Fires of Justice

Part 15:  Penitent – Joinings

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For three days, Naliara and Palenna traveled as quickly as they could, making for the border between Teraam, and the neighboring country of Gherall.  Naliara was only slightly slowed by Palenna.  The girl was young, and, while not normally one for this much walking, she had the rosy health of a teenager.  Naliara thought she might have made four or five more miles than the 25 or so a day that they were making, were she traveling alone – but no more than that.  And she didn’t resent the loss at all.  Five miles a day was a small price to pay, for the company of Palenna, who was becoming more Naliara’s  sister-of-heart with every passing day.

The one thing that worried Naliara about the presence of her adopted sister was that Palenna had no training at all in fighting – not even the rough-and-tumble sort of fighting that many children learn, in the course of a normal childhood.  The girl’s parents had been far too aware of their own social status, and how Palenna’s behavior reflected back on them, to permit her the sort of childhood that included friends of a sort who might expose her to such undesirable behavior.

And Naliara had never taught anyone to fight.  She remembered her own lessons, of course – but she was handicapped by her inability to speak.  Still, when Palenna hesitantly brought up the subject of the dangers of the road, and suggested that she learn something to help with defending herself and Naliara, the older girl agreed.  She cut Palenna a quarterstaff, the simplest of the weapons that Naliara herself knew how to use, and began teaching the girl, on the morning of the day after they left Geranett.  Even crippled by Naliara’s slow feedback – writing it takes much longer than saying it, after all – Palenna began to learn, albeit slowly.

And on the evening of the third day after Geranett, Naliara became glad that she had gone to the effort.

They had just stopped, for the evening, shucking their packs, and setting them down, prior to beginning to set up camp, when there was a cry, and, very suddenly, a child of seven or eight came running into the clearing where they had stopped.  The little boy was looking back over his shoulder, and ran into Naliara’s legs, knocking her down, as he entered the clearing.

And then the man who was pursuing him came charging into the clearing, while Naliara was still trying to stop the boy’s frantic, unseeing attempts to break free of her.

The boy’s pursuer carried a naked broad sword in his right hand, and, when he saw that the boy was down, and tangled up in another person, he drew it back to his shoulder, preparatory to striking the child – from behind!

“No!” Palenna cried.  Her staff was in her hands, as she’d been using it as a walking stick.  Now, she shifted her grip, and brought the staff up from the ground, swinging the bottom foot or so of the weapon into the stomach of the man with the sword.

The man let out an explosive grunt, as all the air left him, and Palenna swung again, an awkward blow for the man’s head.  He raised his sword to parry – but he was off-target, and Palenna’s staff cracked solidly across the knuckles of his sword-hand, breaking at least two of the fingers that held the weapon, and causing him to drop it.

The man wheezed in rage, grabbed Palenna’s weapon with his good hand, and shoved and twisted, throwing the girl off of her feet, and disarming her.  Then he dropped her staff, drew a long dagger from his belt, and started toward her.

But Naliara was untangled from the boy, now, who was now staring in fascination, at these two strangers who were helping him.

Naliara threw herself forward into a somersault, and rolled right into the legs of the man who was now threatening her adopted sister, knocking him down on his back, and rolling neatly to her feet.  As she stood, she drew her short sword, and turned to face the attacker.

“Heretic!” the man wheezed, as he climbed to his feet, dropping his dagger, and taking up his broadsword, which was on the ground near him, in his left hand.  “The boy is a heretic!  He must die, by order of the King and the High Priest of Jaranaset.  Now, stand aside, and I will let you live!”

Naliara simply spat on the ground – but Palenna answered as Naliara would have, if she could speak.

“We, too, are heretics, monster,” Palenna said, picking up her staff, and standing.  “And you will die, before you harm that boy.”

The man snarled, took one step towards Naliara and Palenna – then pivoted, and started to bring his sword down on the boy.

Naliara was faster.  Her short sword lashed out, and cut deeply into the man’s wrist, as he had swung his blade back completely over his head, to get more force from his attack on the boy.

