Call of the Wolf (The Kohrinju Tai Saga) Read online

  The Kohrinju Tai Saga:

  Call of the Wolf

  By J P Nelson

  Copyright © 2011 by J P Nelson

  All rights reserved.

  Acknowledgements

  ________________________

  This work would not have been completed without my adopted sis, Teresa Goodemote, her belief in me, ongoing endeavor to teach me correct punctuation, and kicking and biting me to stay on course; Dale Goodemote, more of a brother than my own blood, and who can fix a computer just by touching it; Lorraine Saporito, LMFT, who made sure I kept all the psychology on track; Pam Allison, who listened to me read over, and over again; Ray and Laura Hunt, who insist I should relax every now and then; Eddy Wetmore and his advice about boats, sailing, and hang-gliding; my adopted parents, Mom and Pop Minnick; my students at the Family Self Defense Center; my club the Platinum Dragon Society, and twenty years of great adventure role-playing; Calvin Barker and Pierce Greene, who adamantly insisted my storylines and world setting needed to be put into book form; Robert and Lesia of Clater Kaye Theatreworks for a multitude of invaluable suggestions; the Staff at Golden Corral of Hickory, NC, where I wrote two-thirds of this first novel; the Guardian ad Litem Program, a legal group who fights for the children, of which I am proud to be a part; Sgt. Deloris Day, my Drill Sergeant from way back when, who instilled in me deep respect for the Female Warrior; my only real childhood friends, the pooches Mitzi, Chief, Sandy and Gypsy; I can’t forget Peaches the puppy; Dino the hamster, who inspired an entire species; the world’s biggest black cat, Charlie; kitties Gus, Morella, and Benjy; my head-butting partner, Pippin the goat; my favorite Trail Riding Partner, the Egyptian-Arab, Kowi; and my roommate and writing supervisor, Kashi the half-Himalayan kitty.

  Dedication

  ________________________

  To Mr. Vernon Dyer,

  Thank You.

  A pronunciation guide is provided in back of book.

  Prologue

  ________________________

  Chapter 1, From the Scroll of Ghespahrrtha:

  First Book of the Holy Writings of Zhymathatt.

  In the Beginning there was God, and the name of God was unknown for there was none to make utterance of the name unto God;

  Therefore was the name of God kept sacred and holy.

  And from the words of God came forth all that which is.

  From the brush of his hands was the universe set into motion,

  And of his breath were the suns dispersed.

  Unto each sun was bestowed their children according to God’s design,

  And unto the children were yet found children, again.

  From the imaginations of God were begotten the spirits and their realms.

  Great cities of splendor were brought up and the spirits were proclaimed the children of God.

  And the spirits did sing praises and give service in honor of the Creator of All Things.

  Yet did one, even that most goodly and favored of all spirits, did rise up and make war in the heavens.

  Then transpired a trembling of the heavens as the God of the Unknown Name did rise up in a terrible rage and fervor,

  And the haughty son and his minions were cast from exaltation and given to dwell among the Lower Planes.

  And it came to pass that God said “Let us fashion from the flesh of the Earth those who shall give communion and fellowship to that One who made them.”

  Therefore the Earth served for the womb and God became Father, and the man and the woman were brought forth and gifted of life and soul.

  By the hand of God was fashioned man and woman, and they were given dominion of the land and made custodian of all living things which moved upon the Earth.

  Insomuch as the man and woman were favored of their Father, they and their children despised God in their eyes and took to service other gods.

  Defilement and desecration did humankind render upon their charge and provision until all was but naught.

  Into the heavens and of the children of the suns sought they plunder,

  And God repented the making of man and woman and turned away in sorrow.

  Whereas humankind begat destruction and waste, a child came to birth.

  From within the wake of transgression did the child set forth his foot, and his name was called Diustahn.

  And Diustahn played song and gave supplication to the God of Creation,

  Wherefore did He of the Unknown Name give ear and His heart was turned and made glad.

  And it came to pass that Diustahn gathered up his own and made sail through the seas of the heavens and sojourned upon the lands of Orucean.

  From the loins of Diustahn were the Diustahntei born and given to flourish,

  And of the children of the children of Diustahn did arise the forebearers of the First Council of Ehleshuvah,

  They who should come to be called Elves.

  Chapter 1

  ________________________

  IT FELT AS if the world had exploded with a thousand tiny lights. I couldn’t see and I could only hear a dull pounding within my skull. The taste of blood was strong in my mouth, my breath hard and labored. I could feel the hard packed dirt beneath me as I crouched on hands and knees. But, where was I? I couldn’t seem to remember and my mind was a haze of dull, throbbing pain.

  Instinctively, not by thought, I contracted my abdominal muscles and pulled inward as a leather shod, hoof-like foot kick me hard in the stomach. Moving with the force of the blow I rolled sideways twice, coming back to my hands and knees. Trying hard to buy time, and my breath, I slowly crawled on a hard packed dirt floor while keeping the position of my assailant to my left side.

  Somehow I was aware the tattered and bloody rag on my body was supposed to be a tunic, once held together by a scrap of a sash. My leggings were threadbare with freshly torn holes over my scraped knees. Only my boots were in good repair; buckskin boots which tied above the calf and had a fringe all around the top, boots fashioned by my own hand long ago.

