SHIKOBA PACED BACK AND FORTH in front of the fireplace, a deep scowl furrowing her brow. In her hand, she clutched the fire stick she had used to light the logs in the hearth, just for something to do. It snapped in two when her grip tightened on the thin wood. Sarcee sat on her shoulder in crow form, furiously flapping his wings to try and cool her anger.
A pair of wide French doors had been flung open in the circular room to allow space for Obsidian to join the conversation. Her snout rested on her claws just inside the opening. She snapped at a raven that dived at the back of her head, drawing a frown from the crow perched on Shikoba’s shoulder.
Across the room, the stranger lounged in an overstuffed chair, one leg draped over the arm. His tooled boot jiggled with impatience as he yawned, feigning boredom. Chutzpa’s presence was at the request of the Shamankas, who sat on the couch before a low table. The contents of Shikoba’s package were spread across the scratched wooden surface. Shikoba had at first refused to share the contents with the foreigner in the room, but the Shamankas pointed out that Chutzpa, despite being from Tunise, had at least scouted out the area they were proposing to visit.
“Now, if you have finished arguing with me, I would like to discuss your gifts.” Marsai shifted forward and picked up the fat knuckle bones and the thin fluted one and laid them out on the tabletop. When she had finished sorting them, a pattern had developed. Three fingers of bone, about a foot long, were arranged on the scratched surface. Shikoba moved closer to get a better look at the partial reconstruction.
“What is it? A bird’s foot?” She tried to imagine a bird with toes that big and couldn’t think of any native to Shadra.
Chutzpa shook his head. “That’s no bird. There are too many joints.”
“It’s not a bear or a tiger. There aren’t enough toes,” said Shikoba.
“It is a sea drake,” said Marsai.
“A drake? But I thought they were just a legend. How would you know this?” Shikoba frowned down at the bones. A frisson of fear slid up her spine at the thought of sea drakes being real. And alive. Sea drakes were thought to be distant cousins to their fiery kin.
“When I was young,” said Marsai, “my mother took us to the cliffs on the coast to pick rare fungi that grew only on the southern shelves of the deepest caves. Imbued with magic, these mushrooms never saw the light of day and had to be picked by the soft rays of a full moon or they would shrivel to dust. One midnight, we wandered deeper than a human had ever travelled into the caves. At least, I don’t believe anyone has gone so deep.” Her eyes glossed over at the memory. “I was scared to death, crawling through the narrow tunnels, pushing a torch ahead of me, trying to keep my mother’s moccasins in sight. I am sure that we crawled underneath the sea itself, we had gone so far.
“It was in the very last cave, with our baskets full to overflowing, that we spied it. We were latching the lids of our baskets. A gust of air sent the torch flame dancing, reflecting off the lacquered woven tops. The light flashed across the corpse of a creature that lay tucked back under a narrow shelf.
“It was long, twenty paces at least, and perfectly preserved. Smooth golden flesh covered the bones. It had a head the size of me and a long, sinuous body. Pairs of fins the size of oval platters were spaced along its snake-like length. The tail was barbed and thick enough to impale the largest sabretooth. Due to the cool temperatures of the cave it had not decayed, as it would have on the surface. It was not long dead.”
“What was it doing there?” asked Shikoba. “How did it get there?”
“The main caves are accessible only from the land side, but I have come across sea water in the lower caves. I think there must be openings below the water level.” Marsai picked up a knuckle bone and held it up for them to see. All eyes were drawn to the object. “This is the smallest bone of the smallest fin. They are located next to the tail. By the size of this bone, this must have come from a mature naga.”
Jinnaga is their proper name, thought Obsidian. I guess the people of your land have forgotten this.
Sarcee spoke aloud. “Jinnaga, sea drake, naga. They are all the same creature, just called by different names in different worlds.”
Shikoba scowled over at Obsidian and Sarcee, then snatched the bone from Marsai’s hand to look at it closer. “I don’t get it. How is this supposed to help me bring down the barrier? This was given to me to be an aid in fulfilling my quest. Bah! It is useless, just as I thought.” She tossed it back on the table and stormed over to the window beside Obsidian’s head. “Useless drivel.”
