Torn By War: 4 (The Death Wizard Chronicles)

by Melvin, Jim

  Somehow undines had tainted their water supply.

  Rati must have carried the demonic vermin from the Ogha River in his goatskin.

  Then they had multiplied when he rinsed out the skin in the pure waters of the haven’s spring.

  Something grabbed Tāseti’s ankle. She looked down and saw a monk at her feet—or what had once been a monk. His nose was chewed off, and there was a hole in his cheek that exposed some of his teeth. The tattered skin flapped as he growled. Tāseti drew her uttara and swept off his hideous head.

  Now there were shouts coming from everywhere. Some were screams of fear, others the snarls of fiends.

  “Help me!” a nun screamed from a nearby tent. “She’s biting me . . . she’s eating me!”

  Tāseti watched a Tugar warrior dive inside the tent and emerge with a nun in his arms, though she was no longer a nun. She had become a bloodthirsty fiend, devoid of any awareness other than hunger for human flesh. The fiend bit down on the warrior’s neck, but to no avail. Though she now bore above-average strength, she remained incapable of injuring a Tugar. The warrior cast her to the ground, stomped his boot on her chest, and took off her head. Then he crawled back into the tent for more.

  The monks and nuns who were not infected—or had not yet transformed—escaped from their tents and gathered in a frightened cluster. They were highly realized beings and did not fear death, but this kind of horror was beyond even them. It fell to the two Asēkhas and fourteen Tugars to restore order.

  They had begun this journey with five hundred monks and nuns, and it appeared that at least one hundred already had transformed or been bitten. Those who were bitten—even slightly—begged and pleaded for help, but soon after their eyes grew wild, and their lips curled into snarls. One swipe of a uttara silenced their misery. Rati already had dispatched at least thirty by himself.

  Though the camels had been hobbled and tied to a picket line the previous night to prevent them from wandering off, the terrified beasts now struggled against their restraints. At least twenty of the fifty had broken free and scattered. To Tāseti’s dismay, Chieftain also bolted. She wondered if she would ever see the gelding again. She wouldn’t blame him if he galloped far away.

  Tāseti could afford to send only three Tugars after the camels. Then she and the other warriors gathered the surviving monks and nuns and instructed them to form ten evenly spaced lines. The noble ones, who always had loved and respected their fellow monks and nuns, now looked at one another with distrust. The eleven remaining Tugars wandered among them, watching closely for any signs of strange behavior while Tāseti and Rati rushed to their supply of goatskins—six hundred in all—and began to open them, one by one. Only about one in ten contained undines. Tāseti sighed with relief. It was probable that the majority of the noble ones who had not already been bitten were not infected. The worst might be over.

  Even as she felt a glimmer of hope, a warrior approached the Asēkhas and bowed before Tāseti.

  “You have something to report, Kithar?”

  “Yes, Asēkha. We have searched everywhere among the ruins of our camp and have determined with surety that all of the noble ones are accounted for—except for one. The High Nun is no longer among us, living or dead.”

  “How can you be certain?” Rati said, his expression distraught. He obviously had come to the same conclusion as Tāseti and was blaming himself for the tragedy. “Their faces and bodies were ravaged.”

  “While you and Tāseti examined the skins, Awamir and I assembled and counted the dead,” Kithar said. “We found one hundred and twenty-two bodies and the same number of heads; and of the heads, only twenty were unrecognizable. And then we re-examined the bodies. Though the noble ones are almost always thin, none are as skinny as Tathagata—and none show such signs of age. Three hundred and seventy-seven noble ones remain alive, at least for now. Only one is missing.”

  “I do not doubt your ability,” Rati said, “but I wish to perform my own examination.” Then he trotted off.

  “Do not take offense,” Tāseti said to Kithar.

  “He is Asēkha,” Kithar responded matter-of-factly.

  Suddenly there was a growling sound and several panicked screams. Soon after, another noble one was beheaded.

  Tāseti sighed. “Make that three hundred and seventy-six still alive. I pray this number does not grow much smaller.”

