Chapter 13
“Where are Talatil and the other warriors?” Traci asked as they walked toward the edge of camp.
“I believe they’re meeting with the village elders to make the preparations for the ride to the temple. It seems the ceremony must be jointly executed with the Seroniir for proper entry into the temple.
Rutherford stopped and gathered two small baskets. He handed one to Traci, and they walked into a large copse of trees. As they walked, Rutherford explained that the village elders only met with each other twice yearly, during the summer and winter solstices, or what the Iranahar called mid-winter and mid-summer. The gatherings were brief and usually involved persuading each other that their land boundaries had not been violated, as well as confirming that the Seroniir were still guarding the temple and the Iranahar were likewise watching the river. This time, their meeting was very different.
“Now that the warrior princess has been found, the Iranahar will be relaying information about your progress in returning to full health. Both tribes know what’s at stake, and they do not wish to fail in their duty to protect you. That is why young Makir was so rude earlier; they take their honor very seriously. If you were not being well cared for, there would have been war.”
Traci walked alongside Rutherford and thought about that. Perhaps the Seroniir were just trying to make sure they were in the loop on the whole princess thing. Still, she seemed to a have a pretty good read on Talatil. The elder woman acted like a mother hen around Traci, more than adequately caring for her. Makir was a wildcard.
They reached an outcrop of rough stone, and Traci saw several berry bushes growing in the cracks. They were large enough to support many clusters of juicy berries, nestled in with thorns. They clearly were not enough to feed the entire village, but together with Rutherford, she picked the bushes nearly clean. A few berries fell on the ground, and Rutherford disposed of the errant berries by eating them. Traci suspected that some were dropped on purpose.
They turned to move deeper into the forest and saw a small deer hiding in the shade of the trees. They stood silently for a few moments, staring at the watchful animal, and then the deer darted away.
When they had gathered several growing plants and some fungi and vegetables, they returned to camp. By this time, the sun was beginning to set, and the temperature was quickly dropping. Traci pulled her coat close around her.
The camp was full of activity as they stepped back into its perimeter. Rutherford exchanged a few words with the sentries, and they took their bountiful pails to one of the women working at a stone oven. She chattered in her native language, and her two small daughters appeared and quickly distributed the fruits and vegetables to a rather well-organized larder tent.
One of the village elders walking with Talatil approached them and scolded Rutherford for running off with the warrior princess on the eve of their trek to the temple. Traci suspected that the perimeter guards would also be spoken to for not providing them an escort. She felt her stomach begin to knot as the foreordained time approached. They were told that a Seroniir escort would appear at first light to accompany them to the temple site. At least she didn’t have long to wait. Suddenly, she wished she had freed Kendahl. Was it too late to just slip away and make a run for the portal? Would the tribes think of them as cowards?
That evening, there was a large celebration in the camp. Deer and rock goat were prepared and put on low tables for everyone to enjoy. Some of the berries they had picked earlier were also available. She tried a few, and they were sweet and succulent.
As the tribe enjoyed the feast, Traci began to notice the gentle bass sound of rain drums played by young men. They started out slow and rhythmic, and then the tempo became more upbeat. Soon, the drums were joined by the sounds of pan pipes and the deep bass of a large instrument made by joining three water drums that had apertures for adding or subtracting water to change their pitch. The larger central drum was held between the legs, so that the water could be resonated by moving the legs as it was played.
Rutherford pointed to several aeolian harps, rare but beautiful instruments designed to be played by the wind, free of the touch of human hands. The simple harmonic wind harps were said to transfer the spirit of the wind into multi-layered music in time with nature’s rhythms. Traci closed her eyes as their vibrant voices sang pure harmonic tones that ranged from deep, pulsing basses to stunning sopranos.
The music and food were soon accompanied by dancing. Several of the Iranahar men danced in a circle around the tribe as they ate. The smoke from the fires rose up to the heavens as a symbol of the bounty that the tribe was enjoying. Traci found the experience powerfully moving, sharing as the people celebrated and gave thanks for their harvests and for the safekeeping and renewed health of their warrior princess.
