A Question of Power (The Fire Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  “It is Skrim. . .Yes? I have questions. . ,” said Xandor feinting slightly, but to great effect, as the other man tried first right then left, to squeeze his portly frame past. Relieved it was only questions, Skrim accepted he was not getting away easily on the narrow pathway so stayed put. He knew he was falling-over drunk anyway and really had no choice. Information was free in this case. He hoped he had the right answers.

  “Your story. . . about the woman? The ‘angel?’” asked Xandor. “Describe her again!”

  “Oh. . .I see. . .ye want some of it, lad! Skipper Skrim’s me name. I tell you. . . ye’ll be thanking me, if you pay her a visit! She’s beyond yer wildest dreams!” The accosted seaman began to relax. It seemed he was not about to be murdered. And he had known his story would turn out to be a valuable one.

  “Perhaps. . . Describe her hair, her eyes. . .?” prompted Xandor, pretending lascivious interest.

  Warming to the interest in his tale, Skrim obliged. “Heavenly – like I said – to look at. All shiny and bright. . .quite strange to be sure.” He lowered his voice for the next comment. Enjoying the stranger’s apparent interest and wishing to add a touch more drama to his tale, he made a show of looking furtively around just to check there was no one else in earshot. “To tell the truth. . .she could’ve been a . . .witch!”

  A witch indeed! Xandor, quite sure there were no such beings in the Known World, wanted more truthful description. He was not getting it. The man, Skrim, was obviously stringing out his story. Impatient and frustrated more than ever with his own shaky perception, he decided he would have to do something quickly to move this exchange to the next level. He did not have all night. There is no one else around. No need to waste precious herbal drops here. Using his true nature to advantage, in the next instant, he had Skrim pinned by the arms up against the wall, taken by surprise. “Her hair!” he repeated, throwing back his hood and shaking out the mane of shimmering white-gold that fell to his shoulders. “Was it. . .like mine?” He pressed harder, looking directly into Skrim’s shocked face with eyes burning more silver than topaz in the darkness. “The eyes. . .like mine?” None of Xandor’s features needed the benefit of lamplight to enhance their otherworldly brilliance.

  Skrim was really afraid now, stammering, “Well. . .er, y-yes. . .hair much longer. . .eyes the same, strange. . .but gold. S-say. . .y-yer not related. . .her b-brother, or relative. . .are ye?” The foreigner bore an uncanny resemblance to the girl. He prayed to the Ancestors that revenge was not on this man’s mind. His imagination prayed that neither was this stranger some kind of sorcerer. His life was cursed enough!

  “Not exactly. . .but I seek one like her!” Xandor felt oddly sure that he was on the right track. Leaning in towards Skrim’s anxious face he warned, “You swear this story is truth?” pinning him with an even fiercer glare. “And not a word of this. . .meeting!” He made sure Skrim’s loose tongue would not give them away too soon. “I am excellent tracker. . .I find you, again! Anywhere. Anytime!”

  In Skrim’s world of cut-throats, it was always wise to heed such a threat. Most were followed through with dogged vengeance. A loose tongue could get one killed. Shame about the effects of too much ale though, he lived on a knife’s edge as it was. Losing an eye was one thing. He would rather like to keep his life for as long as possible! He suddenly felt more sober, eyeing the powerful frame, the bow and arrows and the ornate sword at the stranger’s waist. He was unmistakably a warrior and could easily kill him here and now to ensure his silence. It might pay to ingratiate yourself with someone like this, suggested his foggy brain, cranking into self-preservation mode with an idea.

  “Oh to be sure. On me life! ‘Tis true. Ye won’t regret a visit there, ‘pon my word!” His face took on a sly look. “For good measure. . .mayhap. . .I could lead you to the girl?” He was heading that way anyway with a cargo of spice. Once the strange lad saw the girl. . .one way or another he would be grateful and they would part company, allies. “Me ship casts off on the morrow for the Southern Islands, three days sailing. I need extra strong hands on deck, if ye want passage.” He peered hopefully up into the silver stare.

