The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  Sidero maneuvered his flight into the path of the wagon train, causing Bita to call for a halt as he saw the dragon coming in to land. The dragon set down and Vonedil scrambled down as fast as his old bones would let him. Bita pulled alongside a moment later.

  “Problems?” asked the dwarf.

  “Dar,” the dragon said. “Send fast horses down the line and call for a halt. Secure the camp. She should ignore the army as long as I’m a threat, but she’s fickle and may choose to decimate our people if she can get past me. If I fall, you know what to do.”

  The iron dragon flung himself into the air without waiting for a reply. Dar trumpeted as she saw her brother approach, and Sidero roared out a challenge of his own. He poured on the speed to close the miles-wide gap in moments. Dar’s teeth dripped fresh blood and her eyes radiated malice, but Sidero saw fear reflected there as well. Fear of what? Death? Sidero doubted that was the case.

  Dar furled her wings as he came near, dropping like an arrow beneath his belly. He pulled up in expectation of an attack from the rear and was surprised to look back and see her darting toward the ground.

  Straight for his army.

  He cursed his gullibility, realizing Sane must have ordered Dar to lure him away and pull his protective presence from the army. He turned to chase her, knowing the chances of catching her were almost nil. His smaller wingspan didn’t allow for the velocities his siblings could manage, but he had one advantage they didn’t.

  He focused on her receding back and reached deep within to call up his unique ability. All dragons are born with some type of innate, elemental magic—Sidero the ability to manipulate gravity. Most often he used it to make himself lighter when flying over long distances, but this time he focused it on his sister in an effort to slow her progress. The effect was immediate. Dar’s airspeed dropped in half and she lost altitude as her body mass doubled. She flapped harder to try and compensate, but her wings were too small. Sidero gained rapidly.

  Before he could catch up, Dar spread her wings wide to gain all the altitude she could. Then she turned in the air and used Sidero’s force to slingshot her way back toward him. Surprised by the move, Sidero barely thought to reverse his magic before she was on top of him. He sent bands of his power out to wrap around her, locking her in place midair.

  “What’s wrong, brother?” Dar sneered. “Don’t you want to share your toys with your sister?”

  “Stop playing games, Dar. You’re here for me, so let’s get to it. We’ve known this day would come for centuries, so let’s not delay it any longer.”

  “Oh that’s where you’re wrong, dear brother,” Dar said, “our time’s not yet, but soon. I’ve come to let you in on a family secret, but you’ll have to catch me to learn the answer.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Dar,” Sidero said. “I can hold you indefinitely.”

  “Wrong again, brother.”

  Sidero cried out and dropped like a stone as his body was racked with excruciating pain. He tried to keep his power focused on Dar, but it was all he could do to shift it to himself in an attempt to break his own fall. Then the pain was gone. He pulled himself up short of the ground and shook his head to clear it. He wheeled around looking for Dar but she was already far away, flapping hard and heading toward a distant hillside where a tall figure stood wearing black armor.

  Sane.

  Light seemed to warp around the daemoness, sucked into a dread looking sword she held overhead. Sidero made for the hill, knowing a confrontation with an Azur, even a fallen one, meant certain death, but he couldn’t let Dar get away.

  He saw Sane point the cruel sword at him and his senses were flooded with agony again. More intense than before, he had no hope of staying aloft. His wings folded like paper and he plummeted to the ground. He thought he heard his sister laugh just before he hit. His breath was knocked out. Grass and dirt flew high in the air from the crater he made in the prairie soil.

  Relatively uninjured, his wing membranes were torn and damaged enough he could never catch Dar, even with the use of his powers. Then suddenly Dar was there hovering overhead. Sane bestrode his sister like a queen of darkness, her evil weapon draining light and color from the air.

  “Our family is going to war, brother,” Dar taunted. “Come join us if you dare.”

  Sane pointed her sword at Sidero and he was rocked by another blast of anguish. He writhed and thrashed uncontrollably until his vision started to close in. The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was Dar pleading with him in their private language.

