Space and Time Issue 121

by Hildy Silverman

  “Often avoidance is the best route for safety,” he continued more calmly. “All we need to do is head north.” He pointed up at the bright star flashing high in the blue sky; it was the only star visible both night and day and always indicated north. “We can follow the Great Eye.”

  “The Great Eye of Sharak’kai,” the girl said. “He is always watching us. After creating Kaifaene and ascending to the Starry Heavens, he promised to always keep his eye on us, to help guide and comfort us on our journey through the great circle of life. The chants sing of the promise of redemption.”

  “Even redemption has its price.”

  The girl looked at him and nodded slowly. He wondered how much she knew.

  That night, after a dinner of rabbit and stale bread, Vosh sat cross-legged by the campfire, working his knife over the walking stick. Sohka read through a huge tome from her satchel, occasionally pulling her eyes away to gaze up at the vast dome of stars overhead. A few times, she shivered nervously. After a while, she rubbed her eyes and looked at Vosh.

  “Do you believe in the Old Ones?” she asked quietly.

  “They are tales to scare children, nothing more.”

  “Oh.” She fell into a brief silence. The fire crackled. “There’s a chapter about them in the book I’m reading. The Blood-drinker, the Flesheater, and the Soulbreaker. The first people born on this earth. It says they seek the destruction of all life so that they can maintain their immortality and one day rule the earth, or what’s left of it. It mentions something about a pact with the Ruinous Void or some kind of dark power. It says some still dare to worship them, the Old Ones. Secret cults that hide far from the well-traveled paths.”

  Vosh continued carving the stick with his knife. “They are myths at best. Nothing more. Our only concern should be about real dangers.” He nearly growled as thoughts of the Order of Light circled his mind once more.

  “Why do you keep whittling that stick?”

  “I’m making a sword.”

  She tilted her head. The firelight glittered in her eyes. “Why? You have a real one already.”

  Vosh stopped and glanced at her. “A sword has one purpose,” he said. “Do you know what that is?”

  “Protection,” the girl answered.

  “Armor is protection. A shield is protection. Avoidance is protection. But that is not a sword’s purpose. A sword does one thing and one thing only. It kills.” He held out the wooden stick, which had finally begun taking on the shape of a long, curved sword. The weight was good, not perfect, but acceptable.

  “Then why make a wooden one? A steel sword seems more effective.”

  “I have been too long from the ways of the Senshu. When your master first awards you a sword after years of training, he sends you out into the world to test your skills and to understand the serenity of swordplay. As you leave, you must make your own weapon from the wood of a tree near where your journey begins.”

  “Why?”

  “Because any fool with a blade can kill and any fool with a blade can die. As a Senshu, you must kill without killing. To test your skills you must engage in swordplay with others. To win is to kill. To lose is to die. A sword serves no other purpose. As a Senshu, you must win without killing and lose without dying.”

  A warm breeze rolled through the tall grass. “That’s very confusing,” the girl said after a few moments.

  Vosh laughed. “I suppose it is. You will need your rest. We still have a long ways to travel.”

  Sohka put her book away and climbed into her bedroll. “Master Odala?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  After she had curled up and fallen asleep, Vosh rose to his feet. He moved slowly through the stances of the Stubborn Blade, the Springing Blade, and the Striking Blade. It had been a long time since he had practiced with a sword, even a wooden one. But the motions returned quickly, and his steps were deft and sure.

  It had been a long time since his failure. That failure would not be repeated. He would take Myono Sohka safely to the Temple of Harmony—he would keep her from harm and from the insidious clutches of the Order of Light at all costs. Then he would die, as he should have long ago.

  * * *

  “The sky and the land are in harmony here,” Sohka said as they continued through the vast plains. “It’s very lovely. I wish all things could be so balanced. But harmony comes in many shapes, I’ve learned. Storms fill the skies at times, and mountains and ravines break the earth, but that’s what balance is. People are like that, too. We have our mountains and storms, our beautiful plains. But if we are only storms and mountains, there is no balance.”

