Kindary: Keeper of the Moon

         Here is a tale of a world in the midst of war. There was a time where Sorcerers ruled kingdoms with no regard for the powerless. These Sorcerers lived in an uneasy peace under the rule of their supreme ruler, the Imperial Sorceress. Now she is missing and war has broken out among the Sorcerers for the throne. The rest of the population suffers while armies of men and beasts destroy each other for their masters. Thousands flee cities and towns to escape the brutal carnage. They run deeper into unknown territory and pray to their gods for a miracle. One deity will answer their cries. This is the first tale of that miracle as told by Graywind, the warrior of the Goddess Kindary.

*          *          *

         The new woman among us is strange. I’ve been watching her ever since she appeared at the refugee camp. At first sight, I was uncertain about her. She presented herself to the refugee’s leaders, merely asking for shelter. Like all other Outsiders, she’s fleeing from the Sorcerer armies. Yet, I felt a familiar presence about her. My instincts told me this strange frail girl was looking for something. Could it be the same thing I have been searching for these last ten years?

         She calls herself Deshra, a servant from the Imperial City of Gengbo. At first, the refugee leaders were suspicious of her, but her submissive manner and willingness to work convinced them to accept her. Deshra doesn’t comment much on her past life. She keeps herself enrobed and cloaked most of the time. Even her forehead has an ever-present band of gray cloth, which does nothing for the jagged locks of her hair. Still, as I observed Deshra’s frame--so tall and well curved--I wonder if her occupation had been a bed servant rather than a kitchen maid as she claims. I couldn’t blame her if she was a harem girl. The other mercenaries would take Deshra to their tents in mere moments and I doubt she could last one night. Her skin is too smooth to be a common laborer. The areas of visible skin—mostly her hands and face—is the color of pure sand, pale and shimmering in the light of morning. Deshra’s eyes are black pools of sadness whenever she isn’t around the children, for it is the care of the refugee’s little ones that she has volunteered to do. Her manner and voice seem to come from a soft woman, one so trusting that the leaders consented. Those too young to help with camp sit by her feet and watch her sew clothing or play with string. She tells tales of the City and the Palace of the Imperial Sorceress. Their eyes grow wide at the talk of dragon bones and magical crystal lanterns. Sometimes, she teaches them useful things like reading and writing with a stick in the dirt. She supervises their meals and escorts them back to their parents for bed.

         I can see the fire light off to the West of us. A sign that the battle is still dogging our trail. After surveying the perimeter of our encampment before dinner, I come to the circle of people by the fire. The city-dwellers are visibly shaken by my presence. They had never seen a female clansman before, and some still remember the wild tales told by their elders. The Clans of Om are legendary our fierce fighting and hot tempers. I hear the refugee’s depiction of the Clan’s ways many times and smile over the vast gap between illusion and reality.

         The Beast Clans are a proud people; each named for the domain of their deity. My people lived in these valleys since time began and tales past down to each generation tell a frightening story. Before this world was born, we were once a race of metal-users. Our ancestors had the knowledge and skills needed to create ‘machines.’ These creations gave them enormous power over nature, but our ancestors were greedy and wanted more. They rode the skies looking for more power and fought massive battles, which destroyed stars and moons. Finally the gods of the Beasts rose from their sleep and called out for peace. All the machines ceased to move and the people were brought to the ground. None of their tools and weapons functioned. Soon, their children abandoned them and searched for a better life. They found the token spirits, the mythical beasts that could speak to them and show them the way to live. The clans formed and followed the way of the Spirit, making their lives flow with nature. These new clans met with other people who were pining for those days of power. They were the ancestors of the city-dwellers and their sorcerers.

         The same ones that my tent-mate, Redsnow, and I help to protect while they are on their journey to safety.

         Even as I sat with my bowl and mug, I could see Deshra among the infants. She held her cloak tighter to her body, as if the refreshing air from the mountains was too cold for her skin. Deshra’s eyes glittered from the campfire. Many of the people had withdrawn from their seats at our presence, so we could her clearly. On Deshra’s lap, sat Morn, an orphan boy she had taken in as her tent companion, looking up and smiling as he played with her pieces of string. They entwined it into different patterns to the delight of the other children.

