Aegis Rising (2 page)

That was the boat that Mokun and fifty other survivors journeyed in. Standing on the deck of the large trading ship as it sailed farther into the sea, the shocked survivors stared in disbelief at the fury and power of nature as the volcano erupted for the last time, the earth-shattering explosion obliterating what remained of the island. The island they called home for generations was no more. In its place was a forest of floating debris and hissing steam rising to the sky from the ocean.

A crashing wave yanked Mokun from his memories. He gasped, then realized his eyes were wet. Wiping them with the fold of his sleeve, he tilted his head back to look at the stars. The sky was calm, but the storm in his heart raged on. Ever since leaving the island, he’d been battling his emotions. His guilt for choosing to save the crystals instead of his family was beginning to morph into something darker, and he tried to shake the thoughts away, but they clung on like malevolent clouds over his head.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. Moments later, he was back on his job, narrowing his eyes and scanning for signs of land through the mist. At first, he didn’t see it. When he ran his eyes just below the horizon again, he had to strain to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things.

He shouted as he flipped himself over the railing of the crow’s nest, grabbed onto the ladder attached to the mast and leapt down the last thirty feet onto the deck. The skipper, who had been leaning against the mast, whirled around, surprised. “What is it?”

“Land!” Mokun shouted.

The captain just stared, his mind clouded with fatigue.

“Land, Captain!”

“Are you sure?” the captain finally asked, excitement beginning to show on his face.

“Yes, sir! Straight ahead through the mist, sir! Not more than three hundred strokes of the oars!”

“Land ahead!” the skipper bellowed to the rowers below deck, slapping Mokun on the back. The rowers cheered and redoubled their efforts.

Two tribal youths patrolling their village on the coast had no idea what was coming. As they rounded a large boulder, they heard a strange sound. It was a series of muted, rhythmic splashes, like a pod of whales surfacing in unison. Frowning, they turned around and peered in the direction of the splashes. As their eyes adjusted, they stopped dead.

Appearing from the mist, a drifting phantom was heading directly toward them. Lit by the eerie dimness of the moonlight, the strange beast appeared to have slender wings on either side of a flared body. A long spike materialized from its tapered head.

The youths, brothers in their mid-teens, moved closer to each other. They whispered hastily, never taking their eyes off the thing. As it drew nearer, the youths caught a peculiar glow emanating from the beast, and that was the last straw. The older boy hoisted his hunting spear and darted from shelter to shelter, hissing warnings as his brother dropped to one knee and peeked from behind the boulder, his own spear readied. The hushed alarm rippled through the tribe. All around the camp, men rushed about quietly with weapons while the frightened women stayed inside with the children.

In an instant, the bustling ended and all the men were beside the two brothers. They had also seen the monster advancing in their direction. Bracing themselves, they crouched low to the ground and observed the beast through dark, flashing eyes.

At last the thing came to a stop, having beached itself on the rich, white sands of the shore. To the tribe’s astonishment, men and women alike leapt off the creature with cat-like grace. These people were tall, slim, and though they appeared weary, held themselves with certain poise. Their skins were the shade of fine straw. And the hair! Ranging from black to brown, and all the colors of autumn leaves.

Suspicious of the strangers, the men decided to wait a little longer. When the outsiders began to laugh and dart about, the natives stiffened. As a man in a black cloak with a golden hood covering his face poked curiously at the leftover meat that was for the next day’s meal, a few of the tribesmen let out annoyed growls. Then their lips curled back angrily when the man spotted the shelters at the edge of the tree line, called out to his companions, and started walking toward them.

The younger of the brothers charged at the man, letting his spear fly. The weapon sank into the man’s arm, forcing a cry from his lips. Blood trickled from the wound. He dropped down and clutched his arm. His comrades spun around to face their attackers. Both the men and the women drew steel daggers with leather hilts from within their clothing. A few of them had darts which they pitched at the tribesmen. Some of the natives fell to the ground with howls as they were struck. The darts seemed to have a mysterious effect; the men who fell did not die, but they could not get back on their feet.

