Rising

   Chapter Six



   Ahma woke, the screams of her nightmare finally given voice and filling
the clearing.  She trashed and kicked, her eyes unseeing.  All her senses
were consumed by that terrible night of her childhood.  She heard her
mother's screams instead of her own, and her nose was filled with the acrid
smell of smoke.  In her eyes, the sky was painted crimson with the blood of
her parents.

   "Ahma, Ahma!  Calm yourself, you're okay!" Methaniel said, reaching out
to grasp her shoulders.  She shoved against him, trying to push him away.
Unable to do so, she began scratching and pulling at his hands.  He let her
panic play out for a moment, holding her and refusing to budge.

   "Ahma!  Stop!"

   Ahma's eyes finally came into focus, fluttering around the clearing
before settling on his face.  Tears streamed from her wide chocolate eyes
as she took one ragged breath after another.  Her dream had been so
real...so painful...

   "I am sorry," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. 
"I...had a nightmare."

   "Don't apologize," he said softly.  "It's okay.  No one is going to hurt
you.  Are you all right?"

   "I don't know," she replied honestly.  "I feel so lost...everything is
wrong."

   He released her, and Ahma curled in on herself, pulling her knees up to
her breasts and wrapping her arms around them.  Her wings folded around her
body, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible.

   "I know.  I know," Methaniel sighed, leaning back against the tree and
shutting his eyes.  "It...it's not easy.  I'll be honest with you, Ahma,
I'm not sure what's happening either.  I'm as lost as you.  But I know for
the moment, at least...we're safe."

   Ahma nodded and turned her face away.  "Please...give me a moment.  I
think I need to collect myself."

   "Take your time," Methaniel said, patting her shoulder gently before
standing up and stretching his long limbs.  "Lanion's wandered off
somewhere around here.  I'm going to go find him."

   Ahma looked up a him, a sudden glimmer of fear in her eyes.

   "Don't worry, I won't go far.  I'll be within hearing distance, okay?"
he assured her.

   "Okay," Ahma swallowed.

   Methaniel walked slowly through the snow and between the trees.

   Ahma let out a heavy sigh and leaned her head back against the tree. 
The sky was gray and somber, promising nasty weather and a cold day.

   But at least it wasn't tinted with blood.

   She shuddered and willed the horrible nightmare from her mind.  She had
to pull herself together.  She didn't understand why these nightmares of
her past were haunting her now.  That day had been years ago...she'd had
ample time to come to terms with her parents deaths.

   Now, however, she had lost her brothers...her dear, dear brothers.  They
had always been in danger, it was true...most the men who joined the war
effort as long ago as they had were long dead.  She had always known their
safety was a fragile thing at best.  Their demise was always a real
possibility.

   But it didn't seem real.  She could hardly imagine a world without her
brothers in it.  Though she'd seen little of them in the past several
years, their presence seemed to always be with her, a comforting, soothing
knowledge that they were out there, somewhere, and she would see them
again.

   Now, they were gone.

   And so were her friends.  And her home.  Hannah, Marta, Rema, Cook.  How
many of them were dead?  She imagined some of the servants and workers of
the Manor had escaped the flames and assassins, but the attack had been so
sudden and violent...she was sure that more perished than not.  All of it
was gone in one horrible night.  It was just like before; one single
moment, and her whole world shattered.  Why did these things happen to her?

   Ahma began to sob softly, burying her face into her hands as the hot
tears ran down her face.  She cried for what seemed like an eternity, an
outpouring of such intense and painful emotions that she felt as if her
chest were splitting.  She cried for her parents, for her brothers, and for
her friends.  She cried for both the homes she had lost, and the lives that
had been shattered and snuffed out so needlessly, for the horrible deaths
of good, decent folk.  She cried for herself, now twice left to collect the
pieces of a broken life.

   For a time, the world was reduced to the narrow window of her grief and
the seemingly endless mourning she felt for so many.

   Soon, no more tears would fall, and she felt better in the wake of the
outpouring of her sorrow.  She took a deep breath, allowing the crisp, cold
morning air to cleans her lungs and wash some of her grief away.  She shut
her eyes and said a silent prayer for all those who had passed.  She prayed
that they would be safe and find their way to whatever afterlife awaited
them.

   When she opened her eyes, she gazed upon the land around her, the trees
with their powdery white coverings and the scraggly undergrowth of brush
spaced out between them.  She saw one bold red cardinal hopping along on a
branch overhead, ignoring the cold for a chance to embrace the morning. 
The weather was poor, the sky overcast, and the day would be a cold one.

   But it was still a good day, Ahma realized.  She was alive, and
unharmed, and those were tremendous blessings in themselves.  She clung to
those thoughts, letting them bolster her spirit.

