“Whoever wrapped this before would have killed you. Blood couldn’t flow.”
I trembled like a fish in his hands. He then placed my arm in a splint made of reeds and wrapped it some more. Finally, he made me guzzle half a wineskin and left me there until I lost consciousness. My men put him back in chains until the middle of the night when I started to come to.
As soon as I could speak, I told them, “Take him to the rest. Those with broken bones.”
They hid him in one of the smaller tents, taking him out only at night to avoid all two hundred eyes of the Reghen. The intense pain lasted for days, but Baagh’s eyes were calm and confident, and that made it bearable.
“No more poppy powder,” he said. “You saved your arm, but you’ll lose your mind.”
I wanted the poppy. But he wouldn’t give me.
“I am going to get you out of here alive, Da-Ren. You are my only hope.”
After a couple of days, when the pain took a turn for the worse, Noki brought him in under the torchlight, holding a knife to his neck.
“If Da-Ren dies, you die too,” he said.
“Noki, no,” I said. “Leave us alone.”
Baagh spoke with certainty when we were alone.
“You will heal if you want to, Da-Ren. But—”
“What?”
“The bandages don’t work alone. They need to hear your voice. If you don’t speak to them, if you don’t want to live, they won’t…”
“And tell them what?”
“Whatever you want. Just talk to them.”
“To say what?”
“Any story you want. Any dream. Desire? Is it something you still want in this world? Something you crave? If you’ve made up your mind to go to the sky, no magic can save you.”
A couple of days later, the Reghen came to see how I was doing. Noki defied him to his face before he even spoke.
“Out, Reghen. You have no friends here,” Noki said before spitting on the dirt.
The Reghen held his fingers knotted in front of him, ignoring Noki and eyeing only me. The men would listen to me, not Noki. It was my revenge he was afraid of. He spoke to Noki, looking mostly at me, “Watch your words, young man. You shouldn’t even be a Chief, three-carved one. Khun-Malan demands your loyalty.”
Those visits and warnings by the Reghen were a very clear foretelling of the fate that awaited us. With the first opportunity, or upon my death, the Blades would have a new Leader, and Leke and Noki would find a quick death. I had to live, at least for them. As the Reghen turned to leave the tent, Noki shouted curses until the Truthsayer and his horse were out of sight:
“Don’t come back here, Reghen. Spoils? I don’t need them. Women? I’ve had them since I was old enough to hold them down with one hand. Story? Damn your Story. I piss on your battlefields.”
“We have to get out of here,” I said. Only Leke and Noki were there.
“And go where?”
“It doesn’t matter—anywhere we choose. We have gold.”
“Anywhere, far away from Malan,” Noki agreed.
“You have to see how few of the spoils they left for the Blades. Hardly anything. All gone.”
We were three. I needed more men.
“I have to stand up, and it had better be fast,” I said to Baaghushai when he came into my tent.
“You must make your plea to Enaka if you want to get well,” Baaghushai reminded me.
“You believe in Enaka?” was my first question.
“What’s important is what you believe.”
“And the marjoram bush? The Ouna-Mas said I should boil and drink.”
I remembered that I hadn’t drunk marjoram for days.
“Nah, forget that. Drink wine instead. Fire-bush won’t heal the bones.”
I looked at him and saw someone who wasn’t an old man. He wasn’t even as old as Sah-Ouna, but the gray hair, which rarely dishonored the men of the Tribe, made him look like some undead Sorcerer who had lived a thousand winters.
I stayed inside the tent for half a moon. I would get up every night, walk for a while, and collapse from weakness of the legs and the heart. I didn’t want to see the faces of the survivors again. Another moon passed before Baaghushai took off the splint and the linen forever. My arm was as weak as a child’s, and I could barely move it. My fingers had found their color again, but I was a cripple. I couldn’t even lift my cup with my left hand. I had lost most of my muscle and looked like a shriveled old woman.
“Your warriors have sworn to cut off my head if you never raise a blade again,” said Baagh who was sharing the campfire with me every night.
