by Jim Melvin
Including those who were not warriors, thousands gathered around hastily built fires fueled by piles of camel dung; yet Aya could see only a fraction of them all, so consuming was the darkness. Gutta stood next to him, along with Mudu the Vasi master and Dammawansha the High Monk. It was time for a speech, though Aya was uncertain what to say.
“Tugars, citizens of Anna, and noble ones,” he shouted loudly enough for all to hear. “I know naught the origin or intent of this sorcery. Many of us witnessed its approach from the direction of Avici, so I’m sure it has entered your mind that Invictus is to blame. But I’m not so certain. Do you not smell the sweet essence of Death Energy in the air? The Torgon no longer walks among us, or at least we so believe. But I wonder if the apparition in the sky is not a sign of hope rather than despair. What say you, High Monk?”
If Dammawansha was surprised to be addressed, he did not show it. A chill breeze ruffled the monk’s robes as he spoke. “I am not overly fond of visions—especially those that come from noble ones. The monks and nuns of Dibbu-Loka are trained to believe in what we see, not what we imagine. Yet many of you know that Asēkha-Rati left Anna on a dangerous quest purely to pursue the untenable threads of my conjurations.” The monk’s bald head glistened in the firelight. “To make a long story short, as my new friend Mudu is fond of saying, I believe that The Torgon still lives, and that it was he who gave birth to this darkness.”
“Ema! Ema!” the Tugars chanted hopefully.
Aya turned to the High Monk. “Why do you believe this?”
Dammawansha spoke in a voice that only Aya and a few others could hear. “I have had another vision, even stronger than the first. I tell you that The Torgon will return to Anna—and with him will be a wife . . . who is with son.”
5
IN JIVITA, THE dark cloud did not arrive until the first hints of dawn had already brightened the eastern horizon. Vikkama and the other Asēkhas who had remained in the White City were dismayed more by the resultant chaos than by the darkness. Many of the citizens, and at least some of the white horsemen, panicked and became dangerous. Hundreds ran screaming through the streets, proclaiming that the One God had come to wreak vengeance on the unbelievers who walked among them. Vikkama was forced to head-butt an obese citizen who tried to stab her with a dagger, causing the harmless fool to tumble backward and disappear into the black air, as if swallowed whole. Somehow, Burly found his way to their side, his tiny staff providing as much light as a dozen torches.
“We must build a fire . . . an enormous fire!” the enchanter said to Vikkama. “I can show you where there is plenty of wood, well-seasoned. You must haul it to the fields north of the palace. If we build a fire, they will come.”
Vikkama had learned that it was not wise to ignore Burly’s suggestions. The Gillygaloo seemed to know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, and he exploited them with good intentions.
Within a bell of the mysterious cloud’s arrival, the Asēkhas had constructed a bonfire behind the queen’s palace that was twenty paces broad and two stories tall. Even then, it could be seen for only about a quarter mile, so the warriors added even more fuel to the fire, tossing in anything that burned, including small trees ripped from the ground and ornate furniture that in past times would have been considered obscenely valuable.
The horses arrived first—by the hundreds and then thousands. Vikkama sensed little distress in their demeanor. In their clever minds it was just a particularly long and dark night, their other senses making up for their lack of sight. But the fire was hot and interesting, and so they came. It took the humans a while longer to respond, but eventually they also were attracted to the flames, which now sprang above the tall rooftop of the palace. Vikkama recognized Bernard, Julich, and even Navarese, the latter of whom had grown disconcertingly thin in the past few days. Most of the others also were hollow-eyed and slumped, as if the stress of defending Jivita against the potential threat of the sorcerer were some kind of disease.
Archbishop Bernard was the first to speak, which did not surprise Vikkama in the slightest. Bernard, Burly, and Captain Julich were the best of this bunch, in her warrior’s opinion.
“Good people of Jivita,” Bernard bellowed, his voice rising above the crackling flames. “It is wise that we have come together, for these are dire times, and the darkness has brought out the worst in some people.”
“Ekadeva is punishing us!” an unidentified voice shouted back.
“Punishing us?” Bernard said. “Why would that be?”
“For allowing the unbelievers to walk unpunished among us,” another said.
“Do you mean the Tugars?” the archbishop said, his tone exaggerating his puzzlement. “They have walked freely among us—and fought by our sides—for our lifetimes and many before. Why would Ekadeva just now become angry?”
To this, there was no response. Vikkama stomped forward. “We returned to Jivita for one reason only—to offer assistance to the good people of the White City. The dark cloud is not of our doing, and you’d be fools to blame us for it. But if you want the Asēkhas to leave, we will do so immediately. We have been long from our homes—and we are weary.”
Now Navarese came forward, though the very act of walking seemed to overwhelm him. Only those within a few dozen paces could hear his first words above the crackle of the enormous fire. “I have finally come to realize that Queen Rajinii was right all along,” he mumbled.
“Speak up!”
“Can’t hear you!”
The general cleared his throat and then spoke in a much louder and angrier tone. “Queen Rajinii was right!” he repeated. “There is no glory in surviving such a battle. Ekadeva cares only for the dead.”
