Zara the Wolf Read online

  "The Ojaza medicine man who tattooed you endowed you with the true spirit of the wolf. That spirit blends perfectly with your basic personality to make you complete," he whispered, but I could hear him above the sound of the water rippling in the distance.

  "Zara is what she appears to be," the Monk said quietly, jerking me back into the room.

  "I thought so." He turned back to me. "I would like to hire you, Zara."

  "For what, Your Grace?" I asked. I needed a job, but I wanted one that would allow me to travel Aesona, meet a variety of people, and determine where I fit and would be comfortable—at peace.

  "Candidates for Cheyo Monk are taught at the Trasslat Monastery. Many are admitted, but few are judged pure and made Monks," he said.

  Blinded, I translated mentally.

  He went on. "But it appears some of those candidates, although not pure, were more talented than their instructors realized. They left Trasslat and started their own school. Their members have formed a secret society, which has become increasingly powerful over the past few years. I believe they now have royalty involved or under their influence. I'd like you to do what you did at Redrock—go look and evaluate the situation for me."

  I didn't know what to say—rogue Monks, secret society, royalty involved, go look? How? Where?

  After an astonished pause, I blurted, "Me?"

  "You will have all the money you need for travel and clothes, a letter from me to gain entrance to the royalty, and the Cheyo Monks' support." Wetzel said, sounding a little desperate.

  "How do they get by the Monks?" I asked.

  "Not everyone has a Cheyo Monk. But to answer your question, we don't know. And your other question, Why you? Because of your handling of the kidnapping incident. That shows you're intelligent, have good instincts, and the Honorable Monk believes your wolf-spirit gift gives you an advantage."

  "I'm honored, but ... I need time to think about it. I've spent more time as a savage than a citizen of Aesona."

  "I understand. Most people would jump at the opportunity. The pay and benefits are great if you forget it's extremely dangerous and the odds of living through it aren't good. But then the odds of getting Lady Shelly free weren't good either, especially with Baron Hillard's unrealistic view of the world." He grinned. "Will you be staying at the Lazy Mug?"

  I nodded, too numb to speak.

  * * *

  Two monsters waged a battle of epic proportions inside my bruised and battered skull: one with battle ax and chain whip, demanding I refuse the duke's commission since it was too dangerous and wouldn't help me find what I was searching for; the other with a hammer and long sword, demanding I take the commission or incur the wrath of the duke and the royalty throughout Aesona. I tossed and turned each night, waking soaked in sweat. I gagged on my food and wandered the town aimlessly until late into the night.

  I was barely fit to be loose in Aesona society, and the duke expected me to interact with royalty. And I needed a cover story. I couldn't just announce I was looking for rogue Monks without inviting a knife in my back. And how was I going to deal with people who could get inside your head? The duke's Monk had stripped me naked and opened my mind like a book.

  On the fifth day, I found myself back at the castle, asking to see the duke.

  "Have you decided?" he asked when I entered the room and then shook his head. "No, I see you haven't."

  It was like a slap across my face, and I realized I hadn't bathed or changed clothes since I had talked with him. I must have looked like a street beggar.

  "I'm sorry, Your Grace, I'll leave ... " I mumbled, beginning to back out.

  "Zara, stop!" he said, and I froze. "You came here for a reason. What was it?"

  "I'd like to speak to the Honorable Monk." I didn't know how that was going to help, only that it was important.

  "Guard, get Minister Niver." He sat back and sipped at his wine while we waited. Thankfully, Niver wasn't long in coming, because I felt scared like a wolf in an iron leg-trap. "Niver, see that Zara gets a bath, clean clothes to wear while hers are being cleaned, something hot to eat, and a place to rest for as long as she wants. Zara, when you are rested, the Monk will speak with you." The duke looked to where the Monk sat in a corner to the side of the duke.

  "Zara, you have learned to calm your mind, or you would not be alive today. When you have rested and cleansed your mind of the turmoil, I will speak with you," said the Monk, but I had the strange feeling that only I heard him.

