'It's only about two miles away,' Bradan said. 'We should reach it long before these vessels reach us. With luck, they might not even see us.' He gave quick instructions. 'Don't hoist the sail as it will make us more visible. Row, fast and hard.'
Taking the steering oar, Bradan pointed the bow toward the double-peaked hill. 'Pray to Shiva, people, and I will pray to my own God.'
'I think we're too late,' Banduka said. 'They're altering course.'
The shape of the Thiruzha sails had altered, as the vessels moved toward the Singhalese boat.
'They're much larger than us,' Bradan said. 'They are two-masted Thiruzha scout ships. They'll carry thirty men and twenty oars each, with two or three times our speed.' A shift of wind brought the thunder of drums to them.
Bradan glanced at Melcorka. 'I won't let them take you. Forget what I said and hoist the sail. Move!'
The sail bellied for a moment, pushing them forward, then sagged as the wind died. The boat's speed dropped.
'Everybody row,' Bradan ordered. 'Everybody, find what you can and row as if your lives depended on it. You too, Melcorka!'
'More than our lives depend on this,' Chaturi said. 'The balance of the world depends on us.'
The Singhalese fishing boat was broad-beamed and bulky, built for carrying a cargo of fish, not for racing predators across the sea. The Thiruzha scouts outmatched them, approaching at an angle, trying to cut off the Singhalese boat before it reached the land. Bradan glanced at the scouts and then at the line of palm trees that marked the land. They might make it. They might not.
'Row!' Bradan ordered. 'Row!' He again heard the beat of the drum as the Thiruzha shipmasters urged their slaves to greater effort. The bow-wave from each Thiruzha vessel was tall and silver-white, with spume and spindrift rising in a manner Bradan would have found beautiful if the situation had been different. As it was, he saw only the menace. Now, the Thiruzha vessels were so close that he could make out the features of the men on board. He saw the glint of sunlight on spears and helmets and heard the hoarse cries of the warriors.
The first arrow whizzed out a moment later, to fall a cable's-length short in the smooth swells of the sea.
'They're firing at us,' Banduka said.
'They are,' Bradan agreed. He glanced ahead. They were less than a quarter of a mile from land, with everybody straining to row, but the Thiruzha scouts were nearly within hailing distance and arrows were landing all around.
'One last effort!' Bradan urged. He saw Kosala eyeing a bow and shook his head. 'No, Kosala. I know you want to fight back, but it's more important you use your muscles to move us forward.'
Chaturi nodded agreement, ducking when an arrow thudded into the planking at her side. 'Row!'
They hit the beach with a crunch of timber on yellow sand and tumbled out before the next wave broke. The beach was long and smooth, backed by a line of rustling palms, with a group of shacks from which bewildered villagers stared at them. A woman in a long pink sari waved, while two plump-bellied children laughed to see these curious strangers on their beach.
'Run!' Bradan shouted. 'Run for your lives! The pirates are coming!'
'No,' Chaturi said. 'Don't warn them. They might distract the Thiruzha, which will give us space and time.'
Bradan shook his head. 'I'm not sacrificing these innocent people just to save our lives.'
'We're not sacrificing these people to save our lives,' Chaturi said. 'We're sacrificing them to save the lives and souls of thousands, perhaps millions of people for all eternity.'
'Sometimes,' Machaendranathar said, 'the few have to be sacrificed to save the many.'
'Not this time,' Bradan said. 'There will be no sacrifices.' He raised his voice, 'Run you, people! The pirates are coming!'
With his warning given, Bradan grabbed Melcorka's hand and pulled her up the beach toward the palm trees.
'It's nice here,' Melcorka protested. 'I want to stay.'
'Not this time, Mel,' Bradan said. 'Run!'
Inland of the palm-thatched village, a network of paths ran in every direction. For a second, Bradan hesitated until Machaendranathar's voice spoke inside his head.
'Follow the map,'Machaendranathar said. 'Follow your instincts.'
Glancing over his shoulder, Bradan heard shouts, rough laughter and frantic screams. Chaturi had been right; the Thiruzha had stopped to ransack the village. He swore, hating himself for knowing that the suffering of the villagers increased his and Melcorka's chances of survival.
'Horses!' he shouted. 'Is there anywhere around here we can get horses?'
'No,' Chaturi said. 'These are poor people. Only the rich have horses.'
