Lord Marak slept well despite the feeling that he was a prisoner. He rose early and stumbled out of the tent to find the village already busy. The guard at his hut did not acknowledge his leaving nor did he try to stop him. Lord Marak wandered over to the Leader’s tent and found Kyata outside with the Shaman, Ukaro.
“I hope the morning breaks well with the Lord of the Torak,” greeted Kyata.
“Good morning,” mumbled Lord Marak. “Yes, I slept well.”
“I think our young warrior is a creature of the night, not the morning,” smiled Ukaro. “Come, join us for the morning meal.”
Lord Marak sat down and was served a plate of very large eggs and a pair of tiny legs, probably squirrel. The aroma was tantalizing and Lord Marak dug into his food with a hunger that had not been fed enough during the last two days. Again, he had the sensation of being watched but this time he didn’t even bother to look and find his hosts staring at him.
“I have sent a messenger to the Kywara,” offered Kyata. “He will inform Tmundo that you are here with us. Your people might become worried.”
“That was very thoughtful of you,” Lord Marak responded as he wondered what questions the messenger was sent to ask Tmundo.
“It was the least we could do for a friend of the Chula,” smiled Kyata. “What are your plans for the future? Will you battle with the Situ?”
“That will depend on Lord Ridak,” answered Lord Marak warily. “I prefer to solve my differences verbally, but I am prepared to battle if necessary.”
“Do you use magic in your battles?” queried Ukaro.
Lord Marak nearly choked on the tiny leg. “Magic?” he echoed. “What type of magic do you mean?”
“The only type of magic you flatlanders know,” chuckled Ukaro. “Certainly, I was not referring to Chula magic. You said your mother was a mage. I just wondered if you used any of that type of magic in your battles.”
Lord Marak put his food down and stared at the Shaman. “I do not wish to be rude,” Lord Marak stiffened, “but what type of game are we playing here?”
“I do not understand your hostility,” shrugged Ukaro. “I am trying to make polite conversation. Is not this the way of flatlanders? Or do you still consider us potential enemies?”
“I am not referring to your interrogation of my battle tactics,” snapped Lord Marak. “I said my mother was a slave. I never said she was a mage. I ask, again, what type of game are we playing?”
“Forgive my brother’s poor manners,” consoled Kyata. “We wish to know more about you and your family than you have offered us. Torak holds very special significance for the Chula. Ukaro sometimes thinks he is clever and is able to gain information from people with his cleverness. There was no harm intended. Tell us about your mother.”
“I am sorry,” apologized Lord Marak. “You have extended me help when I needed it badly and I have responded poorly to your curiosity. My mother is a Soil Mage. We moved to Lituk Valley when I was six years old. Lord Ridak made my mother a slave and forced her into the fields. When I came of age, I joined the Army. I was not permitted to talk with her again. I think she handled her situation better than I did. I almost became a slave myself because I broke the rules and talked to her one night.” Marak subconsciously reached into his shirt and felt his necklace as he remembered that evening. It was the only time she had ever hit him.
“She loved my father dearly,” Lord Marak continued. “For a while I hated my father because he never came to rescue my mother, but that night she explained to me that he thought she was dead. I made her a promise that night to get her out of Lituk Valley.”
“A promise you obviously kept,” praised Kyata. “Did she give you the necklace we saw last night?”
Lord Marak realized then that it was when he removed his shirt that the Zatong’s moods had changed. Rykoma Kywara had also expressed an interest in his necklace. “Yes,” answered Lord Marak. “She said it was all she had left of my father and that I should wear it always. I know this necklace means something to the Chula. Rykoma Kywara also expressed an interest in it. Why?”
“In a moment,” Kyata answered. “What . . . “
“Her name?” interrupted Ukaro. “What is your mother’s name?”
Lord Marak looked from the Leader to the Shaman. “Glenda,” Lord Marak replied. “Her name is Glenda. Why are you so interested . . . ?“
Lord Marak stopped when his eyes landed on Ukaro. The Shaman had tears running freely down his cheeks. His jaw was rigid and his teeth were clenched. His hands, which had nails that were sharp like claws, were raking his forearms and leaving bloody trails. Kyata stood and placed his hand gently on Ukaro’s shoulder. He gave a sad look to Lord Marak and turned to leave. Lord Marak started to rise also, to leave the Shaman to deal with whatever was bothering him, but Kyata shook his head and Lord Marak sat back down.
