The girl had a faraway look in her eyes—an expression that Jodhrik thought to be almost pained. “If you had any idea, Proselyte,” she mumbled. “I could have benefited from your guidance.”
“Could have? I am here, child,” he said with a wistful smile.
Sayri nodded, a decision reached behind her eyes. “Please tell me, Proselyte. Does the Great Link extend beyond our immediate reach? Beyond, say, ten paces from our bodies?”
“Oh yes, young lady.” Jodhrik smiled, reaching out with both hands. “The Great Link passes into, and through, all people and all things, and beyond,” he said, quoting the First Book of Enlightening.
“How do I access it?” Sayri asked.
Jodhrik frowned. “How do you mean, young lady?”
The girl sighed. She turned and pointed at the beach before her; suddenly, to Jodhrik’s astonishment, the grey sand before her feet erupted, fountaining into the air above their heads. Bauma let out a squeal somewhere nearby, and he heard crashing as the beast-man fled in terror. Jodhrik himself stood unblinking, his mouth partially open, unable to move or even breathe.
The torrent slid away from them, drifting across the beach in the direction she pointed. It continued sending a spray of sand upwards, until it reached a distance of about ten paces, then it suddenly ceased, the grains showering back down onto the beach with a soft sigh.
“You see?” Sayri exclaimed, frustration clearly evident in her voice. “I can’t go beyond that point. When I view outside my body, I can see farther, but my viewpoint stops there. I feel like I should be able to keep going—I feel like I should be able to see anywhere in the world! But I can’t,” she sighed. “It just . . . stops. What’s wrong with me?” Her eyes, back on Jodhrik, were beseeching.
Jodhrik took a breath, slow and deep, and held it for a long moment. The girl’s power was unimaginable! Even in his dreams he had not envisioned this sort of casual, even playful mastery of the physical world! His heart was pounding, and he felt slightly faint.
He had to stay steady. If she was this powerful, she needed guidance more than ever. He released his breath. “I will be honest with you, child. I cannot answer this question, because I myself do not have mastery that extends to what you have shown me. Your gift is such that you can surpass even the most accomplished masters.”
Sayri’s face fell in disappointment. “Then no one can help me.” She turned toward the jungle, where the Collector stood, barely visible in the shadows. “How will I find him, Wissa?”
The Collector looked back, but didn’t answer. After a moment she again turned to face the jungle.
“I can still guide you, Sayri,” Jodhrik said, trying to place just the right combination of urgency and comfort in his voice. He did not wish to mislead the girl, but he needed to find a way to stay near her.
Sayri continued staring out into the dark jungle. Jodhrik wondered who they were looking for; the Collector was certainly listening for danger, but the girl was more thoughtful, gazing into the darkness as if she hoped to see someone suddenly emerge from it.
“How do you come to be in the company of a Collector?” he asked.
“She’s not a Collector,” Sayri replied absently. “She’s a friend. My bodyguard, sort of. I suppose,” she added uncertainly.
“Jus’ so,” the Collector said. With a start, Jodhrik realized that she had suddenly adopted a heavy Lordslander accent; he thought it sounded coastal. Was it her true voice?
Sayri sighed, her eyes casting down in the dark, then looked over at him sadly. “I’d like your guidance, Proselyte,” she said in answer to his question. “I could use the help.”
He smiled. “That is all I will do,” he said.
She nodded thoughtfully. Then she asked him, “Proselyte, have you seen the Somrian army? I need to meet with their leader.”
Jodhrik nodded. “Indeed, young lady. I sailed here with him, in fact.”
She whirled on him then, almost aggressively; he very nearly toppled back into the sand again. Seeing his startled reaction, she held up her hands in apology. When she spoke again, it was tentative, almost hesitant, as though she feared his reply. “What was his name?”
“I fear I am less than knowledgable regarding the proper enunciation of Somrian names,” he answered carefully. “But the Captain-General who served the young man addressed him as Master Arad.”
Tears suddenly fountained in the girl’s eyes. “Yes,” she mumbled, suppressing a sob. “Arad, yes. Proselyte, I must find him.” She swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment. Jodhrik wondered what import the young man held for her; clearly it was great. She spoke again, having regained her composure with no small struggle. “Proselyte, where is he?”
“Young lady, he is here. Inland. But we cannot go there.” Jodhrik shook his head. “Battles are raging across this island, and he is in the thick of it. We must await him here.”
