The Place of Dead Kings

by Geoffrey Wilson

  The Scottish guide led them to the north-east, following the directions given by the Chief of the Grym tribe. They spent most of the morning meandering along a narrow gully until the ground sloped up towards a pass. The guide led them up the scarp, following a thin track as it snaked into a forest of birch trees that had lost most of their leaves. The ground was in turns rocky and slippery. Tree roots reached into the path, tripping and hindering them. The carts and wagons bounced over the uneven ground and the animals battled to haul the heavy loads.

  The sounds of the wheels grinding, men shouting and oxen bellowing was loud, but seemed to fade quickly into the enormous silence of the valley. When Jack glanced around, he saw no sign of movement. Everything seemed still, smothered by the silence. It seemed, at that moment, as if the party were the only living things on earth and were toiling away across a deserted landscape.

  Within an hour, the oxen and mules were exhausted, shivering and often losing their footing. Wulfric ordered a rest stop when they reached a short stretch of flat ground. Porters walked the horses in circles to cool them and watered the oxen and mules. Atri took the opportunity to climb up on to a boulder, peer at the surroundings through his spyglass-like contraption and write notes in a journal. His Rajthanan batman and a pair of porters stood nearby, waiting to pack away the instrument.

  What was Atri up to? Jack still had no idea.

  Andrew groaned and lay on his back. ‘This bloody journey never ends. Let’s just call this spot Mar and then go home.’

  The others from Shropshire chuckled at this.

  Jack noticed Saleem had pulled off one of his boots and was rubbing his foot through his hose.

  ‘Blisters?’ Jack asked.

  Saleem nodded and winced. Then he quickly said, ‘But I’m all right. I can keep going.’

  Jack slapped Saleem lightly on the back. ‘Don’t worry. Happens to all of us. Those blisters will hurt like hell for a day or two, then they’ll burst and harden and your feet will be tougher than ever.’

  Saleem smiled slightly and stared at the ground. ‘I was remembering when we walked most of the way to London.’

  ‘You see, we made it then. Through worse than what we’re facing now.’

  Saleem went quiet and picked at the burrs stuck to his hose.

  ‘You thinking about Charles?’ Jack asked.

  Saleem nodded.

  Charles had been their companion on the way to London. The young man was from the same village as Saleem and had died during the siege. Saleem had told Jack he’d carted the body home for burial after the battle.

  Jack crossed himself. ‘He was a brave man, Charles. He’d be proud of us now, I reckon.’

  Saleem paused, then said softly, ‘We’ll do it, won’t we? We’ll find Mahajan and save the rebellion.’

  Jack stared through the mesh of branches and up the grass-covered slope beyond. He’d already told Saleem the mission was mad and they would probably fail. Was there any point repeating that now?

  ‘You worried about your family?’ Jack asked.

  Saleem nodded glumly, eyes watering a little.

  ‘We’re all worried. That’s why we’ll do our best. There’s a true path laid out ahead of us. All we have to do is find it and keep marching along it.’

  The words seemed to have the right effect because Saleem’s gentle smile spread across his lips again.

  They were Jhala’s words.

  Was it strange for Jack to quote his old guru? Now, when he was fighting the Rajthanans? When Jhala had betrayed him?

  Jhala, of course, had been referring to dharma, which defined your role and duty in life. Jhala had often tried to explain the concept to Jack, but struggled as there was no matching word in English. Finally, when they were resting during a march, Jhala had come up with a comparison – dharma was like the road ahead of you. It is the rightful path. All you have to do is keep walking down it.

  ‘My father used to say something like that,’ Salem said. ‘He told me only those who follow the Right Path are Allah’s faithful. I’ve always tried to follow that path.’

  Jack was about to reply when the sound of falling rocks cut him short. He leapt up and spun round, along with the Saxons, who grasped their knife-muskets.

  Peering through the branches, he made out a cliff face in the side of the hill about a hundred yards away. A stream of dust, stones and small rocks was bouncing down the precipice. Within a few seconds, the rockfall was over, the dust blew away and silence swamped the valley once again.

  Strange.

  Jack searched the hillside, but saw only grass, heather and clots of gorse. There was no sign of movement.

