Raven's Warrior

by Pratchett, Vincent

  It was his color, however, that caused the three to look at me once more, for his skin was as blue as mine, and I understood their previous glances. My soul passed through this awareness with the sound of thunder, and quickly my mind and body moved on. Mah Lin’s silence was the voice of trust. They could see that I now walked in two worlds. For me the dominion of dream had awakened into day, and I moved without doubt or hesitation.

  The woad blue weaving from the capital lay in place beneath my saddle, and I was upon it before any could ask a question. Bending from my mount, I kissed Selah one last time and turned in the direction of the approaching battalion. Mah Lin was by my side, and to his protests I said easily, “You and the beggar know what must be done. Your path is priesthood. You must protect the treasures of this land. I have always ridden the winds of war, and that will never change. Ride now, out past the smoke you saw and into the journey that lies beyond it.”

  Mah Lin strapped his cutting staff to my beast as I tugged the reigns, kicked my heels, and galloped toward the approaching storm.

  Away

  They rode at a quickened pace, and although Selah did not complain, the monk and beggar knew that she could feel every placing of her horse’s hooves. Together they reached the oak tree. It was as leafless as when her warrior had first seen it, and it spoke to Selah of courage and endurance. She remembered when it had reached into the heavens to take what it needed, she remembered how it drank so deeply on that late summer’s day so long ago, and she remembered that first long kiss. Selah smiled, but only briefly, for present reality quickly overpowered reverie.

  The three traveled along the river that had graciously shared its rainbow fish and moved up beside the roaring falls of forge and cavern. The horses paused to drink as lightning arced across the sky and threatened to lash down upon what was once a mountain of fire. A quiet cry emerged from Selah’s lips. The priest and beggar didn’t know if it was a sudden pain or the thought of Arkthar alone and embattled. It mattered not, and to the sound of the raven overhead they pushed onward.

  They spoke with no words, moving upon a sea of destruction together in one small boat. The three looked upon everything as they passed it and touched everything with all their senses. They tried to savor every moment and cherish every memory, but the pain of Arkthar’s absence sliced through every peaceful recollection like a vengeful sword. The rains dripped freely now from horse and rider. It was a cold downpour and drove sideways, pushed by wind or perhaps by wings.

  Within the hour they were huddled in the clearing. The lion looked down at them from its great height. Selah thought once more about the warrior as she reached up and touched the inscription as she had before, but now those words of protection only mocked her loneliness and misery. Black was both the color of her sorrow and the powder on her palm. Unlike the powder, however, it would not be washed away by the driving rain.

  Her father and the beggar pulled her forcefully from her desolation. Arkthar’s actions would not be in vain. Mah Lin knew that in the warrior’s world a pure sacrifice is offered to seek the favor of his god, perhaps it is not so different here. The horses carried them through the expanse of that clearing and onward to where the warrior’s fire had liberated the fractured ruins of the protecting wall.

  They rode through the forgotten stones onto the side of the dry moat’s trench; they passed through Death’s cold gateway and into exile.

  The Measure Taken

  Mah Lin once told me that my horse’s breed is of the desert land from whence they claimed me. A heavenly horse he had called it. At full speed the rhythm of its beating hooves sounded like the drums of battle. I wondered if it would truly sweat blood like the priest had said. Before the animal had broken into a full and furious lather, I came upon a party of twelve advancing scouts. Although the rhythmic pounding of our approach was far from stealthy, they stood shocked and frozen by our sudden appearance. It was the costly moment of indecision that often comes before defeat, and it was through this moment that my steel did cut.

  I drew first blood. My weapon moved so swiftly that the eye could not see it, and with the beginnings of a scream the first man fell and writhed upon the damp dark ground. My sword found the next closest, and he made not sound nor movement from where he lay. Fear and confusion gripped them tightly, as they encircled us as best they could. I descended from my perch and sliced cleanly through the next as I landed. Without command my steed held firmly to my back, and with eyes battle wild, rose and flayed as men fell before him. Back to flank we held fast and met each new attack with steel and hoof.

  I saw the largest of the soldiers draw the knife from his leather belt. He hurled it with all his power towards my chest, but with a turn of waist the missile flew past and lodged with a thud in the heart of its launcher’s compatriot. The man’s eyes widened and he fell without word. My blade flew low to cleave the leg of the next man standing and flashed once more to end the scream.

  Their compliance mirrored their relief when I shouted, “Drop your weapons.”

  With these four men who now held nothing but their fear, I pressed onward to meet the main body. From horseback I could see the one in bear cloak from a great distance as he paced among and yet apart from his men. He stopped in his tracks when we were spotted, and in his long moment of hesitation a voice from deep inside me rang out for all to hear.

  “My name is Arkthar. In the language of my people, its meaning is Bear.”

  The Supreme Commander felt these words fly like a black fletched arrow to the heart of his nightmare, and although the blood drained instantly from his twisted face, his fear was hidden behind the moon bear’s fierce visage. He saw the remnants of his elite scouting party standing downcast before me, and he raged openly at their incompetence.

  My voice continued.

