The Call of Dust, page 8
part #1 of Arat Series
Zatrin Bei gave a fractional nod, her eyes never leaving the Ulaan leader. “It is and will be so noted.”
Ueeha’s gaze shifted to the Great Raja, controlled anger in her eyes. “I also understand that upon knowledge of the Sibulla’s presence and request, arbitration commenced in compliance with the Qio'Nadri, the Sibulla compact that, I trust, we all follow. During said arbitration, the challenge of Dris was invoked, issued, and accepted under the witness of the Sibulla herself, leaving the leadership of this land to the fate of the sword in single combat.” Her expression softened, the hint of a grin at the corner of her lips. “Is this so?”
Silence fell upon the throne room like a leaf falling from a tree. It lingered before being broken by the Raja voice, his face a block of granite.
“Welcome Ueeha, of the Nine.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “Most is as you have said. I commend you for the quality of your intelligence.”
“Most?”
The Raja licked his lips, his nose flaring momentarily as if in indignation. “The Kingdom of Zaim is sovereign and has been led by my forebears for eight generations. Your suggestion that my kingdom should be a vassal to yours is a statement of conjecture, is not accepted, nor will I substantiate it by tacit agreement.” He sat back and took in the Ulaan leader with a gelid stare.
“Thank you, Great Raja of Ceidon, Brazen Shield of Ceidon, Ruler of all Zaim.” The edge of her lips curved upward ever so slightly as she spoke. “I am glad to have agreement between our two kingdoms. Suggestion and conjecture should always be put aside for the truth that is revealed by the sword. As the Ancient whom we both worship teaches, truth is revealed in combat.” Her eyes hardened as she turned to UiNemtasma. “Who issued the right of challenge?”
“It was the Nnesutee, Great One; the Raja of Ceidon’s, Master of Swords.”
Ueeha’s glance took in the Nnesutee, who stood alone about twenty paces from the Raja's throne, and then went back to UiNemtasma. “Why does he yet live? This arbitration is a simple one. Why is there delay? By Dris, our honored Sibulla was leaving the chamber when I arrived.” Her tone became baleful. “Why is this arbitration not over?”
Zatrin Bei could feel the tension in the room. Before her stood arguably one of the most dangerous swordsmen in all the kingdoms of Gaia. The Ulaan respected power, and as a Sibulla she represented that beyond measure, but she felt anything but.
She flinched. There was a sudden presence on the edge of her mind. What? Ah… The Psionia'Matri seeks to witness this through my eyes. She opened herself to the leader of her Order, allowing her to see and hear through her eyes and ears, but keeping access to her thoughts secure. As she spoke, the presence of her leader added weight to her words, the power of her station and role riding every syllable. “There are customs to be observed and processes that take time, Ueeha of the Nine of the Ulaan. I recognize your presence here and grant your right as a ruler to speak for your kingdom. The terms granted to UiNemtasma are held, but her right to speak for the Ulaan going forward is hereby revoked.”
The Ulaan Leader nodded her agreement. “As you have said, so shall it be.”
Zatrin felt, rather than heard, Philomene’s sudden exhale, but it didn’t feel to her that the tension in the room had abated. There was something not quite right. Like torchlight suddenly flooding a darkened room, it became clear to her. For the entire time Ueeha had been in the room, she had avoided looking at the Suten.
Yaisen’Re had remained poised near the room's center with the almond-shaped eyed Suten standing beside him. He had watched the proceedings with what appeared to be an air of utter indifference. Something was going on here between the Suten and the Ulaan that had yet to be revealed. She opened her thoughts so that the Psionia’Matri could become aware of her realization, then closed them again. A sense of curiosity and expectation filled her.
“Great One,” UiNemtasma said with great deference, “Zaim would be ours, but the arbitration was suspended by the Raja upon the arrival of—”
“I ended it.” The voice rang clear, commanding.
Everyone turned to the Suten royal, his stare now boring into the Ulaan leader. For the first time, her eyes met his.
“Your kingdom seeks to be an Empire?” His grin was feral. “You have grown arrogant in your isolation.”