“Perhaps you have some healing powers of your own, Lord Marak,” Kyata said gently. “Stay and keep Ukaro company, nephew.”
Lord Marak looked after Kyata as he left and then the words struck him like a hammer blow between the shoulders. He looked at his necklace and, for the first time, saw the same necklace around Ukaro’s neck. It finally dawned on Lord Marak why his father had only come to Forest Deep to see his family occasionally. Few of the flatlanders would have accepted a woman with a Chula husband. The Chula might not have accepted a Shaman with a flatlander wife, either. Marak thought his punishment in life had been bad and his mother’s unbearable, but what Ukaro must have felt for the last fourteen years could only be described as torturous.
He looked across the fire at the father he had never known and did not know how to react. Finally, he stood up and walked around the fire and sat next to his father and put his arm around him. Lord Marak could not think of any words to console the grief of a lifetime. The Shaman, Ukaro, looked up at the son whose growing up he had sorely missed and hugged him. For a long time father and son sat soundlessly with their arms wrapped around each other. Marak thought back to the night his mother had slapped him and mentally kicked himself for his arrogance and stupidity. He had presumed that his father did not care enough to rescue him and his mother. Now he knew that his father would have done anything, killed anyone, to get his family back. That was why Glenda had someone tell Ukaro that she was dead. It was the only way she could think of to save him from destroying himself.
Ukaro finally broke the embrace and held Marak at arms length. “Has she remarried?” he asked.
“No,” smiled Marak. “She has no interest in other men. You are still her love. She speaks of you every time we talk, but she never told me who you are. I think she fears that you are dead and is afraid to be told so. You must come to Fardale.”
Ukaro shook his head sadly. “Look at me, Son,” the Shaman said. “Are your people so enlightened that they will accept someone who looks like me?”
“Do my ears deceive me?” scolded Marak. “Is the Head Shaman of the Zatong afraid of what flatlanders think? I rule Fardale and the people will accept what I accept . . . and I accept you as you are. Do not throw another day away, Father. You have been separated from Mother for too long. Or do you have someone else?”
“Someone else?” blustered Ukaro. “You impudent, young flatlander. Didn’t your mother give you any sense at all? There is no one like Glenda.”
“Then it is settled,” laughed Marak. “You will return to Fardale with me.”
“I shall,” promised Ukaro, “but I would like to go by way of Lituk Valley.”
“No, Father!” exclaimed Marak. “Lord Ridak is not worth the effort. I will deal with him in my own way.”
“Not worth the effort?” queried Ukaro. “The man has stolen fourteen years of my life. He has enslaved my wife and made my son a stranger. Not worth the effort? You have some things to learn about the way of the Chula, Son. Lord Ridak will wish for death for a long time, but it will elude him. I promise you that.”
“I will not accept that promise, Father,” Marak declared stubbornly. “Your time is better spent with those who have missed you for fourteen years, not the man who stole them. Let us not argue over Lord Ridak. I think he will be coming to Fardale soon, anyway. If you are there, we will both have an opportunity to deal with him.”
“Very well,” agreed Ukaro. “We will discuss this further after we have rejoined your mother. Let me inform Kyata that I will be leaving, then we will spend the day together until your friend arrives. I think he will be a guest of the Zatong for a while if he is hurt as badly as you described.”
“Will that be a problem?” asked Marak.
“No,” smiled Ukaro. “Nothing is a problem for the son of the Head Shaman and the nephew of the Leader.”
* * *
“It looks like an entire Corte,” whispered the bandit leader. “I wonder if this speaks ill of Lord Marak?”
“I don’t think so,” replied the other bandit. “If it was an attack, they would send more than a Corte. I think they are looking for Lord Marak and that means he has eluded them.”
“I hope you are right,” stated the bandit leader. “Still, you will ride to Fardale and alert Lord Marshal Yenga. I do not know how far they will go and if they reach Fardale, we should have someone waiting for them.”
