The Emerald Storm

by Michael J. Sullivan

  No one complained about the delay as the rain continued. Seeing Royce in the ostrium that morning, Grady winked and asked Hadrian if it might be possible for Royce to have a relapse.

  “’E ez good?” Fan Irlanu asked, coming to them after the evening meal concluded. Her movement was entrancingly graceful, her dress glistened like oil in the lamplight. All eyes followed her.

  “No—but he’s feeling a lot better,” Hadrian replied. His mischievous grin left a puzzled expression on her face.

  “My language is perhaps not—”

  “I am very good, thank you,” Royce told her. “Apparently, I owe you my life.”

  She shook her head. “Repay me by getting strong—ah, but I do ’ave a favor to ask of your friend, Hay-dree-on. Joqdan, varlord of dee village asks dat ’e speak vis you at dee sarap.”

  “Me?” Hadrian asked, looking across to where the man in the bone necklaces sat. “Is it all right if Royce joins us? I’d like to keep an eye on him.”

  “But, of course, if ’e ez up to et.”

  Hadrian helped Royce to his feet and, as the rest watched with envious stares, the two followed Fan Irlanu out of the ostrium. The sun had not yet set, but for what little light the jungle permitted it might just as well have. Oil lamps hung from branches, illuminating the path, decorating the village like a Summersrule festival. The rain still poured and they left the lodge under the protection of palm branches. Hadrian knew sarap translated to, “meeting place,” or “talking place.” In this case, it was a giant Oudorro tree from which, he recently learned, the village took its name.

  The tree was not as tall as it was round. Great, green leaves thrived on many of its branches despite the fact that the center of the trunk was completely hollow. The space within provided shelter from the rain and was large enough for the four of them. A small ornately decorated fire pit dominated the center of the floor and glowed with red coals. Around this, they took seats on luxurious pillows of silk and satin. The interior walls were painted with various ocher and umber dyes smeared into the wood, apparently by stained fingers. The images depicted men and animals—twisted shapes of strange visions. There were also mysterious symbols and swirling designs. Illuminated by the glowing coals, the interior of the tree felt eerily talismanic creating a sensation that left Hadrian on edge.

  Joqdan was already there. He had not waited for a boy with the palms, and his bare head and chest were slick with rain. They all exchanged bows respectfully.

  “Pleezed am I,” Joqdan greeted them. “Mine speech…ez, ah…not good as dee learned. I varrior—do not speak to out-side-erz. You are…” he paused for a moment thinking hard, “Special. Am honored. Velcome you to Oudorro, Galenti. I…” he paused thinking again and quickly became frustrated and turned to Fan Irlanu.

  “Dee Varlord Joqdan regrets dat language skills are not good enough to honor you, and ’e asks dat I speak words,” Fan Irlanu told them as she removed her wet wrap. “’E says dat ’e saw you fight in dee arena at Drogbon. ’E ’as never forgotten et. To ’ave such a legend ’ere ez great honor. As you do not wear dee laurel, ’e dinks you do not vish be recognized. ’E ’as asked you ’ere to pay proper respect in private.”

  Hadrian glanced briefly at Royce who remained silent but attentive. “Thank you,” he told Joqdan. “And he is right—I would prefer not to be recognized.”

  “Joqdan begs permission to ask a question of dee great Galenti. ’E would like to know vie you left.”

  Hadrian paused only a moment then replied. “It was time to seek new battles.”

  The Warlord of Oudorro nodded as Fan Irlanu translated his words.

  At that moment, something about Fan Irlanu caught Royce’s attention and he rapidly approached her. She did not move although, given the ominous manner of his advance, Hadrian guessed that most anyone else would have at least taken a step back.

  “Where did you get that mark on your shoulder?” Royce asked indicating a small swirling tattoo.

  “That is the mark of a seer,” Zulron declared, startling all of them as he entered.

  Unlike the other men of the village, Zulron wore a full robe. Made from a shimmering cloth it was open enough for them to see his misshapen body covered in strange tattoos. The one that spread across his face resembled the web of a spider.

  “Fan Irlanu is a vision-walker,” he explained, staring admiringly at her. “It is a talent and a gift bestowed by Oberlin upon those endowed with the hot blood of the Ghazel. Few are born each age, and she is very powerful. She can see the depths of a heart, and the future of a nation.” He paused to run his fingers gingerly down the side of her cheek. “She can see all things except her own destiny.”