The man tried to scream, as his broad sword dropped from his now-useless left hand, which Naliara had very nearly severed from his wrist.  He couldn’t get the wind to scream, though, and instead let out a choked sort of squeak, as he stared at the blood gushing from his wrist, and sank to his knees.

He’ll probably die from blood loss, Naliara thought.  But only probably.

She shoved her short sword into his chest, from behind, on the left side of his body.  The man fell forward without another sound, dead, as Naliara’s blade pierced his heart.

Palenna, now pale, and sick looking, after this brush with death, went around the dead man, and went to the boy, gathering the now sobbing child into her arms, and turning him away from the sight of the dead man, closing her own eyes, as she did so, so she wouldn’t have to see, either.

“It’s all right,” Palenna soothed.  “He won’t hurt you, now, it’s all right.”

“My folks!” the boy managed, through his sobs.  “They’ll kill ma and da!  And my sisters!”

“Who?!” Palenna asked.  “And where are they?”

“More of them – like him,” the boy answered, and jerked his head to indicate the dead man.  “Dark God lovers.  They’re that way.”  He pointed back the way he had come.  “I don’t know how far.”

Naliara was already scribbling in the dirt, as Palenna asked, “How many are there?  Of the Dark ones?”

“Three others,” the boy said, now swallowing his sobs, making an effort not to cry.  “Two with swords, and one a priestess.  My folks – “

“We’re going to help you,” Palenna said, and leaned over to glance at what Naliara had written.

“Stay with the boy,” Naliara’s note read.  “I’ll go.  And don’t worry – I’ll be fine, Palenna.  I’ve fought worse than a couple of blades and a single priestess.”

“Be careful, Naliara,” Palenna said, as the older girl re-sheathed her short sword, and grabbed her bow and arrows.

Naliara nodded, smiled, and ran off into the woods.

The boy had run quite a ways, she soon discovered – but, he had stayed on a small game trail, so she had no trouble backtracking him.  Still, it was almost a mile, before she heard a voice raised in fury.

“ . . . I do sentence you to death by fire, for your heresies,” cried a shrill, mocking voice.  “You have failed to leave the land by the deadline, and so must be – “

“It took time to sell my mill!” cried a deep voice.  “And there was argument about how much to pay for the forest that supplied me with wood to mill!  And we’re less than a half a day from the border!”

“Silence!” the shrill voice – Naliara was almost sure it was a woman’s voice – cried.  “Sentence has been passed!  You will die by fire, now, and your boy when Kuraw brings him back!”

Then Naliara broke out of the trees, and saw what she was going to have to deal with.  The priestess was a woman, tall, and skinny, and her two companions younger warriors, late teens or early twenties.  The family she’d come here to help stood next to a medium-sized open wagon, and consisted of a simply huge man, almost seven feet tall, and nearly four feet, across the shoulders, a small and quietly pretty woman, and two girls, aged about ten and five, by the look of them.

The priestess had begun a spell.  Naliara had gotten rather skilled at interpreting the more combative spells, on her own world – but she didn’t recognize this one.  Not too surprising, it was, after all a new world.

“Never play around with a magic-wielding opponent,” had been one of Naliara’s combat instructor’s favorite sayings.  Another had been, “And don’t get close to them, unless there’s no time to do anything else.”

There was only forty yards or so separating Naliara and the priestess.  Easy shot, with a bow.  Naliara nocked, drew, and fired, all in one smooth, practiced motion.  She wasn’t aiming tightly – she wasn’t a good enough bowman to aim tightly this quickly – just aiming to hit the priestess.

The arrow took the priestess in the side, passing through just a little above the waist, on the woman’s right side.  She screamed, lost her spell, and fell to the ground, fumbling in her robes, probably for a potion or draught of healing.

Naliara dropped her bow, and went after the swordsmen, giving the priestess a kick in her injured side in passing, before attacking the swordsman who was trying to help her.

Naliara went into a handspring, kicking the swordsman on the way down, with both feet, knocking him sprawling.  She came up moving in the back-and-forth, side-to-side motion that was the basis of the Violent Dance, glancing around to see what the second man was doing, and trying to watch what the two she’d already attacked at the same time.

