Challenging Lessons

Challenging Lessons By Tracy Falbe Copyright Tracy Falbe All Rights Reserved Brave Luck Books ™ fantasy fiction imprint of Falbe Publishing

Challenging Lessons is back story from “The Rys Chronicles” series. It is the telling of a crucial episode in the relationship of the Rys Queen Onja to her ward, Shan, that takes place over four hundred years before the events that take place in “The Rys Chronicles.” www.braveluck.com The presence of the humans was thick in the Jingten Valley. Shan could feel them in his homeland. Their bodies touched his sensitive mind with the energy of their short lives. If he applied himself, he could even feel the pumping pulse of their hearts and understand their thoughts in all their languages. It was the height of the tribute season and tribal delegations were approaching the city of Jingten, or departing, and one last straggling tribe was just coming through the mountains. This morning Shan watched a delegation as it entered the city. It was the Zenglawa King with a sampling of wives and retainers and three dozen warriors to guard his wagons laden with gold, jewels, food and other goods of fine crafting. Jingten with its blue stone buildings and copper roofs accepted the Zenglawa caravan like the bored host of a tedious party. The caravans came every year. They were supposed to come. For centuries, the tribes had brought their gifts to Onja, their Queen, their Goddess. For a hundred years now, Shan had stood upon the balconies of Onja’s Keep and watched the humans come into the city of the rys. He could see over the city from the heights of the massive Keep. Its receding tiers of dark stone lorded over the city in stark contrast to the residential architecture of the rest of Jingten. The city was old, built to last, and the buildings were accented with stained glass windows in colors from tender lavenders to bold red. The homes and buildings set gracefully amid the manicured hedges and ancient trees in dignified permanence. The sharp-edged Keep, however, jutted up from the shore of Lake Nin and dominated the cityscape like a bear rolling on flowers. A high stone wall contained its yards and metal gates where ornate birds locked claws guarded the entrance with enchanted wrought iron. The Keep announced the power of the Queen and declared that none should ever dare to challenge her authority. Shan loved Queen Onja. She had been his caretaker and teacher, and she was more than that now. Onja spared him loneliness. A gulf separated Shan from the rest of his kind. He possessed powers far beyond the typical rys. Indeed, his talent was special www.braveluck.com

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enough for Onja to have taken him into her arms as a rysling, orphaned and bereft of kin. He took his eyes off the approaching caravan and focused on the soft lamb’s wool tunic in his hands. He gathered the fine fabric that had come from the loom of some unknown but skilled lowland woman and pulled the tunic over his head. He slipped his long blue arms into the sleeves and slid the tunic down his smooth blue chest. Shan ran his fingers through his short black hair to unrumple it after putting on his shirt. He grabbed his green suede jacket that was draped over the balcony railing and tossed it on without buttoning it. He took a half step toward the open balcony doors but then paused to admire the morning sun on the mountains that surrounded the Jingten Valley. Gold and pink glowed from the snowy peaks of the Rysamand Mountains. The gentle early autumn sunrise could not soften the harsh towering mountains that were beautiful yet always cold. Shan took a deep breath and let his senses caress the mountain tops. He loved the Rysamand, as all rys did. This was their world, the Rystavalla, and it gave them life and it fueled their magic. White curtains twinkling with silver threads covered the balcony doorway. A burst of breeze billowed the curtains around Shan as he entered the bedchamber of Queen Onja. Opposite the balcony doors was a huge four-post bed. Its great carved pillars of bedposts rose to a canopy draped with blue velvet. Pine cones and birds were carved into the wood, twining and climbing up the posts with the vivacious energy of a happy spring day. In a white gown and robe, Onja reposed against her gold threaded pillows. Far older than a thousand winters, she looked cold yet beautiful. Her blue skin, unblemished and perfect, was the same shade as the blue stone mountains that ruled her realm as surely as she did. Long white hair flowed from her head over her pillows, and a choker necklace of diamonds, each cut with one hundred and one facets, held her strong blue neck. Onja opened her eyes—black eyes, dark as the abyss of knowledge that was her mind. Shan approached her bedside and she sat up. Her robe fell from her left shoulder, exposing that corner of her lovely physique. Shan plopped confidently into the bed and touched her bare shoulder. “It will be a good day at court today,” Onja said. Shan reclined alongside her legs. He put his hands behind his head and said, “I do not want to go. I want to go hiking.” Before she could admonish him, which he saw coming, Shan grinned. “Come with me, Onja. The mountains are lonely without you,” he said. A fond smile came to her lips. “You are young, Shan, and once I explored the land with equal relish, but I no longer need to. I can feel the Rysamand beneath my feet even from here,” she said. Shan sighed and said that he would miss her, but then Onja’s kindness slipped from her face. “You are still holding court with me,” she said. “Do not let yourself become bored with it. I am teaching you an important lesson if you would pay attention.” Her subtle anger poked Shan, and he sat up. He had not meant to provoke her displeasure. She was his teacher, and no other being in the world had the knowledge to offer that she did. He would mind his lessons, as she bid him. “Yes, Onja,” he said. www.braveluck.com

