Healed by Hope (10 page)

23

SEVERAL TIMES DURING the nearly two hundred years of his life, Ukkutīka had ventured within the borders of Java. Usually it had been to hunt down monsters that had been terrorizing the merchant route between Senasana and Nissaya. Though Tugars tended to linger within Tējo during times of peace, they routinely sent companies abroad to keep tabs on the goings-on. Whenever there was trouble that the black knights couldn’t or wouldn’t handle, the merchant guilds would appeal to the Tugars for help.

But Ukkutīka had never found reason to venture much beyond the evil forest’s outer fringe, and now for the first time he stood at its heart. Though it was early morning, the thick canopy of strange, gnarled trees kept out most of the light. Even so, hundreds of yellow beams found exposures and streaked through them to the forest floor like loosed arrows. Kithar and thirty score Tugars were at the Asēkha’s side, and more than two thousand Pabbajja encircled them. This had once been the Pabbajja’s territory, but they had not ventured into Java’s interior in an eon. Now it was almost as unfamiliar to them as it was to the Tugars.

It had taken the large company almost two full days to march this far into the forest, though they had traveled less than twenty leagues—and all by road. They had met resistance along the way and had been forced to leave Iddhi-Pada to chase down bands of ogres, goblins, ghouls, and vampires. Against Tugars and Pabbajja, and without a Kojin to back them up, the monsters had been easy prey. All told they had butchered at least fifty score of the enemy.

Bruugash walked over to Ukkutīka and stared up into the Asēkha’s deep-blue eyes. “
Great one
, my people wish to thank you for all that you have done. Without you, we would not have dared to proceed this far.”

Ukkutīka grunted. “Your praise is undeserved, overlord. The Pabbajja have done most of the killing. You move through the trees with the grace of squirrels, while the Tugars trip and stumble.”

Kithar laughed. “The Asēkha speaks the truth, Bruugash. Against the foes we have met thus far, you did not need our assistance.”

Gorlong also stood among them, and he pounded the tail of his trident onto the flat stone road with such might that it cast sparks. “You do not understand, great ones. Without you among us, we could not have come so far.”

Ukkutīka shook his head. “You are correct. I do not understand.”

Gorlong extended his hairy arm as far as it would go and managed to place his hand at the base of the Asēkha’s muscular breast. “This is the first time in
thousands
of years that we have dared to return to our homeland. The last time the Pabbajja stood so deep in the heart of
Kala-Vana
, we did not appear as we do now.”

Gorlong assented. “We are . . .
afraid
.”

Ukkutīka gasped. Finally he began to understand the extent of the Pabbajja’s terror. A superior enemy had driven them from their homeland and forced them to live in an unnatural state—for millennia. It was no wonder that their return was both frightening and profound. Did they still belong here?

“As I told you before,” Bruugash said, “a great evil resides in the heart of
Kala-Vana
. We believe that the serpent is aware of our presence.
Sappa-Uraga
does not fear us, but he does despise us.”

“The serpent awaits our challenge,” Gorlong said. “But this is our fight, not yours. If you were to leave us now, we would not think less of the Tugars.”

Kithar grunted. “You might not think less of us, Gorlong. But we would think less of ourselves. Only if ordered to leave here by our king or chieftain would we depart. Do not speak such foolish words again. Win or lose, we will remain by your side. The Pabbajja have earned no less than that.”

“Agreed,” Ukkutīka said, giving Kithar a clap on the shoulder. “The Tugars
will
remain by your side . . . but win or lose? There is no doubt that we will win. In fact I proclaim now—before all—that
Sappa-Uraga
will die at my hands.”

Bruugash and Gorlong bowed, and in unison they said, “
Amhākam kataññuu vinā pariyosānam
. (Our gratitude is without end.)”

The heart of Java was unlike anything Ukkutīka had ever experienced. Once they departed the relatively safe confines of the road called Iddhi-Pada, the interior of the forest became more like a cavern than a forest. Though the skies above were probably clear and bright, it was as dim as dusk beneath the dripping canopy. Gnarled roots smothered the ground, and there were large patches of tangled wood. The Pabbajja traversed these difficult areas with relative ease, but the Tugars—despite their grace and athletic prowess—were forced to move cautiously.

