Thoughts he had no wish for circled through Adynarh's mind. He retreated to his cabin where he kept two slave girls and a keg of wine to relax the tensions that plagued him.
~~~
Exotic mushrooms and blue famalata petals crackled and simmered, their fumes masking the scent of burning camel dung. As the dream-smoke filled the interior of the goat-hide tent, two hand-drums tapped steadily. At midnight they stopped. There was silence except for deep breaths, sizzling fire, and the whispered voices of still-distant ancestors.
Sweat poured down Rahazakir's naked, hard-muscled body. The council of elders had decided the Yritti Tribe needed the energy of youth in its guidance. Thus, they had chosen as their leader Rahazakir, an exceptionally skilled young man who was blessed with early wisdom.
Across from Rahazakir sat Goat Shaman, an aged man of twisted bones and tattered, leathery skin marked with crimson runes. Goat horns protruded from his skull, placed there through some dark art. He was also naked, except for the goatskin sewn onto his shoulders. Shadows and smoke lay between these two most powerful men of the Yritti.
Goat Shaman shook his rattle and cast powder into the fire while Rahazakir chanted. The flames burned green then blue before returning to normal. Goat Shaman rolled a set of ancient knucklebones and read the omens one last time. Finding them positive, he said softly, "We may proceed. The Bright Spirits bear no animosity toward us, and the dark spirits lurk too far away to steal our dreams."
Rahazakir ceased his chants and spoke. "Beloved Yritti ancestors, hear me, I seek your wisdom. I beg your aid for the sake of the tribe."
A howling wind swirled the smoke into a tight vortex. The fire went out. Hanging chains of finger bones rattled, and tiny metal chimes tinked. Bottles and scrolls on a shelf shook. The goat hide tent fluttered and lifted and was nearly ripped from its pegs and cast into the night.
The wind stopped. Then, in the darkness of the tent appeared luminescent apparitions in shapes almost human but vague and faceless. Hollow voices said in unison, "Speak of your trouble, but speak quickly. This world brings only pain and despair. We would never leave our shining realm but for the love we bear our descendants."
Trembling with awe of the Bright Spirits, Rahazakir rose onto his knees and spoke as firmly as he could manage. "I have led the tribe farther east than normal, where escaping the Stain will prove more difficult. Food and water are less plentiful, sandstorms are worse, and the terrain is treacherous. Ultimately, the Stain may corner us against the mountains.
"North would be safer and provide for the tribe, but I have felt a strong calling to go east, a calling I cannot explain. I would hear your judgment on this, with Goat Shaman as my witness." A valid witness he would be, too, for Goat Shaman didn't like having a young chief for a rival.
The Bright Spirits replied, "We fear this dream of yours." Rahazakir cringed and could feel Goat Shaman's growing smile. "We see your path; it leads to a vengeful man called the Slayer. And much you will risk on this journey toward him, close will the tribe come to complete ruin."
Goat Shaman said to them. "We are sorry, revered ancestors. Forgive our young chief's foolishness and the hesitance of his elders. We shall turn back and--"
The Bright Spirits flashed and rumbled, "We are not finished! And we have not spoken to you, shaman. Await your turn, if a turn you deserve."
Goat Shaman bowed his head into the sand. "My lords, I beg you forgive my enthusiasm for the tribe's well-being."
If speaking with the ancestors weren't so serious and dire a ritual, Rahazakir might have laughed at Goat Shaman's pride-fall.
The spirits then said, "If the people wish to continue a safe life, as safe as life can be wandering across the desert pursued by the cloud of dark evil, then go north. But if you would risk everything to gain freedom from the Stain, go east. If you help him with his burden, the Slayer could free you. However, he could also lead you to desolation."
Rahazakir stirred. "What shall I do, my lords? Is it worth the risk?"
"You must weigh this gamble and choose. Such a decision the world-departed cannot make."
The Bright Spirits closed on Rahazakir and touched him on the forehead. To be touched by the ancestors was a great honor and blessing. Rahazakir was so mesmerized that he forgot to avert his eyes.
