Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2) (15 page)

“
I am
sure there was some necessity
or reason to it.” The Old Man said.

“
That is
what many people would say if they were in my situation,” Kala
stared at him. “I may have been forced into doing what I should not
have done at one or two points in my life, but in other times, I
could have stopped myself. It might have meant my death, or the
death of others, but I could have stopped myself. So why did I
not?

“
Perhaps
I reasoned my way out of it, saying that it was necessary, that I
had to do it to survive or to help other people, but ultimately, it
was my choice. My actions.” She insisted. “I did not stop myself
because I wanted to act. I wanted to make the choice that
ultimately would lead to my desire or my goal.” She smiled to
herself. “I had a goal, a desire, so many of them, in fact, that I
wanted more than anything else in the world. Nothing would stand in
my way. Not even being judged.” Kala looked up at the Old Man.
“What reason or desire, what necessity or goal, can survive death
and what lies beyond death?”

“
Yours did.” The Old Man said.
“You came to me to tell me about your son.”

“
A form
of my desires and goals did survive, fragmented, to say the least.”
She nodded. “The most powerful desires or goals might survive
death, but they are elusive and illusionary at the best of times,
difficult to express. At the worst of times, well, they might as
well not exist for me.” She shrugged and told him, “Everything else
slips away from you, and over time, even those most powerful goals
and desires might fade away. Then I would not be myself anymore and
I would forget about Basha, and anyone else I loved.”

After a moment of silence, the Old Man asked, “So
then what happens, on the other side, to the soul?”

“
It
moves on into darkness, and then continues on through darkness, for
however long the earth turns.” Kala said. “Then it becomes chaotic
and confused, as so many souls collide and crush into one another,
mixing and melding with one another before they are ‘bumped’ out of
the chaotic darkness and into the light. This happens every so
often to each soul, with different results.

“
On
occasion, a soul will return to the living, either as a ghost like
me, or even more rarely, to be reborn in the form of another
person. Most often, when a soul is bumped out of the chaos, they
float up to what I would call the true Pidamana, or paradise.” She
smiled. “This is more serene than the chaos below, less crowded,
where one is able to recollect who they once were. Here is where
you truly get to meet the other souls in death, including those you
once knew in life. That is a good moment, but a fleeting one, for
eventually you will float back down into the chaotic darkness
below, but only for a short while, before you are ‘bumped’ out of
it again.” She frowned. “Death is unstable, in constant flux, more
so than life, really. You can never be truly satisfied in death.
What do you think?” She asked.

The Old Man stared at her. “I am not sure.” He
managed to say, still stunned.

“
Of
course, that is my impression of it,” She remarked, turning away
from him. “It might be different for others. Can I go now?” She
asked. “Now that I want to return, exactly, but I belong there now,
not here.” She closed her eyes. “Too many painful remainders in
life that are not in death, yet part of me wishes to live
again.”

“
You may return.” The Old Man
managed to say. “Good luck, Kala.”

“
Thank you. You, too.” Kala said
as she vanished once more, leaving the Old Man alone.

Chapter 6: Joining

Cradle and shield me from the storm,
I

Do not think I can go out there again.
Hear

Her whisper sweet lullabies in my ear.
I believe

I could listen to her for a thousand
years.

On A Stormy Day, Kiwata

Basha woke up and
groaned, rubbing his forehead as he remembered
…
he was on a bed. Why
was he on a bed with
…
lavender satin sheets? He
thought, examining the sheets he lied in. Brown bear fur
cover
…
and lavender satin sheets, never had he lied in such a bed
with such comfort. This was fit for a king or a nobleman, certainly
not for
…
he blinked as he remembered what he had been doing. Oh, Tau,
Popo, Loqwa
,
what had he done? He shook his head, trying to
forget, but those men bleeding
…
he blanched again, and started to
sway, but steadied himself as he thought that it was done, it was
done, whatever he had done, and there was nothing to be done about
it in the end.

He had no idea where
he was. He got off the bed and stood up, a little unsteady, but he
had to try and find his way out of here, to get back to Oaka. His
hands brushed up against curtains, pink silk and satin curtains
surrounded the bed, and then he pushed them aside. Fine porcelain
dolls and plates were mounted on top of a mantelpiece. He was in a
sitting room, plush rose chairs placed about a carpeted rug, never
had he seen
…
what was this place? Was he still
in Coe Anji?

Basha shook his head,
and went around a table, searching for the door. He found it,
tucked into the corner by the bookcase, and opened it to walk
outside, on grass and sand. He was by the ocean. Basha stared at
the water in the distance, the waves rolling in, and remembered how
he had thought of it as a pond. He laughed at that,
thinking
…
oh, it was so much wider and bigger than that. The waves
alone were surging in at least all across the horizon before him,
and the water stretched out farther and farther beyond that horizon
toward the gray sky. Popo and Quela were said to be joined by
water, and the water here certainly touched ‘the mountain of
magnificence’ that was the sky, with cloud cover like ice and snow
upon gray stone. He had never dreamed
…
suddenly, he saw a figure
standing alone amidst all this nature on the shoreline, close to
the trickle of the waves sweeping across the sand. He stared at
this woman, who was not Monika, standing before an easel and
painting on the canvas set up there.