“No, general!” Bernard said with alarm. “Your words are tainted by sorrow and exhaustion. You know as well as I that the One God loves all his children, living or dead. However, you are right in one regard: It is only the living that he tests.”
“If this is a test, then I have failed,” Navarese said, his voice again weak. Then he staggered into the darkness and disappeared. Fulcher Grousset, the general’s personal guard, chased after him.
“What did he say?” people were shouting.
“Why did he leave? We couldn’t hear!”
Bernard tried to calm them, his voice booming yet somehow gentle. “The general needs to rest . . . that is all. Do not be concerned.” Then he raised his voice another notch. “However, there is something you should be concerned about. Anyone among us who would presume to condemn the Tugars is not a true child of Ekadeva. The One God loves all his children and certainly has room in his heaven for those who have courageously shed blood on Jivita’s behalf. I am ashamed that such words were spoken.”
This was greeted with obstinacy. Vikkama and the other Asēkhas stood together, wary of the distrustful faces that loomed beyond the reach of the firelight.
What happened next amazed Vikkama. Burly the enchanter leapt upon her broad shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Please step closer to the fire, so that all might see us. It is time for me to speak—and I have wonderful news. Would you hold out your hand and allow me to stand upon it? To one as great as you, I will weigh but a trifle.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Vikkama whispered back.
And so, Burly stood on the palm of her outreached hand and waved his magic wand. Behind him, the flames roared in response, casting sparks as varied and bright as fireworks. When he spoke, his usually squeaky voice was loud enough to be heard for a great distance.
“The Torgon still lives,” the Gillygaloo bellowed. “We know this because he has walked among us. We also know that he recently left Jivita with the goal of defeating the sorcerer. I am here to tell you that Torg has succeeded. Invictus has been destroyed by the very darkness you have grown to despise!”
Vikkama expected another uproar, but instead the
re was profound silence, broken only by the crackling fire and then by a good-natured nicker from a stallion that stood nearby. This prompted laughter, a sound that warmed the Asēkha’s heart.
Captain Julich came forward and bowed respectfully. “Burly Boulogne, are you certain?”
The enchanter nodded his tiny head. “Queen Rajinii, if she still lived, would have uttered these same words. I have sensed the sorcerer’s demise, and the joy of it astounds me. Triken is free!”
“And what of Queen Laylah?” Julich said.
“Of that, I cannot be certain,” Burly said, lowering his voice so that only a few could hear. “But I believe that she also lives.”
Vikkama sighed with relief. Then smiled—and laughed.
The Asēkha felt lightness in the air that had not been there before. The enchanter’s words rang true.
TO NAVARESE, THERE was no other explanation. Ekadeva, the One God, had forsaken him. It was one thing to leave a city poorly defended, another to shroud it in blackness as horrid as blasphemy. What had he and his people done to deserve such punishment? Were his failures so unforgivable? His queen had ordered him to retreat from the Green Plains. Was she not now speaking on his behalf before Ekadeva’s throne? Why this darkness?
Navarese fled the fires, fled his people, into the mysterious nothingness. The ground at his feet was soft and forgiving, but the black air into which he ran swallowed him without regret. He was blind.
Voices, behind him, clambered at his heels. He had no desire to listen. What meaning did they hold? None that he could discern.
Now he was on his knees, sobs wrenching his throat and chest, tearing sanity from his sinews. He was alone in a world as black as hopelessness, and not even his god was there to render assistance.
Then the horses came. He sensed that he was surrounded by huge, powerful bodies. Snorts as loud as explosions encompassed his kneeling form. In the minds of the destriers, Navarese was not a failure. Instead, he was one of their beloved masters.
The general found the resolve to stand. Though he could not see, he was able to hear, smell, and touch. The great horses pressed against him, proud and unafraid, the heat from their bodies as intense as furnaces.
Finally Navarese understood his god’s mind.
Now he was unafraid. Never again would he question his god.
6
TO NĪSA, THE SMELL of the ocean was more fragrant than the sweetest blooms. He stood on the shore of Akasa and stared westward at the crashing waves, as entranced as if under a magical spell. Though the Asēkha loved the ocean of sand upon which he had spent nearly two centuries of life, the ocean of water promised mysteries and adventure that beckoned him even more.
Nīsa had been following Lucius and the Daasa for three full days and was amazed it had taken him so long to catch them, though the firstborn and the pirate had been on horseback while he had been on foot. Tracking them, at least, had not been a problem; the Daasa left footprints everywhere that resembled the cloven hooves of wild boars. And now Nīsa knew that he was close. Piles of pale scat still steamed in the cool air, which felt almost wintry, this near the shore.
Even averaging fifteen leagues a day, it would take Lucius and the Daasa three more days to reach the port the Duccaritan pirates used to moor their sailing ships. Nīsa wondered how he would be greeted once he made his presence known. Would Lucius be receptive? If not, then Nīsa would return to Jivita. He had no desire to force himself upon them.
Would the firstborn even recognize him? Nīsa had spoken to Lucius several times during their flight from Kamupadana almost two months before, and also before the more recent battle on the Green Plains, but still he wasn’t sure. To most outsiders, all Tugars looked alike.
