Chapter 12

        Those two were something else.

        Tarrin squatted down beside an oasis, a pool of water that had formed inside a crack in the desert floor, surrounded by large, leafy plants and a single strange tree with ridged back and a puff of green at its peak, watching Var and Denai.  They had run for most of the day, and the setting sun was inching its way towards the horizon.  Tarrin had spent most of that time in a silent contemplation of what was to come, but he'd spent the rest of the time watching the two Selani.  He only knew one Selani, and this was the first time he'd seen two of them interacting at a social level.

        It was quite entertaining.

        Allia had never described this.  Var and Denai were, quite simply, dead set to prove that he or she was the better of the two.  They were ferociously competitive, turning absolutely everything into a challenge or competition.  From running to hunting to setting up tents, even to finding the better campsite for the evening, the two of them had pitted themselves against one another.  There was no animosity between them--indeed, they were very friendly and open with one another--but there was still that intense need to prove superiority over the other.  Gender had nothing to do with this competition.  Among the Selani, there was very little difference between males and females in size, strength, or ability.  Only gender separated the two, and that was no barrier to competition.

        So, the day had turned out to be one very long, ever-changing game between Var and Denai, as challenges were conceived and offered, then accepted and contended.  They had battled over things as serious as finding food, and as silly as who could reach the next rock spire first.  There were very few boundaries to their competitions, even going so far as to see who could tie the better tent knot.  Had he not been so preoccupied, he would have found their antics to be rather funny.  Sarraya surely did.  The only real areas not contested were areas of specialty, such as Var's Scout eyesight or Denai's obe knowledge of languages.

        All of that, the entire day of silly games had only been a precursor for this.  The challenge of who was the better fighter.  He watched them from a safe distance as they battled one another in the Dance, and from his short assessment of them, he had already chosen the winner.  Denai was fast and strong, but she was still very young, barely more than an adult.  Var had about fifteen years on her, and that difference in experience was the telling trait.  Denai was good, but Var would eventually beat her.  But Denai wasn't going to admit that easily.  Their fighting was full contact, and both of them were already sporting what were going to be some pretty impressive bruises.  Denai seemed to have a knack for getting Var to lower his guard on the right side, so his right eye was pretty swollen.  Denai, on the other hand, had a tendency to raise her guard, and Var was coming in underneath her arms and putting some shots in on her belly, hips, and legs more or less uncontested.  For some reason, Denai wouldn't block with her legs.  That was a defensive technique basic to the Dance.  But then he remembered that she was obe, and that her training in the Dance had probably been slowed down compared to others because of her additional duties.  She was making novice mistakes, but to give her the benefit of the doubt, she hadn't been as thoroughly trained as others her age.

        No need to make this easy.  Tarrin stood up and moved towards where the two of them were scrapping, in a nice flat dusty clearing not far from the oasis plants.  Sarraya flitted over to his side, and that made him stop.

        "Don't interfere," Sarraya told him.  "This is something they need to do.  I think it's a racial custom.  They're establishing the pecking order."

        "That's not social, that's instinctual," Tarrin replied gruffly.  "And I already know who's going to win."

        "Who?"

        "Var.  Denai's making too many mistakes."

        "We'll see.  Experience isn't everything."

        "Think what you want," Tarrin shrugged, and they fell silent.  But not for very long.  Var came at Denai on her left side, and baited her into shifting her guard to her strong side--Denai was left-handed--then he turned his side to her and kicked her in the hip with a thrusted foot.  Denai was squared against him, and the impact sent her driving to the side, and that totally lowered her defenses.  One of her arms came out, and the agile Var grabbed it in both hands and whipped her over his shoulder into the ground.  Denai had the presence of mind to bring up a foot and kick over her own head, but Var was expecting such a move, and had turned so that her foot only struck his shoulder.   He still had hold of her arm, and knelt behind her and twisted it behind her back, threatening to break it.  She struggled from her seated position to grab him with her other hand, kicking and squirming, but she couldn't get her arm behind her enough to grab anything sensitive enough to make him let her go.

        "Aija!" Denai gasped when Var wrenched her arm.  It was the Selani word for yield.  Denai was submitting.

        "You were saying?" Tarrin asked.

        "Hmph.  Denai should have grabbed him between the legs.  That would have stopped him."

        "You're talking about something most men go to great lengths to protect," Tarrin told her.  "Var would have seen that coming from a longspan away."

        Var released Denai, standing up as she rolled her arm in her shoulder socket a few times to work out the sting.  He was rubbing his face gingerly, from where she had walloped him a few good times.  Var had won, but it was obvious that it wasn't an easy victory.

        "How did you do that?" Denai demanded from the ground.  "I never put my arm out."

        Var was about to respond, but he backed off when he realized that Tarrin had come so close that he was looming over the smaller Selani.  Denai scrambled to her feet, and when Tarrin suddenly cocked a fist back as if to strike her, she raised her arms into the basic guard defense, a position from which she could move quickly to block nearly anything from any direction. But her arms were too high.

        "That's how," Tarrin told her bluntly.  "You keep your arms too high, and you don't block with your legs.  Var kicked you in the hip to turn you, and you threw your arm out to balance yourself.  You defeated yourself, Denai."

        "I was going to tell you that myself," Var told her calmly.

        "Teach her," Tarrin ordered Var, then he backed away from them enough to turn around without them being within striking distance of his back.

        He had his own issues at the moment.  Jegojah was coming, and just the thought of it made him snarl in anger and clench his fists.  He hadn't done any real fighting for three months, and against the Doomwalker, he had to be totally sharp.  Yet out here, there was nobody suitable against which to spar.  Var and Denai were too small, too weak, not as skilled, unable to challenge him in the slightest.  There were inu and kajat, but they were animals, and didn't fight with the same levels of subtlety he needed to sharpen his skills in preparation.  He had few options other than running the forms alone, but that wasn't as beneficial as actual sparring.

        Yet another reason to miss Allia.

