He peered at it, fighting the urge to blink, even as his eyes began to tear. Just when he was about to give up, the barest shadow of a face took form. It was old, but not ancient. Clean shaven. Hair cropped close. Zhimosom knew in that moment that it was the face of the wizard who was calling the storm into being, pressing it against them. But how to defeat it?
“How is he doing it?” Rotiaqua asked.
“He’s calling fire. Creating heat. Warming the air, causing it to rise. When the hot air rises, the cold air rushes in and picks the sand from the desert. Then he directs that flow toward us.”
“How would you defeat that?” Rotiaqua’s question was matter-of-fact.
How could she have such confidence in him when he had so little of his own?
“Cold?” Zhimosom tried to think of what he was familiar with that was cold, cold enough to cool off the air that the wizard had heated. What could he bring to bear that was cold? Snow? He’d heard of snow, but he’d never seen any.
Water?
He cast his senses around. There was water, but it was deep beneath the earth, and it was hot. Hotter than the air that the wizard had called up to drive the sandstorm. That was strange. Water was usually cold, especially beneath the earth.
Maybe that was it. Hot water. Add a little heat. What did you get?
Zhimosom reached for the hot water deep beneath the earth. He formed a summoning spell and directed the water to the hottest part of the dust storm.
The water resisted him. It was as if it wanted to remain where it was.
“Ad me aquae viva,” he whispered.
The water churned beneath the earth.
He tapped the heat of the water to drive the spell.
“Ad me aquae viva.” This time, he raised his voice in command.
At first, nothing happened, but soon he felt his heart grow tight, almost as if he was channeling the magic of the water through himself.
Suddenly, a great explosion erupted in the center of the dust storm.
Hot sand pelted Zhimosom, followed immediately by water. Scalding hot water.
He dropped to his knees and turned his back on the burning rain.
For a moment, he thought he had failed. That the water was going to scald him to death, but soon it was over. The water passed him by and the sun came out.
No more angry brown cloud.
He had done it.
“Not the way I would have handled it, but nicely done nonetheless.” Garlath brushed the sand from his robe and stood. He reached down to help Rotiaqua to her feet.
She looked a mess.
Her hair was damp and filled with flecks of sand. Her shirt clung to her skin and her boots sloshed water when she walked.
She threw Zhimosom a look that said they were going to have words once they were alone.
He shuddered and extended his arm.
She grasped it and leaned on him as they started in a westerly direction.
Now that the storm was gone, the city of Rohir was very visible. The walls of the city were constructed of adobe mud baked by the sun. The gates were open and the guards friendly. Inside the walls, the homes were short and squat, with poles sticking from the walls where drab decorations hung.
Passing through the gates, they entered the market square where they found men of various trades and economic backgrounds. Some of the men were accompanied by what must have been women, but they were completely covered, head to toe, in a pure white silk scarf that hid their face and features. Each one had a thin gold cord around her neck that led to a man’s belt. The women walked behind the men, careful to keep their distance, but not enough to allow the cord to pull tight. Zhimosom wondered at that. The cord looked thin, almost as thin as a single strand of silk. It could easily be broken, should the woman desire to separate herself from the man.
None did.
Zhimosom located an apothecary who had set up a stall in the market. Garlath had chosen that trade as most likely to be sympathetic. The local apothecary always very knowledgeable about the goings-on about town and the lay of the land. They were welcomed into every sector of the city and gathered plants everywhere, including private lands.
Rohir was the place the dragons had instructed him to seek his power, but he couldn’t simply ask. He began with the local sights. He began by asking where a traveler from a far-off land would be most impressed with the unique sights of the city. If there was power nearby, it must be tied to something unique about the city. The apothecary spoke at length of the various structures and the stable where the most exotic horses were stabled and the straightness of the main thoroughfare and the splendor of the marketplace. Zhimosom was about to give up and find someone else when the apothecary hit on something that made that hair on Zhimosom’s arms stand on end.
“There are pools near the palace,” he explained. “They have a healing effect on people who soak there. Hot water and minerals are good for the skin. It also helps heal a lot of ailments if you drink it in moderation.”
Zhimosom recalled the water he had tapped to power his spell in the desert. There had been power there. Was that it? The power the dragons had spoken of? “Can you direct us there?”
“It’s down that way. Behind the palace.” The apothecary motioned toward a tall tower rising above the city. “When you get to the wide road that heads east, take it. The palace is near the eastern wall of the city. The pools are behind the palace. They’re open to every man in the city.”
“Man,” Rotiaqua said.
Zhimosom had seen her gaze follow several of the cloaked women. As she did, her countenance grew darker. He had never seen her so angry.
The apothecary looked her over. “You are clearly an outlander. If you are going to stay in this city for long, you will learn. Women here are not seen, nor are they heard in public. It’s simply not done.” He turned back to Zhimosom. “If you keep her with you, you will have to cover and leash her ... and teach her how to keep silent.”
Zhimosom felt Rotiaqua’s anger rise through their link.
He cautioned her against taking action.
