“But, master, we’re still not entirely sure what we’re questing for or what dangers could lie ahead.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Turesobei proclaimed, no longer feeling hurt that his father wouldn’t reveal to him exactly what they were doing or why. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
* * *
The next day, Turesobei felt strong enough to ride. So with a pack train of denekon behind them, Noboro, Turesobei, and twenty-three guards led by Captain Fodoru exited Nijona. Urigi, a local zaboko tracker, rode in the front. Noboro had traveled this way before several times, but he insisted on having a guide who intimately knew the land, in case they ran into danger and were forced to take an alternate route.
People gathered to watch them pass. They wore ragged clothes, and their careworn faces were marred by downcast expressions. Turesobei didn't see any baojendari, but he did spot a few cloaked and hooded k'chasan traders. Though he’d never seen one before, he recognized them by the grey-brown fur on their hands and their graceful, catlike movements. K’chasans were the third major race on Okoro. They lived almost exclusively in the forests of the West.
Turesobei was scanning the crowd, trying to catch sight of an uncloaked k’chasan. But as his group neared the gate leading out of the walled town, Turesobei noticed someone following them intently. The thin zaboko boy had a strange, indescribable quality to his appearance. He looked exceedingly common and yet somehow familiar.
Their eyes met, and the boy sneered.
Chapter Twenty
Noboro called them to a halt and Turesobei turned to rein in his mount. When he looked back a moment later, the boy was gone. Suspicious, Turesobei activated his kenja-sight. He saw a trace of magic where the boy had stood and a strong flow of air energies that trailed back into the crowded street.
Turesobei warned Fodoru. “We’re being followed.”
Fodoru kept looking forward. “Where is he?”
“Gone now. Fled back into the crowd when he noticed that I had spotted him.”
“You’re certain he was spying on us?”
“Yes. He sneered at me.”
“Hardly seems a good reason to suspect someone.”
“He was also rather common looking, too common, and he was clouded in air kenja.”
“Which means….”
“His appearance was an illusion.”
The captain nodded thoughtfully and ordered two guards to watch the crowd, looking for suspicious people. The rest of them he put on alert. They had to wait to tell Noboro, who was busy meeting with the Wakaran guards who were manning the gate.
The eight zaboko soldiers wore ornate wooden armor and masks with terrible grimaces carved into them. A robed baojendari with a bald head and a long, white beard directed them. Dark skin circled his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in years. His mouth was twisted into a grin so terrible and depraved that it almost naturally matched the soldiers' masks.
“Watch yourself around these people,” Fodoru whispered to Turesobei, with a glance toward the robed baojendari.
“A zealot?” Turesobei asked.
“Aye, the worst kind. An official Wakaran Inquisitor.”
Turesobei knew about them from history lessons. They were the most devoted followers of Supreme Elder Jakawiju, who ruled Wakaro with a whimsical iron fist. He claimed to be an incarnation of the baojendari Supreme Celestial Emperor, and he wielded powerful magics and fanatical troops.
Decades ago he had led an uprising against the traditional baojendari clans ruling Wakaro. At first the zaboko loved him because he gave them greater freedoms. But soon, Jakawiju's economic restructuring brought devastation and starvation to all. Many people died, but he retained power through a devoted corps of young men brainwashed by his social programs and convinced of his godhood.
Noboro presented stamped papers, made explanations, and slipped the baojendari Inquisitor a long string of Taganan jade coins. The Inquisitor’s men then conducted a routine search of their baggage and supplies. Finding no religious contraband, such as Shogakami texts or images, they allowed the group to go on.
Though they were respectful of the Great Deities, the Shogakami, and all the traditional festivals, the Chonda were not a religious people. So it immensely bothered Turesobei that a ruler would want to impose his religious ideas onto his people.
The more distance they put between themselves and the Wakaran Inquisitor, the better Turesobei felt.
