Healed by Hope (8 page)

17

TO BURLY, WALKING with the Asēkhas was a pleasure. Well, riding with them. For the most part, he had to be carried. Even running at full speed, he would have been left far behind.

“I’m sorry my legs are so short,” the enchanter said to Vikkama, while perched on one of her muscular shoulders.

“I mean no offense,” the Asēkha said, “but you weigh little more than a toddler. I could carry you from here to Tējo without so much as breaking a sweat.”

“Hmmmm,” Burly said. “I guess that means I’ll have to eat even more of your Cirāya. Give me all of what’s left.”

“If I did that, you might well grow as large as a Tugar.” Then she switched him to her other shoulder. “I lied. You weigh a
lot
more than a toddler.”

Laughing, Burly flipped back his head, which struck hard against the hilt of the Asēkha’s
uttara
. He rubbed his sore skull and then said, “You know how it is. When men get older, they gain weight in their bellies.”

The second night after departing Jivita, they camped on the western shore of Lake Hadaya. The Asēkhas slept without fear, sensing no evil anywhere in the vicinity. Burly lay with his eyes closed and feigned sleep, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and worries. Invictus had been removed, but there was a new threat to the safety of the world. Burly could sense it as surely as the approach of a raging fire. And he knew in his heart that it had something to do with Torg and Laylah. He wondered who else could sense it. The Faerie? The demon? The snow giants? Or was he the only one? If so, it would not be the first time. The enchanter sensed many things others did not.

Finally, he slept.

In the morning, they started off again. But first they feasted on striped bass the Asēkhas had speared in the shallow waters just off the sandy bank of Hadaya. It took almost a day to walk around the lake’s northern coast, and they didn’t camp until well past midnight.

On the fourth day since departing Jivita, they entered the Gap of Gati. At the rate they were walking—openly and fearlessly alongside Iddhi-Pada—they could reach Nissaya in two more days.

“And what will we find there, I wonder?” Vikkama said.

“Friends,” Burly answered confidently.

At midmorning of the sixth day of their march, they were less than a league west of the fortress, and there a dozen mounted black knights greeted them.

“You come from Jivita?” one of the knights said. “Commander Sugati will be anxious to see you. Would you prefer to ride? We would be more than willing to surrender our mounts to Asēkhas.”

Vikkama shook her head. “We’ve walked this far. A little farther won’t hurt us. But I have to admit that I’m puzzled. When I was last at Nissaya, the destriers were suffering as much as its people. How is it that some survived?”

“It has been only recently that we’ve had any horses at all,” one of the knights said. “Most were destroyed by the monsters during the battle, but a few hundred must have managed to flee the fortress through the fallen gates. One by one, they’ve returned. We do not love our destriers as much as the Jivitans love theirs, but we treat them kindly, and they were glad to see us. And we, them. After all that’s happened, anything that lightens the heart is a welcome respite.”

“Agreed,” Vikkama said.

Sugati met them inside the fortress. Burly took an instant liking to the commander. Anyone who could act so cheerful after what had happened here less than a month before was an amazing person. Elu also came to greet them. Burly remembered the Svakaran from several spirited nights at
Boulogne’s
. But his body was now so changed—almost as large and muscular as a Tugar’s.

Though the king’s keep, Nagara, had fallen after the death of King Henepola, there were several lesser keeps within the inner sanctum that contained sizable banquet halls. Burly, Vikkama, and the other Asēkhas were treated to a fine meal that included goat stew, brown bread, and white cheese. Though not quite as tasty as Tugarian nectar, there was wine aplenty, as well as ale.

Sugati told the newcomers everything he knew about Yama-Deva,
The Torgon
, and the rest of the Tugars. The commander also asked Vikkama many questions about the condition of Jivita.

“In terms of soldiers, they don’t sound much better off than us,” Sugati said after listening to the Asēkha’s account. “But Jivita itself was never overrun, and the majority of its citizens survived—either there or at their havens. If only we could say the same. So many are dead . . . so many. Most of us can’t stop crying. Even
Uppādetar
is crying.” It was the first time the commander had sounded anything but joyous.

“On behalf of the Tugar nation, I apologize for our failure to prevent this tragedy,” Vikkama said, without sarcasm.

“If not for the Tugars, there wouldn’t be a one of us left,” Sugati said. “At least now we can begin anew. But our women had better be getting busy having babies—and our men need to be getting busy too, if you know what I mean, missus.”

Vikkama and Burly chuckled, but Elu remained stern.

“Times have changed,” the Svakaran said. “We all have changed. The damage done by Invictus cannot be undone.” Then Burly noticed that the Svakaran was looking fondly at a beautiful female knight.

“Did I say otherwise?” Sugati said.