   "The heavens know what they do," she whispered softly.  "All I can do is
to trust in that."

   Ahma lifted her face to the sky, and began to sing her morning tribute
to the Sky and all its wonders.  It was a wordless, lilting melody, and as
her voice grew in volume her heart swelled with a peace she hadn't felt in
some time.  She was surprised at the calm that filled her.  She felt a
connection to everything as she sat there under the tree, her voice
praising the heavens for the gift of life they bestowed upon the world.

   By the time her morning songs were finished, Ahma felt much lighter. 
The enormous tragedy of last night was still weighed upon her, a powerful
sadness and despair on the edge of her consciousness.  She was certain soon
enough it would revisit her and send her into deep sorrow again.  But for
the moment, she knew that she must gather herself and be strong.  She was
in a dire situation, and now was not the time for grieving.

   She stood up, stretching out the aches and kinks in her limbs.  Her
wings fluttered several times before settling nearly on her back again. 
She glanced around, looking for any sign of Master Methaniel.  He'd said he
wouldn't be far.

   Ahma picked a direction and began walking, and after only a few moments
she spotted him standing at Lanion's side behind a tree.  She approached,
then stopped short as he glanced up at her.  He was standing with his shirt
tossed across Lanion's back.  He was dabbing at his side with the bloodied
rag he had shoved into it, toweling away the thin seepage of blood from a
small cut.

   Last night returned to her with a jolt, the fuzzy edges of the awful
events coming into clarity.

   "Master, are you okay?" she said as she walked forward and stared at him
in concern.

   "I'm fine," Methaniel nodded.  He dabbed at the cut with the rag for
another moment or two, then tossed it to the ground.  "It's already sealing
itself off pretty well.  It's a shallow cut, anyway."

   "Have you been able to wash it?" Ahma asked, fearing the wound would
become tainted and unclean, and he would develop a fever.

   "As well as I can right now," Methaniel nodded.  "I used some of the
snow." He reached up and brushed his copper hair from his eyes, then patted
Lanion's shoulder.  The horse turned a glowering look on him.

   Methaniel smirked.  "Yes, I know, I know, you're hungry.  Be patient."

   The horse snorted and pointedly ignore both of them.

   "You have a lovely voice," Methaniel commented as he pulled his shirt
back on.

   Ahma turned scarlet.  She hadn't even realized he could hear her. 
"Thank you, Master Methaniel."

   A silence stretched between them for a time.  Ahma shivered as a breeze
blew through the trees, easily cutting through her thin evening dress.

   "We should get going," Methaniel said at last.

   "To the city, for supplies...right?" Ahma asked.

   "Yes," Methaniel nodded.  He walked toward her and set a hand on her
shoulder, gazing down into her face with his stunning gray eyes.  "Are you
going to be able to do this?" he asked gently.

   Ahma searched his face and found no judgment or pressure there, only the
honest question he had asked.  She nodded, her hair falling before her eyes
with the motion.  "Yes, Master, I will."

   Methaniel nodded, then pulled his riding gloves from his hands and gave
them to her.  She looked at him in puzzlement.  "To hide your mark," he
explained.

   Ahma glanced down at her right hand, her eyes settling on the small
inkwork of a Dragon that identified her as a servant of the Ohren estate.
She had almost forgotten about it.  She did not think about it often.

   "Thank you, Master," she murmured, and slipped his gloves on.  They were
horribly oversized and threatened to slip off if she wasn't careful, but it
was better than her mark being on display for anyone to see.

   Methaniel nodded again and reached up to pat Lanion's side, then vaulted
up onto the horse.  Lanion snorted and tossed his head irritably, but
otherwise sat still.  Methaniel extended a hand toward her.  Ahma swallowed
and gripped his hand, and climbed up onto the horse in front of him.

   "Master?" she said softly as Methaniel nudged Lanion into motion.

   "Yes, Ahma?"

   "I'm scared," she confessed.

   "Me too, Ahma," he sighed.  "Me, too."



   ***



   Ahma wiped the sweat from her brow and suppressed the instinctive urge
to run as fast as her feet could carry her from the market.  It was a
crowded and bustling place, full of life and excitement and a variety of
goods both exotic and mundane.  She had often come to the market with the
old Master in the past, and it was one of the places she had missed
visiting most after his death.

   But after last night, it filled her with foreboding and dread.

