The rain fell even more heavily. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed directly overhead, blinding flash and earsplitting noise coming almost simultaneously. This was too much for the Mikku’s horses. The animals reared and fled, taking their riders back down the slope to the main body of warriors. Only Shaccan remained, his horned helmet gleaming dully in the gray light filtering through the thick clouds. He glared at the pair before him.
“Widow or not, your life is over!” he cried. “Here is your maita!”
He raised his blade high, to cleave the impassive Adala from head to waist. No sooner had the sword reached its apex than another bolt of lightning sliced down from the sky. It struck the Mikku’s sword, searing down the steel blade and the warmaster’s arm.
The blast knocked everyone down. Adala hit the sand and rolled to avoid being crushed by her falling donkey. When her head cleared, she crawled up the slope to Wapah. He was dazed but uninjured.
Where Shaccan had been was now a smoking pit in the sand. Adala crawled to its edge and looked down. What she found was ghastly. Horse and man were dead, horribly burned. Most of Shaccan’s sword had melted and run down his arm like candle wax. His flesh, inside his armor, was charred black. His helmet was gone, for which Adala was profoundly sorry as it left bare the unbelievable ruin that had been his face.
She looked away from the grotesque visage and noticed the sand around Shaccan had changed. No longer filled with loose pale grains, the crater in which he lay resembled a bowl of crude glass, blue-green in color. Adala immediately was reminded of the hidden valley. Did its soil’s blue-green tint come from the same source, the fire from heaven?
Raindrops sizzled and hissed into steam when they hit the blasted corpse and glassy crater. The other Mikku gathered slowly, dismounting and staring down into the crater. So great was the terror on their faces as they regarded Adala, Wapah was certain they would slay her forthwith. Disregarding the deeply ingrained stricture against touching the Weyadan, he crawled frantically to her and flung his body over hers.
“Away with all of you, lest Those on High strike you down as well!” he shouted at the sword-wielding Mikku.
Wapah had misread the warriors. They had no intention of lifting their weapons against Adala. Instead, all fell on their knees, calling to her to forgive them, pledging to serve her, affirming their belief in the power of Those on High.
Adala tried to rise. As she shifted beneath him, Wapah flushed in embarrassment and moved swiftly off. She sat up, straightening her black robes.
On her feet again, she looked around at the kneeling Mikku. “Will you believe in my maita?” she asked them. “Will you follow where I lead and fight only for the purity of Khur?”
To a man, they vowed they would.
Wapah went to round up his mount and Adala’s donkey. The rain was easing, and as Wapah returned, it ceased altogether. He brought with him more than their mounts, Shaccan’s helmet was cradled in his arm. The tall golden-horned helm had been flung many yards away. It appeared completely untouched by the lightning that had so utterly destroyed its owner.
While Wapah was marveling over this, and admiring the shining craftsmanship of the helmet, the scouts Shaccan had dispatched over the ridge came galloping back. They were pursued by Weya-Lu riders. Adala, leading Little Thorn, went to intercede. Mikku and Weya-Lu drew apart as the Weyadan stood between them.
“Judgment has been rendered upon Shaccan,” she declared. “The Mikku have chosen to join us.”
The warriors who already had pledged themselves to Adala’s cause related the momentous events to their brethren. The scouts could hardly credit the tale, but the steaming crater and their dead warmaster brooked no argument.
The Weya-Lu raised a cheer, and the Mikku joined in. Adala acknowledged their support with a nod, then asked Wapah for his arm. He aided her in climbing back onto Little Thorn. Her face and hands were pink with flash burn, while her eyebrows and eyelashes were completely gone. Concerned, he asked if she was well.
The clouds had broken, allowing shafts of morning sunlight to slice through. The southern plain was dappled with these columns of golden light. Steam rose from the drying sand. Adala stared out at the view and said only, “Your hat is in sad shape, cousin. Take it off and I’ll sew the tears quickly, before the sun returns.”
And she did. A healer salved and bandaged her injured hand, then Adala worked steadily on the torn hat as she and Wapah rode down the ridge. The Weya-Lu streamed after them. The Mikku watched in awe until they fell in at the rear of the formation. Word of Shaccan’s demise spread, and more and more of the Mikku joined the procession. The ranks of Adala’s band had swelled from five hundred to more than five thousand.
