"The Tinganjani Seal"
Part 4
by Osiris Brackhaus

 

Running with the thunder, flying on the edge of the storm, across the plain, over the border mountains, into the foreign lands that lay beyond the world he knew.

Lenien dreamt, the same dream like so many other nights lately, and as every time, his dream brought him to a place so utterly strange and yet so oddly familiar by now.

In his dream, his travels ended up in a weird forest, with trees that looked more like mushrooms and yet large enough to challenge any real tree he knew. Water was everywhere, as low mist in the air, as dew dripping from the mushroom-trees, running in small rivulets across the soft forest ground, pooling in little ponds, steaming in the warm air.

The sky above him was either dusk or dawn, huge clouds on a backdrop of a rose and indigo sky, with golden highlights from a sun behind the horizon, some stars twinkling silver in the darker parts of the sky.

And among this alien landscape so full of colors Lenien found oddly beautiful, there was the goal of his nightly travels. Rising from the ground like the trunk of a giant tree, dark against the pale shapes of the forest, a mountain stood, higher than any of the mushroom-trees, steep and featureless. The mountain was split, a cleft running through the massive stone as if once, a vengeful god had hurled his avenging lightening against it. But from the deep scar, a building rose, its crest even higher than the mountain's split peak.

Pale like the alien trees of the forest, almost translucent, the tower glowed with soft light from within, its smooth walls utterly immaculate, featureless. Only close to its top, darker shapes could be seen, like windows looking out of a building so alien to Lenien that he found it hard to believe that someone should actually be living in there.

But someone had to be living there, the young four-braid was sure of that. He felt it, each time he came to this place in his dream the feeling was stronger. And there was something of the Tinganjani hidden within this tower, something the tribes had lost a very long time ago.
But it had to return home now. Lenien could feel a lost spirit calling him from within that building, craving for his homeland, desperate of the disasters his absence would bring to the ever-balanced dance of the spirit world. This spirit called out to him, pleaded for his help, begged with words no human could hear. But Lenien heard the voice in his heart, and each time, he found it harder to put it off as a mere odd dream.

A spirit was calling him, and all spirits here longed for their long-lost companion. Its plea conveyed a sense dread, urgency beyond words.

'Lenien!', he heard the wordless plea in his heart, 'Son of the Flying Waters Tribe, I beg your help! Lenien, you must return me to my homeland. You MUST. What had been lost must return, or the seal will break.' No human voice would have been able to convey such urgency. 'Help me, by the honor of the tribes. Help me, by the wind. Help me, help me...'

----

Abruptly, Lenien woke from his fitful sleep.

Rising up on his elbows, he blinked in confusion at the soft daylight that fell through the tent's flap. His body felt as if he had been running all night, and like every time when he dreamt this particular dream, sleep had brought no rest for him.

"You dreamt again." Jalis' soft voice was ringing with genuine concern, and yet it made the young warrior almost jump from his blanket.

"Jalis!", he exclaimed brasher than intended, angry with himself for not having noticed his slave kneeling in the shadows next to his head. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You sounded... worried."

"It was nothing." Apparently, Lenien noted, switching their roles had done nothing to improve their communication. "Nothing."

"But a nothing that returns almost every night." Jalis rose to his feet and threw the tent-flap open, bright light flooding the interior. It was still odd to the four-braid to see his former owner wear a simple slave's tunic now, his braidless hair bound by a simple leather thong.
But oddly enough, the huge son of the Spirit Oak tribe's chieftain carried out his duties with a polite grace that Lenien would never have expected. Especially when considering that he didn't treat Jalis better than any slave around the camp, maybe even less so. Yet Jalis seemed to accept his treatment as a retribution for what he had failed to see during the time when Lenien had been indentured to him.
Deep within himself, the blond warrior knew already that it couldn't go on like this, but right now, he had other things to worry about.

"You have been out all night hunting", Jalis started as if talking to no one in particular. "You ought to be sleeping like a log. Instead, you roll back and forth in your sleep, moaning."

