World of Warcraft: Vol'jin: Shadows of the Horde (12 page)

“Honored Khal’ak, what you say be reasonable. The loa could have stopped the storm. They could have stopped our armada sailin’ long ago. While my colleagues may be seeking clarity where none exists, that dey need to seek clarity means confusion exists.”

The fur began to rise at the nape of her neck. “You speak sense. More of it, please.”

“Da loa be demanding and deserving of our worship—the worship of all trolls. They value strength. While we have offered each other as sacrifices, and these sacrifices be accepted and revered, they be not preferred. Da loa, as we reach them, speak to us less because they also speak to others. We be not alone in comin’ to Pandaria. Alliance and Horde be here as well.”

She looked from one to the other of the shaman, taking in the full dozen. “An’ this be what gives you pause? Perhaps you do not fully understand. Perhaps it be not your place to understand. My master has long anticipated others arriving in Pandaria. Vermin always be finding a way to spoil things. To assume we would escape dem here be folly. Contingent plans been made. Opposition will not stand.”

Another shaman with short tusks rose. “This be well for dealin’ with the Alliance, but what of the Horde?”

“What of dem?”

“Trolls be among them.”

“Vermin choosin’ to run in packs does not make them noble. They still be vermin. And if trolls believe joining such a pack benefits them rather than degrading them, more fools they. We be welcomin’ those trolls who come to see the wisdom of our actions and wish ta join us. We always be needing garrison troops and subalterns to organize various details. If the loa be distracted by reachin’ those trolls and tellin’ them to come to us, dis I favor. Perhaps this be what you should entreat da loa to do.”

She snorted. “From dis ship. Out at the breakwater.”

The short-tusked shaman shook his head. “We will be needing time to prepare. A sacrifice.”

“You have six hours. Less. Moonrise.”

“That be not enough time.”

She stabbed a finger at the shaman’s chest. “Den I gonna give the loa a sacrifice. I gonna tie your left ankle and wrist to the dock, and the right ankle and wrist to this ship. I will order the captain to haul anchor an’ sail. Be this how you wish to serve da loa, your fleet, and your people?”

Gyran’zul intervened. “The purity of your faith, Honored Khal’ak, be reflectin’ great esteem upon your master and your family. No doubt your fidelity to the loa be accounting for our great initial success. We gonna communicate that to the loa, and we gonna be prepared to set sail immediately.”

“You be pleasing our master.”

The young troll raised a finger. “Dere be one other thing.”

“Yes?”

The shaman pressed his hands together. Slender and delicate, too much so. His eyes narrowed. “The loa speak to us, and they speak to some among the Horde, but this does not occupy the whole of their attention.”

“What else be there?”

“This be the point. We do not know. The reason the storm concerns us be because when we seek whatever else there be, it be hiding behind a curtain. It could be a ghost. It could be a troll in the distance. It could herald da birth of a troll destined to greatness. We do not know, and we must tell you of it because you seek certainty where doubt exists.”

A shiver ran the full length of her spine. Somehow the presence of this unknown troll concerned her more than learning Horde and Alliance had come to Pandaria. They were known quantities. The Zandalari could deal with them.
But how does one lay contingency plans for an unknown?
The mogu assured them that the pandaren were, effectively, defenseless.
What else could dere be?

Khal’ak looked past the shaman toward the south, where mists gathered just beyond the harbor. Their fleet would sail into the night and through another night. She’d been to Pandaria. She’d chosen the landing zone. A small fishing village with nothing of substance or value save a decent harbor. Once they’d landed and secured the harbor, they’d plunge inland. Troll scouts indicated there was nothing that could stop them. Nothing even to slow the Zandalari down.

Other than succumbin’ to the suspicions of those who stand to lose the most if we succeed
. She glanced at Gyran’zul again and felt certain he wasn’t playing a game. If he wanted power, she would give it to him. The both of them knew that. Therefore his concerns were real.

Khal’ak nodded. “You gonna prepare to sail. You gonna bend your will to determining what be hidden in da void, in that pale shadow. All of you. If you do not be satisfyin’ me on this point, I gonna feed you to the loa until they be satisfied. No thwarting us, something that does not exist.”

•  •  •

That night, far to the south, Vol’jin found his sleep disturbed by a vision. This surprised him. After Hir’eek’s visit, the loa had ignored him, and he had affected to ignore them in turn. He’d realized that
to reach out to them before he knew who he was would only be an attempt to mimic who he had been. As Tyrathan’s companion would not come to a summons from someone he did not recognize, it would not do for Vol’jin to reestablish a bond with the loa if he was not going to be the troll who had created it in the beginning.

He couldn’t identify the loa sending him the vision. He soared through the air effortlessly, so it could be Akil’darah. Still, he flew at night, and the eagle would not. Then he realized he was actually floating and seeing through many eyes. He decided that Elortha no Shadra, the Silk Dancer, had made him into one of her children. He floated high, suspended from spider-silk threads carried by the wind.

Below him clouds parted. Ships under full sail made haste south. It had to be ancient times, for the broad, square sails carried Zandalari crests. He couldn’t call to mind any time in history when the Zandalari had launched such a powerful fleet.

He looked up at the night sky, expecting to see the constellations arranged in different ways. That he recognized them shocked him.

And he laughed.

Very good, Mother of Venom. You be showing me a vision of a now where I could assemble such a fleet. You be showing me the glory I could win for you and the loa. So generous a vision. I could even be believing it would further my father’s dream. The problem be, am I still Sen’jin’s son?

The breeze failed.

The spider fell.

And Vol’jin brushed it and its web away from his face, before turning onto his side and sinking back into a dreamless sleep.