The second man, it seemed wasn’t going to be a threat.  He was quite busy dying.  The man who he’d been menacing with a sword, seconds before, was now slamming the swordsman’s face repeatedly into the side of the cart that held the family’s belongings.

Naliara pivoted back to face the second swordsman, still moving in the basic step of the Violent Dance, and saw that he was recovered enough to be watching her warily, and keeping his sword pointed at her.

Not a problem.  Naliara simply turned the “step” into a counter-clockwise “spin,” bending at the waist, to give her feet an upward motion, as with her back to the swordsman, she kicked up and out with first her right foot, then her left.

Her right foot took the man’s sword hand, knocking the blade out of his hand, and several feet off to one side.  Her left foot sank, heel first, into the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe, and effectively killing him, though it would take a few moments for him to actually die.

The Priestess had rolled to her back, and was fumbling with a flask, probably a potion of healing.  Naliara gave her no opportunity to use it.

The little singer threw herself forwards, bouncing once on the balls of her feet, for height, then springing up into an aerial, arms out to her sides, and down to catch her weight.

Naliara’s hands hit first, and then her right foot, knee slightly cocked, which landed on the Priestess’s stomach, next to the protruding arrow.  Even as Naliara thrust with that foot, kicking the arrow, and ripping the wound wide open, her left foot landed on the Priestess’s face, right on her nose.

The other woman screamed in agony, and Naliara gave her a mercy that the woman would not have given another – she killed her quickly, by rolling over, and kicking at the base of the woman’s shattered nose, driving the broken bones into her brain.

Then she rose, and dusted herself off, thinking a quick prayer to Bragala, in gratitude for a chance to help more people.

The big man, the wood-miller, had dropped the corpse of the other swordsman, and was holding on to a cart wheel, vomiting hard and gasping around his tears.  His wife and two little girls were clutching at him, trying to see if he was wounded, thinking injury to be the cause of his illness.

Naliara knew better.  He was a miller.  Yes, a big, powerful man – but a miller, nonetheless, and unlikely to have ever killed before.  The first time, no matter how right or necessary, almost always made a decent person sick.

Naliara gave them the few moments it took to let the big man recover, and keep his dignity, by searching the bodies of the dead.  She wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to be doing, specifically, on this world, but she figured that money couldn’t hurt.  If nothing else, money would be needed, eventually, to build a temple for her God.

When she finished her search, she had found around 50 pieces of gold, a few silvers, and a handful of copper – and a pair of gems, a diamond and a ruby, both small, but exquisitely cut.  She assumed that there were dwarves, on this world, and, that if there were, the gems had been cut by a Dwarven jeweler.

She straightened, after her search, and turned to find the family of four – no, five, minus one, the boy who was with Palenna – waiting for her to finish.

As soon as she turned, the man performed a deep (if rather awkward) bow, and his wife and daughters curtsied, with an awkwardness that showed little practice – but their expressions showed their sincerity.

“Lady,” the woodsman said, “you have given my family, and myself, our lives – and I hesitate to ask for more, but – “

Naliara smiled, and held her hand out at about the height of the boy whose flight she had fortunately interrupted, and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve seen my son?” the man asked.  “And . . . you cannot speak, Lady?”

Again, Naliara held her hand out at the boy’s height, then pointed back the way she had come.  Then, she took out the note she had written to Palenna, and handed it to the man.  He stared blankly at it for a moment, then handed it to his wife.

The woman, who was pretty enough, in a careworn fashion, looked at it, read it slowly, then read it aloud for her family.  “ ‘My name is Naliara,’ “ the woman read.  “ ‘I am forbidden to speak by my god, Bragala, Lord of Music, as a punishment for acts I care not to discuss – though I may sing to worship.  I am attempting to earn my freedom from this curse. How may I aid you?’ “

“I know not this Bragala,” the miller said.  “But tonight, I shall offer thanks to him, for our lives, Lady Naliara!

“I am Threm the Miller, and this is my wife, Sera, and our daughters, Larel and Meya.  Our son is Sterig . . . and he is well?”