  "Thank you, Honorable One," I said as I followed Minister Niver out the door and up the stairs down another hallway and into a spacious bedroom.

  "If you will get undressed, someone will be in shortly with hot water, soap, and towels to help you," he said, giving me a small bow before leaving. I took a couple of steps into the room and stood there still in shock. The room was five times the size of my room at the inn. It had a large puffy bed big enough for three people, with small tables on each side, two easy chairs with silk cushions, and two large elaborately carved dressers. I stood on a rug embroidered with vines and yellow and orange flowers, and red silk drapes covered the long narrow windows on either side of the bed. It was a room fit for royalty.

  As I stood there unsure what to do, a knock at the door jarred me back to the present. "Yes?" I said, and two women entered with a steaming bucket of water, towels, jars of something, and clothes.

  "Lady, we are here to help you … freshen up," said the older one, who was several years younger than me, as the other began filling a bowl with the hot water. "My name is Melisa. I will help you undress if you like. I have clothes for you to wear while yours are cleaned."

  Still in a fog, I undressed and was led to the bowl, where the two scrubbed me from head to foot, dressed me in a skirt and blouse of silk, grabbed up my old clothes, and disappeared out the door. As I stood fascinated by the feel of the material, there was another knock at the door.

  "Yes?" I answered, still confused, and the same two girls entered with plates of food they sat on the table next to one of the chairs.

  "Can we get you anything else, My Lady?" Melisa asked.

  "No thank you. Melisa, you can call me Zara. I'm not royalty, just hired help."

  "… Zara, just pull the red cord," she pointed to a cord by the bed, "if you need anything." She bowed and they left. I sat staring at the array of food on the table, enough for three or four people—very hungry people: two stuffed birds, a meat stew with carrots and potatoes, a good sized flayed fish, bread, cheese, and wine. The smell made me realize I was hungry, and I began eating. I took a sip of the wine only because no water was available. My hunger satisfied, I crawled onto the bed and fell asleep.

  When I woke, the room was dark. Looking out the window, it appeared to be about midnight. Rested, I found a small space along the wall and sat. It took a long time for me to quiet my mind, to forget where I was and why I was there. A knock at the door brought me back.

  "Enter." I said, finally at peace. Melisa entered, looked around the room until she found me, and froze; her face pale with fright.

  "Don't be afraid. You aren't disturbing me. I'm just relaxing."

  "If you are ready to eat or wash … "

  "Just water to drink, please. I'm still full from dinner yesterday. I think I'll fast today."

  "Yes … Zara," she said hesitantly and quickly left. She returned several minutes later with a large jug of water she placed on the table. "Pull the red cord if you want anything," she said before closing the door.

  After a cup of water and relieving myself, I returned to my place, sat, closed my eyes, and quieted my mind. I had much to consider. No one bothered me as the day turned to night and the night to day twice. My panic was gone, and I was ready to face the issues with a clear mind, so I pulled on the red cord. Melisa appeared instantly, as if she had been waiting outside the door.

  "Yes, my la … Zara?"

  "Some food. Simple fare: cheese, bread, fruit, and water, if it's available. She bowed a
nd left. Interesting how the people serving nobility—or their guest—conducted themselves like Ojaza slaves. They might not be slaves, but like slaves they were at the bottom of the hierarchy and dependent upon goodwill.

  The food was less but still enough for five hungry Ojaza. When Melisa returned to check on me, she seemed more relaxed in my company, as nothing bad had happened.

  "Would you have someone inform the Cheyo Monk that I'd like to see him at his convenience?" I said, feeling ready. I still didn't like my options but knew the Monk could resolve my conflict. Sometime later, there was a knock at the door and Minister Niver entered.

  "Zara, if you will follow me, I will take you to the Monk. He's in his room," he said, and I followed him out the door and down several hallways. He stopped and knocked at a door at the end of one hallway, waited for acknowledgement, opened it, and stood aside for me to enter.

