Stormrider (23 page)

It is not difficult if one comes here
.
If you are earnest in your heart the way will open.

“You know of them,” Stormrider said gently, “I can see it in your face. There is an awful lot you know about Nashira. Things most outsiders don’t have access to.”

Raptor shrugged, glancing toward the huddled people. Waiting, all waiting. Some not very well, the illness beginning to overwhelm them.

He glanced at Stormrider near the head of the column. She was strolling too close to the line, probing for confirmation of what she already believed she knew. He was as stubborn as she, determined not to provide that certainty. It would be a cold day in Hela’s underworld before he’d be suckered into spilling his past to her. His own knowledge of her past was no reason for him to feel obliged to hand her the weapon of his own. His secrets would remain his own.

“If we’re going to stay for now we better find a place to rest before these people collapse on us. Starwalker can carry only a few.”

Strongheart was amused, but agreeable.
He is devious, but he is right. It is not far. There is food and water and a place to rest.

Littlefoot brushed against Strongheart in a playful shove, bowing her head in an attitude of fun. His heavier bulk stood firm against her lighter weight.

The large male wolf responded with a playful nip of his own before he turned again forward, allowing his last remark to Stormrider trail over his shoulder.
He begins to think of Starwalker as bond-mate and companion. It is good.

Raptor made his way forward and drew alongside Stormrider, casting wary glances at the wolves as they started forward once again. “This probably isn’t the most gracious question I could ask,” he began, “but I have to know. Are your wolves . . . I’m sorry,
the
wolves, since they aren’t really yours and you aren’t really the leader, a threat to my pony?”

Stormrider grinned at Raptor feeling the tickle of Strongheart’s laughter pattering across her mind. She waved a dismissing hand. “Doubtful.”

Strongheart snorted and threw a glance over his shoulder along with a faint snarl, directed unquestionably at Stormrider before Raptor could react.

Still grinning, Stormrider corrected herself. “No.”

Thank you for your concern. Sachem
, Starwalker interjected,
but it is not necessary. We are all those who have been selected. We acknowledge one another
.

“Yes, well, I wanted to be sure,” Raptor muttered, eyes still on the gracefully flowing forms of the wolves ahead.

Be at ease—as I am.
 

Raptor grunted in response. He supposed he couldn’t vary well worry about the close proximity of wolves to pony if the pony himself wasn’t worried. It made some sort of twisted Nashiran sense that they should recognize one another. And, Raptor himself had regarded them as almost friends . . . almost, before concerns for Starwalker had assailed him.

Childhood memories of Nashira assailed him as well. Raptor remembered much more than he cared to. The people of his origins lived on the far side of Nashira. Vast distances of hostile lands, deserts and mountains, and endless plains separated those people of Raptor’s youth from these. An ocean separated both from Antaris. His people were more advanced, if that was the right expression for it, than the people of Stormrider’s origins. They had industry of sorts, technology, more awareness of the world around them. They did, in fact, know of the existence of The People, considering them primitive and too distant to be of consequence. Where Stormrider’s people were tribal, uninterested in the world beyond their own. His people, the Minzhu, learned where they could, to their own benefit. They, too, were plagued by the slave traders, but had developed, over the years, ways of fending them off. At least if they weren’t caught unprepared. They had more possessions and better homes with more to make living easier. They knew nothing about the Chosen Ones of Nashira and wouldn’t have accepted their existence if the truth were laid bare before them. Selective in their acceptance and rejection of reality, they cultivated comfortable lives.

But what they had lost somewhere along the way was the cherishing of their children and of each other. Too clearly, Raptor remembered the death of his mother. He had been barely twelve. He remembered the tearing agony at her loss because she had been not only mother, but the only bit of bright softness in his life. His father’s grief had extended only so far as to regret at the loss of housekeeper and a warm body in his bed. And his attitude toward the young boy who was to become Raptor had changed from restrained tolerance to brutal abuse. By the time he was thirteen, Raptor shed his old name for the new, shed his old life, and found his own, confused, way out.

The slave traders.
 

In his youthful ignorance he had decided a life as even a slave would be better than that suffered at the hands of his uncaring and cruel father. Decision made, he’d sneaked free of the cities, traversed the farmlands and forests, prowling to the desert’s edge, and there, in colorful camps, found what he sought.

He had presented himself boldly to the slavers, hoping to serve as camp boy. At the same time he’d realized the risk he took, knew he could well end up slave instead of worker. In a stroke of good fortune so large he could not possibly have comprehended it at the age of thirteen. The slavers he’d sought out were amused by the young stripling and instead of tossing him into slavery with the others of their raids, took him under their collective wings; adopted him into the brotherhood and sisterhood of the slavers. No doubt that was what Grey Wanderer had sensed in him.

He remained with them for several years. He did chores, cleaned weapons, and learned to work on the fliers, generally making an effort to keep clear of captives when they were in camp.

Because what he saw sickened him. It sickened him and over time caused him to loathe himself for remaining with the slavers. That antipathy in turn, made him realize he had to leave the
Jaiqi
.

He accomplished it with a minimum of fuss since he had never worn one of the counters of the Jaiqi, never been a slave. He had simply waited until they reached a crowded port and slipped away. He doubted they’d ever actually looked for him, probably believing him dead in some dingy alley where so many met their ends in such ports.

On that first day of true independence the bounty hunter had been born. And on that same day he had armored himself with the belief that the slaves were as much responsible for their lot as the slavers. That people, consciously or not, chose their way in life. That those who cared to would fight to change it. It was a belief he had held for many years while nimbly jumping from one assignment to another, his wealth swelling.

