Chabra: The Falls of Kra

It had been two years since they’d entered into a pact with Ukos, now Lord of Astarma and effective commander of the combined fleets of Shiroora Shan and Astarma. Piracy was almost unheard of in the western arm of the Night Ocean, and trade was flourishing through all three key routes: Shiroora Shan, which controlled both land and sea routes through the north end of the Night Ocean; Astarma, which commanded the route from Zeenar over the Agnid Mountains and then by sea west; and Cappadarnia, overlooking the Narrows allowing ships to pass between the southern end of The Spine and the Low Isles farther south.

There were always smugglers who wended their way through the shifting channels south of the Low Isles, or dared to travel even farther southward and brave the monsters of the Boorsh Fens, but those routes were slow and risky, for the most part, and presented little threat to the effective monopoly Karadi and Ukos commanded.

Ukos was also the father of Fen, who was betrothed to Lajita’s third daughter, Asha. She was only eight now, and Fen a few years older, so while they had exchanged gifts and promises for the future marriage, it was still very much in the future.

Fen had already visited Shiroora Shan several times, spending a month or two getting to know them better, and several of Karadi’s children—especially Asha—had spent time in Astarma. By now Shiroora Shan had evolved into a major trading city, while Astarma had only just completed its transformation from town to city.

Cappadarnia as well was growing steadily, with guard towers on both sides of the Narrows and chains of iron and wood across the channel to prevent free passage. It was managed by Ruk, now almost thirty and father of his own children. He was nominally an Admiral under Ukos, and captain of his own ship, but with the pirates largely under control he had less need to sail it.

Piracy was not unknown of in eastern stretch of the Night Ocean, but Ademla worked with them to keep the trade routes mostly safe. Eudoxia also did its part, although it was less likely to cooperate with Shiroora Shan, and pirates—and smugglers—could often take advantage of their mutual distrust.

Lajita was beginning to wonder just how the other Lajita had managed to send her messages through time.

It had been years now, and she had a considerable number of books and notes all ready to go, but no clue as to how to send them. As far as she knew she possessed no magic, except perhaps for the enigmatic amulet hanging around her neck.

Even after using the amulet, first when she became The Lajita and touched it to the book to reveal that strange note, and then to save herself from Shikhandi, she was no closer to understanding what it did, or how.

She wondered again where it had come from… she had brought it with her from the future, and it would pass again through over five centuries of Lajitas before returning once again to the past, to start the cycle over and over again. It was never made at all, it simply existed.

Her only guide was a strange, single line of Lajita’s that she had read in the book so long ago. At the top of a page had been written “You must go to the Falls of Kra,” but the remainder of the page had been torn out of the book, apparently by accident rather than by intent, leaving only that cryptic command.

The head housekeeper, old Batauta, had mentioned a magical being in a cave behind the Falls of Kra up in the Ifdawn Marest, the huge mountain range north of Shiroora Shan several times. An eerie spirit or creature that could wield magic for good or bad, she said, to help you or curse you, seemingly at whim. Some said that a gift of fruit, or meat, or jewels would win its favor; others said it depended on your speech and mien, or the weather. In short, nobody really knew.

Lajita had her doubts that the creature existed at all, but she recalled that Shikhandi had met her in those mountains. Could he be what they were talking about? It seemed unlikely because they had met over five hundred years in the future, and because he hadn’t recognized her: surely if he was the one who granted her a magical ability he would remember, even five centuries later!

Karadi and the twins—fifteen-year-old Dhruv and Atisha—were on a trading ship to Eudoxia, carrying a cargo of Gondara silk, porcelain from Karida, and glassware and crystal from the enormous glassworks here in Shiroora Shan.

The other children were busy at their studies, training, or playing, under the watchful eyes of their nannies or tutors, and the city was buzzing with its daily activity.

It was a good day to go see for herself if there really was a magical being up in the Ifdawn Marest, and if it could help her.

She decided to go alone, and already had her gift prepared. She had thought about what might be good. Anyone living in the mountains could get fruit, fresh meat, and fish pretty easily, and she didn’t think food would be anything special. Gold or jewels were a possibility, but they wouldn’t be of much use to someone living alone in the wilderness. Still, they were the traditional favorite.

She finally decided on Cydathrian brandy, and had a very special crystal bottle with matching goblets made by Kimjeon himself. They were covered with intricate designs of flowers and birds etched into the glass, and looked stunning when filled with the dark red brandy.

