by Richard Nell
Kikay glanced at the barbarian’s strange eyes and saw the hurt. He looked suddenly like a child ready to sit in the corner and sob. Her anger slipped away as it always did, replaced with regret for the outburst, and perhaps some contempt for his softness.
“Alright, I’m…”, she meant to say ‘sorry’, but lost her words.
Ruka released the umbrella with a violent jerk. He reached for her and froze as if in agony, then staggered across the small boat, causing it to sway enough Kikay had to grab out for balance.
With a wild cry, he ripped a long knife from his waist, seized the pilot by the hair, and with one savage stroke, half severed the man’s neck. His blood spattered the wood, the sail, and the rudder.
Ruka screamed and stabbed the dying pilot again and again before ripping the head off completely with a horrifying tearing sound. The suddenly insane savage roared, throwing bits and pieces of the man off the side like chum. All the while, Kikay did not move.
Her stomach fluttered with illness at the shock and the display. Her legs felt weak, because she understood all at once that she was trapped on the sea with a madman.
Ruka was muttering to himself in nonsense sounds, or perhaps in his own tongue. His teeth were bared, his head shaking back and forth, voice stopping and starting with growls and hisses.
Kikay’s mind wouldn’t seem to work. She felt helpless, trapped in a cage with a wild, diseased animal. She could only stare at the pool of blood that used to be a man.
Ruka put red hands to his spotted face. His eyes rose slow and steady till they locked on hers.
“That should have been you, you god damn fool.” His chest heaved, his sharp teeth exposed. “Our mother loved us,” he hissed. His tone was deeply bitter, emphasized, as if daring her to disagree. He was shaking, his sounds suddenly accented.
“I…I’m sure she did. I spoke in anger.”
Did he say us?
The giant came forward, struggling with every step. Kikay had backed as far away as she could, and considered leaping into the water, but she was too slow.
Huge hands batted away her protests and wrapped around her neck before she could scream. His lips curled back like a dog’s, and he bent her backwards, half over the water.
“Beyla was kind and brave, good and loving. She was nothing like you, princess, or like me. I know that torturer was yours, oh yes. I know you play the fool, but the servants live in fear of you, and no doubt the whole of Sri Kon. I know your games and deceptions and what lies beneath that mask. Monsters can not hide from monsters.”
He breathed as if fighting the urge to crush her neck, his muscles straining though the pressure of his grip did not change.
“You will never. Ever. Speak of my mother. Never, ever, ever, ever!” His chest rose and fell. “Or I will teach you the truth of suffering. Do you understand, pampered princess?”
Kikay nodded because she could not speak. She felt only the slippery filth on Ruka’s fingers and now on her face and hair, and the closeness of his face and his rotten breath mingling with hers.
All at once he let go and backed away. His face scrunched as if confused, hands still out and half curled around an invisible neck. He looked at the blood-stained boat, and his eyes looked full of regret.
“I…I’ll clean…this, and take us to Bato,” he said, his voice was far away now as if describing a dream, flawless Pyu sounds again. “The pilot,” his mouth opened and closed and he looked, perhaps, ashamed, “he died of a sudden illness.” The savage scooped pales of water and scrubbed at himself, then the blood-puddle.
Kikay reached down and cupped sea water with her hands to wash her skin. She closed her eyes and tried to control the trembling. She knew she must not show fear before a wild animal.
“I noticed he’d looked pale,” she said, when she felt her voice would be controlled. “Then he shook and coughed up blood, and within minutes collapsed and died. I…I didn’t wish to travel with a corpse, so you threw him overboard, for my comfort. Thank you.”
The giant said nothing, throwing the last of the pilot’s body into the water.
“I’ll say a prayer now,” Kikay said, still trying to return to herself. Her mind at least began working again and she knew the pilot’s family would have to be compensated. “Did you know his name?”
Ruka shook his head. He finished cleaning himself, then moved to steer the ship, his back turned away from her.
