Rage of the Dragon

CHAPTER 35

Manta and her warriors carried the ogres to a small island, little more than a sandbar with a single tree, and left them in the shallow water.

“Sinarian fishermen ply their trade in the waters near here,” Manta told them. “You will not be marooned here long.”

This was not likely to bring much comfort to the ogres, who had invaded Sinaria and would likely be killed by Sinarians, not rescued. The two ogres did not appear to mind, however. They thanked Manta and her warriors and the shaman blessed them in the name of the Gods of Raj.

“Perhaps you might be interested in hearing more about the Gods of Raj,” the shaman said.

Manta and her warriors rolled their eyes and left them.

The godlord and the shaman splashed among the ocean waves. Dripping wet, they trudged onto the beach and threw themselves down in the sunshine, puffing and blowing, glad to be out of the water. The shaman plucked off the last few black feathers of his cloak and tossed them aside. The godlord waved to a woman, who had been sitting at her ease in the shade of the lone tree.

“The way you two are carrying on, one would think you could actually drown,” said the woman, leaving the shade to join them.

The woman was not an ogre. She was a human with skin as dark and glistening as jet. She had black hair that she wore in myriad small, tightly bound braids elaborately wound about her head and trailing down her back. She was slender and long-legged, dressed in a long leather tunic and leather boots. Her features were lovely, except for the astonishing fact that she had what appeared to be three eyes: two large and lustrous brown eyes placed on either side of her nose, where eyes should be, and the third eye, round and white-rimmed with a red iris, in the center of her forehead.

On closer observation, one could see that the third eye was painted on the woman’s forehead. This eye was known as the “world eye” and the woman was a Cyclops, a race old as time. The world eye was painted onto the forehead when a male or female Cyclops came of age at sixteen. The world eye was said to give the Cyclops the ability to see inside the minds of others, and indeed the Cyclops race was noted and feared for their uncanny ability to know what others were thinking.

The realm of the Cyclops bordered the lands of the ogre kingdom. The two races had been at war over disputed territory along the border for so long that this land was known as the Bloodlands by both races. No one could remember a time when ogres and Cyclops had not been killing each other over it.

“You get accustomed to these mortal bodies,” said the godlord. “You start to feel what they feel.”

“And you have no right to talk,” said the shaman, eyeing the Cyclops. “Once you took that body, you have not left it.”

The godlord was not, in truth, an ogre godlord. He was not even an ogre. Neither was the ogre shaman. The Cyclops was not really a Cyclops. Manta had spoken the truth when she claimed to have seen the ogres lying dead on the bottom of the ocean floor. The two had fallen into the water when the kraken attacked their ship and had almost immediately drowned.

The three were gods, the Gods of Raj.

The Cyclops grinned, her teeth white against her dark complexion. She sank down with easy grace onto the sand. She wore earrings of gold and her head was decorated with beads and feathers that sparkled in the sunlight.

“You went down beneath the sea to meet these mortals who so terrify the mad god, Sund,” the Cyclops said. “Did you succeed?”

“We did not find the woman,” said the shaman. “But we spoke to the male. I forget his name.”

“Skylan Ivorson,” the godlord reminded him.

“What do you think of him?” asked the Cyclops.

“A dangerous man. He is loyal and brave, however, a man of honor,” said the godlord.

“He is a young hothead,” said the shaman.

“Who rescued us when he could have left us,” the godlord pointed out.

The shaman shrugged and plucked a black feather off his arm.

“Sounds like a mortal Torval would like.” The Cyclops gave a sardonic smile. “The question is: can this Skylan do what Sund fears he will do? Can he succeed in finding the Five spiritbones of the Vektia? And what do we do if he does? We might well be forced to leave this pretty world we found.”

“As I have pointed out before now,” said the shaman dryly, “we never missed the power of creation until we found out we didn’t have it.”

“That is true,” conceded the godlord. “We have succeeded in eradicating many of the bloodthirsty practices that were destroying the ogres. Our followers are now thriving. Work continues, of course, but overall I am pleased with our progress.”

“My mortals have accepted us and are adapting to our worship,” said the Cyclops. “As you say, however, our work among them continues.” She sighed deeply. “We are fighting against centuries of hatred and blood feuds and mistrust. The power of creation might prove useful.”

“Our main goal should be to keep the power out of Aelon’s grasping little hands,” the shaman said grimly. “A thousand pities our attack on Sinaria failed. I fear the ogres will start to lose faith in us.”

“We must prepare our shamans to deal with the outcry,” said the godlord, and he heaved a sigh.

“And I fear once the Cyclops hear of the defeat they will take advantage of what they perceive to be the ogres’ weakness to raid across the border,” said the Cyclops.

The three sat in gloomy silence, broken only by the sounds of the waves lapping on the shore.

“Much work lies ahead of us,” said the shaman. Slapping his bony knees, he rose to his feet. “I suggest we go about our business and let be what will be-for the moment at least.”

“What of this Skylan?” asked the godlord. “He could be a threat to us.”

The Cyclops brushed the sand from her tunic. Her golden earrings jangled as she laughed and tapped her forehead.

“Do not worry, friends. I will keep my ‘eye’ upon Skylan Ivorson.”