Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

  Now the mystic did look up, into a face twisted with pain and outrage.

  „I could have you killed for this!“ the commander growled through teeth tightly clenched.

  „I seek wisdom and enlightenment, not trouble,“ Pagonel calmly replied. „But I am of the body, Jhesta Tu, and am sworn to protect that body.“ He released the hand as he explained, and the commander retreated a step and stood straight, rubbing his sore thumb and glaring at the mystic.

  I am the voice of the Chezru Chieftain in this province,“ the com­mander growled, and Pagonel noted that many of the soldiers were collect­ing their weapons at that point. He wasn’t afraid of them - not for his personal safety, at least - but he was very concerned at the implications of a confrontation here, before he had even really begun to explore To-gai and his vision.

  „I question your authority not at all, Commander of the Square,“ Pagonel said humbly.

  The commander held up his hand, motioning for his soldiers to hold calm. „Yet you have committed a crime against the God-Voice,“ he said.

  Pagonel bit back the obvious response. He just sat calmly and listened.

  „You are not to touch me, and I will treat you as I deem appropriate. Do vou understand?“

  Pasonel’s expression remained impassive. He suppressed his instincts then as the commander reached out toward his face again. The man took paeonel’s chin in his hand, a tight and strong grip, and forced the mystic to look at him directly.

  Paaonel considered the thirty or so ways he could cripple the fool, but he only entertained those thoughts to distract him from his current revulsion.

  „I will have all of your coins as a fine for your insolence,“ the commander declared, and he pushed Pagonel’s face aside.

  „I am Jhesta Tu, and without many funds,“ the mystic replied.

  The commander reached over and pulled the small purse from Pagonel’s belt, then dumped the silver coins into his open palm. „It is not enough to pay for your crimes,“ he said. „But I will forgive your transgressions, this one time.“

  As he finished, he turned and started back toward his soldiers, who were all chuckling and nodding approvingly.

  Pagonel let him go. For the price of a few easily replaced coins, he had defused the situation. That was his duty as a brother of Jhesta Tu. They were not a warlike order.

  But, if pressed…

  Pagonel took a long look at the Commander of the Square, imprinting the man’s image in his mind.

  The soldiers, predictably, began to taunt the mystic then, with a couple tossing small items Pagonel’s way, and one even spitting at him.

  „He’s a bully, that one,“ the To-gai-ru innkeeper said quietly, bending low so that only Pagonel could hear. „Don’t pay him no heed.“ As he fin­ished, the innkeeper put a second glass of water before the mystic.

  „I have no money,“ Pagonel started to explain, but the innkeeper shook his head and held out his hand, showing that he wouldn’t have accepted any money even if it had been offered.

  „Perhaps someday you’ll tell me tales of your order in payment.“

  „That I cannot do,“ said Pagonel.

  The innkeeper shrugged and smiled, as if it did not matter.

  Pagonel left the common room a short while later, to the jeers and spit of the Behrenese soldiers.

  He accepted it.

  He filed it away in a place in his mind where he would not forget.

  Outside, the mystic brushed himself off and spent a moment in quiet meditation, finding his center.

  „You gave him free drink!“ he heard the commander shout, bacjt within the common room.

  The mystic turned a bit, craning his ear toward the door.

  „And so free drinks will be the way of the night,“ the commander de;

  „It was only water,“ the innkeeper protested.

  „And he was only a Jhesta Tu dog,“ the commander shouted back. „If he is worth water, then my soldiers are worth all of the drink that you have and all of the money as well!“

  The innkeeper’s protest was cut short by a sharp slap.

  The cries of the soldiers, calling for drink, and of the commander, de­manding an apology and all the money within the common room were cut short, abruptly, as the door banged open.

  All eyes turned to see the Jhesta Tu mystic standing in the open portal, expression calm and arms down by his side, seeming vulnerable.

  Deceptively so, the first soldier to attack him realized. The Behrenese charged straight in, spear leading. He hardly saw Pagonel move, and so he was completely off-balance as he somehow missed with the thrust, sliding past, leaning forward.

