Unproven

SHADOW COULDN’T STOP MOVING. Enslaved by his feet, he plodded along like some halfhearted marionette who wanted nothing more than to cut the strings controlling his body. He didn’t mind hiking and he didn’t mind following the earth’s promptings, but this particular trek seemed excessive. Two days had passed. With very little food and almost no rest, Shadow had hiked past the outer ridges of town, through the sparse edges of Eznaki Forest, straight across the sandy dunes of Azh’leniki, and deep into the eerie interior of Vanaleige Forest.

His blistered feet smoldered but he refused to look at them. Somehow, it seemed seeing them might make the burning worse. Besides, more intense discomforts vied for his attention. Occasional coughs were slight but they ignited his lungs with fiery sensations he couldn’t begin to describe. He’d practically drowned himself earlier that morning. Thirsty as sun-bleached lips on a wooden totem, Shadow had been careless when he came across the only waterway remotely close to Azh’leniki: he’d fallen in head first. It hurts to breathe in nearly as much water as you drink. He could have guessed that before - but now he knew. Now every full breath was a reminder and every cough was an unwelcome castigation for his foolishness.

Although these physical challenges were far from negligible, a visceral foreboding began to overshadow their presence, threatened to consume his soul with a suffocating, dreadful haunting. Shadow slowed his step, considered possibilities. Perhaps this was the earth preparing him for his own death. As azh’nahn, he deserved it. He accepted that truth even though deep down, he didn’t truly comprehend it. No matter what the earth asked of him, it was his duty to obey. That truth he accepted without reservation. Nevertheless, as ethereal hauntings continued, Shadow grew increasingly convinced that he didn’t want to do whatever she was asking of him right now.

Already, he was considering his trip home. This time, he wouldn’t be in such a rush and he would pamper his feet. This time, his pace would be reasonable. He’d probably take extra time to walk around the burning dunes instead of plowing a straight path through every foreseeable obstacle. He’d rest in the shade and stay close to rivers.

And he’d sleep.

Without intending to, Shadow stopped walking, paused to uncork his nearly empty flagon of water, and sucked hard to get the last drizzles of water before falling to his knees. When he replaced the cork, he crumbled to all fours, contemplated what might be next. The jagged cut of his pants left one knee uncovered as he began to crawl and his knuckles quickly turned white from holding his bo staff too tightly as he dragged it along the ground. Shadow paused, trembled a little as the foreboding grew and a startled bird fluttered out of a nearby bush. This is crazy, he thought. But he was too intimidated to say it out loud. Shivering and consumed by a harrowing fear of whatever lay ahead, Shadow actually felt more comfortable crawling than walking.

Not far ahead, a ledge taunted him, dared him to visit, to peer over the valley below. Maybe this was the end of the journey. Maybe the ledge would betray him. Perhaps it was a stone elemental. Perhaps it would toss him to his death. As he crawled into its inviting lap, Shadow froze, felt his bare stomach next to the cool earth, and obeyed her call to stay put. The smell of putrid soil wafted past his nostrils. Involuntarily, he nearly heaved, shifted to breathing through his mouth to minimize the smell of rotting … something. He pushed his long hair to the side, let his finger linger on a scar along his neck, shamefully considered the embarrassing failure it represented.

Shadow lay motionless for many long moments, staring at the oddly familiar valley. It seemed he’d been here before but he couldn’t be sure. If he had been here, he’d visited the valley from some other vantage point, perhaps from the hills on the other side. Still, the area exuded such a haunting feeling that he couldn’t imagine forgetting the slightest detail. Every contorted tree branch seemed a tale of torture, the history of some foul deed. No flowers bloomed, though the season was late enough to demand their presence. Even the grasses seemed yellowish, sickly from some disease. Shadow observed that they matched the demented, spiraling lichen trails that hung from tree branches like loosely braided beards.

A nest of fire ants drew threateningly close. Their large size left Shadow more than mildly uncomfortable. He remembered hearing of a distant cousin who’d died from their stings but despite the memory, his resolve stiffened and he refused to move. He was here for a reason. Until that reason was fulfilled, he would lie motionless as the frozen peaks of Ishmandool. Still, he shuddered when he tried to discern the foreboding.

