Miri nodded. “Yes. If the stories about the Maker are true, then this god would be far too powerful for us to take on alone. We would need an equally powerful ally, and it would have to be the Keeper.”
Chapter 8
Sitting on a boulder beneath the shadow of the cliff wall, Zeren took another swig of the wine he carried. Miri and Rion had been gone all day, and it had been said they would not return until the morrow. A small gang of curious children tried to approach him, but he threw a few pebbles to warn them away after his gestures to be left alone were ignored. The children quickly ran off, their echoing laughter trailing behind them. With Orilion still in deep negotiations on trade with the Khatun and her cronies, Zeren had nothing to do except watch over the crewmen for the sand sail as they went about their duties to maintain the vessel in working order.
A smiling, gangly youth came running up towards him. Ailos was the bastard son of one of the librarians of Lethe. He had been chosen to be the apprentice freight-master because he had some ability to read and write thanks to the informal tutelage of his father, and could therefore log the sand sail’s inventory of supplies. Unlike most of the crew who were held in awe of Rion, Ailos preferred to idolize Zeren, for he had grown up hearing tales of the former bandit’s exploits.
Zeren held out the wineskin as the young man sat down beside him. “Here, have some of this and let us be merry, for there is not much else to do.”
Ailos took a few sips before he started coughing. The youth readily handed the sack of wine back to him. “I-I cannot seem to take much of drink. It makes me dizzy.”
Zeren laughed before taking a long draught of the warm, alcoholic liquid. “You are still young, boy. In due time your taste for this shall grow.”
The youth quickly changed the subject. “Zeren, I must tell you something.”
“Then I pray thee to begin,” Zeren said. “I have much time to waste. My ears are fully attuned to your words, so let us hear what it is that made you run so swiftly to me.”
Ailos began to whisper, even though no one else was within earshot. “I spoke with one of the tribal leaders. While I ventured into one of the caverns to bring tools for the crew, he took me aside and spoke to me privately.”
Zeren raised an eyebrow. “One of the chiefs spoke to you?”
The youth nodded excitedly. “Yes, Zeren. He told me he wanted to make a private barter with us.”
“What is his name and what tribe does he belong to?”
“His name is Chief Cinil of the Tooan. He told me his tribe is the mightiest in the Khanate.”
Zeren chuckled. “They all say that. It seems every chief I have spoken to in these lands claims his tribe is the strongest.”
“I would tend to believe him,” Ailos said. “His tribe has four sand sails, and they are part of the Khanate fleet.”
“And what did he want?”
Ailos’s voice became even softer. “He seeks to trade with us.”
Zeren sighed. “Everyone seeks to trade with us. We have to wait until that sickly Khan of theirs is well again before they give us the sign.”
Ailos shook his head. “No, he wishes a private pact this very instant.”
Zeren leaned back on the rock face. He was not impressed by it at all. “And what does his tribe possess for trade that would compel us to defy the wishes of the rulers of this land?”
Ailos gave him a sly smile. “Guns, and other weapons.”
Zeren sat up in surprise. “What?”
“It is true, he showed me a weapon he carried beneath his cloak,” Ailos said. “It is similar to the musket Orilion has, but it is smaller, and he could fire it with one hand. He called it a flintlock.”
Zeren pursed his lips. “And he wishes to barter them away? For what?”
“Oh, for a few sacks of our uncut gems,” Ailos said softly. “And a few vials of the elixir.”
Zeren was taken aback. “How did he know about the vitae?”
The youth shrugged. “I read the inventory of all the supplies we carried. It was mentioned Orilion keeps the supply in a special bronze box, locked with a device called a key.”
“Did you tell him?”
Ailos shook his head. “No, no. It was not me. But the tales about the boy have been heard by many already.”
Zeren cursed. Rion had purposely bled himself to create several vials of medicine, to be administered to anyone in the crew should they be severely injured. They had all been told not to divulge this secret, but the word had apparently gotten out. “By the gods, if they all know this, then the boy is in danger.”
Ailos shook his head. “No, no, Zeren. Chief Cinil assured me very few of them are aware of this secret. He told me the Khatun and her retinue, including Chief Wulfgen, have no such knowledge about the boy and what he can do.”
Zeren scowled at him. “I want to find the fool who revealed this to him and the others. This knowledge brings great danger to us all.”
The youth shrugged apologetically. “I-I do not know who could have divulged it. We have been treated as guests for the past few days, and you know how much the crew looks up to Rion ever since he saved one of us by giving up some of his blood.”
Zeren didn’t answer. His mind began to worry for the boy. If only Miri was here, then she would get to the bottom of this dilemma. Things had suddenly become complicated, and he wasn’t sure about what to do next.
Ailos turned away in shame. “I … am sorry for all this, Zeren. I truly am. I was merely doing my work, minding no one- when I was sought out by that chief.”
Zeren sensed the youth was not blame. He was nothing more than the bearer of tidings. He placed a reassuring hand on Ailos’s scrawny shoulders. “Worry not. The fault does not lie with you. I feel I may have some words with this chief. Where is he?”
