Amarain Dynasty chp 5

Chapter Five
The camp was full of life in the morning; at least ten new tents had been set up during the night. The morning’s breeze was cool, coming down from the hills; it was refreshing and everything soaked it in before the desert sun came to full strength in a few hours. The desert folk were out doing their trading before they packed up to proceed into the desert. Many of the traders were Philanthians from across the border offering rare exotics that were common to them, but they could get a good price for them over here. Carts filled the empty spaces between the white tents, making it rather difficult to move through the little community.
As I strolled through looking at various fruits and vegetables on one cart, to pots and other dishes on another, I heard several whispers. Though surprising none were about me, as I was the only dark figure in a scenery of whites and the light hues of blue and tan. I certainly received a few suspicious glances, but nothing out of the ordinary. Curious, I pretended to be interested in some tent fabric on one man’s cart who happened to be talking to Forss. Their accents were thick and slow, but I could best understand them, as some of the others were speaking in an entirely different dialect.
“The Tyrzres are back,” the old Merchant, grumbled, “I have five more guards coming from Nassere to protect my merchandise.”
Forss somberly nodded, “I’ve heard that they have already raided three convoys since they’ve crossed the border from Buthainah.”
“Bad luck they are! We’ve got enough problems as it is.” The Merchant threw up his hands in the air, “But no one can stop the whole lot of em, evil wizards they are.”
Forss proceeded looking over the merchant’s fabric and other merchandise across from me, “Very true Sanil, news from our city came saying that even the Ka’Tor cannot control them. Rumor has it the king of these Tyrzres used to be a Ka’Tor, and is a second cousin to the new queen of Deskec.”
I found that very interesting on two accounts: first, a Ka’Tor becoming a Tyrzre, even if it is a rumor, there must be some hidden truth in it for it is odd to have someone in such a respectable profession and one of royal connections stooped to being a Tyrzre. And second for Forss actually knowing something. I ducked behind a stack of pots to avoid Forss from seeing me; the man already didn’t like me. Sanil came around adjusting the stacks of fabric Forss set out of place, “I have heard the same.”
A small girl, couldn’t be older than seven, came up to Sanil. She had dark eyes that innocently stared up at the old merchant, “Sir, why do Tyrzres only stay on the mainland?”
Odd question for such a young girl; she held her hands behind her back, her pale tan dress swaying in the breeze. I stared at her, oddly also wishing to know an answer. Sanil tilted his head and crossed his arms, “Where is your father?”
The girl shifted her gazed to her bare feet, “I live with my aunt and uncle,” she looked up and pointed to the far edge of the community to a misshapen little tent.
“Well, if you must know,” Sanil proceeded, “They seemed to be afraid of crossing large bodies of water I hear,”
“That’s silly,” She said with a giggle.
“Oh it must not be taken so lightly, history has proven that the oceans lead to the edge of the world. All the evil powers have disappeared over the edge, fallen off, dead – their punishment for destroying all the good on the mainland.” Sanil waved his arms in a furious passion.
The girl’s eyes grew wide; he probably traumatized her for crossing any body of water wider than a river. A woman called over to her and she gladly left our presence by the cart. Forss grinned and patted Sanil’s back. I rolled my eyes at the two’s pride for scaring the child.
“Good riddance to their kind, the evil lot – we do not need them tearing up the world again.” Sanil murmured to Forss.
Then I made the mistake of correcting Sanil, though I should have kept my mouth shut, “Rumors have it they are back, in this very country too.”
The two of them swung around, having not noticed me before they both presented daggers as if I was a horse thief with a high bounty placed on my head. Forss was the first to lower his dagger, Sanil on the other hand kept it out.
“Tyrzre mind tricks,” the old merchant spat, “they are the only evil left.”
“Well besides the Cora Aldu” Forss mentioned, “I’ve heard many tales of that man’s deeds.”
That grabbed my attention, sparking anger in the pit of my stomach. They were not going to tint my name with evil wizardry. But before I could speak Sanil took a few words for himself, “None of the tales deal with wizardry my boy, he is just a man; he is no match against these creatures.”
Now I felt I had to defend my honor, these men did not know who they were speaking too, and it would be best to leave it as such; however they think I would be defeated by these wizards. I do not go down so easily!
“But I have heard that the Black Fox is not just an ordinary man,” I stated.
