by Melvin, Jim
The gelding looked back at her, his small ears swiveling.
She patted his long, arched neck. “Pay me no heed, handsome sir. I’m just a bitter old woman, alone in the world. Did I tell you that I’m two hundred years old? And another thing that’s bothering me, I’ve never felt comfortable around Sister Tathagata. It’s like she can look into your eyes and see your thoughts. And my thoughts aren’t always as pure as they should be.”
The gelding nickered, a gentle sound that prompted the warrior to smile.
“At least I’ve got one friend in the world. And I don’t even know your name. I’ll have to give you one. Let me see . . . I’ll call you Chieftain. How’s that? Perhaps you’ll treat me better than your namesake.”
The gelding nickered again. To Tāseti, it sounded like the horse was giggling.
She didn’t expect to encounter enemies during her journey, at least not any she couldn’t easily handle. This portion of the Gray Plains wasn’t barren, but there still were vast stretches of uninhabited land, broken only by occasional farms, ranches, and homesteads, most of which would now be deserted.
The short gray grass, stunted by a consistent lack of rainfall on the eastern side of Kolankold, remained decent fodder for livestock, and occasional ponds and streams provided irrigation for modest plantings. But you could ride for leagues without seeing anything but birds, snakes, and rodents—though wild horses, antelopes, Buffelos, and tawny cats as big as Tygers weren’t entirely uncommon.
Whenever she found fresh water, Tāseti stopped and allowed the gelding to graze. She was in no particular hurry. What was the point? The noble ones were champions of moving slowly. And Anna wasn’t going anywhere that she couldn’t find.
After traveling just seven leagues, she camped the first night within a palisade of boulders that seemed to have sprung from the ground of their own accord. She knew the terrain would become much bonier once she was beyond Lake Keo, but it was unusual to find anything but grass, shrub, and an occasional copse of stunted trees this far west. She slept without worry. Most of the evil in the world was concentrated north of Java, marching down Iddhi-Pada on its way to Nissaya. It would have little concern with a single Asēkha on a mission that would play a minor role, at best, in the fate of Triken.
She slept later than she should have. At first she couldn’t find Chieftain, who had grown restless and wandered out of sight in search of better grazing. But when she called his name he rushed over, stomping playfully. He already seemed to like her, and she him.
She decided that morning to stop eating for several days—except for Cirāya, the green cactus prized by the Tugars. When a warrior relied exclusively on Cirāya, its therapeutic effects increased dramatically, cleansing the body and clearing the mind. While on long journeys, Tāseti and other Tugars often did this voluntarily, both for the physical enrichment and to eliminate the time and effort of meal preparation. Tāseti had once eaten nothing but the cactus for an entire month, and other than losing a little weight, she had suffered no negative side effects.
Chieftain was feisty for a gelding, several times breaking into a canter without prompting. In typical Tugarian fashion, Tāseti rode without the use of a bridle, preferring leg and hand pressure to direct the animal. She also disdained a saddle, yet she did not become sore or blistered even when riding long distances, the bodies of Tugars being immune to ordinary wear and tear. Still, for the horse’s sake, she sat upon a camel-hair blanket, which was tied around Chieftain’s barrel with cordage.
She and Chieftain covered six leagues before noon, finally resting by a small pond. While the gelding grazed, Tāseti meditated in an attempt to ease her frustrations, sitting cross-legged by the water, eyes closed and body motionless. There was little breeze, which was unusual in the open plains, and it was unseasonably hot. Tāseti noted this and then returned to the breath.
While she meditated, a pair of Buffelo, weighing perhaps three hundred stones apiece, lumbered within a few paces and lowered their boulder-sized heads to drink, appearing not to notice her presence. Tāseti opened her eyes and studied their immense bodies, admiring their muscular flanks and enjoying their pungent scent. The male of the pair had a long, black beard.
Suddenly Chieftain appeared and galloped over to protect her, stomping his hooves and snorting. The Buffelo paid the horse little heed, but in order to avoid a confrontation, Tāseti stood and went to the gelding. For the first time, the Buffelo noticed her—and they bolted, charging directly into the shallow pond and splashing away in a mad rush.