        He considered trying to spar with Var and Denai in human form, but it wouldn't work.  He had a different body in his natural form, and training in one form and fighting in another would not work.  To train as a human would be to confine himself to a human's abilities, and that would get him killed against Jegojah.  The Doomwalker was no opponent that a human could defeat.  He turned back and watched as Var held up his arms with Denai in the guard stance, showing her where to adjust.  Denai had everything she needed to improve, a teacher better than her.  Var would teach her the right way to do things, and she would get better.  But Tarrin's teacher wasn't with him...and truth be told, she had stopped teaching him long ago.  Allia considered him trained, which meant that she had taught him everything she knew, and she could teach him no more.  Only the application of that knowledge through experience separated them, and that was something that he had to do for himself.

        He distanced himself from the others, on the other side of the oasis, and did the only thing that he could.  He sparred against empty air, conjuring up an image of Jegojah in his mind, dredging up everything he remembered about the Doomwalker, and imagining it attacking.  Jegojah was more than an undead creature or a magic-user, it had proven itself to be exceptionally skilled in fighting, among the paramount warriors in the world.  Even if it didn't have its magical powers--

        No.  It was wrong to think of Jegojah as an it.  The Doomwalker had shown personality.  It was not an unthinking automaton, a magical weapon.  It was individual, unique, with thoughts and feelings.  Jegojah was a he.  He certainly wasn't very friendly, but he had shown a propensity for honor.  That was a good indicator that the Doomwalker was more than just another magical creation.  He remembered past fights with him, how he had saluted him with his sword, how he had spoken of honor and fairness.  He remembered infusing Jegojah's body, feeling the link that ran back to his soul, the soul that Kravon used to animate the Doomwalker's body.  He remembered Dolanna and Phandebrass explaining exactly what a Doomwalker was, how they were created.

        He slowed and stopped, lowering the sword.  Of course.  Jegojah was no enemy to take lightly.  His skills were exceptional, and in a fair fight with no magic, the winner would be who was luckier.  But Jegojah was a sentient being, with thoughts and feelings.  And there was more than one way to fight.  Intimidation, blackmail, flustering, they were all psychological forms of fighting, a way to get an advantage.  Jegojah was very good at intimidating his enemies to give himself an edge, but perhaps that could work the other way as well.  He already knew how to even the playing field, how to strip Jegojah of his ability to draw energy from the land.  Maybe a little extra would frighten the Doomwalker and give Tarrin an advantage.

        Tarrin hated Jegojah with every fiber of his being, but he wasn't stupid enough not to respect the Doomwalker's abilities.  He'd take every advantage he could get.

        And so he continued.  The sword felt a little strange in his paws, not like how his staff felt natural, but he was very good with it.  His mother and Allia both had taught him the sword, and he could wield one with as much skill as either of them.  This sword was a bit different, for it was one of the rare few he had held that seemed to fit into his paws.  Months of practice and combat had given him an affinity for the weapon, but he still missed his staff.  The blade cut the air, whistling as it moved as he flowed through several routines of attack and defense, routines that incorporated punches, kicks, claw swipes, and even tail lashes into them to take advantage of his natural weaponry.  The sword, which wasn't much shorter than Denai, was perfect for his height, as if it had been made for him.  The single-edged weapon, its black metal shimmering in the waning sun, sliced through imaginary foes again and again, as Tarrin snaked and weaved and evaded phantom attacks.  He became caught up in the soothing rythym of the Dance, allowing it to take over his mind for a time, becoming nothing and everything, where there was no thought, no fear, no worry, only him and his sword and his opponent, moving together in a seamless symmetry of poetic motion.

        But it still wasn't good enough.  The sword just didn't feel like a part of him, and he couldn't afford to give anything away when he faced Jegojah.  He needed his staff back, it was just that simple.  But Shiika had destroyed his staff, and the Ironwood from which he had cut it was an exceeding rare wood, something he'd never find around here.  No other other wood would do.  He was too hard on his weapon for it to break easily, because of his inhuman strength.  Without Ironwood, he was without a staff--

        He was without his staff.  When Tarrin cut the Ironwood, he had made two staves.  He cut and made them when he was thirteen, when he knew he wasn't at his full height yet.  So he'd made the first for his height at that time, and made the second one very long, to be cut to the proper height when he was fully grown.  He'd used that first staff for about a year and a half, then he'd given it to Jenna when he outgrew it.  Jenna still had it, even though it did little more than collect dust in a corner of her room.

        He could conceivably get it.  He knew how to Conjure and Summon, but this was a little different.  For one, the staff wasn't his anymore, and it had been a very long time since he'd held it.  That would make Summoning the staff very difficult.  It belonged to Jenna, and that would also make it much harder.  But Jenna was his sister, so he hoped that would make it a little easier than if he'd given it to a complete strangers.

        He wasn't about to give up because of that.  He needed a staff, he needed an Ironwood staff, and that one was the only one he knew.  He was going to try to Summon it, no matter what.

        Blowing out his breath, he closed his eyes and reached within, through the Cat, reaching into the All.  the intent in his mind was clear, but the image inside him was a bit fuzzy.  He knew what he was trying to do, but he was uncertain as to where the staff was, so his image basicly boiled down to summoning the staff he had given to Jenna.  He just hoped the All would construe his wishes through intent rather than image.  He closed his paw as he felt the Druidic magic flow through him, a considerable amount that left him physically weakened for a moment.

        But his paw closed around wood.

        It had worked!  Tarrin held up the staff in his paw quickly, but he could hardly call it a staff.  It was a staff sized for a human child, so to him, it looked like a twig.  But there was no denying that it was indeed the Ironwood staff.  He had shaped it himself, and even after five years, its every scratch, bur, swirl, and contour were still in his memory.  It was dry and dusty, but he could sense the wood through his paw, sense that it was still alive, even after five years of neglect.

        Good old Ironwood.  Virtually indestructible.

