Revenant

by Bevan McGuiness

  ‘Kabutat Keshik.’

  The first to speak was a Tusemon swordsman. He, too, had red hair, pale skin and green eyes. Green eyes that now regarded Keshik steadily from under a freely bleeding wound.

  ‘Ild Vitalis,’ Keshik replied.

  ‘It has been a long time,’ Vitalis observed.

  ‘Not my doing.’

  ‘I didn’t treat the laws of the Tulugma like dog shit.’

  ‘Not that we know of, at least,’ Keshik countered.

  Vitalis grunted and sheathed his sword. ‘I think the Kuriltai Tumen will want to speak with you.’ He looked up at the sounds of Maida’s approach, loud in the quiet. ‘And your Tusemon woman.’

  ‘Just me,’ Keshik growled.

  ‘You came to us. You forfeited the right to make that decision.’

  ‘I can leave again.’

  ‘No, Kabutat Keshik, you may not.’ A new voice intruded with the subtlety of a rock slide. Keshik spun around and dropped instinctively to his knees as Zhan Tien, Ogedei of the Tulugma, strode into view. He looked down on the tangled, blood-spattered mass of black hair that hung in front of Keshik’s face all the way to his waist. ‘You are a mess, Kabutat,’ he said. ‘Go and clean yourself up then present yourself to the Kuriltai Tumen under my banner.’

  Keshik remained bowed until he heard Zhan Tien leave. He rose to his feet and gave the watching Tulugma a snarl before stalking away.

  It took most of the morning for Maida to comb the knots from Keshik’s hair. As they washed, Keshik attempted to refresh Maida’s sketchy memory of the organisational structure of the Tulugma. Despite all the time they had spent together, Keshik rarely spoke of his time with the Tulugma. For her part, Maida knew how painful it was, and was aware of her role in his pain, so she never raised the topic.

  ‘The Tuk is like an overseer of a small group of initiates. You get your Tuk almost as soon as you arrive and stay with him all through your training. As you go, you specialise and are allocated to a Subot of your discipline. Your Subot will train you.

  ‘The oversight of the whole Tulugma is the role of the Kuriltai Tumen, a group made up of Subots, lead by the Ogedei. He is the supreme commander of the Tulugma.’

  Maida gave a noncommittal grunt as she tugged another knot out of Keshik’s hair.

  ‘When did you comb this last?’ she complained.

  ‘A while ago,’ he admitted.

  ‘Don’t leave it as long next time,’ she chided.

  ‘Don’t be away from me so long next time.’

  Maida kissed him and smiled. ‘There will never be a next time,’ she promised.

  Finally, she was satisfied with his hair, his clothes and his general presentability. He squared his shoulders, took several deep breaths and thought through his dofain. Maida knew the words and recited it in her mind as he did. It brought her little comfort, but she had seen its effect on Keshik, so she tried it herself from time to time. From even the little she knew about his exile, she realised this was a meeting that could be very difficult, even dangerous.

  ‘You are ready, Swordmaster Keshik of the Tulugma,’ she announced.

  Keshik gave her a short, ceremonial bow.

  ‘Are you ready, Maida of the Tusemon?’

  ‘No.’

  Keshik grunted. ‘Good. Let’s go and talk with Zhan Tien.’

  Together they crossed the hundred or so paces to the main body of the Tulugma, conscious of the stares that followed their every move. Maida steeled herself for the comments and suggestions that had to come, but surprisingly the Tulugma watched without a sound. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared in silence. Maida forced herself to keep her eyes fixed firmly ahead, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw one or two of the watchers give brief nods of acknowledgement as they passed.

  As they made their way through the massed Tulugma, a young swordsman stepped out to stand in front of Keshik. With his eyes locked on Keshik’s, the man drew his sword and thrust it down into the ground between his feet. At the action, a low murmur ran through those watching and they started to gather, forming a ring around the three of them.

  ‘Not now, boy,’ Keshik growled.

  ‘Now, Kabutat Keshik,’ the young man insisted.

  ‘Then no. My answer is no.’

  ‘I will not take no for an answer.’

