TrialbyFire Page 12
Atar did not slow Ishria down until they were well out of the fairgrounds. Ishria was obviously glad to stretch his legs after such a long confinement. He cantered with his head and tail held high, elaborately lifting his legs. Atar felt a rush of exultation as the last vestiges of fear fell away. They were probably following him, but they’d never catch him. He was a Scythian, after all. That made him smile. The night air was cool against his over-heated body. It glided over him like liquid silk.
They stopped by an icy creek and lapped the water like animals. Atar had his head bent over the clear water, when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Ishria, as if knowing that it was time to rest, began to pull on grass.
“I have suffered through so much, my friend,” Bulliwuf said in a voice so smooth and luscious that Atar gasped. “I have seen you succeed and I have wanted to take you so many times. Do you know how hard it is for me?”
He took Atar into his strong arms and pushed him against the trunk of a dark, ancient oak. “I want you now. I can’t wait.” Bulliwuf’s silvery-blue eyes had the eerie shine of an animal. He stared into Atar’s eyes and cupping his chin, he kissed him. First lightly—so lightly that it was as if a feather passed over his lips. Atar pushed against him now. He hadn’t realized how much his own passion had been pent up. His hands moved over Bulliwuf’s powerful body. He could feel the nakedness of the werewolf rubbing against him, and it was more than he could take. He ran eager hands through the silver hair that was soft—almost like a rich fur, but so long. His ears were hot. His whole body seemed too hot.
Atar had never taken the lead in their love making, but now he moved with aggression. Bulliwuf chuckled in his deep baritone, and this excited Atar. How sweet he tasted. Atar kissed him all over, panting as his hands moved over the muscles. He knew Bulliwuf’s body so well. It was as if it had just dawned upon him. He wanted nothing more, and he knew that for all of his bragging about women, that Bulliwuf only wanted him. Atar wanted to own Bulliwuf. He wanted to take him in and adore him forever.
The stars shone brightly in the night sky and the air hummed with life as it had done on a night, many, many years ago. As their bodies came together and they cried out in passion, the world seemed to join with them. The cacophony of night animal sounds, the babbling of the water in the creek, even the sounds no human could hear enveloped them as Bulliwuf shared his awesome power with Atar. For that moment, Atar saw and heard things through his werewolf. The night cried out with them and pulsated with eternal life.
Finally sated, they lay in each other’s arms, watching the stars glimmer. Atar looked out into the night and sat up.
“There is still one thing I have to do before we leave civilization for good, Bulliwuf.”
Bulliwuf nodded and without a word, shook into his wolf form. Atar mounted Ishria and turned in a different direction than they had been planning. Bulliwuf followed without comment, sensing what Atar wanted.
Atar cleared his throat. “Ahem. Hello.” How did that sound?
Bulliwuf shook his great head. It sounded crappy. Better practice.
“Hello, hello,” Atar said, experimenting with inflections. This isn’t easy.
Atar was deep in thought, wondering what he was going to say. He had spent his whole life with them, and even though some times were hard, there were good moments. And even if his life with the Paralatae had been wholly bad, it was all the life he had ever known. He was never going to see them again. He could not leave knowing that his tribe believed he was a murdering coward, as well as an idiot.
The ground sped past him. The camp was fast approaching. The familiar earthy smell of horses came to him, firelights winked at him from in front of people’s tents. Laughter floated to him on the breeze. He pulled Ishria to a halt and looked at the Paralatae in their simple barbarian splendor. Crickets hummed around him. The spicy cool night surrounded him. He knew that no matter what happened to him, no matter where he went, the spirit of this wild people, the descendants of the Great Colaxais, would live on in his breast. He was one of the Paralatae now and forever.
He straightened his shoulders and set his jaw, determined. Atar urged Ishria forward and the stallion glided ahead. He was not going to sneak into camp, as he had done hundreds of times before when he was the Idiot. He had nothing to be afraid of. He’d killed a dragon, hadn’t he? He was no longer Atar the Idiot—he was Atar the Firestarter! Nonetheless, Atar kept his eyes forward, not meeting anyone’s gaze.
