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Trice...
Chapter One

Trice emerged from the doorway of her woodlands cabin without so much as looking back, her overnight duffel swinging easily by her knee as she strode up the tree shrouded path beside the river. A single rose colored light marked her destination, its pinpoint brilliance softened by a slow moving mist which had begun to filter in from the waters beyond the evergreens, mists which swirled aside at her approach, allowing her free passage.

It was as if an ocean fog had somehow found its way onto Karrah's High Plateau; a shrouded specter sent by the Nameless Sea which drew back in respect upon finding Ash’elon’s runaway daughter— in recognition of a kindred spirit. Yet out there in the dark beyond the fleestwood flowed waters which moved in a single direction, the Zhul's steady current unaffected by weather or season. Far different indeed were the wild swirling tides surrounding her home island of Ash'elon—turbulent waters said to be born of a mythical struggle between quarrelsome sisters: the moons Aisee, Gyinah, and Zhaine.

Foolhardy indeed was the traveler who dared ventured beyond Ash'elon's Sea Gate without proper escort, for these fearsome tides swept the flats of everything in their path, easily outpacing the fastest horse. Yet the people of Ash'elon's fortress were grateful for their isolation, these swift moving currents presenting a formidable barrier against the warlike clans who lurked over the horizon on the desert mainland known as Emzebee.

A hoarse barking cough punctuated the darkness...

An unsettling sound from somewhere out on the river which made Trice wish she carried something more substantial than the throwing knife at her belt. Again came the cough, followed by a rapid knocking which trailed away in a series of hollow sighs.

One never swam in the River Zhul...

The local Wai'min natives warned of venomous tongued T'hamchucts and clawed footed emberrays—monster amphibians fully capable of swallowing a grown sheep alive. Yet never had these beasts been known to lurk along the shores at night, especially near a populated settlement. Nonetheless Trice slowed her pace, staring through the gloom, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that swam out there in the darkness. A splash exploded from the far river bank, the sharp slap reverberating across the unseen waters again and again. Then silence...

Eat or be eaten!
Trice smiled grimly to herself...

Her late mother Na'dalee had faced such a decision early on in life, Ash'elon's youngest Queen forced to chose duty above the lover who had fathered her only child. That he bore the surname Cha'nya—a foreigner of noble lineage—had made little difference to Ash'elon's Council of Four. In their learned opinion, off-island blood, no matter how aristocratic, could never be pure enough! That the Cha'nya were said to have mated with the dreaded nonhuman Mateek, back during those dark days when humanity first gathered on N'ayu's shores, made Na'dalee's proposed union all the more repugnant.

To think that her mother had tolerated such fools...

Lucky for Trice that the long awaited emersaries of the God Orion had returned in her lifetime; her youth, her skill as an Ash'elon Navigator ideally suited to their needs. While the pretentious Council of Four would always insist that wisdom be equated with adulthood, Orion's pragmatic representatives had asked no questions; had accepted her solely on her own merit. They seemed not to care that she had been only seventeen summers old at the time.

Trice picked up her stride, savoring the tiny water droplets which swept against her cheeks; the fragrant cinnamon scent of fleestwood bark floating on the mists. Here in the shade of these tall corrugated evergreens—trees as high as Ash'elon's keep tower—she had a domed cabin all to herself as well as a view of snow capped mountains to the north, their shadowy cirques and soil streaked glaciers frozen for all time.

Here at Mallycastle everyone appreciated her...

Doubtful that any of the Orion newcomers would have guessed her to be royalty; or for that matter, were even aware of Ash'elon's twin ruling families: the feisty red headed Mishaas and their more temperate counterparts, the affable dark haired Sh'rums. Far be it for Trice to have revealed that as a Mishaa, she might have ruled an island kingdom of some two thousand inhabitants!

She had given it up gladly...

Let her elderly step-father, Haaron Sh'rum, rule Ash'elon in her stead. Let him stand regent for his adopted daughter Jyanne, Na'dalee's so called Storm Child who had been found floating ashore some eight winters ago wrapped in ship's sailcloth and a Wai'min blanket. Ironic indeed that shortly before her mother’s death, Na'dalee had proclaimed Jyanne heir to the throne in the face of the Council's objections.

Certainly all Ash'elon regarded Jyanne with consternation...

A witch's child, the troublemakers whispered, a Sanoahan no less; a daughter of the "banished ones" who practiced the dark arts of cas laah and cas'taa. Was it not obvious that she carried the tiny red jewel known as a zeepray embedded in the flesh of her right temple? Certainly the child would grow up a Majiskala— a sorceress to be put to the flames.