“No,” Sayri said softly. Then, more firmly, “No, I can’t wait. The Voice was clear; I need to find him quickly.” She wasn’t speaking to him, Jodhrik realized, but to her companion. “I won’t wait, Wissa. It might be too late.”
The other woman didn’t answer, but seemed to loom slightly taller in the starlight, her face shrouded in the hood of the Collector’s robes she wore. Jodhrik wondered for a moment what sort of person would dare to steal a Collector’s robes and don them, then quickly decided that he preferred not to know.
“There will be warders everywhere,” Jodhrik said. “Archers, as well. It is . . . unwise, young lady. Two women and a Proselyte?” When he said the last, he heard a hissing sound from the woman called Wissa. “However fierce,” he added quickly, “it is most unwise. However your desire to help him, what good can you do?”
Sayri’s jaw was firm, however. “Call your friend back, if he would join us, Proselyte,” she said gently. “I must find Arad. But—don’t worry,” she added after a moment, her amused expression just visible. “We’ll protect you.”
・
The jungle was dark; so much so that Jodhrik couldn’t see his feet beneath him, much less where they were going. Sayri was ahead of him, and seemed to slip through the thick bush with little effort, and in nearly complete silence, at that. Her protector, Wissa, was ahead of them both—at least he assumed so; he hadn’t seen her since they left the beach.
Behind him Bauma followed. The beast-man was not quiet—he moved easily enough, never stumbling or falling behind once, but he made no effort for stealth, snuffling and snorting whenever something startled or interested him.
Jodhrik himself staggered blind through the bush, falling regularly and quickly finding himself coated in muck. Every plant had its leaves extended out in front of him, so it seemed, and every root protruded precisely where he placed his foot. Once, when he managed to bury himself particularly deeply into a thick, wiry bush, Sayri stopped and came back to help him out, to his embarrassment. Bauma did nothing to help the situation, squatting nearby and cackling with laughter as the Lower Valley girl drew him to his feet. After a brief reminder to watch his footing and try to keep quiet, she darted off again, and he rushed to keep up.
They did not seem to be covering much ground, but after what might have been a thousand heartbeats, laboured as they were, they emerged into a clearing. There was a fair amount of smoke drifting about, the source of which Jodhrik was unable to determine, but he could see well enough to recognize the bodies strewn about in the grass. There were about a dozen in view, all twisted in grimaces of death. He couldn’t tell if they were Somrian or Lordslander.
“Somria!” a man’s voice called abruptly from the darkness ahead. Before him Sayri crouched, thrusting a hand back at him, palm down. Jodhrik dropped to the grass, involuntarily holding his breath. Nearby, a corpse lay on its side, dark shadows for eyes staring in his direction. Behind him Bauma snuffled; he turned to signal the beast-man to silence, but before he could think of a way to express the sentiment he heard a grunt ahead, and the sound of a body falling.
Sayri began creeping forward again immediately, without looking back. Jodhrik shivered and followed, frowning his displeasure as he considered the cold killer he now seemed to be traveling with.
“Sayri,” he said quietly, the footing easier here in the open grass, affording him the opportunity to speak. “If we are seeking Master Arad, shouldn’t we make contact with the Somrians, instead of . . ?” He couldn’t finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear. Instead of murdering them.
“Wissa knows what she’s doing,” the girl answered him distantly. She seemed intently focused; Jodhrik wondered upon what. Was she even now using the Great Link to some effect? “Besides, she wouldn’t have killed him,” Sayri added after a moment. “Not . . . for no reason.”
Jodhrik wasn’t entirely convinced of the taller woman’s inclination for such compassion; moreover, Sayri didn’t seem so either, by her tone. He remained silent, however, and they moved on. Shortly they passed two more bodies; he wondered if one—or both—had just been dispatched by the hooded robes moments ahead of them. They were not still in pain, at least, though that observation gave him little comfort.
The smoke thinned out moments later as they re-entered the jungle. They encountered another body, this one clearly Somrian by the leather skirt. The dead man had an arrow in his chest; Jodhrik could be certain that he had not been killed by Wissa. He picked his way past the corpse respectfully, then chastised Bauma when the beast-man stopped to pick at it. He got back a snarl in reply, but when he continued on, Bauma followed.
Jodhrik liked to think he was getting better at moving through the jungle. He managed to avoid falling, stayed low, and caught fewer bushes in the face. It was, he realized, a skill that improved with practice. He was soon picking his way carefully, not only avoiding pitfalls, but trying to make less noise.