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The rys Queen got out of the bed and she let her robe slip across Shan’s knees as she went by him. Her gown was open in the back, sewn together in a V at the small of her back, and Shan focused on the distracting skin revealed by her sleepwear. Onja was a tall striking rys, and her physical presence enhanced her aura of power. Onja tossed her long white hair and glanced over her shoulder at Shan. “Await me in the throne room,” she commanded. Blue fire sparked in her eyes, and Shan knew she used her magical mind to call her servants. He excused himself and left her to prepare for a day at court. Onja, despite her perennial eagerness to receive her tribute from the humans, took her time arriving at the throne room. Shan stood at the base of her dais. This was his place. No other rys presided over court with the Queen. He alone was allowed to look out upon her subjects with the throne at his back. Yet Shan realized that this was the extent of his privilege. He understood that there was only one throne in Jingten. Onja was supreme, above all other rys, and their rightful ruler. As if to remind himself of this, Shan looked behind him. Polished stone steps rose to a golden throne where Onja had sat for approaching two millennia. Thinking of her power that had stamped her name upon this age of the world, Shan felt humbled by his youth. At one mere century, he was only just considered mature and no longer a rysling. So young, yet not another rys matched his power. So young, and so alone—except for Onja. Shan’s heart quickened when he sensed her approach. Shan followed her brilliant lifeforce with his mind as she left her private chambers. His eyes became unfocused to his physical surroundings and blue energy glowed from his pupils as he viewed her remotely. She walked alone through the passages and glided down steps worn smooth by centuries of quiet traffic. Sunshine poured through skylights and shimmered on her hair and jewels. Onja easily sensed Shan’s admiring presence. “Shan,” her mind murmured to him affectionately, and he was pleased by her approval. Shan withdrew his senses and simply waited with the eight rys guards posted in the throne room. Blue light from the large warding crystal orbs mounted in the corners mimicked a bright sky, and once the humans arrived, the light would cast their kneeling shadows upon the marble floor. Two door wardens clothed in green suede uniforms studded with silver opened the doors from the outside and Queen Onja strode in unattended. She locked eyes with Shan, seemingly glad that he was there to receive her. The sight of her, ready to hold court, rewarded Shan’s excitement. He believed no power could be as awesome as her power. All the way through her being burned a great energy that linked with the forces of nature. She was capable of terrible sorcery or the most subtle trick of pleasure. And the centuries had only put the slightest blunt on her beauty. Her face no longer had the sharp features of a younger rys. As the storming wind could shape a boulder, so time had softened her face. Today she wore a dark green gown, tight fitting in the bodice and flowing around her legs. A second net-like necklace of large diamonds glittered over her collar bones. Her flowing mane of white hair was tamed beneath a headdress of alabaster and lapis lazuli beads fitted with more diamonds. She was as perfect as the Jingten Valley from its verdant alpine forests to its icy peaks. Shan knew the humans would be in awe of her even more than he was. Shan kneeled before her as she reached the dais, and Onja dipped her head to him. www.braveluck.com

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She settled onto her throne as if it nourished her and arranged her skirts around her booted feet with a sweeping flourish. “Shall we see what our half-wit Zenglawa King has scraped together for us?” Onja said. Shan stood up. “You did bid him last year to do better,” Shan recalled. “Indeed I did,” Onja said. “Now pay attention, Shan. I would have you learn from me today.” “Yes, Onja,” he said solemnly, wondering what there was to learn from a tribute delivery. The humans were usually reverent, frightened even, and eager to complete their errand. He had seen this ritual for decades now and it hardly interested him. Onja signaled to her Captain of the Guard and he collected the Zenglawa delegation. King Telender entered with his entourage. A dozen warriors in their finest clothes and armor attended the Zenglawa King, who had also brought three of his wives. A floor-length sleeveless black robe trimmed in fox fur rippled from Telender’s shoulders. His crown was a simple circlet of gold. Beneath his robe was a shirt of chainmail, polished and unmarked by actual battle, and the horn handles of his sword and dagger glinted with inlaid silver and gold. Telender’s honor guards were well matched like expensive pairs of carriage horses. They were of equal height and they wore deep blue capes pinned at their right shoulders with brooches bearing the fox face symbol of Telender’s royal line. The men had not worn their helmets and they had straight black hair cut just above their shoulders. The brown eyes of the warriors stole glances at the tremendous Goddess Queen, but for the most part, the Zenglawa warriors kept their eyes down like the royal wives. The three women were all beautiful in their own ways. The brown skin of their faces was smooth with youth. One woman had a rounder face and fuller lips than the two oval-faced women. The middle woman was taller than the others and her haughty high cheekbones radiated pride. Her green sash and headdress that wrapped her neck and head marked her as a Zenglawa first wife and the queen of her tribe. The third woman had a fuller softer build, likely from a recent pregnancy. They wore black, but their green or yellow sashes and headdresses brightened them among their darkly clad men. Telender was still a young King. No white mixed with his shining black hair. His shoulders were broad and his back straight, but his manly strength meant little before the throne of Onja. His servants trundled forth three chests to set before the dais. They thudded heavily when set down on the marble floor. Before withdrawing, the servants opened the chests. One contained a mound of raw gold nuggets and powder, recently coaxed from the streams of Gyhwen. The second chest contained precious gems, semi-precious gems, fine crystals and ores. Every mineral color sparkled from the pleasing pile. In the third chest were furs and bolts of exquisitely fine cloth dyed with the rarest colors. Purples, striking blues, orange, red and soft pastel pink mingled among the luxurious splendor of animal skins. Onja spoke. “Telender of the Zenglawa, you are wise to bear your Goddess gifts. The fortunes of your tribe would diminish without my blessings.” Telender kneeled and his entourage went to their knees behind him, servant, warrior and wife alike. With his head bowed, Telender said, “Queen Onja, my Goddess, it is my pleasure to deliver the fine offerings of my tribe. Your acceptance of them does us honor.” www.braveluck.com

