Night Calls the Raven (Book 2 of The Master of the Tane) (17 page)

She sat a little straighter. “I am of the
Rena’ja
.”

“How many
Tja
are there?”

“There are five.”

“And what are the others?”

“
Kabu’ja, Svan’ja, Keno’ja,
and
Kufa’ja
, but
Rena’ja
is the greatest.”

He rubbed his chin and then tried a piece of bread. It too was dry and hard but he wasn’t about to complain. “And why is that?”

She was slightly taken aback. “All agree that we are the greatest. We are the only ones who can breed a decent horse to sit on.”

So he was found unconscious by a sword wielding woman on a horse that only her people can breed, who found him close to a burned out area, which, by all rights could not have existed where it did. She then carried him to this tent where he is only allowed to stay for maybe another day or two and then he must leave. It wasn’t much but it was a start.

“So, what, then, would you do if you were in my situation?”

“I would leave and find my
Tja
.” She suddenly stood up and started for the tent flap.

“Hey, where are you going?”

She turned briefly. “I have answered all of your questions and now am free of my obligation to you.”

“But I still have more questions.”

She opened the flap letting the light pour in. “They will have to wait. I must go now or I will be late.”

“Late, for what?”

“That does not concern you. I will bring you more food later.” And with that, she pushed through the tent flap and was gone.

CHAPTER TEN

Renja pushed back the tent flap and stepped out into the early morning air. He took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of it as it filled his lungs and body with life. This was the second day he had been able—and allowed—to leave his tent and walk about the camp. His recovery had been quick, although as to what had ailed him he was still at a complete loss. He had no visible injuries, no cuts, no bruises, no broken bones. It could have been sickness but even that didn’t seem right. He wasn’t feverish. He didn’t show any of the normal signs of a rash or vomiting or achy joints. If he’d at least thrown up just once, then that would have been something. No, his only clue was Jne’s story and a jumbled mind that held tight to the secrets of his past and as of yet was still unwilling to give them up.

The hurricane in his head had slowed somewhat to the point that he could hold to some images on occasion, but concentrating on them and trying to decipher what they were was too exhausting. He resigned himself to the fact that he was just going to have to wait it out and hope that the whirlpool of thoughts and memories would eventually calm enough to give him a better chance of figuring out who he was and why he had been where Jne found him.

Besides Kardosh, the man who came in the first day, no one but Jne had come in to see him. It was as if he were under quarantine. But whether it was because no one could figure out exactly what had been wrong with him or whether it was because he was not one of them he couldn’t quite decide. He thought it was probably more the latter than the former. Jne never stayed long when she did come. Generally, she brought something for him to eat in the morning, at midday, and then in the evening but she only stayed long enough to drop his food and then almost run back out again. He tried to keep her longer to talk but she always turned the same bored look on him and then made a quick excuse of having to be somewhere else.

The food did wonders for his weakened condition and he found that he had strength enough the previous day to leave the tent for the first time. Jne told him that he could go and do anything he wanted but not to expect much from the people he met. Most, she said, would probably not even recognize his existence. She was right. After being completely ignored by three different people he had tried to talk to, he quickly gave up attempting to befriend anyone. One woman did actually speak to him briefly but it was in their language and by the response of those around, he figured it must have been some kind of insult.

Looking east across the expansive plains he caught the rays of a new sun just beginning to break the horizon and start another day’s trek across the cloudless sky. A slight breeze ruffled the tall grass that filled the landscape creating waves of green that danced with the blowing wind reminding him of a huge body of water. It was hypnotic to watch. In fact, when he first left his tent the day before, he had spent close to an hour watching the grass as it moved about undulating against the air currents.

Jne had called this place the Great Plains of Enn. The plains stretched out in all directions broken only by the occasional hill rolling over the landscape. He enjoyed this time of day because the air was not as hot and the monotony of the plains was turned into this beautiful dance performed by the grass and wind. Once the sun got a little higher and heated the land, the dance stopped and the heat of the day and the barren landscape quickly sucked the joy out of the countryside.

That first day he was allowed outside he realized that he was not of this place. He craved trees. He didn’t know why, but he yearned to rest his back against a large pine and listen to the rustle of its needles. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to stay. Jne told him just moments ago as she left his breakfast that this was his last day. He was well enough now and would have to leave by the next morning. But he needed more time to remember. More time to understand who he was and what his purpose was. He knew he needed to be doing something, but roaming aimlessly about was not going to get him wherever it was he needed to go. He suddenly felt that he would gladly force himself to love the plains if they would only allow him to stay.