   Stalls stretched around the open square in the middle of Durinum with
their wares on display.  Merchants hawked their wares, heckled over prices,
and assured customers that their merchandise was the highest quality in all
the kingdom.  The sights and smells were nearly overwhelming in their
intensity and variety; roast meat and fresh bread, newly harvested
vegetables and plump fruits prepared with such a variety of spices and
techniques that Ahma's stomach growled.  Richly dyed fabrics of blue and
green and red and glittering jewelry lay out on one long table, all of such
a quality that only the Noble women could afford to flaunt them.  One man
was selling a small flock of goats.  Ringing the stalls were shops, small
squat buildings that housed the merchants and artisans who were either
wealthy enough to afford their own store, or had been selling their wares
for long enough to establish themselves and make one.

   There wasn't a trace of the men who had died in this very market just
last night, and she saw no sign that the city guard were alert beyond their
usual bored state.

   Ahma took a deep breath and advanced into the crowd, hugging her still
tender wings to her back to keep them from catching on any of the peoples
careless gesturing and shifting.  She tried to be as inconspicuous as
possible but she felt as if every eye followed her, watching, judging.

   Finally she cleared the crowd and stepped into the Friendly Fare, the
shop Master Methaniel had advised her to visit.

   It was a small shop, but it was packed with goods placed on shelves,
walls, tables, counters, racks, bins, barrels, and even the floor. 
Everything a traveler could want was in this room, including rations,
clothing, blankets, weapons, and more.  It was an overwhelming sight, and
for a moment it all seemed like one big mess to Ahma, one she had no idea
how to shift through to find the things Methaniel had asked for.

   A grizzled man stood behind the cluttered counter at the back of the
store, his skin tanned and cracked like the leather he was busily
polishing. He had a great barrel chest, but an otherwise small stature, and
a bristly white beard.  As he walked to place the leather on a rack behind
the counter, Ahma noticed he moved with a slight limp.

   Without any kind of paper available, Ahma had memorized the things
Master Methaniel asked for on the ride to the city.  After watching the man
for several moments, Ahma began to walk around the store and gather up
various supplies: A pair of boots for Master Methaniel and herself, two
cloaks, A pair of heavy winter pants and a thick tunic, a warmer dress for
her, a dagger to replace the one Methaniel had lost, a hunting knife to
skin kills with, two blankets, an extra pack, a short bow and a full quiver
of arrows, a flit and tinder box, three bags of oats for Lanion, and some
travel rations.  She carried all these to the counter, which earned her a
raised brow from the man behind it.

   "Plannin' on a trip, missie?" he asked in a voice as rough as his face.

   "Yes sir," Ahma said meekly.  She slid the gold coins Methaniel had
given her across the counter and helped the man place all her purchased
items into the pack Methaniel had sent with her, and the one she had just
bought.

   After they finished Ahma glanced at a saddle and harness behind the
counter and then back at him.  "How much for the saddle and tack?"

   The merchant turned to regard the saddle for a moment, then looked back
at the Wingling girl.  "Seven gold coins for the saddle, and two for all
the tack."

   Ahma winced and glanced at the money in her hand.  All she had left was
one gold and two silver shillings.  "Is there any chance you could barter
lower for either of them?"

   " `Fraid not, Missie.  Leather prices be goin' up this year, what with
the war lingerin'."

   Ahma nodded and shouldered the two packs as best she could.  She hadn't
thought the man would budge, but it had been worth a try.  Master Methaniel
hadn't been very optimistic about getting riding gear anyway.

   The overburdened Wingling walked out the store, clenching her jaw as she
struggled with the weight of all the equipment slung over each shoulder. 
She worked her way free of the crowd and started toward the Western gate,
beyond which Master Methaniel awaited.  Her back and shoulder muscles,
abnormally strong from the flight muscles unique to her race, worked to
support the heavy load as she slipped down side-streets and byways,
avoiding the main roads and its crush of people and carts.  Every time she
emerged out in the open she paused, looking carefully around, and whenever
a patrol of guards came clacking down the street her breath caught in her
throat.

   She said a quick prayer to Father Sky to watch over her as she shuffled
out onto the open street directly in front of the Western gate.

   The western gate was the busiest of the four gates as it most easily
accessed the Market.  Thus, all manner of Merchants, artisans, and farm
folk made their way through at nearly all hours of the day.  More guards
were stationed at this gate than the others but the security was, if
anything, more relaxed compared to the other gates to allow for the heavier
traffic flow.

   The great gates of the city rose up overhead, stretching to their full
thirty foot height.  The gates were swung wide, ever open save when a siege
threatened them.  The capitol city was built for defense, and it was the
nations stronghold should any invader ever get so far into Durinum
territory.  The walls of the city had never fallen, nor had the gates ever
been breached by any enemy in memory.