        Since it was alive, that meant that he could affect it.  Despite being a little tired from the summoning, Tarrin reached within once more.  This time, his image and intent were perfectly clear, and the All responded.  The drain on him was noticable, but nothing like what he felt when he summoned the staff.  The magic infused the staff, revitalizing the wood, bringing it back to full vigor, and the magic urged the wood to grow.  The staff lengthened and thickened visibly, growing swiftly in his paw, until it had fleshed out to the exact dimensions he had envisioned.  A good staff should be slightly taller than its owner, and thick enough to be easy to grip, but no thicker than necessary.

        What Tarrin got when he was done was a staff that was an almost perfect replica of his old one, sized perfectly to his tall frame.  It resembled his old staff, even down to the scratches on it; Tarrin realized that he must have been imagining his old staff when he used the spell to make the staff grow, and the All had taken that image and made it a blueprint rather than a guide.  The new staff was proportioned for his new height, and it was a bit heavier, but other than that, it looked and felt exactly like his old one.  The weight was no issue, since he himself was now stronger than he had been before, thanks to Shiika.  Just looking at the staff made Tarrin smile just a little bit, and he felt as if some long lost friend had reappeared in his life.

        He put the staff into the middle grip and felt its balance.  It was perfect.  The All had done more than just change the staff according to his image, it had changed it according to his desires.  It had made him the perfect staff, the perfect weapon, and already, before he even swung it once, it felt like an extension of his arms.  It felt like a part of him.  And that was the key element that was lacking when he used the sword.  He was aware of the sword, thought of the sword, took account of the sword.  He didn't do that when using his staff.  He didn't have to.  He could fight with his staff in a state of total unthinking oblivion, working on reflex and training alone, and that gave him a reaction so fast that few could keep up with him, even when he was a human.

        The sword.  It was still on his back.  But he wouldn't throw it away.  Carrying it these months had taught him that each weapon had certain uses, and had advantages in some situations.  He would keep and use them both.  The sword would be used, but only when it had a greater advantage than his staff.  Fighting kajats was a good example.  His staff would probably just bounce off the scaly hide of one of those formidable reptiles.

        "Well now," Sarraya said, "I wondered when you'd think to try that."

        Tarrin shook off the reverie and looked towards the voice.  Sarraya was hovering in the air not far from the single tree, a berry of some sort in her hand.  "Conjured or Created?"

        "Summoned," he replied.  "I totally forgot about this one.  I made it when I was younger and gave it to my sister.  It's been sitting in her room for the last five years.  I hope she doesn't mind if I take it back."

        "She probably won't miss it," Sarraya said with a light laugh, but her expression turned sober.  "You've been over here a while.  What's bothering you?"

        "What do you mean?"

        "You usually don't do this," she replied.  "That means something has you unsettled."

        He blew out his breath, reminding himself that Sarraya wasn't half as scatterbrained as she seemed.  In that way, she was alot like Keritanima.  Sarraya had a keen insight into his mind.  He wasn't sure if that was such a good thing, at least for her.

        "Jegojah is coming," he announced bluntly, staring at her.  "Coming into the desert.  Coming after me."

        "Seems to be rather suspicious timing," Sarraya said after a moment.  "Convenient that he just happens to be on the way when you're unable to use Sorcery."

        Tarrin noticed that she didn't ask how he knew.  She just seemed to accept it as truth.  "I know.  The Goddess warned me about him coming, and I'm going to be ready.  That's why I summoned a new staff, because I fight better with a staff than I do with a sword."  He blew out his breath and looked right into her eyes.  "There won't be a next time, Sarraya.  This time will be the last time."

        "Unless you have a miracle in your pocket, I don't see how you're going to do that," Sarraya told him.  "If you destroy him, he'll just find another body and come back."

        "This time I'm not going to do that," he grunted.  "I've been thinking about this all last night and today, and I've come up with some ideas.  I think the best way to eliminate Jegojah would be to imprison him and leave him somewhere where the Selani won't accidentally release him.  So long as his current body isn't destroyed, I don't think he can just abandon it for another one."

        "Clever idea, but that won't work either," Sarraya warned.  "The ones who made him can recall his animating force and put it into a new body.  The only way to stop a Doomwalker is to take the soultrap the Wizards who Conjured him used to create him.  So long as they have his soul, they can just keep Conjuring him again and again, until they either get tired of it or he kills you."

        Tarrin frowned.  He hadn't considered that.  The prospect that he had no real way to put an end to Jegojah once and for all was disheartening, and it made him just a little angry.  There just had to be a way!  He wasn't going to fight Jegojah again after this next time, that was something he had absolutely sworn to himself.  There had to be some way to put Jegojah down permanently, something that didn't involve physically finding and taking the soultrap that held Jegojah's soul.

        That put his plans off a little, but the simple fact that he had to be at the top of his game when Jegojah did arrive was still high in his mind.  He'd have to think up some other way to permanently defeat Jegojah later, but for now, he still had to get ready for him.

        "I know the Doomwalker is a pain in the butt, but there aren't any human bodies out here suitable for him, Tarrin," Sarraya soothed.  "Chop him up and make him spend another couple of months travelling back into the desert."

        "No," he said fiercely, motioning in her direction with his staff.  "Jegojah killed Faalken, Sarraya.  It's my fault Faalken died, but it was Jegojah that killed him.  I'll never forgive him for that.  I'll destroy Jegojah once and for all, no matter what it takes."

        "And that," she said seriously, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."

        "Why?" he demanded, staring at her intently.

        "Because I've seen what happens when you get like that," she replied.  "You'll kill yourself if you think that you can take Jegojah with you.  Well, you're not much use to the rest of us dead, and I'm not going to be the one to go back to your sisters and Triana and tell them that I let you kill yourself in a tiff.  You can forget that," she snorted.  "Sometimes, 'at any cost' is a price too high to pay for the people you leave behind, Tarrin.  Sometimes it's a price too high to pay for you.  Think about that."

        With that, she turned and flitted back to the other side of the oasis, leaving him alone with her words, alone with his thoughts.

        Thoughts that could only agree with her.

        He was awakened early the next morning by rage.