“Me? A blade?” I repeated like a half-wit.
I still spoke in short phrases.
“What? Are you asking me? Yes, you will raise a blade again. If that’s what you want.”
“What kind of magic did you do?”
“I just got here in time. Your bone would never have set the way the Ouna-Mas had wrapped it so tightly. And, worse, the flesh would rot soon, and you would die. Not sure if they did it on purpose. Maybe they just don’t know.”
“Will it heal?” I asked.
“Only God knows this. But it should. Slowly but surely. There are bigger threats here for you than this arm now.”
“What happened at Apelo?” I asked.
“Those fools! Arrogant generals—they buried our army.”
“How many died? Did they ask for the Blades to kill them?”
Neither Noki nor Leke had mentioned massacres.
“No. Only a few of the defying officers, those you found me with, but those were disgraced. They searched for their deaths. And a few wounded warriors after the first battle. Your king changed his ways fast. He is not as stupid as I thought. He did not repeat the madness of Varazam here. Now your tribe is gathering gold and recruiting warriors. You even have your own ships, less than a day’s ride from here—not that you would know what to do with them.”
“And how are you faring?”
“I am surprised that the two of us are still alive. I thought those savages would do away with you once you were crippled. These men are loyal to you,” said Baagh.
“No good comes out of that. I’ve lost the most loyal ones. Those who died following me.”
“But they knew you were there first.”
“The dead know nothing, no more.”
Or else they will haunt us to the ends of time.
By now, the Sorcerer was walking free among my men, and they started to call him Baagh, as I did when I mumbled his name in pain. They even gave him our clothes to wear so he wouldn’t stand out. Baagh stayed with me, stirred the fire, sang solemn words I had never heard before, even though one of the songs was in my tongue, and fed me gruel whenever I managed to open my mouth. One morning, when I woke without any suffering, he turned and said, “Zeria!”
“What did you say?”
“You mumble this in your sleep sometimes. Since I saved your life, at least you can tell me your story. Then maybe someone will sing it in the future.”
“Some Stories—are better left unsung.”
“You’re not here anymore, are you?” he asked.
“I have to go away.”
“To go there. Where you desire.”
“Where?”
“To Zeria. She’s the one you seek.”
Reghen and Rods were coming and going on Malan’s behalf. They asked what I would do, where I had decided to go. They even cared to know whom would I leave as Firstblade in my place. Any name I gave them would be that of a dead man. Leke kept nagging me to go and demand the loot for the men before our own Blades did away with us.
“They are all in uproar. Most of them say it’s all your fault.”
“They’re right,” I said.
They would be vindicated and rewarded only when I was no longer there. The new Leader would cover them with gold. The wise Reghen would see to it to win back their loyalty. I knew the schemes of the Reghen well; I had seen all of
them since I was a child. Malan was the one I could never predict.
Noki came into my tent in a fury one afternoon.
“There is a crazy rumor among the campfires, Da-Ren,” he said.
He smashed his fist hard into the pole that was supporting the tent.
“Talk!”
“They’re saying Khun-Malan made a deal with the three cities. They will give us an army of horsemen and swords, and one of their leaders, a general, will command the new Blades. An othertriber—is the new Firstblade.”
“Are you drunk, Noki?” I asked.
“That’s smart,” said Baagh.
I looked at him with squinting eyes as he continued.
“The strong always share the flesh of the weak. A king must see far into the future, look beyond tribes. Malan is both. He must have had great teachers.”
“But it is another tribe. Another god,” I said to him. I had the same Guides as Malan, yet I could not follow his mind.
“The gods change every couple of thousand feet here. Those cities of the South have the same God as Thalassopolis, but the High Priests will not allow them to worship Him as they wish. They have been marked as heretics, abandoned by the Empire. The three cities hate Thalassopolis as much as they hate your tribe. Maybe more. Your men are feared, but those of the Empire are despised now. They never showed up. They were collecting the taxes for decades now to protect them, yet they abandoned everyone to you. A disgrace.”
