Maja’s stomach tightened. The mention of Land’s End brought back memories of Wayan, and more than that, their child and the cruel tools of Khirtan. Standing before Wayan, she would no longer be able to hide all the emotions that she hid so well beneath the surface.
“A last resort,” said Maja.
“Last resort? Don’t have a lot of other choices left. Can’t run forever.”
“We’ll go as long as we can.”
“Then what?”
“What do you think?” she asked. “We fight.”
She ran up the side of a steep dune. With each step her thighs burned. The fungus was wearing off. The exhilaration masked the pain less and less. She had eaten fewer mushrooms than Hanu and Sri so she was the first one returning to normal. Soon their pain would slow them down and Khirtan would catch up.
A wave of panic rose along her spine. She vowed to die before letting Khirtan get his hands on her again.
She crested the sand dune. Maybe a quarter of a mile ahead, three painted canoes lined the shore, and behind them a village of longhouses and thatched huts was hacked out of the jungle. Thin white lines of smoke rose from campfires and cook pots. A group of women pounded rice and naked child played in the stream that fed into the sea.
“We’re safe!” cried Maja.
“We’ll see,” muttered Hanu.
“Where are all the warriors?” Maja asked the villagers by the campfire. She could barely catch her breath.
The old women, gray in hair and wrinkled in face, did not pause from the steady pounding of the rice. The smallest of the village women held a giant pestle, more like a club, and lifted and dropped it in a stone bowl, worn smooth by generations of women that ground the rice into a fine flour. The ground shook each time the woman dropped the pestle.
One of the villagers looked up from their work, squinting against the smoke of a smoldering campfire. She was wrapped in a black and green-checkered sarong. A camp dog lay on its side, panting at her feet, oblivious to the flies that landed on its coat. “We shed tears for the Prince.”
Maja noticed the strips of white cloth tied around the women’s arms, banded around the gathering children’s heads, the white silk hanging from the house shrines. The village mourned. Her breath tightened.
“The Prince has died?” asked Hanu, his voice breaking. He began shaking his head and his mouth stretched wide. He blinked against tears. “No. No. Not him. Why him?”
“A hunting accident,” said the woman in the checkered sarong. “His uncle, Duke Buranchiti, did everything he could to save him. But in the end, great nature consumes all of us. We return to the earth.” She bent to touch the ground with her swollen fingers. “The heavens weep for the Empire. We have been left behind to sing our prayers,” said the old woman. “The able-bodied have left for the capital. They will feed blood to the God-Throne beneath the full moon.”
“They’ve all left?” asked Sri, pulling at the hem of Maja’s tunic. “No one here to protect us?” He clutched his nailless hand to his chest. “We must go now. We have to keep running. We can’t let him catch me. Not now. Especially not now. He’s going to kill me.”
Sri ran back towards the beach, stumbled, fell in the sand, and did not rise from his hands and knees. Instead, he turned his head to the north in the direction of the Duke’s men.
“There is no one here that can fight alongside us?” asked Maja.
“This is bad,” said Hanu. “We need to get out of here.”
Maja stared at the boy trembling in the sands and the weeping wound on Hanu’s leg. They had no more mushrooms left. Even if they did, it would not matter. They had exhausted themselves. The mushrooms would only ignite their nerves but their muscles were worn out.
The pain had crept back. The sharp jabbing in her neck. The burning beneath her ribs. The burrowing heat in her hip. The ache in each knee.
She glanced up the beach. The Duke’s men were visible, just climbing over the sand dune. It was only a matter of minutes before they would swarm the village. It was too late to run. Too late to hide.
She looked into the dark forest, the walls of vines, the lair of screaming birds and howling monkeys.
Hanu nodded. “Let’s go. The jungle. Before they get here.”
He ran over to the boy and tried to lift him, but the Sri had gone limp and Hanu struggled unsuccessfully to get him to stand. Sri collapsed into the sand.
Sri turned to Maja. “Kill them all. I order you. Cut their hearts out.”
