“Of course, it’s my duty. Grab the reins, Iibala, and lead the way. What was he doing out there, a hundred miles away from home?”
“It’s a long story.” Sisila remarked, glancing at Iibala.
“It’s a blessing you found him,” Iibala managed to say, although she wondered.
It was now the 14th of Markee, approximately eight days since Basha, Oaka, and her father had left Coe Baba on Basha’s quest. Eight days, and already her father was on the brink of death.
What happened to Oaka and Basha? She hoped they were okay. Sisila had said Oaka was, with her perception, but what about Basha? It was almost like this quest was doomed and she knew who to blame.
* * * *
A sable passant bear wavered in a field of white above the turrets and battlements of Coe Aela, an ancient rectangular castle on the edge of Mila Forest. Guards walked along the allure of its curtain walls, keeping up their rounds even though there was no enemy to fight.
They saluted their commanding officers, especially Captain Goga, commander of all the guards, whenever they passed them. Otherwise, there was nothing to do except watch.
Suddenly, they heard howling towards the north, where most of Mila Forest spread out before them. The hills and mountains of the Popo Hills region began behind them in the south. The howling was of numerous strains, yet seemed to be coming this way.
Goga ordered some to follow him towards the gatehouse, while a few were sent down into the bailey to stand on either side of the gate. They’d fight if any invaders came through, though the portcullis was lowered.
Marlo, the old steward, stepped outside to see what all the fuss was about. The servants coming inside were complaining and gossiping amongst one another. Marlo wanted to squelch any rumors that anything amiss was going on.
He’d see to it that the servants were well-content with their lot in life and ready to serve. But he’d a feeling that he couldn’t scrub this emergency away from their minds.
“Marlo?” A voice said just inside the doorway.
Marlo turned around, and bowed. “My lord.”
“What’s going on?” The lord stared up at the wall fearfully.
“It’ll be all right, my lord.” Marlo felt a need to reassure the man he’d helped to take care of since birth.
Goga had two men stand by on the winch, ready to raise the portcullis if he felt so kind as to let someone through. He knew the howling meant something, he could almost understand what they were saying.
If these were just ordinary wolves, he’d nothing to fear, but if it was Black Wolves, Hyena Wolves, he had much to fear. He needed to know just what they were chasing. “Hava!” He called, turning around.
His dark-haired secretary, who appeared to be in his early thirties, was standing right behind him. “What is it, Captain Goga?” Hava asked, annoyed.
“Bring me my telescope.”
“All the way in the barracks?”
“Now, Hava, and be quick about it!”
Hava sighed, and started jogging off along the allure towards the barracks at the rear of the castle grounds. Goga shook his head at the man’s incompetence, wishing to be rid of him as he turned back to peer out toward the forest.
“What’s going on?” He heard a voice boom loudly from below.
Goga grimaced as he turned to face Lord Fobata, Duke of Coe Aela, with Marlo the steward just behind. “I’ve yet to ascertain the full extent of the danger, your Grace. But we’ve reason to believe that those howls you hear, which aren’t that hard to miss, are of Black Wolves, Hyena Wolves, chasing something or someone through the forest.”
“Oh my!” Lord Fobata turned around with a handkerchief held up to his mouth and spoke to the crowd of servants, guests, and peasants surrounding him. “We shall have to let them in if they’re people.”
“Let them in? My lord—”
“We shall have to let them in, whoever they are!” Lord Fobata flounced the handkerchief in front of the crowd. “We can’t turn them away, especially on my birthday. It would bode ill not to invite them in, and be generous.”
“Yes, your Grace,” Goga turned back around and ordered the guards, “Raise the portcullis. Prepare to welcome some guests in if they come through.”
* * * *
Basha couldn’t breathe with Black Wolves chasing them for the second time since he’d started his quest, like a recurring nightmare. He still didn’t understand why it happened.
