* * *
Chill breezes waxed into cold gusts as they were funneled between the buildings and through the litter-strewn streets of the deserted Navy base. Old shutters swung back and forth, crashing against shattered windows, the woman warily looking up as she passed by below. Ears were of no value this night, the rattling of loose roofing and boards too tumultuous. Eyes fared little better, what with the dancing shadows of ghostly debris flitting about in careless abandon.
Along the narrow alley, an occasional streetlight attempted to push away the blackness by casting its sickly pall into the night. At least the work crews had succeeded in returning power to this part of the Navy depot. This might serve her well should the battle be forced inside the opaque walls of the surrounding buildings, which was probably going to be the situation.
Trisha stayed to the shadows, attempting to avoid the litter of broken crates and their scattered contents to maintain a silent pace. It was not easy. Abandoned when news of the Great War’s Armistice arrived, the military complexes of Oros became little more than a haunt for the horned owl and other spooks of the animal world. When Garlock took up manufacturing here, his people hastily scoured the abandoned shops and warehouses for needed machinery and equipment, leaving a haphazard clutter behind, no place being more affected than the warehouse district, where Trisha currently found herself.
Coming to an unlit alley off to her left, Trisha stopped to listen, not with ears, but her mind. She remembered well the First Law of Physics in EbenCeruboam: that frequency - sound, even unheard sound - passing through an energy field altered the state of energy within the field, changing its properties. Depending upon the frequency’s waveform and amplitude or power, energy would freeze – solidify - into certain patterns or shapes. If that frequency’s amplitude remained constant, the patterns would also, thus producing what the children called ‘matter’. (Note: In the study of EbenCeruboam, this core energy was called the ‘first element’, while frequency was the ‘second element’.)
She also knew that by projecting and focusing the frequency created within her own brain, she could read the elemental world about her. This ‘sixth sense’, as some from her world referred to it, was merely the brain’s ability to collect feedback frequencies. Collecting the feedback was the easy part. Successfully interpreting it was a bit more difficult. This ability to use what some called the ‘Third Eye’ was the tricksy part, not easily mastered.
Trisha had done her studies, knew well the principles of these laws, but she now regretted having failed to master them through recommended practice, depending on her eyes and ears because it had been the easy thing to do. True, she had her multicolored onyx ring given her by the Lord of the universe, but even it did not provide the assistance she desired this night. This the woman puzzled over. Usually in times of danger, such as at the Prisoner Exchange, a warm, reassuring pulse could be felt flowing up through her arm, refreshing mind and heart, sharpening her wit. Tonight the ring slept, cold and heavy upon her finger.
Lifting her head to sniff the breeze, Trisha could sense her adversary’s uncloaked anger. Too careless it was, revealing its presence so openly… or was she being drawn into a trap? She sniffed again, head tipped back with eyes closed. The demon’s harmonics appeared not to have changed. Trisha sighed a troubled breath, feeling she had not yet been discovered, a sweaty palm fondling the hilt of the derker blade given her by Lowenah.
Oh for the courage she possessed at the Prisoner Exchange! Tonight was so different, her confidence waning with each passing moment. What was the matter? The woman’s inner voice had warned her of hidden danger should this course be pursued, and now the growing discord in the harmonics reinforced that warning. Indeed, the very breeze whispered for her to take flight.
But what else was there for it? If this satanic monster were not checked, it might sweep ruin across the city. She was the ‘sword of destiny’ that must bring this evil to a finish! Gripping the hilt of her sword and focusing on the task at hand, Trisha sighed again, resigned, and began quietly making her way into the pressing gloom.
The ominous black shape of a gigantic building slowly rose before her, blotting out the glow in the sky of the many distant furnaces feeding Garlock’s ever-hungry factories with the precious metals needed to create his weapons of war. The field marshal slowly pulled her sword from its scabbard, silently regretting not bringing the sidearm the man had gifted her with.