   Only perhaps they had, Ahma thought.  An enemy subtle and cunning, able
to hide and sneak around the watchful eye of the guard, but an enemy
nonetheless.  Who else would attack Master Methaniel but an enemy of the
Kingdom?

   Her heart was in her throat as she approached the gates, doing her best
to blend in with the crowd and be as inconspicuous as possible.  Slowly,
agonizingly slowly, the crowd worked its way forward, closer and closer to
the gates yawning mouth.  Though all seemed well, Ahma was intensely
nervous.  If she were caught, she would likely be punished as a runaway
servant, which would at the least involve a flogging.  And worse, what if,
somehow, the Master's enemies found her and recognized her?  She felt
certain that what they had in store for her would be far worse.  The whole
trip into the city had been a frightening thing.

   She swallowed hard as the man directly in front of her moved through the
gate.  She fixed her eyes on the ground as she walked forward.  The muscles
of her back burned painfully from the burdensome packs.

   "Stop," the guard on her left said as she reached them.

   Courage, Ahma, she told herself as she grew very still.  She glanced up
slightly at the armored guards scrutinizing her.

   The men studied her for a moment, glancing at the packs shouldered on
her back.  Ahma's breath caught in her chest as they scrutinized her.  She
had done something to give herself away, she knew it.  She would be
arrested.  She would be punished.  She would be sold as a slave.  And what
of Master Methaniel?

   The guard on her left pulled a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. 
Though it was hastily drawn and somewhat lacked talent, there was no
mistaking the depiction of Master Methaniel presented to her.

   "Do you recognize this man?" the guard asked.

   Ahma struggled hard to hide her surprise, schooling her features to
neutral curiosity.  She leaned forward, feigning a closer look.  "I'm
afraid not, sirs," she said, and nearly winced at the hoarseness of her
voice.  "Sorry."

   The guards glanced at each other once more before they nodded and
stepped aside.

   "Move `long," they ordered, and Ahma hastily complied.

   The tension drained from her as she walked out of the capitol city and
onto the westbound road.  Though she kept herself alert and aware of the
few people around her making their own trek along the road, she felt
lighter and more at ease than she had since she and Methaniel had begun
making their way toward the city.

   Nearly an hour passed and the sun was at its midpoint before Ahma
finally arrived at the small gathering of trees where Master Methaniel
waited.  She suppressed the urge to call out to him until she was fully
into the cover of trees and she caught site of him.

   "I had began to think something had happened to you," Methaniel said as
he helped her set the packs on the ground.  "Are you okay, Ahma?  Did
anyone take notice of you?"

   "No one paid me any attention.  But Master, we need to get away from
here, quickly.  I don't think we're safe."

   Methaniel looked down at her, his jaw tightening.  "What happened,
Ahma?"

   Ahma rubbed at her sore shoulder and flexed her wings to see if they'd
been bruised by the packs weight.  "I will tell you as we ride, Master.  We
have to be gone from here."

   He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded curtly and shouldered
both the packs as if they weighed nothing.  He whistled sharply, and a
brief pause later Lanion came trotting up from behind a few trees. 
Methaniel reached out a hand to him, murmuring gently into his ear before
vaulting up onto his back.

   "Come," Methaniel bid, extending a hand down to her.  He helped Ahma up
onto the horses and settled her in front of him, then nudged Lanion into
motion.  They eased out of their hiding place, surveying the road for any
sign of life, then quickly skimmed across the worn path and into the hills.

   Ahma told him of all that had happened since they parted, recounting the
events of the day as clearly and concisely as she could in her shaken and
exhausted state.

   Methaniel paled as she told him of the poster

   "Damn," he muttered, his grip tightening on Lanion's fine mane.  The
horse gave a soft snort of protest and Methaniel's grip relaxed.  "This is
worse than I imagined.  I did not think they would be this efficient.  This
only convinces me all the more that I must escape Durinum soil entirely."

   "Master?" Ahma said softly, glancing up at him.  "Why would the guard
have that poster?  Why would they be connected to the men trying to find
us...you?"

   "Did they seem to be investigating the deaths in the market?"

   "You mean the men who attacked us last night?" Ahma asked.  "I don't
know...I don't think so.  I...I honestly saw no sign of them men who
died...no bodies, no investigators...there were no guards in the market
except for the usual patrol.  And...and there was no blood."

   "Strange...I do not know then," Methaniel replied slowly.  "All I can
think is that there is some sort of traitor in the city.  Someone with
enough authority or influence over the guard that they could manipulate
them."

   "A traitor?"Ahma asked with wide eyes.  "You think so?"

   "It is possible," Methaniel nodded.  "I think, someone has gained some
influence in the guard, but is not who they appear to be.  A spy is most
likely."

