Three
days was a long time to walk barefoot through the desert sand. Zed had always
imagined that walking across the dunes would be gentle, sand pillowing beneath
his toes. Instead his feet were raw and blistered, torn in places by hidden
rocks, and leaving bloody prints that were quickly swallowed by the wind.
He’d taken as many bottles of water
as he could fit into his bags, and few of the nasty tasting protein bars Rayeed
was always going on about. They were all gone now, the bottles of water,
Rayeed, his family. Zed shook his head sharply, trying to keep the bad thoughts
away, and the horizon swirled for several beats after he’d stopped moving.
They watched the boy take a shaky
step, and then another. Tenu’a thought they would be following him for yet more
pointless miles across this gritty wasteland. But what the mistress wants she
shall always receive. If she’d just explain what she was looking for then maybe
he’d have fewer complaints floating through his head.
Then, as if the mother of fate was
listening to his thoughts, the urchin stumbled, recovered for a moment, and
crumpled to the ground.
The mistress sighed. A pleased
sighed. Tenu’a tried to read her face, but as always she betrayed nothing but a
fierce vitality. Lady Raid rolled her shoulder like a stalking beast just about
to pounce and began walking slowly toward the boy’s withered form. She said
nothing but it was for Tenu’a and Glady to follow as always.
The two servants trudged through the
loosely packed sand though their mistress barely left an imprint as she stepped
over the dune, as if her feet barely kissed the earth before they moved on. The
boy had left a shuffling track nearly a mile long that would be gone in less
than an hour. It had been easy to follow.
This morning when they had picked up
his trail the mistress had kept them far back, always out of sight. But as the
sun had risen in the sky she had grown bolder, following more and more closely
though staying out of eyesight. It was clear that the boy had run out of
reserves, and even under the best of circumstances could have offered them no
physical challenge. Tenu’a had quickly come to realize that they were not
hunting the child, something else was.
Just a pace short of the body the
mistress stopped moving and turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder at
Glady. The tiny woman understood the beckoning look and quickened her march to
reach their lady’s side. Had Tenu’a received the same glance he would have
likely jogged over, but even in doing the mistress’ bidding Glady always
comported herself as a proper lady.
“Yes Mistress.” Glady coughed, her
voice dried from the scorching heat of the desert.
“Are you prepared?” The mistress
sounded as cool as always, her voice hard, the question not asking for Glady’s
readiness , but rather demanding it.
“Of course mistress, only…” Glady
stopped her thought before any hesitation could be voiced. The mistress had
days were even the slightest perception of insolence could be met with the fiercest
of recriminations. Not today it seemed.
“Speak Glady, the law only permits
me to save one a generation. If you have doubts, I’d not have to look upon your
knowing smirks for another thirty years.”
Glady’s eyes started at the desert
floor. Tenu’a quickly realized what they had come here to do, and understood
why he had been left out of the preparations. They were going to interfere.
“Mistress, it is only that this one is so young. Is there not another who might
be better able to carry out our plans? One who would not be so vulnerable?”
The Lady Raid cocked her head to the
side, seriously considering her answer, choosing the words carefully as she
always did. “You know the game Glady. It is a long one. There are others of
course who might bear the brand, but all of them are so obvious. Too many of
their own ideas. This one will grow with its power, and so be shaped by it.
Best of all the enemy will never see him coming.” She turned away from her
servants and looked down on the boy, the smallest of smiles touching her lips.
“And, this one has the sight.”
Tenu’a was able to bite his tongue,
but Glady voice his gasp for him. The sight, the true sight, was a gift rarer
than a long and happy life among the mortals. One born with the sight was a
powerful ally indeed, and to place their mark upon such a child would be a coup
indeed. But there was also risk there as well. The sight could see things,
futures, realities, the cold hard truth of all matters, in such a bare faced
way that almost all the mortals who possessed it were driven mad.
It was true that this child had
already shown a resilience Tenu’a had not seen match in decades, maybe even
centuries, but it was a danger none the less to spend the brand on one who
might not be capable of using it.
“I understand my Lady.” Glady knew
everything Tenu’a did, and even she with her outbursts was not about to
outright question the mistress. “He will be powerful, a storm upon the desert,
one that can bring the flood.”
Yes, Tenu’a agreed silently, but
there is no telling who might drown.
The Lady lowered herself to her
knees as Glady pulled a length of coiled wire from her travelling bag. Tenu’a
had seen this ritual several times in the service of his mistress and every
time it frightened him. The High Danan were prohibited by the laws from
interfering with unwilling mortals, though as in all things exceptions did
exist. Those mortals whose time on the material plane had come to the end, the
dying, with souls about to leave their bodies save for the intercession of a
greater power were, to put it bluntly, fair game.
The great warrior Braxis, the dark
priest Mathugh, and surely countless others, had at one point been upon the
doorstep of death only to be pulled back into their flesh by the mark of the
High Danan. Tenu’a shuddered thinking about the pain and ruin that surely
followed.
The wire was laid on top of the sand
in a large circle that enclosed both the unconscious boy and the Lady Raid. The
lady had rolled the child over as if her were weightless and laid his arms down
at his side. When the simple circle’s ends were joined Glady whispered a word
of power into the wire and suddenly their link to their mistress was broken as
if a wall or a world had fallen between the few meters that separated them.
Tenu’s knew the circle would contain the forces about to be unleashed upon the
mortal realm, but he always felt nervous when his mistress was so exposed.