  ‘Learn to. But first get out of my way.’

  ‘No. I will have this.’

  ‘It is not permitted. Stand aside, Hayde.’

  Both Keshik and Hayde looked around sharply to regard the new speaker. She was small, even shorter than Keshik, with close-cropped black hair and dark eyes that glittered dangerously. Her stance was that of a warrior. She hefted a war axe that seemed far too big for her, but her arms showed uncommon strength.

  ‘Drikka,’ sighed Keshik. ‘You are not his Tuk, keep out of this.’

  ‘I may not be his, but I was yours, little man.’

  ‘No more, Drikka.’

  ‘You think it all ends, just like that?’

  ‘It did end, just like that. Now get out of my way.’

  ‘We are not done, little man.’

  Keshik spat on the ground and stalked around Hayde and Drikka. Hayde pulled his sword out of the earth and went to follow, but Drikka moved quickly to shoulder-charge him to the ground. When he tried to scramble to his feet, Drikka swung her axe with lethal nonchalance to rest the blade on his throat.

  ‘Stay down, Hayde,’ she said. ‘I will deal with this.’

  Keshik continued to walk. The gathered Tulugma parted to allow him and Maida passage, still watching silently. Drikka swung her axe in a low arc, aiming at Keshik’s legs. Just as it seemed inevitable that the blow would land, Keshik raised his foot and slammed it down on the head of the axe, trapping it in place.

  ‘That has never worked, Drikka,’ he said without turning.

  ‘And I could never work out how you did it so fast.’

  ‘So what.’

  ‘Why are you here, Keshik?’

  ‘To speak with Ogedei Zhan Tien.’

  ‘I will come with you, as your Tuk.’

  Keshik lifted his foot to allow Drikka to reclaim her axe and continued walking. Hayde sheathed his sword and followed at a discreet distance. For her part, Maida was mystified. She knew something significant had happened but it was clearly buried under layers of Tulugma ritual. An explanation would have to wait until later, when she had Keshik to herself again.

  For now, however, she walked with him, watching the faces, the stares, the small gestures of support, respect and, in some cases, contempt. There were some gestures so obscure they had to be cultural, meaningful at a level more profound than even the powerful Tulugma teaching. The ongoing silence became oppressive, broken only by the rattle of metal, the creaking of leather armour, the half-heard sounds of a large encampment.

  Finally, they came to a line of warriors who blocked their path. Each one was armed with a sword and a bow slung across their back. None wore armour nor carried a shield. Behind them, Maida could see open ground surrounding a single tent. A pole in front of the tent held the simple pennant bearing the insignia of the sword and spear of the Tulugma.

  Keshik continued to walk without altering his stride and the warriors stepped aside to allow him through. Maida went with him, casting fearful glances at the stony-faced guards who did not return her gaze. They allowed Drikka to enter but not Hayde. For a moment, Maida was surprised that neither Keshik nor she was challenged to surrender their weapons, but as soon as they passed through the circle, every second guard spun around, sheathed their swords and drew their bows. In a heartbeat, there were at least fifty arrows trained on them. Keshik raised his arms, holding them out from his body, just below level with his shoulders. Drikka followed suit, as did Maida.

  Zhan Tien, the Ogedei of all the Tulugma, arguably the finest fighter in the world, was a man of average build, average height, with the dark colouring of the Gielden and penetrating eyes of a peculiarly y
ellow tinge. He stood facing the entrance to his tent, awaiting their arrival.

  ‘You did not hurry, Kabutat Keshik,’ he grumbled. For a man of such striking averageness, his voice was remarkably deep.

  ‘I was not told to hurry, Ogedei,’ Keshik replied easily, as if talking with an equal about the weather.

  ‘I see you are taking your status seriously — not showing me my due respect.’

  Maida turned slightly at a sound to her right. Drikka had dropped her weapon to the ground and had crossed her arms across her chest. Keshik had done neither.

  ‘I will show you the respect you are due on the battlefield, but here, as the Ogedei, I show only the respect due another man. You are no longer my master.’

  ‘As you no longer serve me, or the ways of the Tulugma.’