   "What do you think is said about the Manor?" Ahma asked.

   "I don't know," Methaniel shook his head.  "Perhaps they say that I did
it.  Perhaps that is how they are explaining my being wanted.  Either way,
I intend to find out.  But it will take some time."

   They fell silent as Lanion carried them around the parameter city,
heading northward.  A light snow began to fall around them, drifting lazily
to meet the white washed world below.  The sun briefly peeked from behind
the dense clouds before being tucked away again in their gray embrace.  The
afternoon become briefly warmer, then cooler still as a chill breeze began
blowing off the mountains.  While Lanion briefly paused for a rest,
Methaniel fished the cloaks from one of the packs and they both donned one.

   "I'm sorry I wasn't able to get a saddle, Master," Ahma spoke after some
time.

   "Huh?" Methaniel muttered, then jumped slightly as he broke from his
thoughts.  "Ah.  Yes.  Don't worry about it, Ahma, I didn't think the money
I gave you would be enough.  And I don't really need the saddle or riding
gear to ride I only thought to look for them to make my ride through the
mountains less difficult.  We cannot use one right now with both of us
riding, anyway."

   "I understand," Ahma said as they mounted back up.

   After several more moments of riding along, Methaniel said, "I am sorry
for all this, Ahma.  You should not have to suffer this grief."

   "You need not be sorry, Master," Ahma said softly.  She swept a long
lock of chestnut hair from her eyes as she glanced up at him.

   "I am nonetheless," Methaniel continued.  "If not for me, you wouldn't
be involved in this misfortune."

   "I would be dead without you," she countered firmly.

   Methaniel glanced down at her, studying her face.  The corner of his
lips twitched in a barely perceptible smile.  "Perhaps.  In any case, we
shall need to get you away from here.  And I think I know a good place."

   Ahma tilted her head slightly as she glanced back at him.  "Where's
that?"

   "There is a town at the foot of the Northern pass called Ertil.  It is a
small village, little more than an outpost at the edge of civilization, but
it is a good place.  The people are fair and decent.  I think you would be
able to find a fresh start there."

   "Are they accepting toward Wingling?" Ahma asked.

   Methaniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "Honestly, I do not know.  When
we reach the village, I will go and check for you.  I am sure you would be
welcome."

   "I hope so," Ahma sighed.  She closed her eyes.  The thought of parting
with Methaniel made her feel nervous, but she didn't want to say anything
to him on the matter.  She was sure he was right, anyway; it would be best
for her to try to start over with her life.

   "How long before we reach...Eril, was it?" she asked.

   "Ertil," Methaniel nodded.  "It will take about a day in a half to
reach, should the weather remain favorable."

   Ahma's brow furrowed.  "How can that be so?  Didn't we come upon the
pass in a few hours just yesterday?"

   Methaniel nodded.  "Yes.  But Ertil is at the foot of the pass, where
the trail first begins.  It is some ways west of where we stood yesterday."

   Ahma considered for a moment, then said, "I can find my way to it on my
own, Master.  You don't have to bring me to the village, you need to leave
the kingdom as quickly as possible."

   "It doesn't matter," Methaniel replied, smirking softly.  "The ledge we
stood upon was far too high above the pass.  It would be impossible to lead
Lanion down from there.  No, I've no choice I'm afraid.  We'll have to make
our way to Ertil one way or another."





   ***





   The pair traveled for the next two days, riding along on Lanion's sturdy
back.  The first day a harsh wind began to blow, and soon a wild, whipping
flurry of snow and ice followed in its wake.  They sat close together,
bundled in their cloaks and heavy clothes as they shived miserably. 
Several times during the long day they dismounted and trudged along on
foot, giving Lanion a rest and letting him simply clop along after them. 
Every time they remounted the horse refused to continue on until Methaniel
gave in and fed him several handfuls of oats.    "Damn his stubborness,"
Methaniel grumbled as he rubbed his hands briskly together, trying to
return some measure of feeling to them.    "I don't blame him," Ahma said
through chattering teeth.  "I wouldn't want to carry anyone through this
storm, either."   Methaniel smirked wryly and reached down to pat his
horse. "It doesn't have anything to do with the storm.  He's just greedy
and wants more oats."   "We won't have enough to feed him for long," Ahma
pointed out.

   "I know," Methaniel nodded.  "He'll have to forage for most of his food.
There's plenty of grass beneath the snow, and he's competent enough at
finding it.

   "I had intended," Methaniel added with a half-hearted scowl at his
mount, "to bring the oats in cases that he cannot, for whatever reason,
find enough food when he forages, but he's quickly ruining that notion."