Chief Cinil’s quarters were on the other side of the mountain. The subterranean chambers honeycombed the mountain’s interior, and Zeren passed through several passages of abandoned caverns before coming up to a pair of sentries guarding an intersection. After telling them he wanted to meet with their chief, he was let through. Zeren had left Fumal Led’s sword in the hold of the sand sail, but he nevertheless wore his customary brigandine armor and vambraces. If it came to a fight, he figured he could easily take some weapons from his opponents.
An old woman wearing a tattered peplos ushered him into a high-ceilinged cavern before returning back to her station near the junction. There was a small group of four men standing beside a wrinkled nobleman. Zeren walked over until he stood in front of them. The group that flanked him said nothing, but the weapons hanging on their belts indicated they were bodyguards to the one facing him.
Sitting on a high chair near a smoldering fire pit was Chief Cinil, his wisps of long silvery hair hanging down his shoulders. The ancient tribal leader smiled at him with crooked teeth as he stroked his sparse, whitened goatee. “Welcome, stranger. So it seems my message was relayed to one of the leaders of your expedition since I recognized you from the audience with the Khan. Your name is Zeren, I believe?”
Zeren made a slight bow. “It is indeed. And you are Chief Cinil of the Tooan.”
The old man nodded. “I am. Have you considered my offer, young man?”
“I shall need to know more details,” Zeren said. “First of all, why are you defying the ruling of your own Khan?”
Cinil spat into the fire, his mucous caused a light sizzle on the burning dung. “Are you blind? Can you not see the Khan no longer rules? It is his accursed wife, the Khatun Nuada, who controls these lands now. She is giving everything to her favored tribe, the Zaash.”
Zeren nodded. “I have seen and heard as much. But my question remains. The Khatun is still part of the ruling family, and to defy them would risk war, yes?”
“I am chief of my tribe, and it carries its own responsibilities,” Cinil said. “The Khatun seeks to weaken those who have been loyal to the Khan for all these cycles, and I cannot let it happen to my people. I hav
e something you want, and you possess something that could help me.”
“In order for me to even listen to your bargain, I must know more,” Zeren said. “Why would the Khatun do these things?”
“Are you that naïve? Everyone seeks to gain their own power, for their own ends. The Khatun plans to support her chosen successor over her own son, this much is apparent.”
“So you are telling me that once the Khan dies, there will be war?”
“Yes, it is inevitable,” Cinil said. “There shall be blood. The Sea of Dunes will turn crimson. If my people are to survive this, then I must have the tools with which to defend them.”
“You seem to know everything,” Zeren said. “Now what is it our expedition possesses that seems so vital to you?”
“You have gems, that will help my people to mine more metal from the ground and build more sand sails,” the old man said softly. “And I have heard your expedition possesses a powerful elixir- the vitae of youth and power.”
Zeren didn’t betray any emotion. “What makes you believe that I or the crew of my vessel possesses such a thing?”
Cinil laughed. “The people of these lands may not know how to read the glyphs of telling stones anymore, but they compensate by having a keen ear, and many of the old tales are still being sung. One of these legends concerns the children of the stars, and of the power of their blood. All it took was to have one of us listen in on the drunken stories of one of your own during the eventide of feasting, and it was apparent the legends are true.”
Zeren shrugged. “Drunk people say all sorts of things which may or may not be the truth.”
“We have a saying here,” the old man said. “When you need to find the truth from a man, you must first get him drunk.”
“We had a similar proverb from Lethe too, but it is not proof of anything.”
“Not only do we have a keen ear in these lands, but we also have keen eyes,” Cinil said. “We do not send any of our younglings to crew our sand sails, for children would not be of much use on them. Your crew on the other hand seems to give much attention and respect to the youngest in your expedition. I can see for myself how they seem to bow slightly as a token of respect when that boy is around them. All this coincides with the tales we know by heart.”
Zeren gritted his teeth. For this chief to know the expedition possessed these medicinal elixirs, there had to be an informant amongst the crew. That sort of detail could not have been gleaned by observation and stories alone. He figured it best to play along, for he needed to know more. “I shall humor you. Let us presume we do possess such wondrous elixirs. What would you bargain with for them?”
Smiling, the chief of the Tooan drew back his cloak, revealing a small gun in his waist. “This is called a flintlock, or pistol. We have noticed your captain carries a larger version of this weapon, but none of you have anything like it.”
Zeren was confused. “Captain? I do not know that word.”
“Long ago when water covered these lands, our ancestors traveled on sand sails as well, but they were borne through endless plains of water instead. These vessels were called boats. The one who commanded such a sail was called a captain,” Cinil said. “That tradition carries over to us to this very day. We call the leader of our sand sails a captain.”
Zeren nodded. “I shall inform Orilion he has a new title then. I am sure it will flatter him.”
“Let us get to the heart of the matter,” Cinil said. “I can supply these weapons to you and your men.”
Zeren stroked his chin. “Since you monitor us with great clarity, I have also done my own observations about the people of this land. It seems you all have great supplies of bronze and even iron, far more than Lethe could ever have. How is this possible?”
The old man gave him a wrinkled smile. “You are referring to the sickness of metal? When a vein of iron turns into red dust, yes?”
