“Yes,” Sam answered. “That does seem pretty inconsistent.”
Dr. Walt explained about the wolves as he plodded through the jungle behind Rindu, walking stick swinging. The rakkeben were wolves, true, but not like the wolves back home. They were large. Very large. Their shoulders were approximately the height of a man’s head when he was standing erect. Proportionally, they were like wolves, however, so with their height also came greater mass all around than horses. A full-grown rakkeban weighed in the neighborhood of a thousand pounds. And, as with all wolves, they had sharp teeth and knew how to use them.
What really distinguished the creatures from the wolves on Telani, though, was their intelligence. They were wickedly smart and fiercely independent. They were not broken as horses were; they were negotiated with. The simple fact was that they could not be ridden unless they bonded with their rider. Once bonded, they were loyal to that person.
The bonding was a simple process. The rakkeben had some sense or ability to decide immediately if a person was suitable. If not, things could get dangerous very quickly. Though the rakkeben were carnivores and hunters, they were not generally violent. If not attacked or offended overmuch, a man could step away from the wolf with his life after being found unsuitable. But sometimes it was a near thing.
What the small party had to do was to enter the rakkeben territory. Then, Sam would have to find one that judged him as suitable for bonding. There was no ritual, no way Sam could manipulate the process. It was as simple placing of oneself in front of a rakkeban and hoping for the best.
Sam gulped nervously. “Will you three be with me or do I have to do this alone?” he asked.
Dr. Walt put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We will be in sight, but not too near. The rakkeben will not show themselves to a group, unless they feel a threat. If they feel a threat, they will attack a group, no matter how large. We don’t want that.”
The four walked through the forest silently for a time, choosing animal paths that made it easier to traverse the foliage. What seemed like a long time later, Dr. Walt brought the party to a halt. “Ok, Sam. This is the place. We are at the edge of the rakkeben’s territory.”
Sam was trembling. “What do I do?” he asked.
Dr. Walt, sympathy in his eyes, pointed toward a small clearing two hundred yards away. “Go to that clearing. They already know you are here. Wait for them.”
“Ok.” Sam drew himself up and took a deep breath, then started toward the clearing.
“Oh, and Sam…” Dr. Walt called out. “Don’t make any quick movements or anything that could be interpreted as aggressive.”
Sam walked through the high grass, dodging fallen logs and a large insect burrow. He was not too proud to admit that he was scared witless. With the way these creatures were described, they were frightening.
Maybe he was letting his imagination get carried away. He would try to think of something else and just see what the lupine creatures looked like when one appeared.
His thoughts drifted while he waited. He still could hardly believe all this was real. How was his mother holding up with him missing? How was his cat? Luckily the feline was not in the house when Sam transported to this world or his furry companion might have been food for some other creature by now. And what about Nalia and that mask of hers…
He heard a rustling a few feet away, in some of the denser vegetation. He froze, listening.
Nothing.
Suddenly, a large gray shape slunk out of the trees off to his right. He looked toward the others, still just visible where he had left them. It was reassuring to know they were there, but there was nothing any of them could do if this creature decided to eat him.
The rakkeban came into full view in the clearing. It was magnificent. Standing as tall as a horse, but much bulkier, and shaggier, it padded almost soundlessly toward Sam.
Though the creature looked like a monstrous wolf, with the same dimensions and mannerisms Sam had seen watching nature documentaries on wolves, it was also different. Those golden lupine eyes gleamed in the dim forest light, seeming to stare through Sam. To weigh him. To judge him.
More, though, those eyes showed intelligence. High intelligence. Perhaps that was the scariest thing of all. It wasn’t so much that this massive shaggy beast in front of him could snap his neck with one bite. It was that it could reason as well as Sam could and it could make decisions. Sam felt exposed, naked in the sight of this creature. He realized that Dr. Walt had not told him if he should be making eye contact with the animal. Some animals took that as a sign of aggression.
The rakkeban stopped a few feet from Sam, staring.
“Hello,” Sam was able to whisper. Barely.
The rakkeban didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. It just stared. Sam’s knees started shaking and he clenched his leg muscles, locking them up, to prevent it. There was no further movement by the wolf in front of him.
Then, the rakkeban shifted its gaze to behind Sam’s left shoulder. Turning his head slowly, Sam saw another of the creatures padding up to him. It also stopped a few feet away, staring with its golden eyes.
Soon, three more rakkeben had come up toward him. The five had him ringed in completely. He could feel the air warm each time one of the beasts exhaled. He could smell their breath, not unlike dog’s breath. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t foul either.
Sam looked back to Dr. Walt and the others, eyes imploring. He raised his hands slightly and shrugged, as if to ask: “What is going on?” One of the rakkeben growled, low in its throat, and Sam lowered his arms slowly. He just caught a glimpse of Dr. Walt, expression showing concern, shrug back. He didn’t know what was going on either. Great.
When he saw all the rakkeben turn their heads in the direction behind his right shoulder, Sam slowly turned his own head. There, just parting the vegetation and coming out of the trees, was the largest rakkeban of the group. Not only was it larger, but though all the others around him were different shades of gray or brown, this huge rakkeban was completely white.