   Aham smiled softly despite her misery.    The storm swirled its chilling
powder across the land, finally abating just after nightfall.  Methaniel
and Ahma shared an uncomfortable and cold night.  Unable to find any real
cover, the pair settled down out in the open.  They dared not make a fire
for fear of attracting potential attention, and they slept in shifts
through the night.  It was cold and damp, and the food rations were
tasteless.  Methaniel felt the snowstorm had likely delayed any organized
pursuit that may have been on their trail, and while the prospect that they
were being followed frightened Ahma, she trusted Methaniel to protect them,
and she took heart from his optimism.    The second day of traveling was
less difficult; the overcast lifted to show a surprisingly clear and sunny
day, painting the land bright and reflecting off the smooth fresh packed
snow.  Lanion seemed more agreeable and it took little urging to bring him
up to a steady canter. They traveled for most of the day in relative
silence.  Though they were fairly comfortable around each other, the tense
situation and lingering memories of smoke and bloodshed burdened their
spirits.  Near nightfall, the weather turned for the worse, and before long
a steady fall of snow settled around them.  They managed to find a measure
of shelter in a dense crop of trees before the flurries settled in too
heavily.  Methanile decided the woods would give them enough cover to risk
a fire, and the pair gathered small branches and bits of wood.  He
struggled with the damp wood as Ahma sang her night devotions to the
darkening sky.

   "Why do you sing?" Methaniel asked softly, looking up from the pile of
uncooperative wood as Ahma's lilting song came to an end.

   She blushed darkly and glanced at him, studying his face in the dimly
lit night.  There was no judgment there, no disapproval or prejudice, only
curiosity.

   "For Winglings...the sky is something of a...holy thing.  It is not a
god exactly, but we believe it's because of the sky that our world is as it
is.  We believe it's because of the sky that life even exists.  We
attribute many of the gifts we have to the sky...air, water, light...so we
praise the sky.  My people sing thanks for its gifts, mostly at the turning
of night to day, and day to night.  At least, that's what my mother taught
me."

   Methaniel nodded, reaching his hand up to rub at the stubble growing on
his chin.  "I'd always heard that Winglings had interesting customs.  It
makes my people seem bland by comparison."

   Ahma smiled slightly at him and shook her head.  "I don't know about
that, Master.  It seems to me that Humans are often the most unique race."

   "Perhaps," Methaniel shrugged.  "Or perhaps our short years just makes
us different somehow."

   Ahma didn't know what to say to that, so she remained silent.

   "We should be close to Ertil.  We've made good time, even with the
little storm we went through.  I don't see any reason why we won't reach
the village tomorrow.  Ah, finally," he smiled as at last the wood caught
and began to smoke.  A thread of flames licked outward.

   They settled down around the tiny fire, Methaniel watching it with a
degree of paranoia as they each took half a loaf of hard, crumbly
traveler's bread and a dried apple.  It was a tasteless meal, but after the
long day of riding it was more than welcome.  They again took shifts
through the night, watching for signs of anyone approaching.

   Even as she lay down to sleep, however, Ahma remained awake.  She did
not nightmares revisiting her resting hours, and she was willing to forego
sleep in order to avoid them.  It was a long, uncomfortable night for the
Wingling, and much of it was spent staring off into the calm, endless dark
around them, wishing her dreams could be as still.

   ***



   Ahma heard the hoof falls coming before she saw the rider and, despite
herself, she grew afraid.  She shifted quickly behind one of the larger
trees, her heart beating painfully in her chest as she peeked into the
clearing.

   The tension drained from her body as she caught sight of Lanion's
enormous white form and the Master sitting tall astride the horse's back.
She chided herself for her nervousness and stepped out into the clearing to
greet him.

   She immediately knew from his face that something was wrong.

   "What is it, Master?" she asked.

   "Trouble," he said curtly.

   As soon as day broke that morning, Methaniel had risen and, true to his
word the other day, went ahead to the village to scout out their
disposition toward Winged folk.  He'd been gone for most of the afternoon,
and Ahma had been growing more and more anxious the past several hours.

   "What's happened?" Ahma asked as Methaniel dismounted.  She glanced at
the pack he pulled from Lanion's back; it bulged far larger than when he
had left.

   "You bought supplies already?"

   Methaniel nodded, his face tight and grim as he began gathering things
up from around their small campsite.  "We're not safe, Ahma.  Word has
reached all the way out here that we're to be found.  Wanted posters have
been placed around Ertil for our apprehension."

   Ahma's eyes widened as his words sank in.  "Our apprehension?"

   Methaniel nodded.  A muscle twitched in his jaw.  "I'm afraid so.  Their
information on you isn't nearly as reliable as it is on me, and the sketch
of you is horrible, but it still stands.  And it's enough to cast suspicion
on you, which will probably mean your capture in the end either way."