Forss nodded his head profusely, “He’s right about that Sanil. I heard that he took on fifty armed men and beat them all, came out without a scratch on him. And,” he took a gulp of air, “ and he has beaten the Tyrzres before, tied em up and left em for the buzzards.”
Well the man was indeed driving my point but there were several holes in the facts. It was twenty armed guards and I came out with a few broken ribs. As for the Tyrzres, they have them mixed up with Syeleven, which is a very dangerous misunderstanding.
“You know as well as I gossip is far from the truth Forss,” Sanil grumbled, going back to readjusting his merchandise, “You buying anything?”
“No, I’ll be leaving,” I tilted my head, “Goodbye Forss,” I smiled.
Sanil looked at Forss who turned a few shades of red, as he had to sleep in his mother’s tent, which apparently is quite humiliating in these tent communities. I turned away and headed for the edge of the tent community. Some were beginning to pack up, others were set up for the day preferring to travel by night.
I needed to cross at least half of the desert by nightfall. Forss’ mother gave me two canteens full of water, which hopefully will last me to the other side. The tents grew sparse around the fringe of the community. A solid footing was replaced by shifting sands, which made walking quite difficult.
Hours past before I knew it; sweat was a constant waterfall running down my face from under my hat. Once again I cursed my black attire. I was a bloody heat magnet. I was hotter than the desert itself. I drank one canteen dry; the other was half empty, which dashed my hopes of having it last till I reach the seaways on the other side. It was such an odd place for a desert, but they say these lands were cursed thousands of years ago, before the time of the Jei and Syeleven. The reason has been lost over countless years of retelling the tale; pieces always get lost or reshaped until it is a completely different story.
The heat above the sand could be seen in waves, hill upon hill upon hill of sand. I didn’t care too much for sand. It gets everywhere, in your hair, in your fingernails, in every possible place one could imagine. I had just finished cleaning out the sand in my clothing from the last time I was here. Such a pain it is. I took out a small handkerchief from my jacket pocket, black of course, and folded it around my face just below my eyes. It prevented me from inhaling any sand, which could cause a terrible cough.
The sun was beating down relentlessly as it just reached its zenith. My head became a little dizzy, yet I managed to carry on. My water supply was vastly disappearing, with no new water supply in sight. It was a barren desert yearning to claim my sullen life. Then I cursed the air, pain thrashed through my legs. It rose; the pulse in my neck became unbearable. I looked down and I could not see myself, I was a ghost, then I turned to fire. I screamed in agony, such evil! I felt so weak, unable to take control of it. Black, yet no peace awaited me here.
I awoke to strange voices; their dialects were varied yet they were all common in a way. I could not tell where I was, only that I lay in a mound of sand. My vision was not great, yet I could make out blobs of the unknown figures. From the tone and pitch of their voices I could decipher three were men and two were women. As I strained to focus I could make out five faces leaning over me.
I tried to move, yet every muscle ached, I began to choke for whatever was in my stomach began to rise. One of them turned me on my side, and the contents spilled out onto the sand. That got them talking even more, I thought I recognized a few words, yet I was lost in the whole scheme of things.
Then I realized I was paralyzed, I could not move at all. Trying not to panic, I managed to lie as still as possible. The pulse in the back of my neck remained beating yet it had subdued to just a faint throbbing. But I had an odd sensation come over me that I have not felt in years. I felt it when I was in a Temple. Tyrzres. They are using the Echo, which is only the residue of their great little power.
My vision cleared, and now I could see their faces. They were confused as if not sure to kill me or embrace me with love. They seemed scared, they held staffs pointing at me, as if they were prepared for any attack I might make, yet a sullen knowledge that they couldn’t do anything at all if I did.
I sat still, feeling the Echo circle around me. If I focused hard enough I could see the filth cling to me. I tried brushing it off yet to no avail my arms stayed at my sides. So I tried another approach, I imagined I was brushing it off, and oddly enough it worked. The Echo disappeared, the filth was gone, and I could move.
Simultaneously I heard shouts. I rolled over and stood up, grabbing for my sword that was not there. Five figures cloaked in sand coloured robes stood on guard. Two of them had their cowls thrown back. Their dark tanned faces were covered in tattoos; they were both young, not yet in there twenties. The boy had long black hair that fell well past his waist, while the other was a girl who had short light red hair tucked away in braids. All of them held long white staffs with Kasmirain scriptures written on them. They held them close enough to my face that I was able to recognize the curved script. They were staffs made of Toer, most likely stolen from Temples.
