Box of Runes An Epic Fantasy Collection, Page 3

  “Warriors of the Dog People train to survive and kill, nothing else. Mothers take a newborn boy and leave him on the side of a mountain. The mother returns a week later. If the child has survived, the mother knows he will become a great warrior. If the child is dead, it was too weak to be a soldier, and its death spares the family from disgrace. All families of the Dog People must produce at least one warrior. Once this commitment is made with the firstborn, the family is free to have more children and raise them however they see fit. Many choose to raise two or three warriors, and bring pride to their ancestors.”

  Acatel toyed with Gishwan like a beast that had captured its prey. “Once the child is brought back to the house, it eats the best wheat, corn, and game the tribe can provide. The warrior must begin life with the necessary staples. By the time the boy has seen his second sun, he trains with his peers. By his fourth sun, he has the power to take life from another with his bare hands. When a warrior of the Dog People gains rank, he shows mercy on order of the commanding officer. You are lucky I saw you first, or you would be one of the burning corpses feeding the vultures right now.”

  “Tied to a mule, crossing the Great Waste with a warrior that continues to fantasize about deflowering me. Yes, very lucky.”

  Acatel stared at the outspoken woman, amazed at her spirit and sense of fight in such a dire situation. He knew her body would offer him great pleasure when the time came.

  “That is enough talk for now. I grow weary of your thin defiance. I could have you screaming in pain or pleasure within moments. The way you speak to me will determine which I choose.”

  Chapter 5

  “Did they talk about the defense of our people?”

  “Yes, the young leaders show concern. The ruling class drowns in its own excess and does not worry about such things.”

  “I advise you to start talking to others in the village, those who would be sympathetic to your concerns.” The Soothsayer stirred the dented cauldron steaming over the fire.

  “And say what? Tell them I am seeing bonfires in the sky, and that the Soothsayer warns me of future omens from a lost prophet?”

  The Soothsayer chuckled through ragged teeth. “Of course not, Machek. Don’t be foolish. Frame it in the context of security. Explain that the dominated tribes scheme against the People of the Sun and that we must prepare for an attack. The Serpent King plots as we speak.”

  “So you know more than what you have told me, is that it?”

  “The Book of Horoscopes forecasts our future, but man can alter that destiny. The Serpent King is coming, and he brings death and destruction in his wake. Now go. One thing is certain: Time is precious and we may have less than we realize.”

  Machek left the Soothsayer’s tent, alone with his past and burdened with thoughts of the future.

  ***

  People shuffled past the marketplace with weary eyes and drawn faces. Stalls stood empty, and merchants hung diseased and rotting game. Farmers displayed their harvest on rough burlap rolls, most of it puny and spoiled. The odor of organic decay replaced the usual smells of fresh game and produce, and listless children sat in groups, staring into the distance while holding their empty stomachs.

  The Council of Elders had created an advisory group to deal with the growing crisis, and because of his military service to the Empire, Machek had been asked to join the inner council.

  The elite group sat inside a rawhide tent. A fire raged at one end and a low table sat in the middle. Men peered at familiar faces, but did not use conversational tones. Some twirled strands of coarse rope around their fingers while others smoked pipes, the burning of sweet herb masking the perspiration of fear. A single beam of sunlight illuminated the center of the table, leaving the chairs in the dark.

  The chief elder finished the customary greetings and addressed the council. “I have gathered you to deal with something of great importance. Our future and the future of our sons and daughters may be at stake. I ask you to put aside the differences of class and wealth that surfaced during the village meeting. If our end is coming, it will spare neither beggar nor banker.”

  The members of the council held their respectful silence.

  “Trojen. Your family owns most of the gold and silver deposits in the One World. We will need your influence and wealth.

  “I have chosen you, Fasha, because you know the ways of the night sky. We have relied on your interpretations for many suns and will need them even more during this difficult time.

  “Machek, Jaguar Night, your military training and experience will be crucial to fending off attacks by other tribes, should our intertribal relations deteriorate.