          “Wishing for young ones, Graywind.” I heard beside me. Redsnow creaked when he spoke; an injury to his throat had marred his voice. His large figure was on the edge of my vision, but my memory gave me a full picture of him behind me. Redsnow separated from his Clansmen in order to find work as a hired warrior. He is much older than I, far over twenty summers to my own twenty-six, and has seen a time when the sorcerers of this land were merely contented under their Sovereign and would only bother those in their service. Now they wage war among each other over their pathetic throne. I never understood them with their magical ways. The city men are different from my clansmen. Sometimes it feels as if we were from different worlds.

          “I have no need of children, nor the urge which brings them forth.” I glanced at him, my body tensed at the sudden nightmarish images that went through my mind. “But it’s her, I watch. Something about her…” I turned back towards Deshra’s group. “She’s very educated for a city-dweller. And she seems to be running towards something, rather than away.”

          “We have been among the Outsiders for too long, child.” His musings held sadness in them. Like myself, he had left his own Clan of the Winter in disgrace. “You’re starting to recognize the wolves from the dogs and sheep.” Redsnow pulled out his long pipe and thumbed in dried bashsome leaves. As he leaned over to light his pipe, Deshra looked up and stared into my eyes. I could see pure fear in them. Not like the silly notion of fear I witness among the refugees. True fear that paralyzes the body and causes it to shake. She feared me. I did not look away.

          “Deshra, tell me about Kindary.” Morn pouted, obviously sulking over Deshra’s inattentiveness.

          “What?” Deshra’s voice—though soft—was clear and powerful. She shook her head and looked down at the children. Then she smiled, “Yes, Kindary. But that’s a Beast Clan’s tale. I do not know any Clan stories, young one.”

          “But you told me about it last night. The one about the bird-woman who carries the moon.”

         I stood up. The Kindary was my former clan’s Beast Goddess, but my disgrace didn’t give me the right to defend my clan-spirit anymore than I had the right to create black flame. She again looked at me. Her eyes roamed over the sleeves and shirt of my tunic, embroidered heavily with my Clan’s symbol and my name. A fellow clansman would know another’s clan, spirit-name, and rank from the embroidery on their clothing. As children, this was one of the first things taught by our parents. Male and female warriors would have Thread Wars, strutting around the village with detailed embroidery on their shirts, and cloaks. Each symbol has a meaning. Each patch is a display of honor. My own embroidery copied the thunderbolts of my Storm clan, Bay-Om, but they were severed in their thickest bands, depicting the cut from my people. Gray swirls engulfed them, as well as blue smoke, showing my Spirit name. The circle, which would have had some kind of bird in it, was empty; I never reached any rank before my disgrace. All this Deshra took in, as I walked over to her little group. Some of the older children gasped at my sudden presence, but the younger ones only looked up and smiled. No infant was ever harmed by my people, nor would any ever come to harm in our presence.

         I did not reply, but sat down in the dirt with the children, legs crossed, and nodded for her to continue.

         Deshra swallowed and began her tale. “Long ago, high up in the mountains, there lived the Kindary. The Beast Goddess took the form of a giant bird of prey, resembling a hawk with a long tail. Her feathers were silver, blue and black to help hide her in the night sky. Her voice was soft and carried on the wind. Her eyes were as blue as water, and they held compassion for those who loved her. She was the Goddess of the Night Sky and her power was healing and illusion. At night, Kindary would carry the moon upon her shoulders and move it around the world, looking for a safe place to keep it where no demon could find it. When she found the perfect spot, she would leave the sky and hide the moon, giving the moon a day of rest while she stood guard. But Kindary could never stay for long, with demons hunting for the silver power of the moon. Every month she flies through the sky where no mortal can reach, and delivers light to our nights and hope in our dreams.”

         Morn and the children all sat very still while she continued. I was impressed with her story-telling abilities. Deshra shook her head, implying that was all she could say, but I wondered. Did she know the rest?

“She knows the tale well,” remarked Redsnow, as I stood and left the cowering girl. My posture expressed boredom, but my tent-mate knew better. He could see the tight lines around my eyes and along my brow.

          “Too well,” I grumbled. It didn’t help my conscious to be reminded of what I ran away from. “A Meditator could not do better.”

          “What upsets you, Graywind? Hearing our people’s private faith-tales from the mouth of an Outsider or into the ears of more Outsiders.” Redsnow chuckled inside his throat. I knew it didn’t bother him in the least. He had been in exile longer than I had and delighted in the quirks of the Outsiders.

          “Neither.” Another chuckle from him caused my face to flush. “Except that no Meditator would have spoken the tale unless in trance. What does that make her?” I rubbed the back of my neck, tracing the markings set there that only we could understand.