  “Know now that all evil that chooses to come against us shall be crushed, and know that here, by command of the First Emperor, the righteous are protected for all time.”

  I watched for the response and it came swiftly. A signal from the commander released the arrows, and as the scouts fell before me, my sword cut through the shower of falling arrows like child’s play, and within its mist I retreated. At the end of this great volley, the commander strained his vision through the distance to assess the damage inflicted. The commander saw neither horse nor rider. We had disappeared as if by magic, and the memory of the temple mount stung him once again. But on this day he vowed the prey would not elude him, and he screamed the order to advance.

  By the time he and his troops had reached the twisted pile of his own dead men, my steed and I had reached our empty home.

  The Hare And The Hounds

  I had seen ‘The Hare and the Hounds’ played many times as a child. The rabbit was released into a large flat field and ran terrified toward the safety of the forest. At the count of sixty, the dogs were set free and flew barking after the prey. The bets were made, and we as children laughed and cheered the sport. Seldom did the hare lose, because while the dogs ran only for their dinner, the hare was running for its life.

  I had given my family a good head start, and now I would ensure their safe escape. I could hear the horde, as their distance began to close. The din sounded like the snapping and snarling of the winter wolves hunting in a hungry pack, moving on the scent of blood and life. I patted the side of my great steed to calm him for our task. As I drew away my hand I was astonished. The priest was right, they do sweat blood. My amazement vanished when a closer inspection revealed the wound upon his back. It was not mortal, but it would slow us down. I bound it quickly, as best I could, and reassessed the chances of the hare.

  When I mounted, the steed reared in painful protest. As I fought to steady him, a long branch of lightning streaked across the blackened sky, and the shimmering rains fell. I took measure of the position of the ever-closing evil and felt the eternal eye of the long dead beast look down from its great height. It begged from clouds for its release. “The Dragon is here,” I sa
id to no one.

  As I entered the clearing of the great iron guardian, I reached down and drew Mah Lin’s steel staff from its place on my charger’s flank. I vaulted from my steed up upon the lion’s cold wet back. Ignoring the treacherous footing, I climbed high upon its unflinching head and stared up into the char black skies. I raised the bladed tip to salute the maelstrom and drove it down and through the enormous iron mane. From my height I saw the distant forms of men and weapons and waited patiently for the hunters to see me too.

  The chase began. I was down in a flash, and upon my wounded horse I rode desperately for the shelter of the wall. Although the distance was not a great one, I could not push my horse beyond a canter. Time slowed painfully. At last the protecting stones appeared before me, and I drove my mount the final lengths to the safety of their far side. I scrambled with sword in hand to the highest peak of the massive blocks and looked back upon the clearing. It filled and swelled with the commander and his murderous troops.

  On mass they poured into the clearing like a mindless hunter entering the cave of the great moon bear, and the winds howled with the plaintive cries of her orphaned cubs.

  Lightning now overflowed from its heavenly confines and spilt down around me. I raised the Sword of Five Elements and called out to the dragon in the language of my dreams. I saw without thought that I now gripped its handle with my left index finger along its shaft and cradled it with the fist of my right, the position of the vajra mudra.

  The elements lay before me. Surrounded by forest wood, the metal effigy stood proud and unrepentant upon the earth while the water of the falling rain washed over all. High above me, fire, the giver and taker of life, lacerated the crow black clouds. I felt Death by my side, as I shouted up through the winds.

  I spoke the language from before the time of men.

  The Apocalypse

  With one great crack the massive bolt of lightning split the heavens and descended with all the force of Thor’s great hammer. It flew straight and true, piercing both rain and darkness. Drawn to Mah Lin’s steel staff embedded high upon the head of the guardian, it struck, and in that moment linked the earth with the heavens.

  My eyes burned with the blinding white flash, and my dark world was lit with the power of a thousand suns. A heartbeat later my ears were deafened by the unleashing of the dragon, another beat within my chest, and I was blown back and off the wall and fell lifeless to the bottom of the deep, damp trench. I did not see the skies rain blood and flesh of those that were once men.

  I tumbled backwards through the world of dreams and sensed nothing but the beating of a single drum. Empty silence soon took its place as I sank deeper through a great abyss. In the blackness I heard the old one call my name. I saw the woman dressed in white and listened to her song. Like a fish I swam upwards to the powerful sound of her gentle voice, and at the surface I awoke within her arms. My eyes opened but it was not an ancient face I saw, it was Selah’s.

  Tears flowed down her cheeks and I watched their forms mingle with the drops of driving rain. The monk and the beggar knelt beside me, their lips moved but I still heard only the rushing winds of my dreams. They had come back for me.

  Mah Lin held my sword, and as they helped me to my feet, the sound of the gentling rains returned.

  I climbed back to my perch upon the wall and looked to the clearing to see if it had been only a dream. Leafless trees still held their ground. The broken, twisted branches of the blackened trunks held rags and strips that were now the leaves of nightmare. The guardian lion of the First Emperor was gone. A round and blackened scar marked its place upon the earth where it had for so long proudly stood.