        It startled him awake from his comfortable furry ball near the fire, assaulted his Cat-dominated mind and forced him to flounder to find full awareness.  It wasn't coming from him, this was something outside.  It took him a moment to sift through the strange feelings and realize that, that it wasn't him.  They were emotions that the Cat in him wasn't well equipped to handle, so he shifted back into his humanoid form and knelt by the fire, a fire that Var was tending silently to ward off any Sandmen in the area.

        It was coming from Jula.  He realized that immediately, because what he was feeling was coming through her bond.  It had been quite a while since he'd felt anything from her, so long he almost forgot about the bond, but this was intense.  As complete a rage as he had ever sensed, even in himself.  Only very strong emotions or strong disturbances in the mind or body's harmony came through the bond, serious ones that demanded the bond-holder's attention.  It was a mechanism for parents to monitor their volitile cubs, and in this case, it was working all too well.  Blind fury was raging through Jula's entire being, through her core, so intense was it that he could sense its depth from half a world away.

        But it didn't tell him why.  Jula was in a rage, but he had no idea what caused it, and what was happening to her now.  All he could do was hunker down by the fire and close his eyes, feeling the bond intently as the moments passed to sense any changes to what came through to him.  It was agonizing for him, knowing that something had set Jula off, and that at that moment any number of people he cared for may be desperately fighting her off.  He had absolutely no clue what had started this or what was happening now.  He was torn between his parental concern for Jula and his fear that someone he loved had caused her to snap, that she may be killing someone he loved at that very moment.

        "Sarraya!" Tarrin said loudly, so loudly that it startled Denai out of her bedroll.

        "What, what?" Sarraya asked woodenly, grumbling in her semi-aware state.

        "Wake up!" Tarrin snapped.  "I have to talk to Triana right now."

        "Now?  What--"

        "Now!" Tarrin thundered, opening his eyes and pinning the Faerie to the ground with a baleful glare.

        "Alright, give me a moment," she said.  "What's wrong?"

        "Jula is in a rage," he replied quickly, as if talking faster would make her move faster.  "If Triana's not there, she needs to be.  Triana may be the only one that can stop her."

        "She's probably in Suld now," Sarraya protested.  "The Sorcerers--"

        "Jula is a Sorcerer!" Tarrin snapped at her.

        "I--Oh.  Quite right.  I'll try to reach her, but she may not answer."  Sarraya probably realized the truth.  If Tarrin could use Sorcery in a fit of rage, so could Jula.  And in her rage, she would be capable of levels of magical power that would usually be beyond her ability.  That made her ability to destroy go up by several degrees, and it meant that Triana was probably the only one there that could handle her.

        "Who is Jula?" Var asked Denai, who only shrugged.

        It continued.  Jula's rage did not decrease over the eternal moments that Sarraya tried to make contact with Triana with Druidic magic.  There was no sense of injury from her, so that told him that either nobody was fighting back, or nobody had the means with which to combat the enraged Were-cat.  It kept on and on, wave after wave of fury crashing against him, enough to start unsettling him--

        --and then it simply stopped.

        Just like that.  It just stopped.  No slow period of calming down, no sense of anything now.  Jula was still alive, so that meant that whatever had happened to break her fury had been quick and harmless to her.  Tarrin blinked in confusion.  He never came out of rage like that before.  There had always been a sort of realization that the rage was no longer necessary, and then it bled out of him.  But this was like someone had reached inside Jula and snatched it out of her.  What had calmed her down?  For that matter, what had set her off in the first place?  He had no idea, and that was driving him crazy.

        "Sarraya--"

        "Don't put a knot in your tail!" Sarraya interrupted acidly.  "Triana's not answering me."

        "I think she handled it, then," Tarrin told her, blowing out his breath.  "Jula's not raging now.  I have no idea what just happened to her."

        "Alright, got her now," Sarraya announced.  Above the fire, that strange circle of energy appeared, a band of power within which a blue pattern swirled.  That pattern faded and solidified, forcing Tarrin to stand to look squarely at it, until an image of Triana greeted him.

        More than Triana.  She was in what was probably a very well-appointed bedchamber of some kind, furnished with antique furniture.  At least what was left of it.  The place was a disaster area, with shattered furniture, broken glass, and bits of torn cloth scattered about the room.  Behind her, Tarrin could see Jula's form sprawled on the floor, and it looked like she was sleeping.  He could feel that she wasn't dead--wasn't even hurt--so he had the suspicion that Triana had put her out with some kind of magical attack.

        "I was expecting to hear from you," she said shortly.  "Jula's alright."

        "What happened, mother?" Tarrin demanded quickly.

        "The Keeper said something that upset Jula.  A great deal," she snorted.  "The Keeper should be glad that the job has such a high bar for its holders.  If she'd been any less of a Sorceress, she'd be dead now.  Jula came at her with both magic and claws."

        "What did she say?" Tarrin asked.

        "I have no idea.  I felt it the same time you did, most likely.  I got here just in time to peel the Keeper off the floor.  Jula was about a heartbeat from ripping her head off."

        "Was anyone hurt?"

        "A couple of the Keeper's guards got a little banged up, but nothing life-threatening.  Lucky for them that Jula only went through them to get to the Keeper."

        Tarrin blew out his breath.  What a relief!  Though he had no idea what started it, at least nobody he cared about was dead.  "Thanks, mother.  I'm glad you're there."

        "Any time, cub.  I was waiting for something like this to happen.  It'll be a good learning experience for your wayward daughter.  This is the first time she's went off the wagon since I took her.  She needs to face that side of her."  She looked to the side.  "I can't talk anymore, Tarrin.  I'll contact you with an explanation, at least as soon as I get to the bottom of this mess.  Bah, what a bother.  This was not how I like to be woke up in the middle of the night."

        Tarrin still had trouble contemplating that.  Keritanima had told him that it took the sun time to travel around the world, and that the time in one place wasn't the same as the time in another.  When it was noon in Suld, it was sunrise in Wikuna.  Since they were so far east of Suld, that meant that it was much later where he was than it was there.  "Well, it didn't do me much more good.  Mother, is that what you felt whenever I--"

        "Of course it is," she interrupted.  "Welcome to adulthood, cub.  And all the headaches that come with it."