At least Oaka hadn’t fallen off of Joko again or tried to summon fire as Monika and her horse Deja raced alongside. Flying just ahead was Fato, who called, “Come on, it’s just a little bit farther! Coe Aela, I can see it! I see it.” I wish that I didn’t, the falcon thought.
Basha urged his horse Talan faster. “I hope you’re right!”
Indeed, the turrets were visible now, rising up into the sky through the trees. As were the Black Wolves loping along closer to the ground, trying to run down the horses and riders.
“Is this normal?” Monika attempted to notch an arrow to her bow and fire back at the Wolves, though she fumbled with the speed of her horse.
“Not for us,” Basha wondered why she even had to ask.
The last couple of days had been strange, though, so maybe nothing was normal anymore. Perhaps this was the new normal from now on.
“Almost there!” Oaka laughed in relief and fear as he tried to hang on.
For a few seconds, Oaka had managed to summon up some flames in his hand, in the hopes of using his magical fire against the Black Wolves. But then the flames had faded away with the rushing wind. Still, he’d the spark.
The castle did seem close, but the walls continued to grow and rear above their heads farther than their necks could stretch until they reached the raised portcullis. Basha glanced back at the Wolves that seemed to dissolve away, fleeing from the walls as the guards fired arrow after arrow down at them.
He was glad of that as they rode into the bailey, paved with stones at its center and surrounded by mud. They halted their horses at the line of guards arrayed in front of and on either side of them. The guards dressed in black and green uniforms with a crowd of people gathered beyond.
Heads peered above the guards’ shoulders, standing on the defensive with bows, spears, and swords withdrawn, curious to see what sort of people had been targeted by Black Wolves. Basha, Oaka, and Monika slowly dismounted, careful not to reach for their weapons as Fato landed on Talan. The portcullis lowered.
“Stand down, men!” One of the guards, who appeared to be a senior officer as the others followed his orders, came down from the allure.
As the guards sheathed and lowered their weapons, a voice cried, “Welcome to Coe Aela!”
They turned their heads as a rotund man wearing a velvet mulberry-colored coat and white ruffled shirt came out to greet them. A white handkerchief with red stitching patted the round man’s red and wrinkled face with large cheeks, bushy eyebrows, thick lips, and a broad forehead.
The white and red handkerchief caught Basha’s eye for a moment, before he looked away to examine the rest of the handkerchief’s owner. The man had dark, piercing eyes with a little fuzz on his chin and cheeks as if he’d forgotten to shave for a week, trying to grow a beard. He wore a wig of white and auburn hair to cover up his baldness.
“I’m Lord Fobata, Duke of Coe Aela,” The rotund man pronounced as Basha, Oaka, Monika and even Fato bowed. “Thank you. This is my steward Marlo—” He gestured with his handkerchief to the older gentleman whose gray hair had almost conquered his original chestnut.
The steward, dressed in plain clothes with a pointed chin and goatee, bowed to the guests solemnly. Yet he hid a brief smile.
“And Captain Goga, head of my guards,” Fobata pointed disdainfully at the man who ordered his subordinates to stand down.
Captain Goga, now alighting upon the ground, frowned at the newcomers before he looked away in disgust. Goga had a thick, bushy head of curled blond hair whipped into a frenzy, with r
aw angular, scarred cheeks, stern eyes, and thin lips. He wore dark clothes underneath thin armor and had a commanding presence.
“I’m Basha of Coe Baba.” He spoke up, a little surprised at being so bold in the midst of some unpleasant company. “This is Oaka, also of Coe Baba, Monika of the Za Desert, and Fato the falcon, royal messenger bird.”
The others bowed as introduced, though Fato muttered, “I can introduce myself.”
“Welcome, and be merry. You’re safe from those Black Wolves.” Lord Fobata tucked his handkerchief into his coat pocket. “None of Doomba’s horrors can pierce these thick limestone walls. You’ve come at a most prodigious time, for it’s my birthday. Come join us this evening in the grand banquet hall and feast to your delight.”
“We humbly thank you, your Grace.” Basha bowed again, feeling uneasy.