  Vosh could not help but smile at her. “And if we are only beautiful plains?”

  She smiled back. “Then our stars and darkness are out of alignment. Too much good or too much bad, it’s the same thing. Balance.” She said the word lovingly and brushed a loose strand of sunny hair behind her ear. “We could never appreciate the beauty of a spring day,” she said, “unless we know the hardships of winter.”

  “And we could never truly understand the hardships of winter,” he said, “unless we once knew the beauty of spring.”

  She nodded sadly and looked into his face. He turned away to fidget with his wooden sword.

  * * *

  After a few days, they reached a small village on the fringes of Stumpwood Forest. Vosh had just enough coin left from before his seclusion to obtain two rooms for the night. There was still a long way to travel, and a good night’s sleep in a bed, he thought, would do Sohka some good. And perhaps himself as well.

  He had taken a great liking to the girl and found her optimism and determination quite inspiring. In fact, he felt better now than he had in more time than he could count. He had purpose again, thanks to her.

  They ate noodles and dried pieces of duck in the common room while the girl talked of her family. Her father, Vosh’s former student, had been bodyguard to a nobleman in Sweetfield for many years after earning his sword. Her mother had died giving birth to a stillborn girl when Sohka was five years old. Half a year ago, her father became ill and slowly wasted away. The girl wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “That was when he gave me the letter for you,” she said.

  They talked for a while more until her yawns became frequent. “You should get some rest,” he said. “We still have many miles to travel.”

  He escorted her to her room upstairs. Before closing the door, Sohka leaned forward and kissed him lightly on his stubbly cheek. A soft, airy sweetness. Vosh went to his room, but decided to have one more bowl of tea before going to bed—he hoped it would help him sleep. The rooms were not very expensive considering how far the village was from any of the main roads, and there would still be enough coin left over for a good breakfast in the morning.

  In the common room, a group of merchants sat at a table in the corner with their bodyguards. An odd sight, Vosh thought, considering how out of the way this village was. A thin woman, playing a flute, danced on a table while a crowd of drunken townsfolk sang a lusty melody. Vosh sat down with a bowl of tea and listened to them.

  “Forgive me, my lord. But may I sit with you?”

  Vosh looked up at a plump, dark-haired woman holding a bottle of sweet wine and an empty bowl. Her sunsilk robes were low-cut and exposed the soft, pale flesh along the top of her breasts. She was already half way into the seat before he nodded his acceptance.

  “Some wine, my lord?” She had a whispering, sultry voice.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Oh, do not make a woman drink alone. Please, just one drink, my lord. While we enjoy the song. Wine and song are lovers, after all, and must be enjoyed together.”

  “Again, I must decline. And I am no lord.”

  “Oh, but you have the look of one, my lord. Do not make a woman beg. This is a wonderful nig
ht, full of song and joy. One drink to celebrate this moment, a moment that will never occur again.” Her red lips spread into a smile, and she traced the line of her half-naked collarbone with a finger.

  Perhaps she was right. This journey had been a blessing, a chance at redemption. A rather weak redemption in light of his past disgrace, but redemption all the same. Why not celebrate it a bit? The woman was quite beautiful as well, and the way she leaned forward while speaking was persuasive. “Very well. But only one.”

  She poured generously into his empty tea bowl and then poured some for herself. The woman gracefully lifted her bowl. “To the Starry Heavens and Sharak’kai.” She laughed as if she had made a jest, but quickly straightened her handsome features. “No, we will toast to you,” she said. “To the traveler. To journeys of the past, the present, and the future.”

  Their bowls tapped together, and Vosh took a long drink.

  * * *

  Odala Vosh awoke on the floor of his room at the inn. His skull throbbed mercilessly. A sour taste clotted his mouth. He crawled slowly to his feet, rubbing his eyes. His stomach trembled with nausea. He tried to recall what had happened.