  ‘You, no. The Tulugma, yes, but from my own choice.’

  The Ogedei allowed himself a small, tight smile. ‘Matching wits with you was always easier than matching blades.’ He waved an invitation to his three guests to join him at the circular table behind him.

  Maida sat between Keshik and the Ogedei, directly opposite Drikka. As she took her seat, the unmistakeable stench of the sweetened horse blood Keshik treasured so highly assailed her nostrils. With a sinking heart, she saw the tray of salted meat, bowls of nuts and metal cups of horse blood in the centre of the table. If Keshik appreciated the gesture of respect offered him by his erstwhile master, he did not show it. Instead, he reached out and selected a cup, which he offered to Maida. She accepted it with bowed head.

  ‘Wisdom,’ said Keshik, ‘can be spoken in any language.’ To complete the opening ritual, he selected the largest portion of salted meat and offered it to Maida.

  ‘But all men understand the language of wisdom,’ said Maida as she accepted the meat.

  Drikka sighed, possibly a little more dramatically than she needed to, but Keshik ignored the rudeness as he served his former Tuk with the same ritual. Drikka went along with it, but did not attempt to drink the rancid horse blood, or eat the tough meat. Zhan Tien, however, completed the ritual with aplomb.

  When it was done, Zhan Tien sat back and fixed Keshik with a hard stare.

  ‘We need to discuss matters, Kabutat Keshik,’ he said.

  ‘What matters?’

  ‘Three things: what happened in Vogel; why you are here; and how we came to be here.’

  Keshik sipped at another cup of blood as he considered Zhan Tien’s words.

  ‘Yes,’ he said finally.

  ‘What happened in Vogel?’

  ‘I was working for a man. In the course of my work, Maida was killed by a man named Slave. I sought out a necromancer named Sondelle who raised her in exchange for something I retrieved for him from an underground labyrinth. It seems that what I brought back for him was alive and it bested the necromancer, taking over his body and skills. I think there was something else in the same labyrinth, something as old and evil as what I released, and this man Slave inadvertently released it as well. Both things are now abroad and following some goal that only Myrrhini, the Eye of Varuun, can see.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘The Blindfolded Queen, who is Mertian, has limited skills as a Seer and Saw that something was happening in the world, but could not See it all. From what she Saw, she sent her agents out seeking the female companion of someone she calls the Scarred Man. Thanks to you, Zhan Tien, Maida was taken from me. I followed the agents of the Blindfolded Queen to get her back.’

  ‘Why thanks to me?’

  Keshik traced the scars that crossed his face. ‘You made me the Scarred Man.’

  ‘And does the Blindfolded Queen have the Eye of Varuun?’

  ‘She does.’ Keshik took another sip of blood before replacing the cup. He looked straight at Zhan Tien. ‘So, why are you here?’

  Zhan Tien stabbed a finger at Maida. ‘Her tribe wants her back.’

  Keshik shrugged. ‘They cannot have her.’

  ‘That is neither for you, nor her, to decide. When they came to the Kuriltai for her, they told us where she would be. What I need to know from you, Kabutat Keshik, is how did they know that?’

  ‘Why bring the whole Kuriltai with you?’ Keshik asked.

  ‘That is none of your business any more, Kabutat.’

  Keshik rose suddenly, causing his chair to tumble over backward. ‘And neither is it any of my affair what you want from me,’ he shouted. ‘You exiled me, stripped me of everything and put me back out into the world. I owe you nothing — and I will not give you anything.’

  He stalked from the tent. Maida, her mind awash with conflicting emotions, followed.

  The moment the Ogedei mentioned that Maida’s tribe wanted her back, she had frozen in terror. It was because of her tribe that she had been in the wilderness where Keshik found her in the first place. The elder women had determined her fate. She was to be married to an elder in another tribe. It was the age-old story of a young woman’s life being traded for the good of the tribe. The one pays for the benefit of the many. In theory it is sound, but not so much when the one is one’s self, or one’s daughter.