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“Acceptance?” Onja repeated. The word rolled from her throat like thunder threatening a wedding day. She took her eyes from the treasure boxes, where they were normally apt to linger, and said, “I have not said that I accept this or am satisfied.” Shan felt the kneeling humans collectively tense with dread. He had seen Onja play this sport before. She enjoyed making the humans squirm. No matter how full centuries of tribute made the vaults of Jingten, Onja always wanted more. Fear bulged in Telender’s eyes. “Forgive my hasty speech, Great Queen,” Telender said. “It is my sincerest wish that you be satisfied by the tribute of the Zenglawa.” “Indeed it is,” Onja said. “What else have you brought to us?” Telender proceeded to detail the rest of his tribute that had been delivered to storehouses in the city. He spoke with enthusiasm, hoping that his gifts would suffice. Six dozen well-fattened steers had been brought along with seven wagons laden with seven grains. A great variety of foodstuffs and herbs had been provided as well, and one hundred bolts of wool and linen cloth now added to rys stores. “Did I not command you to bring more than last year?” Onja reminded. “Your stinginess angered me and I gave you this single chance to restore my confidence in your faith.” “I did bring more, my Queen,” he insisted but his head cringed into his fur collar. Shan knew from experience that the King would be begging soon. “You have not brought enough,” Onja announced. Aghast, Telender clasped his hands together. “My great Queen, famine threatens the land. This was the third year with poor crops. This year was the worst. The spring was cold and wet. Seeds rotted in the ground. After we replanted, drought came.” Sincerity gushed from the King in guileless urgency. Onja was unimpressed. “Your excuses are pitiful, Telender. Do you think I shall be moved to use my power to favor the Zenglawa if you are cheap with your offerings?” she asked. Telender replied that his tribe had brought as much tribute as it could—more than it could spare. Hardship pressed upon the people and they prayed for the intervention of their Goddess. “If next year is good, I shall double our tribute, my Queen; I swear it,” Telender added although he truly had no idea how he might fulfill such an unwieldy promise. “You will pay now,” Onja declared, and the enchanted fires locked within the orbs mounted in the corners of the room flared with agreement for her greed. She scanned the bowed heads of the Zenglawa entourage. “Rise and look at me, Telender,” she commanded. Convinced that he would be stricken dead and his soul snared by Onja’s will and cast into the Wilderness to serve with her damned servants, the undying Deamedron, Telender came to his feet. When he looked upon his Queen, blue light sizzled in her eyes and a faint aura sparkled around her white hair like winter sun on snowdrifts. “You have held back, Telender,” Onja said. “But you shall still pay me my due today. You will show your faith by an act of great value.” Onja let her statement hang in the silence. Shan felt the hearts of the humans thud with anxiety. Shan also felt Onja’s excitement. She loved ruling them. The Queen’s words came into Shan’s mind now. “See how I own them? I command them more surely than a horse with a tight bit.” www.braveluck.com

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“What lesson is there in this?” Shan asked mentally. He had seen her games often enough. This was not imparting some great gem of knowledge. “Observe,” the Queen replied, and her ominous snicker in Shan’s mind concerned him suddenly. Aloud, Onja said, “Telender, your warriors are strong, brave, and loyal, worthy of their King and much to be proud of. Select one and kill him. Kill him for me right now.” Startled, Shan almost protested, but he knew better. Telender froze, locked in a moment of horrific shock. Perhaps if he did not move or speak, then Onja’s awful command would fade into illusion. The miserable agony radiating from the man touched Shan. It was easy to see into his heart. He loved his men. Telender said, “Great Queen, how can I do such a thing to a warrior who has done so much for me? Perhaps a servant—” “You deny me this!?” Onja shouted. “You deny me my due to my face?” Telender shook his head rapidly, regretting already his attempt to deflect the command of his Queen onto a lesser member of society. One of his wives screamed in pain and fell forward onto the floor. She started gasping. The sound was futile and ugly. Telender shouted her name and scrambled to her side. He rolled her over. She smacked at the cold floor and clutched her chest where the coils of Onja’s magic squeezed air from her lungs. The emotional crisis of Telender scalded Shan’s heart, and the rys saw Telender’s memory images of him making love to the woman, sharing a laugh, granting a favor. The King’s compassion for her suffering was a beautiful pain. Telender lurched to his feet and drew his sword. The blade flashed in the quadruple glow of the crystal orbs. “I’ll kill a warrior! I will. Release her, great Queen. I’ll kill two!” he declared. Onja said nothing. She waited for action not words. The Zenglawa woman shook and her co-wives went to her sides. They held her arms and fanned her. The twelve warriors with Telender had all lifted their heads. Seeing the madness in the eyes of their King, three men started to get to their feet. Telender struck quickly at one of the standing warriors, who lifted only his hands in sad resistance. His open mouth and wild eyes told the story of rotten fate. True to his word, Telender cut down another warrior. This man had stayed on his knees. Spittle leaked from the slackening mouth of Telender’s wife, who still drew no breath, and her throes softened. Telender collapsed. His sword slipped from his hands and the spreading blood on the floor soaked into his robe. Prostrate before his Queen, he tried to beg mercy for his wife but he could only moan and sob. The murders he had just committed ruined his soul. Magic light glowed from Onja’s eyes, and a snarl of a smile exposed her pearly top teeth. She delighted in the carnage and unfolding tragedy, but Shan was appalled. “Onja!” he said sharply. His boldness shocked him, but when the Queen did not react, his magic revealed his dismay. Without thinking, Shan cast a spell that broke Onja’s lethal grip on the woman. The human female gasped and began to breathe and cough. Telender got his knees beneath him and gave his thanks, praising Onja for her wise mercy. www.braveluck.com

