Nine years before the founding of the first kingdom

Once more Karux dreamed he stood on the building of stairs and searched the clouds for any glimmer of light. Feeling the gravity of awareness pull at him from behind, he turned around and found her standing before him. That she was a woman he had no doubt, for he could see her white silhouette against the fluttering tongues of flaming light she wore. She stepped forward and whispered his name, sending sharp-edged shivers of joy through him.

"Who are you? From where do you come?" Karux asked. "Are you n'mati?"

The woman smiled. "All who serve E'yom are n'mati." She gestured toward him.

He looked down. He was wearing robes of gleaming white. The light washed out the color of his hands to that of pale sand. On his chest, the stone hanging from his neck on its braid of hair radiated with an intensity impossible to look at.

"Are you a spirit-being?"

The woman chuckled. "I am flesh and blood; the same as you."

Karux swallowed hard. "Are you from the sacred mountain?"

"No. I have been with you all along. I sent you the visions warning you of the future when you first fell from that mountain."

"If you're flesh and blood and if I had known you, I'm certain I would recognize you now."

"The shadows obscure our true identities."

"And, yet, you sent me the visions warning of the attacks?"

"I did."

"So why have you only now appeared to me?"

"The power you seek will be put into your hand today. But it is the power you reject that you need. You once offered it to your cousin, but he rejected it—and it moved on. If you reject it as well, the burden will fall upon another."

<====|==|====>

Garanth had not missed Karux's threat to the elders. Watching Karux instruct his students in their flame-staring the next day, he worried at the edges of the question it presented.

He had no doubt that, through his craft and through his influence over the tireavs, Karux could impose his will on the elders and the whole community of Har-Tor, but was that right? Was that not one of the crimes lain at Amantis' feet? What did that make Karux? Certainly Karux was doing what he thought necessary to save the people of Har-Tor, but had not Garanth's father done the same? Did the end—if it were significant enough—justify any and every means? Was there no act so evil that it would be better to let innocent people die than to save them by committing it? More importantly, how could one ever really be safe around such a person?

"What are you doing in this stinking pit instead of being outside like any right-thinking boy?" a familiar voice asked.

Garanth whirled. "Uncle Mac!" He flung himself at the man standing at the corridor's intersection. Macander caught him in his huge arms and hugged him.

"By the mountain! How you've grown! How old are you now?"

"I've seen fifteen winters, or so I'm told."

"Let me look at you!" Macander held him at arm's length, looked him up and down and squeezed his shoulders. "I'd say you look big enough to do a man's work. We could well use you on the farm."

"I'm afraid he's always been a city boy." Karux stood at the chamber's entrance.

"Cousin!" Macander smiled and clasped hands with Karux.

"Cousin, I take it the trails are now open? How is farm life suiting you?"

"Spring was taking too long, so verd has come in its stead." Macander laughed. "Tokarha sends her blessings and Reavkin complains he never gets to see his cousin."

"Reavkin is but a babe,"Karux said. "I doubt he complains about anything."

"And you call yourself an oracle! That's all he does. That boy has the healthiest lungs of anyone I know." Macander ruffled Garanth's hair. "So when are you going to let Garanth come and stay with us?"

"When are you going to return and lead my tireavs?" Karux folded his arms. "I need your skills and experience."

Macander's smile froze. "I've thrown away my spear and wield nothing sharper than a sickle these days."

Karux's own smile stiffened. "I don't believe it, but we'll let that stand. Just be aware that the real threat is yet to come and we will all be forced to fight for our lives and the lives of our loved ones."

"Not me," Macander said. "I'm done with fighting."

"But why? You were so good at it."

"That's why."

"Oracle?"

A stranger, holding a spear, waited in the corridor behind. He wore a long leather coat on which bronze plates had been affixed.

Karux walked over and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Torkin, I take it the tireavs are back."

"Yes, Oracle. The daikons will have them gathered outside at midday so you can dismiss them."

"And are the men eager to leave our service?"

"Not many, Oracle. While eager to see their families again, most see their tireav as something like a family."

Karux turned raised eyebrows on Macander who rolled his eyes. "Tell the daikons we may soon have to increase the number of spears we keep on hand, but we'll release these for now."

"Very good, Oracle."