         Redsnow nodded as he watched the fire. “Ah, a good point, clansman. Could it be, like times before the Spell-Casters, that our gods are calling for more Genshinas?”

         I opened my eyes, standing still for sometime. Genshina was an old clan word, meaning ‘those who serve.’ They were the first Meditators and Clan-Chiefs; people personally picked by the Beast Gods to form the clans and develop the laws and customs that held them together to this very day. It was said that the Beast Gods would converse with their chosen in dreams and visions, sometimes taking over mortal’s bodies when necessary. I had dismissed it as a myth. Then my dreams and visions became littered with violence and horror, a sure sign from Her that I was needed, but even then I wondered. What was my goddess calling me to do? The proof now rested on the markings I had now touched.

         The fire snapped, waking me from my musings. Redsnow sat quietly, watching my face. I hadn’t responded to his question, which was considered rude.

          “We live in unbalanced times, tent-mate. I find anything possible and nothing taken for granted.” I stretched. “And I find I will be late for my watch if I do not move.”

         Redsnow smiled at me. “Yes. May Kindary watch your back till you return.”

         As I touched the back of my neck again, I gazed over at the Outsider Deshra, but the space was empty of her and the children. It was late, and Deshra must have returned the young ones to their own tents for the evening.

         I strolled briskly through camp, the metal of my armor chiming softly under it’s leather covering. The whole campsite was in tense quiet. The battle of the Spell-casters was too far to hear, but the night sky was alight in an angry red from their fires and weapons. Everyone who could was in his or her tents, trying to get as much sleep as possible before false dawn. The refugees ran ahead of the battles for months and could never seem to elude the armies. There were few places to go and both the clan territory and the mountains blocked off any detour or side route. The only way was east and hopefully a place where these people can find shelter before winter. I felt pity for these Outsiders because this was not their doing. The war was as much a plaque to them as it had been an annoyance to the clans. The Sorcerers had attempted to recruit the Beast Clans as mercenaries, but with no luck. My people didn’t fight each other for Outsider politics. A senseless war would go against every honor pledge and code the clans stand for. No, they stayed out of it and only helped people like this. People who just wished to live in peace.

         My post was at the North point of the campsite. I did not mind the sounds coming from the forest that borders the Ice Mountains of Bezban. I found the stump for my station and took out my weapon, the Key-darn. It was actually two long swords joined together at their pommels. I pulled out my sharp stone to sharpen the Keydia, the longer end. This represented the moon in thin wane. Its blade was narrow with a slight concave in the middle. The other side, Keymot, had a rounder blade that made it more ax-like. The weapon’s weight was balanced. My technique involved twirling it in blurring circles, as if the moon moved at my command. They could detach with a quick touch, revealing two weapons to wield when needed. I sat down on the stump and ran my sharpening stone across the edge of the blade. With the sound of metal on stone, my body went into a battle-trance. The world around me sharpened, in color and sound. The night’s light became as bright as day and the sound of sleeping birds and beasts could be heard. Thus all thought of Deshra vanished from my head; the task of watch engulfed my mind and body.

         It was at the high rise of the moon when I heard a noise behind me. It was footsteps, light and hesitant, coming from either a female or a child. I waited till I could hear the person’s heart beat before rising. I whirled the Key-darn as I stood, bringing the massive weapon over my head and to my side, Keydia towards the intruder.

         Deshra stopped immediately, cringing under her hood. “Clans Lady, forgive me. I bring you no harm.” Her voice quivered along with her body, causing the fabric to ripple.

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You should be sleeping, Pron’dotor. Long journey lies ahead.” My grasp of City-tongue was rough at best, but she seemed to understand me and nodded. Her hands came out of her sleeves, palms up, in a gesture of submission. Her face emerged from the hood, white in the moonlight and fairly taunt. This wasn’t some whimsy encounter for her.

          “I need to speak with you, Clans Lady. I have something to ask.”

         I relaxed my stance and lowered my weapon. “No words, Outsider. Nothing to say.”

          “I’m afraid there is much to say,” she replied in Clans-speech. My body tensed with shock. I ran my thumb along the hilt, trying to collect my thoughts about this. Deshra continued, “I have been fighting something I know nothing about for so long. There are times I wonder about my own sanity. I don’t want to die without knowing what it is. Please, I need guidance.”

         I was confused by her words. I was no Meditator. I knew of no wisdom to give. Still, I saw her expression become raw and naked, full of pain and terror.

