His eyes were a familiar blue, too bright and annoying for a boy, his face young as fourteen-winters. He had long straight hair and was tall and strong-boned. I couldn’t stand to look at him.
“You are Zeria’s boy,” I said.
He nodded, yet he didn’t seem eager to look me in the eyes either. I was the man who lay with his mother each night.
“Speak,” Leke broke the silence.
The older scout next to Zeria’s son stepped forward: “They’ve camped close by. They sent patrols out, but only a couple. If we head east and not light any fire, we’ll surprise them. But they are many.”
“How many?” I asked.
“As many as the leaves of the oak,” he said.
To the Dasal that phrase maybe meant something, but to me it was nonsense.
“No, they’re not. Not even a branch of the oak,” I said.
“They are about three cohorts,” said the boy.
“Cohorts? Are you learning from Baagh as well?” I asked.
He nodded, keeping his gaze down.
“Three of soldiers or three all together?” I asked.
“All together.”
“So, that’s less than a thousand fighting men, about two hundred pack mules, forty wagons?”
“Couldn’t count from up there, but I guess so.”
“A baby oak,” I said.
“We can’t stop them, Da-Ren,” said Leke. “Even if they’re a thousand, we’re not even a hundred.”
“The more leaves the oak has, the faster it burns,” I said with a smirk.
“What are you saying?”
“Whatever they are it’s their weakness. They are about fifteen hundred men. They are well fed. They have heavy armor. That’s their weakness,” I said. “We need to get in shooting range of their supply wagons. I don’t care for their cohorts. We just need to burn the forty wagons. Flaming arrows. If they lose their supplies, they’ll have to turn back. Can’t live on forest berries, a thousand men.”
“Flaming arrows? They’ll see us when we light the first one. The flames will die before they reach them, and we don’t have open space to shoot them.”
“We’ll see. My plan is fire,” I said. “We run now.”
I sent scouts in front, and they led us to position before the first rooster crow. The packhorses and the wagons of the legion were in the middle of their make-shift camp, along a narrow glade. Some of their men were still cutting trees to clear the paths. Boots and hooves had turned the soil soft and muddy; it would be hard to catch fire in early spring. We hid behind the bush on the south slope of the glade, about thirty feet higher than them.
“Come dawn we’ll set this wood on fire. Both sides of the glade. The pack horses and the oxen. Aim for the supply wagons, if you think they have hay or grain. Oil even better,” I said.
“The flaming arrows won’t do much, Da-Ren. They did work once back in Kapoukia, but you remember, we sent the Blades with pails of oil.”
Leke was right. There was a steady breeze cutting across the glade, and as I was lying on my chest, I could feel the wet moss.
“Just hit the wagons. Some will catch fire,” I said.
No, they won’t. He was right.
“I say we send the Dasal to light them up, trees and wagons with torches. They can’t shoot a bow anyway,” said Leke.
“Good idea. If they create a wall of fire between us and the wagons we can shoot down many more before their soldiers get to us.”
“It was the Dasal’s idea,” he said.
But they’ll all die.
“Let’s hope it works.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t rain,” Leke said pointing upward.
Enaka, I pray to you, don’t bring the rain down tonight. And I’ll bring as sacrifice…What?…What? Fuck me if I remember the words of the songprayers.
“Did you ever expect to be here again, Da-Ren? Fighting?” Leke asked, cutting my thoughts.
“No. But it was foolish to hope we wouldn’t. We should have prepared, long ago.”
“How did we get here, Chief?”
“We walked.”
“Fuck a dead goat! That’s not what I am asking.”
“You can take whoever you want to fuck and go back, Leke. I am not your Chief anymore. You are free.”
“You stupid man. That’s not what I asked you.”
I bit my upper lip hard, looking for an answer worthy of a friend who had been loyal for so long.
“We stopped praying, Leke.”
“That we surely did.”
And we fell in love. We found new goddesses and gods.
