“I do not intend for anyone else to die.”
Keris was flummoxed for a moment. The man seemed to have lost his grip on reality. “Look,” she began. “This is war. There are probably going to be a lot more deaths before we are finished.”
Lyall had a look of quiet determination. “I am not at war with my own people. There is only one person who is responsible for all of this. If we stop him, then the oppression will end.”
Keris laughed without mirth. “You’re really not very good at this, are you? Being a revolutionary.”
Lyall looked as if he were remembering an event long past. He gave a thin smile. “Perhaps not. But the greatest battle we have to fight is for hearts and minds, Keris. That is a battle we dare not lose.”
~
Lyall, Alondo and Shann stood with hands linked in a circle, while Keris watched from a distance. She could hear them speaking the memorial in low tones. Boxx stood next to her on its haunches. It seemed intensely interested in the strange ceremony.
It turned its round head to look up at her. “What Is The Purpose?”
Keris’ gaze was fixed on the three. “They are remembering those who died at the compound.”
“They Are Healing.”
“In a way…I suppose.”
“You Are Kelanni.” Keris did not turn or answer. Boxx persisted. “You Are Kelanni. Those Are Kelanni. Kelanni Should Join. Help One Another. It Is The Key.”
“You don’t understand,” she murmured, still looking straight ahead. “I can’t.”
“Why?” it asked.
Keris was feeling an unsettling mix of emotions: sadness, worry, guilt most of all. The last thing she felt like doing was having a conversation with the enigmatic creature. She could see out of the corner of her eye that it was looking at her expectantly.
Broken limbs…contorted faces…the stain of white blood. “I killed them,” she confessed. “The people they are mourning; I am responsible for their deaths.”
Boxx rocked itself from side to side, although she had no idea what that meant. Finally it spoke. “Keris Did This To Save Those?”
“I suppose so.” Her eyes were starting to water involuntarily. She wiped them with her palm, angry at her own weakness.
“Saving Those Has Injured You,” Boxx piped shrilly. “So… You Need To Heal Most Of All.”
Keris tried to push the thought away, but it welled up, forcing thorough the defensive barriers she had carefully constructed. The only person you can truly rely on is yourself. Suddenly, it was as if a dam had burst inside her. She felt herself walking forward. As she reached the others, Lyall and Alondo opened up to admit her and she joined the circle, taking each of their hands. Shann gave her an odd look, but said nothing.
As the four of them stood in silent meditation, a lone pink flower bloomed in the sandy soil nearby. It was a sentinel, announcing that they were nearing the end of the Southern Desert and approaching the Eastern Plains at long last, passing over from death to life.
Chapter 13
“Look there!” Shann pointed across the swathes of golden grass to a place where taller, purple reeds grew. A pair of dagan stood near the edge of the reeds, their long limbs and sleek bodies a symbol of grace and power. Lyall watched them for a moment; then he saw what she saw. Something sparkling in the bright sunlight. Water.
Shann kicked her heels and began running to where the pond glistened, cool and inviting. Come on!” She called over her shoulder. In a moment, Alondo began running after her, followed by Lyall. Alondo was whooping and hollering. The dagan turned tail and fled, bounding through the waving prairie in great leaps. There was a double splash as Shann and Alondo reached the water together. They had taken the time only to pull their boots off. Lyall followed suit, jumping and cannon-balling so as to swamp the other two. Shann screamed in annoyance and delight.
Children. Keris was standing beside the morgren. She still wore the dark tunic and trousers of a Keltar, although her flying cloak was safely stowed away in a saddle pack. She watched the others laughing and splashing and felt a tinge of jealousy. The water did look inviting. Still, someone had to stand watch. She settled down cross-legged in the long grass, pulled out a flask of water and took a long draught. She shook her head, and her long dark hair settled about her shoulders. Boxx waddled up and lay down next to her in silence. When they had left the Great Tree together, she had regarded the creature’s presence as an annoyance. Over the days that followed however, she had become accustomed to its strange ways. She even found its presence oddly comforting.