* * *
The coastal lands in Wakaro looked no different from the wilder areas of Batsakun. However, as they moved inland over the next three days, this changed. They soon encountered large pockets of pristine forest and dozens of glittering lakes. They passed villages with less frequency and soon met a line of dense hills. When they reached the summit of this ridge, Turesobei gasped.
Beyond spread a valley of rainforest that stretched down to the distant Natsugami Mountains. A gleaming river wound through a deep gorge cut into the heart of the forest. Turesobei had no idea how they would cross the gorge. He guessed they would have to spend days, perhaps weeks, navigating around it.
By late afternoon, the terrain leading down to the rainforest had grown more rugged and intimidating. Noboro called for them to make camp early. He intended to rest thoroughly before entering the forest. Turesobei felt relieved. He had recovered much of his spirit, but he still tired easily. He also wasn't used to riding for such long periods. His thigh muscles had grown stiff and his bottom ached.
Later that evening, Turesobei and Noboro roasted pheasants over a fire. They sat away from the others so they could talk in private. For a long time they discussed geography, but finally Turesobei worked up the courage once again to ask his father about the purpose of their trip.
While sailing, he had asked twice without getting a response. His father just hadn't been prepared to tell him yet. Fodoru and four other guards who always traveled with Noboro knew exactly what was going on, though none of the others did.
“I guess I can tell you now. You deserve to know anyway.” Noboro patted Turesobei on the shoulder. “I'm proud of you, son. The way you handled yourself on the ship against the gitsukara. I know I can trust you with anything. You're nearly a man now, even if you officially have three more years to go.”
Turesobei beamed with pride. “Thank you, Father. I won't tell anyone what we’re doing. I promise you can trust me.”
“Well, it's a secret for good reason.”
“When I was spying, I heard you say talking about a heart, a key, and cultists.”
“The Storm Dragon's Heart. The heart of Naruwakiru.”
Turesobei knew the legends. “But she's been dead for millennia.”
“Yes, but her heart remains. Ten years ago, quite by accident, I discovered the secret vault where the heart is kept. I tried to get in, but failed. Then your grandfather tried magic, but that didn't work either. He gave up, but I didn’t. Eventually I learned that zaboko priests had once kept a magical key to the vault.”
“I heard you tell Grandfather about getting the key,” Turesobei said. “What I don't understand is that if this heart is dangerous enough to keep locked away so well and for so long, why do you want it so badly?”
“If not me, someone else will get to it eventually. Better the Chonda than a clan like the Gawo. Besides, we don't know for sure that it's dangerous.”
“The cult you were talking about must think that it's powerful.”
“The Storm Dragon Cult. They claim to be descended from the original cult that worshiped Naruwakiru, before Tepebono slew her. Afterward they worshiped the heart, until Shogakami priests stole it from them and locked it away.”
“Do you think that's true? That they are descendants of the original cult?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think some crackpot discovered an old cult text and decided to resurrect the past for his own purposes.”
“Do the cultists know where the vault is?”
“Apparently, because soon after I returned h
ere, Obu Sotenda published his book and expanded the Storm Dragon Cult. I think they must have followed your grandfather and me to the vault, hoping that we would open it for them. I don't know how they found out about my discovery, though. I have no doubt that they’re trying. That's why we have twenty-four guards with us.”
Turesobei glanced around nervously. “I think we could’ve used more.”
“This is all the clan could spare and all I could afford. Besides, with a much larger force we would have drawn far too much attention from the Wakaran government.” Noboro smiled absently and stared into the fire. “It's going to be grand when we find that heart.”
Turesobei eyed his impassioned father suspiciously. “You're obsessed with this thing aren't you?”
Noboro looked at him with surprise. “Well…what's wrong with that?”
“Nothing, Father, except that your judgment may be a little clouded.”
Noboro frowned. “You sound like your grandfather now.”
“He’s a wise man.”
“But he doesn't understand this quest.”
