The Last World - Zed Crosses the Desert

            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.