The White padded softly through the clearing and stopped just a few feet from Sam. Sam turned to face the newcomer. Its shaggy head, topped by furry ears, with the large glowing yellow eyes and sharp muzzle, shook once, causing its ears to bounce, reminding Sam of pet dogs he had when he was young.
Awestruck, Sam muttered: “You are magnificent.” The sound of his voice startled even himself. He added, mentally, This has got to be the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, if not the most frightening.
Frightening, yes, Skitter’s sending echoed in Sam’s mind, but not the most beautiful. That would be me. It was sent with a nervous humor meant to help with Sam’s fear. Skitter was scared for his friend.
As the rakkeban stood staring at Sam, judging him, Sam’s mind raced. Should he make eye contact? Would that be a sign of aggression? What should he do? Why were they surrounding him like this?
Not being able to help himself, Sam’s eyes finally raised to meet the luminous orbs of the white rakkeban. In those eyes, Sam saw not only the intelligence he had seen in the others’ eyes, he saw compassion, sincerity, and a strict adherence to justice. He had no doubt that this rakkeban was the leader of the pack. And as its eyes drilled into Sam, he suddenly felt comfort, his fear melting away.
The White lifted its left paw, much like a dog wanting to shake hands. Sam understood. He lifted his right hand slowly toward the rakkeban leader. The wolf put its paw down and stepped forward. One step. Two steps. Then it was sniffing his hand, gently licking it. Shocked, Sam looked up again into the creature’s eyes and saw a question there.
Head dipping slightly, the white rakkeban allowed Sam to run his fingers through the thick fur on the top of its head. With that motion, the other rakkeben slowly melted into the forest without a sound. Soon, only he and the white rakkeban were in the clearing.
With a look from the White and a slight motion of the head toward the where Dr. Walt and the others waited, it let Sam know it
was all right for his friends to join him now. Sam, it seemed, had found another friend in this foreign land.
18
Ix gathered her favorite weapons, strapping them into place in their respective positions. She also packed her backpack. It was specially designed to fit perfectly on her back. It could be secured firmly, but did not interfere with any motion she may have to make. Running, sliding under objects, rolling, all of these were possible with her backpack full of her tools and provisions.
She had designed it herself, having the best tailor and leatherworker she could find work on parts of it individually and then finishing it herself. She was no artist, but with patience, persistence, and perfectionism, outstanding things could be achieved.
She brought what she would need for an extended absence because she knew she would not find her prey right away. If they were smart, they would have fled as soon after the battle in their compound as possible. And, she thought, they were smart. At least, one of them was. The Gray Man had been looking for the scholar for years, but was never able to track down and capture him. She never underestimated her foe. That was one reason she always succeeded in her missions, one reason she was still alive.
Completing her mental checklist, the assassin blew out the lantern, left the room, and closed the door behind her. She didn’t even look back. Ix did not get home sick. She didn’t particularly care where she slept or spent her time. Being on the move for most of her life, she had no home, and no real possessions but her weapons and the four small figurines.
It wasn’t always like this, of course. She had a relatively normal childhood. Until she was nine years old. Then the entire world she knew was plunged to the lowest level of hell.
The woman now called Ix was born in a unique area far to the East of the ocean’s coast she was currently near. It was a large, fertile plateau surrounded by mountains and at a much higher altitude than where she was now.
The story was that a monk from another world, from the Gray Man’s world, she believed, accidentally came to Gythe. He was a fighting monk named Chen Feng Dao, and he had an amazing talent. He could make himself disappear from one area and appear in another. Teleportation.
He had accidentally teleported himself to Gythe, but did not know how he did so. He tried repeatedly to teleport back to his world, but only succeeded in moving around his new world. In fact, in his final attempt, he transported himself across the endless ocean and arrived on the opposite side of Gythe. Realizing he just as easily could have landed in the middle of the ocean, he vowed to be more careful in the use of his talent.
While traveling the land, trying to decide what he would do, he met a woman. Rather, he met the woman. It was love at first sight, and soon the two were planning on having children. But wandering the world was no life for children, so Feng Dao, along with just less than fifty others, went in search of a place to call their own.
With his sensitivity to energy flows, he found the ideal place. It was a place of fertile land and an odd large lake of bitter water. Ringed by mountains, it was secure and defensible. Such were the things the monk thought of as he settled in the area he called simply Zhong, a word from his native language meaning middle.
As he had children and they grew and in turn had children of their own, the handful of families intermingled and soon a race of people, all with similar bloodlines, arose. The original settlers held a deep respect for their leader and so adopted his model for living with respect for others, with strong family values and honor being of utmost importance. Within a generation, customs and a second unofficial language reflected Feng Dao’s homeland.
Two hundred fifty years later, Zhong was a different place. With six major clans and nearly a dozen minor clans, the area was reduced to warring states that were in constant flux, attacking each other for dominance. Each clan had a warlord, a leader who was the absolute ruler over the clan. Ix’s father was one such warlord.
