And so, locked into the rituals of the Avatar Prime, they endured the journey, sharing the pain, each holding to it for as long as possible, then allowing the other to take up the burden.
On the evening of the third day, as the Serpent approached the land mass of the western continent, Sofarita felt the power returning to her. It came like a breath of sweet breeze, faint crystal energies flowing over her. She drank them in. They tasted of life.
Drawing in a deep breath she released Ro’s hands. He opened his eyes, smiled at her, then slumped to the floor, exhausted. Reaching forward she tenderly stroked his cheek, then she rose and stretched. Moving from the cabin to the central deck she stood in the last light of sunset and watched the gulls wheel and dive over the ship.
Talaban saw her there and moved alongside her. “How are you faring, lady?” he asked her.
“Ro saved me,” she said.
“I know. I came to your cabin many times and saw the two of you sitting there. He is a good man.”
“The very best,” she said.
Without another word she moved away and sat on a coil of rope by the port deck rail. Releasing her spirit she soared high over the distant bay, across the darkening land and its forests and plains, seeking out the One-Eyed-Fox. The encampment she had first encountered was in ruins now. Blackened tent poles flanked the river and several bodies lay on the ground. But there had been no wholesale massacre. The Anajo had largely escaped the attack. She searched the area, and found a mass grave near the tree line. Allowing her spirit to sink beneath the earth she found the grave contained around forty bodies of Almec warriors.
The Anajo had not only survived, but had inflicted heavy losses upon the enemy.
As high as a hunting eagle Sofarita flew in a wide circle over the land seeking sign of movement. She saw an Almec column of close to 500 men moving toward the east. As she flew toward it she saw a second, smaller force running through the trees two miles ahead. Sofarita sped over them. They were Anajo, seventeen men and three women. Their faces were smeared red and blue and they carried short hunting bows and quivers. In their belts were battleaxes made of flint.
As she came closer the first of the twenty runners paused and looked up. He was a middle-aged man, with deeply tanned skin and deep-set brown eyes. He raised his hand, palm outwards toward her, and smiled. Then he knelt, folded his arms across his chest, his spirit rising from his body.
“It is good to see you, my sister,” he said.
“Your enemies are close behind,” she told him.
“They will not catch us until we wish them to. Is Touch-the-Moon with you?”
“Yes. And Talaban.”
“Aiya!” he said, his tone triumphant. “That is good. I have my wolf soldiers with me. Come ashore in the bay and head southwest towards the highest mountain. We will meet you there. We will fight the last battle, yes?”
“There is no need,” she told him. “The Crystal Queen knows about Anu and his pyramid. My journey here is now futile.”
“Not so, my sister. I have walked the Grey Road. I have seen. She is trying to pierce the magic around his encampment. She seeks to stop him before he completes his work. You can drain her power. You can give Anu time. Nothing is futile. Go to the mountain. We will draw the Almecs away from you.” He paused and sorrow touched his face. “First, though, fly to your city of stone. Much has happened there. The Spirits of Death fly over it and the Ravens wait for the heroes to ride. I will see you on the mountain.” Fading back into his body he waved a farewell, then led his runners away to the north.
Sofarita returned to the ship, told Talaban to head for the bay, then journeyed again to Egaru.
When she returned less than half an hour later she found Ro and Talaban and Touchstone waiting. The Serpent was at anchor in the bay, and from here she could see the tall mountains to the southwest. “That is where we must go,” she said. “The One-Eyed-Fox awaits us there.”
“How many warriors does he have?” asked Talaban.
“Twenty.”
“Did you see any Almecs?”
“Hundreds,” she said. Talaban swore softly.
“I promised Rael to send the ship and its crew back to Egaru. But we will sorely need the ship’s twenty Avatar bowmen. Is there time for you to contact him and request them?”
“No,” she said, her voice hard. “But they will be neither needed, nor welcome, at Egaru. Use them as you will.”
“What does that mean?” he asked her.
“I do not wish to speak of it yet. Let us get ashore.”