She looked up at the wide open sky. Out here on the plains, the light was clearer somehow. Colours seemed that much more vibrant. Night was a chiaroscuro of dark reds, dominated by Ail-Mazzoth’s brooding presence. Dawn brought Ail-Gan’s bright yellow orb, washing out the reds and painting the clouds orange and the sky azure blue. Soon, Ail-Kar, the white sun, would flash across the horizon, bringing everything into renewed focus. It was as if the plains themselves were alive.
She looked down at a large blue flower near her boot. Her fingers reached out and brushed against the petals. She watched as the flower unfurled its petals slowly and a horde of tiny yellow insects scuttled out and dispersed across the ground. The flower gradually closed up once again.
She raised her head and her eyes took in the vista before her. Across the golden prairie, she could see a large herd on the move–dagan or raleketh, or maybe even wild graylesh; it was hard to tell from this distance. There was game aplenty here; whatever else, they would not starve. Travelling through the desert had meant short rations; not because there was any shortage in the food they were carrying, but because food increased thirst. Now there was no need for such restrictions. Keris’ mouth salivated at the thought of fresh raleketh steaks with moba root. She would have to speak to Lyall about getting their group together to do a little hunting.
Aside from the fact that they needed the energy, it would also be an excellent way for them to hone their skills for whatever lay ahead. Lyall had told her that he had been training Shann, and that she showed exceptional aptitude in both the cloak and the staff. He seemed in earnest, but Keris was sceptical. It took many months of instruction and practice to become proficient in Keltar arts.
It was apparent that the girl did not like her. However, that was to be expected. She recalled the fair-haired girl in the cart on the road from Chalimar. Keltar had a reputation for enforcing the will of the Prophet, which was increasingly being accompanied by brutality. Keris was no longer Keltar. However, some were not going to be appeased with a mere loaf of flatbread.
Still, the girl did not have to like her in order for them to work together. And in the end, that was all that mattered.
Keris looked back at the pond, debating whether she ought to walk over and demand that someone relieve her so that she could take a turn to bathe. A movement in the reeds to the left of the pond. Then another on the far side. Dagan? No, there was a glimpse of shirt. A russet coloured hat. Keris got slowly to her feet, reaching up to the morgren’s flank. Her fingers closed around her staff, feeling the smoothness of the wood. Another faint rustle, again from the other side of the pool. Three of them, then.
She moved away from the morgren, crouching low. Boxx remained there quietly in the grass. Perhaps it had read the situation; she could not tell. In any event, it did not speak or try to follow. Circling around behind the figure to the left, she could see his back clearly now at the edge of the reeds. He had a dark coat and wavy hair. She stole up and brought the side of her staff down smartly on the back of his head. He made an oomph sound, and then fell forward, face first. He did not move.
Keris crept around the pond, to where she had noted the position of the other two. She could hear the trickle of conversation from those in the pond. Then she spotted the remaining two intruders. She still had the advantage of surprise, but they were too close together to be taken separately. Nothing for it, then. They were both squatted down near the
edge of the water. She readied herself, and then charged the one on her left, impacting the woman’s back. Her victim lurched forward, falling headlong into the pond. There was an almighty splash, followed by a scream from Shann. Before the man with the hat could react, Keris was behind him, her staff constricting his throat.
He held up a hand. “Hold, friend.”
Keris did not loosen her grip. “What is your business here?”
“We are travellers, friend…a hunting party,” he rasped.
“You seek strange game today…friend.” Her last word had a menacing edge to it.
Lyall had hauled himself up onto the bank near them. His hair was matted to his head and he was dripping. He saw Keris with the overweight intruder in a vise-like hold. “What is going on?”
“We have visitors. I did not catch your name?” Keris jerked the staff against the man’s neck, as a way of exacting a response.
“Keris, let him go.”
“Excuse me?” She did not take her eyes off her captive.
“Let him go, please,” Lyall requested. Keris loosened her grip reluctantly and stood back. The portly man began rubbing his neck. Lyall continued, his voice even. “My companion asked you your name.”
“Zamir.” His voice was still hoarse.