Well past midnight, when the crescent moon began its rise, Nīsa finally came upon Lucius and Bonny, who were sleeping on a blanket near the water’s edge. Six palfreys grazed nearby in a field of muhly grass that bordered the fluffy beach, and close to a thousand Daasa were scattered all about. Most were sleeping, but not all. Nīsa expected the unusual creatures to make a commotion and perhaps even attack. But he was pleasantly surprised when the Daasa barely reacted to his approach, behaving as if he had been a part of their company all along. A few even snuggled against him, their hindquarters waggling.
Nīsa halted ten paces from Lucius and Bonny and then cleared his throat. With impressive speed, the pirate woke and leapt to her feet with a bow in hand and an arrow nocked. It took the firstborn a good deal longer to grab a longsword and clamber upright.
“Hold . . . hold! I am Asēkha,” Nīsa said.
“A Tugar?” Lucius murmured in a puzzled voice.
Sharply, Bonny said, “Why are you here? Did Navarese order you to follow us?”
Her tone annoyed Nīsa, but he tried not to show it. “I take orders from my king, my chieftain, and my elders among the Asēkhas, of whom there are few. I certainly would not follow you because a Jivitan ordered me to do so. But to be honest, Burly Boulogne played a role in my presence here. The enchanter informed me of your quest and suggested that I come to your aid. You see, of all the Tugars in the world, none is more enamored of the ocean than I. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nīsa, and I am great among the Kantaara Yodhas.”
The pirate kept her arrow aimed at Nīsa’s midsection. “I don’t care who you are. We don’t need you here!”
“Such a weapon cannot do me serious harm,” Nīsa said matter-of-factly.
“We don’t want you here,” Bonny reiterated.
“An offer of assistance from an Asēkha should not be taken lightly,” Nīsa countered.
“Leave us alone!” she said, her voice containing such vehemence that Nīsa believed she might loose the arrow then and there. Thankfully, the firstborn seemed to come to his senses, and he dropped the longsword on the blanket.
“Bonny, lower the arrow . . .”
“No.”
“Bonny, listen to me . . . I’ve seen what these warriors can do. If he had wanted to hurt us, you and I would already be dead. And look . . . the Daasa like him.”
She peered around distrustfully, then cast the bow and arrow onto the sand in a huff. “I don’t want him here,” she whined to Lucius. “I want it to be just you and me.”
Nīsa bowed with purposeful respect. “Bonny Calico, I have no desire to come between Lucius Annaeus and yourself. Or to hamper your quest. Quite the contrary. I have long desired to sail across the sea. And if you, Lucius, and the Daasa were to encounter resistance along the way, you would better understand my value. You can rest assured that—once a member of your company—I would fight to the death on your behalf. And most certainly, I would respect your privacy, as well.”
Now, all the Daasa were awake—and they were prancing about excitedly, not the least bit dismayed by Nīsa’s presence. Their good-natured antics charmed Nīsa, and he felt the first seeds of love already sprouting in his heart. The Daasa’s outward display of affection also seemed to reduce Bonny’s antagonism.
“We are going to commandeer a ship and take the Daasa home,” she said, her voice softened. “You will not try to stop us?”
“Quite the contrary,” Nīsa repeated. “I am even willing to prove my loyalty. I said earlier that I took orders only from a few. But I will accept commands from both you and Lucius, if you will permit me to join you.”
“It may be that Invictus will follow,” Lucius said, his voice almost quivering.
Nīsa shrugged. “I will fight to the death, regardless of the foe.” Then he added, “There is something you both should know, which may lighten your hearts. The Torgon lives. I have sensed his revival.”
Lucius and Bonny appeared amazed, but neither responded. The three stood silently for a while with nothing more to say, and then Nīsa surprised himself by yawning. The firstborn and pirate did the same. Bonny g
iggled, and Nīsa realized at that moment that he had been accepted into their company.
“I am weary,” Nīsa said. “Would you mind if I slept until morning?”
“All three of us should sleep,” Bonny said. “The Daasa will keep watch.”
“Sounds good to me,” Lucius said.
And so the first bonds of trust were formed. Afterward, they woke to a beautiful morning, warmer than the previous evening. Nīsa tried to act as friendly as possible, in an attempt to further earn Bonny’s confidence. The Daasa, as happy and playful as ever, brought them clams to eat raw and crabs to roast over a fire. But not long after dawn, their behavior began to change. Suddenly they grew shy, and then they lay down in the sand and closed their eyes, as if to sleep.
“What’s wrong with them?” Nīsa said. “Have they become ill?”
“They are scared of something,” Bonny said. “But I don’t know what.”
“Even the horses are behaving strangely,” Lucius said. “Are Lyons or Tygers nearby? Or even druids?”
Then Bonny pointed toward the eastern horizon. “Look! A storm comes . . . fast! And there aren’t many trees around here. I think we’re all going to get very wet.”
“That’s still not a reason for the Daasa to be afraid,” Lucius said. “They adore wind and water.”
