by Lexy Wolfe
Ash looked at Amelana coolly. "Get out of my way, Journeyman. I would prefer not to bleed to death." Taylin hurried to Ash's other side, shooting a scathing look at the Forentan woman. Ash let Taylin guide him to the side, forcing himself to relax as the healer began her work.
"Illaini Magus Ash, is she all right?" Taylin asked in a low voice.
Ash pressed his lips together in silence for a few moments. "I don't know. I hope so."
When the drizar rejoined the group, everyone looked up. Storm was grim, but not lost in her thoughts. A strip of cloth was wound around her hand, soaked red. "We need to ride quickly to reach shelter. The rage winds are coming."
Chapter 40
THEY had ridden hard for the better part of a day towards the rising cliffs of the mountainous foothills, the sky darkening with looming clouds of dust and sand that was humbling in its massiveness. The eerie roar of the winds were initially a whisper, growing as the wall grew nearer.
The winds had started picking up quickly, clouds of sand swirling around, cutting like a thousand tiny knives. Tying ropes between each of the drizzen, the travelers put their trust in the drizar and Storm to guide them to safety before the blowing sands scoured the flesh from their bones, pulling the cowls of their travel robes tightly down over their faces.
Abruptly, they felt the wind die, though they could hear it still, howling like a demon. One by one, they tentatively unwrapped their faces to look at their surroundings.
They were in a monstrous cavern. Other travelers had sought shelter here before them, the cave floor smooth of most small pebbles, some rocks arranged in rings and even some small piles of dried bones or dung the Desanti favored for their fires.
"I have never seen a storm like that in my entire life." Almek shook out the sand from his robes. He fixed a look on Storm. "You could tell it was coming?"
Radisen smiled faintly as he dropped from his drizzen, setting it loose in the ring of taller rocks that served as a crude corral. "To be Desanti is to be a child of the land. To be Swordanzen is to truly be a part of the land, to be able to sense the rage winds when they come."
Withdrawn, Storm looked towards the cavern's entrance with a concerned expression. But she was half listening to the others talk, her voice quiet but carrying clearly. "The rage winds come from the Heart of Desantiva, when the pain and the grief of the land is awakened."
"How long do they last?" Mureln shrugged at her quizzical expression over his curiosity. "It reminds me of some of the great storms from Vodanya. There was a terrible beauty about them. Such massive, unstoppable power."
Storm shrugged. "Hours. Days. Legends say the first ones would last months." Walking towards the entrance, she studied the wall of sand and dirt racing past. "This one will be several days."
"Days?!" Amelana exclaimed. "We will be stuck here for days? What are we supposed to do for days?!" Various displays of disgust and annoyance rippled through the travelers as the Forentan woman began one of her typical rants.
Ash put his hand on her shoulder, speaking softly. Amelana's eyes rolled back and she sagged unconscious, her ranting cut short. He caught her, scooping her up in his arms. He looked down at her in annoyance. "You can sleep and be silent if you will not be productive. Terrence! Your assistance, please." His apprentice nodded, smiling hugely, eagerly pulling Amelana's gear off her drizzen and following his master to lay out the woman's sleeping place.
"That be a useful trick," Emil observed. "Wonder if'n th' mage can teach it t' me."
"You can't teach old dogs new tricks, my friend," Mureln said cheerfully. He laughed, ducking a rock flung at him. He went over to Taylin and sketched a deep bow to her, making her blush furiously. "My lady, may I assist you?" Shyly, she nodded, both of them reaching for the gear on her drizzen's saddle.
While the others set up camp, Radisen and Storm prowled the depths of the caverns to ensure the group would be secure until the sandstorm passed. By the time the group had finished and were settled around a campfire, the Desanti pair returned, carrying several small animals unlucky enough to cross paths with the two warriors.
"I don't get why yer people don't live in places like this 'n," Emil said from his place as he watched over the cook fire.
"The land provides." Most of Storm's attention focused on inspecting her weapons. "But a tribe's needs would strip the land bare in its demand to survive. Moving allows the land to recover so it can provide for the tribe when they return."
