They were said to stand seven feet tall and had great shaggy manes. Claws and fangs. Many who survived an encounter, claimed the Majj appeared as great cat-like beings, as cunning and intelligent as they were vicious. The magic in Quinlan’s shield was powerful enough to reply any attack, but he desired to avoid confrontation. There was enough fighting on the castle walls to last him a lifetime.
The air began to change as the duo drew closer. He felt the chill. Caught the aroma of dead leaves and humidity on the air. Quinlan tensed. Nightfall wasn’t far off. They needed to find an adequate campsite before darkness crawled across the land. One defensible. Keeping his concern private, Quinlan directed Donal to seek out their resting spot for the night. It was almost dark by the time he was satisfied. Even then, Quinlan couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder.
The Majj were said to remain in their hidden forests, not wanting to interact with the lesser races. That suited Quinlan fine, if it was true. Summer was beginning, meaning the nights in the wild were still prone to heavy chill. Loathe as he was to do so, Quinlan allowed Donal to light a small fire. There was no point in suffering just to avoid what might not be.
He chewed on the rabbit leg, deep in thought. Fent was yet days away and if what Baron Einos’s emissary said was to be believed, it was imperative he and Donal arrive with all haste. A F’talle had not been encountered in many years, giving him pause to consider what game the Grey Wanderer played at. The world of men was disparate from that of the other life. Whatever the Wanderer once was, he was an agent of chaos, though neither good nor evil. Quinlan recognized the duality, while understanding that where the hooded man strode, bad things followed.
“Will we ride close enough to see it?” Donal asked. He tossed aside the leg bones he’d been gnawing on for some time. Not a scrap of meat remained.
Quinlan disliked being interrupted but couldn’t blame Donal for his excitement. “I should think so. Close enough, but not within. Doing so would create too much delay and our services are needed.”
Undeterred, Donal pressed. “Have you been within, Brother Quinlan?”
“Once. Long ago. I was … lost and needed to find myself,” he admitted. That he was fleeing the ruins of Castle Bendris remained his private misery.
Donal’s face turned to fancy. “It is one of the many places in this world that I wish to one day explore. My father often read to me of these things.”
“All comes in time, young Donal. Do not be so quick to rush into things. The Permital is said to have lurking dangers we lack all knowledge of.”
Donal took the warning as more of a scolding. He’d been reprimanded harsh and often as a child. His father was an ill-tempered man with little self-control. It was his way, all the time. Donal learned the hard way. How many nights had he cried himself to sleep, accompanied by the sting of a belt? For all his emotions, Donal grew up a disappointment. Every idea he held was cast down as foolish. Every dream thoughtless.
Rather than succumb to depression, Donal took the opposition and used it to become something sterner. He became determined to make a name. To eclipse the disapproving scowl of his father. That passion drove him to Andrak in the service of a brave knight.
“Is it true there are Majj villages below?” Donal asked.
“A great many mysteries haunt the world, Donal. As to the Majj, I have never seen one. Perhaps they are real. Perhaps they are figments of our imagination designed to explain ancient times,” Quinlan theorized. He scowled, furious that he’d given in to foolish wastes of time. Quinlan was a man who dealt with what is, not what might be.
“Go to sleep, Donal. I shall take first watch.”
Night passed uneventful. The war priests awoke refreshed, despite Quinlan’s reservations, and broke camp. Donal poured a pitcher of water on the remains of their fire and was about to store it in his saddle bag when he froze in mid-stride. Three massive creatures stood among the trees, a handful of steps away, glaring back at him. Naked from the waist up, their almost crimson flesh was marred by black streaks in varying patterns. Wild manes crowded their necks and backs, presenting an untamed look. Donal’s knees almost gave out.
The Majj rushed before he managed to alert Quinlan. Both men were tackled and tied without managing any defense. They were bound, hands behind their backs and heavy sacks placed over their heads. Quinlan caught one of the horses whinnying. To be eaten? Rough hands dragged him to his feet and shoved him forward.
