Demon of the Black Gate

“Awake. There are men approaching. They are beyond two hills.”

“Well Good Morning.” Cerra yawned and roused herself. Kamir was curled in the crook of her knees. She smelt the grassy dew and the scent of the air held the early freshness. The sun must only be just on the horizon.

“Well, it’d be nice to have company.”

“These men may wish you harm. I can destroy them. I do not wish to be seen.”

“No … no … wait. Don’t destroy them … just yet anyway.” Cerra couldn’t believe she was speaking so, but could sense the protective nature the demon had adopted for her. “You can disappear, be a pile of rocks, or something, right? Even a dust cloud or rain. I’ve not seen … only felt your … oh what? … transformations?”

“I am that.”

“Well then. Let me greet these men. If they wish me harm, surely you can protect me if I need it.”

“It is better that they be slain.”

“Oh, I know.” Cerra said, trying to sound convincing and reassuring. “But they may be of assistance too. I must believe they mean me no harm. I would fear them now otherwise. Do not slay them just yet. I will call upon you … and you will know truly, if I am in danger, will you not?”

The demon thought and recognized that her words bore the truth.

“Yes. I will know.”

Even now, Cerra picked up the distant rumble in the ground. If the demon himself had not been standing next to her she would have thought it was he approaching with the tumult of thunder.

“Yes I hear them. There are many. I have never heard so many horses at once. They’ll be here soon.”

She stood and faced the direction of the sound. It seemed to come from everywhere at first but she caught the strongest note, and the smell of horses was in the breeze. In the midst of the rumble of hooves, she heard the grinding of stone and earth and saw the form of the demon shift down. The blue/white image collapsed into a small glowing ball.

The horses were near. Kamir sat at her feet, staring out at the approaching riders. She heard his throaty rumble.

“You are a fearless friend.” she whispered. “Let’s see if I can do as well.” She hoped the riders would stay well off, so as soon as she judged she was in their sight, she raised her hands outward, with her walking stick held like a staff. She felt like she was on a grand stage, acting the part of a queen, and she didn’t know the lines.

“er ... Riders of the Grass! … Halt!” she cried.

The riders had dropped into the little vale, one of the few natural springs in this part of the steppes, and they knew it well. They numbered twenty, led by Jadan of the third Horse.

He saw the diminutive woman facing him with her arms raised, standing next to the lone tree. It was such a curious sight that he raised his arm to slow and halt the tide of horsemen. They pulled up at the edge of the spring. Jadan waved his men away and slid from his horse. The woman lowered her staff.

“Woman. Do you think you can command the Cherros? What do you here at the spring?”

“I am merely resting.” said Cerra. “I shall be on my way as soon as I have had my breakfast. Do you have any kafi?”

Jadan looked around at his men smirking and back at the woman in front of him. She was clad in a simple green dress, leather vest, brown leggings with a maroon and gold shawl that lay about her shoulders. Her hair was a flaming orange/red, falling over her shoulders, and wildly curled. This was no woman of the plains, nor of the Abbysins. What had the fevered man said? ‘Witch’? She had a fine horse and the black cat sat down at her feet staring at them. Witch? The woman seemed harmless enough. He was watching her eyes. Dark brown, though it appeared she was looking beyond him. He turned. Nothing but the empty prairies. His men were murmuring and laughing, perched on their horses, waiting to see what he would do with this little snip of a woman. He drew his attention back to her.

“My deepest apologies, woman, but I have no kafi, and I think I must take you back to our gathering. The tribe will know what to do with you.”

He held up a hand to his riders, signalling them to approach.

“They come.” came the voice of the demon in her mind.

She flashed back a thought. “Surround them with a wind. Please … no harm.”

In the same moment she cried, raising her staff again.

“Stay your riders!”

A clatter of sand gravel and wind rose from a pile of rocks near her and started sweeping around the horsemen, an enclosing cyclone. The riders turned their heads, ducking them below their arms for protection, their mounts wheeled and snorted in confusion.

“Can you make a fence?” she thought in her mind.

The demon relayed an agreement. The howling ceased, the winds and the borne rock and earth collapsed and stacked itself into a solid shoulder high barrier, enclosing the riders. A few of the riders drew bows in their alarm. A swirl of air and fire flew from the wall knocking away their arms.