“We must remain alert,” Bruugash said to Ukkutīka and Kithar. “The serpent is more at home among the roots than any of us. He will sense your discomfort and will choose to strike in a place much like this. His bite is deadly, even to you.”

“And he will be fast . . .
very
fast,” Gorlong said.

“If it’s been an eon since you’ve been here, how is it that you and your people know so much about the
Sappa-Uraga
?” Kithar said. “Have stories been passed down through the generations?”

Bruugash rubbed his hairy head with his hairy hand. “I lived then . . . and I live now.”

Ukkutīka took a step back. Then he said to the overlord: “Are you immortal?”

Bruugash surprised Ukkutīka with his answer. “I don’t know. But I have lived long.”

They marched deeper and deeper into the forest—and hence, farther and farther from the road. Now it was late afternoon, and the air became suffocatingly warm and damp, stealing strength from the heart as thoroughly as despair.

“You
enjoyed
living here?” Ukkutīka finally said.

“We were not then what we are now,” Bruugash reiterated.

They entered a broad and deep bowl, though its resemblance to an ordinary cove ended there. The depression was choked with exposed roots, resembling a titanic gathering of snakes frozen in place. Mist rose from crevices in the wood, and it became so dark that Ukkutīka could barely see. But when they tried to make torches they found that none of the wood—or even the moss—would burn. The Pabbajja spread out and willed their tridents to glow, illuminating the bowl to a certain extent, but the unnatural darkness resisted even their magic.

“I don’t like this,” Kithar said.

Ukkutīka agreed. “
Detha vo anuttaram odahanam
(Attain supreme attention),” he said to the other Tugars.

As if in challenge to his words, there was a series of squeals just beyond their vision. It was clear that the periphery of their company was under assault, but from where and by what was not so evident. The Tugars drew their
uttaras
, which glowed blue despite the dim light. Ukkutīka snarled and grasped the handle of his sword with enough strength to splinter wood.

When the monsters attacked, they came in numbers far more numerous than Ukkutīka would have guessed possible. He had believed that most of the ogres, ghouls, and vampires had perished in the Green Plains, but apparently more had chosen to remain in Java than expected. Suddenly, they were outnumbered three to one, and to make matters worse the enemy appeared to be well-armed with axes, spears, and bows. The initial assault was ferocious—and intensified even more so by the darkness. But six hundred Tugars are not a trifle, and when they fanned out and spread into the woods, the enemy was scattered. Ukkutīka slew more than a dozen, including a female vampire wielding a pike that dripped fetid poisons. Though several score Pabbajja fell during the onslaught, not a single Tugar was injured, so great was their prowess.

It would have been a rout had the serpent not chosen that moment to appear. A whirlwind of malice swept through the bony cove, casting bodies this way and that. Ukkutīka was confused, as a blind man might be confused by a maelstrom. Something passed by him, quick as a hissing arrow. He was knocked off his feet and thrown head over heels onto the bumpy wood. Though he tumbled twenty paces or more, he did not lose his handhold on his
uttara
. During his fifty years of warrior training he had spent thousands of hours on the art of
thapayato tassa gahanam upari tassa khaggassa,
which meant, plainly, retaining your grip on your sword.

Ukkutīka stood and braced his feet on the uneven surface. Then he waved his
uttara
in front of him like a probing tongue. He was not yet harmed, but he was becoming increasingly angry.

“Come, foul serpent,” he growled. “I am your doom. Do you doubt it?”

Though violence raged all around, a misty calmness filled the void directly in front of him. As if no longer in need of subterfuge, the
Sappa-Uraga
rose before him, its glistening head half as massive as a dragon’s. Ukkutīka gasped. This beast wasn’t as long and thick as an oak; it was many times longer and thicker. Yet despite its great size, it was capable of moving through the trees like a slithering bolt of lightning.

Its great eyes, each the size of a Tugar’s head, were filled with a white hatred that froze Ukkutīka in his tracks. When it reared and prepared to strike, all the others also froze—save one.

Perhaps his experience in Kauha had rendered him immune to fear. Whatever the reason, Gorlong sprang from the darkness and clambered upon the beast’s back. Then he drove his glowing trident against a black scale. The staff cracked into pieces, but not before the tines pierced the keratin and entered the softer flesh beneath.

The
Sappa-Uraga
emitted a frightening hiss and spun to strike at its assailant. But when it turned its attention on the Pabbajja, this released Ukkutīka from its spell.

