Lord Marak detected a sudden hostility from the two Zatong men and began to worry for his safety. “I am Marak, son a slave woman. I grew up in Lituk Valley and joined the Army. I was made Lord of Fardale in order to avoid some embarrassment to the Situ Clan. They expected me to fail, but I have succeeded. There is nothing more to tell.”
“You do not mention your father,” Kyata pointed out.
“I have never known my father,” admitted Lord Marak. “My mother became a slave to protect him when I was young. I have no memories of him.”
“That is sad and not the way life should be,” softened Kyata. “Is your mother still a slave?”
“No,” replied Lord Marak. “I purchased her and freed her. She lives in my mansion in Fardale. I do not believe in enslaving people.”
Ukaro suddenly stabbed his knife into the ground and stormed off. Kyata rose and stared after him. “It is late,” Kyata declared as he signaled for a Zatong warrior. “My warrior will show you where to sleep tonight. We will talk more tomorrow. You will not leave this village until you are allowed to. Sleep well, flatlander.”
Lord Marak was confused by the changing emotions of his Zatong hosts, but he had little choice in the matter. He had come here to seek out their help and he would have to play by their rules until Rybak was safe. He was shown to a hut and settled down with the knowledge that there were Zatong guards posted outside to keep him from leaving.
Chapter 24
Lost Ties
Lord Marak slept well despite the feeling that he was a prisoner. He rose early and stumbled out of the tent to find the village already busy. The guard at his hut did not acknowledge his leaving nor did he try to stop him. Lord Marak wandered over to the Leader’s tent and found Kyata outside with the Shaman, Ukaro.
“I hope the morning breaks well with the Lord of the Torak,” greeted Kyata.
“Good morning,” mumbled Lord Marak. “Yes, I slept well.”
“I think our young warrior is a creature of the night, not the morning,” smiled Ukaro. “Come, join us for the morning meal.”
Lord Marak sat down and was served a plate of very large eggs and a pair of tiny legs, probably squirrel. The aroma was tantalizing and Lord Marak dug into his food with a hunger that had not been fed enough during the last two days. Again, he had the sensation of being watched but this time he didn’t even bother to look and find his hosts staring at him.
“I have sent a messenger to the Kywara,” offered Kyata. “He will inform Tmundo that you are here with us. Your people might become worried.”
“That was very thoughtful of you,” Lord Marak responded as he wondered what questions the messenger was sent to ask Tmundo.
“It was the least we could do for a friend of the Chula,” smiled Kyata. “What are your plans for the future? Will you battle with the Situ?”
“That will depend on Lord Ridak,” answered Lord Marak warily. “I prefer to solve my differences verbally, but I am prepared to battle if necessary.”
“Do you use magic in your battles?” queried Ukaro.
Lord Marak nearly choked on the tiny leg. “Magic?” he echoed. “What type of magic do you mean?”
“The only type of magic you flatlanders know,” chuckled Ukaro. “Certainly, I was not referring to Chula magic. You said your mother was a mage. I just wondered if you used any of that type of magic in your battles.”
Lord Marak put his food down and stared at the Shaman. “I do not wish to be rude,” Lord Marak stiffened, “but what type of game are we playing here?”
“I do not understand your hostility,” shrugged Ukaro. “I am trying to make polite conversation. Is not this the way of flatlanders? Or do you still consider us potential enemies?”
“I am not referring to your interrogation of my battle tactics,” snapped Lord Marak. “I said my mother was a slave. I never said she was a mage. I ask, again, what type of game are we playing?”
“Forgive my brother’s poor manners,” consoled Kyata. “We wish to know more about you and your family than you have offered us. Torak holds very special significance for the Chula. Ukaro sometimes thinks he is clever and is able to gain information from people with his cleverness. There was no harm intended. Tell us about your mother.”
“I am sorry,” apologized Lord Marak. “You have extended me help when I needed it badly and I have responded poorly to your curiosity. My mother is a Soil Mage. We moved to Lituk Valley when I was six years old. Lord Ridak made my mother a slave and forced her into the fields. When I came of age, I joined the Army. I was not permitted to talk with her again. I think she handled her situation better than I did. I almost became a slave myself because I broke the rules and talked to her one night.” Marak subconsciously reached into his shirt and felt his necklace as he remembered that evening. It was the only time she had ever hit him.
“She loved my father dearly,” Lord Marak continued. “For a while I hated my father because he never came to rescue my mother, but that night she explained to me that he thought she was dead. I made her a promise that night to get her out of Lituk Valley.”
“A promise you obviously kept,” praised Kyata. “Did she give you the necklace we saw last night?”
Lord Marak realized then that it was when he removed his shirt that the Zatong’s moods had changed. Rykoma Kywara had also expressed an interest in his necklace. “Yes,” answered Lord Marak. “She said it was all she had left of my father and that I should wear it always. I know this necklace means something to the Chula. Rykoma Kywara also expressed an interest in it. Why?”
“In a moment,” Kyata answered. “What . . . “
“Her name?” interrupted Ukaro. “What is your mother’s name?”
Lord Marak looked from the Leader to the Shaman. “Glenda,” Lord Marak replied. “Her name is Glenda. Why are you so interested . . . ?“
Lord Marak stopped when his eyes landed on Ukaro. The Shaman had tears running freely down his cheeks. His jaw was rigid and his teeth were clenched. His hands, which had nails that were sharp like claws, were raking his forearms and leaving bloody trails. Kyata stood and placed his hand gently on Ukaro’s shoulder. He gave a sad look to Lord Marak and turned to leave. Lord Marak started to rise also, to leave the Shaman to deal with whatever was bothering him, but Kyata shook his head and Lord Marak sat back down.
“Perhaps you have some healing powers of your own, Lord Marak,” Kyata said gently. “Stay and keep Ukaro company, nephew.”
Lord Marak looked after Kyata as he left and then the words struck him like a hammer blow between the shoulders. He looked at his necklace and, for the first time, saw the same necklace around Ukaro’s neck. It finally dawned on Lord Marak why his father had only come to Forest Deep to see his family occasionally. Few of the flatlanders would have accepted a woman with a Chula husband. The Chula might not have accepted a Shaman with a flatlander wife, either. Marak thought his punishment in life had been bad and his mother’s unbearable, but what Ukaro must have felt for the last fourteen years could only be described as torturous.
He looked across the fire at the father he had never known and did not know how to react. Finally, he stood up and walked around the fire and sat next to his father and put his arm around him. Lord Marak could not think of any words to console the grief of a lifetime. The Shaman, Ukaro, looked up at the son whose growing up he had sorely missed and hugged him. For a long time father and son sat soundlessly with their arms wrapped around each other. Marak thought back to the night his mother had slapped him and mentally kicked himself for his arrogance and stupidity. He had presumed that his father did not care enough to rescue him and his mother. Now he knew that his father would have done anything, killed anyone, to get his family back. That was why Glenda had someone tell Ukaro that she was dead. It was the only way she could think of to save him from destroying himself.