The tribesmen flung their spears at the strangers, loosing throaty barks. To the natives’ bewilderment, the strangers neatly dodged their weapons, brows furrowed in concentration. Instead of launching a counter-attack, the strangers simply stood ready, sharp eyes flitting from one tribesman to another.

Furious, the tribesmen regrouped again and stuck close to each other. They dove forward as one, thrusting their weapons at the strangers. A seven-foot dart whistled through the air toward the outsiders, launched from an atlatl.

A lone figure that had silently stood on the top of the beast while the conflict raged suddenly leapt into the night, turning a somersault in the air as it did so, and grabbed the dart in mid-flight. The tribesmen stopped and stared, perplexed, at the form who’d whipped the weapon from its trajectory, but the darkness covered the stranger’s face as he backed into the shadows.

The tribesmen shrank back in surprise, but one of the natives, undaunted, stepped forward and hurled his last spear with full force at the cluster of strangers. Instead of striking home, the spear slowed in midflight and came to a stop at the height of its arc. It hung in the air for a fleeting moment before flipping in the opposite direction and accelerating back at the native. The man yelped and just barely managed to jump out of the way in time. The spear struck the ground and buried itself deeply in the dirt. The tribesmen were astonished. What kind of sorcery was this?

A tall woman garbed in a black tunic torn off at the shoulders and leggings that covered three-quarters of her slender legs stepped forward from the group of strangers. She must have been around forty summers. Her hair was a glossy jet black, her eyes bright blue. She spoke to the tribesmen in a peculiar language. When she completed her short speech she waited for them to respond as she calmly surveyed them.

The native brothers glanced at each other and stepped forward, only to be pulled back by the others. A burly man with thick black hair—the tribe’s chief—stepped forward. He spoke suspiciously to the woman. She cocked her head, appearing to not understand what the chief was saying.

The impatient brothers spat at the ground and snarled at her. Their chief tried to calm them down but the older one bellowed and propelled his weapon in the woman’s direction with all his might. The woman stayed where she was and stared intensely at the spear hurtling her way. Her eyes caught the glint of the tip of the spear as it approached her. Ten inches from her face, the spear paused in mid-air, swung straight up toward the sky, then arced back toward the young man. With a startled cry, he tried to dodge out of the way but was a second too slow. The spear careened at him and pierced through his bearskin shirt to the flesh below his collarbone. He screamed in agony, a horrible, cursed sound to the ears of everyone there, before plummeting to the ground.

The tribesmen gasped and backed away from their fallen comrade and the frightening strangers. To their apprehension, the woman began walking toward them. Some dropped their weaponry and dashed into the familiar darkness of the forest, while others stood rooted, petrified. They watched with wide, alarmed eyes as the tall woman halted before the fallen youth and knelt down. It was so quiet that the only sound anyone heard was of the ragged breathing coming from the wounded youth. As the woman placed the palm of her hand on his cheek, the lad’s brother leapt forward and shouted angrily at her. She looked up and raised a hand at him. He stopped immediately and with a sense of foreboding, backed away toward the line of remaining tribesmen.

Unsmiling, the woman lowered her hand back to the young man’s cheek. His brown eyes were open and there was a hint of hysteria in them. Carefully, the woman grasped the shaft of the spear and, as gently as she could, drew it out. The youth groaned, saliva spattering out of his mouth. With a burst of energy, he reached up and clawed at the woman. She leapt back, covering her face.

Glaring, the youth rolled to his feet and staggered back to his tribe, blood dribbling out and leaving a scarlet trail behind him. His brother bounded toward him and lent him a shoulder to lean on. Hacking up clots of blood and crossing one arm upon his wound, the injured brother grabbed a spear from one of the native men and gripped it with a shaky hand, using it as a crutch to walk his way to a tree where he slumped down, his head lolling.

Suddenly, a deep, thunderous roar echoed through the forest like a gigantic avalanche tumbling down upon them. Both groups went still and glanced around. Children in the shelters began wailing and babies screamed in fright as mothers and older sisters tried hard to quiet them. From somewhere in the mass of people, one of the tribesmen shouted in horror. All eyes turned to him, then to the forest where his gaze was set. His tribe gasped in fear as they beheld five large silhouettes stalking through the trees with ferocious eyes gleaming out at them like black ice.

