Chapter 13: Daughter of Sunset

 

Daughter of the Sunset: Chapter 13

Who are you?

Skinner awoke with a start, the voice ringing in his mind with colors like sea mist sprayed from white capped waves. He could actually hear the tide slapping against rock. He rolled over and looked up at the dawn-kissed sky—and the eagline head of a griffon as it peered down at him.

Well? Are you going to tell me, or should I taste you for a name?

“Excuse me?” Skinner sat up, moaning as his muscles protested the previous night’s journey.

The griffon glared at him with flat black eyes. He began to study it intently, but it opened its beak and stepped toward him. Kandor was suddenly in his hand. He looked around, cringing at their proximity to a long drop into the luscious blue of Anandamere.

“Play nice,” he said tersely, edging around toward the relative safety of the cliff wall. The griffon snapped loudly at the head of his staff. He jerked it out of the way, feeling the griffon’s enormous beak brush the wood.

“Skinner,” he said quickly. “Okay. Skinner. That’s my name.”

You seem . . . uncomfortable . . . with heights.

“Only midway,” Skinner said, twitching his shoulders in a nervous shrug. “Fine at the top-and-bottom.”

Is it true that people taste like salmon? The voice tinkled with silver sprinkles of mist.

“That’s ridiculous!” Skinner laughed nervously. “Everyone knows we taste like chicken.”

Eagles don’t eat that kind of trash, let alone we far superior and majestic races. The sparkles were silver and gold mixed, vibrant and gorgeous.

“Trash!” Skinner feigned affront. “Us or the chickens?”

Put a large population of each into any closed space and they act about the same.

“That’s precisely why I spend so much time alone,” Skinner nodded, grinning hugely.

Your friend is on the southern shore, learning to use his gifts as Shakti wishes.

“Use his gifts . . .” Skinner scowled, trying to figure out the implications from the series of pictures and sensations the griffon used to communicate.

“You got a name?” he asked briskly.

Breena-Ree. You may call me the Daughter of Sunset. The sparkles coalesced into a wave of silver capped royal blue wrapped in soft sunset pastels.

“Daughter of Sunset,” he bowed, moaning again as his muscles protested. “If you have no further need of me, I believe I should get back and—”

I have no need, her voice was calm blue now. Shakti, however, has requested that I deliver you to the Vurhk.

“The Vurhk?” Skinner gaped at her. “Why the Vurhk? They despise roundears.”

You assume that others have told you truths. However, the Vurhk may . . .

His inner vision swam with images of slaughter and emotions too severe to put words to. He put his hands over his ears and knelt, overwhelmed with what he witnessed. He caught glimpses of men in armor and trolls with great stone weapons, varhi and dhari slain en masse, arrows buzzing through the air among rocky hills, a black drastyn, and more death than he could bear. He fainted.

My apologies, Breena’s voice awoke him like a spray of cold water. He puzzled over his memory of what just happened. He had felt a surge of glee somewhere deep inside himself. Almost as though some part of him fed on mayhem or misery or death or gore. He shook his head to clear it and stood up.

“To the Vurhk, then,” he said, his jaw set. She knelt before him to enable him to mount. He hesitated only a moment, seeing that there was no harness.

Use your sorcery. Breena assured him.

After an initial bout of motion sickness that climaxed in a surge of dry heaves, he learned to keep his seat with some measure of near-comfort. His stomach ached all the way to the Vurhk. Mostly from hunger, other times from the strained clenching of his retching fit.

Some of your kind settled a port on the eastern shore, Breena informed him as they flew among the high drafts. I will land you in the nearby forest so that you may obtain that which you need. Though I would choose to begin our struggle with greatest haste, I am no match for dragon nor sylsche. So we will wing from the forest when the moon sets so that we arrive at the Vurhk for sunrise.

“What am I to do at the Vurhk?” Skinner asked, using sorcery to make himself heard over the wind. “I am only one—”

One with some influence and no little sorcery. Breena’s awe, palpable in his connection with her, brought a blush to Skinner’s face; he shook his head as though to deny any great skill. You will need weapons of war—and it would not be altogether unwelcome were you to persuade the Vurkhatans to help their brothers of the Vurhk.

“Who’s going to listen to me?” Skinner bellowed. “I need to know more before I can plan this right.”

There is no time for planning, she sighed in deep violet hues. It is time for action. Shakti assures me that you are sufficient to save the last house of Vurhk.

“Save the last house . . . What?”

He grew more weary as they neared what was now Vurkhatan, a port city built around the landing Skinner’s refugees had built on their arrival from Diahlar. Breena’s news was nearly unbearable. Urialla of Diahlar had gone to the extreme of outlawing dhari, and then had entered into an alliance with some unknown force which was now systematically wiping out the clan-states of the Vurhk. Breena and her kin had offered assistance, but the dhari of the Vurhk—the ‘houses’ as Breena called them—stubbornly refused to leave their home.

Breena alit out of sight of the city of Vurhkatan a few hours before sunset. Cramped and furious, Skinner dismounted and paced the clearing she had found to work the kinks out of his muscles, trying to get a grip on his own feelings about the Diahlar armies.

“I’m going to raise an army,” he said quietly to the griffon. “You go on ahead and tell them to fight with the strategies I explained to you. Tell them to expect help. And to avoid the drastyn . . .”

Raising an army may take too long, Breena was urgent, almost fearful.

“Pitting myself against an army is just foolish.” He cursed vociferously, realizing his own lack of currency. “An army with a drastyn is suicide. And besides, I detest bloodshed.”

You would permit the eradication of a race to save your precious pride from bloodguilt? She was genuinely furious, scalding in her self-righteous indignation.

“Never,” he bit the word out as though he could swallow the possibility.

“Go now,” he patted the griffon’s shoulder affectionately. “I’ll be there by sundown the day after tomorrow. One way or another.”

Do not disappoint my trust. She sprang into the air and flew away east.

Reviews

[Rois]

This is extremely interesting. For a newcomer to your work the vhurks and drastyn can easily be mixed up but I think this would not be a problem for a reader starting at the first chapter. I really liked the names you chose for the characters. Shakti, Breena, and Skinner conjure up clear images although there is not much physical description in this particular chapter. I would probably think about reworking the 'sprinkles of mist' as a description for the griffon's voice. I would also make a few changes to Breena's tone. A formal tone requires perfect word selection. I think, for example, that alternatives to DNDMT could be "Do not disappoint me" or "I hope that my trust in you is not misplaced." I really enjoyed your piece overall and will certainly read other chapters.