Looks of frustration came from the two that were unhooded; I could feel them trying to wrap me in that filth again. It made me a little queasy, but I stood strong, I was not sure how I was repelling them though I did not care as long as they did not get a hold of me again.
They began to yell at me, however their shouts were in vain as I could not understand them. I went for a dagger that I normally have hidden up my sleeve, but they managed to get that too. I looked around, and behind one, all of my things lay carelessly in a pile. That angered me, my swords were very valuable, and needed the proper care. I had them stolen from me once; I was not about to let it happen again!
One started to ramble on in the local dialect, however he was going too bloody fast for me to make any sense out of it at all. Another came forward and tried to grab me, I ducked and wrestled him a bit before I sent him flying into the nearest sand bank. I picked up his staff, the others backed up as if I was all going to fry them with it. I shook my head and peered at the inscription, it was indeed Kasmirain, though I haven’t read it nor spoke it in ten years, oddly enough I could still make out the words: In the light we are safe. In the light we serve. In the light we sacrifice ourselves for peace for the good of all Her creatures. Well, it definitely came from a Ka’Tor; they always mumble on about serving and sacrificing.
The boy gave a whistle that pierced the afternoon sky. Moments later about twenty or thirty more cloaked figures appeared over the hills of sand. All pointed their staffs at me, I felt sick to my stomach and weak in the knees. They covered me in that filth, layer by layer. I could not shrug it off. It was too much. I was losing my vision again, then, suddenly I felt my face land in the sand.
I woke up in a rather oversized circular brown tent. It was low, though it made up for space in width. Lavish rugs covered the floor – pillows of all colours and sizes were scattered around the edge of the tent, much like in the little white one I was in last night. A small rectangular table, made out of a reddish wood rested near the entrance. All my things were neatly placed upon it. I wanted to get them, however I felt as if all my muscles and bones were taken out of me, and just mush remained.
I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling of the tent. I hope it was the same day. A small rip that was not so carefully sewn together let in a few specks of light that shown into my eyes. More light flooded into the tent as the front flap was opened and three cloaked figures stepped inside. All three had to duck as the tent was far too low for their height, but they did not seem to notice. I managed to push myself up as the three moved closer and took a seat upon three cushions laid out in the middle of the tent. Each held a white staff, each resting it on their knees.
They sat, still hooded, for all I could see was black where their faces should be. Was this supposed to be intimidating? If it was, I was not afraid, more hungry and bored if anything at all. Slowly one at a time, they removed their cowls. I recognized the boy to my left; he was one of the five that had surrounded me earlier.
The middle one sat straighter than the other two, he had a noble presence to him. He was completely bald, however his head was anything but bare. Tattoos covered his entire head, circling around his facial features and disappearing down his neck. They were all ancient symbols that I have seen before, though I did not remember what they mean. His eyes were a dark gray, yet they were not frightening.
The man to the right however did not look friendly. He was a wide man—big broad shoulders connected to a thick neck and square head. His eyes were almost as black as the night, while his hair was short and gray. A scar crossed his forehead and down is long nose. Tattoos also covered his face.
All of them, including the girl that I saw earlier had the same symbol on their left cheek. It was a mix of triangles, one large and two smaller inside it with a sun in the center. It had to be some identification marker between tribes. The three stared me down, examining every inch of my body, every strand of greasy hair. I did not know how much they knew of me, but I could guess they knew more than I could figure. These people have a great information carrying system; I had studied it once with the tribe up north.
“Numa,” The right one blurted, and trailed off on an overwhelming rant, which I could not follow even if I knew the language.
The language was choppy and harsh, not like the slippery speech of Kasmirain that just rolls off the tongue. This sounded forced. Each took a turn blurting things out at me, all I could do was sit and listen to the deep voices and watch the frantic waving of the hands.
They all went silent and sat in frustration. The middle one scratched his chin and looked at his comrades. At once they began shouting to him, though it ceased abruptly once he held out his hand.
The middle one cleared his throat and asked me, “Kasmirain?”
How to answer? I was not quite sure, but I think he meant the language. I surprised myself when I could read the staff, but I would not take it too far. I looked at him, puzzled, “sure.”
He smiled, “Do you know who I am?” he continued.
