“None of those heretic pilgrims in your bunch?” Kang-Laau looked at the carnival folk massed beyond the walls of his castle.
“Certainly not.” Leotin sounded offended as he pointedly touched the iron Ketolin circle on the lanyard at his chest. He had traded it for the double circle of the Tot Gioth when they crossed the border from the Atheton Dominion. He’d tried to convince the pilgrims to wear them, but they refused. At least they refrained from displaying the spiral symbols they fashioned from scraps of metal and carved in wood each night. He had managed to convince the pilgrims not to mention that they recently hailed from Atheton and to speak as little as possible. It had cost him a considerable sum to bribe the border guards at the newly established checkpoint between the two dominions. While he’d heard numerous rumors that the feared plague, the Living Death, had reappeared in the north of Atheton, he’d seen no evidence of it elsewhere and had been surprised by the soldiers standing guard at the normally deserted border. He had also been astonished when Jhanal took up a collection among the pilgrims to reimburse him for their portion of the border graft. Of course, they fell short of their full share, but he appreciated the gesture. He hoped to make back most of his costs at the castle.
“Quite a lot of them. Never seen a carnival so big.” Kang-Laau squinted in the sun as he watched his townspeople mingle with the carnival folk.
“Hard times, my tahn.” Leotin shook his head in feigned sadness, adjusting his accent to match the tahn’s. He spoke all of the realms’ languages fluently and found it helpful to mimic the local dialect to better avoid unintended prejudice. He also found it helpful to lie about the size of his carnival staff. “We recently combined with another company that had failed to pay its debts.”
“It makes for a much more exciting performance of The Fallen Lands, my tahn.” Palla smiled demurely at the rotund man, his wife frowning behind him.
“Ah, the trilogy.” Kang-Laau rubbed his hands together. “It’s been years since I’ve seen it performed.”
Leotin doubted the man had ever seen The Saga of the Fallen Lands performed. He had played at the castle several times in the last thirty years, and Kang-Laau had not been among the nobles present at the last performance five years ago. Likely the man had been appointed by the regional tahn on the death of his predecessor, sent to hold the town and make sure it continued to pay tribute to the regional palace and the zhan in the capital.
Kang-Laau accepted the usual terms, insisting on three days of entertainment, one of them privately within the castle walls, in return for thirty silver coins and fifty percent of the ticket sales. It sounded a steep bargain, and Leotin protested the poverty of his troupe, but only to ensure the tahn did not ask for more. The carnival made the majority of its money from the sideshows and the sale of trinkets, particularly “ancient” religious relics from far off lands and medicinal potions for all manner of ailments. As long as they broke even on the ticket sales for the play, they would turn a tidy profit, assuming the town had enough people looking for relief from the monotony of the life they lived.
Sundown saw the carnival camp set in a fallow field behind the castle. The setting sun also brought a train of merchant wagons to town bearing spices and pottery from the east. It bore an additional cargo more valuable to Leotin — news of a Tanshen army massing beyond the border, three days’ ride from Castle Peda-Lan. As Leotin listened to the news, relayed to him by Donjeo, the young animal handler, he looked southward toward the army he knew would soon march in his direction. Best to be gone by then. It would need to be a quick performance. He might need to pay the tahn of the castle extra to relieve him of their contract, but it would be better to be on the road and far away when the fighting began.
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To continue reading Leotin’s storyline follow this link.
THE FUGITIVES
LEE-NIN
DECADES-OLD WOOD creaked and squealed under the pressure of a strong wind, swiftly running water, and an uncommon weight. A weather-worn bridge spanned two hundred paces over white-tipped water. Support posts swayed slightly as people, horses, and wagons crowded atop the structure. A wagon sat wedged in the middle of the bridge, a wheel caught between two rail beams, the axle shaft snapped. Only two hands wider than the wagon bed, the bridge did not allow space for the long line of people stranded behind it to move forward and join their few companions across the river.
