The Banned And The Banished - Witch Fire Part 15

"See," the Triad commanded. Again the word seemed to come from all three, like a hiss of wind between narrow cliffs.

Tol'chuk glanced to what lay heavy on his palm. It was a chunk of heartstone the size of a goat's head.

"What... what is this?" His own voice sounded so loud in the chamber that Tol'chuk bowed his head from the noise.

The answer swirled from the cl.u.s.tered og'res. "It is the Heart of the Og'res, the spirit of our people given form."

Tol'chuk's trembling hand almost dropped the stone. He had heard whispers of this rock. A heartstone that conveyed the spirits of the og'res to the next land. He held the rock out toward the Triad, straining for them to take it away.

"Stare." Their eyes seemed to glow in the worm light. "Stare deep within the rock."

Swallowing to wet his scratchy throat, he raised the stone toward his eyes. Though it glinted a thick red hue, it failed to spark and shine the way the arch did. He stared at the rock and failed to see anything of consequence. Confused, he began to lower the stone.

"Search beneath its surface," their voices hissed again.

Tol'chuk clenched his face and narrowed his eyes. He concentrated on the heartstone. Though of exceptional size, it seemed an ordinary jewel. What did they want of him? If they wanted him dead, why fool with this? Just as his eyes started to turn away again, he spotted it. A flaw in the core of the rock. Ablack blemish buried deep within the jeweled facets. "What is-?" Suddenly the flaw moved! At first he thought he had shifted the stone himself. But as he watched, he saw the dark ma.s.s buried deep in the stone spasm once again. Frozen with fear, this time he knew he had not moved.

He squinted and held the rock higher to the light. He now saw what the layers of jewel tried to hide.

Deep in the rock was a worm. It could be a cousin of the wigglers coating the cavern walls, but this one was as black as the flaming oil found in pools deep under the mountain. What was this creature?

As if the Triad had read his thoughts, an answer was given. "It is the Bane. It feasts on the spirits of our dead as they enter the sacred stone."

Three arms pointed to the Heart. "That is the true end to the path of the dead-in the belly of a worm."

Tol'chuk's lips grimaced to expose his short fangs. How could this be? He had been taught that the og're dead, a.s.sisted by the Triad, pa.s.sed through the stone to a new world and life. He hefted the stone with its black heart. He had been taught a lie! This is where it all ended. "I don't understand."

The Triad continued. "An og're, many lifetimes ago, betrayed an oath to the land's spirit. For this betrayal, we were cursed by the Bane."

Tol'chuk lowered the heartstone and hung his head. "Why tell me all this?"

The Triad remained silent.

A deep rumble shook the mountain roots, thunder from the distant top of the peak, what the og'res called "the mountain's voice." The threatening winter storm had finally struck.

As the echo died away, the Triad's words flowed again. "You are magra, of proper age. Even the mountain calls for you."

He raised his eyes toward the ancient og'res. "Why me?"

"You are og're and notog're. Spirits of two peoples mix in you."

"I know," Tol'chuk said. "Ahalf-breed. Og're and human."

The trio of og'res swung their eyes toward one another, quietly conferring. Tol'chuk's ears strained toward them. Vague whisperings escaped their huddled ma.s.s, lone words and scattered phrases: "...

lies... he knows not... the book of blood... crystal fangs..." A final phrase slipped to his ear: "... the stone will kill the wit'ch."

Tol'chuk waited, but no other words reached him. His heart thundered in his chest. He could not stand silent. "What do you want of me?" His words boomed in the quiet cavern.

The trio turned three sets of eyes on him, then their answer flowed to him: "Free our spirits. Kill the Bane."

MOGWEED AND FARDALE HUDDLED UNDER AN OUTCROPping of rock. The shelf of stone offered little shelter, but the late afternoon storm had struck so suddenly and savagely that no other refuge could be found in these barren lands of the og'res.

Arms of lightning grabbed the mountain peak and shook the rock. Booming thunder crushed them both deeper under the stone roof. Whistling winds swept down from the heights, driving a hard rain.After the hunters had balked at following them into the og're land, Mogweed had a.s.sumed that the only risk of death lay in a chance meeting with one of the hulking denizens of these barren peaks.

