by Marc Secchia
Benevolence, or extortion? It rather depended on one’s perspective, didn’t it?
Chapter 16: Improbably Surfing
The afteroon following the equinoctial storm, Zaranna and Sanu reached a place which had been within sight for two days – the edge of Azoron’s Gorge. Here, the Obsidian Highlands ended, shearing off into a canyon of such depth that the lava lakes below were mere glowing dots, and the fumaroles and fissures appeared as specks and threads of red or gold in a landscape as blasted as any Zaranna had seen yet.
“The Earthen Fires,” said Sanu.
It took her a moment to work out where the girl was pointing. Directly below the outcropping they stood upon, the gorge contained a further, apparently bottomless chasm, jagged and impassable as far as the eye could see, which separated the highlands from the rest of the canyon floor four miles or so beneath their feet. A chasm within a canyon. How deep did it penetrate? All the way to the Abyssal Plains? Fall in, sup with a demon?
Making her mouth-veil flap with the force of her anger, Sanu growled, “Guess the reason the Pegasi and Unicorns landed us on this side of Azoron’s Gorge, Zaranna? Go on. I double-dare you with Sky-Fire forfeits. Now’s the moment you unfurl your wings, isn’t it, Plains filly?”
Zaranna could only stare in horror. “There’s a … b-bridge?”
Sanu spat on the Horse’s right forehoof, apparently a curse upon enemies and a blessing upon the one who received the spittle, as she understood it. “Your precious Pegasus Prince told you a filthy lie!”
“Why would he … he wants to save his skin, Sanu? Surely?”
To her further shock, Sanu turned and laid her hand on Zaranna’s muzzle. “You aren’t the sharpest dagger in the Tribe, are you? Maybe he wanted you to lead Tayburrl Darkwolf here. That’s why we tied your hooves in cloth bags, broke your scent-trail and hid your scatterings. Jesafion was using you. Or, Tayburrl. You’ve no concept of how much we’re hated.”
“They knew already,” Zaranna whispered, despairing. “They knew exactly where you are.”
Sanu said, “Come, Zaranna. Gird your heart with the courage of Sky-Fires. I’ll take you to my Tribe. The warning must be given; the auguries consulted, and the tribal elders must speak their wisdom. Perhaps there is a legend of a bridge. Perhaps your strange tale will spark unexpected storms in our minds. And … I must help you. After all, you paid for my help.”
Her insistence on a proper price and payment was most peculiar.
Sanu walked on with one arm thrown over Zaranna’s back to take the weight off her bad leg. After two hours, she led the Plains Horse into a concealed draw that soon turned into a tunnel. Four times, Sanu paused to give a password, a different one each time, and unseen guards allowed them to pass. Soon, they emerged into a tiny, fortified Vale situated beneath two broad archways of rock, which allowed only a narrow patch of sky to be seen above. A massive ironbound doorway which could have fronted any respectable castle, opened onto a tiny, self-contained realm of lush purple crops and small stone huts covered in rushes apparently harvested from the banks of a small pond directly ahead of them, where small dark children played and kittens squabbled and the adults gazed at Zaranna with undisguised shock. But they greeted Sanu with cries of unbridled joy.
“Gryphon hunter!” they shouted, mobbing Sanu. “Sky-strider!”
The Horse drew a little aside. So this was Human society? An outpouring of love. Chaos. Laughter. Poor Sanu was trapped in a shouting, dancing crowd. Most were dressed as she was, in simple black or dark brown leathers with the ubiquitous pair of curved daggers slung at the hips, their dark hair covered in cloth for the ladies and leather skullcaps for the men, and both men and women wore mouth-veils. The children went barefoot but wore neat, functional khaki clothing in good repair. People worked at crafts here and there – bow-making and meat-drying and basket-weaving, and she saw a smithy and what appeared to be a bakery, judging by the scrumptious smells drifting back to her on the breeze. The huts seemed well-tended.
Then, quite the largest man Zaranna had ever seen, ducked out of one of the huts, followed by two men who must be his sons, or she missed her mark. They were the type of men for which the phrase ‘built like a bull’ had been coined. Tall, massively thick of girth with necks disappearing into muscular shoulders, they towered over most of the assemblage. Pirates, she thought. Warlords. There was no mistaking the swagger, or the weight of metal – both armour and jewellery – that adorned their frames. Like Tayburrl, they moved with leonine menace. No lumbering oxen, these.
