35

ARAK’JUR

A Rock Overlooking the Swamp

Lhakani Land

Bleak nothing extended to the edge of his vision. Gray haze settled over the top of the peat, broken trees looming through the fog with branches like teeth of a predator, circling him from all sides. It felt wrong to be here, so long in one place, exposed, when the spirits had warned him of the Uktani’s intent.

“Mushrooms,” Ka’Urun said, climbing up the side of their rock looking almost like a beast himself. Wrong to think it; he was still a man, whatever his deformities. “Yinala found a patch, growing with those bushes over there. Want some?”

Arak’Jur waved him away, and the shaman shrugged, spread himself atop a rock, and began eating.

No other sound made it through the bog, and so he listened as the shaman bit and chewed the caps and stems of his meal. Even the usual hum and croaking of toads, beetles, and birds was absent, leaving near-total silence as they lingered close to Moru’Alura’Tyat. That was Ka’Urun’s plan. They would linger close, but not so close that the sacred place would blind the vision-spirits’ glimpses of where they were. To a hunter gifted with a shaman’s power, it would appear as though they had tried to use the sacred place for cover, and made a mistake, leaving them exposed. Then, if the hunter came, they would fall into the Lhakani shaman’s trap.

The shapes of the six Lhakani warriors were visible through the fog, but only if he already knew where to look. One of the men pressed himself against the branches of a tree. A patch of moss and debris floating in the bog masked another hiding under the surface. The Lhakani tribe knew the secrets of their marshland home, their shaved heads and black echtaka paint serving to blend them into the wild. Only their shaman shattered the illusion, sucking hungrily as he devoured another handful of white-capped fungi.

“What do you see?” he asked the shaman.

“Patience, guardian,” Ka’Urun said between bites. “She’s coming.”

“And what of the Uktani?”

“Again you ask of them, and again I say they are not here, Arak’Jur,” Ka’Urun said. “Only her. Only the nightmare.”

He fell quiet again, returning to watch the haze pooling over top of the marsh. He’d meant to leave Lhakani land, and instead found its bleakness suited to his mood. Corenna was out there, somewhere. Perhaps she’d drawn the Uktani away. A sacrifice he’d never asked her to make, but then, Ka’Inari had spoken to her at length after Ka’Ana’Tyat. Perhaps that was why she’d stolen away, saying nothing, fading into the morning. Emotion burned in him at the thought, at the dreams of their child’s future and all the love he thought they’d still held between them. Stolen by the spirits’ whims. Cursed.

A hissing sound went through the bog, like a snake. Yinala. They’d agreed to make such a call when there was sign of danger.

His senses cleared, and he lowered himself closer to the fetid water’s surface.

“She comes,” Ka’Urun said, whispering loud enough to sound like a snake himself. “She comes!”

The other Lhakani were shifting in their hiding places, visibly readying spears and arrows now that he knew where to look to find them. He stayed low, near the shaman’s rock. The ways of moving quickly through the marsh were foreign to him, but una’re or ipek’a wouldn’t care for subtleties. He prepared to draw on both, leaping strength and electrified claws outweighing unfamiliarity with the swamp.

A silhouette cut through the haze, approaching.

Then another.

Two. Before he could weigh what it might mean, spears flew through the mist. A gurgling sound, caught between a startled yelp and a scream, and both figures went down.

Yinala stood, revealing herself, and he joined her in moving toward where they’d fallen. The rest of the Lhakani stayed hidden.

“She is dead,” Ka’Urun said. “They’ve killed her!”

Yinala reached the bodies first, hefting them from the surface of the peat.

“Not women,” she called in quiet tones. “These are men. Foreigners.”

Arak’Jur forced himself to scan the horizon as far as he could see through the mists, satisfied nothing else was approaching by the time he reached her side.

A spear protruded from one man’s chest, a clean strike through the heart. The other throw had punctured the second man’s jaw and neck, careening off to land in the peat but no less sure a killing blow. He took no time admiring the precision of the Lhakani’s attack. Feathers and paint showed on both corpses, stuck with tar from where they’d fallen but no less clear in their origins.