Mureln strummed his mandolin idly. "It is much the same reason the Vodani clans are always on the move. If any area is overtaxed, the clans suffer for it."
Terrence looked puzzled. "But some Vodani live on land. Why do they wander? They do not have to, do they?"
Mureln shrugged. "It is in the blood, I suppose. We have done things this way for so long, it has become a part of us." He turned a rakish grin towards Taylin. "Why don't you dance for us, Healer?"
Taylin blushed furiously. "I-I don't think—" Her protests stopped when the bard played a complex refrain, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, that is my favorite dance! How did you know?" The bard simply grinned knowingly, winking at her as he continued the verse.
"Hey! Swordanzen!" Emil called after Taylin finished a lively dance comprised of intricate step patterns. Storm looked up from her weapon maintenance, blinking at the Sevmanan. "You know any dances?"
"Of course. Dances are traditional," Storm replied mildly. "They tell the stories of our ancestors."
Emil and Emaris traded surprised, hopeful looks. "Would ye dance one of them dances we seen at yer First Home?"
Storm looked thoughtful, her expression turning to one of amusement when Radisen leaned over, suggesting several of the more provocative dances. "Show me one of your northern dances. Then perhaps I will. If it amuses me."
Apparently quite agreeable to the exchange, the two men got to their feet, telling Mureln something in Sevmanen. The bard laughed outright at the suggestion and tapped the rhythm on the belly of his mandolin before launching into a fast paced tune. By the time the drunken jig was done, Terrence and Taylin were laughing helplessly, holding their sides. Even Mureln had trouble keeping his fingers on the strings of his instrument because he laughed so hard. Radisen shook his head, unable to repress a grin. Neither Storm nor Ash smiled outwardly, though they seemed entertained.
As the two mercenaries flopped down, panting heavily, Emil pointed out cheerfully, "Yer turn!"
Storm inclined her head in acknowledgment, and began removing her many weapon belts, setting them aside ritually. Shedding her robe and other outer clothing, only the one shouldered half top and her loincloth remained. Taking her twin single-edged blades, she padded barefoot over towards the clear space apart from the others.
Everyone fell silent, staring at the young Desanti woman. The difference between her and other Desanti women was grimly striking. Nothing about Storm was soft, skin taut over corded muscle, lined with scars both new and old that spoke of a hard, unforgiving life. Each move she made had purpose, sinuous like the stalking of a great hunting cat.
Mureln jumped slightly when Taylin elbowed him out of his paralysis. He coughed, turning slightly red, and strummed the mandolin. Though the tune was simple, there was a haunting bittersweet quality to it as Storm began to dance one of the Desanti story dances.
Radisen started to try to explain the meaning of the dance as Storm performed it, about a warrior fighting to protect the woman he loved, and fell silent, staring in awe. It was like watching a sword battle in slow motion, the fire light glinting off the blades. The rhythmic motions were sensual without being erotic. By the time she finished, all eyes were fixed unblinkingly on her.
"I dinna know anyone could move like that..." Emil sighed blissfully. "I think I be in love." Emaris snorted, elbowing his friend hard. "Hey!"
Storm only smiled as she returned to dress and arm herself again. Quietly, while the others traded more songs, she slipped away from the group, disappearing into the depths of the ca
verns again.
"Hey, where is Storm?" Taylin wondered, frowning a bit.
Radisen dismissed their concerns. "She will return in time. Swordanzen are solitary by nature and necessity." Accepting the explanation, the others returned to sharing songs. Radisen was the only one to notice the mage disappeared soon after, smiling in satisfaction.
Chapter 41
AFTER having gone down several wrong corridors, Ash finally located Storm in a remote chamber of the catacomb of caverns, meditating on a large, flat rock, hands on her knees, eyes closed. He sat next to her without a word, just watching her thoughtfully in the glow of the small ball of magelight hovering overhead.
Her eyes remained shut, though the tension in her features eased slightly. "Your woman is going to squawk if she discovers you are purposefully seeking me out," Storm stated blandly.
Ash scowled. "She is not ‘my woman.’ She is only my student."
