by Jim Melvin
“Ha. Ha.”
31
OKKANTI WAS NOT as vast as Mahaggata or Kolankold, but it was large nonetheless. Many of the tallest and most severe mountains on Triken were squeezed into Okkanti’s interior, some so icy and sheer that even a snow giant found them difficult to climb, especially with just one hand.
Still, Yama-Deva leapt from peak to peak and ledge to ledge, traversing knife-like ridges, clambering down into valleys, and then back up to perilous summits. Something drove him that was like and yet unlike the urges to wander that already had cost him so dearly. Though he had counseled Sampakk and Gambhira to search for healing, he believed that he himself was beyond healing. Too much had occurred for it to be otherwise. As Mala, he had performed deeds that had opened wounds too deep to ever close. As Deva, his memories of those evils would never allow him to experience peace again.
Despite all this, Deva could not shake the feeling that one final task remained before he could pass on to the whenever and wherever of his next existence. In fact, it quickly had become far more than a feeling. Deva was convinced that his fate lay somewhere other than the peaks of his homeland. It was as if an invisible chain was attached to his body and pulling him away from his mountains.
Finally, he reached the western foothills of Okkanti and then set out across the Gray Plains. Though it was mid-spring, it remained chilly even during the day. But Deva did not shiver.
Cold was his ally. It was heat that made him ill.
This portion of the Gray Plains extended farther north than any other, reaching all the way to the Ice Ocean. More than eighty leagues of lifeless tableland lay before him. But the compulsion to depart Okkanti was too strong to resist, and Deva did not hesitate. Unencumbered by Invictus’s magical chain, Deva sprinted across the hard turf faster than any land animal save Bhojja herself. The leagues passed beneath his feet in a blur.
Deva ran toward the eastern stem of Mahaggata, where he would clamber from peak to peak again. Beyond those mountains lay Nirodha, a flat, icy wasteland swarming with mammoths, seals, flightless birds, and great white bears.
It was in Nirodha that he would perish, he now realized with uncanny certainty.
Knowing this, Deva was not frightened.
He had lived many millennia.
Too many.
He was tired.
So tired.
And more than ready to die for a good cause.
32
JUST BEFORE SUNSET of full moon’s eve, Asēkhas Aya and Gutta sat cross-legged beneath the precarious stone arch. With them were Dammawansha, Nimm, and Ura, the latter being Nimm’s new foster mother. Gutta knew that the girl was frightened. It could not be pleasant for a child to be interrogated by three such terrible men. Gutta did his best to make her feel comfortable.
“Nimmita,” he said, keeping his voice soft and calm. “We have questions. Will you answer?”
“I’ll . . . try. But I’m scared.”
“There’s no need to be,” Gutta said. “Everyone here loves you. To the Tugars, you are a hero. To Ura, you are a daughter. But perhaps you are even more than both these things. If so, we need to find out.”
“What more could I be?”
Gutta chuckled. Then he nodded to Aya, who said, “Ura is worried about you. She says you have nightmares whenever you sleep.”
“Even the potions given her by the Vasi masters don’t seem to help,” said Ura, who appeared on the verge of crying. “First she breaks out in a terrible sweat. Then she squeals and wiggles. Once she bit her tongue, and it bled all over her bedcovers.”
“I’m sorry,” Nimm said.
“Child, this is not about your being in trouble,” Dammawansha said. “Quite the contrary. It might be that you can help to prevent trouble.”
Nimm sniffed, but for the first time since the interrogation began, her face looked hopeful. “I’ll . . . try,” she repeated.
Aya smiled. “The greatest of us are capable of no more.” Then his face grew serious. “One of our questions concerns your dreams. What are they about?”
“It’s not they,” Nimm said in a lecturing tone, amusing Gutta with her sudden audacity. “Well, there used to be a lot of them, but now there’s only one dream that scares me anymore.”