  “Save me.”

  45

  The Shrine

  Stile walked the gardens after the noon meal as he had every day since his audience with the High Keeper. Revelations from that meeting still echoed in his mind. His act of mercy had plunged him into affairs far beyond himself, affairs he would have never chosen. Had he known what was in store when he accepted the ambassador’s commission, he would have refused.

  But he couldn’t regret the decision, especially in light of the feelings he’d been having for a certain blue-skinned woman.

  Stile saw to his men each morning, ensuring both his ship and general order were properly maintained. He addressed crew concerns with his officers at breakfast each morning, then left the Sunset’s Trace in their capable hands until evening. He spent the nights aboard ship in his own cabin, even though he and his men had been offered rooms within the Shrine. His crew was a good one, but he doubted the wisdom of turning the lot of them loose on a sanctuary filled with so many women. He’d ordered Cyril to set up shore leave on a rotation of ten men at a time, but few had took advantage of the opportunity once they discovered there was no tavern available for drinking and gambling.

  All the more reason to keep his men separate.

  Stile had momentarily considered taking the offer of a soft bed for himself, but felt it would give the crew the wrong impression. He’d always been clear in his role as captain, but had never put on airs of superiority. To suddenly set himself apart from the crew would do nothing but sow ill will. Besides, he needed the time aboard ship to try and clear the confusion caused by the woman he knew he’d find sitting in the garden.

  He rounded the final bend on the garden path and came upon a now familiar scene. Y’neth sat on the ledge of her favorite pool, the sword named Mesha balanced across her knees. She held her hands at her side as if afraid to touch the thing, like it was a serpent poised to strike if she dared to move.

  A jungle kitten she’d named Mas played unheeded at her feet. Scion of the High Keeper’s own cat, the little one had claimed Y’neth as his own. He needled her bare toes in a bid for her attention. When he saw the captain, he plopped down on her feet to clearly declare her his property.

  He let out a loud sigh without meaning to, causing Y’neth to look up and finally notice his presence. “My captain,” she smiled, “you’ve come to keep me company in my misery.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he blushed. “Makes it sound like you own me.”

  “Ah,” she said, “consider my view. It’s a rare thing for one of my kind to sail aboard ship. Is it any wonder I feel a bit possessive? Didn’t the ambassador assign you to serve me and my needs when you accepted her commission?”

  “A commission I’ve completed,” Stile said. “I’m free to leave any time.”

  Y’neth looked him in the eye. “Then why do you stay?”

  Her words cut right to his heart, and he blushed again. He turned his back on her rather than let her see the turmoil on his face. He wanted to tell her how he felt, how he felt about her, but then he remembered Karah’s admonition.

  “I’m sorry,” her voice was soft, “I don’t mean to cause you discomfort. I know the conflict raging inside you. I know you fight against the feelings you’ve developed for me, because I share them. They’re similar to how I feel about this sword. Every part of me screams there’s been a mistake, some sort of cosmic error. I’m not the one who should w
ield this thing the High Keeper’s thrust upon me.

  “And yet, a small, insistent voice assures me everything’s the way it should be. That voice brings me peace. The turmoil is calmed when I surrender myself to the very destiny I feel I’m usurping.”

  Stile felt a feeling of relief wash over him at her words. “What does this voice say about us? I could use a bit of calm. I feel like my ship’s adrift in a storm, and nothing I can do will save her.”

  Y’neth looked down at the sword laying across her knees. She picked it up, cradling it the blade in her hands. “This sword is a tangible instrument of Onúl’s will. It’s a product of love’s triumph over adversity. Xigara himself, though conceived in rage and pain and fear, was born against all odds into love. His mother refused to abandon or reject the son she’d never asked for, even when she became an outcast for his sake. Her love gave him life.