He’d been raised to trust the earth’s promptings, to have confidence in his instincts. Years of training had given him the discipline to push through his fear, to trust the earth but that didn’t put an end to his curiosity, his attempt to make some sense out of what was happening. He considered several options but none of them felt right, so he landed on the only idea that made any sense whatsoever. Mother Earth was testing him. That was it: a test. He didn’t know why she would do that but there was no other explanation to be found. Why else would she send azh’nahn to observe whatever doom he was about to witness? He had no power to change anything and no position to influence how the Hiwalani might deal with whatever he might see. He was practically Trayki. But despite his lowly status, he held fast to his determination. If the earth wanted him to observe something, he would watch carefully.

A brief gust of mist-ridden wind distracted Shadow’s thoughts and blew his long hair over his eyes. He shook his head, tossing the hair to one side, shifted his eyes to the right and then left. Apart from the fire ant nest, there was no sign of moving life. While he found the thought slightly disturbing, it made sense. No healthy animal would graze in such sallow grass. And if there were no grazing animals, there would be no large predators. He saw no birds. He’d probably heard the only bird brave enough to land here a few moments past. This infested land was barely worthy of insect life, let alone the lives of larger, more sacred beasts. Perhaps, Shadow considered, some cursed creatures fed on insects or the black, putrid fungi that threatened to overtake some of the larger trees but none were to be seen. The foreboding pointed to something else.

Just as Shadow seriously considered he’d made a mistake and needed to move to a different vantage point, he heard shouting below. Amber hair and bronze skin immediately identified two men as Hiwalani. Shadow was numbered among this race of mages but these men did not share his lowly status. These were Hinzwala, men and women whose job it was to explore the limits of magical forms, Hiwalani elite who lived off donations from the Hiwalani masses. Their skin was a lighter shade of bronze because they spent much of their time studying indoors.

Shadow recalled his mother teaching him how it was unnatural for people to spend so little time tilling the earth, working the ground, and expressing themselves through the arts. But Shadow considered that maybe higher Hinzwalan magic forms were expressions of art. Maybe Hinzwalan forms connected mages more deeply with the earth than Hiwalani magic. Then again, maybe his mother was right. These men had very little free time. How could anyone connect with the earth when they had so little time to rest, to become one with themselves?

A woman joined the two men below. She was old. Even from this distance, Shadow could easily discern her prominent crown of white hair. But her figure seemed youthful and her gait was far too lively to come from someone suffering her declining years. She was Hinzwala’amaka, a rare Hinzwalan mage whose lifespan bridged through new magic Turns. She could be one hundred years old, Shadow considered - or more if she had lived through a few Turns. Shadow found her appearance in this valley shocking. He knew the names of every Hinzwalan alive, and there were no living Hinzwala’amaka anywhere remotely near here. Even a shy, backward young man like Shadow would be well aware of a woman like this, a woman who was old while still young, a woman who looked and acted like a youth, a girl with white hair. She would be the talk of every child. She would be legend. This one wasn’t. And yet, there she was, walking several hundred paces away. Shadow strained his eyes but remained unable to discern her face well enough to sketch a silhouette of her features. A fleeting moment of good lighting suggested a slender nose and lips but it passed too swiftly for Shadow to memorize her visage.

The light did expose the colors of her decorative beading and that solidified Shadow’s suspicions. She wore the colors of a young, single woman: violets, blues, and oranges. Despite her old age, this woman was no longer bonded to anyone. She’d probably been married once and her husband had died. Then, after seven years had passed, she would have been required to wear the colors of a single woman. Hinzwala’amaka were expected to take a second spouse, to bear another generation of gifted children and to teach them higher forms of magery. This woman was thin. It had probably been years since she’d born any child. She would be expected to fulfill this communal obligation soon.

Curiosity and speculation flashed through Shadow’s mind as he watched this woman slowly pacing the valley. Her arms stretched downward toward the earth and her hands held a position suggesting she was petting the air, assuring the ground below she meant it no harm. Her movements and countenance were those of someone gentle, loving, peaceful. Yet, as she moved, Shadow felt the forebodings deepen. His heart swelled with fear and he trembled again. A short eternity passed before he mastered his emotions and calmed his body. In response, the earth shuddered as if she too feared something, as if she knew the future and dreaded what it might bring. Shadow chided himself. Of course the earth feared nothing. She controlled every destiny, didn’t she?