   Ahma slumped back against a tree, her heart pounding again.  The danger
was suddenly very real once more.

   "Did anyone notice you?" she asked in a thin voice.

   "I don't think so," Methaniel replied, shaking his head.  "I kept my
cloak very close and did my best to be inconspicuous.  No one stopped me,
in any case, which I take to be as good a sign as any.  No one followed
me."

   "And the supplies?"

   Methaniel shrugged as he shoved one of the blankets into a pack.  "I did
not think it was wise for me to return to Ertil.  I decided to get the last
minute supplies I needed for the journey through the mountains while I was
still there.  There was less chance for a misstep that way."

   Ahma nodded and wrapped her arms around her sides.  Ever since the
snowfall last night, the temperature had been steadily dropping.  Now it
was almost freezing, and her breath fogged thickly every time she exhaled.
It had been snowing for the past two and a half hours.  "You got more than
I thought you would."

   Methaniel stopped his packing and turned to face her.  For a long moment
he watched her, his gaze unreadable and steady.  Finally, he stood up
straight and walked toward her.  The closer he came, the farther back Ahma
had to crane her head to meet his eyes.

   "Ahma," he said softly, and he took her hands gently in his.  "I do not
think you will be safe in Durinum at all anymore.  I had hoped you would
escape notice, if we but moved you from the city, but that is not the case.
If they are truly looking for you, and it would seem they are, and word has
reached all the way to Ertil, then I do not think there is any place within
the Kingdom you can feel safe.  It just isn't possible anymore.  I'm
sorry."

   Ahma stared at her tiny hands encased in his far larger ones, letting
his words sink in.  She had guessed as much, but to hear it so honestly and
bluntly put from his lips...it made it real, somehow.  She tried to still
her trembling.

   "What can I do?"

   "The only thing I can think of is to take you with me," he said after a
long pause.  "It will be dangerous, have no doubt...the way through the
mountains is deadly, and far more have perished along its way than not. 
But it is a surer bet for safety than staying here.  I think, perhaps, we
could find some place for you beyond the Kingdom's borders."

   Ahma hadn't been outside the borders of Durinum since her parents died
and her brothers took her up into the mountains, searching for a safe haven
from the war.  She hardly even remembered the valley her family's farm had
been nestled in.  Somehow, though Durinum had become a place of great
danger to her, it was still her home.  Leaving the capitol city had been
hard.  How difficult would it be to leave the entire Kingdom?

   "Ahma?" Methaniel spoke.

   Ahma's jaw firmed and she looked up at him with all the determination
she could muster.  "Okay, Master.  I will come with you, if you'll have
me."

   "Of course," Methaniel smiled.  He gave her hands a squeeze, then
stepped away.

   "We should hurry," he stated.  "I do not like biding here like this,
especially if our enemy has gotten word about us out this far.  It will
mean they may consider this a viable escape route, and if they do, they are
likely watching."

   Ahma began to help him pack up their things and took the opportunity to
check what supplies he'd gotten.  There were extra blankets, two extra
cloaks, a second quiver of arrows, three lengths of rope, a pot, pan, and
ladle for cooking, several waterskins, and more dried rations.

   "Oh, yes," Methaniel said as he turned to face her.

   He pulled a dagger from his belt, still snuggly fit in its sheath.  He
pulled it free, revealing a slender, long blade with a slight curve to it
and a wicked tip.  It wasn't the highest quality dagger Ahma had ever seen,
but it looked quite capable and efficient, and study as well.  It was
obviously not a tool, but a weapon.

   Methaniel placed it back into its plain leather sheath.  Ahma thought
for a moment it was yet another dagger for his use.  Hence, her eyes
widened drastically as he handed the sheathed blade to her.

   "This is yours," Methaniel explained, "In case you should need to defend
yourself, and I am for any reason unable to do so."

   Ahma nodded wordlessly as she took the dagger.  For how slender the
blade was, it was heavier than she expected.  "Thank you," she stammered at
last.  Never before had she ever been given a weapon.  It wasn't something
that was often given to a woman, and it was never given to a servant.  She
didn't know what to make of the unexpected gift.

   Methaniel walked over to Lanion and spent a few moments feeding him
several handfuls of oats and brushing over his coat with the other hand. 
"Are you ready, my friend?"

   The horse flicked his tail back and forth.

   "Good," Methaniel smirked, patting his steed's back.  "We must move."