He went down towards her, a woman who
appeared older than his mother Habala. She had lines across her
face, streaks of gray and white in her brown hair. Paint was
splattered onto her chest, her shirt. She was dabbling at her
palette with a paint-bush in an attempt to get the right color,
mixing blue and green with a bit of black and white. She got the
mixture right, and then started painting in the waves; the ocean
would occupy about half of her canvas, with some cloud cover. The
house he assumed she lived in, the one he had just came from, was
already on the far left corner, a bit of the town of Coe Anji and
the warehouses that made up its port already behind that. The
lonely little cottage by the sea, not far from the harsh, brutal
town. Basha got a little bit of perspective as he came closer,
noticing that she was definitely taller than him by a few inches,
about as tall as or taller than Oaka.

“
Excuse me, ma’am,
but can you tell me what I am doing here?” He asked.

“
Hello
,
Basha, is it?” She asked, still painting. “My
name is Jona
.
I live there, you know, just where you came from.
You were brought here by some men, a Border Guard patrol, and the
major told me to look after you. He’s an old friend of mine. Your
brother
,
Oaka, I think
,
has gone to the inn where you two were staying,
to bring the horses, supplies, and belongings. I think he is most
insistent that you three
,
the falcon
included
,
should leave here as soon as possible.” She said,
smiling.

“
Are we in some kind
of trouble?” He asked.

“
No, I don’t think
so,” She said, still painting. “The major seems to have the
impression you helped out in whatever mission he was patrolling on,
so you’re free to go, whatever you have done. Your brother just
wants to leave, I think
.
H
e’s also worried about the horses and
supplies, I believe, getting stolen.”

“
There was
another
…
”

“
The girl?” Jona
asked, smiling. “The girl left, I’m afraid, but she also
left
…
” She frowned. “It’s wrapped up in a blanket, I believe, near
the corner of my bedroom. I could not touch it, could not even
stand to look at it, I just left it there. You should find it, if
you want it. I might throw it out into the ocean if you don’t take
it with you when you leave here.”

Basha hesitated, and
then slowly nodded. “I’ll take it.” He said. “And there was
something else...” He hesitated again before continuing, “There
were
people we helped to rescue,
people...who had been smuggled in?” He asked.

Jona stopped painting
and stared at him. “You mean
…
so that’s what it was all about,”
She said, nodding. “I know
smugglers
sometimes take to human trafficking when it is a profitable
business. Sometimes people want to come to Arria when they believe
that it is a better place than where they came from, but when they
cannot by conventional means for any amount of reasons, including
money, sometimes they sell themselves into slavery to afford the
trip. But others are forced into it, kidnapped, by the smugglers to
fulfill their
quota.” Jona scoffed, and
shook her head. “There were some girls I knew
who were
kidnapped,”
Jona
said,
when
Basha couldn’t speak,
“and they still had
nightmares about the whole ordeal. It is a long, arduous voyage,
across sea and ocean much rougher than this, and they had to spend
the whole voyage down below, in the bilge water seeping in through
the cracks. They oftentimes were scared half out of their wits,
sick, and quiet, too quiet, afraid to speak or cry out, in case one
of their kidnappers came down.”

Basha shuddered, and
then asked, “So what did
…
what will happen to those
people?”

“
Most likely they
will be sent back to their homes,” Jona said. “Some will stay if
they have proof that they can work a trade, or have family here in
Arria.”

“
That’s
after everything
…
” He
stuttered and then
sighed,
shaking his
head at the indignity of it all.

He
didn’t know if he could do or say anything here that would
change such a horrible situation,
especially when it had been going on for so long, and he knew that
Oaka wouldn’t want to stay here and get involved in solving a
long-term problem
.
But Basha felt like something had to be done, to
stop the smuggling and help those in need who had already been
affected by it. Perhaps the Border Guards might be able to handle
part of the situation on their own, if they could get themselves
better organized and trained to arrest the smugglers and cease
their activities, but the situation might also require less force
and more care when it came to the people who had been transported
already.

“
What about
the smugglers?”
Basha
asked. “Are
they...dead?”

“
I don’t know,
probably one or two
,
why?” She asked. “Did you
fight them?”

“
I did.” He said, and
gulped. “A few
…
fell down, I didn’t know whether
or not I had
…
killed them.”

Jona sighed. “You
were defending yourself and your friends, I assume.” She said.
“Just think on that, and the people that you
saved
. N
ot just those now, but those that could have been, would have
been, taken away from their homes if the smugglers had lived.” She
said. “Perhaps the smugglers deserved to die. Think on that, and
perhaps that will ease your mind.”

“
Perhaps.” Basha
said, looking out at the ocean.

“
You remind me
of
…
”
She shook her head.

“
What? Whom?” He
asked.

“
My
son
, Jobe
.” She said.

“
Jobe?”
Basha repeated, and a thought or memory stirred in the back of his
mind, though he could not exactly recall it at the
moment.

“
That’s
right, Jobe.
I have a son,
somewhere
, named Jobe.
H
e’s all
grown up now, older than you, possibly by a few years. I do not
know where he is exactly, because he travels around a lot.
Hopefully he will be with his father,” She said. “Hopefully he will
be safe.”

Basha and Jona stood there for a while,
Jona adding an outline of Basha looking out at the ocean to her
painting, before Oaka returned with the horses and supplies. Fato,
perched on the pommel of a saddle, was with him, and clamoring
about the fight and its aftermath. Basha had thought that the
falcon might have left them, though, with the way that he had acted
before during the fight. But apparently he couldn’t be repelled
that easily, and at least Oaka was not complaining about Fato at
the moment.