The Third Apprentice (7 page)

“Her spirit remains,” Ursla said. “You must not go
to that place. It is only death you will find there.”

Zamna grew weary of the heavy conversation.
Tossing his wooden plate to the ground, he said, “It’s riches I intend to find
there. Death is an afterthought.”

“Lizard man should not make fun,” Ursla scolded.
“There is great evil in that tomb. You must not go.” Her warm brown eyes
pleaded with Taren.

“I must go,” he replied. “My master has given me a
mission, and I must see it through.”

“Then your master is a fool,” she spat. “He should
have sent himself if he desires death.”

“He desires life!” Taren argued. “There is an item
there that can grant him eternal life!” Realizing he had said too much, he
clamped his mouth shut. He had not even shared that information with Zamna, and
in a moment of anger he had let the closely guarded secret slip.

Ursla shook her head. “He has sent you to your
death. There can be no escape once you enter the tomb.”

Taren sighed. “So far, I don’t even know how to
get inside. I may never even make it to the door.” That much was true. Would
Zamna be angered that he hadn’t shared everything with him? If he had to travel
alone, he would probably end up wandering in circles until he succumbed to the
elements. He glanced at his companion, who was listening with interest.

“A vast desert lies before you if you continue
south,” Ursla explained. “It is a place of madness. If you manage to survive
it, you will still be killed when you reach the tomb. No one returns from that
place.” She hung her head, lamenting the loss of ancient people in tales handed
down for generations. Most of the information was embellished, but those tales
held a significance for her people. Seeing these men so determined to walk
toward death saddened her.

Taren took a deep breath. Hoping to ease her mind,
he said, “I am willing to give my life for my master. He is dear to me, and I
would do this for him. There is nothing that would please me more. It is my
duty to journey south.” With confidence, he added, “I have already seen my
share of death. I will return.”

Ursla looked up at him, nodding once. “I
understand,” she said. “We have no stories that will help you gain entrance to
the tomb. All we can do is provide you with water and food for your journey.
Tomorrow, I will see that you are blessed by our gods.”

“Thank you,” Taren replied, grateful for her
assistance. Though he had no use for the gods of his own land, he believed the
gods of this land might prove more powerful. These women had made a home here
in a forest unfit for habitation. Their gods must be doing something right.

The women dispersed, each moving to their own huts
to rest for the night. Ursla invited Zamna and Taren to sleep in her hut, while
she preferred to sleep outside under the stars. As they entered the hut and sat
upon the soft animal skins, Taren knew he would have to explain his reasons for
keeping the symbol’s power a secret.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more about the item
we’re seeking,” he began. “I thought if—”

“No need to explain,” Zamna replied with a shrug.
“I have my secrets, you have yours. All I ask is that you not withhold
information that might get us killed.” He spread himself out on the furs,
placing his arms behind his head.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Taren said.
“Well, I didn’t at first, but I do now. You could have walked away when those
women had me in their net. You didn’t. You came looking for me, and I believe
you would have killed them all to stop them from harming me. I’ve never had a
truer friend.”

Zamna rolled his eyes. He wasn’t the sort to enjoy
sentimental moments. “Look, you are my ticket to a vast treasure. Why would I
let that go? Think nothing more of my actions than that.” In his life, he had
few people he would consider a friend. In fact, he had none since leaving his
childhood home. Perhaps Taren was a friend. He seemed likable enough, and he had
yet to try selling him to one of his many enemies. It was quite possible this
mage would have tried to save him, had he been the one caught in a trap
instead.
What good is friendship?
Zamna had made it this far without a
friend, and he didn’t need one now. The two men could be companions for this
journey, but nothing more. Zamna enjoyed his solitary existence.

Taren found it hard to believe that he meant
nothing more to Zamna than a ticket to riches. From now on, he would be
completely honest and keep nothing to himself. His companion had earned his
trust and proved himself an honorable man. Taren lay back on the soft furs, his
feet keeping warm near the flames. “I’ll ask Ursla to bless you as well,” he
said. “Good night.” He drifted off to sleep feeling more secure than he had
since leaving the safety of his master’s cabin. Despite the warnings he had
received, he felt confidence in his mission and his own abilities to succeed
where none had before.