  That woman last night… The images and memories of her lurched faintly through the fog and incessant pounding in his head. They were dim and difficult to grasp. He could remember nothing after drinking that bowl of wine.

  His two swords were scattered on the floor nearby. He picked them up with some difficulty, slipping the steel one over his shoulder and the wooden one into his belt. The room began to spin, and he had to lean against the wall to keep from falling over and vomiting.

  The last of his coin still jingled in his coin purse. He breathed slowly, struggling to straighten his thoughts. He had not been robbed, at least. His stomach heaved, and he bent over, retching. This continued for some time until he had nothing left to bring up.

  His thoughts swam through a muddled haze. His extremities were numb and weak. He felt intensely feverish, both shivering and sweating at the same time. Pains began to needle through his body. This was not a natural hangover, he knew. This was not an effect of drunkenness. But what else could it be? Had he suddenly become ill? Or was it something else?

  Poison.

  Sohka! He stumbled across the hall and barged through her door.

  Vosh stared at the small, empty room. Wan morning light reached in through the window on the far wall, spreading across the dusty, uneven planks of the floor. His head throbbed; his knees nearly gave out. The sheets on the small pallet in the center of the room were strewn to the side. A small chair lay broken on the floor. Her satchel was near the far wall, half disgorging books, star charts, and maps.

  He stepped forward and fell down. After recovering himself, he collected her satchel and slung it over his shoulder. Panic clawed at him, and he struggled against it. He had to calm down, had to focus, but it was so hard to think straight. Perhaps she went downstairs for breakfast. No, she was too tidy to leave the room in such a mess. He gnashed his teeth, tasting the old food and bile in his mouth.

  The pounding in his head sounded like footsteps, and it took a moment for him to realize someone was standing behind him in the door way. The innkeeper gaped at him, pale-faced. Vosh hurried clumsily toward the man. “Where is she?” he hollered. “Where is she?”

  The innkeeper made a few startled noises and then fainted, collapsing to the floor in a heap. Vosh stepped over him and rushed down the hallway, heading to the common room downstairs. Perhaps this was all a mistake. Perhaps she would be sitting there eating breakfast. He could imagine her tilting her head at his haste and wild trepidation.

  The group of merchants still sat in the corner with their bodyguards. Otherwise the room was empty. Vosh retched again. A barmaid, who had evidently entered from the back room, cried out and dropped her tray of dishes with a loud clatter. Vosh wiped his mouth with his sleeve and staggered across the room.

  “Where is she?” he shouted at the merchants as their bodyguards rose and stepped forward. “What have you done with her?”

  The guards grabbed his shoulders and tossed him out of the front door. He hit the ground hard and could not immediately get back to his feet. He had never felt so ill in all his life. He was burning up and freezing all at once. Sharp pains stabbed at the undersides of his arms, stuttered through his innards.

  On his back in the dirt, he stared up at the blue sky. The Order of Light. No doubt those merchants were a part of that wretched network of slavers. Everyone was, it seemed. In his attempts to find his wife and son, he had discovered the Order’s perverted influence everywhere. Anyone could be an agent, a spy, or a follower of the Order of Light. Anyone. It had horrified him to see just how much evil existed in the world and how little good.

  He limped to his feet, his mind reeling. In his present state, he was no match for those guards. Killers, each one. There was no doubt of that. He could hardly walk, much less fight. He was surprised they had not simply killed him rather than toss him outside. Their mistake.

  Sohka had been taken right out from under his nose. Not even halfway to Two Skies and her pilgrimage had already been shattered because of his stupidity. He sat down heavily in dirt again, rubbing his haggard face. Blunders and disgrace clung to him like an ill-fitting suit. He had failed at everything he ever tried, without exception. His life as a Senshu had ended in ignominy, and as a result he spent the last twenty years hiding from that irreparable disgrace like a sniveling coward. And now it had gotten even worse.