How many hours passed before they halted, he did not know. The Majj were ruthless in their march down into the Permital. Both Quinlan and Donal stumbled and tripped numerous times during the descent, prompting threatening growls from their captors. At last the slope leveled out and they came to a stop. Exotic birds called and chirped from the canopy. The air was choked with aged vegetation. Primordial to his senses. It was as Quinlan recalled.
They were shoved to the ground, forced to sit while their captors decided what to do with them. That Quinlan wore the light blue of the war priests mattered not. They were trespassers, from what the priest gathered. The animalistic nature exhibited by the Majj prompted many dark thoughts and a dim vision of the future. Without his shield or weapons, there was little Quinlan could do to affect change. His head jerked back as the sack was whisked off.
Filtered sunlight tormented his suddenly sensitive eyes. Quinlan risked a glance to Donal, relieved to find his squire unharmed but for the shock of their experience. He counted more than a dozen Majj surrounding them. None appeared friendly. A bad sign for their continued journey. Donal coughed. A wet sound sparking concern in the older priest.
“Donal, are you well?” he dared ask.
“No speak,” the largest Majj snarled. “Priest magic!”
So, they understand what I am. Not as primitive as I supposed. Quinlan found their intelligence accessible. All he needed to find was a common spark. He decided to press.
“Why have you taken us prisoner? You know I am a war priest.”
The Majj drew back to strike him but stopped short. Strands of crimson hair fell from his fist. Quinlan became emboldened. These creatures were being prevented from assaulting them. “Who is in charge? I demand to know why you’ve captured us.”
Other Majj straightened, ready to attack. They were unaccustomed to being challenged within their domain. Anger rippled through their muscles. Quinlan had no doubt any one of them was capable of tearing him apart and might do so if he continued his taunting.
A lone howl tore through the trees. Birds of white and green burst into flight. It was a sound long revered for bringing danger. The Majj settled, calmed by the sound. One by one, they parted to allow a much smaller figure through. Quinlan studied him, knowing that this was the being he needed to reason with if he and Donal were going to escape with their lives.
The figure, a male Majj, was tiny compared to the hulking creatures around him. His crimson fur was faded, dulled by time and age. Lines formed on the backs of weathered hands. His face drooped, longer than the others. He wore a hood to conceal all but the lower jaw. Chipped and stained fangs jut up. Leather panels draped down over his shoulders, scraping against his bone vest. He halted a step away from the prisoners.
Quinlan tensed as moments passed without a word spoken. Doubt crept in. Was this strange beast come to pass judgment? They hadn’t the chance to defend themselves. The prospect of turning over a Majj spit soured his stomach.
“You should not be here,” the figure warned.
Quinlan struggled to keep his sense of relief in check. “My apologies, but we had no intention of entering your territory. My colleague and I have been dispatched on a mission of grave importance by the Lord General. We are en route to the duchy of Fent. Forgive us for trespassing.”
The elder creature waved his hand. Gnarled fingernails rested at the end of withered fingers. “This is not my concern. You have entered our kingdom unbidden. Judgment will be passed. Freedom awaits should you prove worthy.”
“And if we fall
short?”
“Death.”
He and Donal were jerked up again and led down the dark and winding paths few humans had ever trod. What awaited at the end remained in doubt. The Majj howled and hurried on.
ELEVEN
Majj Village
Any indignity suffered during their forced march through the thick forests of the Indolense Permital was done in silence. Quinlan, grimacing as claws tightened around his biceps, allowed his captors to shove and drag him through dense vegetation. Thorns from a dozen species of vines and shrubs tore into his trousers, drawing blood on several occasions. Gasps from behind told him Donal shared his torments.
The elder Majj set a quick and steady pace, barreling down time-worn paths all but forgotten by the world above. Sunlight and shadow alternated on his face. Quinlan scuffed across the forest floor, kicking up dust and tripping over rocks and vines. The journey was unpleasant but he arrived unharmed. Aromas of roasting meats filled the air, reminding him of just how hungry he was.
