The Circle: The Uniting

by N.D. Bailey

  Having crossed the plains, the riders reached the Forest of Ibea. At the edge of the forest, the slimy residue of the derves coated some leaves alerting the riders to their presence. As they rode through the forest, the redundant whispers of the derves sent chills down their spines, becoming an irritating noise in their heads that only brought more confusion to their sensibilities.

  The derves continued to whisper chilling temptations and discouragements: “Use the sword for yourself. It will make you powerful.”

  “You’re never gonna make it; Riders of Quadar will kill you! The only way is to use the sword.”

  “The sword will give you everything you’ve evah wanted.”

  They were driving Cozbi crazy so he covered his ears in an attempt to shut them out. He even tried to hum to drown out their noise making.

  “What are you doin’?” Buldar asked.

  “I’m tryin’ to drown them out.”

  “Well stop it. You’re humming is more of a nuisance than is their rattling of the tongue, mate.” Buldar didn’t want to be rude, but he knew this was going to be a long journey if this guy kept this up. Who does this guy think he is? And what is up with this other guy, twitching and all.

  “For real, crony. You’re way out of tune.” Navi laughed out loud, trying to ease the tension everyone was feeling.

  Cozbi quit humming but he still tried to cover his ears.

  Some of the devilish creatures found humor in confusing them by giving conflicting directions: “Go left” from one side, while another whispered, and “Go right.” Some whispered words that would send them further off-course: “Go over the mountain to the east.” Before long, they all took revelry in whispering various directions and mocking them.

  The Ibea Forest was a forest of some size; one could easily get turned around and end up far off course. But Buldar and Binko knew this forest well; yet, even they seemed to be confused. As the day progressed, the whispers of the derves were wracking their nerves, addling their common sense. Confused, the riders grew less and less sure of their way through the forest; one would suggest this way, another that way. The one thing they all agreed on was that it would be best to get out of the forest before nightfall which was now quickly descending upon them.

  The negative and confusing whispers of the derves got closer, growing louder, perplexing the sanity of their minds. Confounded and confused, nothing looked recognizable now in spite of their knowledge of the forest.

  “To the left,” whispered one.

  “To the right,” whispered another.

  As the daylight grew fainter, so also did the riders’ collective patience. Growing frustrated at their uncertain course in the forest, their excitability increased as twilight encroached upon them.

  “It’s this way,” insisted Buldar.

  “No, it’s this way,” Binko argued.

  Gilmanza suggested yet another way, while Navi pointed to another. Riding aimlessly in their addled state, the riders braced themselves, anticipating the creatures pouncing upon them at any moment.

  “Well, it won’t be the fihst time we’ve been in this situation and it won’t be the last.” Navi’s odd way of trying to encourage everyone didn’t work.

  “Oh, shut up, Navi!” Buldar said, teasing. Last time I was in this situation, those bloody things ripped me to shreds.”

  “I was just trying to be optimistic,” Navi said, rubbing his orb for light.

  “It’s easy to be optimistic when you’re a wizard.” Buldar looked over his shoulder at Navi clutching his staff.

  “For real,” injected Binko.

  “Don’t give me any lip, Binko. All you have to do is nudge that black and white thing there and they won’t be able to see you, or you can fly out. Me, I’ll have to fight my way out or die.” Buldar grimaced at their unique abilities and his ordinary humanism. “So you know what you can do with your bloody optimism.”

  “Ah, but you forget that there is a wizard in your midst. If you are nice to me, I’ll spare you.”

  “Last time you fed me that line of bull you let them rip me to bloody shreds, before your inspiration, so you call it, came forth!” Buldar was livid. “I’ll nevah undastand that about you wizards. You’re kind of like an undisciplined dog: part of the time you’re useful, othah times you’re nothing but a damn nuisance.” His irritability was giving way gradually to laughter, as the thought of teasing Navi grew in its appeal.

  “Relax,” we’ll be out of here soon,” Monguard encouraged.

  “We can’t be too far off course,” Ozni said, offering hope. “We’ll eventually figure it out.”

  “Is anything a big deal to you?” asked Buldar.

  “You have to learn to take it all in stride, crony,” said Ozni, answering for Ozni.

  The faint whispers were no longer so faint; they moved in closer, hovering in the trees just above the riders.

  “Left, go left, through the trees, and it will lead you out.”

  “The sword is not evil. That is a legend. You don’t believe everything you hear do you.”