The bridge shuddered and Lee-Nin grasped the railing of a nearby wagon with one hand, her other tightening around Sao-Tauna’s tiny fingers. She looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath. She did not like water. She did not like heights. She did not like bridges. And she particularly did not like being trapped on tall, rickety bridges over fast-flowing rivers. Sao-Tauna returned the squeeze of her hand.
She stood on the tips of her toes to see over the crowd of people wedged onto the bridge. Sha-Kutan stood holding the bed of the damaged wagon in the air, his large canvas sack strapped over his shoulder. Beneath the wagon two other men pulled at the broken axle. A third man sat on the driver’s bench, gripping the reins of the horse.
“Yer man is fearsome strong.”
Lee-Nin turned to the woman at her side. She remembered the woman’s name as Fao-Ashi. With splotchy pale skin and greasy blond hair, the woman possessed a quality of weary resignation. She held the hand of a small girl about the age of Sao-Tauna. Lee-Nin did not remember the girl’s name.
“Yes, he is.” Lee-Nin preferred non-committal responses regarding Sha-Kutan. They told people they were a family, but otherwise, they tried to say as little as possible about themselves. Be friendly. Blend in. Don’t stand out. She generally spoke to strangers, as Sha-Kutan’s manner did not tend to leave people disposed to forget him. Best to redirect conversations along other paths.
“Is that your husband up on the wagon?” Lee-Nin nodded toward the man cursing at the horse and yanking violently on the reins.
“Yes. Chu-Ki.” Fao-Ashi looked at her feet, her expression unreadable, but certainly not one of pride or love. The girl averted her eyes as well.
Sao-Tauna disengaged from Lee-Nin’s fingers to offer the other girl a tiny yellow flower from the small bunch she clutched in her free hand. She had picked the flowers earlier that morning with Sha-Kutan. In truth, she had picked the flowers while Sha-Kutan stood silently towering over her, his face expressing several emotions ranging from annoyed curiosity to curious annoyance. Lee-Nin did not understand him, did not trust him, but Sao-Tauna insisted, in her quiet way, through actions rather than words, that she had complete faith in the man.
The girl tentatively took the flower from Sao-Tauna’s hand with a thin smile. She acted even more skittish than her mother.
“Say thank ya, Gao-Pai,” Fao-Ashi said to the girl.
“Thank ya.” Gao-Pai smiled a little wider.
Sao-Tauna smiled back, but did not speak.
“Her name’s Sao-Tauna.” Lee-Nin rested her hand on Sao-Tauna’s thin shoulder. “She doesn’t speak much.”
“Mine don’t talk much neither.” Fao-Ashi pulled Gao-Pai closer, her arm around the girl’s back.
Shouts drew Lee-Nin’s attention back to the broken wagon blocking the bridge. Fao-Ashi’s husband, Chu-Ki, shouted at the two men working on the axle and wheel. She could not hear what he yelled about, but Chu-Ki looked oblivious to Sha-Kutan’s cold stare as he hefted the rear of the wagon aloft. Had the man noticed, Lee-Nin had no doubt he would have held his tongue. Sha-Kutan appeared to bear a broad dislike of all people, excepting maybe Sao-Tauna, but the look on his face indicated an especial disregard for Chu-Ki. There were many things about Sha-Kutan she did not like — his temperament, his reticence, his general ill mood, his mysteriousness — but he always proved to possess an immediate and faultless assessment of character. Moreover, she agreed completely with his appraisal.
She’d known many men like Chu-Ki in the years before her life in the palace. She’d even k
illed one once. She had watched Chu-Ki and Fao-Ashi for days, ever since they joined the pilgrim band. He rarely left her alone, and when he did, she stayed that way, separating herself and Gao-Pai from the others. When together, he held the girl too close, a little too firmly. He smiled when he did not look happy. He shouted when even tones might have been more helpful. Lee-Nin also noticed the ways Fao-Ashi and Gao-Pai behaved when he stood nearby. Animals frightened of their master’s temper and the retribution of his whip. She’d noted no bruises on the girl, but had glimpsed a large, plum-colored mark on Fao-Ashi’s arm while washing in a stream a few days back. And although the girl, Gao-Pai, appeared unharmed, the way she pulled within herself when Chu-Ki touched her led Lee-Nin to suspect his hands had seen too much of the girl. She began to consider that Chu-Ki might not even be the woman’s husband. A man like him would not think twice about claiming for himself a lone woman and child, either to satisfy his own twisted desires, or to conceal his movements across the countryside from those who might be seeking him.