With quickness rivaled by few to ever live, he leapt, spun, and whipped the cutting edge of his magnificent blade against the serpent’s throat. Scales cracked, flesh split, and blood gushed out.

The other Tugars joined the attack, hacking frenetically.

Not long after, the great head fell with a thump.

The glowing eyes went dim.

And the long, winding body quivered and then lay motionless—with Gorlong still on its back.

A stupendous gout of black blood drained from the serpent, pooling among the roots. This disgusted Ukkutīka, but the Pabbajja seemed to know what to do. In unison they blasted the blood with glowing magic from their tridents, causing the viscous liquid to boil and then evaporate. The ensuing vapor filled the entire bowl with mist, but eventually the strange fog cleared, and for the first time since Ukkutīka had entered the heart of the forest, the air began to smell sweet.

Bruugash came forward and bowed. “The Pabbajja are free,” the overlord said. “Java is again our home.”

In response the Tugars chanted,
“Ema!
Ema!”

Ukkutīka flicked blood off his blade.

The forest was secure.

It was time for him and his fellow Tugars to return to the desert.

24

THE DAY AFTER they had swam in the ocean, heavy weather approached from the east, and the crew was put on alert. But reefing the mainsail brought the vessel under control. The galleon was one hundred cubits long, yet it rode the waves like a much smaller vessel, at times surpassing fifteen knots.

During these rougher stretches, Lucius spent most of his time in his monster state. The strength it gave him made it easy to steer the ship, even under the most difficult of conditions. The deckhands finally became used to seeing him this way, though they never lost their respect. And as far as Bonny and Nīsa were concerned, the pirates did what they were told when they were told, not daring to cross swords with either.

Navigation was the least of their worries. No matter the time of day or night, at least a dozen Daasa stood at the bow and stared westward, resembling bloated hunting dogs holding a pose. If the ship veered off the desired course, the Daasa on duty would squeal and yip until whoever steering it brought it back in line.

The galleon originally had been named
The Lakāra
, but Lucius deemed that she be renamed
The Daasa
. Of course, no one argued with that.

Several more days passed. The weather conditions varied considerably, but there were no more serious storms. Other than the one day of dead air, it had been a blessed voyage.

Lucius and Bonny spent most nights in the captain’s cabin, nestled together in a large raised bed. By now they had learned to control themselves during sex so as not to damage the walls. Bonny was unused to such gentle lovemaking, but she grew to appreciate it. Lucius, meanwhile, had to admit privately that for reasons he could not discern, he had lost some of his desire.

On the night of the quarter moon, they sat side by side in cushioned chairs and drank ale from pewter mugs.

“It’s been ten days since we left port,” Lucius said. “How much longer, do you think?”

“I have never crossed the ocean, but most of our crew has done it dozens of times. They told me it can take anywhere from twenty to forty days, depending on the winds. As fast as we’ve been going, it should be closer to twenty.”

Lucius nodded. “I remember studying nautical maps in the libraries of Invictus. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. Akasa is at least fifty times as wide as the Salt Sea. I didn’t believe it then, but I do now.” Then he arched an eyebrow. “Speaking of our crew, they’ve been much better behaved than I had expected. I thought you Duccaritans were supposed to be a nasty bunch.”

Bonny laughed. “There’s nasty and there’s
nasty
. Just having the Asēkha with us is reason enough for them to behave. And you walking around in your ‘meanie’ state is another good one. But the Daasa are what really have them scared. None of these guys were at Duccarita during the slaughter. But they have heard enough about it from the few who escaped to know they’d better not make any of the Daasa angry.”

Now it was Lucius’s turn to laugh. “I see what you mean.”

Unexpectedly, there was a rapid knock on their door. Usually they were left alone at night. Nīsa seemed to need little rest, and he usually kept the watch while Bonny and Lucius slept.

“Come up,” Nīsa shouted through the door. “You’ve got to
see
this!” Then they heard rapid footsteps trailing away.

Lucius and Bonny leaped up and joined the others on deck. The Daasa were crammed against the rail, their rounded hindquarters wagging excitedly. Nīsa and the crew had joined them, and they were pointing and shouting. Lucius had to squeeze between the Daasa to get a good look. Then he gasped.