  “Yes, it can be used for good. You’re not like others. The sword will get you what you want: peace, happiness, fame. Use it.”

  Wandering aimlessly around the forest, they felt the darkness closing in on them. The hideous laughter of the derves began to echo in the shadows as they taunted the riders, continuing to confuse them about their whereabouts within the forest and driving into their minds the suggestion that they put the Sword of Power to use, assuming that it is in their presence. They were saying this because they wanted to see if they actually had it. Then, they would know. Each was eager to spur one into temptation, into failure, into destruction. For them, it was a competition among themselves: which one could persuade them, which one of them could destroy them by making them destroy themselves. That offered the most entertaining, when they destroyed themselves merely by listening to the lies.

  It gave them joy to witness their success at creating such crafty destruction.

  Suddenly, Buldar spoke up with authority. “Here,” he cried out, “it’s this way! Look, the three crooked trees! I know where we are!” Three distinctly crooked trees had suddenly given him clarity amid their babbling and induced confusion. Weaving in and out among the tall timbers, the riders now sped away through the forest following Buldar who led the way. The derves chased after them, some swinging from the tall timbers like monkeys, their mocking laughter following like the sounds of a madhouse.

  With the darkness overtaking them, the riders rode furiously, trying to get out of the woodland before being overtaken by the devilish derves. Binko faded away along with his zebra, making it impossible for the derves to see him well enough to pounce on him.

  As they neared the edge of the forest, derves jump from the trees. Navi stretched out his staff and murmured a couple of words. As the words left his lips, a force hit the derves that sent them sailing through mid-air, knocking them flat on their faces to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Navi saw a derve leaping from the tree with his eye set on Buldar. He murmured a word and lowered his staff. From the encroaching darkness, the derve landed on Buldar’s back and raked its claws down his spine. Buldar, refusing to wince with the pain, thrust his sword beneath his arm and into the derve. Spewing blood, the hellish little monster fell to the ground.

  As soon as the riders escaped the forest, night swallowed up the day; it quickly became pitch dark, and now Navi’s orb was their only source of light. The blood running down Buldar’s back could not be seen, only felt by the tickle that ran down behind his shirt.

  “I suppose I am the only one with a scratch.” Buldar arched his back, curious at how far the monster got its nails sunk in.

  “We got off pretty lucky, thanks to me,” said Navi, tooting his own horn.

  “Hu! Smells like someone can’t take a little criticism.”

  “Give and take, mate, give and take,” remarked Navi, la
ughing.

  “You temperamental wizards.”

  They rode on, toward the plains and away from the forest. Riding deeper into the plains, the riders made camp. Building a fire, they pulled their blankets from their bags, shrouded them over their shoulders tightly, and warmed themselves by the crackling fire. Tired from a long day, they each drifted off to sleep, their swords lying with them under the blankets.

  In the late hour of the night, when all were deep in sleep, a group of five derves peered into the camp. The small flames of the fire danced across their squirrelly faces as they snooped around trying to discover if the sword was among them. Approaching the camp, they stood over the riders, gawking at them, even prodding at their swords. Feeling something on his arm, Navi swatted at it and rolled back over, never even opening his eyes. Suddenly, he felt a presence. The presence of evil entered his consciousness. Opening his eyes he came face to face with a derve poking at his sword. Navi screamed like a girl. With a shriek that startled even the coyotes of the prairie, the derves leapt onto the riders, digging their claws into portions of unprotected skin.

  The riders instinctively tried to defend themselves with their covers, while also reaching for their swords. Gilmanza and Monguard grabbed their blades first and quickly cut down the derves attacking them, their green blood spraying the blankets.

  Seeing one about to jump on Navi, Buldar refrained from killing it; instead, he watched it jump on the wizard’s back, halfway enjoying watching him squirm, before Navi finally grabbed it by the throat, threw it to the ground and thrust the point of his boot knife into its belly.

  “I saw that” remarked Navi, as he wiped off the blood pooling up on his arm and wrapped it with a clean rag.

  “A certain wise wizard I know once gave me some good advice. He said, ‘Give and take, mate, give and take’.” Buldar laughed, enjoying repeating Navi’s words back to him. “So I’ve tried to live by that rule ever’ since.”

  “You bloody Sorbs are just so ornery, scamp.” Navi twitched his upper lip, showing his disapproval; then, he wiped the blood off his back.