Unfortunately, Lee-Nin did not know what to do with her suspicions, especially as she had other concerns to occupy her every waking moment as well as those dreams not filled with stars and ruined temples and a goddess newly born to the world. It had been days since their brush with the warden commander, but she knew it to be only a matter of time before he found them again. And what happened then? Would Sha-Kutan somehow kill an entire hand of soldiers with his bare hands yet once more? The memory of the dead men on the farmhouse floor chilled her. Not for any sympathy toward the men who wanted to slaughter her and Sao-Tauna, but for the knowledge that she walked, day after day, by the side of a man capable of such swift and horrific violence. Complimenting this thought, she also knew that were such violence once more unleashed, it would likely be in the effort to again save Sao-Tauna’s life.
Sha-Kutan did not say why he traveled with them, why he acted as protector to them both, as she did herself to Sao-Tauna. She understood why she risked her life to save the girl, even if she did not know why the wardens hunted her. But why did Sha-Kutan help them? What did he gain? He stared eastward, back the way they had journeyed, several times a day, presumably toward the woman who hunted him. Why did she hunt him? Why did he fear a lone woman? What power could she have over him?
And more significantly, might Sha-Kutan being a fugitive place Sao-Tauna at greater risk? Should she leave him behind and proceed herself with Sao-Tauna to the Forbidden Realm with the other pilgrims? The rational side of her mind said she should, but her instinct told her, against all reason, that she should trust Sha-Kutan. Her instincts had always saved her in the past, and she chose to listen to them now. At least until Sha-Kutan revealed some reason not to. She would trust her instincts in regards to Chu-Ki as well, especially as Sha-Kutan seemed to share her opinion of the man.
The shouts from the wagon rose again, and Lee-Nin stood on her toes once more to better see. Chu-Ki yelled again at the two men working on the axle and turned to slap the reins against the horse’s back, urging the beast to pull. The wagon bed yanked free from Sha-Kutan’s grip, the shattered wheel catching in the rail, breaking the old wood, the nearest support post cracking under the strain. The wagon pulled free as Sha-Kutan turned and looked at Lee-Nin. He did not search the crowd. His eyes came to rest upon her as though drawn to her by a taut spool of string.
Lee-Nin’s heart froze as the section of bridge beneath Sha-Kutan gave way, wood splintering and tearing under the weight of the people, the constant press of the river, and the inopportune damage from the horse-drawn wagon. She clutched Sao-Tauna tightly, the bridge collapsing in a wave, the people crammed along its slender planks screaming as they fell into the depths of the swiftly flowing river.
She did not scream; rather, she took a deeper breath as the wood beneath her feet dropped away with an ear-cracking screech. She held on to Sao-Tauna, arms wrapped around the girl, as they plunged through the panicked cries of humans and the wild brays of horses and into the cold, grasping hands of the river. She held Sao-Tauna with one arm and tried to swim to the surface with the other, avoiding the sinking people and wooden beams and planks from the collapsing bridge.
A support post smashed against her, pulling her into the river’s depths even as the current dragged her downstream. She could see the terror on Sao-Tauna’s face as the girl wisely held her breath, cheeks puffed wide. She managed to slide from beneath the post as it struck bottom, but the sinking wheel of a wagon trapped her foot under the iron bands of its tread. She tugged at a spoke of the wheel, attempting to move it free. She looked at Sao-Tauna, the girl’s eyes blinking with the struggle not to exhale. If she released the girl, she would have a better chance of freeing herself, but then would need to chase her through the rapid current downriver before she drowned. Maybe if she could…
A hand pulled at the wagon wheel, casting it aside with ease as an arm wrapped around Lee-Nin and Sao-Tauna. She turned to see Sha-Kutan, his face grim as he used his free arm to swim toward the surface. She added her own arm to the effort, kicking as best as the folds of her dress allowed. The three broke from beneath the waters of the river a moment later.
