Lake Star Darkwater Ch. 04

The roar of the falls filled the early morning air with the continuous deep growl of an angry ogre.

Civilicus had to shout as he and Ciara leaned out to look over the edge of the steep cliff. Far below they saw the dark maw of a giant natural cave with the broad and shimmering long waterfall which fell from it.

"This is the place where Lake Dark Starwater drains and creates the head-waters of the mighty Somali River. I'm told the cave is called the Mother's Womb and the falls the Waters of the Mother. Scholars say the falls is the longest in this part of the world. I've heard that mystics of a goddess cult come here to meditate on the falls and to commune with the Mother."

Ciara nodded. She didn't doubt it. She noticed that a rainbow had formed in the white mist which obscured the foot of the long falls. The natural beauty of the place was stunning, conducive to otherworldly thoughts. If a bit noisy.

When she began to grow dizzy, Ciara stepped away from the edge. She pulled her blonde hair out of her face, from where the wind had blown it, and glanced up, seeing a flock of bluebirds fly overhead. She thought that it was so nice, romantic, being there with Civilicus in such a pretty place.

The strain that had been on his face during the entire stay at the lake was gone. He smiled more. And Ciara herself was more and more at ease the far-ther they traveled away from Dark Starwater. Her intuition was sharp enough to tell her two things, that Civilicus had suffered through some powerful experi-ence back there and that she didn't really want to know exactly what it'd been. Whatever it was, it had shaken him to his core, that much was plain.

"The river's formed a deep canyon through the rainforest and for hundreds of miles to the coast," Civilicus continued to explain in a yell. "We'll follow it on the east bank until we're close to Kraal."

Kraal, she thought and frowned. Journey's end.

But Ciara flatly refused to think about that. She let her smile come back to her face and leaned up to kiss Civilicus on the cheek.

"How about some breakfast now?"

"Aye," he grinned back.

Her taper-fingered hand glided down his chest, past his waist until it brushed his crotch. "I know just the thing I'm hungry for." And she giggled as she stood on tip-toes to hungrily kiss him.

#

It was raining a few weeks later when they crossed over the Somali River. They walked over an ancient and narrow rope-bridge, which smelled of rot and swayed much too wildly for Ciara's taste, then abruptly stepped out of the jun-gle onto a wide stone-paved road.

"It runs as straight and true as a seamstress' hem," Ciara said, amazed that such a road could exist.

Civilicus said, "It leads directly to the capital city, the famed Kraal by the Sea. In a few days we'll be there."

There, Ciara thought.

She darted a covert glance at Civilicus, while wiping rain from her eyes, and saw his usual guarded expression. He was the hardest man to read that she had ever known.

"We've crossed over the northern border of the kingdom of K'ush and are now subject to the law of M'fumi the Great."

"K'ush," Ciara breathed. "The land of eternal summer. Among my people this kingdom is considered a legend."

Civilicus smiled. "Then it won't surprise you that here your frozen North is thought to be little more than myth. There are some rainforest tribes who believe the far north is where the spirits of the unworthy go in their after-life."

"Considering some of the people I know there, that belief might not be too far from wrong."

Civilicus laughed along with her, both thinking of her villainous step-father, Soren.

"Well, the road grows no shorter with us just standing here," he said. Shrugging his pack into a more comfortable position on his back, Civilicus be-gan to move off down the wide road through the gray drizzle.

He wore only a pair of sturdy sandals and a lengthy red sarong which fell to mid-shin. The silver-chained whale ivory amulet was on his exposed chest and his sword was slung across his back. His body daily thus exposed, Civilicus had grown darker as they had approached the equator. The same was true of Ciara herself. Her once pale face was now well-tanned. Her blonde hair was tucked into a colorful scarf wrapped about her hair, after the fashion of the women of the river-folk. Her once soft and supple body now definitely curved by travel-developed muscle. She also wore well-crafted sandals and a sarong, except that hers was a brightly-striped wrap-around cotton skirt which fit snugly about her firm hips. She wore a long bush-knife, which served as her sword, in her knot-ted hemp belt. A pack was also strapped to her back, and because she was other-wise topless, her breasts were bare.

The two of them looked every inch the long-distance travelers that they happened to be.

