The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1) Page 4

  He did not know what the crimson star meant. He should follow it; he knew that. He should follow the dream. But should he follow the old man? Would the old man pursue the dream? Did the old man even dream of the star as so many did? Would it be safe to travel with him? Hashel understood the old man could not protect him. He had learned too well that no one could really defend him. But the old man would be company. And companionship would be good on the road.

  He made his decision more through action of body than conscious thought, walking back from the shoreline and lying down near the old man, watching his narrow chest rise and fall in the rhythm of sleep. He wondered what the old man’s name might be. He had never said during the day. Hashel found it hard to keep thinking of him as the old man. If they were to travel together, it would be better to have a name to think of him by. He decided he would think of the man as Ondromead until he learned otherwise. He did not know where that name came from. He did not remember ever hearing it before.

  Hashel stared up at the newest celestial body in the night sky for a moment, and then he closed his eyes and fell into a deep and peaceful sleep free of questions about dreams and stars and his new companion and where he might awaken next.

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  To continue reading Hashel’s storyline follow this link.

  THE FUGITIVES

  SHA-KUTAN

  THE SCENT of fear and exhaustion mingled with the odor of desperation and anger. Another aroma filled the air. What was it? Gratitude? Relief?

  Sha-Kutan swung the door closed behind his back as he stepped into his small house. He looked at the woman holding the girl on the far side of the table. The blade in her hand wavered where she brandished it against him.

  “We were hungry,” the woman said, her eyes fixed on the ax resting across his right shoulder. “We only wanted some food. We’ll go. We mean you no harm.”

  “You could not harm me.”

  Sha-Kutan continued to stare at the woman and girl, wondering if he had made a mistake, if he had set himself on the wrong path. He had stood at the edge of the woods and waited, sensing the woman and girl as they approached, seeing them emerge from the tree line and follow the trail across the field. He had cursed his reticence to buy a horse or a mule when the woman examined the barn. She surely would have mounted a horse and fled.

  When she entered the house, he had pondered what to do. Let her steal food and escape? This seemed the best course of action. The men pursing her would find the farm soon, see evidence of her theft, and follow her, leaving him once more in peace.

  But how far could they flee with the men so close on their trail? How much longer could they run before exhaustion rendered flight impossible? The Book of Golden Words says, “Our door must always be open to the weary traveler, our larder a provision for those in need. Only by seeing the lost and outcast as our own can our hearts divine the essence of the Divine.”

  The words of his faith tore at him, urging him to action, but it was the girl who had brought him from his hidden vantage among the leaves and branches. Clinging to the woman’s neck, too tired for walking, the girl looked over the woman’s shoulder, out across the yard and through the darkness and into Sha-Kutan’s eyes. The girl had held that stare, watching Sha-Kutan as he watched her — while the woman carried her first to the barn and then into the house.

  Who was the girl? How had she seen him? Who was the woman to her? Why did the men hunt them? Should he risk his hard-fought safety to learn these answers? Could he follow the edicts of his faith and his curiosity?

  He would find out.

  Sha-Kutan lowered the ax head to the floor and leaned the handle against the wall. The woman relaxed slightly.

  “Eat.” Sha-Kutan gestured to the modest provisions stacked on the table and the lone chair beside the woman.

  Best to say little.

  Yes. Let her tell her story.

  The woman slowly sat in the chair, the girl in her lap. She lowered the meat knife to the table, leaving it within easy reach. She tore a hunk from the hard, flat loaf of dinbao and handed it to the girl. The girl mutely accepted the bread and began to gnaw on the thin crust as the woman used the blade to slice free a chunk of dried meat.

  Sha-Kutan stared at the woman and girl as they ate in silence. The woman did not look at him directly, but she kept him in the corner of her eyes, her hand never straying far from the blade. He crossed to a low table by the window and retrieved a clay pitcher of water and a dented pewter cup. He poured the water into the cup and sat them both on the table beside the woman and girl.

  The woman glanced at him as he stepped across the small space and lowered himself to the edge of the bed. She shifted in her chair to keep him in view as she handed the cup of water to the girl. The girl emptied the cup in a long gulp, holding it up as a signal for more. The woman poured more water into the cup, and the girl offered it up to her instead of drinking it. The woman accepted the cup and took a long sip before placing it on the table and cutting a large slice of cheese that she split in half to share with the girl.

  Saying nothing may be too little.

  And we have too little time.

  “Why do the men hunt you?” Sha-Kutan asked.

  The woman’s head snapped toward the door, and her hand reached for the knife. She clenched the hilt of the blade and then looked back to Sha-Kutan.

  “How do you know about the men following us?” the woman asked.

  “The same way I knew you were headed toward my farm.”

  The woman frowned and squinted at Sha-Kutan, clearly unhappy with such a vague answer.

  “Do they wish to harm you?” Sha-Kutan asked.

  “Yes,” the woman answered.

  “Why?”

  The woman put down the meat knife, wiped the grease from her lips with the back of her hand, and took a sip of water before speaking.