  He climbed back to his feet and stumbled through the small village, hoping to find some trace of her out here. Sohka needed him. He had to find her. He would find her. Whoever had taken her could not have gotten very far either by road or cross-country. She could very well still be in town somewhere hidden in a wagon or shack. The merchants would know, there was no doubt of that, but he was in no condition to confront them again.

  The sun had barely found the sky, but the heat already hung oppressively in the morning air; in spite of it, he shivered uncontrollably. A spattering of huts and dilapidated shops dotted the grounds beyond the inn but, besides a few scrawny goats and pigs, there was little other sign of people. All the same, he thought he could feel their eyes on him. There was something unsettling about the place. The Order must have a strong hold here, he thought.

  It was difficult to see clearly. Had he in fact been poisoned? His face burned, his body ached. His eyes were heavy, so heavy he could hardly keep them open. After a few more steps, he blinked and fell into darkness.

  * * *

  “You were supposed to see to this last night,” a man said in a dark, gruff voice.

  “We had no reason to believe he was not already dead, as he should have been,” a woman’s sultry voice responded.

  “Yes, we thought he was already dead,” another man added with a whimper.

  “You should have made sure,” the first man growled. “Even a dying Senshu is dangerous. That is why we dared not take him as well. The others will not be pleased.”

  “Forgive us,” the woman said.

  “Yes, forgive us,” the whimpering man said.

  “The girl was most important. We may still have use of him, however. Bring him to the ruins.”

  Footsteps stomped away. The woman sighed, and the other man muttered something nervously.

  “The amount of kingsgloom in the wine should have killed him,” the woman said. “He should have been dead after an hour at most.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him about the poison?”

  “You know how the others feel about poison, you fool. But how else can you kill a Senshu? Did they expect me to use a knife? Besides, you were supposed to make sure it worked.”

  The man cleared his throat.

  Vosh kept his eyes closed and remained motionless on the ground. His head spun, but he slowly began to collect himself. He could hear cri
ckets and night birds. How long had he been unconscious? Hours, days? Hours, most likely.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” the woman asked. “Pick him up.”

  “But the poison—”

  “Pick him up, you fool! We can worry about that later.”

  “I don’t think I can carry him.” The voice was familiar. The innkeeper.

  “Then get the wagon. This is all your fault. If you had not been so lazy, none of this would have happened.”

  “I think…” The man’s voice drifted closer. “I think he might still be breathing.”

  Vosh jumped unsteadily to his feet, swinging his steel sword out from the scabbard on his back. The innkeeper and the plump woman yelped in surprise. The innkeeper mumbled something and fainted. The woman began walking backwards, holding up her hands.

  “We were worried about you,” she said quickly. “We were going to take you back to the inn and see to your illness. You’re sick. We have medicine.”

  Just as she turned to run, Vosh grabbed a handful of her black hair. She shrieked.

  “Where is the girl?” he snarled. “What have you done with her?”

  “Please, don’t hurt me. I don’t know anything, I swear!”

  He threw her roughly to the ground, knelt down on her, and pressed the gleaming blade to her throat. Red droplets began to appear on her neck. “Where is the girl? Tell me and I will spare your life.”

  The woman stared at him, her mouth working silently.

  “Tell me!”

  “East,” she whispered. “In the forest.”

  He pulled her up to her feet by her hair. “You will take me.”

  “No, no. They will kill me. No, please. You don’t understand.”

  “I will kill you if you don’t.”

  “Wait. Wait. You’re dying. You’ll never make it there.”

  “The antidote.”

  “There is none. But…” A slow smile spread across her face. “Perhaps I can ease your passing. There is no pleasure greater than the joys of the body.” Her low-cut robe began to slip off of her shoulder. “I can make your final hours a heaven on earth. Your last breath will be a gasp of ecstasy.”