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ORIGINAL DRAFT - PRE-EDITING

This story was written as part of the 2016 National Novel Writing Month. It was written without edits between 12:01am, November 1st and 11:59pm, November 30th.

This story was written by David J Rust, aka Sylvan Scott, and is in a pre-edited state. The characters, situations, and concepts herein are property of the author and may not be distributed or altered without express, written permission.

Skylands: the Scorpion Spear, Part One - "Saeldrin", Chapter Eight: Labyrinthine

©2016 Sylvan Scott

"Life, little water-bearer, is both structured and complicated. B?nor's gifts are not to be abused! Who do you think you are?" Almara Balmyrra's tone betrayed no weariness as she shouted into Onid's face. Despite her provision of further instances of their god's powerful rites to help them remain hidden as they fled, there was power and rage in her sagging, aged face. "You think yourself a high priestess already, girl? Why else would you use the gifts of water to end someone's life? Even a ramessin deserves better than that! Do you think your wisdom more informed than mine, girl? Well, do you?"

Onid, to her credit, was calm. She stood tall and strong. She did not pause when Balmyrra completed her tirade. Instead, she knelt before the ancient priestess and bowed her forehead to the snow. "I apologize, Almara Balmyrra; I shall not transgress before you, again."

Ered watched from his rocky shelter. They had found the shallow cave shortly after their five league run. If he had believed in a god that watched out for her followers, like the ramessin did, he might have burst into praise. But B?nor did not look out for them. She hunted them as much as the wolves, did. If they understood their place and followed her dark path, in the end their deaths would welcome them into the next life with greater knowledge. And, thus, the cycle would go on.

His wounds had been closed but he could still feel something inside the meat of his shoulder. He had seen the ramessin weapons, before. He had seen them erupt with thunder to shatter bone and spray blood. He knew they threw small, metal stones so fast, no one could sense them. He thought, now, that one must be inside him, grinding against bone. It was a pain that even the almara's magic could not assuage.

Balmyrra, perhaps, had been distracted. As soon as they had stopped, as soon as Ered could no longer keep ahead of them, she had turned to scold her apprentice.

In truth, Ered thought her words overly harsh. He had seen all manner of rites and rituals but never the drowning spell Onid had crafted. The priesthood kept its secrets for everyone's safety. B?nor's gifts were like grabbing a serpent by the tail: they could whip around and bite if you did not know what you were doing. But the old priestess' harsh words cut harsher than Ered thought necessary.

"Almara: enough!" The old woman turned to him, eyes narrowed. "I said, 'enough'," he repeated. "Onid did what she thought right and, in so doing, quite possibly saved all our lives."

"What do you know of saving lives?" Balmyrra demanded. "It was I who used the rites of concealment to hide your wounds from B?nor's hunting pack. It was I who knitted the flesh together to halt the flow of blood. And lest you forget, it was I who called to the cutting winds to guide us faster through the storm rather than let us be captured by swift-footed hunters!"

"You said you could not control the wind," Oben said. His tone was nowhere near as respectful as that of his sister.

Balmyrra turned on him. "Oh, and now the doe-eyed club-dragger is adding his voice to the throng?"

"Almara, please--" Onid tried.

"I said enough!" Ered's shout was booming and not lost as easily in the winds as it had been out on the Blue Ice. He hefted his heavy body to stand and almost immediately regretted it. His head swam as the pain in his shoulder felt like it was burrowing through bone. "Almara Balmyrra: you are the greatest wisdom the dagdarra temples has ever produced. There is no doubt in this. But--" He emphasized himself to cut the old woman off as she started to speak. "But we are running for our life. Your training of Onid is necessary. And although there are those who do not see its necessity, I have no doubt it's required.

"It is true: without you, all would be lost. We would not even be in the Dead Hills, not traversing the Alapak Canyons, without you. And I, certainly, would have bled to death in the higher passes."

The almara breathed through her nostrils, slow and steady, for several moments before nodding. She looked, to Ered's eyes, to be mollified; appeased by his gracious recognition of her contributions. And he had meant them. But it was more important they come together in this time than fall apart.