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But the rys Queen did not listen to the servile words, and she could not appreciate the horror she had sown. The trembling bodies, wide tearful eyes, quaking helpless rage, and hot death around her were shoved aside by her displeasure with Shan. Onja looked down her dais at Shan. His head hung and he did not look at her. In his mind, Shan felt an ugly silence instead of her words. He was afraid of what he had done. He had never before dreamed of performing such a thoughtless action counter to the will of Onja. But as he watched the wives of Telender help the third woman to sit up, Shan could not regret his action. The two women rubbed the hands of the tormented third wife and they loosened her yellow headdress and neck scarf. Onja commanded the Zenglawa out. They took their dead and left the treasure. Telender never looked at his Queen. His eyes were fixed on the blood that he had spilled. When the door wardens shut out the reduced and retreating Zenglawa, the throne room still reeled with tragic energy. Now Shan turned and looked up at Onja. Determined to be bold, he demanded, “What was the lesson, Onja?” Bitterness clamped the face of the Queen. Without speaking, she descended from her throne and brushed by Shan as if he was an ornamental shrub that needed pruning. Shan said, “Onja, I forgot myself. I did not mean to anger you.” She did not respond and continued across her bloodied throne room. To be ignored by her panicked Shan. He must set right his intrusive blunder. He tried to apologize to her again, but he was forced to silence. Shan’s skin became hot and a spell that heated and moved the air pushed him against the steps to the throne. Onja passed through the doors and they slammed shut behind her, pulled hard by her magic instead of the rys door wardens. Her temper was no secret to Shan, but he had never goaded her to such displeased rejection before. Stunned, Shan slowly got up from the steps. His impulse was to go after Onja and continue attempting to apologize, but the throne room doors confronted Shan like two slaps to the face, and his initial desire to apologize slipped toward disregard. He could be angry too. He had told her he did not want to attend court today. And then she tries to entertain me with that sick display, he thought, becoming disgusted. His distaste suddenly felt right. Just because rys were superior did not mean that cruelty was correct. The woman flopping like a broken puppet sank teeth into Shan’s memory. With certainty, Shan knew that Telender would never be quite right again. And why? Because Onja had meant for this forced butchery to be some kind of lesson. Over the next two days, Onja continued to receive her tribute from the remaining tribes. The horrors inflicted upon the Zenglawa had quickly spread among the other delegations, and Onja was greeted by thoroughly subservient Kings with trembling entourages. Without being prompted, each tribe voluntarily declared that more tribute would be brought the next year. Shan did not join the Queen for these final audiences of the tribute season. He skulked around the Keep and was surprised how good it felt to be separated from Onja. She had always been so close with her voice whispering. The peace found in his own thoughts was therapeutic. www.braveluck.com

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After the last tribe delivered its tribute and departed Jingten, an enchanted quiet settled on the valley. The frosts of the deepening autumn called for winter. Every winter secluded Jingten from the human world and left the magic rys at peace in their alpine realm. Snow, cold, and blizzard winds could not kill a rys although most of them stuck to the domestic comforts of Jingten. Onja sought Shan out in this quiet time at the cusp of winter when she no longer had her human subjects to preside over. She found him on a walkway along the top of the high wall that enclosed the Keep’s courtyard. He was leaning an elbow on the ramparts and staring across Lake Nin. Shan did not look up as Onja came toward him. In his mind’s eye he saw how her navy blue dress looked almost black beneath the steely overcast sky and how the cold wind toyed temptingly with the ends of her white hair. Shan wished he could quell his excitement over her arrival. Would she apologize or should he? “You can stop avoiding me,” was Onja’s greeting. “Has your anger passed, Onja?” Shan said, keeping his eyes on the lake. She surprised him by saying yes. Shan faced her now. Onja was close to him and to be inside the aura of her power again felt good. “My Queen, I should not have interfered,” he said. Onja seemed to resist her urge to chastise him and said simply that it had not been the reaction that she had expected. “But did you see the lesson, Shan?” she added. He confessed that he had not, so Onja explained that she needed to show the humans her power from time to time. If she grew lazy and lenient, then the humans would always drift from obedience. They needed to be reminded every other generation or so that she was their Goddess and they would do as she bid them. “Getting someone to kill on your order is a tremendous statement of power,” Onja concluded. Shan did not disagree with her opinion, but asked, “Did you have to be so harsh? They were afraid of you and the woman’s suffering was so unnecessary.” Even as he spoke, he felt again the raw plaintive misery of the human emotions that had battered him. Onja exhaled and was condescending in her frustration. “Shan, what do you care about the killing? Humans kill each other all the time. Telender has sent others to war and death in stupid conflicts motivated by greed or a trifling insult that pricked his honor,” Onja said. Then with a kinder maternal tone, she added, “Shan, do not pity the humans. Telender would put that woman to death if he even imagined she committed an indiscretion.” Shan thought on this. Telender had not resisted the order to kill very long, and he had voluntarily killed two men without being asked. Yes, the humans are wicked, Shan was forced to admit. But not always. Those people had cared for each other, and Shan had seen into Telender’s soul in his moment of murder and witnessed how the foul act had scratched his sanity. Shan could concede that he now understood Onja’s lesson, but the ability of humans to be cruel did not justify Onja’s harsh desires. “Would you have killed that woman?” Shan asked because that was really what was at the heart of his defiance. Onja narrowed her eyes. She did not want him to belabor that point. She answered him mentally, “We will never know.” www.braveluck.com