  “And you, Desi. Nobody knows the ways of the soil in the One World as you do. Should we need to grow corn out of a rock, you can show us how.

  “The four of you, with the rest of the Elders, have an enormous task. We must talk about our situation. However, the debate must remain within our circle. Certain topics could cause panic and confusion amongst our people if we were not careful. Let us start by sharing what we know of the situation.”

  Trojen broke the silence. “I fear the rumblings of revolution. My investors and traders heard this from all corners of the One World. Our subjugated tribes, such as the Dog People, the Mountain Souls, and the People of the Eagle, resent us. Many, many suns ago, when our ancestors conquered these regions, they allowed the people to live as they always had. Of course, they needed to pay the People of the Sun a token tribute. This allowed them to retain their cultures and lifestyles.

  “However, over the course of generations, the tributes increased. The People of the Sun extract human and natural resources from all across the One World. The people that live off these resources cannot subsist on our scraps and meager handouts. They starve and freeze to death in their tents while emissaries tell stories of the opulence of the People of the Sun. Desperate people do desperate things, my brothers. I fear that if the conquered tribes of the One World organize and mobilize against the People of the Sun, we might be powerless to stop them.”

  Nobody spoke, most taking measured drags from their burning pipes. The blue haze cast a heavy pall over the discussion.

  Desi nodded at Trojen and spoke. “I do not communicate with the souls beyond our village. I speak with the Earth Goddess and she fears the future. The soil delivered to us and nourished by the rain gods deteriorates. Generations grew crops on these lands and thrived. Now, our population outpaces our available space to farm. We trade for common plants and vegetables that we can no longer grow in our own gardens. I am sure Trojen could speak to that exchange.

  “We used the lands of the subjugated tribes to feed our people. The soil erodes and the lands blow away to the Great Waste. The local farmers hide crops for their own people. If a chieftain organized these farmers to prevent exports, our situation would be dire at best. Furthermore, our predicament has us in an ever-expanding, upward spiral. The more food we grow, the more people reproduce, the more food we need, the more food we grow. In the very near future, we will need to curb our population growth, and rely less on imported foods, or we will die from mass starvation.”

  “I must consult with the Soothsayer, and soon,” said Fasha. Machek stirred and shifted his legs. “The signs of the night sky have not followed their established patterns. The planets of Tritor and Mictla have crossed paths many times. The heavens deviate from the established order. I do not know what is causing this, nor do I know how to restore the order. I have observed it. You called me to this council, dear Elders, but the People of the Sun snicker at my readings. They say I am a superstitious fool and that our modern ways contradict the signs of the ancients. There is nothing I can do about this.”

  “Fasha, have you seen any new signs in the night sky, anything that might help explain what is happening?” asked Machek.

  Fasha turned towards him. “If you are asking me if I have seen any of the omens, Jaguar Knight, the answer is no. However, one does not need to see the air to know
it exists. I heard rumors that some of our villagers witnessed the beginnings of the omens, but I have no proof to support that.”

  Machek’s upper lip twitched and he glanced down at his feet. “And if the omens of the prophet have begun, then what?” he asked.

  “I do not know. I would need to consult with the Soothsayer on these matters. I have noticed that one constellation retrograded, moving backwards through the night sky.”

  “Which one is that, sir?” asked the chief elder.

  “Nede, the Sign of the Serpent,” Fasha replied.

  Machek sat still as a murmur wove through the inner council. When the noise subsided, he began. “We have a puny and pathetic standing army. Any tribe that organized a thousand warriors would level our villages to the ground.”

  The members of the inner council sat as still as the sands of the Great Waste.

  “The warriors of the Jaguar Knights have not seen combat in many suns. They have grown tired, fat, and lazy.” He let his words mingle with the blue haze and resisted the urge to share his observations of the omens. “If you ask for my input, we need many moons to reestablish a standing force.”