The other bandit saluted and ran for his horse. The bandit leader looked off in the distance at the approaching army and hoped his companion was right. He would not feel good about the situation until he saw Lord Marak return.
* * *
Tmundo, Leader of the Kywara, gazed at the woman brought before him. “Why are you here, flatlander?” Tmundo asked. “Lord Marak has promised that our lands would not be trespassed upon.”
The woman met the gaze of the Chula Leader and returned it, measure for measure. “I have come to talk with the mighty Leader of the Kywara,” the woman stated defiantly. “Is your time so valuable that you can not spare any for me?”
“Such impertinence for a woman,” smiled Tmundo. “Why do I get the feeling that your words can cut as deeply as my sword? I will spare you time to ask your questions, but you must deliver my disappointment to Lord Marak for the behavior of his people.”
“I am as much your people as his,” rebuffed the woman. “You have no claim over this land which I can not match.”
“Who is this woman whose tongue lashes stronger than a viper’s?” chuckled Rykoma.
“I am Glenda Torak,” the woman declared proudly, “mother of Marak Torak and wife of Ukaro Zatong.”
“I knew I had seen that necklace before,” beamed Rykoma.
“This explains much about Lord Marak,” agreed Tmundo. “I knew he was too good to be a flatlander and your vision of him as the Torak confused me. I could not understand how a flatlander could fulfil our prophecy. Now it all makes sense. What can I do for you, mother of Marak, wife of Ukaro?”
“You can tell me if Ukaro still lives,” Glenda asked.
“As of a year ago, he did,” Rykoma answered. “Since then, I do not know.”
Glenda’s eyes dampened as she sat down next to the fire pit. She finally got up the nerve to ask the question that had been eating at her for years and now she didn’t know what to do with the answer. “Is he . . . has he taken another wife?”
“That is a question I can definitely answer,” smiled Rykoma. “Ukaro chose his mate for life. Not your life, Glenda, . . . his life. Ukaro would not remarry though he could have his choice of women. He is the Head Shaman of the Zatong.”
“Head Shaman?” mused Glenda with a twinkle in her moist eyes. “I always knew he had talent.”
Tmundo signaled and a woman brought a bowl of water and mug of Kywara wine and handed it to Glenda. Glenda savored the aroma of blackberries as she sipped the wine and remembered the first mug of blackberry wine she had shared with Ukaro.
“Would you like me to send a message to him?” offered Rykoma. “He will be delighted to hear you are alive.”
“I don’t know,” confessed Glenda. “I had convinced myself he was dead or remarried. It was the only way I could bear my slavery. Now that I know, I feel wonderful for him, but I am not sure that I want him to know about me.”
“Why not?” asked Tmundo. “What reason could you possibly have for hiding from him?”
“I was a young woman when I sent the message to Ukaro that I was dead,” replied Glenda. “I am no longer the same woman. Ukaro would feel obligated to me and that is not fair to him. I just had to know about him. You understand?”
“No,” answered Rykoma, “but I have never understood women.”
Tmundo was silent. He understood only too well. He knew what the flatlander Lords did to their slave women. They broke their bodies as well as their spirit. They robbed them of their pride and their security and filled them with hopelessness. He also knew what Ukaro’s obligation would be when he learned what had really happened to his wife. Tmundo knew that Glenda also realized what her discovery would mean. By letting her husband find out she is still alive, she might be sending him to his death.
“We will honor your decision whatever it is,” stated Tmundo. “We can have a messenger to the Zatong in less than a day. Tell us what you wish and we shall do whatever we can to satisfy it.”
“I don’t know what I want,” cried Glenda. “I mean, I know what I want, but I don’t think I can have it. What can you tell me of Ukaro? What is he like now?”
“He is the same Ukaro I knew many years ago,” stated Rykoma, “although since you died . . . since you were taken, he has become very bitter and intolerant of flatlanders. He is still stronger than a wasooki and twice as stubborn.”
“He was always stubborn,” laughed Glenda. “He was always strong, too. I would love to see him. I have heard that the Chula mages can make people invisible. Is it possible to do that to me so that I could see him without revealing myself?”