As he resolved to jettison such superstitious concerns, Shadow felt the earth tremble with greater fervor. The two men below exchanged knowing glances and then fastened their eyes upon the Hinzwala’amakan woman with more dogged determination. Her petting hands began making erratic clawing motions as if she was grabbing something in the air and throwing it away. In answer, huge clods of dirt flew through the air like splashing water, slowly forming a large earthen ridge that circumscribed the valley. The two men stood motionless, in some odd stance that Shadow thought he recognized from a famous statue in a neighboring village. This was a Hinzwalan brace, a position held when engaging in intense collaborative magery, magic so intense that one had to consciously hold one’s feet to the ground. Soon, the ground around the Hinzwala’amakan woman lay bare, naked of any grasses, roots, or shrubbery. Exposed to her power, the earth continued to tremble in distress. Shadow could discern that much now. He dug his fingers deep into the moss covered ground, intuitively summoning courage to fulfill his calling to witness this event.

Even as he braced himself, he considered the obvious: if the earth feared what this woman would do, he should be terrified. Somehow, he mastered his feelings and continued to lie motionless. It would be foolish to expose his position. Besides, he reiterated to himself, whatever evil this woman might bring, whatever demons he might see and wish to forget, he would hold his ground and bear witness.

Larger clods of red earth, bronze sand, and shattering shale rocks flew through the air as if attacking some unseen foe. The mixture of materials the Hinzwala’akan woman dug up seemed unnatural to Shadow. Could they really be naturally mixed like that? But then, what did he know? He was a simple man, barely out of his youth. He farmed his own garden but he never dug this deeply. Anything could be beneath the earth when one dug that far down. Perhaps a long slab of precious metal lay below. Perhaps this Hinzwala’akan woman was unburying some great treasure worthy of every Trayki’s dream.

The earth’s foreboding grew yet again and soon, towering stripes of ivory were exposed and then gargantuan bones were unveiled. Instead of large clods of bronze earth and shattering boulders mixed with sand, the unearthing became a torrential storm of finer granules. But as the pit grew deeper, the uncovered bronze sand turned ruddy until it resembled some crimson grave where the sand had absorbed the blood of some massive monster. Shadow convulsed involuntarily and then forced himself to master his fear as the beasts’ forms emerged. At first, he thought them dracoliches as their ivory bones began pulling together and taking form but after a few moments, he recognized their shapes more clearly. Four wings, four rows of teeth, and a long tail whose tip spread like the three feathers of an arrow. Worse than dracoliches, these were kotrakoy, the cursed beasts of Ali’ikiswan. Only two were uncovered but Shadow knew there was another just outside his view. Desolation was upon the land and he’d been there to witness it.

Slowly, Shadow backed away from the ledge. As he did, one kotrakoy lifted itself high on its legs so that he could see it well. He watched as sinews attached to bone, as muscles formed upon its neck, and as eyes began to form. He watched in horror as the beast slowly regained its grayish-brown reptilian skin and some few modified, decorative feathers that distinguished kotrakoy from other beasts flying around Hiwalani wilds.

Shadow had seen caricatures in children’s books and paintings by some of the great masters in the great halls but none of that prepared him for what he saw now. Sitting upright, the largest kotrakoy stood nearly as tall as two homes stacked one on top of another. It’s size wasn’t what he found so intimidating. It was how it gradually disappeared after it formed. This legendary camouflage had spawned widespread fear of kotrakoy. As long as it remained still, Shadow couldn’t even discern its presence, despite the fact he knew precisely where it stood.

He stared at it intently, trying to discern any portion of its newly formed body. He sat in awe, witnessing what no one in his or his father’s generation had seen. His eyes were upon the most feared beast in Hiwalani history. He saw a blur as the beast turned its head. Briefly, Shadow looked directly into the eyes of kotrakoy and it looked directly back at him but he only saw those piercing eyes for the slightest of moments before they disappeared once more, fading into the background as impossible camouflage concealed it from all view. Somehow, Shadow considered, it seemed unnatural, even unholy for such an enormous predator to boast such an advantage.

As Shadow turned and considered running away, he experienced the beast’s other unfair advantage. He felt the kotrakoy peering into his mind. It’s true. They can read minds, he intuited. Strangely, Shadow could peer into the kotrakoy’s mind as well. He could sense its excitement. He sensed its unique intelligence. He sensed it wouldn’t tell the Hinzwalan mages it had seen him because it was too excited to be released from its earthly prison to care about Shadow’s trek through its own mind. He raced through some of the beast’s memories before those forebodings evolved again, overtook his consciousness. They felt different this time but he couldn’t clearly discern the distinction.