“You’re saying that the othertribers will fight with us?”
“Why not? If the deal was rich enough. If it was sealed with gold and the promise of some freedom. And in that order. Keep the taxes low and the wine coming, and they’ll fight for any goddess no matter what she wears. They’ll even fight for a naked witch.”
A strange world was dawning in front of me. I wanted to escape it and run far, far away.
“I won’t stay here for another night,” said Noki.
“Me neither. I will not kneel before an othertriber,” said Leke.
I had made the decision to leave. It looked as if I would have company. My arm was much better. My fate was much worse. I couldn’t command anything anymore, not even my own men. A few faithful friends would follow me, no one else.
“Ride with me,” I said to Noki.
I rode strong for the first time in a very long while, and we made it as far as the walls of Antia, about half a day’s ride, to see the ends of the land that we had conquered. To gaze upon the sea, the one I have heard so much about.
Many of our Archers and Rods had set camp under the walls of Antia. There were no corpses, no siege machines, and no battle—only a vast, loud marketplace. The othertribers were trading their wares, and the Tribe’s men were buying. All of them mixed, walking next to one another, among the carts and the awnings, no naked blades in hand. Ours traded with whatever gold they had snatched. The othertribers sold whatever they had hung on to. They were united under the one new god of coin. Even I stopped when the merchant shouted in my tongue:
“Vaster’s crimson dye! The color of the Emperor. Indigo, indigo of the sea and the sky. Buy the colors, young master.”
I felt neither young nor a master, but I wanted that piece of fabric.
“You can’t find them anywhere else,” the merchant said.
“How does he even speak our tongue?” I asked Noki.
“I am a slave. Kapoukia. He is the merchant,” the young man said, pointing to an ox-fat mountain of a bald man sitting behind him, silent.”
“You can’t find them anywhere else,” the slave repeated.
Better said that I couldn’t ever escape them. I kept finding those colors. The crimson of my campaign, the indigo of her eyes. I had to have it. It was the first spoils of my campaign, and I paid a coin for it.
We rode around the walls and up the hill to where we could watch the Thousand Island Sea spreading out, blue and endless. I smelled her breeze before I saw her, the scents of brine, tamarisk, and bright-purple hollies. It was the smell of a fresh, hungry woman, ready to swallow my body. Above the waters, the gray heron and the seagull were gliding, preying, hungry for their own spoils, their own blood campaign. We were all dueling on the same land, under the one sun: man, animal, bird, or snake, from the north to the ends of the south. Kill, eat, mate.
I saw the sea as if for the first time. I knew her as the black nest of Darhul. I knew her as a witch of hidden power, nursing the monsters in her dark belly. But that was a different sea, temptress but serene, and the sunlight danced, sang, and laughed upon the water. It didn’t scream or roar; it didn’t curse. As if we had reached the ends of the world where Darhul and Enaka had finally made peace, and they sat down like an old man and woman with honey wine. They broke bread and tasted the olives out of the brine. The fierce gods giggled and kissed, not even remembering the days of war. The blue sea made me long for her. The one I had left behind at Kar-Tioo.
We rode back silently. My mind was faster than my legs once again, looking forward to tomorrow. A journey. A new beginning. Metamorphosis. I was dreaming awake. I had no more lust for blood or Story.
“How many men do we have left, Leke?” I asked back at the camp.
“Three hundred. Hardly eight Packs.”
“Choose a hundred of our best men who want to return with us to Sirol. We are going back.”
Leke smiled his mangled smile. Noki embraced me.
“About time, Firstblade.”
They left immediately to gather the men who would be joining us.
I sat until very late at night with Baagh and enjoyed my meat in front of the fire with a new appetite. We had brought bread and fruits from Antia, together with sweet bronze-colored wine.
“I will tell you my Story, Baagh, but your duty is not over. Your Story is just beginning. You will come with me.”