How foolish it had been to think so chivalrously of bladed combat, the look of life escaping a defeated foe, and the bloodied sword resting in the victor’s hand. What if her opponent had no such aspirations, desiring only victory without celebration? In that case, the battle might be quick, the vanquished seeing little more than a flash before life was extinguished. How foolish the sword, yes, the symbol of authority. But no longer master of the battlefield, why had she been so brash to believe it otherwise? Too late…
Working her way along the side of the old warehouse, Trisha eventually came to a service door hanging loose on its hinges. She carefully wiggled through the narrow opening into the blackness within. So dark it was, to make it impossible to see a thing. Closing her eyes to concentrate on her task at hand, the woman reached out with her harmonic senses to view this secreted world with her mind. With a great deal of effort, her surroundings started to take on shape and meaning.
The contents within remained little changed from the day the children set down their tools and walked away from here, Garlock’s scavengers not yet having made their presence felt. Row upon row of crates and pallets remained untouched, stacked almost to the ceiling, their narrow aisles between excellent places to set a trap. This place was not to Trisha’s liking at all. She should leave, drawing her opponent out into the open, but pride was awake now - pride and over-confidence. Had she not bested the Great Worm? How could his demented creation be more dangerous?
Straining to feel the surrounding harmonics, Trisha could sense the slow beating of a heart and the easy, rhythmic breathing of a body resting, possibly asleep. Asleep, she doubted, but resting, being blissfully ignorant of approaching danger? Possible... She smiled to think how easy a victory this might become. Then she frowned, disappointed at the thought that this might not be the glorious battle she had envisioned.
Carefully studying the shadowy pictures in her mind as she crept along a wall of piled crates, Trisha eventually reached the far end of the building. The passage on this end traversed the length of the warehouse, having several narrow exits that cut into the bowels of this mountain of stacked containers - a dangerous place, indeed, if happened on by surprise. Yet that was the woman’s destination, only she intended to do the surprising.
As she stealthily passed by each opening off the main aisle, Trisha would lift her head to sniff the breeze, so to speak, until stopping in front of one where she felt the harmonic scent to be the strongest. Steeling herself, she started down the long corridor in search of her prey.
It was wearisome and trying to her soul as Trisha carefully made her way along the narrow corridor that was little more than an arm’s width from wall to wall on either side of her, and there were so many things she must be concentrating on at the same time. She found it was easier to remain focused by keeping her eyes closed tight. Even so, the woman realized it would be a simple matter to miss a little detail or two, something that might prove costly should the enemy have set a trap.
She was deep inside the cavernous gulch when it exploded into a cauldron of blinding light that pierced closed eyes, sending a numbing pain through her head. Instinctively, Trisha reeled to her left, keeping her sword held high as she spun into a metal container with a crash and a cry. Feeling a new intrusion in the harmonics, she dove backwards for the floor, tumbling heels over head, and landed up in a crouching position, feet spread, facing a giant, ghostly form standing a few paces in front of her.
Trisha considered herself fortunate to have had her
eyes closed at the moment the overhead lights erupted to life. She paid no heed to them earlier, feeling them no threat and having other, more serious matters to consider. It was too late to debate strategy, for now there were far more pressing concerns. Her head was racked with searing pain, and only now she was beginning to gather her wits about her. Already the field marshal should be dead because, for an instant, she had been completely helpless and open to attack, yet no assault had come.
Eventually her eyes adjusted to the bright ceiling lights. What she saw astonished her! There, only a few paces’ distance, stood a giant nearly as tall as Eutychus, but comely in form like a woman. Armored in steel-covering chainmail to the knees, iron boots with calf-high copper leggings, and a spiked full helm that hid all but eyes and mouth, the creature brandished a drawn, double-edge derker sword with a blade over two short cubits in length.
Taking a step forward and planting its feet wide, the giant warrior muttered derisively, “It moves fast for something so fat and ungainly! Screams out to the sky in dread and fear, yet seeks its path to coming destruction so willingly...”
Trisha cocked her head in surprise. The voice was certainly that of a woman’s, and the musical lilt in its speech told tales of a song maiden. What kind of an evil invention of Satan’s was this vile thing, a temptress singing it Siren’s song to lure the unwary to their deaths? Whatever it was, such trickery did not work on this woman. She would break the monster’s enchanting spell.
