Author's Note: Hi everyone! Here's Chapter Seven for you. I know you've all been mad at me because of my long absence, but this chapter is pretty meaty. I hope it'll make up for it. Typed normally in twelve-point font, this thing is three pages long, so it should take you a while. Lots of exciting things happen!
As for all your questions about camp: It's in Minnesota, part of a series of camps called Concordia Language Villages. Do I speak German? Not really, but I'm good at Denglish. That's our made-up word for Deutsch and English. I learned a lot of German, but when I got there I knew nothing, so I'm not exactly a Sprachmeister. (Sprachmeister is what you're called if you manage to speak German the whole day. People who do that have major skills.) More specific stuff in the individual replies.
Thanks for all the suggestions so far, but I could do with a lot more. If you have any ideas about what you want Alanna's eventual destiny to be, write in the reviews or email me at miri_tiazan@hotmail.com. Now for the story!
Chapter 7: Shaman-in-Training
Alanna pulled the hood of her burnoose up over her gleaming auburn hair and threw a scarf around her face. This was not because she was a particularly proper Bazhir maiden; it was the windy season in the desert, and a scarf was good protection against the gritty, driving sand.
She took one last look around her small tent, and then ducked under the flap and out into the bright, desert landscape. Squinting against the sun, Alanna made her way towards her master's tent.
At her soft scratch on the tent flap, Umar Komm lifted it and peered out.
"Ah, Kalan," he said, addressing her by her Bazhir name. "Come in. All we needed was you. Now we are all here."
Alanna smiled and greeted her four fellow apprentices. Kara, Kourrem, Ishak, and Fes. The girls, Kara and Kourrem, were a few years younger than she was, but she and they were fast friends. Ishak was closer to Alanna's age, but she had never really warmed to him. There was something about him that Alanna didn't trust. And then there was Fes. Everybody loved Fes. He wasn't the most talented apprentice in the group, but he was definitely the most exuberant. He was like the whole village's comical kid brother.
He sometimes reminded Alanna of Thom. There was really no striking similarity between the two, but every once in a while, he would do or say something that was so like her twin that the girl would catch her breath with homesickness. The girl sighed. She missed her brother terribly, even after four years.
Alanna banished her nostalgia as Umar Komm began to explain the intricate group working they were about to attempt, and lost herself in the fascination of the magic.
~
Alanna swung into the saddle of her beloved mare Silvermoon. She was on an errand for her tribe's shaman, Umar Komm. He had given her a package that she needed to deliver to the shaman of another tribe. Her delivery was done, and the long trip back awaited her.
The shaman's junior apprentice pressed her with food and drink. "Take it, Kalan. It is a long way back to the village of the Sunset Dragon. You will have need of it."
Alanna accepted gracefully. "Thank you, Kohr. Your gift is appreciated."
The girl stowed the provisions in her saddlebags, then nudged Silvermoon into motion, clucking to make her travel faster.
"Let's go, girl. We have a long way to go before we reach the village."
As the sun was nearing the horizon, winds began to pick up, carrying great waves of gritty sand grains. Alanna slowed Silvermoon to a walk and squinted against the sand. Up ahead, she saw a tiny clump of trees. Shelter!
A few yards away from the trees, she dismounted and led the mare into the small grove. The sandstorm was getting more violent, and Alanna knew there was no way she could possibly continue on through the gale. The sand was blinding, and it got into everything.
Alanna reached for her canteen to soothe her parched throat, but was dismayed to discover that the grit had even permeated into the sealed flask of water. Disgusted and thirsty, she glared at the world in general until a grain of sand got in her eye.
Hastily she blinked as her eyes began to water, but the speck was firmly lodged and would not come out. That was the last straw.
In exasperation, she cast a magical shield around the small oasis. Although magical in nature, she had created the shield as a physical block against the sand-filled gusts.
Blessed calm settled over the small, shielded area. Outside of it, fierce winds howled, but could not penetrate the wall. Finally with relief from the weather, Alanna indulged herself in a long list of spirited complaints.