At least in days of old...

No matter that Wai'min peasants as well as those of the Seven Chosen Families, casually adopted the zeepray as a foible of fashion, wearing them as beauty marks to market as well as festive occasions. No matter that the select few of Ash'elon who belonged to the Navigators' Guild—of which Trice was one—used these same mystical sea stones to discern fast moving weather fronts or to envision safe passage through fog shrouded waters. The art of ciancias it was called on Ash'elon; not magic but a cultivated talent, though strangely enough, none but first-born children were able to master the discipline.

Still Trice's relationship with this adopted younger sister had accordingly suffered, her own childhood days subject to the rigorous schooling of the Navigator's Guild. Perhaps it was no wonder that Jyanne accepted her abrupt departure for Mallycastle some three summers ago with no more than an unconcerned nod. Then came her mother Na'dalee's sudden death a summer later...

Changing everything, yet changing nothing...

Upon her brief return for her mother's funeral Trice had found Jyanne aged beyond her six summers: sullen, uncommunicative, seeming to prefer the companionship of her various pets rather than reacquainting herself with her older sister. Even her step-father Haaron appeared distant, his once vibrant spirit dulled by Na'dalee's fatal stroke. To make matters worse, a young woman purporting to be the child's tutor hovered at his elbow, her duplicitous manner belying her professed love for Ash'elon's departed Queen. More than ever Trice felt like a total stranger; stripped of what little family she had left; her decision to leave Ash'elon no longer an issue...

Irrevocable...

She passed through the stranded wire fence marking the inner perimeter of the Orion base and eagerly made her way along the side of a squat windowless building. Though no more than a year old, the metal siding was already pitted and stained—a wasteful building material as far as she was concerned considering the human effort needed to extract metal from open pit mines. By contrast, Ash'elon's granite walls were as solid as the sea swept ledges which fanned from beneath the fortress like outstretched claws of a giant bird of prey. Ash'elon would always be...

Trice turned the corner.

Her rotor-craft lay under the pink tinged glare of the work lights, its silver flight deck suspended within a web-like metallic frame. The side hatch had been thrown back in anticipation of her arrival, the rotor blade swinging gently though the air in slow sweeping turns like a glinting scythe. Even now the auto pilot automatically sequenced through its preflight check; a rippling glow of dancing lights emanating from the flight displays up forward...

"Trishalla?"

Trice started at the nearness of the voice.

Had she become so spoiled with easy living that her eyes could no longer detect shadow from substance?

"Orlidia! You surprised me."

"You're early as always, Trishalla."

Praise... or implied criticism?
One could never be sure with this Operation's Officer.

While Orlidia's bronzed skin and red hair gave the impression that they might have been sisters, she was older than Trice by perhaps five or six summers. Her stance as always was overbearing; her shoulders thrust forward as if she were ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness. Though they both wore ca-boi's—narrow toed boots which molded comfortably to the foot—Orlidia was dressed in "fatigues," skin tight metallic uniforms which her people seemed to prefer within the privacy of their base.

Terran clothing held no appeal for Trice Fatigues made her skin clammy in the summer's heat and worst of all, the garments made her feel undressed! Her preferred attire consisted of loose harbor garments favored by generations of Ash'elon seamen: belted thigh length linen shirts embodied with a big fish, little fish motif; ankle length canvas trousers and a broad billed hasta skin cap. Yet she and Orlidia were cousins after a fashion; cousins long separated by the stars.

Terrans they called themselves...

"We've canceled your hop over to Rowsegh, Trishalla. I need you to fly down to the Emzebee coast overnight—to a river landing just beyond Casset. You know that area better than any of us. We need the Scholar back immediately. He's to report to the Orbiter at first opportunity. They're adamant about recalling us I fear."

Leo as he was known, his full name apparently unpronounceable even for Terrans. In the three years she had been at Mallycastle, Trice had seen him perhaps only a dozen times, the elderly Exploratory Mission Chief preferring to "work in the field" as he called it, engaged in the study of N'ayu's wide ranging peoples—a study know as Anthropology...

"Emzebee's a nine hour flight," Trice found herself protesting: "Even without head winds..." During mid-summer, the trades backed around to the southwest.

Orlidia frowned.

"You’ve an auto pilot's, I recall, though I can't say I envy you sleeping in that thing overnight. Use the facilities before you go."

Trice smiled at the motherly advice...
Yet Orlidia's news was disturbing...

"What do you mean you're being recalled?"

Again Orlidia frowned.

