The War of the Realms

by C Steven Meldrum

  I learned that once the storm had subsided a group of eighteen warriors would be sent to the war chief, and I would be accompanying them. I was effectively ordered to start training them so they would have something to show their war leader when we got there.

  As the akalihondo prepared to leave, I managed to steal myself away to an isolated hillock a quarter of a mile from the camp. Sitting with my legs dangling over the rocky precipice in the dull red heat, it reminded me both of sitting with Dorje on that wonderful afternoon with legs dangling over the edge of the curtain wall and throwing stones at the swooping kestrels and griffins, and then simultaneously of that afternoon at Muru following the attack, where Rogel had taken me to the lookout above the magnificent Lake Dangra.

  There was no hint of the cool, fresh, life-giving air of my home in my nostrils though, or the magnificent view of the high mountains or pristine beryl waters of the lake, only league upon league of rolling dunes in one direction, the endless stone forest in the other direction and that same unrelenting heat. I suddenly longed for the jagged mountain peaks and crisp winds of my homeland.

  “Me-khri …” I called. “So-khri … come to me!” And there they suddenly were. I gasped in hopelessness. I had expected nothing and with them both suddenly in my lap I actually jumped slightly. But all was not well. They both seemed exhausted and one was injured in some fashion.

  “What happened?” I asked from worry.

  So-khri kneeled while Mi-khri languished, clearly in some discomfort. “We have searched and searched for you, Oh Lord!”

  Their way had been hard. While the glowing portal had taken all of us away from the throne room of the Silver Palace to whatever end, the sisters had been thrown further down through the layers of the black land. I mentioned when Sibu had lost his torch on the stone bridge, as we approached the Palace, how it had raced downwards, downwards into the depths. But there are many planes below that which we visited; the Plane of Shadow, the Plane of Fire, the Plan of Ash; I believe nine in all. But at the very bottom of all lies the great waveless ocean that is Garbhodaka. Described in the Srimad Bhagavatam it is literally the bottom of the well. There is nothing more. There nothing moves, nothing lives; the antithesis of all that is and as far removed from the light of the Supreme Lord Vishnu’s realm as can be.

  When Master Trisong talked about the Garbhodaka Ocean, he would premise it in the context of the everlasting struggle between the demons and the demigods, or the Vaisnavas.In one story, Hiranyāksa, the first demon, in a time long before man first came to be, by his wickedness, caused Irth to fall down into the Ocean. The LordBrahmā assumed the form of a gigantic boar and lifted up the Irth from within the waters of Garbhodaka. We knew it only as the realm of the Witch-Queen, Naraka’s evil general, the one I saw only too clearly upon the plain in my dream.

  From there the sisters had fought their way back up to the light of this realm. I could not believe it when she told me, but according to So-khri, it has taken a hundred times the lives of men. With all the strange and fantastical things I had witnessed on this journey, I was not even surprised that time as moved as it did, so that while mere months had passed for me, several thousand years had passed for the exhausted sprites. I wondered if it would be different again in the higher realms? Would a life age of the Irth fly by while Lord Indra, sitting upon the Jade Throne of Heaven sip tea?

  “We thought we would remain there forever, my Lord. But we found the way. There are many such towers like that which you scaled in the netherdark; precarious slivers of rock that stretch between the realms, a steep and desperate staircase ascending infinitely towards the light of your day. Near to the cursed floating city of Hiranyapura, the only city in that realm, her city, did we find it.

  “ But it was well guarded. The thousand-headed serpent king Karkotáka; who is also called Vasuki and Shesha, welcomes all to the lowest of realms and devours any who would seek to leave.”

  And thus, while her strength held out, did she regale me with the trials they endured and the pains they suffered. But through it all, my voice acted as a beacon, she said, and thus did they manage to come to me in the end. They had many dark adventures through those lands, which I won’t relate here. But one thing she said did both enlighten and disturb me deeply.

  They had been to the enemy’s city, had explored its many by -ways and avenues, had penetrated the WitchQueen’s fortress and listened at doors and in the high alcoves above audience chambers, and in the vast halls, armouries and war rooms and even the very throne room itself. They had avoided detection for all that while and heard much of the enemy’s counsel. The worrying part concerned the demogorgon Likmigya.

  “News of his defeat has reached her ears, my Lord. She now knows of the Lord Targo’s champion, the golden warrior-mage who has killed two of the Dasyus. The foul demonlord was but one of four of the black lord’s senior lieutenants. The other three are the mighty dragons Vritra, Ahi, and fiercest of all, Kushna. They are ready to march on your realm, my Lord.”

  “Rest”, I told them. And while they slept, I used my arts, now back to their fullest, to heal them. The journey had been harder than I had imagined it would be. These people just didn’t tire. I don’t think it was just travelling by night that allowed them to maintain this blistering pace, but I did find out what the close-fitting black garments achieved, which I shall describe in time.