Ix herself, named Chen Hua Ye—a name which meant night flower in her ancestor’s language—was special. The ability to use the world’s vibrational energy ran through Chen Feng Dao’s bloodline, but manifested in different ways. Anyone could learn to use vibrational energy, to an extent, but in those whom the blood sang most loudly, there was a special affinity for using the energy.
Most of these clan members were just more powerful than average people, more sensitive to the energy around them and more capable of utilizing it in the normal way, through training. But once in a generation or two there arose one who had Chen Feng Dao’s ability, the ability to teleport using the vibrational energies. Ix was born with that ability.
She could remember clearly how it had manifested. She was eight years old and two of the most powerful opposing warlords proposed negotiations with her father.
“I do not trust this proposal,” Chen Heng An said. “There will be deception and betrayal, do not doubt.” The eight-year old Ix sat silently watching her father discuss the issue with her mother.
“I cannot refuse or my honor will be tarnished, but I will accept, based on the condition that the meeting be held here, in our clan lands and in our clan home. It is less likely that we will be trapped this way.”
The preparations were meticulous. Heng An put in place an elaborate system with sentries and soldiers, leaving nothing to chance. Ix thought he was being too careful, too paranoid, but her father disagreed.
“Hua Ye,” he said to her, “you do not know these men like I do. They are ruthless, dishonest, and lack honor of any sort. I pray that you do not ever learn to distrust as I must distrust these men. What I do is necessary. If my preparations are not needed, then nothing will be lost, but if they are needed and I do not make them, our lives could be at risk.”
In spite of their careful preparations, her father’s forces were surprised. The treachery didn’t take the form of clandestine actions of a small group of assassins as they had feared. No, it was a full scale attack by every soldier in both of the other warlords’ armies. Though they outnumbered her father’s forces four to one, it was a close battle. Such was the combat skill of her clan.
In the end, the sheer numbers overwhelmed Ix’s clan and overran the entire area. She watched as her father fought valiantly against eleven elite soldiers belonging to the personal guard of one of the opposing warlords. She watched as he killed six of them and then, finally overcome by the wounds he had suffered and the blood he had lost, how he failed to block a fatal blow that nearly separated his head from his neck.
As the body dropped, one of the soldiers rushing across the courtyard saw Ix hiding and started toward her. Not knowing what she was doing, not conscious of her talent being activated, she was suddenly somewhere else. She had teleported to a small hunting cabin she and her father had visited often to commune with nature and to hunt. It was miles away from her clan home.
She wanted to immediately start out for her home, but because it was dark, didn’t know which way to go. Returning to the cabin, she decided to sleep until sunrise and then find her way back.
By the time she got back to her home, all the enemy soldiers and the warlords were gone. They had burned all the buildings, defiled all the altars and bodies, and destroyed anything they did not carry away as plunder.
When Ix found her family’s bodies, she collapsed to the ground and wept for what seemed like hours. She finally raised her head and saw, near her little brother’s body, his favorite toys. His five small figurines, expertly carved in bone, were half-buried under soot and dirt. She dug them out and found that four of them had survived intact. The fifth had been all but crushed. She cleaned them with her tunic and put them in her belt pouch. The tiny man, woman, pantor, and monkey had been with her since.
As she stared at the devastation Ix realized that she was the only one left alive in her clan and wondered what she would do. Where would she go? Collapsing to the ground once more, she let the loss and depression sweep her up.
When she finally came back to her senses, she was lyin
g face down in the rubble, not two paces from the body of her mother. She looked around again, more carefully this time and picked out some details. Her mother’s body was twisted at an impossible angle. Her throat had been ripped open, so at least she had died quickly. Some of the women who were not killed quickly most likely wished that they had been.
Her brother lay on his stomach, arms and legs splayed out to the sides, not a rent or tear on his filthy clothing. In fact, he appeared to be unharmed, until she directed her attention to his caved in skull. Chips of white bone protruded out of the gory heap of his brain matter, surrounded by bloody hair and pulp.
Her father’s body had been cut into pieces. The pieces appeared to have been urinated and defecated upon by the soldiers. His parts were only recognizable from the strips of clothing that stuck to some of them. Ix knew the patterns in the cloth. It was her father’s favorite formal tunic.
A rage as none she had ever felt welled up in Ix. This was how her family died? In treachery? In dishonor? This was what animals did, not those who were originally of the same blood. They were supposed to be the same family. One idea burned more brightly than all others: the warlords would pay. She would find a way to make them. Somehow.
A memory intruded on her plans for revenge. Her father had started teaching her the clan martial art several years before. One time, he showed her the ancient clan writings, the secrets of their unique martial art, as written by the great patriarch Chen Feng Dao himself. They were drawn and written on scrolls which were kept in a secret location, a location in the ground to prevent fire damage. Could they still be there? She jumped to her feet and started running.
When she arrived at the area of the house where the secret writings were kept, her heart dropped. Parts of the house had collapsed on top of the opening of the secret room containing the scrolls. There were scratches and furrows in the dirt and ash that covered the floor, making it look as if someone tried to clear rubble from an area in the corner of what used to be her father’s study. Did someone find the door and get the secret writings?
Vibrations: Harmonic Magic Book 1 Page 13