"What is that you're holding?"

"Oh! I almost forgot." Torkin leaned his spear against the wall and handed Karux the long wooden box he had been carrying on one hip under his arm. "Brakus sent this. He says the first lot is finished and the maccari will begin training with them."

Karux took the box and found that the lid would slide back. "Maccari?"

"I think that means warrior in the dwerkan tongue," Torkin said.

Something gleamed inside the box. "Garanth, bring a lamp over here."

Garanth brought over a clay keleos lamp from one of the niches lining the corridor and held it high as Karux pulled out a long silvery object."

"Be careful, it's sharp enough to cut the legs off a flea," Torkin warned.

The thing in Karux's hand was long enough to stretch from a man's fingertips of his outstretched arm and across his chest to his opposite shoulder. The blade was three fingers wide at its base and gently tapered to a tip that suddenly ran to a sharp angle like the point of a spear.

"That is beautiful workmanship, but what is that round thing on the end?" Macander gestured at the object attached to the back end of the handle.

"The dwerka do good work,don't they?" Torkin grinned up at him. "They call that the carpon."

"Carpon?" Garanth said. "What's it for, storing food?"

Torkin laughed. "No, it has nothing to do with the fruit, except that maybe it looks a bit like one. It changes the balance of the weapon and makes it easier to use."

Karux waved it up and down,testing it.

Macander took a quick step back as it whistled close by. "Anything made of that much metal must be impractically heavy."

"It's not." Karux sounded surprised. "It's lighter than a piece of wood of the same size."

"It's made of adamant,"Torkin said.

Karux held it closer to Garanth's lamp. The metal of the blade was translucent like smoky glass.

"What do the dwerka call this weapon?" Garanth asked.

Torkin shrugged. "They just refer to it as the weapon. Sometimes they call it the human's weapon."

"What should we call it?"Karux asked.

"A sword." Macander scowled at the thing in Karux's hands. A cold hardness had come into his voice. "That's what Theris called it, and this is in imitation of his weapon, isn't it?"

A chill shivered down Garanth's spine as he remembered Karux's stories about Theris and his cursed sword. A curse that destroyed his family and from which he was never able to free himself.

Karux sighed and put the sword back in its box. "It was still a good idea."

"Ah! There was one other thing." Torkin looked around as if checking for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice as he pulled a pouch from his sash. "They found that...stuff you were looking for."

"The stone?" Karux snatched the pouch from his hands and opened it. He pulled out a clear stone and held it up to the light.

"The dwerka call it cordwna, the stone of power."

Garanth thought it looked like a smaller version of the stone hanging from Karux's neck.

"Finally! I can train those students properly. This is what I've been missing."

"And that's not all,"Torkin said.

"What?"

"When the dwerka found that stone, they found something else."

"Tell me."

Torkin lowered his voice to a whisper. "They found the seat of power."

"That's not possible."

"They tell me it is so."

"How? I thought it just a legend."

"A sudden earthquake opened a passage near the source of the Pardos. These stones came from a neighboring chamber."

Karux stared at his stones thoughtfully. "How many know of this?"

"I have told no one. Among the dwerka I cannot say, but they asked me to tell only you. They are aware of what would happen if this knowledge got out."

"I will have to go see this for myself. When will the next tireav be sent up north?"

"I have not yet spoken to the daikons, but assuming the training has followed the schedule, anew group should leave within the fortnight."

"Good. My students and I will go with you. If anyone asks, I want to see the training for this new sword weapon. Now if you'll excuse me," Karux tossed one of his stones in the air and caught it, "I have some students to teach."

Garanth ran back to the niche, returned the lamp and raced to catch up with Karux.

Karux paused in the entryway. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to learn the craft."

"No you're not."

"But, I—"

"We've already discuss this."

"That's not fair!"

"Many things about life are unfair. Nor are they safe. It is best if you avoid the craft."

Garanth looked past him at his students, who knelt before their lamps and gaped back at him. He hadn't cared so much before because he had thought it an exercise in futility. Now that success seemed near, he couldn't bear to be left out. He was certain he could be as good at the craft as any of them. The thought of standing by uselessly while others got on with the business of saving the koria of Har-Tor from the curse was too much. "Then train me to fight!" he demanded. "Train me in the three spears and the sword weapon!"

