Primeval Origins : Paths of Anguish - Award Winning, New Epic Fantasy / Science Fiction (The Primeval Origins Saga Book 1)

by Brett Vonsik

  Pax worriedly looked at his sister, silently watching her until her breathing settled enough for her to look up from the patio stones, which she seemed to find of interest. She too wrinkled her nose at the smell of the place. Rogaan grimaced at her discomfort. It pained him to see her in any discomfort, but then he craved to be close to her which this effort was providing. He felt torn and a little guilty with his intent. Suhd’s long black hair now hung beneath a blue headscarf in a tail down her back. Rogaan wondered how she had managed to make the tail and put on the headscarf while they ran, but somehow she did it. No wonder she was out of breath. Her perky nose and wide blue eyes were highlighted by her slender face and light-brown cheeks. Suhd’s blue tunic and skirt clung to her slender frame all the way to her knees, where the skirt ended in hand-stitched pleats. The clinging tunic revealed every bit of her shape, and the black belt she wore held her clothing tight allowing her small waist to accentuate the rest of her body. Rogaan’s breath was taken away at the sight of her. She was beautiful...very, very beautiful. Yes, a distraction.

  “I know da smell be bad,” Pax said flatly. “But da bathhouse roof be best for lookin’ ta see da Hall. I be climbing up for a look. Stay here. I be back soon.”

  Rogaan grabbed Pax’s tunic and held him fast. Pax shot him a surprised look, but did not fight to break free. “No, Pax. I am going with you. I need to see what is happening for myself.”

  “Ya know ya no climb as good as me,” Pax said while trying not to sound as if he were bragging. “Da walls not be easy ta get a hold.”

  “No matter,” Rogaan shot back with a determined bravado. “I can make it to the top. Maybe not as nimbly as you, but climb it I can.” After Rogaan let go of his tunic, Pax scurried up the limestone blocks to the angled tiled roof, then disappeared from sight. Rogaan followed, more slowly, struggling to find hand and toe-holds on the five-stride high wall. He slipped several times, almost falling before he reached the tiled roof and Pax’s hand held out to help him. Rogaan eagerly took his friend’s aide and heaved himself onto the roof. The tiles ran up at a moderate grade four strides to a landing about six strides to a side on either side of a tall center structure. They quickly made their way to the landing. Warm, moist air rose from vents jutting out of the three-stride-wide landing area surrounding the center structure. A small flock of little gray and white featherwings nested in the eaves of the center structure, three strides above the landing. The featherwings flew to and from their nests, aggravated and chirping warnings at the intrusion. Pax grimaced at the sight of the featherwings and motioned for Rogaan to be still as they lay on the roof. After a short time the featherwings settled a bit, with most remaining in the nests, chirping less frantically. Pax slowly made his way to the east side of the landing, careful not to disturb the featherwings any further, crawling on his stomach until he was able to see Market Street and the Hall of Laws. Rogaan followed, mimicking his friend’s movements.

  From their roof perch they spied on the Hall of Council, the Hall of Law, and half of the Market Place. An east-west running five-stride wide street separated the two gardens surrounding the halls. The Hall of Council lay to the north and the Hall of Law to the south. The street was filled with Tusaa’Ner standing in disciplined columns, flanking wagons and carts with draft niisku and sarig steeds. Brigum guardsmen stood at attention, dressed in sky-blue uniforms, hide armor, short-feathered red-plumed bronze helms, belt sashes of red and yellow, and held their long spears at attention. The Farratum guardsmen were similarly dressed in their royal-blue uniforms, metal-hide chest armor, shiny silver helms topped with red feather plumes, solid red belt sashes, and long spears held tall. On any other day, Rogaan would expect a parade, but not today. The guardsmen all looked ready for an inspection, or honoring someone in some important event. Several officers in both troupes made their way up and down the columns, giving orders and receiving reports from their subordinates. After a short time, the officers, too, fell into the ranks standing at attention, waiting...for what, Rogaan could not guess. A group of ten guardsmen, in armor similarly styled to the Tusaa’Ner, but with dark hide and silvered helms topped with red feathered plumes, solid red belt sashes, and short swords, pushed before them four manacled prisoners out the north doors of the Hall of Laws. Rogaan immediately recognized the black-clad guardsmen as Sakes, the Ensi’s enforcers. A shiver ran down his back at the sight of them with prisoners. Is this the fate of us all?