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Aloud she told him to walk with her. Shan followed her on the walkway to where the wall met the Keep. A deep archway covered the door to the Keep and once inside the shady alcove, Onja stopped and set a hand on his cheek. She kissed his other cheek, and with a warm sad smile, she gathered one of his hands and held it to her chest. “Shan, you are grown now. A rysling no more. We both know that,” Onja said. Shan placed a hand over her hand on his face. Closing his eyes, he kissed her wrist, relieved to have her close again. The touch of her powerful flesh made him forget his anger and moral difficulties. Onja continued, “To truly be my consort, you must shed your innocence.” Her statement confused him. Shan did not quite conceive of himself as any more or less innocent than any other rys. In his defense, he said, “Onja, my Queen, it was not youthful innocence that made me not want to see you kill that woman.” She arched her eyebrows and let go of his hand. “No? Are you sure?” she said. She turned toward the door, but before she opened it, she added, “My power is not pretty, Shan, but it is awesome. The humans respect me and the rys respect me. I am the most powerful and the rightful ruler of us all.” “Yes, Onja. Of course,” Shan said. He followed her into the Keep, but she did not take the stairs to the upper levels where she dwelled in luxury. Her steps led them downward. In the lower places of the Keep, Shan knew there were store rooms and vaults, filled with centuries of treasure given up by the humans to their Goddess, and even lower, into the rocky bowels carved from the bedrock, were dungeons. At times, Shan had sensed suffering from these places, and the lingering ache of dark hidden sorrows clung to the cell blocks far beneath the regal grandeur of the throne of Jingten. Occasionally, when Shan had been a rysling, scalpel sharp misery from the dungeon had slashed his perception, and he had sought comfort and explanation from Onja. She had told him that sometimes she punished criminals. It was an unpleasant thing, but he was not to let it upset him. Everyone, rys and humans, knew their place in society, and he should not pity those who defied the proper order of things. The frightening episodes had thankfully been rare, and Shan had only once let his curious mind wander into the depths. He had seen a dead human, broken and starved, and he had not looked again. But the memory shuddered through him now as he went with Onja through stairwells that became increasingly dark and damp. Tiny window slits allowed a little daylight in at the top of the stairs that descended into gloom. At the bottom of the steps, Onja opened a door that creaked on hinges burdened by thick timbers and rust. Inside was a guard room lit by several lanterns. Soot from the lanterns streaked the ceiling of the room cut from stone. A dozen sets of iron manacles and chains hung on a wall. Two rys of the Jingten Guard stood from the small table where they had been sitting and bowed to their Queen. Onja selected a lantern from the table and told the guards that they would not be needed. She opened the door on the other side of the room and entered the hopeless dark. As Shan passed by the manacles, he reached out and touched a set. The essence of the humans that had been grasped by the ugly hard rings cut across his nerves. Shan revealed his discomfort with only a bat of his eyes. He looked at the other two rys. They did not speak to him. Rys rarely initiated conversation with him. He supposed they feared him because he was more powerful than they were. He lived and walked in www.braveluck.com

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Onja’s steps and few rys wished to involve themselves in the inner world of their Queen. Shan hurried after Onja. They descended another long set of steps before reaching the wet smelly cavern where cells had been carved into the hard darkness. The lantern light swayed gently in Onja’s grip. Shan could hear water dripping from the high ceiling. Near the cells, Onja stopped. “Do you feel her, Shan?” Inside one of the cells languished a human female. Her presence was impossible for him to miss. Her flesh and her soul were bright and hot against Shan’s magical perception. A wave of sickness crawled up his stomach and throat as he recognized the unfortunate wife of Telender who he had thought that he had saved in the throne room. Astounding horror raved inside Shan’s chest. “Onja, what have you done?” He wanted to shout but it was only a whisper. Onja lifted the lantern between them. Its orange light burned across their faces. “We are going to finish your lesson, Shan,” she said. Guilt robbed Shan of pride. And although Onja had told him not to pity the humans, he pitied the woman, and Shan fell to his knees. He begged, “Let her go, Onja. Please. I am sorry I interfered in the throne room. I will make it up to you. Do not punish this woman because of my foolishness. Please.” His reaction baffled Onja for a moment. Recovering from her confusion, she sneered, “See how weak your innocence makes you.” “Innocence?” Shan said. “It was my indiscretion. Punish me instead of this human.” Onja shook her head, annoyed by his blathering compassion. “Stand up!” she commanded. With an effort he obeyed. “I do not want to punish you, Shan. I am trying to teach you.” Blue energy swirled in her dark eyes, but then Onja’s face softened with something akin to vulnerability. “For over seventeen centuries I have been alone. Then you were born, and I have watched you grow, and in that time I have hoped that you could ease my loneliness. You know of loneliness. You feel it more every day.” Shan nodded. He could empathize with his Queen. She continued, “You are worthy to be my companion, Shan. I want there to be love between us.” “I love you,” Shan blurted. Perhaps these words would be the magic needed for her to end her use of the human as a game piece. Onja smiled, and for an instant, she was a beautiful rys female with an allure that no poetry could describe. Then her voice hardened. “But only a powerful rys can be my consort, Shan. And you have only just begun to know your power. I want you to be like me, to understand me. You are still too like the other rys, who with my protection live in peace and wealth. They are respected, as well. I have seen to that, but they are innocent, unlike me. I fought the Great War long ago. I made the world as it is now. I made myself Queen. And now I would teach you of this power, Shan. It is a great pleasure to know, and it will be a great pleasure to share it.” Shan was uncertain of what she was getting at, and when he did not respond, Onja chose to be blunt. She said, “Shan, I want you to use your magic to kill this woman.” “Kill her?” he said stupidly. “Yes. Free yourself of this useless pity that is making you weak. Kill her and feel what your power can truly be like. You will understand once you have done it,” Onja said. www.braveluck.com