“Neither do I,” said Turesobei. “I mean, I understand the things you’re telling me, and they sound reasonable. But somehow this all seems…hasty and ill-advised.”
“But you don't understand either, Sobei. You and your grandfather didn't see it like I did.”
“You saw it? How?”
“Well, I first found the vault in the midst of a terrible storm.”
“By accident, right?”
“It seems that way, though perhaps not. Certainly, I wasn't looking for it. I was looking for the ruins of an old shrine. Anyway, the storm was terrible and we couldn't find any shelter, until we at last stumbled upon the shrine. There was a tunnel in the back. We explored the tunnel during the storm and found the vault. When I touched the door….”
Noboro stared into the flames with wide eyes until Turesobei prompted him. “What happened?”
“I saw the heart, through the vault door, as if it were made of glass.”
“Did the others see it?”
“No.”
“What does it look like?”
“A jade orb with veins of crimson. It's just small enough that you can hold it in one hand. I swear I could feel it pulsing through the wall.”
“So this vision is what drives your obsession?”
“There’s more,” he replied. “Every night in my dreams I see that orb locked within the vault and I know that I must recover it before anyone else. The dreams get stronger as I get closer to it. Those first nights…it was like lying in bed with a lover but not being able to touch her or even speak to her.”
Turesobei cringed. “This doesn't sound good, Father. Has it occurred to you that some arcane force might be manipulating you?”
Noboro nodded solemnly. “It has, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try. Besides, your grandfather thought the same and couldn't find any trace of a geas upon me. You can check yourself if you like.”
“Why didn't Grandfather come with you this time?”
Noboro shrugged. “Well, he's not as able to withstand difficult journeys as he used to be. He also claimed he was too busy. I suspect there’s something more, but that's all he would tell me. He has his reasons, I'm sure.”
Grandfather Kahenan always had reasons, and he had a habit of not telling anyone what they were. He liked to let people figure things out on their own. Turesobei finished his dinner and began to contemplate all that his father had told him.
He was starting to understand why his grandfather had sent him along. Yes, he did need a break, and he did need to experience the world. But Kahenan wanted a wizard he trusted to accompany Noboro and watch over him. Yet what exactly did his grandfather expect him to do out here? Was there something more to it?
Chapter Twenty-One
The rainforest sang with the cries of a million birds, some brightly plumed, others darting shadows beneath the thick canopy. Their songs stopped only when it rained, which was at least once each day. And after each rain they chattered with greater fury as if making up for lost time. The rainforest sang other songs, too, with other voices. Wildcats caterwauled in the depths of night. Frogs croaked, monkeys screeched, leaves whispered, and insects buzzed.
Flies and mosquitoes plagued them. Clouds of gnats sometimes obscured their vision. One night, Turesobei slept beneath a curtain of vines and woke the next morning with a thin snake wrapped around his arm. He stared at it with wide-eyed terror and didn't budge a single muscle. With its tongue the snake kissed him twice on the nose before slithering away.
Noboro laughed afterward. “It wasn't poisonous.”
“What if it had been?”
Noboro shrugged. “Good thing it wasn't, eh?”
Turesobei didn't think it was funny, and he chose his bed more carefully from then on. He began to learn from Noboro and Fodoru which snakes were venomous and which were harmless. Some that his father called constrictors were enormous and deadly without poison.
Beneath the shaded canopy, the weather remained mild. The wind only stirred the leaves at the top, so the air was humid and stale. Night came early and day arrived late. In some places, the forest grew so thick that they rode in perpetual twilight. Thankfully, the denekon deftly maneuvered through the rainforest, which was their natural habitat.
At last they reached the gorge. He hadn't seen a clear blue sky unfiltered in seven days, but with much relief, he saw one now.
With a thundering heart and a sense of vertigo, Turesobei carefully peered over the edge and gazed at the thin river far below. The sides of the gorge were scraggy and patched in moss. In several places, trees grew out from the cliff sides and bent upwards toward the light.