Opening her eyes, Storm cast a skeptical look at the man. "She would disagree." Ash grunted his opinion. Storm merely shrugged. "As you wish it."
"Why have you not paired with Radisen?" Ash asked bluntly, watching her profile. "He seems like a fine warrior. And he certainly seems to care about you."
"I am Githalin Swordanzen."
"So?"
Her lips curved into a smile. "I had heard stories of Northerner mating habits. Complex rituals of courtship and lifelong vows of love." She smirked. "We have idealistic stories of such things, but my people do not have time for these luxuries."
Ash frowned. "Luxuries?"
Green-gold eyes opened to regard Ash in silence before she spoke. "Desanti have no time for love as you Northerners talk of it. We must bear as many children as we can, and we need our children to be born strong so they may survive, so we choose our mates by their breeding potential, not for love. Parents often die before they see their children grown, so they are raised by the tribe together."
The mage considered. "You do not have orphans?" he stated more than asked, a vague hint of envy in his voice.
"We do not have a word that has the same meaning as your northern 'orphan.' We do have a word for children left without a tribe." She paused. "Cursed."
Ash blinked in surprise, envy fading. "That seems... extreme."
"When no one knows what caused a tribe to die, it is assumed that it was a disease that the children may still carry. Or that bad spirits follow them." She looked away with a pained expression. "They are left to die to keep their curse from infecting other tribes. It is not done lightly."
Ash fell silent, studying her again. He frowned as he noted the numbers of scars, new and old. "You push yourself too hard. You should allow yourself to heal before you—"
"A Swordanzen must answer all challenges when they are made, no matter their condition, mage. That is our way." Storm regarded him. "Swordanzen belong to all tribes and to none. Why have I not paired with Radisen? Would that I could survive all of the inevitable challenges and bear a child, my child would be cursed as I was because I would be dead long before they became an adult. I have no tribe who could claim it. And I told you once before. A Githalin Swordanzen cannot become Tyluri. I will be Githalin until death."
Ash was silent for a time. "He trained as a Swordanzen." She simply nodded. "Yet he still tried to win you? Knowing this?"
"Githalin Swordanzen are very rare. Sometimes the Totani do not choose one for generations at a time. My people are not aware it is permanent. Given many Swordanzen never live long enough to be able to choose otherwise, it is not something I have bothered sharing with others." She sighed softly. "My grandfather Elder Verris was desperate to try to restore the tribe through me. Swordanzen usually do not live more than five summers from their Naming." Before he could ask, she said, "I have survived nearly six summers."
The silence between them lengthened until Storm finally spoke again. "What of you and your wo- your student? She seems as possessive as a harpy vulture over a fresh corpse."
Ash shrugged. "The Edai Tredecima could not force a marriage contract on me when I became an acknowledged master. But they could assign me students. Her family had enough influence to get her assigned to me. She has been trying to convince me to marry her so her family can claim control of me because I was lowborn."
It was Storm’s turn to frown. "Barbaric." Ash could not help but smile at a Desanti calling Forentan customs barbaric. She tilted her head, leaning forward to look at him curiously. "I have never seen you smile before."
The mage considered his reply, and then shrugged. "I should not have intruded upon your meditations." Beginning to rise, he paused at her hand resting on his forearm.
"Why?" she asked, eyes intent on him. "Our people are mortal enemies. You say your oath to Almek bound you to protect me. I can understand that. I was willing to die to save the rest of you. And you were willing to die to keep me from death. But it does not bind you to show me kindness." When he remained silent, face turned away from her, her hand tightened slightly. "Tell me!"
"I do not know why," he confessed. "There is no logical reason that drives me."
"Logic?" Storm shook her head. "There is no logic where the heart is concerned, treewalker." The word was more affectionate than an epithet on her lips this time. "And I know you are not heartless."
"What is it your heart tells you, Swordanzen?" he asked to divert attention from himself, discomfited.
Storm took her hand from his arm, resuming her meditative posture. "What my heart tells me is irrelevant. I will not live long enough for it to matter." He opened his mouth to speak. "You should return. Your harpy vulture will wake up soon." Ash grimaced at the thought and left without another word.
