by Dana Marton
I gasped as he fell, his blood gushing onto the stone floor. Tremors racked my body at such cold-blooded murder.
The guards dragged the body out without the slightest show of emotion. Joreb’s boy, having taken a quick step closer to his father, now stared wide-eyed at the bloodstain.
“Do you know why I had to cut this spy down?” the High Lord addressed him.
The boy hesitated, frozen for a second from the great honor.
His father stood still as he watched the exchange.
“Once a turncoat, always a turncoat, my Lord,” the boy said at last, as Batumar wiped his blade. “He betrayed his people to the enemy for his mother, then betrayed his new lords and pledged to join our armies to keep his own life. He would have betrayed us too.”
“Well said.” Batumar nodded.
Joreb did not exactly smile, but his gaze did soften.
I reeled from the hideous, merciless violence but refused to let my knees tremble. I would not have any murderous Kadar see me weak.
I was about to ask the High Lord for leave when one of the Palace Guard strode in to report that a horseman had ridden ahead to Karamur to carry news of our approach. Batumar sent me to his chamber to prepare for our journey.
Later that day as we rode on for the High Lord’s seat, Batumar slowed his beast until it walked next to mine. “Where did the first prisoner come from?”
For a moment I thought to feign ignorance to avoid punishment, but I had just that day decided that I would no longer cower in fear in front of any Kadar, even if the price be my life. “The Kingdom of Orh or somewhere near.”
“What did he tell you?”
I should have known he would notice. “He begged to die, my Lord.”
“But you healed him.”
“I tried.”
“Will he live?”
“If the spirits will it.”
A moment of silence passed before he said, “If I see you practice deceit again, you will not live to regret it.”
I knew him to be a man who meant the words he spoke. “But I will not come to harm from you today?” I asked, trusting that if he said so, I would be yet safe to see another morning.
He shook his head, some resemblance of a smile playing at his crooked lips, the expression so unlike him, I found it more frightening than friendly.
* * *
We rode hard, stopping briefly at midday. I picked some stinky kukuyu weeds from the side of the road where they grew freely and prepared a poultice for the leg of a manyinga that had begun to limp. I had to crawl between the beast’s legs, each double the thickness of my waist, to apply the medicine.
I asked him to stay still, told him I understood his pain and was trying to help. With a single step, the manyinga could have broken more bones in my body than a person could break and still live, but the beast stood still as I worked. I caught a couple of warriors watching me, although they turned every time I glanced their way.
Once I helped the manyinga, I strode into the woods to relieve myself. I did not try to run away this time—I tried to sneak away. But once again, I could not sneak past Batumar’s guards. His men worked together in a way I had not seen among Lord Tahar’s warriors or among the Shahala. He scarcely gave orders. They simply knew his will and did it.
Soon we mounted and rode on. I watched the manyinga, and it seemed the poultice took some of the pain as he did not favor his leg as much as before. When the sun slipped low in the sky, we stopped and dismounted, and the guards went about setting up the tents.
Some warriors spread out to collect firewood for the night, and I did the same, aware that no other servant traveled with the small group but I, surprised that they did not expect me to do all the work. None were assigned to guard me, but every time I walked any distance, one would move so he could keep me in sight.
I grew so accustomed to constantly having their eyes on me that I did not feel something else also watched me, until it was almost too late. I collected dry twigs for starting the fire, at the edge of a clearing where it met the thick woods. When I heard the rustling behind me in the bushes, I thought it another warrior. The sudden rumbling growl had me swirling around in a hurry.
And then I saw the tiger.
~~~***~~~
CHAPTER NINE
(The Fortress City)
The tiger growled again, louder this time.
Warriors moved in slowly, gliding silently over the ground. They would not reach me in time. I stood rooted to the spot and stared at the giant cat, double the size of the ones that roamed the Shahala forests.
She watched, her muscles tensing for the jump. Her belly hung low. She had recently eaten—I hoped enough. She was also swollen with milk, although I could not see her cubs. She growled again. I slipped back a step. Her litter had to be nearby. Maybe she was just warning me off.
I slipped back another slow step and hummed the spirit song my mother had taught me. She had sung it when once a snake twisted around my ankle on top of a numaba tree. The song had no words. I hummed the melody while sending its meaning to the tiger in the way of the spirits.
Oh great mother, I told her, I mean no harm to you or your children. Oh great sister, I said, we are both children of the earth and the sky.
I hummed and backed away step by step. She let me go but did not relax her muscles. Her fierce gaze moved to something behind me. Keeping one eye on her, I glanced back in time to see one of the warriors notching his arrow.
I yelled for him to stop, but warriors took no orders from slaves or from women. He let the arrow loose at the same time as the tiger lunged, her powerful hind legs propelling her over my head as she flew at the man.
He missed the tiger, but the arrows of the other warriors dug deep into her side before she pounced on her target and brought the guard down in a crash that shook the ground. The man yanked his dagger, not much protection against claws and teeth.