“You think they are going to betray us?” asked Pendar, as the 112 Avatars rode through the southern gates heading along the coastal road. Mejana leaned on the parapet and watched the riders. She did not answer. How fine they look in their silver armor, she thought, like heroes of legend. It was confusing to see them like this. These were the evil men who had dominated her people, extending their own lives by draining the life force of others. The same men who had taken her daughter, leaving her senile and spent. Yet now the sun glittered upon them, and they were riding to their deaths to save the cities. Mejana no longer knew what to think or feel. She had plotted their downfall for so long, so many lonely bitter years.
And here was the day.
There was no feeling of triumph in the air, no heady joy. This was not as she had imagined it.
“They’ll make a pact with the Almecs,” said Boru. “They cannot be trusted. We will all go to our deaths.”
“You may be right,” said Mejana, at last. “But I do not think so. Their wives and their children are dead, their power almost gone, their day over. We will follow the last orders of the Questor General.”
The area to the east of the city was still flooded, but to the south the ground rose and she could see Rael in his silver armor leading his riders up a low hill. Glancing back she looked down at the hundreds of militia men waiting nervously behind the gates. Some were armed with swords and spears, but most carried knives or rough-made clubs. They had no armor and there were few bowmen among them. She swung to Pendar.
“Go now to the Third Gate. When Rael attacks lead out the army. The militia will follow.”
“There will be fearful losses, grandmother,” he warned her.
“Try not to be among them,” she said. Pendar bowed, then ran along the ramparts to where the Vagar soldiers were waiting. Turning to Boru she looked into his hard blue eyes. “You may stay here with me, or fight alongside the militia. Your choice,” she told him.
“Do you hate me?” he asked her.
“This is not a day for hate,” she said. “This is a day for regret.”
Drawing his sword he gave a cold smile and walked back down the rampart steps to stand with the men there.
Out on the battlefield the Almecs had seen Rael’s troop moving across the hills and a column of soldiers marched out to intercept them.
Mejana was weary. She had spent the night helping to search for survivors in the ruined Library. They had found two people alive. One died as she was being lifted clear, the other had lost both legs and bled to death as they lifted the roof beam that had crushed her. The rescuers had removed scores of corpses.
Through that long night Mejana found her hatred of the Avatar evaporating. Whatever revenge she had planned seemed small and petty compared to the grand tragedy all around her. And she had wept when they discovered the children, their tiny bodies broken by falling rocks, their lives extinguished by fire and death from the skies.
But the last of her hate had vanished as she saw Rael holding the broken body of the wife he loved.
Yes, the Avatars had been evil, and the Great God had punished them. It was not for Mejana to harbor further thoughts of revenge.
Rael had come to her before the last ride. He had stood silently for a moment, then he had offered his hand. She took it. “I wish you well,” he said. “You Vagars are now the guardians of the twin cities. You will write the histories. It may be that you cannot speak
well of us and our rule, but I urge you to remember the manner of our passing.”
“You do not have to do this, Rael,” she said.
He shrugged. “I do if we want to win.”
He had turned away then and mounted a huge gray war-horse.
Pulling her cloak tightly about her she transferred her gaze to the distant hills. The Avatars had formed into a fighting wedge, like a great silver spearhead.
Then they charged.
Rael had not looked back once since he left the city. In all his long life, he realized, he had spent too long doing just that, staring back into the past, fighting a vain battle to keep it alive. The city would survive or it would not. It was no longer his duty to guarantee its future.
Sofarita had come to him and told him exactly where the Almec supplies were based, and how strong the defenses around them. The chances of the Avatars fighting their way through were slim. But Rael no longer cared. Mirani was dead, his dreams buried with her. If his death could cause the fall of the Almecs it would be a small price to pay.
There was no need now to give orders. Every man riding with him knew the objective, and knew further that this was to be the last ride of the Avatars. No one spoke, each lost in his own thoughts, remembering families and loved ones.
Rael led his silver-clad riders up the eastern slope. To his left he could see a regiment of Almecs moving to intercept. “Fighting wedge!” he yelled, galloping forward to create the spear point. His riders closed in around and behind him.
