ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 45

Rida fell into the water writhing with green, slimy tentacles, realizing her death was near.

If this is it, she thought, tightening her grip on her saber, this thing will have a few less limbs before it’s done with me.

One tentacle wrapped around her ankle, its barbs sinking painfully into her flesh, and pulled her out of the water.  She hung on to her saber and swung at the green appendage, severing it.  Her forward momentum continued, and she flew through the air several dozen paces before landing hard in the water again.

This time she lost hold of her saber as water filled her lungs.  She gagged, and then struggled back to the surface.  When she broke above the waves, she coughed up what felt like half the sea before whipping her head around, searching for more tentacles.  The mass of kelp had flung her far from where it still attacked the Teelamark and the Windrider.

Explosions erupted behind Rida, and she turned in the water to see the Vendir and Kingfisher circling around and firing their cannons.  But they did not fire at the mass of kelp tentacles pulling the wrecked Teelamark and Windrider into the water.  They fired at the peninsula a half mile away.

She wanted to scream they were firing in the wrong direction, but realized that was where Brya had seen the three Angra trails.  The two ships continued firing at the peninsula, pouring all their shells into the dense forest.  Trees disintegrated up and down the peninsula, and dark smoke wafted from the fires that broke out where the shells hit.

“General!”

Rida looked up at the Vendir, saw several crewmen calling to her while another tossed her a rope.  She swam for the rope, grabbed it, and they pulled her toward the ship.  Once she was close, they lowered a rope ladder and she climbed aboard.  When she crawled onto the deck, she turned on her back and lay there, breathing heavily and gagging.  The Vendir’s guns continued to roar from the cannon ports below deck, but at this moment, all she cared about was coughing up the rest of the seawater still in her lungs.  One of the crewmen, the ship’s doctor by the look of his blood-stained white apron, asked her in broken Recindian how she felt.  Rida waved him off to tend to the more seriously wounded.

When the firing tapered off, she pulled herself to her feet and looked to where the Windrider and the Teelamark had been.  All that was left of them were the masts poking out of the water and a field of debris bobbing around them.  The kelp tentacles no longer moved, simply floating on the water in a large gray-green mass.  The kelp seemed to be dissolving in the water, turning the area around the two sunken ships into a brackish mix of gray muck, wood shards, and body parts.  The crews of the Vendir and the Kingfisher were pulling aboard the survivors of the other two ships.  There were not many.

The captain of the Vendir, with much more gray in his hair and beard than the captain of the Windrider, approached Rida.  His clothes were torn and wet, and blood covered his entire left arm.  Rida was reminded of her own bloody wound on her ankle, which began to sting when she looked down at it.  Following the captain was Nyla Meck, one of the Tuathan priests stationed on the Vendir.

“A bloody debacle, General Myndehr,” the captain said in fluent Recindian, pointing to the sunken ships.  “But we got the bastards on the peninsula, thanks to Nyla here.”

The young red-haired priest wore a blank stare that Rida had seen too many times on the faces of young men after their first battle.

“It was her idea to target the harrowers rather than that…thing out there.”

“When a harrower falls,” Nyla said quietly, “its Tainted spawn does as well.”

Rida nodded, not wanting to dwell much on these supernaturalist creatures.  “How did the Vendir and Kingfisher fare?”

The captain shrugged.  “We took a few bumps from the monster, but my men handled it well.”  He looked out at the wrecks of the other two ships.  “I know speed is of the essence here, General, but I would like to see if there are any survivors.”

“Make it a quick search, captain,” Rida said.  “There are several hundred people out there at the mercy of these harrowers.”

The captain nodded, and then joined his crew scanning the water for survivors.  Rida turned to Nyla and said, “Can you…send a message to Melahara and tell her what happened?”

Nyla nodded, and then raised her hand and closed her eyes.  She mumbled something in the Tuathan language.  Her eyes rolled beneath her lids a moment, then sprung open.

“They are also under attack!”

Rida slammed her fist on the deck railing.  She limped over to the captain, who was talking with his first officer in Turician.  “We have to go now, captain.  The Tuathans are under attack and they will need your guns.”

The captain frowned, glancing at the waters around the sunken ships.  When he saw nobody moving, he sighed.  “Very well.”

He gave orders to his first officer, who began shouting to the other officers.  The Vendir and the Kingfisher eventually turned away from the wreckages of their sister ships and raced toward Tsall.

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 44

“Ladak?” Taran said when Edoss told him about the Fomorian outside the wagon.  “That’s impossible.  I…  How could he be a Fomorian?”

Edoss said, “I don’t know.”

Taran was stunned that the man he thought he had torn to pieces now stood outside the shield.  Had the Ladak Taran killed been an illusion, too?

Though his hands were still bound, he balled them into fists and slammed them down on the floor of the wagon.  “He saw my daughter,” Taran said.  “He saw her in the picture I showed him.  That’s how he created the illusion of her.”

So kill him again if he makes you so angry, the dark voice said.  Taran’s hands shook, for he wanted to do just that.

“He wants the Tuathans to hand you over to him,” Edoss said.

“So either I’m executed by the Tuathans, or given to the Fomorians to become one of their harrowers.”

“Taran,” Edoss said, “I can’t begin to understand what you are or what you can do.  But you are a Compact citizen, and it is my duty to keep you safe.  I will not let the Tuathans kill you, Doctor Abreau, nor let them give you to the Fomorians.”

Taran locked stares with the Speaker.  Edoss couldn’t do much if the Tuathans, much less the Fomorians, decided they wanted to keep Taran.  Still, he appreciated the Speaker’s willingness to fight for him.

“Thank you, Excellency.  You’re a good man.”  With a rueful grin, Taran said, “I’m sorry I didn’t vote for you.”

Edoss returned his grin.  “Well I damn well better have it in the next election.”

Edoss’s grin melted when they heard several people screaming from the other end of the column.  When gunfire erupted, Edoss jumped out of the wagon, as did Taran.

Outside was chaos.  Tuathans ran toward them from the front of the column, while priests and Heshmen ran in the opposite direction.  The Shadarlak surrounding the wagon immediately formed a protective circle around Edoss and Taran, causing Edoss to peer between their shoulders to see what was happening.

When Cursh entered the Shadarlak circle, Edoss shouted, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, but I think the shield just fell.”

Taran looked up and noticed for the first time that the bluish translucence of the shield no longer surrounded them.

Unholy shrieks burst from the forest behind the column.  Dozens of Tainted monstrosities—multi-limbed, glistening, barbed tentacles—chased panicked Tuathans toward the beach.  Six or seven Shadarlak ran behind the last of the Tuathans, covering their flight with revolver fire in a running retreat.  A dozen Heshmen also covered the Tuathans, tossing spears and shooting arrows at the beasts.

But bullets and spears did not stop the Tainted.  One of the monsters wrapped its tentacles around a Shadarlak and pulled him into the air, where several more clawed legs ripped the screaming man in half and tossed both sections to the side.

Captain Laesh burst through the circle of Shadarlak and pulled Edoss toward the beach without an apology over his rough handling.  Taran followed, leaping into a sprint toward the beach.  As they ran, Captain Laesh took a knife from his belt and cut Taran’s bindings.  Taran was grateful, but with the Tuathan barrier surrounding him, he could Wield neither Ahura nor Angra to fight the Tainted.  After only two days of Wielding, he already felt helpless knowing he could not touch either ring.