  A hand came up fast in front of his face, barely hitting, but perfectly aimed to snap the man’s nose straight up. Pagonel’s other hand grabbed at the back of his belt as he stumbled past, heaving him along to tumble out into the street.

  Two more soldiers charged in, side by side, the one on Pagonel’s right coming with another straight spear thrust, the other slashing a sword hori­zontally before him. A twitch of his toned muscles and a tight tuck had the mystic somersaulting over the swinging sword. He reversed his momentum immediately as he landed, half-turning and snapping a kick to the side of the soldier’s knee, caving in the leg.

  Pagonel leaped and shoulder-rolled right over the soldier’s shoulders as the man slumped. He landed lightly on his feet next to the dropping man’s companion, within reach of the cumbersome spear.

  His open-palmed thrust only moved about four inches, but with enough force into the center of the soldier’s chest to take his breath and his strength away. The soldier gave a great gasp, gulping air, and collapsed to his knees.

  Pagonel reached with his right leg across the kneeling man, hooking him under the arm, then swung back out to the right, launching the man head­long at the feet of another charging soldier, tripping him up. The mystic ran along the back of the sprawling soldier, lifting off lightly into the air, right in the middle of three more startled soldiers.

  He kicked left with his left foot, right with his right, then straight ahead with the left, before ever touching the ground, and three more Behrenese went flying away.

  As he touched down, the mystic skittered out to the left, toward the bar. As he approached another table, he made a move as if to leap it, then ducked fast and skittered under instead.

  A soldier, falling for the ruse, swept his spear across above the tabletop, then tried to recover fast and stoop down to stab at the mystic.

  Pagonel’s hand exploded through the wooden table, snapping a clean handle He grabbed the bending soldier by the hair and snapped his arm back I wn moving out as he did, so that when the soldier’s face smashed into table with enough force to shatter the piece of furniture, Pagonel was already coming out the far side.

  He looked more like a dancer than a warrior as he crossed the room, his feet touching the floor, the chairs, the tables or, impossibly, nothing at all. However the mystic did it, he was standing right before the stunned com­mander in a matter of moments.

  The commander shoved the innkeeper back and turned fast, stabbing at Pagonel with a small serrated knife.

  Pagonel’s right hand came across, lightning fast, to catch the inside of the commander’s wrist. The mystic’s left hand came across with equal speed, catching the back of the knife hand and bending it in forcefully and painfully, taking the knife away while hardly slowing.

  Up went the knife, into the air, and Pagonel let go with his right and backhanded the commander with a stinging slap across the face, followed by a forehand, followed by a backhand from the returning left, and finish­ing with a fourth slap, an open forehand with the left.

  Pagonel caught the knife as it dropped and snapped his hand across again, replacing the blade in the dazed commander’s hand.

  „If you strike again, then do so with more precision,“ Pagonel warned. „That was the one lesson I offer you for free.“

  The commander’s face twisted in rage and he
retracted his arm a bit, as if lining up a strike. He held there, though, and looked about at his soldiers, several on the ground and the others staring back with confusion and obvi­ous fear. The leader collected himself and looked back to Pagonel. „I for­gave you once,“ he started, but he was interrupted almost immediately, the mystic whispering so that only he could hear.

  „Be gone from this place and this village, and now,“ Pagonel warned. „Do so immediately and save your pride and save your life.“

  The commander looked around again, at the fallen and the stunned, then he looked down to his own hand, to the knife replaced, to the knife that had somehow been cleanly taken from his grasp.

  „Gather your fellows!“ he roared at his command, and he stormed past Pagonel, stomping right out of the common room.

  The first man the mystic had felled had the misfortune of heading back into the tavern at that precise moment, and the commander smacked him aside and continued away. Appearing grudging, though all who had wit­nessed understood their profound relief, the other soldiers followed.

  „Commander Aklai will not forgive you for this,“ the innkeeper warned quietly. „He will see you dead.“

  „Indeed,“ Pagonel replied, and he accepted another glass of water and drained it quickly.

  Then, after he heard the pounding hooves of Aklai’s departing forces, the mystic walked out of the common room for the second time, this time not stopping until he had put the village far behind him.

