“I shall,” nodded Lyra as she rose. “When shall we meet again?”
“Much depends upon tomorrow’s council meeting,” pondered the First Minister. “If a new Katana is chosen, my schedule will be quite busy for the next fortnight or so. I will post a message as I have done in the past.”
“That will be fine,” agreed Lyra. “If you can get that report on the disease, post it as well. I will have someone pick it up.”
“I will do that before the sun sets today,” offered Larst as he reached the front door of the farmhouse.
The Star of Sakova watched as Larst mounted, and the Imperial Guards escorted him towards the road to Okata. As soon as the Omungans reached the road, two figures stepped out of the shadows near the barn. The two women hurried towards Lyra.
“How did it go?” asked SkyDancer. “It was a short meeting.”
“It did not need to be long,” smiled Lyra. “Larst is truly interested in peace. They may choose a new Katana tomorrow. I hope Larst is the one chosen. He will lead Omunga towards peace with Sakova.”
“The Imperial Guards were very upset with Larst for leaving them outside,” interjected StormSong. “They suspected a Sakovan ambush inside the farmhouse. The fools do not understand the power of our Star. You could have wiped out their entire squad without effort.”
“I prefer not to think in those terms,” frowned Lyra. “We must learn to look at things differently if we are to have peace with the Omungans. We must not always think in terms of defeating them.”
“That is just how StormSong evaluates everything,” chuckled SkyDancer. “To her, all of life is a battle.”
“Well that must change,” Lyra said sternly. “Peace requires many adjustments, and that includes our attitudes towards the Omungans. We must not think of them as adversaries any longer.”
“I want to see true peace before I let my guard down,” retorted StormSong. “We have never been able to trust the Omungans before. Why should this time be any different?”
“Because I want it to be,” sighed Lyra. “Go get our chokas. We will discuss your attitude on the ride back to StarCity.”
* * *
The First Minister of Omunga returned to his office in the Imperial Palace in Okata. His mood was jubilant as he reviewed the papers on his desk. Several other ministers had mentioned that they felt that he was to be nominated at the meeting in the morning. Larst found the thought of becoming the Holy Katana exciting. He would be in a position to truly affect change in the country, and one of the first things he would do would be to sign a peace treaty with the Sakovans. A knock on the door interrupted Larst’s musings.
“I am glad to find you here,” smiled Karnic as he entered the office. “I was looking for you all morning.”
“I had other things to attend to,” frowned the First Minister. “You have enjoyed a close relationship with me for months, Karnic. I have never let anyone know as much about me as I have told you.”
“Well,” smiled Karnic, “I must know all about you if I am to write an accurate history of your rule. I have heard that you will be chosen as Katana tomorrow. This is a big moment in your life. Why are you not celebrating?”
“Because I have to wonder who you are,” Larst replied bluntly. “I sent Imperial Guards to Zaramilden to inquire about you. Nobody has ever heard of you. How can that be?”
“Zaramilden?” echoed Karnic. “Why would you send anyone there to ask about me?”
“That is where you said you were from,” frowned Larst. “I do not like being lied to. What exactly are you up to?”
“I am a historian,” shrugged Karnic. “I told you this months ago. I fully intend to write your life story to preserve it for future generations. I am not surprised that no one in Zaramilden remembers me. I said I was born there, but that is not where I grew up. My family moved to Duran when I was but a babe.”
“Duran?” questioned the First Minister. “Why didn’t you explain that to me earlier? You led me to believe that you were from Zaramilden.”
“I never thought that I would be the topic of discussion,” shrugged Karnic. “I am merely a historian here to write about you. My life is insignificant in the scheme of things. If it will make you feel any better, please send the Imperial Guards to Duran and have them ask about me. I assure you that I am quite well known there.”
“Very well,” sighed Larst, as he appeared to dismiss the issue. “You do understand why I must verify your story. You have had unprecedented access to the First Minister of Omunga. While you have done nothing unusual for a historian, I have an obligation to make sure that you are who you say you are.”