They carried their supplies in their packs because a few months back they'd traded their sturdy little pony to a river-tribe in exchange for the sa-rongs and other supplies they would need to complete their journey safely and comfortably through the rainforest. Ciara had found life beneath the all-encompassing canopy disconcerting, but somewhat magical at the same time. Ex-cept at the river's edge, their were no openings in the roof of the primordial jungle. Fern-trees laced the blue Sky green with their unfurled fronds. Shorter tropical-trees sent out their own branches, arrowhead leaves, and fronds. The rich, earthy smell of growing and decaying vegetable matter made Ciara think that must have been what all the world had smelled like when it was new.

While under the canopy they'd wanted for nothing, fruit trees were in abundance and they had been very lucky at catching fish in the river and game birds among the underbrush. Civilicus had a way with the River People and they were allowed to travel across the natives lands without being molested.

Finally, they had reached the uncertain rope bridge and were once more in the land of open Sky. Ciara sighed, the transition making her a little sad. She'd felt somehow sheltered and safe under the trees.

They topped a rise in the road and in the middle-distance there was a rough-hewn log-walled fort. Within a quarter-hour they entered the garrison town and walked through its open wooden gate. Ciara's blue eyes were wide as she avidly looked around the place, walking from market stall to stall, openly gawking at the people and things she saw, the picture of the original country bumpkin. Although only a small-sized hamlet by K'ushite standards, it was still the largest settlement she'd ever been in.

And the people were as colorful as the tropical-blend fabrics they wore, purple-black, brown, red-skinned and yellow-bronze, with eyes of onyx, hazel, green-jade, blue and violet. But most were dark brown hued with dark brown or black eyes. The farther south they'd come the darker had become the people, un-til it was she herself who became the strange colored, the exotic. And yet, even Ciara's inexperienced eyes could see that these deep brown people of the equator were not Civilicus folk. His skin had a readily apparent red undertone, instead of the rich mahogany of the native people of this land.

She turned to her companion, to comment upon the cosmopolitan mix of the fort-town, and saw his attention concentrated on a structure with a round roof, thin gray smoke drifted up out of its narrow chimney. Civilicus' expression opened into a rare smile.

"A bath house," he said.

"A which-what?"

He turned to her and began to explain the K'ushite custom of public bath houses.

Across the square, a foot-soldier of the King's guard scowled the instant he saw the barbarian girl. His hostile gaze took in the long bush knife sheathed in her twisted-hemp belt. His fingers traced the hillocky scar which ran down the side of his face. The result of a disagreement with a blade-wielding outlander bitch in his younger years. He didn't like barbarians and he didn't like to see a weapon on the hip of a woman.

Unaware of the rage her presence had generated, Ciara and Civilicus eye-shopped the small stalls of the garrison. They wouldn't actually buy anything until after visiting the bath house and they were ready to leave.

"What sort of alien slut walks about with a sword, pretending to be a man?"

Ciara swung at the sound of the voice, her hand going to the hilt of her weapon, taking the measure of the man who had insulted her.

It wasn't the first time during their journey that Ciara had drawn un-wanted attention. Some people just didn't like strangers. Most times it was Civilicus who offended someone's sight, being the bigger target. Nearly all were blowhards however. The few that had tried to harm them were taken care of by Civilicus, except for one who Ciara had neatly outfought and severely in-jured.

She had a couple of things going for her, her daily practice sessions with Civilicus which made her confident in her ability to defend herself and the fact that she was in the best shape of her life.

Had the half-drunk warrior paid more attention to the pull of her muscles beneath her skin rather than being enraged by her carrying a weapon he might have thought better of antagonizing the woman. But he was not a discerning man. He was merely a brute.

Ciara stepped away from Civilicus, seeking clear space and drew her sword. "I don't know you. You don't know me. We have no quarrel. But I do de-mand an apology."

"I'd sooner eat shit straight from an oxen's ass before begging the par-don of a barbarian bitch." The warrior laughed derisively and drew his own sword.

Civilicus stood still, not interfering as he watched, intent, ready to react at a moment's notice lest Ciara make a mistake and gave her opponent an opening. With the newfound second-sight the Oracle had given him, Civilicus was pretty sure that the woman would not be killed in the fort.

He had seen her as an old woman, white-haired and wrinkled, dying in bed surrounded by many mourners. But, even given that the vision was an accurate one, that didn't bar the possibility that she would suffer a crippling wound. Such was the uncertainty of the goddess' gift, he could sometimes glimpse or sense future occurrences but only in broad outlines most of the time. Details were usually sorely lacking. Civilicus considered the unasked for sight as much a curse as a gift.