        "I think I liked being a child better."

        "Reality is a pain, isn't it?" she asked with a curious smile cracking the stony mask that usually graced her face.  "I have to go.  I'll talk to you soon."

        "Bye, mother," Tarrin said, and the image of her slowly dissolved.

        "You have a child, Tarrin?" Denai asked curiously.  "You never told us that."

        "Because it's none of your business," he said bluntly to her.

        "Was that your mother?" Var asked him.

        Tarrin fixed both of them with an ugly stare, then turned and stalked off from the campsite.

        "What's wrong with him?" Var asked curiously, in a low voice.  Tarrin could tell that he wasn't saying it to him.  Var probably didn't realize that Tarrin's hearing was so sensitive.  Even walking away from them, he could hear perfectly.

        "You forget, he doesn't trust you," Sarraya told them.  "He won't talk about private things with strangers.  Be lucky he talks to you at all."  He heard Sarraya snort.  "You're both starting to wear on his nerves.  Both of you had better back off from him, or he's going to do something you won't like."

        The matter was dropped after that.  Tarrin thought about what had happened with Jula through most of the day, between sessions of teaching Sarraya Sha'Kar.  He'd never felt rage from the outside before, and the experience had been unsettling.  The feeling of it from Jula invoked his protective instincts, but it had also assaulted him, almost as if it was trying to incite him into a similar rage.  It had been a frightening sensation, and something that he didn't care to go through again.  Carrying Jula's bond had always felt like a responsibility, but now he realized that it was a serious responsibility.  It was more than a symbolic representation of his duty to her as a parent.

        It had been quite a while since he'd felt anything through the bond, so long that he'd nearly forgotten about it.  That was certainly an attention-grabbing way of being reminded of it.

        They reached the Great Canyon at sunset.  That surprised Tarrin, because Denai told them that it was three days away, but they had reached it in two.  And he was very impressed.  It wasn't a canyon, it was a massive rift in the earth itself, just like the Scar in Sulasia.  It simply began, with no warning or change in the surrounding terrain, a cliff that descended a dizzying longspan at least, a cliff that dropped straight to the canyon floor so very far below.  The canyon itself was a mind-boggling twenty longspans across, by his estimation, the far wall almost lost in the shimmering heat of the air.  The walls of the canyon were rounded by the wind, showing many layers of rock of varying colors and textures, layers stacked one upon another as they descended down to the canyon floor.  But those walls were almost arrow-straight, and though the wind had dug pits and hollows out of them, it was still easy to see that they had originally been straight.  Almost as if they had been shaped by some titanic chisel.

        "Wow," Sarraya breathed as they all stood at the edge of it, looking down.  There was leafy vegetation at the bottom, and he could see large four-legged reptiles, larger than a horse, munching sedately on the plants.  They were grayish-green and rather chubby in appearence, with boxed snouts and a long, meaty tail.  They were called chisa, plant-eating cousins of the carniverous desert reptiles, and were most often the dinner of their cousins.  Allia said they were rather dimwitted and slothful, uncaring of anything that wasn't dangerous to them, but they were very, very skittish.  So long as they weren't spooked, they were gentle as lambs.  Frighten them, and they would go on a stampede that would kill anything smaller in their path.  That combination seemed a paradox to him, but many horses were the same way.  They were gentle and playful, but if you frightened them, they could be very dangerous.

        Tarrin knelt down and put a paw on the rock at the edge of the cliff.  He felt something...odd.  Putting his paw on the stone strengthened that feeling, a strange tingling.  He closed his eyes and felt the stone through his paw, felt into it in ways he wasn't quite sure he understood, reached into it as if reaching into water to find what was at the bottom.  The latent residue of it was still there, after all these years, a residue dating back more than five thousand years.  An echo, a memory of what had happened here before, back when the Desert of Swirling Sands was a lush verdant belt of fertile farmland.

        An echo of magic.

        Magic the likes of which had not been seen since, the magic left behind when a god took direct action.  This was Priest magic, of the highest order, a Priest beseeching a god to do something directly.

        It only made sense.  No magician, not even a circle of the most powerful Ancients, could have made this rift.

        "What is it, Tarrin?" Sarraya asked.

        "This canyon isn't natural," he replied in a distant tone.  "It was made.  The magic of its creation still echoes in the rock, after all this time."

        "Truly?" Denai said in wonder.  "What could have made something like this?"

        "A god," Tarrin replied, standing back up.  "Only a god could do this."

        "Why would they make something like this?" Var asked curiously.  "It serves no purpose."

        "Not now," he replied.  "But five thousand years ago, I'll bet that this made one terrific barrier."

        "The Blood War!" Sarraya said in surprise.

        Tarrin nodded.  "It fits.  This is from the Blood War.  Probably a barrier to keep the Demons on one side of it.  That side over there, if I remember my history right," he said, pointing to the far side.

        "Huh," Var grunted.  "My people always thought that it was shaped by the wind."

        "It has been since it was made, but it would take wind a million years to eat out a rift this size," he replied.  "You said there were plants, Denai.  That looks like a jungle down there."

        "The land below is below the water level," Var told him.  "It seeps out of the rocks and pools up, so it can support plants.  Most don't know that a verdant belt exists in the middle of the desert."

        "Do your people try to go down there?" Sarraya asked.

        Var shook his head.  "The lands below are too dangerous," he replied.  "There are a great many inu and kajat below, and the Cloudracers claim that area as their own.  We respect their claim."

        "Cloudracers?  What are they?"

        "Wait long enough, and you'll see one," Denai told the Farie.  "Tall people with wings."

        Tarrin raised an eyebrow and looked down at the Selani.  "Tall?  Thin?  With feathered wings?"

        Denai nodded.

        "So that's why she flew north," Tarrin said, piecing it together.

        "Who?" Sarraya asked.

        "Ariana," he replied.  "The Aeradalla.  Remember her?"

        "Oh!" Sarraya said in realization.  "They live in the desert?"