Lord Fobata’s invitation, while welcomed, seemed cold and awkward as if it wasn’t truly meant. But he supposed being chased by Black Wolves and nearly threatened by Captain Goga’s guards had thrown him off. There was something nagging him about Lord Fobata’s appearance, but he couldn’t remember what.
“Marlo, see to it that they’re settled in suitable quarters,” Lord Fobata told his steward without any more regard for his new guests.
Fobata walked back to his castle, the crowd parting once more as he waved to everyone. He shuddered before he went back inside.
“All right, everyone, nothing more to see. Please return to your business. That means you, too, gents,” he told his guards, and the crowd dispersed, muttering disquietedly amongst themselves as they glanced back at Basha and his group.
“Well, that went well,” Oaka said.
“It’ll be all right.” Basha said. “We’re just not used to this sort of thing. We must’ve made a horrible first impression. They probably distrust us.”
“Are you trying to make excuses for them?”
“I don’t like the look of Lord Fobata and Goga.” Monika shook her head. “Especially Fobata. That wig is disingenuous, like the rest of him. Nothing here is sincere.”
“I agree with you there,” Fato nodded.
“We just have to get used to this place,” Basha stared up at the walls and castle, then laughed. “My Tau, do you see all of this? This is a real live castle, like in stories! Monika, have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“I’ve seen fortresses and the like.” Monika said.
“Wait till you get to Coe Kiki.” Fato smiled. “The sight of that palace, and the whole city, is liable to take your breath away.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Oaka nodded. “Right now I’m just glad to be here alive.”
Marlo the steward approached. “Gentlemen, and lady, you may take your bags, and this servant,” He nodded toward a thin, small youth about five years younger than some of them, with black hair, “will take your horses to the stables.”
Basha, Monika, and Oaka hesitated giving up their horses to someone who seemed too young to be a servant and unused to being served by somebody else as well. But they gathered up their belongings and handed the reins over as bidden.
“Thank you, and don’t worry.” The servant sounded like a girl, “I’ll take good care of them. You can count on that.”
The servant led the horses off and the group members stared at each other before they, too, were led away by Marlo.
* * * *
The Black Wolves, his Hyena Wolves, had failed once again, Doomba fumed. They’d been called away to give others a chance to succeed.
It was frustrating to halt the hunt so abruptly, just as he was beginning to enjoy it and the Wolves gave him a good hint of his prey, several people on horseback. But which one was the tiger? All of them seemed to be good candidates.
However, it was necessary to lull the group into a false sense of security in Coe Aela. The Black Wolves couldn’t penetrate the walls and it would be pointless for them to try. They weren’t needed.
Let others take control, and prove their worth as Followers of Doomba. Maybe they would succeed where others had failed, although would they know what to do, who to look for? Coe Aela had disappointed him in the past, but it was their turn now. He wouldn’t underestimate them, but all he could do was wait, hopefully for good news.
His whole existence had boiled down to waiting, for twenty-six centuries he’d spent in this interminable state. When would be his chance to shine?
All he wanted to do, after waiting for Coe Pidaria to open up, for the destruction of Arria, and for the tiger to show up, was to stand up and march out on his own two feet to rule and conquer as he wished. But he couldn’t even do that.
It was so very little to ask for, but what more could he want? Mobility, power, freedom, this was what he desired.
The rottenness inside his body was so pervasive he couldn’t even heal properly. There was no way to restore or preserve this body after nearly three thousand years of decay.
He might fail along with this body, or become nothing more than mere shadow, prone to weakness and exploitation by others until he finally did fall. Yet he wouldn’t allow that after spending so long trying to control himself and others.
Yet what was the point of obtaining and controlling so much power if he couldn’t even use it properly in physical form? He would stymie the loss of his body, and sustain it until he transferred his consciousness into another host, perhaps the tiger.
From what he’d sensed, the tiger would be the perfect host. The strength, youth, and vitality of the tiger’s body would sustain him for twenty-six more centuries, to wield his powers in full while maintaining physical strength.
