Talon (The Astor Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

‘I think I know what you mean,’
I replied, sensing the aches in her muscles.

‘Unless you’ve carried around a lump of human flesh and saddlebags all day, I very much doubt you do.’

Sighing, I said,
‘Perhaps I should try transforming for a while so you can have a break.’

‘Please do,’
she said.
‘I don’t see why I should do all the hard work.’

‘As you wish,’
I replied. I wondered if all the horses I had ridden would have said the same thing if they’d been able.
‘You may need to help me, though.’

‘It’s easy,’
she replied.
‘Just imagine what it feels like to be a horse. Force yourself to think like a horse, move like a horse, sense like a horse, and you’ll
be
one.’

I concentrated hard on my body, imagining the point of my nose much further from my eyes, the shape of my head and neck much longer. My tongue lolled out of my mouth, ears perked forward. My arms reached for the ground, now hooves and black forelegs. The saddlebags and other gear I had slung over my back vanished from the physical world along with my personal effects. They became a burden on my mind instead. I had memorised them, and found them easy enough to remember while I was in horse form.

I shook my head, stretched my front legs and looked around for Rekala. She was standing in the trees not far away. I could see myself in her mind, a magnificent dark bay stallion with a thick, almost black mane and tail. There were darker patches of hair around my nose and eyes. I swished my tail, arched my neck and pranced before her, enjoying the spectacle I made.

‘Chase me!’
I shouted.

I pivoted on my hind legs and rushed into the forest, heading south east on the final stretch to Tez. Rekala followed after me, slowly, refusing to take the bait. She was happier now that she was in her natural form and not having to carry any gear, but the last few days had clearly taken their toll on her.

I kept reminding myself about the gear in the waves as I ran, not to lose them in the exultation of horse form. By the time I arrived in Tez my coat was slick with horse sweat and I’d left Rekala a mile or two behind me.

I transformed back into my human self, checked that all my clothing was intact and emerged from the woods. I walked the final stretch into Tez, carrying my gear with some difficulty. I sat by a tree on the outskirts of town to wait for Rekala. I took off my sweaty shirt and let it air on the grass.

Tez was a small city by most standards. Like the other settlements in these parts the town had been burned to the ground and rebuilt a number of times over the ages. The buildings in the main causeway were mostly sandstone although some still had thatched roofs. The outskirts of the city housed commoners and servants, who lived in humble wooden dwellings or in mud-brick homes. The nobles were in the manor district, a walled-off area with a man-made river, a stone fortress and a colourfully tiled bathing house over a hot spring.

The poorer area didn’t have such fancy public bathing houses, but what it did have was practical. They were wooden steaming rooms you carried your own water and firewood into.

People crowded the well in the centre of Tez gathering water for themselves and their animals. There were drinking troughs for Rada-kin throughout the city, and roped off grassy areas with coarse woven shade-cloth, scratching posts and salt licks. These animal resting places were usually stocked with dried meat and fish, hay, pea-grass, fruit, nuts and seeds. There were also brushes, rugs, boxes with open archways and plentiful bowls and buckets stacked for any animal’s use.

People occasionally took advantage of these resources when looking after their natural beasts, but any resources they used were supposed to be replaced soon thereafter. The same rule applied to the Rada-kin; each Rada had to contribute to the stockpile. If the natural animals sometimes used up a certain resource, the Rada-kin rarely complained. They were usually glad to see other animals benefitting from humankind’s benevolence toward them. I contributed a small sack of milkbulb.

Rekala padded out of the forest, chuffed at me and flopped down to rest again. I chuffed back at her and massaged the muscles of her neck and shoulders.

Leaving Rekala to doze beside our gear, I went for a walk into the Tez Marketplace. Packs of children ran by me in the street, giggling and shrieking. Some of them were followed by carers with baskets of food and rugs. I was glad to see a group of older children being taught their letters. In Telbion cities, like this one, only the wealthy landowners could afford private tutors, which left the populace with a minority of educated people.