As if on cue, the dark voice in his mind laughed quietly.

The road turned and twisted between abandoned, crumbling thatch huts and log buildings before ending at two stone piers on the beach.  All along the beach, people ran into the waves to escape the braying, screeching Tainted loping after them.  Taran wondered if the panicked Tuathans expected to swim to Turricia.

Taran watched in awed horror as the Heshmen and the Shadarlak formed up ranks, side by side, creating a line so the Tainted could not reach the fleeing Tuathans charging into the waves.  Edoss formed his men into firing lines, while Laesh commanded a second group of Shadarlak.  Heshmen captains cried out orders to their men.  The men had just formed their ranks when the Tainted horde slammed into them.  Arrows, spears, sabers, and bullets filled the air.  Though no Tainted seem to die, many fell to the ground, thrashing about without limbs severed by the humans.  But many more—too many more—leaped over their flailing brethren and engaged the small army in a melee of spurting tubes, sabers, and spears.

“Taran!”

Taran turned to his left and saw Fatimah running toward him, tears streaming down her face.  “I cannot find Eblin.  You have to help me find Eblin!”

Taran grabbed a hold of Fatimah’s shoulders, glancing at the howling Tainted just a few paces away.  “Where did you see her last?”

“She was— I was right beside her when…when the shield fell.  After that…”  She looked at Taran, shame contorting her face.  “I left her.  I ran, and I left her.”

“Fatimah, I’ll help you find her,” Taran said, “but you have to help me.  Can you remove this barrier around me?”

Fatimah shook her head.  “I do not know how.  It was something Melahara discovered.”  She scanned the panicked mass of Tuathans along the beach, and screamed, “Eblin!  Eblin!”

“Fatimah,” Taran shouted.  “You have to try, or I can’t help you.”

She stared at him, as if searching his soul for something.  Taran knew what it was.

“Fatimah, I am not a harrower.”  The dark voice laughed.  You’re becoming a good liar.

Fatimah looked at him for a desperate moment, then raised her hand to Ahura, closed her eyes, and said an incantation.  A multi-colored tendril of Ahura weaved down from the ring and caressed Fatimah’s hand.  Fatimah put a hand on Taran’s heart.  Her brow furrowed.  She tilted her head from side to side, as if looking for something she could not find.  Moments later she opened her eyes, frustration filling them.

“I cannot find it—”

“Try again, Fatimah,” Taran said.  He pointed to the slaughter going on only a dozen paces away.  “They won’t last much longer.”

She closed her eyes again, and the tendril of Ahura returned to her hand.  After several moments, a horrible shriek filled the air, and Taran looked up to see one of the Tainted break through the ranks of the Heshmen and Shadarlak.  Its four gray limbs pumped hard straight for him and Fatimah.  The sun glistened sickeningly off its mottled skin and five moist, barbed legs.

Taran wondered briefly what this poor creature had once been.  He wondered, too, what would happen to him if he fell into Fomorian hands and they turned him into some version of that thing.  Better to die from it than to become it.

And then the barrier was gone.  Fear, anger, and frustration at the Tainted attack overwhelmed Taran, and he reached for Angra rather than Ahura.  A black tendril from the ring forked down to his outstretched hand, and he directed all his hatred and loathing at the creature about to attack him and Fatimah.  Flames burst from the beast’s various mouths, consuming the monster’s entire body in a flash, as if it were dry grass.  Nothing was left but cloud of ash dispersing on the sea breeze.

But his anger was not appeased.  He pointed at the entire line of Tainted that were slaughtering the Heshmen and Shadarlak.  One by one, up and down the line, they exploded into flames.  The Tainted were immolated so fast that Shadarlak in mid-swing with their sabers sliced through air, and Heshmen stabbed with their spears at flaming ash.

When all the monsters were destroyed, and none flowing from the huts and alleys nearby, the Tuathans and the Recindians glanced at one another in disbelief.  They did not stand around long, for Edoss and the Heshman captains ordered their men to form up ranks again to protect the mass of panicked Tuathans gathering in the water and on the stone piers.

Taran held on to Angra, searching for something else to destroy.  Now kill them all, the dark voice said, before they kill you!

“No!” Taran screamed.  Then with a great force of will, he released Angra.  The crush of Mundane senses returned.

Taran looked at Fatimah, who stared at him with wide eyes.  She took a couple of steps backward.

“We need to find Eblin now,” Taran said.  “Please don’t look at me like that Fatimah.  I can control it.  I can…”

Fatimah gave him a pitiful look and shook her head.  “It will destroy you.”

Before Taran could respond, he felt a crushing force, like a large invisible hand, grab him around the torso and fling him into the air above the beach.  He flew several dozen paces over the abandoned village toward the edge of the forest nearby.  He fell onto the muddy road from which he had just fled, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs and stunning him.  Gasping for breath, he looked up.

Kumar Ladak squatted in front of him, his gray eyes bright beneath his tri-corner hat.

“Hello, Taran.  We need to talk.”

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 43

Rida Myndehr stood on the bow of the Turician schooner, willing it to go faster.  Damned backward, stubborn Turicians, she thought.  Why don’t they use the damned steam engines we gave them?  We’d have been there yesterday.

She knew the answer, that the Turicians viewed Compact technology with the same suspicion that she viewed the Tuathan Wielders.  She supposed she could understand the feeling, though it did nothing to ease her impatience and frustration with the slow pace of the schooners.

Though the Beldamark coast was only a half-mile off the starboard side, and Brya had told her that they were only an hour from the Tuathan encampment on the beach, she still felt as if she were late.  Brya had described Melahara’s reports of harrower attacks, and that the Tuathan priests barely hung on to the massive shield Taran Abraeu had created.  She only hoped they could hang on for an hour more.

Rida pulled her woolen, dark-green Shadarlak coat tighter around her neck to fight the biting wind.  Two weeks ago she never would have believed such supernaturalist nonsense like live Mystics, magical arches that transport people hundreds of miles in an instant, or demonic creatures from a madman’s nightmares.  Now she did not give such things a second thought.  They were simply one more enemy to fight and defeat.

The captain of the Turician ship she was on, the Waverider, approached her.  Like most Turicians, Captain Gemdi Hass had a full black beard and a full head of curly hair.  And like most Turicians at Markwatch, he was gaunt from the plague that had swept through the city over a month ago.

He pointed to a large jut of land five miles away and said in a thick Turician accent, “The Mystic priest say that Tuathans are on other side of point.”

Rida nodded.  Even though she knew, she asked, “How long?”

“Another hour, maybe less if wind holds.”  The captain looked up at his full sails.  “Ahura blesses us with good wind.”

Rida nodded.  She glanced at the three schooners behind them.  The Kingfisher, the Vendir, and the Teelamark sailed in a single-file line so as to fit through the narrow, fifty-pace corridor between the coral reef beds on either side of them.  Between the four, they should have more than enough room to hold the five hundred or so Tuathans—

“General!” Brya screamed from behind, running up the deck past startled crewmen.  “General, I see Angra trails!”

“Where?”