She snarled contemptuously, “What reward does the cowardly Whoremaster offer his bitch-child to sing my death song? Is it with wine or a donkey’s cock that you will be paid?!”
The woman creature’s eyes blazed in rage, her reply a tempestuous roar. “No whore am I! And my master no coward! I am come a free woman to rid this world of fornicating tricksters such as you who pollute this world by your very breath, whose words of praise hide the poison of vipers! My Master… my God… you have humiliated! How you have been allowed to live until now is beyond my comprehension!”
Trisha contemptuously replied, “Your Lord of the Maggots deserves only death - a gift I would have willingly proffered if my hand was not checked at the last moment!”
Enraged, the woman creature bellowed, “How dare you blaspheme the rightful Ruler of these worlds?! Die!” She raised her sword high, grasping it with both hands while leaning forward to charge the attack.
Trisha did the same, watching with curiosity as the woman creature stared dumbly up at her own sword. The flaming white fire that had been accompanying the green flames on the derker blade suddenly died away, leaving the woman spellbound and momentarily distracted. Well, she was not distracted.
Instantly sizing up the matter, Trisha noticed the smallest of chinks in her enemy’s armor, a gap of a finger-width between the chain mail and copper leggings, exposing part of the person’s knee. In a heartbeat, she dove forward, sword swiping low and fast toward her adversary.
Crash! Twang! Trisha’s sword was almost wrenched from her hands with a counterblow delivered by her opponent’s defensive thrust. It was her turn to stare dumbly in disbelief. Never had she seen someone respond so quickly to fend off such a striking blow. Jumping back in an attempt to distance herself from another counterblow, she hurried to gather her wits as she stared, wondering what damage she might have delivered.
In a blur, the woman creature’s sword was raised high again. She winced with discomfort, feeling warm, sticky ooze running down her lower leg and into her boot. She puzzled, for never had an opponent been fast enough to touch her flesh with any bladed weapon. Had her repulsive blow not come as quickly, her leg would have been cleaved in two. As it was, the stroke cut deep into her kneecap, barely missing a tendon.
Though painful, and the wound bleeding profusely, the cut was superficial. This strike only made the creature more dangerous. Her adrenalin now surging, she advanced anew, crying an insult as she charged.
Swords flew at blinding speeds, a blur of blue fire and explosive, flaming orange as blade crashed against blade. Colliding, the weapons rang with the screech of greats eagles in mortal combat. The woman creature would drive a sweeping stroke downward to cleave a skull only to be thwarted by a defensive stay, instantly followed by Trisha’s tempestuous counterstroke, attempting to cut tendons or disembowel. This was a fight to the death, no one questioning that outcome, only who would be the victor.
For the first time in mortal combat, the woman creature wondered if she might lose the day. So many her blade had delivered to Gahanna. It had mattered little whom or why. It had been her job, to do her master’s bidding, yet the victory had always been assured, she never having a doubt who would gain the satin sheets that night. Tonight was so different. Doubt was growing in her heart. Already her fingers bled, a knuckle shattered, and her chin carried a nasty wound.
Failure was no option. It was not her own demise she feared. This vile beast had to be destroyed or all might be lost! The very Powers of the universe depended on her to prevail. She was delivered here to do such a thing. She could not fail...would not! With renewed effort, she doubled down with her attack.
Trisha marveled that she still lived. The speed at which this monster attacked and the power unleashed with each blow amazed her. True, she had damaged her opponent a bit, but there were no telling blows delivered that slowed her adversary down. Being unarmored did serve a tiny advantage. She could respond quicker to her opponent’s attack, but it came at a price. Already she bled from several nicks and cuts, as well as the more serious injuries. Her left breast was cleaved deeply, soaking her torn jacket crimson red, and a gash across her forehead threatened to blind her as it bled out, unimpeded. Despite the injuries necessitating her giving ground, she still charged the attack when possible.
Sounds of cries, screams and foul oaths rent the night air as these two titans clashed on Olympus’ summit. To the victor went the glory, to the vanquished the fall of their universe. Neither could afford to lose. Both must win, no matter the cost, yet only one was to walk away with the victory. Bodies crashed into pallets, crates fell, hands reached for throats, boots kicked, fingers gouged, and fists flew… all the while blades ringing, defiant.