  The Rajthanans were staring at the slope through their spyglasses and muttering amongst themselves. Finally, Rao called Wulfric over, and then the Sergeant bellowed to the party, ‘There’s nothing there. On your feet. Break’s over.’

  The entire expedition stood reluctantly and pressed on up the slope. The rocks dotting the path became larger and both animals and men tripped on them constantly. The incline steepened and the oxen drawing the statue’s wagon struggled with the load. Often Jack and the others had to push the vehicle to help the animals. Soon they were all panting and covered in sweat.

  ‘I’m starting to hate that bloody statue,’ Andrew muttered.

  Jack nodded, but said, ‘Keep your voice down.’

  Then the wagon stopped suddenly. There was a thud, followed by the groan of bending wood. The wheel nearest Jack buckled and snapped, flinging splinters in the air. He stumbled back and covered his face as a chunk of wood whirled past. When he opened his eyes he saw that the side of the wagon was jammed against a boulder. The wheel had completely shattered and the vehicle was listing to the side.

  Robert walked up from behind, rubbing his beard. ‘Doesn’t look good. That your fault, Sultan?’ He grinned and winked at Saleem.

  He crouched down and studied the smashed wheel.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Wulfric zigzagged downhill, jamming his boots into the ground to avoid slipping.

  ‘Wheel’s broken, sir,’ Jack said.

  ‘Replace it.’

  ‘Can’t do that.’ Robert stood up. ‘We’ve got no more spares. The load’s too heavy on that wagon. Keeps breaking wheels.’

  Wulfric’s face creased and his good eye quivered. ‘Fix it, then. Get on with it.’

  ‘We can’t fix that here,’ Robert said. ‘We’d need to forge a new rim.’

  Wulfric’s face tightened further. He stepped over to Robert and stared up at the big man. ‘Listen here, scum. You fix that thing right now or I’ll have you flogged so hard the whip’ll be tickling your liver.’

  ‘Why have we stopped?’ Rao had walked down from the head of the column.

  Wulfric stepped away from Robert and snapped upright. ‘Wagon’s broken, sir. Just fixing it.’

  Rao looked at the ruined vehicle. ‘How long is that going to take?’

  ‘We can’t fix it, sir.’ Jack knew enough about wagons to know what Robert had said was true. ‘We don’t have a travelling forge.’

  Rao glanced at Jack and pressed his handkerchief to his nose. This was the first time he’d paid any attention to Jack since the incident with the cattle. After a second, he looked back at Wulfric. ‘Is this true, Sergeant?’

  ‘I . . . They should be able to, sir.’

  ‘It’s impossible,’ Jack said.

  Wulfric looked at Jack as though he were about to stab him. ‘You fix that thing now, or—’

  ‘Sergeant, do you have any idea what you’re talking about?’ Rao asked.

  Wulfric’s fingers coiled into fists. ‘I’m not a cartwright, sir.’

  ‘Right then, who is?’

  Robert stepped forward. ‘That’s me, sir.’

  Rao drew a breath through his handkerchief. It wasn’t clear whether he recognised Robert. ‘Can you fix this wagon?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I see.’ Rao turned back to Jack. ‘Move the murti to an
other wagon.’

  ‘The others are quite overloaded, sir,’ Jack said.

  Rao rolled his eyes. ‘Am I surrounded by idiots? Just get rid of anything unnecessary.’ He turned to walk back up the slope.

  ‘Sir,’ Jack said. ‘Can I make a suggestion?’

  Rao turned and gave a long sigh. ‘What?’

  ‘We leave the murti behind. Pick it up on the way back.’

  Rao’s nostrils flared. He pointed his finger at Jack, still holding the handkerchief, which fluttered in the breeze. ‘Listen here. I won’t put up with any insolence.’

  Jack made sure he neither looked away nor stared straight into Rao’s eyes. ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Bow down to me,’ Rao said.

  Jack paused. It was a long time since he’d prostrated himself before an officer.

  ‘Now!’ Rao said.

  Jack felt his face darken. What right did Rao have to order him about?

  But now was not the time to take a stand. He clenched his teeth, lowered himself and lay flat on the ground.

