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take or something, anything that would see them free, but the answer was in the Imar s
eyes.
There was no trust between those of Tacarta and the Masaari. There never would
be.
We are warriors, not toys to please some tribesman. We will not live in such a
manner. I, personally, would rather die than endure such shame. Mikon wished his
voice sounded stronger, less worn.
Jakob merely nodded in agreement.
The Imar watched them in silence, weighing their words perhaps, before he spoke
again. The majority of those we have taken over the years have been of military bent.
You are no different. They have fought against their fates, but time takes care of that.
You will grow to accept as they have accepted. There is nothing else.
Mikon could only sigh, wishing to protest, but too exhausted to even think of
proper words.
Satarin s expression seemed to soften for the briefest of moments before he turned
away. Sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough for conflict. Remember, there is no escape from
this pavilion. I should hate to have to administer punishment for such a deed. He
ducked through the entranceway, and disappeared.
Mikon wished he could have told the bastard to go the hells, but&
Jakob was already moving, pulling off the tribal headgear before collapsing on a
soft pallet in the center of the tent. His groan was one of heartfelt relief.
Come, brother, he is right in that tomorrow is soon enough. Sleep for now.
Mikon forced himself to his feet and shuffled the few feet necessary to join his
brother on the welcome softness.
Jakob snuggled up behind him, one arm around Mikon s waist.
33
J.C. Owens
Mikon put his hand over his brother s, and had a moment of fear when he thought
of them being separated, but even fear was no match for the sleep that stole over him
almost instantly.
* * * * *
The tall robed figure knelt humbly, voice soft to avoid listeners.
I pray to you, our Creator, our revered overgod, Anin. Please, hear my words. I am Satarin,
Imar to my people, to the tribe of Jemas of the Masaarian nation. I ask that my people be blessed
by your care, that you protect them from the madness of your son, the god Janizar.
I pray that the soul of Janizar s beloved, of his Kei, will be found, that his grief may heal and
that we return to the way we were before our coming to this world. Please look upon us as
worthy, as we follow your ways and honor your name. Blessings upon you, great lord.
Satarin continued to kneel where he was, head to the ornate rug that graced his
tent. A great weariness seemed to paralyze him, and he could not help but wonder if
Anin was listening at all. For so long they had been trapped here, in a primitive, hostile
world that understood nothing of Masaari For so long, they had been trapped with no
way to escape, led by a mad god who seemed to have lost all care for his people.
It had been left up to Satarin to lead them, and after so long, he was weary beyond
words.
On top of everything else, he had had to rescue his people, taken by the barbaric
humans who lived here. He shuddered, still appalled by what would have happened to
the women and children if he had not found a way to free them. He and a small group
of elite warriors had allowed themselves to be caught, the only way to find the other
prisoners. It had been a tense time, with him unsure whether his strength, his magic,
would be equal to having to draw the sands to them across a barren wasteland.
And then he closed his eyes for a long moment, before finally sitting back on his
heels and staring blindly ahead. Then Abascia had been raped by those there were not
even words for what those humans had been. They had had to watch, restrained bodily,
his magic nullified so far from their base of power.
One of his people harmed, because of his weakness.
Abascia had professed no anger toward him, but he could not help blaming
himself. If he had been stronger, he would have butchered those men earlier and young
Abascia and her child would never have had to suffer.
His people seemed to sense his anguish, for they were continually telling him that
there had been nothing he could have done at the time, but he was not convinced. It
had only been when the storm appeared that he had been able to work his magic, feebly
at best, to draw the sands to them.
He wished he could have killed those humans all over again.
He clenched his teeth and rose to his feet with slow, weary movements. Although
he had not partaken of the meat, he had stayed to watch the human leader die, slowly.
34
The Chosen
His people believed that the essence of a person could be cleansed by being ingested
taken within another s body. Therefore an enemy was often eaten, with the hope that
upon rebirth, the soul of that person would remember the horror and either mend their
ways or, at the very least, fear the Masaari enough to avoid them forever after.
It was an ancient and seldom-used ritual, for surely their people had moved far
from that in their advancement, but this time, it had seemed important that the evil of
this man be stripped away in the basest of forms.
It had not helped Satarin. He felt no relief of his shame for his inability to protect his
people.
He sank down upon a chair, leaning back, and resting his head as though it were
too heavy to bear.
The flaps of his pavilion were open, and he could see the stars, clear and bright
above the desert. So beautiful. So like home.
The humans had deserved their deaths yet, there had been the one the one who
had felt strangely familiar. This Mikon and his brother had done them no harm, and the
energy of the older human had brought more hope to Satarin than he had felt in a long
time.
Please, Anin, revered one, let this man be the one.
Let him be the one we have waited all this time for, the lost soul, the Savior.
Please.
Mikon and Jakob woke suddenly, both too befuddled to even react properly as they
looked up into several stern Masaarian faces.
Mikon only groaned and covered his eyes with one arm, and Jakob shoved his face
under his brother s shoulder, trying to shut out the world.
A dry chuckle finally made Mikon lower his arm, blinking against the light
streaming in from the open doorway.
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