Yes, the tawncat, Lenien remembered all of a sudden. Last afternoon, one of these predators had attacked the tribe's herd of horses, and unfortunately, the warriors close by had only been able to wound it. But tawncats were vengeful creatures, and it would hide and wait until its wounds were healed, and then come back to the tribe to hunt down those who had been a threat to it.
So it had been decided a hunting party would be sent out after the beast, following it long enough to exhaust it, confront it and kill it with as little loss of men and horses as possible. It had been a long hunt, and an arduous fight. One of the young three-braids that had accompanied the party led by Lenien might never regain the use of his left arm, if his bad luck continued.
But they had slain the beast in the end, and when they returned with the first morning light at their back, Lenien could add another story of skill and bravery to his already grand reputation. He could see a small leather bundle lying on his place at the tent's cooking fire, and he knew it would contain the tawncat's impressive fangs, as long as his hand, given to him as a prize for the one who killed the beast. Its fur, the bones and meat would be distributed among the men and women of the party, depending on rank, their contribution to last night's endeavor, their needs and what they had been given of the last hunts.
Only the skull would remain untouched, given to the Sirdai to be buried with the proper rights. No dead was to be left unburied, no man or woman or beast slain in battle. Such was the tradition, and it would be observed as every time before.

"Lenien, if it's a bad dream, you should go and speak to the Sirdai about this." Jalis' unasked-for advise brought the young four-braid out of his thoughts. "It feels like a spirit trying to send you a message, and that's nothing one should ignore."

"Thanks, Jalis", Lenien replied somewhat grumpy. "If I was interested in your opinion, I'd have asked." Getting up from his blanket, he stretched, realizing that he had gone to bed with the tawncat's dried blood still smearing his arms. "I'll be at the river", Lenien stated as he walked out of the tent, as naked as he had been sleeping. "You think you'll be able to get me a decent breakfast for when I get back? I'm starving."

And without waiting for his slave to reply, he jogged out through the camp, heading for the small river nearby, grinning widely at the woman's hoots and whistles as he passed their tents, naked as he was. After all, he was his tribe's young shining hero, and allowed a certain amount of fun.

----

"What's wrong with you?" Illyria Sirdai asked with barely veiled annoyance in her voice. "Doesn't that Stone Oak slave of yours keep you busy enough? Though, by the looks of him, he should be quite able to get you tired before you go to bed. So what's it?"

"Honorable Sirdai", Lenien began, somewhat taken aback by the shaman's rude remark. "I've had dreams, lately."

"Dreams? What could a man of your age possibly be dreaming of?" She shook her head, her face telling what she thought of young men's dreams in general. "Is there really a girl that didn't want you? What a shame!"

Illyria's last remark was dripping with sarcasm, and Lenien wondered if it had been that good an idea to go to the Sirdai with his problem. Her bad opinion about men in general was well enough known, after all.

"No, it's not about girls, or boys, for that matter." Illyria cocked a questioning eyebrow, crossing her arms in front of her chest, yet didn't immediately reply. "I've been dreaming of a lost spirit in foreign lands, and it's been calling to me, to -"

"Foreign lands, huh?" The Sirdai's face was a repulsed snarl, her dark eyes a pool of cold disdain. "We all think of leaving the plain one day. And then we grow up, and the confusion leaves."

How can she just be ridiculing me, the young four-braid thought furiously. This IS serious. And if it's truly a spirit calling me, and it most probably is, it IS her business. I'm not a stupid boy complaining about a diffuse feeling of unwellness!

Staring at Illyria Sirdai with clenching jaws, Lenien wondered how to make her see that he wasn't here, stealing her time. What could possibly be so important for a Sirdai that she didn't listen to a Warrior's dreams anyway? Though, Lenien added on second thought, she would have been practicing, like most of these days. It was no secret that she was one of the few Sirdai powerful enough to call fire from heaven, and there were stories told at night at the campfire of trees that had burst into flame when the young woman screamed at them in anger. When she called, fire came out of nothing, though not necessarily as controllable as she would have liked.
And her manners and skills of sorting out the social troubles of a tribe also were another matter completely. And, only whispered in the darkest hour of the night, it was supposed that the only spirits that did do her bidding were the ones she had threatened into submission.

The wrists of her pale robe were charred, and she had refused to have them mended as a reminder of how much she still had to learn. Illyria Sirdai wasn't haughty, just not very subtle. And maybe not the best person to turn to when dealing with such ephemeral problems like dreams.

"It's not a mere fancy, honorable Sirdai", Lenien dared a last attempt despite all. "The dream is repeating, coming to me almost every time I sleep now. It truly feels like the work of a spirit."

"And how would you be knowing the voice of a spirit?", Illyria asked in a voice so low it was hard not to notice the underlying threat.