  The chief elder nodded at Machek and stood to address the advisory group. “I give my heart to you for sharing this with us. All four of you brought different aspects of our current situation into clear focus. The Elders and I need to discuss these matters further before creating a plan of action. Please return to your families and we will summon you when the time is right. Tonatu!”

  Trojen, Fasha, and Desi exited the tent. The chief elder placed his hand on Machek’s shoulder.

  “Jaguar Knight, I have seen many suns in the One World and I know when the ray of light does not show itself through the clouds. Is there something you would like to share, in confidence?”

  “Sir, there might be something. However, I do think we need to consider Fasha’s advice before I share that with you. We need to summon the Soothsayer.”

  “Yes, I am aware of this, Jaguar Knight. Machek, please understand that as soon as word gets out that the inner council of the Elders is taking advice from the Soothsayer, we will lose much face.”

  “I know this, sir,” Machek replied. “Are we more concerned about losing face or losing our children?”

  ***

  Machek left the meeting and returned to the Soothsayer’s dwelling. The old man lived high upon a ridge, far from the bustle of the capital and its surrounding villages. Odd charms and lockets hung from the trees nearby, swinging at strange angles. Several collapsing huts stood guard around the main rawhide tent. Animals did not leave tracks near the Soothsayer’s dwelling and birds abandoned gnarled trees. A mixture of burning herb and wet firewood escaped through the hole in the middle of the tent, and Machek spat the taste of bitter air on the ground, watching it sizzle and evaporate from the barren soil.

  “You must undergo a cleansing ritual,” said the Soothsayer. “Before we speak again, demons need to be cast from your soul.”

  Machek sat down and allowed the Soothsayer to continue.

  “Remove your clothes and go to the okinsa hut behind my tent. You will find it very warm. Stay in as long as you can, come out, and then return. You will know when your body is clean.”

  Machek did as he was told. He entered the steaming hut, which reeked of oils and rotten wood. A darkness like the bottom of the Great Sea enveloped him, and he fought the urge to vomit, remaining in the hut as long as he could before he stumbled out and emptied the contents of his stomach on the ground. Machek completed the cycle three more times. On the fourth, he saw vivid colors spinning in the air. Visions came to him, some from the past, and some from the present. He witnessed a tiny village on the edge of the Great Waste burning to the ground. He felt the rolling and tumbling of a vessel on a wave, something he had never experienced in his life. These sensations ran together as he lost consciousness.

  “Wake, Jaguar Knight, before you go beyond the Region of the Dead.” The Soothsayer tapped Machek on the arm with a cane made of bone, and he fell from the blackened hut into the razor-sharp sunlight of midday. He stepped backwards and crashed down on a twisted sapling. Blood ran from his forehead and shin.

  “I saw things.”

  “Yes, I know you have. Let me help you back into the tent, where you can dress and smoke.”

  Machek sat by the fire and the Soothsayer handed him a pipe.

  “What do you remember, Jaguar Knight?”

  “Many, many visions. The final one frightened me. I spoke to a snake.”

  Chapter 6

  The water dribbled onto his foot, each droplet an agonizing pinch of pain. Machek lifted his head and peered into the jumble of wooden beams crossing his chest, pinning him to the ground. A thin and weak streak of light shot through a knothole, glistening off the slimy wood grain. He strained his ears, hoping for a word, a mumble, a sigh. Nothing.

  He struggled to lift his right shoulder until the sharpened pain of dislocation shook his body and stole his breath. Gasping and chasing tears from his eyes, Machek wiggled the fingers of his left hand. His thumb and pointer finger came together to pinch a hair on his thigh in delayed pain and sweet acknowledgement of feeling. The shaft of light abandoned him, throwing him back into total darkness.

  He turned an elbow and brought his left hand up, pushing one beam over his head. Another jolt of pain racing through his body reminded him of the injury to his right shoulder. With trembling fingers, he pulled the wooden shard from his right shoulder and tossed it to the side. As if guided by the gods, the beam of light returned, bouncing off the black water and reflected enough light for Machek to see his toes. A wiggle with no pain. And now the other foot. He pulled his knees up before realizing there was room for him to sit.

