Keys of Awakening
Chosen and Rider

ZAGAR ( F E E L I N G )

The Eighth Power of the Arcanum

Zagar is a Passive power.

Learning to trust what one ‘knows without knowledge’ opens this power to the Seeker. This is the knowing that comes through the body. Feeling is intuitive understanding where the mind is not capable of grasping or making sense of something.

Application: Zagar requires mastery over fear. In situations of grave danger it is the ability to still the frantic stirrings of the mind to hear the wisdom and knowing in the body.

A practitioner of Zagar is known as an Empath.

From The Arcanum of Wisdom – Introduction for the Initiate

P

racticalities took precedence. As the four new arrivals were drenched to the bone, the Clan Mothers provided them with cloaks similar to the one Illiom had been given, until their clothes had a chance to dry around a fire. They were then offered food and it was only when they were all seated in the Clan Mothers’ enclosure that stories were finally exchanged.

Tarmel did not contribute a single word. He seemed content to sit, eat, listen, and steal frequent glances at his charge.

“There is not much to tell really,” Grifor began. “It was when we leapt into that stream that things took an unexpected turn. I did not expect the water to be as deep as it was; but in fact that was a really good thing, for it carried us quickly out of harm’s way and made pursuit more difficult.”

She paused, giving Mara time to translate her words for the Clan Mothers, who seemed keen to hear the Rider’s account.

“Anyway, we were swept under the bridge and soon found ourselves tumbling through the densest forest I have ever seen. The current swept us along so fast that it was difficult to keep my bearings, and staying afloat took all of my resources. After what seemed like an age we reached a bend, and it finally became possible for us to clamber out onto a narrow bank.”

“It was good to get out of the water,” Malco said, picking up the story. “But now we were stuck there: believe me, this forest is impenetrable. If we had to make it out on foot I am convinced that we would all have died before we could get anywhere at all.”

Grifor nodded.

“It was a miserable night. It was cold; we had no fire and nothing to eat. No tools other than the weapons we had with us …”

“And on top of everything else it rained without let,” Scald shook his head in indignation. “We might as well have camped under a waterfall!”

“That is exactly how it was,” Malco agreed. “We could do nothing while it was dark, of course, but as soon as dawn came we all agreed that there was only one thing to do …”

“So we jumped into the stream again,” Scald said, laughing at their predicament. “I mean, we were drenched anyway, so might as well be miserable and moving than be miserable and stuck …”

“That got us moving alright,” Grifor continued. “Far more than we had bargained for. The current had not diminished overnight - it swept us away and once again we were at its mercy. We reached a place where the stream – well, it was actually much more than just a stream by then –started weaving between boulders. I tried to grab onto one as we passed, but it was as slippery as an eel … anyway, guess what was in store for us beyond the boulders?” invited Grifor.

“A waterfall,” Scald filled in, before anyone had a chance to hazard a guess.

“And over we went,” Malco said. “A respectable drop of maybe four or five spans. We landed in a deep pool where we managed to climb out onto the bank. That is where the tribals found us.”

“... yes, and that was just before we followed a track leading away from the pool,” Scald managed to add before Mara cut in.

“Track through forest?”

The three turned towards her, nodding.

“Only track in forest Mudaral track be,” she informed them. Track good for walking, but not good if Mudaral meet.”

The three looked at each other.

“What is that?” Scald asked.

“Mudaral dangerous be,” Mara replied. “Few left in forest now, but very bad if one you see. Shimina never in forest walk, trees use. Safer. Mudaral too fast be.”

Malco laughed softly under his breath.

“Good thing that these people found us before this Mudaral did!”

“What about you, Illiom?” Tarmel asked. “What happened to you?”

She told them about hitting her head and then regaining consciousness in the tree-fern glade. She spoke of gentle Elorion and then of her forceful transportation through the forest at the hands of the two warriors.

Grifor studied her with raised eyebrows.

“Lucky you did not drown.”