"N’ayu is far too isolated a world to warrant a full time mission. It's a wonder that Leo ever managed to trace you people here as it is. Not only did your ancestors maroon themselves on a planet hidden within eight colliding galaxies, they picked a world orbiting a binary neutron star no less! You've been here for some twenty four thousand years now. We haven't the luxury to spend that long with you. Surely Leo must have spoken of this..."

N’ayu in Wai meant the one chosen world...

Yet in reality her home world was little more than a tiny speck in a waterless sea. Still these strangers had arrived, not living Gods as most of N’ayu still thought them, but as men and women with god-like powers nonetheless—knowledge that could only be described as awesome.

"Of course I know," Trice retorted. "Why wouldn't Leo have told me?" An untruth spoken in self-defense...

Why did this woman insist on dueling with her?

Leo's order that Trice be trained as one of the courier pilots had not sat well with Orlidia though exactly why she couldn't begin to imagine. Certainly not jealousy for Leo was old enough to be her father. Besides it was no secret that Orlidia was involved in a love affair with a young warden of the Hershcle, a woodlands preserve up river belonging to one of the Kerry nobility of Reshegon.

It was Trice's turn to frown.

"You sound like your leaving is a certainty..."

"We've no choice, Trishalla. Not that this rustic world of yours doesn't possess its share of charm: those jagged snowcapped mountains to the north; the crimson sea; the three moons playing tag with one another. Can you even begin to appreciate the freedom I enjoy just walking in these hills, looking up at that awesome white arch soaring against an azure blue sky, your Savan T'nia's Bow?"

In actuality a planetary ring, Leo had once confided...

"What will become of me?" Trice immediately cursed herself for showing weakness in front of this judgmental woman.

"Do you think you would survive the endless sameness, the cold blackness between stars?" Orlidia admonished. "Better you return to your island home, Trishalla. Perhaps you can work things out with your former husband."

Tal?

Their marriage had been doomed the moment they set out on their wedding cruise those three summers ago. All the qualities she had so admired in Tal —his defiance of authority, his irreverent wit—had unexpectedly been turned against her. By the time they had reached shelter of Rosberin Harbor—their lee rail buried in the teeth of a fierce autumn gale— she had assumed full command of their sailing cutter, threatening to cast him overboard if he countermanded another decision. Had they not spotted Leo struggling in the storm swept waters...

Leo had changed everything.

"You know I've no love left for Tal. You've..." Trice could feel her throat tightening. How much did this woman know about her? "Why wouldn't I be allowed to join you? I'm thebest pilot you have. There's none among you who possess my talents for working the sea stones."

Orlidia seemed taken aback at her insistence.

"Sea stones? Do you think we have fog banks in outer space? Navigation between stars is the least of our worries. Granted we're indebted to you for saving Leo's life, Trishalla." The tactful Orlidia now. "That you managed topull him from that frigid sea when his rotor-craft went down was nothing short of a miracle. I admit I had my doubts, yet you've done remarkably well here; your flying skills are admirable to say the least. Still you're better off back at Ash'elon. It's impossible that you come with us."

There was no arguing with her...

"So'ohm, Trishalla..." Orlidia hesitated for a moment, theAsh'elon word for hello and goodbye echoed hollowly, its implication of unity and special affection oddly out of character. A weak smile played across the older woman's features. "Here are your navigation coordinates. Please, it's hard enough for me. I've formed too many attachments as it is..."

"So'ohm, Orlidia." Trice automatically accepted the hingedmetal folder, concealing her surprised that this woman would admit to her own misgivings.

"Oh, there's a package for Leo in the baggage compartment of the rotor-craft. Some communication equipment he requested before all this came up. Will you see that he gets it?" Without waiting for a reply, Orlidia headed in the direction of the operations shelter...

 

Jyanne...
Chapter Two

“Check!”

Jyanne's opponent stared in stony silence as she sailed her winged knight in over his rook to take the queen's bishop. With a smug smile she swept the captured piece off the board. While it was considered unladylike to laugh at another's misfortune, she nonetheless hooted aloud
.
“Ha, I've got you now!”

His only response was a gentle clicking of the tongue as he weighed his situation. It was a unique board game - only recently discovered in the sand hills of Emzebee - played on black and white squares with thirty two assorted ivory pieces; a game brought back to Ash'elon by a courier in honor of her eighth birthday.

Chess the desert people called it!

Jyanne had found the moves simple to master. Her adversary on the other hand had been unbelievably slow to catch on. She'd had to help him almost every turn.

“You're never going to learn, Leapher!”

He merely blinked, his expression one of heavy concentration. She tried to read him; everyone said that her zeepray - the tiny red jewel she wore in her right temple - had powers beyond mortal comprehension.

