Rania's Tale

By Kieran Brannan

Rania has so far been an enigma, restricted by her lack of a common language. She's certainly cunning, and at times cruel, yet she has supported the companions as a valued ally. Now she has a chance to walk her own path. In her journey she must face not only the demons of her past, but demons with ties to the history of the world itself. She must walk into the heart of darkness, where she will learn secrets few ever know. Yet, will those secrets destroy her, putting her on a leash like a dog, or does she have the wit and guile to survive?

In her journey Rania must discover for herself what really has meaning and value. Are the teachings of her people still relevant to her, and if so, to what degree? She must uncover who her real enemies and allies are. She must also decide if her fate is tied to her companions, or if she should find her own way in the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kieran Brannan
• Release date: Feb 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311961358

Kieran Brannan

Kieran Brannan lives the life of a hermit in an insignificant town in an insignificant part of Australia. He is a devout misanthrope whose only real contact with the world is through his writing and via the internet. He takes inspiration from years spent among fringe communities, such as various esoteric organisations and creative hobbyists, learning about strange arts and belief systems.Kieran is a nerd at heart, spending idle time playing both online and table top games. His true passion is in Role-playing, a hobby he started in school, where he endured persecution from religions who at the time demonized the hobby. He has created many worlds and written for a number of blogs and gaming publications, usually under a pseudonym.He always has a lot of works in progress, primary among those at the moment are a series of books set in one of his gaming worlds, as well as a free Creative Commons campaign world for classic Dungeons & Dragons.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

A very special thanks to my fans, the whole two of them. They should know who they are.

When you are an aspiring author, any words of support are incredibly valuable. That’s the power of words, a single word can change a life. So, thank you to those two people who gave me valuable words of support which helped me reach the end of this series.

If you like the works of any aspiring writer, take a moment to let them know. It might be your voice that launches a legend.

Alone

The knife drags roughly through her flesh, failing to cut as deep as it should. It forces me to lean my weight on the blade and wrench it across a second time until there is a puff of air and an accompanying blast of red mist that tells me I’ve cut into her airway. The wretched Lyran woman Ozana looks up at me with such hurt and disbelief as she clutches at her throat, her body convulsing as she tries to cough up the blood running into her lungs.

Holding the dagger before her eyes I say, Sorry, it’s this stupid copper alloy blade you people make. If you hadn’t stolen my ivory and obsidian blades I could have killed you quicker.

She tries to speak but it comes out as a gagging cough, spraying bright red blood over her pale pinkish face. I feel little droplets land on my own cheeks so I lean back to avoid any more as her coughing continues. It’s taking her a while to die. I would have plunged the knife into the point where her collar bones meet but she was laying on her side so I didn’t have the leverage. It had to be a throat cut though; she’s a spell caster so taking away her voice must always be the first act.

As her body weakens, I strip her of the soft cloth she wears before she gets any more blood on it. By the time I am done, her rasping breath has finally stopped. I run my hands over her soft pale flesh. It’s so smooth and there are no signs of any scars. They feel like real people, but I cannot understand how a people so pale could possibly be anything other than spirits. White is the colour of cowardice, so I suppose it’s only appropriate that the Lyrans should have flesh so pale. After cleaning my blade on her bright blonde hair I return the weapon to its sheath.

I fold up Ozana’s clothing and drag her packs over to where my own packs are stacked. Sitting by the dead embers of our fire I begin to sort my supplies in the growing light of dawn.

It’s a relief to finally be free of Ozana’s prattling as she kept trying to pretend she was my friend. Worst of all was the touching as she constantly kept making contact in what she must have thought was being reassuring to me. I know she was chosen to accompany me because she was some sort of mind healer or something, but if she truly knew how to read people she would have known that her touch made me want to cut her. I’ve had enough of people thinking they can touch me.

It’s the day after we came through the portal. They want me to make contact with the Agharian people to start negotiations with the Lyrans. Even if I wasn’t already a pariah among the Agharians I doubt I would do as they ask. I might tell the Agharians that there is a new people ripe for plunder, but there is no way I’d encourage friendship between the races. Lyrans are like children; naive and filled full of dreams and fantasies making them easy to manipulate.

Ozana’s knife has a polished dark wooden hilt and is decorated in etchings of birds, so being an attractive item I tuck it into a concealed sheath at the small of my back. Never a good idea to display wealth openly if you’re not sure you can keep it. Other than dried fruit all the rest of her food is highly perishable. In fact, most of it will probably begin rotting within as little as two days, so I start eating it now while I continue to go through the supplies.