Soon some of the women joined the men, and they danced around the circle with great joy. They clapped and sang with mirth and vigor. Rutherford had been dragged to the circle by a rather large but attractive Iranahar woman. He danced with glee, even though his technique was awful. Traci found herself laughing and clapping as well.
As the festivities wound down, Traci loaded up a plate of food and took it to Kendahl, who was still sulking in his prison tent. She sat cross-legged across from him and hummed as the rich bass tones made their way into the tent.
She started to feel some sympathy for Kendahl when she saw that he had been gnawing on his leather chain. But the rawhide was tough and unyielding. She suspected that even his dagger would have had trouble cutting through it.
“Thanks for the food,” Kendahl said around a mouthful. A few days’ stubble made him look quite roguish, in contrast to his dandy norm. “Have you been working on an escape plan?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, I believe so,” Traci said, caught up in the trance of the sweet music. “Tomorrow, I will be escorted to the temple by warriors from both tribes, where there will be some kind of bell ringing ceremony. You’ll be coming with us.” Traci smiled at him. “They want to make sure you come along, where they can keep an eye on you.”
“That’s not much of a plan.”
“Once we go through the ceremony, I’ll be expected to go up to the temple; I’m told there are no doors, so I suppose I’m to say a few symbolic phrases and get my healing.”
“Hmff,” Kendahl grunted as he reached for a cup of tea. “You sound like you don’t expect the gods to answer.”
“Honestly, I’m not quite sure what to expect. I’ve never been a warrior princess before.”
Kendahl set down his cup and gnawed on some of the flat bread. “You’re not one now. I think you should set them straight, so they’ll let you go, and we can make for the western portal. Don’t forget that General Geron will undoubtedly know where we are by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if an armada wasn’t already orbiting this ball of ice.”
“Nervous about your former boss?” Traci teased.
Kendahl stopped chewing and spat out the bite of bread.
“As a matter of fact, I am. And you would be wise to be a little more scared too.”
Traci leaned against the tent pole and closed her eyes. She hadn’t really thought too far beyond tomorrow. She felt safe here--safer than she had felt in a long time. But Kendahl was right. She should have been planning ahead.
She opened her eyes to find him watching her, trying to guess her next move. Unfortunately, she was going to need his network clearance to get back to her ship and ultimately get herself and her crew home. She took a deep breath and made her decision.
“We’ll stick to the current story. Tomorrow, after the ceremony, we will slip around to the back of the temple and make our escape. We’ll need Rutherford’s help to find the western portal. After that--”
“After that, I’ll need to requisition you another uniform. You can’t keep running around in a bearskin coat.”
Traci surprised herself with a snort, but quickly recovered. “I think I’ll pay a visit to Dr. Jones and brief him on the plan. He’s studied the temple for months; I’m sure he knows if it has a back door.”
Unfortunately, Traci was not able to find him. It seemed that the good doctor had absconded with his dancing partner. Talatil nodded at Traci as she made her way back to her own tent. Once inside, Traci took off her coat and stoked the fire. The tent was soon cozy and warm. She noticed some crushed herbs lying on the little table next to a kettle of water. Traci busied herself making tea before finally going to bed. The sound of insects calling to their mates was the last thing she heard before falling into a deep but troubled sleep.
She jerked awake when she heard the sound of screaming. Within seconds, Rutherford and Talatil were both in her tent. As Traci’s heart pounded in her chest, she realized the person screaming was, in fact, herself. Her heart was being crushed with the guilt she felt for the crew of the Corsair, and she fought back the gnawing despair of it all.
Talatil sat beside her bed and began to sing softly. The quiet melody was haunting and beautiful, as if it were sung from some painful memory of Talati’s own. Soon, the intense guilt and sorrow began to fade, and Traci was asleep once more.
She woke again at the sound of a large tub being dragged into her tent. She sat up and watched as woman after woman walked in carrying steaming pails of hot water. Each woman poured her bucket in and then left. Traci watched in silence for a few minutes, and was sure that she had not seen the same woman twice. They must all be helping to heat the water in their own tents and then conveying them here. Several men came into her tent carrying firewood. They stoked up the fire much hotter than Traci would have dared to. Soon, the tent was very warm indeed. She was momentarily concerned that they were going to cook her after all.
