Kasim cursed. He flipped his hand over so that he could see his palm. There burned into his hand was a strange symbol. The image consisted of three interlocking concentric rings. Kasim felt the pain in his hand subside from a searing scorch to dull burn. He watched as the rings in his hands shifted and moved. He blinked.
Perhaps I am hallucinating?
Kasim watched as the pattern continued to shift and evolve even changing colors between a faint blue glow, to a fiery red, to a sunburst orange, and a host of other colors. The shifting colors reminded Kasim of the flowing hues that surrounded Ya-Sudala when the creature had first appeared. The one thing that remained constant was that the three circles remained interlocked. The symbol like Ya-Sudala was confusing and sickening yet mesmerizing to look upon.
“What is this?” Kasim asked.
The pain in his hand had fully subsided now. The glowing and shifting pattern remained.
The Hag answered.
Hag Head: “A symbol of our deal made manifest it is!”
Baby Head: (Coos and giggles)
Hag Head: “An emblem branded to ye hand to remind ye that ye and I are fastened! Kasim and Ya-Sudala bound for eternity! We helped ye! Now sometime mayhap yesterday, or today, or tomorrow we shall call on ye and ye will be duty-bound in soul and flesh to aid us!”
The Hag exploded into a fresh fit of cackling. The tarantula head also shook slightly as it gave its guiro like laugh.
Kasim felt a wave of anger as a cold touch of fear washed over him. In his mind he saw another image of the man in the strange uniform flying through the buildings of glass and steel. The taste of fear was like a thick and bitter syrup on the back of his tongue. It was taste Kasim was not used to. He did not like it. Kasim looked up to see a collage of colors surrounding Ya-Sudala. The creature’s butterfly shaped wings with their myriad eye patterns seemed to be looking at him in amusement. Ya-Sudala’s form began to fade.
Kasim cursed. He had so many questions. What was the full nature of the deal he had made?
“Wait—”
“I’m afraid the time for questions has passed,” the male head said.
The demon’s form grew fainter as it continued talking. The creature’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
Male Head: “Kasim be sure to take Tumo’s falchion. The weapon is made of a special metal: orichalcum. You will find it to be useful to you in your future endeavors.”
“Wait!” Kasim called.
It was too late. Ya-Sudala’s form faded in a whirlpool of colors, its main head still giving its percussive laugh.
Then there was only silence.
Kasim rested on his knees dumbfounded. He looked at the carnage around him; the desiccated bodies of his enemies. He stared into the face of the murdered women and children and elderly folk.
What have I done?
He looked at the glowing tattoo on his hand.
What have I become?
Kasim shook his head. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. The howling wind of the desert was his only companion. While constant it was not a force known for giving guidance or wisdom especially to those not born of air magic. Kasim closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath. He focused his mind on the present; on the landscape and forms around him. At first there was nothing then he felt them: the spirits around him. He could feel the souls of the slain Banula. Some of them left in sorrow, some in fear, some in rage, and some in joy but they were all around him adjusting to their new state of being. Kasim felt the tattoo on his right hand grow warm. Whatever Ya-Sudala had done had increased his ability to manifest and commune with his birth element.
Kasim continued to focus. He allowed his mind to wander deep within himself and out into the world. He could felt the presence of his people the Naban too. From them he also felt a range of emotions though three (fear, hope, and sorrow) were the strongest.
“Why fear? Why sadness?” Kasim said aloud.
The voice that answered was barely a whisper.
“Oh. My son, what have you done?”
Kasim opened his eyes and looked around but no one was there. Still he had heard it; the voice of his mother.
“Mother!” Kasim called out
There was no reply. Around him he could feel the souls of the Naban and Banula departing. Eventually he felt nothing except emptiness. Kasim continued to sit staring off into the desert. In his mind he played through a mental journey of past events; the death of his tribe, his voyage to Mt. Munga, his deal with Ya-Sudala and obtaining his final goal of revenge. Ya-Sudala was correct. He had achieved what he set off to obtain, but he felt no joy or sense of triumph. What had his vengeance achieved? His family and his tribe were still gone from this world?
Kasim sighed.
A golden shimmer caught his attention. Kasim saw Tumo’s rune covered weapon Death Flame lying in the sand. Ya-Sudala had told him the golden falchion was made of some exotic metal called orichalcum. Kasim had never heard of such a metal, but then there was much he had not heard of. The young warrior climbed to his feet. Kasim picked up the weapon of his vanquished foe. He tested the blade by giving it a few swings. The falchion despite its considerable size felt extremely light. The weapon was exquisitely crafted and felt well balanced in his hands. Despite his misgivings Kasim found himself pleased with the blade. As if sensing his approval a wave of fire danced in a spiral up the blade from hilt to tip. The flames were not orange but a bluish black in color.
What powers did this weapon hold and would Ya-Sudala help him to unlock them too?
“Another mystery?” Kasim said.
Kasim shook his head. He stood for a few moments examining the blade. He didn’t know what game Ya-Sudala was playing or what his part was in it but he was sure of two things 1) Kasim would be no one’s pawn. He was a Naban, the last of his tribe. He would make his own way in the world as a freebooter and a warrior. Kasim hoped his power of spirit and his understanding of the ways of sorcery would give him an edge over (or at least put him on equal footing) with the more experienced warriors. 2) He would need all the tools and weapons he could get if he was going to play this game. Death Flame was such a weapon. So why not keep it?
He sheathed Death Flame and slung the weapon across his back. Kasim’s original blade was still sheathed comfortably at his hip.
You never know when an extra blade might come in handy, Kasim thought.
Under the light of a full moon he sat off across the Sudin. The desert air blew cool around him. He was alone, the last of the tribe. With this knowledge Kasim felt a duty to persevere. The lineage of his blood and his people must be carried on.
Kasim gazed into the night sky. He looked at Otala’s Tears and said a prayer.
“Otala guide my actions on the path I now walk. Allow me to make my ancestors proud. Protect me from whatever troubles may befall me. Guide me to greatness and allow me to succeed by your will.”
If the deity Otala heard him there was no answer. Somewhere off in the distance Kasim could swear he heard a faint noise. It sounded like a guiro playing.
End of Book I
Flame Soul Page 5