  Being bone-tired, the riders fell quickly back to sleep. It wasn’t long before Ozni was snoring again. The dim light of the moon shone upon their obscure campsite in the open plains of the tall prairie grass.

  For now, only shadows stalked the night.

  The Forest of Mirth

  Early morning dew glistened on the tall blades of the prairie grass as the dawning sun rose up over the peaks of high reaching mountains in the East. One by one the riders reluctantly rolled out of their dew soiled blankets, moaning under their breaths as the sun shone upon their faces, but it was absent of its warmth as the chill in the air overtook it.

  With warrior arms, Monguard rammed an arrow through a bird and stuck it over a fire. He had risen early to catch breakfast.

  After their morning coffee, they rolled up their bedrolls. Navi languished under the covers because of the pain in his thigh and ankle. Binko and Ozni sipped on freshly brewed coffee, while Gilmanza puffed on his long and slender pipe. Cozbi sat on a log by himself near the smoldering fire.

  “Navi, are you okay?” asked Binko.

  Navi moaned, just enough for Binko to know he was at least alive, then spoke with some effort. “I feel like I’ve been f-fighting monsters, and one of them bit a chunk of flesh out of my thigh and nearly bit my ankle off.” His voice grew a little stronger now. “Oh, wait! Maybe that’s because I HAVE been fighting monsters, and one DID try to take my leg off.” He was laughing a little now.

  Ozni and Buldar helped Navi up. He moaned with every move, especially when he put weight on his injured leg.

  “I made you some hot Balswick Tea,” Buldar said to Navi.

  “Fantastic. That is just what I need to get goin’ this mornin’.”

  Ozni handed him the cup of spicy tea and Navi took a big swig. The bitter taste jolted him awake as he immediately spewed it out of his mouth. “Ahhh, that’s nasty.”

  The group of riders roared with laughter at the gag, all knowing full well what Buldar was up to.

  “A man should nevah seek revenge, but he should always take the opportunity to give back what a man has earned,” Buldar said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry. They say a bittah herb comes out much bettah than it goes in, mate.” The riders roared with laughter as Navi dumped the cup of bitter tea onto the ground.

  Buldar poured Navi a cup of steaming coffee. The Wizard and Sorb both laughed now, as they playfully taunted each other with empty threats of revenge.

  “Here, I’ll roll up your bedroll, mate,” volunteered Ozni, “while you drink your coffee.”

  “Thanks, crony.” Navi hobbled to where the other riders sat sipping on their cups of hot brew.

  “You’re such a sissy,” said Buldar, still taunting Navi. “I got a plug taken out of my back too, but you don’t see anyone rolling up my bedroll. Monguard got bit but he hadn’t said a word about it.” Monguard acted like he hadn’t heard a word they said.

  “You call that a plug. You got a little scratch. This, now this is a plug,” Navi said, pointing to his leg. He pulled off the bandage, knowing it desperately needed to be changed. The wound was deep, red, and raw. The constant rubbing of riding had made raw flesh, expanding every puncture made in the skin by the nomed’s teeth. Everyone knew that a nomed bite was worse than the bite of a derve; they had larger teeth.

  “Navi, that’s gross.” Buldar leaned over, wincing at the gap of flesh. He washed it off, put some herbal powder Gilmanza gave him on it and wrapped it back up.

  After a sloppy breakfast of bread and fowl, the riders mounted their beasts. They rode north across the savanna and into the mountainous terrain of the Forest of Mirth. Rising into mountainous tundra carpeted with timbers and tapestries of wildflowers, they crossed a series of rocky rivulets and ravines. Forced to accommodate Navi, they rode slower than usual; even so, Navi still lingered behind due to the throbbing pain in his thigh, now being agitated again by all the riding. Inka’s scales usually didn’t bother him but he couldn’t find a comfortable position on the dragon without his wound getting rubbed raw.

  “Come on, sissy!” Buldar remarked, teasing him mercilessly. “It’s nothin’ but a flesh wound!”

  “I’ll sissy you in a minute,” said Navi, twitching his upper lip. “Momma’s boy.”

  “Hey, panty wearer, why don’t you just… you know, do one of your poofshapoof thingamajigs?” laughed Buldar, knowing that Navi could take it.

  “I think I will,” Navi snarled, “on you—turn you into a toad or something. Or perhaps a pile of horse dung would be more suitable.”

  The two picked and teased, Ozni egging them on.