A deep laugh filled the room. Shikoba spun on her heel and pulled a short knife hidden inside her tunic. In three strides, she was nose to nose with Chutzpa. Sarcee squawked and flew round the room.
“You dare to mock me, Tunisian? You think this is funny? I have a mission to complete or we all die.” She pressed the knife against his throat. A thin line of blood welled along its length. “It would be no loss to start with you,” she hissed.
Chutzpa placed his hand on her wrist and gently pushed her knife-wielding hand away. The smile did not leave his face. He grinned down into her stormy hazel eyes. “Hey now, relax. We are on the same side.”
Shikoba pushed back, hard. “How do I know you are not an assassin sent to kill me? You have a pretty story, but I do not believe it. You will not mock me, or I will kill you.”
“No mockery intended. I was merely laughing at our predicament. You are chasing ghosts. Monsters of legend with no clue as to how it is supposed to help you. I am chasing kidnappers who are hiding out with your ghosts. I was laughing at myself, actually, wondering if I was insane to cast my lot with yours.” His eyes swept the room. “You all could get me killed.”
Shikoba glared at him. “We didn’t shoot you with the arrow. We saved your life.” Her knife hand lowered.
“And that was a friendly hug?” He gestured toward her knife. He touched a finger to the welling blood from the nick in his skin. The smile never left his lips.
“Watch your back, Tunisian pig.”
Chutzpa shrugged then turned his attention to Marsai, offering her a low bow. “Forgive me, Shamankas, for interrupting your explanation.”
Marsai nodded, then her head turned to Shikoba. Wiped of all emotion, her expression was stone. She raised one eyebrow, demanding submission.
Shikoba glanced at the elder, scowled, and dropped her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered through clenched teeth. Marsai gestured to Shikoba to sit with an imperious wave of her wrinkled hand. Shikoba sank down to the floor beside Obsidian.
“I will not suffer another outburst like that, Shikoba. You need to learn to discern threat from candor. Not all who walk this earth are the enemy. And that heart does not mean you are the only one with magic. You were chosen to serve your people. To death, if that be your fate. You were chosen to preserve the ways of magic. You will need allies along the way. Do not shun those who may be of aid in your quest, regardless of where they were born. Remember, when the barriers come down, there will be nothing to stop the interaction between the provinces. Working with this man,” she pointed to Chutzpa, “may give you insights and wisdom you could gain no other way.”
“I must trust a total stranger?” Shikoba burst out, unable to hold her tongue.
“Trust is earned. You must work together. If he proves to be trustworthy, then—and only then—you may grant your trust. Just remember, you are earning his trust, too. It’s called wisdom, Shikoba.”
Shikoba sat down beside Obsidian, patting her nose. Her eyes passed over Chutzpa, then her face twisted into a grimace. “Truce, Chutzpa?” she said with reluctance.
“I was never fighting you, Shikoba. Truce struck.” Chutzpa stuck out his hand. Shikoba ignored it.
Marsai sighed, then reached over and picked up the crow’s beak. She turned it over in her hands examining it closely. She put it on her crown of grey curls, tugging the front down so that she saw through the bony eye slits. She sent a tendril of water magic into the mask. Nothing happened. She pulled it off, frowning.
“This is a ceremonial mask, worn by an elder during the solstice celebrations at the peace tower. It is painted with the elements of water, fire, and spirit, and is meant to invoke those elements of the ancestors to protect our borders. Only one with command of all three elements can activate it. I command water only. I cannot make it work.” She reached out her arm, gesturing for Shikoba to take it from her. “Here, child, you try.”
Shikoba took the mask from the Shamankas. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Put it on. Try activating it by sending your magic through the mask. See if you can see with your ancestors’ eyes.”
Shikoba tugged the mask on. She vanished behind the narrow slits. Standing in the dark, she searched for the core of her magic, trying to activate its powers. Fire stirred in her chest. It was closely connected to her anger, and the easiest for her to grasp at will. She sent the spark of fire into the mask and felt it heat around her face. The eye slits glowed like angry cat eyes, then faded away.
Chutzpa watched her efforts, his jaw dropping open with fascination.