Lee-Nin spit silty water from her mouth as she gasped for air. She smiled in relief as Sao-Tauna did the same in her arm. She swam for the shore, the current pulling them farther and farther from the broken bridge with each stroke. Sha-Kutan swam beside her, a hand still holding to her waist to ensure they did not get separated. Near the shallows, he stood and walked to the shore, helping her to find her feet on the uneven stones at the river’s edge. She set Sao-Tauna down, coughing water as she checked to confirm the girl suffered no damage from the falling debris of the bridge.
“How did you find us?” Lee-Nin looked up to Sha-Kutan as he stood on the shoreline, watching people swim to safety.
“I can always find you.” Sha-Kutan said no more as he pulled the waterlogged canvas sack from across his shoulders and dropped it to the ground before wading back into the turbulent river to help the other pilgrims to the shoreline.
Lee-Nin watched him with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. While she appreciated his saving her and Sao-Tauna’s lives, she disliked the idea of being rescued by anyone. She had always rescued herself when the need arose. It caused feelings to surface that she found unfamiliar and discomforting. She might have named one of the emotions as gratitude if she possessed more familiarity with the sensation. And how had he found her beneath a river amongst the wreckage of the bridge and a hundred other pilgrims falling through the water? He had turned on the bridge just before it gave way and looked directly into her eyes with no hesitation or searching among the surrounding faces. How could that be?
Lee-Nin shook off the questions and the feelings they brought to help the pilgrims climb out of the water and onto the thin strip of sand and rocks at the river’s edge. She saw Fao-Ashi holding tightly to Gao-Pai, both shaken, but alive. She spotted Chu-Ki stumbling toward them. He sat down in the sand and said something that made the woman wince.
Beside her, Sha-Kutan helped a man from the river to sit in a bank of tall grass. He left the man without undue ceremony and strode past several pilgrims still spitting up water to stand beside Lee-Nin and Sao-Tauna.
“Thank you.” Sao-Tauna offered Sha-Kutan one of the flaccid, water-soaked flowers she still clutched in her hand. Sha-Kutan accepted it with a nod, holding it delicately between two massive fingers. Sao-Tauna smiled and turned to look out over the river.
“Yes. Thank you.” Lee-Nin found the words more difficult to speak as she realized she had sincerely thanked him more times than anyone else in her life. He nodded to her as well, but said nothing. Oddly, that silence infuriated her more than his having saved her life. She looked at the bridge, thinking to redirect her thoughts.
“With the bridge down, we will face a choice,” Lee-Nin said. “We can try to swim across, maybe make a raft from the wood of the bridge, or we can stay with the pilgrims and waste several days trying
to find another crossing. The longer we’re on this side of the river, the easier we are to locate.”
“Star people.” Sao-Tauna, as usual, added her opinion before allowing others to voice their own.
“Yes. We stay with the pilgrims.” Sha-Kutan stared along the shoreline of the river.
Fascinated by his sudden desire for the companionship of the pilgrims, Lee-Nin followed Sha-Kutan’s gaze to where it rested on Chu-Ki as he walked away from Fao-Ashi and Gao-Pai.
“The pilgrims, then.” Lee-Nin watched Sha-Kutan watching Chu-Ki, intrigued and somewhat concerned by his behavior and apparent interest in the man, mostly because it so closely resembled her own. They needed to protect Sao-Tauna at all costs, but she could not bring herself to leave Fao-Ashi and Gao-Pai until she knew they were safe.
To continue reading the Fugitives story arena follow this link.
To continue reading Lee-Nin’s storyline follow this link.
THE TEMPLE
TAKSATI
“ENTER.”
Taksati stepped into the tent, the night guard holding back the canvas flap of the entrance, a candle on a tray casting flickering light to guide her into the darkened space. Steam from a cup of tea near the candle rose in curling, herbal-scented clouds, glowing in the flames that danced atop the waxed wick.
The Dragon Star (Realms of Shadow and Grace: Volume 1) Page 43