  The room was dimly lit and almost bare except for a mat, one dresser, and several rugs. He sat in the center of an octagonal white rug that was embroidered with black symbols at the edge of each section.

  "Sit, Zara," he said, and waited for me to fold into a sitting position facing him. "How may I help you?"

  "I don't know. I don't want to offend Duke Wetzel, but how can I survive against people who can get into my mind?" I said, not sure if I was looking for a compelling reason to gracefully refuse the duke's offer or to understand how I could survive if I had to accept his offer.

  "If you were a mercenary or a soldier or a trusted friend of the duke, I would say you couldn't. These are not Cheyo Monks, but they did attend the Trasslat Monastery and have varying degrees of talent. From the rumors I hear, a few are very talented. But the Ojaza have given you a gift—"

  "A gift?" I blurted. "You mean training me to fight? That wasn't a gift. It was entertainment for the tribe, while they taught the uppity slave her place, or crippled her, or killed her."

  "No, I mean the ability to quiet your mind. That is what those that enter the Trasslat Monastery are taught. Many succeed to one degree or another. The degree of success is what separates the student from the Monk. We believe one with the talent to be a Monk was overlooked or intentionally hid his or her true talent and was erroneously dismissed. That individual collected other rejected students with some degree of talent and formed a secret society—sort of like a combined assassins and thieves guild except they seek power and not just money."

  "I agree. I could never have withstood the pain or learned enough to keep from being crippled or killed if I hadn't found I could retreat into myself. I never thought of it as a gift, but you're right. It is. I've found it particularly useful in dealing with the nobility," I said, and instantly regretted it. The Monk worked for the duke …

  He laughed quietly. "I agree with you, Zara. The nobility are very ordinary people but with enormous power. It makes them believe they are smarter than everyone else and justified in punishing those who disagree with them. You're right to be careful around them and to worry about rejecting the duke's offer. He could destroy your life if he chose," the Monk said, confirming my worst fears. Royalty got what they wanted, or someone paid for their disappointment.

  "But he wouldn't in your case," the Monk continued. "We have been calling the new secret society Sirens, since they have the ability to twist men's minds. The Cheyo Monks, Duke Wetzel, and a few others aware of the situation don't believe the Sirens know they have been discovered. It has only been their recent penetration into the nobility that has alerted us. If we send the wrong person, not only will the Sirens be alerted, but we will be in jeopardy. We would be vulnerable, because we don't know enough about their organization, members, or the extent of their power to stop them from assassinating us over time."

  "What would you expect me to do?" I asked.

  "Just what you did before—go and look." He held up a hand to stop me responding. "We are not asking you to kill or arrest anyone. Just to tell us what you find. Of course, like with freeing Shelly, this is not without risks."

  "What are the … Sirens capable of?" I asked. The risks dealing with the tribes I understood, as well as physical confrontations.

  "Their talents will vary by individual. Worst case, they can cast illusions and control anything your mind does. For example, blind you, render you deaf, cause pain in your arms, legs, or head, or deaden your sword arm," he said, again confirming my worst fears.

  "What chance do I have against them? If they can control my body, I can't even kill them with a knife or sword." Sweat trickled down my forehead at the thought of facing one of them.

  "A quiet mind is your only defense. If you are willing, I will work with you so you will know what to expect and how to combat it. Then we will know if you are capable of surviving and whether you wish to accept the duke's offer. It's very dangerous, but it may help you find what you are seeking." He paused. When I didn't answer, he continued. "If you choose not to accept the duke's offer, he will be disappointed but will understand. For now, return to your room. The servants will get you whatever you wish to eat. Spend the time considering whether you wish to at least explore the possibility. If you do, return here tonight at midnight. The castle will be quiet then, and it will be easier for you to concentrate. If not, you can tell the duke tomorrow. I will support your decision."

  * * *

  Shortly after I entered the room, Melisa arrived. "Mistress Zara, I'm told you would like something to eat. What can I get for you?"