Quinlan hit the ground hard after being shoved down. A corresponding huff from Donal was enough to calm the war priest, if only just. They were considered untouchable in regular society. Defenders of the world, paragons of virtue meant to inspire lesser men. The Majj suffered no such delusions. Quinlan considered their plight, wondering how many tribes were scattered across the continents. Hidden, secreted away from the slow crawl of human expansion. It was a sad dilemma, but one he could not effect.
“Now, perhaps we have a little chat.”
Quinlan recognized the elder Majj’s voice as his hood was ripped off. They were inside a grass hut with a dirt floor. It lacked the stench of habitation, suggesting the Majj used it sparsely. Quinlan doubted they received many visitors.
“You can speak now.”
Quinlan licked his lips. “Our coming here is through no fault of our own. My people were led to believe the Majj lived within the Permital. It was never our intention to come down this far.”
The Majj sneered, or perhaps it was his natural look. “Your people once hunted mine to the steps of extinction. We are no allies, you and I.”
“Those I associate with have never harmed the Majj. We are peaceful men and women who stand on the edge of the darkness. Keeping the Omegri at bay is our only concern.”
Quinlan winced inwardly. He wasn’t accustomed to begging, nor was he adept at presenting meekness. A warrior from late youth, Quinlan lived humble, yet in a position of power. What little he knew of the Majj was enough to suggest they respected strength above all else. Quinlan changed tactics.
“Let us go. We have important business to attend,” he demanded.
Eyes narrowed. The Majj seemed unsure whether to laugh or attack. Quinlan didn’t know if that was a good sign.
At last the Majj tipped his head back and chuckled, a throaty growl vibrating the ground. “You have courage. Good. You die otherwise. Many warriors would gorge on you. You,” he gestured toward Donal, “not so much.”
Donal blanched. The thought of being devoured by hungry warriors sickened him.
Quinlan pressed. “Why abduct us at all? There is evil afoot and we have been sent to stop it. Surely you Majj understand the concept of evil?”
“Many lifetimes we fight. Evil is part of life. You know this, I think. These colors I have seen before. What is your name?”
“I am Quinlan. This is Donal, my squire. I am a war priest from Castle Andrak,” he said.
The Majj tapped his chest. “I am Oonal Oonalak. Clan elder.”
Progress. “You speak very well.”
“I have learned many languages and mannerisms, from most races. It is part of my position,” Oonal boasted. “Most Majj remain in the lower warrior caste.”
“If you recognize who I am, why force us down here?” Quinlan asked. Curiosity got the best of him. There was duplicity among the Majj. Of that he was now certain.
Oonal made a show of looking around to ensure they were alone. “Great evil is stirring. War is coming. Which side we Majj join remains to be seen.”
“What war?” The implications, if true, were staggering. Quinlan struggled to imagine a world at war.
Oonal waved him silent as two guards arrived. “We will continue this later. I have matters to attend.” He leaned conspiratorially close. “Ware your tongue. All is not as it seems.”
He left Quinlan untied and cornered. Even if Quinlan had his shield and weapons, he would not have been able to overpower the massive guards standing outside the door.
“Are you well, Donal?”
Rubbing his chaffed wrists, the young squire nodded. His glum mood reflected in his face. “Well enough, sir. I admit they frightened me at first.”
“So, too, with me. I do not believe they mean us harm though. The Majj seem enigmatic, reclusive. I sense hesitancy in Oonal. It is almost as if he laments detaining us,” Quinlan admitted. “Do not speak more on this. If what he said is true, we are most certainly being eavesdropped upon. Take rest. I suggest you meditate. Perhaps the solution to this problem will present itself.” And we can be on our way to Fent.
Quinlan closed his eyes, mind racing through scenarios and possibilities, both absurd and terrifyingly plausible. Oonal’s words sparked fear. War. It had been generations since the duchies last went to war with each other. The war priests had helped broker peace after years of unending slaughter. Only now was the land recovering to the point of prosperity.
