The Ring Of Truth

by B Cameron Lee

  Shiri held him as he slept and another cool night soon passed.

  The next day, the river they had been following took a distinct turn to the south, probably a large loop which could take them miles in the wrong direction. Not good, so they crossed over at a shallow place where the river formed a natural ford and Shiri filled Arwhon’s helm with water before striking off north of west. She carried the helm like a bucket, dangling from its closed strap, water slopping over the side for a while.

  Mid afternoon Shiri spied dust to the south and dragged Arwhon down into the grass to conceal them both. She was worried. Not much spell energy remained to her, although the land was feeding her more Earthmagic now. It was so different being away from the Darkwood where she could access as much Earthmagic as she needed, at anytime she wished. Now, the tiny amount of remaining Earthmagic stored in her body had to be saved for an emergency.

  She preyed this wasn’t it.

  The dust cloud drew slowly closer, heading directly for them. Were they far enough into Barsoom yet or could it be a mounted platoon of Martine’s Debrishar troops?

  Soon Shiri could make out a big grey horse in the lead and, was that a mule tagging along beside it? It was, and that could mean only one thing. Shiri leaped to her feet, waving her arms but the big grey had been heading directly for them anyway. It wasn’t long before they met and as Shiri hugged Rancid the mule, Duran stepped up to Arwhon and nudged him with his nose. Arwhon rose to his feet looking confused.

  “Shiri,” he exclaimed loudly. “What’s happening, why is this horse butting me?”

  Tears welled in Shiri’s eyes once again but she tried to explain to Arwhon what was occurring.

  “He is a Barsoomi horse and is bonded to your mind. Relax and tell me what you feel.”

  “I feel happy and content and also a little worried. I didn’t feel like this before.”

  “It’s what your horse, Duran, is feeling. You are picking up those sensations from him just the same as he is picking up something from you. Not a lot though judging by his reaction.”

  Shiri spun around at the sound of hooves and found herself looking into the slitted eyes of a dangerous looking older woman who held a lance levelled at her chest.

  “What are you doing with Arwhon?” The mounted woman grated.

  “I’m his Shield. I pulled him out of the river when he nearly drowned and am caring for him. What is it to you?”

  “I am Lareeta of the Black River Tribe of the Barsoom. His horse came to us yesterday trailing that stupid mule and wanted to head north. I knew it was his horse and a Barsoomi horse will always try to be with its owner unless instructed otherwise, so I followed him.”

  Shiri patted Rancid and scratched the favourite spot between his ears.

  “Rancid is not stupid. Just because he isn’t like your horse doesn’t mean he’s dumb.” She regarded Lareeta levelly, a ten year old blond girl with amethyst eyes, before explaining.

  “Arwhon is not well, his memory has gone. Probably the trauma of falling into the Black River from a great height. I’m taking him to my mother to see if she can help him but he needs feeding up to give him some strength. Is your whole Tribe here?”

  “They will be soon. You mentioned your mother. Where is she?” Lareeta was almost dismissive of the little girl’s intentions.

  “In the Darkwood.”

  Lareeta’s eyes widened and shame swept across her face. She leapt from her horse and went down on one bended knee before Shiri.

  “Please forgive my ignorance and ill manners.” She pleaded with her head bowed.

  Shiri answered in a simple childlike manner.

  “Oh get up silly. How are we going to keep this a secret if you do all this bowing and scraping stuff? I’m merely Shiri and charged with Shielding Arwhon from danger. Please don’t let anyone know where we’re going. It must be a secret. Arwhon said you were a good and honest woman and Servant Chalc agreed wholeheartedly, so let’s keep this between us please.”

  Lareeta nodded in response and rose to her feet as Shiri asked her.

  “Have you heard any news of Kuiran, Chalc and the Barsoomi heirs who were kidnapped?”

  “Is that what you were doing? Trying to rescue the Prince and Princess? Arwhon said he wanted to but I didn’t think he would actually attempt it.”