"I hate sandstorms! I hate wind, I hate sand, I hate the weather! I hate the whole thrice-cursed desert! Why do these things always happen to me? This never happens to anyone else. No, the ultimate misery is reserved for Alanna of Trebond. Always has been, always will be.
"As if it wasn't bad enough living in Trebond with my stuffy old father! No, I had to be sent away to that hell-hole they call a convent! And then, when I managed to escape that, I was accosted by bandits, and then caught in the worst storm since before I was born, which got me lost in this desert!
"But that wasn't the worst of it! Next I had the luck to be attacked by a band of vicious hillmen on the warpath! Don't I just have the most fantastic life?"
Alanna continued ranting and kicked angrily at the sand. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, why did these things always happen to her—
Her boot banged into something solid. Her next kick revealed a silver hilt and the very top of a dark scabbard. Alanna fell silent and simply stared.
Falling to her knees, she scrabbled at the sand and revealed the sword in its entirety. A faintly amethyst crystal adorned the beautiful silver hilt. The sword blade was long and light, and encased in a battered black leather sheath.
Hesitantly, the girl closed her hand over the hilt and picked it up, then nearly dropped it as a clap of thunder shook the sky and lightning flashed. She waited a moment to regain her courage.
Almost reverently, she drew the blade out of the sheath. It was thinner than a broadsword, and lighter, with a broadsword's double edge. The metal was lightweight, with a silver sheen. She lightly touched a thumb to one edge and cut herself. Grinning with delight, she tried a few passes. It felt wonderful in her hand. The balance was perfection itself, and it was exactly the right weight. Alanna sighed and slid the blade back into the sheath.
The sword was ideal. She was in love. Dreamily, she lay back and went to sleep.
~
Thunder clapped deafeningly. Alanna awoke with a jolt, and stumbled over to check on Silvermoon. The mare was restless, but otherwise fine. She staggered back towards her makeshift bed, but suddenly the thunder crashed and lightning flashed, blinding Alanna. She fell to her knees…
She was staring at a gleaming black city. Obsidian towers rose above smooth stone streets, seamless and perfect. The hot desert sun beat down onto the stone and heat rose up, so that it was almost tangible.
White-hot light flashed and struck the image from her vision. A woman stood in front of her. She was tall and slender, with unbound hair cascading down her back in black, snaky locks. Her flawless skin was perfectly white, setting off slanting emerald eyes and full, blood red lips.
"My daughter," said the stranger. Her voice was husky and soft, like wind blowing through the treetops, yet somehow Alanna was reminded of a pack of hounds belling in the hunt. Her voice held wildness in it, yet it also contained the ultimate peace. "You have come a long way on your journey, but there is still far to go. Strong though you may be, you cannot do your task unaided." Alanna's vision flashed a picture of the strange sword for a brief moment, then returned to the woman.
"This is no ordinary sword, my daughter. It is of a magical nature, crafted long ago by those whom mortals call the Old Ones. It will assist you in your task." The crystal on the sword flared, blinding Alanna. As she fell into darkness, the woman's voice echoed after her.
"Remember…"
~
Alanna swam slowly up out of the depths of sleep as Silvermoon nuzzled her face with her nose. She stretched and came into full awareness.
She was lying with facedown with her cheek pressed against warm sand. Clutched tightly in her right hand was the hilt of the mysterious sword. This is no ordinary sword…
Memory flashed. Her vision! A woman had spoken to her, told her she had a task. But was she just an ordinary woman? Alanna gasped as a hunch hit her.
But it could not be! Why would the Great Mother Goddess take an interest in her? She was nothing special, in her mind. And yet…
The girl shook her head. She would think about this more later. She looked around.
The howling desert winds had died down to a light zephyr. Alanna took down her shields; there was no need for them anymore. Sunlight played through the leaves of the palm tree under which the girl lay.
She sat up and looked again at the sword in her hand. It was a beautiful weapon. What should she name it?
The girl sat a moment in thought, and then the answer hit her. It was so obvious! Almost every time Alanna had even touched the weapon, lightning had flashed. She would name the sword Lightning.
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All right. Time for my individual replies. Yay!
Morrigan: Wow, thanks! I'm flattered.