The burst of violence had me drawing back in horror, as grunts mixed with rumbling growls. Blood glistened on the ground, soon mixing into mud. The dozen arrows hanging from the tiger’s side bled her strength. And suddenly the two opponents lay listless.
The rest of the guards closed in to finish off the tiger, but I ran to her side without thought.
“Stop,” I begged, and the men did, not because of my plea but because the High Lord burst into the clearing, his sword drawn.
The warriors parted before him, awaiting his command. He sheathed his weapon, shoved the injured tiger off the man, and lowered himself onto one knee beside his guard.
“Will Zordak live?” He turned his sharp gaze upon me.
Skin and muscle hung from the man’s shoulder in strips, revealing the bone beneath.
“If the spirits will it.” I stepped another step closer to the tiger and stretched out my arms to protect her. All I could think of were her innocent cubs that would starve to death in the woods.
Batumar’s dark eyes narrowed. “For the life of my man, I would give you the life of the tiger.”
He did not understand the way of healers. I would have tried everything in my power to heal the fallen man without promise of reward. And I would have done everything to save the tiger even under threat of punishment.
“I will help Zordak as best I can. But the spirits hold his life, not I.”
He gave a curt nod as he stood, and the warriors lifted the man to return him to his tent with haste. I followed close behind, and at once I began to boil and cool water to cleanse the wounds. I had some herbs to prepare a potion against infection, although not enough, and no moonflower tears.
I numbed the man’s mind against pain and told his body to heal, not knowing whether it would listen. I called to the spirits, in case they had not completely abandoned me.
When I had done all I could, I returned to the clearing where two guards stood a good distance from the tiger, their arrows notched and ready. I stepped right in front of those arrows. The tiger gave a weak growl.
I humm
ed. I came to help, great mother.
She understood. She stayed still as I pulled the arrows and smeared disinfectant paste on the wounds that were not as deep as I had feared. She still wore her thick winter coat, a veritable armor. She bled, but I did not think the arrows hit anything vital deep in her body.
I had sinew and a bone needle but did not close any of her wounds. Should infection set in, they needed a way to drain. She might, in any case, tear the stitches out.
The disinfectant paste drew the edges together tightly enough for the bleeding to nearly stop. As the herbs I used had a bitter taste, I had hope that she would not lick off the paste.
Her cubs mewed faintly in the thicket as I worked. From time to time, she lifted her massive head to look that way. Silently I sang to her about her pain lifting with the vapor of her breath, of strength returning into her as she drew in the crisp air of the woods.
The guards never lowered their arrows as long moments passed. Then at last, the tiger stood on shaking legs. I stayed on the ground, perfectly still.
She limped toward the thicket on paws as big as my head, stopping only once to lick blood from her fur and look back. And maybe she had her own spirit song, because for a moment a perfect peace descended on me, right there in the middle of the Kadar forest.
The guards ended that, urging me to return to their injured brother. So I hurried back to our clearing and the man’s tent. I found the High Lord inside when I entered.
He turned to me from inspecting the warrior’s wounds. “Can you do something for the fever?”
I stepped closer to feel the man’s forehead, the heat a shock against my palms. I pulled off his blanket, leaving his body exposed to the cold air. But he needed more, so I wet some rags and covered as much of his near-naked body as I could.
I checked the infusion of feverfew in his cup. I had prepared the medicine before I had left to see to the tiger. The color looked right, so I soaked the end of a clean rag in the liquid, then squeezed and dripped as much as I could between the man’s cracked lips.
I wished I had more resources than the healing plants I had received from Onra and the ones I had gathered during our journey. Accumulating herbs anytime I passed through woods or fields was as habitual as breathing, my gaze constantly searching for familiar shapes and colors, but the forest was just awakening from its winter sleep, my pickings slim.
The High Lord watched my ministrations closely. Did he look to find fault in me? Did he understand that no healer could change the will of the spirits? My hand jumped, and I dribbled some of the infusion onto my patient’s neck. I quickly wiped it off with my sleeve.
“Zordak wanted only to protect you,” Batumar said.
“The tiger wanted only to protect her young.” The guard had moved to attack first. Until then, the tiger had been willing to let us go with a warning.
Batumar watched me for a moment but said nothing as he left us. I breathed a sigh of relief and stayed until Zordak rested peacefully at last.
The aroma of cooking food scented the night air outside as I stepped from the tent, so I walked toward the small fire in the middle of our encampment. One of the warriors handed me a bowl. I sat on the cold ground away from the men and ate my evening meal, nearly dizzy with exhaustion, barely tasting the thin stew.
When I finished, I rinsed the bowl and left it with the rest. I walked back toward Zordak to stay the night with the injured warrior, but one of the Palace Guards strode out of the darkness and led me to the High Lord’s tent that stood in the middle of our encampment.
I went without protest. Zordak would not be alone. Unlike their High Lord, the warriors slept four to a tent.
I stepped inside, grateful for the small heat of the torch stuck in the ground in the middle. A water jar stood to my left, Batumar’s trunk and cot taking up most of the space, the latter covered in furs. I grabbed a handful of pelts, and I settled down in the corner.