  “A man who was not his father took them in, gave them a home, and made them a family. He loved Xigara and nurtured his genius. When society said to shun the boy and his mother, love found root in a community who accepted them as their own. The love of Onúl flowing through those people taught Xigara how to love Onúl in return.”

  Y’neth lifted Mesha toward Stile. “Later, grief and loss drove him to this, his greatest work. We live in a time where this product of love, this culmination of his life, must be wielded against the same hatred that once sought to destroy him and his mother so long ago.”

  “The voice told you all that?” Stile asked. “It’s beautiful, but what does it all have to do with us?”

  Y’neth gave Stile a twisted grin. “Because, my captain, I believe our meeting was no accident. We’ve been caught up and made part of a greater story. I’ve come to believe that the same love active back then is still active today, and it will demolish all the barriers between us if we choose to allow it to flourish.”

  “But no human and tann have ever joined together in all of history,” Stile balked. “How could it be we were meant to be together?”

  “Who can say?” shrugged Y’neth. “What does history matter? Before Xigara’s mother, no elf had ever married a human, yet their relationship was beautiful and fruitful. There’s no prohibition in the teachings of Onúl, in fact it seems that if the races not fallen away from Him and estranged themselves from each other our kinds might have intermingled freely, building strength upon strength.”

  “Your people will never accept it,” Stile stated flatly.

  “I care not one whit for my people’s vaunted self-righteousness,” Y’neth’s nose curled up. “There are those who would condemn such a union as impure, a blight on the history and traditions of the tann, but I care not. Ignorance and bigotry forced the races apart. My people think of themselves as a higher order of creation, which is a lie straight from the Deceiver himself and has no bearing on what is or is not morally acceptable. Cultures change, but truth does not.”

  “Truth,” Stile snorted. “Happy is the man who finds it.”

  “Listen to me and I will speak a truth.” Y’neth stood and stepped toward Stile. She came within inches of his face and looked him in the eye, nearly forcing him to take a step backwards. “Though I don’t understand how or why, I’ve come to love you, my captain. I mean to have you for my own.

  “Onúl have mercy on anyone who gets in my way.”

  46

  The Jungle of Da’agah

  Doulos needed several days of recuperation after his restoration of the Barrhas ward, but once he recovered, he led the newly formed company of adventurers out of the mountains and down into the tangled Jungle of Da’agah. The air grew heavy and sticky as the altitude dropped rapidly, far lower than the elevation on the mountains’ western side. Scores of rivers flowed down the continental divide, and Doulos led them alongside one of them, planning to follow it until it was joined by another tributary. Those two rivers combined to form the mighty Zohar, widest river on the continent, and it was at that juncture they would find the Shrine.

  The temple sanctuary was no secret, but few ever journeyed there. The surrounding jungle was arguably the most naturally dangerous place in the world.

  The company had been outfitted with light elven garments made specifically for jungle travel. Tenna thanked Onúl several times over for her knee-high boots. She’d spied a multitude of creatures creeping along the jungle floor. Each member of the group carried a pack of staple foods and various supplies, including tents to protect them from some of the more venomous creatures during the night, and vials of anti-venom should their precautions fail.

  Duras led the way as they walked single file, using a heavy blade to cut a swath through the wilderness. There were no roads to the Shrine, and so he worked tirelessly to open the way through the jungle, but progress was slow. They ended their first day in the wild and set up camp just before dark in a small clearing.

  Tenna was given a tent to herself, while her father shared with Doulos, and the elf and dwarf shared the third. Once the tents were up, they sat around a fire waiting for a soup of dried beans and peas. They kept the flame small, large enough to heat the soup, but small enough to limit adding to the sweltering jungle heat.

  Tenna sat near Katalas and Duras, enjoying their good-natured banter. Their relationship seemed much like what she’d seen between Onahim and Cedsul. Such camaraderie was rare between the races in her experience, but it seemed commonplace within the Celadine community.