  Her father had left the tribe and taken his whole family to make a life for themselves in the icy wilderness of northern Tusemo. For a long time, life was good. They met another family in similar straits who had a son. Maida remembered Tuomas with great fondness. They had been married on the first day of the Kissing — as auspicious a day for a marriage as could be contrived — and she had conceived before the Crossing was done. Her happiness was complete.

  The morning when the young Tulugma warriors had attacked was cold, as it always was in the northern Tusemon wilderness. An icy wind screamed down out of the Sixth Waste. Maida could close her eyes and still see the dawn sun as it turned the snowdrifts gold, taste the ice in the air, feel the sting of the crystals biting into her face.

  The first indication of trouble was the gurgling scream of her father as an arrow tore through his throat. He went down on his face, his blood soaking the ice. For a moment, everyone stopped and stared, unable to comprehend what had happened. The first ululating warcry of the attacking fighters stung everyone into action. Tuomas strung his hunting bow and targeted the first horse over the ridge. His arrow embedded itself deep in the horse’s chest. The beast squealed and buckled at the knees. Its rider bellowed in anger as he was thrown over his horse’s head to land heavily on the ice. He did not have a chance to recover his wits before Maida’s mother had smashed his brains out with a hammer. She raised the bloodied tool above her head, only to have her arm hacked off by the next rider. The shock of the wound left her motionless. She stood, watching her own blood spurt from the hideous wound until her attacker wheeled his horse around and drove his sword through her chest. Maida screamed as her mother fell.

  Then Keshik came roaring over the snowdrift. He stood in his stirrups, guiding his pony with his knees. His twin blades caught the sunlight like silver as he drove straight at the man who had killed Maida’s mother. The man could only half turn before Keshik’s scything attack sent him crashing to the icy ground.

  His unexpected appearance distracted the remaining four attackers long enough for Tuomas to loose another arrow, but it went wide as his target wrenched his horse aside. He did not have enough time for another shot before he was ridden down beneath pounding hooves. Even in the noise, Maida clearly heard his bones breaking as she clutched their baby to her breast.

  His death, the horrible sounds of his body breaking, was the last clear memory Maida had of that terrible day. All she had were disjointed images, sounds and smells of killing, screaming and eventual flight with Keshik. She could not even recall with any clarity the moment when her sweet baby boy was taken from her by a single slash of a Tulugma sword. It was that lack of clarity more than anything else that caused her the most pain. How could she not remember the moment when her child died?

  And why did she not hate the Tulugma?

  She should hate them, and all t
hey stood for. She should be calling down every curse imaginable on those responsible for creating the monsters who had taken everything from her, yet she did not. Sometimes she wondered about it, but then she remembered Keshik riding over the snow like an avenging fiend and she realised the attack was not the Tulugma’s fault. The men who had perverted the teachings of Tulugma, who had used their skills for murder — it was their fault. They killed her family because they were vile men, not because they had trained under the Tulugma. The Tulugma was truly seen in Keshik, who gave up all he had to rescue her.

  He spoke only rarely and in general terms of his exile, but when he did, he showed no rancour to his former masters. He had broken the laws he had sworn to live by and took the punishment due to him. This was not to say he bore the Tulugma any great love, he just did not hate them. In fact, he seemed oddly ambivalent.

  So why had he rushed to join this column when he saw them?

  And who was Drikka?

  Maida regarded the little woman as she walked beside Keshik. There was strength there, and hardness. She moved with the confident tread of the warrior, the easy stride of the athlete. Her eyes saw everything, including Maida. Their gazes met for a moment. For the first time, Maida felt the scrutiny of a husband’s mother. Drikka seemed to sum her up, to assess Maida’s worthiness. It was unnerving.

  Keshik, for his part, seemed oblivious. He had met the Ogedei, received his answer. His was a much simpler world than hers.

  ‘Kabutat Keshik!’ The call was insistent.

  Keshik stopped to face the man who had called out.

  ‘Ild Badat,’ Keshik said.

  ‘We have a score to settle, you and I,’ Ild Badat said, drawing his sword.

  ‘No, we don’t.’

  ‘You don’t think so? Those were my men you butchered. I was their Tuk. Your blades left me desolate.’