Stormrider

By P. A. Bechko

Stormrider, young woman Janissary, quests for justice and peace on her rebellion-torn world, several continents away from what she considers home, and for the missing Amulet that can choose the leader of the worlds in concert. Stormrider is in her prime, trained like few others, strong and independent, when she is sent on a mission by the Circle of Nine to retrieve the missing Amulet of the Suonetar. Like the myths of old which tell of heroes and heroines who must discover the worth of friends and the meaning of life, Stormrider is cast adrift in a sea of intrigue, mysticism and magic. Isolated, she is dependent upon her own wits and skills to survive. What the Reviewers say ... “Absolutely memorable mix of mysticism, magic, and lore . . . Vividly rendered and entrancingly told, Stormrider comes highly recommended . . . Readers accustomed to the traditional quest in the fantasy genre will find that Bechko has a striking flair for originality.” —Cindy Penn, ParaNormal Romance Reviews “Once I started reading Stormrider I couldn’t put it down.” —John Cullum, Northern Exposure/ Tony winning fame.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TheFictionWorks
• Release date: Feb 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781581248012

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Author

Chapter 1

Stillness, galvanizing in its intensity, overwhelming in its suddenness, a stillness not her own, it nonetheless surged from some inner repository, filled Tanith, pushed all else aside.

Her head jerked up. The important work of gathering plants for food and medicine was forgotten and the stillness transformed into an unmistakable, undeniable pull. Her heart took up a skipping rhythm. Ears buzzed with silence, a void soon filled.

Come, it beckoned, rippling softly through her mind, disturbing the great stillness. Come.

Tanith Aesir grasped her collecting bag tighter and bolted to her feet, rising from the mottled forest shadows into brilliant sunlight. Tension snapped through her body like a whip crack as a sudden breeze surged, swaying the surrounding trees. Their movement dappled the sunlight, flickering shadows impairing her focus. The grove’s serenity evaporated in an instant.

Expert training strained to the fore. Years of it. Green eyes rapidly swept her surroundings, adjusting, that adjustment delaying her only a moment while she analyzed the throbbing quietude about her. Barest moments of time were swept away on an indrawn breath and then she began to run.

She ran not with the small, mincing steps of a maiden, but with the long, athletic strides of a female warrior, muscles flexing, blood heating. Her hair, the color of rich, well-aged Octurian brandy, streamed unbound in a silken wave behind her, caught upon the chill wind of her passage. Her stomach wanted to knot but she forbade it, calling upon iron control as she sought to hold firmly to that mind-touch which drew her.

More urgently now—the voice; the thought; rippling across her mind—come, swiftly, come.

Not words precisely, more like impulses of knowledge threaded through with an urgency she had never felt before, crashing over her with the power of cascading waters. She had a general direction, but no more. It drew her on with its power, its compelling urgency, this voice, this presence in her mind. She no longer feared it as she had at the very beginning when first contact had been initiated; instead she feared for it. This was not a normal contact. This was something very different with something very much more deadly underlying the summons. And there were plenty of things here in Nashira which were deadly.

The mind-touch held and Tanith increased her speed. Her chest burned inside and her extremities felt the chill of blood loss as it was diverted to her laboring heart and lungs. Hide gathering bag clenched in one fist, half-blunted digging knife in the other, she answered the anxious call—without words, but answered nonetheless.

I’m coming, coming—let me feel you—where?

She ran, direction determined by those impulses throbbing through her soul.

Her feet clad in leathers, soft wraps nearly to her knees, hardened sole pounding softly, nearly soundlessly, against pliant soil, she swept on. With the wind at her back, she ran. Blood pumped heatedly through veins and sweat misted her forehead in a fine, gathering sheen. Mind tried to take over, threatened to imagine all kinds of disasters to foster such an urgent call. Fear threatened to blossom, but, with the years of studied discipline at her beck, she deftly turned the imaginings aside and pressed on.