“Sanu!” roared the older man, enveloping her tiny frame in a bear-hug that would have crushed most ordinary mortals. “You walked amongst the Sky-Fires and return to us alive?”
“Father!”
Zaranna could not hear the rest of Sanu’s reply, but the father turned at once, gazing at the Plains Horse with an unreadable expression darkening his bearded face and narrowing his piercing green eyes. She gulped. Right. Time to put her best diplomatic hoof forward. Because Sanu’s Tribe were going to love the news she had for them. Oh yes indeed.
The man stalked over to her. Roughly, as if the words emerged with great difficulty, he said, “May the Sky-Fires imbue your soul with brilliance, Plains Horse. I am Kesuu, leader of this Outland Tribe. I understand I have you to thank for my daughter’s life?”
Zaranna said, “I was escaping the Onyx Pentacle when I happened upon Sanu in the mountains. She had been mauled by a Gryphon and was in bad shape. I did what I could to help.”
Kesuu growled, “My Tribe does not take charity!”
“I demanded payment.”
“How did you travel so far, so fast?” asked the big man, hooking his fingers in his belt as he glared at her. “She was sorely wounded.”
“I hopped most of the way,” said Sanu.
“I carried her,” Zaranna corrected, belatedly noticing Sanu’s cutting motion at her neck. Oh no!
“You … WHAT?” The huge man gave a cry of pain and clutched his abdomen, his face breaking into a sheen of sweat over a suddenly greyish cast. The entire village stilled at his outburst. Sanu rushed to him; her father shoved her away, cursing luridly. Still hunched over, he hissed, “You … Earthen Fire cursed … liar! I’ll kill you!”
Her stomach knotted up. What had she done to provoke this response?
Uncertainly, Zara explained, “I only did that because Sanu was wounded and unconscious. Would you have had me leave her for the scavengers to eat?”
“Better that,” Kesuu groaned. “Oh, far better that!”
Sanu said, “She gave me no choice, father. I swear she’s mad. As insane as the Earthen Fires themselves. You taught me to take advantage of any situation as best I can.”
“But of an Equine … crazy enough to … you … bore a Human on your back? Here?”
She had misjudged. Not just hoof-in-mouth. This was an epic blunder, the stuff of gasps and disbelief, shock enough to almost slay the man facing her. His face twisted in despair. His Tribe began to moan, taking their cue from his reaction, a sound that tingled every hair on her hide and made butterflies, for the briefest of instants, flutter across her vision.
Kesuu cried, “Sanu, you’ve killed us!”
“It was my life or that of the Tribe,” hedged the girl. “Besides, how would the Pegasi or Unicorns find out what we’ve done?”
“They’ve spies everywhere, abroad, in the Sky-Fires above! This news is all over Sentalia Vale and beyond, by now.” Shrugging off the hands of his sons, Kesuu faced Sanu, raising his hand as if intending to strike her. Yet he did not. Slowly, the trembling hand formed a fist and returned to his side. “By the holy spirits, what were you two children thinking? A Horse carrying a Human? An Equine bothering to save a Human? And a stupid, feckless Human rides said stupid, feckless Horse openly across the Obsidian Highlands – aye, our scouts spotted you a day ago but I did not believe their reports, more the fool I. A Centaur? Gryphon spit and Dragon fire upon it! I should have you both whipped a
nd thrown into the Gorge before the Pegasi arrive to finish the job themselves!”
Just when Zaranna presumed his bitter diatribe was finished, he shouted, “There’s never been a reason to forbid riding an Equine because no-one, Equine or Human, has ever been idiot enough to flout the sky-spirits in this way! It’s –” his face twisted a dozen ways before he finished lamely “– insane. Beyond taboo; it’s unthinkable. I can’t even begin to describe … explain yourselves. You, Horse, I can understand. You’ve something to gain by our extermination, for that has been the Pegasus’ plan all along. But you, Sanu? By the spirits, what evil did I do to deserve such a fool for a daughter? Woe! Woe to us all! We are undone!”