In response to her words, Dammawansha shifted positions, which was unusual. The High Monk usually sat perfectly still, without discomfort.
Aya arched an eyebrow. “Tell us, child . . .”
Now Nimm seemed almost excited. “I love to crawl into caves and tunnels.”
Ura nodded. “She’s like a little rat. She can flatten her body and squeeze into the tiniest of places.”
“And it doesn’t bother me at all,” Nimm said. “Ura says that some big people don’t like to be in small places, but I do. The smaller it is, the safer I feel.”
“But?” Aya said.
“But . . . in the dream, it’s different. I’m in a small place, only this time I’m scared. When I try to climb out, my legs won’t work. Then the walls start to squish me, and that’s when I scream.”
“And?” Gutta said.
“Instead of squishing me, the walls crack. And pretty soon, they . . .” She turned to her foster mother. “How do you say it?”
“Burst asunder,” Ura said.
“Yes!” Nimm said. Then she smiled. “I like those words . . . burst asunder.”
Aya smiled in return, but Gutta knew the Asēkha well enough to recognize that it was forced. “And it’s just this one dream?”
“Yes,” Nimm said with a sigh. “The same dream every night, sometimes a bunch of times each night . . . and even if I just take a nap.”
Gutta spoke next. “Nimmita,” as he always called her, “I have a question, but it might make you feel sad. It might even make you cry. I’m sorry if it does.”
Nimm now seemed more curious than wary. Ever since Gutta had allowed her to play the Taiko drums and then given her one as a present, she had trusted him. “I won’t cry, I promise.”
Gutta took her tiny hands in his. “Tell us what you remember of your family.”
Nimm looked perplexed. “You are my family.”
Dammawansha shifted positions again.
“Yes, of course . . . and we always will be,” Gutta said. “But I meant your family . . . before us. Tell us about them.”
“Them?”
Ura playfully tussled her hair. “Come on, Nimm. You know what he means. Tell us about your parents and your brother and sister.”
“I don’t remember,” Nimm said.
“Nimmita, it’s all right to be sad,” Gutta said. “A lot of bad things have happened. We’re all sad.”
“I’m not lying,” Nimm said, even more forcefully. “I don’t remember. When I try to think back, it’s all dark and dirty. There’s only the dream . . .” Suddenly she burst into tears.
Ura cradled her and stroked her hair. “Shhhh . . . it’s all right. We won’t ask you any more questions.” The woman looked at the men. “Right?”
Dammawansha was the one to answer. “That is quite right. No more questions. You’ve done well, Nimm. We all thank you very much.”
Aya wasn’t satisfied and started to interrupt, but Gutta quieted him with an arched eyebrow.
“The High Monk is correct,” Gutta said. “No more questions. Ura, would you take Nimmita back to her tent? She looks tired.” He stared into the little girl’s eyes. “Are you tired?”
“Very,” she said. “But I’m afraid to go to sleep.”
“I don’t blame you,” Gutta said. “I’d be scared too. But I do have some good news. The Torgon is returning to Anna, and he should be able to help you. He is a healer.”
“Did he know Tāseti?” Nimm said hopefully.
“Oh, yes, Nimmita . . . he knew her well. And h
e loved her.”
“Then he must be a nice man,” Nimm said.
“A very nice man,” Gutta said. “And a very great man. The greatest of the great.”
After Ura led Nimm away, the three men sat and discussed what had occurred. Gutta had never seen Aya or Dammawansha look quite so worried.
“Gentlemen, what do we make of this?” Aya said. “Her lack of memories disturbs me as much as her dream.”
“I believe she has been chosen . . . as a vessel,” Dammawansha said.
This amazed Gutta. “What kind of vessel?”
“She warns us.”
“Of what?” Gutta said. “And who sends this warning?”
“If we knew the answer to the second question, it is likely we could discern the answer to the first,” Aya said.