The cloth wrapped clay tablet which was meant for our return journey I put into an inner pocket I’ve sewn into my vest. If I understand the principles of the item correctly, I should be able to use it to travel anywhere I know. Among Ozana’s supplies I find a pouch of herbs, stones and chalk which I recognise as useful in Lyran magic. I toss the herbs onto the embers of the fire because they are useless to me, but the stones I transfer to my own pouch. Most of it is simple quartz, which is helpful because though it’s not potent, I can use it for almost any kind of spell working.

I put the silver cloak pins enchanted with translation magic into another inner pocket. Those pins should be worth a fair bit in trade. I think I’ll trade the lesser set that allows more limited contact. The better set which allows more in-depth communication I think I’ll keep for myself, as you never know when something like that might come in handy. I’m quite surprised they never followed up on getting that set back as they really seemed to want them. I think Ninil suspected I had the pins and I appreciate that she didn’t try to go through my things to find them.

Unfortunately I’m going to have to leave a lot of these supplies here as it’s too much to carry. I look with envy at the soft furs in Ozana’s bedroll but they are already drenched with blood and I don’t have time to wash it all out. If I was sure of her abilities, I wouldn’t have killed her in her sleep, and thus I wouldn’t have wasted the bedroll, but I know better than to take needless risks and I still wasn’t sure how skilled Ozana was at magic.

I bundle the non-perishable supplies I cannot take with me, such as copper plates, utensils, clothing and other sundries, and I roll them up in one of the hides from my own bedroll. Scurrying up an easily identifiable tree I tie the bundle into the bend of a branch where I can retrieve it at a later time if I ever pass this area again.

Dropping back to the ground I take up another piece of fruit and bite into it as I walk back to Ozana. She still has that shocked, hurt expression on her face, though it’s relaxed a little in death. Such a stupid naïve creature. She’s lucky she’s dead, because if she fell into the hands of any of the people around here I doubt her mind would be able to cope with the life lessons they would inflict upon her. There’s no way I wanted her following where I intend to go.

Reminded of my destination I let out a sigh. I have no idea how my father is going to react to seeing me again, but I think he’s the best option I have. I thought I would like being alone again, and I’m certainly relieved to be rid of Ozana, but I miss having the others around. Musa and Khari were very handy as extra eyes and they always found food to put over the fire. Ninil was a very handy shield against the rest of the world. I’m going to have to readjust for my change of circumstances and stay focused on how to stay alive without their help, just as I had done before meeting them.

Taking one of the new quartz from my pouch I begin a song, harmonising the crystal to weave a spell to enhance my senses. Divination magic is not my strongest talent but I’m not bad at it. As the spell weave pulls tight, the world becomes flooded with extra sensory input. I can not only hear every bird call, I can identify the direction of each bird. I’m also made more aware of the smell of urine coming from Ozana’s corpse. Wrinkling my nose in disgust I take up my pack and move on. It’s only a matter of time until Ozana’s corpse will attract scavengers and I’ve already had enough of her company.

Waiting

Moving through the lands of my old tribe is difficult. Everyone in the tribe knows me as being marked a Cihuanahualli; a witch. Magic is the jealously guarded secret of the Speakers in the Deep, so they persecute anyone else able to use magic to ensure the power remains theirs and theirs alone. When they branded me Cihuanahualli they did so as a public display. Now, if anyone does anything to aid me, they will be treated as my consort and thus suffer the same penalty meant for me: death. If any tribesmen spot me they will either flee to tell the Speakers, or if they think themselves capable, they’ll kill me in order to gain favour. As a result, they haven’t been my tribe since I first bled as a woman and the Speakers condemned me to death.

My father cared enough to help me escape, so I’m hoping he still cares enough that I might be able to use him to trade off some goods and get some more training in magic. I don’t think he really loves me as a daughter, I think it’s more about feeling guilty about the part he played in my mother’s death, but I’ll take what leverage I can.

Before I get to speak with him though I’ll need to find the secret cave where he works his own magic, and to do that I’ll have to navigate the rugged slopes near the tribal caves without being observed. That’s why I’m forced to creep through the forest, scurrying from tree to broken boulder in hope of staying invisible to the tribesmen as they go about their daily lives.

From my high vantage on the slope I can see a group of gatherers well below me on the flatlands. Women and children mostly, digging up the tubers that grow in the soft soil of the river bank. My magically enhanced senses tell me something more is at work here though. The birds are too quiet. I press myself down into the crack between two jagged rocks and wait, stretching out my senses, searching for some clarity on why I get the feeling I’m not alone.