Kikay asked the good spirits to hide the pilot’s corpse from sea gods, lest they raise him as some deep terror. And she asked them, too, to protect her from this madman, and let her live to see dry land again.
As she prayed she made herself and the spirits a sacred vow, that she would put deep if she had to: if she lived to see the shores of her city, she promised, Ruka would one day die screaming.
She understood Farahi had been tricked, maybe even influenced with some foreign magic, and every moment in this thing’s presence put him in danger. Her brother was a great man, and a great king—the king Pyu needed and deserved. But he needed protection, from himself, from his enemies, and from his ‘friend’. As ever, Kikay intended to see it done.
* * *
Arun sat cross-legged on the beach. He fought down his impatience with thoughts of now—birds laughing as the tide left their supper, the strong warm breeze and dancing shade from palm leaves above.
No matter his attempts at calm, however, he felt the tingle of nervous pleasure when he saw Ruka’s boat.
A messenger from the king had arrived earlier and asked the monks to allow the visit. Old Master Lo had spit and frothed and spread his ire to a few of the elder monks, but ultimately, they had to agree.
Arun wondered if the giant could speak many words now. He wondered, too, if he would be angry about the night of torture and losing a finger to save Arun’s life.
In the past months of reflection, he’d had considerable time to think on his past. He examined his choices and deeds, successes and failures.
The monks seemed entirely less hateful than they had in his youth. Instead of ignorant tyrants and cruel old men, he saw a simple people surrounded by beauty, choosing lives of discipline and worship for different reasons.
It had shamed him, at first. Arun had taken their teachings and turned them to his own profit with no other purpose, no higher meaning except escape. And escape from what? He still did not know. He had caused pain, and death, and when all of it slipped through his fingers he’d had nothing at the end.
But he did have one thing, he’d eventually realized: he had saved Ruka from torture and death, whatever his reason; then he had been saved by him in return. It felt like one lonely balance of fate and justice in a lopsided life, something even the monks respected. Every day that single deed sat warm and still in Arun’s gut like a morning meal.
So he’d sat on the rocky Batonian beach trying to still his mind, and not just his body. He had focused on the horizon most of the morning, losing his patience many times in anticipation. It was at least a start.
Now he examined the ship—a civilian outrigger, sleek and narrow, pontooned with a single sail. It cut across the waves with ease in the strong wind, and Arun realized with amazement that Ruka was piloting. At the rear of the boat sat a woman in colored silks.
Arun’s mind and heart raced as he fought for quiet. It had to be Kikay.
After the torture, she had returned as promised and found him by the butcher’s corpse. He’d been trapped and bleeding, his tormentor dead and sprawled beside. She hadn’t spoken or panicked. She put soft, gentle hands to his cheeks and held his eyes. Then she’d struggled with the winch but managed. And once he was free, his muscles throbbing from the awkward angles and effort, she had whispered in his ear.
“It’s alright,” she’d brushed his skin, “you’re safe now. You’re safe.”
They’d spoken only once more before Farahi sent him to Bato. She snuck into his room, her fear plain as day. She begged him to succeed.
“Please don’t fail because o
f pride. You must impress the monks to gain Farahi’s trust. I need your help. Please. I’m so alone here.”
She’d broken down and told him about her brother’s ‘sorcery’ and madness, his lust for power and ruthlessness. Arun held her and said he’d do what he had to. He said he’d come back and help her, and at the time he thought his words simple lies—another con for another rich matron, this time to save his skin. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He watched Ruka steer to the small docks, lashing rope near as fast and snug as any seaman. He stepped off to the pebbles and dirt with sandaled feet, skin ruddy but somewhat browned, in thin cloth shorts and shirt like some giant, monstrous islander.
“Loa, pirate.”
Arun bowed to hide his smile.
“Loa, Fellow Traveler. Do you speak some of our words now?”
“Yes. Most. Have you become a priest?”
Arun rose with no expression. He was astounded at Ruka’s words, which seemed almost perfect even in sound.
“We monks don’t preach, if that’s what you mean, especially not to barbarians.”