Memba’s body was weaker at the outset, and look how long it had lasted. Perhaps it would be possible to obtain the tiger’s body and invade it, purging the tiger’s consciousness to make way for his own.
Of course, Memba hadn’t completely vanished from Doomba’s body, so there may be some small trace of the tiger left inside Doomba’s new body. But he could ignore that, and it might even be fun to control and overrule the tiger, to make him feel helpless for centuries.
Doomba had a habit of taking apart whatever he most despised and making something new out of it. Perhaps it might be hideous and horrible to others, but he gained a sense of pride and accomplishment.
He’d created something worthwhile, perhaps a living, breathing thing that would go on to cause great damage. This would be a major accomplishment for all of history to behold, marvel at, and despise.
Although it could be weeks before the tiger was close enough for Doomba to possess, and bound to resist, Doomba was tempted to make such fiendish use of the tiger of light’s body, corrupt his memory. The tiger of light would hate what he’d become.
Whatever occurred, Doomba wouldn’t waste precious time waiting for something to occur. He would use his powers, and let the kingdoms of this world tremble and crumble.
A knock on the door made Doomba groan. “What is it now?”
A gringrok poked its head in. “A Trolla from the Pits is here to report on yesterday’s escape attempt.”
“Escape attempt?” Doomba gasped. “Would someone please explain what has gone wrong at the Pits?”
* * * *
With Sisila and Mirari’s help, Iibala carried in her father to his bed before they retreated to the doorway. It was almost like a funeral, how awkward they all were with voices and heads down.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be in town for. There are other places I travel to these next few months. But I’ll check in on him whenever I can, for a small fee, though,” Mirari said.
Iibala slowly nodded. “We’ll talk about that whenever you do come by next.”
“I won’t accept payment for what I’ve done up to now, though. That was out of kindness, and for his sake. I wouldn’t leave somebody by the side of the road, especially in his state.”
“Thanks.”
“You certainly did an excellent job, though.” Sisila examined the wounds from afar. �
��He might’ve been attacked by wolves, but he already looks half-healed.”
“That’s just my skill.” Mirari looked up sharply. “I bandaged and cleaned his wounds thoroughly with a potion that’d allow him to sleep soundly so that his wounds could heal. He’ll be fine with further treatment, no infection.”
Iibala glanced at Mirari, wondering why she was defensive. “All right. I suppose we should let my father rest. Does he need any treatment now?”
“No, he’ll be fine for now. I’ll come by tomorrow, once I’m settled in at the inn, if you need me. He might need another dose by then.”
“Yes, thank you, do come by, and don’t say a word about this to anyone.” Iibala gripped Mirari firmly, making her own demand. “We don’t want people to know.”
“What? Why?” Mirari asked, gaping at Iibala as Sisila gasped.
“You don’t know what kind of an effect this’ll have. See, he went out with Basha and Oaka, sons of the innkeeper Geda, on a quest. They’ll worry what happened to them if they find out. So please don’t tell them, at least not yet.”
“You shouldn’t keep a secret like this, or ask me to, especially from the boys’ family. I don’t know how you can hide this for long.”
“I’ve a way of avoiding notice. In any case, I’ll accept the blame and any consequences. You won’t have to worry about that.”
“Please?” Sisila asked Mirari uncertainly, not really knowing why Iibala wanted this.
“Fine, but I’ll hate every moment of it,” Mirari glared at the two girls. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I want a full explanation next time.” She left.
“Iibala, I don’t think this is a good idea. Are you sure we shouldn’t worry the others?” Sisila asked.
“If you’re sure that Oaka’s still alive, then Basha might be, and thus far my father’s survived. We’ve got to believe or else all hope will be lost.”
Iibala needed to talk to the Old Man. Ever since her father had revealed the tenuous connections between the Old Man, Basha, the tiger and the Black Wolf, not to mention the crows Iibala’d seen, she’d questioned whether Basha was the tiger of light.
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