Giving no quarter, the woman creature dove upon her protagonist, her sword hammering blow after blow like hail on a tin roof. Trisha deflected each blow, offering a counterthrust as opportunity afforded. Those opportunities were rapidly diminishing, the woman creature’s sheer mass and long reach making it difficult for her to take the battle offensively.
Slowly she backed away, gradually her strength waning. Although her blade still shielded her from the enemy’s death stroke, how much longer would it protect her? Unless something changed the tide of battle soon, there would be no returning to loving arms this night or any other night again.
She was failing Lowenah - had failed her and all those relying on the prophecy. She, the great sword, the flaming light of Sharon, was about to be extinguished in eternal darkness. And there was nothing else for it. She could feel it, her power ebbing along with the flow of blood from her many wounds. The moment was close, but she would not give up the fight until it arrived.
Slamming the latest onslaught away with a grunt, Trisha dove low in an attempt to finish what she had begun. Too quickly, a defensive counterblow arrived, thwarting the assault. The woman creature caught Trisha’s blade near the hilt with a counterthrust that nearly lifted the field marshal off her feet when she carried through with an upstroke.
Trisha was pitched back and nearly toppled over. Her left hand, bruised by the blow, broke loose from the hilt, leaving the already injured right hand to wield the sword in her defense. She attempted to regain her footing while holding her sword high to ward off a coming blow.
The woman creature spun her sword about again, sweeping it down across the hilt of Trisha’s sword. Trisha heard no sound nor felt any pain as the blade flashed past her eyes. As her face was sp
attered with blood, she watched her own sword sail away from her, several fingers dancing haphazardly in the air before falling to the floor.
A garish grin grew across the woman creature’s face as she reeled back to deliver the deathblow. Swearing vile curses, she swung with all her strength a blow for mid-skull. “Your brains shall the crows eat!” She screamed, just before her blade struck.
The sword smashed into the side of Trisha’s head, the power of the blow lifting her backward, off her feet. The blade tore through her body, slamming the woman’s head hard to the left and sending her into a flying twist. Bone, flesh, tongue and teeth spewed from a ruined face, spattering blood and gore across crates and floor. With a thud! the field marshal fell, head-first, into a crumpled heap on the hard concrete floor.
The woman creature quietly stood there, bloodied sword at the ready, puzzling over what had just happened. Her mood changed from puzzlement to disbelief when she heard a groan and saw her adversary slowly roll over, terribly damaged but very much still alive. This was impossible! Her enemy’s head should be sheared asunder, a feat she had mastered many times with ordinary blades of steel...but with a derker sword?! Perplexed, she stepped forward to have a closer look.
Trisha’s right ear was split in two, her eye ripped from its socket. From there, the pointed blade had swept down at an angle across her face, pulverizing the upper jaw, cutting away a great deal of tongue and inner mouth, smashing out many of her teeth, and tearing the left jaw bone from her face. Yet she was still very much alive, though barely conscious. Her head lolling from side to side, Trisha, surrendering to her coming fate feared not her demise, regretting only her failure to best this monster of evil.
“Why don’t you finish it?” A chiding voice angrily called out from the far end of the narrow aisle. “How is the butcher’s bill paid when the prey still lives?”
The woman creature glanced up to see Lowenah standing there. Looking back at the bloodied vanquished, she shook her head in question. “An oak of four handbreadths would not survive such a blow, yet this creature took it and lives! I do not know... I do not know... Never have I contested against one greater than this - fast, furious and skilled beyond belief it is!”
Lowenah threw her hands up in disgust. “Sarah, my foolish Sarah! Oh, for the wisdom of ‘Molly Whan’! Have the history lessons of your old world been wasted on you? Strike the shadows in the dark of evening and the dancing swan-maiden shall perish...”
The woman creature Lowenah called ‘Sarah’ looked at her, concern growing on her face as she pondered the moment. Molly Whan? The story of a hunter who mistakenly killed his lover in the darkness of fading shadow, thinking she was the hunted prey. What was this all about? Whose blood dripped from her sword? Was it that of the Worm’s servant, a wicked spy in their midst, or… or…?”