Suddenly the silent communication was lost. Link broken. In its place, echoed the familiar, wolfish, yips and howls of Strongheart, Littlefoot and One Eye. The three wolves, sensing her nearness, had begun vocalizing, beckoning to her, giving her more than the power of the bond to draw her on. Understanding her need better than she did herself, the sound of the haunting chorus brought the hair at the nape of her neck to attention along a rippling wave of goose-flesh.

But there was more—a texture of sight, sound and roiling impressions, mental chaos. Images, isolated, which made no sense. For a moment she was aware of fang and claw, then a man, bloodied, replaced it. Guided confusion. Order in chaos. Tanith fought to assimilate it and understand, but gave that up as futile. And helplessness was not a condition she was willing to accept.

She turned. Carried by the wind as it shifted came growls, animal screams, moist, guttural snorts and snarls—the rough bellowing of another. By the Gods and Goddesses! It was a fight she was hurling toward like a juggernaut, and she had no weapon with her save her digging knife!

She swung around the thick bole of a split-leaf tree, and nearly tripped over a body. She had no time to analyze what lay before her except to note the bloody, mangled body was most assuredly dead; that it wore, in tatters, the leathers of The People—and that other more familiar clothes lay in a balled-up heap nearby, nearly concealed by leaves.

Enemy! The alarm exploded instantly inside her head.

Enemy here!

Anxiety added to chaos. If the enemy was here—if they knew of the golden torque—if they stopped her—so much would be lost—so much. She had heard the mechanical roar of war in simulation. She had no desire to experience it first-hand.

A hideous roar of a different kind shook the ground, drove the birds from the trees and silenced, for the moment, the apprehensions clamoring in her mind. Those could be confronted later. Now she must reach the trio of wolves because whatever it was they had found to tangle with would not wait. Urgency in her mind from Strongheart.

Picking up the thread, she dove through the trees once again, noticed them thinning abruptly before she was spilled unceremoniously onto the edge of an immense clearing. Soft grasses rolled before her feet. Sunlight, painfully bright, made the green all around throb iridescently. Deep, cool shadows cast on either side by limbs intruding into sun’s space moved, and seemed almost alive.

Chest heaving, hair in a tangled mass, eyes wide, she allowed the sight to wash over her, through her, absorbing what she needed with the speed of her sense functions. Even thoughts took longer than impressions.

Legs spread to steady her balance, moccasin-clad feet planted firmly upon the ground, she gaped while the sounds of her own blood rushing filled her ears. She couldn’t help staring, but she couldn’t spare the time for it.

There, before her, Strongheart, magnificent in battle, wore his great silver ruff stiffened across massive shoulders like a cape. Head down, ears up, lips peeled back from impressive white teeth in a deadly, guttural snarl, he challenged the enraged bear for possession of his victim—a man (a rather torn-up man), caught between bear (who seemed prepared to make short shrift of him) and wolves (who undoubtedly seemed not much different than the bear to the man). Already battered and bloodied far more than any man should be and remain standing, that hardy soul stared warily from beast to beast to beast, his lips peeled back in a rictus of a man-snarl, his body half crouched in readiness, but bleeding, weakening, swaying on his feet.

Readiness—readiness for that? The bear towered over them all, standing a solid twelve feet tall if he was an inch.

The Goddess only knew what he weighed! Staring, gauging, Tanith translated all that poundage and fury into physics of force and momentum—the damage just one paw swipe could do ñ and shuddered. The wolves were all crazy! She was crazy! Her eyes flicked back to the wreck of a man.

He flinched every time Littlefoot or One Eye followed the choreography of a master; entering the dance as Strongheart directed with impeccable timing. It was a stunning stand-off, for the moment. One Strongheart fully expected her to break.

In the space of a heartbeat, she watched in horrified fascination as both Littlefoot and One Eye dashed in to harass the bear. Littlefoot, less aggressive but quick and protective of the pack, moved like lightning. Sharp teeth sank momentarily into ankle or leg and then she was gone, wind rippling across her bloodstained muzzle.