"I hear his words in my heart, honorable Sirdai, and it feels so real." Ignoring the fact that the Sirdai's eyes had turned into narrow slits and there was an odd, charred smell in the air all of a sudden, Lenien added: "I'm dreaming of a tower, Illyria, high and mighty, where the spirit is held - "

"Ohhh!", the Sirdai exclaimed all of a sudden, throwing up her hands in the most mocking gesture of compassion the young four-braid had ever seen. "Is it that what you are trying to tell me? Does you tower fail to rise, young warrior? Is it that why you don't share your blanket with that slave? Now that truly is a frightening thing to return to you almost every night by now!"

Lenien felt the immense urge to slap his Sirdai. What an impossible, ignorant person! How could this bitch dare to question his ability to satisfy his slave. Or anyone, for that matter. If he wanted to, that was.

"No, I'm fine", the young man choked out, the only thing keeping him from seriously attacking the woman in front of him being the thought of her Warden Soran who would be somewhere close by. And the fact the he felt too young to be fried to cinders by an enraged shaman. "Thank you for your time, honorable Sirdai."

"Try having a drink or two. That usually helps!"

He left wordlessly, and that he omitted the usual short bow probably slipped Illyria's attention. He was only a few steps away when a heavy thunder without lightning shook the plain. Lenien didn't turn around to see what poor shrub or creature had suffered the anger he himself had unwillingly conjured up in the young Sirdai. Walking away from her in brisk steps, he fought to calm his ruffled mind. Yes, he was angry at the Sirdai, Lenien admitted. Angry at her being so ignorant, angry at her not listening to him, angry at her stupid, single-minded allegations.
The young four-braid had met a lot of gentle, friendly and even wise Sirdai. Why did the spirits send him such a beast when once he was really in need of assistance? When had he ever done anything to lose their favor?

Lenien was still lost in his thoughts when he came across the central place at the heart of the camp. After his bath in the river, he had felt thoroughly invigorated, and Jalis' admittedly wholesome breakfast had even strengthened his resolve that something had to be done about his dreams. Going to see the Sirdai about this, even if the original suggestion had come from Jalis, had sounded like the sensible thing to do. After all, it was the Sirdai's job to deal with such things like dreams and spirits.

She just had to listen to him. But there was very little he could do, was there?

Pondering his options, or the lack thereof, Lenien stood in the middle of the place, pensively chewing his lower lip, absentmindedly fingering his blond braids. It was only when the bright white hair of Chieftain Nirell caught his attention that he had an idea of what to do. Maybe not the greatest idea of all, but at least something he could do.

"Chieftain!", he yelled across the place, beginning to run towards the old warrior. "Chief Nirell!"

The white-haired man turned around, his dark blue eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "Lenien, my boy," the old man said, cordially patting the young four-braid on the shoulder. "I haven't had a chance to congratulate you on your successful hunt last night. If the stories I have heard are to be believed, you slew the beast all but single-handedly."

Lenien made a denying gesture with his hands. Why the hell did the others always make him into the hero of their stories? "I've had no more part in killing the tawncat than any other warrior on the hunt."

"Of course, of course." Chief Nirell's grin clearly told that he thought this just to be another utterly polite trait of his favorite junior hero, and jovially, he put his arm around Lenien's shoulder. "How's your fifth-braid training going?"

"It's all going very well, Chieftain, thank you." Lenien had definitely not come to have some polite small-talk, but there was really no way to stop Chief Nirell without turning too brash.

"Well, I would be very glad to see you come home with all five braids one of these days. I'm not young anymore, and I would like to know that there is a strong and bright young warrior ready to take my place."

"Oh, please, Chieftain. Don't talk like that." Especially not as I am thinking of maybe leaving the tribe once more, the young warrior added silently to himself. "Chief, I need your help."

The old warrior sobered up immediately, looking at Lenien in genuine concern. "And I'm chatting with you like an old woman. What's it, boy, how can I help you?"

"I - I have a problem with Illyria."

Bright white eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, the eyes in Nirell's deeply tanned face turned narrow. "Now what's that hag been doing this time?" Apparently, this was not the first time someone had come to him with complains about the Sirdai.

