Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles) Page 15

  Like a veteran sea voyager, Invictus strode on top of the dragon’s heaving torso. He clambered over the chain and finally stood on the hinge of Bhayatupa’s jaw. The dragon’s visible eye, which was more than two cubits in diameter, was open but glazed.

  Invictus placed the palm of his hand on the cornea. The dragon did not react. “A pity,” Invictus sneered.

  Then Bhayatupa blinked.

  “What have we here?” Invictus said. “Are you awake?” Then he leapt off the dragon onto the tattered summit of the mountain.

  “Rise.”

  Immediately the dragon responded, first lifting his head off the stone and then standing, albeit groggily, on his four magnificently muscled legs. Invictus cackled.

  “You can understand me,” Invictus said, staring up at the huge beast. “How interesting. If only Mala were here to share this moment.”

  Bhayatupa did not react, but the chain that encircled his neck continued to glow, casting a fragrant stink.

  “Bow your head,” Invictus said. “I wish to mount you.”

  Bhayatupa did so without hesitation, and Invictus climbed aboard. In physical relation to the dragon, Invictus was about the size of a cricket on the back of a large iguana.

  “To Avici,” he shouted.

  Bhayatupa made no sound, but his great wings swept downward.

  “To Avici,” Invictus repeated. “I will show you the way, if your mind no longer remembers.”

  Faster than any other creature had ever flown, the dragon carried Invictus eastward.

  2

  THE GIRL COMPLAINED less than most children, but she still was slowing Tāseti down. The additional weight meant little to the camel, but the Asēkha was forced to stop far too often to cater to the girl’s frequent bouts of nausea and diarrhea. At least she finally knew her name: Nimmita, though she preferred to be called Nimm.

  When not vomiting or squatting, Nimm talked nonstop. Tāseti patiently listened to her ramblings, and during rare periods of quiet she entertained the girl with Tugarian fairytales. But Nimm’s constant distractions caused Tāseti to veer off the trail more than once, forcing her to retrace her steps.

  “How can she be moving so fast . . . she’s gaining!” Tāseti said in sudden frustration.

  “Who is? My mommy? She was always the slowest. Daddy used to get so mad at her. Why would she be going fast now?”

  A horrific thought occurred to Tāseti. She probably would catch up with the remainder of Nimm’s family long before she would encounter Tathagata. Could the girl bear to witness more slaughter?

  As if reading Tāseti’s mind, Nimm began to sob. “You’re going to kill my mommy and brother, aren’t you?”

  “If I kill them, they will be at peace.”

  “Will they become monsters in their next lives?”

  “No . . . when they are reborn, they will be strong and happy. They risked themselves to save you. When people are brave in their final moments, it carries over to their next existence. But they will not be able to go to that better place until I release them from their torment.”

  “I’m scared . . .”

  “You won’t have to watch. I’ll hide you in a safe place until it’s over.”

  “I don’t want them to be dead.”

  Tāseti sighed. “I know . . . I know. A terrible thing has happened that cannot be undone—at least in this lifetime. You will carry pain with you always. When really bad things happen, some people never recover. But a few manage to become stronger.”

  Nimm did not respond.

  Just before noon, Tāseti and her young companion rode over the crest of a sharp ridge and caught sight of the first of the three fiends that followed in Tathagata’s wake. About a mile ahead, Nimm’s mother, or what remained of her, was struggling to traverse a particularly nasty stretch of bleached rocks that eerily resembled a pile of bones. Dozens of black flies swarmed above the fiend’s head, but she paid them no heed.

  “I can’t stand to see mommy this way,” Nimm said. “Please help her.”

  Running the fiend down and then backtracking to retrieve Nimm was yet another waste of time, but Tāseti had no other choice. She left the girl beneath a shaded overhang and gave her the goatskin of uncontaminated water she had taken from the family’s campsite. Disturbingly, it now contained less than a third of its original contents. To make matters worse, the daytime temperatures were exceeding one hundred degrees. Tāseti wondered how she had gotten herself into such a mess. If only she could encounter someone trustworthy enough to take the girl off her hands, she could concentrate on the more serious business of catching up with Tathagata.