Tāseti laughed. “You scared them off, Chieftain,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Pleased that the danger had passed, the clever gelding nickered.
“Time to get going,” Tāseti said, “though I don’t know why. I feel like a deserter. I shouldn’t, I know, but that’s the way it is. As my Vasi master used to say, ‘You have to take what life gives you.’ I have to admit that what it’s giving me right now doesn’t suit me well. That’s another Vasi saying, by the way.”
She rode until midafternoon before taking another brief rest, then on until dusk. Though her stomach was growling from hunger, she was already feeling the cumulative effects of the Cirāya. She began to notice an increased vibrancy of colors: the velvety glow of violet petals, the bright-yellow under-parts of a meadowlark, the deepening blue of the sky, even Chieftain’s chestnut coat—all so beautiful and mournful.
To her surprise she saw a lone human figure, large and dark, staggering toward her on foot. She urged Chieftain forward and rode to investigate. Though he obviously was injured in some way, he still looked dangerous. She drew her dagger and moved closer.
Then she gasped, leaped off Chieftain’s back, and raced toward the stranger, though he was a stranger no longer. It doesn’t take long for one Asēkha to recognize another. Rati collapsed just before she reached him. When Tāseti took him in her arms, she saw that his neck and chest bore bloodied scorch marks, as if he had been tortured with fire.
Rati’s clothes were in tatters, but Tāseti was more concerned that his longsword, short sword, dagger, and sling appeared to be missing. Of all the Asēkhas, Rati was the most fastidious. He would never abandon his weapons—or allow them to be taken—unless under the most extreme duress. All he carried was a skin of water. But for now, at least, he seemed unable to awaken and tell her what had transpired.
Tāseti carried him to a nearby copse, laid him down beneath the stunted trees, and covered him with her blanket. She poured wine over his lips, forced him to swallow, and then pushed a square of Cirāya into his mouth. Though barely conscious, he began to chew. After a while, his facial muscles relaxed, and he fell into a restful sleep.
While he slumbered, Tāseti rubbed his wounds with salve pre-made from the crushed roots of a creosote bush. Then she let him rest through the night, occasionally placing fresh squares of cactus in his mouth.
Soon after sunrise, he opened his eyes for the first time since she had discovered him. “Tāseti, how came you here?” he said weakly.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“My answer is long.”
“Tell me all of it. But first, are you hungry?”
“Cirāya is all I require—and more water, if you please,” he said. “But why are you here? And where are you headed? Surely you were not sent to search for me.”
“I’ll hear your story first,” Tāseti said. “My guess is it will be far more interesting than mine.”
“BEFORE THE witches struck me with their flame, I destroyed twelve barrels,” Rati said while sitting upright against the base of a tree. “But three wagons remained—each containing six more. The fire hit my chest and also burned my neck. I have never felt such pain. Not even a cadre of witches should have wielded that much power. I fear the sorcerer has gifted them with magic that has strengthened them even further.”
The force of the magical bolt knocked Rati’s uttara from his grasp.
The hags fell upon him like a pack of wolves, snarling, clawing, and biting. Though still dazed, he relied on his finely honed instincts, drawing his short sword while still beneath the pile. He stabbed one hag in the stomach, cut another’s throat, and crushed the bones between the eyebrows of a third with a swift kick. Three blows, three soon to die. Rati grinned crookedly.
The final two hags backed away, gesturing for the Mogols to take over. The savages were better-disciplined fighters than some gave them credit for and were especially proficient at ganging up on outnumbered opponents. They swarmed him all at once. Rati dropped to the ground and rolled on his side, stabbing two Mogols in the groin and knocking several others off their feet. Then he sprang up and attacked, not giving the savages a chance to regroup. Five strokes later, three more were dead or disabled, but two suffered relatively minor wounds.
Rati cursed himself. He hated wasted motion.