  ‘Good,’ Rao said. ‘Never question my orders again.’ He turned and trudged back uphill.

  Jack stood up and dusted the earth from the front of his tunic.

  Wulfric stood beside the wagon, his face twisted and eye glowing white. ‘I’ll have you, scum.’ He pointed his finger at Jack. ‘I’ll have you. Old Wulfric doesn’t forget. Old Wulfric always gets his man.’

  Jack didn’t respond. It was best not to antagonise Wulfric any further.

  Wulfric glared for several long seconds, then barked, ‘I want that statue moved in ten minutes! Get on with it!’

  Jack and the others sprang into action. The second Rajthanan ox wagon was the only other vehicle large enough to carry the statue. But it was laden with furniture.

  Jack gestured at the vehicle. ‘We’ll empty it.’

  ‘Are you joking?’ Robert said. ‘You saw what the Captain said about the statue. He won’t agree to us throwing that stuff out.’ He pointed to a trio of smaller carts. ‘We’ll unload those and move the furniture there.’

  Jack stared at the carts. They were weighed down with sacks. ‘What’s in those?’

  ‘Barley,’ Robert said. ‘For us porters.’

  ‘Food? Isn’t there something else?’

  ‘Nothing else our masters will agree to.’

  Jack hesitated. Robert was right. Food for porters wasn’t important. Neither the Rajthanans nor the Saxons would give a damn if they went hungry.

  He gritted his teeth. The expedition was carrying far too much baggage. Rao was mad to want to drag a statue and so much furniture through the wilderness. Jhala would never have made this mistake.

  But there was no point trying to fight against the Captain’s wishes.

  He swallowed down his irritation and nodded.

  They emptied the carts, moved the furniture and finally heaved the statue across to the large wagon, which squeaked and groaned as the heavy weight was laid across it.

  Robert scratched his beard. ‘Don’t know how much longer that’s going to last.’

  ‘It had better last,’ Jack said. ‘We don’t need any more trouble.’

  The driver gave a cry and cracked his whip high above the oxen, which lumbered forward. Like a rambling caterpillar, the entire column edged on up the hill.

  They came out of the trees and on to a bare slope where the wind combed the grass and heather. The canvas coverings on the wagons crackled and tugged, and a scrap of material tumbled through the air as it was whisked away. Saleem had to hold on to his skullcap to stop it blowing off, and finally gave up and put it in his satchel.

  The slope was even steeper now and the officers had to dismount and lead their horses by the reins. They all trudged wearily up the last few yards and finally reached the summit.

  Jack stopped for a moment and gazed back the way they’d come. They were much higher than he’d realised and he had a clear view of the gully they’d travelled along earlier. In the distance, the knotted foothills rolled away towards the blue line of the horizon.

  When he turned to face forward again, he saw mountains massing in all directions. Below him, a scarp slid down into a convoluted landscape of valleys and ravines. Secretive forests nestled in crannies and streams twisted along clefts.

  ‘Keep moving!’ Wulfric shouted. ‘Anyone who stops will be flogged!’

  The party wound its way downhill and by the time they reached the base of the incline, the late afternoon shadows were sweeping across the valley.

  They trudged on for around twenty minutes and then the column ground to a halt.

  ‘What is it?’ Saleem asked.

  Jack frowned. ‘Don’t know.’

  He stepped away from the track and saw that Rao, Parihar and Atri had paused beside a hollow between two low mounds. The Rajthanans dismounted and walked down into the depression, followed by their batmen, Wulfric and two other Saxons.

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ Jack said to Saleem, then turned to the others. ‘You lot wait here.’

  He and Saleem walked to the head of the party and over to the lip of the hollow, where a few of the Saxons had gathered and stood looking down. At the bottom of a short slope was a circle of cairns. On top of each pile of stones stood an oddly shaped rock worn smooth by river water. In the centre of the circle, a rough stone cross jutted from a further cairn.

  Jack had never seen anything quite like this, although he was reminded of the standing stones in Wiltshire and other parts of England. With the cross in the centre, this place was obviously some kind of shrine.