  The complexion of war had been forever changed, and Death would reap like never before. I heard beneath the silence of a solitary hill, the stirring of the terra cotta soldiers and the waking of an Emperor.

  We on four horses, one red, one white, one black, and one pale grey, moved silently beyond the devastation, onward.

  The Valley Of Decision

  Most within the fertile glen were dead. The boy had thrown himself upon the ground to call on his god’s help. He prayed not for himself, but for his friends, the quarry that he had been forced to chase. Fate had protected him. His selfless and penitent action had secured his salvation. Prostrated upon the ground, the gentle page had felt the unleashing of the dragon. It had emerged from the clouds and stepped from the world of dreams down into the world of men.

  In its aftermath he struggled to stand, in tatters and in shock. He stumbled forward, driven only by the primal urge to escape this nightmare. Staggering through the anguish, he thought that he was free. Relief washed over him like the steady downpour, and tears of joy carved channels down his muddied cheeks. Outside the glen he collapsed upon the blood red dirt.

  The boy had no idea how long he had lain unconscious, but the coldness of his body spoke of hours. He looked nervously into the glen to see if all remembered might just have been imagined, but it had not. Weapons of war and the broken remnants of life littered the field like the oak leaves of autumn. The odor burned within his nostrils. It was brimstone and fire; it was the smell of death. The page wandered aimless and unsteady, back into the open field unsure of purpose or direction.

  The cry of a wounded animal drew his attention, yet he saw no scavengers here to feast upon the dead. Watching and listening, he saw a movement that chilled his soul. Not twenty paces from where he stood, the blackened hide rose and fell and tried once more to come alive. Ironically, it was the moon bear’s own hide that shielded and protected the man who had taken her from life and family.

  The page moved through the fog of war with only the thought, ‘the time is now’ to drive him on. Like the walking wounded the page advanced upon the animal, unaware of the muddied boulder he carried between his hands. He drew alongside the commander, paused, and drew new breath. Arkthar’s lessons were fresh again upon his mind, ‘think nothing, feel nothing.’ His arms strained and trembled as the large rock was hoisted high above his head.

  The commander collapsed again and rolled over, so that now they met eye to eye, one supine and one stretched tall. All thoughts of murder had compressed into this one defining moment, in an instant he would at last be free. The boy hovered between heaven and earth as he looked upon the man that had menaced him for so long. The commander gazed up at the heavy stone and back to the page that held it. The cruel eyes begged him now, not for life but for freedom from it, and in an instant it was over.

  The rock was hurled down landing beside the commander’s twisted face with a loud but harmless thud.

  Southern Winds

  She came like the southern winds, unseen by all until she was upon them. She stood before the page, who rubbed his eyes as if waking from a dream. She had changed much since their last encounter, yet he knew her well. Amid the ruins of the mangled grove, she was resplendent. Her silver hair was neatly pinned, and white was the color she now wore. He stared at the leather amulet around her neck from which coins and jade hung like the cascade of a gentle waterfall. She filled his silence with a graceful bow, “I am here to serve, young Lord,” she said in a voice much younger than her many years.

  She had journeyed far. Over many li she had trudged through changing landscapes, and like them, she, too, had been transformed. Since her night with the beggar, the madness no longer came to plague her mind. Her gift of divination faded, new sounds called her from beyond. They began quietly at first, a rustling of dry leaves in a surging breeze. She listened as she walked, and their voices grew clearer. In place and time the dead can speak loudly to the living, and they led the broken oracle along a different path. From her chrysalis of desolation, the sacred shaman had emerged.

  She spun slowly, but with balanced precision, taking survey of the destruction that surrounded them. The screams of the wounded filled the air, but far louder to her were the cries of men already dead. Her voice felt to the page like a potent balm on an open wound, “We have much work to
do.” The young man nodded and drew strength from her presence. The boy felt the winds of change swirling around him. He straightened, collected, and began.

  Not trained to the military way, he never the less intuitively brought order. He organized the slightly wounded and the merely terrified into a cohesive working unit. They were responsible for stopping the flow of blood and the binding of broken limbs. In time the moans of the wounded subsided, and many others too damaged to continue, died where the lion had thrown them. He borrowed power from the shaman, who chanted and danced in ceremony to free the spirits of the dead.

  Salvage was order, and anything that could be used to carry the wounded home was crafted for its new purpose. When he was satisfied with the progress made on these fronts, he began his dreadful task. From the anguish of men, he moved to address the suffering of the horses. Some were shaken but unscathed, some wounded but not beyond function, and some he dispatched quickly to end their agony. When he had finished this, he turned to reassess the changing needs of the destroyed battalion.

  The commander was laid and bound on a level section of the glen. The page assigned an older soldier to tend his wounds and give him water should he ask. None questioned how it was that a mere youth of no rank or stature had taken command. When all is undone, respect is earned by competence and ability, and the boy had both of these. The cart he had seen near the ancient homestead was drawn by hand to the glen. The page looked toward the shaman, who still danced upon the bridge between two worlds. Her gaze directed his attention to the crater where once a lion had stood, and he understood exactly what the next task would be, for the hole was wide and deep.