“Now please, kind sir, I merely wish to go on my way.”

Jadan struggled to control his horse, and held up his hand to quiet his men. This woman was powerful beyond his ken. There would have to be discussion of this.

“Woman. We shall do you no harm. You have the word of Jadan of the third horse.”

“Well then, I have the word of a gentleman, I am sure.”

“Drop the fence if you like.” she cast to the demon.

The earthen and rock wall dissolved into sands and smoke. The swirling gathered itself into a coil beyond them, dancing … waiting like a small cyclone before settling and turning into the earth itself, a rock cairn of fiery stone. She could see him, flaming as though ready to expand into terrific proportions, an anger growing.

“You have impressed them.” she felt the sparkle of humor in her thought and saw the lessening of the ardor of his image. “Let us not give too much away. Become one with the land.”

She saw the glow of him spread out, and the cairn fell apart like a poorly stacked wall.

“I shall enjoy this lovely day then. Thank you, Jadan, for this visit.”

“It is not a visit.” Jadan said. “Someone was looking for you. We decided to help.”

Cerra thought quickly. For her? Then she remembered the demon had said that someone or something followed them into the great cave.

“It isn’t one of your riders that seeks me.” she stated.

“True. Not one of the Cherros. A man was found fevered not but five leagues from here. He is dying I expect, but he sent a warning: a witch woman. A valid one apparently.”

Cerra had a hard time believing anyone had earmarked her for attention, yet there was a man out searching for her. The demon had brought attention to her, but how? The man was fevered and sick, regarded her as a witch for some reason, yet she wanted to find out what she could. And she may be able to help.

“Where is this man?”

“He’s been taken to where we graze for the summer. It is near here, close to the forests where it is cooler. We have a camp.”

“Please guide me there if you would. I would have a look at him.” Cerra said.

“You tempt fate” came the demon’s thought to her.

“I am fine.” she thought back. “We must find out what we can, should we not?” A sense of agreement came over her.

“I would know who you are before I bring you to the Horse ... our camp.” said Jadan.

Cerra laughed. “Oh. Well, I am Cerra …” she thought of her village, and how they called her, “of the meadows. You really have nothing to fear from me.”

“Your sorcery is a concern” said Jadan.

“It is not sorcery but the earth that protects me.” she said. “And I have your word, which to me is a greater armor. I can tell you are earnest.”

Jadan walked slowly toward her, still looking at her, her eyes. They were deep brown, and she followed his movement, though she appeared to see through him, past him. Her hair was flame, but her expression was one of contentment, even joy. This woman was blessed by the gods, he thought. And, he suddenly he had the notion, watching her unchanging eyes, that she was blind.

“My lady … Cerra. You have but to name the color of my cloak and you shall be guided.” He waved his hand as though feeling the air between them.

“Oh, you test my sight.” laughed Cerra. “I assure you I am quite blind.” She made a wild guess. “But if you insist, I can tell you it is must be like the grasses here, a tanned color. It must blend in well as you hunt, such is my guess. Do you have green for when the grass is fresh?”

The men murmured and speculated with nervous laughter.

“You may be blind, lady, but you see better than most. Do I have your word that you’ll not press any wild majics upon us?”

“Of course, you have my pledge. As long as I have yours.”

“Then you may breakfast with us.” said Jadan. “Are you ready to ride?”

“I will only take a few moments” said Cerra.

“Then we await.” offered Jadan, and turned to address the men. “Feldan, Seredan, take your charges and return to the Horse. “Talk only to my uncle and have the women prepare some food. I follow within the hour.”

They saluted at their orders. Two thirds of the mounted riders separated from the group and cantered away from the spring.

Jadan watched the woman as she gathered her things. She was deft with locating what she wanted, and seemed to know where everything was. The black cat sat like a statue, watching them. Jadan smiled watching her slide her staff into her saddle rig and mount the horse. As she was a short woman, and her horse was a bit too tall for one such as her, she had to reach high with arm and leg and haul herself with some effort to make the saddle. But she settled quickly and the horse stood elegant and ready, showing no concern for the new herd that lay just apart. The rest of the men laughed aloud when the black cat quickly scampered up the knotted cloth that hung from the saddle and settle into her lap.