  Xandor relaxed his hold on the smaller man, fairly confident now he was telling the truth, especially with the offer of passage to the Isle of Angels. Of course, it would be much less dangerous and probably faster to find his own way by air than be cooped up on a ship with a bunch of motley human sailors. He needed to confer with his friends before he would make a final decision about the girl.

  “I have one friend with me – if I take your offer!” Xandor was wise enough not to go alone if they decided to go by ship. He frowned at Skrim. “Remember. . .not a word!”

  “Deal! Just be at the docks at dawn. . . if yer coming. The ship’s the Blue Porpoise.” Skrim was anxious to get back to his drink, relieved to have apparently appeased the stranger for the time being. Whether or not he turned up at the docks did not matter.

  Stepping aside, Xandor allowed Skrim to make his way back along the path, following a short distance behind. Once inside, he joined Zenth and watched Skrim sit down with his mates to finish his ale, noticing satisfactorily the seaman did not chance a single glance in their direction.

  Xandor made eye contact with Zenth, indicating they would leave the inn now. The drink remained full to the brim, held uncomfortably like poison in his friend’s hands. Xandor smiled as a relieved Zenth surreptitiously placed it on a low table nearby to follow him. Taking a few coins from his pocket, Xandor passed the serving wench on the way out. “Girl. . .no more drink! Thank you!” He quickly pressed the coins into her hand in passing, his hooded face turned slightly away from her and the two friends left the inn.

  As agreed, they were to meet Churian’s group sometime after midnight on a nearby rooftop to confer on the evening’s activities. When Xandor and Zenth arrived, they were very surprised to see not three, but four, cloaked figures waiting at the meeting place. Churian came forward with the newcomer to introduce him. “Brothers, this is Sumar, from the Lava Mountains in Floria, across the Southern Sea.”

  The young man removed his hood with an eager greeting in their native tongue. “Thank the Ancestors for our meeting!” He placed his fist on his heart in the traditional manner, raising his glittering turquoise eyes to meet Xandor’s in obvious excitement.

  Xandor and Zenth returned the gesture, both most pleased to meet another brother after what was beginning to seem a doubtful search. They sat in a circle in the deep shadows behind a wall on the rooftop. Tonight, the Telling held much. Churian, as the elder, began. “When we headed for our chosen tavern, my senses began to hum two streets before we got there. Then in an alley nearby. . .we came upon Sumar. And he, upon us. . .!” The Telling was handed over to the newcomer.

  Sumar was silent for several moments, paying wordless homage to some distant tragedy. His handsome face held the telltale lines of deep sadness, evidently matured by wrenching loss and his lively green-blue eyes took on a faraway look as he remembered the morning after the storm which had brought them to a new land. He and his small group of battered people had stood on the windswept beach of this foreign country, trying to take stock of where they were and what they would do next. Behind them, the breakers crashed, still spumy from the night’s wild weather, poignantly symbolic of the turmoil from which they had escaped and the only life they had ever known. The Southern Ocean reached out to the far horizon, grey and menacing under the insistent threat of the thunderclouds and the tempest that had almost consumed them all.

  Beyond that stormy sea was a lifetime of struggle and loss. He could not remember a time where there was not sadness, heartbreak or fear and a river of tears. Through it all he had become a protector of the highest order. In his native land he had only managed to save a few from the powerful, relentless enemy that hunted them. And, as hard as he tried, he had not been able to save his wife, nor most of his clan. So much had been out of his control. Even the night’s hurricane had refused to listen
and threatened to take the lives of the remaining few. He resolved that come what may, he would never give up trying to find a new life for his clan, as he regarded them, shivering and lost, on that windy beach in the grey light of a morning which promised a precarious glimmer of hope.

  The long shale beach stretched into the distance on one side of them, to a rocky headland jutting out into the waves on the other. In front of them as they gazed inland the endless sandy dunes obscured their view of what might lie beyond. The women, exhausted and bedraggled, held hands for comfort, standing tall but close together, quietly singing a song of hope. Over the years, the song had become a peaceful mantra for them all since most had lost their entire families. They sang it often. That they had reached this shore so distant from their homeland, by surviving a massive storm against the odds, was in itself a sign that the Ancestors had chosen to provide them with at least some protection. It nurtured the belief that, with a little more perseverance, they would eventually find peace and safety.