“It sounds like we were all lucky,” Tarmel observed, “and especially so to have ended up here, with these hospitable people.”

“So, what about the first two carriages?” asked Scald.

“They crossed the bridge,” Malco replied. “With any luck they got away.”

“But we must replace them,” Scald insisted.

Grifor nodded.

“Yes, we must,” she agreed. “Mind, whatever happened to them I am sure their chances were better than ours. Theirs is the greater number, both carriages were intact, and they had Argolan to lead them. If we have survived, then I am certain that they would have too.”

Scald made a small sound of frustration.

“Which is all well and good, but we need to know for sure before we can do anything else.” He turned towards the translator. “Mara, where does the road that crosses that bridge lead to?” he asked.

It took a while before Mara understood which road Scald was referring to. The Clan Mothers conferred with each other.

“The road more north into Tersalan go; through Virupa territory pass.”

Malco gaped at her, his expression as blank as a cloudless sky.

“Tersalan? Virupa?” he asked. He had no idea what she was talking about.

Mara nodded.

“Tersalan this land be, this land we now on, largest of Qwa’kol islands. Virupa other Qwa’kol clan be.”

“Good news!” Malco exclaimed. “Can we send them a message asking if they have seen our friends?”

After a short exchange with the Clan Mothers, Mara turned back to Malco.

“Very difficult with Virupa to talk,” she said softly.

“Ah …” Scald commented. “Maybe they were not as lucky as we thought …”

“Qwa’kol Virupa more … how to say …?” Mara scrunched up her face into an imitation of fierceness and accompanied her expression with a deep growl.

“Angry? Fierce?” ventured Malco.

“Yes, yes! Angry, Virupa angry and fierce!” she replied with vehemence. “Virupa more fierce than Shimina be. Since first trouble start they Th’ekera attack. Now Th’ekera must first move make, if again peace want. This what Virupa now say.”

Scald shook his head.

“Nothing is ever simple, is it?”

“Is it possible,” interjected Malco, “that our friends could pass through the Virupa lands without being seen?”

Mara shook her head.

“Possible not is. Virupa see, stop; maybe even kill.”

Illiom groaned. The more they talked, the worse the situation seemed to her.

“Then we have no time to waste!” she said. “We must go to these Virupa as quickly as we can, before …” she did not need to finish her sentence - everyone knew exactly what she meant.

“But what if they are not there?” Scald protested. “What if they have made it through, and have gone to Iod knows where?”

“Pointless to sit here and speculate,” Tarmel spoke softly, but his words silenced the others. “There is only one way to replace out. Illiom is right, we must go …”

Mara translated.

One of the Clan Mothers looked at them doubtfully. She pointed at Tarmel’s legs and said a few words.

“With those go?” Mara relayed.

Illiom looked at the Shimina’s limbs and at their strong tails, which were now tucked beneath them. She took Mara’s meaning ... how would they travel?

“Are there no roads?” she asked.

“Qwa’kol no roads need,” came the reply. “Many better ways on tree tops. More better, faster than Th’ekera roads.”

“What about the path we saw?” Scald asked. “What did you call that? A Muda … something?”

Mara’s eyes widened.

“Did she not say,” Illiom countered, “that those creatures were dangerous …?”

Mara consulted with the eldest Clan Mother. The others looked on in consternation.

“She say you to Virupa land go, Mudaral paths follow,” Mara relayed. “Mudaral not climb, on ground travel; and many Mudaral trails through forest cross. Only problem be Mudaral very strong, very fast. If you they see …” She shook her head slowly and ran an eloquent finger across her throat.

“Great!” Scald laughed without humour.

Tarmel looked at him blankly for a moment.

“What are the chances that we run into one?” Illiom asked Mara.

The translator pondered this for a moment.

“Not big chance. Lucky not many Mudaral in forest left. But if Mudaral you see, then big problem. Mudaral always hungry be. When they Qwa’kol up in trees see, they shake trees, make Qwa’kol fall they try. Even tree make fall they try. Not safe on ground.”