  “You don’t suffer from a language barrier, I see,” Hadrian said.

  Zulron smiled. “I am the oberdaza. I know the movement of the stars in the Ba Ran and the books of your world. All mysteries are revealed to me.”

  “Is it true that you are a visionary?” Royce asked Fan Irlanu.

  She nodded. “Vis dee burning of dee tulan leaves I—”

  “Give him a demonstration,” Zulron interrupted, causing her to look sharply at him. “Read this one’s future,” he said, gesturing toward Royce.

  A puzzled look crossed her face, but she nodded.

  Joqdan put a firm hand to Zulron’s shoulder and spun him around, but spoke too quickly for Hadrian to understand. The two argued briefly but all he caught was one word of Zulron’s reply, “Important.”

  When he turned back, Zulron’s eyes fell on Hadrian, who he openly studied. “So, you are the legendary Galenti.” He raised an eyebrow. “Looking at you I would say Joqdan is mistaken, but I know Joqdan is never mistaken. Still, you don’t look like the Tiger of Mandalin. I’d thought you would be much bigger.” He turned abruptly back to Fan Irlanu. “The leaves, burn them.”

  As Fan Irlanu moved to a stone box, Zulron asked them to take seats aroundthe glowing coals of the fire ring.

  Hadrian took Royce aside. “Perhaps we should go. I can’t say I like Mister Witchdoctor’s attitude much, seems like he’s up to something. The fact that he’s been spending time with Thranic doesn’t help.”

  Royce glanced at Fan Irlanu. “No, I want to stay.”

  “What’s all this about?”

  “The tattoo—Gwen has the same one.”

  Reluctantly, Hadrian sat.

  Fan Irlanu returned with several large dry leaves. Even withered and brittle they were a brilliant shade of red. She held them over the coals and muttered something while crushing the leaves and letting them fall onto the embers. Instantly, a thick white smoke billowed. It did not rise, but pooled and drifted. Fan Irlanu used her hands to contain the smoke, wafting it, scooping it, swirling it into a cloud before her. Then she bent and breathed in the ashen mist. Repeatedly, she swept the smoke and inhaled deeply.

  The last of the leaves burned away and the smoke faded. Fan Irlanu’s eyes closed and she began swaying on her knees, humming softly. After a few minutes, she reached out her hands.

  “Touch her,” Zulron instructed Royce.

  Royce hesitated briefly. He looked at her the way Hadrian had seen him eye an elaborate lock. The greater the potential treasure behind the door, the more tension showed in Royce’s eyes, and at that moment he looked as if Fan Irlanu might hold the secret to a fortune. He reached out his fingers. At his touch, she took hold of him.

  There was a pause, then Fan Irlanu began to moan and finally shake her head, slowly at first but faster and faster the longer she held on. Her mouth opened and she groaned the way one might in a nightmare, struggling to speak but unable to form words. She jerked, her eyes shifting wildly under closed lids, her voice louder but saying nothing distinguishable.

  Joqdan’s face was awash with concern, making Hadrian wonder if something was wrong. Fan Irlanu continued to struggle. Joqdan started to move, but a quick glare from Zulron held him back. At last, the woman screamed and collapsed on the pillows.

  “Leave
her alone!” Zulron shouted in Tenkin.

  Joqdan ignored him, rushing to her side. Fan Irlanu laid on the ground thrashing. She cried out, then became still.

  Joqdan clutched her, whispering in her ear. He held her head and placed a hand near her mouth to feel for breath. “You’ve killed her! ” he shouted at Zulron and, without another word, lifted the seer in his arms and ran out into the rain.

  “What’s going on? What’s happening?” Hadrian asked.

  “Your friend is not human,” the oberdaza declared. Zulron stepped up to face Royce. “Why are you here?”

  “We’re part of the crew of the Emerald Storm on our way to deliver a message to the Palace of the Four Winds,” Hadrian answered for him.

  Zulron did not take his eyes off Royce. “For three ’zousand years the ancient legends have told of the Day of Reckoning, when the shadow from the north will descend to wash over our lands.”