Chapter 42
THE wind storm raged for two days, and only seemed to be growing stronger. Almek's subdued students went about their lessons or personal training routines. Storm, who stood near the entrance to the cavern, watched the blowing sand deep in thought.
During the morning of the third day, the bard was making breakfast. He studied the Swordanzen after serving the others. He could not remember seeing her eat once since they took shelter, so he decided to remedy that and prepared a plate.
Mureln sat next to Storm, offering the food to her. Frowning when she shook her head slightly in refusal, he let his concern show in his soft voice. "Storm, you have to eat." She did not look at him, polishing her two-edged blade in silence. "When is the last time you have eaten?"
"A sevenday ago," she replied simply.
"Storm!" the bard scolded, drawing eyes to the pair. She narrowed her eyes and dug her fingernails into his leg where the others could not see. "Ow!" he hissed. She released him almost immediately, not intending the strike to be more than momentary. "Damn it, Storm, what was that for?"
"I know what Lord Almek seeks, even if he does not." Storm gazed out at the tempest with a fierce intensity that startled the bard. "I know what I must do. I must break my vows and bring outlanders before my people's ancient god, the Heart of Desantiva." She eyed the edge of the blade. "To honor Him, His suffering must be my suffering." She added, "Right or wrong, the laws are absolute. I will be punished for it."
"Storm," he said in sympathy, worry in his eyes.
"For as long as Desantiva has existed, the Heart of Desantiva has suffered as His children have suffered. I would do anything to ease His pain. Anything. All I can do is share it." She looked up as the ground started shaking, the only one not looking alarmed. "He is fully awake now. It is time."
Mureln rose quickly, putting a hand under her elbow inconspicuously to keep her from stumbling. She smiled faintly at him, appreciating both the assistance and his effort to protect her pride.
"Lord Almek." Storm approached the wall of sand still blowing violently across the cavern entrance. The others looked bewildered and alarmed between the earthquake and Storm's odd behavior. She paused before the archway leading outside and looked back. "The drizar will watch over the others. It is time for us to depart this place for th
e Rumblelands. Home of the Heart of Desantiva. He is expecting us."
Turning forward, she waved her hand in a wide arc, and the sand parted like a curtain, a dim red glow lighting the way. An unearthly bellow split the air, the ground shaking in echo. The others hesitated to follow, but when the ground seemed to buck under their feet, they hurried to catch up to her.
A wall of blinding heat blasted the travelers as they emerged onto volcanic plains. Red, glowing rivers of molten rock lined the dark volcanic landscape like lines in shattered glass. Jagged ridges only added to the appearance of the land having been torn apart. Storm gazed across the land, her eyes infinitely sad.
As Mureln stepped foot onto the coarse, blood red volcanic rock, he faltered a step as a wave of fierce pain threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes as he focused to suppress the pain once more, much as Almek did. He heard the healer's whimper of pain and the bard immediately went to her, putting his arms around her to augment the block he'd created for her in First Home.
Radisen staggered, putting his hands to his head and falling to his knees in agony as he choked back a cry of agony. Emil and Emaris went to the man, trying to determine what took him down. "What happened, man?" Emil asked, Emaris putting a hand to his sword and scanning for the source of an attack. Emil looked up at Almek. "We don’t be seein’ no injuries an’ no attackers, Guardian."
Mureln grimaced, his own eyes narrowed. "It is the Psia Re." He put his hand on the Desanti man’s shoulder for a moment. Radisen sagged at the abrupt relief. "The ancestral pain. All those of Desanti blood—or healer sensitives—feel it. Have ever since the lands were sundered." He managed a weak smile as Radisen put a grateful hand on Mureln’s wrist as the pain diminished, lurching to his feet again.
"I have never known it to be so strong." Almek narrowed his eyes as he suppressed the Psia Re.
The bard said soberly, "Because we have been wrong all these years believing that the Psia Re was only an echo from long ago." He shook his head, grimacing a bit. "It is no mere echo."