He had not thought to worry about the weather.

Tiny freezing drops stung Mogweed's exposed skin like the bite of wasps. "We must seek a better shelter," Mogweed said as Fardale shook his thick coat. "We'll freeze to death by nightfall."

Fardale kept his back to Mogweed, staring out into the rainswept gullies and cliffs. He seemed oblivious to the cold rain sluicing down from the cloud-choked skies. Like the feathers of a goose, his fur simply shed the rain, while Mogweed's clothes absorbed the dampness and held its cold touch firm to his skin.

Mogweed's teeth chattered, and his swollen ankle throbbed in his soggy boot. "We need at least a fire,"

he said.

Fardale turned his eyes to Mogweed, their amber glow more cold than warm. An image coalesced, a warning: An eagle's eye spies the wagging tail of a foolish squirrel.

Mogweed pulled farther under the rocky overhang. "Do you really think the og'res would spy our fire?

Surely this storm has driven them deep within their caves."

Fardale scanned the rocky terrain silently.

Mogweed did not press his brother. The cold was much less a threat than a band of og'res. Mogweed slipped his bag from his shoulder and plopped it on the floor of their shelter. He crouched down in an alcove farthest from the wind and the rain and hugged his knees to his chest, trying to offer the smallest target co the bitter gusts. For the thousandth time this day, he wished for even an iota of his former skills.

If only I could change into a bear form, he thought, then this rain and cold would be nothing but an inconvenience. He stared at his brother's s.h.a.ggy figure and grimaced. Fardale had always been the luckier of the twin brothers. Life had smiled on him with even his first breath. Born first, Fardale had been declared heir to their family's properties. To match this position, Fardale was gifted with the tongue of an orator, knowing the exact thing to say when it needed saying. Whispers of his potential to become elder'root of the tribe were soon bandied about. But Mogweed always seemed to say the wrong thing at the worst time and chafed his clansfolk with each movement of his tongue. Few sought his company or council.

All this, while grating, was not what had truly bothered Mogweed about his brother. What drove Mogweed to shaking rages was Fardale's simple acceptance of their cursed birth.

Born as identical twins in a world of shape-shifters, their birth had been a cause of excitement and celebration. Twins had been born to the si'lura before, but never identical ones. Mogweed and Fardale were the first. No one was able to tell them apart, not even their parents. Each brother was the exact twin of the other.

Among the clan, the brothers were initially a novelty and a delight. But the brothers had soon learned that whenever one twin altered his form, his brother's body would spontaneously warp to match and maintain their identical natures, whether this change was welcome or not. This led to an ongoing war of control. If one twin should let his concentration weaken, his form was open to unexpected shifts by the other brother's will. In a world where freedom of form was simply a matter of life, Mogweed and Fardale were chained together by birth.

Where this burden in life was simply accepted by Fardale, Mogweed had grown bitter, never content tostomach their fate. He had devoured old texts of their people, searching for a way to sunder the chains that tied brother to brother. And eventually he had discovered a way, a secret known only to the ancient si'lura of the deep forest.

Mogweed sighed aloud. If only I had been more cautious- From an ancient worm-eaten text, he had discovered a little-known fact of si'lura nature: When two si'lura lovers were entwined in mating, neither partner could shift at the peak of their pa.s.sionate fire.

Mogweed had pondered this revelation for many moons. He sensed that a key to freeing himself from Fardale's yoke might lie in this small fact. Then a plan began to swell in his mind.

He knew that his brother had been courting a young female, the third daughter of the elder'root. Most si'lura over time developed a predilection for a certain form, and she had a preference for the shape and speed of the wolf. This young she-wolf, with her long legs and snow-white fur, had caught Fardale's eye.

Soon talk of a union was in the mouths of many gossips.

As his brother's romance bloomed, Mogweed clung to shadows. Here, perhaps, lay a chance. He studied, plotted, and waited.

