Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Longing Ring

by kubasik

  His father grabbed him again. J'role freed his right arm and pushed his father away.

  Bevarden cried out in despair, and clutched at J'role's face, as if he only wanted to hold his son in a tender embrace for a moment.

  Once more J'role was forced down under the water by his father.

  When next he came up for air, J'role was screaming.

  His mouth moved wildly, his tongue out of control. Screeching and screaming and babbling and cursing, he launched himself toward his father, slamming into him. The two of them splashed through the water and J'role forced his father toward the wall.

  Bevarden's face contorted in terrible pain, and he tried to grab his ears to protect himself from the sounds. But the tangled rope kept his hands from his head. So he shook his head wildly back and forth.

  Without thinking, J'role slammed his father against the wall. He screamed into his father's face. His father shut his eyes, opened his mouth into a wide O, cried out. Tears ran down his face.

  So weak. So weak. And each time J’role thought the words, the creature in his mind whispered, “Yes."

  The words built themselves into a steady rhythm, and soon, with a matching rhythm, he slammed his father against the wall. An exciting pleasure ran through him. He did not mean to do it, but it all happened nonetheless. Screaming with the creature's voice, he grabbed his father by the throat and smashed his head against the wall with a sharp crack.

  He did it again and again until splashes of blood radiated onto the wall, forming a scarlet frame around his father's contorted face. Suddenly his father's eyes opened wide, startled.

  He tried once more to speak, looking directly into J'role's eyes, but not a word came out.

  Finally he heaved in a sharp, dry breath.

  Then stillness.

  Immediately J'role pulled his hands back. He saw his father's blood swirling around him in the water, and he screamed and screamed, clawing at the ropes, desperate to disentangle himself from his father's corpse. The cords grew tighter and tighter until he realized he was strangling himself.

  "Yes," the creature said, the words crashing through his thoughts even as he struggled.

  "Yes. Let yourself die. Kill yourself now. How can you go back? How can you go back to that young girl? Think about what you have just done!"

  The creature's words made more and more sense.

  How could he have ...?

  He tightened the rope around his neck, felt the harsh burn against this flesh. "Yes, yes.

  Take your life. End it!"

  J'role's strength withered away as continued to strangle himself. Dizziness came next, and finally he had trouble seeing. When the darkness closed around him he splashed into the water, aware only of drifting in the water, happy at last that it would finally be over.

  Hands grabbed him.

  "J'role!" Releana shouted.

  The creature whined like an angry cat.

  She was in the water with him, uncoiling the rope from his neck, from around his body.

  He was confused. Disappointed. Finally he would have been-able to let all the pain go.

  Why was she here?

  When she had removed the rope from his body, she looked at Bevarden. J'role thought for sure she would scream or push him away. But she did not know he had killed bus own father. She said, "J'role, I'm sorry. But we can't take your father's body with us. We don't have time."

  He nodded, too stunned to do anything but listen to her instructions.

  Was it obvious? Wasn't it written Across his face? How could she not see?

  But the two of them climbed out of the water and worked their way up the passage. They reached another one and turned right, running now on the edge where the floor and wall met. On and on they ran, leaving Bevarden's corpse behind, though J'role did not feel any more distance from the body no matter how far they traveled.

  They raced through the ship until they found an open window that led out onto the tilted balcony right outside. They were near the bow of the Breeton now, and not much of the ship remained above water. Around it a terrible undertow had formed. If they tried to dive in and swim to the Chakara, they would most likely be sucked underwater. And now the Chakara was beginning to pull away, its crew probably desperate to get their ship away from the undertow.

  "J'rolel, Releana!" he heard Captain Patrochian cry, then saw her on a mid-deck of the Chakara waving her arms. J'role and Releana ran down the side of the Breeton, leaping over windows and doors. As they reached the bow the captain swung a rope over from the Chakara. J'role stretched as far as he could over the edge of the bow and caught it. He had only just fixed his grip when the Chakara's movement pulled him off the Breeton. He stretched out his hand and grabbed Releana by the wrist, and the two of them swung out into the space between the ships. They swung swiftly to the Chckara, where the sailors grabbed J'role and pulled him and Releana over the railing.

  All remained silent a moment, then Releana said, Am sorry, J'role."

  He said nothing. For once glad he had no choice.

  A t'skrang from the Chakara approached. "Scuse me lad, but we fished an ork out of the river. Captain Patrochian said you might know who he is. Now I know you can't talk, but can you signal us what to do with him? We'll be hanging the mutineers, of course, but we really don't know if this one was involved."

  J'role looked past the sailor and saw Garlthik, bound just as his father had been. With his one good eye fixed on the J'role, the ork smiled his toothy smile. The look clearly said,

  "Whatever you decide, lad. It's all been rough, and I'll take whatever you give me." J'role knew that-with a nod or two to the right questions he could condemn the ork to death.

  Hadn't the man plotted the murder of nearly everyone on ship?

  Including Bevarden.

  J'role glanced at Releana. Better not to form ties, he felt the thief magic tell him. You don't know who you might have to kill next.