ThePenMage: Camp was not at all like a concentration camp. ::stops and thinks about this for a second:: Okay, so maybe some of the counselors had swastikas on their arms, but really… Just kidding! Camp was a blast. I used to have braces, and you have my sympathies for those metal instruments of torture you are forced to wear, but think how nice it will be when you finally get them OFF! Thanks for the suggestions about her future. I will definitely consider them. As for Thom being in denial, try not to be so psychic. I haven't posted that part yet! --------- As for your comments on Chapter Five… I sympathize with your unfortunate affliction with perfectionism. They need a support group for perfectionists. They could call it PAPP. Perfectionists Against Prolific Perfectionism! (You know, like M.A.D.D., or S.A.D.D.) I think we could be the founding members. As for the Bazhir hostility thing… I may be a perfectionist in some instances, but most of the time I'm just a slacker. I'm way too lazy to make them make a fuss. Besides, she's been accepted by the two most important people in the tribe—the shaman and the headman. Who's going to mess with that?
Temptress: If I end up doing the page angle, you will see how I do it. At the moment, the end still allows for an infinite number of possibilities, becoming a page is one of them. As for speaking German… I think I already explained that. And they may have Twix in Germany, but they sure don't have them at Waldsee. They're confiscated as contraband, along with any American books, music, or other food. Hey, but living in Germany! That's awesome! By the way, why fluffy bugs? I don't get it. ::walks away slowly, scratching head, and muttering, "fluffy bugs…"::
Keziah: ::backs away slowly:: Don't hurt me! I'm sorry! Don't hurt me! ::cowers, and then suddenly bursts out laughing:: Wow, that was fun. I love fake-cowering. (Yes, I know I'm a big loser.) Ooh, I have to catch up on your story! (Hard to keep on top of things when you're incommunicado for two mosquito-filled weeks.)
__________, or the person whose name didn't show up on the page: Thanks for the review, although I must inform you that it will be a loooooooong time before she gets to Corus. She's got lots of stuff to do first.
Princess Kattera: Umm, yeah, the shortness can be attributed to the fact that I didn't know what to say, so I said very little. I kinda suck at stuff like that. And lucky for you, George is the current most likely candidate for Alanna's love interest. (That is, of course, unless she meets some hot Bazhir guy… But I don't think she will. But hey, what do I know. I just write these things down.)
Punkpixie87: You've seen the light? What light? Are there fireworks going on? ::ducks the affronted glare saying, "You know what I mean, M'cha.:: Just kidding. It's late at night and I'm on a bit of an adrenaline high. You know, every time I read your review, it messes with my mind. When you say "thom," I always think you mean "them," but then it doesn't make sense in the context. Capitalization works wonders! Proper nouns need to be capitalized! Sorry about that. I don't mean to nitpick, but I've had too many years of over-enthusiastic grammar teachers. They're scary when they get worked up over things like that. Really they are. ::shivers in remembrance of disturbingly worked-up writing teachers:: Man, all of my readers are psychic! First ThePenMage, now you! You're not supposed to know these things! As to why you're psychic, I'll let you figure that out. In a couple chapters, you will see what I mean. Mean. Yes, I know I'm mean. Tough teriyaki. (Did I spell that right?) Anyway, how is that a cliffie? You know Alanna's not dead. Oh, I see. You're worried about Thom. Don't. He'll be okay. Eventually. Whatever may happen to him, it'll all work out in the end. I'm very fond of Thom. I refuse to let him die, no matter what he tries.
DragonFire: I see you too are in favor of going to Corus and scandalizing the aristocracy. That is an idea. I'll have to see what my imp thinks. He's got all the good ideas. But he's a bit of a recluse, so he doesn't come out much. (I'm trying to convince him he needs to get out more, but what can I say? He's anti-social. I respect that.)
Wow! Look at all the people I wrote notes to! You like me! You really like me! (Doesn't someone say that in a movie somewhere? It sounds familiar…) Anyway, now is the time to press the "Click Here To Submit Review" button, so I can write you a note next chapter! Don't forget, I need suggestions for Alanna's destiny! Review or email your ideas to me!