  Her father and Doulos sat across the fire comparing swords. It was clear the two had been crafted by the same hand, and without doubt belonged together despite their differences. The old mage instructed Zalas about Nephali’s attributes, reinforcing the fact that the swords would not harm mortal flesh, at least not in the regular sense.

  Interested, but unable to focus on the conversation, Tenna leaned back against a gnarled tree trunk. She closed her eyes and relived the events of the past few weeks in her mind, how her life had changed since fleeing Madhebah. The merchant’s daughter and courier girl had become a wanderer in the wilderness. How she’d survived so far was a wonder; how she’d continue to survive was unfathomable.

  “Don’t fall asleep in this jungle outside of your tent,” an intense voice said nearby. “You might find yourself serving as the meal for one of its inhabitants.”

  She opened her eyes to find Katalas had moved next to her. So silent were his movements she’d have never known he was there had he not spoken. She sat up straighter and tried to give him a smile.

  “You’re thinking about death aren’t you?” he asked. “You’ve come close a couple of times lately.”

  “I can’t get it out of my head,” Tenna confessed. “I just wish I could forget about it and move on.”

  “Move on, certainly, but don’t forget. Forgetting is the worst thing you could do. I’ve had many brushes with death, and each of them has made me both stronger and wiser.”

  “How?” Tenna asked. “I feel so unsure of myself now, and I’m no newcomer to danger.”

  “A near death experience can be a blessing,” Katalas said. “When you face death, when it comes so close it nearly catches you, take note. Make it part of your very being so that when you face it again you recognize it and it no longer surprises or scares you.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Tenna’s brow furrowed.

  “Here’s an example,” Katalas smiled. “Here we sit, calmly holding conversation with one another in one of the most dangerous places on Awia. How’s this possible? Two notions come to mind, either we’re aware of the danger and so always on guard, or we’re ignorant and disregard it to our folly. For me, I know it’s the former.”

  Tenna shook her head, “I don’t get it.”

  “Once,” Katalas went on, “when I was very young, I was sent on patrol into this very jungle. My comrades and I sat around a fire, speaking together much like you and I are now. I took a drink from my cup without looking and nearly swallowed some sort of insect. I spat the thing out to discover I’d ha
d a shard spider in my mouth.”

  “A shard spider?” Tenna asked. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “They’re the most poisonous creature in the jungle,” Katalas said. “Their bite means certain death, slow and agonizing, especially for elves. I learned that night to always check my cup before drinking. I’ll never be caught unaware again. It’s second nature now. I don’t think about it, I just do it out of habit—a habit formed by staring death in the face.”

  Tenna nodded, quietly pondering the elf’s words.

  Katalas laid a gentle hand on Tenna’s forearm. “Our journey’s just begun, and you’ll be given opportunities to face down death. See to it you learn from each instance. A day may come where you need to draw strength and wisdom from each of them in order to survive.”

  “I’ll take the watch tonight,” Doulos announced suddenly. “Let’s get to our tents. I want to be more than halfway to the Shrine by this time tomorrow.”

  “I’ll relieve you if you’ll wake me,” Katalas said.

  “No,” the mage shook his head, “I’ll take the whole night. I can go days without rest as long as I don’t use any magic. The rest of you can share the watch over the next two nights. My hope is we’ll reach the Shrine before our fourth day in this infernal jungle is over.”

  47

  The Bay of Kayliyl

  Chrysafi arrowed across the cold water of the Bay of Kayliyl, bringing nearly a week of flying across the continent from Nesos to a chilling end. His young passenger shivered as they flew north toward the Sea of Ice. Tander had been forced to add an extra layer of clothing each day, and he was all out of layers.

  The pair wiled away the hours aloft talking through Awia’s history, the dragon telling the boy about specific events leading up to their adventure. Tander surprised the dragon with his knowledge and insight, and Chrysafi was happy to find truth still to be found among humans. For his part, Tander was amazed each time he realized he was sitting astride a being who’d witnessed and played a part in the history he’d learned at Vonedil’s feet.