The Call of Dust, page 6
part #1 of Arat Series
The light of the rising moons met that of the dying suns, revealing a tall man in a dark cloak that hung heavily on wide shoulders. His elbow-length hair flowed freely, white and wavy with what looked to be silver highlights that captured the moonlight in flashes of movement. The sheath of his sword was partially visible on his side, but its hilt was hidden beneath his cloak.
Khiron felt the Arat's grip tighten on his, but he couldn't pull his eyes from the man. He felt that walking before him was a force of will, a being both disciplined and untamed. He finally understood that this was who the Arat needed to see and what a blind man had to experience. He was awed.
As the man reached the shore, he was met by eight dark figures who appeared out of the air itself. A ship sat waiting where the boat had dropped them off, a long ramp descending onto the sand. It was a sleek ship, the color of which Khiron couldn't decipher in the dwindling light.
Where in the name of Dris and every Ancient known and unknown did that boat and those people come from? And how did a ship of that size get this close to shore?
Finally coming to himself, he stole a glance at the Arat. Her eyes were as wide as her mouth was open. Beside her, the Nnesutee's blind eyes looked directly at the man on the shore. His jaw was tight, and his eyes leaked tears that ran down his dusky face in rivulets.
He turned back to see a woman standing beside the man. Her hair looked bone-white in the distance and stood less than a fingertips length from her scalp. The other eight figures were no longer there.
The woman bore no sword, but moonlight reflected off the braces of the sheathed daggers clasped upon her forearms. Whatever she wore, it hugged her skin tightly, revealing a clean-limbed and lithe form. Her movements were sure and graceful as if she moved to music that he couldn't hear. Even in the covering dark, he felt his heartbeat's tempo increase. Already racing, he held an irrational fear that he may die on the spot.
The man walked onto the ramp, and the woman followed. She then stopped, turning directly towards them. In a shimmer of moonlight, Khiron saw a beautiful face with almond-shaped eyes that cut through the dark.
He heard the Nnesutee whisper a name as if it was a prayer. “Neftii.”
It hung in the air before dissipating, and the woman turned away, disappearing into the ship's dark opening. The ramp lifted from the sand, and impossibly, the ship backed from the shore and quickly faded into the pool of night.
7
The Call of Dust
Zatrin Bei sat in the lotus position; her body suspended an arm's length above the floor in perfect stillness. Her hands rested on her knees, palms up, each cradling a round stone. A light glow radiated from her form, and tendrils of light spread like trip wires to fill the small stone chamber.
Her body secured, her mind searched for the young seer that she had seen at the docks of Chalice. The raw power of the young girl had been vast, her potential rivaling the Psionia'Matri, the head of her order. Raw and untrained as she was, the Arat was a bright light to the Sibulla and could be an invaluable resource to the Unified Dimensions. How the young seer had stayed hidden in Zaim for so long was an enigma that no longer mattered. Whatever the cloak of anonymity had been, it was gone. The Arat was in danger.
The dimension blurred before her as she searched for the power signature that she felt when their minds touched. Seas and lands whisked by; blues, whites, greens, and browns streaked together until they became a uniform black, and then in the stillness, she spotted a spark.
Her concentration absolute, the Sibulla focused on that spark. To her perception, it was a lone swirl of silver encased in a tight ball on a sea of nothingness. It grew closer and closer until strands of colors appeared, and a landscape took shape. She had found her.
The Arat sat on white sands with the man she had seen with her in Chalice. And there was another man, whose features were similar to the Master of Swords. A Nnesutee. She perceived no other person near them and then saw the door in the massive mountain. There was a mountain wall that ringed as far as she looked, but she could not see beyond its perimeter. Summoning all of her strength, she pushed against the indomitable darkness that lay beyond, with no effect. This should not be possible. She abandoned her efforts and shifted back to the Arat, who smiled gingerly as she spoke to the two men. The little girl showed no awareness of her presence.
Suddenly, the Nnesutee looked up, startling her. Zatrin felt his milky white eyes bore into her as if he could see into her very soul. His lip curled as he declared, “Loose here! Begone!” Eyes snapping open, she was shocked to find herself suddenly back in her chamber.