“On the peninsula,” she said, pointing at the jut of land Captain Hass had just pointed out.  She saw nothing there, but knew that the Tuathans saw with different eyes.

“How many?”

Brya squinted.  “Two—no, wait, a third just appeared.”

“Can you shield the ships?”

Brya shook her head helplessly.  “They are too big for me.  Maybe around a few people, but that is all.”

“Damn,” Rida said, under her breath.  She turned to Captain Hass.  “Signal your ships and tell them to—”

She stopped when she saw the mass of frothing water racing head-on toward the Windrider.  The mass was over a hundred paces long, encompassing the entire corridor through the reef.  It would be on the schooners in moments.

Captain Hass shouted something to the pilot at the stern of the ship.  The schooner turned sharply to the starboard side.  The Teelamark also turned to starboard, attempting to weave around the Windrider.  But Teelamark’s captain realized he was heading right for an outcropping of rocks, and then turned back to port…right into the Windrider’s path.

There was only time for Rida to hear the captains scream different orders to their pilots before both ships collided.  The stern of the Teelamark rammed into the port bow of the Windrider with a terrible grinding and cracking wood.  Rida was thrown to the deck, and she saw Captain Hass tumble over the railing and into the water.  Brya landed hard on her side nearby, and Rida heard a sickening crack followed by Brya screaming and holding the bone jutting out of her left forearm.  Water gushed through the hole in the Windrider’s side, and the ship listed forward.

Over the snapping wood, yelling crewmen, and flooding below deck, Rida heard the frothing water approach them with tremendous speed.  She raised her head above the ship’s railing in time to see a large wave hit the interlocked Windrider and Teelamark.  Both ships surged upwards as the wave passed beneath them, then came down with a jarring thump into the water.  The Windrider listed further forward, but the wave had vanished.  The Windrider and the Teelamark bobbed up and down in its wake.

All was quiet a moment, and then the sea exploded with dozens of tentacles that reminded Rida all too vividly of the Tainted attack on the train in Doare.  But these tentacles looked like barbed kelp, and smelled of seaweed, fish, and rot.  The tentacles thrashed about the decks, grabbing screaming men, pulling them over the side or tearing off limbs.

When one of the tentacles wrapped itself around Brya’s right leg, Rida blinked away her shock and drew her saber.  Brya screamed when the tentacle yanked her toward the railing.  Rida ran over and severed the tentacle with one swing of her saber.  The remaining part still wrapped around Brya’s leg continued to writhe and thrash, its barbs sinking deeper into Brya’s flesh.

More tentacles shot from out of the water.  The crewmen had produced swords and were hacking at each tentacle that tried grabbing them.  But it was not enough.  The Windrider continued to lose men.  The deck was littered with torn limbs, and slick with blood and pieces of trampled kelp.

As Rida hacked away at the Tainted kelp, she heard a groaning of wood from the front of the ship.  She turned in time to see dozens of tentacles wrap around the ship’s masthead—a dour looking mermaid—and pull the front of the ship into the water.  As the stern jerked downward, Rida lost her footing and slid down the slippery deck into a mass of writhing kelp.

 

“Harrowers!”

Fatimah looked up to see one of the younger priests pointing at the two harrowers still standing on the beach.  They had not moved since Melahara had last spoken to them.

“Have you been asleep?” another priest asked.  “They’ve been there an hour.”

“Not them,” the first priest said.  “Over there.”

She pointed to the small wooded peninsula a few miles away, where large rocks jutted out from the tip, like the skeletal spine of a submerged sea monster.

Three black tendrils snaked down from Angra to a position on the peninsula’s point.

Fatimah jumped up and raced to where Melahara talked with Eblin and Ocrim Tylea.  All three looked up when Fatimah skidded to a stop in front of them.

“Angra trails,” she said, “on the peninsula to the north.”

All three ran with her to the beach, while Eblin limped along as fast as she could.  They stopped just short of the beach, a dozen paces from the end of the shield, and stared at the three undulating, black tendrils.

Melahara looked at Ladak.  “What is happening over there?”

Ladak glanced at the tendrils.  “Oh, that.  That means the ships from Markwatch you were waiting for won’t be arriving within the hour.  What am I saying?  They won’t be arriving at all.”

He opened his gold pocket watch. “And your hour is up.  What say you about my generous offer?”

Melahara raised her hand to Ahura and closed her eyes a few moments, then lowered her hand slowly and stared at Ladak, horrified.

“What is happening?” Ocrim Tylea asked.

“Brya says they are under attack,” Melahara said, “but she was cut off.”  She looked at Ladak.  “What have you done?”

“Made sure that you have no choice but to accept my offer.”

Ocrim Tylea spat, “You mean your surrender terms?”

Ladak shrugged.  “Whatever you want to call it.”

He put the watch back in his black coat and adjusted his tri-corner hat.  “Am I to assume that you refuse to hand over the Zervakan?”

Eblin finally arrived and said, “You know we cannot give him to you.”

Ladak sighed, as if he were truly disappointed.  But Fatimah thought he was trying to control a smile.  “That disappoints me.  The Tuathans and the Fomorians should be allies in this world, not adversaries.  The Mundanes will destroy us all if they get the chance.  Look at the technology the Compact developed in a mere two hundred years—muskets, cannon, trains, wiretypes.  Maybe not today or tomorrow, but certainly within the next fifty years they will be powerful enough to challenge us.  ”

Melahara said, “You make it sound as if we should rule the Mundanes by divine right.  That is the Fomorian way, not the Tuathan.  We choose to live in peace with the Mundanes.  And to stop you from enslaving them.”

Ladak raised an eyebrow.  “You cannot save them if you are all dead.”

Ocrim said, “We will resist you if you attack us again.”

Ladak chuckled.  “Ah, you mean you will hide behind your magnificent shield.  Well, about that….”

An arrow hissed from out of the woods and struck the heart of the priest holding the shield.  The young, red-haired priest’s eyes rolled into her head and she fell on her back.

The blue shield winked out of existence before another priest could take over.

“Arrows are crude, but effective,” Ladak said.  “Now what were you saying about resisting?”

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 42

Melahara resumed the Tuathan march an hour after Taran’s capture.  Fatimah still held the shield when the call ran up and down the column, and Melahara forced her to relinquish control of the shield to another priest.  Just as Bessi was disappointed to give up the shield, Fatimah reluctantly gave the shield to a priest older than her, who took it with an eager gleam in her eyes.  When Ahura left Fatimah, she slumped against a priest who was there to support her.  She was able to stand on her feet within minutes, but her body still wanted nothing more than to lie down.  She chose to stay with the priests holding the shield.  If one of them should lose her concentration, perhaps she would have a chance to Wield again and forget about Taran.

She gave an involuntary glance back at the covered wagon that held Taran.  Eblin still rode on the front seat with the Heshman driver, but the remaining Shadarlak flanked the wagon, including a sizable contingent of priests and Heshmen.  As the column started its march, the two sides began to eye the forests on either side of them more than each other, a development that gave Fatimah hope their alliance was not dead.

After a few hours of marching, Melahara came forward and walked among the shield priests.

“I have received word through Ahura from Brya Lueng.  General Myndehr arrived safely in Markwatch, and Lord Ven Demeg has already dispatched four ships.  They should be awaiting us when we arrive at Tsall.”