"You are blessed with sight, young chief. Temper your instincts with careful wisdom."
Suddenly, the tent was empty except for the two men. The smoke cleared. The fire remained lifeless. Rahazakir climbed to his feet, steadied himself on a tent pole, and recovered his breath. Then he stumbled over to Goat Shaman who lay prostrate. Rahazakir bent down and held out a hand. "Come, we must speak with the Council of Elders."
"I am dishonored," Goat Shaman moaned. "Reprimanded by the Bright Spirits."
Shocked at how this fearsome shaman had become like a child, Rahazakir tried to patch the man's self-worth. He needed his help and couldn't wait on the ascension of a successor. "Come, Goat Shaman. You spoke truth when you said yourself overeager in protecting the tribe and seeing to its interests. I'm certain that's why they didn't condemn you."
Goat Shaman looked up into Rahazakir's broad face and knew he faked the smile, the gestures of friendship as well, but they needed each other. And perhaps Rahazakir spoke true, that the ancestors hadn't disdained him. Goat Shaman took the chief's hands and stood on uneasy legs. "Thank you, my chief." And both men realized that was the first time the shaman had called him not merely chief but my chief.
They walked out into the cold desert air. Six women awaited them a hundred paces from the shaman's tent, which sat alone, away from the tribe. These women helped them to the nearest tribesman's tent, washed them with sand and precious water, then fed them dates and a little meat. Dressed in clean leather tunics, the two stood before the council with the sun rising over the sands behind them.
Rahazakir looked on the eight elders, all shrouded in goatskin cloaks, their faces hidden in the shadows of deep hoods. For the first time he held no fear of what they might think of him. The Bright Spirits of his ancestors had blessed him.
"What pronounced our ancestors?" said the Prime Elder who wore a sash of woven horsetails across his torso.
Goat Shaman, who held the council's tie-breaking vote, met Rahazakir's eyes. The two appraised each other warily then Goat Shaman nodded in understanding.
Rahazakir stepped forward. "Respected elders, this night I learned why in your wisdom you chose me at so young an age. I have been gifted with future-sight. The ancestors confirmed this, and they blessed me with their touch."
The elders looked to Goat Shaman who pronounced it true.
Rahazakir continued. "Great risk lies ahead but so too does a chance for freedom from the Stain." He explained all that had happened, except for the ancestors reprimanding Goat Shaman. "We will move further eastward. We will face this destiny, or die. No longer will the Stain of our ancestors drive us onward endlessly. We will have freedom or death. That is my decision."
Over the next two days, Jaska continued to train the mercenaries in the methods of the palymfar. He also rowed each day, straining his muscles and then rebuilding them as best as he could through meditation and rest.
On the third day, Ohzikar followed him to the oar banks. "Why are you driving yourself so?"
"To rebuild my strength. And because I can lose myself in the work. Palymfar meditations remind me too much of the life I once led."
"But you'll be exhausted if a fight comes."
"If necessary I will restore myself with magic and defeat my enemies through force of will." Jaska stripped off his shirt, revealing the deep scar Ohzikar had placed on him. Neither man regretted the mark. "Besides, a fight won't come today."
"What makes you think so?"
"I can't feel it."
"You trust your instincts that much?"
"A palymfar trains his instincts beginning at a young age, and I have better instincts than most."
Ohzikar pulled off his shirt
and tossed it beside Jaska's. "Relieve two rowers. I'm joining you."
"Why?"
"Because I need the workout, because I'm bored. And because I trust your instincts."
Jaska found no mockery in Ohzikar's even face. "Well enough."
Tieros Rowman greeted Jaska Bavadi and the templar who followed him. "Come back for more, eh?"
"I'll be a rower yet."
"You've got the will, Kharos. No doubt about that. But you lack the heart. A man needs the open sea in him to do this all his life, and you've got something more in your heart than that."
Jaska frowned. "That much is true."
Tieros appraised Ohzikar. "Joining us, sir?"
"I am."
"Not so lean as our Kharos here, lot's of good muscle. You'll do well, though I doubt you have the heart either."
