Healed by Hope (16 page)

“Perhaps if the three of you mount me, we will be able to ride for short distances before Laylah becomes too ill,” the Faerie said. “It will take longer to reach Anna than any of us would have preferred, but at least it will be quicker than if you marched there on foot.”

“Agreed,” Torg said. “Let us begin the journey now. We will travel during the day and seek refuge at night.”

42

THOUGH IT MIGHT have appeared so to Torg, this sickness was not the same to Laylah as when she had been ill during the eclipse. Then, like a person who had ingested poison, she had been overwhelmed by fever and nausea, often hovering near death. Now, like a person being beaten down by a superior will, she was losing her grip on her own identity, often feeling as if she were becoming someone else.

And this certain someone didn’t like Torg, Jord, or Burly one bit. He let her know it by twisting, kicking, and flailing in her womb if any of them—but especially Torg—came too near.

As Laylah had discovered the previous night, the boy in her belly wasn’t fond of moonlight. During the night, all he wanted to do was sleep, which meant that he wanted Laylah to sleep too. When Sakuna shielded her from the gibbous moon, the boy had permitted the proximity without too much complaint, allowing Laylah to rest in relative comfort.

When Laylah woke in the morning, she felt much better than she had the previous evening. She sat up and looked around, studying her surroundings. The Gray Plains lay north, west, and south, but to the east loomed the vast specter of Barranca. Laylah, of course, had never been anywhere near Tējo, but Torg had told her enough about the Great Desert and the rocky wasteland that partially encircled it for her to be able to recognize it.

Sakuna no longer shrouded her. Instead, Jord sat cross-legged off to the side. Torg and Burly lay asleep in the grass nearby. Both were snoring, the enchanter even louder than the wizard. The Faerie ignored the men, staring at Laylah intently but silently. When Laylah walked away, Jord made no attempt to stop her.

It’s not like I need your permission
, Laylah thought.

She walked toward the boulder, which seemed oddly out of place, as if it had strayed outside the border of Barranca and lost its way. When she walked around the mammoth stone, Laylah stopped and gasped. A Lyon as large as a horse stood just five paces away—and it appeared hungry and aggressive. But when it caught sight of her, it tucked its tail between its legs and ran, obviously wanting no part of what was growing inside her.

Laylah squatted over a patch of sand to pee. Her urine burned with surprising vehemence, causing her to yelp, and then sizzled on the sand like hot oil, leaving a glowing stain that resembled liquid gold. Despite the unexpected pain, she felt better afterward—and then realized that she was ravenously hungry.
You’re lucky you ran
, Laylah thought about the Lyon.
I might have eaten you
.

When she returned to their makeshift camp, the first thing Laylah saw was Torg—and for a moment it filled her with the same love and lust that she used to experience in his presence.

They gathered and munched on Cirāya, which dulled Laylah’s hunger, and then they discussed the need to continue toward Anna. All agreed that it would be better to travel during the day and rest at night.

When Laylah climbed onto Sakuna’s back, the kicking renewed. Laylah placed her hand on her stomach and willed white energy, sprinkled with flecks of blue, to flow from her palm into her womb. She was surprised to find that the baby grew a little calmer.

Torg and Burly also climbed aboard. The mare charged into Barranca at a brisk gallop, barely slowing her pace despite the suddenly hazardous footing. Any other horse would have found it difficult to canter on the floor of broken stone, much less gallop.

Even so, Bhojja was not able to run nearly as fast as she was capable. The crossing of Barranca was not completed until dusk, though that still was an amazing feat. Even Tugars took between two and four days to cross on foot, depending on their urgency.

For Laylah, the experience was horrendous. There was a constant burning pain where her legs and crotch pressed against the horse’s back. And though she did her best to continue to keep the baby calm, he often woke and threw mini-tantrums in her belly. Several times Laylah cried out, but the loud clopping of Bhojja’s hooves on the jagged stone drowned it out.