Chapter Sixteen
His presence was quickly noticed. Gasps, exclamations, even a few shrieks marked his progress. The Paralatae had heard of what Atar had done, although most did not believe that their Idiot could have done it. Most figured it was someone else. But seeing him now, with barely healed wounds on his muscular chest, wearing the distinctive tiger skin, the Paralatae saw that the rumor must have been true. Even if they had doubted this, the presence of the huge silver wolf was enough to convince them.
People whispered to each other and stared at him. Atar had a vivid flash. Seeing these familiar faces contorted with rage, pelting him with filth when they had thought he had killed Chief Melik. They had forgotten, or had not cared that he had saved their horses. Now they shone with quite a different emotion, but he did not care. Anger burned in his heart. He rode straight to the center of camp with Bulliwuf loping by his side. When he reached the Circle, he saw just what he had hoped to see. Seated around the fire was the council of warriors. Atar’s eyes caught those of the priest, Monu the Precise, for a moment, but the older man cast his eyes down in shame.
They were staring at him as if he were a creature brought back from the dead, which he supposed he must seem to them. Well, it was either now or never. He cleared his throat.
“I did not kill the Chief,” he said, his voice coming out smoothly and naturally.
The pleasant sound of the Idiot’s voice caused great shock throughout the camp. It had the effect of a cracking whip. The Idiot could talk? If he could talk, he could understand what was said. More than a few people began to wonder about the unkind things they had said in his presence, not believing that he could understand them. Seeing him now, in such glory, made them feel ashamed.
More spectators had gathered, hearing of the Idiot’s return. News spread to them and they came running from all sides of the camp. Sabur the Just looked at the Idiot and said to those around him, “remember? Remember what I said after the Third Test of Aptitude? I told you all he was special.”
People nodded. Another said, “He saved the horses. Remember that?”
Demonax the Mean stood up.
“We know you are innocent now. I am so sorry we tried to kill you, but my plea for your life was overruled. Monu was at the ceremony, he is a mage now, and he told us all at great length about your fight with Devayani the Dragon. I am horrified when I think we were harboring such a viper and persecuting a hero.
“We have learned the truth. Devayani was sent here to serve and protect the son of Dahaka and Cunaxa, Zohak the Manly. She even married Melik to give her a higher status in the tribe. But Monu the Precise had detected an evil presence in the camp. When Monu told Melik of his suspicions of Devayani and of the numerous innocent young men she had ravished, the Chief had been heartbroken, but he had believed the Vizier. He confronted Devayani and she had been forced to kill him.”
* * * *
There was a short pause. Monu stood, his face coloring. “If the Firestarter will accept my humble apology, I would be most grateful,” the Vizier said, all the harshness gone out of his nasal voice. “The evil I sensed in the camp was there, but I was too blind to locate the true source of it.”
You’re damned right you were blind, Atar thought, remembering. Your little mistake nearly cost me my life. Atar did not look impressed.
“I have tried to redeem myself,” Monu continued. “By the grace of your father, I had visions. I saw how you fought with our first king, Colaxais, even though he had been dead for hundreds of years. Many men t
hroughout time have tried to win the honor of defeating him and getting the gift of his holy mace, but only you were successful. I have seen the signs, and I know about your future, oh revered Firestarter.”
Atar still had not dismounted. He raised his eyes suddenly, seeing a struggle just beyond the circle of firelight.
“Let me go…I must see him!” cried a woman’s voice. It was so choked with rage that Atar did not recognize it. The struggle brought the figures into the light and Atar saw Musa the Golden Haired struggling violently against Vardak’s restraining hands. Her golden hair flew out around her, shining in the firelight. Suddenly she broke free and ran toward Atar. Gasping, she wove her way around the seated warriors, with Vardak close behind her. She flung herself at Atar, clutching at his leg, staring up at him with beautiful, beseeching eyes. Vardak ventured no further. He was fuming from a distance.
