He stepped back into the water. It was an old trick, sending a few riderless horses in one direction as a decoy while the main party went the opposite way. But why? William knew all about Jack’s power: the regiment had relied on it often to pursue its enemies. So why would William use his power to hide the tracks when he knew Jack could see the sattva trail anyway?
The answer came to him with the same heightened clarity with which he viewed his surroundings. William was giving him a chance. Jack could easily tell the others that the trail led to the right. No one would doubt him. He could then follow the roaming horses and eventually claim to have lost the trail altogether.
But it was more than just a chance – it was also a test. If Jack led the soldiers along the false trail, then William would know that Jack was still a friend, perhaps held captive by the Rajthanans. But if Jack followed the real trail then William would know that his old friend, for whatever reason, had become an enemy.
‘What’s the problem?’ Sengar snapped. ‘Let’s get after them.’
Jack looked up at the Captain sitting astride his horse, moustache rolling. It would be so easy, almost a pleasure, to lead Sengar along the false trail. He was breathing heavily now. William had given him a way out – he had to take it.
But then he thought of Elizabeth in the cell and the pardon sitting in the top drawer of Jhala’s desk. He couldn’t abandon his daughter.
‘This way.’ He walked over to the left bank and the true trail.
‘There’s nothing that way, sir,’ Kansal said to Sengar in Rajthani.
‘He knows what he’s doing,’ Sengar replied. ‘He’d better, at any rate.’
Jack followed the quicksilver trail out of the water and through the undergrowth. The ribbons danced and rippled a few feet above the ground. He climbed back on to his horse and picked his way between the trees.
They passed out of the medium stream and Jack sensed the sattva thin to a weak residue. He had to scratch about with his mind to find something to smelt, and the effort took its toll. From far away, he noticed he was shivering and the breath was being squeezed from his lungs. His legs and arms grew heavy and he slumped in the saddle. How long could he keep going?
After around ten minutes he saw hoof prints once again, and other signs that the rebels had passed that way – snapped twigs and a torn spiderweb. The area concealed by William’s power had come to an end. He exhaled and let himself slip out of the trance. Immediately, pain thumped him in the chest and he leant forward and gasped for breath.
‘What’s the problem now?’ Sengar asked.
Jack gulped down air and the pain eased. Finally he was able to say, ‘Nothing.’
Sengar’s moustache stiffened, but he didn’t reply.
Jack took a swig of water, forced himself to sit upright and tried to ignore the stabbing sensation in his chest. He shook the reins and the horse eased into a trot. His surroundings were now dull and blurry; the shining trail had disappeared, but the tracks in the material world were easy enough to follow.
They came out of the woods and on to a stretch of flat ground. The trail led to a steep slope and they zigzagged up, the horses slipping and sliding in places, whinnying in complaint. After half an hour they reached the summit, by which time Jack was exhausted again.
The sun weighed on the exposed hill. He paused for a moment, drank some more water, blinked and shook his head to clear his thoughts.
‘Which way now?’ Sengar asked.
‘Hold on,’ Jack said.
He circled about the hilltop on his mare and studied the ground, finding a confused mosaic of hoof prints, all in varying states of dryness. Some marks were light-coloured and brittle, at least two hours old. Others were darker and more moist, clearly more recent.
He found the point where the churned earth of the tracks led down the far side of the hill towards a forested plateau. The rebels had left only one hour earlier, at the most.
He looked back the way they’d come. He had a clear view of the trees with the glinting river twisting between them. He could make out the ford and the plains beyond. Slowly he pieced together the rebels’ movements – it all made sense. William had led his men down to the river, set up the decoy, and then taken them up the hill. From the summit he must have waited for an hour to see whether Jack would follow the true trail.
A chill crawled across Jack’s skin. William, probably using a spyglass, would have been able to watch him as he deliberated over which path to take out of the river. William had seen him follow the true trail.
So that was it. He and William were on opposite sides of the mutiny now.
And Elizabeth was on William’s side.
He called over to Sengar and pointed towards the forest below. ‘They went this way. They’re only an hour ahead of us.’
Sengar searched Jack’s face. ‘Good work.’
They thundered down the slope and into the trees. It was dim beneath the canopy and the late afternoon sun slanted through at an angle, like light underwater. The rebels had followed a path that was clear of undergrowth and the way was easy, despite the uneven ground.
For three hours they kept up the pace. The trail wound through the forest, across two brooks, and up and down slopes. Eventually the trees petered out and the tracks climbed higher into the hills. At times they could see the corrugated countryside stretched out below, washed in the amber glow of the summer evening.
Jack’s injury came and went. Sometimes he recovered and the pain subsided completely. But then it would get worse and he would almost pass out. He tried to hide it from Sengar and the others, although he was sure they were starting to notice. At least he hadn’t needed to use his power again.
Sunset burnt the sky red and gold. The air turned a hazy pink. They paused on a hilltop and watched as shadows fingered the downs. Fireflies appeared in fairy curtains.
The trail now became more difficult to follow. Jack carried a lantern and had to slow the pace to a walk. He bent as low as he could in the saddle to light the ground and he often had to dismount and study the earth for several minutes. He could tell that the rebels had also had to slow their pace – the distance between the hoof prints had lessened markedly.
