Legends of Belariath
Saline Kyle
The Lost Clan of the Tribe Part 1
The clear night sky shed no light that far into a small city's inner streets. In this place of rats and filth few people would tread. It was damp and closed in with brick and mud all about letting no sign of tree or grass grow. The stench of rotting garbage and animal dung saturated the tiny space of the alley making a simple breath enough to sicken the stomach of the hardest warrior. To one not used to such odors it seemed overpowering to the point of gagging. At that moment, a fat black sewer rat crawled out of the waste to pass over the dark red/brown boot of someone hiding in the darkness. Hissing in rage and disgust, the individual sent the creature squealing through the air. The larger of the two, who had been watching the entrance to their hiding place, spun around to cuff the smaller on the side of the face.
”Is this how a warrior of the Tribe behaves?” he said in a low hissing almost musical voice.
”Forgive me, my Chief,” the smaller said in similar musical tones, then gave a bow of respect. Snorting, he went back to his watch. The other tried to concentrate on ignoring what was around them, but could do nothing to escape the thoughts within. How could this be happening? How could they be standing at the edge of an Outlander city in the middle of the warm season? Why wouldn't the Chief of the Kay Clan fulfill his obligations? They should've been at the summer grazing fields standing before the clan elders with this matter made known to all. The older of the two glanced back at his young ward. This day he’d been planning for the past three turns of the seasons. The last child of his beloved brother wouldn't be put to death over stupid superstition, that the hardened warrior swore.
”Foolish old wives tales,” he growled ever so quietly that his companion wouldn't hear. His luck to raise one whom would follow the word of the law without looking at the greater meaning of those laws. The brooding pair came out of their own thoughts to focus on the stone cobbled road that ran by their little hole. The sounds of leather booted feet hurried toward the place where they stood. Both sank back into the darkness as silently as shadows on a wall. The sounds of approach grew louder then stopped mere feet from the alleyway.
”Kay'Torbelish?” a soft male voice called out in halting Tribal tongue. “Are you there shield-brother?” The heavily cloaked man stepped forward rather eagerly as a slight figure in the robes of a Magi moved into the entrance. A small sphere of blue light gave a dim illumination making the younger shudder in disgust.
”Meltorn. Shield-brother,” the large man cried softly grabbing the wrist of the smaller man speaking in the common Trade language. “I'm glad you came.”
”I'll never turn my back on a man, who has saved my miserable hide on many an occasion,” the man returned in kind then looked to the other person who still stayed in the shadows. “So this is the one you have written me about. Step forward.”
”Do it,” the warrior snarled in Tribal language. Reluctantly, the younger figure moved into the light.
”My Chief, I must state I protest this action you take,” the figure said with grave respect due to one of his status. “This goes against the very foundation of our beliefs… Of the beliefs of the Tribe.” The mage was struck with the music of this strange language. He had tried for many years to learn to speak the tongue of the Tribe and still could only manage a few basic statements and greetings.
”I'm the Chief of the Kay Clan,” the Chief growled, “Do you challenge my authority over you, a child of the Kay Clan?” The very thought of defying him sent shivers over the cloaked body.
”Never, my Chief,” the figure whispered in horror.
”This is my will. You'll go with the Magi Meltorn to his school. You'll learn all he can teach you, and return to your clan as quickly as possible. Do you understand?”
”Yes, my Chief,” came the grumbled reply.
”Torbelish, one more thing,” the mage said. The younger person reacted as though a blow had landed. Only blood clansmen spoke the name of a clansman without putting the clan name first.
”Yes, my friend?” the Chief asked, turning to the other.
”You must assure me your ward will obey my commands,” the mage said. “There are dangers to learning magic even if only to hide the power.”
”In Trade language speak the oath,” the Chief of the Clan commanded.
”I give you my loyalty, and obedience, as my Chief wills,” growled the angry voice in the tongue the mage could readily understand.
”I accept your oath,” the Magi said in grave tone, then turned to the other man. “I'll protect your ward with my life, shield-brother.” The thin pale white hand stood out over the thick bronze hand of the warrior as they grasped wrists in brotherly love.
”I know you will, shield-brother,” the Chief said. The large man caught his companion in a tight hug. “I hope you'll forgive me someday, Satara. You're the only living child of my beloved brother. I'll be damned to the Nine Planes of Hell if I'm going to let what happen so long ago take your life. Try to understand, daughter of my heart.” He let her go and took a brief hug from his mage friend. Meltorn looked over the defiant young female warrior hidden in the folds of her thick cloak. Knowing his deep friendship and brotherhood with the clan Chief were the only things that’d persuade him to take on such an incredibly dangerous task of training a member of the Tribe in what those people thought of as the hated ways of magic.
”Take my hand, Kay'Satara,” the magic user said, with great trepidation. “I'll teleport us back to my study and get you set up at my school.” With great reluctance and a push from her uncle, Kay'Satara took the cool sweaty hand of this fragile man. Together, they vanished from the alley letting Kay'Torbelish sneak away unseen.
With a gentle popping sound, the two of them appeared in the ornate study filled with the light of candles that didn't smoke and shelves of books from floor to the strangely painted ceiling above. Kay'Satara couldn't decide whether the sight of so many books in one large room took her breath away more then seeing the magic light illuminating this strange room. The smells seemed just as strange like sweet smelling flowers and an almost woody odor that got stronger when she moved toward the books. The floor of the chamber had a heavy red and black wool covering that felt strange to her booted feet. As her eyes looked around, she noticed there were no windows. No way for the sun's cleansing lights to touch this foul place. Snorting in distaste her awe was replaced by the hate that filled all of her people. The young warrior turned to look at the one who would teach her of this evil power. The mage took his cloak off and made it disappear with the casual wave of his hand. He turned to her with concern in his green eyes looking her over with great care.