E
ven though Lord Taran Zhu’s uncharacteristic revelation of emotion—seen in a pinched expression that mixed disapproval with serious reservation—hinted at trouble, Chen could not help but smile. His heart was fit to bursting with pride and happiness, both being redoubled with Taran Zhu’s agreement with his plan.

A great chunk of his happiness came from his knowing that Yalia Sagewhisper’s intercession had changed the old monk’s mind. Chen had managed, while working at Zouchin and then on the way back, to mash together ingredients for a wonderful brew. He was certain it would be for Pandaria what the Get Well brew had been for Vol’jin. He wanted to share it when he got back, and his sheer enthusiasm, he realized now, had probably been what made Taran Zhu dubious of the effort.

That Yalia had spoken with the monk on his behalf had touched him deeply. Chen liked her. He always had. On the journey, however, he found even more to like. He also found reason to hope that she might return some of his affection. How much, he wasn’t sure, but anything was good, because from small eggs grew mighty turtles.

No one at Zouchin had recognized her, and it struck Chen as odd that she did not immediately seek out her family. She certainly
learned about them, from Li Li and others, and learned that they prospered. Even her grandmother still lived. Yalia held herself apart, and a piece of that withdrawal had her pulling away from him as well.

Chen had a hard time understanding her desire for distance—from her family, not so much from him. In Pandaria, Chen found pieces of home he’d been missing. Zouchin felt like another one. It had readily available resources that made it perfect for a small brewery. The moment he saw it, he was determined to build one there because it was the perfect location, and it would bring him closer to Yalia.

That first night, after he’d brewed tea, he broached the subject of her family.

Yalia stared into the depths of her tea bowl. “They have their lives, Master Chen. I left so they would have peace. I would not bring havoc here.”

“Don’t you think knowing you are well and respected would bring them more peace?” He shrugged and forced a smile. “I worry whenever Li Li is out of sight. Your family must have worries or . . .” He fell silent as a thought occurred to him.

She looked up. “Or?”

“It wasn’t a worthy thought, Sister Yalia. Not of you.”

“I would have you share it. Even if we decide it is an error, I would have honesty between us.” She laid a paw on his forearm. “Please, Master Chen.”

He let the snap and pop of the little campfire they shared fill the silence for a moment, then nodded. “I wondered, only because I wonder it of myself sometimes, if it is your peace you wish to protect instead of theirs.”

Her paw came back to her cup. She held it so still Chen could see stars reflected in the tea. “The monastery has provided me much peace.”

“One can never tell how others will react. I would think your
family would be happy to see you. Maybe a little sister will resent having had to do your chores, or your mother will mourn the cubs you never gave her to spoil. It seems to me that even if these things are true, they are minor upsets compared to the joy of knowing you live and are happy.”

“Does a quiet night and warm tea make difficult wisdom more palatable?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get many quiet nights and am not that often accused of committing acts of wisdom.” He drank tea and let a little drip from his muzzle, just to make her smile.

She reached out and brushed a droplet away. “You are wise enough to play the clown at times when it needs playing. It makes entertaining your idea much easier. And to see the truth of it.”

Chen couldn’t hide his smile, but he shrank it enough that it did not appear prideful. “You will see your family.”

“Yes, but tomorrow. I should really like to enjoy another peaceful night, with warm tea and a thoughtful friend. I shall remind myself who I am so I can share that with them, instead of trying to explain why I am not who they think I should be.”

•  •  •

The next day had dawned bright and warm, which Chen took as a good omen. He traveled with Yalia to meet her family. They deflected some of their shock at Yalia’s return into an enthusiastic welcome for him, since he was Wild Dog Li Li’s famed uncle. Apparently, in motivating workers, she’d invoked his name and suggested dire consequences were they such slack laborers and he were in command.

Yalia’s father, Tswen-luo, recognized the truth behind the story almost immediately, because he, as the master of a fishing fleet, had to hide behind a similar mask. The two of them had also discovered a mutual love of beer and, as males would do, proceeded to try to drink each other under a bug’s belly. Somewhere in all of that,
Tswen-luo agreed that the Stormstout Brewery should open an operation in Zouchin and that he would finance it in return for a modest share of profits and a bottomless mug.

Though he spent his time with her father, Chen did watch Yalia interact with her family. She won immediate acceptance from nieces and nephews by shattering boards with a punch or a kick. They ran through the village with broken bits of wood, collecting a pack of cubs for another demonstration. Several of them were offspring of the pandaren who had been rivals for her favors. Chen caught a hint of melancholy on her face when they were introduced. Clearly they had no clue as to who she had been.

Her mother and sisters tutted and scolded—at least, did so after shrieking and hugging and crying. Her brothers hugged her solemnly, then stole away back to work or for a mug or two with Chen. Yalia retained her composure and peace in dealing with all of them.

And then she got to her grandmother. The old pandaren had grown frail with years, hunched, her flesh hanging loosely. She walked with a cane, better than Tyrathan on his worst days, but not by much. Age had clouded her dark eyes, so she lifted a paw to Yalia’s face and let it linger.

“Are you the granddaughter I lent my scarf to?”

“Yes, Ama.”

“Have you brought it back?”

Yalia looked down. “No, Ama.”

“On your next visit you will, Granddaughter. I have been missing it.”

Then the old pandaren smiled, gap-toothed, and embraced Yalia. Silence reigned as the elder female disappeared in the circle of Yalia’s arms. Their bodies shook with sobs that went unheard, which everyone affected not to notice.

Which was why Tswen-luo burped loudly and inappropriately to divert attention to himself. Chen, being a good guest, and protective of his reputation as a prodigious belcher himself, rattled
the rafters quickly thereafter. That way the women could not vent their emotions in scolding the patriarch too much, and Yalia and her grandmother were granted a bit more privacy amid utter chaos.