“It will be over soon,” I said, putting my palm on his shoulder.
“Nah, you always say that. But Da-Ren never falls. I better go to my post,” he said. “We stopped praying. You’re right.”
At the first breath of dawn I could make the legion’s sentries huddling under their red capes, most of them half-asleep. They didn’t expect an ambush. Our boots crackled on the leaves as we got in position, but the nightingales covered the sounds. I placed two archers every fifty paces apart to cover the length of the glade.
Bera had trained me long ago to keep the pace when shooting. An arrow every two breaths. I still remembered the words from my first day of bow training with the Uncarved:
“Redin, shoot. Malan, shoot. Gunna, shoot. Lebo, shoot. Anak, shoot. Noki, shoot.”
Noki shoot. A battle of fire. You would have hated me, Noki. I needed you today. You left too early.
Before the sun rose between the tree trunks, a thousand smaller balls of fire lit up the woodland left and right of the glade. We kept shooting as fast as we could, aiming for the wagons. The Empire’s soldiers had come to set fire to the wood, and some of their wagons were filled with resin and oil. Their cohorts were drowning in a sea of fire. Flaming tongues surrounded them, and the pack mules were screaming, running, spreading the fire to the soldiers’ tents. Men cloaked in red and flames jumped in the rivulet, the flesh falling from their faces. The wind was blowing down the glade, covering everything in smoke. We retreated unseen and unchallenged, still setting the trees and the bushes on fire. Burning and retreating.
I had ordered every man to make it back on his own. Vani was in the same post with me, and we ran together for the whole day, stopping only for water. We set a meeting point close to the cave of the White Doe for the coming evening. Zeria and the ones left behind were to meet us there too. If we didn’t come back, they’d hide in the caves, and if we returned defeated, we’d all escape south.
At dusk, we reached the hidden waterfall. A few of the Dasal had made it before me, and the rest of the Blades quickly followed behind me. They were drinking from the stream like wolves on four legs, washing, trying to rinse the soot and the dust out of their faces.
“I think it worked. The ambush,” said Leke. “No one followed us.”
“Where are the rest?” I asked.
“All here. We lost twelve men. Mostly Dasal. They ran among the wagons, setting them on fire. If it was not for them…”
“Too brave,” I said.
“Too brave for forest rats,” said Vani as he spat.
I was too tired to confront him. I searched around with my eyes. The blue-eyed boy had made it back. I gestured to him to come close.
“What’s your name?” I asked in the tongue of the Dasal.
“Veker.”
“Your grandfather is proud, Veker. You did well.”
He didn’t smile or look proud.
“I must go, Blade,” he said.
The Dasal usually called every one of us “Blade.” He was right.
“Where is Zeria? The others?” I said.
“We’re late, Firstblade. Maybe they hid in the cave. Or they went back to their huts,” said Vani.
“We must go find them.”
Vani was soaked in sweat, and the face paint ran down his cheeks. The men behind him were still panting, grasping their kneecaps.
“We’ve be
en running for three days straight. Can’t move my legs no more,” said Vani. The rest nodded behind him.
They didn’t even wait for me to answer back.
Soon they were all sleeping. I counted fewer than thirty men, as I paced among them. A couple wounded, some with burns, only a handful of Dasal. Most of the Blades I had taken with me.
“You did good, Firstblade,” Vani said. “Good. We fight for the Tribe once again. It’s been a long time.”
Was that what we did? Fight for the Tribe?
“I think we stopped them,” I said. “But I must leave.”
“Rest a bit. We’re not going back there, are we?” he asked.
He was the one who had come with Baagh, Zeria, and me in the White Doe caves.
“You think we shouldn’t.”
“You remember the Legend of the Ancients, Da-Ren. We have been warned.”
“You mean the Legend of the Bats?”
“Ancients, bats, we don’t want to go in there again. I’ve been to every battle with you. First time my legs froze in terror was in there. I pissed myself.”