Another tendril of crackling fire struck him, this time in the ribs beneath his heart. He was thrown backward again, crashing against a boulder and banging his head. More flame leapt at him. He spun to the side, barely avoiding it. Where the fire struck the boulder, the stone exploded, casting razor-sharp splinters. One stuck in Rati’s earlobe, an extraordinary occurrence. He threw his dagger, stabbing a witch—in her hideous state—between her sagging breasts. Her chest flared red and blew outward, casting burning gore.
In a fit of snarling rage, the final two hags leapt at him again. With his short sword, he killed them both with crunching plunges to the heart.
Rati’s odds were slowly improving, but four witches and more than a dozen savages still lived. The largest Mogol—the lone Porisāda among them—approached next, bearing a glowing war club in his left hand and Rati’s uttara in his right. The other Mogols backed away, as did the witches. Apparently this savage was their champion. But all it really did was make Rati angry. His uttara, the one hundredth of a special line, had been presented to him on the one hundredth day after he had turned one hundred years old. All in attendance at the special ceremony had laughed, knowing Rati’s obsession with numbers. But he had been deeply honored. From then on, he adored this sword like no other. That a Porisāda dared foul it with his touch was the ultimate insult.
“My anger got the best of me,” Rati told Tāseti, who couldn’t help but smile. She had been in attendance when Torg presented the uttara and had laughed as hard as the rest. “I broke his left wrist with a straight kick and hacked off his right hand with a single stroke. When I picked up my uttara, I had to pry his fingers off the handle.”
The battle continued. Betrayed by their own rage, all four witches transformed into their hideous selves, and rather than coordinate, as they had in the beginning, they acted as individuals and lashed out wildly, making it easier for Rati to avoid their attacks. Three more Mogols fell—with just three strokes.
He leapt onto one of the wagons, destroyed all six barrels, and then fought his way to another. The witches’ chaotic assaults began to work against them, their own magic blowing several barrels apart. Only one wagon remained, but the surviving Mogols climbed into its bed to defend it. The witches joined them and formed a wall in front of the wagon, knowing that its precious contents were all that was left of their original cargo.
“‘Come, Asēkha,’ their leader squealed. ‘We await youuuu,’” Rati said to Tāseti, “And then, before my eyes, they all transformed to their beautiful selves, as if that would somehow seduce me. Though their artificial loveliness had no effect, their magic did. The wounds I had suffered from their earlier strikes began to fester, and dizziness overcame me. I was like a rodent bitten by a viper—and suddenly realized that I was beaten. My only hope was to escape and tell my story to others.
“Instead of attacking, I ran toward Ogha and cast myself into its currents, where I was tossed to-and-fro until darkness overtook me. When I woke, it was morning. I had somehow become entangled in the roots of a great oak that had fallen into the river. For this reason only was my life spared, for the oak had held my head above the water, but my uttara and other weapons were gone, as if the river had taken them as payment for my life.”
“And how did you come to be here?” Tāseti said.
“With great effort I reached the bank, but I was wrought with fever. For days afterward, I wandered in the plains, hoping somehow to reach Nissaya—or at least, come upon a friendly face. In that regard, I succeeded.”
“And the last barrels?”
“I can only assume their contents were dumped into the Ogha. The citizens of Senasana are in peril, but I was too sickened to warn them.”
“Once the remaining barrels were dumped into the river, the damage was done,” Tāseti said. “The undines multiply so quickly. The entire lower half of the river could have become contaminated in just a few hours. Ten thousand people live along its banks and many more that number in the city itself. You could have warned a bare fraction. Going to the city would have done you no good then, and it will do us no good now. We have no choice but to continue on our way.”
“My mission failed.”
Tāseti lifted Rati’s right hand and kissed his palm. “Only The Torgon himself might have prevailed against such foes,” she said. “Do not despair.”
Rati smiled wanly. Then his face grew puzzled. “The odd thing is, in the tumult of the river I lost all my weapons, but my skin remained attached to my belt, though it was loosely tied. When I refilled it, it didn’t even leak. How can something so delicate survive, while something so strong does not?”