Still, riding on horseback was preferable to flying on an eagle’s back. Laylah feared that a violent kick from the baby would cause her to tumble to her death.

As darkness fell upon the wasteland, the mare climbed a trail that crisscrossed up a sheer wall of rock. After reaching the top, Bhojja exploded through a crevice and leapt into midair, plunging fifty cubits onto a blanket of yellow-white sand. Despite the long drop, the mare landed softly and then came to an abrupt halt. Laylah slid off the horse’s back onto the cushiony sand. Immediately, Torg and Burly knelt beside her, which caused the pain in her abdomen to intensify.

“Stay back . . .
please
.”

Torg and Burly moved away obediently, and the pain lessened enough to permit Laylah to sit up. She was surprised to see Jord the woman, not Bhojja the horse, standing beside Torg. She experienced a sudden jolt of jealousy, which was followed by another session of violent kicking. Apparently, Laylah wasn’t the only one capable of hurt feelings.

43

LAYLAH’S DETERIORATING condition weighed heavily on Burly’s heart. He watched the sorceress as she lay on a soft bed of sand within a stone’s throw of the eastern border of Barranca. To the enchanter’s relief, Sakuna again used her wide wings to shroud Laylah from the bright moonlight. Torg sat off to the side, his expression understandably distraught. Burly sighed and then walked slowly eastward toward the rising moon, which would be full in three nights. The golden orb cast enough light for Burly to see a great distance. What he saw was beautiful. His first visit to Tējo did not disappoint.

Though the temperature had reached nearly one hundred degrees in the afternoon, it now was at least forty degrees cooler, and a frisky breeze made it feel a good deal chillier than that. But this did not affect Burly. A sheath of magic kept him comfortable . . . and also safe. It wouldn’t do—especially at his size—to be bitten by a rattlesnake or stung by a scorpion. And in fact, he encountered both during his walk. The snake was as long as Torg was tall and as thick as one of the wizard’s arms. Burly was just the right size for a quick meal, but the rattler sensed Burly’s power and slithered slowly away, too stunned by the cold to move much quicker. The scorpion also retreated.

The sand had been blown into swirls and waves, extending eastward like an ocean frozen in time. Though immense, this portion of Tējo was not lifeless. Heart-shaped cactuses with green spines and crimson flowers jutted from the desert floor, and a thicket of blooming sotol cast its stalks toward the moonlight, as if in quest of redemption. Crouched in the thicket was a gray desert wolf, much smaller than a black mountain wolf but formidable nonetheless. Had Burly been unequipped with magic, the beast could have torn him to shreds. But it, too, sensed his power and departed in haste.

The enchanter scaled a dune—small by Tējo standards but mountainous to the Gillygaloo—and then gazed about, his miniature heart racing. To the west was Barranca. In all other directions lay the Great Desert, its landscape surprisingly varied. On the far horizon, limestone cliffs rose a thousand cubits above the dry plain. Burly could not be sure, but he swore he could see the silhouettes of trees growing on top of the knife-like ridge. Whatever scant rainfall fell on this place went there first.

When Torg spoke to him, Burly nearly fell off the dune. Never before had he been caught so unawares. The wizard had approached with a silence as profound as death. He sat down beside Burly, both facing eastward.

“How do you like Tējo?” Torg said.

Burly took a few long breaths to calm his heart. Then he said, “I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to decide if I like it or not. I can’t imagine how people survive in such a rugged place, yet I also sense that Tējo has its share of fragility.”

Torg patted him on the top of his head. “You are a wise man, Burly Boulogne.”

Burly feigned offense. “I am no man.” Then he too smiled. “But I have lived a long life, and wisdom comes with age.”

Torg chuckled. “My Vasi master often said the same. I patted him on the head too, and it enraged him—but he knew he was not my equal with the sword.”

“And I, too, am not?”

“With the sword? No. In other ways? It is not for me to say.”

Burly felt a sudden surge of love for the wizard. “You are greater than I. Of that there is no doubt. What I doubt, though, is that you are great enough for the final test.”