If such is the truck of the gods then they're welcome to it, he thought.

His dark-eyed gaze carefully following the opponents as they began to circle one another. Ciara, despite her obvious nervousness, was cat-smooth as she moved. He noted with approval that she held her sword out before her with her body in a narrow profile behind it. The foot-soldier grinned, waving his long sword at Ciara's face, hoping to distract her. But it was she who struck first, suddenly stabbing, drawing blood from the warrior's shoulder before nim-bly skipping out of reach.

The warrior yelled a curse, spittle flying from his lips in his anger when he felt the deep sting and saw his red blood sheeting thinly down his sliced shoulder.

"You poxy whore! I'll gut you for that."

Ciara didn't respond, merely kept circling, as Civilicus as taught her. Drizzle dashed into her eyes from time to time but she knew better than to wipe it away, instead she blinked rapidly to clear her vision. She was grinning but she didn't know it.

As the seconds passed, the warrior's breathing became harsh, he slowed, favoring his wounded shoulder. The three pints of mead he'd drank and the loss of blood beginning to tell.

Once more Ciara's flicked out, ripping his short sarong and slicing into his thigh. He howled in the fresh pain and in the woman's narrowed blue eyes he saw no mercy.

"Do you yield," Ciara panted, putting every once of contempt within her into the question. Daring him to accept the offer of quarter.

The soldier swallowed but his throat and mouth were dry. There was a clicking sound in his throat. His eyes were afraid. But the fight had gathered a crowd, members of his cohort looked on. He couldn't back down in front of his fellow troopers. "No," he rasped. "I'd rather die first."

"Then that," Ciara growled, "is the way it shall be."

She attacked again, the long knife flashing in the light rain, scoring a series of shallow cuts across the man's chest arms. Finally, the pain in his thigh tripped him into the mud. She stood over him, magnificent in her anger and raised the bush-knife in a two-handed grip over her head, preparing to de-liver the deathblow.

"Hold!" A voice roared from across the square. All eyes but Ciara's turned in the direction of the shout. It'd come from the commandant of the fort, Captain Swazi.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He roared, running up to Ci-ara.

"She thinks she's defending herself." Civilicus told the captain, step-ping forward. "From an unprovoked attack."

"No dueling within the king's fort," the captain growled, scowling at the big man and the woman with the blade.

"You should tell that to your infantryman. He started it."

"I won't have a melee here," the Swazi said, ignoring Civilicus words. "Put down the sword, I said. Or you're both under arrest."

Civilicus frowned. Ciara's arms, although they trembled, did not relax, she stared down at her opponent.

"Tell your man to yield first," Civilicus said.

The captain's eyes narrowed. "Didn't you hear me, woman? Put down the weapon." He turned to his aide who had followed after him like a lovesick puppy. "Go get the surgeon to attend to this man."

Civilicus nodded to Ciara. "Sheath the knife," he told her.

Slowly, she backed away before putting away the blade.

"Disturbing the peace is a finable offense. Although I doubt the pair of you share a copper between you." He sneered into Civilicus' face.

"We're on the King's business," the big man growled back.

The officer gave a scoffing laugh that such an outlandish pair could have anything to do with the Royal Court. "You? A kingsman? I don't think so."

Civilicus grinned and smoothly pulled his sword from its sheath before the captain could begin to react. The king's purple enameled seal at the crux of his sword-hilt was plain for all to see.

The commandant, a veteran of military politics, wasn't intimidated by the King's seal. He knew that ninety-nine times out of a hundred a kingsman was merely a courier, a lackey letter-carrier. The rest of them, more times than not, were domestic spies. Couriers were safe to ignore and the captain wasn't afraid of what a spy might report of his activities. He ran a tight fort and everyone knew it.

"Kingsman or no, it'd be best for the pair of you to be on you way."

Civilicus grunted a short laugh. "Perhaps you're right. See that we're given swift horses and a day's ration each. We'll need them after our bath."

The officer scowled. "I'll be poxed before I hand over horses from this fort's stables to a couple of barbarians."

"I may be a barbarian but unless things have changed drastically since I was last in the Kingdom of K'ush, an admiral still outranks a captain." He lost his smile. "I am Civilicus."