  Nimm took a longer drink than she should have and then curled up in the shadows. Tāseti set the camel free to graze among some thorny bushes growing out of the side of the rock wall. At least the beast would get a little rest and sustenance. Besides, it had taken a liking to the girl.

  Tāseti took one sip from the boiled water of her own goatskin and then sprinted down the side of the ridge toward the jagged plain, carrying only her uttara. Tāseti wasn’t in the best of shape herself, having gone almost four days with little water, food, or sleep. But the cumulative benefits of the Cirāya had kept her strong, and she raced toward her quarry without hesitation, closing the gap in a surprisingly short time. Though she made no attempt to disguise her footsteps, the fiend seemed not to notice her approach.

  With a swish of the uttara, the head separated from the body, flipped twice, and came to rest on a spire of stone with a squishing sound that made even the battle-hardened warrior shudder. The face was diseased and ravaged, but now it looked at peace. Tāseti dragged the body into a deep crevice and tossed the head in with it.

  When she returned, she found the trusty camel in the same place she had left him.

  But Nimm was gone.

  THE MORNING AFTER Tāseti slew the fiend that had once been Nimm’s mother, one thousand Tugars and fifty Vasi masters stood in a circle along the inner ring of the Simōōn. The titanic whirlwind spun right-to-left with constant ferocity, churning up a lethal wall of sand, debris, and lightning that encircled Anna.

  Dvipa, the lone Asēkha among the gathering, raised his arms and shouted words in the ancient tongue. “Maayaavaatamandala, nivattehi te atthitam. (Magical whirlwind, cease your existence.)”

  One by one, the Tugars and Vasi masters repeated these words, until everyone in the circle had said them thrice. Then Dvipa, the masters, and warriors each rose on the toes of their right foot and began to spin left-to-right, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until their bodies became tornadic blurs. Miniature whirlwinds formed around them, and in unison the warriors glided a few paces into the Simōōn. The counterforce, a blend of physical strength and magic, began to weaken the barrier, draining it of the same might that had similarly created it.

  In less than one hundred breaths, the Simōōn ceased to exist, taking considerably less time to dismantle than to build.

  “It is done,” Dvipa said. “Aya, it is your command to lead twenty-five score against the fiends. The rest of us will remain to defend Anna.”

  AT THE SAME time the Simōōn was lowered, what had become one of the most frightening creatures in the world passed from the eastern border of Barranca into Tējo, her great body lurching and reeling as if walking on the surface of a stormy sea. Within the bloated skull, an internal battle waged between the remnants of Sister Tathagata’s sanity and the demon Vedana, who had recently taken up residence in the fiend’s fetid ear canal.

  “Sis” was becoming more of a problem than the demon had believed possible. Though the original Tathagata was now locked away in an obscure portion of a ruined mind, the High Nun of Dibbu-Loka refused to stop chattering. Vedana, incarnated as a black moth, found the prattle extremely annoying.

  “I thought you and your robe-wearers liked things quiet,” Vedana said. “You’re yapping more than a Duccaritan auctioneer.”

  “Karma can change a person’s fate as swiftly as the twi
tch of a camel’s tail.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah . . .”

  “Each day, the wise do two things: inhale and exhale,” Tathagata said.

  “Shut up.”

  “Every life has suffering. Sometimes suffering awakens us. Even you can be awakened.”

  “Why would listening to you awaken me?” Vedana said. “You make me want to take a nap.”

  “Gain freedom by knowing this simple truth: No one can be ruled inwardly from the outside,” Tathagata said.

  “Argggghhh!”

  As the battle raged, the body that had housed Tathagata’s karma for more than three millennia marched across the sand, immune to heat, thirst, or exhaustion. Four times during the previous two days it had fed on human victims, devouring twenty to the bones while infecting six more followers. Now a group of fiends trailed behind her, but none of them could walk as fast or as relentlessly as she. Tathagata had grown as tall, broad, and mighty as a snow giant, and her jaws were large enough to snap a full-grown man in half with a single chomp. Yet all of this paled in comparison to the magnitude of her desire for Tugarian flesh. If she were given the chance to digest the indigestible, her size and strength would increase even more. If she could feast on desert warriors, she would become more powerful than a great dragon. None save Invictus could stand against her. The possibilities enthralled the undines that swarmed within her flesh.