By the Ancients! This should not be possible.
She slowly descended to the floor, the tendrils dissipating into the ether and the illumination of her shielding now a dwindling vapor. Uncrossing her legs, she rose with deliberation, placing the stones she held in a silver box. She put the box into her trunk, which she then secured.
A knock came at the door. “Arbiter,” a muffled voice said, “the Great Raja summons you. I am to escort you to the throne room at your earliest convenience.”
She said nothing but stepped before a wall-length mirror to make sure that she was presentable. Reaching over to the desk beside the mirror, she picked up her gloves to put them on and saw, to her surprise, that her hands were trembling.
Zatrin entered the throne room to see that everyone was already in place. At the room's center was a travois where lay the scholar who was slain by the Ulaan. The scholar was comely, even in Nihil's grasp. Her skin a caramel brown, she looked little more than a young woman deep within the repose of sleep.
Laying on top of her body was a thin short-sword, partially unsheathed. It was single-edged with a square guard and a hilt that was longer than a single-handed grip, but not quite long enough to classify it as a two-handed one. Its craftsmanship marked the sword as being of exceptional quality.
Packages wrapped in papyrus were lined up beside her. A stack of unrolled manuscripts on a desk that had been brought about five paces from where she lay. The Raja’s advisor, Philomene, was looking them over with a frown. In the distance, she thought she heard the low buzzing of bees.
The Raja spoke from his throne, his tone a fount of respect. “I trust that your accommodations were suitable, Arbiter?”
“Great Raja of Ceidon, Brazen Shield of Mount Ceidon, Ruler of the Kingdom of Zaim; coming from you, they could be nothing less.” She moved with a sophisticated air, giving a nod to the Ulaan swordsmen, who returned it in like manner. “I take it that placing the sword upon the woman came from you, Master of Swords?” She took her place beside him, noting his focus upon the corpse.
“It did indeed, Arbiter. The honor of every great warrior is to be committed to the next world with their weapon. Her title or station makes no difference.”
Philomene lowered the papers he was examining and took up his post beside the Raja, looking keenly interested in the conversation.
“She was a scholar,” UiNemtasma of the Ulaan said dispassionately. “The sword rite is for swordsmen and none other.”
The Arbiter gave the Ulaan swordsman a curious glance. “A woman killed one of your swordsman who trained at a dojon dedicated to Dris, injured another such swordsman, and yet is not deemed worthy of the sword rite because of the lack of a title? Titles have their power, but when one demonstrates the definition of a title, have they not attained the right to claim it and all that it grants? Tell me, UiNemtasma. Will this issue require an Arbiter to settle it as well?”
Phiomene's brows raised as he looked at the Sibulla with a fresh regard. He then turned towards the Steep Bay as if listening to something beyond.
The Ulaan swordsman bowed, her expression one of concession. “It is right that the Master of Swords have this wish granted before he faces mortal combat. I give no objection.”
The Master of Swords remained impassive, his eyes remaining on the body of the deceased.
“Good,” the Sibulla said. “As both kingdoms have agreed to the rule of the Dojon of Dris in this matter, only the particulars of what happens after the challenge is settled must be discussed.”
A bell rang two times through the chamber; its pitch high and sound sharp.
“Regardless of the outcome,” the Arbiter continued, “the people of Mount Ceidon and all of Zaim shall not be harmed, in according with—”
The Raja raised his hand, cutting her off as the bell sounded again. “I acknowledge the Sibulla right of arbitration and the rules of governance that every ruler must follow once the process has commenced, but we have a guest.” The Raja pulled one of the rings on his throne's arm, and the doors opened partially, admitting Rephna, the Raja's aide and Royal arm of his will.
She bowed to all present and quickly made her way across the large room to the Raja, stealing a glance at the corpse as she passed by. The Raja leaned close as she spoke into his ear. He nodded and replied so softly that Zatrin could not hear the exchange.