“Please,” she begged breathlessly, “please, oh great and powerful Firestarter, the most powerful of warriors—please take me as your wife. Or at least take me into your bed and give me a son of your blood. I am your devoted servant.”
Atar looked down at the weeping girl, unmoved by her false display of affection. But then again, perhaps she was really attracted to him—now that he was the talk of the Seven. Her mean words echoed in his head. “You’re too low for the likes of me.” She had hurt him deeply, but at least now he knew her spirit, he knew that she was a vicious, selfish, cruel girl with no pity on anyone but herself. If it had been any other woman clinging to him, he would have treated her with respect and pity, but this woman deserved neither.
He was torn between an insane desire to laugh and a need to get her away from him. He knew he had to do something quickly though. Everyone was watching with big, round interested eyes. He felt his face redden.
“Get away from me woman. I would sooner lie with a viper. I admit, I did harbor a passing fancy for you, but you killed that before it could turn into anything more. Stop clutching my leg. Don’t you remember? I am the Idiot—the hated Idiot. In your own words, I am too low for the likes of you. Go run into the arms of your lover, Vardak. Your cruelty and his viciousness are well matched. Maybe, if the world is lucky, you two will murder each other before you are able to people the earth with your vicious progeny.”
“Oh forgive a foolish girl’s harsh words. I said them without thinking. A thousand and a thousand times over I have regretted them. I wanted to tell you, but you were gone before I could do so.”
Atar thought of the fistful of rotting refuse she had slung into his face when he was inching toward his mace. He was not quite sure how to get rid of Musa the Golden Haired. Luckily, Vardak stepped forward and heaved Musa the Golden Haired off her feet, kicking and screaming like a demon. Her beautiful face was red and distorted with frustration and rage. People were gaping, utterly fascinated and Atar felt himself blushing more furiously. He needed to get out of camp soon. Ishria shifted beneath him, as if echoing the same sentiment.
Demonax watched the girl disappear. Banduy and Garduy stood and followed Vardak. Demonax the Mean finally broke the thundering silence that followed. The other warriors seemed to have selected him as their speaker.
“Zohak never came back from the Ceremony and no one has been able to locate him. We were having a meeting to discuss what to do. We have no Chief now.” Demonax paused, as if expecting Atar to say something. Atar tried to lighten his expression to encourage the man to continue. Atar was still much more used to communicating without words. Demonax cleared his throat and said, “Since you are the mightiest warrior in the land and—well, no one can dispute your prowess as a great warrior mage, would it not be fitting for you to be our Chieftain?”
Atar felt a sinking feeling. The other warriors around the fire were nodding their approval and a murmur of excited whispers rippled through the crowd. Ishria’s ears swiveled forward as he felt his master tense. Atar had to choose his words carefully. A slip of the tongue could cost him his newly earned respect.
“It is an honor that you would consider me for such an exalted position. Do not think I am not impressed. I accept your offer with the greatest thanks, but…” he cast about frantically in his mind, “the nature of my position as Firestarter is somewhat demanding,” he said vaguely. “I will need to do a lot of traveling and will not be able to see to the needs of the Paralatae as a Chieftain should. Therefore, I appoint a worthy, honorable, brave man in my stead. Demonax the Mean, step forward.”
A rustle and whispers rippled through the crowd. Demonax gravely stepped forward. “You are now the Chieftain of this tribe. Do you swear to serve the Paralatae honorably and fairly until my return?”
“I swear!” Demonax said, in a clear strong voice.
“You will make an excellent Chieftain. You are the one warrior who has always been strong, yet fair and kind. I trust you especially to see to the discipline of the younger warriors, something that has been so woefully neglected in the past few years.”
Demonax nodded understanding.