“Forward!” he bellowed. Pulling down his visor he urged his grey war-horse, Pakal, into a run. Rael’s zhi-bow was in his hands and he sent a bolt flashing into the advancing Almec foot soldiers. They were still just out of range of the fire-clubs and the Avatars unleashed a deadly volley of light bolts into the massed infantry. Scores of men were hurled from their feet. The horses were at full gallop now, the thunder of hooves filling the air. Again and again the zhi-bows loosed their deadly shafts, and a gaping hole showed in the ranks of the Almecs. Yet they did not break. The fire-clubs came up—and thundered. Lead shot smashed into the advancing horsemen. Twelve horses went down, ten more were hit, but kept on running. Rael was leading a charmed life at the point of the wedge as shots hissed by him.
Just behind him Cation’s horse tumbled, throwing the officer to the ground. He rolled to his knees and calmly sent bolt after bolt into the defensive line. A shot took him in the cheekbone, smashing up into his left eye socket and into the brain.
Still the charge continued.
The lead riders struck the line. The Almecs scattered before them. Shots were more sporadic now as the Avatars clove on, shooting as they rode. Rael was hit in the shoulder and hip. He swayed in the saddle, but did not fall. Another murderous volley struck the Avatar left flank, and a score more horses fell.
Rael rode on, shooting to left and right. Beside him now Goray’s horse was shot in the head. As it fell Goray leapt from the saddle, killing four Almecs before they struck him down with swords and daggers.
The Avatars had advanced more than a hundred yards into the mass of the enemy.
Rael cast a swift glance back towards Egaru. The gates were open and Vagar soldiers were streaming out over the flooded fields, followed by a swarming mass of militia men.
Something struck Rael in the side of the head. He toppled from the saddle. Three Almecs ran at him. The great grey, Pakal, reared up over them, lashing out with his hooves. Two men fell. Rael rolled to his feet. He was still holding his zhi-bow. His fingers flickered on the light strings. One after another six bolts flashed into the Almec line, blasting men from their feet. Rael grabbed at the saddle pommel and got his foot into the stirrup. A lead ball smashed into his helm, tearing it from his head. A second shot struck his face, snapping back his head. In agony now he hauled himself into the saddle and fired four more bolts. Some of his riders were milling around him, but at least thirty more had continued their charge deep into the enemy ranks. Rael spurred the grey after them, shooting as he rode. There was no need to aim now. The enemy was all around him.
A man rushed forward, thrusting his fire-club up at Rael. The explosion was deafening. Smoke and flame belched out, the shot punching a hole through Rael’s armor and ripping into his belly. His zhi-bow spent, he hurled it aside and drew his saber, slashing it down into the man’s head. The Almec jumped back, his face streaming blood. A fusillade of shots tore into Pakal. The great horse reared and fell. Rael struggled to rise. Two shots spun him and he fell onto his back.
The noise of the battle receded from him. Struggling to his knees he tried to focus. But all he could see was a distant bright light at the end of a long dark tunnel. The light beckoned him and he recalled a time when he had, as a child, been lost in a forest. Night had come on swiftly and Rael had blundered through the trees in growing panic. Then he saw a golden light, like a candle in the distance. It was the lantern-lit window of a crofter’s cottage. His young heart had soared then, for the light meant safety and life.
It was soaring now—and his spirit soared with it.
From the rear of his force Cas-Coatl watched the last ride of the Avatars with a sense of foreboding and deep regret. He had been honest with Rael. Cas-Coatl sincerely wished for union with the Avatar. He felt a kinship with them and, in a strange way, wished that he too could be a part of that glorious death ride.
But Almeia had come to him last night and told him of the reality of Anu’s pyramid, and of the decision by Rael to fight to the last. She had ordered the destruction of the Great Library and with it the annihilation of the Avatar families. As always, Cas-Coatl had obeyed.
Now he watched as the Avatars thundered on. Half their force down, their leader dead, the riders were hurtling towards the hidden trip wires and spiked trenches prepared by his men under cover of darkness. It would be an ignoble end to such a valiant effort, but Cas-Coatl could not allow the destruction of his powder supplies. Without powder the mortar tubes and guns of his men would be useless.