Shadow could have taken comfort from his glimpse into the beast’s mind. He could have pondered over these details as he casually strolled home, taking care to nurse his blistering feet. He could have pondered the earth’s purpose in calling him to witness this horrific development in the land. He could have wondered what he was supposed to do about it.

He didn’t.

He ran.

And he took no care of his tender feet. He just let them fly as fast as they could move and resolved himself that he wouldn’t stop until he’d warned the Hinzwalan council. He was keenly aware that they probably wouldn’t believe him. Perhaps no one would, but he had to try. That was the earth’s calling to him. If he understood nothing else, that much was clear. He’d warn everyone what dark magic was upon the land, and if no one else believed him, at least he might save his family from destruction.

RAZ’OOLENAY WASN’T UNLIKE OTHER HIWALANI MAGES. Athletic, medium of build, and average in features, he boasted skin, hair, and eye colors that echoed rich soils native to the area. His soft appearance bespoke his lineage among a people who prided themselves in being one with the earth. What set him apart wasn’t any particular physical feature, it was his inability to prove that oneness by summoning the earth’s energies to perform even trivial feats of magic. If anything else distinguished Raz’oolenay from his peers, it must have been his long hair. Pleasant in appearance mostly because he smiled frequently, he simply wasn’t remarkable in any way.

However, like kotrakoy, he sported his own version of camouflage. Known to disappear into the edges of social gatherings, he could effectively remain unnoticed by anyone, all while carefully observing his ever-changing surroundings. Shying away from attention had earned him the nickname Shadow. And today, for the first time in his life, he felt like he was living up to it, albeit for a new reason. Today he was running from one dark area of the forest to another, carelessly venturing over uneven terrain, hopping over large buttress roots, and consciously ignoring protests from his scorched feet. Today he stayed in the shadows to save his own hide. And he didn’t miss the irony of his situation.

Somewhere in his heart, Shadow knew he was needlessly fearful. He knew no kotrakoy were following him. He’d felt their ambition. He knew that overshadowed any interest in the lone azh’nahn who watched them escape their prison and he knew they felt little loyalty to their liberator. Nevertheless, Shadow couldn’t govern his feelings. Some people don’t just stare death in the eyes and quickly recover. Some people get scared and stay that way. Today Shadow was that kind of person. Today he was hiding.

Running as fast as his fatigued body could handle, Shadow took care not to look at his feet. He’d noticed blisters coming and going. He’d felt that sickening feeling when skin begins to slide and burn and he’d winced when he’d accidentally spotted blood while vaulting over a particularly large Banzna root. Not looking at them wouldn’t help them feel better but somehow, averting his eyes helped him worry less.

As he lost himself in the pointless footrace, Shadow pondered last week’s training session. Calling him something less than a disappointing failure might have been overstating the case but he’d failed to ignite a fire any child could have started several suns past. He’d resorted to kindling dry leaves with a bow. His father had been so embarrassed that Shadow had expected a first-rate lashing. Instead, he hadn’t heard his father’s voice for a handful of suns. Shadow probably deserved that. Siring a powerless mage brought deep shame to Hiwalani families. Azh’nahn were considered little more than distant relatives of Trayki and brought into question the value of the entire family.

Some Hiwalani believed villages were better off without such a flawed bloodline among them. Possible suitors of Shadow’s sisters would choose to never show any interest. Young women would refuse to associate with his younger brother, limiting his opportunities to marry. At least his older siblings had married already. But Shadow couldn’t overlook the repercussions of his failures upon the rest of the family. True enough, the archives bore record that azh’nahn relatives commonly remained among the Hiwalani. However, a few felt a duty to preserve family honor by leaving their homes and village. Demands for their exile would inevitably come, although none would be taken seriously if Shadow took preemptive action. If he thought about anyone besides himself, there was only one meaningful choice: exile. It was the honorable thing to do.

He considered changing course. Perhaps it was best not to return. If his people already believed him self exiled, they’d be disappointed to see him, especially if he bore bad news. And perhaps he would be bearing old news. Kotrakoy would arrive before him if they flew toward Hiwalani villages. They may have already raided the outer rim of homes - perhaps an entire village had been decimated by now. On the other hand, if kotrakoy had flown a different direction, his people would be grateful for the opportunity to prepare themselves for the inevitable attack.