"I went to seek her counsel, and she didn't listen." Lenien knew that it was a grave accusation he was wording there, and the chieftain looked appropriately angry. There still was the story told of the first days Illyria had come to the Flying Waters' camp a few month ago. She and the chieftain had been at each other's throats immediately, and given their characters, it was a story Lenien found very easy to believe.
Chief Nirell had been considered one of the most handsome Tinganjani in his younger days, and even now made quite a decent appearance. He was one of the very few Tinganjani who cropped his hair short, except for his five braids, and as it befit for a potential Warden, he had never married. Though, he definitely had never led a lonely life, and there was more than one voice assuming that he hadn't married for the simple reason of not wanting to limit himself to a single woman. The fact that there was quite a bunch of blue-eyed kids running around the camp seemed to be a distinct proof of that.

Chief Nirell's sometimes rather overly sensual demeanor towards young women and Illyria Sirdai's intense loathing of all male attitudes would have definitely made for a most volatile combination.

"She was too busy with burning down my camp, wasn't she, that old witch?", the old warrior gnarled, staring over the tents to his left where dark pillars of smoke told of the Sirdai's training.

"I don't know, chieftain. I think she thought it was nothing serious that I came to her for."

Turning his now steel-like gaze towards the young warrior, Chief Nirell asked: "So what was it that you wanted of her?"

Lenien fought hard not to swallow. Making the chieftain think Illyria had acted wrongly had been simple, making him see any importance in dreams and spirits would be another matter all together.

"There is a dream troubling me of late, chieftain, and I am sure it's a spirit calling me."

Again, the old man's white brows furrowed in deep concern, though this time, it was Lenien who caused it. "Calling you where to?"

"Somewhere I don't know. Beyond the plain."

Nirell's frown deepened even more, and there was a grim determination to his chieftain's face Lenien had never seen before. "You will not be leaving your tribe again", the old warrior stated flatly. "You've had your year, you've even brought a slave with you, you've all the freedom one could ask for."

"No, chieftain, please listen, it's not about not being with the tribe, not by far, I -"

"Shut up when I talk." Chief Nirell was angry, so much was clear, his dark eyes looking like the roiling clouds of a summer thunderstorm. " We need you here. You've had what you wanted, now you will serve your tribe. You've had your adventure, now it's time for duty. Did I make that clear?"

"But I AM talking about duty, chieftain, I- "

"Stop talking like a child, boy, or I will have to spank you like one. Face your share of the tribe's duties as it befits your rank, and stop whining."

Stunned out of words, Lenien stared at his chieftain. He just couldn't believe that even Nirell plainly forbid him to leave the tribe. As if it was another adventure he was seeking.
What was wrong with him that everybody apparently didn't listen to him? He had been the tribe's perfect son for years, and now they all didn't even listen to him? This rejection hurt far more than the fact that he hadn't solved his current problem one bit.
Had all his efforts brought him nothing more than a bunch of stories told at the campfire? Was his name nothing more than something the tribe owned, like a horse or a sword?

"Yes, chieftain", Lenien said defeatedly, feeling all drained and haunted. "I am sorry."

"Don't worry, son." Affectionately, chief Nirell hugged the young warrior, adding: "We all have moments like this. Go, have a drink, maybe have a girl, and it'll pass. What about your slave? That's what you've brought him with you for, isn't it?"

Are all people thinking of nothing else these days, Lenien winced inwardly. This is not about sweaty sports at all!

"I will, chief."

"That's my boy. You'll see, tomorrow it'll all be much less dreadful."

"Thanks, chief." Lenien could have screamed, but he managed to walk away rather dignified. This was all so mad. Maybe he should truly try and have a drink and forget about all this dreams. Maybe it was just that. A dream, nothing else.

Silently, he walked over to his tent, sitting down at the cooking fire, staring into the small flames. He hadn't even any drink in his tent he could numb his mind with. This was plainly dreadful.

"Lenien?" The young warrior almost jumped at Jalis' deep, soft voice. Once again, he hadn't noticed his slave. "Is everything alright? You look worried."

"I'm fine", he snarled without thinking. Of all people, this oaf of a man definitely was among the last he wanted to talk to about his dreams. Jalis had proven his inability to see the obvious for every single day of a very long year.

"Really? Are you sure you don't want to talk about this?"

"Yes." What made this thick-headed warrior still act so caring after all this coldness Lenien had shown to him? The young four-braid felt like having a young puppy jumping up his leg.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Exhausted, Lenien let his head fall onto his knees. "Get lost, Jalis, just get lost."

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus

go to PART 5

HOME * LIBRARY * TINGANJANI HOME