Naliara nodded quickly, then made a motion for the others to wait, and trotted back the way she had come.  Back where she had left Palenna and the boy, Naliara gathered them, and she and Palenna gathered their things, before going back to the family.

Sterig was greeted with hugs and kisses that he bore with a look of long-suffering patience, though he was quick to hug back, and, from the expressions on the faces of those he hugged, he was hugging very tightly.

“I am Palenna,” the younger girl said, when the greetings were over.  Naliara had written her a quick note, while the others greeted Sterig, and when she continued, she said, “My friend is Naliara, who asks that you not use the title ‘Lady’ – she is not of noble birth.”

“Damn sure is of noble action!” Threm said.  He introduced himself, and his family, and then said, “Are you two leaving this damned country as well, Palenna?”

“We are,” Palenna agreed, “and as quickly as we may, too.”

“Might we travel with you?” Threm said, blushing a little.  “I’ve little knowledge of fighting – never really needed it, since I reached m’full growth, most people back off as soon as I stand.  And we’d welcome the company of a couple of warriors like you and L— and Naliara.”

“I’m no warrior,” Palenna chuckled.

“She is too!” Sterig said.  “She clouted the man who chased me, right smart!”

“At best, I’m a beginner,” Palenna said.  “Naliara is the warrior, here.  But . . . yes, we’d like to travel with you.”

Naliara bent over, then, and scribbled in the dirt of the trail they were on.  Palenna read the note, and said, “Naliara heard you say the border was close, Threm.  She was wondering if you’d be willing to travel at night, and try to make it tonight.”

“Willing and more than willing!” Threm agreed.  “The sooner we’re out of this country, the better, I say!”

Soon, the miller’s family was back aboard their cart, Palenna riding in the back with the children, singing quietly to keep them amused, and they were back on the road.  Naliara, who was quite used to being on foot, ran ahead of the cart, by about a quarter mile, scouting the small road that they were on.

About four hours after they had started off, Naliara saw a light ahead of her, off to one side of the road.  A small fire, and near the stream that she had been noticing, for some time.  She moved up to scout it out, conscious of the wagon and people behind her, moving as quickly as she could, and maintain any sort of quiet.

Then, she heard a man’s voice, beginning what she quickly realized was a prayer.

“I will bend to the will of the Lady Alethanna,” said the man’s deep, pleasant voice.  “Hers is the way that lights the darkness. I will be true to her dictates, and walk on the ways of Justice. I will not fear death, for death is not failure. I shall stand beside those of strong faith in the Justice of the Gods. I shall be courageous . . . for without courage, there can be no Justice.

“I shall bear the fire of her Silver Star into the darkness, that those lost within the darkness might see that there is a way out. In the name of Alethanna, I shall do these things, for hers is the hand that made me whole.”

Alethanna! Naliara thought.  If he bears her marks, I’ve found him!

She stepped into the bushes that separated her from him, and, just as she saw him, the man suddenly spun, dipping and grabbing the unsheathed sword he had laid on the ground, and came up with it in his hand.  He leveled it at the place where she stood, and said, “Come into the light!  Now!”

I didn’t make any noise! Naliara thought, as she stepped slowly out of the bushes, hands well away from her sides.  Did I?

Apparently, she had.  But, he was only being reasonable, in his caution.

Naliara stepped further into the fire, and the man drew up short, and lowered his sword.  She barely noticed.  She had eyes only for the man, and his tattoos.

He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet.  His body, bare from the waist up, was in marvelous shape, with excellent muscle tone, and the visible strength of a serious warrior.  His face was handsome, with even features, and a strong jaw.  His eyes were grey, and his hair blond, with a single streak of medium gray, at the left temple.

And the tattoos . . . she could see the ones on his chest, and left arm, clearly, and that there was one, on his right arm.  After a moment, not thinking, only reacting to the strange (but beautiful) sight of those tattoos, Naliara made a spinning motion with her hand. After a repeat, the man seemed to understand.

“You want me to turn around?” he asked.

Naliara nodded.

Obligingly, the big man put down his sword, and turned his back to her.  For some reason, he seemed to trust her.  After a moment for her to look, he turned back to her.