All she could sense was boredom...

Would he see it? Her knight though positioned to check was nonetheless unprotected. A low whistle broke the silence as the brown furry face of her “muste pup” thrust out from under the coverlets of her canopied bed. His slim tapered body rose on tiptoe as he craned his head around; well defined black eyebrows raised in concern.

“Hush, Najel!” she snapped. “Leapher's got to figure the move out for himself.” She wished he would hurry. Her nursemaid, Old Ellia, would be bothering her about going to sleep soon.

“See? At last!”

Jyanne watched in delighted anticipation as her opponent rose from his seated position. With a toss of his long neck he reached down to seize the offending knight in his yellowed teeth, throwing his scaled head up in triumph - about to swallow!

“No! Don't you dare!”

Jyanne grabbed his neck with both hands, squeezing with all her might. He struggled in her grip, chess pieces flying across the carpet.

“Give it back!”

From atop the bed, her muste pup sank on his haunches, chattering in alarm, ready to jump to the safety of the bookshelf above the mantel. A chorus of sharp shrieks rose from a glass terrarium beneath the window seat...

One did not revolt against the master of the house!

Leapher squirmed, kicking at her body with wind milling webbed feet - a mock battle to the death, his weight equaling her own. She in turn squeezed tighter as his blunt hind claws raked across her hip. Still he wouldn't relinquish the ivory piece. She threw herself down on his furry body, bearing him to the floor.

He was not going to give up!

She shifted her grip, jamming a thumb into the corner of his mouth, pushing the translucent folds of blue skin inward behind the entrapped knight. To bite down on her now would be to bite his own lip. As she got a finger around the contested piece, Jyanne was rewarded with a sharp hiss of protest.

“Jyanne! You mustn't treat your creatures like that!”

At the sound of the voice, Leapher released the chess piece with a yelp, immediately rolling into a protective ball, his webbed feet curling around his sensitive nose; his back a mass of upraised bristles.

“Just look at you,” the gray haired woman scolded as she slid the night tray onto the table, turning up the burner under the pot of T'aah as she did so. Ellia swept an arm across the bed, sending the muste pup leaping for the upper shelves where his nest lay in a small wood slatted box. “Look what that beast has done to your nightgown!”

As Jyanne struggled to gather up the scattered chess pieces, she could feel the deep scratches burning on her hip. Her nightgown was undoubtedly torn in several places.

No matter...

“I hate this gown anyway, Ellia.”

The elder woman sighed in resignation, her wrinkled features hinting at a smile as she reached to turn down the mantle in the oil lamp. “That particular green doesn't suit you for sure - clashes with your blue eyes it does though it sets off your fine curly gold hair. Still it's a gift your stepmother T'Asinda had made for you.”

“What gift did I have them make, Ellia? And pray tell who's creating all this racket?”

A young woman swept into the room, her chiseled features framed by dark shoulder length hair. Though her brown-yellow eyes betrayed her Wai'min heritage, Jyanne knew she could expect no sympathy.

“It's nothing serious, Lady T'Asinda. I've told the child a thousand times not to lug that creature around. Only the Twins Above knows what it did with those claws in the wild.”

“They're river dwellers,” Jyanne protested. “Na'dalee herself gave him to me.”

T'Asinda twisted her lip in impatience, studying the shredded nightgown. Her own immaculate emerald cloak was tightly buttoned at the throat, an indication that she was about to head out into the evening... or had just returned.

“Na'dalee?,” the younger woman scoffed, her voice raising in pitch. “That makes it right to let the beast run loose? In the three short summers since I've been here, these chambers have been turned into a screaming menagerie. What will another three bring?”

Jyanne tugged the torn nightgown over her head and strode across the room. She ignored the ebony rocking chair, choosing to throw herself naked onto the window seat instead.

“Your own couriers bring me animals...”

“Jyanne, you know there's a room off the kitchen where all these creatures are supposed to live,” Old Ellia interrupted as she threw open a battered wardrobe, its short stubby legs shaped like scallop shells. She pulled a folded pink gown from one of the lower shelves.

“Here you go, my young Min-a-mins. You'll catch your death in that drafty window even if it's be drawing onto mid-summer.”

Jyanne ignored the well intentioned endearment, warily eying the offered garment. “Can you find me Trice's winter shirt with the stars on the hem - the one with with the little treasure pocket? The one Na'dalee gave to me?”

Again T'Asinda barely concealed her fury. “All I hear is Na'dalee this, Na'dalee that. I'm Queen here now. As for that old rag of a nightshirt...”