‘We’ll follow them through the night if we have to,’ Sengar said. ‘We can’t let them get the advantage now.’
Jack’s limbs ached and the tightness in his chest grew. He shut his eyes for a moment, but snapped them open when sleep leapt at him. Sengar was right, they couldn’t let William get ahead.
The gloom thickened. They travelled across valleys and scarps largely devoid of trees. The hills and rocks were indistinct in the dark and picked out only by moon-frost.
At one point Jack lost the trail completely. He climbed off his horse and hunched over the ground, enclosed in the globe of the lantern light. His eyes felt full of grit. He searched, but found no markings in the grass and dust. Eyes intent on the ground, he crept ahead a few yards, but still found nothing.
The rebels seemed to have vanished.
Perhaps William had used his power again? But that was unlikely. Why pause to use it when Jack could still follow him?
But then, where were the tracks?
Jack walked to his horse. ‘We’ll have to go back a while.’
Sengar stared at him. ‘Why?’
‘Lost the trail. But I’ll find it again.’
Sengar sucked on his teeth but said nothing.
They retraced their steps. Jack peered at the ground, but the markings of his own party had crushed and scattered those of the rebels and now it was impossible to tell the two trails apart. After he’d gone a quarter of a mile, he stopped his horse. Sengar and the others drew up behind him. He gazed at the scalloped prints in the earth. He should have been able to see the rebels’ trail by now – he could remember riding past this point with the tracks clear before him.
He dismounted, but moved too quickly and almost fainted as his feet hit the ground. He leant against the rump of the hors
e and the animal stomped nervously. Steadying himself, he raised the lantern and searched the chaotic tracks more closely.
Sengar rode up beside him. ‘Why’s it taking so long?’
‘I’ll find it.’
‘Perhaps a rest stop—’ Kansal began.
‘Out of the question,’ Sengar said.
Jack sat down and crossed his legs. There was nothing else for it – he would have to use his power again. He shut his eyes and tried to focus his mind, but the pain beat in his chest and the air creaked in his lungs. He wanted to sleep – he felt as though he could sleep for ever – but he fought off the feeling.
He reached out to his surroundings and found he was in a medium stream. He called up the yantra and tried to repress any other thoughts. He repeatedly thought he was going to pass out, but each time he pulled himself back before the darkness closed over him entirely.
Finally, after more than ten minutes, he felt the familiar sensation of the world branching and interlocking. He vibrated and slipped outside himself. Energy shot up his spine, and then he was in.
He smelted sattva to keep himself in the trance and the sweet scent radiated out from him. But his body shuddered with tiredness, and even though he observed this from a distance he knew he couldn’t remain in this state for long.
At least he could see the sattva trails now – they fanned out in the dark like foam on the sea. He focused on the ground directly ahead, which made the markings further away vanish. The fresh tracks of his own party coursed before him, although the silver cords were faint and translucent – even sattva trails were hard to see at night. He gazed at the shifting tendrils, trying to make out the rebels’ tracks beneath those of his own group. But he couldn’t see anything.
He noticed himself sigh. His body seemed to be fading. And he watched all of this from far away, something that had happened a long time ago to someone else . . .
‘Casey,’ Sengar barked.
Where was he? What had happened?
He felt as though he’d just woken from sleep. But he knew he hadn’t been asleep because he could still see the sattva trail and the trance would have been broken the moment he drifted off. His consciousness itself seemed to have blinked out, while the rest of him had stayed sitting still. He shook his head. Nothing like that had happened to him before. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been out for.
Sengar glared down from his horse. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Jack replied. ‘Just looking at the tracks.’
‘He went as pale as a corpse,’ Kansal whispered to Sengar.
‘He’s fine. Tell the others to take a break. We’ll move out in half an hour.’
Sengar dismounted and stood looking down at Jack, lips pressed together tightly. ‘Jhala told me you were the best. You’ve got thirty minutes.’
Sengar strode off to speak to his men, who now stood talking quietly and looking warily into the darkness. Sentries took up places in a wide circle, watching with lanterns raised beside them.
Jack examined the glowing tracks. His own party’s trail was still visible, but now that he was no longer under such great pressure he could make out the slightly older rebels’ tracks, a fainter, thinner set of wavering lines. For a few minutes he studied the markings, until he was sure he would be able to follow them.
He stood. ‘We can carry on.’
‘Break’s over,’ Sengar shouted. ‘Quickly now.’
They all climbed back on to their horses and turned to head forward again. Jack put out his lantern – the light was distracting him from the sattva trail. He gazed at the luminous tracks and tried to keep his mind still.
His body shook, pain cracked his chest and his breath was short and wheezy. He sensed all of this and knew he couldn’t last much longer, but he pressed on regardless.
A few minutes later he saw the dull silver veering off to the right between a pair of boulders. He looked at Sengar and pointed along the trail. ‘They went this way.’
They followed the tracks into a wide valley where sparse, windswept trees bent in prayer to the moon. The trail glimmered as it arced away across the valley floor.
