Return To Ash'elon

Trice... chapter one

```````Trice exited the dome dwelling without so much as a glance over her shoulder, the copper highlights of her hair flaring briefly from the interior’s warmth as the plastic door sighed shut behind her. Her canvas duffel swung easily at her knee as she strode up the tree-shrouded path beside the river, a solitary rose-colored light marking her destination. Its pinpoint brilliance was softened by a slow moving mist that had begun to filter in from the waters beyond the evergreens, evening vapors that 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 bid by the Nameless Sea to seek out Ash’elon’s runaway daughter—a smoky presence that nonetheless drew back in respect as if in recognition of a kindred spirit.
```````Trice slowed her pace, savoring the tiny water droplets that swept against her cheeks, the fragrant cinnamon scent of fleestwood bark floating on the mists. That this mountainous retreat lay far from the island city of her birth gave little cause for regret. Here in the shade of these tall corrugated evergreen—trees as high as Ash’elon’s keep tower—she had a cabin all to herself with a view of snow capped mountains to the north, their shadowy cirques and soil streaked glaciers frozen for all time.
```````Her people were welcome to their self-righteous isolation, their smug confidence in the periodic tides that swept in from the horizon, a watery turbulence born of a mythical struggle between three quarrelsome sisters: the moons Aisee, Gyinah, and Zhaine. That these awesome currents presented a formidable barrier against the warlike clans who lurked on the desert mainland known as Emzebee, met with no argument. Foolhardy indeed was the traveler who ventured toward this fortress city without escort for these fearsome surges swept the sand flats of everything in their path, easily outpacing the fastest horse.
```````Far different indeed was Karrah’s High Plateau. Here in the gathering darkness beyond the pathway flowed the River Zhul, determined waters who, like herself, moved with singular purpose; a forceful icy current that carved its way through a rugged uplands landscape born of brazen granite outcrops and hillside stands of impossibly tall conifers. Though it was a river whose source lay buried beneath far off glaciers, its waters presented a mystery for they were as salty as any that crashed against Ash’elon’s sea gate,
```````A hoarse barking cough punctuated the darkness...
```````An unsettling sound from somewhere out toward the far riverbank that made Trice wish she carried something more substantial than the throwing knife at her belt. Again came the cough, followed by a rapid knocking that trailed away in a series of hollow sighs.
```````One never swam in the Zhul...
```````The local Wai’min natives warned of venomous tongued T’hamchucts and clawed footed emberrays—sizable amphibians capable of swallowing a whole sheep alive. While not beasts likely to lurk along the shores at night especially near populated settlements, Trice nonetheless 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 riverbank, the sharp slap reverberating across the unseen waters again and again. Then silence...
```````Eat or be eaten!
```````Trice smiled grimly to herself...
```````Her mother, Natali, had faced such a decision early on in life, Ash’elon’s youngest ever Queen forced to choose 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 run pure enough! That the Cha’nya were said to have mated with the non-human Mateek during the dark days when humanity first gathered on N’Ayu’s shores, made Natali’s proposed union all the more repugnant—a mindset that would never change! Certainly no truth to the old wives’ tales that the descendent of such a mating carried a bluish tinge to their skin—at least nothing visible to the mirror’s eye as far as she was able to discern.
```````Well that Mallycastle was her home now...
```````Lucky for Trice that the long awaited emissaries of the God Orion had returned in her lifetime; her youth, her skill as an Ash’elon Navigator ideally suited to their needs. Doubtful that these newcomers had ever guessed her to be royalty. While the pretentious Council of Four would forever insist that wisdom be equated with age, 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 at the time.
```````Let her elderly step-father, Haaron Sh’rum, rule Ash’elon in her stead. Let him stand regent for her adopted sister, Jyanne, the so-called Storm Child who had floated ashore wrapped in a Wai’min blanket some eight winters ago. Ironic indeed that shortly before her mother’s death, Natali had proclaimed Jyanne heir to the throne over the Council’s objections. Certainly the title of queen or king could as well have been offered to the fishermen of the harbor. That Ash’elon’s aristocrats were no brighter than their shopkeepers was painfully obvious—one had only to attend a trade debate before the Council of Four.
