Two weeks and four days later, as the sky turned orange and purple and the sun sank beneath the horizon, Tahmu and every able-bodied man in his Clan reached the foot of Mount Bari.
They were not the first clan to arrive, and Dumah, Tahmu’s new Second, looked uneasily around at the dozens of campfires that were just starting to be kindled at the approach of night.
“So many,” he said. “My lord, what if this is a trap? What if Kevla is not the woman she pretended to be? Her powers—”
“Are frightening,” Tahmu agreed. He was pleased that the reticent Dumah was learning to speak openly with him. “But think, Dumah. With all those powers, she could have killed me or anyone else by simply pointing a finger. Even when she wounded Yeshi, it was an accident.”
“So she told you, lord,” Dumah said.
“So she told me,” he agreed mildly, “and so I believe. I should have believed my son when he first came to me speaking of powers; I won’t make that mistake again. Besides, there is sense in what she is trying to do.”
“Who knows what she told the others,” Dumah said nervously, still looking at the vast number of clanspeople who had at one time or another been the enemies of the Clan of Four Waters.
“Perhaps you had best send someone to find out,” Tahmu said, and grinned at Dumah’s expression.
Dumah did as he was told. While the rest of the Clan began setting up tents and lighting their own campfires, Dumah rounded up several men to act as representatives to each of the other clans assembled. Tiah and the other Lorekeeper from the Clan of Four Waters, an old beggar, accompanied the representatives. They met with the other Lorekeepers, and when Tiah returned to report to Tahmu well into the night, her eyes shone and she stood straighter than he had ever seen her.
He brought her and Dumah into his tent and bade them be seated. He called for eusho, and when the servant left to prepare it, he asked quietly, “Tell me what you have learned.”
“The stories are exactly the same,” Melaan said to Terku as they drank eusho together in the khashim’s tent. “We have had the same visions and memories. Each of us knows something a little different, and I believe it would be wise for us to have a meeting of all the Lorekeepers and write down as complete a history as we can manage.”
Terku raised a bushy white eyebrow. “A history,” he repeated, “of four other lives you have lived. Four other worlds that were created. Two of which were destroyed, two of which survived. Do I have it right?”
Melaan felt the blood come to his face. “I know how it sounds, but…Yes, my lord.”
Terku sighed and put the cup down. “Melaan,” he said, “You have been my trusted Second for almost twenty years. If you told me that I would fly if I leaped off the peak of Mount Bari, I would jump.”
Melaan’s lips curved at the image. “I would not ask you to do such a thing, my lord.”
“And yet you have me come to this place, with my finest warriors, to hear what someone who claims to be the embodiment of fire has to tell you. A woman, no less. You stretch the limits of my patience, my old friend.”
Melaan regarded him intently. “I know what I know,” he said. “Jashemi knew it. Fully twenty-and-two others scattered throughout all the clans know it. The stories are the same. The woman Kevla has demonstrated powerful magic, magic that seems to be limited to controlling fire and heat. I can’t believe this is all a trick. Who could do such a thing?”
“A dreadful enemy,” replied his khashim.
“We are already facing a dreadful enemy,” Melaan replied somewhat shortly. “He flies the flag of the ki-lyn, another image with which all the Lorekeepers are familiar. I would rather face a foe I know to be my enemy than turn a possible friend into one.”
Terku did not reply at once. Finally, he sighed in resignation. “I hope you are right,” Terku said, “for all our sakes.”
“Do you think he’s right?” asked Jalik, Second of the Star Clan.
“He’s always been a good leader,” said Yumar as they walked together under the stars for which their clan had been named.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.” Yumar shot his friend a quick grin, then grew sober. “There are some who say that this is a trick. That this fire-woman has gulled us here with tales of a foe who threatens us all, when really she wants us to fight each other. Maybe this so-called great battle will be between all the clans.”
Jalik snorted. “To what end?”
“I don’t know. She’s a fire-woman, who knows what she’s thinking?”
“But if our own khashim has had the same visions as twenty others, how can we deny the power in that?”
Yumar frowned. “I just don’t trust this woman.”
“You don’t trust any woman, Yumar.”
“True. But I don’t have any reason to.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Yumar had had his heart broken many times. Jalik sometimes felt guilty, for he had a faithful and loving wife and two healthy children. He thought of his mate, and knew that he would trust her with anything. Even his life. If a woman told Yumar the sky was blue, he would feel compelled to look up just to make sure.
Finally, Jalik said, “Our khashim has ordered us here. We obey him.”
“Let us hope that we will not need a new khashim by the time all is done,” muttered Yumar darkly.