“Such is the way of the world,” Tāseti said.
42
AFTER RECOUNTING his tale, Rati slept some more. Tāseti waited until noon before waking him. The Asēkha stood shakily, took a few steps, and then sat back down. Chieftain loomed over both of them, neighing with a sense of urgency.
Finally Tāseti leaned over Rati and said to him what Kusala had dreaded to say to her. “You are too weak to continue on to Nissaya by yourself. Instead, you must accompany me to Anna.”
To her relief, Rati did not protest. After taking a long swig from his skin, he stood on his own and climbed onto Chieftain’s back. “I will ride, and you will walk,” Rati said. Then he collapsed upon the gelding’s neck and fell asleep again.
Though they moved slowly throughout the day, the trio managed to cover another seven leagues before dusk. Chieftain had been bred for endurance and was capable of traveling long distances day after day, as long as the pace was reasonable and he was watered and well-fed. Rati dozed fitfully, sometimes crying out and startling the good-tempered gelding. Despite the Asēkha’s erratic behavior, the horse never bolted, but he did appear to give Rati what Tāseti perceived to be dirty looks. She couldn’t help but chuckle. Sometime during the afternoon, she made the decision to keep the horse as a personal pet.
When they finally camped, they were within ten leagues of the northwestern shore of Keo, the second largest freshwater lake in the known world. Chieftain led them to a spring hidden at the base of a hollow. A trio of large cats—called Lyons by the wild men of Kolankold—noticed their approach and scampered off. The horse would have made an excellent meal for the enormous predators, but they were obviously wary of Tāseti. Still, Chieftain was nervous and huddled near the Asēkhas, refusing to wander more than a few paces to graze.
Rati crawled on hands and knees to the spring and plunged his face into the water. Though there were many animal tracks in the vicinity, the spring was constantly replenished from deep beneath the ground and so remained potable. Rati drank until his stomach bulged, but rather than make him even more sluggish, it seemed to perk him up. After Tāseti rubbed fresh salve into his wounds, he sat up until midnight, drinking even more water from the spring and eating salted beef, brown bread, and raw carrots from Tāseti’s pack.
She was relieved. The ill effects of the injuries and poisons from his battle with the witches seemed to be losing their grip on the powerful warrior. When he finally slept, his breathin
g was steady.
The next morning, they left without bothering to fill their skins, knowing that water would be plentiful over the next leg of their journey. Rati seemed as strong as when she had last seen him by Lake Ti-ratana. He even offered to walk, and though she refused at first, he insisted, saying that he needed the exercise. The pair ended up walking together. They spoke long about Anna’s role in the war, and what they would do to defend the Tent City if both Nissaya and Jivita fell.
Eventually, they picked up the pace and broke into a jog. Chieftain joined the game, galloping far past, waiting for them to catch up, and then racing by them again. Tāseti and Rati laughed so hard they had to stop and slap their knees.
By late afternoon they were within a stone’s throw of Lake Keo. Though trees were sparse throughout most of the Gray Plains, a mile-wide band of woodlands—mostly cypress, birch, poplars, and a few longleaf pines—surrounded the banks of Keo. The poplars were in spring bloom, coating broad portions of the grassy ground with pollen.
A young deer wandered within their range of vision. Rati borrowed Tāseti’s sling and brought the doe down with a single bead. They built a fire by the water’s edge and roasted the loins, fearing no assault. The nearest danger was the wild men of Kolankold, who lived in the eastern foothills more than twenty leagues away. Tāseti broke her fast and ate a little of the meat, but Rati devoured several times his normal portion, as if ravenous. Then he drank enough water from the lake for both of them. Afterward, he was chatty again before falling into another deep sleep.
They ate more of the deer for breakfast and then roped it to Chieftain’s back, though the gelding didn’t like that at all. For the next part of their march, the terrain was friendly. The woodlands came to a sudden halt about fifty paces from the lake, and the grassy banks sloped gently to the water’s edge. They made good time again, covering almost twelve leagues by nightfall. After camping, they roasted more of the deer and slept well.