”You may remove your cloak, Kay'Satara,” he said, “This chamber is protected from intrusion.” As her hands moved up to the silver clasp, the man prepared himself. Even after seeing Kay'Torbelish for so many years, Meltorn had never seen a female of the very distinctive race. Kay'Satara hesitated a brief moment looking at the thin, weak male staring at her with such a strange look of fear and curiosity. The brown and hunter-green cloak flourished in the warm air to bring a hint of the earthy smells to the room. She stood close to six feet tall not uncommon in the physically larger people. As a warrior, that body stood firm and well muscled yet not so developed to cover the curves of her young woman's body. Her stark white hair flowed over her shoulders in braids down to the small of her back. The crystal red of her eyes the mage had seen enough not to let its eerie glow bother him. She had high cheekbones, a broad flat nose and full lips that could draw passionate thoughts of even the holy priests. His eyes were drawn to the markings that covered her face, and body. The intricate black lines curved over her flesh in an artistic pattern that could never be covered with the thin halter-top and fir loincloth that served as standard clothing for a woman warrior of the Tribe. By his experience with the clansman, Meltorn knew these marks were more then mere decoration. These tattoos served as a visible record of all that had taken place in the life of the clansman. Their face held the marks of clan and status. The rest went into training and what the warrior had done to that point. No warrior of the Tribe would willingly cover these marks except in the cold months and then only with their cloaks. He could tell his charge was close to being confirmed as a Warrior of the Tribe. A very high honor many never really reached. As he took the sight of her in, the mage fought to keep his face a placid mask but found it difficult. In an effort to regain some of his lost control, the Magi walked around his desk to take his seat in the familiar place of power as the head of this mage school. The very act of sitting down in the deep brown fur covered chair brought his thoughts back to the task at hand. His hands came before him to rest on the oak wood desktop.
”Why are you here, Kay'Satara?” he asked. She moved to stand directly before the large desk.
”I'm here because my Chief so wills me,” she hissed in Trade language. The older man shook his head rather sadly.
”Your uncle loves you dearly,” he scolded. “He doesn't want you to die for deeds done long before you were born. What happen back at that far flung time should have no bearing on what is happening now...”
”How could you know?” the young warrior growled with deep feeling. “You know nothing of the Great Tragedy.”
”That's where you're wrong, child,” he said, placing the palms of his hands on the desk top, “Your uncle told me the story of the battle between the Outlanders kingdom of Grethica, and your Tribe. He told me how magic spilt apart the lands. It saddens me these things happened, but that was long ago and far away. Is a sword evil?”
”Of course not,” she snapped.
”Is a bow something that should be destroyed?”
”No.”
”Yet both of these have taken more lives then magic,” he reasoned, “A swing of the sword can leave a man alive but with no life left to live. Magic is a tool, Kay'Satara. It is good or evil, as the one who wields it should choose. You don't deserve to die because of the power in your blood. To that end, I'll teach you how to control your mage gift, and to hide it. Hold out your right hand palm up.” She did as he ordered almost fearfully. The mage placed his right hand over her then murmured a quick chant. Kay'Satara's eyes widened in shock and disgust as their hands began to glow. His hand had the colors of blue, gold and white, but his eyes were on the colors of her hand. It swirled a mix of hues he’d never seen before… earthy in color, browns, dark greens and tan. After a moment of study, Meltorn broke the spell to let his new pupil snatch her hand back and look it over as though expecting to find fingers missing. Now came the tricky part.
”Kay'Satara, you must know that it’s imperative no one know your true identity,” he said, sternly compelling her to look directly at him. “If word of you were to ever get out there’d be grave consequences.”
”It might be a little difficult,” she smirked with a raise of her hands. “How can you hide what is of me?”
”Simple actually,” he said, glaring into her stubborn eyes. “I'm going to cast a spell that’ll make you look like any other Crishdon from the south. That’ll cover the strange sound of your Trade Language.” Her eyes widened in horror at the thought of what this man suggested.
”A spell?” she whispered in shock. He simply nodded his gray head, then stood resolutely determined to do his best by the arrogant young woman.
”The sooner we get this done the better,” he said. A door appeared in a wall of books. “If you please, Kay'Satara.” Her hand went to where her sword should have hung. That it was gone brought her eyes down to see all of her weapons had disappeared, a thing only the strangeness of the situation could’ve caused her to miss.
”Where are my weapons?” she demanded rather shrilly.
”They're safe, child,” he said, “but you really don't think I'm going to let you run around with a sword or dagger at your side. Is this scene how you’re going to honor your Chief's orders?” Such a question made the young woman flinch in shame.
”Forgive me, elder,” she said in soft voice. She went through the door and down a long spiral stone stairway. The mage followed only a few steps behind the frightened girl.
”How old are you, Kay'Satara?” he asked, as his hand brought light to the large stone chamber. “It’s so hard to tell with your people.”
”I'm entering my fifteenth season, elder,” she answered. As the man went about gathering the things he’d need for the spell of transformation, the teen looked about with reluctant curiosity. It wasn't damp or drafty. No mold grew on any of the stones she could see. There were other doors led from this place, but the one she tried was held by spell. He looked up and smiled a little.
”You really don't want to know what's behind that door, child,” he said, gesturing to a stone table. “Please remove the clothing you're wearing and lie down.” Terror struck Kay'Satara heavy in her heart at his command. She knew of the oath she’d taken. She knew of the wishes of her Chief. Still, the young woman found her feet frozen to the rock on which she stood. Looking up, Meltorn sighed at the absolute terror that gripped his new student and took pity on her. His hand came up and made two gestures as he spoke a phrase. Taking her by surprise, the bright flash of light blinded Kay'Satara giving her no more time then to gasp before sinking to the ground unconscious.