  Garlthik had warned him of this during the initiation. The lesson was well taken.

  He looked once more at Garlthik, knew he had more in common with the ork than anyone else on the ship. He shook his head, and to everyone's surprise, including Garlthik’s, he pointed at Garlthik and shook his head. Then he walked off alone, clutching his forehead, looking- for someplace safe to fall asleep. Some place where he would be safe from the memories.

  27

  "Am I doing this the right way?" his mother asked. The creature purred in response.

  J'role felt something slip into his head, slick and oily, and it slid through his thoughts.

  Although only a small child, an astounding insight came to him: he had always had one place of privacy. His thoughts. His mother had bartered that off

  He would never be alone again.

  "We owe you our thanks!" said Borthum, leader of the dwarven envoys from Throal. He raised his mug high, and all at the table did the same. The Chakara's captain, a t'skrang with a white stripe running over his head and down his back, was hosting them in his stateroom. The guests included the captain of the Chakara, Releana, Captain Patrochian, and seven dwarfs from Throal. The dwarfs wore loose, square-cut clothes covered with spirals that wound around each other in fascinating patterns. On their feet were thick shoes with pointed tips that curved up. Their long beards were braided and flat as boards.

  On their heads they wore round hats, each inscribed with symbols that J'role, of course, could not understand. Some wore earnings.

  They were friendly, and not at all suspicious of J'role, though he sat glum and unresponsive throughout the dinner. He had tried to avoid the meal, but Captain Patrochian insisted he accept his hero's honor. He was afraid that too much protesting would raise suspicions, so he'd agreed to come.

  But J'role couldn't think about food. All he could do was keep trying to prevent the memory of his dead—murdered— father from entering his thoughts. He was convinced that someone at the table already knew what he had done or else would figure it out by looking at him
and catching a chance gesture that revealed too much.

  In the din of the dinner conversation just at the edge of his thoughts, he heard Releana ask the dwarfs about the stones for a city they might have cut before the Scourge. The dwarfs had cut the stones for many cities and citadels, but knew of none in the vicinity Releana described. She asked for permission for her and J'role to enter Throal and search through the dwarven records for any hints of such construction. The dwarfs laughingly agreed that they could do nothing but accede to the request. "Heroes," one of them said, "are well respected in Throal."

  During the meal another one asked, "And what is the matter with your grim friend?"

  Some of the guests at the table, those who knew that J'role had lost his father, looked aghast. "His father, sir, died on the Breeton," said Releana.

  The dwarfs looked appropriately ashen.

  "His name, sirs," continued Releana, "was once Grim, but is now J’role.

  "He is a thief adept," said - Captain Patrochian, "but an honorable one."

  The dwarven leader raised his mug. "Here is to fallen fathers, then. And to honorable thieves, rare though they may be.”

  All raised their cups, and most drank deeply. All but J'role, he touched the liquid to his lips, and thought he might never drink or eat again.

  "There's a branch of the Serpent, the Coil, which flows down from the dwarven mountains," explained Captain Patrochian to J'role and Releana the day the Chakara docked at the foot of the mountains. "But it's far too rough for our ships. The rest of your trip will be overland."

  "And what will become of you?" asked Releana.

  The captain drew in a long breath. "I'll stay on the Chakara for a while. Ships are rare to come by, but I might obtain funding from King Varulus for a new one. I've given the envoys my offer. They'll carry it back to Throal for me." She looked away, and then back at them. "But this is not the talk for now. Good luck to you. And to you especially, J'role.

  For someone who was supposed to bring bad luck, you undoubtedly helped save dozens of lives with your warning. Thank you." She extended her hand, and he took it.

  But though their flesh touched, J'role felt nothing in the moment. His body seemed insubstantial, as if nothing about him was real anymore.

  The others said their goodbyes, and soon the entourage was on its way to Throal. It consisted of eight dwarfs, Releana, J'role, and Garlthik, still bound. Because J'role would not incriminate the ork for the mutiny attempt, Garlthik's fate fell to dwarven justice.

  Rumors of the exploits of Garlthik One-Eye were known through the area, and the dwarfs recognized him. "Fame," whispered Garlthik to J'role, "is a loathsome thing to a thief.

  Quite a paradox for those who are of legendary quality, eh, lad?" He laughed conspiratorially, but J'role shunned him.

  They would reach the gates of the kingdom on the next day. The dwarfs had donkeys with saddlebags full of food, and so the group remained well fed. J'role kept to himself, eating alone and keeping slightly away from the rest of the group; he knew they thought it was because he mourned his father is death, and they were partially correct. But in truth he did not know what to think about what he had done. He remained separate because he felt so apart from them. He had done a thing that none of them would have done.

  And more, a part of him had begun to enjoy the fact that he had killed his father. There seemed a power to it. Finally he was free of that tired old man! Finally the whimpering and begging and apologies had come to end.

  Still, even as he tried to find strength in his actions, tears rolled down his face.

