The Third Apprentice (6 page)

Rounding a wide
cluster of trees, he moved with silent speed. Staying low, he peered into the
distance. Ahead of him, he spied Taren dangling within a net that was affixed
to a tree branch. He did not appear to be injured. Zamna shook his head,
realizing that the foolish mage must have wandered into a trap while collecting
some plant. Two tall women with broad shoulders stood near him, clutching
spears in their hands. Zamna readied his daggers and kept quiet. If Taren
managed to survive this, he would have to have a serious talk with him about
watching where he was going.

Taren squirmed as
the women approached, their weapons at the ready. He could tell by the
surprised looks on their faces that they hadn’t intended to catch a person. The
trap must have been laid for some animal, but Taren had stepped inside it like
a fool. With all his attention focused on the kudzu, he had failed to notice
his surroundings. Now the question was, what would these women do with him?

They stepped closer
to the net, allowing Taren a better view. They were large women, taller and
more muscular than any he had ever seen. They were dressed in leather clothing
with fur trim. Their faces were decorated with stripes and swirls of brownish
paint, their short-cropped hair sticking out in all directions.

“Greetings,” Taren
called out, hoping not to make enemies. “I seem to have stumbled upon some
trouble.” He tried to hide the nervousness from his voice. Rather than assume
these women meant to do him harm, he would act as if they were any other
passersby.

The two women
looked at each other and lowered their spears. “What are you doing here?” one
of them asked. “No one travels through this forest but our own kind.”

From his position,
Zamna could hear every word. He hoped Taren would not reveal too much
information to these strangers.

“I was just passing
through,” Taren replied. “Would you be so kind as to cut me loose?” The only
spell he could think of to release himself from the ropes involved fire, and he
had no desire to light the forest ablaze. Also, performing magic with these two
as witnesses could be dangerous. He had no idea how they might react to a
wizard. For now, at least, he would keep his profession a secret.

“Do you have a
weapon?” the woman asked.

“No,” Taren
responded truthfully. His magic didn’t truly qualify as a weapon. He’d never
been in a fight, and he’d already proved himself a subpar hunter.

The woman who had
spoken looked to her companion for approval before drawing out a long, serrated
knife. Zamna tensed as he saw the blade but remained hidden in the underbrush.
Observing her movements, he could tell she meant Taren no harm. She reached
high above him, cutting the rope which held the net to the branch. Taren
plopped to the ground with a thud.

“Thanks,” he said,
rubbing a hand against his backside. Untangling himself from the ropes, he
worked himself free while the women watched, their faces displaying curiosity. Climbing
to his feet, he extended a hand toward them.

The two looked at
each other once again and did not return the gesture. A handshake was not part
of their vocabulary. “You come with us,” the second woman said. “You can
explain to the Matriarch why you’re intruding in our land.”

“Certainly,” Taren
replied, glancing over his shoulder. He saw no sign of Zamna, who was still
crouched in the thick brush. The women waited for him to walk between them
where they could keep him in their sights. With their spears at the ready, they
led him eastward.

Zamna followed
close behind, maintaining a silent distance from the women. As long as they
were unaware of his presence, he would have the advantage should he need to
rescue his companion.

T
he village lay only a few miles away to the
east. The women moved with ease through the thick forest, their pace much
faster than Taren could manage. He found himself constantly tripping over the
many obstacles littering the forest floor. Several times, the women stopped and
waited for him to regain his footing before proceeding.

Zamna moved in silence, easily able to match the
speed of the women. He kept a low profile, intending to remain hidden until some
necessity forced him to reveal himself.

As they reached a clearing, Taren could see the
small village situated just ahead. It was completely surrounded by trees, shielding
it from the prying eyes of any who might pass by. The women led him between two
carved wooden poles featuring dozens of different faces, each painted with
bright colors and wearing a grim expression. The bulging eyes and protruding
teeth usually meant one thing: death.

The village was filled with small, round huts
crafted from native wood. Each hut was covered by a thatched roof, and the
doorways were concealed by animal skins. Taren observed the women as they
stopped in their chores to turn and stare at him. No men could be seen among
them, and Taren wondered if they’d seen a male before. He stood at least a head
shorter than all of these women, which further added to the spectacle.

The women paused outside the largest hut in the
village. It stood at the easternmost edge, and two more carved poles stood on
either side of it. The door opening was traced with intricate swirling patterns
painted in blue. Most of the symbols were unknown to him, but he could clearly
make out the moon and stars among them. Likely a priestess lived inside.

One of the women placed a strong hand on Taren’s
shoulder to hold him in place, while the second went inside the hut. After a
short wait, the flap opened, and the woman stepped back outside.

“The Matriarch will see you,” she announced.
Holding open the door flap, she waited for Taren and the other woman to step
inside before entering herself.