  Shiri drew herself up. “Well he did attempt it and succeeded. At least, the last I saw of the Barsoomi heirs was following Chalc to the horses with Kuiran close behind and here is one of the horses they would have ridden.” Shiri indicated Duran. “And Rancid was with us too.” She fondled his ears as she spoke, Rancid putty in her hands.

  Arwhon looked up from his seat on the ground, the big grey standing over him, and regarded Lareeta closely.

  “Do I know you? Are you my Mother or something?”

  Lareeta seemed surprised at his question.

  “No, you are not my son but we have met before, quite recently in fact.”

  Glancing at Shiri, Lareeta shook her head, a pained expression on her face.

  “I think the Darkwood could be the best place for him.”

  Then she leapt onto Binaway and sped off to the organised confusion of the rest of the Tribe, who had stopped about half a mile away to set up camp.

  For two days Arwhon was fed and cared for in a special tent the Tribe erected for him. Shiri hardly left his side except when Lareeta came to sit with Arwhon and implored Shiri go out for a break. Shiri’s strength was gradually returning and her magic was growing stronger as was her confidence in being able to protect Arwhon. Duran often tarried by the tent, trying to stick his nose through the flap but wasn’t allowed to enter. Arwhon improved markedly with food and care and by the third day was allowed outside where he put his arms around Duran’s neck and stood there with a happy, childlike expression on his face.

  “Is he really my horse?” he asked Shiri yet again and this time she replied by asking him if he wanted to ride. Arwhon’s face became eager and bright.

  “Oh yes, he wants it too. I can tell somehow.”

  Duran was saddled with a borrowed light plain’s saddle and Arwhon was given a leg up to straddle the big grey. At first he was led but his body seemed to know what to do and before long he was cantering around the camp, laughing gleefully as his horse turned and turned again beneath him.

  Lareeta looked on, a studied expression on her face.

  “You’ll be able to continue your journey soon but the Seeress would like to see him first.”

  Shiri looked doubtful at this but it would have been rude to have accepted the hospitality of the Black River Tribe without giving a little in return. Lareeta continued.

  “After you leave, I’ll travel to Belvedere and see his Grandmother. She has a right to know he’s alive. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret. From the little scraps of information I’ve picked up, there’s more to Cristal nasi Tsalkini than meets the eye. Only she will be told of Arwhon’s survival and the state he’s in. Also, a few of our riders will go with you to the edge of the Darkwood. Arwhon should travel as a Plainsman, his mail, helm and weapons in a roll behind the saddle. You will look good as a Plainsgirl but we’ll have to darken your hair. None of us are so blond.”

  Shiri nodded in agreement. The plan seemed sensible.

  After the evening meal, Lareeta led Shiri and Arwhon to a tent set apart from the rest. It was a different colour and decorated with beads and amulets made of strange bones hung around the door. She took them inside and indicated they sit on the opposite side of the small fire from a wizened old woman, eyes cloudy with cataracts. They sat down quietly in front of the flickering coals, although the day was not cold and waited politely in silence, Arwhon gazing about at the hanging decorations with obvious delight. There was a sudden movement as the old woman cast a handful of herbs on the fire and the tent quickly filled with smoke. Shiri coughed, not feeling any effect from the white cloud but Arwhon stilled and sat quietly unmoving. The old woman chuckled.

 
“Just a little something to quiet the child and see what’s in there.”

  Her eyes closed and she started to sing to herself. Shiri recognised it as part of a song of Power. So the Tribes still remembered some of the old magic?

  The old lady’s head shot up and she regarded Arwhon with intense interest. A look of incredulity spread across her face. She reached over and took his unresisting left hand in hers and peered closely at his palm through her cataract filmed eyes before releasing it.

  “Arwhon. Tell me what is important to you at the moment.”

  His eyes glazed over and in a faraway singsong voice he recited.

  “Puppet on a string is part of the plan.

  I’ve a long way to travel on my friend Duran.

  Shiri is the music my heart will sing.