  One of the prisoners staggered and fell to the stone walkway leading from the pyramid to the street separating the two Halls. All but two of the Sakes brutally urged the three still standing to the jailer’s wagon in the middle of the street. One of the Sakes half dragged, half beat the fallen baraan to his feet then prodded him with spear tip to the wagon. The cedar tree perimeter made it difficult to see all of the Hall of Laws grounds, though Rogaan could see well enough to make out that the prisoners were three males and one woman, with one of the males a head shorter than the others. With a start, Rogaan rose to his hands and knees, readying himself to leap from the roof, then froze. He considered his action then reluctantly settled back down on his stomach.

  “What ya see?” Pax asked.

  “I think I see Father,” Rogaan replied excitedly. “And maybe your parents, too.”

  “Where?” Pax demanded as he rose up on his elbows to search the grounds with an intense gaze. He froze when he saw who the Sakes prodded to the barred wagon. “No! Ma...Father, they can no be takin’ ya! This not be right!”

  Pax scrambled to a crouch before Rogaan grabbed and pulled him down onto his back. Pax fought wildly to break free of Rogaan’s grip. “Let me go!”

  “Pax, no!” Rogaan did his best to speak calmly. His friend continued struggling, striking him with elbows and feet. Rogaan only grimaced when Pax struck, determined not to let his friend leap into trouble. It would only make things worse and maybe get himself hurt or lightless. “I cannot let you go down there. You have no chance against so many, and they will take you away, too.”

  Pax settled down, reluctantly, a little, though Rogaan could still feel his body tense and see his face a-fume. It was enough for Rogaan that Pax stopped swinging at him, though he almost did not recognize his friend, being so out of sorts. It took a few more moments before Pax calmed down enough that the only sign of his raging anger was in his eyes. “I be all right. Let me go.”

  Rogaan lessened his grip enough for Pax to yank away; then Pax lay on his back motionless, staring into the late-morning sky. Rogaan kept ready to jump on Pax if he made to act in an ill-thought charge with irrational hopes of freeing his parents. Rogaan wanted to free his father every bit as much as Pax and Suhd wanted to free their parents, but a rash charge was not the way. With a huff, Pax rolled onto his stomach and stared at the prison wagon and the guardsmen preparing to move out. “What now?”

  Rogaan did not have an answer to give, but he was certain they needed a better plan than what Pax had almost attempted...and what Rogaan had first thought to do. He struggled to come up with something that Pax would be satisfied with...and that would work, but it proved more difficult than he hoped. What he needed was time to think. “Let us take Suhd to Mother, where she will be safe.”

  Pax looked at Rogaan calmly. “Ya not have a plan?”

  “No,” Rogaan replied.

  “Thought so,” Pax declared flatly.

  Staying low to keep from being spotted by the guardsmen or disturbing the featherwings, they climbed down from the roof to where Suhd anxiously waited. She seemed about to pop out of her skin for any news of her parents. With a grim face, Pax explained what they had seen, but left out the part about his trying to leap from the roof, and Rogaan’s stopping him. Rogaan remained silent, though the stench of the area made him want to cut Pax short and get moving. Pax continued his explanation to Suhd that their plan was for her to be made safe with Rogaan’s ma while he and Rogaan went about getting their parents home. Suhd gave her brother a skeptical and concerned look.
<
br />   “Ya have no plan?” Suhd accused.

  Pax hesitated, looking at Rogaan for help. When Rogaan remained silent, Pax replied defensively, “No.”

  “No,” Rogaan confirmed flatly.

  “Thought so,” Suhd declared accusingly.

  “She is your sister,” Rogaan stated sardonically to Pax.

  “Ya. She is,” Pax agreed with a faint smile.

  “What are ya two talking of?” Suhd asked, as if she were left out of the conversation. When they held their tongues, Suhd made as if she was going to press them to reveal their secret, but instead covered her mouth and nose with her hand. “Can we go? I need to wash this stink off.”