Ueeha stiffened, her lips a tight line.
The Suten stepped closer to her. The force of his presence, which somehow he had held in check since Ueeha and her two guards had come, now flooded the throne room. “You Ulaan know who we are, and yet you would kill a citizen of my Empire? You are not ignorant of our conquests, yet you would deem it a small thing to draw our attention?”
UiNemtasma stepped forward enraged. “You speak to one of the Nine! Empire? You have an Island!” She moved her hand to her sword's hilt when Ueehaa raised her hand sharply. UiNemtasma stepped back in shock as if physically slapped by the force of the order.
The Suten Lord’s eyes broadened in sudden awareness and then looked almost amused. “You haven't taught them. The rulers of the great Ulaan people, feared by every kingdom for their martial skill, have not taught their people about the Suten Empire? Pathetic. To remove a catechism of Dris from a dojon that follows him is,” disgust filled his tone, “abominable. When a religion loses its faith—” He let his sentence drop unfinished.
Zatrin Bei watched Philomene the Guileless’ brow furl, its lines deep, and then his sudden look of comprehension. “No!” he cried out uncharacteristically. “It can’t be possible!” He grasped the arm of the Raja’s throne, the flesh of his fingers becoming white as he squeezed.
Ueeha was livid, her anger barely controlled. The two Ulaan that flanked her stood still as statues, but uncertainty marked their gazes.
Shifting his stance, Yaisen’Re handed his sword to his fellow Suten. She received the sword, bowed her head, and stepped back.
“I am Yaisen'Re Bennu of the Sutenit Tur Antu, the royal family of the Suten Empire, and I challenge you, Ulaan. I know the conquest that you intend, but you are not worthy of conquering Gaia. None unworthy should conquer this dimension, and while we are here, none shall.” He shifted his head, his hair falling over his face, his bright eyes partially shadowed by his unbound mane resembled a great cat hunting in tall grass. “It seems that this day has been long in coming. So be it, the wait is over. I am here.”
Everyone stood in shock, the Ulaan swordsmen all taking a step backward as if pushed. There was power released in the Suten's pronouncement, and it was if the land itself recognized it.
Zatrin suddenly felt unmoored. The Sibulla were feared and respected across the dimensions, yet all her abilities and the weight of the history of her order, seem to mean nothing at this moment. What was happening here was having an affecting beyond the dimension. She felt through their connection that even the Psiona’Matri seemed to lose her centering. She let her consciousness expand passed the physical plane and felt ripples moving in the cosmic before being repelled back into herself. All of her senses dimmed sharply, then slowly began to recover, her training the only thing keeping her standing. She checked for the leader of her Order’s presence. It was still with her, but greatly diminished.
“To remove a catechism from a dojon is a violation of the code of all swordsmen,” the Suten Lord said, “whether they are in a dojon of Dris, or not. It is also an unquestionable sign of cowardice and an abdication of honor.” He turned to Zatrin Bei. “I officially remove my suspension of the arbitration. That balance may be judged proper in the Ancient's Me'ett's eyes and the compact upheld with the Sibulla as a whole, the Master of Swords shall have his duel with UiNemtasma. I will face the Ulaan in the evening, following the conclusion of that arbitration. Neftii,” he motioned to the white-haired Suten standing near him, “will be my second.” Without pause, he turned to the Raja. “I deem this acceptable to you?”
Stunned, the Raja of Ceidon nodded his agreement. It was only when Philomene touched him that he realized he wasn't speaking. He cleared his throat. “I agree to the declaration of the Suten Lord, reinstate all protocols, and yield the arbitration to the Sibulla, Zatrin Bei.”
The Suten's heavy stare fell on the Sibulla, boring through her like sunlight through gossamer. She understood the possible ramifications of witnessing that which was to come and felt the weight of worlds. Gathering her strength, she spoke. “I accept the role of witness in this arbitration between the kingdom of the Ulaan and the kingdom of Zaim, and declare by the power of my office that the outcome of this honor match falls under the rule of Dris and therefore will be binding. It will commence tomorrow morning, an hour past sunrise, at Swordsman's Fate.”