  And I am but a servant to the Truth-giving Ring.”

  The fire flared and a breeze blew through the tent. Arwhon shook his head and looked back and forth between the serious faces of the old woman opposite and Shiri beside him.

  “What? Did I fall sleep?”

  “No young fellow,” the old woman smiled. “You just gave me a little puzzle to think on. You and Shiri are going on an adventure tomorrow.”

  “Oh good. Can my big grey horse come too?”

  “Try and stop him,” she replied.

  They left the tent of the Seeress, the old lady sincerely thanking Shiri, who was following Arwhon. Just before the tent flap closed, the old woman grasped Shiri’s arm in a steely grip and whispered fiercely.

  “Protect him with your life. All our futures depend on him.”

  Shiri nodded solemnly and hurried to catch up with Arwhon.

  Since fishing him out of the river at Gildon’s Keep, Shiri had to sleep next to Arwhon. If he woke in the night and she wasn’t there he started to panic and cry out. He slept best when she was spooned into his back.

  Her presence calmed him.

  The next morning, after an early breakfast, they mounted up. Arwhon sat astride Duran, his dark blonde hair blackened with charcoal and his weapons and accoutrements packed behind him on the rudimentary saddle. Shiri was mounted similarly on Rancid, with her hair darkened and her gear also tied behind her. They were dressed like any from the Barsoomi Tribes and from a distance would draw no attention from a casual observer.

  Accompanying them to the Darkwood were four Riders of the Black River Tribe. They had bulging saddlebags slung behind their small saddles, stuffed with enough food for the journey there and back. Each carried a short lance in hand as well as a small but powerful recurve bow slung over their shoulders and each wore the longknife of the Plainspeople at their belts. Shiri and Arwhon were surrounded by the Riders, two of the Tribe in front and two behind as they rode out of camp. Apart from farewelling Lareeta there was no fanfare as they left, heading northwest to skirt the south of the Broken Lands before turning north.

  It was the fastest way to the Darkwood.

  The small band made good time, the four Barsoomi Riders, Randar, Breeta, Neta and Conda swapping around, some days leading and some days following along behind. It was difficult telling the female Riders from the male Riders as they all had long hair restrained by a headband and wore the loose wrap-around robe of the Barsoomi which allowed for easy riding. They saw no one on the vast, virtually treeless Plains of Barsoom and only a few scattered folk later on when they eventually neared the edge of the Plains. Those were mostly off in the distance, as their guard would gently swing them away from any possible contact with strangers. On the first day out from camp Shiri asked about the lances.

  “I don’t often see the Barsoomi ride with lances,” she casually commented to Breeta.

  “We only carry them to war or when we travel away from the Tribe and there is a possibility of danger. We Riders are your guard and lances are useful weapons from horseback.”

  That was all Breeta had to say on the matter.

  It took four long days of riding before they came in sight of the Darkwood and as they neared the looming trees Conda drew the group to a halt.

  “This is as far as we go. Good luck on your travels. May your horse outrun the wind.”

  He smiled as he looked down on Rancid though.

  Shiri bowed in the saddle.

  “We have been honoured by your presence. Thank you for your help and may the blessing of Ch’ron be with you.”

  All four stiffened in their saddles as they felt a little tingle in their muscles. No longer tired and feeling much refreshed, all four pairs of eyes widened at this overt display of magical power.

  “Thank you my lady, please ask for us at the Black River Tribe if you ever need help but for now its goodbye.”

  The four Riders swung their horses around and cantered off. Arwhon was not sure what was happening and he looked to Shiri with puzzled eyes.

  She studied him.

  “We are going for a ride in the woods. Stay close to me at all times and don’t go wandering off.”

  He nodded, uncertain.

  “Why didn’t our friends come with us?”

  “Because this is a special place only a few can go. You will see.”

  Shiri had already noticed a couple of Rangers, standing back under the shadow of the trees at the edge of the Darkwood and gave the hand signal all M’Herindar would recognise as she rode closer. One stepped forward.