The lack of reading ability in most of the adults in Tez had surprised me when I’d first started coming here. Those who could read or perform mathematics were able to charge for their services. If anybody needed to communicate with someone in another town, there was usually a Rada messenger whose Rada-kin could relay the information using the waves.

There was one such courier service set up in a permanent building at the beginning of the markets. Several horses were tied up out the front, laden with large saddlebags, one having the mud in his hooves picked out as I passed. A rider was filling water sacks nearby and there was a cart around the side for even larger deliveries. The service catered for wave messages and actual deliveries.

On the door was a painting of a black monkey chattering into a red dog’s ear. A heavyset man was seated inside, with his monkey Rada-kin perched beside him on the counter. There was a queue of people waiting for their turn to send a message.

I did not envy the wealthy Rada’s position. He probably lived in the apartment on top of the courier shop, and spent his evenings about the town, eating and socialising. The life of a wave-caller, although it seemed easy, was not for someone like me.

The place I most belonged was the wilderness. Even in this small city, I was feeling the pressure of too many eyes, too many smells, and too much noise.

I passed a number of vendors before finding the one I wanted. In between a lady selling lemons and kumquats and a family with second-hand furniture, I found the fishmonger, Beney.

He was separated from his neighbours by wood-framed walls hung with canvas and fishing nets. Dozens of different fish on hooks and strings hung from every space, including from ropes going between the walls. He had an array of multi-coloured seashells and turtle shells for wealthy shoppers. Crabs and lobsters dangled from the walls, some as large as my hand.
Good thing Rekala didn’t accompany me
.

I approached the counter, which smelled even worse than the hundreds of dead fish suspended around me. I tried not to wrinkle my nose as Beney sidled up to me. His apron was smeared with fish scales and oil.

‘It’s been a while ‘ey, Talon?’ he greeted me. ‘You been gettin’ good catch up on those mountains ‘ey?’

I grasped his hand in mine.

‘Not bad. And it’s Rada Talon now,’ I told him proudly. ‘Got myself an icetiger.’

‘Icetiger?’ Beney stepped back in over-dramatised shock. ‘And here I was thinkin’ you wasn’t a sensitive.’

I handed him the small purse of coins Bessed had entrusted to me. He immediately started wrapping dried cod and smoked salmon in a leather cloth, knowing exactly what we were after. Never one to miss a selling opportunity, Beney took a breath and launched into a loud speech to all the passers-by about how my icetiger and I were soon going to eat all his stock. The customers better come in to buy their fish quick or it would all be gone. I gestured for him to leave off, but he continued his sales pitch for a few minutes.

When he was finished, he admitted quietly, ‘I didn’t think to see you here. Presumed Jaria was the one licking up all the fish, what with you being upriver and all.’

I shook my head, ‘Not us—we’re coming up short. The fish have been fewer than I remember. Lucky if I can bring in half a dozen in a whole day’s fishing.’

With several customers crowding in to see his wares, Beney gestured for me to come closer.

‘If it isn’t you Jarians, then who is it? That’s what I’d like ter know. Some say Zeikas have come inland. What with all their mouths to feed, perhaps they sucked the rivers dry!’

‘By the nine! Do you think the Zeikas are further upstream than the village? That would mean they are in the realm of Jaria.’

He made a hushing motion with his hand. Other customers were jostling each other to get to him.

‘Maybe. I don’ really know. But here’s your fish anyway.’

I had to wrap both arms around the bundle to carry it away. I belatedly wondered if Rekala would make me haul it all the way back to Jaria myself.

‘I’ll carry it for you,’
she said sneakily, from afar,
‘in my belly.’

By the time I got back to her she was in horse form again, ready to travel. I fastened the saddle onto her back and rested the right saddlebag on a nearby stump to make room in it for the fish. There was a text from the Holy Scrolls in there that I hastily switched to the other saddlebag. It was far too valuable to allow it to become fishy.

Despite the role of the Rada in the Realm Wars, many of our sacred texts had been burned because of the banishment of the Tanzans. Those that remained were valued not only by Kriites, but also by scholars, and nobles who liked to hoard historical artefacts.