The huge emerald on his belt began to vibrate. Touching his hand to it he heard the voice of Almeia. “Your men have almost broken through the mist. Go and join them. Take Anu alive. What he has done, he can undo. He knows the Music.”
Cas-Coatl transferred his gaze to the battlefield. The front lines were under heavy attack from the Vagars and city dwellers, the Avatars were still riding hard, and inflicting murderous losses on his troops. “We could still lose here, my lady,” he said.
“We are lost anyway if Anu completes his pyramid. The woman Sofarita is drawing on my power. Our defenses are weak. Anu must be taken. Go now!”
Cas-Coatl turned to his aide. “Maintain our position here, and when the Avatars are all dead lead a counterattack from the left flank. The city should be ours by nightfall.” The man saluted and Cas-Coatl threw one last glance at the charging Avatars, then made his way down the slope to where the three golden ships were anchored.
As he moved away he realized he was glad to be avoiding the moment the charge ended, as the horses struck the trip wires, their riders hurled into the sharpened spikes dug into the hillside.
Chapter Twenty-six
For a hundred days and a hundred nights the battle raged in the sky. And great was the slaughter. At last only one of the heroes remained alive, and that was Virkokka. All around him the demons gathered, a forest of spears confronting him. Virkokka killed the demons in their thousands, but still they came. And at the last even he grew bored with the endless fighting, and, plunging his sword into the ground, he called upon the Earth Flame to aid him.
From the Evening Song of the Anajo
When Rael fell Viruk took up the point. Intoxicated by battle fury he was in ecstasy. Niclin rode to his left, the surviving thirty Avatars closing up in formation behind. As he rode, bolts flashing from his zhi-bow, Viruk saw the concentrated mass of bronze fire tubes to his left. Forgetting the mission he angled his mount toward them. The Avatars followed him. “The supplies!” shouted Nicli
n. “We must get to the supplies!”
Viruk ignored him—and in doing so unwittingly turned the charge away from the hidden wires and trenches. Almecs were scattering before them now and Viruk took aim at a barrel resting near the base of the closest fire tube some 60 yards ahead. The zhi-bolt flashed into it. The barrel exploded in a rush of flame and smoke, igniting two others close by. The resulting blast lifted the bronze weapon high into the air. It landed on a second tube, tearing it from its base. The Almecs around the weapons fled as the Avatars bore down upon them. There were more than 50 fire tubes clustered together. Viruk and his riders sent a volley of bolts into the barrels around them.
A series of blasts followed. Smoke and fire belched up towards the skies and a thick grey fog seeped out across the battlefield.
Niclin rode in close to Viruk. “The supplies, you fool!” he shouted. “We must destroy the black dust!” Kicking his horse into a run Viruk swerved toward the hills once more. A company of Almec soldiers ran into position. Their fire-clubs boomed and a dozen Avatars went down.
Viruk urged his tired horse up the hill, Niclin and the sixteen survivors behind him.
Once over the crest he saw the enemy base camp, their supplies covered by sheets of canvas.
Spread out in a half-circle, protecting the camp, were a hundred krals.
Viruk did not hesitate. Spurring his mount he galloped down the hill.
On open ground now the Avatars spread out. Behind them Almec soldiers had run to the crest and were shooting down the slope. Five horses were hit in the first volley, the riders pitched from the saddles. Seven went down in the next. The six remaining riders bore down on the krals.
The huge beasts ran at the Avatars. “Flanking run, left and right!” bellowed Viruk. Niclin dragged his horse to the right. A single Avatar followed him. Three more riders broke to the left. The krals split into two groups to cut them off.
Viruk charged at the gap opening in the center.
Three krals lumbered back to block the opening. Viruk shot two and leapt his horse at the third. The kral’s talons flashed out, tearing open the gelding’s throat. The horse fell. Viruk rolled clear—and sent a bolt into the face of the kral.
Echoes of the Great Song Page 36