The giant nodded and came forward, raising his left hand to spread his four fingers.
“You owe me a finger of debt. I’d like to see the island.”
Kikay stepped off the boat behind him. She raised her skirts with one hand, held an umbrella with the other, and set down lightly on the swaying dock. Her long hair blew in the breeze, eyes shining in the sun.
Arun walked past Ruka as if pulled to help her across.
“Loa, Princess.” He bowed, deeper than before. And she smiled and nodded, but seemed unwell, perhaps pale. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Just the waves. It’s nice to see you again.”
Arun saw the fear spreading out from her eyes in bags and wrinkles too soon for her age, misplaced on such perfection. He felt an anger that surprised him as he wondered what Farahi had done to her.
“Our friend here fancies a tour.” He smiled, and tried to put her at ease. “Would that please you?”
The mask of her false bravery fell away at once, and the young woman emerged, eyes sparkling.
“Very much.”
Arun took her hand, perhaps too eagerly. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, realizing he meant it. She clung to his arm like a life-raft.
Ruka walked ahead without waiting, up the narrow path that lead through rock to water and beauty.
He wouldn’t know, of course, that no distant foreigner had ever done so. Though perhaps with a man like Ruka, he wouldn’t much care.
For a moment he recalled the statue-wielding giant crushing men in the dark. He saw the dead prince strangled in a corridor, and the butcher as his face became meat in Ruka’s jaw.
And yet the same man had risked his life and saved Arun’s, and now brought beside him the most beautiful flower in the isles.
Life was so very strange, and beautiful, and for a moment Arun was just glad he lived to experience it.
* * *
“Welcome to our humble monastery.”
No doubt Old Lo meant this welcome for Kikay, not Ruka—a woman in this case being the lesser of two evils.
The other elder monks stared at the foreigner with ill-concealed wonder and contempt.
“Thank you, Teacher, it’s nice to see you again,” said the princess of Sri Kon.
Arun blinked in confusion at her use of the word ‘again’, and the warmth in her words sent a wave of jealousy racing up his spine. She’s just being friendly; Lo’s the king’s old mentor, he reminded himself.
“And this…this must be Ruka.”
The old man glanced upwards briefly, displeasure dripping from his tone and face. In private he had referred to Ruka only as ‘The Filthy Mongrel’, and at first argued apprentices should follow him with salt and water to purify every speck of earth he touched.
‘The Filthy Mongrel’ hunched inside the temple, but still stood far above the Batonians. His cat-eyes almost glowed in the dimly lit entrance, slit and glazed, moving over everything.
“I would like to see all the floors and rooms,” he said, voice bouncing off the cloistered walls in perfect Pyuish, disturbing several monks at morning prayer.
Arun held his laugh as Lo’s face twisted.
“Here we introduce ourselves to our elders, lest we risk being rude.”
Ruka’s head turned down, gaze roaming from Lo’s callused feet to his wrinkly bald head. Then he spoke again, this time in Batonian.
“In my homeland, the old die before they are a burden.”
Arun comprehended this as slowly as everyone else. He focused on still water and rising steam to prevent himself from howling with pleasure.
Lo fumed in the stunned silence, and though Kikay surely did not understand what was said, she put a hand to his arm.
“Ruka is still unused to our ways and words, Teacher. Please excuse any unintended offence.”
Unintended! Arun almost laughed out loud.
Lo looked at her and blinked his way back to reality. “How may we help you, Princess Alaku?” he said, voice tight.
Kikay nodded deferentially and smiled, and Arun couldn’t help but stare at her lips. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ruka—seemingly bored of the exchange—grunted and walked towards the stairs.
Lo looked at Kikay, and then anyone and everyone, as if someone might explain.
“Stop! Some rooms are forbidden!” He shouted at last, lurching forward on his walking stick. “Stop! Stop right there! Stop at once!”
Ruka did not stop. Instead he crossed the room in only a few strides, then moved up the circular stairs two or three at a time as wide-eyed monks scattered.
“You will stop this instant!”