Naliara couldn’t help herself.   She suddenly realized that she had stepped up close to him, and that her fingers were tracing the silver lines that tattooed his chest.  He shivered, just a bit, as her fingers traced the nine-rayed silver star, as though he found the contact pleasurable.

Naliara was amazed, and more than a little awed, at the sight of this ma she was supposed to follow.  He bore four tattoos on his body, each one done in molten silver. Yet he had not burned, or scarred, or puckered the skin around the silver lines.  Such was the power of Alethanna’s priests.

“It’s real silver,” the paladin said, as her fingers finished tracing the star on his chest.  Naliara looked up, eyes wide, and he nodded, before continuing.   “Yes. It was done by the high priestess of the Goddess Alethanna, back on my world.”

He seemed to really look at her then, and Naliara found herself blushing.

“I am Altairen of Kavendale,” the warrior said.  “I take it that you cannot speak?”

Naliara nodded, and pulled out the note explaining her limitations.  He read it, and looked excited.

“Bragala!” Altairen said.  “That is not one of the Gods spoken of by Kayleen – and my Lady did say that another God would be joining on the side of the Light.  Is this Bragala?”

Naliara nodded, and smiled delightedly – and Altairen found himself captivated by her smile.

She’s beautiful, he thought – and took a moment to really look at her.

She was a young woman, little more than a girl, actually.  Early 20s, maybe?  She was small, barely over five feet tall, and could not weighed a hundred pounds, though she appeared to have the muscle tone of an acrobat.  She was a petite but well shaped girl.  Her hair was long and silky white and her eyes a light violet, he thought – it was hard to be certain in the moonlight.  She had her hair in a long braid, doubled up, to reduce it’s length.  And her clothing, a man’s tunic and trousers, was dark blue or maybe purple.  There were two wooden hafts sticking up over her shoulders, and a short sword on her hip.  Standing there in the moon-and-fire-light, she was quite striking.

“I take it that you are here to stand for Bragala, in the war that comes?” he finally asked, when he realized he was staring.

Naliara nodded and reached back over her shoulders, and grabbed the two pieces of wood that stuck up there.  She drew them quickly, two wooden sticks, each a little longer than two and a half feet.  In a smooth motion, she pressed the ends together – and suddenly was holding a five and a half-foot staff, with no visible seam in it, the ends capped in silver.  Immediately, she knelt, and offered the staff to him, balanced neatly on her palms.

It was plainly an offer of fealty.

Altairen took the staff, and told the girl to rise, before handing it back to her.

“I thank you, Naliara.”  He grinned, then, and lost years from his apparent age, looking like a teenager.  “And I’m very glad to see you!  I’ve taken on a burden bigger than any I’ve ever shouldered before.  It’s . . . a little daunting.”

Naliara squatted next to the fire, and picked up a twig.  Quickly, she scratched a message.

“ ‘You would stand against the Dark Gods?’ ” Altairen read.  He looked up, and smiled, a different sort of smile, hard, and fierce.  “I would.  I was so charged by my Goddess, and so I would have done regardless.”

Naliara scratched out another note, and leaned back to let him read it.

“ ‘I was instructed by Bragala to find you, Altairen, and to follow you,’ ” Altairen read aloud.  “ ‘And, after the things I have seen here – I would do so anyway!  And there are a few people with me – I’d best go get them.’

“Very well,” Altairen said, standing, and pulling on his tunic.  “There is a camp, a bit further down the road you came from.  Bring them there.  I will go ahead, and prepare the sentries for your coming.”

When he was dressed, Naliara bowed to Altairen, one warrior to another, and he bowed back.  When he straightened, Naliara hopped forward, and hugged him, impulsively.  Though surprised, he hugged her back, squeezing firmly, before letting her go.  She smiled once more, and turned to go after the others, trotting easily down the road.

Oh, Lord Bragala, Naliara thought, as she ran.  I have found him, Lord!  And he is a good man, I feel that.  I thank you for this opportunity to learn what I must.

And I thank you more, for giving me such a handsome teacher!

Then she saw the wagons, and ran to tell those in them that they had found friends.

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