“Absolutely,” Karnic nodded vigorously. “You would be remiss if you did not verify my credentials. Besides, now that I know about your investigation, I look forward to you receiving the report about me. While you have been very gracious to let me pry into your life, I am eager for you to understand that I am perhaps the most respected historian in the country. I have done histories for every major family in eastern Omunga. I am quite proud of my work.”
“Well,” smiled Larst, “you certainly do ask enough questions to accurately record a person’s life. Where did you hear about my potential nomination to become Katana?”
“Everyone in the palace is whispering about it,” grinned Karnic. “This search for a new Katana has been exhaustive. When you are chosen as the next leader of Omunga, you will be rightfully proud that you were chosen because you are the most qualified person in the country. That is something to be very pleased about.”
“I only seek to do the best that I can for Omunga,” Larst replied with a touch of embarrassment. “If I am chosen, I will devote my life to making Omunga a better place to live.”
“I have no doubt that you will succeed as Katana as you have succeeded in everything else you have done,” Karnic smiled politely. “I understand that the Katana is surrounded with special magical shields to protect him from assassins. When does that actually take place? And will I be permitted to record your comments during the process?”
“You are assuming a great deal,” countered Larst. “I have not been chosen yet.”
“Assuming that you are,” conceded Karnic.
“The use of magical shields to guard the Katana is well known,” replied Larst, “but the actual composition of the shields is a very closely guarded secret. I doubt that the Monitors will allow you to observe the procedure.”
“Well, a doubt can be overcome,” Karnic responded with optimism. “When does it occur? Is it right after the selection process?”
“Oh yes,” nodded Larst. “It is the first thing done to a new Katana. The Monitors take their task of protecting the Katana very seriously. The shields will be applied within minutes of the selection.”
“And that is likely to occur tomorrow morning?” mused Karnic. “Even if it is not you, it will be tomorrow that the decision is made. Isn’t that right?”
“That is the purpose of tomorrow’s meeting,” Larst nodded as his mind began to drift towards the meeting that would occur in the morning.
The room was silent for several moments as Larst thought about the upcoming meeting and the possibility of being chosen as the next Katana. Karnic walked over to the wall covered with bookshelves. He perused the numerous volumes that had been collected by First Ministers over the ages. He stopped and gazed at a particularly old volume. Its title suggested that it dealt with the genealogies of the early Omungans.
“Have you read all of these books?” Karnic asked, breaking the silence of the room.
“No,” the First Minister shook his head. “I have little time these days for reading. Why do you ask?”
“There are some valuable books in your collection,” responded Karnic. “A few of these are ancient.”
“They are the collection of the First Minister,” shrugged Larst. “I presume that they have been collected over the generations by every First Minister since the founding of Omunga. Their value is of no import. They
will never be sold. They will remain here for the next First Minister.”
“As it should be,” nodded Karnic. “Still, they must be very interesting to read, like this old tome about the origins of the Sakovans.”
“The origin of the Sakovans?” echoed Larst. “I don’t remember seeing that one. It would be interesting to read. There is so little that we truly know about our neighbors.”
“It doesn’t look like it has ever been read,” Karnic commented as the First Minister started towards the bookshelves. “It must be as old as Omunga.”
“Then it would be a treasure indeed,” Larst said excitedly as he moved in front of Karnic and bent down to search the shelf. “Which one is it?”
Karnic’s hands shot out and grasped both shoulders of the First Minister. Excruciating pain shot through Larst as he gasped for breath.
“What are you doing?” he croaked weakly. “You are hurting me.”
“Not for long,” Karnic said softly with a smirk on his face. “I cannot allow you to receive those shields tomorrow. They would make it impossible for me to assume your body. Thank you for telling me the story of your life, Larst. No one will ever doubt that I am really you.”