“I will have two of my men trailing you, lady, to be at your convenience, nothing more.”

“Careful.” came the demon in her thoughts.

“I’m fine. Oh you are such a love.” she gave back with genuine amusement.

“You are generous.” she said aloud, addressing the rider. “I appreciate your consideration. Right now my greatest interest is the man who lays dying under your care. And the breakfast you promise.” added Cerra cheerfully.

“Can you ride apace?” asked Jadan.

“Gallop?” asked Cerra. “Oh, I hardly ever do. There is not much opportunity for me. I would really love to.”

“Then breakfast will be much sooner.” smiled Jadan at her ingenuous response. “I’ll guide you personally.”

“I am honored.” she replied. To the demon she cast a wry thought, “You will keep up, I trust.”

She sensed a response, that she would only interpret it as humorous.

“It’ll be fun.” she flashed back, “you’ll see.”

Jadan rounded the men and set out at a brisk trot to warm the horses, and as they crested the small rise that edged the spring, broke open into a full gallop, the sea of grass spread out before them. He watched the woman carefully, and she rode very well; she seemed particularly sensitive to the horse. He laughed. Her eyes were closed! And she was smiling as she rode. As she settled in the gallop, she leaned forward and it was apparent that she had nothing to do with steering or guiding the horse. She was just on it. Riding. And there was an unmistakeable joy about her.

None of the riders noticed the swarm of dust that swirled up, djinn like, merging and cresting with the dust of the riders.

Cerra leaned closer to the horses neck. Kamir nested in a tight ball,buried in her skirts atop the saddle. The horse at full gallop seemed to float, and the seat was effortless. She shut her eyes to the wind and heard nothing but the pounding of the hoofs and the smell of horse and grass and flying clods of dirt. She felt she was riding a storm from the top cloud, floating smoothly while the thunder lay below. She let the time go, measuring only the rocking of the horses neck and the surge of its muscles as it glided in the run. Cerra was only holding on, the reins loose in her grip which rested on the pommel of her saddle. The rumble of hoofs seemed like a crackling fire or cascading stream … a wall of noise that hypnotized. The wind blew at her hair, the horses mane feathered against her. She understood the myths of flying horses and magical steeds in a moment like this. She felt blissful.

Jadan watched the witch, noticing when the woman’s horse would tire, for it would before that of his men. Not breed, just conditioning, for he reasoned this woman would never have pushed her mount very often if at all. He slowed the company to a walk when it passed his notice.

He moved to her side. She was breathing heavily with the excitement, her round cheeks flushed. The woman’s red hair flamed, and the ride had done nothing to tame the curls.

“Oh, good sir, that was wonderful.” Cerra cried happily. “Truly you have given me a marvelous gift. It is no wonder that you make your home here.”

Jadan was nonplussed. There seemed to be nothing of a dangerous witch in this woman. Her exuberance was catching, and even the men looked as if they’d been out for a afternoon hunt instead of a patrol.

“The great range is our life” he replied.

“Tell me of it. What is your town like?”

“We have no towns. Even our trade centers are by the season. We move. We fashion tents. You may find our humble trappings meager.”

“Oh I think not.” she laughed. “But I shall surely judge the breakfast. I am famished.”

“You will find our women capable cooks.” he smiled. “But, you my lady ...”

“Call me Cerra. ‘lady’ sounds far too formal.” said Cerra.

“If you please, lady, it would be too familiar for me to do so. Our custom. And too, you have shown yourself to be a person of great power. I must show you respect, so that my people do as well.”

There was much they would never understand about her presence here, but she had in turn convinced them that she, and not the demon, had wielded great power. She could see that she must carry herself carefully. There would be little familiarity with these good people.

“Of course, sir” she smiled. “You do me a great honor.”

“We have arrived” Jadan said, though it was hardly necessary. Cerra had picked up the scent of the encampment and especially the cookfires long ago, and the stir of activity grew near.

They rode into the encampment. The arrival of the men with the small red haired woman caused a minor stir. Jadan brought them to the tent of the chief of horse. The men dismounted, and Jadan signalled them to disperse. Cerra remained seated for a moment, turning her head, catching the flavor and sounds of the camp. Horses to the east side, cooking fires very close, and the unmistakeable smell and sound of sun-baked cloth strung from rope.