A woman in a tall headdress fashioned out of twigs
and leaves sat cross-legged before a central pyre. The smoke rose to a single
round opening in the roof, leaving behind a soft woody scent. The dirt floors
were covered with a variety of animal skins, creating a soft cushion underfoot.
The walls were adorned with wreaths, crafted from materials similar to the
Matriarch’s headdress. Some of them featured colorful berries, and at least one
contained an assortment of feathers. Ritual items, no doubt. Taren hoped he
might be welcome in this village, where he might learn more about his
destination. These women obviously lived in peace with their surroundings, and
they might have knowledge they were willing to share.

From his position in the brush, Zamna could see
his companion being led inside the hut. He would not be able to hear anything
that occurred, and that unsettled him. Daring to move closer to the village, he
crept through the clearing and leaned his ear against the back of the hut. The
sound inside was muffled, but he could make out most of the words.
Unfortunately, he doubted he could intervene quickly enough should the
situation turn violent. He would have to make his way to the front of the hut
to gain entry, and there was little chance of doing so unnoticed. If he’d
wanted to free his companion, he should have done it while still in the woods.
Taren’s calm demeanor had convinced Zamna that he wasn’t in immediate danger.
After all, those women could have killed him while he was caught in their trap.
Instead, they had freed him and allowed him to walk alongside them to their
village.

The Matriarch reached both hands over the fire and
gestured them in a circular motion. Sweeping her hands through the smoke, she
lowered her head and drew the smoke over it. After repeating the process three
times, she looked up and observed the young man standing before her. “You are a
wizard,” she said, sensing his magical abilities. “What are you called?”

“My name is Taren,” he replied.

The Matriarch rose to her feet and approached him.
“You may call me Ursla,” she said. “We are the Sisters of Gy’dan. Tell me why
you have come here.”

Taren wasn’t sure how much he should reveal, but
if he wanted their help, it was probably best to be honest. “I was just passing
through,” he began. “I am journeying south on a mission for my master.”

“You are a servant?” Ursla asked.

“Of sorts, I suppose. Student would be a better
word for it.”

Ursla pursed her lips tightly, dissatisfied with
his explanation. “Where did you find this one?” she asked the women.

“He was caught in our net trap about four miles
west,” one of them said.

“I have searched his bags,” the second woman said.
“He has nothing except food and medicines.”

“No weapons?” Ursla asked, tilting her head to the
side.

The other women shook their heads, and Taren
smiled. “I wouldn’t be much good with it if you placed a weapon in my hands,”
he said. “I’m an herbalist.” He saw no need to mention any of his other magical
abilities. It was best to keep things simple.

“You perform magic on herbs?” Ursla asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied.

Ursla came closer and inspected him with her eyes.
“He is skinny, small,” she said. “The magic I sense in him is not a threat.
This man may walk among our kind.”

The two women bowed their heads, acknowledging the
Matriarch’s decision. They turned and exited the hut, leaving Taren alone with
Ursla.

“Does that mean I’m welcome here?” he asked.

“We will do you no harm,” she replied. “You may
partake of our food and drink.”

Taren took that as an invitation to make himself
at home. “Since we are trusting each other, I should mention that I have a
companion somewhere in the woods. I’m not sure where he’s gone. I haven’t seen
him since I trapped myself in your net.”

On hearing Taren’s words, Zamna decided it would
be all right to reveal himself. These women were not quick to condemn a person,
and they had easily accepted Taren into their village. He hoped they would do
the same for him. Taking in a deep breath, he rose from his crouched position
and proceeded to the front of the Matriarch’s hut. A red-haired woman spotted
him and shouted to her sisters. A dozen of them quickly surrounded him,
blocking his path of entry into the hut.

Hearing the commotion outside, the Matriarch
gestured for Taren to follow. She stepped outside and smiled at the sight of
Zamna. “Is this your missing companion?” she asked Taren.

“It is,” he said, his voice concerned. “Will they
harm him?”

“No,” she replied with a laugh. “They find him
beautiful.”

Zamna stood perfectly still, not bothering to hide
his discomfort as the women ran their hands along his scales. One of them
twirled a finger around the spikes adorning the sides of his head. They talked
among themselves in hushed tones, smiling and nodding their heads.

The Matriarch stepped forward, and the women
backed away respectfully. “It is long since we have had a lizard man in our
land,” she explained. “Many generations have passed. You are a creature of
legend from our tales.”

Zamna seemed less than flattered. “I’m no legend,”
he stated. “I might be a rarity around here, but there are plenty of my kind to
be found if you know where to look.” Being singled out as some mythical
creature did not appeal to him. Never before had he been fawned over by women.
Usually, those who were not of his race looked at him with either curiosity or
repulsion, not affection. These women were openly flirtatious, and it was
overwhelming. He much preferred to keep his distance from them.

“You are a sly lizard man to sneak into our
village unseen,” Ursla said.

With a sigh, Zamna replied, “I am a La’kertan.” He
objected to the term “lizard man,” as it lowered him to the same level as a
subhuman beast. “My name is Zamna.”

Ursla nodded approvingly. “Zamna and Taren will
stay here and feast with us tonight,” she announced.