The First Minister’s body stiffened, and Karnic’s body disappeared in a puff of smoke. Karnic’s clothes floated to the floor and landed in a heap. The new Larst grabbed the bookshelf and eased his body erect. He stretched cautiously as the feeling of his new body took hold of him.
For several minutes, Larst stood still, holding the bookshelf for support. Finally, he smiled and stretched with excitement. The First Minister bent down and scooped up the old clothes of the historian. He walked to the fireplace and threw the garments into the fire. He strode to the desk and sat in the luxurious leather chair and reviewed the papers on the desk. He knew when new guards would relieve the Imperial Guards outside the room. Until then he had to remain in the office so that no one would notice that Karnic had never left the room.
Chapter 2
The Weapon Called Food
Mistake gazed at the enormous canyon as she rode along its western rim. She felt her body shudder involuntarily as she rode close to the edge and tried to peer into its depths to see the bottom. She shook her head in awe.
“It is called the Wound of Kaltara,” HawkShadow declared. “God created it when he lost faith in the Sakovans.”
“Impossible,” Mistake said softly as she looked at the enormous gash in the surface of the planet. “It must be over a league to the other rim. Is that a river at the bottom?”
“The Kaltara River,” nodded HawkShadow. “The Wound of Kaltara is over a league wide and half a league deep. It runs for many leagues in each direction.”
“How do you cross it?” asked Mistake. “The walls are vertical cliffs. Surely these birds cannot fly across it?” she added, as her eyes fell to the choka she was riding.
“Certainly not,” chuckled HawkShadow. “Chokas are war birds. They do not fly at all. The fact is,” he continued, “you can’t cross it. It is an impenetrable barrier between the Sakova and that portion of Omunga to our east.”
StarWind snapped her fingers to get HawkShadow’s attention. Her fingers moved rapidly in a signaling fashion and the Sakovan assassin nodded.
“It is MistyTrail,” HawkShadow said softly. “She has been observing us for some time now.”
“Are you sure?” asked StarWind as Mistake turned her attention away from the majestic canyon. “Why haven’t we introduced Mistake to her yet?”
“I wanted to observe her technique for a while before we met,” shrugged HawkShadow. “It is not often that I get the chance to be an intruder in the Sakova. She has done remarkably well.”
“MistyTrail has been watching us?” Mistake asked nervously as she reached into her pack for the carozit. “You should have told me,” she frowned as she wondered what kind of impression she had made gawking at the canyon.
The carozit, a magical artifact, was given to Mistake by the Sage of the Mountain in Fakara. It was a simple polished stick with two metal balls attached to one end with strings. The magic affected the balls when the carozit was turned upside down. Instead of clanging together by the force of gravity, the balls would hang in the air to display the relative distance to your nearest relative. The Sage had given it to Mistake when she had told him of her search for her family.
Mistake turned the carozit upside down. The balls clanged together, and Mistake’s mouth fell open in awe.
“It is her!” shouted Mistake as HawkShadow and StarWind turned and stared at the carozit.
“She must be my sister,” Mistake continued excitedly. “I want to meet her now. Take me to her.”
HawkShadow nodded in amazement. He immediately turned to the west and headed for the forest. StarWind and Mistake followed him. HawkShadow led them into the forest until he found a suitable clearing. He dismounted and immediately moved towards Mistake to help her off the choka.
“I don’t need help getting down,” Mistake scowled as she slid to the ground.
“Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment,” warned HawkShadow. “The choka is not yet used to you. He can shred your skin swifter than an army of knives. Those talons are sharper than any blade.”
Mistake ignored HawkShadow and peered into the woods. She turned in a complete circle. Her face clouded over with concern when she did not see anyone.
“Why have we stopped here?” questioned Mistake. “MistyTrail is not here. Please take me to her.”
“Patience, little one,” smiled HawkShadow. “She will be here shortly. She must make sure that this is not a trap.”
“But surely she knows you and StarWind?” frowned Mistake. “Why would she think that you would trap her?”