'Just like back home,' Bradan said. 'We'll have to keep moving then. Come on, Mel. We have a choice. We can head directly for Sathuragiri, which may be quicker but which the Thiruzhas will expect, or we can head north and then west. It will take us longer, but could throw the Thiruzhas off the scent.'
'They are busy ravaging that fishing village,' Chaturi said. 'We'll make as much distance now as we can.'
'Follow the map.' Machaendranathar's voice sounded again. 'Follow your instincts.'
Again, the route was clear. Bradan allowed his feet to take their own course, slipping from one track to another as he came to crossroads and junctions. He was hardly aware of the people around him, except that Melcorka was dragging; she could not go much further. The old Melcorka could have run forever, but this one was thin and weak.
Keep going, Bradan told himself. Keep going. He walked in a daze of exhaustion, carrying Melcorka on his back and limping along forest tracks as the wound in his leg throbbed and opened. Ignoring the insects that feasted on his blood, Bradan concentrated on carrying Melcorka. The world shrank to tiredness, sweat and pain as the wound in his thigh drained his strength.
Walk, keep walking. Move. Ignore the pain. Ignore the rasp of tortured breathing. Ignore the blood flowing down my thigh. Walk. Carry Melcorka. Ignore the screaming agony of my back and arms. Keep walking. Just one more step. And another. And another. Walk. Don't give up. How long, oh, God, how much longer?
'There's Sathuragiri!' Chaturi pointed ahead. The square-sided mountain thrust skyward, ringed by a halo of white cloud. 'We're nearly there.'
Bradan nodded, too spent to waste breath on speech. He looked behind him, where the Thiruzha warriors were spread out in two lines, the sturdy, brown-skinned men jogging tirelessly over the undulations.
'Come on,' Chaturi said. 'Hurry up.'
'We are hurrying,' Machaendranathar said.
Bradan had no idea how old the Siddhars were. One minute they appeared as vital and healthy as teenagers and the next, they had the wisdom of centuries in their eyes. Either way, they kept moving, sometimes labouring, other times trotting. The sight of Sathuragiri invigorated them, increasing their speed.
'The Thiruzhas have also seen the mountain,' Kosala said. 'They're breaking into a canter.'
'One last effort,' Chaturi said. 'Come on, gentlemen. One last effort to reach Sathuragiri and then we can start to set things right.'
Machaendranathar was suddenly exhausted, drawing in each breach with a painful gasp and staggering on his legs. He nodded and continued, with Chaturi supporting him as best she could.
'How far to go?' Banduka asked. 'How far?'
'Only one mile,' Chaturi said. 'Only one more mile and we're there.'
'I can't make another mile,' Machaendranathar gasped. 'I have to stop.'
'We can't stop,' Chaturi encouraged. 'If we stop, the consequences are unthinkable.'
'If we don't stop, you'll be carrying a dead Siddhar to Sathuragiri, and that won't help anybody.' Machaendranathar halted, whooping in great breaths.
'Is there anywhere nearby where we can stand and fight?' Bradan fought the agony of his weary body. 'Is there a natural fortification of some sort?' He looked ahead, where Sathuragiri seemed a distant dream, a mountain of unattainable promise. Behind them, the Thiruzha warriors had closed the distance to a quarter of
a mile. They were moving fast; Bradan estimated they would catch up within five minutes.
'There!' Kosala pointed to a river that lay between them and Sathuragiri. 'We have to cross a ford here. There's deep water on one side and rapids on the other, so the Thiruzha cannot outflank us. It's not great, but it's better than nothing.' He glanced at Bradan. What's in your mind, Bradan?'
'I will stand and fight them off. Chaturi takes the Siddhars to the mountain.'
'You'll die,' Kosala said.
'We all have to die.' Bradan gestured to Melcorka. 'Could you look after Mel for me? If Chaturi is correct, she'll be herself again when all nine Siddhars are together.'
'I'd rather stay and fight,' Kosala said. 'You can't face them all yourself.'
Chaturi and Banduka pushed the two Siddhars through the ford, with the water splashing on either side. Upstream, sad trees dipped in dark water and a white bird hunted for fish beneath a precipitous cliff. Downstream, the river descended in a series of roaring rapids, with white water foaming over ragged rocks. 'Come on, you three.'
'I'm staying.' Bradan took Banduka's sword. He tested it, swinging right and left. It was small and light compared to the longswords of Alba, but well-balanced. 'You get the Siddhars to safety. Take Kosala and Mel with you.'