  "Have you eaten, Melisa?" I asked, needing company and information.

  "No, Mistress," she answered hesitantly.

  "Good. Pick out what you would like to eat and double the amount. I'd like to know more about life in the castle. If you don't mind, we can share the meal and you can tell me what you are comfortable saying."

  A smile slowly appeared on Melisa's lips as she envisioned the upcoming meal. "Yes, Mistress." She curtsied and hurried out the door.

  Like with the Ojaza, I needed information, and who better than a servant—like a slave, the perfect spy: present but ignored. She returned sometime later with a platter loaded with food of every kind, smiling and struggling not to laugh.

  "Sit, Melisa," I pointed to the table where I had pushed two chairs. "And eat. I can serve myself." I sat slowly sampling the variety of food she had brought and enjoying Melisa's obvious pleasure with the food.

  Eventually, she sat back and smiled. "What would you like to know, Mistress Zara?"

  "I've never lived in a castle and would like to know about your life and about the nobles." I thought I'd learn more if I just to let her talk rather than ask specific questions.

  "The nobles spend most of their time enjoying themselves—except for the duke," she added quickly. "He and his ministers manage Calle. But most have little to do. They're served their meals, their rooms are kept clean, their horses fed and groomed, and clothes made for them. They spend much of their time being entertained or hunting or shopping … " She blushed. "I didn't mean—"

  "I understand, Melisa. I must work for my living too," I said, indicating I was a commoner like her. That relaxed her, and she spent a couple of hours candidly talking about castle life. A hard life, as most of the nobles thought the help little better than slaves. After she left, I sat quietly letting my mind sort through the past week. I had panicked and made myself vulnerable. It was my ability to stay detached that had saved me as a slave. If I were to survive in the civilized world, I would need that same detachment. Baron Hillard provided a good example of the potential dangers. As with the Ojaza, being right or cooperating was no guarantee of survival—right tended to be subjective, depending on who had the power.

  When the moon looked to be right for midnight, I made my way to the Monk's room, knocked, and entered when he answered.

  "Welcome, Zara. I thought you would come. You are not one to let fear control you. Sit." He pointed to a small mat several paces away. "The symbols you see are the eight precepts on the path to becoming a Monk. I'm not going to tea
ch you to be a Monk, but you must understand each to combat the Sirens," he said and paused. I spent a few minutes examining the symbols, but they were like nothing I had ever seen before.

  "Unless I'm wrong, you understand most of them. You learned them to survive. Hate drove you then. If you are to survive the duke's assignment, you must have an equally compelling reason." He stopped talking, and suddenly a giant of a man in full armor stood in front of me. I reached for my sword but I wasn't wearing one. "Still your mind, Wolf."

  I fought to calm myself as I had learned when fighting. As I did, the image slowly became transparent then disappeared. The Monk then produced image after image, each one more aggressive and threatening than the last. Many caused me to try to roll out of the way. Finally, I learned to dissolve each, coming to think of them as harmless.

  "They can't hurt me; they are just illusions—" I was saying when a muscular man grabbed me around the throat. I struggled to remove his hands to no avail as I began to lose consciousness. Then he was gone and I could breathe again.

  "It's complicated, but as I just demonstrated, they can hurt you. When you and another create images to do mental battle, it depends how much of yourself is invested in that image. A Monk can create images with minimal investment; those with less talent can't. As a result, if your creation gets stabbed in the heart you could die. Conversely, if a Monk were stabbed in the heart, he might feel a slight pain in the chest, because he would have little invested in his creation. Changing images does not cancel any damage you received in the previous image unless you weren't invested when the wound occurred—or you were changing images at the time. "

  He spent the next several hours until morning light creating illusions for me to detect and combat. It was easy when he gave me time to settle myself, but almost impossible when the illusion appeared unexpectedly and in a new or strange form, like thousands of ants crawling over me and into my nose, ears, and mouth. By the time he stopped, my clothes were soaking wet and I was exhausted.