She slowly backed away, the words of VanGoddawin ringing in her ears. ‘It is an easy thing to take a life, but oh, so difficult to return it to one murdered in innocence! Take Wisdom’s road, my child. Do not string the arrow’s quill until you are certain who your enemy is.’
But she was certain! With her own eyes, she had watched the evil deeds of this person, its violent attacks against her King, so full of itself, speaking denunciations against the holy ones. She had studied this evil creature carefully. She was certain, wasn’t she? Lowenah’s visible displeasure was shaking the faith of her certainty. She recalled VanGoddawin’s parting warning, ‘Remember, once released, the unstoppable arrow cares not for friend or foe.’
Lowering her sword while taking another step back, Sarah cried out, panic growing in her voice, “Tell me, please! Have I murdered your child?”
At that instant, a frantic Zadar rushed up beside Lowenah, lanner drawn. Looking first at the armored warrior holding a long, bloodied blade, he chanced a glance at the ragged pile on the floor, his eyes filling with horror when he recognized it to be Trisha. Crying in despair, he lifted his lanner, squeezing its trigger, while attempting to push past Lowenah to deliver a killing shot on his lover’s murderer.
Lowenah caught the distraught man up short, gingerly removing the lanner from his fingers. Holding his arm securely, she pulled him close, “Your girl lives! Do not shame me with the shedding of more innocent blood this night...”
Although stunned at Lowenah’s revelations, Zadar dutifully obeyed, tears welling up in his eyes. “I promise, Mother, to do as you say.”
“Thank you, son...” Lowenah softly replied, slowly releasing her grip on Zadar. “Go to your girl. She needs you so at this moment.”
Zadar rushed down the corridor to gather Trisha up in his arms. Tears streamed down a distraught face as he dropped onto his knees and bent low, gently lifting the woman so that her head rested in his lap. This was not the first time in his life he held a torn and ruined companion. But never had his soul grieved so as it did for this most cherished one of all! He began to slowly rock back and forth while softly calling out in broken prose sweet refrains of love and endearment.
As if drawn up by a fisher’s net, Trisha roused, staring sleepily through a growing, dark mist, searching for the face behind the lilting love song drifting upon the dizzying dreamscape. Finally, for only an instant before sinking below the foaming waves, she looked into the eyes of the man so tenderly caressing her heart and soul. Then, as the song floated liltingly upon her ears, she slowly drifted down into the quiet depths of mindless sleep.
Choking out Trisha’s name, Zadar searched to find if her spirit remained clinging to life’s hope. With shaking fingers, he carefully undid the woman’s blouse until he rested his hand over her heart, waiting breathlessly for the soothing, rhythmic message he so desperately needed to feel. Was it a moment, an hour, or forever? Zadar could only recall the excruciating agony of waiting the desperate eternity before that first thump of the woman’s heart pulsed through his hand and into his soul.
Trisha’s chest began to slowly rise and fall as weak lungs took up a quiet rhythm of deep sleep. Chancing to take his eyes away from her for but a moment, he looked over at the woman standing a few paces away. His forlorn look of desperation, of questioning accusation, reflected in the woman’s eyes as she helplessly stared back at the destruction she had wrought. He quickly fixed his gaze back upon his precious treasure. Pulling her close up in his arms, Zadar lowered his head and began to sob.
Sarah leaned against a broken crate to steady herself. Whether it was the bleeding injuries that made her feel so weak, or the growing realization of the reckless destruction she had delivered, the woman did not contemplate. Watching Zadar grieve over his loss drew forth a torrent of visions that long haunted her past - visions never allowed to bubble up to the surface for fear their reflections would expose the true monster demon lurking behind the mask of pious self-righteousness.
Had all the killings she had fomented, both in this world and the one before, been always for some righteous cause, self-preservation, and necessity, or had she become the hunter of men for the thrill of the chase, exhilarating with demented joy as she smelled the blood of her hapless victim? Never had she looked upon her adversary as a person with feelings, hopes, or desires, nor had she contemplated her opponent to be someone’s child, lover, or companion. How many arms had she made bereft of cherished love? How many hearts had she filled with hopeless grief, just so that she could sleep alone, unmolested, for a night?