The Ulaan Leader began to object, but Zatrin silenced her. “The challenge has already been given and accepted concerning your kingdom and the kingdom of Zaim. You may decline the challenge of the Suten, but that is not now under my jurisdiction. I will see all at Swordsman's Fate in the morn.” With that she nodded to the Raja and turned as if to leave.
“Great Raja of Ceidon,” the Suten Lord said with great solemnity. “Sovereign Lord of this great city and all of it citizens, please allow as many of those who amass at the base of the mount to be brought up. It is my belief and wish that the battle between your Master of Swords and the Ulaan be witnessed and shared by all. I would consider it a personal favor.” With that, the Suten left the chamber.
Silence rushed in like a living thing, the room suddenly marked with a sense of emptiness. Ueeha stood motionless, her expression unreadable. It seemed like an eternity before she pulled up her cowl and left the room, her coterie following in her wake.
10
A Duel of Faith
Heart-shaped leaves leaned listlessly westward before coming to rest, their reddish and yellowing tint a splash of color before a blue and vanilla sky. A lone hawk circled high above the mesa, its wide arcs unhurried as if curious about the busy scene below.
The Master of Swords stood on the edge of Swordsman's Fate speaking with the Suten woman, Neftii. The dueling stage was a circle of stone approximately thirty paces in diameter that stood a hands span above the ground. The Ulaan sat in a single row around its perimeter, fifty-one in number. Behind them was an open space where the royal guardsmen of Mount Ceidon stood at attention, the tips of their long spears glinting a foot above their helms. Throngs sat behind them, a sea of people filling the area reaching as far back as the palace gates.
Zatrin Bei stood composed but concerned. She was fully recovered from the events of the previous day, but the impending battle between the Suten royal and the Ulaan leader seemed to augur a shift in the streams of the future. There was a structure to the events coalescing around her, but recognition of what it was eluded her. Nevertheless, she suspected that an Ancient's will was being contested, and that could bode ill for many.
The report had come that the Suten ship had set sail an hour prior. Why it had left without the Suten Lord and his second had been a short-lived topic of discussion. What it meant for the Suten Lord's future plans was a matter for consideration, but it would have to wait until after the duels. Depending on the outcomes, there may not be anything to consider.
As she looked out upon the crowds, full smiles and rapid talk were evident everywhere; the excitement probably as much for being on the Mount as much as to witness the duel. Wide eyes attempted to soak everything in: the architecture, the landscape, colors. The lowlanders were in a new universe. She could only imagine the glee they felt at finally seeing what the majority of them had dreamed about for a lifetime.
The Mount of Ceidon was a city within a city that could only be accessed by the lifts and moveable platforms upon its side. Only those who worked the lifts and those who bore the Badge of Ceidon were traditionally allowed up. Of the three hundred or so families that lived upon the Mount, she doubted more than a score of them had descended to the lowlands other than to travel abroad. It was a two-tiered social system, and thus far, it had been successful. Today marked history for Zaim, for never had there been so many people from the lowland on the Mount.
She looked through the gathered Ulaan and frowned. Ueeha of the Nine was not amidst their number. Was she not accepting the Suten’s challenge? She scanned the crowds looking for any sign of her until she saw the Raja approaching. As he came close, he smiled at her, bringing her focus squarely on her role as chief witness. He looked refreshed.
There was a hush as the Raja of Ceidon stepped on Swordsman's Fate to address the gathered crowd. He opened his arms wide.
“My beloved people of Zaim,” he said. “Today, we herald back to the traditions of our ancestors and walk out the tenets of our faith. The Ancient Dris teaches us that justice is not found in the sword, but in the heart that wields it. He teaches that skill honed of discipline matters, but when faced with another bearing such skill, the just heart prevails. As it was in the days of old, so it is now.
“Our Master of Swords is not born on our shores but has pledged his life to defend our kingdom. He has pledged his life in the service of you.” He let the word linger, turning full circle to look at all the crowd.