“She does not know you,” StarWind pointed out. “MistyTrail knows what the procedures are for incursions into the Sakova. She takes her obligations seriously. Have patience, Mistake.”
Mistake pouted as she fiddled with her short brown hair. She straightened her clothes and brushed off the trail dust as her eyes continually scanned the forest around them.
Several minutes later, Mistake saw a brown blur dash from one tree to another not far outside the clearing. A knife reflexively slid into her hand from its arm sheath. She concentrated on the tree where she had last seen the movement, but she could see nothing.
“Tayo, HawkShadow and StarWind,” said a soft voice from behind Mistake. “Who is this with you?”
Mistake twirled and gaped at the diminutive Sakovan who had snuck into the clearing from the opposite direction. She was dressed entirely in brown and was short like Mistake. She had the same short brown hair and was holding a knife in her hand. Mistake’s eyes rose and peered at MistyTrail’s pointed ears. She locked eyes with the small Sakovan, and for several long minutes the clearing was silent.
“I thought they looked alike,” HawkShadow finally said, “but to see them both at the same time is remarkable. There can be no doubt that they are sisters. They might even be twins.”
“I agree,” StarWind nodded as she stared at the two small women.
“Will someone tell me what is going on?” demanded MistyTrail. “Is this some kind of a joke, HawkShadow? Because if it is, I am not laughing.”
“It is no joke, little one,” chuckled HawkShadow. “Put away your knives. Misty, this is Mistake. She is from Fakara and is a special friend of Lord Marak’s. Did no one tell you that we were bringing her with us?”
“I did hear that you were bringing in an outsider,” admitted MistyTrail, “but nothing more was said of it. Why is she coming to the Sakova?”
“To talk to you,” interjected StarWind. “She thinks you are her sister.”
“Sister?” croaked MistyTrail. “That cannot be. I have no family.”
“You do now,” grinned Mistake as she dropped her knife and ran across the clearing.
MistyTrail gaped in confusion as Mistake charged towards her. MistyTrail’s hand holding the knife rose inst
inctively. StarWind gasped as she realized what was about to happen. Suddenly, HawkShadow’s foot swung up and kicked the knife from MistyTrail’s hand. MistyTrail uttered a cry of surprise as her knife went flying, and Mistake collided with her. Mistake wrapped her arms around MistyTrail and hugged her tightly.
MistyTrail looked to HawkShadow with confusion on her face, but the Sakovan assassin merely grinned back at her and nodded. MistyTrail embarrassingly wrapped her arms around Mistake, but she still did not believe that the stranger was her sister. The embrace lasted for several minutes. HawkShadow and StarWind moved away from the sisters to tend to the chokas. Eventually, Mistake broke the embrace and pushed MistyTrail to arm’s length. She stared into Mistake’s eyes.
“I know this is probably hard for you to understand,” she said, “but I have been looking for you all of my life.”
“But how can you be my sister?” asked MistyTrail. “My family died at sea. Any Sakovan can tell you that.”
“I know,” smiled Mistake. “You were rescued from the sea in the Year of the Storm. So was I.”
“You were?” MistyTrail gasped with hope in her eyes. “Why weren’t you rescued by the Sakovans as I was?”
“I was rescued by a Fakaran fisherman,” explained Mistake.
“Fakara?” frowned MistyTrail. “But that is so far away from here. How could it be from the same boat?”
“Fakara is not that far by water,” shrugged Mistake. “Only if you travel by land is it so far away. Besides, I have a magical carozit that can prove that you are my family. It was given to me by the Sage of the Mountain in Fakara.”
“Show it to me,” demanded MistyTrail.
Mistake took the carozit from her pack and showed it to MistyTrail. She told of her trip to the Sage of the Mountain and how the carozit proved that Rejji and Bakhai were brothers. The sisters spoke for a long time before HawkShadow interrupted.
Island of Darkness Page 2