His mind raced back to the Hinzwala’amakan mage. Why would she risk kotrakoy raids on her own people? Surely she didn’t believe she could control them. Ali’ikiswan hadn’t been able to keep control of them with a small host of mages bracing themselves along his side. Sure, he controlled them for a time but ultimately, only burial fully tamed the beasts. It seemed prodigiously prideful for anyone to aspire to greater power than Ali’ikiswan, especially with only two Hinzwala’amakan mages for support.

It seemed an eternity before he arrived at the stream where he had so carelessly fallen before. Despite his foolishness, he was nearly as grateful to find it this second time. Continually scanning the area for anything that might prove dangerous, Shadow worked his way through the darkest corners of the densely covered forest until he found a remote bank where he could refill his flagon and drink all his stomach could hold. Climbing down steep terrain to reach the water was especially painful to his feet but he knew it would be worth it. His mouth was so dry, so sticky and uncomfortable, he worried it would be hard to swallow. As he knelt down and bent over the water, he cupped his hands and began sipping. Every tiny droplet brought welcomed relief.

There, in the dark recesses of the woods, he heard more than he saw images flashing through his mind. The kotrakoy were seeking something. They yearned for communication with people. Their shrieking voices seemed to pierce the air all around him. They scanned the area for anyone who would listen.

Shadow heard them well.

Not only could he see what they were seeing, he could feel their feelings, he could sense their desires. Despite his innate fear of the beasts, he yearned to search their minds, to learn their history. He felt as if he could know whatever they knew but even as he thought this, he sensed kotrakoy shifting their awareness, psyonically reaching toward him. It seemed they wanted to speak to him. Part of him wanted to speak to them as well but he was too terrified to consider the option.

Shadow panicked. Maybe they wanted him after all. Maybe they needed to eliminate any evidence of their presence. Maybe their reappearance was intended to be secret for a time. If so, that strong desire to communicate with him could be nothing more than a manifestation of their desire to kill him. Perhaps Shadow would see those four rows of teeth up close. He shuddered.

He remembered the legends well. Kotrakoy had been bred and magically enhanced to become the ultimate spies, to stop Trayki flying machines from invading Hiwalani lands. With flight, impenetrable camouflage, and the ability to read minds, kotrakoy had been the most ingenious production of Hinzwalan magic in recorded history. Sadly, they had become independent-minded, untrustworthy, and unpredictable. Only the genius of Ali’ikiswan had been able to put them to rest. Rumor claimed he was still alive but if it was true, he would be uncommonly old and unable to put kotrakoy back in their graves. Without his help, Shadow didn’t even want to imagine what horror might be upon the land. What fool had done this? Who was that Hinzwala’amakan woman?

Shadow felt the beasts pressing more intently into the edges of his mind. He was uncertain now: they were trying to locate him, track him down. He shivered again but quickly governed his fears and focused heavily on the soil next to him. Looking for the most nondescript spot he could think of, he glared at the ground as if it was the only thing in life that mattered. He told himself this piece of earth was the most important thing he could imagine, that nothing else mattered. He tried to memorize the position of every pebble, every speck, and every tiny splotch of oddly colored soil. He repeated in his mind the importance of this little plot of land. Shadow sensed the kotrakoy peering into his mind with confusion. He willed that confusion to increase, hoped with every reservoir of energy that their confusion would lead them to leave him alone. For several moments, they continued to waft over his mind, searching for something more concrete to identify his location than a small patch of nondescript soil.

Soon, something distracted them and they gave up. An overwhelming surge of relief passed over Shadow. He desperately wanted to see if he could discern their thoughts to determine their destination but a renewed, debilitating fear kept him staring at the ground until he was certain they were far gone.

When it was over and his mind cleared, he noticed he hadn’t felt any foreboding. He’d clearly felt fear, but no foreboding. Why would the earth make him heavily dread the unearthing of kotrakoy but leave him without any such feeling when those same beasts sought his life? It made no sense.

Then, one of those impulsive promptings returned. He needed to hurry home. The earth willed him there but he sensed she would pull him slightly off course. Shadow would have been happy to be pulled even farther off course but it seemed he would still pass through Ahz’leniki. Zhak, he cursed. Resolved to whatever fate might lie before him, Shadow moved toward the stream, cupped his hands, and drank until he could drink no more. He filled his flagon. Burning sands, several hours of shadeless heat, and little to no water would be the next stage of his test. Shadow took another sip. He needed to be as full of water as his body would allow before running over those sands. If the earth was merciful, his side wouldn’t ache.