“Your breakfast awaits.” Jadan said.

“Oh yes. … off you go, cat.” she replied, and the black cat jumped to the ground, looking around carefully. Cerra slid off the horse, and flipped her unruly hair back. She rustled in her pack and brought out the medicinal herbs and extractions she had with her. A short selection, but she was sure of the nature of the injury, and she had prepared for that herself. Infection of a wound. She grabbed a small vial from another purse.

“Are you near?” she let a thought stray to the demon.

“I am under your very feet.” came the voice of him.

“You are wonderfully resourceful.” she returned.

“If you please, allow me to see the one who is fevered.” she addressed Jadan. “I could not eat comfortably if I did not attend to him first.”

“Of course”

Jadan was unsure how to proceed, but offered his assistance to guide her. “Would you like my arm, lady?”

“Thank you.” Cerra smiled at him, and felt for the elbow that he presented. The tent was nearby, but even the short stroll allowed her to get a sense of the activity. The sound of dogs and children, the scent of herd animals. The bit of breeze that flitted through the encampment rustled the fabrics of the tents now and again, the lazy snap of banners, and she even felt there was laundry being put out. A hush fell over the immediate people they passed and the buzz took up again behind them. Three of the riders walked close behind.

They stopped before a smaller tent, and Jadan opened the flap leading her inside. She sensed the closeness of the room. She felt the fabric of the tent as she passed through. It had the texture of roughflax. There was another in the room. A woman. She could smell the perfume of her. She could also smell the corruption of the wound and knew immediately what she must do.

“M...milord” she said, “There is a woman in here. May I require a task of her?”

“Of course,” he replied. “You have but to ask.”

“I’ll need some hot water, near boiled, clean rags of course, and does someone have a very sharp knife?”

She heard four or five immediately draw from the Charros.

“A small one” she offered. Many slid back into their sheaths.

“Penad, give up the sleeve knife.” one of the horsemen offered. “Time it was put to some good use.”

She heard a snick to her right.

“ have care with that blade, it will shave parts ... er ... it’s sharp.”

“The water and rags, and cloth for bandage, and quickly.” She heard the other woman leave.

She stepped carefully towards the pallet where the fevered man lay. She could smell the fever of his leg and hear his labored breathing and muttering.

“A chair if you have one.” She heard a tacit command and shuffle, and if she had started to sit immediately there would have been a stool there to catch her.

“Thank you”

She sat and felt the brow of the man. He was hot, with no sweat. Her light touch grazed his face. His eyes were closed and there was faint incoherencies coming from dry lips that barely moved. She pulled a small vial from her bag. She felt again for his lips. Rough shaven, but a face she could tell did not know a beard. She felt his lips move in response to the deep delerium, and let three drops slip between them.

“You’re going to remember this.” she said softly to his ear. “I hope it doesn’t take you too far. I would use something else for your pain, but it is what I have.”

Quicker than she would have hoped, the girl was back with the water and rags.

“Thank you ... ? …” Cerra let the question hang.

“Priya” said the girl.

“Would you stay to help me?”

“Oh yes, ma’am. Please.”

“Good. Jadan, two of your men to hold him if you would.”

Jadan signaled and two went to hold the fevered man at shoulders and feet.

Sinjin heard a woman’s voice, and it penetrated the haze of his fever. His eyes fluttered open. The edges of his vision were lost in a blur, but drifting into the center was the woman he had been tracking. Or was it Rovinkar toying with his delerium. He sought to speak. ‘wi ...wi … witch.’ The word came out a weak expulsion of breath.

Cerra felt for his lips and pressed a finger to them. She bent and poke softly.

“Save your strength and your breath. You will be fine. Hush. Hush”

She spoke as though setting a child down to sleep, with soft silibance, laying a very gentle hand to his temple and brow. He felt a drop of oil slide over his tongue. The oil slithered with an acrid taste and he swallowed. He fought for consciousness.