  Bringing his attention back to the moment, his heart warmed to engage in a traditional Telling with new-found brothers awaiting his words, respectful and attentive. “My clan is very small. . .just four young men and six women. The others are camped in caves, one hour’s flight along the coast. We arrived there a sennight ago, on a storm wind straight across the Southern Sea. The caves were welcome shelter, but we lost all our bows and arrows in the tempest. My sword is the only weapon we have left! Two women were injured, one quite badly. It was too difficult to control. It nearly took our lives! And we have no healing medicines. But – I have to say – perhaps by Fate, it brought us north to this coast. . .very quickly!” He smiled grimly.

  “We are all that is left from the wars that rage in the lands beyond the Lava Mountains. Even in the memories of our predecessors, we never numbered many. All the elders have Passed Over from old age, or like all the others, men and women, killed one way or another. There have been no children in our clan for years. We are the youngest. We have travelled far, searching for other Gaians – searching for some hope!” Sumar shook his head sadly, his golden hair sparking with live energy in the darkness. “I have been roaming these streets for many days and nights, trying to receive a sense-sign. Tonight I found something. It turned out to be Churian and we literally bumped into each other in the alley!” He made the sign of the Ancestors in gratitude, his expression glowing with new hope. “He has told me of the Alliance! I believe I was guided to you! I see there is light ahead. . .and an end to tears!” His eyes glittered with emotion.

  Xandor nodded, well pleased that their search was beginning to bear fruit, noted the newcomer’s proud bearing. “Are you a Chieftain? You wish to join us?”

  “No. I am merely a warrior-scout. A Protector. Our lord died without heirs. Now the one we look to for wisdom is my mother’s sister, one of the only elders left to us. Our collective intuition helps us decide. I must go back to the caves – tell my clan about this – but I sense they will all be in favour of making the journey to Baram. It may be our only hope for a future!” said Sumar, with a sad smile.

  Churian spoke next. “I will return to Sumar’s clan with him, before dawn, to inform them properly of the Alliance. We have Prian powder to heal the injured women. Troyan and Salvo will go with us. We will all meet again out in the dunes on the following day to make plans. Now, Xandor. . .you have something?” His knowing eyes met Xandor’s.

  In the excitement of meeting Sumar, Xandor had almost forgotten his own Telling. Almost. But Churian had seen it, had felt the pull of positivity. That was encouraging since, in Xandor’s mind, his uncertain news about a girl on some far-off island had seemed to pale in comparison with finding a flesh-and-blood Gaian brother. Perhaps his Perception was improving after all.

  Xandor felt more than a little pride to take over the Telling. He went over the details of the encounter with Skrim and the alarming tale of the strange girl on the Isle of Angels. At the end, he looked askance at Churian to supply his intuition on the matter.

  As every good mentor, Churion withheld his own opinion in favour of pushing for more from his student. “What is your feeling on what to do, Xandor?”

  Confronted and less than confident, Xandor hesitated before speaking but dug a bit deeper to find the courage. He put it simply. “I feel. . .I must go. . .rescue the girl. I am almost certain she is Gaian!” He breathed out heavily, not realising he had been holding his breath.

  Churian spoke without censure or direction, only encouragement. “Good! You know we can not all afford to go. What is your intention?” Of course, Churian had asked the question for the benefit of the less sentient in the group. He already had a sense of it.

  Xandor rose to the challenge, taking a decisive breath. “I will leave after our next meeting!” He looked around the circle of brothers that now included Sumar, welcoming their response. He saw only silent assent.

  Sumar spoke up, as was his right. “You might benefit from a companion in this endeavour! Two minds are better than one, it is said! My people and I flew near those islands, just before the storm came up on our journey here – I know the way.” He smiled affably at Xandor, his bright turquoise eyes reflecting clearly his generosity of heart and his courage. “If my clan and yours agree on it, my senses suggest I go with you. The cause will be mine too!” His intuition was strong. He did not doubt it.