The thought of war proved doubly concerning when Quinlan failed to recognize any meaningful threat aside from the Omegri, and they could only attempt to enter this world during the Burning Season. Who then? He’d originally come from Thalis, to the west, but the continent was too far for any major force to amount an invasion. Lacking information, he was resigned to stewing over what might be.
Dusk brought two bowls of water and roasted meat. Quinlan and Donal devoured each before settling back. They’d lost much energy and strength during the trek down into the Permital and then, in his estimation, halfway across the valley floor. The proximity to the center suggested Oonal’s clan was one of immense power, perhaps overall in charge of their diminutive empire. If such were true, he should find treating with Oonal much easier the next time he arrived.
“What happens if they decide not to let us go?” Donal spoiled the mood. His youth and inexperience brought out harsh questions many others might not have asked.
Quinlan faked a smile. “We must have faith. Do not despair, for it leads to misery. The Majj will come around and we shall be free to resume our purpose.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” Donal admitted.
Is that what it appears? Do not be so quick to long for another’s life. You might not like what you find. “All in due time, squire. The mastery of confidence does not come to all, though I deem you of higher quality than most. You will become a great priest, Donal. I sense it.”
Beaming with pride, Donal yawned and stretched. Most of the soreness was gone. The minor scratches were closed, already healing. The food and water revived him, providing much needed strength. He found he could think clearly again. A small price for remaining captive. Donal stole glances at Quinlan. The older priest sat cross-legged with the backs of his hands resting on his knees. His eyes were now closed. Donal knew better than to interrupt when Quinlan was like this.
Scratching his jaw and surprised to find a rose ant attempting to bite into him, Donal listened to the sounds of the forest. It was alien. A foreign landscape he wasn’t prepared to endure. Birds and insects sounded different, providing him with a feeling of terror inspired loneliness.
Night deepened. Many of the Majj passed off to sleep. Only a core handful remained around the fires. Donal wondered at them. Ancient, the Majj were said to be one of the first races. He found them frightening to behold. Monsters from a less civilized era. That entire continents were once filled with tribes of Majj left Donal uninspired, for their fall reflected all life. How long would it be before future historian
s said the same of humanity?
Sleep beckoned and Donal was ill fitted to refuse. He yawned again, this time fighting his drooping eyelids. Half asleep, he barely made out the sounds of bodies falling to the ground in boneless heaps. It was enough to rouse his fledgling warrior senses. Donal picked up rustling. The faintest scrape of bare feet across the carpet of grass. He looked to Quinlan, surprised to find the priest’s eyes open and staring at the entrance.
Why aren’t you doing anything? Donal felt panic. The Majj were coming to kill them. An anonymous demise in a forgotten part of the world. He searched the hut for anything he could use as a weapon, but Oonal had been clever. The hut was empty. Red feet came into view. Donal felt the iced fingers of death curl around his throat.
“We must hurry. There is no time,” Oonal announced as he entered. His bright yellow eyes bore a pained expression.
Quinlan was on his feet and moving before the Majj finished talking. It felt to Donal as if he’d been expecting such a move. The duo followed Oonal outside, stepping over the pair of snoring guards as they made their way to the south end of the village. Oonal insisted on silence until they were well beyond the range of sight and sound. Donal felt as if they’d been walking for hours, though in truth it was less than one before they emerged from the thick forests and once again looked upon the walls of the cliff face.
“Your horses and weapons await you up there,” Oonal gestured. “You must hurry.”
“Thank you, Oonal. I shall not forget this,” Quinlan affirmed.
The elder Majj regarded him, wild mane shifting as he cocked his head. “It might be better if you did. The Majj will be furious when they learn what I have done. It is possible I lose my status. We shall see.”
The Children of Never: A War Priests of Andrak Saga (The War Priests of Andrak Saga Book 1) Page 7