Jaska exchanged greetings with several more oarsmen. The men welcomed him. It was clear they didn't think of him as the Slayer.
Jaska and Ohzikar sat on the bench with the afternoon sun beating down on them and barely a breeze to be felt.
Jaska said, "It won't be easy today."
"My life stopped being easy the night I met you."
"Same here."
The bosun called orders. The men unshipped their oars. A drum roll sounded, followed by a steady rhythm of beats that pushed them harder today because the winds were light. The two reluctant comrades rowed for hours and grew fatigued but neither would quit. During the third rowing break, Zyrella approached them.
"I'm joining you."
Both men protested as she slipped in between them on the bench. Her hips pushed them to either edge but not so far that they couldn't move the oar. The oarsmen cheered and laughed, having never seen a woman attempt their work.
"It's hard labor," Ohzikar said as she placed her delicate hands on the oar.
"That's what I'm here for." Physical labor appealed to her after exhausting her mind these last few days: warding the ship, scanning for enemies, preparing herself for future sorceries. To sleep tonight from physical fatigue would be a pleasure.
Jaska was uncomfortable with her proximity. Her hip contacted his. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils. Before Ohzikar could argue further, the bosun, with a giant grin on his face, began the drumbeats.
"I'll aid you as I can," she said. "Perhaps that way the two of you will survive the afternoon."
Zyrella worked the oar with them, hard as she could. After half an hour, sweat drenched her robe and she panted for breath. Having Zyrella so close bothered Jaska. He could feel her body heaving beside him, could smell her sweat, hear her deep breaths. His skin tingled with each touch. No matter how he tried, he couldn't empty his mind. All he could think of was her.
During a brief break, Zyrella slipped her arms out of her robe and allowed the white cotton raiment to slip down to her waist. Whistles and calls from the oarsmen and sailors drowned out Ohzikar's protest. He gave all the men about a stern look but they ignored him. The bosun's eyes widened but he said nothing.
Glistening with sweat, her breasts heaved and swayed as she worked the muscles beneath them. Jaska stared, though he tried not to. Her skin beneath the robe was pale except for large, dark nipples that stiffened as if his notice were a hand that brushed against them.
Zyrella worked the oar in her space between these two men she loved in opposite ways. One willingly with a kind and gentle love, the other uncontrollably with fire and passion. And neither of whom would satisfy her needs, nor their own.
What she did was foolish, especially with the sailors and oarsmen watching, though they wouldn't dare harm her. But she had grown terribly hot in her robe. It wasn't designed for heavy labor, and it seemed only fair that if she rowed she could do so as the men did, with no clothes on her back. And she did want to entice Jaska and Ohzikar. She couldn't help herself. The attention was delicious.
The bosun called for the oars to be shipped. Zyrella stood and teasingly pulled her robe back over her shoulders. She wrung sweat from her hair, tossed it twice, slid past Ohzikar, and headed for the cabin without a word. Ohzikar looked to Jaska. Both shrugged.
The setting sun cast long shadows within the ship and glowed a brilliant orange behind them, illuminating the galley's wake and the dark clouds ahead. Jaska went to meditate and search for enemies. Ohzikar followed Zyrella. He knocked on the cabin door. Zyrella opened it and retreated to the back of the room where she began to disrobe. She said to him sternly, "Not a word of complaint about what I did."
He moved to his corner and began to undress.
Zyrella's feet pattered across the floor. Then her hands slid along the corded muscles of his back and up onto his shoulders. Her body pressed close against his. Her nipples brushed his skin. He started to turn around but she pressed in tighter and rested her head against his back. Her arms wrapped around him and clenched his chest.
"We haven't lain together in many years," she murmured.
His heart thundered. "And it should stay that way. Let's not complicate things between us."
"What would be complicated? I have needs, Ohzi. So do you. Why can two friends such as we not find pleasure together?"
"No, Zyrella."
She slid her hands down his stomach and lower. She stroked him gently and he moaned despite himself. "That's better."
He spun and held her away from him. "I won't do this. I can't give you what you really want. You'll be thinking about him. Don't deny it."