He sighed and turned to the north where he could just make out the dark line of mountains Jne had called the Mogolths. That is where she found him. Originally he had made up his mind to go back and seek the answers he needed at the place where he had lost them. He had spoken it to Jne but she quickly questioned his reasoning. “There is nothing there,” she said. “It is a wasteland that will only chew you up and spit you out dead. Why you were there at all is a mystery, but maybe one that should be left as such. No, Renja, you are not from that area. I think it best you go back to Haykon and seek your answers there.”

“What is Haykon?” he’d asked.

“Haykon is a large human outpost of sorts northeast from here. There are many people there. It would be a better place to start.” He tried to get her to tell him more but she quickly dismissed herself with another excuse and was gone before he could stop her. Looking northeast in the direction she had pointed for Haykon, he scanned the horizon of waving grass. He supposed that the following morning he would get the chance to see more of the plains than he cared to.

Turning back towards his tent he looked through the city of canvas that was starting to show life as people emerged from their dwellings. He had been set on the outskirts of the tented village; he supposed to keep him out of the way. Since Jne had found him and brought him in, she had been given responsibility over his care, which, he could tell, had become a huge burden for her once she discovered he was not one of her people. Though he wanted to walk around the camp and find out more about these people he quickly dismissed the idea knowing from the previous day’s experience that he would not be able to glean much of anything.

The ground suddenly shook and a great rumble rolled across the plains as a large group of men shot from the camp on their horses. He stared in awe at the creatures watching them for long moments before they began to fade into the horizon. The day before he had tried to get close to the stables on the far side of the camp to get a better look but had been shoed away, almost at the point of steel. They kept the horses together in a large group just outside of camp. He wondered how anyone knew which mount was theirs in such a large mass of animals. Jne gave him the same look of forced patience as if dealing with a child when he’d asked her the previous night when she brought in his dinner. All she said was, “Does a mother not know her own child?” He really didn’t see the correlation but decided it was not worth another question. And besides, Jne was already halfway out of the tent.

Turning back to his tent, his hand reached up and grabbed the leathery medallion that hung around his neck. Lifting it up so he could see the design on its face he tried to concentrate on the symbol and make sense of it. He had the same marking on his ankle and knew that they were important but had, as of yet, been unable to make anything of them. It was five tentacles meeting in the center and then reaching out and curling around before stopping short of five small dots just out of reach of each arm. This was the key to who he was; he felt it. It gnawed at him constantly but at the same time kept itself securely locked away in one of the many pieces of his mind that still blew about in his head.

Dropping the medallion, he stalked back into his tent frustrated, knowing it was going to be another long and lonely day. Maybe leaving the next morning would be good after all. At least it
might take his mind off of not knowing who he was. He could be or do anything he wanted. He tried to look at it as a fresh start but it didn’t help. A fresh start from what was all he could think of.

He spent the day brooding in his tent. He even ignored Jne as she brought in his noon meal making her all the happier that he hadn’t accosted her with a myriad of “childish” questions. He was anxious to be doing something, anything. The idea that he had been about something important remained the main idea in the back of his head. It would be good to be on his way. But at the same time, he dreaded the next morning. All he could think of was that this people had saved him only to send him out again to die. What was the purpose? Better that Jne had left him where she had found him and allowed him to die the first time. Maybe that was his destiny. Maybe that was what was eating at him, stirring in his bones, pushing him. Was he meant to die?

At dusk he decided to leave his canvas cell and watch the sun set in the west. The wind was picking up again and the grassy waves danced along reflecting the waning light in a colorful sea of purples, oranges and reds. He sat a distance from his tent surrounded by the scented grass and let the wind blow his cares away for a brief moment as it pressed against his face. He had found no rest this day but rather felt like a bow strung too tightly; its line ready to snap at the slightest touch.

He turned his jumbled thoughts to the wind almost hearing it speak to him as he closed his eyes and let it wash over his body. He thought he could hear it whispering to him to come with it, to fly over the plains in a flight of rest promising joy in return.

He concentrated on the sigh of the wind letting it caress him and pull him. He felt himself yearning to flow with it. He wanted to fly with it across the long grass and push the stalks playfully in a passing rush to the mountains beyond. Unconsciously he reached out his hand as if seeking to grab the passing current and be pulled along in its hastening flight. Its tempo and force suddenly grew as if beckoned by his call. His long dark hair whipped back behind him in a firing flight of black flames as he still reached for the wind. The sound of its passing roared in his ears and he exalted in the feeling of it against his face, the fresh scent of grass filling his nostrils and enlivening his soul. Suddenly he felt a violent jerk followed immediately by a rushing feeling of speed.

“Renja!”

He felt another jolt slamming into his body almost knocking him onto his back. The wind stopped abruptly and his eyes snapped open half expecting to find himself somewhere lost in the middle of the plains. Looking around frantically he caught sight of Jne and Kardosh staring at him.