  Derning, Grady, Poe, and Bulard entered. “What’s going on?” Derning asked. “We heard a woman scream. And saw the big guy carrying her away.”

  “There was an accident,” Hadrian explained.

  Both Derning and Grady immediately looked at Royce.

  “We don’t know what happened to her,” Hadrian continued. “She was doing a kind of spiritual demonstration—reading Royce’s fortune or something, and she collapsed.”

  “She collapsed?” Derning said.

  “She was breathing tulan leaf smoke. Maybe it was a bad batch.”

  Zulron ignored their conversation and continued to glare at Royce, “The Ghazel legend, preserved by oral memory from the time of the first Ghazel-Da-Ra, tells of death and destruction, revenge unleashed, the Old Ones coming again. I have seen the signs myself. I watch the stars and know. To the north, there have been rumblings. Estramn>s active, and Avempartha has been opened. Now here is an elf in my village where one has never walked before.”

  “An elf?” Derning asked puzzled.

  “That is what killed Fan Irlanu,” Zulron told them. “Or at the very least has driven her insane.”

  “What!” Hadrian exclaimed.

  “It’s not possible to use the sight on an elf. The lack of a soul offers up only infinity. For her it was like walking off a bottomless cliff. If she lives, she will never be the same.”

  “You’re the village healer. Shouldn’t you be trying to help her?”

  “He wants her dead,” Royce finally spoke. Then looking at Zulron added, “You knew.”

  “What did he know?” Bulard asked, tense but fascinated. Grady and Derning also leaned forward.

  “You knew I was elven, didn’t you? But you told her—no—coerced her to do a reading,” Royce said.

  Outside there were sounds of commotion, running feet and raised voices. Hadrian heard Wesley saying something over the heated shouts of Tenkins.

  “Why did you want her dead?”

  “I did nothing. You are the one that killed her. And killing a member of the village, especially a seer, is an unpardonable crime. The punishment is death.” Zulron gave a smile before stepping outside.

  The rest of them followed to find a gathering crowd.

  “There he is!” Thranic shouted the moment Royce stepped out of the tree. He pointed and said, “There’s your elf! I warned you about him.”

  “He has slain our seer, Fan Irlanu!” Zulron announced, and repeated it in Tenkin.

  Burandu, Wesley, and Wyatt pushed their way through the mob.

  “Is this true?” Wesley asked quickly, his voice nervous.

  “Which?” Royce asked.

  “Are you an elf, and did you just kill Fan Irlanu?”

  “Yes, and I’m not sure.”

  The crowd grew and Hadrian could pick out words such as justice, revenge and kill among the many Tenkin shouts.

  “By Mar, man!” Wesley said fiercely but quietly to Royce. “What is it with you? I should let you hang just for the amount of trouble you’ve caused.” He took a breath. The crowd pressed in and lightning flashed overhead while thunder boomed. “What do you mean when you say you’re not sure?” Wesley asked. He was speaking quickly, wiping the rain from his face.

  “The murderer must pay for his crime, Burandu,” Zulron declared in Tenkin. “His soullessness has killed our beloved Fan Irlanu. The law demands justice!”

  “Where is Joqdan?” Burandu asked.

  “Paying his last respects to his dead would-be wife. If he was here, he would agree.”

  “He lies! Zulron is to blame,” Hadrian spoke in Tenkin, which drew a surprised look from everyone.

  “What are they saying?” Wesley asked Hadrian.

  “The oberdaza is pushing for our deaths and Burandu is buying it.”

  “Bring them all!” Burandu shouted.

  The warriors of the village descended and Hadrian considered for a moment whether he should draw his swords, but decided against it. He shot a look at Royce to indicate he should not resist.

  They were driven to the village center, where Dilladrum was shouting, “Let go of me! What are you doing?” When he saw Wesley he asked, “What did you do? I told you not to offend them!”

  “We didn’t offend them,” Hadrian explained. “We killed their beloved seer.”

  “What!” Dilladrum looked as if he was about to faint.

  “Actually, it is a misunderstanding, but I’m not sure we’ll get the chance to explain,” Wesley put in.

  “At least Thranic will die with us,” Royce said loud enough for the sentinel to hear.