  IT WAS EARLY afternoon and brutally hot before the Tugars sent to retrieve the camels returned, bringing back all but three of the beasts, though Chieftain remained among the missing. The final warrior, a female named Silah, reported that she had discovered a bloody trail leading erratically into Barranca that would be easy to follow.

  “And there were hoofprints as well as footprints,” Silah said to Tāseti, her voice puzzled. “It was as if your gelding were tracking a monster.”

  Tāseti also was confused. To make matters worse, Rati appeared and confirmed that Sister Tathagata was indeed missing. Though Tāseti was anxious to go in search of the High Nun, there still was work to be done before the camp was put back in order. Most of the goatskins didn’t appear to contain undines, but they dared not allow the noble ones to drink from any of them. That left them without water, and they were many days’ walk from the nearest spring or stream.

  At least there was some good news at the camp. It became apparent there would be no further transformations. Three hundred and seventy monks and nuns had survived the ordeal—and they now were displaying a bravery that the second in command found admirable. Still, courage was one thing, remaining alive without water—or a means to transport it—was another. Their food supplies were intact, but much of those required water for preparation. The warriors dispersed dates and squares of Cirāya. Afterward, Tāseti gathered Rati and the Tugars to discuss their predicament.

  “Thoughts?” she said.

  “We can boil the water,” Awamir said. “Surely these dreadful worms would then perish, making it safe for the noble ones to drink.”

  “It will take time to boil enough to satisfy all these thirsts,” Kithar said. “Each time we stop for a meal will take half a day.”

  “The oasis of Wuul is only a ten-day march, even at that slow of a pace,” Tāseti said. “The water we have, if boiled and rationed carefully, might last until then, especially if supplemented with camel milk. The beasts seem unaffected by the undines. Apparently only ordinary humans fall victim to the worms.”

  “The Tugars also are unaffected, except for feeling a tad feverish,” Silah said. “Several of us could go ahead—each taking a single skin—and spread the word among the people of the desert that our company is in need of assistance. Appam may have already made contacts. It is probable help will arrive before the noble ones reach Wuul.”

  Rati nodded vigorously. “This plan will succeed,” he said to Tāseti. “Allow me to go in pursuit of Sister Tathagata, before her lead becomes too great.”

  “No,” Tāseti said.

  “This is my doing,” Rati argued.

  “My blame is greater than yours,” Tāseti said. “You were delirious, while I missed the signs with clear eyes. Regardless, this matter is not open for debate. I will pursue the High Nun. You will stay with the noble ones and lead them to Wuul—and beyond.”

  “This assignment is not worthy of my station,” Rati said.

  “You say that to me? If you wish to challenge me, then do so now. Otherwise, obey the commands of your superior.”

  Rati bowed. “I have done enough damage for one lifetime. I will obey and remain with the noble ones. They will have little to fear, other than thirst and weariness.”

  “Thank you,” Tāseti said with a shrug. “I had no desire to fight you.” Then she wrapped an arm around his muscular shoulders. “Now I know how Kusala felt.”

  Rati chuckled. “Go, Tāseti. There is work yet to be done. Who knows how many more Tathagata could infect?”

  “I fear something else even worse.”

  “I don’t und
erstand.”

  “I fear that Tathagata’s own infection might be somehow . . . different.”

  THE HORSE HAD appeared out of nowhere and begun to follow Sister Tathagata, which she found irritating, especially since the animal did not interest her as a source of food. Occasionally, she turned and gave it a warning snarl, but then she went about the difficult business of scrambling over the jagged rocks. She cared not that the soles of her bare feet were swollen and bleeding. She only knew that she needed to move forward in a stomach-churning search for human flesh.

  Mucus gushed from her ears and nostrils. Spittle oozed from the corners of her mouth and dangled off the sides of her chin in greasy strands. Her lips were cracked and bloodied, partially from the constant dry winds of Barranca and partially because she chewed on them mindlessly with her gnarled teeth.