Finally, the parade ended, and Talatil came into her tent. She checked the water temperature with her hand and then beckoned for Traci to come stand next to her.
It must be some kind of purification rite, she thought. As she slipped out of her clothes and into the warm tub, Talatil carried out the bundle. The water was luxurious. Traci doubted that anyone else in the camp experienced this kind of luxury, not even Talatil. She had seen women carrying buckets of water from the well in the center of the camp before, so she imagined they probably heated it in their own tents to bathe.
She basked in the simplicity of her bath, and found that it really helped to sooth her knotted muscles and joints. She tenderly touched her left side and felt the fine thread that still held the wounds closed. Closing her eyes for a moment, she didn’t notice the woman who brought her torn uniform, cleaned and humbly mended, and laid it out for her on her pallet. On top of it was a towel sewn together from fox and rabbit furs. Traci climbed out of the tub and dried and dressed. Her clothes smelled as fresh as springtime--quite an improvement from how they must have smelled before.
She walked over to the fire, which was far hotter than necessary, and stirred the logs, taking some of them out. She then stepped outside of her tent to cool off. That was when she saw the Seroniir warriors riding up to the edge of the camp.
They were dressed in battle leathers, with shields strapped to their backs. Makir was riding at the head of the column, along with an older warrior that Traci guessed was their clan chief.
Talatil was also mounted and in battle dress, her son nervously fingering the pommel of his sword beside her. They were flanked by Iranahar warriors with their spears held high. On the end of each spear was a brightly colored feather. Some had tied on more than one. She noticed that the warrior behind Talatil carried two spears, and that one of them bore a whole line of feathers along the shaft near the tip. Traci wondered what she had done to be allowed so many feathers. But then she decided she probably didn’t really want to know.
As the predawn light began to paint pastel color in the overcast sky, Traci noticed that it was snowing lightly.
The Seroniir chief spoke a few words, and Makir dismounted. He was given a small wooden box to carry. She began to tense, but Rutherford appeared beside her.
“The Seroniir chief has brought you a gift, something they have been keeping for many years, I’ve been told.”
Traci’s eyes were fixed on the wooden box as she wondered if it would contain a snake or something equally vile. But when Makir stopped before her, his eyes contained no malice--only awe.
Perhaps his unexpected reverence was because his father, the chief, was watching his every move, or maybe it was because the entire clan was in observance. He looked her in the eyes once and then dropped to one knee as he opened the box.
Traci was not prepared for the amazing beauty of the object set before her. Tiny precious stones worked into a mosaic appeared at the crest of a thin silver circlet. Rutherford nodded toward the circlet, and Traci reached in and gently took it out. The gems sparkled in the early dawn like a thousand slivers of twilight mixed together in a clear pool of tears.
Rutherford helped her put it on as the young man closed the box and retreated back to his mount. Traci stood tall and regal as the two tribes all murmured their approval. Talatil called out, and one of the warriors brought a white horse to Traci’s tent.
This was going to be a problem. Traci had never ridden a horse, or even seen a live one for that matter. The closest she had ever come was seeing images in a museum when she was a girl.
The groom appeared to sense her unease. He lowered his hands and cupped them together to give her a leg up onto the beast. Suddenly Traci felt afraid that it might rear back and dump her unceremoniously on her rear end. What a warrior princess that would make!
Fortunately, the horse only shifted forward a step as she settled onto his back. She noticed that a soft riding blanket had been laid across his back. It was strapped to the horse around his girth to hopefully keep it--and her--from sliding off.
As Traci looked for some form of steering control, Rutherford surprised her by mounting a chestnut horse of his own. He sidled it over beside her and gave her some brief instructions on how to use the straps from its bridle to indicate which way she wanted the horse to move. He also showed her how to use her legs and posture to give commands. A few young warriors snickered as Traci tried experimentally to have the horse move forward. Rutherford assured her that once the party began its ride to the temple, the horse would know to follow the others. Unfortunately, Talatil was calling her and Rutherford to the head of the column!