I started with the Sieve. It took me two nights to finish my Story, with much wine, telling him as little as possible about Zeria. I didn’t want to talk about her. She was mine alone, even if I had never had her. He never stopped me—never asked me anything. I was looking at the fire, and the words spilled out easily, as if I were talking to myself, listening to my own head. He didn’t stop me with those whys; he didn’t judge me. My heart was healing as I talked.
Only when I uttered the last word did Baagh speak, “You are more than I thought, Da-Ren. You are wrapped in some magic. A spell.”
“A spell? I’ve heard that before.”
“Why haven’t Malan and Sah-Ouna managed to kill you yet? Unless only one of the two is trying, I am not sure yet.”
I answered with lies. That way, I knew I would hear more.
“No one is trying to kill me.”
“It’s your story—the one you just spoke—not mine. The Ssons hunted you down when you were lost in the Forest. Rouba falls pierced by their arrows. You are forgotten there, and that’s how Malan becomes Khun. A few days later, an Ouna-Ma comes into your tent with two cups of poison and dies. You survive. They send you as Chief to the Blades. You survive the worst fate. They send you first into Varazam, and you survive again. In Apelo, they leave you alone, and this is certain death, and then they set your arm wrong and give you a clay doll and marjoram bush to heal. You always survive. May the six-winged angels damn me if I am wrong, but I would wager that they are trying to kill you.”
“I never said those were Ssons in the Forest.”
“I said it, unless you believe that they were Reekaal, the mythical demons whom none of you has ever seen.”
“What cups of poison?” I asked.
“You see? That’s all you doubt. So you agree about the rest.”
“I am not used to this half-speak, Baagh. You speak clearly now, or I’ll open you from navel to throat. What cups?”
My arm no longer hurt. I could even sleep on my side. In its place was the pain of knowing, the agony of the truth.
“An Ouna-Ma, your first, comes into your hut holding two cups. You drink from them, make love, you p
uke fire and bile, and she whispers Drakon and never wakes. Either they poisoned you or—unless you believe their legends: that you are a Drakon. Why didn’t you die, Da-Ren?”
He placed his thumb on my face and pulled the eyelid down to look deep inside. He let go after two breaths and asked me again.
“Are you really a Drakon?”
“Make love? What’s that?” I asked.
“You can call it what you wish. Whatever you did with that Ouna-Ma. It’s not what killed her, though.”
“Are they real? Drakons?” I asked.
“Oh yes. They’re all very real. But you are not a Drakon, I know that. Do you think that you are?”
“Curse you! No. What are you asking me?”
“The Drakon has immense powers. He is always alone and protects his one precious treasure. It has enchanted him and has made him its captive. He’ll even give his eternal life for it. A Drakon can destroy an entire tribe on his own, thousands of men, with his rage. Are you protecting some treasure, Da-Ren? That is what I have to know.”
It was right there that I finally knew that Drakons existed. Because they had the same Legend in every tribe, the same description. Sorcerers and Witches from the far ends of the world who have never seen one another and didn’t even speak the same tongue. They all had the same Story. How could that be? Unless they had actually seen them.
“All I have is a few gold coins,” I said.
“I thought so. Better for you.”
“Why do you think Malan wants to kill me?”
“Maybe it’s not him but Sah-Ouna. Look, there are two truths. The first, the one of magic, says you are truly a Drakon. Your mother was an ice queen of the North and spewed deadly fire when your father fucked her. You have inherited the otherworldly powers and her immortal dark-violet blood, and all of Sah-Ouna’s spells are useless on you. The Ouna-Mas are terrified of you. It is Sah-Ouna who wants to kill you because you were born nine days after the day she came on power, and the stars say that you are her opposite power. But then again, I’ve seen your blood, and it’s a boring red.”
“The other one then?” I asked.
“The other truth says that you have been with Malan since childhood, you envied him, and he knows that you will never obey him blindly. Neither your legs nor your mind will ever bow to him. So he wants you out of the way. Which truth do you believe?”
Drakon Omnibus Page 72