Relieved whispers spread through the ranks of the priests, and the news traveled fast along the column of weary Tuathans.  The news seemed to make the column move a little quicker toward the seaside village of Tsall.  Even Fatimah felt her sadness ebb a little.  At least her people would soon be safe.  Relatively speaking.  For there was nowhere her people would be truly safe from the Fomorians and harrowers.

As the night wore on, priest after priest held the shield, none for more than an a half hour, before being relieved by another priest.  Fatimah herself eagerly took another turn at maintaining the shield, and each time experienced the torturous process of giving it up to another priest at the end of her turn.  All of the priests experienced the same fatigue that she felt afterwards, but all were growing strong enough to remain standing after giving up the shield.  Also, as each turn passed, the priests could Wield much sooner after a previous Wield.  Though still terribly difficult, they were becoming much more disciplined about giving up Ahura when their turns were over.  None wanted to suffer Pomar’s fate.  Better to experience the loss of Ahura for a little while than forever.

When the night sky turned purple in the east, Fatimah spotted seagulls in the sky, and even smelled the saltiness of the sea.  Others began to notice the same thing, and excited murmurs raced up and down the bone-weary column.  Mothers whispered encouraging words to older children, while fathers carried young children too tired to walk.  Many parents looked as if they needed to be carried themselves.  It took most of Fatimah’s concentration to put one foot in front of the other.

The sun broke above the tree lines as Fatimah began to hear the faint crashing waves.  The smell of the sea was stronger now, and a breeze had picked up.  Within an hour, the column rounded a bend and stared at the abandoned huts and stone piers of the Tuathan village Tsall.  The village had been deserted two decades ago after a terrible hurricane destroyed most of the town.  Without the resources to rebuild, along with a dwindling population, the survivors simply moved to different villages inside the Beldamark.

Beyond the decaying huts, Fatimah saw the dark blue sea.  White waves crashed on the crumbling stone piers and a narrow strip of sandy beach that stretched north and south beyond sight.  The red sun hung just above the sea’s horizon, making the water look like sparkling diamonds and rubies.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Fatimah had ever seen.

The ragged band of Tuathans behind her surged forward to stand on the sandy beach, as if being near the sea would make them safe forever.  Fatimah also wanted to walk in the surf that pounded the sand.  It had been years since she had seen the sea, and the salvation from the harrowers it promised made her want to touch the water.

The first inkling Fatimah had that something was wrong was that the promised ships were no where in sight.  That concerned her, but she was not too worried since the vessels could be called by communication through Ahura to the priest on the ship.

What scared her were the two harrowers who emerged from the forest and walked beside the lead Tuathans, just outside the shield.  They also had a shield of their own, although theirs made everything within it distorted, as if viewed through an unevenly cast window.

As they approached, Fatimah could make out two men.  One wore the same buckskin and woolen clothes of a Tuathan, though much shabbier and muddier than even the marching Tuathans.

Fatimah was even more shocked by the other harrower.  He wore Recindian clothes—black breeches, white shirt, black coat, and a black tri-corner hat.  He had a thick, white mustache that hung over his lips.  Fatimah recognized him as the man who had shared a tent with Taran during their march from Markwatch, but she could not remember his name.  She wondered why she had not smelled the Taint of Angra on him when she first met him, then realized she had never come within five paces of the man.  She had only smelled the Taint on Taran when she was less than a pace from him.

The Recindian bowed, and said, “We come under a flag of truce.  Please excuse the fact we have no flag.”

The second man next to him, a little older than Fatimah, gave a high-pitched maniacal laugh.

“Who are you?” Melahara said, striding toward the two harrowers, but staying within the shield.

“Kumar Ladak, proud Fomorian at your service, my lady.  And my associate is…well, I don’t really know his name.  Forgot to ask when I turned him into a harrower.  Anyway, our names are not important, but our offer is.  Give us the Zervakan, and your people may live.”

“The Zervakan, the Zervakan,” the younger man repeated, his grin showing yellow, rotten teeth.  He hopped around like a dog eager for a treat.

“What makes you think we have him?”

Ladak snorted.  “Who else could have created this grand shield?  Quite impressive, I must say.  We know you do not yet have the strength to create one.  Which means you have a Zervakan among you.”

“Zervakan, Zervakan,” the younger man chanted.

“Even if we did have the Zervakan among us, you know we cannot give him to you.  You will only use him against us.”

“And you would not use him against us?”  Ladak shook his head reproachfully at Melahara, as if scolding a young child.  Melahara’s frown said she did not appreciate it.

“Whether or not you believe this,” Ladak said, “our fight is not with you, Holy Seat.”

Melahara raised an eyebrow.  “And I suppose the attack on our Heiron and the harassment along our journey was your idea of opening diplomatic relations?”

Ladak pointed a finger at her.  “We were prepared to leave you in peace, but you forced us to act by allying with our true enemy—the Recindian Compact.  They represent the greatest threat in this world to my people and to yours.”

“Ah, so we should band together to fight the Compact, is that right?”  Melahara laughed.  “We may lack your Wielding strength—for the moment—but we are not fools.”

“Think about it,” Ladak said patiently.  “I’ve lived in the Compact for generations.  Their Pathist priests have corrupted the people with their teachings against ‘supernaturalism.’  They’ve fought two wars against Mazumdahr, a country that has strong ‘supernaturalist’ beliefs, simply because the Compact fears those beliefs.  Do you really think the Pathists in the Compact will just let you settle on their lands?  Even if their government believes you, the people will not.  They have been conditioned too well.  You know this.  It will be just like a thousand years ago, when you were chased into the Beldamark by mobs with pitchforks and nooses.”

Melahara regarded the Fomorian with a smirk, but Fatimah saw her eyes begin to narrow, as if Ladak’s words had struck home.

“This world has forgotten the powers that created it,” Ladak said, “that keep it strong and enable it to survive.  Given time, the Compact’s fear of ‘supernaturalism’ will make them try to destroy you.”

Eblin approached Melahara, leaning heavily on her staff.  “Since when do harrowers think of the welfare of others?” she asked.

“Fomorian,” Ladak said.  “He’s the harrower.  And I don’t care about your people.  Look at you.  You can barely hold back four harrowers.  What are you going to do when you’re attacked by true-blood Fomorians?  No, we don’t see you as a threat.  But we will if you proceed with this doomed and misguided alliance with the Compact.  We will defeat them regardless of whether you help them.  It’ll just be easier, quicker, and with far less loss of life if you don’t.”

Then he turned to Melahara.  “Give us the Zervakan and we will destroy the Compact within weeks.  You can go back to your Beldamark homes and live peaceful lives like you have done over the last millennium.”

Melahara said, “And after the Compact is defeated you will come for us.”

Fatimah was shocked more at the tone of Melahara’s voice rather than the statement.  It sounded more like a question, as if the Holy Seat was actually considering the Fomorian’s offer.  Fatimah did not allow her face to show her confusion, but she hoped that Eblin noticed the undertones.  If Eblin did, though, her face did not show it.

Ladak smiled.  “As long as your people stay in the Beldamark, you have nothing to fear from us.”

Melahara considered this for a moment.  “And what assurances can you give us?”

Fatimah could not contain her outrage any longer.  “Mother Seat, do not believe anything—”

Eblin hissed, “Silence, girl!”