One night, under a full moon, his patience won out. Mogweed crept after his brother and from the cover of a nearby bush watched Fardale's dalliance with the lithe she-wolf. His brother nuzzled and coaxed the young female, her white fur aglow in the moonlight. She returned Fardale's affection and soon stood for him. As Mogweed spied, Fardale mounted her, at first tenderly, with sweet nips at her ears and throat, then with rising pa.s.sion.

Mogweed waited until a characteristic howl escaped his brother's throat-then acted. Mogweed willed his own body to shift into that of a man, praying that his brother would be locked by his throes of pa.s.sion into his present wolf form.

His plan succeeded...

Under the rocky overhang in the land of the og'res, Mogweed stared at the pale skin of his hands.

His plan had succeeded too well!

That cursed night, Mogweed had shifted into the form of a man, while Fardale had remained a wolf. But Mogweed soon learned that the cost of breaking their identical natures came with a price-a steep price.

Neither brother could shift again. Both brothers were eternally trapped in these separate sh.e.l.ls.

If only he had been more cautious...

Nearby, Fardale growled in threat, drawing Mogweed's attention fully back to the present. His brother's hackles were raised, and his ears were pulled flat to his lowered head. The rumbling growl again flowed from Fardale's throat.

Mogweed scooted closer to his brother. "What is it? Og'res?" Even bringing the name to his lips caused a tremble to shiver through him.

Suddenly a black-skinned creature stalked from out of the sheets of rain directly in front of them. An iron muzzle hung loose around its neck, and a broken chain dragged behind it. It lowered its head to match Fardale's stance, its claws dug into the rock.

A sniffer!It must have escaped the hunters and continued its own hunt. Mogweed backed behind Fardale, but the wolf offered little protection. Fardale weighed only a fraction of the snarling predator's ma.s.sive bulk, a mewling pup before a bear.

The beast's shoulders bunched with thick muscle. Free of the iron muzzle, the sniffer opened its jaws, exposing rows of jagged teeth. It howled at them, its cry challenging the thunder among the mountain peaks.

Then it lunged.

Tol'chuk pushed the heartstone clutched in his hand toward the closest of the ancient og'res. His own heart felt as heavy in his chest as the rock in his hand. "I don't know what you ask. How can I possibly destroy the Bane?"

The trio stood stone-still and silent. Three pairs of eyes studied him. He felt as if his very bones were being read and judged. Finally, words droned toward him. "You are the one."

Tol'chuk did not want to dishonor his tribe's elders, but surely they were mad with age. "Who? Who do you think lam?"

He received no answer, just their unblinking stare.

The leagues of rock over Tol'chuk's head seemed to press down at him. "Please. I am only half og're.

The task you ask should be given to one of the warriors, a full-blood. Why me?"

Words again flowed to him. "You are the last descendant of the Oathbreaker, he who betrayed the land and cursed our people with the Bane."

Tol'chuk felt his arms weaken. Would his shame never end? Not only was he cursed as a half-breed, but if the Triad spoke true, he was also the offspring of the corrupt og're who had d.a.m.ned his people. He found no words to answer this accusation, only denial, his voice a whisper. "This... this cannot be true."

The granite of the mountains edged the Triad's tone. "You, son of Len'chuk, are the end of an ancient lineage. The last of the Oathbreaker's seed."

"But... what do you mean I am the lastof his seed?"

"At your naming, an old healer examined you. Your mixed blood has corrupted your seed. You cannot father og're offspring."

Tears threatened to well; so many secrets. "Why was I not told all this?"

His question was ignored. Their next words had the bite of command in them. "You are the last. You must restore the honor to your blood by correcting your ancestor's betrayal."

Tol'chuk closed his eyes and clutched the black-hearted stone in his hand. His tongue caught in his throat. "What did this Oathbreaker do?"

The Triad withdrew inward again, necks bent, conferring among themselves. After several silent heartbeats, a whisper of words pa.s.sed to him. "We do not know."

"Then how am I to correct it?"

The words repeated. "We do not know."Tol'chuk's eyes crinkled in confusion. "Then how am I to find out?"

"You must leave our lands with the Heart. Seek your answers beyond the Spirit Gate."

Tol'chuk heard nothing past the word leave. His shoulders shuddered at the thought. This was what he had most dreaded when he killed Fen'shwa: banishment. To be forced to leave his homelands for the larger world, a world that hated and feared his people. Tol'chuk shrank under their stares. "Where do I go?"