  The three made their way north through the almost empty streets as the sun climbed to its mid-day height. At times they ran, but mostly the three found themselves creeping alone at the sides of buildings and in bushes, ferns, flowers, and even garbage…all to avoid being caught, arrested, maybe worse. To Rogaan, their going seemed to take longer than needed, almost a snail’s pace. Time was urgent, and his frustration grew from the realization that their parents were being whisked away by the Farratum Tusaa’Ner to somewhere he did not know. He saw the same frustration building in Pax and Suhd. Complaining would only slow them, so he heeled in his agitation and kept silent as they pressed on. When they neared the nose-wrinkling stench of the Dusty Shovel’s back alley, Pax, leading, turned east, taking them across Market Road. A small contingent of Brigum Tusaa’Ner patrolling Market Road nearly spotted them before they disappeared into an alleyway between a cluster of brown-brick two-story buildings near Rogaan’s house.

  While they hid in the alley waiting for the Tusaa’Ner to pass, several women dressed in simple gray tunics, rope belts, and low-ankle sandals walked by carrying baskets filled with what Rogaan took for laundry. The women regarded them with reserved curiosity before continuing on their way as Rogaan, Pax, and Suhd huddled behind a stone garden wall half the height of a person. Rogaan’s neck hairs bristled when he saw Pax pull out one of his concealed knives from under his tunic. He quickly recovered from his surprise at Pax’s bold and dark intent, finding himself alarmed at what his friend might do...what he might be capable of doing. Intending to hold Pax from harming the women, Rogaan stared his friend down, holding his eyes and hopefully his hand. Pax returned his stare...cold and emotionless. With a shiver, Rogaan wondered just how much he really knew of his friend. The women passed without loitering or giving them away, and not until they were halfway to the street did Pax shoot Rogaan a mischievous smile and slide his knife back under his tunic. Rogaan stole a look at Suhd to see if she had noticed Pax’s unsheathed blade. She had not. He thanked the Ancients that she missed her brother’s darkness.

  The Tusaa’Ner patrol stopped at the alley head to inspect the narrows. They gave it a cursory glance before continuing on toward the mine. While they were looking down the alley, Rogaan held his breath, afraid they would be spotted. He kept an eye on Pax to see if he would produce another blade. No knife. Suhd kept quiet, but the fear in her eyes bordered on stark terror. He reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze that resulted in tears running down her cheeks. Rogaan was confused. Why cry? The guardsmen were gone. Suhd returned Rogaan’s squeeze and gave him a quick smile before wiping the tears from her face. She looked unnerved, but seemed to have kept her wits about her.

  With the guardsmen gone, they scurried along between several more brown-brick buildings before coming to the street just behind Rogaan’s home and just north of the Hall of Council grounds. Rogaan grabbed Pax to keep him from brashly jumping into the open. Pax shot Rogaan a harsh look when he realized he was being restrained, but said nothing. Rogaan met Pax’s gaze with defiance. He was not going to let recklessness see them captured. A slight breeze out of the north carried the pungent odor of waste and blood from the Meat House pens. The acrid odor hung heavy on the air in between the buildings where they hid, forcing the three to wrinkle their noses. While trying to put the stench out of his mind, Rogaan carefully surveyed the street to ensure it was clear. When satisfied, he crossed the paved stones with Pax and Suhd following closely.

  Rogaan led Pax and Suhd to a small wood shed that marked the western edge of his family’s courtyard at the back of their house. The stride-wide potting beds outlining the perimeter of the courtyard were full with flowers of various colors and pleasant scents. Their fragrance masked the odors of the pens to the north. Rogaan’s mother always chose just the right flowers throughout the seasons to keep their courtyard and home pleasant-smelling. Rogaan walked across the red and blue tiles of the courtyard to the heavy wooden door of the house’s cook room. Rogaan pressed his ear to the door to listen. When he was satisfied that nobody was on the other side he opened the door, peeked in then motioned for Pax and Suhd to follow.