  They ran the entire distance, across the sandy flats, up dunes, down dunes and they hardly seemed to notice it. We carried food and water, as much as could be carried while still allowing for speed and stealth. I was initially concerned that we could not carry enough for the troop for the time we would be gone. Their water, I had discovered, was held in deep subterranean pools that were accessed via the cave network. Water-masters doled out a daily allowance to each warrior. But out here on the open sand it seemed impossible that there could be any water. I was surprised to find that by signs known only to these people, sheltered vales contained sealed caches of water, food and weaponry, hidden so well that a legion could scour the entire desert and find nothing.

  As the lady of the dawn spread her wings and leaped above the eastern horizon, colouring the world in streaks of ochre and violet, we covered the last leagues to the way-station we had being heading for where we would camp before continuing on. It was a long finger of jagged and eroded rock that protruded at a tangent across our path, like the mast of the wreck of some ancient vessel of the sea that was yet to disappear beneath the surface of the sandy grave. With aching legs and burning lungs, we climbed crudely carved stairs to an open space roughly a furlong in length and perhaps about ten fathoms above the desert floor. I thought we might simply roll out our bed rolls and rest right there, and so tired was I that I could have easily slept right where I stood. But the troop moved deliberately to one point amongst the jagged protrusions and, as I had seen many times now but still did not understand, seemed to pass right through the solid rock. I followed them through a series of turnings and down more roughly hewn stairs to a lighted open area where packs where laid down and bodies dropped to rest.

  I woke in a daze with somebody offering me food and water. I accepted it gratefully and pulled myself up to lean against the rocky cavern wall while I drank deeply and looked about me.

  I was amazed. Built into and around the rough-hewn walls were row upon row of screens, holographic projections and simulations. Tables were piled with ordered arrays of weapons and other paraphernalia. Warriors were standing in groups, some arranging supplies and cleaning strange looking weapons while others discussed the bright coloured holographic shapes and projections that danced in the air before them. I stood and noticed Irirangi talking with a tall man I had not seen before. There were many people here and it suddenly occurred to me that only a few of the men I could see were from our troop. This was clearly a central control point of some description– but for what?

  Irirangi noticed me looking around in wonder and walked towards me, kneeling at my feet. />
  “Deeper into the lions’ den go you. But didn’t Daniel emerge the

  not Shadrach, Meshach, and following morning unscathed? And were Abednego delivered from the fiery furnace?” I smiled and quoted,“… and my God hath sent His angel and hath shut

  the lions’ mouths.”

  “You are learned then!” She teased. I continued, smiling.

  “And the Persian king commanded, and they brought the men that had

  accused Daniel, and they cast them in the den of lions, them, their children and

  their wives. And the lions had the mastery of them and broke all their bones

  in pieces before they came to the bottom of the den.” I paused. “Is it to alion’s

  den that I go, Irirangi?”

  “Do you want me to be honest? I think it is more likely we bring the hawk

  to the hen house.”

  If I had imagined a particular look to the place we were making for across the many leagues of open desert, I would say I had pictured a fortress city of some description with fortified spires and battlements cascading with energy weapons and all the modern armaments and engines of war.

  But when we were covering the last few leagues, what rose from the desert floor before us was rather a natural fortress. The lonely mount stood like a beacon and around its base the last of a multitude of rock features that had all but weathered away to nothing over the many thousands of years they had stood, unprotected, on the face of the open and infecund plane.

  By the time we came to the base of the mount, the sun had been consumed by the western horizon and in the last of the titian glow that marked its passing and revealed a night sky that looked nothing like what I had grown up with, I saw silhouetted the shape of a slumbering dragon. I found out later the name of this sacred place was Tarachiwa Tuarwechom wechiri Tau-msana which meant quite literally, ‘the ridge that is the dragon’s spine’.

  We came to a well-guarded entrance by many secret ways. At times we were ordered to halt and in the lee of a weathered spur or in the saddle between dunes. We had just about reached sanctuary when I caught my first glimpse of one of the engines of war pitted against us by an irrepressible enemy– a mighty juggernaut hundreds of feet in height with what appeared to be a mechanical head and arms and legs in a very human shape. It moved slowly but purposefully, patrolling the desert with powerful spotlights that combed the desert floor in measured sweeps. Each step of the creature shook the ground and a metallic din accompanied every movement. Each footfall took it another mile forward and before long it had disappeared into the darkness. We moved quickly then, lest some noise betray our position, and before long had entered into the natural fortress by a secret doorway.

  There was certainly no fanfare or civic reception. We were greeted by a small group of what appeared to be security personnel and, following some verification of our credentials, we were quickly shuffled along twisting corridors and passed halls and various rooms to a central chamber that was in a word, huge. It must have been roughly a league across and two leagues deep but I could not in all honesty see the walls. The ceiling likewise disappeared into the distance. I felt this hall could have held hundreds of thousands of people.

  As it was there were many hundreds gathered already, all seemingly in their tribal groups, some busily organising arms and packs, some relaxing after the long distances travelled to get here and others in conference. Naively or otherwise, I was excited by the prospect of my questions finally being answered. I wanted to meet this great war leader,Kāwharu, and his son, Te Waharoa. I wanted to find out what these hiriwa or ‘silver warriors’ were. Would I be able to help these people achieve their ends, and by the same token, could they then help me?