That same forlorn grief began filling Sarah’s heart. She cast her gaze toward Lowenah, searching her face for a hint of sympathetic understanding. Eyes pleading, she begged, “Please, my Lord, my Breath and my Soul, it was a mistake, only a mistake! The arrow has been unleashed and cannot be returned to the bow. Forgive, please, your little child for her foolishness...”
Lowenah was in too foul a mood to play the game of consolation. She angrily spat, “Fool! Do you think I cannot read your very thoughts, your wallowing in self-pity, seeking consolation for evil deeds by my
absolution?” She pointed an accusing finger, shaking it at both Sarah and also the unconscious Trisha. “Your conceptions were no mistake - no children of drunken debauchery or of senseless fornications are you. In your mothers’ bellies, I wove your every fiber, your fathers seduced to their beds by my very command. From the blood of jackal queens and Dancing Stones were you made, to become slayers of demons in these Worlds Above and the Worlds Below.”
Scowling, Lowenah railed contemptuously, “Necromancers you both are, given sight beyond sight! Blinded you have become because of arrogant minds and boastful hearts. ‘I am so great and majestic, made with the finest of gold and ivory! Wonderful with power in my acts and deeds!’ you say. Fools! Fools I say you are! You have forgotten whose wisdom went into the making of you. Only my boy, there…” she pointed at Zadar “had the insight to search me out and beg my intrusion. I was not far off from you, having arrived in Oros just this afternoon, and it was no secret that I was here. But, no, my counsel was not sought out by either of you, you being too full of yourselves to think my wisdom mattered...”
Sarah begged Lowenah’s forgiveness as her sword tumbled from her hand, clanging on the floor. She wheezed, struggling for breath while slowly sinking to her knees, tears running down her face mixing with blood slowly dripping from opened lips. Removing her helm and letting it fall, she looked at the ruin her hands had created and then at Lowenah. “Please forgive you wayward child.” Sarah cried, and then began to cough, spattering blood as she spoke. Her head spinning, she leaned forward, falling onto outstretched hands watching, surprised, the crimson froth ooze from her mouth and spatter upon the floor.
Lowenah puzzled. Squeezing around Zadar and Trisha, she made her way to Sarah, pulling the woman’s long golden hair aside to make a close examination of matters. She sighed sadly, “You have been kilt, too, or would be, had time and circumstances permitted it.”
Growing sickly pale from fearful uncertainty, Sarah peered questioningly into Lowenah’s eyes. Lowenah smiled grimly, “Be wary the stinger in the left hand when your opponent carries the power in the right. A knife, I believe hidden up a sleeve, has pierced armor and bone to lodge in your lung. Had the hilt not broken, leaving the blade wedged where it is, long ago you would have bled out...”
She looked over at Trisha, raising an eyebrow while nodding sadly. “And I would have been chastising her instead of you...”
Shaking her head, muttering, disgusted, “Foolish children... Foolish children...” Lowenah assisted Sarah to her feet, calling out to Zadar as she did. “Son, take your girl up and be off to my carriage. I’ve my hands full here.”
Through his tears, Zadar dutifully obeyed, taking Trisha up in his arms. He looked around at the destruction, asking, “What about things here?”
Lowenah shook her head as she assisted Sarah to her feet. “Not to worry now... We’ve got to get these rascals some medical attention sooner than may be. I’ll take care of this later.”
Trisha roused just as Zadar looked into her face, his only inches from hers. What she saw pierced her heart in ways never before experienced. The woman knew she was broken badly, yet this man saw not the ruined flesh. He was staring into the depths of her soul, his love reaching out for the secret person who resided beyond the sensual, passionate, and erstwhile. This man loved her, was in love with her.
For the first time in her life, Trisha wanted to be held close, to be wrapped up in a man’s arms - this man’s arms - to be a woman for this man. Long-harbored feelings instantly fell away into forgetfulness. She no longer saw her body as a repository for a man’s passion, but a vessel to gather a man’s heart, and there to keep a little part of his soul to remember the cherished time together. A smile grew across Trisha’s heart, a warm glow filling her body as she drifted off into a peaceful rest.
