(interlude – Karashan's Flight)
Under the cloak of night, the Ravens gather.
Word has spread like wildfire and they know that the cobra is in the Keep.
They know that their commander had planned to present to the Tuuli Thea the foreigner they had brought, so they know that the Tuuli Thea, at the least, is protected, but they are eager for battle.
So eager...
They hear that the foreign hunter failed. They hear that their commander has called off the attack.
When Karashan comes to them, later in the night, they are angry, and also worried. Karashan is silent after she lands before them and they are silent as well, waiting for her words. They will not wait forever, they will not even wait long, but they respect her and her position enough to wait for awhile. When she does address them finally her words are unbelievable. The cobra lives; peace is preserved with the serpiente.
Peace.
It is a word that has no meaning. There is no context, no frame of reference. There is no desire, no longing for a way of life that is utterly incomprehensible. They would as soon wish for gills as to wish for peace, these young soldier with the blood hot in them, fed on stories of the treachery of the foe that they have dedicated their lives to defeating.
But...
The older soldiers shift their feet. They are tired. Peace is a promise, a hope. Something unrealized but something they have striven for all of their lives. Something their own parents and grandparents have whispered to them about achieving, at some far distant point in the future; whispers that only now, in the stillness of their weary hearts, can they truly hear. But the weariness also defeats hope, because they have been there. They have seen the enemy, and they know that peace is something that cannot be trusted.
So, all are agreed. Peace is impossible. They already knew this, that's why they sent for the hunter. So, why is it again the issue of discussion?
"I have seen the heart of the cobra," Karashan says to them, "and it beats only for peace."
They scoff. They, for the first time, doubt their commander.
But their commander is filled with a fire they have never seen in her before.
"Have you not trusted me with your lives, to all of our advantage? Have I not brought you successfully home from more campaigns than you can count? Will you doubt me now? Will you doubt that I know what it is I speak of?"
They shuffle their feet and do not look at her. But she doesn't want their penitence. She wants their belief.
"Follow me, once more," she urges, and they agree, eager for action. "Follow me, and see."
And so she takes to the air and they follow. She leads them to the borderlands, to the very edge of where the serpiente wait for them. They form up behind the lines of their own people, greeted with shouts of surprise and impatient queries for information. Only rumors have come from the Keep and, in the darkness of a night so still it seems to deny the fact that world altering changes are taking place somewhere, elsewhere, the soldiers are nervous for reliable report.
"I come to you directly from the Hawk's Keep," Karashan says, her voice clear, and even across the way the serpiente can hear her. "I have myself seen the Tuuli Thea this night, and her alistair." Murmurs rise, but Karashan has the voice of an old soldier and she speaks over them without trouble. "Zane Cobriana of the serpiente stands as alistair to the Tuuli Thea."
The murmurs become shouts of incredulity, but Karashan stands like a rock in a gale. "I have heard him speak the vows," she says, "and I know that the Tuuli Thea is bound as well to the serpiente people."
The shouts die away to the quiet of true disbelief, and a voice rises from among the serpiente. "It is true that Danica Shardae stands as Naga of the serpiente. I myself witnessed the ceremony."
This statement is greeted by jeers from her people and Karashan shouts them to silence. In that silence the serpiente calls out again. "You say you have come from the Keep just now, raven. We have heard rumors as well... but you say that Zane lives." The words are not a question, but Karashan can hear the desperation behind them, the hope.
"He lives," Karashan confirms, "He sleeps this night beside his Naga."
Again her own people hiss in disapproval at her words, but Karashan shakes them off and she walks forward from the safety of their lines. Her Flight cries out, reaches to stop her, but she sidesteps their hands and waves them back. She goes and stands in the open area that lies between the two lines and she looks across at the serpiente, the faint light of a newly born moon falling over her.
"I confess that practice has made me good at the art of war. I confess that it was I who sought beyond the edges of our lands for the hunter who could rid my people of their long-standing enemy. It was I who brought him to the Keep, and it was I who saw him die beneath the fangs of Zane Cobriana with gladness." She bows her head, completely vulnerable to attack, from either side. "I serve, first and only, my Tuuli Thea. She has told me there is peace with the serpiente. I am sworn to serve her, and so I am sworn to peace."
Her people, behind her, have fallen silent. Across from her she sees the flicker of motion, and then, slowly, a form appears. It is the slender silhouette of a serpiente. A woman, Karashan sees as the other approaches, who comes forward without weapons and stands before Karashan.
The two women look at each other, then the serpiente speaks. "I too thought that my Diente was crazy when he came before us and declared that the hawk was his Naga. I thought that there must be some mistake when he professed his love for her in the synkal. But I also serve, first and only, my Diente. If he is committed to peace, even now, then I am committed as well."
Karashan bows her head. "Your bravery and loyalty are admirable. Might I know your name?"
The serpiente bows her head as well. "Pamela," she offers. "And you?"
"Karashan, of Raven Flight."
Pamela blinks in surprise. "I am impressed to find you here Karashan, but I am glad to know it is you who speaks. You have a reputation for... persistent dedication to... truth, and I now give even greater weight to your words."
The words she says have obviously been edited from what Karashan's true reputation is among the serpiente, but Karashan only smiles. She senses someone moving behind her and sees Pamela prepare to move back in response, but it is only her Ravens, coming out behind Karashan. They kneel behind her, placing their weapons on the ground, following their leader even now. Pamela holds her own ground, more of her own people fading out of the darkness to flank her. They are weaponless as well, and for a moment there is silence throughout the darkness, silence in the stillness, and silence in the straining moonlight, as everyone holds their breath, waiting. They stand upon the edge of something sharp and dangerous and new, and even those who do not fully understand what is happening can feel it.