The captain's eyes grew wide. "Civilicus? The merman?" Then the man caught himself and snapped to attention. "I mean, to say, sir, that I didn't recognize you. Admiral. Sir."

Civilicus kept scowling at the man for five heartbeats or so before he responded. "Aye. My companion and myself intend to indulge in your fort's no doubt inadequate bath house. Afterwards, I expect the horses saddled and ready for our departure."

"Yes sir."

"And their saddlebags stocked with rations."

"Aye sir."

"Oh, and send a tailor to me."

"Aye sir."

"You're dismissed."

"Aye sir." The captain turned on his heels and left the market square as quickly as his tattered dignity would allow.

# # #

Ciara sighed.

She rested her head back against a towel folded over the edge of the tiled bathing pool. She looked up at a mural painted on the ceiling of a rather well-endowed winged horse mating with a silver-horned unicorn. Steam rose in a wispy layer from the otherwise clear water of the bathing pool. Her blue eyes were half-closed as she looked at Civilicus, who also lounged in the steamy wa-ter. His head leaned back into the lap of a nude female bath attendant, who sat on the bath's tiled edge and expertly cut his black hair, putting the clippings into a copper bowl beside her naked hip.

A large ornate brass hookah had been placed near the bathing pool close to them. Ciara held the tube and wooden mouth-piece lazily in one hand, peri-odically taking a deep draw of the smoldering pipeweed. The water pipe's cham-ber had been filled with cold water before being brought into the bath and the smoke was icy as it filled her lungs. She exhaled slowly, the aroma of the pipeweed mixing with the perfume of the scented wood burning in baths tiny bra-ziers. The bathhouse air was thick, sultry. Many-colored petals of exotic flow-ers were scattered and floated atop the steamy water. Ciara thought it the height of decadence.

"Why did that soldier call you merman? What does it mean?"

"Merman is a term from local tales of fancy. It refers to a fabled people who live under the sea. Since I'm of the Sea People many in K'ush considered me one of the mermen of legend."

"Oh. And what does admiral mean?"

"Admiral is a military title. It means the leader of men and ships at sea. For a time I was the commander of King M'fumi's navy. A sea army."

"Ah."

Ciara took another pull at the hookah and waited. Experience had taught her that Civilicus would either explain further or he would not, notwithstand-ing prompting on her part.

He reached out, took the mouthpiece from her and puffed of the pipe, happy she'd survived the fight without a scratch. "The K'ushites are not great sailors. I betray no secret in revealing this to you. They're coast-huggers, cautious of venturing too far out into the open sea. I am not. I was able to help the king conquer some of his enemies by leading K'ushite ships out to sea, far from land, and bring them to the enemy's coast undetected. Appearing out of nowhere, so to speak."

Civilicus shrugged, prompting his haircutter to gently turn his head slightly back to the left. "Among my folk, being able to sail the sea and to steer by the stars is something we learn in childhood. We consider it second-nature and nothing to comment on. Here, it made my fortune."

The tailor Civilicus had requested entered the chamber, bowing. "You sent for me, great sir?"

"Aye," Civilicus said, turning his head toward the man. The barber tempo-rarily took her scissors from his hair. "I'll be needing a new sarong. Red, with a thin purple border along the outer hem."

He'd hoped to reach M'fumi's court incognito but now that his presence had been revealed, wearing the purple stripe of a kingsman would keep any fur-ther trouble at bay.

"Very well, sir."

Civilicus dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. Soon after, the bar-ber finished her business and bowed before leaving the chamber with her bowl of hair.

"You fought well today."

Ciara smiled at his acknowledgement of her growing skills. Her nerves till sang from an undercurrent of excitement because of the life and death struggle. "I know."

Civilicus grunted, then said, "There is something I must tell you."

Ciara, in her mellow mood, raised an unconcerned eyebrow. "Such as?"

"When I was a boy, a sacred statue, a godhead of my people was stolen from our most holy temple. An unspeakably blasphemous crime. Unprecedented in anyone's memory.

"Without going into too much of an explanation, the god's safety was my family's responsibility. It was up to my clan to retrieve it. My father couldn't search for it, being the head of the family he had to watch over our lands. The task fell to my oldest brother. After he'd left the islands and hadn't returned for five years my second-oldest brother went in search of the godhead. After five more years it was my turn. Again, without going into tedi-ous detail, I was successful where my brothers were not. When you searched my belongings back at Soren's Inn you must've seen and touched the wrapped image."