To the High Redoubt

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “It is not the way I have been taught,” she said stiffly but let go of him. “You are the one who understands these things as a soldier. If you must do it, you must.”

  He kissed her cheek. “If she could understand, she could make the choice herself, and I would abide by it—I have with my men more times than I want to remember—but she cannot, and because I brought her to this, I must do what I think is best. I’m responsible for her being here in the first place.”

  “It is karma, Arkady-immai.”

  “It’s also my obligation to that animal.” He felt a bone-deep sadness as he went back to the mule. “I’m sorry, girl,” he told her just before he swung the maul, striking her with full force between the ears. The mule went down with only the sound of her fall.

  Surata was quiet for most of that day and the next, and Arkady was unable to break into her reverie. The heat dazed him, his eyes ached in his skull and the only thing that gave him any relief was the steady pressure of Surata’s arms around him.

  Four nights after he killed the mule, the tigers returned and claimed another.

  “We’ll have to leave most of the extra clothes behind,” Arkady said when he had taken stock of what they had to carry. “There’s too much weight otherwise.”

  “That’s all right,” Surata said, sighing a little. “You choose what we should keep. You know better than I what will be the best use to us.” Her face was drawn and thinner than when they had started from Itil. She had deep smudges under her milky eyes, and her skin was chapped in many places. Arkady felt a pang as he looked at her, wishing that he could deliver her from this dangerous predicament.

  “You’re troubled, Arkady-immai,” she said, turning herself toward him.

  “The mule…we really couldn’t afford to lose it,” he hedged.

  “It’s more than that,” she said. “You’re worried about the tigers still, and there is something more.”

  He did not dare to say what had been gnawing at his thoughts for three days: what if they missed Khiva? They had no guides to take them to the city, and they had met no one coming toward them since they left the caravan. Arkady had been using the sun and the stars to point the way, but he knew only too well that it would not take much of an error for them to miss either city—Khiva or Samarkand—completely.

  “Tomorrow we will make good time,” Surata said, trying to encourage him.

  “We won’t, but it’s good of you to say we will.” He made a surreptitious check of their water supply and was not comforted by what he found. They would have enough water for another ten days and then they or the horse and mules would have to go without. Idly, he thought that it was possible for the tigers to take another mule in that time, and that would give them a day or two more water. He laughed unpleasantly.

  “You’re angry, Arkady-immai,” she said.

  “Not at you.” He reached over and put his hands on her arm. “I’m angry because we’re in a hazardous situation. Risks always make me angry”

  “Water?” she guessed.

  “In part.” He cleared his throat. “Would you mind if we rationed the water? We might find a well soon, but we can’t depend upon it, and I wouldn’t like to…” He made a resigned gesture.

  “If you think it is wise to ration the water, then do so. I can manage with less.” The weariness in her face softened. “You have done what is best for us since you bought me. You will do the best now.”

  “Thanks,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Those damned tigers will wear us down. They’re staying on our trail.”

  “You know why that is,” she said. “The Bundhi does not like to have to wonder where we are.”

  “You’re certain they’re sent by him?” Arkady believed her most of the time now that he had been with her for so long, but he could not rid himself entirely of doubt. “Couldn’t they be just a pair of tigers?”

  She shook her head. “Tigers hunt in their own areas, and these follow us. They take no prey but our animals. If you were to put a goat out with the mules, they would still take the mules or our horse if they could get him.”

  He made no argument; he was aware that they were under scrutiny. There had been many times in the past when he had felt that odd sensation, a prickling of his skin, and never more strongly than now. “Right,” he said to her, hoping to find a way to divert the tigers before they killed the rest of their animals.

  They pressed on for more than a week and lost another mule to the tigers. The low salt flats gave way to hard scrub land with dust-colored grasses and occasional thorn bushes. They saw no one. Finally, sitting by a dying fire, Arkady voiced the fear that had been plaguing him for more than three days.

  “Surata, it’s possible that we’re lost.” He thought of their waterskins, now almost empty, and their diminished food. “We might have passed Khiva and…not known it. There should have been some sign by now that we were still on a caravan route, but…there’s been nothing.”

  “What should we do, Arkady-immai?” She sounded calm enough, but he could see that her hands shook.

  “Go on, I guess. There is supposed to be a riverhead somewhere and once we find it, we can follow it southward.”

  “Will it take us to Samarkand?” she asked, dipping her fingers into the meager serving of peas and millet. It was all they had left to eat in their supplies, and Arkady dared not leave her to hunt for fear of what the tigers might do. He could tell from the way his gelding fretted that the enormous cats were not far off.

  “No, but we should cross a caravan route eventually, and then we will be able to find where we’re going.” It was a remote hope, and he took refuge in petulance. “And if you’d use your powers to see where we are, you could get us away from here.”

  Surata set her food aside. “Arkady-immai, when I am tired I can see no farther with my skills than you can with your eyes. Beyond those limits, how can I or anyone tell where a place is? Once we are beyond the confines of the earth, we can be anyplace we wish to be in an instant. How far do we have to go to be there? How do you measure such a distance? And how can I guide you here with what we might learn there? It’s useless, Arkady-immai. It’s no aid to us to search where there are no landmarks and no roads to…”

  He sighed. “I know. I know. I want a miracle, Surata. There are times I hope that you can give me one, but…” He did not know how to go on.