After they had found the source of power, perhaps then she could make a stronger statement, but until then, he counseled patience and restraint. It made him nervous to chastise her for her actions. He’d never done that before. Would she grow angry with him? Would it sour their relationship? He was, after all, only a serf.
“Later,” came the response. It was accompanied with mixed emotions ranging from anger to anticipation. But at least she had not rejected him.
Zhimosom returned his attention to the apothecary, thanked the man, and turned down the street in the indicated direction. When they were out of earshot, Rotiaqua grabbed his arm. “What was that?” she demanded.
Zhimosom flinched. He’d expected an outburst, and here it came. “Please. Other customs are not like our own,” he said. “We don’t want to offend.”
“You want me to keep silent and walk behind you on a leash, all covered in silk so no one can see me?”
Zhimosom stared at her for half a hand of heartbeats, drew a breath to speak, and decided against it. Anything he said would only make her angrier, and he didn’t need that.
They trudged along in silence until they came to the palace. The pools were a sight to behold. Behind the palace was a large terraced patio. It was covered with plants that trailed vines from trellises and balconies, the long green tendrils reaching the ground and snaking their way to the edge of the water. Water lapped at a patio that extended from the back of the palace. The pools themselves were a sight to behold. A series of rock ledges had been carved into shallow pools by the flow of crystal blue water. Each pool overflowed into the ones just below. Each one was edged with stalactites of sparkling white minerals that stretched to the water below.
The water steamed in the chill night air.
They trod along the water’s edge until they stood on the patio gazing at the turbulent water cascading from pool to pool. The air held a strange odor,
salty and sharp. It bit into him as he breathed it. “Smell that?”
“That’s the minerals in the water.” A woman’s voice came from behind the hanging plants. “It helps the healing.”
Zhimosom jumped. He had not even considered whose home they had intruded on. He turned to see a woman. Tall, with a regal bearing, she was dressed in short pants and a loose shirt that rippled in the wind, no silk covering for her. Her shoulder-length hair fell in curls around a round face that held a slight smile.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am the queen, Phaos.”
Without thinking, Zhimosom stepped behind Rotiaqua as if to shield himself from the queen.
Rotiaqua reached behind her, grabbed his arm, and pulled him tight beside her.
“Why are you not dressed like the others?” Rotiaqua asked.
“Because I am inside.” Phaos looked over her shoulder at someone. “Bring refreshments. We have guests.” She turned back to Zhimosom and Rotiaqua. “Please, won’t you join me?”
Zhimosom let Rotiaqua drag him further onto the patio and shove him into the proffered chair. It made his stomach turn. Was his fear of royalty so strong that he would never be comfortable? He envied Rotiaqua’s calm acceptance of the invitation and the ease with which she engaged with a complete stranger.
Rotiaqua took the seat next to him as a girl entered the room carrying a tray of drinks. She set the tray on the table and bowed her head to the queen.
“Thank you.” Phaos nodded to the girl, who backed out of the room.
The queen turned back to Rotiaqua, gesturing to the pools. “They have healing power. The minerals and heat can be used to cure all manner of external ills and injuries. The minerals are also good for the internals. We drink a small amount each day to maintain a healthy system. If you are ill, take more, and it will clean out your insides. The water is piped into the palace and the surrounding homes. It keeps us young.”
Zhimosom wanted to ask how the water came to be, but before he could open his mouth, Rotiaqua interrupted.
“Why are the women covered so?” she asked. “The men rule the outside. Any woman who leaves the confines of her home must dress as such. She must be led by a man and go where he goes. Why do you permit it?”
“It’s the way.” Phaos sipped at her drink.
Zhimosom shot Rotiaqua a look and pressed her through their magical connection. He counseled her to be careful with the queen, but Rotiaqua brushed his efforts away.
“Do all men treat their bondmates so? Even the king?”
“Of course. How could it be otherwise?”
Zhimosom didn’t like the way the conversation was going. He looked at Rotiaqua, trying to encourage her to find a less controversial topic. He summoned up his courage to address the queen. “Tell me more of the healing properties ...”
“Would you change it if you could?” Rotiaqua pressed the queen.
“There is no other way, so why even consider it?”
“If there were?”
“If there were a way, then yes, I would change things. There is no way, so I don’t dwell on it.”
“The pools?” Zhimosom said, trying to bring the conversation back to something safe. “Why do they have healing properties?”
“It is said that a hot stream of molten rock rises near the surface and heats the water. The water absorbs the minerals and gets heated as it passes through the caves below. The hot water surfaces in the pools at just the right temperature for our enjoyment.”
Zhimosom sighed inwardly.
“For the enjoyment of the men, you mean,” Rotiaqua interjected.
Zhimosom placed his hand on Rotiaqua’s. “For the enjoyment of all.”
“For all of us, some inside, some out.” Phaos laughed. “Will you stay the night? Tomorrow, I can have you escorted to the caves. You will find them interesting.”
Zhimosom felt a twinge of elation. The pools. He was beginning to understand the power they possessed. It was tied to fire. To heat. The heat of the depths of the earth. These caves she spoke of might just be the answer they were seeking.