“No,” answered Rykoma. “We can not make people invisible. What the stories refer to is a state that a Shaman passes through during transformation. During a body transformation, the Shaman ceases to be visible for a short period. The period can be willfully extended for up to ten minutes by one who is skilled and powerful, but no Shaman has the ability to do that to someone else.”
“Thank you, Tmundo, Rykoma,” sighed Glenda. “I have taken too much of your time already. You have answered my questions.”
Tmundo reached out and gently took Glenda’s arm. “Stay with us for a while,” he proposed. “My heart breaks with the sadness in your eyes. Give us time to talk about this problem. Maybe a solution can be found which can help heal your wounds.”
“I did not tell anyone I was coming here,” advised Glenda. “They might get worried.”
“No one will miss you for a short while,” offered Rykoma.
A Chula messenger arrived in the village and came directly towards Tmundo. “Greetings, Kywara Leader,” stated the messenger.
“Greetings to you, Zatong,” returned Tmundo. “How fares your Head Shaman?”
The messenger blinked at the departure from the ritual greeting, but quickly regained his composure. “Shaman Ukaro is well, Leader Tmundo,” answered the messenger. “He sends news that Lord Marak is with the Zatong. He wishes you to inform the flatlanders so they do not worry needlessly.”
“Shaman Ukaro is a wise Shaman,” smiled Tmundo. “Rest and be cared for, Zatong. See me before you leave. I may have a return message.”
The messenger nodded and trotted off. Tmundo looked at Glenda and smiled. “Your husband is alive and well, Glenda.”
“What is Marak doing there?” worried Glenda. “I heard that he had left the estate, but I did not think he would even know how to find Ukaro.”
“I wonder if they know about each other?” posed Rykoma. “That would certainly make your decision for you, Glenda.”
Tmundo shot a look at Rykoma which caused the Shaman to silence his mouth. “It is something to consider,” Tmundo sighed. “Both of them are intelligent and if Lord Marak still wears the necklace, Ukaro will notice it.”
“Great,” cried Glenda. “Then both of them can run off to Lituk Valley and get killed.”
The messenger was back already and overheard the last statement. “Lord Marak has already been to Lituk Valley,” he declared. “He came to the Zatong for a healer for one of his men. One called Rybak.”
“Men!” cried Glenda. “You are all crazy! Must a man have a death wish to be a man?”
Rykoma shook his head, but Tmundo touched the arm of the messenger. “You have not rested long enough, Zatong. I ask you to refresh yourself longer.”
The messenger dutifully nodded and trotted off again. “Glenda, I would like to send a message back to Ukaro,” stated Tmundo. “I want to tell Ukaro that he is needed here immediately. I will ask him to come here without detour. Once he is here, I will help you to convince him not to go to Lituk Valley. It saddens my heart to see so much woe between people who belong together. If you do not let him know about you, he may still seek his vengeance. The best way to avoid that is for you to reunite with him.”
“Why would he even want me back?” sobbed Glenda. “I am not the innocent woman he married. Seeing me will only drive him mad.”
“I disagree,” interrupted Rykoma after finally figuring out what Glenda’s hesitation was all about. “You are a fool if you think anything would change Ukaro’s love for you. The last time I met him, you had been dead for thirteen years. He still would not even think of another woman. Can you honestly believe that the actions of another man would affect his love for you? I have admitted that I don’t understand women, but you, Glenda, do not understand men. The only problem you will have with Ukaro is keeping him away from you.”
“And what about your son?” asked Tmundo. “Does he not have the right to finally find his father? Can you deny Marak that pleasure when the path he takes brings him closer to death every day?”
Glenda stopped sobbing and looked up at the mention of Marak. “I told Marak to name his clan Torak,” she admitted. “Ukaro often spoke of the prophecy and wished his son would be the one. What will he think when I tell him of that?”
“He will rejoice,” smiled Tmundo. “I wondered where Marak got the name. It makes sense now. What you are unaware of is that he is the Torak. Rykoma had the vision. Your son . . . Ukaro’s son is the Torak. I have already presented the Sword of Torak to him not two nights ago.”
“You are serious?” questioned Glenda. “He is really the Torak?”