To protect them from breakage she had a special case made as well, of leather and wood with inlaid designs of mother-of-pearl, semi-precious stones, and silver. The case was lived with deep blue velvet.

“Thank you for the lunch, Mistress Batauta,” she said, accepting the bundle from the housekeeper. It was just bamboo boxes holding rice balls, spicy chicken with vegetables, and some fruit, wrapped up in a cloth for easy carrying (the cloth could be spread on the ground for sitting, too). “I have some things to think upon, and will be back in a few hours.”

“Yes, Seeress,” replied Batauta, nodding four or five times. “I’ll keep an eye on everything here.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” she said, and pulled the reins lightly. Her horse, a dappled gray mare, turned to face the path leading up into the Ifdawn Marest, and began a leisurely walk. She flicked the reins again, and the walk became a canter.

The morning was still young, the sun not yet high enough to reach into all the folds of the mountains, and the morning mist still hung low where the sunlight had not penetrated. Birdsong was everywhere, and several times she heard something large crashing through the brush to escape her—deer, no doubt.

She had never been to the Falls of Kra, but she knew that hunters from the city had. They fell from a great height into an almost-circular pool of crystal-clear water, feeding a mountain stream that raced down the mountains to the sea.

They had seen it but none had ventured closer, and no one had ever dared fish there. At least, none had tried and survived to tell the tale.

Clearly it was home to a powerful spirit or monster, or so the stories went, although no one claimed to have seen it with their own eyes. She wasn’t afraid because she knew from history that she still had many years to live.

This low on the mountain’s flanks there were still scattered trees, and even stretches of woods in places, but as she rode deeper into the Ifdawn Marest they gave way to low scrub and windblown rock. The path itself had vanished, leaving her with only the many stories to guide herself by, but the mountain stream was always easy to follow, even if she did have to ride around barriers every so often. And the stream led directly to the Falls.

Despite the terrible fates the stories foretold, the ride was beautiful: the air was brisk and clean, scattered wildflowers swayed in the breeze, birds soared and swooped, once she noticed a mountain lion watching her pass.

The stream gradually trended upwards, as streams tend to do, and it became more and more difficult to find a path for the horse until finally a low cliff and waterfall made it impossible. She could easily scale the cliff—she could almost reach the top just by stretching—but the horse could never surmount that obstacle.

She climbed up directly from horseback and left the horse there free to roam. It would wait for her, she knew, unless danger threatened. Her pack, carrying only the brandy and enough food and water for a day, was light.

The stream was faster here, cutting deep through rock, but potholes showed that it had once been far larger. Boulders blocked her path here and there, and one large rockslide that had pushed the stream far out of its usual path, creating a large pond upstream of it. She had no choice but to wade through the ankle-deep water to reach the far side: it was either that or risk clambering across the steep mountains on both sides, covered with treacherous scree. Footing in the pond was dangerous enough.

Above the pond was yet another small waterfall, perhaps two meters or so. She pulled herself up over the edge and saw that she had arrived: a few dozen meters ahead of her loomed a massive cliff, dozens of meters high, a single cascade of water pouring down from above in a stunning arc, sunlit as it crashed into the pool at its base with spray and mist.

The sun’s rays illuminated the waterfall only partially, blocked by the cliff stretching away on both sides.

She couldn’t tell if there was a cave behind the waterfall or not. The left side of the pool was formed by a sheer rock face but the right was lower. It might be the way to the back of the waterfall.

As she approached the pool the rocks became slippery with mist and moss, her feet sliding. She slipped her sandals off, dropping them into her pack, and advanced on bare feet.

The waterfall roared, and the rock beneath her feet vibrated with the impact.

Placing her feet very carefully, she proceeded around the edge of the pool, into the shadows behind the fall.

There was no cave.

The path, if that’s what it was, merely petered out into nothing.

No witch, no evil spirit, no loathsome creature waiting.

She cursed under her breath and pushed her sodden hair back up out of her eyes.

She turned to retrace her steps.

There was no path.

She spun around, looking behind her, then more slowly in a circle.

She was standing on a tiny rock shelf, only barely big enough to hold her, with a black stone wall behind her and the hammering waterfall in front.

She stood and stared at the falling water, trying to think of what to do next.

It would be a risky gamble to leap into that torrent: it could batter her to death against the rocks quite easily.