Though the sky was clear and lighted by the moon, the ocean was black as ink. But swimming alongside their vessel, for as far as the eye could see in all directions, was an astounding herd of white whales—though white wasn’t accurate. Rather, the whales glowed like phosphorescence.

Bonny squeezed next to him, and she too gasped.

“For the love of
Ekadeva
,” she said. “How many of them are there?”

Nīsa stood nearby. “Many thousands,” the Asēkha said. “And apparently this isn’t overly unusual. Our crewmen say they’ve seen this many times, but only when there were Daasa aboard. They call them
Jala-Amba
, the fish that glow, and it appears they have an affinity for our pink friends.”

“I’m surprised the Daasa don’t jump in after them,” Lucius said.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Bonny said. “The
Jala-Amba
look friendly enough, but I still don’t like the idea of the Daasa going swimming with them.”

The whales stayed near the ship until long after the moon had set, singing beautiful songs. But finally they spread apart and went their separate ways. Once they did, the Daasa settled down and slept, except for a dozen or so who continued to pose at the front of the ship.

It made Lucius sad to see the whales go. “Will wonders never cease?” he said wistfully.

“I hope they never do,” Bonny said.

“Ema . . . Ema . . .”
Nīsa agreed.

ASĒKHA-NĪSA SAT cross-legged on the forecastle of
The Daasa
and stared at the gibbous moon. It now had been two weeks since he and the others had commandeered the massive galleon and set out westward across the ocean. In some ways it seemed much longer.

Nīsa had believed that Tējo was large, but the Great Desert was a trifle when compared to the ocean. During every day of the journey, he marveled at Akasa’s immensity. Amazingly, he found that he loved the sea even more than the sand. The swells and billows reminded him of dunes, which also rose and fell, though at a far slower pace. While riding the waves in the proud galleon, Nīsa felt as if everything was occurring in fast motion. All things were impermanent, and the ocean’s undulations were like the rise and fall of the breath.

Nīsa found that in the dead of night, when most of the Daasa slept and only a few members of the crew stirred on deck, his sessions of meditation became profoundly intense. Never before had his heart rate or breathing slowed to such imperceptible levels. Never before had he experienced such placidity.

This night, however, something additional occurred, a new and strange sensation that swept over his muscular body and tingled like static electricity. At first Nīsa was alarmed, and he rose on his haunches, suspecting that some heretofore hidden sorcery had found its way aboard. But then he returned to the cross-legged position and relaxed. The sensation was not coming from without—but from within. Nīsa realized that he was experiencing
Dakkhinā
, the sensation that brings on the urge to attempt
Sammaasamaadhi
, the supreme concentration of mind.

Nīsa, who always had considered himself one of the lowliest of the Asēkhas, suddenly was presented with the opportunity to become a Death-Knower. But why him? Why now? And . . . did he dare?

About a dozen Daasa were near him, staring westward, their purple eyes aglow. Nīsa looked at them, and they wagged their little tails in unison before returning to their task of directing the way. Nīsa smiled. Then he closed his eyes and meditated to the sounds of the sea, his body becoming as still as the weathered wood that surrounded him.

Such peace he had never known. Every muscle in his body was relaxed, and his mind became utterly calm, doing exactly what it was told without the slightest resistance.

His heartbeat stopped.

Nīsa died.

A short time later, he arched his back and let out a shout. The nearest Daasa squealed and leapt in the air, but when they saw the look in his eyes they rushed to him and licked his face all over. The rest of the Daasa, hundreds and hundreds, rushed toward him, though there was not nearly enough room for all of them to clog onto the bow. Apparently Nīsa had awakened the entire crew, including Lucius and Bonny. Now they were gathering on deck and trying to squeeze past the Daasa to see if he was harmed.

Nīsa stood. And then laughed.

Blue vapors poured from his mouth and oozed from his nostrils and ears. He raised his arms, spread his fingers wide, and loosed beams of energy far into the firmament. The cloudless sky lit up like fireworks.

In response, the Daasa squealed and wiggled, while the humans among them spilled tears from their eyes.

One of the crewmen cheered—and soon the others joined in.

A Death-Knower was among them.

And it was a sight to behold.