She bowed to him--a slightly surprising recognition of his position in their band--before shooting one more glare at Oben. Then, turning away from the three, she shambled out from the shallow cave to join Tel in the storm. The snow seemed to be fading in intensity but that was likely due to the protection of the high, canyon walls. Ered watched as she put a hand on his shoulder as he sat, on watch, mourning the loss of his friend.

"Thank you."

It was Oben. He was looking with angry eyes at the back of Balmyrra's head. This close, Ered could hear the thrum of his heartbeat in his breast. He was furious and ready to go to war.

"You are welcome," he said. "But you have to know what I did wasn't for you, alone. It was for all of us."

Oben nodded and his anger faded, somewhat, from his features.

The burning deep in Ered's shoulder faded if he didn't move his arm. That discovery did little to make him glad. He would need his arm as much as he needed his antlers and horns. His strength did them little good if he could not use it to its full.

His gaze fell upon Onid. She had risen and moved to their packs. She was starting a small fire: placing some spent heat stones in the center of the kindling with some duff and dross. She poured some water into a copper kettle and added a handful of dried leaves and berries.

"Onid," Ered said.

She looked up from her work. He beckoned her closer. She finished finding a stable place for the small kettle in the blossoming flames and came over to him.

"Yes?"

Ered glanced at Oben and gestured out into the snow. "Go help Tel; we may need to leave swiftly and I want to make certain there are no ambushes awaiting us."

Oben nodded and walked out to join the other two. Ered's ears followed him and he just heard Balmyrra offering kind words assuring Tel that Orven's pain had ended and his was surely a blessed soul in the next life. He turned his attention back to Onid as Oben told Tel he was there to help.

"Onid, what you did; with the water and ice. How did you do that?"

She drew a deep breath before answering.

"I earned the surname 'water-bearer'," she said. "The temple has always had them. We draw water, use it in healing and farming and fertility rites."

"But you called snow and ice," he persisted.

She nodded. "Those are still water," she said. "Just water that has stopped moving."

He lowered his voice even more and bent closer. "The almara acted as if you had violated some great law of the temples by doing what you did. Why is that?"

Onid looked into Ered's eyes, sharply. In them, in that moment, he saw past the facade. She was not sorry for her actions. In fact, there was a defiant fire in the submissive temple girl he had not seen, before.

"Truthfully, sir, I have always re-purposed the rituals I have been taught." She sighed and glanced towards Balmyrra. "The almara may be blessed of the goddess, sent back to us to lead our souls, but she is like stone: she doesn't bend or move."

"There's power in that," Ered reminded her.

"True, but she sees threat in any other path," Onid said. "I bend; I don't stand like a mountain. The priests at Midpass Vale said I was younger than most; a new soul born not from a past life but from the slumbering dreams of Banor."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means, the rites are natural to me. I understand where to stand; how to move and which consonants and vowels I must imprint upon my prayerful mind to call Banor's forces into my will."

Ered frowned. "You are talking as if you are a witch; an outside caster of spells and hoarder of lore."

Onid smiled. "Sir, with respect, you know little of what you speak."

He nodded and thought about Onid and her brother. Both were so young but gifted in their own ways. She was only a few years his senior and still required shaping.

"Then teach me," he said. "I would be a poor leader not to know what those under my command could do."

These words seemed to take Onid by surprise. She blinked several times as she mulled his comment. Then, nodding, she spoke quietly.

"Water--be it liquid or static ice and snow--are things that call to each other. They call to the world as they slowly vanish to rise into the skies and become clouds." Ered kept his face to prevent his confusion from showing. "The water-bearers are taught how to call to water with rituals. We are taught, first, to find it ... second, to draw it ... later, to cleanse, boil, and even throw it."

He nodded. "And you are yet to learn those latter disciplines?"

She smiled, perhaps a bit too proudly, and said, "Sir, I mastered all those within my first month in the temple."

Ered was not able to conceal his confusion this time. "You were? But that was years ago."

"Only three," she said, defensively. "I spent the rest of my time figuring out how to rehearse ritual in my mind's eye."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Well, rituals are things of great occasion and affair. You gather ingredients and learn which prayers to use to call to each element that makes it happen. But, in my mind, I saw that these were superficial. The real strength lies in the priest conducting the ritual."