  When she had first entered Barranca she had been traveling eastward, but after entering the wasteland she inexplicably veered to the north. Something called to her. Or she to it.

  When night fell, Tathagata’s hunger increased and her senses magnified, especially her ability to scent human flesh. The smoke that rose from behind the ridge of a limestone crater caused her to slaver. She headed that way with as much speed as she could muster.

  Tathagata saw them long before they saw her. Three haggard men with dark beards sat near a bristling fire. They wore only dyed loincloths, but they bore daggers on their belts, and they had other weapons as well—a pair of crude spears that had been stabbed into the sand nearby. She could smell roasting goat and boiled rice, but she cared naught for that fare. Their sweaty flesh is what drew her.

  The three men—a father, son, and uncle, perhaps?—owned one camel that was tied to a line well away from the fire. When the camel let out a high-pitched bleat, the men stood and drew their daggers. At almost the same moment, Tathagata slipped behind the uncle and drove one of the spears into his back, the point emerging from his chest in a splash of gore. The uncle grunted and fell forward onto the fire.

  The father turned just in time to get a glimpse of his assailant before she lunged at him and bit off a chunk of his face. The son attempted to come to his rescue, diving at her and stabbing his short dagger into her skinny thigh. Tathagata turned and pounced upon him, biting the youngest one’s neck. Then she began to chew, slurp, and swallow, making a sound so dreadful that the camel tore away from the line, broke the leather band that hobbled its left front leg, and ran off in a shuffling gait.

  The reek of gore and burning flesh—both goat and human—filled the air. Tathagata continued to feed, heedless of anything else. But the injured father still lived, and he hoisted a heavy rock over his head and slammed it onto Tathagata’s back.

  She cried out and leapt to her feet, her torso twisted grotesquely. But instead of retaliating, she smiled eerily, drew the dagger out of her leg, and returned to her business. The father, ignoring the pain of his tattered face, grabbed the other spear and drew it from the sand. But then his movements slowed, and he stood motionless for a time, eyes glazed. A short while later, he joined the feast.

  Before the sliver of crescent moon rose at midnight, the son had been reduced to bones as efficiently as if a pair of Lyons had devoured him. The uncle was burned too badly to eat; otherwise, he too would have become part of the fare.

  The father no longer cared for the son or uncle. He had become Tathagata’s disciple.

  She finally stood, her face slathered with blood. The food had done her good. Her broken back had magically healed, and she was taller and not quite so skinny. Tathagata was growing, in more ways than one.

  NOT ALL OF Peta’s prophecies were unpleasant. For instance, the ghost-child had foretold that Torg and Laylah would fall in love. And the healings of King Henepola and Queen Rajinii had been inspirational. But her visions of Sister Tathagata were among the most disturbing she had ever endured.

  Unlike the Tugars, whose furnace-like metabolisms incinerated infections and poisons before they could cause much harm, the sister’s body had been susceptible to the undines. Most humans infected by the demon incarnations became mindless fiends, less intelligent than cattle and driven by ruthless hunger. The only sure way to kill them was to cut off their heads, though cutting their bodies in half above the navel also was effective.

  To her horror, Peta foresaw that Tathagata’s spiritual achievements would work against her. The High Nun’s powerful mind could not be ruined as easily as her body. Instead, a portion of her wisdom and will would survive, making her far more dangerous than any fiend had ever been. To make matters worse, every time Tathagata fed, she would grow larger and stronger. Cutting off her head would not be so simple.

  These revelations had thrilled Vedana, of course. The mother of all demons had long despised Sister Tathagata, whom she described as a “lazy goody-goody.” But it was more than the demise of the High Nun that Vedana found tantalizing. She envisioned Tathagata as yet another means to weaken her enemies. And so—unbeknownst to Invictus or even Jākita-Abhinno—she had joined with her most loyal witches and summoned a large batch of undines from the Realm of the Undead. Then she ordered the Warlish whores to dump them into the Ogha River north of Senasana.

  Senasana . . . the nearest city to Tējo . . . and Anna.