He had more questions, but before he could answer, Phaos stood, signaling the end of the discussion.
She summoned guards who escorted Zhimosom and Rotiaqua to a guest chamber in the palace. They were given a room to share next to Garlath.
Rotiaqua unpacked her things and sat on the bed.
Zhimosom stood in the doorway. On the road, they shared the same ground, sleeping near each other, but sharing a room made him uncomfortable. “I’m staying with Garlath,” he said.
“Why so shy? There is ample room.” Rotiaqua gestured to the spacious room.
“What were you trying to do? Get us killed?” Zhimosom asked.
“I told you. No one is going to put you in the stocks for touching me. We’re safe here.”
“I don’t mean that. Why all the questions about the women? You can’t talk to the queen that way ...” Zhimosom shook with worry. He didn’t know what kind of trouble she would get them into, but his imagination entertained several possibilities. What if the king had overheard her?
“She needs to hear it,” Rotiaqua said. “If she doesn’t hear it from me, then who’s going to tell her?”
“Can’t you just leave it alone? This is not our home. These are not our customs. Let’s just find out what the dragon wanted from us and be on our way.”
“I can’t accept it because that’s just the way it is,” she said. “What they are doing is wrong.”
Zhimosom frowned. “Be careful.” He closed the door and went to sleep on the floor in Garlath’s room.
In the morning, Zhimosom left Rotiaqua behind as the queen’s man escorted him to the caves. The entrance was several leagues from the palace and looked like no more than an innocent crack in the ground. Zhimosom and the queen’s man followed a narrow passage as it wound its way down, deep beneath the earth, each turn taking them deeper down. Zhimosom felt as if they had been descending and hiking for days before the guide stopped him.
“Feel it?” he asked.
Zhimosom stopped, placed a hand against the smooth cold stone, and reached out with his magical senses. Thing had changed since the last turn. The air was slightly warmer.
“We’re almost there,” the guide said. “Keep up.”
The guide squeezed through a tight passageway that quickly opened onto a large cavern. The cavern contained a host of colorful stalactites hanging from the stone ceiling. Ribbons of color snaked along, winding and folding like bacon in a pan. Sharp needles clung to the overhead, their tips glistening with water. But it was the lake of pure crystal clear water that caught Zhimosom’s eye. It was like a mirror, not a ripple on its surface.
And there was magic here. It was all around. Wild and untamed, like that of the fire Zhimosom had tapped in the fields so long ago. He searched for fire, but there was none. The water itself held power. But not just the water. Somewhere off in the distance was an even greater source of magic.
Zhimosom raised his hand. “Incendio ignio.” Light sprang forth above his hand.
He let the fireball brighten until it was a sphere of pure white, then he tossed it into the air and guided it toward the ceiling.
The guide looked at him in wonder. “Usually, we do this by lantern. I have never seen just how truly beautiful this cavern is. Thank you.”
The guide indicated a strip of rock that sloped into the still water. Resting on the stone was a small boat. Weathered and rough, it looked as if it might not hold water, but the guide gestured to Zhimosom to board and stepped in behind him, pushing off from the shore.
Ripples fled the bow as the guide dipped his oars into the water and pulled. At first, Zhimosom thought they were headed for the large pillar in the center of the lake, but the guide steered around it and headed for a spot where a large opening led into the dark. As the boat turned toward it, the air grew warmer and the odor of sulfur grew stronger.
“We’re getting
close. It’s just around the bend.”
Zhimosom summoned his fireball and guided it along behind them, the steady white light casting eerie shadows on the water ahead as they entered the passageway.
The guide rowed the boat where he could and used the oar against the overhead rocks where he could not row. Soon they had reached another cavern. The water in this one was steaming and bubbling.
“We’re going in there?” Zhimosom asked.
“No. The water’s too hot. If you fell in, you’d be cooked before you could swim to the shore. I wanted you to see this.” He pointed off into the distance. “Watch.”
A plume of steam erupted from the surface of the water and crashed against the rocks overhead. The water splashed off the ceiling and fell noisily into the lake below. The smell of sulfur grew stronger, then died. Just as everything settled, it happened again.
Zhimosom sat transfixed as the water splashed down, only to rise moments later as steam. He felt the power within that steam. There was magic in it. More magic than he had ever imagined.
Was that the power the dragons had told him of? Could he access it? Harness it? He reached out to touch it. It was strange and wild, yet familiar, and it had a flavor that he had never witnessed before. It was as if his tongue were experiencing a new taste or his eyes seeing a new color.
It was strange and wonderful.
He grasped the power, drawing the magic into himself.
Suddenly, the cavern brightened as if the noonday sun had emerged.
It was blinding.
Zhimosom felt as if he’d grown a span in height.
He was powerful.
Elated.
Undefeatable.
He wanted to shout with the pure joy of it.
“Control it.” Zhimosom heard a voice far off in the distance calling to him. Rotiaqua had sensed what he was doing. She was worried about him. Afraid he would take too much magic into himself and be unable to contain it all.
He ignored her words.
The power was too great.
The Sorceress: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 3) Page 23