  She had no comfort for him. She rested her head on his shoulder, then carefully scooped out the last of her food, licking it off her fingers with care. “We will have to find a well, won’t we? And soon.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “For the animals as well as ourselves. Since I can’t see anything hopeful, I don’t suppose you…”

  “I will do what I can,” she promised him, her face wan.

  They found no water the next day—neither dared to speak of it—nor the next. The skins they carried became flaccid and empty, and the parching sun did not spare them. Their lips cracked and bled, their skin chapped, breaking at elbows and knuckles. Their heads throbbed from heat and sun, and when they moved, there were roaring tides in their heads that frightened them as much as the inexorable, festering sun.

  And when Surata insisted that there was a spring nearby, a cool place in the hard, rocky ground, Arkady was sure that she was suffering from the sun and thirst, that she had conjured up a vision of what she wanted for them both to make their ends a little more bearable. He did not have the heart to challenge her.

  “We’ll try it,” he said through his crusted mouth, knowing they had nothing better to do. “Where is it?” As he asked, the bay tossed his head, snorting and trying to bounce on his forefeet, though he tottered like a newborn foal with the effort.

  “He smells the water,” Surata told Arkady.

  “I hope so,” Arkady responded and let his horse have his head. He wobbled in the saddle as the gelding stumbled into what once would have been a brisk trot. “How far?”

  “Not very,” she said, her voice cracking. “We ca
n go a little further without food if we have water.”

  “Right.” He tried to make out what lay in the distance, but his vision was blurred, and when he blinked, it made him feel dizzy.

  The bay snorted again, moving more actively. Then he whinnied and started to run, going toward a place in the rocks where the shadows fell deep and cool.

  Arkady blundered out of the saddle and stepped into the darkness. His foot slipped on the moss growing around the spring. He dropped to his knees, catching himself on his hands, then brought them to his face, seeing how wet they were, and how chilled. “Surata!” he shouted. “Surata!” He lurched to his feet once again. “There’s water!”

  “Yes,” she called to him. “I can smell, as your horse does.”

  Leaning down, Arkady sunk his hands into the spring and brought up a handful of water. He drank it greedily through his palm, begrudging every drop that trickled through his fingers. After four such frantic gulpings, he knew he should stop, or he would get sick. Reluctantly he came out into the light again. “I’ll help you down, and get the pail for the horse,” he said, reaching up to Surata and taking her around the waist.

  “He is half-crazed, poor beast,” Surata remarked as she was led into the cave.

  “Drink, Surata, but not too much at first.” Now that he had had some water, he became light-headed. He giggled as he filled the pail, and he was whistling when he gave the pail to his gelding, finding it amusing to listen to the horse blow through his nostrils as he drank. He looked up at the sky, and it no longer seemed to be made of heated brass. He pulled off his knotted cotton headgear and flung it away from him, then sunk his hands in his unkempt hair.

  The bay brought his head up, snorting. He stamped twice, as if trying to dig more water out of the ground.

  A little of Arkady’s euphoria faded and he came back to his horse. “Not yet, old fellow,” he said, patting the dusty neck. “Wait awhile and I’ll see you get some more.” He bent down and picked up the leather pail. “Surata? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Arkady-immai.” She sounded stronger. “It is pleasant to be out of the sun.”

  “Good.” He found the hobbles on the saddle and knelt down to fasten them on his gelding. He had made up his mind that no matter how much sunlight was left to them, they would remain here for the night, and he wanted to make sure the gelding did not wander off. On impulse, he took his sword and scabbard, belting them on as he went back into the cave.

  “The water is sweet,” Surata said to him as he came to her side.

  “Don’t drink too quickly or too much,” Arkady warned her again. “If you do, you may become ill.”

  “Yes, I am aware of this,” she said, reaching out and dangling her hands in the water. “This is very nice.”

  He copied her hesitantly, wondering if it would make his thirst more acute. “It’s…restful,” he said a bit later.

  She did not speak at once, and when she did, her tone was thoughtful. “Arkady-immai, doesn’t it seem odd to you that this spring should be here and there be no signs that men come to it? Animals must—I can catch their scents a little—but there is nothing to say that men know of this place, not so much as a bucket or a pitcher.”

  Although this bothered him as well, he said, “We’re in a remote part of the world, Surata. Perhaps the men who know of this place aren’t here often.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No, Arkady-immai, that is not the reason. The reason is that we are far from any roads, aren’t we?” She did not sound frightened, but still, it was hard for him to answer her. “Arkady-immai?”

  “Right,” he muttered. Then he turned to her. “Yes, Surata, yes. We’re lost.”

  Chapter 19

  They did not so much sleep that night as collapse. Both lay in an exhausted stupor that held them even when foxes and wide-eared, flat-headed sand cats came to drink in the night. Once a golden civet sprayed its penetrating scent at an unknown threat, and that odor hardly disturbed Arkady and Surata, though she sneezed.