Ellia ignored her, rummaging through the wardrobe once again. “Hush, Mins. Can't you see you should learn to pick your arguments? Here's Trishalla's old shirt. Put it on and come have some T'aah. It will soothe your disposition... Sip of long life to be.”

“The child is as ungracious as Na'dalee ever was!”

Ellia turned to T'Asinda. “Please, my Lady. It's well past Jyanne's bed time. Let her wear what she wants for now. She's got no one but us to look out for her. We've the coming days to work on her manners. She misses her mother...”

“Mother indeed!” T'Asinda whirled about. “Wear it then! I must be off to my chambers to freshen up. King Haaron lies close to death this night. It would not do for him to see me in such a state, though only the Twins Above know what he's truly aware of anymore.”

She paused suddenly and dug inside her cape, extracting three shortbread cookies. “I almost forgot...” She dropped them casually on the night table, adopting a more solicitous tone. “Forgive me, Child. It sad that we argue like this. I've so much to bear, for soon I too will be alone.”

Jyanne jumped from the window seat, the starry hem of her nightshirt falling almost to her knees. “He is no longer Haaron. He's being eaten from within by ghosts.”
Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Child, what are you saying?” Ellia was visibly distressed. “It's melancholy that takes his soul. He's lost his judgment since Na'dalee's death. She was a blessed treasure...”

“Enough, Old Woman.” T'Asinda whirled toward the doorway. “Haaron chose me to be his wife. So I shall be until his death... Oh hello...” She almost collided with a red bearded man who entered from the outer chamber with a noticeable limp, his broad brimmed seaman's hat clutched in one hand.

“My Lady, I've sought you out everywhere.”

“Would you not know how to knock, young man?”

“Indeed, Tal,” said T'Asinda sweetly, “have you no manners in front of these ladies?” He twisted the brim of his hat between his fingers, shaking his shoulder length red hair in exasperation.

“You've allowed an Emzebee mercenary to overnight at Ash'elon! He could be a spy intending harm!”

“May we discuss this in private, Commander Bahron?”

“You forget it is I who provides Ash'elon's security.”

“I'm well aware of what you provide. This way, Commander... Make sure you drink your T'aah, Jyanne. Long life!” Tal scowled, on his way though the doorway after her, their steps echoing down the hallway.

“Commander indeed,” sniffed Ellia.

“Tal can scale Peri Rock faster than anyone in spite of his lame leg,” Jyanne exclaimed. “I've seen him do it. Why don't you like him, Ellia?”

“Cursed be him too,” the older woman whispered. “Once he was welcome in these chambers, back when he was married to your sister Trishalla. Now both he and that Emzebee harpie wait to feast on the spoils of Haaron's death; and that she thinks she's ruler of this island already! Would that you be older to assume your proper duties. She'll make a mean regent that one.”

Jyanne knelt by the corner of the marble fireplace, rummaging through a wooden trunk stuffed with sequined chiffon. She turned to the old woman, her expression one of determination.

“T'Asinda's hurtful. Death should take her too!”

“Hush this talk, Child. You'll only be bringing the Mishaa curse down upon us all. There's too many of their line who dies young as it is. Thank the Twins Above you've none of their blood.” She poured the T'aah, muttering to herself. “It's a frightful thing that happened to Lady Na'dalee... and now to Haaron.” She inserted a hollowed wooden straw into the cup and held it out to the child.

“He fights off a curse,” Jyanne protested.

She ignored the offered drink, instead pulling a yellowed Wai'min blanket from beneath the window seat and throwing it onto her bed. Scooping up the recumbent Leapher, she lay him unceremoniously on it, carefully tucking the folds under his front paws. “No T'aah this evening, Ellia. I will live forever without it.”

“I'll have none of your argument, Mins. You soak up your stubbornness from the very walls of this chamber. Your sister Trishalla was as hard headed as yourself.”

“Like Trice, I'll run away from this island too. When Haaron dies there will be no one here for me.”

The old woman set the T'aah mug out on the night table.

“Woe be to the young fishes that leap out onto the rocks to view the world! You have the wisdom of your age - all eight summers worth.”

Jyanne turned from the bed, her blue eyes tearful once again. “I know you care, Old Ellia. T'Asinda hates you too! Come with me. You won't be safe here.”

“My feelings for her are no secret, Child, yet we islanders must all suffer one another. Otherwise this rock would capsize within a ten-day. She'll dare do nothing to me, but she's right in one respect. You must learn some manners.”

“Do I belong here, Ellia?”