Tarmel looked thoughtful.

“Are the Qwa’kol good at spotting them?”

The consensus was unanimous: they were.

“So how would it be if we had the help of some of your people scouting ahead for us and warning us if we were heading towards one of these creatures?”

Some discussion followed. Mara summarised it.

“Possible is,” she conceded. “Possible but slow is. Other problem Virupa is: must careful be, not to offend.”

It was clear that the Shimina were wary of their neighbours, but nevertheless the group came to a quick decision. Even Scald agreed that the risk of being eaten by a Mudaral or killed by these Virupa seemed preferable to waiting inertly for something to happen.

“We waited in Kuon. We waited in Calestor,” he summarised. “I am done with waiting.”

“We are agreed then, we leave at first light,” said Tarmel.

Four heads nodded in response.

Mara translated their conclusion for the Clan Mothers, who also nodded and sang their responses.

“They say escort for you they choose and may Goddess of Greenwoods with you walk.”

“I thought I had lost you,” he chided her gently.

“As did I,” she confessed.

Illiom looked at the Qwa’kol reed cloak that Tarmel was wearing and smiled at his awkwardness in it.

The others had stayed back in the centre of the Shimina village to rest and recover from the previous night’s ordeal, but Illiom and Tarmel had stolen away at the earliest opportunity and wandered through the village.

They soon discovered that even away from the others they still found very little privacy, for wherever they went they quickly became the centre of attention.

At first this had irked her, but only until she stopped to wonder at her reaction. Tarmel was safe, she was with him once more, what more did she want? And even though they were now constantly surrounded by the Shimina who peered at them, touching their arms or faces while singing beautiful but incomprehensible things to them, this too was a kind of freedom. They were at the same time surrounded by people and yet completely and entirely alone, for no one could understand anything they said to each other.

So, in the end, Illiom simply allowed herself the pleasure of being with her Rider, enjoying their conversation, their laughter, and the time they now shared. She cherished knowing that he too delighted in her company.

“I saw you jump into the water,” he was saying, “but the current had swept me too far away by then. I tried to reach you, but there was nothing to hold onto, no way of stopping myself. Then I saw you vanish and not re-emerge … Illiom, in that moment I truly believed the worst. It is something I never want to experience again.”

They embraced again, more briefly this time, more intensely. The Shimina around them made soft crooning noises, their faces lit up with wide grins, obviously pleased by this display of affection.

They walked to the cavern entrance to replace that the rain had finally relented. Their entourage soon dispersed once they realised that the two were headed out of the cavern. At last they were left completely alone.

The pair made their way carefully down the cliff-face, assisting one another down the trickiest parts.

Illiom felt like a child, playful and happy beyond reason.

When they entered the forest, a sparkling showcase of diamond droplets welcomed them; everything was wet and glistening, vibrant with colour and alive with sound. The air was cold and fragrant. Strange and haunting birdsong accompanied them, as did the incessant drone of insects, invisible amongst the density of foliage.

They did not venture far, always keeping the shadow of the cliff within view, for they knew how easy it would be to become hopelessly lost down here. They were now isolated from the rest of the world; just the two of them alone in this teeming primal wood, silently listening to the living world that surrounded them.

They crossed a small creek that cut a narrow swathe through the vegetation and they followed this for a short distance, stepping from stone to stone where possible or sinking ankle deep into the clear, cold water.

Out of nowhere, Illiom found herself suddenly tearful. This was what she wanted. Could it really be this simple? Solitude, a beautiful forest, peace and silence, and … a gentle companion.

“Illiom.”

Her throat constricted at the sound of his voice. She looked down at her feet, feigning absorption in the placement of her next step.

“What are we going to do?”

“Do about what?” she asked in a small voice.

There was an extended silence.

“I do not think that I can be your Rider anymore.”