Dammawansha shifted positions a third time. “I foresaw that Torg has a queen. Or rather, Nimm foresaw it and unwittingly passed the vision to me. The queen is with child. Does Nimm’s dream foretell that the unborn child will cause the queen to ‘burst asunder’? In other words, will she die giving birth?”
“There are things that can be done,” Gutta said.
“If the queen permits it,” Aya said.
Dammawansha scratched his shaven head. “In the end, it will be the queen’s choice.” Then the High Monk added, “The visions Nimm has inspired in me plainly show that the sorcerer and his armies are destroyed and that Torg, the queen, and two others will come to Anna shortly. Their arrival should not be delayed any further by the Simōōn. It must be lowered yet again.” He looked at Aya. “Will you do it?”
“We have chosen poorly of late,” Aya said. “And I also have to take into consideration the recent arrival of the Tugars sent by Chieftain-Podhana. Their orders were for us to withdraw into the heart of the desert.”
“But Podhana did not know at that time that our king still lived and that Invictus would be destroyed,” Gutta said.
Aya sighed. “True enough. And the last thing I want to do is to hinder Torg and his companions.”
“I can sense that The Torgon is close,” Gutta said. “If it were my choice, I would lower the Simōōn tomorrow and begin preparations for a grand welcoming.”
Aya nodded. “So be it.”
Even as he said these words, the drums began.
Their message was clear.
The king was even nearer than they had dared to hope.
ALL THE QUESTIONS that Aya, Gutta, and Dammawansha had asked had exhausted Nimm. Now as the blessed pounding of Taiko drums filled the air, she wrapped herself in her camel-hair blanket and fell fast asleep. But as was most often the case, her dream was too disturbing to allow her to rest peacefully.
Nimm always had been immune to claustrophobia. Many times in her life she had crawled deeply into caves so constricted they would have maddened almost anyone else. But to Nimm, the more cramped her confines the more comfortable she became. Except in this dream. She again was in a narrow place, sandwiched between a pair of walls. One of the walls was hard as granite, but the other felt spongy and warm—and it smelled intoxicatingly sweet. When she peered out of the maw of the cave, a fierce wind blew against her cheeks and caused her hair to dance. Nimm saw only darkness—except for the stars, which seemed exceedingly near.
Eventually there was more than darkness and stars. Green sparkles encompassed her hair, face, and neck and then formed a comet-like tail that trailed behind her for hundreds of leagues.
Left there for someone to follow.
The Daasa’s reward
33
BONNY WAS SO happy she could hardly stand it. Not only was the voyage going smoothly, they now had a Death-Knower aboard their vessel. With Invictus out of the way, there was nothing that could stop them from crossing the ocean and returning the Daasa to their rightful home.
Even Lucius and Nīsa had become friends. Could it get any better?
Bonny stood at the wheel and steered The Daasa westward, following the lead of its namesake. A dozen Daasa, among the fifty score aboard, stood on the forecastle and pointed their pink snouts forward. Whenever she veered off course, they squealed and stomped their hooves until she corrected the heading. Then they resumed their vigil in silence.
The sun set before her like a titanic cinder cast into the sea, and then behind her the moon rose full in a blaze of glory, as huge as the face of a god. The sea breezes were comfortably cool, and the ocean swells were slow and lazy. Bonny found herself humming so loudly that some of the pirate crew started to snicker. But she didn’t care. Life was good.
They now were eighteen days into their voyage. The ease of the crossing amazed the crew, who gave all the credit to the Daasa. After all, it was the first time they had ever brought Daasa back across the ocean. The gods were smiling on them.
To her utmost pleasure, Lucius joined her at the wheel, and he handed her a goblet of ale, of which the storerooms had barrels aplenty.
“And how are you, Bonny Calico, on this fine evening?” Lucius said. Bonny could tell he already had been doing a considerable amount of drinking, but who cared? Hadn’t they earned the right to a little fun?
“Why, Lucius, how nice of you to ask. I should say that I am doing quite well. Wonderfully well.”