I consider weaving a spell to sense other life signs when I hear the tiny rattle of a pebble bounce down the slope. It’s come from above me, further up the slope. I dare not look. Keeping my movements slow and careful I reach for one of the small stones I’ve already enchanted to explode when I sing the activation tone. As my fingers are still prying the mouth of the pouch open there is a slight scrape above me and I freeze. It takes all my discipline to remain still and not snatch out a weapon. I feel dust settle on my arm and I risk a look upwards.

Standing above me on the edge of the crack I can see a warrior, his naked body fully painted in his personal xayacatl, the swirling patterns of handprints and markings that protect his body from harm in battle. All warriors wear their own xayacatl when they expect trouble. It is the mask they wear that protects their true selves from the burden of the deeds they must commit as warriors. Once the xayacatl is applied they will not speak another word until it is removed, communicating only by hand gestures.

From this angle I cannot recognise who it is and I immediately push any such desires out of my mind for fear that my thoughts about him might draw his attention to me. He hasn’t noticed me, instead he is looking to something further up the slope. His fingers sign an acknowledgement that he understands and with a single step he moves out of my sight. I can hear his near silent footsteps depart. If it were not for my heightened senses his movements would be impossible for me to hear.

There is no other choice but to wait. I see a different warrior cross in front of my limited field of view from where I am wedged and looking out of the crack; she’s heading away from my position. Assuming little has changed in the way the tribe works, there will be five to seven warriors in the group. They might just be hunting, but if they spot me it is their responsibility to keep the rest of the tribe safe from my presence, so I have no doubt they would attack. Their weapons will also be envenomed, so a single scratch might mean my death.

I wait until I am certain the entire group will have moved on, including the single warrior who will be trailing as a rear guard. Taking a clear crystal from my bag I weave another spell. I wish I knew some magic to conceal me from physical sight but I lack that knowledge. Instead I weave a spell to hide my spirit from magical perceptions. I don’t sing this spell, fearing I might be overheard. Instead I use the edge of my blade to make a small cut on my upper arm allowing me to bathe the crystal in my blood. As the spell weave snaps tight, the crystal is reduced to dust in my palm and with a fingertip I use both blood and crystal dust to paint the image of a closed eye on my forehead.

Wiping my hands clean on the rock, I take a deep breath and move on, moving in the opposite direction the warrior party travelled. If I’m quick about it I should be able to reach the hidden entrance before the party sweeps back over this area. As I ascend the slope I take a moment to cram my pack into a hidden niche I once hid myself in as a young woman fleeing the wrath of the Speakers. Freed of the burden of the pack, I’m able to move more swiftly.

The next leg of my journey takes me down the slope to a clear pool of water trapped in the folds of the rough terrain. The water is not trusted for drinking as it’s still and stagnant any time the area is without rain. Instead people bathe in the river far below or drink from a natural spring which pools in the tribal cave. My luck is not with me however, as two lovers have decided to use the remote retreat for a tryst. The pig-like grunting of the male gives them away before anything else, and it doesn’t take me long to find an angle to observe where they have laid out furs among the bushes. The lovers seem to be involved deeply with each other so I take the risk and make my way towards the water’s edge. By the sounds above, I reach the water just as they finish their rutting, so I waste no time in slipping into the water and diving down before they have time to look around.

There is a narrow cave concealed under an overhang. The swim is long and I use my hands to haul myself along the passage as quickly as I can, racing the burning in my lungs which is demanding I take a breath. Finally I see the gleam of orange light that indicates sweet air is just ahead. As I break the surface I try not to gasp, but the echo of my deep shuddering breath sounds loud in my ears as I fill my lungs.

The chamber is as I remember it. In the centre is a hollowed stone used as a brazier, filled with coals which cast a dull orange glow around the room. The chamber is spherical and lined with crystal formations. The crystals gleam dully in the ruddy light but reflect enough to give the entire cavern a soft glow. This place is a secret known only to the Speakers, and as far as I know it is used exclusively by my father who is the only representative of the Oztotl'ic'cuicatl; the Cave of Echoes who specialise in divinatory magic, among other things. Much to my relief the cavern is empty. The main entry to the chamber is a round passage on the far side, which I have been told leads to the secret chambers of other Speakers. In the past I was only allowed entry via the underwater passage, a passage my father told me about discovering himself as a young man.