  Riding through the pathless terrain, the group navigated their way over chiseled peaks of limestone. Then they passed through a stream of fresh spring water gilded by the rays of the sun. The riders were casually trotting along when suddenly they came upon a brittle skeleton leaning against a rock, its hands folded across its lap. Dingy brown moss hung from the trees, grazing the top of the cracked skull of the human remains. Stopping to look at the skeleton and each other, the riders hushed, but continued at a slow and assiduous amble.

  Advancing across the stream of water, they noticed a dead derve; its green blood stained the rock it had died upon. Another derve lay near, its head lay open. Two more derves were within close proximity, their abdomens slashed open and entrails spilled to the ground.

  “Someone’s been in a fight with these devils.” Binko wondered why he had said what was most obvious.

  “Great! If it killed derves then it’s not with them, so who’s it with?” Cozbi wondered out loud. “Are they with us?”

  “It’ll be all right, crony,” Navi assured him. “You have me in your midst.”

  “A lot of good that’s done us.” Cozbi pulled his sword, steeling himself for what might be ahead of them. “`Bout as good as you were with that poor
cat.” Cozbi laughed, Navi getting the butt of all the jokes.

  Interrupting this senseless exchanging of words was the sound of a falling rock shattering on the limestone floor. It sounded as though it were coming from the shady mouth of a small cliff overhang on the opposite side of the stream. A hollow space set back inside the cliff provided just enough room for shelter.

  Dismounting, Gilmanza motioned for Buldar, Ozni, Monguard, and Binko to come with him. “Navi, you and Cozbi stay back with the mounts.” Cozbi sighed as he grabbed the reins of the mounts. “Somebody has to.”

  Cozbi sat down on a rock and waited and watched. He felt out of place because he didn’t know the other men at all. His skills seemed to go unnoticed. He resented staying behind and not feeling like he was a significant part of the team.

  Paying Gilmanza no mind, Navi insisted on hobbling along with them. Now, Cozbi really stewed with resentment. Using his staff as a walking stick, he stubbornly followed behind them, twitching his lip with each step. With swords drawn, they crept toward the darkened entrance of the recess in the side of the giant boulder. Heavy foliage hung over the nearly secret cavity. The redundant dripping of water off the leaves enticed them and crowded their listening ears with meaningless noise. They listened for breathing, movement, anything. Hovering at the side of the entrance, they waited, hearts beating at the dark mystery of the forest.

  Gilmanza nodded his head and the six leapt in front of the mouth of the recess, their steel swords drawn, rough and ready for a fight. Between the crevices of two rocks in the cavern like recess of the cliff were two people—at least they looked like two people, at first glance. In their hands were sharpened spears carved from wood of the forest. River water dripped from the rocks above them onto their greasy heads as they peered out from the rock they hid behind. A dark pug-nose jutted above the stone, and two dark deep-set eyes stared back at them—eyes with a certain aura about them: mysterious, yet peaceful.

  Coming out from behind the rocks, the riders observed that these were solvent, their clothing wet, dirty and torn. It was then that they noticed that the younger one looked nothing like the other; he was rather sheepish in appearance—or was it goatish? One thing was irrefutable, he wasn’t a Himp. His face was less like that of a human than Ozni’s. His pug nose looked a lot like something from the animal kingdom too. His animal-ears were folded over like earmuffs, and his hairline in the front came down almost to his eyebrows. His teeth were straight and pretty, not crooked like Ozni’s.

  A tuft of fur-like tangled curls was jumbled up on his head, much like the wool of a sheep, except for the one-inch bold span that ran around his ears, as his natural hairline. This furry thick lump of wool-like hair hung just past his neck in the back and was a burnt-brown shade, nearly the same color as his shirt—that is, what was left of his tattered clothing. His body was humanoid except for his cleft feet which, although flat like a human’s, had two nubs instead of five toes spanning the foot. The soles of his feet were solid like a hoof, not fleshly like a human’s. He had dirty scattered sprigs of curly hair that stood on end, scattered all over his body, except for his face. It was sort of odd how the body hair grew, randomly, here and there. The fellow with him looked like any other human being, except for the claw marks from the derves that scarred his arms, legs, back and face.

  The riders looked critically at both of them, especially the younger one with the weird facial features. His sheep-like- characteristics made him appear unimpressive, except for his big eyes, which were captivating: they seemed strong, yet innocent; discerning, yet gracious. They were most unlike the weak eyes of a sheep or goat. The riders studied him, through eerie silence and awkward stares. Then they stared at his peculiar feet.