  Without seeing them, I knew my knuckles were raw and abraded from fighting, and my almost white-blond hair clung past my shoulders in the same matted and sweaty dirt which covered the rest of my body. I was sure my scalp had been split and I felt a searing, burning pain deep in the joint of my right shoulder.

  The darkness of my vision started to become a blur, and through the blur I began to make out the shape of a nightmare taking his time moving toward me, hands wide outstretched as he swaggered and spoke in a language I didn’t know. At first he seemed a shadowy figure as my eyes tried to regain focus, then as my sight cleared I could make out a form unbelievably thick with inhumanly large muscles, somewhat human shaped, but at the same time different.

  How many times had I been hit in the head? Why could I not remember?

  Unbidden, a memory arose of a man I once knew who had won many fights, but his head and hands often shook uncontrollably and could not even remember his daughter’s name. Is that what was wrong with me? Was this even real?

  My sight began to blur in and out as with great effort I tried to crawl away from the figure, yet keeping him in my line of sight. My hearing had been reduced to a hum and his words seemed to come from far, far away.

  I tried to focus on his head, it seemed misshapen in my visual haze … but wait … no … not misshapen, he had horns coming from the sides of his head, and long ears which hung to his massive neck and shoulder muscles.

  Those horns made me think of a wild bull, and one was skewed so that it tilted downward at an odd angle. He was clad in only a loincloth and as the haze lifted from my eyes I could see that except for his chest, stomach and face he was covered in the kind of
short, mahogany colored bristle hairs a pig would have.

  His face … his face was becoming clear and the sweat on my body suddenly turned cold despite the sweltering sun. My breath caught and I thought to myself, ‘Mon’Gouchest! I’m about to die …’ as I found myself looking into those bloodshot, cruel and sadistic eyes.

  The creature’s face was flat with a low hanging jaw, now opened in a snarl of pleasure. His eyes opened wide in demonic glee and I found myself entranced as if staring into the gaze of a large serpent. Tusk-like fangs protruded from his lower jaw and I could now see him flex his fingers as he held his arms wide and suddenly crouching low as if to pounce upon me. Those thighs were almost as big as my own torso and were jointed like a cow’s and I figured he could easily jump what was now the twenty feet between us.

  Shaking my head in an effort to regain full clarity and mental control, I stumbled to regain my footing, but slipped and fell to my right side as the creature carefully circled and set me up for what I knew would be the kill. Through split lips I mumbled to myself, “What is he waiting for?”

  As the fog in my brain began to clear, it came to me that my assailant … no, not an assailant … this was my opponent … my opponent was toying with me, thinking me finished. He was a Minotaur-Org hybrid and I remembered he would gloat, playing up to a large crowd of screaming humans and other species and drawing out the inevitable moment when he would kill.

  How I had been hit, I wasn’t sure. But it had been solid. Nor could I remember how long the fight had been going on. I felt sharp pain in my left side and was now afraid that a rib, or ribs, had been broken. The thought went through my mind, that if I inhaled too hard … I may slash my lungs and drown from my own blood. Death held no fear over me, but there was something more, something I could not at the moment identify.

  Slowly, very slowly, it was starting to come back as I fought to get up on my hands and knees, somewhere I thought I could hear chanting voices way off in the background … a crowd, yes, a crowd, and they were watching me.

  I was the victim of no accidental altercation or disagreement. Nor was this the result of a misunderstanding. The hybrid and I were in the Grand Coliseum of Dahruban; Dahruban, the Great City of the North, touted as the grandest city on the whole continent of Aeshea and possibly of the entire human world. As for me, I was billed as a Feral Spawn of Elf and Human Blood. And for the main event of this sporting promotion, these crowds had come to see me die.

  To be more specific, they had come to see their champion kill me.

  His name, the hybrid, his name was Karthanook. He stood nearly seven feet tall and was close to three hundred pounds of cruel intentions. Karthanook loved to play the crowd, loved to torture his wounded opponents and prolong the outcome, and in return the crowds loved him for it. Thirty-four times in the last two years he had engaged in Dahruban Coliseum combat, and a loss in the coliseum meant you were dead.

  But Karthanook had a serious failing. He had a pattern. If his nearly beaten opponent raised his head, Karthanook would grab the hair and hold it in a powerful grip while walking and screaming to the crowd. Then in an exaggerated manner he would circle his fist upward toward the heavens, culminating the scenario by rapping his stone hard knuckles into the opponent’s forehead at an angle. This would either open a nasty wound or expand an existing one.

  I was remembering, bit by bit. Twice before I had watched him fight in other arenas. But along with what I had heard of him, I knew enough.

  If his opponent staggered on hands and knees with head down, Karthanook would kick hard to the underbody a total of three individual times. Each time just hard enough to cause pain and keep the wind knocked out, but not enough to finish. Then with a forth kick, he would raise his knee up high and up close to his chest, hesitate for the screams of the crowd, and then come down hard with that hoof-like foot and shatter the ribs or spine. After which he would finally reach down and slowly, methodically twist the neck until broken; the neck-breaking motion being his signature move of sorts.

