Excerpt: Between the Heavens and Earth

Dirt crunched between his teeth and the taste of mother earth coated his tongue. Rhys lifted his head far enough to spit some of the grit from his mouth. With effort he looked around, his blurry eyes making out lush green vegetation and little more. Various sounds told him he wasn’t alone, though. There were others nearby. He twisted his neck, trying to see them. The movement brought the bonds on his hands and feet to his attention as the rope tightened around his neck, making breathing difficult. He relaxed his pose and regained a minimal level of comfort.

His thoughts felt disjointed and hollow. Memories faded in and out of consciousness. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force them into a coherent string of images. They had been attacked. Ambushed in their sleep. But they had been left with a warning to return to their homes. The Maaherian warriors had left them injured but alive, alone in the darkness.

He had saved Channing from the poison dart.

Had that been the reason for their return? Had his use of magic somehow provoked them into another attack?

Questions began building one on top of the other. He wondered if he had been the only one to survive the poison. He wondered how and why it’s paralytic properties had been blunted. Channing had been rendered immobile, unable to blink. If it had gone unchecked, Rhys felt certain his friend’s heart and lungs would have ceased to work, releasing his Ka from the earthly confines of his body.

Small, leather-shod feet slipped into his line of vision, blocking out everything else. He tried to lift his eyes above the woman’s knee, but found the rope would not allow it. He dropped his forehead onto the ground.

“Which god do you call Father?” Dahra asked, her voice cold.

It seemed he had guessed right. The healing he had performed on Channing had made them attack once more. Just as he and his men had suspected, they had not been left alone. The Maaherians had watched them from beond the edges of the firelight.

She poked him with what he thought might be a stick. “I asked you a question, god-kin.”

Her distain, delivered in that simple address, reverberated through his skull. The headache he had been trying to ignore grew into an annoying pressure behind his eyes and at the base of his skull. He might have been able to alleviate the tension if he had been allowed any mobility. “My people are descendents of Oryn.”

“Oryn is the enemy of Runne and, as such, is the sworn enemy of the Maaherians,” Dahra said, as if his admission had been just the condemnation she had expected. “So what are you really doing here, child of Oryn?”

Rhys wished he could have looked her in the eye. Gauging her mood, the effect of his words upon her, might have given him an idea of how to proceed. He struggled to remember what he had already told her, aware that any deviation from his original story would not bode well for him or his men.

If his men still lived.

“Trade. Commerce. If you’re people hadn’t been here, which you obviously are, we would have looked for something profitable.”

“Like what?”

He didn’t like the edge in her voice.

Keeping his wits about him was difficult with the building headache and the screaming protest of aching muscles. How long had been trussed like this? His back, neck, and legs were beginning to cramp.

Rhys tried to think past his body’s discomfort. He had to make their landing appear as far from an invasion as he could. “I don’t know. No one from my land has set foot here in hundreds of years.”

“Your words make no sense.”

He tried to keep the irritation from his voice. “Well, I can tell you that the trees of this forest are worth a small fortune. We don’t have an abundance of trees where I come from.”

“You would desecrate our land,” she said. He imagined the horror in her voice was mirrored by her expression.

Feeling as if every word he uttered was a strike against him, Rhys decided to say nothing more on the subject. He had answered her question.

“We should kill them,” another woman said, a voice he didn’t recognize.

Rhys held his breath as he awaited Dahra’s response. While part of him rejoiced to learn his men still lived, he could not celebrate when their lives hung in the balance.
Dahra stood and walked away, her absence allowing what little sunlight filtered through the thick forest canopy to warm him. He could not track her movement. Like a disembodied spirit she moved skillfully and silently across the forest floor, failing to disturb fern or leaf.

“I agree with Astree,” another said.

“Me, too,” Kachyna agreed. “If we let them go, you’ve heard what they would do to our land.”

Rhys decided silence might be just as dangerous as speaking. “No, we wouldn’t. Now that we know your kind still exists, we’ll leave you in peace.”

“He lies.”

General murmurs of agreement spread out in all directions. Rhys counted at least five different voices calling for their death. Only Dahra’s uncertainty stayed their eager hands. “We should take them to the Shaman. Let him pry what secrets he can from their lips.”

“You would expose our people to such a risk?” Kachyna said, her voice raised in challenge.

A brief silence preceded Dahra’s response. “No, I wouldn’t. The Shaman can come to us. We’ll secure them here.”

Ramses released his breath, grateful for the reprieve.

“Kachyna, you’re the fastest runner here. Go, fetch the Shaman.”

“And if he’s gone when I arrive?”

“Then wait for him to return,” Dahra snapped, the first sign of irritation coloring her cool tones. “If he wishes to scold me when he gets here, so be it, but right now, I’m in charge. Go.”

Rhys wondered how long it would take Kachyna to reach their Shaman, who if memory served, was the equivalent of a high priest or priestess. If it took Kachyna and the Shaman long enough to return, Aballach and Baltair would become concerned and begin to search for Rhys and his men.

Of course, the likelihood of Aballach or Baltair successfully tracking Rhys and his men through the rain forest, was unlikely. The Maaherians would have covered their tracks, making pursuit impossible.

Face pressed against the aromatic earth, Rhys realized their disappearance would give his mother and father the only excuse needed to launch a full-scale invasion. He only hoped he and his men would live long enough to be rescued. The Maaherians’ eagerness to dispatch them into the afterlife did not bode well for an extended captivity.