Feathered Dragon - Douglas Niles [3]
The Night of Wailing, it had come to be known, and an apt name it was.
“How long must we flee?” Erixitl asked wistfully. The evening’s chill began to settle in, gently urging them back to a place where they did not want to go. She was a woman of striking beauty, with long black hair cascading across her shoulders and flowing down her back. She wore a bright cloak, smooth and soft, with a lushly feathered surface of brilliant colors that seemed to shimmer in the pale light.
At her throat, she wore a jade amulet, surrounded by the silky plumes of emerald feathers. The wispy tendrils seemed to float in the breeze with a life of their own, and the rich green of the amulet’s stone heart reflected a sense of verdant vitality.
“We can survive a long time, as long as we keep finding
food,” countered Halloran, avoiding a direct answer. “I know that it’s no future, no life for us… for…” His voice trailed off as she took his hand. In contrast to the woman, the man was tall, with pale though ruddy skin, and a smooth brown beard.
At his side, in a plain leather scabbard, he wore a long, straight sword. The weapon’s keen steel blade gleamed in the narrow gap where, near the hilt, it lay exposed to the air. He also wore a breastplate of steel, once shiny but now stained from the rigors of the trail. His heavy leather boots showed the scuffs of a long, rugged march.
Only at his hands did a sense of cleanliness linger, a brightness that the lowering dusk seemed to accentuate. A thin, colorful strap of beaded leather encircled each of his wrists, tiny tufts of plumage puffing from them, blossoming in the twilight.
“What other kind of life can there be now?” Erix sighed. “Perhaps this is the beginning of the end of the world.”
“No!” Hal sat upright. “The desert is only a pathway for us, not our life! As long as the food and water hold out, we can keep moving. Somewhere we’ll find a place where we’re safe, where we can build a home! Your people have built cities before; they can do it again! They-we-can do it again, with your leadership, your guidance!”
“Why does it have to be me?” Erix demanded, then grew suddenly tired as she answered herself. “Because I wear a cloak made from one feather? Because the people-the priests-claim that I am the chosen one of Qotal?”
“I’ve never claimed to understand the workings of gods,” Hal responded quietly. “But you are trusted by the people, and they need you! Even the men from the legion, my own countrymen, look to you.
“If a prophecy of the return of the is the thing that brings us all to you, don’t question it!’.’ he continued. “Use that belief to try and bring us together!”
“Yes” Erix sighed, “I know. All of the signs have been fulfilled. First the couatl returns to Maztica, only to die on the Night of Wailing. Then his cloak is discovered-the Cloak of One Plume-and I happen to be wearing it. Finally we have
the Summer Ice.”
“The ice was the only thing that allowed us to escape Nexal,” Halloran reminded her, “and the last sign that was supposed to predict his return.”
“But he comes too late, if he comes at all!” she snapped harshly. “Where is he now? And why could he not come when Nexal could still have been saved, before all the killing and war?”
“Perhaps nothing could save Nexal,” Hal suggested. Though the city had been magnificent, he couldn’t forget the files of captives that had been claimed daily by the priests of Zaltec, their hearts offered to their bloodthirsty god. The whole image was one of vast and sinister darkness, an evil that could not long remain upon the world.
“Remember, your cloak saved our lives on the Night of Wailing.”
“That it did,” Erixitl admitted. She leaned against