          “Sit Outsider,” I said. “Explain your troubles to a savage if it makes you feel better. But first, answer me this…where did you learn of our faith-tales and our language. No clansman would ever reveal both to an Outsider, let alone a Hashmy.”

         She took a seat on the stump I had vacated, but glared hard at me with stiffen shoulders and a straighten spine. “I am not a bed-slave,” she retorted.

         I smiled. “Then tell me where you have learned your tales, tongue and manners, for these are not from one who sweeps floors.” I slipped my Key-darn into its belt loop, and stared down at her over my crossed arms. She visibly cowered, lowering her eyes from mine.

          “Both answers you seek lie in the same source. My dreams.” I didn’t change my expression, but there was a sudden chill in the air. I nodded for her to continue. “I was once the personal assistant to the Imperial Sorceress herself, before she…disappeared. She was betrayed by one of her advisors and sent me away before they could kill me. While on the run, I’ve been having these terrible nightmares of death and destruction. I thought it was because of the war, but then they changed. During Moon-rest I dream of a woman who speaks in Clans-speech and I can understand it! She tells me to seek her wind of thunder for protection and then she will show me the way.’”

         I stared at her, trying to make sense of this. “You have been called by Kindary herself?”

         Deshra shook her head, clearly upset. “It’s not possible. Kindary is just a savage’s myth. It’s not real.” She looked at me with bitterness. “There is no such thing as gods or Beast-gods.”

         I grabbed the front of her cloak with one hand, pulling her up on her feet. Growling into her face, I contemplated killing her. “No one insults Kindary in my presence! I care not if you happen to be gifted with visions. I will take your life as honor-debt.”

          “I-I-I am truly sorry, Lady of Blades. Truly! I renounce my foolish words. Please don’t kill me.”

         It was not her pleas that stilled my fist, for I had no qualms disciplining a defenseless woman. No, with her hood pulled back, I could see something shiny in the bright moon’s light. The band of cloth across her forehead had slipped and revealed the edge of some silver tattoo. I yanked the headband off Deshra, and stared at the markings upon her forehead. There were four full triangles in metallic silver that resembled a bird with wings spread. It reached from temple to temple and glowed in the light as if steel had been imbedded into her skin. It was the mark of Kindary, Beast-Goddess of the Night and Souls. These were the same markings that resided on the back of my neck, appearing there ten years ago during the New Moon. I dropped Deshra to the ground, and she cowered before me, pleading for her life. Instead of my weapon, I showed her my sleeve.

          “This is the Wind of Thunder, Genshina, the spirit-name that I hold—Graywind of the Moon.”

         Deshra rose on her knees and seized my arm. As she traced the swirls and curves of the smoky thread, she repeated the message from her dream. Then she looked into my eyes. “It can’t be real.”

          “Believe for once in your miserable life. For reasons beyond my knowledge, my goddess has claimed you as one of her messengers. I, too, have had nightmares of killings and destruction, but this is not because of war. What we dream is called the Veshboon, the rebirth of Demons. The reason our Beast gods exist is to stop them from returning to life and destroying the world. Many a Meditator has foreseen the horrors, but none have been given a vision to stop it.”

         I wanted to cry or scream. Anything to let out the fear and terror I felt. Veshboon was coming. Now I could see my nightmares more clearly. They were of bodies, millions of them, lying on the ground in utter darkness and scorching heat. The vision all Meditators claim to be the end of the world. But to show weakness before an Outsider was below my honor, so I continued to stare down at her, pretending my nightmares were her fault. She let go of me and huddled there, crying. Her sobs grew soft, but the anguish behind them never faltered.

         I wanted to hate her, but couldn’t. The answer to my own question lay cowering before me. Deshra was destined to carry Kindary’s power and use it for the good of all, clansmen and Outsiders. I, a disgraced warrior, was destined to protect her. No matter what, I was to see that this woman fulfilled the quest my goddess had given her.

         My breath flowed out through my nose and the anger in my stomach went with it. I knelt down beside Deshra, not touching her but staying close. As I picked up her headband, she looked up at me. Her black pupils floated in her streaky red whites and long wet paths of tears ran down her face.

         Deshra stopped her weeping and I helped her to rise. She cringed at my touch as I retied the band under her hair and began to braid the ends in the back. “Please, don’t hurt me,” she murmured through her tears.

         I sighed. Things will not be easy between us. “You seek advice. Here, sit again. And I will explain what you have become. And worry not about your fragile self, for I must do all I can to keep you safe from harm.” And with those words, we began our destiny.