  ‘Look at this.’ Parihar lifted up one of the smaller river-worn rocks and snorted. ‘Savages.’ He tossed the rock into the grass.

  Rao put his handkerchief to his nose, as if the stones were exuding noxious fumes.

  Parihar slapped his hands together to shake off the dirt. ‘Let’s go. There’s nothing here.’

  Rao nodded and set off up the incline with the Lieutenant. Atri remained for a moment, studying one of the cairns and writing something in his notebook.

  Wulfric put his boot against the cross. Egged on by his laughing comrades, he kicked the cross over and it tumbled into the grass.

  Jack tensed. Wulfric shouldn’t have done that. And Parihar shouldn’t have thrown the stone aside. It was a sin to damage a shrine and he wondered how the natives would react.

  ‘Come on,’ Wulfric barked at his men. ‘Get back. We’re moving out.’

  The Saxons trudged back up the slope and Jack and Saleem returned to the baggage train.

  The column once again trundled forward, the shadows thickening all about them. After half an hour, the horn blowers called a halt and they made camp on a stretch of grassland beside a stand of trees.

  Jack and his men unloaded the statue and set it aside from the rest of the camp. Afterwards, Jack stood for a moment, hands on hips, staring at the figure squatting in the gloom. It was strange to see it rising from the meadow, the forest and mountains behind it. It looked wrong, a scrap of civilisation in a vast wilderness untouched by human hands.

  Jack and the others ate with Robert and his work gang. Jack half expected Wulfric to try something, but the Sergeant stayed away from the porters’ section.

  As they all prepared to sleep, cloud flooded the sky and Jack detected the coppery scent of moisture in the air. To shelter from any overnight rain, he and his men lay in a line beneath the wagon – there was only just enough room for them all to fit.

  Jack was at one end, next to Saleem. The boy fell asleep quickly, but Jack lay awake despite being exhausted from the day’s march. He glanced at Saleem’s pale face, barely lit by the trace of moonlight. The lad’s brow was slightly creased, as if a dream were troubling him.

  He looked so young.

  Had Jack been right to bring him along? But Saleem had wanted to come, had wanted to absolve himself of his guilt. Who was Jack to deny him that?

  A gust of wind worried the canvas lying in the wagon ab
ove. The dry branches of the trees cackled.

  Jack shut his eyes. Sleep. He had to sleep.

  But then a bolt of pain struck him in the chest. He gasped and opened his eyes. The sattva-fire crackled within his ribs. It was the most severe attack he’d had since Kanvar had cured him.

  He shut his eyes again and ground his teeth as he fought to stay silent. He didn’t want to wake Saleem and the others, didn’t want anyone to know he was weakening.

  The pain came in waves, from a throbbing ache to searing agony.

  Stay calm. Breathe deeply.

  Should he try the Great Health yantra one more time? Kanvar had told him not to give up, but after failing for so many years it was hard to have much hope.

  He breathed deeply several more times, tried to block out the pain and did his best to bring the yantra to his mind’s eye. The design came to him in fragments, first one section, then another. He fought to hold it still, but the pain kept intruding on his thoughts.

  If the yantra worked now, he knew exactly what would follow. The knowledge of how to use the power would rush into his mind. Within an instant, he would know everything there was to know about the power. And then he would have a choice – either use the power immediately, or hold back. An unblocked siddha might hold back at this point in order to remain pure. But of course, for Jack there was no choice. He had to use the Great Health power as soon as he could.

  He sensed the air grow colder, heard a hush of rain and smelt wet earth. Drops drummed on the wagon, the sound echoing in the space beneath the vehicle.

  There was a moment of intense quiet, when his surroundings seemed to fade away, and the yantra sat still and perfect in his mind.

  And then . . . nothing.

  Damn it.

  The yantra hadn’t worked. Would probably never work.

  And now the pain came rushing back, twisting and knotting in his chest. He tightened his jaw, grasped clumps of grass in each hand and tried his best to muffle his gasps.

  He would have to wait it out. He wouldn’t die tonight – he wasn’t bad enough yet. But the pain could last for an hour, maybe more.

  To distract himself he thought of Elizabeth. So long as she was safe he had nothing to worry about.