Fatimah stared at Eblin, but her old Master said, “Do not interrupt the Holy Seat.”

The younger harrower gave a high laugh while staring at Fatimah.  “Turmoil and trouble, hee, hee.”

“So much for Tuathan discipline,” Ladak said, grinning at Fatimah.

“I said,” Melahara repeated, “what assurances can you give me that you will not come after us once the Compact is gone?”

Ladak turned his gray eyes to Melahara.  “Because I know how the Barrier fell, and I can help you raise it again around the Beldamark.”

Ladak took a gold pocket watch from his black coat, glanced at it, and said, “I’ll be generous and give you one hour to talk amongst yourselves.”

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 41

After marching five hours, Eblin called a halt that was greeted with quiet sighs of gratitude from the Tuathan masses.

Fatimah ensured there were enough priests to maintain the shield, and then made her way to the back of the column to await Melahara’s return.  Melahara had received word from Pomar, through Ahura, that they found Taran and were returning to the column.  Upon hearing this, Melahara gathered all the priests that the column could spare, along with a squad of Heshmen, and went to meet Pomar.  Melahara forbade Fatimah from accompanying her, ignoring Fatimah’s inappropriate protests.  When Melahara’s sharp denials did not silence Fatimah, Eblin did so in a harsh tone that she never used even when Fatimah was an Acolyte.

“It is not your place to question the Holy Seat’s wisdom, priest,” Eblin had said.  “Now do your duty and stop your childish whining.”

Fatimah had gritted her teeth and returned to her place among the priests maintaining the shield.

Fatimah reached the end of the column and sat in front of the shield’s blue, translucent edge.  Several Tuathan families also sat nearby, and she gave them reassuring smiles.  One of the children, a dirty-faced boy of five years, gave her a piece of cheese, for which Fatimah thanked him and ate gratefully.  The boy gave her a shy smile and ran back to his mother.

The dark clouds had weakened, and the first stars of dusk sparkled through the breaks.  Ahura and Angra shone like beacons in the sky, bathing the road in a strange mixture of color and darkness.  Fatimah watched the shadowy road behind the column, waiting for Melahara’s return.

As soon as Fatimah saw the blue-white glow of the shield approaching, she stood and walked outside the main shield toward the approaching figures.  Night had almost settled over the land, so it was not until she was within a dozen paces that she could see Taran walking among the priests and Heshmen, one of whom carried Pomar.  Behind them were Edoss and his men, all more grim-faced than usual.

Fatimah broke into a run and stopped in front of Taran just before she was about to throw her arms around him.  His hands were bound behind him and though he smiled at her, his eyes were sad.

And then she smelled the Taint.  Decay, stale blood, feces, and all the smells that would make a human sick, all combined into one.  It was weak, but unmistakable.  It came from Taran.  She backed away from him.

“You see, child,” Melahara said.  “I told you he could no longer be trusted.  You, too, can smell his betrayal.”

Fatimah’s voice failed her, the words frozen in her mind.  She looked at Taran, who stared back at her with those sad eyes.

“Is it true?” she asked him.

He opened his mouth, but no words came.  He did not have to answer, for his expression told her all.

She slapped him across the face, then slapped him again, and then a third time.  “I trusted you!”

Melahara grabbed Fatimah’s hand when she was about to strike a fourth time.  “Control yourself, priest,” she said.  “He will be judged after our people are safe.”

Melahara cast a glance back at Edoss, who now stood at Taran’s side.  The small man’s glare made him seem taller.

Fatimah turned around and ran back to the main shield, through the resting Tuathans, stopping only when she reached the front of the column.  The priests surrounding the current shield holder gave her questioning looks, but she ignored them.

How could he have turned against them?  He was her friend, she trusted him…and all this time he was a harrower?  But it did not make sense.  How could he Wield Ahura and Angra?  Was he really in league with the harrowers who attacked Fedalan, and who followed the Tuathans now?

Fatimah heard the crowd behind her murmur, and she turned to see Melahara leading the bound Taran to the covered wagon.  She ordered him inside, and he climbed in without a word.  Dylan Edoss entered the wagon with Taran.  Several Heshmen and priests stood outside, along with Lee Cursh and every one of Edoss’s remaining Shadarlak.  Both groups eyed each other in ways that made Fatimah wonder if a cough from one would cause the other to attack.

“This is terrible,” one of the Acolytes said to another several paces away.  “Why would the Zervakan betray us?”

“I heard he was never with us to begin with,” the second Acolyte said, her tone filled with conspiratorial certainty.  “I heard he only pretended to be with us so he could infiltrate the priesthood.  He was a harrower all along.”

Fatimah whirled around and stalked toward the gossiping Acolytes.  When they saw her approach, both bowed their heads.

“Isn’t there some food you two could be handing out to the people?”

They both bowed again and said, “Yes, priest,” then scurried off to the food wagon to help with the distribution.  Upon seeing Fatimah’s anger, several more Acolytes standing nearby rushed off to assist their sisters.

Fatimah went back to the group of priests who were maintaining the shield.  Bessi Gyhll was currently holding the shield, her freckled face rapturous.

“I will take over now,” Fatimah said to Bessi.  The young priest ignored her at first, so Fatimah stood in front of her and said loudly, “Bessi, I will take over now.”

The dreamy expression on Bessi’s face turned to confusion and disappointment.  “I just took over the shield a few minutes ago.”

“And you will give it up now,” Fatimah said.

Bessi had been ordained a year after Fatimah, so Fatimah had the privilege of seniority on her.  The girl reluctantly nodded her head.  Fatimah raised her right hand to Ahura, recited the shield incantation, and then reached over to Bessi’s hand.  The younger priest handed control of the shield to Fatimah.  Fatimah was vaguely aware of Bessi collapsing into the arms of two priests who carried back to Eblin’s wagon.  Fatimah was too busy reveling in the peace and joy that flooded her senses.

Taran’s betrayal was now a distant memory.

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 40

When Taran, Edoss, and his men rounded a bend in the road, Taran saw several scarlet-sashed priests milling about near a fallen tree off to the right side, one of them with her hand raised and a shield surrounding them.  Ten Tuathan Heshmen leaned on their spears, all watching the forest in different directions.  The dark pine trees were closing in on either side of the road so that it was no more than ten paces from the muddy track.  The priests started murmuring when they saw Pomar in the arms of one of the Shadarlak, and the Heshmen assumed a more alert posture with their spears held at their sides.

“Pomar Wielded too much,” Taran called out as he approached them.  “She needs help.”

Several priests rushed forward, along with some of the Heshmen, who had returned their drawn spears into the quivers on their backs.  One of the men took Pomar from the Shadarlak and carried her to a spot on the side of the road beneath a low hanging branch, which made the ground beneath it relatively mud-free.  Taran noticed that Melahara and the priests who stayed behind, including the Heshmen, all stared at him.  Taran decided to get his apologies over with.

Three priests tended to Pomar, while Melahara and five other priests—one of which maintained their shield with a dreamy look—faced Taran.  The red-bearded Heshmen watched him, all keeping a tight grip on their spears.  Once Taran was within the radius of their shield, he released Ahura.  The fatigue was non-existent now, but the despair that came with losing Ahura’s peace was as terrible as it had always been.