‘Why did the Holy Scrolls become contraband?’
Rekala asked.

I stroked her neck as I thought of the historical tale, as I knew it. Decades ago, people from the two rival nations, Reltland and Tanza used to visit Telby regularly. The Tanzans were almost all Kriites and the Relts were almost all Zeikas, two of the most powerful religions ever to exist on Chryne. Kriites believe that all people are fallible, yet can be redeemed through faith. Zeikas believe that all who do not bow to their gods deserve enslavement or death.

As you can imagine there was often conflict when the two groups interacted. In the year 677 a fight between them resulted in the death of the king and queen of Telby, their elite guards and a number of important nobles.

The Tanzans believed that the Relts had orchestrated the entire thing to implicate them and reduce the standing of Kriite beliefs in Telby. The Relts claimed it was the fault of the Tanzans being too hot-headed and defensive of their religion.

When the heir to the throne, the young Prince Aabyn, took over, he swept into leadership like an eagle at prey, banning the Relts and Tanzans from Telby. At the time, neither realm had the desire or the manpower to resist the might of Telby. They’d already depleted their forces fighting each other. Aabyn forced them to sign to their own exile, vowing to stay out of Telby until such a time as the ban was lifted.

After they were gone, Aabyn put out a decree to destroy all Reltic and Tanzan literature within the realm of Telby and he forced every resident associated with either group out of the realm. His armies, which included Jarian warriors back then, drove the Tanzans and the Relts away.

Despite being a different nation, politically, the Tanzans shared many ancient texts with Jaria, as both were Kriite cultures. Shameful though it was, Jaria had assisted Telby in driving out a fellow Kriite nation.

Their departure was a catalyst for the Realm Wars. With the Relts and the Tanzans out of the picture, King Aabyn turned his attention to neighbouring realms like Tass, Ravra, Duuryn and Irin.

‘Did both Jaria and Lyth send warriors to help King Aabyn?’
Rekala queried.

‘Just Jaria,’
I replied,
‘and it was one of the few times in history that the two wild Rada nations haven’t stood together. Thousands of Jarians died for the cause, not because they weren’t formidable warriors, but because of the dire situations they were sent into. Every Rada pair is arguably worth a dozen ordinary warriors because they can change shape to suit the circumstances of the fight. Like all Kriites, Jarians prefer peace, but when called to war, our warriors are adept at killing. As for the Rada-kin, even if they do not slay an enemy outright, animal bites often lead to death later on.’

I straightened her forelock and scratched behind one ear when I sensed that she had an itch there.

‘Was Telby successful in its campaigns?’
she asked.

‘Yes, but it didn’t last long. After much bloodshed and bribery, Tass, Ravra, Duuryn and Irin were defeated, their monarchs slain, and regents left in their place. King Aabyn had control of their lands and produce, their laws and customs, their riches, their armies and their lives.’

‘And what did Jaria gain from all this?’
she wanted to know.

‘For a time it enjoyed the wealth and status of being a favoured ally of the king’s,’
I replied,
‘but, ultimately, it gained nothing.’

‘Why did they support Telby, which wasn’t even a Kriite nation?’
she asked.

‘We believe all nations were once Kriite, if you look back far enough,’
I answered.
‘My father had always encouraged the Jarians to support King Aabyn, who was a friend of his. As King Aabyn’s territory expanded, Telby became the most powerful realm in all of Chryne, and the tyranny of its ruler was revealed. Aabyn’s heart had never been in tune with the will of Krii, no matter what my father thought—he desired nothing but revenge, riches and glory
.

‘His greed brought much suffering to the less fortunate, and even some of the noble families fell on hard times. King Aabyn made plenty of enemies for himself, so it was not surprising he fell to his death on a climbing expedition in the Kiayr Ranges
.

‘When his spoiled younger brother, Flale, took over, a number of regents revolted. The Jarians were again called to help in two senseless battles. Poor warfare on the new king’s part led to most of them being killed.’

‘My eyes are being opened to this human world of yours,’
Rekala told me.
‘Though I’m not so sure I want to know any more. So many lives, so much suffering.’