Shikoba searched for water and spirit elementals within her pool of magic but came up empty. “I don’t think I have water or spirit magic. Only fire.” She pulled the mask off and put it on the table.
“Maybe you are not the one meant to use the mask. It could be meant for another,” suggested Marsai. “Will one of your sisters be joining you on this quest?”
Shikoba shook her head. “No. We are tasked with bringing down the barrier in our own provinces.”
“What happens if you succeed? Or if you fail in your task?” Chutzpa raised his hands to ward off Shikoba when her angry glare swung in his direction. “Hey, calm down. It’s an honest question. I don’t know much about magic, but I do know that having a back-up plan in case the first one fails is not a bad thing. Do you know how to bring down the boundary? I mean, it has stood for over five hundred years. It can’t be a simple thing.”
Marsai nodded. “The stranger is wise. What is your plan, Shikoba? If you cannot wield the magic of the mask, what is your plan?”
Shikoba’s fierce eyes flicked from one to the other. None escaped her glare. She folded her arms across her chest. Her legs were planted wide, and her back straightened. “Then I will find one who can wield the mask,” she hissed. “I will not allow a small thing like this to defeat me. That one will serve us or die.”
“Ever the charmer,” muttered Chutzpa. “Do me a favour and be sure to stay about twenty paces ahead of me while we travel. That way your enemies will miss me with their arrows. I am sure we will gather a crowd of disgruntled Shadrian.”
“Consider it done. I would rather not be associated with you.” She turned her back to Chutzpa, cutting off the conversation.
Marsai’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, her lips moving silently while beseeching the ancestors for patience. “You try my endurance, girl, never mind those who have gone before. Now this last item. The moccasins.” She picked up the soft deerskin and traced the beadwork pattern stitched onto the upper surface. “These, are exactly what they seem. I am sure you recognize them, Shikoba. They are the moccasins of the tribal queen—your mother, Aisha.”
Shikoba moved closer to the Shamankas and took the moccasins, her eyes roving over their surface. “No,” she said softly. “I thought they were prayer moccasins, but I had no idea these were her very own pair. How do you know?”
Marsai pointed at the handiwork. “Each queen must stitch her own prayer moccasins on reaching the age of ascension. This is to assure that their dance is not influenced by other dreamers and that they reflect her spirit. As you know, prayers are passed on through the soles of the dancer’s feet. She cannot wear another’s moccasins. Your mother would have made these when she was your age and then put them away until she was called to take over the rule of your tribe.”
“Then how did they come to be in Jintessa? That makes no sense.” Talk of her mother made her long for her company. “Is she well? I haven’t had time yet to go and visit, although I want to. We have been here but a short time.”
Marsai’s face closed as she hid her feelings from Shikoba. “Your mother is missing, Shikoba. She has been missing for some time now. A couple of years at least.”
“Missing! What happened? Where is she?” Shikoba’s grip tightened on the suddenly precious moccasins. “Is she alive?”
“We do not know.”
“Tell me what you do know,” she demanded, her ire rising to flush her cheeks.
“Two summers ago, she and her entourage failed to return from a pilgrimage.”
“Where was this pilgrimage?” Shikoba asked, her voice low with suspicion. “Where did she go?”
Marsai sighed. “She went to the sacred salt caves beyond Pangolin Town, where this young man has just been to,” She gestured to Chutzpa, “and barely escaped with his life, I might add. Since your mother disappeared, no one has returned from there. What we know are rumours carried by traders, but it is said the caves are being mined by outsiders.”
“So you do not know if she is alive or dead? Surely a search party was sent out for her?”
“Of course. Thirty warriors left immediately to search for her and her party when she failed to return.”
“And?” The scowl had returned to Shikoba’s face.
“The warriors did not return, either. Worse than that, we found evidence of dragon fire at their last trackable location.”
Obsidian growled. We are walking into a trap, little one.
Madrid, said Sarcee.
“The emperor,” said Shikoba aloud for all to hear.
“The emperor,” agreed Marsai with a sad nod.
Shikoba straightened, taking in the room in a glance. “I leave at dawn. With or without you, Tunisian.” She gathered her things, shoving them back in her pack and, without another word, left the room.