Taran glanced at the priests tending to Pomar.  “Will she be all right?”

“Maybe,” Melahara said.  “Although she might never Wield again if she recovers.”

Taran sighed.  He could not imagine never being able to touch Ahura—

There was a chuckling from the dark voice in his mind.  So much for that ‘I’ll never Wield again after I’m home’ promise, it said.  You will never let it go.

Ignoring the voice, Taran said, “It was my fault.  I should have watched her more—”

“Where did you go?” Melahara asked.

Taran decided it was best to tell her as much of the truth as possible.  He would leave out the part about calling on Angra.  It was something he did not even want to admit to himself.

“I saw my daughter,” he said.  “Or what I thought was my daughter.  It turned out to be a harrower trick.”

“Obviously,” Melahara said.  “And what were you doing out there for an hour all by yourself in woods crawling with Tainted and harrowers?”

Taran said, “I looked for my daughter.  But the harrower responsible for the trick attacked me, and so I killed him.”

“And who was this harrower?  Was there only one?”

“I did not know him,” Taran snapped.  “And yes, there was only one.”

Melahara looked at Edoss and asked, “How did you find him, Edoss?  Was he fighting this harrower?”

Edoss stepped between Taran and Melahara.  “Say what you mean rather than continue with this interrogation.”

“Very well, Speaker,” Melahara said.  “Taran Abraeu abandoned us.  He left several hundred innocent people to die just as the harrowers attacked in earnest.  That is quite a coincidence, yes?”

Edoss laughed.  “Are you suggesting that Abraeu is a harrower?  From what I know of your powers—and it is very little, I grant you—no one can Wield Ahura and Angra.”

Melahara gazed at Taran with an icy stare.  “That is true.  For the most part.”

“I am not a harrower,” Taran said.

He said this mostly to Melahara, but partly to silence the quiet laughter in his mind.  The laughter only increased.

One of the priests tending to Pomar said, “Mother Seat, she is awake.”

Melahara glanced back to where Pomar lay.  Then she looked back at Taran, and said to the priest, “Ask her how many trails of Angra she saw when she found Taran Abraeu.”

They got you now, the dark voice whispered in Taran’s mind.  Kill them all now before they kill you.  Angra will show you how.

Stop, Taran screamed in his mind.

The priest asked Pomar Melahara’s question, then leaned near Pomar’s mouth.  When Pomar had whispered her answer, the priest stood and said, “Two.  Pomar said she saw two Angra trails.”

Melahara said to Taran, “I thought you said you only faced one harrower?”

Kill them now, the voice screamed, its urgency so painful that Taran almost did call for Angra.  Instead he fell to his knees and grabbed his shirt with both hands to keep a hand from reaching for the black ring in the sky.

“No!” he screamed back to the dark voice.

When he looked up, he saw the priests all had their hands raised and were Wielding Ahura.  The guns from all five of the Shadarlak flew into the outstretched hands of the priests.  The remaining Heshmen had sprung forward and had their spears at the necks of Edoss and every Shadarlak before any could draw their sabers.  Taran felt a tingling sensation all around him, as if he were encased in static electricity.

“We are not your enemy, Melahara!” Edoss yelled.

“Maybe you are not, Speaker,” Melahara said.  “But Taran Abraeu is.  He has Wielded Angra.  I could smell the Taint on him as soon as he was within five paces.  He cannot be allowed back among my people.”

“So you’re just going to leave him out here?”

Melahara’s face grew hard.  “He cannot be freed either.”

I told you, the dark voice mocked.  To silence the voice, Taran shot his hand up to Ahura, seeking to disarm the Heshmen just as the priests had disarmed the Shadarlak…but nothing happened.  Ahura did not respond.

Seeing Taran’s confusion, Melahara said, “That tingling you feel is similar to what the Barrier was, albeit on a vastly smaller scale.  While it surrounds you, you cannot Wield Ahura.  Or Angra.”

Edoss growled, “If you do this, Melahara, if you kill a Compact man in cold blood, your people will never be welcome in my country.  You need us.  Don’t throw it away.”

Melahara pointed to Taran.  “This man is a danger to both our peoples.  He can Wield Ahura and Angra with a strength that has not been seen since before the Barrier.  We cannot trust him, therefore he is too dangerous to be allowed to live.”

There was a rustling in the forest on either side of the road, and then twenty Shadarlak, ten on the left and ten on the right, emerged from the woods with their revolvers aimed at the Tuathans.

Captain Laesh yelled, “If I see one hand go up, we’re firing.  You men, drop the spears.”  When none of the Heshmen moved, Laesh screamed, “Now!”

Laesh strode forward and aimed his revolver at Melahara’s head.  “Tell them to drop their spears, madam.”

“You can kill me if you want, Captain,” Melahara replied in a serene voice, her hands tucked into cloak.  “But my men will take your Speaker with me before you can shoot them all.”

Taran knew Laesh had not touched the Crucible bowl, so the Shadarlak captain had no idea what Melahara just said.  When Laesh cocked the revolver, Edoss cried, “Wait, Captain!”

Laesh never took his eyes off of Melahara.  “What are your orders, sir?”

“Melahara,” Edoss said, this time in more conciliatory tones.  “We are surrounded by harrowers and Tainted who could attack us all at any moment.  Must we do this now?  Can’t we resolve this once your people are out of harm’s way?”

Melahara’s lips tightened as she considered Edoss’s plea for compromise.

See how they barter for your life as if you weren’t even here, the dark voice said.  Trust none of them.  They don’t deserve your help.

“Stop,” Taran whispered, shaking his head.  The voice was growing stronger by the moment, and Taran was starting to doubt his sanity.  He focused all of his concentration on Melahara, as she stood silently, considering Edoss’s words.

After an eternity, Melahara said, “Here is the compromise.  Taran Abraeu will be taken into our custody while we march to the sea.  Once my people are safe, he will be judged.  I will not make any promises on the outcome of that trial, but it will be fair.  This is my only offer, Speaker.”

Edoss glared at Melahara a moment, and then nodded once.

The Heshmen took hold of Taran’s arms and marched him toward the center of the Tuathan column.  Though he was now a prisoner of the Tuathans, he was relieved that their personal Barrier surrounded him.

The temptation to use Angra to kill them all had become too hard to resist.

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 39

Taran thought Edoss and his five Shadarlak were another illusion when they emerged from the forest into the clearing.  Little Pomar Aliin led them, the blue-white bubble of a shield encasing them all, a tendril of Ahura caressing her uplifted hand.

Taran instantly Wielded his own shield.  The joy of Ahura came freely to him now, without the lengthy incantations or loving visualizations.  He did not know if he had to concentrate less to receive Ahura, or if he was just getting better at it.  Regardless, the shield sprang into existence, and he stood to face the potential threat.

“Are you real?” Taran asked, knowing the words sounded foolish as soon as they came from his mouth.  But he did not care.  Ahura took away his anxieties and left only peace.

“Taran,” Edoss said, approaching him cautiously.  Pomar walked alongside to keep the Speaker within the radius of the shield.  “What happened?  Are you hurt?”