  “A martyr’s death is a fair price to rid the world of you and your kind.”

  Lightning flashed again, revealing the pallid faces of the crew in its stark light.

  Grady was shoved to the ground and reached for his sword>

  “Grady, don’t!” Hadrian said.

  “That’s right,” Wesley shouted. “No one draw weapons. They’ll slaughter us.”

  “They will anyway,” Derning replied.

  Poe and Hadrian pulled Grady back to his feet. All around them, the ring of warriors formed a wall, behind which churned a crowd of shouting faces and raised fists. The rain-drenched mob pushed and cried its words lost in a roar of hatred. Lightning flashed once more, and a single voice rang out, “You knew! ”

  Instantly the crowd fell silent and parted. Only the pour of rain disturbed the stillness as Fan Irlanu entered the circle, Joqdan at her side carried a deadly-looking spear, his eyes grim and focused on Zulron.

  “Burandu, it is not the strangers fault. It was Zulron who asked that I do the reading. He knew this one had elven blood. But I am still alive!”

  “But—no…how could you…” Zulron stammered.

  “He is not an Old One,” Fan Irlanu said. “He is a kaz! There is humanity in him—footholds, Zulron, footholds!”

  “What’s going on?” Wesley asked Hadrian. “Isn’t she the one Royce killed? What’s she saying?”

  “She seems a might upset,” Grady said.

  “But not at Royce,” Poe remarked.

  “Who then?” Grady asked.

  “Zulron has tried to kill me. I have known for some time his ambitions were great. I saw the treachery in his heart, but I never expected he would go so far.”

  “Joqdan, what say you. Is what Fan Irlanu says true?” Burandu addressed his warlord.

  Joqdan thrust his spear into the chest of Zulron.

  The long blade passed fully through the oberdaza’s body. Those nearby jostled backward, everyone moving away. Joqdan advanced the length of his spear’s shaft and gripped Zulron by the throat. Holding him with strong arms, he spat in the witchdoctor’s face. The light faded from the oberdaza’s eyes, and Joqdan withdrew his spear as Zulron fell dead.

  “I think that answers your question,” Poe remarked.

  Burandu looked down at the body, then up at Joqdan, and nodded. “Joqdan is never wrong. I am pleased you are safe, Fan Irlanu,” he said to her. Then the Elder addressed Wesley and the others. “Forgive dee dishonor of evi
l Zulron. Judge us not by ’is actions. You too ’ave such men in your vorld, eh?”

  Wesley glanced at Thranic and Royce.

  Burandu shouted to his warriors and they dispersed the crowd. Many paused to kiss Fan Irlanu who stood weakly, leaning against Joqdan. She offered a strained smile, but Hadrian could see the paleness of her face and the effort in her breathing.

  The Elder spoke briefly with Joqdan and Fan Irlanu, then Joqdan lifted the seer once more and carried her to one of the smaller dwellings. Zulron’s body was dragged away and with him went most of the Tenkins.

  “That’s it?” Grady asked.

  “Wait,” Dilladrum said as the leopard-skinned man approached. They spoke for a moment then Dilladrum returned. “The village of Oudorro asks our forgiveness for the misunderstanding and begs the honor to continue as our host.”

  They looked at one another skeptically.

  “They are sincere.”

  Wesley sighed and nodded. “Thank them for their kindness, but we will be leaving in the morning.”

  “Kindness?” Derning muttered. “They nearly skinned us alive. We should get out now while we can.”

  “I see no advantage in venturing into these jungles at night,” Wesley affirmed. “We will leave at first light.”

  “And what about Melborn?” Thranic hissed.

  “You, Doctor Levy, and Seamen Blackwater and Melborn will come with me. The rest I order to quarters to get as much sleep as possible.”

  A young Tenkin trotted up to them and spoke to Dilladrum, his eyes watching Royce.

  “What is it?” Wesley asked.

  “Fan Irlanu has requested Royce and Hadrian.”

  Before Thranic could object, they both nodded and offered an “Aye, aye, sir.”

  ***

  Fan Irlanu lay on a bed beneath a thin white sheet, as a young girl patted her forehead with a damp cloth rinsed repeatedly in a shallow basin. Joqdan remained at her side. His great spear, still covered in Zulron’s blood, stood by the door.