trista’s name triggered instant revulsion in Shiri. She looked back in disgust and increased her distance again, folding her arms.

  “This better be good.”

  “A while back, Duvessa had a lifevision. She’s had troublesome visions before, but nothing like this. The Red Plains were swallowed by shadows. Vultures picked the bones of hundreds clean as the darkness engulfed all. Animals, humans—everything. All was lost until a woman with burning hair appeared out of nowhere. Being pushed forward by a wild river of water, she drove away the shadows allowing the sun to return.”

  “And you believe she is this woman who will push away the darkness? She doesn’t even fight well! What if those men she always speaks about follow her here? What if she’s the reason this darkness comes? Even if she intends no harm, she might doom us all,” said Shiri. “I don’t like it. I think we should send them off.”

  “I agree; she doesn’t fight well,” said Aslara. “That’s why we’re going to teach her. But I won’t send her away because of your insecurities. She’s done nothing wrong, and many of the tribe have already taken a liking to her. Shiri, I love you with all my heart, but my first responsibility is to the tribe. This is bigger than you alone. Now come to bed. Tomorrow, Trista will become one of us and we can drop this whole outsider nonsense completely.”

  The night crawled by but offered little rest for Trista. Decan had tossed and turned restlessly, caught in one of his nightmares several times over during his sleep. She spent some time singing soft lullabies for him, which seemed to calm him somewhat, even if he said during the day that he was too old for them. Her own nerves for the ceremony were the other culprit for the w
asted nighttime.

  Trista yawned as she walked toward the water gardens. Duvessa shuffled ahead of her, the blind woman’s fingers sliding lightly along the cold rock walls of the tunnel. Decan followed closely behind them.

  “Are you listening to the rock?” asked Trista, who knew Duvessa did not really need the touch to find her way.

  “Oh no, my child. I’m sure the mountains have stories to tell, but I can’t hear their voices. I simply like to feel the surface, made smooth by the touch of hundreds of our foremothers.”

  The large dome came into view. Aslara had said the ceremony would be short and simple, but when Trista stepped inside the large complex, she saw the entire tribe there to bear witness. Women, children and men, but that was not all; the water gardens were filled with animals. Birds sat high on the edge of the stone roof’s hole, the other animals mixed in between the humans. The gathering was an impressive—and intimidating—scene.

  At the back, Shiri leaned against the wall, observing it all with a dissatisfied look on her face.

  “Water is the giver of life and the cleanser of souls,” began Duvessa, who led the ceremony.

  A voice sprang to life. One of the tribeswomen let out a high-pitched, rolling call. It was immediately followed by three deep blows of a horn. Its vibrant sound set a rhythm which was adopted by the clear thumping of a drum. The woman continued to sing loud and proud in her ancestral tongue. Every few lines, she stopped, and a group of women and men sang back at her. The group’s voices carried clear through the dome.

  Fascinated, Dalkeira walked around the singers.

  “It is like they tell a story,” the dragon said privately, so as not to interrupt those who sang. “It is like the song I hear when I sleep, though that resembles more the sound of whales.”

  Dalkeira walked another circle around the group.

  “Do you think I could sing as well?” wondered the dragon.

  Trista watched her observe the way the women and men produced different sounds in their throats. Walking back, the dragon sat next to her and tried to reproduce the tones. The effect was less than melodious and Dalkeira quickly stopped.