A
rough hand
awakened Taren at sunrise. One of the Sisters had come to rouse him and bring
him to the morning ceremony. With a yawn and a stretch, Taren sat up in time to
see the woman exiting the hut. She left the flap open, allowing the soft-pink
sunlight of dawn to filter inside. Looking over at Zamna, who was curled up
next to the fire, Taren smiled. For a hard-nosed killer, he certainly slept
peacefully.

“Zamna,” he called,
remembering his past mistake. Never again would he lay hands on his companion
to wake him. When the La’kertan did not stir, Taren called his name louder.
“Zamna, it’s time to get up!”

Zamna opened a
single yellow eye and squinted it at the mage. He mumbled something inaudible
and wrapped himself tighter in his fur blanket.

Taren stood over
him. “It’s time for the ceremony,” he said. “Get up. They’re expecting us.”

With a loud groan,
Zamna began to move. Finally he rose to his feet, walking groggily toward the
door. The Sisters were already assembled, forming a close circle around the
Matriarch. She wore an elaborate feathered headdress, and her face was mostly
obscured by smoke. A low chant could barely be heard coming from the circle.
Taren and Zamna approached slowly, not intending to interrupt the ceremony,
which had apparently begun without them.

Remaining on the
sidelines, the men watched as the women began to move in a rhythmic pattern,
linking their arms together. Their feet moved in unison, taking them in a
clockwise direction. The chanting grew louder, and Ursla spun at the center.
Raising her hands toward the rising sun, she cried out in a shrill, piercing
voice. Taren and Zamna exchanged glances but remained silent. With a fluid
move, Ursla placed herself flat on the ground, her arms still extending in the
direction of the sun. The Sisters followed suit, prostrating themselves before
the sunrise. They lay motionless for several moments, and Taren wondered if he
should approach. As he was about to step forward, Zamna shot him a severe look
and shook his head. Taren stayed put.

Eventually the
women rose to their feet once more. Ursla stepped forward and motioned for the
men to join them in the circle. Both Taren and Zamna came forward to stand
before the Matriarch. Before speaking a word, she drew from the fire a bundle
of dried herbs that had been bound with twine. The smoke increased tenfold,
filling Taren’s eyes. Doing his best to suppress a cough, he squinted his eyes
and tried not to breathe too deeply.

Ursla waved the
smudge stick around both of their bodies, making sure to cover every inch. She
circled them three times before placing the bundle back in the fire. Zamna
appeared unfazed by the smoke, standing perfectly still with his eyes closed.
Taren noticed for the first time that his companion had small membranes
covering his nostrils. He momentarily envied the adaptation of Zamna’s race. As
a human, he had no such defense against the heavy smoke. It tickled and burned
inside his throat.

The Matriarch flapped
her arms in a birdlike motion. The sun had risen higher in the sky, its rays
now focused directly on the two men. Taren was forced to close his eyes,
shielding himself from the intense light.

Ursla paused in her
motion and raised her hands, holding them with her palms facing downward above
each man’s head. “May the gods look favorably upon you. May you journey in
safety through these lands. May the world treat you kindly and the spirits of
our ancestors guide you on your path.”

The smoke dissipated,
carried along on a gentle morning breeze, and Taren felt it was safe to open
his eyes. He beheld Ursla’s shining face, her deep-brown eyes staring into his.
Zamna appeared unaffected by the ceremony, but Taren felt a sense of peace.
There was no apprehension about the road ahead. He felt only this moment and
this place, where the Sisters of Gy’dan lived in harmony with nature.

Ursla reached into
the ashes of the fire and spread them across Taren’s forehead in a horizontal
line. He had not noticed the pot of liquid that was steaming nearby, several
yellow-green leaves jutting out from the pot. Bending down, Ursla retrieved a
large leaf and offered it to Taren.