Great. And a few more people were convinced she was a few stars short of a constellation. This was becoming passé. She thought she had won Sanu over as a new friend. Clearly, Sanu had thought only to take advantage of what she took for mental instability! Charming.
What an ugly life’s-lesson.
With unexpected speed, Kesuu turned to wallop Sanu on the shoulder. “Dig us out of this Earthen Fire pit if you can, daughter, you and that silver tongue of yours. Just like your mother. Trouble enough to fill that ruddy gorge out there!”
Sanu said mutinously, “What’s so evil about riding a crazy Plains Horse anyway? Tayburrl Darkwolf is on his way here with a band of his Twisted to slay us all.”
Her father just pulled handfuls of beard hair out by the roots. Literally.
The Tribe exploded in wailing grief.
* * * *
Three hours later, with night drawing in and most of the keening, screaming, hair-pulling, face-tearing and impromptu bouts of fisticuffs having subsided, and Sanu having seen off a lynch-mob intent on performing some aggressive peasant-mob surgery on Zaranna’s alarmed personage, the elders and leaders of Kesuu’s Tribe settled down around a fire to commence serious discussions. A few things had finally fallen into place for her during the course of that exciting afternoon. Sanu was conflicted, first protecting the Plains Horse, then blaming her in the very next breath. Kesuu was convinced that doom was imminent on three fronts – Tayburrl would sup upon the first course, then the Pegasi would burn any leftovers, and failing either of those unhappy fates, the spirits themselves would rise up and slay the Tribe for crimes which included gross insult, mortal sin and inexcusable blasphemy. On a minor side note, there was no known way of crossing Azoron’s Gorge, despite Jesafion’s assurances. She pictured returning to poke that ineffably insufferable ignoramus in the eye.
Zaranna scowled from the sidelines as everyone patiently listened to the tribal elders, who looked like grizzled old wizards with their skullcaps and foot-long white beards, mumbling their long-winded pronouncements like the biblical Job’s friends turning misfortune into interminable philosophical asides. Collectively, their wisdom amounted to, ‘We’re doomed.’
The recklessness of the two youths was explained, dissected, thrashed to death, decried and kicked into realms inhabited by the likes of the lice on Shuzug’s body, should they exist.
Ha. She gazed around the circle of faces, thinking hard and ignoring the pain in her folded knees. These were not bad people. Even in her short time listening to them, it had become clear their ideas of morals and hers diverged widely. They were loud, lively and in all likelihood, a den of thieves and cutthroats. They were also misunderstood, oppressed and justifiably bitter about their history with the tyrannical Pegasi and Unicorns. So many hurts!
They were also her people. Well, her species. Sort of, maybe …
She thrust that point of potential confusion aside. Yolanda might formulate an opinion; Zara needed to formulate a way of staying alive. That way she could indeed return to vex Jesafion like one of those swamp-loving vampire-pony creatures. He deserved it. Oh – that image gave her an idea. Since she was crazy, she should act in character.
Finally, after sufficient doom had been agreed upon and everyone sat about staring at the fire with glum faces, and smoking pipes which somehow looked a little familiar to her, Zaranna said:
“May I speak?”
Kesuu glanced warily at her. “Do you expect us to pass the pipe of wisdom to you, Plains Horse, that you may smoke it and grow wise?”
“Actually, smoking is bad for the lungs,” she said, opting to be forthright. These people already thought they were dead, so a little honesty should not hurt … not for long anyway. Distasteful joke. Hoof out of mouth, Zaranna! “It strikes me, Kesuu, that if you can somehow be responsible for getting me and my message to Sentalia Vale, that the obligation to the Equines might be negotiated or considered repaid?”
The big man’s eyes narrowed as he stroked what remained of his beard. “Go on.”
“If you stay here in the Obsidian Highlands, life does not appear to hold great promise. I guarantee that sometime tomorrow or the day after, your scouts will spot Tayburrl Darkwolf and his troops. The Hooded Wizard will not withhold; his armies will soon be ready and destruction will come. And you say the Pegasi will not be far behind. So I say, join the fight. Fight and win, and thereby win your freedom.”
Her words seemed to fall in dead air. No Human around that fire clapped or cheered or leaped to their feet in approbation. Instead, all looked to their leader. Blue tobacco smoke curled around the elders’ heads and shoulders as they passed a ceremonial pipe one to the next. The pipe had an ornately carved bowl the size of a man’s fist, and a stem the length of Sanu’s arm.