  Churian watched Xandor’s reaction with interest, pleased to notice signs of improvement in his pupil as a result of this new challenge, and beyond that the deeper truth, how all things that happened were interconnected. Finding Sumar was a bounty of Fate. There was no need to interfere in these developments.

  Xandor smiled widely. “Exactly my thoughts also! I would be honoured to have you at my side. We will fly – it will be safer!” His smile faded briefly, then returned mirthfully. “As long as we avoid a hurricane that refuses our bidding!” The journey to the Isle of Angels was decided without further ado.

  Churian was more than pleased with Xandor’s assumption of responsibility; with the added protection of Sumar’s well-honed Perception, the two would be well-armed against the inevitable challenges of that particular mission.

  Sumar was reluctant leave his new-found brothers immediately, favouring the plan to take some rest first and leave with Churian just before first light, so the small company of warriors, now numbering six, finally sought their cloaks for a few hours in the safety of the rooftop under a clear night sky full of hopeful stars.

  CHAPTER 4

  Nature is What it Is

  Three hours of deep sleep was sufficient for any Gaian. All six brothers were awake well before the crack of dawn, refreshed and ready for the new day. While they still had the benefit of a moonless sky, they went their separate ways. Churian, Troyan and Salvo went with Sumar, following the coastline to the caves. Their departure had taken on a sudden urgency spurred by both Churian and Sumar’s senses, on waking, that all may not be well with the clan. They flew fast.

  Xandor and Zenth headed out into the desert to hunt some small game, providing the one meal of the day when they all met in the dunes that evening. There was not much out there, so it was expected to take more than a few hours hunting by air-cloak. They would make a fire on the beach to cook a scant meal and share it with the new clan. From that isolated beach on the following dawn, Xandor and Sumar would be leaving seaward for a few days. Churian was to take another group continuing the search overland beyond the western border of Siva. Other plans would come to light at the meeting.

  As they neared the caves, the sun’s early rays were creeping over the yellow-grey shale, bringing warm orange life with it, but Churian still felt an ominous chill he had not been able to shake since they left the city walls. He sensed that Sumar, also, was disturbed. The other two friends not so, since they still had insufficient perceptive skill. But they all heard the screams before they saw the huge zabuk-leopard dragging one of the women out of the cave, its progress slowed by the weight of
its prey. A young man clung to its back, trying to beat it with a large piece of driftwood.

  In a heartbeat, Sumar swooped down and landed beside the beast, sword drawn, the three others each fired a well-aimed arrow into its spotted hide, sending it to its knees; one mighty sweep of Sumar’s sword took off its head, its jaws still clamped around the unfortunate woman’s throat. The young man had thrown himself clear of the animal when he noticed the warriors’ approach over the dunes, giving the archers clear line of sight. It took two of them to prise the dead leopard’s jaws apart to release the now limp young woman. They could all see it was too late. Her neck was almost severed. She’d probably died the instant the beast sunk its long canines into her spinal cord.

  Sumar was grief-stricken: this was not only his clan-sister, it was his blood-sister, younger than him by five summers and already seriously injured under his protection. He cursed Fate for giving him the only sword, for the clan’s decision he should keep it with him as protection against humans in the city. The rest of the clan were left with only a small skinning-knife and the campfires, which had burned down before dawn; in exhausted sleep, they were vulnerable to the attack from the starving zabuk. It must have caught the scent of blood leading from where they had been thrown ashore onto the rocks and some of them had received gashes and broken bones. The unconscious young woman with a severe head wound, lying close to the entrance of the cave, had been the one the leopard had grabbed. The young man on guard had done his best with what he had but the zabuk was quick and very strong.

  It was unheard of to see such a beast marauding along the arid coast. In Floria and neighbouring lands, they were usually forest or grassland-dwelling creatures. There would be very little prey for the large predator in the vast desert that stretched inland from here. Apart from the general sense of foreboding which lately never seemed to leave the entire clan, none of them had foreseen this.