Three arms raised and pointed fingers to the ma.s.sive arch of ruby heartstone. "Through the Spirit Gate."

Tol'chuk's brows bunched. It was solid rock. How could he pa.s.s through there?

"Come." Two of the ancient og'res crossed to the arch. One took up a post by the left foot of the arch, while another crossed slowly to the right foot. The third member of the Triad took Tol'chuk by the wrist and guided him toward the open arch.

"What am I supposed to do?" Tol'chuk asked in a tremulous voice.

The og're beside him spoke. Broken from the others, his voice had a trace of warmth, more like a stern father. "Before the Bane appeared, the Gate collected the spirits from the Heart and carried them to the next world. Like the spirits, you must hold your desire firm, and the Gate will take you where you need to be. It is foretold that when the last descendant of the Oathbreaker crosses through the Spirit Gate, he will find the path to free our spirits."

Tol'chuk nodded to the arch. "But I'm not a spirit. I can't pa.s.s through solid rock."

"You need not be a spirit."

"Then how?"

No answer was given, but a low intoning arose from the og'res bowed at each foot of the sweeping stone arch. The thrumming of their voices seemed to sweep to Tol'chuk's marrow. He felt a slightly giddy sensation. His ears buzzed, and the heartstone in his hand resonated to the og'res' humming. As he watched, wide-eyed, the wall of rock contained within the heartstone arch changed. It still appeared outwardly the same-hard granite-but Tol'chuk knew it was now an illusion, like the phantom reflection of a cliff in still water. It had the appearance of rock but was no more substantial than the thin film that watersprites skimmed across on a calm pond.

As the throbbing hum grew, the heartstone in his hands drew toward the Spirit Gate like a mate seeking the warmth of a touch on a cold night. The stone's gentle tugging urged his feet to follow. Tol'chuk found his legs obeying. With his ears still pounding to the intonations and hum, Tol'chuk barely noticed the old og're leave his side. Tol'chuk proceeded alone toward the arch.

But words trailed to him from the lone member of the Triad behind him. "Listen to the heartstone. Though blackened, it is still our Heart. Listen, and it will guide you when it can."

The words wormed through to his fogged mind, but meaning failed to penetrate. He ignored the words.

As he stepped close to the Gate, the vibrations swept all thoughts aside. He opened himself to its touch, trusting the Gate to take him where he needed to be. Blind now, he took the next step-the first step on his journey to free his people-on faith.

As he pa.s.sed through the veil of the Gate, the thrumming in his ears vanished in a heartbeat to be replaced with the ear-splitting howl of a hunter seeking blood.MOGWEED SCUTTLED BACKWARD AS THE SNIFFER SCREAMED and lunged. Fardale burst from under the shelf of rock, his fangs bared. A roaring howl exploded from the wolf's throat. Mogweed had never heard such a noise from his brother. The howl iced the blood and froze the heart. Even the sniffer balked in midcharge.

Wolf and sniffer now stood only a span apart. Each beast, head lowered, sought a weakness in the other.

Mogweed crouched motionless in his hiding place. A bolt of lightning struck a scraggled pine a league up the mountain, splitting the air with thunder. Rain swamped both combatants. The sniffer towered over Fardale, its bulk twice that of the wolf. The razor-edged teeth, daggered claws, and sheer ferocity of the beast left little doubt of who would walk away from this fight. The only unanswered question was if Mogweed could escape while the sniffer sated its hunger on Fardale's corpse. Mogweed searched for a way to slip unseen from the overhang.

Suddenly, without warning, as if obeying some instinctual signal, both combatants flew at each other. The snapping of jaws and spurts of furious growls escaped the blur of black fur and bruise-colored skin.

Claws and teeth ripped flesh.

Mogweed sought to escape his hole, but as he neared the edge of the overhang, he was forced to dance back as the fighters tumbled near. With the combatants so close, Mogweed saw gouts of blood matting down Fardale's fur. How much of it was Fardale's own was impossible to judge. But it was clear the right could not last much longer.