“Uktani,” he said. “These are Uktani scouts.”

He rounded on Ka’Urun, the shaman still in the throes of celebration despite Yinala’s call that neither slain attacker could be the woman he’d foreseen.

“You swore the Uktani were not here!” he said in heated tones, only the need for caution keeping him from bellowing it across the swamp.

“She is dead,” the shaman repeated. “Ad-Shi is dead. We are saved.”

Disgust overpowered his senses. This was no true shaman. He’d been deluded by the ravings of a fool.

He turned, heading west, away from the shaman’s stone.

“Arak’Jur!” Yinala called to him.

He ignored her and the shaman both, though she took nimble steps where his were slow and trudging, and soon appeared beside him.

“Arak’Jur,” she said again. “What are you doing? Why do you leave?”

“The Uktani are coming,” he said. “Your shaman’s visions are clouded, if ever they were true.”

“No,” she said. “Ka’Urun’s gift is strong. He foresaw our people’s destruction.”

“Ka’Urun saw it in the waning of his own gift,” he said. “Your tribe is broken. Leave here, Yinala. Find a man to make children with. Find another tribe.”

“Arak’Jur has fallen under her control,” Ka’Urun said behind them, his voice raised and cutting through the swamp. “She has him. She made him lure us here.”

“Ka’Urun saw your coming,” Yinala said. “His gift is still strong.”

“How long would you have waited in the swamp, for someone to come? It is no vision, to claim someone would visit a sacred place. If not me, it would have been another.”

“Kill him,” Ka’Urun shouted. “The Sinari guardian is her creature. He must die!”

The remainder of the Lhakani warriors had risen along with their shaman’s cries. Spears rose from the bog, though none had yet been leveled toward him.

“I will go in peace, if you let me,” Arak’Jur said, loud enough to cut through the shaman’s commands. “Your shaman is a broken man. The spirits have deserted him, and cursed the rest of you. Leave him. Go and find peace, where you can.”

The shaman’s ravings continued, but the Lhakani spears stayed pointed toward the sky. Only the thick slurp of mud and peat around his boots accompanied him as he trudged away from where they’d thought to set their trap.

Guilt stung him, conflicted emotions running through his veins. If the woman, Ad-Shi, was truly coming, then he was leaving them to die. But the Uktani were here. He might already have drawn them too close for the Lhakani to survive. How many more tribes needed to perish, for the spirits to be sated? The Ranasi had already been destroyed. The Uktani corrupted by some malefic vision, driven to hunt him with strength enough they must have abandoned their homes to do it. The Nanerat, reduced to a husk of their former pride. And the Lhakani. All around him, civilization collapsed. And yet if he had his way, he would join Corenna wherever she had run. He would retreat to some corner of the wild, find a lush piece of land, and raise their child, with his magic to keep them safe from the comings of beasts, great and small. The spirits bade him seek their gifts, but he was tired. Weary of death and killing. A yearning for life burned deeper than any charge from the spirits. If Corenna had only asked, he would have gone with her anywhere.

Instead he left the Lhakani sacred place behind, walking until the shaman’s ravings dimmed to nothing on the wind. The fog lightened as he left Moru’Alura’Tyat, and he walked in twilight, though there should be hours yet to go before nightfall. How many had been corrupted? How many had fallen to the madness of the hunt that drove the Uktani, the destruction of those foolish enough to wish for peace? The answer seemed to stretch in front of him, the land itself seeming soured by heat and lack of color. Perhaps the next tribes he met would be unfettered by the calls to war. Not enough hope to lift the burden from his mind, but enough to keep him walking, one step and then another, until the sky turned black, and he made camp.

Instinct woke him hours before dawn.

A subtle jolt, enough to bring him to his senses without disturbing his body, even leaving his eyes shut, his breathing steady. Better not to reveal he knew he was being hunted.