One Eye, blind on one side, flew to the attack with brutal ferocity. Teeth snapping he leapt high, raked the bear’s golden pelt above the hip, turned, raced between the animal’s massive legs, and went for the hamstrings. But for all his bulk, the bear, too, was swift in retaliation. One giant, sickle-clawed paw descended to rid himself of the annoying pest. The bear missed One Eye and the wolf flowed clear, dodging the tottering man, eye fixed momentarily on Tanith before jaws snapped in final assault.

Heart in her throat, Tanith slid smoothly to one side, out of the bear’s immediate line of concentration. She gripped her dull, pitiful knife tightly, feeling the direction of the fight, sensing Strongheart’s intent as he lunged forward—deflected most of the force of the bear’s blow while One Eye dashed clear—and powerful jaws tore out a piece of bear hide in his passing.

Hammered by the impetus of One Eye’s flight, the man, badly leaking blood everywhere, fell with a disturbing finality arms pinwheeling past Littlefoot who slipped into the fray again. At first she went unnoticed. Then sharp teeth scored where intended and the ground-shaking bellow of the great bear once again rocked the earth beneath Tanith’s feet.

She felt the direction of Strongheart’s plan; knew she had to move swiftly. The delaying action thrown up by One Eye and Littlefoot could not last much longer. The bear was clearly the superior force and definitely was not willing to be turned from his goal: the man now prone on the raw turf. She was the deciding factor. She was the tie-breaker. By the Goddess she was good! But this was not the kind of fighting she had been trained for. Nonetheless, it was the kind she would do. Attention spread thin, she glanced again at the prone man.

He was not important. He was a stranger, possibly an enemy, though Strongheart was rarely wrong in his impressions of people and would not have bothered to defend an enemy. Still, her primary concern was for the wolves, her pack. Death would be swift if one of the bear’s paws connected directly. Plainly, the wolves did not intend to disengage and leave the man to the bear with the bloodied muzzle, ragged ears and fetid breath.

And she could not leave them.

She projected anger, gathered her resources, suppressed a new shudder, and thought of the things she would have to say to Strongheart once this was over and the sour sweat of fear had dried. This was not for food, nor was it for the safety of the pack, this was something else! Something beyond her meager experience of the pack. She would demand an explanation from Strongheart.

He and his companions danced expertly with the bear, baiting it, holding it, positioning it. Strongheart directed and protected. He sent One Eye against the bear in such a way as to protect him from his own blindness, then exposed Littlefoot to less frontal attack, taking into account her weakness: the deformed back foot. They worked smoothly, as a team. And Tanith was one of the pack, expected to do her part or the functioning of the pack would collapse, bringing disaster.

All right! So be it! Her finely conditioned body hummed with expectation as she rushed the bear’s blind side, the wind carrying his noisome scent to her nostrils but not hers to his. Leverage, surprise and power. She had to use them all and use them fast. Despite years of training and the experience of having faced deadly adversaries, her belly churned and her mouth soured as she launched herself.

She went in swiftly from behind as Strongheart directed the diversion in front. She hit the massive bear with all her strength, clipping him just behind the knees, and slashed downward tearing the hamstring of the leg nearest her with her digging knife. Blood spurted hot and sticky. The bear gave a thunderous roar and began a long, slow, collapse. Tanith’s heart convulsed. It didn’t appear she was going to make it clear. She sent a brief prayer to the Goddess. If she died now she will have failed. Her quest to regain the amulet would be ended. Something flashed past her.

Strongheart plowed in. Everything started to come apart. Jaws agape, canines flashing wetly in the bright afternoon light, he dove for the bear’s throat, leaping over Tanith in a cannonball assault. She witnessed the rest in a blur. Wolf charging. Bear falling. Those terrible sickle-like bear claws swinging in a wide arch. She ached, her bones fairly shrieked with the knowledge it was going to be a close thing, a very close thing indeed.