One of the strangers, a man with fire-colored hair plastered to his face, raised his long arms high above his head and bellowed an intense, wordless call.

There was a moment of silence. Then, like specters vanishing in the night, the mysterious silhouettes were gone. The tribesmen swiveled their heads and gawked at the lone man standing up.

“Tornrak!” cried out the injured youth sitting under the tree. His sibling and friends joined the cry. “Tornrak! Tornrak!”
Evil! Evil!

The flame-haired stranger raised his hand. Quiet engulfed them once more. The woman in black walked over to him, and together the pair strode toward the wounded young man. As they reached him, the youth spat at them even though his dark eyes reflected fear. When the woman knelt in front of him and placed her hands on his forehead, the youth stiffened, scowling. She gently stroked his head, then let her fingers slide down to the gaping wound. He hissed in pain through his teeth and jerked away from her. Her gaze softening, the woman cupped the boy’s face in her hands and murmured to him in tender tones. Hesitantly, the youth met the woman’s eyes and allowed himself to be drawn in by the power of her chant. He shivered and his eyelids drooped suddenly.

The woman reached into a pouch at her waist and withdrew a pinch of silvery powder with her fingertips, then peppered the wound with the fine particles. A few moments later, the young tribe member felt a strange sensation around his wound. The blood that had been streaming out of him ceased its flow. He blinked in wonder, then looked up at the woman. As he felt the pain slowly beginning to subside, he gave her an uncertain smile. The woman smiled back. Amazement rustled through the tribe as they witnessed first-hand the miracle of healing brought about by the strangers.

A pitiful mewling sounded somewhere behind them. The strangers looked back. There, holding a small child in her arms was a woman short in stature, her long black hair braided in a single tress down her back. She had round, tired eyes. The baby let out a rasping, choking noise. Startled, every single one of the strangers fixed their eyes on the infant.

Her lips pursed, the tall woman rose up and with her cohort, walked toward the native and her child. The shorter woman didn’t move but only raised her head to the approaching people. The chief tottered over to the woman, placing a protective arm around her, making sure the strangers would not harm either her or his son.

The man with fire-colored hair placed a hand on the baby’s forehead. The child opened eyes dull with sickness, and parted his small lips as he beheld the strange people. The man cleared his throat and started muttering in a deep voice with his palm still upon the little one’s brow. The baby’s eyes slowly closed.

The stranger ended his incomprehensible phrases few moments later. He pulled a single leaf out of a leather pouch and held it to the baby’s lips, squeezing the leaf until a single drop of liquid fell into the child’s mouth. The stranger stepped back, ripping the now-dry leaf into little pieces and letting them fall to the ground. The chief and his mate peered anxiously at their son.

A minute later the baby stirred and opened his big eyes. His mother gasped. The child’s eyes were brighter and filled with life, and there was more color in his skin. He smacked his lips, his small tongue darting in and out of his mouth as if tasting the air. A pleased exclamation emanated from the child’s parents, and the woman caressed her son and rubbed noses with him. Holding the infant close to her chest, she dipped her head thankfully at the man who had healed her one and only child.

The tribesmen on the beach cheered and rushed to their leader’s side, milling about the joyous parents, their fight much forgotten. The two strangers walked back to the beach and sat peacefully on the sand with their brethren.

The youth whom the female stranger had healed detached himself from his kin and strode with steady steps toward the assemblage of outsiders, challenging the fact that he’d ever been hurt. He halted in front of the woman and bowed. The woman smiled and nodded, acknowledging the young man. The tribe’s chief then stepped up behind him. The youth exchanged glances with the older man and politely backed away.

Looking at every stranger, from man to woman, the chief solemnly extended a hand. He seemed less guarded now, and his posture was more open. The strangers reciprocated.

Gradually, the tribe and the strangers mingled. Though unable to understand each other in the beginning, the natives were astonished at how quickly a few of the outsiders were able to learn their language, and thus began a new friendship.