“You have treated me with nothing but respect since I arrived,” Elu admitted. “But will you do the same if one of your sacred rules is broken?” The Svakaran took the woman’s hand.

The room became silent. At first the commander said nothing. Burly, knowing full well that Nissayans forbade their people from breeding with outsiders, worried that a fight might break out between the two powerful men. But true to his nature, Sugati only smiled.

“I know a good man when I see one,” he said. And then he smiled broadly and turned to the woman. “Essīkka, I do not have the authority to command
Sir
Elu to do anything, but I do still outrank you. This is my desire: You will journey with the Asēkhas to Anna—and bring back news from the Tent City. If Elu wishes to accompany you, that’s his business.”

Vikkama nodded. “Well said, on both your parts. Indeed, the times have changed. All of us must change with them . . . or perish. It would be our pleasure if Sir Elu and Essīkka joined us. And I’m sure
The Torgon
will also be pleased.”

The encounter fascinated Burly, and he felt encouraged about Nissaya’s future, especially with a man as wise as Sugati at the helm.

Even with a dozen or so ghosts slinking around his bed, the enchanter slept well that night. He was too drunk and tired to pay much attention to their wispy wanderings, though he did sense their sorrow. “Just go,” he thought before nodding off. “Your next lives will have to be better than this one.”

Well-rested and provisioned, Burly, the Asēkhas, Elu, and Essīkka departed the fortress the following day. They had been offered horses but chose to walk, though it would take weeks to reach Anna on foot, even if they marched into the night.

“Your destriers could carry us to Barranca easily enough,” Vikkama explained to the commander, “but then we would be forced to abandon them. And after what happened at Nissaya, I am in no mood to abandon anyone or anything.”

“Farewell, then,” Sugati said. “And may your journey be as pleasant as your company.”

“Ema!
Ema!”
the Asēkhas chanted.

They started down Iddhi-Pada and soon came upon the ruined sections of the ancient road. The extent of the destruction stunned Burly. It made him feel wary. Plus, he could not shake the feeling that danger lay ahead.

“We are far from Senasana, but I sense we should avoid the merchant city,” Burly said. “There is nothing but evil there.”

“All the more reason not to avoid it,” Vikkama said, flexing her muscular arms.

Burly snorted, though from him it sounded more like a sneeze. Her bold words made him feel brave, and he raised his magic wand and swirled it in the air. “Very well. Let us see what we shall see.”

18

NOT ONLY HAD Lucius turned out to be a poor sailor, but he also seemed to be the only one on the ship susceptible to seasickness. Though they could not have asked for calmer seas or more favorable winds, the firstborn spent half the voyage bent over the rail, emptying his stomach of whatever meal he had most recently eaten. The crew of pirates whom Bonny coerced into joining them on their journey seemed to find Lucius’s travails hysterical, and he was the brunt of many jokes.

The third day from port, Lucius decided that he had had enough, and he transformed into what Ugga had always described as the “meanie” state. Immediately afterward, the crew treated him with respect. Even better, Lucius discovered that he no longer felt sick when he was a monster. So he remained in that form for long stretches, terrifying the pirates while amusing himself at their expense.

The following morning, the wind ceased to blow, and the galleon sat listlessly in waters still as a pond. No amount of tacking urged the ship forward. Lucius quickly became frustrated, but the Daasa saw this sudden change of fortune as just another opportunity to play. The pink-skinned creatures dove over the pinrail and frolicked fearlessly in the ocean. Bonny, Nīsa, and most of the crew joined them. From the deck, Lucius watched with amazement. Though it looked refreshing, he was afraid to leap into water so deep and—to him, at least—foreboding.

“What are you, a chicken?” Bonny called from below. “Come on in . . . it feels great! And the Daasa won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Lucius had to admit that this was probably true. And the smooth ocean did look inviting. Suddenly, he was overcome with joy. Invictus was dead. He and Bonny were free to spend the rest of their lives together. Why
not
have a little fun?

When he dove into the water, his face smacked hard, and it stung. It was even colder than he expected. Yet when he surfaced, Bonny was there, and she kissed him. Lucius laughed again. Then he lay on his back and floated peacefully, the sun—no longer his enemy—baking his face.

From this perspective, the ship looked entirely different than Lucius had imagined. The tall masts appeared stubby, while the hull seemed huge and bulbous. From his reclined position, he studied the galleon with fascination.

The following morning, the favorable winds returned. The veteran crew set the upper and lower topsails to take advantage of the brisk blow. Lucius took a turn at the wheel, watching the sails pull as he steered. For a vessel that weighed five hundred tons, the galleon seemed to fly. He found himself singing with delight. Life—even his life—could be sweet, after all.

Yet beneath all his glee, something disturbed him. Something he could not yet define. The sharp edges of existence were becoming blurred.