  The cook room measured six strides to a side, with walls lined with ornately carved wooden floor cabinets, polished to a glossy shine, and topped with marble counters. Above, matching cabinets hung around the room, except in the corner off to Rogaan’s left where a wood-burning stove sat cold. A washbasin recessed into the marble countertop on the opposite side of room had unwashed pans and dishes sitting in water. Mother never leaves dishes unwashed. A little alarmed and concerned for his mother’s well-being, Rogaan crossed the room in several bounds and pushed through a heavy wooden bronze-banded door leading to the meal room. He abruptly slid to a halt once through the door, and stood with his mouth slung open. Sunlight brightly bathed the meal and grand rooms from a pair of circular ceiling mirrors almost five strides up in the peak of the roof. The meal room was as he remembered it before he left for the Hunt, but the grand room was in disarray. The tapestry nearest the front doors hung to one side as if it had been torn from its mount; several of the hanging crystal adornments lay shattered on the floor, one of the three small gray-padded chairs lay on its side broken, and blood dashed the floor in places. One splatter was at the front door, and another yet on the floor next to his mother, who now tended to the wounds of a baraan sitting in Rogaan’s favorite blue lounging chair. The large, dark-haired baraan was dressed in green hide breeches and a torn wide-shouldered tunic soaked with blood from his left shoulder down to his black belt. Rogaan’s mother was kneeling near the wounded baraan with blood stains on her hands, arms, and yellow dress. When she realized Rogaan was standing in the middle of the floor watching her, she quickly jumped to her sandaled feet, almost slipping on the spot of blood beside her. She brandished a knife in her left hand and had a look of desperation, not recognizing that the person standing before her was her own son.

  “Mother...?” Rogaan blurted with his hands waving in front of him. “It is me.”

  Sarafi stared blankly at Rogaan a few moments before lowering her knife. With slumping shoulders, she appeared relieved at the sight of him then made a quick, stolid-faced, boots to head inspection of Rogaan. After her eyes scanned him, she said simply, “I am pleased to see you’re not seriously injured, my son, but you should not have returned. It’s not safe for you here.”

  Rogaan stood stunned at her casual tone and cold demeanor, both falling far short of his expectations. His mother’s greeting raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He felt unnerved from it. Dangerous for me? What about for Mother? His mother returned to tending the wound of the baraan grimacing in Rogaan’s favorite chair. Rogaan approached the two, careful not to step on glass or slip on blood, while keeping a wary eye on the wounded baraan, as if he might jump to the attack. He stopped a stride from his mother and better than an arms-length from the chair.

  “Do you remember Imtaesus?” Sarafi asked without looking up, instead keeping her focus on the wound while she worked with needle and thread. Rogaan regarded the wounded baraan closer after his mother’s question. He was tall by baraan standards, and lean, with more muscle than average. Rogaan guessed he and the stranger were about the same height, though he could not be sure while he sat in his favorite chair...bled on it. Black hair hung to the
baraan’s shoulders, touching his blood-stained green tunic, and a short-cut black beard hid much of his features, except for his penetrating green eyes. His wide-shouldered green tunic was cut at the shoulder -- by a knife or dagger, Rogaan guessed, though the wound did not look as bad up close as it had when he entered the room. Sarafi finished packing what started as a clean piece of cloth into the wound, and secured it with another long strip wrapped around the shoulder and arm. The stranger appeared familiar, scratching at Rogaan’s memories, but he could not place him. A glint of steel near the stranger’s right hand and lap made Rogaan take a step back and assume a fighting stance with feet about as wide as his shoulders, all the while fixing his eyes on the stranger.

  “Rogaan, he is blood,” Sarafi announced softly with a gentle hand placed on Rogaan’s forearm. “Maybe it has been too long for you. Imtaesus is my youngest brother, and has been away from Brigum for quite some time.”

  Imtaesus gave Rogaan a piercing gaze then stood up with a little effort with an extended hand. Rogaan stood his ground for a few moments, then warily grasped Imtaesus’ forearm in greeting, which brought a wide grin to Imtaesus. “You’ve certainly grown, Rogaan. I would never have guessed you’d be so big, given....”