Wisdom is not easily gained, but it can be carelessly squandered. Tonight, wisdom had been won at a terrible cost, and Lowenah was going to make sure the lessons learned would be lasting. But now was not the time to dwell on that. There were so many things needed doing and little time to accomplish them. The gray of sky’s morning was gathering over the city. They must be far away from here before other eyes might chance upon them.
Sarah was groggy, but still managed to stumble along with Lowenah’s help. By the time they arrived at the carriage, Zadar had already laid Trisha across the floor between the facing seats, and was busying with putting up its top and installing its storm curtains. Upon seeing them, he hurried over to help. “I believed you wanted privacy, so I put up the bonnet.” He offered as they approach the carriage.
Lowenah smiled her approval. After assisting Sarah into the carriage, she asked Zadar to hurry back and retrieve the helm and weapons. “Be quick. I’ll finish up here.”
“What of the other…?” Zadar wondered. “I can…”
“Just what I ask for...” Lowenah commanded. “I need you with me. Now be quick.”
As soon as Zadar was returned, the little carriage was off, zigzagging this way and that to avoid the clutter in the narrow street that took the party south, away from the city and into deserted countryside.
The sun was peeking over the eastern hills when the carriage finally rolled to a stop in a small grove of evergreen trees hidden behind a weathered rock outcropping. Zadar stepped from the carriage to see a silvery trade ship parked in the shadows of the cliff. A door ramp slowly opened in the ship’s side. In moments, two silver-clothed figures with glowing, golden hair and faces that shone bright were carrying the injured warriors toward the ship.
Another handsome figure of a man emerged from the ship. Smiling, with arms outstretched, he approached Lowenah, offering friendly salutations before giving her a very affectionate embrace, which was heartily accepted with an additional kiss to the lips.
The man stepped back while hugging Lowenah’s upper arms with his hands, grinning. “It’s looks to me that my ZoeStethos has had quite a night of it! I’ve already seen to business back in Oros.” He then asked, half teasing, “Are you still up to this game, or would you rather steal away with me to more pleasant places?”
Lowenah did not reply to the man’s question. Giving his forearm an affectionate squeeze, she introduced him to an astonished Zadar. “Ysuah, this is the child I have spoken so much about.”
Ysuah’s face beamed as he cupped Zadar’s hand in his, giving it a manly shake. “Yes! Oh yes! So much like your father you are - at least in more innocent days. A pleasure… a pleasure it is to meet you at last!”
Zadar was dumbfounded at hearing Ysuah’s comment. He stuttered, “M… m… my fa… my father?” This was too much. First this person, Ysuah, then ‘ZoeStethos’ for Mother? Those were troubling enough, but ‘like your father’? What was this all about?
Lowenah placed a finger to Zadar’s lips, shushing him. “Time is not our friend this day. Later son, later...”
She turned to Ysuah. “My name is hidden to all save a few of my children. For my son, here, please teach him its secrets. As for the other? Another day, another day...”
Giving Zadar a kiss, Lowenah motioned that he go with Ysuah, warning, “Your traveling companion, Ysuah, will confess many secrets to you, but secrets they must remain. I am entrusting them to you because of your faithful loyalty to me over these many long ages of rebellion. Some tales will confuse you, riddles in the dark, but others will serve you well in future days. Do not ask for riddles answered that are not yet to be revealed. They will all arrive at their proper times.”
Zadar promised he would be a loyal child. After kissing Lowenah, again he hurried off with Ysuah. The ramp of the trade ship slowly closed. In seconds, the ship was little more than a silent speck on the horizon. Lowenah frowned, tired. This had been a long, troublesome night, and she, using little more than mortal powers, was very tired. Crawling into the carriage and flopping across one of the plush seats, she closed her eyes, sighing. “Kar
ikia...” She sleepily whispered. The carriage started up with a sudden whirr. In moments it was zipping away toward Palace City, a snoozing Maker of Worlds sprawled across a seat, her quiet, rhythmic snoring filling the cabin with its musical restfulness.