“You will remember some of this. The woman with flaming hair was speaking, much of what she said drifted past him and the words made no sense as Sinjin drifted away, the burn in his leg pulling him back spinning in the fever. The face his eyes briefly beheld slipped away until it was reduced to no more than a star in the night sky. The stars blanketed everything. He was among them. He was lost and free.

Cerra soaked the wound with a hot rag. She felt the wound with one hand and with one motion, like a fishmonger filleting a scarpy, she kneaded the scabrous edges of the wound and slid the knife along, exposing solid flesh.

“A rag in hot water. And have another ready.” she said, and Priya had one for her immediately. Cerra deftly wrapped the rag like a compress and covered the wound. The near scalding heat would burn some but would also desensitive the skin. She let it alone for a moment and reached in her bag and felt for the sigil depicting bloodroot. She felt for another, the nettle, and garlic. She put a small amount of each into her mouth and began chewing, envisioning the tastes working with the juices of her mouth. She thought of Jessann and any blessing she might give, for she surely would.

She took the wad out of her mouth and peeling back the blood soaked rag she smeared the pulp on the wound.

Sinjin’s starry universe of drugged calm collided with another. He saw the witch for a second, hovering over him, her red hair in flames, her face like the vision of the oracle before an explosion of white blew him back, tumbling. Tumbling.

It was well the soldiers were there, for Sinjin arced mightily when Cerra applied the poultice.

“Wet rag. Then a pad and bandage” she said, and another rag was placed in her hand even as she reached for it. She wiped the edges of the wound. She set the pad and wrapped the bandage quickly and surely. Jadan looked on and could scarce believe that she did not but see all, save that her eyes never quite gazed upon the subject of her intent. He found her dark brown eyes mesmerizing. For all that they were sightless, they still danced with life. She was bold and of obvious good nature, yet dangerous.

Cerra asked. “Is there more hot water?”

“Why yes,” replied Priya.

“Wonderful. A another wet rag.” She accepted it and used it to clean her face, then hands. “It is time to have kafi then. You may let this man go, he will not move for awhile.”

They rose to their feet, and with the others, watched Cerra with a little awe as she rose to her feet.

“I promised you breakfast” offered Jadan. “I think it best if you have Priya attend you at the women’s tent. I have much to do. If you have any need, call. I leave two of my men at your disposal.”

“You are most kind.” said Cerra.

He snapped his fingers, and left the tent with his men behind him. Two remained at the tent flap.

Priya had watched Jadan lead her in and so offered her a hand. “Lady …

Cerra laughed. “Please call me Cerra.”

“Cerra, then.” said Priya, immediately relaxing once the men were gone. Come with me.”

They left the tent, and Cerra heard Kamir’s meow as she re-entered the sunlight of late morning. The familiar brush against her ankles and purr. He knew better than to remain beneath her feet over long.

“I’m famished”

“The woman’s tent is close.” and Priya led her on. She was surprised at the confident step of this short woman. Her red hair was foreign to any she had seen on a woman.

“You have the most beautiful hair” blurted out Priya.

Cerra dragged a hand through her locks as she kept with Priya’s measured pace. “Oh it is frightful most times. I swear my brush hides from me if it knows it is to be used. It might even be hiding in my hair.”

That got a mirthful giggle from Priya who stopped and opened a flap for Cerra, leading her in.

“The woman’s tent.” she announced.

“Women’s tent?” echoed Cerra.

“Yes. The men and women eat and recreate apart. We only share the small tents for sleeping.”

“That is different than where I live. We have no separate place to eat.”

“It is better this way” said Priya.

Cerra knew better than argue the notion. Instead, she let herself be guided by the customs. There were many women in the tent, a series of tents to be accurate, and their names quickly became lost to her. The questions about her hair and clothes and the blindness of her eyes were all discussed. She had never been such a subject of attention before, nor had she been treated with such deference.

“Can I touch your face?” Cerra asked. “It helps me ... see.

Priya held still as Cerra traced the surfaces of forehead, cheek and chin. Her eyes fluttered shut as the softest of touchs lay across them.

“You have something ... paintings on your face.”

“Yes.” replied Priya. “The marks of our men. They paint their face in red and black and white for it captures the fierceness of the heart. We paint our marks the same for the man who has taken us. We gain his nature and share his strength.