  ON THE SAME morning that Tathagata first entered Tējo, the Tugarian warrior named Kithar approached Wuul. Though the massive oasis always harbored a large contingent of nomadic travelers, this day was particularly crowded—and abuzz.

  Since separating from Tāseti and Silah five days earlier, Kithar had traveled nonstop toward Wuul, resting only during the hottest portions of each afternoon. His journey had been exhausting but uneventful, and the few people he had encountered were wanderers barely able to fend for themselves, much less lend aid to Rati and the noble ones. To this point, the Tugar’s efforts had been in vain. But now that he was at the oasis, he finally was in a position to make something happen.

  Wuul covered more than five thousand hectares, and at its center was a wide pond formed by a natural spring that had not gone dry for half a century. On the sparse outskirts of the oasis, the sand first surrendered to shrubs, palmettos, gourds, and creosote, but eventually it gave way to a variety of trees, including bethoum and date palms. The trees were most dense nearest the pond, forming a living palisade around the blue-green water. It often was said that anyone who walked without awareness would stumble into and “drown in the waters of Wuul.”

  A raucous assemblage of desert dwellers had gathered in a clearing not far from the pond. A band of Kurfs roasted a wild ass over a fire, attracting the attention of scores of other tribesmen, all of whom wanted at least a few nibbles. Kithar saw and heard plenty of good-natured laughing and shouting, but also some jostling for position that had the potential to turn ugly.

  When Kithar approached the sizzling carcass, all went quiet.

  “A word!” Kithar said.

  Though outnumbered at least one hundred to one, the Tugar still commanded respect. Few would dare to incite the wrath of the Kantaara Yodhas by challenging a warrior. But among the tribesmen, the Kurfs were the boldest and most dangerous. The leader of this particular group approached the Tugar and knelt at his feet.

  “The first helping is yours,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound pleased.

  “I am not a thief or beggar,” Kithar said with irritation. Then he turned to the others. “An Asēkha leads a large company that is making its way toward Wuul,” he shouted. “I request aid in arranging a caravan to travel west to greet them. They need water more than food, but both will be appreciated. Who among you will come forth?”

  A Beydoo woman half as tall as Kithar rushed to the front.

  “Kantaara Yodha, your request has already been granted,” she said excitedly. “Two mornings ago, another of your people came to Wuul and beseeched similar help. My husband, Djan, and more than five score Beydoos set out almost immediately.”

  Kithar felt a surge of relief, allowing himself to smile for the first time in days. “How much water did they carry?”

  “Enough for many score! The Tugar was pleased, and he left for Anna with a contented look on his face. Djan is a capable man. Do not concern yourself further, Kantaara Yodha. All is well.”

  “This is excellent news. Thank you, kind woman. Your people will not go unrewarded, of that I promise.”

  Much to the relief of the hungry gathering, Kithar then wandered off and found a shady place to sit. He had choices to make: Should he remain at the oasis and wait for Rati’s arrival, or rest through the heat of the day and then continue to Anna?

  His decision was made for him. Just before noon, as Kithar was starting to doze, a heavily armed Kallik bandit approached him.

  “May I speak, warrior?”

  “Quickly,” Kithar snapped.

  “Just three days ago, I was twenty leagues north of Wuul,” the bandit said. “And while there, I heard rumors of an army of monsters invading the desert from the direction of Senasana. I witnessed nothing myself, but I spoke to those who claimed to have seen this army slaying everyone in its path.”

  “Why do you tell me this?”

  “A Tugar would not believe this of a Kallik, but I care for the people of Tējo.”

  “In other words, if the monsters kill everyone, there’ll be no one left to rob.”

  The bandit shrugged. “All evils are blamed on the Kalliks.” Then he slipped away.