The furs and my cloak kept me warm but did little to soften the hard ground. Still, I thanked the spirits to be sleeping under cover and not out in the open. I doubted slaves on the road were accustomed to such luxury as I was afforded.
I dozed, barely waking when Batumar ducked in. The wind picked up and howled outside. I burrowed deeper into my coverings.
The tent in front of our Shahala house where my mother used to receive the sick was made of cool linen, letting the breeze through to provide everyone with fresh air. The Kadar made tents from scraped animal hides, the panels sewn together tightly. I was beginning to appreciate the wisdom of that.
Batumar stood over me. “My men say you healed the tiger.”
Although the tent had a small smoke hole, he had not lit a fire. I wondered how cold the weather would have to turn for him to consider one necessary.
“A mother should not be taken from her cubs.”
He stood in silence for a while. “She did not harm you. Tugren says you sang to her. Must have been some song.” A brief silence passed before he went on. “I know a man like that, Lord Karnagh, a warlord of great power from Regnor. His people talk to tigers, even bring them to battle.”
I thought about the tiger in the clearing. I did not want the High Lord to think that I would or could talk the tiger into following the warriors into a fight. “Those must be wondrous people indeed. This one allowed me to heal her, but she could have just as easily turned against me.”
Another moment of silence passed as he considered my words. “Stay on your manyinga during the day; even tigers will not attack the beasts. At the midday break and in the evenings, stay close to the tents and the warriors.”
To do otherwise would have been foolish, so I agreed. This once I had been lucky.
I had to accept the fact that traveling through these woods alone would be too dangerous. On my way home from Karamur, I would have to find another way. War approached; everyone said so. When the High Lord and his warriors left the fortress city, I would sneak away and seek a caravan heading south. Maybe they would be willing to take a healer along even if I could not pay the fee.
And I would find my mother’s grave in the meanwhile and find out how she had died. I would say the Last Blessing over her grave. The more I thought about that, the more certain I became that it was for that very reason the spirits brought me all this way.
“Sing me the tiger song.”
Without the tiger, I had some trouble finding the words in my heart. Oh Great Mother—
How could I call the High Lord my mother and sister? But then new words sprang to life, and I hummed the song, talking to him in the language of spirits.
Oh Great Lord, I said without words. Hear the plight of your people. Hear the cry of your slaves. Oh great man, set me free.
He listened for a while. “That stayed the tiger? You said nothing, just made noises?”
Not words that could be mistaken for a compliment. “The tiger spared me because she had a full belly.” I did not think Batumar understood my spirit song. Maybe there could never be such a connection between a Shahala and a Kadar. They did not respect the spirits and worshipped only their god of war.
“Will she attack us in the night?”
Animals were nobler than men, knowing nothing of revenge, I wanted to say, but then I realized the true meaning of his question. He was asking whether I had told to tiger to attack so that I could escape. “No, my Lord.”
“I do not want you to talk to any beasts. I would not have you put fear into my warriors’ hearts.”
He had nothing to worry about, for truly I could not talk to animals; I merely sang songs in my heart. Perhaps they sensed my spirit’s songs, or perhaps they were calmed by the humming. I could certainly not claim that I had ever made an animal do as I pleased.
“I shall not talk to any beasts,” I promised.
“Then you may rest, for you will not come to harm from my hands today.” Batumar turned and grabbed the torch, stuck it in the ground upside down, and plunged the tent into darkness. His cot
creaked as he lay down upon it.
* * *
We traveled north, farther and farther from my people, for seven days and nights through the wild forests. Although the trees broke the wind and it snowed only once, cold seeped inside me until my very heart shivered. I kept my cloak drawn tight and dug my legs into the manyinga’s shaggy fur to soak up the warmth of his body.
Zordak, the injured man, rode in the cart, and the warrior whose manyinga I rode took the man’s beast. Our days passed very much the same. We could have ridden on the main road that snaked along the towns of the large plains below, but the journey would have taken many more days, and Batumar wanted to hurry.
On the seventh day, a warrior ran forth to announce our imminent arrival and carry the High Lord’s instructions. On the morning of the eighth, we broke out of the forest, and before us spread Karamur in all its majesty, flying a myriad of gold and red banners, the High Lord’s colors. By then, Zordak had recovered enough to ride his own beast once again.
The silver dust of frost covered the fields and huts that dotted the road leading to the fortress, the rising sun adding gold speckles as it glinted off the white rocks of the city. Karamur sprawled, larger than I had imagined; it could have provided shelter for all the people I had ever known.
My new prison. And yet I could not deny that the fortress held some foreign beauty. My mother had been here once and seen these walls. The thought softened me a little.
The High Lord’s city had been built into the side of the mountain. The back of the palace—the largest building—was carved from the mountain rock itself, with the front walls and towers built on.
I felt as if the Forgotten City itself had risen up from the myths, and would not have been surprised to see the Guardians coming to greet us. But no round dome of the Forum rose in the midst of the houses. And I did not think the Forgotten City had ever been this closely guarded. That city had been a gathering place of wise men and not armies.