Karux stared at him thoughtfully. "Very well, perhaps it will keep you out of trouble." He looked to Torkin. "What are you doing at the moment?"

"Nothing much until the tireav leaves."

"Take him to the daikons and get him geared up. You'll be his personal trainer."

Torkin tossed the wooden box to Garanth. "You might as well have this then."

Garanth staggered under the impact, but held onto it.

"Train him well." Karux chuckled, turning back to his chamber. "He may save all our lives someday."

<====|==|====>

Andral sat before the small table staring at the rocks with the strange symbols on them. The only ones he recognized were the symbols for fish and for bread. His madra and Pronos sat close by with a strange lady who watched him in nervous expectation.

"Go on, dear,"his madra said. "Call the spirits just as I showed you."

Andral squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember all the words she had taught him to say. The more he concentrated, the more confused he got. All he knew was that people would pay him to talk to the spirits and ask them questions,but it was the bugs who'd answer. Andral took a deep breath. He thought the spirit world must be far away. "Hey bugs!"

A pervasive skittering sounded from every corner. Bugs scrambled into the room by the millions.

The old lady screamed, leaped up and ran from their new house.

Pronos and Apaidia both rose quickly. "Tell them to go back," his madra gasped.

"Go away!"

The black tide which had covered the floor receded.

His madra lowered her head and shook it. "That's not what I taught you."

Pronos chuckled. "No,but a little fear and awe is a good thing in the oracle business."

He smiled at Andral, but Andral didn't smile back. It felt like Pronos was trying to make Andral like him. "Can I go play?" he asked his mother.

"Are there any more customers?" Apaidia asked Pronos.

Pronos got up and looked out of the door. "No. Looks like she scared the rest of them off.Shall I try and round up some more?"

Apaidia sighed. "No.It's getting late."

"How much have we got?"Pronos asked.

Apaidia produced a small cloth pouch and peered at the coin inside "About thirty kerma. Nearly two aesc."

Pronos nodded. "Good. It seems word of our oracle has begun to spread."

"Maaaaadra!"

Apaidia gently pushed Andral away. "You can go play, but I want you back by dusk."

Andral was up and running,pushing past Pronos in the doorway.

The sun had already slid into late afternoon and the light had begun to soften to hazy amber.The merchants and craftsmen were closing up for the day while the evening street vendors had started to appear at street intersections with food for those too poor to own a fireplace or fuel for a fire. Andral walked past men with wooden trays bearing skewers of spicy,though unknown meat. Others carried baskets with pots of sugu, serving up steaming portions of the rice and fish pottage in broad naban leaves. Andral's nose twitched at the savory smells and his mouth began to water, but when he lingered too long, the merchants shooed him away. They knew he had no coin.

In the months since the bully had hit him, Andral avoided the area near the docks and the southern side of the river bank, drifting instead to the northwestern side where the ground was marshy and the boats never tied up.Here he used to sometimes gather frogs and turtles for his madra to cook, until she told them they could now afford to eat real food and she wasn't fixing that stuff anymore. This saddened him a little. He liked the taste of frogs and turtles. But the fat and lazy ones had all been caught leaving only the small and clever ones behind.

People tended to avoid that part of the city because of its stink. The tanners and fullers and feedlots and slaughter yards were all located on the west side of the city. It wasn't a good place for them, the wind was from the northwest as often as it was from the south, but the east side of the city was devoted to trade as was the south where the two major branches of the Burat river joined.

Andral walked along a slight rise overlooking the marshlands to the west which marked the de facto boundary of the city. As he neared Sarco's butcher shop he saw Hamma, one of Sarco's nephews, leading a goat out into the slaughter yard and tying it up. Andral walked up to the fenced yard and watched by the open gate. Sarco stumbled out of his house carrying a large wooden tub while another nephew carried empty buckets.

"Hamma! Help me with this," Sarco called out as he tried to lift the tub onto a trestle table.

Hamma ran over to help while the goat pulled at the line until it came free of the post to which it had been tied.

"Ai! Stop that goat,"Sarco called out to his nephews.

The goat, apparently sensing its peril, raced for the gate. Andral took a step, tripped and fell on it. He locked his arms around the squirming thing and rose, holding it upside down.