The ground leapt up to slam into her shoulder and hip as Tanith pressed away. No good! Not fast enough! She flailed as an icy finger of near panic caressed the length of her spine and the bear’s heavy paw passed so close claws caught her in a glancing swipe. Fired ice followed the course of the bear’s claws running up her left breast and over her shoulder. A numbing shiver rippled through her body. Despite the muted power of the swipe of that great paw, it delivered hot agony. Tanith kept moving; tumbled, tumbled, clutched in vain at shrubby grasses and rolled clear. She heard, more than saw, Strongheart take the bear’s throat in a single savage pass.

Gurgling sounds bubbled from the bear’s torn throat as he thrashed wildly, tearing up the fragrant grasses in his death throes, bringing Tanith’s earlier meal to her throat in a much less pleasant form than the one it had been consumed in. His throat gone, the mortally wounded bear could not even roar his agony and anger. A ground-shaking tremor, a deep wheeze and then silence. Profound and complete.

Tanith rolled slowly over onto her back, stared up into the incredible blue of the sky’s vastness and in her heart asked the deities of this world for their forgiveness in the taking of this bear’s life.

She gave a quick glance up at Strongheart who had come to plunk himself down at her side, panting heavily, reeking of bear and blood. He looked down at her sprawled in the grass from his elevated, sitting position and gave her a quizzical look, tongue lolling from his mouth.

His mind touched hers, telegraphing thoughts. Why do you feel you need forgiveness for making the only choice for a being of flesh . . . ?

Tanith breathed heavily, willing the incredible tension of battle to drain away from her body into the cool earth beneath her back. It took a little time for the pounding roar of her blood to calm so she could consider Strongheart’s question.

It was not by my choice, it was yours—and we destroyed a living thing by it. For what?

In defense of another living thing—choices all choices. To live in the world of flesh, choices must be made.

Tanith sighed. Are you going to confuse my life further by becoming a philosopher as well as bond-mate?

Strongheart panted a little less heavily, expelled a forceful breath and licked his nose with a quick swirl of pink tongue. I was what I was before the pack was joined.

Tanith rolled to her knees, slowly. It wasn’t every day one tackled a bear with success and everything seemed to hurt. Tanith swept straggling hair back from her face and had a look around. Well, good. Great. Me, too, but looking back I’m not sure what that was, so give me some time to get the hang of this, all right? How are the others? Any damage?

All is well. The softness of Littlefoot, at about eighty pounds, the smallest of the pack. She was nursing a deep, bloody furrow across her shoulder.

I will live. This from One Eye, limping badly, but unperturbed.

Only the man needs your help now. Strongheart was on his feet, first shaking out his matted pelt with great vigor, then moving toward the man sprawled only a few feet from the dead bear. There was not so much difference between them save the fact the man breathed.

And if he is enemy . . . ?

Strongheart, a little disgusted. He is not. Enemy is dead. They fought . . . there . . . in the trees . . . it is what awakened bear and drew his anger.

Gaining her feet in one graceful movement, catching a stitch in her shoulder where the bear had grazed her, Tanith went to the fallen man and quickly checked on his condition. It was not good. The bear had done a thorough job on him. His hide had been almost flayed from his back. And there was another bloody wound in his side that had nothing to do with the bear, not to mention a lump on his head whose origin was anybody’s guess.

We’ve got to get him away from here and back to where I can take care of him, Tanith murmured to herself. And that was going to take some doing for this was no small man.

Working swiftly she did the best she could to stem the copious flow of blood. The sight of so much of it turned her stomach and she glanced toward the wolves.

Strongheart, Littlefoot and One Eye waited patiently near her, ready to return home. Tanith had yet to become proficient in this sort of thing since her landing in Nashira, but she could manage. It just took a little more time than she liked. This so-called Non-Enemy could die while she was wasting precious time out here trying to formulate a way to transport him back to her camp. It might be more efficient to just move her camp to him. But, no, her camp was well placed. Here they would be too exposed. There were still the slave traders to worry about. They might not be too interested in the man except perhaps to shoot him, but she knew only too well she would draw their attention. And, at the moment, she was certainly not eager to join a pitched battle with herself as the prize.

She left the man long enough to throw together a make-shift traveler that came out looking something like a bough bed with a double-pole extending in front with which to drag it.