“But you do, Child. Though it's uncertain if you be of Wai or Orion blood, you were sent here by none other than Savan T'nia herself, the mother of all things living. Where would you want to go?”

“Haaron told me about an ancient kingdom far to the north where people still dwell in spite of the ice and snow.”

“The Byh'points! Aye, he sang those same sagas to Trishalla when she was little. I'll tell him you was thinking of him when I pays my respects later.”

“Why isn't he my real father?”

“But he is, Child! It's a question of who's made the best effort with you, not whose blood runs in your veins.”

“What is snow like to walk in?”

“Have you not been listening, Child?”

“The High Priest of the Temple, Shada Rhahm, is going to teach me how to make gold from sea water. All you need is a mirror! He's already taught Jasha.”

“Don't you believe that little scamp!”

“It true! His grandfather taught him. He swears it!

Ellia sighed. “You be in your own world, Child. I can't begin to keep up with your thoughts. To bed now.”

“My moon is out tonight. I can feel her! I want to say so'ohm - good night for now.”

“Then look for her quickly, Child.”

“No T'aah!”

“No matter, little Love. I'll leave you T'Asinda's cookies. You best be washed up after you've used the privacy.” Ellia took a last look about the room. It was suspiciously silent as if waiting for her to leave.

“I'm sorry I've no time to tell you a story. I'll tuck you in later.”

The child shrugged away the offer.

“We all love you, Mins.”

Jyanne walked the length of her room in silence, throwing herself once more onto the cushioned window seat. Nothing was visible through the tiny squares of hand blown glass, the world beyond, shrouded in a darkness streaked with blowing wisps of gray. A foggy cloak drawn about Ash'elon, Haaron would say, so that the gods might tend their work unseen.

Would that she had the powers of the gods to reshape the world; that when she awoke in the morning, the ocean tides and steaming sand flats would be replaced by enchanted forests and meadow edged ponds; that flocks of colorful birds and grazing horned beasts would stream beneath her tower window. If only she had some help...

Was her own special moon up there even now?

There were three to choose from...

She had always liked the smaller of the two green moons best, the lively river goddess Gyinah, a moon capable of making several passes on any given evening. No matter that Gyinah could be spiteful, especially toward her twin sister Aisee. That Aisee had been given command of all ocean life by the Earth Mother Svan T'nia, was forever a source of jealously between them.

Jyanne strained to detect Gyinah's presence, for a moment feeling as if she were one with the translucent panes before her; as if with just a little more effort she might pass right through out into the night.

A crimson sphere brooded high in the mists...

A moon whose presence was an unmoving fixture in the summer skies: Zhaine the huntress - her coloration taken from the blood of battle; her favors exchanged for eternal servitude.

Jyanne shuddered...

Again she thrust herself into the void, to feel a shimmer play across her forehead, a soothing warmth fanned by a thousand trilling stars singing her name. She felt herself bathed in the promise of distant lands unmarked by human footsteps; felt her body strain toward a celestial summons issued from the nighttime heavens above. It was as if her very soul would shred like thorn-down thistle, so sweet was their call...

The lure of the Seven Sisters of Dak'alow.

Haaron had sung of the seven starry whirlpools which dominated the evening skies, his narrative verse resonating with the ecstasy of those who willingly sprang toward their siren song - of their sudden grief upon the realization that one could never return.

A faint ringing...

Like the tiny bells at the hem of the High Priest's robes

The Jade Moon!
Gyinah!

Jyanne could sense her presence somewhere on the western horizon, her swift descent completing the first of two passes on this particular evening. She smiled in smug satisfaction. Only Ash'elon's Priesthood could predict the moons' flight as well as she. Aisee's only appearance this day would be just before dawn.

“Make me All Powerful, Gyinah,” she whispered. “I'm all alone now. I'm surrounded by enemies.”

She could hear nothing now...

Only Zhaine's dull red glow wavered in response...

..

DaNorbin...
Chapter Three

At the first insistent knock, DaNorbin's fingers tightened on the hilt of his blade. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he snuffed out the tiny lamp, cupping his bare palm directly across the glass chimney without so much as a thought to pain. Desert habits die hard...

He was still fully dressed!

Had he really trusted himself to sleep in this unfamiliar room surrounded by enemies? It would be sometime past midnight, he judged, for a pale red glow filtered through the drapes of the arched bay window across the chamber: an indication that the evening fogs had departed; that the hunter's moon Zhaine ruled the night.

Crossing the darkened room in a few quick steps, DaNorbin wedged a booted foot against the wooden door and slid back the bolt, his short Emzebee sword poised for a quick outward thrust. An ancient servant stood outlined in the cold luminance of the hallway, little more than a dwarf with long stringy white hair.