But now, Raptor glanced around him at these people, at Stormrider, and felt serious cracks rend the armor of his beliefs. They somehow did not apply to these people though Stormrider was a perfect example of his theory.

“Look, up ahead,” Stormrider broke into his thoughts.

Raptor did. And he boggled even as Stormrider smiled. The great vaulted halls of the silent city opened onto a village teeming with life, perched on the shores of an inland sea. The soft, sighing sound of waves curling against the shore provided a backdrop for cheerful voices and laughter. Fires burned everywhere, plainly for cooking or light since the air touching them was balmy, inviting, needing no further warming.

The double moons of Nashira lit the way as the rag-tag bunch of escapees, ill and exhausted, staggered forward out of the enclosure of the ancient city’s walls. The sand muffled the sounds of Starwalker’s hooves and the wolves pounded ahead to caper like cubs across the soft sand toward the village.

Stormrider attempted to call them back, fearing the reaction of the cheerful villagers to three very large wolves loping into the center of their home, but her mind-touch was ignored.

No fear in this place. No fear.
Strongheart tossed the brief reassurance over his shoulder as he hurried forward, howling into the brilliance of the night.

Stormrider cringed and stopped, but the rest of the group just kept moving forward, flowing around her, as if stopping now would prevent them from reaching their newly sighted goal entirely. Stormrider feared the sickness which was upon The People, worried sbout the reception such plainly ill people would receive, but the wolves led the way and they pressed on.

Strongheart, Littlefoot and One Eye disappeared around the side of one of the buildings, their howls still echoing on the night air, carried great distances by the breeze.

Stormrider sensed movement in the village, the sudden surge of activity. Then she saw the sea of light headed their way and she started tentatively forward again.
 

With lanterns and torches for additional light, the people of the village by the sea poured forth in a warm wave of welcome. They didn’t even hesitate at the sight of the unfortunates who were ill. A11 were enveloped by their warmth. And somehow, the rest of the trek into the village and sanctuary became effortless.

Chapter 19

By the light of day the waters of the inland sea laying at the foot of the Ancient Ones’ abode flickered between a glittering green and a deep, beckoning blue. Froth sparkled like jewels, carried gently atop the waves to caress the shore. White sand, so fine it was like walking on silk, shimmered with streaks of ruby red. It appeared the gem had been pulverized to dust by the hand of the great Goddess and cast upon the shore.

The gently moving waters sighed, caressed the shore in a curl of a wave ending in a soft splash, then sighed again, drawing back and easing forward in endless rhythm.

Stormrider couldn’t repress a sigh of her own, sharing the gentle sea’s rhythm. Although exhausted, she was, for the moment, beyond the need to rest. Her high-topped moccasins were slung over her shoulder so she could revel in the pleasure of the soft, wet sand between her toes while she walked.

Despite the urgings of those who had welcomed them, and the healers of the Kadlu village that she rest, Stormrider had lingered near those who were ill. Through the long night she had remained nearby, unwilling to fight her inexplicable need to do so. When the night was finally over, The People seemed to be getting better. More importantly, no one had died and no more were falling ill. The strange, debilitating illness, one carried by the
Jaiqi
, had been recognized almost immediately by the healers. Apparently it wasn’t unusual for the
Jaiqi
, who were immune to the disease they carried, to infect those of other cultures with whom they came in contact. It could be fatal. But, the herbs and infusions of the Kadlu worked with the swiftness of the medications Stormrider had experienced in Antaris in arresting the disease. They had declared the crisis was past.

Stormrider continued to walk, marveling at this hidden world.

All the Kadlu she met were friendly, happy, smiling people. They were forthright and direct, yet somehow childlike and naive. They accepted the arrival of the strangers with open friendliness and generosity. How long, she wondered, had they lived here, by the shore of the inland sea, cut off from the world, yet blissfully happy? How could they be so isolated and guileless yet be aware of the world outside their own? The world teeming beyond the gleaming halls of the Ancient Ones? The question tugged at Stormrider because aware of that world they certainly were.

Alone, cut off from the rest of Nashira and the lands beyond, they still managed to possess more knowledge about the planet than The People did. They knew about the existence of The People beyond the city’s walls, but the presence of the Kadlu in this place was as much a revelation to The People as it was to Stormrider herself. And the Kadlu knew of the
Jaiqi
and the truth of their vile ways whereas The people had previously had only myths. They spoke of the cool, technological Minzhu and indicated Raptor. It was confusing.

All is well. Stormrider?
Strongheart, gentle mind-touch, questioning, as he capered down the beach toward her followed by Littlefoot and One Eye, geysering soft sand in their wake.

Even more confusing to Stormrider was the difference in her communication here with the wolves. Here they were gone for long periods of time yet she did not feel cut off from them. Did not even feel the need to maintain the pack-bond of mental communication. The strange, empty void did not yawn between them when they were not in touch. Here, tucked behind the softly gleaming walls at the shore of the inland sea, their bond was not something which had to be maintained, but something which simply
was
.

You are troubled?
Littlefoot’s nose was cold against the sun-warmed flesh of Stormrider’s bare leg.

Stormrider lowered herself to the sand to embrace Littlefoot as Strongheart pummeled her from behind with his heavy, furry body. One Eye plunked down beside her and dropped his chin in her lap. A rare gesture for the most aloof or the pack.

“Troubled? No. Not troubled. Curious. Confused.”

Enveloped by the wolves, Stormrider stared at the softly moving sea and wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to live her life again without them.

The answer came back, formulated entirely within her own mind, almost as quickly as the question had been formed. Not the same. Not good. Not acceptable. And if she lived it again without the trappings of Antaris? No answer.