Rephna bowed to him, then once again to all the assembled, and swiftly made her way back out of the room.
“I apologize to you all, and Arbiter, I ask your forbearance.” The Raja looked at each of them with solemnity. “A royal from the Isle of Suten has arrived. The people don't know who he is, but for some reason, his arrival at the docks caused quite a stir. Word has spread through the lowlands and reached the Ulaan, who have returned to the Mount, forty-seven in total. It seems that while we have talked, masses of people gathered at the foot of the Mount near the lifts. The royal guards thought that we heard the sound, as it only quieted when the Ulaan arrived.”
“The Isle of Suten?” The Raja’s brow lined, then his eyes opened with comprehension. “The scholar… She is from the Isle of Suten, not Zuutin.”
Zatrin’s stomach dropped. The Suten were more legend than real in the minds of most and for over a century had stayed mostly unseen. She could feel the tension thicken in the room.
“I suspend the arbitration and yield the throne room back to you, Great Raja.” She bowed, and saw the Raja bow his head thankfully in response. She shot a glance to the corpse, wishing that they could have removed the body from the room, but nothing could be done about it now.
How and by the power of what Ancient did the Suten learn of one of their people being killed, and so quickly?
A deep bell rang, and the doors of the throne room opened full. The royal from the Isle of Suten entered the room. Philomene took an involuntary step backward.
The Suten Royal strode in with an unfeigned authority, a dynamic sense of power filling the air. Bone white hair with silver streaks hung long framing a caramel brown-skinned face, which was darker than the scholars. Remarkable blue eyes regarded them intently before falling on the corpse of the scholar.
He walked to the fallen Suten with a grace that was almost gentle and removed his cloak, covering the body respectfully. He rose and addressed the Raja. “Great Raja, Shield of Mount Ceidon, and Ruler of Kingdom of Zaim, I am Yaisen'Re Bennu of the Sutenit Tur Antu, the ruling family of the Suten Empire. I am here to collect the body and effects of this citizen of our kingdom and to bring them home.”
The Suten wore what could only be called a light armor, though unlike any she had seen. The under-armor seemed to be a type of scaled leather. So dark as to almost look like absence, it hugged close to his skin and covered him from high on his neck to where it disappeared within his boots. His spaulders, vambraces, and rerebraces were made of what looked to be a light, flexible black metal, and followed the form of his muscles beneath, as did his cuisse and greaves of the same material. He stood a head taller than the Nnesutee (who was the tallest of them), with a lithe, chiseled build. His spaulders were shaped in the form of lion heads, and his breastplate followed the form of his body beneath, but it was the thickest of the armor he wore.
The Raja broke his silence with a bow of his head. “You are welcome, Yaisen'Re Bennu of the Suten Empire. As a visiting royal, you are to be granted a throne here and an aide who will address any of your needs or desires.”
The Suten shook his head. “That will not be necessary. As a ruler of many, I know well the weight of command and the limitations our roles can place upon us. Instead, I ask for a suspension of the rules of protocol. I see Ulaan, a Sibulla, a Nnesutee, and the bodily remains of one from my kingdom, all sharing your throne room. I request this suspension so that we may speak freely and unhindered by the niceties of expectation.”
“In light of the honor you bestow upon us by your presence and your kingdom’s loss,” the Raja said, “I grant your request.” For the first time that she had seen, the Raja gave a genuine smile.
She took note of the Raja's reaction but was struck by what she saw in the Suten himself.
The aesthetic of his color, the structure of his form, his sleek yet rugged handsomeness, and the power that seemed to radiate from him in undulating waves; the man was stunning. Everything about him had the effect of capturing attention. The luminescence of his large penetrating eyes, sheltered under his arched eyebrows, created an effect that drew one's gaze to his face. She had never seen a being so utterly beautiful, or one whose movements seemed so potentially deadly. She felt her heart quicken, and with effort, brought her pulse back under control. Despite his appeal, she was the master of her body and desires, and that she would always be.
The Ulaan watched him silently, and Zatrin took note that they were not pleased.