“Which is?”

“The birth of Laylah’s child.”

“We shall see what we shall see,” Torg said.

“You could destroy the child—without harming Laylah. And you know it. What stays your hand?”

“Despite the father, the child is a part of her body, not mine or yours. It is her choice.”

“What if it is
not
her choice? What if the child is so strong, he chooses for her?”

Torg shrugged. “Karma chooses for us all.”

“So you’re not worried?”

“The enlightened do not worry,” the wizard said. Then he lowered his head. “But I’m no Tathagata. So, of course I’m worried. Still, worry is just another emotion—as worthless as hate and as wistful as desire.”

Burly patted the wizard on the back with a tiny hand.

“I think I like it.”

“Hmmm?”

“Your desert.”

“Oh. Well, stay awhile . . . and you’ll learn to love it.”

44

WHEN TORG RETURNED to Laylah, it was a bell past midnight. It dismayed him to find that her condition had worsened. Instead of sleeping without movement, she now moaned and thrashed, and her stomach glowed with such intensity it hurt Torg’s eyes to look at it.

Sakuna plucked several long feathers from her plumage and stabbed the quills into the soft sand, building a teepee-shaped structure to shield Laylah from the worst of the moonlight. Then the mountain eagle backed away, transformed to Jord, and sprinted away, as if in a panic.

Jord covered half a mile before Torg finally caught up to her.

“Why do you run?” he said between gasps.

“I like to run,” she said, still breathing easily. “It is one of the best things about being alive. Now I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you follow?”

“I’m still not convinced you’ve told me all that you know.”

Jord flopped down onto the sand and lay on her back, looking up at the moon and stars. “I have not.”

Torg stood over her. Though he considered himself mated to Laylah for life, it was difficult not to admire the Faerie’s supernaturally beautiful body. “Tell me . . . everything.”

“Everything? Triken would crumble to dust before I could do that. But there are a few more things I am permitted to say . . . before I depart.”

“Such as?”

Jord sat up, tears lining her pale cheeks.

“What is it?” Torg said.

“Ugga . . . is dead.”

Torg gasped. “Why? How?”

“Why? You know the answer to that as well as I. How? He was bitten in the throat by a rattlesnake.”

Torg sat down beside her and put his massive arm around her thin shoulders. Tears streaked his cheeks, as well.

“
Jiivitam maranam anugacchati
(Death follows life),” Torg whispered.

“
Maranam jivitam anugacchati
! (Life follows death),” Jord responded.

And then, in unison, they said, “
Aniccaa vata sankharaa. Mettaa eva sassataa.
(All things are impermanent. Only love is eternal.)”

“And I did love him,” Jord said. “It took almost one hundred millennia, but I finally learned how to love.”

“I loved Ugga too,” Torg said. “And Bard, as well. So many have perished: Kusala, Tāseti, Sōbhana, Tathagata, to name just a few. Even Bhayatupa, who found wisdom before his demise. Yet it is not their deaths I mourn. Rather I grieve for myself . . . because I will miss them all.”

Jord turned and stared into his blue eyes. “Will you miss me?”

“I will.”

Jord leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth. Torg did not jerk away, but neither did he respond. This caused her to smile wanly. “Emotions are a blessing and a curse. When I depart from this world and rejoin the
Vijjaadharaa
, I will forget how to love. But I will also forget sadness and loss.”

“Perhaps you will remember more than you think.”

“I will remember you. I will be there to guide you, when you die for the final time.”

“Did Peta foresee this event, as well?”

“She did not. She said only that your survival extended beyond the range of her vision.”

“And Laylah’s survival?”

“Do you truly wish me to answer?”

“Yes . . .”

“Laylah’s death was not foreseen either.”

Something tight in Torg’s chest unclenched—and a long exhale hissed between his teeth. “We must reach Anna by tomorrow night. You are capable.”

