Feathered Dragon - Douglas Niles [35]
Gultec nodded to Halloran, then bowed deeply before Erixitl. The sun had not yet risen, yet the sky was clear and blue, already promising a day of extreme heat. Eastward over the trackless desert, Poshtli soared in tight circles, as if impatient with the humans so far below.
“Lady of the Plume,” Gultec began, “1 must leave now. My destiny calls.”
She embraced the Jaguar Knight but did not try to dissuade him. “1 know of destiny,” she whispered softly. “May it be a load you can hear.”
Gultec looked into her face, holding her shoulders. “It can be a blessing as well as a burden. Whatever its form, it is laid upon you. You must not fight it.
A frown creased her forehead, but Erixitl sighed slowly and relaxed. She sensed a deep kinship with the Jaguar Knight, and she knew that he spoke wisely. “1 will try to remember,” she promised.
“The acts of the gods are not easily understood. Once I fought wars for the cause of Zaltec, and even worked with priests to further the causes of that god of war-god of death, more rightly!”
“I remember,” Erixitl said dryly. They both smiled now, though the memory was not pleasant. Gultec had bound Erix and led her to an intended sacrificial death on the shores of the Eastern Sea. Only the arrival of the white-winged “sea creatures,” later proven to be the ships of the Golden Legion, had saved her.
“But my own destiny took me to Far Payit, and there I
learned the ways of this god you call Qotal. His wisdom is proven in that he has chosen you as his herald.”
Once again Erix shook her head. “What does that prove? How am I aiding the cause of his arrival-his promised arrival?”
“That I do not know. But know this, Erixitl of the Nexala: When the knowledge comes, you will be the first to receive it.”
Around the two, the vast camp of Mazticans came slowly awake. Dawn’s pale blue light filtered across the desert, shining on the feathers of the eagle that still circled to the east. Already word of the problems facing them on this day had spread among the refugees.
All had heard of the massacre the previous day of the band of stragglers, a thousand lives snuffed out in one brutal attack. Though the news caused tension and fear, Erixitl noticed no sign of panic among her countrymen, and this made her proud.
The people had heard of the bountiful valley discovered by Gultec and reported by other scouts as well. The swiftest of the marchers could expect to lie there by nightfall, while the rest of the band would reach it by the middle of the following day.
Yet what good was such a fertile place if it would merely be swept over by the surging wave of war? At best, it seemed to offer a temporary sanctuary-a respite of a day, perhaps two-in a journey that threatened to become a way of life.
And then there was the matter of the great eagle. Many had witnessed the miracle, as the tale of the bird’s appearance as Poshtli was now called, and they had insured that the story spread throughout the camp. But now the eagle veered away from the promised route to food and water, and the path to safety was no longer clearly defined.
Abruptly Gultec turned away Erixitl gasped as his shape shifted, his transformed appearance clear in the cool light, He moved quickly then, in a flash of bright green feathers, and disappeared. She saw a large parrot take to wing, and then the bird turned one bright eye toward her as it fluttered higher into the air. In a few moments, it was go: winging strongly toward the east.
“There, to the east,” she said softly as Halloran turned to her. “That is where Poshtli flies, now Gultec as well. It is where I must fly, too. I know Poshtli shows us the path- toward what I’m still not sure.” She looked at her husband, and he nodded. He, too, had observed the eagle’s change of course. While a sheltered valley, with food and water, lay a day’s march to the southwest, Poshtli now soared over arid lands, a broken waste of jagged ridges and deep, barren gulches.
“I’m coming with you,” he promised.