An idea occurred to Atar. It was as if something outside of him were directing his hands. He removed the tiger skin and raked his fingers through his thick hair, which was in a wild state of dishevelment. Atar could see the way many of the women reacted to the sight of his luxurious hair. He was most satisfied. Three of the hairs came free and Atar arranged them, carefully folding them into a neat gleaming package.
While he did this, no one said a word, a very unusual thing for such a large group.
“Take these three hairs. Should you need me, burn one of them and I will come to you within two weeks, no matter where I am, unless I am dead.” Atar put the tiger skin back on, watching the awed faces of the tribe that once tried to take his life.
Atar wheeled his horse around before Demonax and the rest of the tribe could gather their wits, and he thundered out of camp.
The stunned silence he left behind him remained unbroken for a very long time. People looked at each other, trying to verify what they had just seen. The legend had left, but his story had just begun. Many evenings would be whiled away with tales of the Firestarter. The Paralatae would recall how he had saved the horses, how he had come to an agreement with the wild stallion that killed Zeno the Short, and how he had fought the great dragon on the mountain. The story of his encounter with the mermaid, with the great king Colaxais, and even the story of the werewolf Bulliwuf, was told and retold. But the favorite story was how he returned and appointed Demonax the Mean as Chief.
The rush of freedom Atar felt as he flew over the moonlit landscape was priceless. He was not going to allow himself to be tethered to the mundane task of overseeing the Paralatae when the enticing land was begging to be explored! Besides, he could always go back, should he choose to. He decided to fulfill that long dreamed adventure. He would leave everything behind and find the beautiful land of his fantasies. He, Bulliwuf, and Ishria would live happily forever after in the Land of the Water Dogs.
The stars shone above the hero. The land and his future stretched out before him in all its glittering, thrilling mystery. He knew times were not going to be easy, but in that moment, he felt he could take on the world. Howling a chilling battle cry, he urged Ishria faster, speeding ahead into the night.
He was unaware of the creature that still followed him. He was ignorant of his mysterious past and all unaware of how it would catch up with him soon. In the east, the Northern Savages, the infamous Horde, listened to their new general. They roared their approval, eager to attack on the following dawn.
At the Great Fair, which was already breaking up, Princess Sophene the Sharp wept face down on her bed. In her hand was the news that the frontier town of Hertoon had been razed to the ground. Her father’s kingdom, the Massagetae, would be the next in their conquests. In a different tent, Zohak smiled at Sugreeva over the dancing light of the lamp, whispering poison into the Prince’s ear. He had attached himself to the Prince of Persia, now that Dahaka was gone, and Sugreeva was adrift.
Atar heard none of this. He only heard his blood pounding in time with Ishria’s swift, sure hoof beats. But, behind him, the great boar thundered after him, gold tipped tusks gleaming in the moonlight.
The Paralatae watched him race off on his magnificent steed, a great bird of prey swooping above him, and the great wolf loping by his side. As his war cry rent the night, they gasped. The fierce and beautiful boar was following them. There were many among them who had seen it before, its fur iridescent and its mighty tusks and hooves golden in the silver moonlight.
Monu turned to them and began: “It has been said by the sages since the dawn of time that the great kings in the line of the First King, Yima, have a magic that is different and distinct from that of the mage. This powerful magic can be held by only one person at a time, and this person is, therefore, the heir to the throne. The royal magic is manifest in the form of a great Boar, called the Royal Farr. This is the significance of what you have just seen. He follows the royal person and brings all the glory of Yima, the First King, with him. Atar, son of Anacharsis, is possessed of two gifts of magic—the Royal magic, and the ancient magic of the sorcerers. Mithra alone knows how he will deal with such a mighty burden.
About the Author
KB Forrest has researched ancient Indo-European history and folklore for several years, and brings to this novel his story-telling flair and the accurate details today’s readers demand. He is skilled in animal husbandry, primitive survival skills, and horsemanship. These talents allow him to imbue his stories with realistic elements.