Jord shook her head. “I am . . . but Laylah is not. The faster I run, the more magic I expend—the kind of magic abhorred by the child within her womb. It will take at least two more days and probably part of a third.”

Torg sighed again. “Like you say, I have to learn to trust you, as I did before. But two more days is a long time to spend in the desert without provisions.”

“I need little sustenance,” Jord said. “Will not Cirāya suffice for you and the others?”

“I know naught what will suffice, as far as Laylah is concerned.”

“You will suffice,” Jord said.

Torg left her and returned to where Laylah slept. She had rolled out from under the feathers, and now she moaned beneath the moonlight. Burly sat a stone’s throw away, watching her with glowing eyes.

“I can sense the baby’s power, even from here,” the enchanter said. “Will you not reconsider?”

“No,” Torg said. “And I will not discuss it again. Do you wish to challenge me? If so, do it now. I have no patience for games.”

“I will not challenge you, Death-Knower. I am forever your ally—and friend. Very well. We’ll both see what happens when we reach Anna.”

“Once there, I will lay my hands upon her,” Torg said. “Of that, I promise.”

“And the demon and dragon?”

Torg ripped the Silver Sword from the scabbard on his back. When he whipped the blade through the air, it cast flames—and caused Laylah to moan even louder. “Let them come.”

Burly stood and waved his wand in a similar manner. “Indeed!”

The next morning, Laylah again woke relatively refreshed, and she ate Cirāya greedily. Apparently, the baby’s physical hunger sometimes transcended its distaste for Torg and the others. They rode on Bhojja’s back through the heat of the day, traveling at a much faster pace than any normal horse or camel could have managed, yet far slower than the jade mare was capable. They stopped at dusk near a limestone ridge, and Laylah staggered beneath a rock overhang to find shelter from the moonlight, which was growing increasingly bright as the full moon approached.

Torg left her for a time, surmounting the jagged spine and wandering alone on the lee side. Beyond the ridge lay an unbroken chain of dunes that stretched as far as he could see. In the distance, several figures were silhouetted in the moonlight. Torg rushed toward them, bounding along the crusty surface of the sand with the grace of a wolf.

The Kalliks, four in all, didn’t notice his approach until it was too late to run. One of the desert bandits was leading a camel by an iron bridle, and he attempted to mount the beast and ride off on his own. But the camel would not tolerate him. It alone among the traveling party seemed pleased to see the wizard. Most animals adored Torg and were comforted by his presence.

“
Sannisīdati
! (Halt!)” Torg ordered.

Instantly, the four men cast aside their long knives, bows and arrows, and threw themselves face-first onto the sand. It was bad enough to run into a Tugar in the dead of night, far worse an Asēkha, and absolutely terrifying to encounter
The Torgon
himself. For quite some time they would do nothing but babble, but the camel nuzzled Torg playfully, coating his face with oily spittle.

“
Adāhara
! (Stand!)”

Only one managed the courage. He was five spans shorter than Torg and nowhere near as muscular, and his long white shirt hung past his bony knees.

“Maranavidu,”
the man said, his voice trembling. “What would you have us do?”

“What have you to eat and drink?”

“We are poor men and possess little but this rangy brute,” the bandit said, gesturing toward the camel. “We can barely feed ourselves.”

“Do not
lie
!” Torg said in a voice swelled by magic. The man was blown onto his back amid a swirl of sand, and when he stood his entire body was shaking.

“We have water, wine, and dried meat . . . take it
all
!”

“Not all . . . half.”

And so, Torg returned to the others with food and drink.

Laylah managed to sleep until morning, but then she eagerly ate most of the meat and drank almost all the water.

“A woman needs her strength,” she said to Torg, trying to sound lighthearted. Though it failed, Torg appreciated the attempt. At least a part of Laylah remained independent enough to want to please him.

The next day’s ride was excruciating. Torg could see every grimace, hear every moan, sense every twinge of pain that Laylah suffered, and the glow from her stomach was as palpable as fire. This forced Bhojja to slow her pace even further, as the slightest increase in speed seemed to intensify Laylah’s suffering. Torg began to wonder if they would ever reach Anna.