“If he won’t come, we leave him,” said Hanu. Sweat broke across his brow and he stole another glance in the direction of the descending soldiers. They plodded with heavy steps down the sandy slope. Wild looks inhabited their eyes and their mouths hung open. One wavered at the top of the dune and then just sat down. They had been run as ragged as Maja, Hanu, and Sri.
She thought that maybe they had a chance to survive, but then she realized that it would be one against a dozen, maybe two if Hanu did not simply bolt for the trees. But even if she killed several of them right off, she would not be able to protect Sri. They would separate her from him in the first moments of the fight. He would be in Khirtan’s arms, tangled in his robes, his screams masking the clattering of the hidden tools of torture.
“Maja,” Hanu seized her elbow,” we … need … to go. Now.”
With each ponderous step of Garu, a wave of sand washed down the slope.
“We won’t last more than a few hours in the jungle,” said Maja.
“So, we die here?”
“The sea,” answered Maja.
“By the gods, not there. It almost drowned us already,” moaned Sri. “Kill them do. Do your job. Protect me.”
Maja shook her head and started towards the water. “Hanu, help me drag one of these boats into the sea.”
She ran to the boats with Hanu trailing beside her. The three boats were thin coastal vessels that would not survive the fury of the outer seas. These boats were long and brightly painted in greens, yellows, and reds, with eyes on either side of the prows.
She and Hanu got behind one of them, wedged their feet in the sand, and began to push. At first the boat would not move, it was too heavy but after a concerted scream they were able to get it move a few finger-lengths, then hand-lengths, and soon it was sliding over the sand, and with pumping legs, they drove it into the gentle waves.
“They’ll come after us,” said Hanu, standing waist deep and looking at the two other boats on the sand.
“Get the boy into the boat. I’ll deal with this.”
Maja scrambled back up the shore. The Duke’s men, having seen what she and Hanu had done, broke into a trot. The line of men lengthened. A few could not even manage a trot. She wondered whether she should just turn and fight them. They were weakened now. But then she saw Sri struggling against Hanu’s arms, weeping about having to return to the sea. They would take him or kill him in the first moments. She needed to escape. She could not fight right now.
She reached the first boat. She drew her Moon Sword and slashed at the hull of the ship. The shock of blow bounced back through her arm. The wood was strong, an ironwood. As strong as her dark blade was, it would only chip away at the wood. It would take forever to hack a hole in it. She also risked shattering her blade. Better to step in battle one against a hundred than shatter her sword.
She scoured the ground near the boats and found a stone half the size of her head. She picked it up and slammed it against the boat. A fragment of the stone exploded into dust in her hand. She had made a small dent in the side of the boat.
She quickly glanced over her shoulder. The soldiers were splashing across the small stream that marked the edge of the village. Two of them had separated from the pack. They moved at more of a fast walk than a run. Young men, their faces wracked in pain, sweat glistening from the cheeks, spears in their hands. Garu followed next but he was no longer running. He was slowing and panted deeply. He had slowed his pace so that he could catch his breath, so h
e would be ready when he stepped forward to crack open her skull. Rage shook Maja’s limbs. She should charge him now. She should make him pay for what he did to Captain Pak. She looked back towards the sea. Hanu had wrestled the boy into the boat and was pushing it out beyond the breaking waves. He threw one leg over and dragged himself into the boat.
The old women seemed oblivious to the bloodshed that was about to descend on their village. Either they were ignorant or close enough to death that they no longer feared spears and blades. They stood in their small circle, lifting and dropping the pestle, their skin trembling with each drop.
The pestle, Maja thought.
She charged up the sands. The old women looked up in surprise, and then yelped when Maja shoved them aside one by one and ripped the pestle out of the hands of the little woman. It was heavier than she thought. She lowered herself and with a grunt hoisted the club on her shoulder. She stumbled down the slope until she stood before the first boat.