"I've seen many rituals for many effects."

"Yes, but most of the practices--the incense, the herbs, the blood, the minerals, the chanting--those serve to clarify and bring together the energies of our goddess in her world. I found that I could summarize them, never speaking a word, and merely run through them in my mind to enact their results."

It sounded like heresy and, certainly, like something Balmyrra would be right to find concerning.

"So, the movements you made to call the ice into ... into drowning water: what ritual was that?"

"One of my own," Onid admitted. "A small variation on the simultaneous use of a boiling water ritual and a water drawing ritual."

"I've ... never heard of such a thing," Ered admitted.

She nodded. "Well, you may have seen similar rituals, but they normally take a lot longer and, when done, are not terribly overt or noticeable. Most water-bearers cast such rituals slowly as they wander the terrain. When they appear to have 'found' water, they actually have woven it towards them over the ritual's span."

"How long does that normally take?" he asked.

"A few hours," Onid said. Her voice was quiet, again, but tinged with pride.

"Wait, you're saying that you did, in moments, what would normally take hours?"

She nodded.

"And the almara--"

"She is jealous of my abilities. Doubtless, when we return to Granite Heath, she will have me expelled from the temple." Onid crossed her arms. She looked, for the first time, honestly lost and frustrated. "What will happen, then, I don't know." Quickly, she glanced back at her leader and met his gaze. "Sir," she added.

Ered nodded. It was a lot to consume. He felt it best to just nod and reassure the young woman. "Your secret is safe with me," he said. "And thank you for confiding in me."

"So you'll permit me to use what I know to our defense?"

He honestly did not know what to say to that. He was their leader, but not only was Balmyrra entrusted with their spiritual leadership but she was also an almara. She had performed great deeds in her past life: enough to get her reincarnated with Banor's mark of favor. To an almara, all rituals were known. She was a repository of wisdom and knowledge, trusted with unparalleled responsibility. He could countermand her but not without incurring very powerful wrath from within the temples.

But, then again, Onid had saved them all. It was an instant ritual: forged from raw knowledge and distilled through the young woman's imagination into being. How could he not take advantage of that?

"I will, but only in the most dire of circumstances," he said.

She smiled, thinly. "Those are the only kind of circumstances dagdarra encounter," she said.

Ered released her to continue brewing her tea.

He walked out of the shallow cave to where Balmyrra was sitting on a stone. Both Oben's and Tel's tracks went off in different directions.

"She's a good student," the old woman said.

Ered nodded. "I can see that. You've done well with her."

Balmyrra turned and looked up at him, her face dark. "I haven't," she said. "I've been trying to slow her down. But she's good at playing the young innocent. Good enough to fool almost everyone. Even a great ice band commander."

He looked into the old woman's eyes and saw, perhaps for the first time, actual doubt dwelling there. A chill having nothing to do with injury or storm settled in his stomach. He nodded.

"I'll have to be wary."

"Yes," she said. "You will."

Both Oben and Tel returned before the hour was out.

Ered had confided in Balmyrra that he still felt pain in his shoulder. She had taken a sealbone knife--long, like a spike, but thin and flexible--and gave the large dagdarra a tooth bar to bite upon as she dug around to find the offending bit of ramessin metal. She found it rather swiftly, after only a minute or two of digging, and was able to draw it out with her painfully thick fingers. When she was done, she stitched his wound and, again, conducted a ritual of concealment to staunch the blood flow and prevent their dark goddess from being able to find and exacerbate the wound. The almara gave the twisted little pellet to Ered as a memento of the fight. He bowed to her and gave honest, respectful thanks.

Onid's tea was not only warming, it was refreshing. It invigorated the spirit and, somehow, gave hope. After drinking it and sitting for a short time, he felt almost completely healed. His shoulder ached, but it did not debilitate. He knew he couldn't rely upon it but he also knew that the rest of him was more than ready for another encounter with their wolven stalkers.

As if by omen, a haunting, rising howl echoed through the canyons, outside. It was a call he knew. It was not a hunting cry or a ramessin tracking howl. Rather, it was celebratory. It was the ritualistic cry given when fresh meat was to be had.