Suddenly she noticed that the tumult of the waterfall was fading, and as she watched a pair of huge yellow eyes appeared in the water, seemingly suspended in the air.

They were perfectly round, with enormous pitch-black pupils, but every few seconds one or the other would blink, and for a fraction of a second would reveal that they were split into three lobes, not two like a cat.

“I am Lajita of Shiroora Shan,” she said, head up, meeting that gaze directly. “I have come to ask a boon.”

“I know who you are, child,” came a soft voice with the faintest echo. “And I can see that you are not from this time.

“Interesting… centuries upon centuries… And that amulet! May I see it?”

Unsure of the situation but unwilling to offend the creature that apparently held the key to her escaping this prison, she carefully pulled it up from where it hung on her breast. She held it up for the eyes to inspect, and turned it to show the other side.

“I haven’t seen that script for aeons,” murmured the voice. “And what boon do you seek?”

“Before I came here, in the future centuries from now, I received a message from myself here and now. I need to know how to send those messages to those women who follow me in the future.”

“You came here from tomorrow but have forgotten how you did it?”

“I did not do it. A spirit named Shikhandi sent me here.”

“Shikhandi? Never heard of him. And he actually told you his name?”

“He said it was his name, yes. When he touched this amulet accidentally it frightened him, or hurt him, and he sent me here in rage.”

“The amulet, again.”

The eyes blinked again, this time in unison, and looked more closely at the amulet she held.

“Yes, I see…” came the voice. “Whoever worked that did a masterful job indeed.”

“I cannot think of how it as ever created,” she said. “I inherited from my mother, and she from hers, and back through the centuries to the First Lajita. And I am the First Lajita, and brought it here with me from the future. It has always been and will always be, it seems…”

“You humans, always thinking of time in such simplistic terms,” chuckled the voice. “Merely touch it to the message you need to send, and think of when you wish to send it. The message will be transferred to the amulet at the time you signify. There is no spell; the amulet is self-contained.”

She held the amulet up more closely, examining it once again as she had done so many times in the past.

“I never tried that… and there’s no mention of it in the books.”

“Surely you’ve noticed by now that the future is not as immutable as you think.”

Her mouth snapped shut as she recalled Haarith and Cadman.

“I… I thank you, Master… How shall I address you? Master of the Waterfall?”

“If you wish. Address me or not, I exist all the same.”

“Then I thank you for your explanation and assistance, Master of the Waterfall.”

“Quite simple, really, nothing you couldn’t have figured out yourself if you’d but bothered to try.”

She bit back her sharp response, and bowed in thanks instead.

“I have brought with me a small gift to express my appreciation,” she said, removing the ornate box from her pack. She carefully opened it to reveal the crystal bottle and goblets inside, and held it out to the yellow eyes.

There was a snort of disdain, and they blinked once again, the left eye slightly lagging the right.

“What in the world would I do with Cydathrian brandy, or crystal? I have no need for either.”

“What, then, must I do to receive this knowledge?”

“But you’ve already received it, child,” it admonished her quietly. “And I have received mine.”

“You… You have? But we haven’t agreed on—”

“Hush, child,” came the voice. “You entered my home, you accepted my knowledge, and I have received my due.”

“But we never reached an agreement!” she protested. “Surely—”

“There is no agreement. It is done.”

“There must always be an agreement! That is the law!”

“No law binds me, and you left the quaint laws of your reality behind when you entered my realm. Here, I am the law.”

It was right.

She had no idea how powerful this thing might be, but it had blocked her route to escape, and had given her the knowledge she sought. She had no choice.

“What did you take in return?”

“Nothing,” it replied as those eyes began to fade away. “I gave you something instead.”

“What? What did you do?”

“You shall know in due time, child.”

And it was gone, the path back to her world open before her.

* * *

She retraced her steps and returned home in the late afternoon, absent-mindedly responding to questions or comments. She pretended to listen to her children, she smiled at the staff and thanked them for a delicious meal, all the while thinking of what it might cost her, what she might suddenly lose.

A month later, after she missed her second period and was sure she was pregnant yet again—this would be her last child, Paramjit—it finally occurred to her to wonder if the Master of the Falls of Kra had done something to the unborn babe. It would have been two weeks old at that time, she calculated… The other Lajita had warned her about Paramjit, saying “A mother loves her son, no matter what may come.”

But what was to come?

END