Lo gave chase, hands raised as if to pull the giant back with his spindly arms. Arun and Kikay followed with one or two of the elder monks, enthralled by the show and because what else could they do.
Ruka’s sandals thumped and slid their way up the stairs without slowing, and Arun and the others reached the top and found him standing in the testing hall—a place where young men and masters came to seek their ancestors wisdom. He had stopped, and now stared ahead with fists clenched.
A tall monk in adept robes blocked his path. Arun saw who it was, and couldn’t begin to decipher the mixed emotion rippling through him.
“Very sorry, but you must go back.”
Tamo’s voice was calm, his face older but even more serene than Arun remembered. He looked healthier, and thicker in the limbs.
Where have you been these months, he wondered. Why haven’t I seen you, brother?
In the same language he shouldn’t speak, Ruka answered, almost as if pleased to be challenged.
“If you can stop me, priest, you deserve to.” Without another word he advanced, massive hands raised with fingers spread.
“Tamo, don’t!”
Arun hadn’t meant to speak. Then he was moving forward and pushing past Kikay and throwing back his robe.
His brother moved faster. Tamo leapt at the wall, then changed direction. He grabbed Ruka’s arm and swung past him, curving the limb and wrapping his arms around its joint in an instant. He flipped over till his feet were behind Ruka’s head, his whole body stiff and locked like a splint, toes on the big man’s shoulder.
For a moment Ruka looked utterly confused, grunting as he sunk to a knee, his arm back and dragging Tamo like an anchor.
“Do not move.”
Tamo’s thighs and shoulders bulged as the robe tightened and the giant’s limb bent closer to snapping.
The larger man snarled like a beast in a trap. It wasn’t pain, or fear, but rage. He stood, and despite the angle and monk’s full weight, lifted Tamo entirely off the ground. Then he swung him like a club.
Arun dashed forward. He chopped down at the back of Ruka’s knee as if smashing coconut, and Tamo released his hold, pulling his head in before its date with stone wall. He flipped over in a blink and lunged.
Ruka caught him. He’d buckled to one leg again after Arun’s strike, but he still had leverage to thrust the monk at the wall.
Flesh pounded against stone, and Arun struck again and again at anything he could, striking until blood smeared across Ruka’s scalp and the top of his ear tore. The giant reached back, and when Arun met his eyes he saw no recognition, not even the hint of a thinking man.
Tamo was still twisting in Ruka’s grasp, feet wrapping around his neck while Arun dealt with the other arm.
The giant rose and spun, taking both brothers with him and ramming against the closest door, shattering the hinges and sprawling all three of them inside. One massive hand squeezed noose-like round Tamo’s neck, the other held Arun at bay.
But the monks worked together now. They had wrestled all their lives as children, and then as apprentices. Tamo hardened his neck and stilled—the same neck that bent iron rods for practice, and Arun twisted the giant’s other arm, flipping over, laying flat on the ground with the joint raised and weak. With violent speed, Tamo chopped down on Ruka’s shoulders, seeking the pain points. He struck again, and again.
Ruka took blow after blow and for a moment Arun watched feeling helpless, as if they fought with a bear or at least some inhuman and unstoppable thing. At last the giant gasped and released, his face a mix of pain and confusion as he sagged down to lay on his back.
He looked into the room now as if the fight were forgotten. His eyes roamed the thousands of symbols on the walls used for testing memory and patience.
“Beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Arun breathed with relief as he saw the man again emerged from the beast, all trace of anger seemingly vanished.
“I think you can let go now,” his brother said, laying back against the wall, a hint of boyish smirk unmasked behind that awful calmness. Arun did the same.
Kikay and Lo appeared in the shattered doorway, the old monk mouthing toothless obscenities, the young woman covering hers with a polite hand.
“I think that’s the end of the tour, Ruka.”
Arun slumped, thanking all good spirits they’d fought in a well-lit space lacking weapons—or statues—no idea what had just happened, or why. But he hoped dearly he’d never have to try it again.