Taran was silent a moment, for he was still unsure if the improbable sight of Edoss was real.  But then he felt the Aspects of Ahura emanating from Pomar’s shield, and he knew that at least they were real.  The harrowers might deceive his eyes, but they could not deceive his heart.

Taran slumped back against the downed tree, and then released Ahura.  The Aspects fled him, and he was left with his previous misery, guilt, and shock.  He felt a little light-headed after releasing Ahura, but it passed within a few seconds.

“Pomar saw two Angra trails this way,” Edoss said, scanning the clearing.  “We thought you were under attack.”

Taran had been thinking about what he was going to say to the others when he returned to the Tuathans.  Would they believe that he saw his daughter?  And what would they do if they found out he had Wielded Angra?  Would they believe that Kumar Ladak was a harrower?  Taran decided that the best answer was to lie.  They would never take him back into the fold if they knew what he had done.  What he was.

“I saw a girl,” Taran said.  “On the road.  She ran into the woods…but I couldn’t find her.”

Edoss glanced down at the remains of Kumar Ladak and grimaced.  “What happened here?”

Without looking down, Taran said, “It was a harrower.  He attacked me, but ran into my shield just as I raised it.”

“Really?” Pomar said, looking down at the remains.  Her voice had a dreamy quality to it that Taran knew was due to her holding Ahura.  “They just explode into vapor, yes?  All Tainted do this when—”

“Apparently the harrowers don’t,” Taran snapped.  Pomar closed her mouth and her cheeks turned almost as scarlet as the sash around her waist.  Taran regretted snapping at the young priest, but he said no more.

“Well,” Edoss said, watching Taran.  “We’d better get back to the others.”

Edoss turned to Pomar and asked, “Can you hold the shield until we get back?”

Pomar’s eyes still had that faraway look.  “Much yes.”

She then turned and led them out of the clearing and into the forest.  Edoss mouthed the words, “Watch her,” to Taran, and Taran nodded.  Taran would be prepared to take over the shield if Pomar should falter.  He wondered if she really could Wield long enough to get them back, or if it was just the confidence that Wielding gave her.  He knew the feeling of thinking anything was possible when he held on to Ahura.

Taran now also understood the wild and chaotic sense of release that Angra gave him, that the whole world was his and all he had to do was think what he wanted, and the world would do his bidding.  He tried not to think about Angra.  He would never use it again.

But that’s what you said about Ahura.

He was startled by the change in tone of his inner voice.  He had heard it all his life, but the knife-like edge to it made him uneasy, like being growled at by a beloved dog.

Angra and Ahura, Taran declared to himself.  After I get home, they will be nothing more to me than strange rings in the sky.

Taran could almost hear the sharp voice chuckling, but it did not say more.

He had been so lost in thought that he was surprised when they finally reached the road.  Pomar stumbled over a fallen branch, but quickly righted herself.  She turned to Taran and said in a distracted voice, “I fine.  I hold shield a bit longer.”

But Taran saw that her eyes were becoming bloodshot and that her shoulders were hunched.

“You’ve done enough, Pomar,” Taran said.  “Let me take over.”

She shook her head weakly, her jaw set.  “No, I hold longer.  Please, just little longer…”

Her eyes rolled up into her head, and Taran caught her before she fell to the ground.  She convulsed in his arms, and he held her tight to keep her from thrashing about on the muddy road.

“What’s wrong?” Edoss asked.

“She’s Wielded too long,” Taran said.

Pomar suddenly stopped convulsing.  Her eyes shot open, she let out a deep sigh, and then was still.  Taran put his cheek to her mouth.  He checked her pulse on her neck.  It was faint.

“She’s alive,” Taran said.  He shook his head and growled, “It’s my fault.  I didn’t pay attention to her.  I should have—”

“That’s enough, Abraeu,” Edoss said.  He did not shout, but his words were like a slap across the face, making Taran pay attention.  “We need to get her back to the others, and you have to shield us.  Doctor, are you with us?”

Taran realized that they were on the muddy road, with lightning craters on either side of them, and without a shield to protect them.  The Shadarlak looked about nervously, watching for signs of movement in the woods.  The sky still roiled with black clouds, but the rain had stopped and the humid air was still.  Up the road, Taran saw a large, multi-colored tendril of Ahura touching the ground on the other side of a hill, maybe a twenty minute march away.

He nodded to Edoss, and then stood up, picked up Pomar and handed her to one of the Shadarlak.  He then raised his hand to Ahura and asked for the shield.  As the shield sprang into existence around them, he noticed again that he had not said the incantation to focus his thoughts.  All he had done was ask Ahura for the shield, and Ahura had given it to him.

Angra will do the same, that sharp voice said in his mind.  And more.

Taran ignored it, and started up the road.

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 38

The storm was fading when Fatimah stumbled the second time, almost losing her grip on Ahura.

“Enough, Fatimah,” Melahara said beside her.  “Rina, take over the Wield from Fatimah.”

Fatimah was about to object, but Melahara said, “You will give up the Wield, priest.”

The tone of Melahara’s voice reminded her of the unflinching obedience required of her when she was an Acolyte, and it was that more than anything that made her give up the Wield to Rina.  The small, dark-haired Rina took over the Wield with a fearful expression, as if she were suddenly carrying the weight of the world.

But Fatimah saw nothing more.  She collapsed to the ground as soon as the wonderful peace and joy left her body.  She did not pass out, a fact that meant she was growing stronger, but she could hardly move her head much less stand.  Several Tuathan Heshmen carried her back to the small covered wagon on which Eblin was riding and laid her on blankets that had been prepared for the priests recovering from their Wields.

Eblin poked her soaked head into the wagon from the driver’s seat and smiled proudly at Fatimah.  “You did well, priest.  Remarkable strength you have…for someone who was supposed to have only Wielded six times.”

When the Barrier fell, Melahara had decreed that priests could only Wield in the presence of their Masters.  Fatimah had only Wielded six times in front of Eblin, but, contrary to Melahara’s decree, had practiced many times on her own.

Fatimah barely had the strength to form the words, “Have they found Taran?”

Eblin’s smile faded.  “Dylan Edoss has gone to look for him.  Pomar Aliin went along to shield him and his men.”

“How…how long?”

“It has been an hour.”

Fatimah was not only shocked that Taran had been missing an hour, but that she had been Wielding for that long.  She now understood why it would be so easy for the undisciplined to continue Wielding until they died from exhaustion.  While holding Ahura, time seemed to stop and speed up simultaneously.  The peace she felt while embracing Ahura was…addictive.  Even now she wanted to Wield, to find that joy again.  Even now, when she knew that to do so would mean certain death.

“Fatimah,” Eblin said, “do you remember exactly what he said before he ran off into the woods?”

Fatimah thought back to what Taran had said a mere hour ago, which felt like last week.  He had been walking along, setting a quick pace, when he stopped and asked Fatimah about a girl in the road.  But Fatimah had not seen a girl.  She told Eblin this, and Eblin frowned.

“The harrowers know so much more about their lost powers than we do,” Eblin said.  “We have yet to create convincing illusions.”

“The girl was an illusion?” Fatimah asked.  And then before Eblin could confirm her suspicions, Fatimah said, “He thinks he saw his daughter.”

Eblin nodded.  “Nothing else would have made him run off like that.”