Most dagdarra who lived older than thirty, knew that howl and knew the sadness it brought at friends, passed on.

Balmyrra raised her head at the sound and frowned.

"Rest well, Orven," she said.

Quickly, they gathered their belongings putting what they could onto a single sled. Almara Balmyrra did not ride any more. She pulled, next to Tel, as they began running through the canyon. Onid and Oben kept pace as, before them, Ered looked for their way.

It was hard running. The canyon walls rose higher and higher, the deeper they went. On either side, he knew, the Dead Hills spilled out. The plains and tundra, beyond, were gripped in ice and buried beneath many feet of snowfall. But, as he looked to the sky, he saw hope.

There was light beyond the clouds.

He risked only a few glances so as not to risk poor footing but, soon, verified that light was there. It was not the silvery light of the moon, though. It was oddly diffuse. And, where it came through the dark clouds, it was blended red and blue, forming a faint, purple tinge to the storm's depths. Moreover, the light allowed him to see patches in the swirling, encircling winds.

It gave him almost as much hope as Onid's tea.

The storm appeared to be weakening.

And, on, they ran.

Their huge hooves boomed as they stampeded down the frozen canyon. Snow continued to swirl down and, at times, they found passes deceptively filled. On three occasions, they had to come through the snow up to their waists. He grimaced at the delays but they could not be helped.

The sky, though, grew lighter. The twisting of the world--as if everything had rotated with the storm walls--had him turned around but perhaps it had come out alright in the end. He could have sworn that, with the clouds' lightening, they spoke to sunrise, beyond. It was a sunrise that, if he was properly oriented, that was happening in almost the correct position. And, if that was happening, maybe whatever god-crafted torment this was, was almost over.

He led the other four down a steeper slope of their canyon, ignoring side arroyos and dead-ends. Ered was in his element. Years on the tundra, over a decade-and-a-half in the hills, gave him insight and direction. He led them, surely, through terrain he did not know but understood.

The grey of the storm continued to lighten. The moaning of the winds, lessened. Soon, ahead of him, he saw true hope.

Orange and red tinged ragged strips in the high sky. He looked on it like a drowning man upon a ship. Then, almost too suddenly, the canyon came to an end.

He called a halt with one, upraised fist, and gazed out on a landscape both welcome and new.

This was where the great seer had insisted they travel.

Here, they would observe and, then, report back.

Here, he had been promised, answers would be found about the great storm.

The saltmarsh formed by the confluence at the edge of the Alapak Canyons was vast. It spread many miles to the sea. Numerous, salty rivers flowed through the cliffs and peaks to merge, here. Short, small shrubs--leafless for the winter--spread out along the gulleys and channels before giving way to grass-covered hillocks. Mounds soon emerged, as the frozen wetland spread away from the base of the canyon hills. Trees began to appear. In the distance, would be the ocean.

But that was where hope ended.

The trees, starting maybe six leagues away, were devastated. The winds, it was clear, had lashed them: snapping trunk and bough such that barely one in ten remained. A storm wall spun lazily from west to east, much closer than the shoreline. It cut through the middle of the great marsh like a sword through a wound.

But there were holes in that wall.

They could see patches of morning sky, beyond.

There was no seashore.

There was no ocean.

About ten miles of mostly-felled trees ended, abruptly, in sky.

There, beyond the storm, they could just barely see the profile of a small rocky island drifting in the distance.

The five dagdarra stared.

Their world fell away into nothingness beyond spiraling, dark storm clouds.

"What ... what is happening?"

He shook his head to Onid's question. "I don't know."

"But the world," Tel said. "Where's ... our land?"

"It's gone," Almara Balmyrra said. "Consumed by Banor's rapacious hunger."

Then, with a terrible explosion, the howls of pursuing wolves filled the air. The startled five turned to face the canyons. Atop them, following narrow ridges, came the ramessin. They were high above with few ways down, but they howled and called while hurtling more of the damnable tools of war down upon dagdarra heads. Each boom brought them closer and, higher up in the canyons, ropes began to be thrown down as the Iron Patrol drew nigh.