Pamela reaches out her hand, and Karashan reaches out as well, clasping the other woman by the forearm. Slowly, their people move forward. Slowly, they mingle. Slowly, slowly... but they do.
In the strange surreality of the time between night and dawn they move among each other and speak to each other. The serpiente watch their avian enemies with wariness, but then one reaches out to pat the other soldier on the shoulder. Instantly everyone around them freezes, staring at the offender, but the avian so accosted only nods his head stiffly as the hand is withdrawn. Conversation bubbles up again and, though reserved, it is amiable enough given where they were yesterday, mere hours ago, with arrows on the string and fingers curled tightly around blade hilts and staves as they watched each other with fear and hatred. The animosity flickers back at times, with an unguarded, too swift movement, or with a humorous remark that, tested well on previous comrades, falls on the grounds of tastelessness with new acquaintances. But each is willing to overlook missteps, as long as those around them also overlook their own blunders.
It is the magic of the pre-dawn, Karashan thinks. Of the wan light of the waxing moon, and the mist rising from the ground. The dreamlike state of the world keeps the strangeness of their actions from having full impact. She hopes it will last through the morning at least, and perhaps longer. She is actually having fun, trading stories with Pamela and two of her lieutenants. The initial topic of conversation is the crazy behavior one puts up with from superiors and, though Karashan is not so familiar with her own monarch she notices that they are both careful to cast no insults against the other's. Quickly, the favored general topic becomes cultural exchange, and when Karashan hears the familiar refrain of a popular avian song rising above the general murmur her heart seizes in her. She stops speaking for a moment and turns to watch as one of her young soldiers stands and sings, his performance greeted with nods of appraisal from the avians beside him and a sudden flurry of heads tucked together and a waving of hands from the serpiente. One of the serpents approaches the young avian soldier and asks him to sing it again. He does, faltering for a moment as a small group of serpiente move to the center of a clear area and start dancing. The singer's voice picks up again, though there is an odd edge to it, and everyone watches. The serpiente improvise a dance to the unfamiliar song, some merely standing back and keeping beat.
Karashan knows what she expects from the serpent's infamous dancing, and she is quite surprised when what she expects is nothing that she sees. The dancers' movements are fluid and sensual, but there is nothing erotic in the gestures. Perhaps it is that there is no costume to bare skin, the soldiers dance in their customary gear, or perhaps it is that this is obviously a dance of joy rather than pleasure, of thankfulness and simple things. Pamela smiles, trying to hide the breadth of the expression, and says with false modesty, "They are not trained dancers, of course. But we, all of us, like to feel the movement of the music." Already another group of serpiente is critiquing the dance, suggesting different moves, and another group is teaching a collection of avians the simple percussion beats of a traditional serpiente dance song.
It cannot last, as moments of true beauty never can. The dawn is breaking red and bright on the horizon, and a clarion cry rises from behind her own lines. Karashan turns in alarm. She hears also the crashing sound of a horse stumbling to a halt behind serpiente lines and voices raised there; Pamela rises and turns toward the sound, but instead of leaving she calls out her position to the messenger and calls him forward.
The messengers are dazed from the quickness of their race to bring information, dazed by the scene they've wandered into. They are brought forth to the center where the light falls over the mingled soldiers. A shaky sparrow is brought to Karashan even as a young serpiente is persuaded to leave his mount and come forward to Pamela. The two messengers look across at each other with unfathomable eyes.
"Ambush," the sparrow breathes. "They fell upon us as we slept." His eyes are huge in his face and his gaze is fixed on Karashan.
"We attacked the supply train, that brings their poison," the serpiente counters. "But their forces outnumber us; if we don't have backup..." He trailed off, breathing heavily, trying to take in the scene around him.
Karashan recognizes the sparrow. "You're from Brenson Silvermead's Flight," she says, and the other avian nods. Karashan sighs and waves for her Ravens. She turns to Pamela. "I must go, and quickly. Brenson will recognize no authority lower than mine, and might not even recognize one higher." She hesitates, but states clearly, plainly, "I will counsel him to withdraw." She eyes her Flight. "Remember, by the words of the Tuuli Thea there is peace. To strike at a serpiente soldier is to strike at one of your own."
Pamela is commanding her own soldiers to gather their mounts. They will move swiftly, but not as swiftly as wings. Karashan hesitates. She offers, because she knows that if her Tuuli Thea was here the hawk would want it, "I can have my people fly you to the place."
Pamela freezes. Fear is back in her face but she swallows it and regards Karashan evenly. "I will send my people by horse," she says. "But, I will go with you."
The ripples run through the crowd– of disbelief, wonder, shock, anger– but there is no time. Karashan nods, spreads her demi wings, kneels, and holds out her hands to the sandy colored taipan that writhes on the ground before her now. She closes her eyes as the scales touch her and she cannot suppress the shudder that grips her body. But as long, long feet of snake curl around her body, as her own Flight watches her with something akin to respect but perhaps closer to sheer awe, she stands, only faltering once, and takes to flight. Her wings bear her up into the sunrise, and, as she tries to put from her mind the coils curled snugly around her body and the tongue that whispers against her arm in a fear of the serpent's own, she knows she has a long morning ahead of her.