figures of prophecy’ made him very uneasy. That sounds like something that I’m not gonna be able to walk away from. Time to face the facts, Roger old boy—you’re in for some rough times ahead.
But if it means that I might get a shot at the bastards who stole my memories, I guess I’ll take it. “So, Espir?”
The old man nodded. “Espir,” he replied.
* * * *
Two nights after receiving the vision of the scar-faced man and the cavern of black ice, Lerana of the Traika again sat in a circle of her fellow magic-users. The air around her was cool and crisp, alive with the chirping of insects and the warbling of nocturnal birds. The stars twinkled brightly, and the twin moons loomed huge and comforting overhead.
But the to’laka had not gathered to admire the night. A grim purpose sat upon their hearts.
They were here for war.
War was a constant presence in the lives of the Traika, as unceasing as the spring rains or the gentle rays of Kat’aia. To Lerana, peace was a thing of stories and legends, a fanciful concept that had no place in the harsh reality of the world. She had never experienced it firsthand, nor did she expect to.
Enemies surrounded the Traika, hemming them in on all sides like a pack of koffana surrounding a mighty fenail. To the east lived the Seramor and the Edala; to the west were the Gher’ana, who dwelt along the shores of A’chen’has, the Great Sea. And southward lay the warlike Kastria, brutal savages who would not rest until they saw every Traika child killed, until they had razed the Traika forests and burned every Traika building to the ground. Over the past seventeen years, more than a hundred Traika lives had been lost beneath Kastria spears and arrows.
It was because of the Kastria that the Traika to’laka had gathered tonight. A small band of Kastria warriors had infiltrated Traika territory and launched a cowardly raid against one of the southern outposts. The pattern was simple and familiar; the Kastria scum would kill the defenders and burn the outpost to the ground before vanishing into the night.
But they would soon learn the folly of attacking the Traika within their own territory. Here, within the shadow of Kil’la’ril, the Traika to’laka reigned supreme. Tonight, we will remind them that our power is absolute. We will make them pay for their arrogance. We will answer their brutality with our own.
Lerana waited as the Jo’ma passed the ritual bowl to the gray-haired man to her left. When her turn came, she took a handful of the small blood-red berries. She chewed slowly, savoring the bitter taste of the berries in her mouth. Feerak juice was a powerful painkiller and a necessary component of any ritual. Without it, the pain from harnessing the magic would be too great.
Even so, the rituals were not without cost. The magic left its mark.
When each of the to’laka had partaken of the bowl of feerak, the Jo’ma raised her arms skyward. “It is time,” the old woman intoned.
Lerana closed her eyes and let her mind relax. Immediately, she felt herself lifting free from her earthly form. She did not know how she separated her spirit from her body, nor could she explain her ability to pull power from the air and release it in gusts of wind or daggers of lightning or waves of fire. It was the gift of being to’lak ; the use of her power came as naturally as breathing.
Lerana could sense the presences of her fellow to’laka around her, flitting through the air as gracefully as any bird. At their head hovered the Jo’ma , an indomitable force of pure will and awesome power. The old woman’s voice beamed directly into Lerana’s mind. “Follow me, my children.”
The to’laka flew south, and within moments they came upon the outpost. The ground below them was alive with movement. The sounds of battle spiraled up towards Lerana—the cracking of spears and the thrumming of bow-strings and the battle-cries of warriors. Her nose was filled with the acrid tang
But if it means that I might get a shot at the bastards who stole my memories, I guess I’ll take it. “So, Espir?”
The old man nodded. “Espir,” he replied.
* * * *
Two nights after receiving the vision of the scar-faced man and the cavern of black ice, Lerana of the Traika again sat in a circle of her fellow magic-users. The air around her was cool and crisp, alive with the chirping of insects and the warbling of nocturnal birds. The stars twinkled brightly, and the twin moons loomed huge and comforting overhead.
But the to’laka had not gathered to admire the night. A grim purpose sat upon their hearts.
They were here for war.
War was a constant presence in the lives of the Traika, as unceasing as the spring rains or the gentle rays of Kat’aia. To Lerana, peace was a thing of stories and legends, a fanciful concept that had no place in the harsh reality of the world. She had never experienced it firsthand, nor did she expect to.
Enemies surrounded the Traika, hemming them in on all sides like a pack of koffana surrounding a mighty fenail. To the east lived the Seramor and the Edala; to the west were the Gher’ana, who dwelt along the shores of A’chen’has, the Great Sea. And southward lay the warlike Kastria, brutal savages who would not rest until they saw every Traika child killed, until they had razed the Traika forests and burned every Traika building to the ground. Over the past seventeen years, more than a hundred Traika lives had been lost beneath Kastria spears and arrows.
It was because of the Kastria that the Traika to’laka had gathered tonight. A small band of Kastria warriors had infiltrated Traika territory and launched a cowardly raid against one of the southern outposts. The pattern was simple and familiar; the Kastria scum would kill the defenders and burn the outpost to the ground before vanishing into the night.
But they would soon learn the folly of attacking the Traika within their own territory. Here, within the shadow of Kil’la’ril, the Traika to’laka reigned supreme. Tonight, we will remind them that our power is absolute. We will make them pay for their arrogance. We will answer their brutality with our own.
Lerana waited as the Jo’ma passed the ritual bowl to the gray-haired man to her left. When her turn came, she took a handful of the small blood-red berries. She chewed slowly, savoring the bitter taste of the berries in her mouth. Feerak juice was a powerful painkiller and a necessary component of any ritual. Without it, the pain from harnessing the magic would be too great.
Even so, the rituals were not without cost. The magic left its mark.
When each of the to’laka had partaken of the bowl of feerak, the Jo’ma raised her arms skyward. “It is time,” the old woman intoned.
Lerana closed her eyes and let her mind relax. Immediately, she felt herself lifting free from her earthly form. She did not know how she separated her spirit from her body, nor could she explain her ability to pull power from the air and release it in gusts of wind or daggers of lightning or waves of fire. It was the gift of being to’lak ; the use of her power came as naturally as breathing.
Lerana could sense the presences of her fellow to’laka around her, flitting through the air as gracefully as any bird. At their head hovered the Jo’ma , an indomitable force of pure will and awesome power. The old woman’s voice beamed directly into Lerana’s mind. “Follow me, my children.”
The to’laka flew south, and within moments they came upon the outpost. The ground below them was alive with movement. The sounds of battle spiraled up towards Lerana—the cracking of spears and the thrumming of bow-strings and the battle-cries of warriors. Her nose was filled with the acrid tang
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