He was aware that his breathing had become shallow and intermittent. He sagged in the saddle. He tried frantically to pull in more sattva, but he’d passed into an area where there was almost none.
Suddenly, he flicked out of the trance. His chest felt as though it had been pierced by a spear. A dark cloud moved across his eyes and he slipped off his horse. He felt himself falling, falling for a long time without hitting the ground. He heard Sengar and Kansal shouting . . .
Cold water slapped him in the face. He sat upright with a start, gasping and blinking the water out of his eyes. Sengar and Kansal crouched in front of him, faces ghoulish in the lantern light. It was still night and he could see the gloomy valley and the hills ranged behind the officers. Lefevre stood nearby with an upturned canteen in his hand and a smirk on his lips.
‘Can you hear us?’ Kansal asked.
Jack nodded. He felt slightly better. His chest was no longer constricted and he could breathe more easily.
‘Can you stand?’ Sengar asked.
Jack tried to get up, but he was still weak and dizzy. He had to lean against a tree in order to raise himself.
‘He can’t go on,’ Kansal said. ‘He looks terrible.’
‘He’ll do exactly what I tell him to, Lieutenant,’ Sengar said. ‘As will you.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Sengar stood with his face close to Jack’s, moustache rolling on his top lip.
Jack stared back.
‘We’ll make camp here,’ Sengar said finally, turning away. ‘We start again at first light.’
‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ Sengar’s moustache was taut.
Jack was sitting a few feet away from the campfire and the main group, eating vegetable stew from a mess tin. He put his spoon down and looked up. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? Thought you were dead.’
Jack took another mouthful of stew and chewed it slowly.
‘Your injury, is it?’ Sengar said. ‘Jhala said it wouldn’t be a problem.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Well, I don’t care what’s wrong with you, so long as you stay alive long enough to find Merton.’
‘I’ll find him.’
‘Good. Just remember what’s at stake.’
As if he could forget.
Sengar walked back to the fire, spoke to his batman, then strode off into the brush. He sat cross-legged a few yards away from the fire, put his hands on his knees and closed his eyes. He seemed to glow faintly as he meditated. No doubt he was ‘replenishing’ – true siddhas, unlike native siddhas, had to replace their mind’s store of sattva after using a power.
Jack wondered what other powers Sengar had, apart from sattva-fire. It would be useful to know. But he wasn’t even sure what kinds of powers existed. Jhala had never told him the extent of the powers and because siddhas were so rare in Europe he’d only occasionally seen them in action. He’d seen military siddhas use sattva-fire on the battlefield. And he’d seen siddhas commanding avatars. That was all. He’d heard all kinds of rumours about what the siddhas were capable of, but he didn’t know how much of this was true.
After meditating, Sengar was served a meal specially prepared by his batman. Kansal didn’t eat with the Captain, which confirmed he was from an inferior jati, but once Sengar had finished, Kansal strolled over and Jack listened to the two officers speak in Rajthani. The cavalrymen had laid out sleeping mats and had already started resting. The horses had been picketed beneath a row of trees and sentries stood further away.
‘Bloody country.’ Sengar picked with a stick at something in the sole of his boot. ‘Freezing cold and damp. Full of filthy barbarians. France is no better.’
‘It’s not Rajthana,’ Kansal said.
‘Shouldn’t even be here.’
‘Sir?’
‘Family’s
high up in the sun clan. I never should have been sent here. Soon as this damn mutiny’s over I’m putting in for a transfer back home.’
Kansal was silent and stared at the fading embers of the fire.
‘I’ll get a commendation, so long as we get Merton,’ Sengar said. ‘I’ll make sure you get a mention too.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Sengar put the stick down and wiped his boot on the grass. ‘Just so long as I can get the hell out of here. I’m not going to rot in this place.’
Jack rolled on to his side and pulled a blanket over him. He’d often heard the Rajthanans talk about returning ‘home’ to their country far across the sea in India. Even those who’d been born in Europe, like Jhala, seemed to dream about it.
‘Rajthana – a beautiful country,’ Jhala had often said. ‘The deserts, the cities, the peepul trees.’
Jack shut his eyes. Why did his thoughts keep turning to Jhala? He tried to blot out the memories, but they swept uncontrollably around him.
For a moment he recalled the time he’d gone to Jhala for money. The landlord was threatening to evict him and his family from their smallholding. He’d tried everything to raise the rent and had borrowed as much as he could from family and friends. But he was still short.
Away with the regiment, he received a desperate letter from Katelin saying they had only a month to find the money. With no other option, he went to Jhala. It wasn’t uncommon for native soldiers to turn to their officers for loans, but Jack had always been too proud for that. Now he stood in front of Jhala, trying to find a way to ask, yet unable to bring himself to do it.
‘You need money,’ Jhala said.
Jack was startled. ‘How did you know?’
‘Word gets around.’ Jhala smiled. ‘William told me.’
Jack lifted his chin and stared straight ahead. ‘Sir, I don’t like to beg, but could you help?’
‘How much?’
‘Ten pounds.’
Jhala glanced at the ceiling, swilled the idea around in his mouth, then grinned. ‘No problem.’
Land of Hope and Glory Page 10