   He shouldered two of the three packs, the bow, and one of the quivers of
arrows.  Ahma put the rest onto her shoulders, then grabbed one of the
waterskins and the tinderbox.  Methaniel helped her pull her cloak on over
the packs and pulled the hood over her head.  The towering man turned and
draped one of the wool blankets onto Lanion's back.  Lanion shifted
slightly and turned his head to watch Methaniel.

   The Master then helped Ahma up onto the horse.  He grabbed another
blanket and wrapped it around her, looking up at her as he did so.

   "It's going to get colder sooner than later," he stated.

   "That's reassuring," Ahma murmured as she pulled the blanket closer. 
She already felt as if she would never be truly warm again.  Methaniel
leapt up behind her onto the horse.

   Lanion set off, his gaint even and smooth as he worked steadily through
the small grouping of trees, moving on a northern course.

   Methaniel pulled Ahma close, and the heat of his body reached her even
through the blankets and cloak.  "Tired," she murmured, pressing the back
of her head into his chest.  Now that the excitement of his news had worn
off somewhat, she was feeling the effects of a sleepless night.  She
unconsciously nuzzled closer to his warmth.

   Methaniel nodded, his gaze sweeping ever vigilant along the gathering
hills as Ahma sagged against him.  She stirred for a moment or so, then
suddenly stilled.

   Ahma had struggled to keep the sleep at bay, teetering on the final
moments of consciousness.  She didn't want to drift into a terrible
nightmare all over again.  She feared any rest would be lost among the
terrors of her distant -and more recent- experiences.

   Still, with her body growing warmer, she couldn't resist slumber's pull.
Sleep took her with open arms.

   She woke up on her bed at her parent's farm.  She was still fully grown
and not a child, though her bed somehow was big enough for her.  Her
brother's beds, capped with red quilts, were across the room.  The three
siblings shared the attic because their house was so small, but it was a
comfortable way to live.

   She climbed down the ladder and walked to the small kitchen.  Her mother
stood at the counter, mixing dough for bread.  The woman had to knead it
quite roughly, but when the bread was finished it would be soft and
perfectly formed.

   Ahma said hello to her mother just as she did every morning, and her
mother returned the greeting.  A part of Ahma's mind wanted to cry with joy
and fling her arms around her mother, but she didn't.

   Instead, Ahma went outside.  Her father was plowing the spring fields,
only Lanion had taken the place of their normal horse.  The massive
warhorse looked awkward and somewhat silly pulling the normal sized plow.

   The same urge to smother her father with affection raced along the back
of her mind.  Her father waved.  She returned the gesture.

   As she moved on, the frantic part of her mind grew louder.  She couldn't
remember why she should be so happy to see her parents.  She saw them from
dawn to dusk every day.  But the urge was there, and strong, and it made
the moments she shared with them all the sweeter.

   She found her brothers behind the house.  They were putting a wall up
for an extention on the house, a small room behind the kitchen.  Master
Methaniel was there, helping to construct the room he was to move into some
time in the next several weeks.

   Her entire mind buzzed.  She wanted to tackle her brothers to the
ground. Instead, she helped pull the rope to raise the wall.  Methaniel,
although Human, was part of the family now.  She remembered.  He defended
their farm against a raid from the strange men.  He refused to allow harm
to come to them, slaying twenty men alone.

   After that, her parents adopted him.  They adored him and he loved them
in return.  His own parents had passed away years ago.  He taught her
brothers the ways of combat, and for some reason Ahma spent time bathing
him after their exercise routines.  That seemed strange, and she certainly
couldn't figure it out with the commotion going on in her head.

   They ate breakfast together, a small meal of dried meat and bread from
the day before.  The new bread rose by the stove.  For some reason, her
parents spent most of the meal going on and on about the mating rituals and
beliefs of the Wingling people.  Ahma would've ignored them completely, but
she couldn't concentrate enough to stay focused in the first place.

   One of her brothers, or maybe it was her father, suggested Ahma teach
Methaniel to fly.  No one seemed to think this was an absurd or impossible
idea.

   Ahma put her head on the table.  Her mind felt ready to burst.  Her
mother rushed to her side, feeling her forehead.  Ahma closed her eyes. 
When she opened them, everyone was gone.

   She sat alone at a charred table, surrounded by the ruins of a long
forsaken house.

   A child once more, Ahma began to cry.





   End Ch.  6



   This chapter presented me with some challenges.  I felt a lot of things
needed to happen for our heroes to realistically prepare for this journey,
but those kinda things are rarely as interesting as the journey itself.  I
struggled some to try and make it interesting.  I also had a lot of ideas
and thoughts for this chapter that were scrapped, and a lot that were added
or modified.

   All comments questions or critiques should be sent to
Crouching_Buddha2000@yahoo.com
   


  
Rising Ch. 6