  Shiri nodded to him. “Paran’dal, so good to see you again.”

  He frowned.

  “Do I know you?” he asked.

  She made a small gesture and his face softened.

  “It has been a long time and you look very different from the last time we met.” His smile was broad. “Are the horses to enter? Will Ch’ron mind?”

  “Yes to the horses and I think the Tree will understand. All creatures come under his care. Even ones not normally found in the Darkwood. Is all peaceful?”

  “It is but I’ll leave you to your travelling. We have to continue on with our patrol. Peace be with you.”

  Shiri and Arwhon rode in under the trees. Immediately the light dimmed and Arwhon felt a tingle all over his body. Not painful but a little like gentle pins and needles throughout.

  “I can feel something in my body, a tingling. What is it?”

  “You are not one of us; you are being investigated for evil intentions. It will pass shortly. No need to worry.”

  It did pass and Arwhon found himself captivated by the forest they had entered. The trees seemed to glow softly and everywhere he looked there were rich colours and textures in the foliage and in the shadows beneath. The air was fresh and carried a soft smell of the rich earth. Shiri stopped at a tree with large yellow fruit hanging easily within reach.

  “Hungry?”

  Arwhon thought for a second only.

  “Yes, I think I am,” and took the fruit she offered. After the first bite Arwhon was certain he had never tasted anything quite so delicious in his whole life and one fruit made him feel full and content. He followed Shiri’s example and threw the core onto the ground which rippled with movement for a moment as small tendrils enveloped the remains of the fruit and drew it into the soil of the forest floor.

  They carried on riding and camped at nightfall beside a clear, rippling stream. The air was warm and after dining on a different coloured and textured fruit, they both dropped off to sleep, leaving the horse and mule unbridled and untethered, grazing sweet grass.

  The dappled morning sun woke them and soon they were on their way again. Word had been passed by the Rangers and although Shiri saw many of her people, none came near them. Late that afternoon the trees began to thin and Arwhon saw the City of the Tree.

  Al’hera.

  Huge stately trees rose high into the air, with large natural hollows dotting their enormous trunks, serving as living spaces for the M’Herindar. Between the trees, bridges of branches created aerial pathways linking the living quarters of its inhabitants. People came out to watch them pass, some as interested in the horses as in
the riders. Eventually Shiri drew to a halt in front of the biggest tree of all and Arwhon saw a tall regal looking man standing beside a beautiful woman at the entrance to a large hollow in the trunk, screened by a lustrous curtain. Both had shoulder-length blond hair shot through with silver and there was an indefinable regal quality to them.

  Arwhon was concerned at seeing all the people gathering around them, especially as their eyes were strange, having no whites only colour. He glanced at Shiri, surprised to see her face wreathed in warmth and delight.

  “Welcome home daughter, I am pleased to see you, as we all are. You have Shielded well although this Man is damaged.”

  “Vehrin’del, Jahron’dal, it is so good to see your faces once more and to be under the Tree. The world of Man is neither a peaceful nor a happy place. This is Arwhon, bearer and wearer of the Truth Ring. He is Truer than anyone I’ve ever met. He would have rather died than surrender the Ring to an enemy and it took all of my skill to save him from drowning. He has lost his memory but somewhere in there is information which I believe is important to us all. I would like to take him to the Wise Ones immediately.”

  The Queen of the M’Herindar, Vehrin’del, smiled, recognising the earnestness in Shiri’s voice.

  “They have been waiting for you since yesterday but the horses must stay here. Tell me. Is there word of your brother?”

  Shiri thought for a moment before answering.

  “I last saw him when we rescued the Barsoomi heirs from the Empress Martine but the horses we ride were some of those Chalc and the heirs escaped on. Kuiran was with them the last I saw.”

  Vehrin’del let out her breath in relief, not even aware she was holding it and leaving Jahron’dal’s side, walked down the steps carved into one of the huge tree roots to come and stand in front of their mounts. She reached up and placed a hand on Duran’s muzzle.