Zeren nodded. “Aye. In Lethe, metal is more valuable than anything, even water. When a miner discovers a vein of precious substance, they have but half a day to take as much as they can before the rot sets in.”
Cinil waved his scrawny arms back and forth. “The metal sickness is all around us. I believe it is a living thing, but there are ways to keep it at bay.”
“How?”
Cinil winked at him. “These secrets will be revealed in due time, or for the right price.”
Zeren clenched his jaw. This chief was deliberately holding things back, angling for a better bargain. “How many of these weapons are you willing to give to us?”
“That depends on how many of these wondrous elixirs you have of which you are willing to trade.”
Zeren crossed his arms. He was getting impatient and hated this kind of talk. A part of him wished he had brought Orilion along, but he had already learned much, and there were still plenty of questions to be answered. “This way of stopping the rot of metal, it has something to do with the Exalted, does it not?”
“They are but servants of our living god,” Cinil said. “The Maker decides the fate of all the tribes here, even the Khanate.”
“Are you not worried about angering the Maker and the Exalted once war finally happens here?”
Cinil made a dismissive gesture with his right hand. “The Maker does not concern himself with the affairs of the people. As long as the tribute is given, then the Exalted tend to themselves.”
Zeren narrowed his eyes. The chieftain was speaking in circles, but it was clear this Maker was the key to everything. “And what use do you have of this elixir you believe my expedition possesses?”
Cinil let out a sigh. “Look at me. I am old, and I have not much cycles left. My two sons are dead- one had died of the fever as a youngling, another one due to a tragic accident a long time ago. I need that elixir to give me a few more cycles to help my tribe through this coming war.”
Zeren thought about it for a minute before he answered. “Very well. Two vials of elixirs for forty of your guns. You must also include the metal balls, flint, and the powder- enough for a prolonged battle.”
The old man bit his lip. “Ten for one. Twenty guns for two elixirs.”
“Thirty guns, with enough powder and balls for two battles.”
Cinil grimaced. “You realize I can just kill you all for even daring to come at me with an uneven trade such as that?”
Zeren suppressed the urge to laugh, so he smirked instead. “It seems to me from what you have just said you need the elixir more than we need your weapons. Consider this a bargain of good faith since it puts my entire expedition in danger. If I can see you are trustworthy, then we could supply you with more.”
The old man hissed. “Very well. Thirty guns and the supplies. You must also produce two sacks of gems for it.”
Zeren knew the expedition had many sacks of uncut gems, for they were quite common in the mines of Lethe. “Bargained well and done.”
Cinil held out a bony hand. “Give me one elixir, I must see it is real.”
Zeren held his right palm up. “Wait, I must be sure you have these thirty guns of which you speak of.”
“They are not here,” Cinil said. “The Khanate allows but few weapons in their caverns. I shall show you where they are being stored.”
“How far is this cache?”
“A few hours travel across the dunes, it is not far.”
“Then we shall make the trade when I see the guns with my own eyes, and not before.”
The old man scowled at him before replying. “Very well. This eventide, then.”
Chapter 9
The dusty night breeze blew through Zeren’s hair as he stood on the main deck of the sand sail. Chief Cinil had other affairs to attend to, but he allowed Zeren and Ailos to travel on one of his vessels to recover the shipment of guns from the tribe’s hidden cache. The sand sail they rode on was the smallest of his land ships, and it moved swiftly on a dozen wheels while traversing across the sands, its ten crewmembers working hard to position the two sails
on top of the deck to catch the ever shifting air currents.
The captain of the sand sail was a portly man named Taukig. Completely hairless, he covered up his bald head with a leather hood that smelled of accumulated sweat. His calloused, pudgy hands firmly gripped the large bronze steering wheel that was situated at the rear of the main deck. He glanced over at the two men from Lethe who were standing beside him. “My sand sail is called the Infogh, what is the name of your vessel?”
Zeren shrugged. “I did not know these vehicles have names.”
Captain Taukig laughed. “You Letheans are a curious tribe. Out here in the Sea of Dunes, it is a tradition to give names to each of our vessels.”
Ailos leaned closer to them. The young man’s curiosity had been intensified by their secretive journey, and he was constantly asking questions. “Even your smallest vessels have names? The two-man sand sails as well?”
The captain nodded. “Yes, boy. Every vehicle has a name, even the smallest one. We believe that by giving our vessels titles we treat them as equals, for even machines have need of love.”
Zeren resisted the sudden urge to snort in contempt. “Your tribe makes love to machines?”
“We love them by giving much care in their maintenance,” Captain Taukig said. “Without our sand sails, the disparate tribes would have to travel for days on foot across the sands if we wish to go from one mountain hold to the next. And there is another reason why we name them.”
Ailos continued to listen intently. “And what is the second reason?”
The captain turned the wheel slightly to the left in order to avoid a rock outcropping up ahead. “The Oracle told us if we were to give each ship a name, then we shall have the blessing of the Maker, and it would shield the vessel against the sickness of metal.”
Zeren scoffed. “I have heard many wild tales in my time, yet this one is the most mystifying yet.”
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