“You're to come at once to the Sea Gate prepared to travel!”

DaNorbin knew without asking whom the message was from.

T'Asinda!

On the ride out to Ash'elon he had hardly dared hope that she might still remember him. Some dozen summers ago, T'Asinda had been one of the many so called “confidants” who eagerly haunted the fringes of the Great Hall at Casset. That she was destined to scheme her way to the top had been apparent even then. Now here she was married to Haaron Sh'rum, King Regent of Ash'elon, while he, DaNorbin, was forced to earn his keep in the time honored tradition of his clan - as a mercenary of the sword.

A lesson not lost on a tough desert fighter like himself!

As the messenger's footsteps faded, he relit the lamp before closing the door, carefully drawing the bolt securely. His survivor's mentality had been instilled by his beloved grandfather. Always, his T'samin had cautioned, one locked the door as well as one's mouth. His grandfather had lived well into his hundred and twenty fifth summer!

He quickly threw his few belongings into a saddle roll; pausing only long enough to check the lacing on his knee high leather boots. As he moved through the richly furnished chamber, an ornate gold mirror reflected a hardened young man of some thirty summers, broad muscular shoulders set off by a tight dark vest tucked into leather riding trousers. His dirty blonde hair was braided desert fashion, a mass of tight ringlets held by a black headband, its rectangular metal clasp embossed with three silver stars.

He did not bother to view his own reflection.

Keeping the short sword concealed within the saddle roll, DaNorbin negotiated the series of circular stairwells which led to the entrance of the keep tower. On the trip out to Ash'elon he had expected to share a tent with the Gray Mountain traders, yet who was he to have turned down this mysterious offer of a private chamber?

T'Asinda...
She had remembered him after all!

Emerging from the keep, he kept to the shadows; watching, listening. Though the street below appeared empty, a woman's laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, a reminder that he was still surrounded by unseen people - haughty foreigners who worshiped no moon; who thought themselves superior to all.

He momentarily regarded the dull red globe overhead - the desert traveler's oldest friend, the crimson moon known as Zhaine. Unlike her impetuous green sisters, Aisee and Gyinah, the red moon followed a slow predictable course through the nighttime heavens, her way guided by the array of interlocking star pools known to those of the mesa lands as the Hawk God Glishnem's Seven Heavenly Nests. It was said that the wise traveler stayed put when Zhaine left the skies least it be his blood that lured her once more into the heavens - another piece of advice his T'samin had passed on...

Advice that he had not always followed.

Still DaNorbin hesitated, stuck by the moonlit sands which stretched beyond the fortress wall as far as the eye could see; a barren landscape abandoned by an ocean which refused to be named. Indeed the Nameless Sea's vacillating nature defied all imagination: its waters crimson red in the summer season, its appearance dark blue by autumn's end.

Unlike the cherished droplets which his impoverished people collected from their pyramidal evaporators, this salty liquid supported no life worth mentioning; its movements unnatural, uncontrollable - awaiting the opportune moment to rush in without warning.

Even the Ash'elon couriers who had guided his party out from the mainland were divided as to the Sea's true nature - some saying that the ocean waters were drawn by the three moons, while others swore that the Twins Above held sway
.
A pity that these islanders alone could predict the tides...
Though the fortress encompassed an island the size of a desert plateau, security was surprisingly lax considering Ash'elon's reputation for extracting gold from sea water. There was only one manned watch post as far as he had been able to determine - at the very top of the keep tower where the control mechanisms for the jetty storm doors were said to be located...

Footsteps!
Someone approached from the keep tower.

DaNorbin shifted sideways, moving casually down the steps. The street below was lit by the soft blue glow of cold-fire lamps, the same ever burning watery fixtures he had seen at Casset; their pale luminescence said to feed on the very souls of the long departed Ancient Ones. Though most of the darkened signs overhead proved unreadable, strains of stringed music issued from behind shuttered windows, a promise of merrymaking to be had. Again he heard laughter...

The crash of breaking glass within.

“You there! Halt!”

DaNorbin spun around, disbelieving what he'd heard.

“You! Desert Man!”

His mind raced, shuffling the possibilities.

“Hold right there!”

The stranger lurched down the steps toward him, his lanky frame betraying a prominent limp. DaNorbin quickly sized him up: tall, thinly built, a bearded face half hidden beneath the brim of a floppy canvas hat. The wooden baton clenched in one hand indicated that he was prepared for trouble. Otherwise the stranger appeared not to be armed. No doubt that game leg would be a disadvantage in a fight, fair or otherwise.