The gathered women cheered. Taren was flattered by
their response, taking it as a sign of friendship. He moved next to Zamna and
smiled.

“You should do a better job of watching where
you’re going,” Zamna snapped.

“If I hadn’t stumbled into their net, we’d have
missed all this,” Taren said, indicating the village with his hand. “A tribe of
women living within the forest who think you are some sort of god.” Grinning,
he patted Zamna on his back.

“They never said I was a god,” he replied. “They
only said my kind were mentioned in their tales.”

“I wonder where the men are,” Taren wondered aloud.
“Surely they have males somewhere.”

“Maybe they ate them,” Zamna replied with a wicked
smile.

The women busied themselves preparing the evening
meal. A large stag was hoisted over a flame, and rounded cakes of dough were
baked inside clay ovens. The smells filled the two men’s nostrils, and their
stomachs rumbled in response. In a land with few visitors, they felt as if they
were guests of honor at a feast. A woman with red stripes painted on her face
brought them each a horn full of mead. She dared to give Zamna a quick kiss on
his cheek before returning to her work.

The sunset created a bright-orange hue that lit
the sky ablaze. The scent of roasting meat had grown so strong that Taren
wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait to eat. Luckily he wouldn’t have to
wait much longer. The first star appeared in the sky, signaling the women that
it was time to commence their evening meal. Along with their guests, they
formed a circle around the bonfire at the center of the village. The priestess
was given first choice of meat, and she invited her guests to join her.

Taren filled his wooden plate with strips of
venison and a second with a pile of fresh greens. Zamna followed suit, also
requesting a refill of mead. The women were happy to oblige and filled his
empty drinking horn to the brim. They sat upon log benches, enjoying the
bountiful meal before them as the stars continued to appear in the sky.

Ursla took a seat next to Taren, a bone covered
with meat in her hand. “How do you find our hospitality?” she asked.

Taren’s mouth was too full to respond, so he
nodded his head instead. Ursla seemed pleased with his response and smiled
before taking a few bites from her bone. There were many conversations taking
place at once, and the mixing of voices filled the air. The noise died down as
five women approached the fire and began to dance. They stomped their feet and
waved their arms, telling a story that was unfamiliar to the travelers. The
movements were graceful at times and harsh at others, conveying a range of
emotions through dance. The low beating of a single drum kept time, and the
audience remained quiet and still. When the dance concluded, the women stood in
silence with their heads bowed for a brief moment. After a suitable pause, the
crowd applauded and whistled.

Taren wondered if the women always danced alone.
In his homeland, he had never seen such a dance. Men and women danced together
at various functions, but he had never seen any dance that told a story.
Turning to Ursla, he asked, “What story did they tell?”

“It’s an ancient tale of wandering,” she replied.
“My people traveled far to find this land. Many souls were lost along the way,
but we have prospered since coming here.”

He could contain his curiosity no longer. “Where
are the men of your tribe?”

“They live separately from us,” she said. “It
works better that way. No fighting over mates. We hold a special feast once a
year to join with them. We trade, mate, and share information at that time.”

“I don’t see any children among you,” he remarked.

“A child lives with his mother for two years
before he is given to his father,” she explained. “The father teaches the child
strength and hunting. After that, our daughters are free to rejoin us here.
Boys remain with their fathers.”

The custom seemed strange to Taren, but it seemed
to work well for these people. He had no right to judge. His own upbringing had
been atypical by human standards, and he felt he’d turned out well.

“Now you can answer some questions for me,” Ursla
said. “Travelers rarely come into this land. Where is it you are going?”

Taren glanced at Zamna, who was still gnawing away
at the meat. He seemed not to have heard the question. Hoping his companion had
no objections, Taren decided to let the Matriarch know his true destination.
“We are traveling south to the tomb of Ailwen,” he stated.

Ursla stared at him in disbelief. At the mention
of the ancient sorceress’s name, many of the women ceased their conversations
and stared at him. Zamna had heard as well, waiting anxiously for a reply from
the Matriarch.

“Any information you could provide concerning the
road ahead would be appreciated,” Taren said, hoping to fill the awkward
silence.

Ursla continued to stare. “That land is cursed,”
she finally said.

Zamna leaned in, whispering in the mage’s ear.
“Careful what you say to them. We don’t know if they can be trusted.”

“They’ve been kind and generous with us so far,”
Taren replied quietly. “I see no reason to keep secrets.”

Zamna sat back and said nothing. He hoped Taren
was not making a mistake by divulging this information to the Sisters.

“If any of you know how to get inside the tomb,
I’m all ears,” Taren said nervously. “Perhaps the information is hidden in one
of your tales.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. The crowd was still staring at
him, and he could feel the redness creeping into his face.

“That land is cursed,” Ursla repeated. “We have
tales of Ailwen the Ancient. She is a being of pure evil.”

“She
was
a being of evil,” Taren corrected.
“She died centuries ago, so there’s little chance I’ll encounter her along the
way.”