“I must go find…her.” I was too tired to finish my words.
“Rest, Firstblade. The Tribe is back,” Vani said. “You’ll fight by their side tomorrow.”
The Tribe was back. They couldn’t be many nights from here. Where was Zeria? I must find her. Aneria. Was she better? I got up; I had to get back to the huts, find them. Even if I had to crawl. I supported myself, my fingers grasping the oak’s bark. They were all sleeping, except for Vani. He was one step behind me, holding me as I was trying to walk.
And then I saw him. Another figure standing up at the other end of the campfire. Long white limbs moving in unison. Bones. A skeleton walking toward me.
“I know you,” I mumbled. “You are…”
Skullface. Wiry and tall, his face and arms painted with white lines, as bone, naked of flesh. Skullface, a longskull Sson. I know you. His skull-painted face was the last thing I remember.
“Vani, do you—”
My head crushing under the blow. Darkness embracing me.
I woke up with a cloth tied around my head, blood dripping down my arm, hands tied behind my back.
Skullface and Crazyeyes were cross-armed, their chests naked and towering above me.
“Let me tell you a Legend, Da-Ren. One you forgot,” said Vani, his face washed and clean.
They had me sitting down, my back on a fallen trunk. About ten Rods with them, a Reghen who stayed farther back. The Rods had drawn their blades; at least they weren’t bloodied.
“What did you do?” I said.
“A Legend, I say. A brief one. Hear it now.
“It is about two men, friends, warriors of our Tribe. They have grown together since the Sieve. Together in the winter tents, whether Wolf or Sheep, together in training with the Blades for five winters. They even join their first Blades Pack together. They will never separate again until you take one to the campaign and leave the other to rot in Sirol. But their Story goes back, way back.
“You see, on their first winter in the Pack, Enaka doesn’t favor one of them and curses him twice. He didn’t pray hard. He gets three-carved. One day, that man—let’s call him Three-Carved—falls from his horse and is left to die. His brother, Two-Carved, refuses to let him rot. He keeps him alive, brings him food. Porridge, rat, anything. Makes a tent for him. Two-Carved bands his friend’s leg to heal. He tells him Legends at night to heal his spirit. For two bloody moons. Three-Carved walks again. He is saved. He owes his life to Two-Carved. What does Three-Carved do? What is the Tribe’s custom?”
“Fuck off.”
“No, that’s your comrades’ custom, those perverts who followed you here. To fuck the savages and the peasants. To fuck each other! Do you remember the ancient custom of a warrior?”
“Honor your savior’s name. Change yours to resemble his.”
“Yes, honor him. I changed my name to Vani for him. Long before I ever met you.”
From my right side, out of the darkness, a man walked up to me. Under the torchlight, and one too many ungrateful winters that had marked his face, I recognized him.
“Sani? You? Where are my men?” I asked.
“Your men,” he paused. “Your women.”
LXXXIV.
Inform Our Kinsfolk
Island of the Holy Monastery, Thirty-Sixth Summer,
According to the Monk Eusebius
On the first day of the thirty-sixth summer of Da-Ren’s life, almost a month after we had completed the scribing of the codices for the final time, a naval trireme appeared at the mouth of our small harbor. Evagus, the one Da-Ren called “Baagh,” and two monks of the eastern lands disembarked and climbed the thirty-eight and a thousand steps to the Castlemonastery.
Evagus requested to meet me in private, before anyone else, even before Da-Ren or the First Elder. He entered my cell on the same afternoon of his arrival.
“Eusebius, I am overjoyed to find you in good health,” he said.
“I am delighted to see that you have not aged a single day, revered Evagus.”
“It is true that sailing the Thousand Islands brings heavy toil for any man my age, yet the winds have been kind to us. And I must admit that I did spend two years of rest and prayer in Thalassopolis after my last voyage here, four years ago.”
“And what is your mission this time?”