DaNorbin let the saddle roll slip from his shoulder.

“You're out late, Desert Man.”

Was he known to everyone in this cursed fortress?
DaNorbin's hand slipped inside the saddle roll, the sword in his grasp..

Light spilled into the street as a door burst open.

He had a vague impression of a row of hot steaming cauldrons arranged on a black metal rack. The stranger also blinked at the glare from the burning coals - his beard flaring a bright orange.

“Dirty bitch!”

A woman staggered through the steamy haze, her arm twisted behind her torn nightgown by a short burly man who was naked except for one boot. She cried out, dropping to her knees as he shifted his grip to her hair. His bloodshot eyes flickered between the two men in the street...

“Tal! Help me! Damn this animal!”

The red haired stranger sprang into the fray, making no attempt to mediate, his baton catching the sailor across the side of the face.

“Bastard...”

The downed man regained his feet, the woman forgotten.

“I'll teach ya, ya crippled blow hard...”

DaNorbin could hear the sharp crack of yet another blow as he retreated swiftly down the steps. Perhaps he'd been forgotten, perhaps not. Perhaps the situation back there was not as simple as it looked. There were often two sides to arguments bred in such establishments. With any luck, the red headed stranger, whomever he was, would be tied up for some time.

The stable was sunk into solid rock, fronted by wooden doors set in granite blocks. As DaNorbin pushed through the narrow leather flap that served as an entrance, he found his slave youth fast asleep, curled up on a pile of foul smelling straw. Though both horses were saddled as had been his standing order, he nonetheless gave the boy a savage nudge with his boot, needlessly hushing him with a hand gesture for the youth had no tongue!

Just as well, DaNorbin thought as they mounted up...
He detested small talk.

They rode down darkened cobble stoned streets toward the harbor, Ash'elon's cold-fire lamps providing faint illumination at each passing intersection. Though the fortress shops were shuttered and dark, temporary wooden booths had recently been erected; the residual odor of charcoaled meats and grilled fish permeating the chilled air. Above his head flapped canvas banners strung between facing balconies, many decorated with overlapping spheres depicting the three moons - the ancient Wai'min symbol know as the chymboz.

Even here on Ash'elon, the people prepared for the festival of the Summer Gathering, the biannual coming together of the three moons. In four days' time, this particular Gathering would also see the passing of the moon Rhitia - the pale sister - a happening which occurred approximately every three decades. He had been but a newborn when she last swept through the skies - his father said to have bragged of his only son birthed under such a favorable omen. Then his father had fallen on hard times; the man's pride short lived; indenturing his son to the highest bidder.

DaNorbin shrugged...

Still he intended to celebrate the Gathering back in the mesa lands. At least in the shadows of the Gray Mountains the wine and women of Manakia flowed freely. All one needed was the money to afford both.

The wine at least was cheap.

The Sea Gate loomed before them, the jetty protected basin with its grounded fishing boats plainly visible through the high arched passageway. Again there were no guards on duty, the inner courtyard absolutely deserted. Unlike the harbor at Casset, Ash'elon's night life appeared confined to the topmost levels of the fortress.

He motioned for the boy to halt, silently indicating that they would wait in the shadow of the deserted guard tower, well away from the glow of the cold-fires. That there were no others on horseback to act as guides was suspicious enough. Would they be departing by boat? There would be extra to pay should he be forced to leave such a valuable stallion behind.

A movement in the shadows...
DaNorbin gripped his sword.

T'Asinda emerged from what appeared to be a solid wall of stone, her form almost invisible in her green and black cape. Without a word of greeting she handed up a large bundle wrapped in an old blanket.

As DaNorbin accepted the unexpected weight, he was startled to discover a sleeping child within, perhaps six of seven summers old with curly blonde hair. Burrowed in the folds of her night dress was a muste pup, its tan and white silken body snuggled against hers, seeking protection from the night's chill. He noted with concealed alarm the tiny zeepray glowing at her temple, a pinpoint red flame in the darkness.

Glishnem take her...

“My beloved husband King Haaron is dead, dearest Cousin.” T'Asinda's smile belied her words. “Only this child, Jayanne, stands in my way. I would have you take her across the sands. Once out of sight of this fortress, slay her! A sufficient reward shall accompany you as payment for your troubles.”

DaNorbin appreciated her directness...

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Future Orion Series

"Neutron star... What we're seeing is the first luminescence to escape a disintegrating black hole... It's spewing out everything trapped within; a celestial release of time as well as light..." Lt Randa Zyaina