Melaan walked somewhat nervously up to the tent of Tahmu-kha-Rakyn. Following behind him were the Lorekeepers of the Horserider Clan and the Sandcattle Clan. Melaan had not seen Tahmu since Jashemi’s wedding. The man was intimidating and powerful, and Melaan had no idea how his son’s death might have affected him. The fact that the khashim had brought his clan to this meeting, several dozen warriors strong, boded well, but Melaan still worried.
He identified himself to the stone-faced man who guarded the khashim’s tent, and a moment later was permitted to enter.
Sorrow washed over Melaan as Tahmu looked up from reading a scroll. The khashim of the Clan of Four Waters was fit and handsome, and had always looked much younger than his true years. Now, he looked old. His eyes were haunted.
Melaan bowed. “Great lord,” he said, “as one who is what your son was, let me offer my deepest condolences on your loss. Jashemi was well-loved and respected by the Sa’abah Clan.”
Tahmu nodded curtly and his lips tightened. “Thank you, Melaan. What is your purpose here?”
“Many of us—the Lorekeepers—” by the Dragon, the title still seemed strange “—desire to meet with one another. We each have a little knowledge of what has gone before, and we feel it would be valuable to set as much as we can down plainly.”
Tahmu again nodded. “Has anyone resisted this?”
“A few, my lord. They fear what will happen when a khashim sits next to a sa’abah herder and listens to her words.”
Tahmu laughed shortly. “If we are lucky, then perhaps the same thing as when a stubborn khashim listened to a Bai-sha.”
“My lord?”
Tahmu waved the question away. “Do not mind me, Melaan. There are two Lorekeepers in my Clan, a beggar and a serving girl. They have my permission to attend this…council. But you must promise to share what you know.”
“We will, lord. We will share everything with everyone.”
Somewhat to Tahmu’s surprise, he learned that every clan had agreed to send their Lorekeepers to the meeting. Much was written down, but according to Tiah, there would need to be more meetings in order to complete the sharing of knowledge, and there were many other clans who had not yet arrived. Even so, the document would read as a tale with more left out than set down. While the Lorekeepers seemed to have bonded, the rest of the clans remained deeply suspicious of one another. Tahmu said a quick prayer to the Dragon that no accident or incident that might spark violence would occur. Tensions were tight as a bowstring, and it would not take much for this “meeting of the clans” to become a bloodbath.
The night passed without incident, as did the next day. More clans arrived; more opportunities for disaster. They kept coming, until at last Tahmu thought he saw nearly every clan represented. Some had come with men, ready to fight; others were smaller delegations, sent by their leaders to gather information and assess the situation before the clan would commit to anything.
The appointed day Kevla had given them came and went. That night, no one slept. Dumah begged Tahmu to leave, but Tiah, growing more and more confident in her Lorekeeper knowledge, insisted that they remain.
Then it happened.
The following day, shortly before sunset, four members of the Horserider Clan encountered six members of the Sandcattle Clan at the only available fresh spring. The Horseriders insisted that they needed to fill their water containers before the Sandcattle Clan. One of the Sandcattle Clansmen reasonably replied that there was room for several to fill their jugs and waterskins at a time. The biggest, most aggressive of the Horseriders replied that if the Sandcattle dogs wanted water, they could wait downstream while the Horseriders relieved themselves in it, because that was all Sandcattle Clansmen were fit to drink.
Later, witnesses said they weren’t sure who had first struck whom, but a fight ensued in which two Horseriders were severely beaten and one Sandcattle Clansmen stabbed. The noise drew the attention of others, and what had begun as a brawl born of tension escalated into a multi-clan battle.
Tahmu bolted from his tent at the sound of the cries and cursed. “Dumah, saddle Swift, then alert all the other khashims. We have to stop this before—”
But Dumah was paying no attention to his lord. He stood as if carved of rock, staring up at the sky, awe and horror commingled on his face. Others, too, had stopped in midstride and were gazing upward. Tahmu followed their gaze, and his heart leaped.
It came from inside Mount Bari, seemingly made of the dark, twisting smoke which arose from that most sacred of places. But this was no smoky illusion. Enormous, graceful wings beat the sky steadily, keeping aloft a dark shape that seemed to be a blending of lizard and snake. Tahmu’s heart began to race as the creature drew nearer.
There was no mistaking it now. Morning sun glinted off red scales, and even as he watched it opened its mouth and spouted flame.
The Great Dragon was descending from the mountain.
He heard screams of fear and joy commingled, and all around him members of every clan fell to their hands and knees. His own legs seemed to be locked into place, but when the Dragon drew nearer, he, Tahmu-kha-Rakyn, dropped to the dust beside the lowliest of his Clan.
Closer it drew, and he found he could not tear his gaze away. Now he could see that there was something on its back. A heartbeat later, he realized with a fresh shock whom he beheld: his daughter, Kevla, clad in a rhia the same hue as the mighty Dragon, sitting erect and calm on the Great Dragon’s back, her black hair flying in the wind the creature’s wings created.