"So what if Jaska haunts my mind? You are my love and my best friend."
"But afterward." He shook his head. "I would rather not go through it again."
"Perhaps it will be different this time."
"I doubt it."
She tugged at his manhood. "Can you not do it for me?"
"Gods," he murmured. "You know I want you. But the depression … the fatigue…"
"Overcome it, Ohzi. It rests only in your mind."
He sighed, and though he dreaded the melancholy exhaustion that would plague him for days afterward, he moved into her arms and kissed the sweetest, softest lips he could imagine. He had thought of this many times over the last five years but had resisted. More than once he'd told her no and held strong. What was different now?
Jaska.
She wanted him, and Ohzikar feared losing her to him. He would do anything to satisfy her and end her desire for Jaska.
Despite tired muscles, he lifted her and pinned her against the wall. As he thrust into her, she moaned and nibbled his ear, remembering how he liked that. Much later, Ohzikar set her gently onto a sleeping pallet. He nibbled at her breasts, kissed all along her stomach and up her thighs. He did everything she wanted, and it was as if not a day had been missed since the last time.
But still he dreaded the outcome.
~~~
Having located no enemies with his scans, Jaska returned to the cabin. He had given Zyrella and Ohzikar more than enough time to clean up and get dressed again. He was about to knock on the door when he heard moaning. He listened more closely. Though he was certain of those sounds, he didn't believe them. He uttered a spell that enhanced his hearing. Panting breaths, soft moans, the warm flesh of two bodies sliding and slapping together. A whisper of affection and pleasure.
Jaska burned with jealous anger. His mind swirled, a maelstrom of dark emotions. As his hand reached to open the door, waking nightmares assaulted him. He held in the screams that would frighten the crew and disturb his companions. He stumbled back and nearly passed out. Vision swirling, he trudged away from the cabin and fell into a sailor.
"Are you all right, my lord?"
Jaska shook his head, tried to respond, to say anything but couldn't form the words on his tongue. The only thing he could think of was that he must not alarm the crew.
"I think he's had too much to drink, mate. I'll take him from here."
A strong arm wrapped around Jaska. "Should I get your comrades? Or the captain?" Jaska managed a shake of his head. "Well then I'll see to you, Kh
aros. Don't you worry."
~~~
The ship rocked. A sail snapped above, driven by a warm breeze. Leaning against the foremast, Jaska stirred and made himself more comfortable. Fatigue had stiffened his muscles.
Suddenly his heart rate increased. Figures emerged into his vision, though his eyes remained closed. He tore the qavra from his throat and threw it onto the deck. The visions faded but a whisper of voices began.
A large hand patted him on the arm. The reality of that touch forced the nightmares away. Weakly Jaska opened his eyes and saw Tieros Rowman sitting before him with a concerned look on his face.
"Are you sure you don't need help, Kharos?" Jaska shook his head. Tieros proffered a jug of watered wine.
Jaska drank eagerly. "Thank you, Tieros."
"Nothing of it, just helping a friend."
Jaska rested his head back against the mast. "I'm not much of a friend to anyone. I've done so much evil … to so many people."
"Don't see how that matters if you didn't mean to. And you'll set it aright soon."
"I can't bring back those I killed."
"You can save others, though. War is approaching in the East and Hareez is a land of terror. But you can change this. A man like me is powerless. I'm a good rower, but that's all. Normal folk depend on people like you."
Jaska scanned Tieros' face, noting the lines of strength and wisdom, the hard set of determination. "A man such as you can change the world, Tieros. Banded together, strong men such as you can do anything."
Tieros shook his head. "Don't know about that, Kharos. It's hard to do anything when you're powerless."
"Well, at the least, your friendship has saved me from my nightmares tonight."
Tieros smiled. "Of that I'm glad." He looked to the qavra lying on the deck. "Does it bring them?"
"It did when I first wore one again, but something else triggered them tonight. I only hoped severing myself from it would make them go away."
Tieros lifted the leather choker and examined the jet qavra stone. "Doesn't seem like much."
Wrath of the White Tigress Page 12