  He continued to head north over the next few days, though the weather became colder and less hospitable. One day, with fine snow flying sidelong in the frigid wind, Pagonel found a comfortably sheltered perch beneath a rocky overhang. He sat cross-legged, hands on thighs, palms upward. He sent his consciousness through his body, one step at a time, inviting deep relaxation and also slowing the rhythms of his body, insulating it from the cold.

  In that trancelike state, Pagonel’s mind replayed the events of the last weeks. Why had he come to To-gai? What role might he find there?

  Also, in that trance, the Jhesta Tu mystic began honestly to examine his own feelings, toward his heritage, the To-gai-ru, and toward the Behrenese invaders. It wasn’t a matter of like or dislike - Pagonel understood well that such sweeping generalizations could not be leveled upon entire races of people - races comprised, ultimately, of individuals. But there was a matter of justice and implications. The Behrenese had attacked To-gai - unprovoked, by all accounts - and they were not acting the role of benefi­cent masters!

  If the Chezru Chieftain, who continued the long line of his predecessors in declaring the Jhesta Tu heretics, could so simply conquer To-gai, then what of the Mountains of Fire? Everyone knew that the true motivation for the Behrenese invasion of To-gai was the lucrative trade in To-gai ponies, whatever front story concerning To-gai as a lost province of the Behrenese kingdom the Chezru and his cohorts had concocted. Given that willingness to conquer and murder for profit, might the Chezru Chieftain turn his sights to the region surrounding the Walk of Clouds, with all its riches in minerals?

  „Is that the reason my vision has led me here?“ Pagonel asked quietly, his voice drowned away by the howling wind. „Am I to view the precursor to the attack upon my order? „

  He stayed in the sheltered nook throughout the rest of the day and the night, and when the next morning dawned clear, with but a dusting of snow on the tall grasses, the mystic set out again, walking north.

  He passed through another town that day and managed to join up with a caravan of To-gai-ru, heading north. All through the journey, Pagonel sat quiet and listened to the tales of frustration, the anger, to tales of horror, where family members had been stolen away by Behrenese soldiers. In all that chatter, the only real measure of hope that the mystic heard came in the name of a rogue leader, Ashwarawu, who was apparently operating in the area.

  Pagonel decided then and there that he would seek out this rogue leader.

  chapter

  Expanding His Horizons

  Y

  atol Grysh welcomed the twenty-square of Jacintha soldiers to Dharyan with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was glad that Yakim Douan had finally provided him with the strength he needed to restore complete control to the region. But on the other hand, the proud Yatol priest hated having to ask for the assistance. Especially at a time when Chezru Chieftain Douan had hinted that the Transcendence might be nearing, Grysh did not want to appear weak to his fellow priests.

  And why had Yakim Douan sent a twenty-square, four hundred soldiers, when Grysh had asked for only an eight-square? Did that signal the Chezru Chieftain’s lack of confidence in him?

  He stood on his balcony, watching the procession as expected, his visage firm and strong - as much as it could be, considering his lack of any real chin - as the soldiers marched beneath in rows of five. Ten rows, twenty rows, eighty rows!

  They passed the temple balcony and assembled in the square to Yatol Grysh’s right, lining up in the perfect twenty-by-twenty formation that gave them their name.

  Grysh waited patiently for the formation to settle, then gave the many onlookers, including his own city brigade of two hundred soldiers and his war leader, Wan Atenn, time to soak in the spectacle. The Yatol focused on Wan Atenn for a moment, trying to read the proud man’s expression. An­other Chezhou-Lei warrior had led the twenty-square into Dharyan. Might the war leader of Dharyan be feeling a bit insecure?

  If he was, Wan Atenn gave no outward indication, but Grysh knew the stoic Chezhou-Lei well enough to recognize that he could read nothing from that blank look. He would speak with Wan Atenn privately a bit later, he decided, to assure the man that his position was quite secure.

  All eyes, soldier and onlooker alike, were up at Yatol Grysh then, expect-mg him formally to welcome the newcomers.

  Before he could begin, though, a horn blew out in the distance, beyond the city gates, a long and plaintive winding: the call for admittance.