His other senses cast out, searching for whatever had triggered him awake.

He’d lit a fire and given it enough fuel to burn through most of the night; a ward against predators, and needed warmth against the nighttime cold. He heard it still crackling, felt its heat against his skin. Nearby leaves and grass rustled in the wind, with no telltale scraping if they blew over a predator’s back. The smell of mud filled the air. Insects buzzed their song, but no birds. Nothing to give warning of something approaching, save a warning tingling on his skin. Eyes were on him, from somewhere. He remembered what it was to be kirighra, burning with the ferocity of perfect stealth, the sure knowledge of the unseen killer.

Better to meet it on his feet, whatever had come for him. He made slow, deliberate movements. Open his eyes. Roll to put his back away from the wind. Rise to his feet. No few would-be predators would retreat against such a display: confidence and strength where they’d expected fear. But this one didn’t move, and hadn’t moved since it came close enough to provoke his instinct. A silhouette drawn against the night, twenty paces from where he’d slept. A woman.

She waited for him to set his feet, then bowed her head, only a slight incline.

He said nothing, keeping his body still, but not rigid. Thoughts simmered beneath the surface. For now, instinct reigned, until he could be certain she was not a predator.

“Guardian,” she said, “or shaman?” The accent was foreign, unlike any tongue he’d heard before.

“Who are you?” he said. “Why have you come on me in the night?”

She stepped forward, enough to add color to her form. She was short, even for a woman: Corenna’s height, and almost of an identical frame. But Corenna had never worn garb of fox hides sewn together and fringed with red and gray fur. Where most would travel with a cloak or coat, this woman’s arms were bare from the shoulders down, with no sign of pack or pouch. Mud seemed to cake her legs and hands, until she took another step and he saw the stains were a deep crimson, not the dull brown of dirt.

“You are the woman from Ka’Urun’s visions.” Instinct still reigned, strong enough to suppress the fear that went with the realization, and the guilt. He hadn’t truly believed the shaman could see anything more than his own terror.

“He must have had a powerful gift, to see the coming of one woman.”

Her voice was chilled, but flat, absent emotion. The same as his; the voice of a predator given over to instinct in the moment of the hunt.

“Ad-Shi,” he said, and for a moment she paused, looking to him as though seeing him for the first time.

“The spirits of things-to-come know my name,” she said. “Are you a shaman, to hear their whispers?”

“No,” he said. “I am no shaman. I am guardian of the Sinari, and if you mean to strike at me as you slew the Lhakani, you will know what it means to claim my tribe.”

She changed direction, pacing around the fire as though she meant to see him from another angle. He pivoted with her, keeping the fire at his back. A small edge, if she attacked; the fire would dim her night vision, and his would be sharper for looking away.

“Sinari,” she said. “The tribe Axerian touched. They are far to the north, are they not? Why are you so far from your people?”

He said nothing, hardening his stance. She meant to unsettle him with her words. It could precipitate an attack.

Instead she came to a halt.

“There is much you do not know, guardian of the Sinari,” she said. “But if you were strong enough to weather Axerian’s influence, I have great hopes for you. It would be a disappointment, if you were to die.”

Mareh’et beckoned at the edge of his awareness, and valak’ar. He held back, watching her.

“You mean to kill me?” he asked.

“I mean to try. This is the way of things, among the Vordu. For too long, our ascendants have gone untutored, learning by grasping at weeds instead of firm instruction. We are meant to learn from our betters, from those who have gone before.”

Fear again spiked below the surface of his conscious mind. A thought of Corenna’s face, of his unborn child, mixed with Rhealla’s, and Kar’Elek’s, his slain wife and son.

“I hope you survive, guardian of the Sinari,” Ad-Shi said.

Sadness seemed to touch her eyes. Then they filmed over with ice, at the same moment a nimbus of a strange creature—a winged serpent, spined and surrounded by fire—shimmered into place around her.

He let mareh’et give its blessing, and thought fled before the instincts of battle.