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She stepped aside and went behind him as if she might even shove him toward the cell of the unfortunate woman. Onja’s lips caressed his ear. “Trust me,” she murmured and tiny ripples of pleasure radiated from his ear along his cheek and down his neck. It is a simple thing, Shan told himself. He had hunted and eaten the flesh of animals. He had used his magic to do such a thing. Killing the human would be easy, but it seemed so different, so wrong. Shan approached the cell. With the force of his mind, he unlocked the door and then pulled it open. The lantern light did not really penetrate the black square of despair, but Shan heard the woman shuffling about inside. He stood there thinking. The woman came to the door, drawn toward the light by the awful hope that she was being set free. She was a mess. Her hair was undone, hanging in tangles around her dirty sunken face. Filth now marred her once fine garments and her golden scarves hung over her shoulders instead of wrapping her head. She staggered into the doorway, squinting at the light and shielding her eyes with her hands. Dirt filled the creases in her palms. She began to talk. She begged for mercy and asked if she was being released. She babbled apologies for the Zenglawa and gave promises on behalf of her kingly husband that they would bring more tribute than ten tribes next year. Shan saw her now in her loathsome despair—caused by his impulsive interference. If not for him, she would have either died quickly in the throne room or been halfway home with her tribe right now. The guilt was awful. It would be best to end this. Shan grabbed her by the arm and tossed her toward Onja. The woman stumbled appropriately to her knees and Shan swept down behind her. Dropping to one knee, he placed one hand around her throat and twined the fingers of his other hand through her dirty hair and clasped her skull. Onja raised her lantern and hovered excitedly. Shan fetched his power that was inherent in every cell of his body and focused his mind. The shaking body in his grasp suddenly fueled his sense of supremacy. Her blood thudded against his fingers and he felt her soul bashing inside her body like a mad bird flapping in a cage. He had to decide how to kill her. Suffocate her? Stop her heart? Shatter her spine? So many possibilities opened up to him in an inspiring rush of knowledge. His magic could let him do just about anything to her body. He could manipulate any system and damage any part of her. He could kill her instantly or make her suffer for days. Shan’s eyes were glowing with fierce blue light. His magic surged inside him in thrilling waves of ecstasy. Yes, it was amazing to cast aside pity, compassion, and innocence. The other rys would not be wary of him because he stood in Onja’s shadow. After this, they would fear him because he was fearsome. I kill at Onja’s command, he thought and the sick delight of the moment unraveled. The realization that Onja was exerting her authority over him changed everything. She did not love him. She wanted to control him because he was powerful. The clarity with which Shan saw what the rys Queen was doing blinded his mind with bright epiphany. An exploding defiant rage replaced his growing bloodlust. The eruption of his hate was made even more intense by the lifetime of affection Shan had felt for Onja. She had nurtured him, taught him, given him pleasure, but now his juvenile love withered like a baby being drowned by its mother. www.braveluck.com

Challenging Lessons by Tracy Falbe

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Shan released the woman, who collapsing sobbing onto the wet gravel. Shan stomped close to Onja and swatted the lantern from her hand. It banged loudly against the rock wall and the light went out. Only the cold glow of rys eyes broke the darkness now. “I WILL NOT KILL HER FOR YOU!” Shan thundered to Onja’s face. Pure shock gripped her body. No one had told her no for well over a millennia. Blue energy rippled along Shan’s arms and boiled from his eyes. He had never felt his magic like this before. Filled with righteous energy, he bent down and picked up the woman. He pulled one of her arms over his shoulders and started to leave. She scrambled alongside him. Between her near-hysterical sobs, she thanked him. Her gratitude was such a tiny, human thing, but the sentiment told him that his power did not have to be evil. When he reached the first step of the dark hard stairs, Onja reacted. Blue and white fire raced up the high walls of the dungeon and drove back the dark as if lightning had struck beneath the Keep. Pain pierced Shan’s back. With a scream, he crumpled to his knees and the woman slid from his supporting shoulders. Onja stalked toward them and released another blasting spell of bright energy that clung to the walls and spun around the edges of the ceiling. The Zenglawa woman did not look back. She clawed up a few more steps and tried to escape with all her strength, but Onja lunged over Shan and grabbed the woman’s ankles. Onja supplemented her angry strength with levitation magic and flung the woman behind her and back toward the cells. Gasping, Shan rolled over and Onja stood over him like a crane about to strike a fish from the pond. She was fierce and terrible, and until that awful moment, Shan had never truly conceived of the awesome power that Onja commanded. The rys Queen attacked him with her magic. Super hot blasts of air pummeled him as she cast her attack spells. Pure instinct allowed Shan to survive. He cast shield spells for the first time in his life and insulated himself from her killing magic. Onja’s spells stormed around him, and in the eerie glow of her magical fire, Shan watched the cuffs of her sleeves begin to smoke. He also felt his shielding magic buckling beneath her mighty onslaught. She was going to kill him. He was certain of it even though the most sacred law to all rys was the law against killing another rys. Onja was close to Shan and he kicked one of her feet out from under her. She came down hard onto one knee on the stone steps, and her attack faltered. Shan scrambled backward on the steps and then rolled over and ran up to the guard room. In terror of Onja, he fled and forgot the woman such was his fear for his life. He ran by the two rys in the guard room. They had surely sensed the eruption of magic in the dungeon but neither of them had investigated. All rys knew to stand aside when Onja used her powers. Shan ran out of the Keep. With barely a conscious thought, he opened the wrought iron gates of the courtyard with his magic. The bird designs in the gates banged open loudly like two crows disturbed from their roosts. Sweat plastered Shan’s hair to his head and his heart hammered like a crew of miners. He ran through Jingten. He saw rys on the streets stop and look at him. Many stepped out of his path, aghast by the sight of him. They could feel the hot guilt of their Queen’s punishing magic all over him. Halfway across the city, Shan slowed. There was a wind and it was cold on his sweaty skin. Shan sagged with despair. Placing his hands on his thighs, he leaned over www.braveluck.com