She gathered her breath, tightened her grip around the handle, and then swung. The pestle tore a jagged gash into the hull. Maja laughed wildly. She dragged the club to the next boat. As she brought the pestle to her shoulder, her knees nearly gave way.
A spear thudded into the sand a short distance away from her. She wanted to turn to see how close Garu and the others were but she needed to focus. She lifted the club and slammed it down. The club smashed the wood but did not tear open a hole in it. Maja cursed.
Another spear hummed through the air quivering into the hull of the ship, barely missing Maja.
She struck again. The wood buckled and snapped. A crack more than a hole. She heard footsteps.
She wheeled about. The first two were a dozen steps away. She could not break for the sea without them catching her. She needed to deal with them first, and before Garu and the others caught up.
Maja dropped the club, drew her swords, and charged straight at the two soldiers. They split apart intent on flanking her but she tracked the one on the left. The light in his eyes dulled. He would fold easily. Maja feinted with one sword and blocked with the other. He brought up his arm and she sliced clean through to the bone. A sudden stomp to his knee sent him to the ground screaming.
Down the beach Garu closed fast. Hanu paddled softly south, parallel to the shore.
The other soldier backed away. He would not engage. Maja charged and he ran back towards Garu.
Laughter bubbled from her lips but it was cut short as the sky filled with spears. Instinctively she swatted at the dark shapes with her swords. She intercepted one with her sword and but the others thunked quivering into the boat and sand.
Garu screamed. Behind him, soldiers surged.
Maja ran. She sprinted over the water-packed sand. She leapt over the foam and high-stepped through the water. Her thighs burned. The ocean swelled around her waist. She sucked in air. She slid her swords in their scabbards and dove through the breaking waves. The cold water shocked her. She surfaced gasping. Salty water coated her lips. She pushed off the sandy bottom with her toes and when she could no longer touch bottom, her clean strokes propelled her.
Hanu paused in his paddling, lowered his good hand over the edge, and, with a profanity-laced grunt, hauled her up and out of the water and onto the floor of the canoe.
Only now did Maja look back to the shore. A handful of soldiers, led by Garu, were sliding the remaining canoe along the sand. Khirtan loped along the shore, parallel to the path of the boat. Maja waited for him to yell at her, but instead, he ran with long, easy strides, a wide smile on his lips, his bone piercings bright against his dark skin, the same smile when he sliced flesh and extracted screams.
20
MAJA TOOK OVER the paddling. It was too difficult for Hanu with his hook and the two of them working together. She sat at the rear of the canoe, bending forward each time she dipped the paddle into the water. Despite her years of labor on the pirate ship, her hands were not used to the paddling, and her palms burned. They would blister. They would bleed. But she would keep paddling. She needed to get away from Khirtan. She could not let him catch her again.
And behind them, trailing in the water still some distance away, Garu and three other pirates paddled furiously after them. Maja did not want to look behind. The last time she had, Garu’s canoe had cut the distance between them in half. She wished she had more time to disable their boat.
At the front of her canoe, Sri huddled motionless in his robes. He had completely covered himself in the fabric, hiding his head and arms. He was useless. Maybe she made a mistake bringing him this far. Maybe she had made a mistake rescuing him in the first place. The boy had only brought them trouble. Did it really matter to her what the Duke wanted with the boy? But then she remembered the cold stone slabs, the manacles biting through her wrists, and the clinking of Khirtan’s tools as he approached from the shadows. She could not surrender a child to that.
“They stopped,” said Hanu. He turned where he sat and stared behind her.
Maja paused to look. The soldiers had stopped paddling. Two of them used cupped hands to scoop water out of the boat. The others argued with Garu. She heard the sounds of the voices, the sharp fragments, but she could not make out the words.
The one arguing with Garu picked up the paddle again and dug it into the water. Maja winced. They were still coming.
The soldier, his words sharp and shrill, still argued with Garu. The big man shook his head and then suddenly bolted forward. Garu jerked the vociferous soldier off his seat, held him aloft for a second, and in a blur of motion smashed his head against the canoe. The man’s limbs stopped flailing after the fourth blow. Garu shoved him overboard, picked up the paddle, and, with a long glance at Maja, turned the boat back to the shore, while the other two men, eyes cast downwards, continued to scoop water.