The journey so far had been arduous and grueling. More bug bites and scratches than he could count marked Turesobei's skin. Days of sweat and mud had dried on him. Leaves and bits of grass clung to his hair and his dirty, foul-smelling clothes. His muscles ached, and his mind was numb from the whole experience. And he knew they weren't even close to being finished. Many more difficult days lay ahead. The gorge marked only the halfway point of the rainforest, and they would have to cross all of it.
Their guide Urigi noticed his downcast expression and gave him a gap-toothed smile. His breath smelled of cheap wine. “Cheer up, lad. The bridge is only a day to the north.”
“Who would build a bridge out here?”
“Many k'chasan tribes used to live in this region,” Noboro answered.
“Did they leave when Jakawiju took over?”
“Most, like the ones who built the bridge, left way before then. But the remainder did leave when Jakawiju came to power.”
“I saw a few k'chasan traders in the town.”
Urigi nodded. “Aye, we've still got a few small clans left here and there. Still got one qengai-maka in these parts, too. That's a strange lot, I tell you.”
“A qengai-maka?” Turesobei said with a worried voice. “An assassin village?”
“Aye, lad. But they don't bother anyone around here much. I wouldn't worry about them.”
Turesobei relaxed a little, remembering that the qengai's code ultimately served the greater good even if their actions sometimes seemed wrong. Or at least they claimed to serve a good and noble purpose.
“I've never even met a k'chasan before.”
“Really?” Urigi said, bewildered. “I can't imagine that.”
“Not many k'chasans come east to Batsakun,” Noboro explained.
“Well, perhaps you can remedy that, lad, when you return to town.”
They rode again and followed the gorge northeast to the bridge. When they got there, Turesobei shook with fear. A bamboo-planked suspension bridge, perhaps three hundred paces long, stretched across the vast gorge. It was surprisingly wide, with room to fit five large denekon shoulder to shoulder. He wasn’t even sure such a bridge was physically possible, much less when holding dozens of men and their mounts.
“Are you sure it's
safe?” he asked his father.
“Of course.”
Urigi chuckled with his hoarse laugh. “Can't know until we're across, can we? Ah, don't make such a face, lad. This bridge has been here for hundreds of years and she's got more life in her yet.”
Turesobei found it hard to believe him as he watched the bridge gently sway under the power of a breeze that swept through the gorge. He had a terrible feeling he'd die if he crossed that bridge, but no one else looked afraid.
“Don’t worry,” Urigi said. “I may not understand this bridge, and people may no longer be able to duplicate the effort, but my ancestors knew what they were doing out here. Wouldn’t be surprised if you found a bit of magic in those ropes and planks.”
Most likely in the supports, Turesobei thought. But he didn’t want to get close enough to the edge to examine them.
After a brief lunch, they rode out onto the bridge. The denekon claws clicked across the old planks. With their weight on it, the bridge bounced ominously, but the twined bamboo cables remained secure on their anchors, which rooted into stonework clearly shaped by zaboko hands. Turesobei rode with Fodoru near the end of the train. His father rode near the front with Urigi.
Crossing it was taking far too long. Vertigo plagued him, and his stomach churned. His knuckles turned white as he desperately clutched the denekon's reins. Ahead of him, Fodoru rode as if this were nothing more than a forest trail. Of course, Fodoru traveled to dangerous places with Noboro all the time.
Finally, to stay relaxed, Turesobei had to keep his eyes locked on the denekon ahead of him and recite a calming mantra.
This kept him settled until he heard the twanging of bowstrings and the first volley of arrows whistled through the air.
Half of the zaboko guards had reached the other end and were just beyond the bridge. They were waiting for the others while Urigi scouted ahead. Without warning, Urigi collapsed with an arrow protruding from his neck. Then a swarm of dark bolts with crimson fletching showered down onto the Chonda soldiers.
Storm Phase Series: Books 1-3 Page 11