Now the other two, and partially myself were in the dark. Language barriers are such a pain. It took awhile to calculate and take in every word he said. Then it took me longer to put together the words that I needed, and hopefully I put the right words together.
“You’re an ex-Ka’Tor from your hair style, but beyond that you’ll have to fill me in.” I slurred, my native tongue sounded so odd to me.
“Very well, I am King Eethuvaga, I rule over the Sokoanian Desert.” He bowed.
“So why did you leave the service?” I asked, resituating myself to sit cross-legged.
He sat and stared at me for a while as if formulating the right answer, then he smiled, “Well, I was forced rather, on the subject pertaining to you, and your sister.”
“I beg your pardon?” I choked, certainly not expecting such a reply.
“Yes my dear, so which one are you?” he asked simply, not knowing the pain he’s about to resurrect, “No wait, I know.” He paused again, “Aelwen’Erryn.”
I was stunned, motionless. The name rang inside my head, bouncing around causing a dreadful headache. My name; my real name: Aelwen'Erryn. I have not heard it spoken in ten long years. Memories tried to flood my present thoughts, but I pushed them out, and locked them away.
“My mentor was your midwife, your older brother’s too,” Eethuvaga went on, “When the boy went missing she was tried and executed among many others. I was tried as an accomplice. But they had nothing against me. Though once free I spoke one too many speeches for their liking and spent five years in the middle city prison of Onofre, then dropped in the middle of the ocean. I managed to find my way back to the mainland, and to my homeland of Buthainah.”
I was silent, taking in his words one by one. My brother and my sister, my whole family has been torn apart by a bloody prophecy. My head began to spin. Though the Tyrzre did not seem to notice, continuing his story.
“The Li’Jei Council was corrupt. It was a turbulent time as Lady Zohara had one councilor exiled; the only one who provided opposition to her plans of eradicating the Amarain Dynasty for good. Lady Yaro wanted to restore your rights of power.”
“You think I want to hear this?” I spat, but it was useless the man was deaf to opposition.
It was too late on that fact, Zohara, another name that came with a dagger to the side, but maybe it would not have been such a bad idea to rid the world of the evil power my family posses. It had no good attached to it. I could feel my stomach rolling. Anger was beyond boiling. This was one subject that should not have been broached.
“So, the world’s greatest sorceress is the great Black Fox,” He mused.
I spat at him, “I am no sorceress!”
He tilted his head, “I’m sorry I honestly meant no offense, greatest Jei, the Kasmira.”
“No! I am none of that evil!” I threw the pillows at him wishing I had something heavier, his face wrinkled with heavy concern.
I spotted my swords behind him. I stood up, however waving slightly in the air. I meant to take one in my hand and face that bloody king. I knew what he was. A bloody lout of a follower in that bloody prophecy, no I am not having any of it today.
“But you have the Power,” He stated grabbing a hold of my arm, “Do you not?”
“No!” I shouted, then trying to calm down I steadied my voice and stared into his grey eyes, “Evil does not rule me! It will NOT rule me!”
The room spun round and round, I was going to throw up I had stood up too fast; I covered my mouth and managed to pull free from the man’s grasp. The other two stood up to stop me, but Eethuvaga stepped to the side letting me pass.
I ran out of the tent, stumbling in the sand. Other Tyrzres stood in wonder as they watched me spill the contents of my stomach out onto the sand. Eethuvaga came out and took my arm, “Come,” He motioned back inside the tent.
“No,” I mumbled ripping my arm from his grip.
I slid down the sand dunes tripping over my own feet. From the corners of my eyes I could see staffs pointing in my direction, then, I heard Eethuvaga’s voice and all the Tyrzres disappeared. I kept running, though not accomplishing anything at all. Stopping I fell to my knees. With both hands I dug into the burning sand and whipped the tiny pebbles into the air.
“Aelwen’Erryn!” I heard him call, “Stop running!”
I did not want to stop; I never wanted to stop running. I stared blankly over across the desert, though I focused on nothing, letting my eyes glaze over. I never wanted to hear that name spoken again. Not uttered even in the most delicate whisper. It was not to be born. None of this should be here. I was perfectly calm before. Steady and in my own belief that I was Lucas, the Black Fox. If anything I am he. That name, that past is nothing! Eethuvaga came up behind me and embraced me if ever so gently yet with a touch of caution. His arms nonetheless steadied my shaking body, “Come, you need some rest.”