As hours passed, Shadow pondered his ability to see and feel kotrakoy thoughts. Sure, it had been limited, and it might have been a side-effect of their own search through his mind. Still, it was something. It was a small success in an advanced form of magery. Few ever mastered telepathy. At a time when his life as an epic failure had been mounting like a pile of rocks at the bottom of an avalanche, this was an unusual and noteworthy success. The contradiction glowered at him like a hungry predator. Perhaps it was a fluke. Perhaps it was part of his test. Or, maybe it was nothing more than a display of kotrakoy power: perhaps it deliberately opened its mind to him. That seemed more probable.

But why?

Because he was Ahz’nahn, Shadow doubted anyone would believe this part of his story. He determined he wouldn’t tell anyone these details. For now, he would simply ponder these things and wonder what purpose the earth had in choosing him as witness for this event, the event that would change the course of history, the event that would define his generation.

Hours passed. Sands changed into shaded woodlands not far from home. His muscles protested and refused to go any farther. The continual pressure of the promptings all but disappeared. He could rest now. He had been following Izhnat, a large tributary that bordered a block of neighboring villages. Perhaps kotrakoy would first attack Hiwalani villages on this side of the mountains. That would explain his path.

That was it, he decided. They be warned first. Whatever the reason, he was grateful for a reprieve from the breakneck speed he had been traveling. With uncommon stiffness, Shadow sat down to rest his feet in the cool and shadowy waters of Izhnat. He knew better but he didn’t take off his sandals. They would last longer if they were not regularly drenched in water. He’d been taught that since toddlerhood but he was too exhausted to care. Besides, the water would wash away those pesky granules of sand that chaffed the bottoms of his feet.

After a few moments, the waters seemed to grow colder and Shadow felt chilled but he was too tired to move, too tired to care. He fell to one side, curled his legs so that his feet mostly left the water, and gratefully gave up consciousness.

SHADOW AWAKENED TO A CRASHING SOUND unlike anything he’d heard before, except when felling trees for building projects. No one would be harvesting trees here. Felling Eznaki trees with towering buttress roots was far too difficult to make it worthwhile. The noise had to be something else. Confused, Shadow found himself squinting through violent shards of light piercing the canopy. As he walked toward the sound, it returned - that familiar, impulsive prompting. Perhaps he was being called to witness another event. He hoped it wasn’t kotrakoy. He begged the earth not to require him to see kotrakoy up close. Nothing could be more horrifying.

He took a resolute breath and winced. From the waist down, he felt like he’d finished running a thousand festival courses. A decent runner, Shadow always enjoyed festival races but he never got conditioned enough to prevent that horrible burning sensation that comes after you’ve run harder than normal. Today seemed worse than ever. More than three days of nearly nonstop trekking seemed harder than festival racing. He winced with nearly every footstep as he made his way toward the source of the ominous crashing sound. There were no further noises, nothing other than feelings to help him discern where he was going. Wherever it was, it couldn’t be too far.

Soon, he came upon a darkly veiled patch of trees where a young Trayki woman slowly swayed back and forth, hanging upside down with her leg attached to some strange Trayki rope. She looked like some discombobulated pendulum. He traced the rope upward to its source where a brightly colored flying contraption rested in multiple contortions among the treetops. That is why we were never meant to fly, Shadow impulsively repeated in his mind. Flying machines had brought war upon Hiwalani a few generations past. Flying machines had inspired Hinzwalan elite to breed and create the kotrakoy. The contraptions were unnatural, unholy.

An occasional drop of blood traced its way through the woman’s blonde hair and splatted upon the ground. Part of Shadow wanted to see her up close. Part of him thought he should leave the scene to ponder why he’d been called to witness the death of this flying enemy. Curiosity won the battle. Shadow’s eyes traced the rope, following it to the largest branch it hung from and then to the trunk he would need to climb to cut the blonde woman down.

Without thinking, Shadow removed his sandals at the base of the tree and began climbing. Blistered and worn feet objected to the scratchy bark but he refused to focus on the unpleasant sensations. It’s best not to give pain attention. That’s what his father always said. Having never carefully considered the advice, Shadow followed it instinctively, and it helped. Soon, he was crawling along the branch where the Trayki rope held the blonde captive.