Zatrin felt a shift in the crowd, an expectancy growing within them.
“The Ulaan are known far and wide, and their swordsmanship is said to have no equal, and yet, a just heart cannot be discounted. The result of this match will not change the majority of your lives, but it could change the character of our kingdom. We are valued for our rich crops, which feed people across much of Gaia, but that is not what makes us special. We are challenged for the strength of our yields, but that is not where lies our strength. We are envied for the sweetness of our apples, the heartiness of our corn, the suppleness of our leather, the richness of our olives. Yet, that is not where our strength is found.”
Despite the futility of the effort, a feeling of exhilaration washed through her as she watched the Raja speak. She felt the crowd unifying, differences between the highborn and the low falling away. They sat erect across the length of the span, faces focused as they listened. A sense of pride had been sparked within them, and she felt it growing like a brush-fire.
“Does our strength lie in how we feed the soil, or in the tireless care we take in pruning and supporting young plants? Does it lie in how we purify our water and make sure that both human and beast are fed? Does it lie in the quality nets of our fishing boats, or our ports being kept clean and repaired? Does it?” He paused, cupping the back of his ear as if listening for an answer.
“Noooo!” the crowd roared.
“That’s right, my beloved. No! Our value is not in our crops or fields, or yields, or livestock. Our value lies in our people. Our value lies in us. Our love for the land and for all that lives on it. Us.”
“Us!” the crowd shouted in unison.
“Us!” He stepped forward, opening his arms wide.
“Our values are in our families, our friends, our loved ones; our ideas and ideals; our hopes and our dreams; our sweat and our tears, our babies and our dead, our strengths and our weaknesses. Our values are in us! We are the land! We are its waters! We are the soil! We are the kingdom!”
A roar erupted from the Mount, it’s sound so great it seemed that the land itself cried out. Its pitch and volume were such that she knew it could be heard for leagues in every direction. People stood and raised their arms to the heavens, euphoric as they were swept in a torrent of pride. She felt the euphoria, her nape hairs tingling in the excitement, but her face remained a neutral mask.
The Raja stood tall, letting himself be caught in the current for a moment before coming back to what needed to be done. He motioned for everyone to sit, and slowly people began to lower themselves back to the ground, the cry of exultation lingering in the air, the atmosphere charged.
He waited until all were seated and then, with a regal gait, walked back to the center of the circle. He spoke calmly and soft enough that the people would have to be silent to hear him, yet his voice carried. “As Raja, I serve the kingdom of Zaim. The Sword of our Kingdom,” he motioned to the Master of Swords, “serves the same. We both serve you. We both are you.
“Today, he will engage in combat with an Ulaan, known across the kingdoms for their tremendous skill. She is a woman who has discipline, and who worships Dris as we do. The difference between her and our master of swords is simple; she doesn't serve you.
“She yields the sword like you tend the soil, but there is no love in her yielding. She worships Dris as you worship Dris, but there is no justice in her heart. She reads the teachings that we read, yet she arrives at different understandings.”
He pointed to the Nnesutee. “This is the difference between them. He is you. He is all of us. Witness the difference between skill fueled by justice and just skill alone. Witness the holy scriptures of Dris interpreted correctly before your very eyes! We are Zaim and we are just, and as it is written, the just heart shall prevail! We are Zaim!”
The crowd leaped to its feet, shouting, “Zaim! Zaim! Zaim!” The refrain rose as if from nowhere, growing faster and faster until the sound exploded into a deafening roar.
His face serious, the Raja lifted his hands and motioned to the crowd to settle down. It took some time, but slowly the shouts of pride lowered back to the low rumble of excited discussion. He walked to the Master of Swords, spoke into his ear, then made his way to the short tower that looked over Swordsman's Fate.
The circular, three-level building, was where the royal's and their guests had watched duels since the founding of the kingdom. Three thrones faced outwards towards the dueling circle, and in one of them sat the Suten Lord, face partially hidden in a deep cowled cloak. The Raja entered and swiftly sat in the center throne. He leaned to his left, and she read his lips, “I was taught all that by my father.”