  “What business do you have here?” asked the older one, his wooden spear pointed at Navi’s belly-button.

  “Our business is none of your business, crony.” Navi couldn’t take his eyes off the younger one, particularly his eyes, which struck Navi as peculiar. They held him mesmerized, with a certain aura. There was something deep and profound in those eyes.

  He stared at him to the point of embarrassment. “You, you… there’s somethin’ about you, a destiny, a certain task is at hand for you!”

  Navi could feel it, the ecstatic moving through his spirit. He couldn’t put his finger on it exactly, but the young man was destined for a mission, called to an assignment. He had a feeling they had not stumbled across these chaps for no reason.

  “I know not what you speak of,” said the young man.

  Gilmanza was the next to notice something, putting his finger on one mysterious fact about the boy. “You, you’re an Awnee. I knew not that Awnees still existed. Why, I thought them to be annihilated, wiped plumb off the face of the earth! In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  The Awnee looked at Gilmanza, “I have no idea. What’s an Awnee and how do you know that I am one?”

  “He’s old—real old,” said Navi.

  “I thought I told you to stay with the mounts.” Gilmanza crossed his eyes at Navi.

  “I always knew I was different. I mean I’ve nevah seen anothah like myself.”

  “That’s because there are none like you.”

  “Then how am I here?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “We are passing through,” Binko explained, seeking to get to the root of their presence in the woods. He figured they could stand there and chat about where in the world this boy came from for moons. “What are you doing out here all alone? It is terribly dangerous. I see you have had a run in with a few derves.”

  “Yes, we have had more than a few disagreements with those devils.” answered the older fellow.

  “We live out here,” answered the younger one.

  “How long have you been living out here?” Gilmanza inquired.

  “My son and I have lived in a cave near here for two moons now,” answered the older one. “And as far as it being dangerous, well, it’s not any more dangerous than being undah the powah of the Awshaks.”

  “The Awshaks?” asked Gilmanza, “What do you mean, ‘under the powah of the Awshaks?’”

  “Where have you been?” asked the elder. “They have taken over our village and oppressed my people for many moons now.

  My name is Sagran and this is my son, Amase. My son and I…”

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” Navi interrupted, “but how is he your son? He’s an Awnee and, well in case you haven’t notices… you’re not.” Navi wanted to know more about this odd fellow, as did the rest of the crew.

  “My wife and I found him. One day we were walkin’ in these woods and heard the cry of a baby. He was all alone. We are all he knows. Our village has been overtaken by Awshaks. My wife…” He paused to settle his quaking voice. “She was caught tryin’ to escape—tryin’ to meet us in the forest. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who suggested we run. Now, I can’t bear to think what they have done to her.” Sagran fought to hold off the tears that were forming in the corner of his eyes. “I know they… they…” He stopped mid-sentence and could not bring himself to speak another word of what they had likely done to his wife.

  After a while, he gathered himself and continued. “These skeletons you have passed in this forest are the remains of my people who attempted to escape. My people have been reduced to nothing. They have raped our women and reduced us to slaves. Come, let me show you my people—my village. Can I ride with one of you?”

  “Certainly,” answered Gilmanza.

  “Did you know that the Awshaks were originally from Bardora and migrated to the land they now possess when their king went on a murderous rampage?” asked Buldar.

  “No, I don’t believe I knew that,” Sagran answered and thought to himself that he really didn’t care about irrelevant histories.

  “Yeah, their king, King Raugh, lost his mind and began to purge his kingdom of all subjects he believed were after
his throne—which in his sick mind was everyone.

  “I don’t think he wants to hear a history of the Awshaks,” Gilmanza said, politely silencing him. Buldar took it all in stride, unoffended by Gilmanza’s soft rebuke.

  Walking back to their mounts, Sagran and Amase noticed Navi hobbling and occasionally grunting in pain, noisily lamenting over his wounded leg.

  “What happened?” asked Sagran.

  “A nomed bit my leg.”

  “A nomed! Those nasty things carry diseases. I sure hope you didn’t catch anything from it.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement, crony. Me too.”

  “You know,” Buldar stepped in, rubbing his goatee, “they say that whiskey and honey are the best things for a nomed-bite. Then, you should apply some mambrogin tree-root. Of course mambrogin tree root will heal anything. But only grow in Shy Kadesh.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Navi said.