“What?!” Illiom exclaimed in shock. “What do you mean?” she asked in a more sedate tone, reclaiming a measure of control.

She could tell by his hesitation that he was struggling for words.

“I mean that I have become far too …” he hesitated, “… far too close to remain effective.”

She sighed with relief, and since she could not replace a suitable response, she allowed the silence to linger between them.

“I am a Rider of the Black Ward,” he announced at last and she sensed him straighten as he spoke these words. “My effectiveness comes from my training. This is not just about my ability to fight; it is much more than that. It comes primarily from the dispassion and the clear-headedness that I have mastered during my time in the Ward. My training is a part of me; it has allowed me to rub shoulders with the best warriors in the realm.”

They resumed their walk and Illiom waited for him to say more.

“A predator hunts to satisfy his need for survival, and is alerted to this need by his hunger. But when he hunts, the predator must forget the hunger. If he does not, the hunger becomes a weakness and a distraction. Time enough to indulge it after the prey is down. While the predator is hunting, everything else must cease to exist; he must focus only on his prey and on the skills required to bring it down.”

His next words held a hint of laughter.

“I know that this is a long-winded way of explaining myself …”

He touched her elbow, and as she turned to face him he placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Illiom, I have come to fear for you. This fear has no place in a Rider, and it unmans me. I have come to know you and I … like you, far too much.”

She looked at him in alarm, waiting for his next words even as she dreaded them.

“Now I fear a life without you, and this fear is making me feel ineffective.” He gazed intensely into her eyes. “This is serious, Illiom. It means that I can no longer protect you like I want to, like I must …”

Illiom had never seen Tarmel so distressed, and it clutched at her heart.

“Illiom, I love you. But there are things that are more important than my feelings. You are one of the Chosen, on a vital mission for the future of all of Theregon. I must pull back. If I do not … you might suffer the consequences … you might die.”

Tarmel looked at her bleakly.

“And if you die, I will have been the cause of it; because I forgot the most basic tenet of my training.”

Illiom stood as if nailed to the spot. His words sank into her like thorns and petals, each evoking a spectrum of emotion that filled her with conflicting waves.

The world came to a standstill.

Illiom understood what her Rider meant and the possible ramifications, but all of it fled into the shadows in the light of just three of those words.

I love you, he had said.

These shone like Iod himself, purging all else from her awareness.

Her hands reached for him. She pulled him to her and pressed her lips to his, parting them with her hunger to be with him completely.

They were silent for a time, holding each other close, held in turn by the sounds of the forest cloaking them like a mantle.

“This does not help, Illiom,” he whispered after a time, but still he did not release her.

She knew that these words came from his training, so she did not respond immediately. She focused on their breathing and on the rise and fall of his chest, on the mingled beating of their hearts, closer now than they had ever been.

“If you stop being my Rider, I will stop being a Chosen,” she threatened at length. “I will not go anywhere without you.”

He released a long sigh.

Was it frustration or relief? She could not tell.

“Then we must rein this in,” he breathed. “As hard as it is to do, we must contain our personal desires, at least until this is over. Then we will see if that is still a door that we wish to step through …”

His voice was soft, but his meaning was firm and uncompromising.

Oh Tarmel, that door has been opening for an entire moon now …

“I cannot protect you as a Chosen while I am in constant fear for your life; while I am paralysed by the terror that every step you take may be your last. I simply cannot. If you want me to remain with you, I have to pull back …”

Illiom squeezed her eyes shut.

“If that is the case, why did you kiss me in the Iolan desert …?”

“For that I am sorry, Illiom. It was a moment of weakness, my biggest mistake,” he admitted immediately.

It was the best thing you could have done …

Illiom held on to her Rider for as long as she could, until he gently pulled away from her. His fingers under her chin, he raised her face to meet his.

“Chosen and Rider?” he asked.

She looked into his eyes, searching for the unspoken promise that lay veiled behind his words.

“Chosen and Rider,” she agreed, resisting the temptation to add anything more.