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and tried to catch his breath. He had no one to turn to for help. Yes, I know of loneliness, he thought. When Shan lifted his head, he looked beyond the rooftops of the city. Some of the copper roofs were recently polished and reflected the thickening cloud cover over the valley, but others were tarnished green and complemented the pine forests that pressed close to Jingten. Shan’s eyes latched onto the great mountains that contained the forested valley. The peaks of the Rysamand suddenly beckoned him. He ran again, out of the city and through the pines. Without pausing, he labored up the increasing inclines toward the mountains. Shan passed the tree line and here snowflakes were driven by a stronger wind. Without seeking any kind of trail, he climbed. He grasped the narrow cracks in the rock and pulled himself up sheer cliffs and across rough icy fields of sharp broken stones. Shan did not stop until the dusk dimmed the valley and the first stars lit up over the mountains. Pulling himself onto a ledge, he rested and looked back. Jingten was far below him now, nestled against Lake Nin like an egg in a distant basket. He did not dare send his mind back to the city to see what Onja was doing. It sufficed at the moment that she was not clawing her way up the steep rock and snow to attack him. The air was thin and cold, but the alpine extremes were the natural environment for rys and did not trouble him. Actually, the pure mountain wind refreshed him and began to blow a lifetime of litter from his mind. He looked higher. The peak of the mountain twisted over him into the starry sky. After getting his bearings, Shan recalled the name of the mountain that he had half climbed in his blind flight. Mount Curlenfindi. Through the night, Shan climbed for its summit. If he slipped on the ice, he caught himself with his levitation magic and struck his hands into the snowpack as if they were ice axes. He used his magical perception to find a way in the dark, and one hand hold and foot hold at a time, he approached the mountain top. With the dawn, he mounted the summit and came shakily to his feet. All around him spread the Rysamand Mountains, choked with glaciers except for the green jewel that was the Jingten Valley. The rising sun kissed the snow fields. Snow powder blowing from the peaks cast rainbows down the mountain sides, and Shan saw his world of Rystavalla anew. He settled onto the summit cross legged and descended into meditation. He focused the forces of nature through his soul and into the majestic pinnacle of Curlenfindi beneath him. Shan tuned his body to the slow colossal breathing of the world. The elements did not harm his body. Harsh wind drove ice needle snow against him, but his body automatically healed its flesh with his magic. His breathing slowed and he preserved his body against the cold. He did not need to eat or drink. Deep into his semi-hibernation, he began to discover the true potential of his powers. Days passed and he felt the sun passing over him in the same way as his brother mountain felt the potent rays. Growing warmth and then fading warmth; all in a blessed cycle of power that invigorated and soothed. When Shan opened his eyes, they blazed with blue light and his magic quickened inside him. He was much more powerful than he had previously guessed. Of course Onja wanted to control him. She desired him as a companion because she dreaded him as a competitor. It was night and a full moon had risen. It hung watchfully over the valley like a proud mother checking on a sleeping child. Shan urged his blood to flow again and www.braveluck.com