Lucius gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.
“I am so glad to hear it,” the firstborn said. Then he drained his goblet and took hers, which also was empty. “I’m going to go and get us some more, Captain Bonny! Don’t steer us off course while I’m gone, or the Daasa will have a fit.”
“I will do my best, Admiral Lucius.”
Lucius left her and went belowdecks for more ale. Bonny guessed he would return with an entire barrel, and she wasn’t the least bit displeased by the prospect. But after Lucius left, the Death-Knower appeared out of nowhere, startling her. He moved as silently as a ghost.
“Good evening, my lady,” Nīsa said.
“Hello,” Bonny said, her voice trembling slightly. Ever since the Asēkha had ascended, she had been a little nervous around him, though not a bad kind of nervous.
“Did Lucius tell you of my plans?”
“About going ’round the world, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“He did tell me. Is that okay that he did?”
“It’s perfectly fine. I was just wondering what you think about it.”
“What does it matter what I think?”
“It matters . . . to me.”
Bonny blushed. “Well . . . it’s a great idea—and I am sure you will see all kinds of amazing things.”
Nīsa came up close and stood beside her. Though he was small compared to some of the Tugar, he still towered over her. When he put his massive arm over her shoulder, she felt insignificant. It was almost enough to make her want to transform, so that she would be bigger than he.
“You and Lucius have a lot in common,” Nīsa said. “But have you thought about what you don’t have in common?”
“Huh? I don’t understand.”
Nīsa turned to her and stared hard into her face. “How are you and Lucius different? The answer to that question might well affect your decision.”
Bonny puzzled over this, but before she could answer, Lucius had returned with a barrel slung over his shoulder. He set it down and poured her another goblet of ale. “Drink up, Bonny Calico!”
She took the goblet and then a sip. But there was a sadness in her now that she could not quite define. How was she different from Lucius? Her mother was a human, while Lucuis’ only tie to humanity had been a drop of Invictus’s blood.
So what?
She started to ask Nīsa this same question, but the Death-Knower had disappeared.
“Are you all right?” Lucius said. “You look pale.”
Bonny tried to sou
nd confident. “I am fine . . . better than fine. And Lucius?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Lucius arched an eyebrow then stepped forward and took her in his arms.
“I love you too, Bonny. Don’t ever doubt it. No matter how I might change.”
Bonny shivered. Change? She knew all about that. But now she wondered if he meant something different.
34
ON THE NINETEENTH day of their voyage across the Akasa Ocean, Lucius Annaeus stood alone—except for several dozen Daasa—on the forecastle of the long-hulled galleon. The firstborn stared westward, barely blinking. The day before, he had lurked in the shadows and spied on Bonny and Nīsa as they conversed. Though he had been too far away to understand most of what they said, he had gotten the gist of it. The newly ascended Death-Knower had attempted to warn the pirate of something.
Slowly, Lucius was beginning to understand what it might be.
Why was it that the Daasa had allowed the Duccaritan pirates to kidnap them, over and over? Certainly it wasn’t that they lacked the strength to fend off their assailants. The obvious answer was the Mahanta pEpa, which had controlled their minds, even from across the ocean. While the Great Evil had existed, the Daasa had lacked the ability to transform.
But why was the Mahanta pEpa able to exert such a widespread influence over so many? Answer that question, and the mystery was solved.
Lucius had never been telepathic. The closest he had come to it was sensing Invictus’s death—and as far as Lucius knew, the only magic he wielded was the ability to transform. Yet the Daasa were telepathic, of that he was certain. So why wasn’t he?
As if unconcerned with the wanderings of Lucius’s mind, the Daasa continued their silent vigil, only deigning to make noise if the galleon drifted off the course they had so diligently chosen. Obviously, they sensed something so encompassing that it surpassed even the magic-deadening effects of open water. Did their kin call for them on the far shore? And if so, how many?