  Kithar pondered this news, then went about asking others if they had heard of this army. To his dismay, several said yes—and some believed that the army was headed toward Wuul. After what had happened to the noble ones, it was not difficult for Kithar to believe these stories. He had no choice but to remain at the oasis and organize its defense.

  AS SOON AS the Simōōn was lowered, Aya and twenty-five score Tugars set off into the desert toward Barranca. The rhythmic pounding from a dozen barrel-sized drums bade them farewell. Despite temperatures that would far exceed one hundred degrees, the warriors wore black silk jackets tucked into their breeches and no headpieces. Each bore a uttara, short sword, dagger, and sling along with a shoulder bag containing water, dried goat meat, and Cirāya. Their intent was to move fast and strike hard. Before they were done, no fiend would retain its head.

  At the start of their journey, the warriors were twenty-five leagues from the border of Barranca, a two-day march over a wilderness of sand. When in a hurry, Tugars covered more ground walking than riding because they were relieved of the burden of fending for camels during periods of rest.

  As the noonday sun burned overhead in a clear blue sky, the warriors approached a temporary end to the sand. Spears of rock erupted from the desert floor, forming an irregular palisade. Spiny-tailed lizards clung to the natural wall, beyond which was a gravel plain containing stands of acacia and palmetto. Several dozen stunted trees grew near a spring-fed pond, the water green but drinkable. The Tugars massed beneath the trees and ate a small meal. Then they slept through the worst of the afternoon’s heat before continuing the march that would last all through the night and early morning before they rested again.

  When the sun finally vacated the sky, the temperature dropped almost thirty degrees. The hot wind became chilly, but the Tugars were unfazed. They exited the gravel plain and entered another sea of fine yellow sand. All around them desert winds created freakish sounds, winding through what felt like an endless series of dunes, some more than five hundred cubits tall.

  For the first time since leaving Anna, the Tugars encountered other desert dwellers. A dozen tall but slender warriors clad only in loincloths walked beneath a sliver of moon. One bore a brace of jerboas, which they would cook and eat, tails and all, and two others carried an antelope skewered on a branch. The Kurfs were headed toward the tiny oasis the Tugars had vacated earlier that day. When they saw Aya and his army, they raced ov
er and knelt in the sand.

  “Kantaara Yodha, I am yours to command,” their leader said to Aya.

  “Give me news from the west,” Aya said.

  “We have heard strange rumors, but have seen nothing unusual.”

  “Rumors?”

  “Some say an army of monsters has invaded the desert. Others say there is a giant that gobbles up men, women, and children. Still others scoff at both tales.”

  “We are aware of the army, but this is the first we have heard of a giant. Let us hope there is no truth to that. You have nothing more to add?”

  “Our journey has been uneventful, but it sounds like yours will be wrought with peril. Still, in the desert they say that whatever faces the wrath of the Tugars is to be pitied.”

  Nothing faced the Tugars’ wrath for the rest of the night. They walked in silence beneath a moonless sky, the waxing crescent having long since set. Few creatures noted their passing. In unison, the warriors stopped and watched an epic battle between a puff adder and a mongoose. The mammal ultimately won, eliciting cheers from the Kantaara Yodhas and prompting Aya to shush them.

  “We know naught what wanders in the darkness,” he scolded. “No more noise.”

  By late morning, they were halfway to their destination. They huddled beneath boulders surrounded by a sparse field of grass. Another spring was hidden within the rocks, much smaller than the previous one but with clear water that never seemed to dissipate even during the fiercest of droughts. The warriors drank until their stomachs were swollen and refilled their skins before eating another small meal and then lying down to sleep. But unexpected visitors interrupted their rest: two score Beydoos, all men, their dark-gray clothes tattered and bloodied.

  The leader rushed to Aya. “Magnificent One,” the much-smaller man said to the Tugar. “Horrors are abroad! My people have been hard-set. An army of monsters, thousands and thousands, attacked our encampment. They slew more than ten score of us, including our women and children, and they ate their flesh like the Jaguarundi feeds on the Addax.”