“You have granted us your name,” the Raja said congenially, “and I cannot but reciprocate for all present. This is Philomene, my royal advisor. The Sibulla is Zatrin Bei. She was summoned to our borders to conduct an arbitration between our kingdom and the Ulaan, the cause of which ended the life of one of your most precious citizens. The Ulaan is named, UiNemtasma, and is the ranking member of their delegation. The Nnesutee is our Master of Swords, and as in the tradition of their tribe, they bear no name.”
“Iskander, O Sword of Suten. My name is Iskander.” In the allure of the presence of the Suten, it seemed that no one had noticed that the Master of Swords had lowered to one knee. Mouths and eyes opened wide at his declaration.
The Suten spoke. “Rise, defender of those in need. You have done well to commit your skills here. I knew the Raja's father; he was a good man, and it seems that trait has passed on to his son. Your service is placed well for this season.”
The Raja's eyes opened wider, and a hush fell over the room. “You knew my father? You look not to have seen more than a score of harvests, at the most maybe a few harvests more than that. Nihil claimed the Great Raja of Rajas two score harvests ago.”
The Suten nodded knowingly. “Jk'bar has many benefits. I knew him. His infectious laughter, his predilection for red wine, his endless patience, and his love for the people of Zaim. Few could match his skill with the bow, but he would never let my father send a healer for his elbow.”
The Raja's breathing quickened, his eyes watery but not spilling over.
“Jk'bar,” the Ulaan spokeswoman said in disbelief. “That is a discipline only possible for the most skilled of masters. Surely you dissemble!”
The Suten ignored her, continuing to address the Raja. “Your kingdom has never been in threat from the Suten, and will continue to be safe from us as long as just men and women hold the seat of Raja.”
He turned to the Nnesutee. “Iskander, am I right to believe that you were to defend the honor of Zaim by right of combat according to the rules of Dris?”
“As ever, Sword of Suten.”
“And it was an Ulaan that stole our scholar's life?”
“No truth escapes your sight, Suten Lord.”
Zatrin Bei's head swooned as she watched what was transpiring. She felt unbalanced. In the time it took a flash rain to evaporate beneath the twin sun's gaze, this Suten Lord had taken control the Kingdom of Zaim. What was his intent? What should her response be? She knew that she looked solid to the naked eye, but she felt frayed below the surface. The rebuke that the Nnesutee accompanying the Arat had given her should not have been possible. Her sight being blocked from the Suten Isle should not have been possible. And now, a Lord from that very Isle had captured a kingdom with the power of his presence and words alone. It was incomprehensible.
Since the Second Age, the Sibulla had been the arbiters of kingdoms, and the living history of all her forebears and contemporaries was in her active memory, Yet, her experiences today were new. Her world had changed, and in that refashioning she knew that the rest of her sect had changed too.
The Suten Lord walked to the body lying under his cloak, the pathos in his expression was plain. “Great Raja, it is our belief that every Suten be interred in Suten soil. It is a tradition that we have held religiously for over an Age, and it is one of the reasons that I have come. We are the land, and the land calls for its own. I ask your leave to return the body of our scholar and all her effects to our Isle. I seek to do this immediately.”
“It is our grace to honor your custom as we would ask you to accept ours if positions reversed. As you have asked, it is granted.”
“No,” UiNemtasma said.
Everyone in the room turned to the Ulaan. The Suten Lord looked up, his gaze deep and unreadable.
“We are in an arbitration,” UiNemtasma said, “and the rulership of Zaim is currently in dispute. The body stays here until the challenge is completed and the arbitration is settled. If, and only if, the Nnesutee is successful in defeating me can the Suten Royal have his…corpse.” A hint of disgust marked her last word.
She had declared this to the Sibulla, and not to the Raja or the Suten Lord, following the rules of arbitration as if they hadn’t been lifted.
“You are foolish, Ulaan,” the Suten Lord said, rising to his full height. “It is clear that your thinking is limited and that you need assistance in this matter. I will illuminate you. I am not defined by any rules of Dris, nor am I limited from eradicating you and your kingdom from existence.”