Traci turned, wincing as she caught sight of Kendahl, bound and led on a tether behind another warrior’s horse. He struggled to keep his feet as the young warrior deftly spun his horse and took up his own place in the van.
She suddenly had a pang of sympathy for Kendahl. After all, he had saved her from both Geron and the mother bear. And she was told that he had tried to save her from the freezing cold of the river, and even from the perceived danger of the Iranahar people. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment while she rode as a hero at the front of the column.
She spoke to Rutherford. “Must he be treated this way? He really isn’t a threat.”
Rutherford spoke to Talatil, who looked over at Traci for some conformation in her eyes. Then she gave a command, and Kendahl was cut free.
“If he will behave, he can walk behind the warriors,” said Talatil with disdain.
“Thank you,” said Traci. She could see the smoldering resentment in Kendahl’s face as he rubbed his wrists. At least he would be able to participate in the journey to the temple with some dignity.
As she got her own horse settled in between Talatil and the Seroniir chief, she was relieved that the column moved at a slow walk. She was sure that the others would easily be able to handle faster gaits, but she was grateful that she at least had some time to work on keeping her horse from bumping into the others.
Traci looked over at Talatil as they rode, who was giving her subtle hints in horsemanship. The others pretended not to notice her inadequacy as she began to gain more control of her animal. Soon, they were all ambling along in a rough formation. Traci and the tribal leaders were at the head, followed by Rutherford and many of the warriors from both tribes. Scouts and archers rode on either side of the column, carefully watching for any kind of threat. These also kept a careful eye on Kendahl, although he was simply glad to have his limited freedom.
The horses were followed by the tribal elders and the women and children, who marched along or were carried by their mothers. Traci noticed that the two tribes kept a careful distance from each other, as if they were afraid of one another.
For several hours they marched along. Traci noticed steam coming from the white horse’s mouth. Its white coat seemed to blend in with the snow drifts that they walked through. In fact, almost everything seemed to blend into the snowfall. Only some stubborn trees and rock formations contrasted the vast blanket of snow that covered everything. But as she looked up ahead, the crystal tower finally came into view.
Its imposing form contrasted its austere beauty. The temple proper was carved out of the surrounding mountain itself. Its only facing entryway was accessible by a long, narrow causeway that wound up the mountainside. The crystal tower at its pinnacle shone in the sunlight and reflected thousands of beautiful colors down upon the approaching tribes.
Traci noticed three large, silver bells mounted on posts at the foot of the causeway. As they approached, one of the Seroniir warriors rode up to the front of the party, carrying a large hammer instead of a spear.
The Seroniir chieftain called for a halt, and they all dismounted. Traci felt her shoulder tweak slightly as her groom helped her off of her horse. She hoped that she hadn’t pulled any of the stitches loose.
“What happens now?” Traci asked Rutherford. Talatil seemed to guess her question.
“He will strike the bells,” Talatil said. Traci wondered how the aging Seroniir chief would manage to swing the heavy hammer. The warrior bearing the hammer brought it forth and presented it to the aging chief.
“It is the distinct honor of the Seroniir clan to strike the bells and awaken the temple,” Talatil said, “just as it was our honor to draw you from the river and tend to your wounds. It is in our natures. We are from the earth and water and are the more nurturing tribe. They are from the fire and light and are the more aggressive.”
Traci tried to take that in. She was certainly glad it was the Iranahar tribe that had rescued her from the ice. If it had been the Seroniir tribe that had found her, she doubted she would be standing here now. But wasn’t that preordained by their oracle? Perhaps they had somehow known the temperament of each tribe.
Traci watched in awe as the elder chief took the hammer and blessed it with some kind of doxology. But instead of walking forward with it, he instead handed it to his son.
Makir swelled with pride as he took the hammer in his hands and bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the great honor that was to be his. He strode confidently to the foot of the long causeway and faced the three large silver bells.
Rutherford leaned close and spoke in a hushed voice.
“He must strike the bells in the precise sequence spoken by the oracle. If he fails to do so, the temple will remain silent.”