She was asking too much of them. It must be nigh impossible to set aside the years of bitterness and hardships she saw etched in every face around her, marked in the heavy lines of the elders’ expressions and the set of mouths; evidenced by the readiness of weapons and the transience of this community …
She added, unsteadily, “For your children, and theirs to come. Please. I beg you to consider my words.”
“Stirring talk,” Kesuu agreed, suddenly brusque. “Negotiation might be possible if we bring information crucial to the Prince’s survival or even rescue. Even our best hunters have been unable to lay eyes on the Obsidian Pentacle these last ten years. Sanu nearly died in the attempt.”
“The Pentacle’s location alone would be valuable intelligence to the Pegasi,” Zaranna noted.
“Information you also can give them. What’s your gain in this transaction, Plains Horse?”
“Continued life holds its attractions.”
Placing her hand on Zaranna’s back, Sanu scowled across the fire at her father. “If the Plains Horse speaks truth. If Tayburrl is coming. If we can cross the Gorge. If we can reach Sentalia Vale using the path she described. If the Pegasi will negotiate with outcasts. We can hide in these mountains all our lives, father, and continue to suffer. How does Kesuu’s Tribe calculate the odds?”
The pipe had ended up in Kesuu’s left hand. He puffed vigorously, then exhaled into the air above the fire, crying, “Speak, o spirits of our ancestors!”
Zara involuntarily voiced a startled whicker, amidst other cries around the fire. For there, seen for a moment in the rising fire-smoke and tobacco smoke, were the intertwined images of a Horse and a Dragon.
Slowly, the pipe-stem tilted toward her. “You,” growled Kesuu. “You bring Dragon-sign among us?”
He began to rise, knuckles whitening on the hilt of his dagger, when one of his sons restrained him. He said, “Father. The augury has appeared. This is a place of peace until fires are coals and the voice of the people is heard. Will the spirits add to our portion with the cup of violence?”
One of the elders opposite, twirling his long white beard, said querulously, “Dragon-sign is not doom-sign, my children. Inquiry shall our path illuminate.”
Yet the night was suddenly fraught with tension. Zaranna wished she understood half of their mumbo-jumbo, but she supposed that might come with experience. Right now, she knew what she must do. Pray Illume would appear to deliver them in some miraculous fashion.
She said, “I know a Dragon. I will name him with a nam
e of power, and he will come to me as promised, and we will inquire of him a way to cross Azoron’s Gorge.”
Good grief. Listening to herself, Zaranna had a sense of utter unreality. Some girl back on Earth was busy adjusting to life plus super-cool boyfriend, but minus legs. Here she was fighting for a chance to save three or four hundred Humans from immediate annihilation and a Pegasus Prince from torture, following which they would find out shortly what Worafion’s real plans for Equinox might be. If the little she knew about him was true, that did not include dancing across meadows singing excerpts from the Sound of Music. More like world domination and the destruction of all Equines.
If only she had a pair of hands … but then she could not have helped Sanu as well, or reached Kesuu’s Tribe in time. She had what she had.
Kesuu tugged at his beard in fury. “Why not toss a Dragon into this storm-wreck as well? By all means!”
But the elder who had spoken before, interrupted, “Our quarrel is not with the Dragonkind.” And he turned to Zara. “The spirits have spoken, young Plains Horse. They delivered you to us for a purpose. Now muster your courage, filly, for I see that your heart burns within you.”
Slowly, she unfolded her legs.
Beneath the rocky overhangs, she stood in a place where people gathered in fear of their lives, trembling at the troubles to come. Yet, she could change this. Maybe. For their sakes, she would attempt to wrestle with the great magical tides of Equinox. Light did not always pierce darkness; sometimes, the darkness took up arms to resist the light. Could she somehow, by some miracle, be light?
Raising her muzzle to the few stars she could see through the deep cleft beneath their stone roof, Zaranna called, “Illume the Stars, I need you.”
ILLUME!
His Soul-name sang out of her mouth, complete with fanfares of turquoise butterflies.
* * * *
Alex carried Zaranna across Noordhoek Beach, but stopped halfway with a sharp grimace. “Woof, that feels weird.”