Dragging myself from the water, I make my way to the brazier and warm myself in the glow of the coals. They have burnt low but the fact they are burning at all indicates the place is still in use. That means either my father is still alive or someone else has taken his place. I sit and press my back against the warmth of the stone while I wait.

I must have dozed off because I awake to the sound of a young male voice singing an old children’s song. The voice is echoing in the chamber and growing louder as it draws nearer. I don’t have time to go anywhere, so I lay low against the brazier stone, putting the stone between me and the normal entrance on the far side of the chamber. The coals have died down and the chamber is almost completely dark now. I know someone has entered only because I can see the movement in the darkness and because the way his voice is echoing has changed. He walks directly to the brazier and sparks are thrown into the air as he dumps an armload of wood into the fire pit. I cringe back as the light flares up with the sparks.

I’m going to have to make some fast choices before the new wood catches and bathes the entire chamber in full light. If there is a new person in attendance here it might mean my father is dead. If he is I’ll need to know, or I’m waiting in here for no reason. Yet if I reveal myself I get both my father and I into trouble because I’m forbidden from being here. If I make a move, can I beat the guy before he binds me up in some sort of spell? I think he’s young, at least he sounds young. I have to take a chance, I have to act.

I draw my dagger and at the same time weave a simple little spell that lets me observe the weave of any active magic. I launch myself up and around the brazier, charging directly at the male. He squeals like a dying rabbit as I grab him under the chin by his shirt with one hand and press my blade up against his throat with the other hand. He is young, maybe a few years younger than I am.

In a harsh whisper I snap, You even think about casting a spell or making any noise and I’ll cut your throat faster than the flap of a dragonfly wing. You understand?

His eyes go huge and moist and his petrified silence tells me he understands perfectly.

Keeping my voice low and vicious I say, I’m going to ask you a few questions and if you are honest I let you live. If you are dishonest you die. Tell me where Mazatl is.

His voice quivers as he responds, He should be along soon.

And who are you?

Patli.

I growl like a jaguar and press the knife harder against his throat. If the blade was obsidian it would be enough to draw blood, but this metal blade lacks the keen edge. I don’t care about your name, I want to know who you are. What is your purpose here?

In Aquin Ilahtoa.

A Speaker then, just as I thought. He must be new, though he will have completed his training to be allowed this deep into the caverns. I see the filaments of a spell begin to form in the aura of the young man. He must be casting without word or gesture and I wouldn’t be aware of it if I hadn’t prepared my own divination. I bring the dagger back and crack him across the side of the head with the pommel before he can complete the spell. He crumples and he’s too heavy for me to hold up so I have to let go and let him fall to the ground. I follow him down however and sit on him, pressing my knife once again to the side of his throat.

I told you no spell casting, I snarl into his ear.

You’re that witch, Rania. You’re Mazatl’s daughter. He’s dazed but his mind seems to be working still. At least he has abandoned the spell.

If I was, what would that mean to you?

You’ve made a big mistake coming back here, they’ll kill you.

Would that concern you?

His fingers make a sweeping gesture for ‘no’ and he chuckles. I draw his own knife, a proper hooked ivory knife made from the fang of a cave drake, and place that dagger to his throat instead of the metal Lyran blade.

A moment slides past as I consider my options. He’s obviously not going to be an ally, and if I let him live he’ll give me away. I sweep my new ivory knife across the man’s throat and drive the other metal blade into the point behind his ear, then step up and away from the body quickly before the spreading pool of blood reaches my feet. He’s dead in moments and I feel pleased with myself because it’s a much cleaner kill than Ozana’s was.

I shrug and say to the corpse, I know your words with me were honest, but no-one is ever truly an honest person, so your life was forfeit the moment we made our arrangement. I owe you no debt. I might be a pariah among Agharian society, but I still believe in the customs of Ixtlaua, and we had a deal.

I curse under my breath. Chances were he was still being trained by father so they probably have some sort of emotional connection. Father is going to try to use the kid’s death to make dealing with him difficult. Stupid child. Now I’ll have to do something with the body before father gets here.

I quickly check over him and relieve him of a few talisma used for spell casting, adding them to my collection. Looking around the room it’s fairly sparse, with nothing but a table laid out with clay pots containing reagents and apparatus I don’t know the use for. I can either drag him further up the passage where I have no idea what I’ll find, or I will have to drag him into the underwater passage where his bulk is going to block up the tunnel and restrict a fast departure if required.