Glady walked backwards towards him,
her eyes never leaving the Lady or the boy. Clearly she was nervous as well,
but Tenu’a was not prepared to try and comfort her.
Inside the circle the Lady Raid
reached into her flowing pearl colored robes and withdrew a tiny dagger. The
blade could not have been more than three inches long, but Tenu’a was still
shocked by it presence. The weight of the dagger like a pressure against the
inside of the circle. It was the Dervish Blade, the slayer of the Giant
Salas’dan, the blade that wounded the god Hemlock. To use such a weapon for a
branding was surely against the Law.
There was nothing he was capable of
doing, nor would he dare approach and break the ritual while the Dervish Blade
was present. It was clear that his Lady had something in mind for the boy and
it was not a servant’s place to question.
In prior rituals the tools used to
mark the mortals were often symbolic of their stations. For Boraxis it had been
the shattered halft of an Orok chieftan’s axe. If Tenu’a understood his
mistress she wanted to make a statement about the boy. See a child, like a
small unassuming dagger, one that wields a power capable of hurting the gods
themselves.
With a deft slash, quicker than
Tenu’a could blink the lady had cut open the boys shirt. Tenu’a watched the
thin starved chest, its rise and fall almost so slow as to be imperceptible.
The child was not long for this world and so were the laws observed.
The branding would not make the
child immortal, but it would grant him strength. Of what kind Tenu’a did not
know, but it was certain to be powerful given the circumstances and time the
Lady Rain was prepared to devote. Most importantly the brand would get the
attention of the mother of fate, placing the boy into the games of the gods and
inviting those who would stand in the way of that power. The child had not
asked for such a life, but even Tenu’a would have rather been a slave than to
die outright. The Dana were next to immortal, so long as their bodies remained
unharmed and cared for. For most the mortal coil grew tiresome and tedious.
Tenu’a felt as if there were so many things he had yet to experience, even the
slightest shortchanging of his experience would be the worst fate imaginable.
So he couldn’t understand why he felt so bad for this child that was being
offered a new chance at life.
Then the Lady began the ritual and
the fear returned to Tenu’a. He understood.
In all moments outside of battle,
the Lady Raid was gorgeous. Her round face and sultry curves exuded warmth,
while her eyes and long limbs sand of intense vitality. A lust for life. In
moments like these she was a different creature entirely.
The Lady began a chant in the old
language, her voice low and steady. Tenu’a didn’t understand the words but he
could feel the call and response of a ceremony that needed two participants.
The boy’s soul was expected to hear and join in. A wind began moving within the
wire circle though the rest of the desert was deathly still.
With both hands the mistress reached
out over the body, one hand on the knife the other gripping the blade. Slowly,
agonizingly slowly, Tenu’a watched her draw the dagger across her palm opening
a deep gash. Her blood welled out, the color of heat at the base of a bonfire.
The bleeding hand was held straight up above her head, allowing the vital
fluids to run down her arm.
The tip of the knife was rested gently
on the boys chest. With one hand the mistress used four strokes to carve her
sigil into the space above his heart. He did not bleed.
Tenu’a shivered again despite the warmth
of the desert and the heat beginning to rise from the circle. The arrow of
dawn, representing the first lifht of day, one of the most ancient symbols of
the Dana, should never have been cut into dead flesh. No matter how many times
he would have to see it, no matter how many times she forced him to watch,
Tenu’a would never feel that they were doing the right thing.
The mistress’ chant grew louder and the
heat coming from her body grew more intense. This was not the right place, the
boy was not the right candidate. How could none of the others see that.
Then she switched her hands, thrusting
the knife into the air above her head, its tip flickering as a portion of the
blade entered another world. The other hand slapped down onto the new wound on
the boys chest.
His body jumped simultaneously as if he
was rising to meet her, or her touch had been pure electricity. There was a
small clap like distant thunder and the smell of burning flesh. Tenu’a thanked
the god of spells for granting him the protection of the magic circle. He
couldn’t even begin to imagine such a ritual performed on unprotected ground.
The result would have been catastrophic.
From the lady’s fingertips a golden
light began to cover the boy’s chest, moving like a thick liquid. The golden
light glowed brighter and then burst into a low blue flame engulfing the body
and surrounding the lady’s arm, though not burning her.
She ignored the fire and continued
chanting, quickening her tempo and raising her voice as the flames grew larger.
Tenu’a was forced to look away as the
heat from the circle grew too intense. Even his shadow seemed to be retreating
from the ritual, the light growing so bright it began to wash out everything
around them.
Tenu’a had heard the words of the
ceremony spoken dozens of times. Never before had he felt this kind of
intensity. He wondered if the boy’s body was trying to reject the lady’s gift,
or if the magic was refusing to enter him. He didn’t want to admit to himself that
there was something else in the mix. There was an incredible natural power
emanating from the lady’s voice.
With his hands covering most of his
face, Tenu’a forced himself to look at the circle. Squinting as hard as he was
able, Tenu’a could barely see anything through the brilliant light. The fire
seemed to have filled the entire magic circle creating a column of fire
reaching into the sky. Both the lady and the boy were no longer visible,
consumed entirely by the magic fire. A white hot pulse rolled against the walls
of the circle, a blinding light forcing Tenu’a to look away again.
More light rolled across the sand and
the world seemed to fade to white as the lady’s voice was lost in the sound of
thunder and crackling flame.
And then the light was gone and the
desert was almost entirely silent. Silent, save for crackling glass and the
sound of four people breathing. Tenu’a cursed to himself, the ritual had
worked.