Now it was the evening before the full moon. They camped among boulders that a sparse field of grass surrounded. A spring was hidden within the rocks, its water clear and cool. Torg knew this place well and had stopped there many times during his frequent journeys. They were less than an ordinary two-day march from Anna, which meant that, aboard Bhojja, they would reach the Tent City by early afternoon.

While Laylah slept, Torg, Burly, and Jord sat in the grass and shared the remainder of the wine. Even Jord took a few sips. Torg found it bittersweet that the nearer Jord came to departing the Realm of Life, the more human she became.

Suddenly Torg leapt to his feet.

“What is it,
Torgon
?” Burly said. “What do you see?”

Torg smiled. “Tugars come.”

An instant later, a dozen black shapes emerged from the darkness, moving forward with the silent grace of large predators. Torg met them cheerfully and grasped the forearm of each in Tugarian fashion.

“
Abhinandanena te garukaromi
(I greet you with great joy)!” the king of Anna said.

Torg introduced Burly and Jord.

A warrior stepped forward and placed a black cloak around Jord’s thin shoulders. She smiled at him, and her eyes glowed green.

“You carry signal drums. Do not say otherwise,” said Torg, his voice uncharacteristically impatient.

“We do, lord. What message would you have us send to Asēkha-Aya?”

“Let it be known that the king will return—and with him three companions—within a bell of noon.”

“It will be done,” the Tugar said. “But, lord, how will you reach Anna so soon? It is yet many leagues distant.”

“There are ways that surpass even us,” Torg said.

The Tugars bowed and went about the business of constructing a small Taiko drum from materials they carried in their packs. In a short time, a detailed message was being sent. The pounding of distant drums could be heard in response. Aya soon would be alerted.

Several other Tugars made a fire and roasted a brace of jerboas. They also laid out goat cheese along with a vegetable paste made from the bulbs of sotol. And of course, they passed around tubular skins containing Tugarian nectar. To Torg and Burly it was a feast, but Jord ate only a little, and Laylah slept fitfully throughout the meal.

“What illness has befallen the queen?” one of the warriors asked Torg.

“We will not speak of it now,” the king said.

“Yes, lord. My apologies.”

Torg changed the subject. “Rati reported that the noble ones fare well, despite the horrors they experienced.”

“Indeed, lord—though most of them are anxious to return to Dibbu-Loka. They are embarrassed to admit it, but they have become
attached
to Bakheng, the city they have long called home.”

Torg nodded. “Perhaps they should not be so embarrassed. If all goes well, we soon will be able to accommodate them. After what they’ve been through, they deserve no less.”

“Ema . . . Ema . . .”
the Tugars chanted.

“Rati also said that great efforts have been made to repair the damages inflicted on the Tent City,” Torg said.

“Anna is not as it was, but it is nearer to its former glory than before. Still, there has been much talk that we should depart Vimānal.”

“It shall be considered,” Torg said.

“With the return of the king, much healing will occur,” the warrior said.

Torg noticed that several of the Tugars were staring at Burly, who to this point had been too focused on eating and drinking to say much of anything. Not all of Torg’s people had ventured to Jivita, and so the sight of the Gillygaloo amazed them.

“To our eyes, Burly might appear as a trifle, but in truth he is an enchanter of formidable power,” Torg said. “Do not underestimate him.”

Burly looked up, chewed a few times, and swallowed. “I daresay all among this gathering are greater than I,” he said. “Unless it comes to an eating contest.”

This prompted a raucous spate of laughter that caused Laylah to moan in her sleep. Instantly, they went quiet.

“Sorry . . .” Burly whispered.

Jord giggled softly. The rarity of such a sound coming from the Faerie warmed Torg’s heart.

Then Torg yawned. “Yet again, I feel the need for rest.”

“We will watch over you, lord.”

Torg closed his eyes—and slept. And even his dreams were without care.