  It was at twilight, when the stars began to dot the dark violet curtain drawing over the western horizon, that Borthum, leader of the dwarfs, spotted the riders. They approached from the south, creating a billowing wall of dirt behind them. "Arms," Borthum said calmly. The dwarfs drew their weapons wearily as if they had already responded to the same command far too many times.

  "Who is it?" asked Releana, scraping up some dirt from the ground and holding it in her hands.

  "I don't know," said Borthum. "We never know until it's time to fight." The dwarf, his round face hidden partially behind his heavy beard, seemed impassive. But his head shook slightly.

  Though the daylight was dying, the riders were identified long before blows could be exchanged. All J'role could make out were the animals they rode—large beasts, as tall as men, with a smooth, hairless hide.

  "Scorchers," said Gaiithik.

  "Aye," agreed Borthum. "Ork scorcher." He eyed Garlthik.

  A tingle passed along J'role's spine; an anticipation of violence. Death. He had no need to draw the magic close around him; it had seeped deep into his being now, resting comfortably. And he knew that whatever came of the encounter, he would do whatever necessary to survive. He couldn't even try to fight it. He was so alone in the world, the magic would turn him into a puppet and make him live.

  "Will there be a fight?" asked Garlthik.

  "Most likely. Though I wish it were not so. We have no antipathy toward-them. We even have relations with several of the tribes. But who knows? Sometimes they attack.

  Sometimes they don't." He pointed to a hill with a sharp, flat side. "We'll prepare ourselves there, and make a circle."

  "I can speak to them," said Garlthik as they walked toward the hill.

  "I'm sure you can."

  Garlthik stiffened. "Don't think I'll be spared because of my race. As they are ambivalent toward your people, so are they ambivalent toward all outsiders—even other orks. I don't relish the idea of them finding me bound in these ropes. These raiders have a harsh sense of worth, and anyone weak enough to be captured is usually killed."

  Borthum looked carefully at Garlthik, as if weighing out the value of precious stone.

  "Perhaps ..."

  "If they are violent, and they do want a fight, I will be the best one to undertake the negotiations." Garlthik looked toward the orks, and J'role followed his gaze. There were at least thirty of the raiders. The ork looked surprised. "I've never seen them in such strong numbers."

  "They've been organizing for some time now," answered the dwarf. "Or what passes for organization among them." He paused for a moment, then said, “Here is what we will do.

  We will let Garlthik One-Eye speak with the orks if needed." One of the dwarfs tried to interrupt, but Borthum raised his hand.

  "If they decide to attack, we will fight to the end. But know this, the battle will be difficult. Not all shall live. Which is why I will give Garlthik his chance. I would rather let him speak than lead us into such a lopsided battle. If it comes to a fight, a fight it will be, whether Garlthik speaks or not. Untie his ropes."

  "What?” asked one of the dwarfs.

  "Untie him. He'll hold no authority with them if he's bound."

  Two of the dwarfs reluctantly undid the ropes, and Garlthik smiled at J'role. The boy had no idea what the ork was up to, but it being Garlthik, some scheme was surely at work.

  Garlthik then walked away from the group, and came to a stop at twenty feet. He stood tall and firm.

  J'role suspected that Borthum also had a plan in mind. He walked over to the dwarf, who stood shoulder height to J'role, and touched the dwarf's shoulder. He pointed toward Garlthik, and then shrugged.

  The dwarf smiled. "I do not think he wants us dead, and I do not think he wants to escape," he said softly. "I have checked his knots every half hour this day, and he has—

  by my observations—made no attempt to free himself. I had expected to re-tie his knots all during our journey, but there has been no need. This strikes me as odd. Unless he wishes to reach our mountain kingdom and gain access to it.”

  The approach of the ork riders turned thunderous now. Their beasts were huge giant, six-legged animals with gray hides and large faces tipped with monstrous horns. The orks on the backs of the beasts were no less terrifying. They wore thick leather armor made from tanned hides. They had adorned their heavy, gray-green faces with dyes of
some kind—

  lines and circles of red, yellow, blue, and green. In their hair they wore bits of bones as additional adornments. On their backs they had slung bows, along with quivers. In their arms they carried large, heavy lances.

  They rode in a great spiral around the hill that Borthum had designated as their point of defense. The trotting of the beasts consumed all other sounds, and rumbled in J'role's chest. He watched their speed. Dodging his way out of the circle might be difficult, but he could get through them if he had to. From there, he did not know. There was little shelter in the area. The trick would be to leave the instant the fight broke out. His exit might not be noticed in the initial skirmish, and he could simply run and run.

  The spiral tightened, eventually slowing as the raiders came to a stop. Their beasts snorted, and the raiders stared impassively. The three orks in the lead looked down at Garlthik.

  Garlthik raised his arms, and J'role faintly heard him speak strange words. Garlthik halted several times, apparently having trouble with some of the sounds. This impression was confirmed when the raider orks laughed and turned to one another, ignoring Garlthik and speaking to each other. Then the lead raider looked down at Garlthik and cut him off, speaking over Garlthik's attempts at the ancient ork tongue.