        "That would explain why nobody ever sees them," Tarrin reasoned, then he turned to Denai.  "Do you know where they live?"

        "Everyone knows," she replied.  "They live at the top of the Cloud Spire.  We'll begin to see them now, since we're moving into what's considered their territory."

        "Allia never said anything," Sarraya said, a bit annoyed.

        "We keep them a secret," Var told her.  "It's part of our pact with them.  No Selani will tell outsiders about the Cloudracers."

        "She wouldn't even tell me," Tarrin grunted.  "That must be a serious oath.  Wait, why did you tell us?"

        "Because it's something you would have found out on your own," he replied calmly.

        That surprised him a little.  Allia had kept a secret!  It made him wonder what else she hadn't told him, what else her Selani honor would not allow her to reveal.  He didn't really blame her, because he understood how she felt about oaths, but it made him a little curious.  He wondered what else she knew, how many more mysterious secrets she kept locked up inside her.

        Tarrin looked down again.  The Aeradalla would wait until later.  "Where do we cross this thing?" he asked.

        "That way," Denai said, pointing northward.

        "May as well camp here," Sarraya noted.  "It's getting dark, and you definitely don't want to wander too far in the wrong direction around here."

        "Truly," Denai said with a smile.  "I'll find a good site for us."

        "Not if I find it first," Var said in a swaggering tone.

        "We'll see about that, Var," she said, and then they both turned and raced off in different directions.

        Those two would turn absolutely anything into a competition.

        "Heh," Sarraya grunted.  "Want to wait, or find a site while they're busy trying to outdo each other?"

        "There's a good place right there," Tarrin said, pointing to a slight depression in the sandy, barren soil that would serve well to capture the heat of the fire and keep the site warm.

        "Boy, will they be disappointed," Sarraya grinned as the two of them moved to erect a campsite for the night.

        They settled in for the night, but Tarrin found himself unable to sleep.  He wandered away from the campsite, away from the protection of the fire, and found himself standing at the edge of the Great Canyon again, staring down into its black depths.  The rift ate at him in a strange way, both its presence and how he had sensed the magic that created it.  The land here had been a beautiful grassland when the rift was made, and in five thousand years, it had degenerated into this formidable desert.  It made him wonder what had caused such a drastic change, what had turned the rain away from this area and turned it into a sandy wasteland.  Could the rift itself had played a part in it?  Had it altered the water table in the region so drastically that it changed the weather patterns?  Anything was possible, but he knew that something outside of the natural order had to have a hand in changing this place.

        The memory of the magic was quite fresh, and he could still feel the tingles of the magical residue.  He had never had so sensitive a feel for magic before.  He hadn't been able to feel that before, but then again, he knew that everything about his magic was different now.  He had little doubt that such a sensitive feel for magic was common for Weavespinners, since from what he'd managed to piece together, they were much more attuned to magic than other kinds of magicians.  He couldn't make magic yet, but he knew that he had already awakened some parts of his magical ability, and this sensitivity had to be one of them.

        He touched the amulet around his neck and found that the sensation of active magic was quite different, kind of like a buzzing sensation along his fingers as they touched the black metal.  Touching it made him realize that he'd been feeling it for days now, rides, but the weight of the amulet and its presence, and everything that had happened, had made him ignore or overlook the sensations that the amulet caused in him.  The metal felt alive to him, and in a way, he guessed that it was.  His touch told him many things about the amulet.  That the magic that made it was ancient beyond understanding, from before the Blood War, and that it had been re-enchanted recently to add to its basic abilities.  One of them, he knew, was the magic that kept it around his neck.  He picked through the magical abilities of the amulet more closely, realizing that it was enchanted to do more than he thought that it could.

        That surprised him.  He thought that he knew everything of which the amulet was capable.  The magic was ancient, but it was still powerful, so powerful that it survived the magical rupture of the Breaking.  He closed his eyes and delved into the amulet, sorting through its many magical enchantments, magicks laid down successively over thousands of years.  Almost as if every owner of the amulet had added his or her own personal addition to its magic before passing it on to the next.  The roots of its magic were founded in the dimmest past, thousands of years before the Blood War, during the time of the True Ancients.  A time during which nobody knew its history.  That startled him.  The amulet around his neck had to be one of the most ancient relics on the face of Sennadar!

        Most of the enchantments within had faded or lost their potency over the years, but some of them were still active, still strong.  The elsewhere was its primary function, the original enchantment created into the amulet, but inspection of those magical enchantments told him that he hadn't even scratched the surface of the true power of the amulet's abilities in that direction.  Searching through the weaves of creation showed him their pattern, and he found that he could read those patterns like a book, read them to understand how they worked.  The elsewhere as he used it was its basic operation, what took no active will on the part of the wearer.  What he didn't know was that the wearer could banish to or summon from that elsewhere any object held or worn, with nothing but the will for it to happen.  The elsewhere was a non-place, but it behaved like a real place in respect to the objects stored within it.  They had physical location, so objects couldn't be placed in the same area within it.  That meant that if he had something in the elsewhere that had gone there from his left paw, he couldn't send something else into the elsewhere from that same paw.  Something would already be occupying that area of elsewhere.  He also couldn't send more into the elsewhere that, when taken all together, weighed more than he did.  That was its limit.  Size or volume were no barriers, it was its weight that mattered.  He also found that nothing alive could be sent into the elsewhere.  He found that by concentrating on it, he could sense what was within the elsewhere at any time he desired, an inventory of sorts of what he was carrying, and where it was in respect to knowing where and how it would appear when it was summoned forth.

        Tarrin blinked.  How clever!  Whoever made the magic of the amulet had done an incredible job!  It was no surprise that it had survived thousands of years, had even survived the Breaking.