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pumped vitality back into his stiff limbs. When he could move, he twitched his right cheek and cracked a frozen tear off his cold skin. Now Shan had the courage to direct his mind to Jingten. The lifeforces of the rys in the city felt much as they had always felt to him. Nothing had changed for them. They lived their lives of ease, obedient to their Queen. He did not envy them though. Not with the potent fire of high magic inside him for comfort. Shan pushed onward with his awareness and dared to look into the Keep and find Onja. But when he found the Queen, poignant suffering assailed Shan’s senses. The Zenglawa woman was sprawled on the dungeon floor. Onja stood over her. Agony rose from the woman’s flesh like smoke from a fire. Shan, although barely able to stand the ugliness, cast his mind over the woman and examined her. Onja had been torturing the woman the whole time. Ceaseless torments clung to the woman’s flesh that was beyond healing. Her begging for mercy had turned days ago to begging for death. Onja finally granted the woman’s awful request now that she sensed that Shan was watching. With one more vindictive spell, Onja lashed the nerves of the human with her burning magic. The Zenglawa woman, who had been wife to a king, tossed again in ragged throes, screamed, and died. “ONJA!” Shan shouted from the top of Curlenfindi. He had never known such rage. Onja was disgusting, beyond cruel. There had been no reason for any of this. He would end it. Shan descended the mountain in terrible haste. He relied recklessly on his magic as he slid down ice fields and bounded down cliffs and landed on ledges. He reached the high meadows and ran toward the tree line. Through the moonlit forest, he ran with his magic building inside him. Blue energy streaked behind his racing feet like a comet’s tail. Even with such speed, daylight had come before Shan reached the city. The streets were empty. Shan slowed to a walk. He looked at Jingten and pondered the details. He noticed the shape of every cobble in the street and the curve of every tree branch. The burble of a fountain came slowly to his ears and he heard the musical clash of every drop in the lively waters. He stopped at the fountain and cupped his hands into the water. He drank several times, tasting the water and the nuances of its minerals. Then he went to the Keep. The gates were open and Onja stood in the courtyard waiting for him. She wore a hooded cloak, and its red fabric draped her appropriately in the color of blood. Shan stopped a few paces from her. “Shan, do not do this,” she said. “I will forgive you.” She extended a hand to him. His lack of temptation encouraged him. Boldly, he said, “The rys are ruled by the strongest among them. It is our way.” Onja cocked her head and lowered her hand. Her expression became severe. “You are being foolish,” she warned. Shan began to circle her with slow steps, sizing her up. She followed him with her eyes but did not turn her head. He felt no fear from her but he was not afraid either. “Onja, you are rotten and cruel. You have been Queen too long. Indeed you have been alive too long,” Shan said. She chuckled with contempt. “You don’t even have the nerve to kill a stupid human,” Onja criticized. “Only those who deserve death should be killed,” Shan retorted, feeling righteousness growing inside him. www.braveluck.com

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Amused by the drama, Onja said, “I think, Shan, that you will discover that judging who lives and dies is not a simple thing.” Shan abruptly bashed her with an attack spell. His magic flamed around her in a sphere of blue bolts and the force of it made her falter a few steps before she caught her balance. Onja then shook the hood off her head and faced him. Blue light blazed in her eyes and her power filled the courtyard with snapping energy. “This is your last chance to control yourself,” Onja said. Unintimidated and sick of hearing her voice, Shan attacked again. His magic thrust out from his spirit like a striking scorpion’s tail. His anger and repugnance for her actions were transformed into energy. His spells blazed around Onja. It was time the rys had a King instead of a Queen. The Queen defended herself. Her shielding magic had been perfected in many ancient battles and she was ready for this challenge from her upstart ward. Shan intensified his attack and walked up to her. His hands roiling with white-hot energy, he reached for her throat. She grabbed his wrists and they grappled. They traded attack spells until Onja finally had to admit to herself that his challenge was at least respectable. She had always suspected that Shan possessed a power that rivaled her own, but rivalry did not mean superiority. Shan twisted one arm free of her grasp and struck her across the face. It was a savage blow made with his male strength and it knocked her down. Her upper lip was cut on her teeth and her purple blood squirted down her chin. Shan was excited by his success and his attack spells became more potent. It felt so good to use his power this way. He had never imagined what it might feel like to use battle magic. He knew that long ago rys had used their magic in war, and although he had contemplated the technical aspects of warfare, he had not guessed at the emotional thrill that giving battle produced. His hunger for victory grew. He forgot his feelings for Onja. His rage consumed memories of kind words and gentle touches. Hurting her was what he needed now. The single throne of Jingten would soon be his. Again Shan struck her face and reached for her throat with his free hand. He squeezed her strong sleek neck, pressing the jewels of her necklace into the blue skin. The vulnerability of her living flesh against his palm and clamping fingers excited him. He could feel her mortality, and it cheered him toward violent victory. Onja had had enough. She was done testing him. Through the blue blur of their roiling magic, Shan watched the cut on Onja’s lip close and the bleeding stop. She released his other wrist and smacked her palm against his forehead. She struck him with a boulder of magic that sent him backward like a skipping pebble. Shan wobbled to his feet and tried to make his vision stop swimming. Determined to fight on, he raised his hands to cast another attack spell, but enchanted fire encased him. His skin burned and his body felt heavy. Onja gasped a word that completed her spell, and Shan could not move. The energy had coalesced around him and turned into solid stone up to his neck. The hot enchanted stone gripped him so thoroughly he could not even struggle. His head jerked from side to side. Distress seized the finely chiseled features of his young face. Onja picked herself up and walked over to him in his partial upright sarcophagus. She gloated for a moment, very much enjoying his panicked realization of defeat. Onja caressed his lips. It had been a long long time since she had dueled with anyone. It had been a genuine pleasure. www.braveluck.com

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“Shan, I will forgive you,” Onja said and cast the next spell that encased his head in stone. She left him to languish inside the monolith where she presumed that he would learn to hibernate or perish. She expected that he would not have trouble grasping this lesson, and the Age of Onja continued. ~

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The struggle for power and moral conflict continue in “The Rys Chronicles” fantasy series. The Rys Chronicles begins in “Union of Renegades” in which the stakes get much higher as Shan enlists the alliances of human tribes to support his renewed attacks on Onja. Bonus: “Union of Renegades: The Rys Chronicles Book I” is available as a FREE ebook download at www.braveluck.com.

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