  “My husband died. Killed in the war. A border skirmish with the Daeshen army. He had defied his family to marry me. His father sits on the Inner Council. Mine sold cloth in the bazaar. His family tolerated me because he gave them no choice. As the only child, he could not easily be disinherited. After my husband’s death, his mother fell ill with grief. His father did not wait long after her passing to take a new and younger wife. She bore him a child. A boy. An heir. He then had the courts declare my marriage to his son void and my daughter named a sacrilege. He is an influential man with powerful allies. The soldiers he sends to hunt us will kill me and my daughter if they catch us. I’m sorry we broke into your home. We have not eaten in days.”

  The woman took another sip of water.

  A tragic story.

  A story woven of lies.

  Why would she lie?

  What does she hide?

  There was one truth in her tale.

  Yes. The men will kill her and the child if they find them.

  “We will go.” The woman tightened her arm around the girl and placed the palm of her free hand on the table to help her stand.

  “They are too close,” Sha-Kutan said. “And you are too weak. They will find you.”

  “How close?” The woman looked at the door and licked her lips.

  “Close enough.”

  The girl did not turn to the door. Her eyes held Sha-Kutan’s, staring at him with a look of curious expectancy. It unsettled him, and few things disconcerted Sha-Kutan.

  Why does the girl stare at us so?

  She is a danger, but I do not know how.

  Maybe this is why they are hunted.

  A dangerous child?

  A child in danger?

  What should we do?

  We can hold them and turn them over to the soldiers.

  Yes. The soldiers will leave then.

  And we will be safe again.

  And they will kill the girl.

  And they will kill the woman.

  After they have raped her.

  We could…

  Yes
. We could…

  The woman had joined the girl in staring at Sha-Kutan. He did not remember standing, but the motion must have brought the woman’s attention. Her eyes darted to the door and back to Sha-Kutan, her hand blindly searching out the hilt of the meat knife.

  “They will kill you if you run,” Sha-Kutan said. “I can hide you until they pass.”

  The woman glanced again at the door, her face a mixture of relief and fear and confusion. The girl had not altered her focus. A thin smile filled her lips as she continued to stare at Sha-Kutan. He found the smile more disquieting than the stare. No one ever smiled at Sha-Kutan.

  To continue reading the Fugitives story arena follow this link.

  To continue reading Sha-Kutan’s storyline follow this link.

  THE SEER

  KELLATRA

  A CHILL night breeze carried the scents of dying hearth fires, horse droppings in the street, and early summer flowers from a box beneath the windowsill. Kellatra stood at the window of her bedchamber and breathed deeply, as much to take in the fragrances of the night air as to cleanse the palate of her mind. She appreciated the discordant combination of aromas. She considered them an immeasurable improvement over the odors that used to fill the air day and night before the town raised the taxes necessary to finally bury the refuse canals that ran alongside the streets. Her husband, Rankarus, had believed the expense to be a waste of time and coin. She had assured him that more sanitary roads meant a tidier inn, which translated into less work and more patrons and increased profit. Her predictions proved correct and, as usual, he now feigned support for the idea from the first.

  She turned from the window to the sound of her husband’s gentle snoring in the bed nearby. His arms stretched over his head, his mouth hanging open, he appeared oddly childlike, and she experienced an upwelling of emotion as she gazed at him. Ten years, two children, a bustling inn, and even when he looked foolish in sleep, she marveled at their love. No one had told her that this love might grow like an oak tree planted in their hearts, gaining strength and size with each passing year.

  Rankarus snorted and rolled over as though responding to Kellatra’s thoughts. She turned back to the street, jealous at her husband’s easy slumber, wondering if she should wake him to see the new star shining above the rooftops of the small town. She had been dreaming of the star when she woke to see it in the sky outside the window. It frightened her, witnessing reality bending to the details of the dream. She wondered if Rankarus dreamed the dream. He said he did not. He called it a form of mob delusion, like people believing they saw monsters in the shadowed woods surrounding the town because others claimed to have seen the mysterious creatures lurking between the trees. She had shared her experience of the dream with him, but he seemed unconcerned. “Suggestion,” he had said. She had heard others speak of the dream and had one similar herself. Nothing to cause worry. She worked too hard, was all. Then he had kissed her and taken her apron and made her play with the children for an hour while he tended to the patrons of the inn that day. She had not bothered telling him that the dream came every night. She pondered what other aspects of the dream would impinge upon the world in subsequent evenings.

  Kellatra stared at the star again, squinting to see it more clearly, its brilliant blood-red hue set against a sea-wash of lesser lights, giving the night sky a mesmerizing quality. Her mind and senses expanded in a peaceful wave as she contemplated the new star. What could it mean? Could it be proof of this new god? Would the old gods also break their eternity of silence? As a devout Pashist, she had chosen her own personal deity among the pantheon as the focus of her daily worship. Some changed their primary god frequently, often with a life passage — as when transitioning from childhood to adulthood, or with marriage, or the birth of a child, or upon the death of a loved one — aligning themselves with the god most appropriate to their needs. Kellatra chose Dori, the goddess of justice, at the age of nine and had never reconsidered the decision. Might her goddess now be planning a similar move to express her will in the world? Would all the gods step forward now? These questions brought another to her mind. Might not even the god of the neighboring warring dominions arise to speak to his followers, urging them to once more conquer the realm and extinguish the other faiths in a new Great Dominion?