By the time he reached the spot, Shadow had a plan as to how he would dislodge the rope from around the branch without sending the young woman crashing the remaining distance to the ground. A stretch of the rope above wound around a few small branches that would afford some extra length. Because the rope was lodged between a fork in the branch he was on, Shadow estimated that by cutting it next to the branches above while pulling it toward the tree, he would be able to gently lower the blonde to the ground, or at least lower her close enough that the remaining fall would be relatively mild. Carefully, he pulled a black blade out of its sheath, tightly grabbed the rope, tugged it towards the tree trunk until it was snug against the fork of the branch, and cut the rope with his other hand.

It didn’t work.

The jolt from the cut jolted the rope harder than Shadow expected and left him gasping as he lost his grip. The rope whizzed against the forked branches until its tip ripped past the branch altogether. An instant later, a heavy thud left Shadow assuming that if this stranger woman hadn’t been dead before, she certainly must be now. Her neck would be broken.

Shadow winced. He’d assumed she was already dead but the possibility that she might have been alive left him cringing with shame. Mistreatment of a corpse was unnecessary and dishonorable. Mistreatment of an innocent person was unthinkable to a man of honor. Even Trayki deserved better. Shadow was grateful no one else had seen it. Still, good intentions rarely soothe guilt. His heart sank as he considered the ill treatment he’d given the blonde woman, whether or not she’d been dead before the fall.

Slowly, he slunk down the tree branch and its trunk like some animal scolded by its master. Unwilling to look at the young woman now, he focused on gently replacing his sandals before standing up. His eyes traced the ground and refused to gaze upon the corpse. Feelings of mortification and humiliation welled up inside and refused to be quashed. True enough, no one would ever know what happened. But he would know and the earth would know and that was too much.

When his peripheral vision spotted the blonde, Shadow finally allowed his eyes to observe her condition. Too many clothes, he considered. Trayki were odd that way. This one had loose-fitting clothes that covered nearly everything but her face. Even her sandals wrapped entirely around her feet until they couldn’t be seen at all. Shadow wondered how anyone could live with so many things tied around one’s body. Surely, all of these clothes restricted motion, restricted one’s ability to feel the earth’s renewing energy.

He considered another possibility. Maybe Trayki clothes were meant to direct attention to their hair. This one had beautiful hair, apart from splotches of crimson. He stared at her hair for a moment before adjusting her body into a less contorted position. He considered cutting some of her golden locks. If woven, it would make an exquisite bookmark, he thought. But of course, he couldn’t really do that. It would be sacrilege to the body.

Emotions overran Shadow once again. He could feel the earth prompting him toward the blonde. He needed to turn her over. It was almost as if the earth wanted to punish him for what he’d done, to castigate him for being careless. She now required him to see the blonde’s face before burying her. How should I do it? He considered wrapping her in more cloth and leaving her in the trees. That’s how they did it during the Trayki war. Is that their custom? Shadow wondered for the first time.

With so much clothing, Shadow considered that maybe he should have just left her hanging. Maybe that wasn’t disrespectful in her culture. He considered the possibility. Trayki were backward people. They liked to fly. Perhaps they preferred burial in the trees. It seemed uncivilized but so did a great many other Trayki customs. Probably, he should have left her hanging and moved on. If that was Trayki custom, perhaps the earth herself had buried this young woman. Maybe her face had been left uncovered to shame her for riding in a flying contraption, a punishment for her unnatural curiosity and desires. But then, why had he been called here?

Eyes fixated upon her gorgeous golden locks, Shadow carefully placed his thumb along the top side of her neck and cupped the remaining portion of his hand around the base of her skull. Then, he rotated her head as he rolled her body to keep the corpse from bending in unnatural contortions. Trayki or not, she should be treated with respect. If he failed in this duty, someone might not honorably dispose of his body when he died. As her face came into view, Shadow forced back tears. He’d never seen a Trayki before. He’d seen pictures of their men in history books and he’d easily identified this one because of her hair but seeing her up close was unnerving, and surprising.

Her visage was pristine, delicate, stunning. Shadow governed rekindled, feelings of mourning as he brushed aside her long, matted hair and remarked again how he’d never seen anything quite so breathtaking as her unusual hair. Even rustic monkey hair was not this exquisite, shiny. These golden locks nearly glowed when the sun warmed them.

Hiwalani custom all but demanded song in the presence of surprising beauty but Shadow couldn’t bring himself to sing for shame of how he’d already dishonored her. He managed to muster an intermittent hum but it was too solemn for its intended purpose.