  Chapter 16: Karākau Hondo “ Insightful ones call that one a pandit who has winnowed all aims and desires from all endeavours and whose action is burned in the fire of wisdom."

  Bhagavad Gita 4:19 Many thousands more arrived over the coming days and from many different directions. The chamber filled with bodies and equipment and with low conversation and some happy reunions of brother tribes, and some not so happy reunions where a commotion and clash of arms would mean two rival tribes had had a chance meeting. Regardless, word spread that the Warlord, Te Waharoa, would arrive soon and address the assembled masses.

  I busied myself preparing the eighteen warriors that would be showcased to the rest of the congregation. These people believed in small squads of six; for speed, reaction time and conservation of resources. It was apparently very rare to bring so large a force together in one place. Some level of thought seemed to go into the selections of the individuals that comprised these squads, like leadership, communication, technical skills in explosives or strategy, for example, but I struggled with how much the military organisation here differed from what I was accustomed to. I have already described theAgōgē I came through that focussed very much on the individual.

  In my mind any collective force is made up of individuals and it is on the individual’s strength and skill that a collective wins or fails. There is a synergy that develops that multiplies what individuals are able to achieve and what the collective is able to achieve, but a team of poorly chosen individuals will still be a poor team. Master Jai used to impress upon us that the individual demands as much or more in training than a squad or company of fighters because if you could be confident you had the best individuals, then once brought together, it was an opportunity to match specific skills of the individuals with the task for which the squad was needed. But even more critical, was that in order to achieve those higher synergies that a team can create, it required that the members be matched for cultural, psychological and personality fits to create the dynamism that would draw upon each individual’s skills.

  But history had shown that it was not generally the case. Notwithstanding critical differences in armaments and technology, the larger force might prevail on sheer weight of numbers. Commanders of old would simply throw large numbers of fearful and poorly trained young men and woman into battles and might prevail but with devastating losses. The right strategy, the best equipment and the best fighters would always trump pure numbers.

  I determined to create three specialist units from the warriors I’d been given and create my ownAgōgē if needed. Whether it was from my efforts or the ones who came after me, theKarākau Hondo became as legendary in their own fashion as the Sera Ngari in the trials that were to follow. It was much later that I confirmed for myself that Karākau Hondo were antecedents of Tetsuko’s famous Murāri.

  Irirangi worked with me and I was both surprised and relieved by the amount of work she had done on not only building my understanding of their language, but also their grasp of my language.

  I assembled the warriors one morning in a training room away from the Grand Hall, as I came to call it.

  “Wirimu, no-one would doubt you are the strongest warrior here and have won many victories with your brother and war-leader, Taiaro.”

  There was murmured assent from the group. I knew Wirimu for his tenacity and cunning, as well and athleticism and strength, and he wore his pride as a medallion of honour.I knew also that he’d been planted by Taiaro to report back on what I did which was only natural. His wonder at my pulling him back from the lands of the dead did not mean that I was going to be allowed any more trust or freedom for as long as I remained with his people. But for me to turn my approach from simple tricks and advice to a fighting mantra, I needed to have these eighteen follow me unquestioningly. I needed an elite force that would each train their own eighteen, and every eighteen after that without a single particle of my message being misunderstood, lost or diluted in some way, I needed a religious fervour and advocacy for what I would teach them that would become a mantra.

  From the wall of the training room I selected a sword, two handed, curved with a single cutting edge. It was exquisitely crafted and while narrower than the long-swords I had trained with, it was well balanced and heavy enough to test
the swordsman’s arm strength and skill.

  I presented it to him. He looked at me questioningly but took the sword and weighed it in his hands. He immediately defaulted to a right-hand style, with his right hand fore and his left hand aft, and with the blade vertical and dipped slightly forward. I asked that the others form a circle around the training room and stood at one end. I gestured for Wirimu to stand at the other end and prepare himself. I bowed as we always did before a bout, said a quick prayer to the Great Goddess and then gestured for him to strike me with the blade– if he could.

  “I can’t hurt you, Lord. You are unarmed.”

  “Am I?” I said and spoke to the group. “How does he know? The fighters you’ve come up against – the black ones – where they armed?”

  He raised the sword and pretended to attack me.

  “No, Wirimu. Listen. I want your anger, your strength, your cunning and your speed. Let us pretend that I have, by stealth, entered your hidden complex. I have silently murdered your wife and child, your father and mother, and now I move to the next chamber to do more carnage. The fate of your people depends on you.Stop me, if you can.”

  He knew now what he needed to do to preserve his honour and charged at me. He was quick, with that same undefinable speed I had faced in the fight with his brother, but he still held back and I made him pay for it. The sword went sliding along the floor and he jumped up with a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth.

  “Again!” I said.

  He did not hold back this time and I used all my skill and dexterity to evade the slashing blade, blocking and parrying but also inflicting well-placed punches and kicks to goad him and drive toward the result I aimed for.

  Time and again I either disarmed him or was standing behind him as he furiously swiped and stabbed at air. The others standing around yelled and goadedhim. Their words for “god” and “ghost” were very similar and they challenged him to beat whichever it was that he fought.