  Closing my eyes for a moment I tried to focus into the ground through my hands and fingers, seeking out my last vestige of power and strength. I could somehow feel Karthanook’s meticulous approach through the vibrations of the ground beneath my hands. I exaggerated my staggering motions while firmly securing a position with my right foot.

  The blood-fevered chants of the crowd were now mingling with the pulsing throbs of pain in my head.

  My vision began to clear and I could see somewhat, but still the blur came and went.

  Keeping my head low, I could sense his foot come up in a swinging motion and connect square in my abdomen, but I was ready for it. I rose up with the force of the blow, as if his kick had caused more damage than it did, and used the momentum to do a partial jump out and away from Karthanook. Touching first with my feet as I came down I exaggerated a wide roll over my back, once more onto my right side, and then slowly scrabbled to my knees. He would relish this, I knew, and slowly cover the distance gloating to the wildly roaring crowds.

  There was something about his eyes; I had to keep from looking into his eyes.

  Had he kicked me twice … or was it three times? I couldn’t remember. I kept careful watch for the shadow of his movement as I hung my head low, gamboling he had kicked me only twice. This was not a time for mistakes.

  I could only launch one more attack and knew I had to summon every fiber of my being, and beyond, for the effort. I had to be perfect in my timing and tactic, following through with speed and flawless precision. The crowd’s noise was even louder in my ears and I dwelt on it for just an instant. Deep within me I felt the anger, the burning hatred of these people … I profaned the word in my mind.

  These so-called people of highest civilization were paying to be entertained through the shedding of my blood and destruction of my body. I, who had never wronged these or any other creature, who had been born a bastard son to a captive elvin female and human owner, and sold in my childhood as a matter of convenience after my momma had been killed. Husbands, wives, merchants, prostitutes, physicians, weavers, cooks, clergy, city leaders … each and all, they lusted for the thrill of watching my death through pugilistic combat.

  Was this all my life was to be? I was born into slavery and in one manner or another, had been a slave all of my life. Fifty years, I thought, I was over fifty years old and my home was a blanket on a bed of straw in a cage.

  “Humans …” I spat the word in a growing rage as Karthanook kicked me in the abdomen one more time.

  Again I made the spring upward and out. When I came to my hands and knees once more over thirty feet of dirt separated us.

  The timing had to be right.

  Again I set my right foot as Karthanook swaggered toward my left side.

  He was caught up in anticipation of the kill and lost himself to his self-confidence.

  Deliberately, and with great control, he swung his right foot high into the air and prepared to hammer my spine.

  The pulsing cry of the crowd rose in anticipation of the crippling blow.

  Ahjokus the Archer, the winged chief of security, took to the air and circled the coliseum with bow in hand.

  I drew my breath in deeply and felt something pop within my chest, heat and fury rushed through the core of my being, and I drew strength from the hateful roar of sound emitted from the crowd of thousands.

  The dirt from Karthanook’s foot hit my body and his scream of victory began to rise from his throat, and my own rage vented in a flaming torrent as if of its own accord.

  From the coiled springs of muscle with-in my right leg, I shot in hard with my right shoulder against the center of Karthanook’s groin. Hooking my hands behind his left knee I stood straight up, and then kneeled down forward and hard, bringing his pelvis down on my bent right knee. I felt something break but had no time to determine if it was him or me. He, on the other hand, screamed in pain.

  He didn’t fall as I wanted and he went over sideways in
to a roll. I stumbled and lost my grip, but came up on my feet and felt a second wind wash through me as I reached into the ground for all of the strength I could muster. I had little time and rushed in as he made way to his feet.

  ___________________________

  When I had first seen my opponent that evening, I knew I was going to be in trouble. It was at that opening moment of the fight a desperate plan formulated quickly in my mind. You never know what tidbit of information may turn up useful, or even save your life. So I listened and learned from everything and everybody. My plan, however, would require my survival until … and if … I was able to act upon it.

  I had learned much about Minotaur anatomy from a former physician who had been a cage-mate. He had told me that one of the most favored features of the Minotaur-Org hybrid, as a residential sentry or front line warrior, was the fact that they could draw up their torso into a near impervious natural armor. The muscles were so dense, it was explained to me, that when contracted they were nearly as tough as banded mail. As a result, bludgeoning weapons were almost useless and blades were easily deflected on the imperfect lines of the hybrid’s form. And the bones, the bones were nearly as resilient as stone.

  One would need to be an expert in the use of weaponry to properly score serious blood, and only extreme pain could cause the muscles to unbind. If this happened, however, then a huge solar plexus cavity would expose itself just under the chest as the belly dropped low. The solar plexus being the one vulnerable point an unarmed, human sized person could have a chance of exploiting in combat.

  The challenge was to cause this creature sufficient pain to expose that solar plexus. I had an idea of how to do it, but it was a long shot. Considering we had no weapons, it was the only shot I had. And as big and skillful as he was, getting in close enough to try my plan was nearly impossible. Surviving until my chance appeared had become my sole recourse.