The woman who had been knocked into the water was climbing out. She tried to squeeze some of the water out of her clothes. Alondo was already on the bank, offering a helping hand to Shann.
“What were you doing?” Lyall asked.
“We are hunting fresh game.” It was the soaked woman who answered. “We were curious, that’s all. We heard a noise.”
“Forgive us, friend,” Zamir appeared to have regained his composure somewhat, “but there are all manner of folks on the plains. Your morgren testify that you have come out of the desert, from the direction of Gort. There are many a tale of the things that go on in that terrible place.”
“She is Keltar,” the wet woman declared. “I recognise her clothing. And she wields the staff. She is a servant of the Prophet.”
“She used to be,” Lyall affirmed, “but no longer. She has turned her back on the Prophet and his ways. And she saved our lives.” The woman from the pond was regarding Keris as if she were a foul spectre. “It is the truth, I swear it,” Lyall added.
Zamir regarded Keris warily; then looked back at Lyall. “Where are you headed?”
“East, across the plains.” Lyall had a story rehearsed. “I hear there are communities there where the Prophet’s arm does not reach.”
Zamir nodded thoughtfully. Just then, Boxx waddled up, taking its accustomed place next to Keris. “What is that?” Zamir inquired.
“That,” replied Shann, “is Boxx.
The round faced man screwed up his nose. “It looks like a Chandara.”
“It is,” Lyall confirmed.
“It’s an odd kind of a pet,” Zamir observed.
Lyall bit his lower lip. “It…isn’t exactly a pet.”
Zamir shook his head. “Well, no matter. You have a long journey ahead of you, friend. And those morgren are far too slow. You will need to exchange them.”
“We know,” Lyall confirmed. “We were intending to visit the trading post, which I believe is a little way north of here.
Zamir put his hands on his thick hips, threw back his head and roared with laughter. “A fine idea, fine indeed. If you want to get skinned and hung out to dry, that is.”
Shann frowned. “Are you saying the owner is dishonest?”
Zamir’s laugh was disconcerting. “Of course he is. That’s why he’s such a good friend of mine.” He registered the looks on their faces and laughed again. “Balbor can smell innocent gundir like you from the other side of the plains. But fear not, I have a herd of graylesh, newly broken. I am sure we can arrive at a fair price. You have coin, friend?” His face registered a momentary flash of concern.
“We do,” Lyall assured.
Zamir beamed. “Then you shall visit my camp and we will deal. After which we will celebrate with a feast.”
“We will need a wagon,” Shann put in.
“I am sure we can fix something up for you… for a small premium.” The chubby man walked over to Lyall and reached up to place a hand on Lyall’s shoulder, leading him away from the pond. “A fine thing for you, friend that you ran across us this day, fine indeed.”
~
Shann crouched down low in the long grass and waited, away to her right was Lyall, beyond him, Keris. All three wore the dark cloak. Shann’s senses were heightened by anticipation. She felt the tension in her muscles and the touch of the staff at her side; smelt the rich loam and the scent of growing things; tasted the dryness in her mouth and the salt on her lips; saw the waving stalks and the dark shapes of her waiting companions; heard…a low, distant drumming against the ground.
They were coming.
A moment later she heard the shouts of the riders. She kept her eye on Lyall, waiting for the signal. The drumming sound became louder…louder. Lyall raised a hand. All three cloaked figures rose up together like black sailed ships amid a sea of gold. They ran forward as one, leaped skywards, and then bore down on the advancing herd of raleketh. The animals were gangly, ranging from yellow to red-brown in colour, with dark mottling. They made a half grunting, half squealing sound as they ran. Beaters rode behind the herd on graylesh, urging them forward. The lead animals saw the dark shapes falling toward them and turned back in a panic, only to be pushed forward by the oncoming surge. Shann landed lightly at the edge of the herd, together with Lyall and Keris.
“Careful,” Keris called out to her, “don’t get trapped in the stampede.”
Shann ignored her. I’m not a child.