  “Don’t you have a sword, mate?” asked Amase. He didn’t notice that Navi held one in hand just moments ago since there were several pointed at him and neither did he notice that one hung around his waist.

  “Ahhhhh!” Buldar and Ozni roared with laughter. The new kid had insulted Navi without even meaning too.

  Navi rolled his eyebrow at Amase and Buldar. “What do you think I had pointed at you just then?”

  “Didn’t notice yours particularly. There were several in my face.”

  “Well, don’t you see one hanging around my waist?”

  “Can I ride the dragon?” Amase asked. Navi agreed, the kid was after all rather chipper about seeing the scaly beast. He happily leapt onto Inka behind Navi, while Sagran rode with Cozbi. They traveled north, through the tree-filled woods trekking up the craggy cliffs to the timberline of the ridge of a cliff. As they dismounted, Sagran said, “Be very quiet. Look over the edge of the rocks into the Valley of Mirth.”

  Peering over the jagged rocks, they could see below a simple town—small, yet fortified, and in the clutches of a strong and brutal people. The riders noted that the walls of the town were not very tall in comparison to more noble walls, but they were thick, with stone mortared to stone. Within the fortified town were frail-looking men, women and children, rails of flesh and bone, poorly nourished on bread, water and rice, all working under forced-labor. Their feet were shackled and their bodies dirty. Some bore marks across their backs where they had been beaten.

  Brute Awshak warriors ruled with a rod of iron. The crack of the whip kept them in line, doing exactly as they were told. They overpowered them and strapped them to a life of ruthless oppression. More than occasionally, an unforgiving whip plowed into the back of a captive peasant. The slaves looked worn out and dirty, bent over. Premature wrinkles shone on their faces in the folds of pain and misery. They had been stripped of their dignity, robbed of freedom.

  “Our people have lost hope,” said Amase. “We have no comfort except each other; no dignity except the dignity we can rememah; no future but the future we dream about; no life except through death.”

  “What say ye, cronies, we do a little liberating?” Navi pulled his sword from his sheath. “Now we’ll see how much of a nuisance we wizards are.” He crossed his eyes at Buldar and laughed . “Let’s ride, cronies, let’s ride!”

  Liberation

  “Can you fight? Are you good with a sword?” Gilmanza asked their new found friends.

  “Who do you think killed those derves in the forest?” Sagran answered.

  “You…you don’t look like much,” Navi said, noticing Amase’s scrawny arms.

  “You don’t look like much yourself,” Amase answered.

  “That’s good,” Cozbi laughed. “Guess he told you.”

  “I like you, kid,” Ozni chuckled. “Catch!” He tossed Amase a sword and Cozbi passed one off to Sagran. Monguard didn’t know they had extra swords and he didn’t think to ask. Scanning the saddle bags and sheaths, he didn’t spot one. But there was no shortage of swords in the camp below.

  “But we can’t take on all of them,” Amase said. “What’s your plan?”

  “Let me make this easy, cronies.” Navi stretched out his staff, pointing it at the burg nestled below. “Personally, I’m not up to much of a fight.” Then, he said:

  “Mistreatment and oppression you surely hate

  Let their cruelty come to an end and let blindness be their fate.”

  Immediately, the onerous warriors fell sightless, their daylight turned to darkness; it was a darkness blacker than the dead of night could ever offer. Even shadows evaded them. They were stone-blind.

  All across the village Awshak warriors frantically grabbed their eyes, groping about desperately trying to feel their way around. Bumptious fighters fell to the ground shouting hysterically and crying out “I can’t see.” They quickly discovered from the outcry of their friends that they were not alone in their new carbon world. And worst of all, they couldn’t see to fight back. Now, their world was as black as their hearts.

  At first the slaves did not know what was happening. Accustomed to being beaten for pausing from their work, most just kept on working.

  “You’re a wizard!” Amase said with excitement.

  Navi smiled at him. “What did you think this was for?” He held up his staff.

  “For walking,” Amase answered truthfully.

  “What do you think this orb is for?”

  “To make you look important,” blurted Amase. “So, if you’re a real wizard, you don’t have to know how to use a sword.”

  “I know how to use a sword, scamp.” Navi rolled his eyes again and pushed his purple bandana higher on his head. Gilmanza and Ozni just chuckled. The boy seemed so innocent, not intentionally meaning to harass Navi.

  Buldar roared with laughter. “I’ve been trying to teach him, but he can’t seem to catch on.”