As he made note of that thought, he considered something new. Perhaps Trayki bodies were horrifically ugly. Perhaps that was why this one was so heavily covered. He traced his hand along her body as he adjusted it into lying position. It seemed normal. Perhaps ugly texture or splotchy coloring contaminated the skin.

As he contemplated that possibility, the blonde Trayki drew in air as she haphazardly swung her arm toward his face. Shadow instinctively recoiled, avoided the attack as quickly as she fell back into the oblivion of unconsciousness. As alarmed as he was that she was alive, he was equally surprised that she feared him. He supposed that was natural in enemy territory but having no intention to harm or dishonor her, he wouldn’t have imagined the possibility moments before, even if she’d been fully awake. He gently stroked her cheeks to assuage her fear, uncertain if she was mildly aware of his presence or completely incapacitated.

Perhaps she was suffering, wishing she were dead, wishing the pain would end. Hiwalani tradition required someone’s permission before ending their pain. His heart sank once more. He didn’t speak Trayki and he was no healer. He was barely capable of bandaging a moderate wound, let alone taking care of a woman with a broken neck and bloody head injuries. He wished he wasn’t there, wished he hadn’t followed the earth’s call, wished he hadn’t cut the line, wished …

Shadow nudged the woman’s head slightly sideways and pushed aside her hair until he could see the underlying cuts. Only afterward did he consider that maybe he shouldn’t be moving her neck like that, especially if it was broken, but it was too late now. He grabbed a nearby branch that had fallen next to the body, placed it under her neck for support, and inspected the wound. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he expected but it was still bleeding a slow, steady stream. She continued to breathe.

Shadow again unsheathed his blade and began cutting long strips of cloth out of the strange clothes covering her belly. He wondered again how unnatural her skin might look. If she survived, she might feel ashamed by the unsightly exposure of her deformed skin. He frowned as he considered the possibility but when he cut the material and removed it, it exposed normal, if not bronze, skin. There seemed no reason to hide it. It was beautiful like her face.

Pondering this new discovery, Shadow carefully wrapped the cloth strip around her head and wished he knew how to stitch a wound or bind it back together with magic. He couldn’t blame himself for not having mastered the healing arts. Few did, but he regretted it nonetheless. Self deprecation had become a habit. It was one thing he’d really mastered. He was azh’nahn; he deserved it. That didn’t stop him from feeling pangs of disappointment that he couldn’t serve her better. He hated feeling useless. He’d never get used to that.

In a flash, the blonde flicked her eyes open, as if searching for something in the canopy above. Frightened, they saw nothing but forest and a mangled glider. Her eyes were a mysterious bluish hue, unlike anything Shadow had seen except perhaps on azh’malam blossoms from Ireenla.

Shadow only observed them for a moment before they sagged shut. Still, in that moment, he saw into her soul. Athna. Born third into a family of seven, she had a happy childhood. She was adventurous. She loved the outdoors. She loved to study and to dance and to sculpt. And she loved to fly.

Shadow saw through her mind the moment she’d crashed. He felt her fear, her surprise. He felt her loosen her feet from the pedals that powered the flying contraption. He felt her concern that she might never see her family again, her concern that Hiwalani might torture and kill her, that she might have started a war by crashing in this forbidden land. He felt her love and concern for her family. And having felt all that, Shadow couldn’t help but love her as well.

Although he’d never felt it before, he recognized another feeling: hal’eeyeeka, the soul bond. It felt like a long wash of energy enveloping his soul, cleansing him from all the wrongs he’d ever committed and bonding him to this stranger as if their souls had always been one. It was a sacred pairing by the earth herself. Athna would have to choose him before the bond was complete but until then, Shadow was bound as her protector.

The thought made him shudder. Azh’nahn as protectorate. The idea was laughable. Still, few would take the responsibility more seriously than he did and none would be as devout.

As he memorized her pristine visage, Shadow gently traced his fingers along her neck. He tried not to press hard but firmly enough to feel her vertebrae. As far as he could tell, they all felt intact and she didn’t wince when he touched them. Maybe that was because she was out cold. Maybe her senses were gone and she would die soon. Either way, Shadow didn’t know what to do and feeling no prompting to guide him, he kept an eye on the bandage to make sure the bleeding had stopped. He squeezed up and down her arms and legs, hands and feet, to verify