  “I’ll be gone for a few days,” Vedana said to Peta while Rathburt slept. “You know why. Behave yourself.”

  “My loyalty is to Father,” Peta said. “As I’ve told you countless times, I’ll do nothing to endanger him.”

  “Blah-blah-blah,” Vedana said.

  “I must warn you again that my visions are becoming more and more fallible.”

  “Oh, don’t worry your little head. Mother has everything under control. Just keep your eye on Rathburt. Oh wait, I forgot . . . you can’t see anything.”

  “You’re not as funny as you imagine yourself to be, Vedana.”

  “Vedana, is it now? What happened to calling me Mother? Oh, never mind! As I said before, just be sure to behave yourself. And don’t you dare have any wild parties while I’m gone.”

  Then the demon vanished.

  AT DUSK, TĀSETI, Kithar, and Silah sprinted from the camp, each carrying a goatskin of boiled water, a pack of Cirāya, their uttaras and daggers, and their slings and beads. Speed was of the essence. There would be little time for eating or sleeping over the next several days.

  Soon after they departed, Kithar split from the trio and headed due east. His orders were to cross Barranca, the rocky wasteland that partially encircled the great desert Tējo, as quickly as possible and locate allies who could lend aid to the much-slower company he’d left behind.

  Though Barranca was truly an inhospitable wasteland, Tējo was more heavily populated than most outsiders realized. The Tugars numbered more than twenty thousand all told, yet they were in the minority. Many of the permanent desert dwellers were allies of Anna, and all of them feared the Tugars. It would not be difficult to encounter willing assistance or to intimidate unwilling assistance. At this point, either would be acceptable.

  When Tāseti and Silah entered the rocky border of Barranca, they continued to follow Tathagata’s trail. It wasn’t difficult to do. The High Nun was making no effort to conceal her tracks. Surprisingly, though, her path turned abruptly north.

  “I no longer need you with me,” Tāseti said. “This is my task and mine alone. Do as Kithar has been ordered and search for help inside Tējo. And be quick: the noble ones’ lives are at stake.”

  “As you say, Asēkha.” Then Silah bid her farewell and sprinted eastward.

  Tāseti was alone.

  This stretch of Barranca was nearly devoid of life. Scattered among large tracts of spiny limestone were pools of black mud, a few of which bore footprints barely half the size of a Tugar’s. There also was dried blood on the rocks that contained dead worms, each about the length of a fingernail and width of a blade of grass. These undines, at least, would cause no further harm.

  Tāseti guessed that the
fiend she tracked was a half-day ahead, which meant she had made up little ground, thus far. The fiend was shambling faster than Tāseti would have believed possible.

  Just after midnight, something approached from the north. Tāseti’s heart skipped a beat, but the shape was far too large to be human. She raced toward it at a full run, managing through grace and skill to avoid stumbling or twisting an ankle. When she came near enough, she saw with joy that it was Chieftain. The gelding raised his head and whinnied. Tāseti laughed.

  “Good boy!” She hugged the horse’s neck and patted his crest. Chieftain pressed his muzzle against her face. She was surprised to find that it was soaking wet. The horse recently had drunk, though she knew of no water within several leagues.

  If they had been on less difficult ground, Tāseti would have mounted the gelding and continued her search on horseback. But the landscape of Barranca was more precarious for the gelding than for her.

  “I’ll have to go on without you,” she said to Chieftain. “You can follow, if you like, and catch up with me later.”

  It saddened Tāseti more than it should have to leave the horse behind, and she was worried that he would injure himself trying to stay with her, but there was too much at stake to give it further thought. Chieftain’s fate was his own.

  Tāseti charged off at a full run. Try as he might, the gelding failed to keep up, letting out a series of high-pitched squeals that nearly broke Tāseti’s heart. But she didn’t look back.

  Tāseti ran like this for the rest of the night, taking only occasional sips of water from her skin and eating only two squares of Cirāya. But she refused to give in to thirst or hunger. Besides, the cumulative benefits of the cactus would kick in even quicker if her stomach were otherwise empty.