“Chew this,” she
instructed him. “Then you may enter the crystal cave.”

Taren placed the
warm leaf in his mouth, and an explosion of sour flavor nearly made him gag.
Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he continued chewing until nothing remained of
the leaf. When he opened his eyes, the world was spinning. He saw double and
then triple of the woman standing before him. Closing his eyes again, he hoped
to avoid falling over from dizziness.

Ursla took his arm
and led him away from the fire. The Sisters chanted once again, their song
fading away as he moved toward the tree line. Zamna followed at a distance,
curious to see where the Matriarch was taking his companion. He was well aware
of the hallucinogenic effects of some plants; he had participated in a vision
quest in his youth. He chuckled slightly with a hiss, knowing that Taren would
not enjoy the spaced-out sensation he was experiencing.

Ursla continued to
lead him eastward, where a large rock formation stood in the distance. There
was an opening barely large enough for him to enter while standing. He stumbled
inside, the effects of the leaves making his movements difficult. With each
step, he felt he would fall on his face. Inside the cave was a single narrow
path with little light filtering its way through. Blindly, he continued away
from the opening until sparkling crystals came into view. He had never seen
anything like it, and though his mind was still reeling from the intoxicating
effects of the herbs, he stood amazed at what he was seeing.

Shining crystals
jutted from the floor and walls, pointing in several different directions. Some
of them grew larger than himself. Running a hand along the smooth surface of a
crystal, he made note of the coldness trapped within it. He was too far from
the entrance for sunlight to enter, but the crystals produced a soft-white glow
of their own. Sober, he would have been amazed by this sight. In his current
state, he was astounded. Was this place real, or was it some elaborate
invention of his mind?

Taren stumbled
forward, making his way to the largest cluster of crystals at the center of the
room. Leaning forward, he peered into the center of the formation, expecting to
see his own reflection. Instead, an intricate, woven pattern appeared before
him. The lines weaved themselves through one another, forming themselves into a
tight knot.
The symbol!
Before him was an image of the item he was
seeking. Though the crystals could not speak, he knew in his heart this must be
what he was seeing. Looking up from the crystal, he saw the same pattern
reflected in each crystal of the cave. A feeling of elation came over him as he
peered back into the central formation.

Slowly, the image
of the symbol faded, and darkness descended upon the room. The crystals ceased
to glow, but still he stared deep into the darkness. Soon, a second image began
to take shape amid the darkness. Soft lights swirled, forming the image of the
face of death. Its rotting skin clung to the bleached-white bone of its skull,
its mouth hanging open in an eternal, agonizing scream. The image shocked Taren
back to reality, his heart pounding in his chest.

Pulling himself
away from the formation, Taren ran through the darkness, his hand raised in
front of him to avoid any obstacles in his path. Winding his way through the
narrow path, he slowed just enough to avoid losing his footing. The light from
the entrance finally came into view, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing
back into the cave to make sure the image had not pursued, he felt a chill race
down his spine. Emerging into the daylight, he stared at the face of Ursla, who
was standing outside the entrance.

Zamna stood silent,
waiting for his companion to reveal what he had seen. From the look on his face,
Zamna knew it would be an interesting story. Taren appeared frightened and
exhausted at the same time.

“What did you see?”
Ursla asked, placing her hands on the mage’s shoulders. “The cave offers many
visions. I can tell you what it means.”

Shaking his head,
Taren replied, “Death. I saw death.”

“No one can see
death,” Ursla explained. “It comes to you when it comes. You feel its presence,
but you do not see it.”

Zamna stepped
forward and helped his troubled companion to sit upon a low rock formation. He
felt concern for Taren’s rattled state. Perhaps the drugs had been too much for
him. The Sisters were much larger than the young mage, and they might have
overestimated the dosage. “Is there medicine in your bag that will clear your
mind?” he asked.