“Yes, Glenda,” declared Rykoma. “My vision was indisputable. You can not expect to hide the Torak from a Zatong Shaman. Ukaro will know soon if he does not already. Let Tmundo call for him to come here without delay. Do not live in confusion any longer. Know the truth and accept it, whatever it is.”
Glenda’s resolve strengthened and she nodded her head. “Send the message, Tmundo,” she decided. “I shall wait with you for his arrival.”
* * *
Lord Marshal Yenga turned from the bandit and called Lectain Zorkil. “I want four Cortes ready to ride in five minutes,” ordered the Lord Marshal. “I want one from each Clan. We have a Corte of Situ heading this way. I suspect they are looking for Lord Marak. I want them captured or killed, preferably captured. Do not let a single one of them escape.”
“Why one from each Clan?” asked Lectain Zorkil.
“Confusion, Lectain,” smiled Lord Marshal Yenga. “If they fear attack from one Clan, they may seek solace with another. It will help control the situation quicker.”
Lectain Zorkil saluted and turned to assemble the men. Within a few minutes he had the men mounted and heading east. He immediately issued orders for the four Cortes to split up and explained the goal of the mission. Each of the Cortains nodded his understanding and the Cortes grew distant from one another.
Lectain Zorkil stayed with the Fardale Corte who were outfitted in their new black and silver uniforms and commanded by Cortain Tagoro. Tagoro’s Corte had already served terms as bandits and knew the countryside well. He chose a spot, which afforded a long view of the trail into Fardale. It was high ground and Lectain Zorkil could clearly see the placement of the other three Cortes although they would not be visible to someone on the trail. They did not have long to wait as the green and yellow Situ Corte came cautiously into view. The Situ were not in a hurry and the men appeared to be leery of their close proximity to Fardale.
Lectain Zorkil waited until the Situ column had passed and then waved a black and silver flag in the air. Cortain Tagoro already had his Corte heading down the slope to seal off the rear of the Situ column. Lectain Zorkil waited until he saw the other three Cortes moving before he stood high in his saddle and shouted. His voice echoed and reverberated off the hills and he smiled when he saw the Situ Corte halt and stare up into the hills. Lectain Zorkil continued shouting and waving his Torak flag until they spotted him. His purpose was to halt the column while his men got into position and he smiled as he saw them do just that.
Confusion reigned in the Situ column when one of the riders pointed to the Ragatha Corte ahead of them blocking the trail. The Situ Cortain was torn between attacking the Ragatha Corte and retreating when another shout broke out from the North. The Situ turned and were puzzled to see a Corte of Sorgan troops off to their right. Lectain Zorkil turned his horse and headed down the slope towards the Situ Cortain as he heard a shout from the Litari. He could almost picture the Situ column looking off to their left at the Litari Clansmen.
Just before he entered the trail, Lectain Zorkil heard the shout from Cortain Tagoro and knew that the Situ were surrounded. Lectain Zorkil stared at the Situ Cortain as he rode slowly and purposely towards him. The Situ Cortain rode towards Zorkil and they met at the side of the trail.
“What is going on here, Lectain?” asked the Situ Cortain. “What Clan are your colors? They are not familiar to me.”
“They will be, Cortain,” Lectain Zorkil prophesized. “They are the colors of the Torak Clan. The Clan of Lord Marak.”
“Lord Marak?” questioned the Situ Cortain. “He is a Situ and he is wanted.”
“You are mistaken on one point, Cortain,” smiled Lectain Zorkil. “He is no longer a Situ, but he is wanted. He is wanted by each of the four Cortes surrounding you. All four of these Clans owe allegiance to Lord Marak. Instruct your men to abandon their weapons and they will get to live and swear allegiance to Lord Marak. Refuse and they will die, to the man.”
“All four Clans owe allegiance to Lord Marak?” questioned the Cortain. “How is that possible?”
“With Lord Marak, everything is possible,” laughed Lectain Zorkil. “Make your choice, Cortain. I have been instructed to accept your surrender if you offer it, but I am only going to listen up ‘til the time the first weapon is drawn. The choice is your to make . . . now.”
The Cortain turned and surveyed the four Cortes surrounding him. Knowing that not one of his men would survive, the Cortain ordered his men to abandon their weapons.