LUCIUS COULDN’T DECIDE if he preferred the current version of Nīsa more than the previous one, but the newly ascended Death-Knower seemed to enthrall everyone else on the galleon. The Asēkha seemed to be on fire from within. Bluish smoke puffed from his nostrils when he breathed and gushed from his mouth when he spoke, and Lucius could swear that it occasionally oozed from his ears. The ocean winds swept away most of the smoke, but several times Lucius caught whiffs of it, and he had found it to be pleasant and intoxicating. During those moments he
did
like Nīsa better than before. How could he not?

Bonny wasn’t flirty with Nīsa, but she did fawn over him, and she often asked—begged, really—to be permitted to breathe the blue smoke. The Daasa engulfed the Death-Knower wherever he went, often making it difficult for him to move about on deck. And the pirate crew bowed to him with the adoration of well-treated slaves, performing his every command with utmost enthusiasm. Lucius felt as if he were the only one not caught up in the excitement. He also felt like the only grump.

Not until the fourth day after the Asēkha had returned from death was Lucius able to get the Death-Knower alone. It was a bright morning—and warm. Steady sea breezes filled
The Daasa
’s sails, and the great galleon galloped merrily. Nīsa stood on the forecastle and stared westward, his black hair blowing wildly about his extraordinary face. A dozen or so Daasa—the ones designated to point in the proper direction—were nearby. But Bonny was belowdecks, and the nearest crewmember was not within hearing distance.

Trying to appear nonchalant, Lucius strolled up to the Death-Knower and stood beside him.

Nīsa looked at him, but remained silent.

Lucius cleared his throat. “Another beautiful morning.”

“Yes.”

“So . . . uh . . . how are you feeling?”

“The better question, Lucius Annaeus, is how are
you
feeling?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you threatened by me?”

“Threatened? How so?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t understand why you would say such a thing.”

“It’s obvious that since my ascension you’ve been uncomfortable. Is it because I remind you of
Lord Torgon
? If so, I would like to make something very clear: My transformation increased my strength greatly, but I still am nowhere near Torg’s equal. My king has been a Death-Knower for almost a thousand years, and he is the greatest of the great. If he stood before me now, I would not be his match. Against his power, mine is but a trifle.”

Lucius grunted. Then he chuckled. “Regardless, you do remind me of Torg. Am I that obvious?”

Nīsa also chuckled. “My Vasi masters like to say, ‘The truth hurts.’”

Lucius let out a long sigh. “Yes . . . but you’re right, you’re not Torg. Besides, there’s not even any reason for me to dislike
him
, anymore. After all, he saved Bonny’s life.”

“Wise words,” Nīsa said. Then to Lucius’s surprise the Death-Knower wrapped a powerful arm around his shoulder. “You know, the first time I saw you—at Kamupadana—I found you to be . . . well . . . disgusting.” Lucius gasped and tried to back away, but the Death-Knower’s grip was too strong. “
But
 . . . my initial assessment was ill-founded. In truth, you are a being of greatness.”

Nīsa stared hard into Lucius’s eyes. The blue glow was hypnotic. “You and I . . . and Bonny . . . will deliver the Daasa to their homes. After all, it is the right thing to do—and the good karma will benefit all three of us for lifetimes to come.”

“But . . . ?” Lucius said.

“But . . . afterward . . . I will go on.”

“You mean, go back?”

“No . . . I mean continue forward.”

This amazed Lucius. “Don’t you want to return to Anna? You must be dying to . . . uh . . . you must
want
to rejoin the Tugars. At the least, don’t you want to share your ascension with Torg?”

“I do . . . and I will,” Nīsa said. “But time I now have aplenty, and my desire to journey to unknown lands has never been greater. I will return to Anna—but I will approach from the east instead of the west. I plan to encircle the world. Along the way, I shall see what I shall see.”

Lucius discovered that he no longer felt uncomfortable in the Death-Knower’s presence.

Nīsa seemed to sense it. “And you, Lucius Annaeus? What will you do?”

“Huh?”

“After delivering the Daasa, will you return to Avici? With Invictus dead, you could claim the right to kingship of the Golden City.”

Lucius snorted. “I could think of few places I would rather go than there. In fact, nothing in Avici feels like home. Where the Daasa go will be my home—and Bonny’s home, if she’ll stay with me.”

Nīsa gave Lucius’s shoulder an extra-hard squeeze. “I do believe that your home lies before you. Perhaps it is there that you will be king.”

“I only want to be free,” Lucius said.

Afterward, both stood in silence. But the ocean cared not for silence, and it spoke to them all the while.