  A more important question came to her: Why now? Thousands of years of silence and a god suddenly speaks to the world? What had changed? And in changing, what would continue to alter?

  A soft whistle drew her attention from the heavens back to the street. A man in a long, gray cloak looked up at her from beneath her window. It took her a moment to shift her mind and recognize the face beneath the cowl. Menanthus. Her father’s closest friend. She had not seen him since … since a long time. Her heart beat faster at the sight of the salt-haired man. What could he be doing here in the town of Nahan Kana, in the Punderra Dominion, so far from the City of Leaves in the Juparti Dominion? How had he found her? He extended an arm, pointing around the back of the inn.

  Kellatra glanced at Rankarus in the bed and hoped he would not wake. She grabbed a woolen blanket from a nearby chair and wrapped it around her shoulders before quietly slipping through the door of the bedroom and into the hall. Her bare feet made little noise along the old floorboards and the stairs to the ground floor. She walked in silence through the darkened main chamber of the inn, down the narrow passage leading to the kitchen, and past the counter and cutting boards to the back door. She lifted the door brace, her hand resting on the handle as she calmed her mind and sought a place of inner stillness … in case.

  When she opened the door, Menanthus stood before her. She had not seen him in more than ten years, but his face bespoke hardships that suggested twice that number had passed. He had possessed two ears when she saw him last. Now his head held only one. He shifted his stance in the moonlight, the new star above his gray cowl, the chickens in the nearby coop clucking at the disturbance of his arrival, the pigs in the pen grunting in their sleep.

  “I am sorry.” The old man’s voice sounded weary and filled with regret.

  “How did you find me?” Kellatra felt the urge to invite him in and offer him wine and a meal. She ignored it.

  “Effort and luck.” Menanthus glanced behind him to the empty alley at the back of the inn.

  “Why have you sought me out?” Kellatra had hoped to never see this man again. Neither he nor anyone else from the time she had known him.

  “I had no choice.” Menanthus licked his lips in obvious unease.

  “We always have choices.” Kellatra heard the harshness in her voice, a part of her marveling at how long-dead emotions could so easily re-bloom in one’s heart with the bright light of memory and the water of regret.

  “I had nowhere else to turn.” Menanthus looked behind his shoulder again. “And I have no time.” He pulled a leather-wrapped parcel from beneath the folds of his cloak. He extended the mysterious package toward Kellatra with shaking hands.

  “What is it?” Kellatra did not raise her own hands to accept the object.

  “Do not open it.” The bundle trembled in the old man’s grasp. “Do not show it to anyone. I will come back for it.”

  “I want nothing to do with this.” Kellatra stepped back, grabbing the edge of the door, preparing to close it.

  “I defended you.” Menanthus’s anger rose in his voice. “I was the only one to support you. Even your own father did not stand for you.”

  Kellatra hesitated. The truth of the words gave her pause. She did owe him a debt. Possibly her life.

  “How long?”

  “A few days. No more.” Menanthus extended his hands again.

  As Kellatra accepted the package into her palms, she realized the leather wrapping concealed a small wooden box.

  “Thank you.” Menanthus nodded his gratitude and turned without another word, fleeing around the corner of the inn and back into the shadows of the night.

  Kellatra stared after the man for a moment. The
n she looked up and down the alley to reassure herself that none of her neighbors had risen from their beds to their windows, roused by voices in the night. She took one quick last look at the new star hovering above the awning of the adjacent house, then closed the door and leaned back against its black lacquered timbers. She held the leather-bound box away from her body as though it might attack her.

  What was in the box that brought Menanthus out of the shadows of her past to her doorstep in the middle of the night? And could it be coincidence that both he and the star arrived on the same evening at nearly the same time? She wished she could run upstairs and rouse Rankarus, show him the box, and recount the cryptic conversation with the old man from her life before they met. But to do so meant telling him the truth. That, she could not do.

  Instead, she opened the trap door to the root cellar, pausing with each squeal of the hinges. She lit a lantern that hung on the kitchen wall and carefully climbed down the ladder into the musty darkness. She hid the mysterious box beneath one of the slate stones lining the floor of the subterranean storeroom. Then she mounted the ladder out of the cellar, closed the hatch, blew out the lantern, wiped the dust from her bare feet with an old rag, returned upstairs to her room, and slid into bed beside her husband. She draped her arm around his midriff and listened to him snore, knowing she would never return to sleep that night, as much for the excitement the old man’s arrival sent buzzing through her head, as for the fear that sleep would once more bring the dream and that waking again might summon more of that dream to life.

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  To continue reading Kellatra’s storyline follow this link.

  THE FUGITIVES

  LEE-NIN