        That was the first of its abilities.  The second was the ability to communicate over distance, placed within it after the Blood War, during what most called the Age of Power.  What he knew was that it worked from amulet to amulet, like how he communicated with his sisters.  What he didn't know was that its power originated from his amulet, and that it could be used to communicate with anyone who wore a Sorcerer's Amulet, and whose name he knew.  The amulets of his sisters were probably the exact same as his.  Little did they know that they had had the ability to communicate with any Sorcerer, anywhere, so long as he or she wore an amulet and they knew the Sorcerer's name.  He thought that it had been a part of a unifying weave that was also woven into the amulets of his sisters, but that wasn't the case.  The entirety of the weave was placed within his amulet.

        And that explained why using the ability tired out the person who originated the conversation.  Because that person was the one who was doing all the work.  After all, all he was doing was speaking through another's amulet, then listening for what was said in reply through the other amulet.

        He was again startled.  Such an ingenious idea!  He realized quickly that the Ancients probably all had this weave in their amulets, which would allow any Sorcerer the ability to communicate with any of his or her siblings at any time, from any place.  The weaves of the spell that gave it this ability seemed...routine.  He didn't quite understand how he knew that, but he could tell just by looking at the weaves that they were made by someone who had made this same weave time and time again.  There was no personal flare or style in this weave, as there was in the weave concerning the elsewhere.  It was an average, run-of-the-mill weave that had no sense of self.  In other words, it was a basic enchantment, and that lent credence to the idea that it was common among the Ancients.

        The Goddess had misled him!  She hadn't come out and said it, but when she explained this to him, she made it sound like he could only use it to speak to Allia and Keritanima.  That their amulets were linked, were special.  She steered him away from the truth for some reason.  That was something he meant to ask her the next time she visited.

        Of course!  They were linked.  If Allia and Keritanima could speak to him, then their amulets had to have the same weave in them.  All three were very, very old, ancient.  They looked now to him that they dated back to the time when his amulet received the enchantment that gave it this ability.  That made their three amulets unique, the only three known to have survived the Breaking intact.  In a metaphorical sense, they were linked.

        Another of its enchantments was a simple weave that hid the wearer's location from any kind of magical attempts to locate him.  That one was simple, and was very effective.  It was also one about which he knew.  The Keeper had also known about it.  He thought that the Keeper had made it, but she hadn't.  This magical weave predated the Breaking.  The katzh-dashi had probably come to discover this aspect of the amulet during their inspection of it.

        The last enchantment was the most recent, and it was the one of which he knew the most about.  And cursed, from time to time.  It was the binding weave, an enchantment that prevented him from taking it off.  It was so tightly woven into the fabric of the metal, into the fabric of the other enchantments, that any attempt to break or disrupt it would shatter the weaves that gave the amulet its powers.  Any attempt to take it off would disenchant the amulet, leaving it non-magical.  The complexity of the weave astounded him, and immediately he realized that the Keeper and the Council would be utterly unable to do this.  This was done by someone whose magical skills were beyond comprehension, who was so adept at weaving that they could interweave both modern and ancient magicks so seamlessly that there was no way to separate them.  That took an understanding of the ancient weaves that went beyond modern knowledge.  Looking into the weaves, he felt and saw and sensed a familiarity to them, a sense of presence left behind in the weaving, almost like a signature.  It was something with which he was intimately familiar.

        This was done by the Goddess.

        The Goddess had done this weaving, and she had absolutely made sure that the amulet's powers could not be used by anyone else but him.  If someone got the amulet off his neck, then it would be nothing but a very old piece of black steel.  If it survived the unravelling of weaves that had infused it for most of recorded history, at any rate.  The shock of it would probably destroy the amulet.

        Interesting.  Very, very interesting.  Without too much thought, he reached within, through the Cat, and came into contact with the All.  He then formed image and intent that Summoned his staff from where it was laying by the fire, and held it in his right paw.  Then, focusing on the amulet, he willed it to go into the elsewhere.

        And it disappeared.

        The sense of it was in his mind, hovering just outside reality, within the grip of his now empty paw.

        He willed it to return, and it did so, as his paw closed around it as it appeared within his grip.

        Tarrin smiled grimly.  This, this had some interesting possibilities.  This was instantaneous, not like Summoning, where he had work himself up to it.  The ability to instantly summon up a weapon had any number of clever uses in battle.

        Leaning on his staff, he looked down into the vast chasm before him.  Back when he was human, staring at such a massive gulf may have unsettled him, but not now.  The Cat had no fear of heights, for it was confident in its own abilities.  His toes gripped the very edge, his claws extending out into empty air that was supported by the ground over a longspan below him.  The wind picked up a little, a local effect caused by the rift, as the air was caught up inside and channeled to travel along its length.  It was a cold, dry wind, the cold of the desert night, but his feet were warmed by the last of the day's heat trapped in the rock under them.  The wind carried up the smells from the chasm floor below, scents of green things and reptiles, dust and rock, and of water.  They were very faint, but they were enough to remind him of the way the forest smelled, the place he had always and would always consider home.

        He wasn't really suited for all this.  That thought had never really crossed his mind before, mainly because he hadn't felt like he'd had much choice.  When Tarrin had no choice, he tended not to dwell on what he wanted or what could have been, trying to make the best of the situation.  But it was still there, the thought that he really wasn't suited for all this.  He was nothing but a village farmboy who had dreams of making a name for himself.  Well, that had happened, but it wasn't exactly the way he hoped it would come about.  He wanted to be a Knight.  He'd realized that dream, but it was under he most bizarre of circumstances.  They should have chosen someone else, like a great, courageous Knight, or some vastly educated Wizard.  Or maybe even that Sha'Kar woman.  Anyone but a teenaged villager from a place so remote that most people in the very kingdom in which it was located had no idea it was there.

        Strange that the gods would hinge the safety of this world on a raw-boned, rather naive young man, who turned out to be a murderous uncaring monster.  Maybe there was such a thing as a universal sense of humor.  Perhaps the universe thrived on irony.

        The voices of Var and Denai reached him, and he turned to look.  They were telling stories, boasting to one another with wildly elaborated tales of daring and courage.  Yet another in a long string of competitions.  The two of them seemed to fit together, somehow, in his mind.  Almost as if they belonged with one another.  Maybe this competition was their way of feeling one another out, to see if they were a good match.  He knew that they were.  Var had the patience and temperment to reign in Denai's youthful exuberance, and Denai would bring a fire into Var's life that seemed to be necessary.