Chaturi nodded, immediately understanding. 'May Shiva go with you, Bradan.' She turned and pushed on, with the two Siddhars limping in front of her. Birds called in the air, their sounds harsh.
'So here we are.' Bradan took a deep breath and stepped to the middle of the ford. The water came up to his thighs, slowing his movement but cleaning and soothing his wound. Upstream, the white bird continued to fish, standing on a water-smoothed boulder. So here I die, Bradan the Wanderer, acting as a warrior to save Melcorka. He gave a sour grin. I wish I could die back in Alba. I don't want to leave my ghost here, thousands of miles from home. Finding a rock at the side of the ford, Bradan sat down, with the sun warming his head and the water cooling his legs.
Thiruzha voices sounded, loud and querulous. A handful of warriors arrived above the ford. One tested the depth with his spear, found no bottom and hunted up and down the bank for a crossing place. Another swam noisily to the other side, realised there was a steep cliff and returned, to the hoots and jeers of his colleagues.
'Take your time,' Bradan said. 'The longer you take, the more time the Siddhars have to get to their mountain and the more chance of Melcorka becoming herself again.'
The Thiruzhas clustered at the riverbank, some looking downstream and others poking at the ford. One man pointed to Bradan, who sat on his rock, waiting.
'Here they come.' Bradan stood up, sword in hand. 'May God and all his saints look after you, Melcorka. I have done the best I can.'
The Thiruzha mustered on the far bank. Two men stepped into the water, checking the depth. Bradan lifted a rock from the bed of the river, tested it for weight and threw it. The leading Thiruzha jerked aside; the rock flew wide, to land with a splash a yard away. The white bird looked up, spread its wings and returned to its fishing.
A Thiruzha threw a spear that thrummed into the riverbed, and then two men rushed toward Bradan.
'Here we go,' Bradan said. He threw another rock, felt momentary satisfaction when it cracked against the face of the leading warrior, and prepared to defend himself when the second Thiruzha pushed forward. He was shorter than Bradan, with the water reaching his upper thighs.
'Stand aside, Bradan.' It was Kosala's voice. 'You're no warrior.'
Blocking the Thiruzha's lunge with ease, Kosala thrust his blade upward into the man's groin, ripping into his belly. The man screamed shrilly and toppled into the rapids, which swept him away. The second Thiruzha warrior, bleeding where Bradan's stone had caught him, hesitated and withdrew.
Bradan stopped Kosala from charging forward. 'No, Kosala. We are here to delay them, not to make our names as heroes.'
'You are right, Bradan,' Kosala agreed. 'You have some wisdom for a foreigner.'
Such was the nature of the ford that the Thiruzha could only advance on a narrow front. The next man moved more warily, throwing a spear to unsettle Kosala before splashing forward with a swinging sword. Kosala parried the blow and tried the groin stroke again, only for the Thiruzha to block in turn and thrust for Kosala's throat.
'You are a warrior,' Kosala said, as he ducked the thrust and hacked downward, taking the Thiruzha in the thigh. The Thiruzha gasped and retaliated with a wicked thrust to the stomach that forced Kosala to sidestep. The Thiruzha's blade nicked Kosala's ribs; he winced, and for a moment tottered on the edge of the rapids. Seeing his advantage, the Thiruzha thrust at Kosala's throat. Kosala blocked, turned the Thiruzha's blade and pushed him. When the Thiruzha slipped, Kosala stabbed him in the throat before shoving him into the seething white water below the ford.
'They're getting better.' Kosala was gasping with effort. He had to shout above the roar of the rapids.
'You're wounded.' Bradan pointed to Kosala's blood coiling in the river. 'Let me take over for a while.'
'No time.' Kosala readied himself for another fight as two Thiruzha warriors advanced at once.
Lifting the spear the Thiruzha had thrown, Bradan leant his staff against a rock and stepped behind Kosala. 'Here they come again.'
As the Thiruzhas charged forward, their colleagues on the bank unleashed a volley of spears. Bradan parried one with a desperate swing that jarred his arms and then both Thiruzhas were pressing on Kosala.
The Thiruzhas attacked at once, forcing Kosala to withdraw step by step. 'I can't hold them!' he panted.
Another group of Thiruzhas advanced into the ford, shouting as they thrust past their colleagues with long spears and shorter swords.