With a groan of frustration I drag the young man over to the pool of water and spend valuable time struggling to submerge him and drag him far enough into the passage to trap the body underwater. Cutting a piece of leather from his jerkin I then return to the sight of his death and try to mop up some of the evidence. It’s useless and I quickly give up as there’s a trail of blood all the way to the water. I throw the leather onto the fire which is now blazing uncomfortably hot.

I’m wet again, and sweating from the exertion and the heat of the fire. The air feels stifling but by the pull of the breeze and movement of the smoke, there must be a chimney further up the passage.

I’m not in a good mood.

Once again I am left with little choice but to wait. If the stupid young man told the truth, my father is alive still, and he’ll be here soon. I can already tell things are not going to go well, but hopefully by the time he gets here the fire will have died down enough that the blood won’t be as visible on the floor.

Father

The fire is still burning brightly when I hear the shuffling steps of father approaching. Even after all this time I can recognise that slightly off tempo scrape of his feet, and to my shame it still summons a tremor of fear in me.

As he enters the chamber I walk into his line of sight, heading towards his table of equipment and away from the bloodstains on the floor. As he sees me he stops and stares, furrowing his brow as if trying to see something far away.

Hello father, I say, trying to sound as emotionless as I can.

Rania. Where have you been?

He sounds annoyed, as if I had just wandered off like a naughty child. Hiding my right hand in the shadow of my body I withdraw a small obsidian flake which was once in Ninil’s surgery kit, and I grip the flake between two fingers, the edge of it raised.

Sorry I’ve been away father. A band from Tenoch’s tribe grabbed me, then raped and beat me for more days than I can count. I’m not sure what I expected him to say or do, but as he lets the silence stretch on, my anger at him grows. With a sneer I say, It’s strange how a man acts so shy around a woman he favours, but when she’s bound and helpless he’ll hump her two or three times a day.

You got away obviously. He says it as if that somehow makes it all better.

I was rescued.

By who? He’s angry now. You better repay the Ixtlaua to them.

Oh, such concern for my spirit, father. How touching. Sarcasm weeps from my words.

He comes forward, saying, Of course I’m concerned Rania.

As he comes close enough he reaches out a hand to stroke my hair and I backhand his arm away. He swears and clutches at the bloody line along the side of his arm. I hold the obsidian sliver before his face before tucking it away and say, I told you father, you will never touch me again.

You yolcatl, he seethes as he inspects the cut. It’s bleeding quite freely so the sharp little sliver must have cut deep. He’s fortunate I struck along the side of his arm because if I had contacted his wrist it might be enough to bleed him out.

He sucks at the wound a few times, spitting the blood to the floor. Snapping at me he says, Was that blade poisoned?

I stare up at him with wide doe-eyed innocence. Would I do that to you father?

Spitting out more blood he says, Oh let me guess what your little game is. If you hate me it’s poisoned and if you love me it’s not?

Father, if I loved you, do you think I’d have cut you at all?

He glares at me in shock for a moment before his face twists into a mask of rage. You insolent vindictive acualli. You’ve always been a nasty little creature Rania. He storms over to his table and begins going through his reagents looking for detoxifying ingredients.

You’ve always been a lecherous treacherous and vile toad of a man father. Then in a lighter tone I add, Isn’t it fun to reminisce?

He snarls at me as he starts grinding herbs in a pestle. Just tell me what sort of poison it is girl so I can treat it correctly.

I wander over to his side, my hands clasped behind my back. I don’t know much about herbs so I don’t recognise many of the ones he has out. I do recognise one that Ninil uses to cleanse wounds. I have no idea if it has any use in neutralising poisons but I know it hurts dreadfully if you apply it to an open wound. Reaching out I take up a piece of the bark and offer it saying, You might want to use this one father.

He glares at me with a passion you normally spare for an infected boil before he snatches the bark from my fingers and adds it to his preparation. I casually stroll out of his reach in case he’s tempted to touch me again.

Cursing under his breath, he completes the grinding and adds warm tar to the mixture. His left forearm and hand is covered in blood now

Reviews for Rania's Tale

[Kaly · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved the hell out of this book! The first two books were good, but there were slow parts which were important, but not always very exciting. Rania's Tale is excellently paced and absolutely fascinating from the first sentence. Perhaps I'm biased because Rania was my favorite character from the first two books, but she certainly doesn't disappoint in her tale. Some parts were shocking, while others I found quite emotional, which isn't something I get from many books. I hated the bad guys so much and really wanted to see them beaten. I want to share more about it but I don't want to give out any spoilers as there's some real surprises. Just read it for yourself!