Richard S. Tuttle
Winged Warrior
Prologue
Thousands of years ago…
The High Priest of Kaltara opened his eyes. He peered through the fog of delirium at the faces gazing down on him. He watched the faces incomprehensibly as their mouths moved, but their voices were jumbled and distant, their eyes sad and worried. The priest closed his eyes once again as the rivers of sweat trickled over his burning body like tiny creeks flowing through a forest fire. He offered a silent prayer to Kaltara to ease the pain that was racing through his body, but the nearby voices intruded into his meditation.
“He is burning with fever,” one voice came through clearly. “Nothing can be done for him. His end is near.”
“Nonsense,” retorted anther voice, “Kaltara is testing him. He is strong in his faith. He will survive. Mark my words.”
A commotion ensued as another person entered the room. The priest forced his eyes open to see what was happening. His vision had cleared somewhat, and he recognized the king entering the room. The others present bowed before the royal ruler of Angragar. King Regis ignored the people in the room and walked directly to the bed. He knelt next to the bed and took the priest’s clammy hand in his own.
“You are burning, Vand,” the king said softly. “Let us pray together for your healing.”
Vand’s eyes locked on the monarch’s face for a brief moment before he forcibly pulled his hand away. A pall of shock fell over the king’s face at the reaction of the priest, but Vand did not care. He did not need the king to pray for him. He was the High Priest, after all. If Kaltara would listen to anyone, it would be Vand’s words that would be heard.
“Get out of my chambers,” Vand said as forcefully as he could. “All of you leave. I need no help to speak to Kaltara. Get out.”
The king stared at the High Priest for several moments before rising and shaking his head sadly. He turned to the others in the room and waved them towards the door.
“We shall gather in the temple and offer our prayers there,” declared King Regis. “The High Priest is delirious and needs his rest. All of you come with me.”
Vand scowled as the king led the others out of the room. When they were finally gone, Vand shook his head with disgust, rivulets of perspiration spraying the bed covers.
“Delirious?” snapped Vand as he pushed the covers away and painfully swiveled his legs to the side of the bed. “I am the Voice of Kaltara! I do not need others to pray for me. It is through me that Kaltara’s word is carried to the people.”
Vand struggled to his feet and pulled a robe over his head to cover his body. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was going, but he knew that he had to do something, or his high position would be taken by one of the upstarts under him. He was not about to cede power to anyone else. He was the High Priest of Kaltara.
Vand slipped out of his chambers and into the alley outside the building. Several passersby looked at him with curiosity, and Vand scowled at them. The citizens averted their gaze and quickened their steps away from the priest. Vand wavered on his feet as he walked along the alley. He stopped and leaned against the wall for support. His mind whirled in a fog as he tried to figure out what it was that he must do to get well. The greatest healers in the city had already visited him, and there was nothing that they could do. Maybe his only course of action was to ignore his pain and carry on with the duties of the High Priest.
“May I help you, High Priest?” a melodic voice interrupted his thoughts.
“I need no help,” spat Vand as he stared at the young woman. “Be on your way.”
The woman frowned as she gazed at the High Priest. She shook her head sadly and said, “Kaltara would wish me to help others in any way that I can, but I will not fight with the High Priest of Kaltara. Still, others will continue to offer their help if you continue to travel unaided. You appear to be deathly ill. If you do not wish to be bothered by others, let me walk with you. I shall accompany you to wherever you are going and nothing more. Is that acceptable?”
Vand’s forehead creased severely as he digested the woman’s words. What she said was true, and he did not wish to be bothered by every citizen that passed by. Slowly, he nodded his acceptance.
The woman took the priest’s arm and started walking him towards the mouth of the alley. Several people looked curiously towards the couple, but no one came forward to help. When they reached the street, Vand hesitated, unsure of which direction to turn.
“Where are we going?” asked the woman. “Shall I guide you to a healer?”
“I have already seen the healers,” scowled Vand.
The woman frowned heavily as she stared at the priest. Finally, she sighed and nodded her head.
“To the Asylum then?” she asked.
“The Asylum?” balked the priest. “Their potions and elixirs are nothing more than swamp water. There are no healing properties in such trash.”
“I was thinking more of the Pit of Death,” the woman said softly. “If the healers cannot cure what ails you, what choice is left?”
“The Pit of Death?” Vand echoed as his eyes grew large. “There is no such thing.”
“Perhaps there isn’t,” shrugged the woman as she saw the priest’s body begin to quiver, “but the walk will do you good.”
Vand stared at the woman as if he were looking through her. For several long moments, he remained silent. Finally, he nodded his head.
“The walk will be good,” he said nervously. “Just feeling the breeze upon me has already eased the pain. Lead me to the Asylum so that I may expose the nonsense surrounding the mythical Pit of Death.”
The woman led the priest through the city streets of Angragar towards the north end of the city. When they reached the door to the elixir shop called The Asylum, Vand waved the woman away. She nodded without comment and left the priest. Vand stood staring through the doorway of the shop for several moments before he entered it.
The old woman who ran the shop looked up nervously as the High Priest entered. Her eyes immediately swept the room to see if anyone was present before greeting the priest.
“It’s not often we get such distinguished customers,” the woman said hesitantly as she worried that the priest was there to cause trouble. “How may I aid you?”
Vand ignored the woman as he picked up a potion and gazed at it. Abruptly, he put the potion back on the table and turned to storm out of the shop. That was when the woman saw the back of Vand’s sweat-soaked robe.
“You need more than potions,” the woman said softly as she realized that the priest was not there to demand her closure. “What you seek is down the stairs. Go before other customers enter the shop and see you.”
Vand hesitated at the door. He turned and looked questioningly at the woman, but she ignored his gaze. She turned and walked to the back of the room and began moving potions around on the shelf. Vand’s eyes wavered from the doorway leading to the street to the top of the stairs leading downward. A sudden shout from the street outside the shop jolted the priest out of his indecisiveness. He headed for the stairs and proceeded downward.
Vand descended the stairs into a large cavernous room. In the center of the room was a large pit of hot mud and several people were lounging in it. An old man immediately approached the newcomer.
“Remove your robe,” instructed the old man. “There are hooks over there to hang it on.”
“I am not here to dally in hot mud,” scowled the priest. “I expected…something more.”
“Ah,” the old man replied softly as he nodded his head. “There are dangers involved. Are you sure?”
“Am I sure?” retorted the priest. “No, I am not sure. I do not even believe in such nonsense, but others tell me that you claim to have the mythical Pit of Death down here.”
“There is nothing mythical about it,” countered the old man. “It is the last resort for those whose life is ending. It can save your life, but the cost is steep.”