Cerra imagined faces marked like tigers. Their thick hair was heavy and smooth. It most certainly was black. The people became a colorful, hawkish tribe in her mind. The difference of their nature gave her a unaccounted thrill.

“It must be beautiful to behold.”

She was thankfully bathed, but when she prepared to dress, the women brought a noori, the lightweight linen robe with a hood that is common to the plains.

“We have traded.” one of the women announced. “It is better for the plains.”

She accepted it gratefully. It didn’t occur to her immediately to wonder what had happened to her clothes. When she had changed, Priya drew a thumb down her forehead, leaving a mark.

“It is a small band of white. Only a wise woman can be marked such.

Cerra stifled any witty or self-deprecating remark she might have come up with. She didn’t feel wise at all, but recognized the badge of honor. She instead asked for her small bag, and retrieved the pinfeathers from the grouse that the demon had acquired during the passage through the mountains.

“Let me leave these with you as a gift. I have precious little to share at the moment, but these may grace your walls or decorate your trappings.

The breakfast they had prepared was delicious. Many of the ingredients were familiar to her, but she queried and discussed the new flavors, especially the yohgurts they derived from the sheeps milk and mixed with fruit.

As she made ready her departure, Priya informed her that she is to remain with the women.

“I was assured that I’d not be harmed.” said Cerra.

“And certainly there is no one here to harm you. But it has been commanded by Jadan until the Council of Riders has been gathered. You have your new clothes. You are one of us now.”

“I mean no disrespect, I assure you but … we’ll see about that.” said Cerra.

“I will destroy them.” came the demons voice to her.

“no … Wait” returned Cerra.

“If you will see me to my horse, I shall continue my journey.” she addressed Priya, with a little more briskness than she would have liked.

“But, lady ...”

“I must insist. I am on a sacred trust that I dare not delay.”

She grabbed her small bag, took her cane and well recalled the layout of the tent making her way unerringly to the flap. The women that were in her way cleared a path. Kamir lay outside the flap and broke into a trot behind her as she left the tent, tapping in the direction she had come. Priya hastened after her, and caught her by the elbow.

“This way” she said, turning her. “They will have put your horse on the lines. It will not be at the tent of healing now.”

Cerra was uncertain of that, and putting fingers to her lips, let out a piercing whistle. She heard a whining in the distance. It was the direction Priya now had her turned.

“Well, then lead on.”

The horse lines were close by on the edge of the encampment.

She arrived at the lines as Jadan did. He had heard the piercing whistle, and had a notion that the red-haired woman was the source of it.

“Lady.” Jadan called. “You may not leave just yet. We have a determination to make.”

“I shall not be delayed. Sir.”

“I must insist.”

“You claimed no harm would come to me.” Cerra said sternly. “Inhibiting my freedom is a great harm.”

“I think you might shake the ground a little if I should ask.” she thought, putting the notion to the demon.

“Your hospitality is growing suspect.” She turned her head in the direction of the horses. “Sugar.” she called, and heard the snorting reply.

Kamir also meowed, from a height, already in the saddle. She started to the horse and heard the whisk of swords leaving their sheaths.

She turned to Jadan, holding out her cane. “Stop me at your peril.”

“Now would be a good time to shake.” she thought to the demon as she held on to one of the horse lines. Even as the germ of the idea formed in her head, the ground beneath the riders began to shake and crack. Most fell immediately to their knees. One who attempted to throw a spear had the ground open beneath him and he slid with a yell into the hole.

“Enough …” she flashed to the demon, and the shaking ceased. “and put back that one you swallowed.” she added with a touch of humor. She had heard the muffled cry. “ … if you can. Please harm no one.”

She felt agreement and said aloud, “You’re missing someone.”

At that, the rider swallowed by the earth in the small quake slid up from the ground coughing and wretching as though expelled from the grabbing sands of the desert.

“Now please, I must insist. I have made a vow, a trust I must complete. Your hospitality was most gracious, your food delicious and your womenfolk are most remarkable. You should spend more time with them. But your goodbyes need some work.”

There was no one in the camp at this point who would dare approach her. Every eye was on Jadan.

“I will send men to guide you.” He too was now anxious to see her gone.

“Again you are too kind.” replied Cerra. “But I already have a most excellent guide, though my route is unclear.”