Swearing, Bradan pushed with his spear, felt a quick surge of satisfaction as he pricked a Thiruzha chest, then gasped as a spear-point scraped along his left arm. Kosala withdrew another step, forcing Bradan to edge further toward the bank. Once they were there, the Thiruzhas would flood past them, and the fight would be over.
Hold them! Gain time for the Siddhars. Gain time for Melcorka.
Kosala grunted as he stabbed his immediate opponent in the throat, and then took another backward step as a fresh Thiruzha warrior opposed him.
'There are too many,' Kosala said. He slipped on a round stone, nearly fell and winced when a Thiruzha slashed his face with the point of a sword. Kosala withdrew another step, forcing Bradan to do the same.
'You fight well, Kosala!' Bradan felt the ground solid behind him. One more step and he would be on the bank of the river. 'Do you want to break off and escape, Kosala? I'll hold them as long as I can.'
'No!' Bleeding from his face and his side, Kosala shook his head. 'We fight for as long as we can.' He gave a lopsided grin. 'We will be remembered as heroes, Bradan. This fight at the ford will be told and retold in stories, legends and lies.'
'Mostly lies.' Bradan forced a smile.
The Thiruzhas withdrew a few paces, regrouped and came again, yelling their war cries as they powered forward, knowing that Kosala was weakening and victory was virtually assured.
Kosala took a deep breath. 'It's nearly time, brother,' he said. 'We will die together.'
'Not yet, I think.' The voice came from behind them.
Bradan turned around. 'Melcorka! What are you doing here? Get back where it's safe!'
Melcorka stood at the edge of the pass. She was so thin that her clothes hung from her gaunt frame. Her grin made her face appear like a skull. 'You two have had your fun. It's my turn now.' The hilt of Defender thrust from behind her left shoulder.
'Mel? Mel, are you back? Are you yourself again?'
Kosala spoke before Melcorka could reply. 'This is no place for you, woman. This is a warrior's work. Go back to Chaturi and stay safe.'
Sliding past Kosala and Bradan, Melcorka strode into the ford, smiling. 'I am Melcorka nic Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas.' Standing with the water surging up to her thighs, Melcorka raised her v
oice to a shout that sounded even above the roar of the waterfall.
'I am Melcorka of Alba! I am Melcorka the Swordswoman and who dares meddle with me!'
Chapter Fourteen
'Something has happened,' Kosala said. 'The air is different.' He looked toward Sathuragiri. 'Bradan! Look at the sacred mountain!'
Torn between watching Melcorka and following the direction of Kosala's gaze, Bradan spared only a second to glance at Sathuragiri. The cloud around the base had dissipated, and a golden glow diffused from the square slopes. It did not last long, perhaps three seconds, yet there was sufficient time for Bradan to see ten huge figures standing in a circle. For one instant, he experienced that same sensation of peace that he had found on his previous visit to Sathuragiri.
Bradan saw nine of the figures merge into the mountain, while the tenth rose into the air, to soar toward him in the form of the black-and-white miasma. As it moved, it changed shape into a bird that fluttered around Melcorka, piped through its orange beak and landed on a rock.
It was an oystercatcher, the black-and-white bird of the shores of Alba; Melcorka's totem bird and the physical manifestation of Bearnas, Melcorka's dead mother.
Bearnas, Bradan said. That mist was Bearnas. The Norse had killed Bearnas years before and ever since then, she had appeared to help Melcorka in times of her most desperate need. All this time, Bearnas has been watching over her daughter.
When the first of the Thiruzha saw that only a woman opposed him, he splashed carelessly forward. Melcorka barely shifted her stance as she unsheathed Defender and sliced off his head in the same movement. The second Thiruzha's hesitation cost him both legs. He fell, screaming, into the rapids. Balancing Defender on her right shoulder, Melcorka surged forward, silent save for the splash of her legs through the water.
One Thiruzha threw a spear at her; Melcorka sliced it in half. Another crouched behind a rock to thrust his spear at her. Melcorka chopped the shaft in two and cut off the warrior's right arm, leaving him shocked and bleeding to death.
While the braver of the Thiruzhas bunched together to attack, the majority realised that they were facing something beyond their experience. They began to edge away. Melcorka heightened their fear by sweeping Defender waist high, cutting a man in half, recovering her blade and killing a second. After that display, none of the Thiruzhas chose to oppose her. They fled, with Melcorka chasing them, fleet as a deer and dangerous as any leopard that haunted the forests.
Melcorka Of Alba Page 18