        That was a strange thought.  Why should he care about that?  They were both strangers...and yet, being with Denai these days, he felt a little differently to her now.  She seemed like a child to him, and he was starting to warm to her under that concept.  Tarrin may hate strangers, but he never had nor never would extend his feral nature to children.  Var...well, Var was still a little disconcerting, but Tarrin was getting used to him.  He'd gotten used to Camara Tal, Sarraya, and Phandebrass as well.  Maybe that was a good sign.  Var and Denai kept him on edge when they were near him, but the sense of that fear had started to dull over the last couple of days.

        That wasn't the only thing.  Ever since the fight with the Sha'Kar, the eyeless face that had haunted him for so long had been slowly losing its potency.  It was still there, but now it did nothing more than remind him of what could happen if he lost control.  There was no more hatred or loathing or fear tied up in its gaze, almost as if it had lost its venom.  Jula's rage had reinforced that, reminded him how narrow a path he walked to keep his calm, keep his very sanity.

        "Quite a view," Denai said, coming up behind him.  Her voice startled him a bit...he thought she was trading stories with Var.  Had he been pondering that long?  But, to his credit, she didn't invoke a powerful response out of him.  Usually he would have turned on the object that startled him and challenged it.  But the realization that it was Denai smoothed over any hostile impulses immediately.

        "Something you don't see every day," he said mildly.  "What do you want?"

        "Do I have to want something?" she asked.

        He looked right at her.  "Yes," he said bluntly.

        She gave him a look, then she laughed, giving him that disarming, charming smile.  "Actually, Sarraya asked me to come get you.  We made dinner, we thought you may be hungry."

        He looked down at her.  She was so small.  She only came up to his chest.  She was cute, and had that charming smile, and she had a fearless temperment and adventurous spirit that would exasperate any male she married.  But there was something about her, that ethereal quality he noticed when they first met...Denai was affable, likable.  It was very hard not to be swept over by her charisma.  She was so much like Dar in that respect; Dar had this strange quality that made everyone like him, almost immediately after they met.  It was something that he had noticed, and was probably why they had paired Dar with him for his Novitiate.  They probably figured that if anyone stood a chance of not getting killed by him, it was Dar.  Denai had that same sense about her.  It was different in her, because she was Selani instead of human, but it was still there.

        "No, not really," he answered her, seeing that she was growing uncomfortable under his penetrating stare.  "Go back to the camp."

        "Why should I?" she asked petulantly.  "I rather like it here."

        "Did you think that I might want to be alone?"

        She grinned at him.  "I've been watching you," she told him.  "If you wanted to be alone, you would have growled at me before I got close enough to say anything."

        He would have, he admitted inwardly, if he knew she was there.  But he wasn't about to admit that she snuck up on him.  "Probably," he acceded.  "But I don't feel like talking."

        "Who needs to talk?" she asked.  "You look like you could use some company.  That doesn't take talking."

        Tarrin put a flat stare on and levelled it at her.  "Go back to the camp," he ordered.

        "No."

        That totally scattered him.  She disobeyed him!  It shocked him so deeply that it put him off balance.  How could she possibly not obey?  But then he realized that he was thinking like a Were-cat, and she wasn't a Were-cat.  Any Were-cat would have obeyed, because Tarrin was the dominant.  But to her, that didn't matter all that much.  Denai did as Denai wanted, and if that pushed the envelope of safety, that made it even more fun.  It was a part of her irresistable charm.

        "You'll go back.  Whether its whole or in pieces is your decision," he said threateningly, extending his claws on both paws.

        "Oh, put those away," she said with that charming smile.  "You're not going to hurt me.  I can tell just by looking at you.  It took me a while to see that, but now that I do, I'm not afraid of you anymore."

        This threw him off, because she was right.  Tarrin would never harm a child.  And since he saw her as a child, that meant that he would not raise his paw against her.  He realized that she was going to use that to basicly flaunt herself in his face.  And no matter how aggravated he got with her, it wouldn't come to an end with blood.  He didn't accept her as a friend, but he also wouldn't attack her as an enemy.  That put Denai in a curious gray area, where her presence bothered him, but he wasn't willing to put her off by force.

        "Now that we've established that, why don't you sit down and talk with me?" she invited.  "I'm curious about some things, and Sarraya won't answer my questions.  She said you had to tell me."

        So that's what this was about.  Denai was curious, that was all.  That was easy enough to assuade.  "The less you know, the safer you are," he said honestly.  "I've killed men over just thinking they knew too much, Denai.  I may not be willing to raise a paw against you for being friendly, but I will kill you if I think you know more than what's needful.  Do you understand me?"

        The sheer honesty in his voice put Denai back.  She stared at him in surprise for a long moment, then finally nodded her head.  "I don't think everything I want to know falls into that, though," she said.  "Tell me about your daughter.  How old is she?"

        That, he didn't mind talking about.  He looked down at her and gave her a neutral look, then stared out over the chasm in thought.  "She's older than I am," he answered.  "She's what you may call adopted."

        "Strange, but then again, you're not Selani, so you must have customs that seem strange to us.  Some of our customs must seem strange to you too."

        "Some," he agreed.  "Jula is like me, turned.  I took her in because she needed someone to help her adjust to it."

        "To what?"

        "To this," he answered, holding out his paw.  "I wasn't born this way.  I was changed into this by one of my new kind."

        "You're a Lycanthrope?" she asked in sudden intense curiosity.

        "I didn't think the Selani knew about them."

        "There are some stories," she told him.  "Old stories about creatures that wandered the desert, creatures that could change from humans into jackals.  One of the Watchers called them Lycanthropes, or Were-jackals.  The stories said that they preyed on our herds, so our ancestors chased them from our lands."

        "Possible," Tarrin mused.  "There are many kinds of Were-kin.  I've never heard of Were-jackals, but that doesn't mean that they don't exist."