  “Watch and learn, crony. Watch and learn.” Navi gripped his sword and gathered his reigns.

  “I wish I were a wizard,” Cozbi said, thinking how cool it would be to be able to do supernatural things.

  “Everyone wants to be a wizard but no one considers the cost and the responsibility.” Navi’s words were heavy, emphasizing the risk of liability.

  Cozbi, like Nimri, had never considered the responsibility but he was certain that he could handle it.

  It was then that Gilmanza noticed that Monguard wasn’t wearing his mail. “Monguard, where’s your mail?”

  “Back at the rivah?”

  Navi smiled, he understood him. “Let’s ride, cronies.” Digging his heels into Inka, the dragon responded immediately, rushing out to take the lead of the other mounts.

  As the riders began to ride down the hillside toward the ramparts, Navi stretched out his staff. His words flowed effortlessly as inspiration took over:

  Let the ground shake

  Let the walls quake

  To the ground let them break.

  Straightaway, the ground began to quiver. The horses went wild and flying creatures

  flapped their wings eager to leave the shaking earth.

  “Easy,” the riders said, almost in unison, trying to steady their beasts.

  Gilmanza glared at Navi. “Couldn’t you have come up with something bettah—like specifying that only the ground shake at the walls, or that the walls just crumble on their own?”

  With confidence, Navi merely raised his eyebrow, pursed his lip, and grinned as he watched the walls crumble to the earth and the watch tower extirpated to the ground, burying Awshak guards beneath the granite rubble. Ozni roared with laughter, almost enjoying Gilmanza’s frustration with Navi. “It’s good to have a wizard along.”

  “Let’s roll,” Navi said, as they rode through the debris, their mounts carefully stepping to get across the fallen rocks.

  Mayhem broke out in the village as the walls fell. Bedazzled Awshaks groped about in hysteria, inveigled first by Darvan and second by Navi. At first th
e slaves thought there had been an earthquake. Most froze at first; but then they saw opportunity was awaiting them. When they saw the team of riders riding into their village and their intent to free them, they too joined in the fight by turning tools into weapon and cuffs into chocking devices. Although none of the riders had actually killed any of the barbaric warriors, only broke the chains of the peasants.

  Monguard snagged a well-honed sword off of a blind warrior and laid claim to it. Now, he had a sword of his own, his being left behind in his rush to ride out with them.

  Dust turned up as the riders rode through the village. Eager for justice, they shattered the chains that bound the colony, liberating them from the cruel tyranny of this bilious people. As the links fell from their weak bodies, their faces shone of renewed hope, possibility for attaining life again. With revenge boiling in their blood, the captives took hold of whatever weapons they could and rose up against the now sightless Awshaks, seeking reprisal. The now free men stole the enemies’ swords and obtained swift revenge. For once they were on top carrying the banner of victor. They now held the position of advantage. And they enjoyed it. Yet Gilmanza advised them to leave them in their blind state, a life of punishment and hard lessons for such a people was better than death. Besides, kindness could change them, or so Gilmanza believed.

  Women sought refuge from the brutes and the bloodshed as they hunkered down behind mounds of crumbled stone and standing buildings. There was disorder and confusion. Instinct drove mothers to run through the dismay searching for their children. Livestock ran in a panic, themselves trying to escape becoming a victim of bloodshed.

  Slowly they began to listen to the old man and his comrades and the emancipated people put down their weapons. Many of the onerous warriors groped about trying to survive, hoping to die.

  Blood was shed that day but a village of peasants—a village of people—was set free. The village lay in ruin but the people rose free—dismayed, but free. With eyes glazed with perplexity and disbelief, the people began to search for their family, the people who made them who they were, the people they loved.

  With food being essential for the restoration of these near starving captives, Navi, and Binko set out in search of the food cellars. In the meantime, Sagran led Gilmanza and Buldar to an underground cell, a place he hoped to find his wife. He crossed his fingers that he would find her alive.

  They ambled over the village, studying the sad human forms that better resembled beanpoles. Sagran passed familiar friends and beloved neighbors, a community that accepted him as one of their own. He reached out, took their hands and squeezed. It was enough to communicate reassurance and compassion.

  The underground stairwell was concealed behind the housing of the palace guards of the Awshak headquarters. The cell had been a storm shelter for the community. The metal door was slammed shut and the grass was worn out around it. Sagran held his breath before he lifted the handle.