“I recruited monks of other faiths as informants in the distant lands of our Empire.”
“You mean, men impersonating monks of other faiths.”
“Not necessarily. Across many faiths, there are those of us who believe in peace, prosperity, and dialog rather than sword and fire. I find men with the same beliefs, even if their god is false, and we strive for a common goal. The two monks who followed me are the first ones. We’ll be leaving for Thalassopolis in two weeks.”
“How will you spend your time here? Might I be of assistance?”
“But you must know. I am here to inquire about your mission.”
“Are you referring to the scribing of Da-Ren’s story?”
“That is the only mission I burdened you with.”
“I had long lost hope that it was of interest to you. But I humbly ascertain that after a thousand days scribing, I have completed the codices to the best of my abilities.”
“These are excellent news. May I remind you once more that this mission was entrusted to me by the Protospathos Carpus himself. To deliver Da-Ren’s written records to Thalassopolis.”
“Carpus? Da-Ren mentioned his name when he recited the events of his brief stop at the palace, yet I don’t see why Carpus cares about this story after all those years.”
“We are men of God, Eusebius. Do you forget that? What are three years for God’s missions? What are three eons, for that matter? A few grains of sand in the desert.”
“May God forgive me, I forgot,” I said.
I almost forgot about God himself. He was obliterated somewhere between Sirol, Varazam and the caves of the White Doe.
“And how is Da-Ren?” asked Evagus.
“He is in good health physically, though his mind remains as troubled as the first morning he disembarked here.”
“Does he still believe that he is here on a path to redemption?”
“We don’t talk much about that. I’d guess that he doesn’t.”
“Interesting. Then why did he continue with entrusting all the details of his life to you?”
“I don’t think any of us had a choice, once we started. The story demanded to be written. We are its servants.”
“Another interesting use of words. Servants!”
“I must tell you though that Da-Ren saw you arriving. He is expecting that you and those monks you brought, will listen to his story. He thinks they are the ones you promised to bring here to—”
“To redeem the lives of his wife and daughter?”
“Yes, and no. My guess is that he is past that. He doesn’t expect s
omething in exchange. He just wants it to be read, to become immortalized. Else, you must know, he still carries a blade, and he is still strong. I have to warn you; he feels deeply betrayed by you.”
“I understand. Then we must read it before we leave. I would have to anyway, to evaluate its quality before I deliver it to Carpus. And might I ask the length of the codices? Are they sufficiently detailed?”
“About three hundred thousand words. Excluding the events on this island.”
Evagus opened his mouth, but he was obviously too shocked to say something immediately.
“I think you surpassed my estimate tenfold,” he said. “Eusebius, you remain the sole bearer of those truths. If death finds me before Da-Ren’s testimonies are delivered to Carpus, even if the codices are destroyed, it is your responsibility to travel to Thalassopolis and complete them one final time as best as your memory allows.”
“I will do as you command me, Evagus.”
“I brought a special gift for you. As you have proven worthy of this mission, I will entrust you now with additional epistles I exchanged with Carpus.”
“When were these exchanged?”
“During the years I spent in Sirol and the Forest. They might elucidate the events of Da-Ren’s last days among his tribesmen.”
“The days of the fateful Poppy Moon as he calls it.”
“You have done well, Eusebius. Do not share those epistles with him as they might enrage and drive him into actions of violence.”
“I fully understand, Evagus,” I said.
Evagus opened his leather satchel and produced the rolled-up epistles: “As long as you promise to obey my instructions, here they are. We must confer again tomorrow, after the morning prayers to discuss your progress with the scribing of Da-Ren’s accounts.”
He left me alone, and I proceeded with studying them carefully.
First Epistle: “Scribed by Evagus the Anchorite, to the Protospathos Carpus Asinas.”
I. May God preserve you and guide you, beloved Carpus, as I scribe this epistle in agony, requesting your undivided attention.
Drakon Book IV: Butterfly Page 17