  The remains of the work shed enclosed him, a suffocating, haphazard cell. A listen, and again, the lonely echo of dropping water. Machek lurched forwards on all fours. Keeping his right arm folded to his abdomen, he began crawling like a child over fallen timber. Black holes of water shimmered alongside the wood, hiding the scarred floor.

  A beacon of light came into focus at the far end of the shop. Machek shook his head, unable to believe the Sun God could return to gawk at the work of the Dark One. A sharp object pierced his left palm, a burning pain from a knee buried in water. These did not stop him; they did not slow him down.

  As the illuminated opening grew, so did the wailing. Machek poked his head through, only to have his eyes seared by the rays of the Sun God as they displayed the wounds of the Empire. The air tasted of mildew, organic and rotting. Machek pushed his damp hair to the side, willing his eyes to adjust to the daylight. His sense of hearing delivered grief-stricken sounds that scarred his soul.

  The mix of blood and shop materials formed an oily stain on his shoulder, just below the laceration caused by the wooden beam. Machek watched the steady pulse of blood trickle down his forearm and pool in his palm. When he lifted his head, he wished that had been his final vision.

  A gaping wound in the forest replaced the dwelling that Machek had built for his wife and two sons. He noticed a few bricks still sitting around a phantom hearth, the only thing he recognized. Pieces of thatched roof gathered at the base of nearby trees, as if trying to resist the awesome pull of the current. Articles of clothing fluttered on branches, each one forcing another sick tumble in his stomach.

  He cursed the return of his eyesight and shook his head in an attempt to deafen his ears. Neither act spared the hurt, and he closed his eyes, giving in to the silent sobs pulsing through his body.

  He opened his eyes to the sleeping room, his cot soaked through with sweat and his heart tearing through his chest. He swung his feet off the hammock and onto the dirt floor. His shoulder ached and then the pain faded with the recurrent dream. He would revisit it tomorrow night, just like the ones before. He reached for a flask dangling from a leather strap, throwing his head back and turning it upside down, coaxing stubborn drops from the dregs before he slammed it off
the opposite wall, the clamor ringing through the suffocating blanket of night.

  He pushed through the entrance flap and stood, waiting for his heart to calm. The distant fires of the capital broke the black ink of night, warming the citizens able to forget the disaster and those trying to drug the memories away.

  Chapter 7

  The chief elder sat at the head of the table as Fasha, Trojen, Desi, Machek, and the others entered the hut. The men sighed as they gathered, feeling the weight of the situation holding them bound to the Earth Goddess. Nobody spoke as one of the elders passed around a pipe.

  “We have discussed the situation and decided to consult the Soothsayer,” said the chief elder.

  “So?” replied Machek. Looks of astonishment appeared on the fire-lit faces.

  “Do you wish to speak, Jaguar Knight?” asked the chief elder.

  Machek cleared his throat. “I am not sure there is anything that can be done about our situation. Consulting the Soothsayer may enlighten us, but what difference does it make? Most of our people do not wish to open their eyes to the reality before them. They would prefer to sing and dance in an attempt to drown out the roaring approach of doom. Our villagers go about their business as if this way of life will continue. They act as though nothing is happening, and anyone attempting to show them the light is bizarre or an outcast. There are a few young warriors and some scholars of the Book of Years who have raised the alarm, but most of us pretend we do not hear it.”

  “Machek, you seem to have lost hope on the way to our gathering today,” said the chief elder. The darkness of the tent hid Machek’s bloodshot eyes, but it could not mask the hot stench of ale on his rancid breath.

  “Maybe I have, sir. Maybe the task that faces us is insurmountable. Maybe it is best we enjoy what little time we have left with our opulence, and drug ourselves into oblivion.”

  Fasha responded with delicate tones. “You pushed us to consult the Soothsayer, and now you dance to the gallows. If the situation is so dire, why are you here?”