Diamond blades flashed as the three of them set about dispatching the quota needed for food supplies. The beaters parted their mounts so as to allow the bulk of the herd to escape. They thundered off, leaving behind their slain companions as a silent offering.
The two groups had been travelling together for seven days now, as their routes coincided. They had been following the course of a river upstream. Soon, however, the river would be flowing from the north. The plains nomads would follow it, accompanying the herds in their summer migration. Tonight would be the last night they would camp together.
Zamir rode up to them, pulling on the graylesh to bring it to a halt. Despite his portly frame, he seemed surprisingly agile as a rider. “Well done, everyone. Our teams work well together. Are you sure you wouldn’t consider a more permanent partnership?”
Lyall planted his staff and met the other man’s eyes. “I’m sorry; we must get as far away as we can from the Prophet’s men. We must continue heading east.”
Zamir nodded. “I understand. Very well then, tonight we celebrate. And tomorrow, we part as friends.” Three more nomads arrived with a cart, and Zamir supervised the loading of the fresh meat. As far as Shann could see, the nomads seemed to spend most of their time celebrating. Zamir would seize any excuse to hold a feast. She had never been to so many parties in her life. A part of her secretly wished that she could just stay with them, and enjoy their carefree lifestyle. But at night she still lay awake, haunted by thoughts of Gallar, her home and the tributes at Gort. It felt like a great weight, as if everyone were dependent on her. I have to keep moving forward.
She turned to follow the others back to the nomads’ camp, and her last few hours of freedom.
~
By the time Shann arrived back at the camp with Lyall and Keris, it felt as if the celebrations were already in full swing. There was an air of excitement and preparation and good humour. Children ran around in circles yelping at one another, while gundir snapped at their heels playfully. From the direction of the covered wagons came the wonderful smells of cooking.
The wagon which sat at the rear of the caravan had been purchased by Lyall, along with four graylesh, freshly outfitted for travel. Shann walked over to one of the animals and stroked its striped
flank. It turned towards her. Bright eyes regarded her from either side of a slender snout. They were indeed graceful and intelligent creatures.
Lyall had sat down and struck the deal with Zamir that first evening, during an animated conference in Zamir’s wagon. Shann had not been invited, and Alondo declined to sit in. “Money–that’s Lyall’s department,” he maintained, with a smile. Keris had not been invited either, but she insisted on attending, nevertheless.
Later, as she was by the fire, chatting with one of the nomad hunters, Shann spotted Lyall and Keris exit the wagon and cross to the rear of another wagon farther down the line. She could discern raised voices, and a sharp exchange of words between the two. Excusing herself, she got up from her position by the fire and walked over to their position. As she got near, the vocal sounds coalesced into words.
It was Keris’ voice. “You never give any thought to the consequences of your actions, do you?”
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Lyall was trying to pacify her. “After all, it was only money the Prophet had exacted from poor and honest people.”
“And that justifies theft?
“In this case, yes. That money was intended to be used to free the Kelanni from oppression. Now it is being used to save our entire race. And you are quibbling about a few silver astrias that the Prophet does not need and will never miss?”
“That is not true,” Keris remonstrated. “It was missed. And people suffered as a result: houses ransacked, on the spot searches, random arrests and since I’ve been gone, who knows what else?”
Shann was not comfortable with eavesdropping. She walked around the wagon to where the two of them were. Lyall was saying, “I think if we were to ask them–” They both caught sight of Shann and the conversation came to an abrupt halt.
“Is everything all right?” Shann asked. Keris shot a glare at her and stalked off. Shann looked up at Lyall.
“She doesn’t like the thought of being associated with a thief,” Lyall’s voice had a tinge of regret.
That woman seemed to be determined to do everything she could to criticize and undermine their efforts. Shann felt like going up to her and telling her to take her stupid machine and her stupid story about a message from the past, and go off on whatever stupid journey she wanted. What stopped her was Lyall. He clearly thought there was something to this wild tale, so she had no choice but to go along with it for now, until she could convince him otherwise. Shann patted the graylesh and cooed to it in a soothing voice. At that moment, Alondo walked up to her. “Are you going to come hear me play?”