Her task complete, Tanith flinched at the burning across her breast caused by the wound and glanced down at her ill-deserved patient. He was still unconscious, dead weight, and he had fallen on his belly, plainly in unconscious defense of his mangled back. Still, considering the agony being on his back would undoubtedly cause him, Tanith had planned on transporting him on his belly. She was a strong woman, but she couldn’t lift him, so she would have to roll him onto the traveler.

She positioned the conveyance and spoke softly to the man. Sorry, one extra jolt. You’re not exactly going to be much help so we’ll have to do it my way.

Bracing herself on her knees she rolled him onto his back, drawing from him a hoarse moan made all the more poignant by the fact that she would have bet he would have bloodied his mouth to bite back that tearing sound, had he been conscious. She didn’t wait, but rolled him a second time so he wound up where she wanted him, belly-down across the traveler.

He drew a deep sigh.

You’re welcome. She slanted a look at the big silver wolf. Strongheart . . .

She did not have to finish. With a yawn, Strongheart joined her at the front of the traveler and ducked his head into the loop she held in readiness. Then he leaned massive shoulders into the supple branch, testing it. Picking up her end, Tanith started out for home, sharing the burden of the litter in tandem with Strongheart. Littlefoot and One Eye fell in behind.

They covered the ground much more quickly than Tanith would have imagined. Even so, it was slow going and hard work. She was going to have aches and blisters and it would be some time yet before she could tend her own wound.

Great stars and blisters the man is heavy, was Tanith’s only complaint, and that came as they neared her permanent camp, Strongheart solid at her side.

You would find me no less heavy were you to carry me in such a manner alone. Strongheart’s subtle reminder that he shared the burden. This despite the fact he seemed not the least bit hampered by it.

You would be worth it, Tanith shot back. I’m not so sure he is.

They stopped below her camp, on the greensward forming a half-moon at its base. Strongheart ducked out of his harness while Tanith rotated her aching shoulder and looked down at her patient. It would be flat impossible to get him up above to the cave so she resigned herself to playing nursemaid here below. At least she would have access to her supplies and the site was sheltered, concealed, protected. The wolves were nursing their own minor wounds, so she was left with the man.

She didn’t bother to roll him from the traveler since it would subject him to another stiff jolt. All his serious wounds were in his back—including the one in his side which the bear had had no part in inflicting.

Tanith hurried up to the cave carved out of the pale blue stone of the cliff looming high above. The climb was steep, but not so steep as to prevent the wolves from ascending the nearly invisible path.

She collected everything she would need in only a few moments, a hundred thoughts trying to cram their way into her head while she focused on channeling her energies into helping this pseudo-friend, possible-enemy, with whom Strongheart was so taken.

The sun was moving toward darkness with its usual swift transition when Tanith descended, arms laden with medical supplies and a light generator. She set up the small portable light, activated it and dropped the other supplies nearby. Very few technologies had survived her craft’s somewhat rough arrival in Nashira and after having spent considerable time here they seemed incongruous with the springy mat of fragrant grasses they now lay upon. Indeed, they didn’t meld well even with the more newly acquired plant medicines in her small medical kit either.

Neither was she a doctor though she’d had some tutoring in basic medical assistance during her training as a Janissary—a custodian/protector. She gave her approach to the bloody mass, which bore some little resemblance to a man’s back, a few moment’s consideration. She had to use her more advanced supplies wisely. There would be no more until she left Nashira to return to her Antaris home. No more, unless the ship this man had arrived in was fully supplied and equipped. One look at his face was enough to tell her he had to have come to Nashira in a ship—just as had the other man, now dead. Neither was one of The People. Ships . . . supplies . . . She chided herself for thinking of permanence when she should be planning a departure. The presence of ships would provide the means once she found the amulet for which she searched. That was what she should be thinking of, not how to remain longer.

Tanith frowned and cast Strongheart a sidelong look. The wolves had certainly complicated her life though she did not object to them—as did this man lying so helpless on the ground ñ and she certainly did object to him. She would have to use most of the good stuff she had left for him. The silver wolf met