“If you like, I offer you this. Head south until you arrive at the first major swale. You can’t miss it.” he added with a sense of irony. “It is the bed of an ancient river, and if you keep in its contours it will take you to the southeast in the most convenient manner. And the best water is available.”

“Are there more of your tribes on this route that would detain me, or allow for more hospitality than I deserve?”

Jadan said something to one of his lieutenants, then replied for Cerra’s hearing.

“I can give you fiat. A passport that none shall bother you.”

“That is most kind. Or should I ask first what pass you are handing me?” she added with a dry note.

His lieutenant returned, holding out a yellow banner.

“You’ll forgive me madam, but it says that you are ‘untouchable’. A cast out, a wanton, to be shunned. In no other way can I give you safe passage.”

“What color is it?” she asked.

“Yellow. With the sign of Astarta in red.” replied Jadan. Cerra knew the sigil well. Many of the women’s healing potions began with the sign. She thought it a very fitting banner indeed, though to these folk she was being marked as a harlot to be avoided. Undoubtedly to wander until she died, shunned by her people.

“Does it ill-match my robe?” she asked.

A bare round of nervous snickers circled the on-lookers, the women especially.

“No, milady, it does not.” admitted Jadan.

“Then I accept your fiat.” She took the cloth. She heard her horse whinny and the clop of her hooves. She was being led to her from the line. She felt the nearness of the horse then the reins were laid in her hand. She felt along the side of her horse to determine that her belongings were in order.

“It is all there, lady. We cut the hands from thieves here. Would you but see, we have all of our fingers.”

“I thank everyone here then for their helpful hands.” she said regaining some of her cheer. One of the men slid a stool at her feet to help her mount. A rare luxury.

When she had her seat. She directed her sightless gaze to where Jadan stood. She imagined the faces before her with the colors of their stark face paint.

She had the mark of a wise woman and the banner of a harlot. She wanted to laugh aloud, but instead she turned her horse. “First draw you say?”

“First major one. You’ll know it when you see … ah … get there.” Jadan said. He smiled to himself. She looked so fresh and innocent, and even with her incredible power was helpless in many ways. Unarmed and unescorted, she still commanded a presence and she was a fiery change to the dark haired women of his tribes. He felt no reservation allowing her to continue alone. He had more fear for those she might encounter.

“Mana” he said. It was their expression for journey. It was spoken either when leaving or returning. The journey, the movement, was life.

“Mana.” she said.

She rode clear of the camp. As usual, she let the Sugar have her head, setting the South as a beacon. She knew the demon would rejoin her as soon as they were a distance from the camp. Within minutes of her departure from the horse camp, the ground rumbled deeply, and a dust devil rose from the edge of camp near the horse lines. The swirling, capricious storm whipped at the tents before gyrating free of the camp, the tail of the storm ascending into a roiling bank of wind blown dust that spread out across the horizon as it headed south. Within moments, the camp was still, the breezes sucked out of it as though it were a late summer’s day.

Jadan wondered about what he had just witnessed … the day was well along since he had found the woman at the spring. For one that seemed so without artifice, and without defenses, and afflicted with blindness, she seemed very formidable indeed. One cannot have such a power in the confines of many. She did well to insist on leaving. The camp was better served with her departure. Though he would pay, he thought, to know what her mission was that should take her so far from her home.

He wanted to question the man she treated, if the fever breaks and the unfortunate stranger lives. He surely knows something. He marched through the camp, tents and accoutrements in disarray following the short tempest that followed the womans departure. He left a rider posted at the tent of healers.

“Let me know the moment he shows consciousness.” he commanded.

Cerra had been riding for about an hour when she felt the air around her starting to move briskly, and she smelt the familiar aroma of molten iron that barely scented the air.

Cerra stopped the horse. The churning air and dust gathered matter from the ground as it solidified in front of her. The demon formed himself, a man carved of bronze and stone. She smiled. The glowing in her sight was a swirl, almost dizzying, until it gathered in a tight spiral. The blue/white form of the demon was clear in her eyes.

“A most interesting day so far.” she said cheerfully.

The demon grunted. She knew it for agreement.

“It is not I that should be feared, but woman.” he said.