19

THE TRAGEDIES OF the past few months weighed heavily on Torg’s heart, but there was much for which to be thankful. His enemies were routed, and the woman of his dreams was safely by his side. If Sister Tathagata were with him, she would have chided him. Desire, she would have said, was for the weak-minded. But right now, the wizard didn’t care. To live and breathe without fear felt like paradise compared to what he had been through.

Rati had told him everything he knew about what had occurred in Tējo during Torg’s absence, including the High Nun’s gruesome death. Yet it appeared that in the end, Tathagata finally had achieved her millennia-long quest for enlightenment. This was another reason for joy.

Torg, Laylah, and the Tugars marched fearlessly down the Ogha’s eastern bank. At first, tens of thousands of broken bodies lined the river, and the stench was horrendous. Eventually, there was less evidence of the carnage that had so recently occurred at the gates of Avici. By the sixth day, they saw only an occasional body—or head. The Tugars and Pabbajja had destroyed the fiends. Nature would eventually take care of the rest.

They marched for six days, encountering no resistance. Most of the numerous villages that lined the greatest river in the world had been abandoned. Stragglers had begun to return, but they were few. Many thousands had fled to Nissaya, only to perish there in the worst slaughter in Triken’s known history.

Their company moved slowly, averaging little more than ten leagues per day. To a man and woman, they were exhausted—and there was no longer any need for haste. Torg sent scouts eastward to scour the Gray Plains for villagers who might have chosen not to flee to Nissaya. When they came upon bridges spanning the river, Torg also sent scouts to the west. But the reports always were the same: a family here, a few frightened groups there, but never concentrated or organized numbers. Even the Buffeloes were scattered, and they saw nary a Lyon nor Tyger. Either most everything was dead, or most everything had fled far away. Torg guessed it was a sorrowful combination of the two.

The moon was waxing gibbous when they came upon the first fiends: about two hundred shambling northward along the riverbank, their faces strangely sad. But when they saw Torg, Laylah, and the Tugars, they snarled savagely and rushed forward, eager for a meal of flesh and blood. Podhana and the others dispatched them in a matter of moments, leaving their heads and bodies to rot. Nature had more work to do.

“It appears that not every fiend from Senasana found its way to Tējo,” Rati said to Torg.

“If so,” Torg said, “then let us seek them out and destroy them.”

Through the night, they slew several hundred more fiends, and scouts reported encountering at least that many more wandering in the Gray Plains east of the Ogha. By dawn they were only five leagues from Senasana’s northern outskirts. Now there were fiends everywhere, roaming in groups of three, six, or twelve. Among them were the elderly and children. The Tugars had no choice but to slay them all.

They entered the city around noon, and Torg ordered the Tugars to spread out. Senasana was large, but five thousand-plus desert warriors could cover a lot of ground in a hurry. Though it had been more than a month since the
undines
had infected the citizens of Senasana, there still were active signs of destruction in many areas. Small fires burned in homes and buildings, and smoke danced in the air. Fiends of all shapes and sizes wandered the cobbled streets in search of living flesh. Whenever they saw the Tugars, they attacked. Torg was glad of this. It made them easier to eliminate.

A scout emerged from a narrow alleyway, his cheeks flushed with excitement. Torg recognized him as Yoen, a veteran warrior who had been among the twenty who had accompanied Rati to Kauha.

“
Lord Torgon!
Queen Laylah!” Yoen shouted. “There are survivors. Hurry . . . this way.”

Eventually, they came upon a manse that a tall metal fence encircled. At least twenty score fiends were spread out along the border of the well-built barricade, staring at the opulent home within. These monsters were efficiently slaughtered. Just to stretch out his muscles, Torg strode over and slew several dozen with the Silver Sword. It was like catching fish in a barrel. In comparison to Tugars, the fiends were awkward, slow, and weak.

In the meantime, Dhītar had rushed forward, flanked by Maynard Tew. She ran to a pair of chained gates and shook them. “Mother! Father! Are you there?”

Large bronze doors fronted the manse. In response to the countess’s calls, they swung open. A silver-haired woman limped out, supporting herself with a tall oaken staff.

“Dhītar, is that you?” came a voice still proud.

“Mother!” Dhītar screamed.
“Mother!”
The countess shook the gates. Rati took a step forward, grasped the chain in his hands, and broke it. Dhītar rushed through and sagged into the older woman’s arms.

“I can’t believe you’re still alive,” Dhītar said between sobs. “But where is Father?”

The silver-haired woman sighed. “Just a short time ago, the great warrior with the flashing sword took your father’s head. He was outside the gates . . . with the others. Did you not see? It is a blessing that his misery is finally ended. It haunted me to watch him from the window.”