Traci raised an eyebrow at this revelation. Were they expecting the temple to speak? Perhaps peals of thunder were expected.
Makir raised the striker over his head and spoke the words of his tribe. Then he swung the massive mallet and struck the first bell. Its tone was pure and crisp as it rang out across the mountainside. He struck the second bell, then struck the first once more. Last, he struck the third bell three times.
There was a hushed silence for several seconds. Traci was certain that she had forgotten to breathe. Then, suddenly, there was a rumble from the mountain as the temple awoke.
Makir, satisfied that the combination had been struck correctly, returned to his father’s side. All eyes turned to Traci Ganner, and as silently as they could, the two tribes took several steps back to give her plenty of room to make her way to the foot of the causeway.
Kendahl took advantage of the parting crowd and walked up beside her.
“Well,” he said, “we came all this way. Might as well go see what’s inside.”
Traci turned to look at Rutherford, who was still standing beside her. He looked as excited as when she had first seen him, as this was his first opportunity to study the temple up close. Up until this moment, he had been prohibited from even being this close.
Traci squared her shoulders and made a command decision. She took measured and confident strides past the three bells and onto the causeway. Her fur-covered boots slogged through the drifted snow as she forged a path up the long walkway. Kendahl and Rutherford followed behind her in the trail she was plowing. Neither the Iranahar nor Seroniir tribes took any action to prevent them from following her.
Traci’s mind raced as she ascended the narrow road. What was powering the temple? Surely it wasn’t the gods!
“Seems like nuclear or ionic power to me,” Kendahl said. “Whatever it is, it’s enough to make the ground vibrate.”
“That may be for the benefit of the natives,” Traci said. She didn’t believe it was the power of the gods any more than Rutherford or Kendahl did. But whoever built the temple was still a mystery, and one that Traci didn’t need to solve. She just needed to get inside. Perhaps the simple act of walking through the door would be enough. Pop back out, show everyone that she was okay, and then look for a back door and escape to the western portal.
“I hope there are no traps,” Rutherford said. “You know, I have read about ancient civilizations that protected their shrines through the use of ingenious, lethal mechanisms. Spring-loaded blocks that fall down on the hapless intruders, that sort of thing.”
Traci hadn’t thought of that. She resolved to stay on her toes.
“Let’s concern ourselves with finding the front door,” she said instead.
As they made their way ever upward, she could see the sunlight glinting on the surface of the outer doorway. There was a design there of some sort. Perhaps it would give a clue as to how to enter. Traci hoped it would be similar in design to the ringing of the bells that had activated the temple’s main power source.
When they were close enough to make out the design, Traci gasped in shock. Kendahl and Rutherford both stared at her with confused looks. Encrusted in the entryway were precious stones that made up a clear picture: it was an outline of a young woman wielding a sword. And not just any sword—a katana.
Traci’s mind raced. Who could possibly know that her martial arts training included the use of weapons, especially this one? Certainly Rutherford could not know, and it was doubtful that Kendahl would have guessed. But someone did, and they had gone to great lengths to let her know. She began to feel uneasy about whatever powers had built this place. She was starting to understand why they believed in their warrior princess. The image was stunningly accurate, from the sword held overhead to the tiara to the outline of a bear skin coat and boots.
They all stared at the mural for several minutes, looking for doors, hinges, cracks, something. But there seemed to be no opening of any kind. They were reluctant to approach too close, lest they find some of the booby traps Rutherford feared the builders might have emplaced.
Their inspection having revealed nothing, Traci stepped forward. If they had gone to this much trouble to invite her here, they were not likely to kill her in front of the tribes below. Rutherford and Kendahl were less certain, however.
She reached out and touched the mural. It was strangely warm beneath her fingertips, as though there was some mechanism operating behind the wall. She was caught completely off guard when both sides of the wall detonated, sending rocks flying outward to reveal two recesses. From these recesses, two curved metal doors hissed out from either side of the wall and closed around her. Having reacted a second too late, Kendahl and Rutherford now pounded on the smooth doors from outside, to no avail. Traci was gone.