  Grysh, and Carwan Pestle at his side, and every other person about Dharyan’s main square that cold morning, turned to look out. But only Ya-tol Grysh and his immediate attendants, from their high perch, could see the cause of that horn.

  A second contingent of soldiers - a second twenty-square! - stood on the field beyond Dharyan’s fortified gate, led by a second Chezhou-Lei warrior in his fine, overlapping armor.

  A second twenty-square! Chezru Chieftain Yakim Douan had sent eight hundred warriors to Grysh’s call?

  It took all the discipline the Yatol could muster to hide his shock. Eight hundred soldiers! That was more than a quarter of Jacintha’s standing garrison!

  „Yatol,“ Carwan Pestle breathed. „Are we to conquer To-gai all over again?“

  Yatol Grysh snapped a cold look over the Shepherd, who lowered his eyes. In truth, though, Grysh couldn’t rightly disagree with his companion’s assessment, and understood that Pestle had blurted the words without thinking.

  Perfectly excusable, Grysh realized, given the enormity of the surprise before them. Two twenty-squares!

  As exciting as that prospect might be. For if these soldiers had come in to serve Grysh and not merely as an extension of Chezru Douan’s strong arm, then the Yatol of Dharyan had just become the second most powerful man south of the Belt-and-Buckle Mountains. Perhaps this was Chezru Douan’s way of showing complete confidence in Grysh, then, in so empowering him before the time of Transcendence.

  Too many possibilities, too many questions, assaulted the surprised Yatol at that time, and so he took a deep breath, consciously forcing himself to re­lax, reminding himself that he had yet to meet with the Chezhou-Lei lead­ers of the twenty-squares to determine so many things.

  Other questions invariably came to him, though. Suddenly, he had eight hundred new mouths to feed, and eight hundred new bodies to shelter, and with the fierce Dharyan winter already beginning to blow. It was a daunting prospect, to be sure, but Grysh knew that he could handle it.

  He signaled to his gate guar
ds to allow the latest arrivals on the field en­try to Dharyan, and with the great curving teeyodel horns blowing, the city gates swung wide. So began the second procession of the morning, as disci­plined and perfect in formation as had been the first, marching past the ob­serving Yatol in eighty rows of five, and then assembling on the wide square beside the first group, opposite Wan Atenn and Grysh’s relatively minor forces.

  the second group was settling into place, Grysh felt the distant tare of Wan Atenn upon him. He looked down, studying his war leader, nd he knew that the Chezhou-Lei warrior was troubled by this unexpected rrival. They had only asked for sixty-four men, after all, and had been sent eight hundred!

  Yatol Grysh offered a reassuring nod to Wan Atenn, sincerely given. The Yatol had no idea what Chezru Douan might be thinking, but he was fairly confident that the God-Voice didn’t mean to usurp Grysh s power in the re­gion. Given that, Wan Atenn’s position as military leader remained secure, because Grysh trusted the Chezhou-Lei warrior implicitly.

  The Yatol went through the remainder of the ceremony with an air of disconnect, looking over the procession dispassionately and from a great distance. His thoughts were on the meeting that would soon follow, and al­ready he was formulating some ways in which he might make the best use of the new arrivals.

  There was a particularly thorny renegade To-gai-ru that Grysh wanted to be rid of, one who was said to kill without mercy.

  „Jilseponie Wyndon,“ said Chezru Douan, and he was shaking his head as he spoke the name. „Who is this woman, to become a bishop in the Church ruled by men?“

  Across from Douan’s desk, Merwan Ma held his tongue, for he knew the question to be much deeper than the obvious answer - an answer that both he and Chezru Douan knew well enough.

  Jilseponie had been the one to deliver the miracle of Avelyn a decade be­fore, rescuing Honce-the-Bear from the grip of the rosy plague. The com­panion of the dead Nightbird, Jilseponie was also credited, in part, with destroying the demon dactyl Bestesbulzibar and in helping to win Honce-the-Bear’s war against the demon’s goblin, giant, and powrie minions. But that was all long ago, and Jilseponie Wyndon was not a name that Yakim Douan and Merwan Ma had heard in several years.