Taren thought for a
moment and nodded. “A blue tincture,” he replied.

Zamna hurried back
toward the village to retrieve Taren’s bag. Zamna did not believe Taren had
blinked once since exiting the cave. Without a word to the Sisters, who were
still gathered at the center of the village, Zamna rushed inside the
Matriarch’s hut. There, near the wall, was Taren’s pack. Not wanting to return
with the wrong vial, he grabbed the entire bag and raced back to the cave
entrance. Opening the bag, he presented it to his companion. Taren seemed not
to notice, so Zamna searched inside for blue potions. He found four of them.

Laying them out
before the mage, he asked, “Which one?”

Taren did not
reply, his eyes still staring off in the distance. Zamna reached up and grabbed
Taren’s chin. Pulling the mage’s face close to his own, he repeated his
question. “Which one?”

Taren appeared to
hear him this time, and his eyes moved to the potions laying on the ground. He
chose the one farthest right, pointing to it with his index finger. Without
hesitating, Zamna snatched the bottle, pulled out the cork, and dumped the
mixture into the mage’s open mouth.

Taren swallowed and
coughed a few times before wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Awful!” he spat.

Zamna sighed with
relief. Seeing the young man in a nearly catatonic state had troubled him more
than he expected it to.

Ursla stood
patiently, leaning against a tree. “He was in no danger,” she declared. “But
you are a good friend to him, pretty lizard man.”

Zamna shrugged and
stepped away. “Are you going to tell us what you saw?” he asked. “You said you
saw death. Whose death?”

Taren shook his
head. “No,” he began. “I did not see death. I saw a skull. Its skin was
rotting, and its eyes were hollow. It wanted me. For what purpose I cannot say.”

“This is a powerful
vision!” Ursla said, coming to her knees in front of Taren. “Bones are an omen
of good fortune. Your journey has been blessed by the gods!” She grabbed his
hands in her own and kissed them. Rising back to her feet, she said, “Come. We
must tell my sisters.”

They made their way
slowly along the partially worn path leading back to the village. The women had
watched with interest while Zamna rushed into the hut and left again with
Taren’s bag, and now they watched excitedly as the trio returned. Ursla waved
her arms in the air in greeting to her sisters, and the majority of the village
came forward to meet them.

Ursla proudly laid
a hand on Taren’s shoulder. “He has had a vision of bones,” she announced. “He
has been touched by our gods!”

The women cheered
in response. They took turns coming up to place their hands on Taren’s arms.
The gesture was strange to him but not unwelcome. Their faces wore shining
smiles as they wished him well on his journey.

Most of them turned
to touch Zamna as well, and he did not pull away. He seemed content to stand,
his lips pressed together to hold back his protests. Though he would prefer
them to leave him in peace, he did not wish to insult them. They had treated
him well, and he appreciated their hospitality.

Ursla led the pair
back to the center of the village and implored them to sit a moment. “We should
talk before you leave,” she said. “The desert will be cruel, but our gods will
protect you.”

Zamna kept his
mouth closed, but inside he did not believe in her gods’ ability to keep them
safe. Her belief was merely a superstition. Only his wits and knowledge of
survival would protect them in the desert, along with Taren’s magic. Relying on
some supernatural being to come to their aid would be foolish. He hoped Taren
did not believe in such nonsense. Observing his companions features, he could
not tell how he truly felt about these gods.

Taren was more open
to accepting the Sisters’ beliefs. Though he knew better than to depend on
their gods, he didn’t see what harm there was in accepting their blessing. “I
am grateful to you and your gods,” he replied. Though primitive, these women
were worthy of his respect, as were their deities.

“It has been long
since our people traveled into the desert,” Ursla said. “We cannot tell you of
the dangers that you might encounter, but we can give you clothing that will be
more suited to the land. You need something that is light in color to reflect
the heat of the sun. Also it needs to be lighter in weight than this robe you
wear.” She felt the thick green fabric of his sleeve between her thumb and
forefinger. “This is no good,” she said.