Fatimah suddenly felt energy flowing through her again, and she sat up.  She marveled that she had the strength to walk, though she knew that Wielding would be out of the question for at least the next half hour.

“How did the harrowers know about Taran’s daughter?”

Eblin’s normally affable face was dark when she looked at Fatimah.  “From what I’ve read in the ancient texts describing Angra powers, they can only generate convincing illusions if they have seen their subjects.  The harrower who created that illusion has seen Taran’s daughter, and is likely someone Taran knows—”

“There is a harrower in the Compact delegation?” Fatimah said.

Eblin raised her eyebrow at Fatimah’s interruption.

“Do we know who?” Fatimah asked.

“It could be any of them.  Certainly not one that is within the shield, for he could not have generated the illusion.”

“Then the harrower is out in the woods somewhere with Taran.”

She gathered her waterlogged cloak around her and jumped down from the wagon and onto the muddy ground.  The rain had lessened since she entered the wagon, and there were no more lightning strikes, but the clouds were still black and ominous.  And the Tainted no longer attacked the shield.  The quiet, dark woods were almost more eerie than the Tainted shrieks.

“Where are you going?” Eblin asked from the front seat of the wagon.

“To find Taran,” Fatimah said.  She stepped in a puddle of mud that was deeper than she thought.  It soaked her leggings, but she continued on through the Tuathans behind the wagon.  With all they had been through, they could only give her passing glances—most gazed fearfully at the clouds or the dark forest on either side of the road.

“Fatimah,” Melahara called out from behind, but Fatimah ignored the Worldly Seat.  Unfortunately, a large Tuathan, a farmer from the looks of him, stopped her and said, “I think the Worldly Seat is calling for you, priest.”

Unable to ignore Melahara any longer, she turned.  “Taran Abraeu saved the lives of six Heshmen two nights ago.  Something he did not have to do.  We cannot leave him behind.  He would have gone after any one of us.”

Melahara glared at Fatimah.  “Really?  He chose to leave over five hundred innocent people unprotected to go chasing an illusion.  I know he thought whatever he saw was real, but nevertheless, we now know that we can never trust him again.”

“But if he saw his daughter—”

“Yes, his daughter.  And as long as she lives, she will always have a hold on him that his responsibilities as the Zervakan can never break.  The Fomorians now know this, and they will use it to turn him against us.  We cannot risk that.  He is too powerful, and our numbers are too few.”

Melahara sighed.  “If he returns, Taran Abraeu must be killed.”

 

 

ZERVAKAN

by Rob Steiner

 

Chapter 37

“Your daughter is very beautiful, Zervakan,” Kumar Ladak said, glancing back at Mara.  “A little young for my tastes, but still…”

Taran stared at Kumar Ladak.  A harrower?  Him?  How had he exited the shield without disintegrating?  But as Taran thought back, he could not remember seeing Ladak since before the harrower attack began on the Heiron.  Perhaps he had slipped away in the ensuing chaos.  Taran had been so preoccupied with the attack, and then Wielding, that he had not even thought of Ladak since then.

However he had slipped away, he was here now, and he was threatening Mara.

Taran snarled, “I’ll rip your heart out if you touch her.”

Ladak laughed.  “Now that is the reaction I wanted.  Your anger feels good, doesn’t it?”  Ladak turned and started toward Mara.

“Good” was not what Taran felt at the moment.  At the moment, there was nothing he wanted to do but kill Kumar Ladak.

“Ladak!” Taran screamed.  “I swear, if you touch her—”

“You’ll what?” Ladak said, standing before Mara and looking up at her.  She struggled in her bindings, her glances shifting fearfully between Ladak and Taran.

“You’ll what?  Wield a peaceful little rain shower at me, like you did in the library?  If you haven’t noticed, we’re quite wet as it is.”

He reached up and began to stroke Mara’s ankle.

“Daddy,” Mara moaned.  She tried jerking her ankle away from Ladak’s touch, but the harrower grabbed the ankle with his other hand to hold it steady.  Mara kicked him in the face with her other foot, and Ladak snarled at her.  He grabbed the other foot, and then yanked her down from the vines that had bound her.  She fell to the ground behind the stump on which she had been sitting when Taran found her.  He could not see her, but he heard her scream, “Daddy, help!”

With a terrible laugh, Ladak jumped on top of her, and Taran could no longer see either of them.  But he still heard Mara’s screams.

The rage and frustration exploding from Taran was more than he had ever felt in his life.  In desperation, he raised his right hand to the rings, screamed with all his hatred for the power to kill Ladak, to save Mara…and then he felt a power surge through him that made his boiling anger as weak as the breath of a butterfly.  It was a cold heat and a dark flame that filled his soul.  And he reveled in it.

Taran looked at the vine that had wrapped itself around his feet, and it seemed to wither at his gaze, bowing to its master.  The vine eased him to the ground, and then released him.

Taran scrambled to his feet.  He looked to the branches above where Ladak and Mara were struggling.  The branches twisted and shrieked—shrieks only Taran could hear—but he did not care, as long as they did what they were told.  The branches gave in, and turned into tentacles with brown scales and barbs that flailed about for a moment, adjusting to the pain of their new forms, and then shot down toward where Ladak had disappeared behind the stump.  The tentacles pulled him up into the air.  He screamed as the barbs embedded themselves into his legs and torso.  The tentacles hung Ladak upside down, just as Ladak had done to Taran.

“Now what should I do with you?” Taran growled up at the struggling Ladak.

“Please, Taran,” Ladak said, blood pouring down over his face from the wounds on his legs and torso.  “Please don’t kill me.  Your daughter is safe, she’s not really here.  Look, look!”

Taran snarled, and then peered around the corner of the stump where he had last seen her.

She was not there.

“What did you do with her?” Taran roared.

Ladak flinched and began to whimper.  “Nothing, I swear to you, Taran, it wasn’t really her, it was just an illusion to get you here, oh, please, it hurts, please release me.”

Ladak’s cowardly cries sickened Taran.  “Why did you create an illusion of my daughter?  Why did you bring me here?”

“Please, I can’t talk, he’ll kill me, please…”

“Answer me or I will kill you!”

Taran told the vine wrapped around Ladak’s leg to tighten.  The deeper the barbs went, the louder Ladak’s shrieking grew.

“I don’t know his name, please, I swear to you, please…”

“Why did you to bring me here?  Tell me!”

The rage coursing through Taran’s soul made him want to end this interrogation quickly so he could make Ladak suffer pain that would make talking impossible.

“I don’t know!” Ladak screamed.  “I only do what he tells me!”

Impatience finally conquered Taran’s curiosity—or rather the rage burning in his veins.  He told the vines to rip Ladak apart.

And they did.

Different parts of Ladak’s body fell in different places throughout the clearing.  And Taran felt a satisfaction that he had never felt before—the satisfaction of watching a hated enemy get what he deserved.  And the satisfaction of being the instrument of that justice.

But as he watched the body fall to the ground, Taran realized that he had just killed a man.  The rage flowing through him ebbed as more and more horror at what he had just done began to leak through.

And then the rage turned off as if it was a wiretype, and all Taran felt was disgust.  He looked down at the bloody remains of Kumar Ladak, a man he had just tortured and then torn to pieces.

Taran sat down, ignoring the rain, staring at what he did.