  When they woke, it was slowly and groggily, moving as if they feared their bones would not support them.

  “I’m hungry,” Arkady said when he had blinked and stretched and tried to remember where he was.

  “So am I,” Surata said. “But the horse needs food more than we do. He will not carry us much longer unless he has food and a rest. He is as tired as we are.”

  “I know,” Arkady grumbled. “He can eat grass and leaves if he must. I’ll try to cut him something when I get up. Can you tell if there are any trees or shrubs that he can eat?” His mouth was dry, but that no longer weighed on him as it had the day before. He remained still, hoping that he would be able to keep down the little moisture he had taken.

  She started to speak, but began coughing from the effort.

  He reached out to her, touching her hair. “Are you all right now?”

  “I’m tired.” She stretched. “I don’t think I have been this tired in all my life, not when I was going with the slave caravan, not when I fought with my family against the Bundhi. My bones long for sleep.”

  “I’m sorry, Surata.” His sympathy was deep and genuine. “I’m truly sorry.”

  “But why? I am the one who should say that to you, since I am responsible for us being here at all.” To her chagrin, she started to weep. “I…it’s the fatigue, Arkady-champion, it means nothing. I can see why you do not trust me at other times when I nearly brought us to death by getting us lost.”

  He understood her better than she knew. “Surata, after I take care of the horse, I’m going to find us something to eat, even if it’s only grasshoppers. We can’t keep on this way. One of the reasons we’re lost is that we’re too tired and too hungry and too worn out to be able to think clearly. And in this condition, we haven’t a prayer of getting to that other place for help.” Or for relief, or for love, he added to himself.

  “I wish I could help!” She brought her hands to her eyes. “I detest this blindness!”

  “I know,” he said, confining her hands in his own. “I know, Surata.”

  She turned on him, as if she willed herself to see him. “Why do you bear with me? I have led you into this…desolation. I have cost you more than gold and livestock. I have failed you, and—”

  He sat up. “You know why. I’ve told you before. Surata, you hate your blindness more than I do. That’s natural. It saddens me that you’re blind. But I’m damned if I’ll pity you for it, or let you pity yourself.” He pulled her up. “I know how you feel. You’ve told me before.”

  This outburst quieted her, and she composed herself. “You’re right to rebuke me.”

  “For all the Saints in Heaven…!” He unwrapped himself from the blankets. “I didn’t rebuke you.” He glared at her in exasperation. “Or if I did, it wasn’t meant to—”

  “It was meant kindly,” she interrupted him. “I realize that.”

  “But?” He smiled down at her.

  She shrugged. “It still irritates me.”

  “Not surprising.” Arkady just managed to suppress a yawn, then looked about for his horse.

  The bay was near a few low-lying bushes, stripping the few leaves off the branches. His ribs showed and his dark coat was almost without luster. But he was eating, and Arkady knew that in time he could grow sleek and glossy once more.

  “Doing better?” Arkady asked as he came up to the gelding. He patted the horse’s shoulder. “You’ve done more than I should have asked of you, fellow.” He looked for the shears in one of the packs and started away, still weak and unsteady, for the hillside, where he set himself to cutting the clumps of grass and other low vegetation he found. It took him longer than he thought possible, but when he came back, he had an armload of fodder for the horse. “I’ll get you more water in a bit,” he said to the bay, then looked around for Surata.

  She was not where he had left her: the blankets were neatly rolled and stacked together, but she was nowhere in sight.

  Arkady knew a
moment of consuming panic, then steadied himself. “Surata!” he shouted.

  There was no answer at first, and then he heard her call his name. She was in the cave of the spring. “Come here, Arkady-immai.”

  He found her seated by the water, her legs drawn up and crossed in the manner she had, soles upward in the bend of her knees. She had regained some of her serenity. “I have been wondering why the tigers did not come here. It would have been an easy thing, a natural thing for them to attack and drink as well.”

  Arkady had been able to keep the tigers from his thoughts, but her reminder brought back all his apprehension. “Do you have any reason?”

  “Yes, I think I do. This spring has a guardian.” Her smile widened.

  “What do you mean, a guardian?”

  “You know,” she said impatiently. “There are forces that are partly of the other place and partly of the daily world. They are often very ancient things. This guardian is one such.”

  “You mean it’s haunted?” He crossed himself quickly, remembering everything he had been told as a child about malevolent ghosts and evil spirits.

  “Not haunted,” she corrected him. “This is a…being that watches this place. Perhaps other men think it is holy or haunted, and that is why they do not come here. The animals know better, and visit it regularly.” She rocked a little.

  “Then the tigers might—”

  “The tigers are agents of the Bundhi. They cannot come here. The guardian does not permit that.” Her voice was light and happy. “We can remain here another day or so and be safe. The Bundhi will not be able to find us, in the daily world or in the other place: the guardian has power in both and will stop him.”

  Arkady could think of nothing to say to her. While he knew she did not doubt what she was telling him, he could not accept it without dread. He muttered a prayer under his breath and looked around the darkness uneasily. “What makes you think this is so?”