“You did enough,” said Hanu. “They’re taking on water.”
“We got lucky,” she said. She wondered if the soldiers had not disabled the boat when they had tossed their spears.
Maja glanced at the shore. Khirtan could run no further. He had reached the end of the beach where it surrendered to glistening black rocks covered in seaweed and mussels. Beyond that to the south, the rocks rose into a jumble and then gave way to a jungle-choked cliff. Passage further would be slow and difficult. He stopped at the edge of the sand, staring at the fleeing vessel. But he smiled as if he knew something Maja did not.
“Luck is all I need.” Hanu stretched his arms overhead and rubbed one shoulder. He cracked his neck left and right.
“We’re going to need more than luck,” she said. She dipped her hands in the salt water to cool them off. She brought her palms to her face and blew on them. The skin burned and had torn raw in a few patches. “Khirtan’s not going to stop until he gets the boy. Not even sure he is going to stop after that.”
“Always full of hope, aren’t you?” Hanu smacked his hand on the water. “If that’s the case, might be best turn back and beg Khirtan for our lives.” Hanu laughed. “You’re fucking crazy. Crazier with each passing year. Just paddle and get us the hell out of here. In fact, paddle for a while, and when we’re clear, bring me to the shore. I’m getting out of here. Sick of you. Sick of the boy. I’m not going to die for this shit.”
“We can be safe.”
He rolled his eyes. “This. Again. We can only run so far, Maja. They keep coming. What are we supposed to do?”
“We’re going to Land’s End.”
Hanu shook his head. “That was my idea. Now you’re coming around to it. You should have just listened to me earlier. Saved us the trouble.”
“We’ll be safe. They’ll protect us there.”
Hanu harrumphed. “Not sure about that. But at least we won’t be alone.”
The roll of the waves was hypnotic.
Land’s End. The Fallen. That fateful day.
Maja’s mind drifted back five years.
Her footsteps had echoed through the empty hall. Behind her, the First
Heir’s laughter had filled the inner courtyard garden. She had glanced over her shoulder. He ran among the flowers and butterflies, a wooden sword in hand, chasing Duke Buranchiti’s son.
Maja would not be long. She would not be missed. The other royal bodyguards would watch over the First Heir. The inner courtyard of the palace was safe. Never in her life had an assassin even climbed the palace walls. The safest place in the kingdom.
She found Wayan halfway down the hall, his white fungal armor glowing in the gloom. He had removed his Demon Guard mask, but it was too dim to make out his bright eyes, his strong jaw, the smile that she knew played on his lips.
He lay his palm on her belly, and pulled her in close with his other hand. He smelled of the cinnamon. “How is my son?”
She lay her hand over his. She nuzzled against his chest. “And if he is a she?”
Wayan kissed her forehead softly. “You are beginning to show. When will you talk to the Queen?”
“A dozen armed men I could face with my swords. But the Queen still makes me tremble in her presence.”
“Better you tell her than she finds out,” said Wayan. He trailed his fingers through her hair.
“But the moment I do, I will lose the armor. I will not be able to serve as a Demon Guard. Long days staring out over the city. Long days away from you.”
“Our secret needs to be revealed. After all these…”
A child’s high-pitched scream stopped Wayan short.
Maja gasped. Her stomach knotted, and for a moment her legs were frozen, but then she was running, swords drawn towards the light of the garden at the end of the courtyard.
She burst out of the shadows into the buzz of insects and the heat of the burning sun. The other Demon Guards formed a circle, facing inwards. Hanu had torn the mask from his face and knelt over a small figure dressed in white silk.
Maja’s jaw trembled. Not the First Heir! Not the child of the Queen! Maja pushed her way through the circle of bodyguards.
The Rise of the Fallen (The Rotting Empire Book 1) Page 13