```````Not surprising that 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 forbidden 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 the Seven Chosen Families, casually adopted the zeepray as a foible of fashion, wearing them as beauty marks for festive occasions. No matter that the select few of Ash’elon who belonged to the Navigators’ Guild—of which Trice was one—manipulated these same sea stones to discern fast moving weather fronts or envision safe passage through fog-shrouded waters. The art of ciancias it was called; not magic but a cultivated talent, though strangely enough, none but first-born children were able to master the discipline.
```````Upon her brief return for her mother’s funeral, Trice had found Jyanne aged far beyond her six summers: sullen, uncommunicative: seeming to prefer the companionship of her odd collection of pets rather than reacquainting herself with her older sister. Even her step-father Haaron appeared a husk of his former self, his once vibrant spirit dulled by Natali’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...
```````Trice sucked at her breath as she passed through the woven wire fence that marked the inner perimeter of the Orion base; attempting to quell the flush of anger she felt for this parochial pack of fools who would ruin her life given half a chance. Undoubtedly Ash’elon would miss her as much as she missed them!
```````She eagerly made her way along the side of a squat windowless shed, its metal siding 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 that fanned from beneath the fortress like outstretched claws of a bird of prey…
```````Trice turned the corner.
```````Her rotor-craft lay beneath the pink tinged glare of the work lights, its silver flight deck suspended within a web-like metallic frame. The entrance hatch had been thrown back in anticipation of her arrival, the rotor blade swirling in a slow sweeping arc 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 Orion Operation’s Officer. While Orlidia’s chiseled features and red hair gave the impression that they might have been twin 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 that molded comfortably to the foot—Orlidia was dressed in “fatigues”, skin tight metallic uniforms that her people preferred within the privacy of their base.
```````Orion clothing held no appeal for Trice, the fabric making her skin clammy especially in summer’s heat. Worst of all the immodest almost translucent garments left her feeling 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 worn over ankle length canvas trousers. And not to forget her broad billed hasta-skin cap, the mark of Ash’elon seamen everywhere. Still she and Orlidia were cousins after a fashion; cousins long separated bythe 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 upriver from 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, they called him, his full name apparently unpronounceable even for Terrans. In the three years she had been at Mallycastle, Trice had seen him perhaps a half 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 ten 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, 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 on another front...
```````“What do you mean you’re being recalled?”
```````“Did you think we would remain here forever?” Again Orlidia scowled. “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 halfway into the Great Expanse, they picked a world orbiting a binary neutron star no less! You’ve been here some five 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 it was little more than a tiny speck in a waterless sea between the stars. More amazing still, these strangers had arrived, not as living Gods as most of N’Ayu still thought them but as men and women with god-like powers nonetheless—their knowledge only to be described as awesome.
```````“Of course I know,” Trice retorted. “Why wouldn’t Leo have told me?” An untruth spoken in self-defense...
``````

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 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 way back 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 in the skin of 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 beneath 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 bed 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 nonetheless equaling her own. She in turn squeezed tighter as his 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 pulp 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 narrow 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 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 trim the mantle in the oil lamp. “That particular green doesn’t suit you for sure—clashes with your blue eyes it does though it certainly 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 pale hollow 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. “Natali 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.
```````“Natali?” the younger woman scoffed, her voice rising 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 into scallop shells. She pulled a folded pink gown from one of the lower shelves.
```````“Here you go, 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 the little treasure pocket? The one Natali gave to me?”
```````Again T’Asinda barely concealed her fury. “All I hear is Natali this, Natali 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 Natali ever was!”
```````Ellia turned to T’Asinda.
```````“Please, my Lady. It’s well past Jyanne’s bedtime. 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...”

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 bedside 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 chamber 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 dark 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 that 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 that stretched beyond the fortress wall as far as the eye could see; a barren landscape abandoned by an ocean that 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 that 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 seawater. 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 direction of the keep.
```````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 that 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! 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.......