Sarco boxed Hamma's ear. "I thought I told you to make sure the gate was closed before bringing the goat out."

"I forgot," Hamma whimpered, rubbing his ear.

Sarco gestured for Andral to come over. "You might as well bring it over here."

Andral brought the goat over and Sarco made sure it was tied fast. "At least somebody can do something right," he said. "I have an idea. Why don't you help slaughter and dress this goat and clean up afterwards and I'll let you take the head home."

Andral smiled and nodded enthusiastically. He wasn't sure his madra had a pot big enough for the goat's head, but he was confident she could buy one with all the coin people were giving him to talk to the bugs.

At the thought of the bugs, Andral threw a quick glance over his shoulder. A line of the beetles had followed him to the slaughter yard. Filled with irritation, he wished them away and, to his surprise, they backed away and waited in the distance. He looked back at Sarco, but Sarco had retrieved a knife and a bowl and hadn't seemed to notice.

"Now stand over him like this," Sarco lifted one of Andral's legs so that he stood over the goat as if he were about to ride it. "And hold its head in your hands. If it tries to get away, squeeze it with your knees."

With a smooth and practiced hand, Sarco reached out as if caressing the animal's neck with his finger tip. A line of red appeared and blood squirted out into a bowl Sarco held. The goat, belatedly, started to buck, but Andral squeezed as he had been told and the animal quieted down.

"Good."

Blood filled Sarco's bowl rushing out in urgent squirts, before slowing to a trickle. Andral felt a growing pressure all around him as if an invisible weight were descending from the sky. He sensed a presence, an awareness focused on him, and he looked about for his rumored half-brother finding only the two nephews watching, and leaning on a fence railing with bored expressions. He'd had dreams of a one-armed one-legged twin following him around wanting to take his arms and legs ever since he encountered the bugs in the cave. It was bad enough that he had a madra who wasn't his madra who wanted him dead and an adra who wasn't his adra sworn to kill him, but to have this jealous half-brother haunting him was almost too much.

Panting, the goat sagged between his knees and lay on the ground.

"That's it." Sarco rose and lifted the bowl.

The afternoon sun flashed across the bright surface of the blood, a brilliant halo surrounding a shadowed face.

Sarco gestured to the goat. "Pick it up and put it on the table." Sarco set the bowl of blood at the table's far end.

The goat's head dangled limply as Andral struggled to lift it to the table. He tossed it and it flopped lifelessly on the worn wooden surface.

Sarco held up both hands, the small sharp knife in one, and smiled. "Now watch and you might learn something." Sarco waved his hands over the carcass with short quick fluid gestures and the goat seemed to come apart by itself. He sloughed off the skin like a man slipping out of his clothes before going to bed, pausing only long enough to snap off its hooves with casual violence.

He cut off the head and set it aside. "That's yours if you earn it." He then cut open its belly and cleaned out the offal, setting aside those organs for human consumption. "For the pigs," he said setting the rest aside. "Nothing gets wasted. The blood will be cooked into pudding and even the bones will be ground into meal and fed to other animals."

He attacked the carcass once more reducing, what had only moments before been a living breathing animal, to food. "Bring me those buckets." He pointed with one bloodstained hand.

Andral raced over and collected them.

"Go fill them with water. We have to clean up now. You know where the well is, right?"

Andral nodded and ran off while Sarco began putting the three separate piles of meat and bone into the large tub. When he returned, Sarco showed him how to clean everything down. While Sarco finished washing up his hands and his knives, Andral peered into the bowl of blood.

A face peered back at him.The face looked like him, but wasn't him. It had two arms, so it wasn't his half-brother either.

A wave of dizziness overcame Andral and he felt as if he had been pulled out of his own body, as if he were in someone else's body looking out of another's eyes. That sense of presence he had felt earlier returned in full force but this time, it came from the reflection in the blood.

He thought back to the moment when the goat had breathed out its last breath. He could have almost felt its spirit slip out,  as if it had rushed through a crack in an invisible gate and into another world. Strange feelings welled up in him, hunger and some unnamable desire. He wanted to clench his hands and teeth. He wanted to smash things. He wanted to squeeze the life out of something...but most of all, he wanted to slam open that gate and see what was on the other side.