He was almost feeling that he ought to congratulate himself when he heard a snort ahead and to his left. How had Bauma got in front of him, he wondered? Then he heard a shuffling of hooves and saw a pair of shiny eyes, and he knew it wasn’t the beast-man.
With a roar, a massive swine burst from the foliage and charged at him. For the first time, Jodhrik’s instinct was not to freeze, but to evade; he dove to the side behind a gnarl of roots, and the boar lumbered by. Bauma let out a whoop and leapt at it’s hindquarters, but he didn’t have a spear; the stone dagger he produced brought only a cry of rage as he slashed at it, and the creature whirled on him. It had a huge pair of horns extruding from either side of its snout—the beast-man man was clearly outmatched. Jodhrik leapt to his feet and, without any thought, lunged at the boar and planted a kick onto its hindquarters. The boar stumbled and rolled over; Bauma circled around it, hooting and slashing at it, but it found its feet and turned on Jodhrik.
For a brief moment the boar locked eyes with him, then it kicked its rear hooves and charged at him, and he had nowhere to hide.
Two paces from him the beast fell over as if it had been struck on the head.
Sayri was there. She went over to it, placing her hand on its chest, where it was breathing heavily. “I think it will be okay,” she said sadly. “Are you two all right?”
Bauma had moved quickly away from her; he was hiding partially behind a tree a few paces away, his face shadowed.
For a moment Jodhrik wanted to join him, but he pushed the thought aside. “Yes,” he answered, his voice shakier than he intended.
Sayri stood, nodding. “Bad luck,” she said simply.
“We needs t’ keep moving,” Wissa’s voice came from the darkness. Jodhrik turned to look, but he didn’t see her.
Sayri flashed Jodhrik a smile. “Try not to upset the wildlife,” she jested.
Jodhrik shook his head. “I though I was quiet,” he offered. Had the girl knocked the beast out with the Great Link? That meant—it could be used as a weapon. He swallowed nervously at the thought.
Sayri moved off, then Bauma came up alongside Jodhrik. He stared after the girl, his eyes wide and fearful, but when she had vanished into the shadows, he turned to Jodhrik, and rapped him softly on the chest.
“Jarak,” Bauma said. It was the first time he had said Jodhrik’s name since first learning it. It seemed to be more than a declaration, but rather some sort of affirmation.
Ah. Jodhrik realized it suddenly. He had fought the boar. He didn’t know why, but he had faced it. Bauma had been in danger, and Jodhrik had overcome his fear, and fought. The beast-man was recognizing him—no, more than that; Bauma’s eyes were fond, now. He was accepting Jodhrik.
He wasn’t a killer. But in the savage’s eyes, at least, he was now a human being again.
Not too much later they came upon the slope of the mountain. It emerged quite abruptly from the jungle floor, and had no plants growing on it at all, being made of smooth, solid rock. The slope was not too steep to climb, but it would be tough and treacherous going; Jodhrik was relieved when Sayri began making her way along it to the right. He bent to run his hand along the surface of the stone, and was surprised to discover that it was quite smooth, except for the occasional small hole, perfectly circular. He stared up at the dark stone, to where it faded into the smoke mysteriously high above. Bauma came up alongside him, frowning up into the darkness as well, and hooted quietly.
“Come on,” Sayri whispered from ahead, having stopped to check on him. He moved on, and Bauma shuffled behind him.
There was a hiss from the jungle ahead; Sayri dropped low and signalled him to do the same. Bauma crouched silently beside him as well; the beast-man seemed to be nervous, and not just of the two women. The mountain still awed him, somehow; it had since their stay on the island, and Jodhrik wondered if he believed it to be some sort of powerful spirit. He wasn’t sure he disagreed.
Shouts and strange whistling echoed in the distance. Many voices and screams; battle, and not far away. He stayed perfectly still as if the fighting were all around him. Ahead Sayri was unmoving as well, her head cocked to the side as if listening carefully, though the voices were loud enough.
“Wissa, wait,” she whispered, as if the woman were immediately beside her, but Jodhrik didn’t see her anywhere nearby. Sayri brought her hands up to her temples, furrowing her brow. Was she using the Great Link?
“Wissa! He’s there! I heard his voice!” Sayri exclaimed suddenly, and she began moving forward quickly.
Jodhrik was baffled; how could she possibly have identified one man’s voice in the mess of screaming? He stood to follow her, then stopped suddenly when Wissa appeared in front of Sayri, and placed a hand on her chest.
“No, Sayri,” Wissa said quietly, shaking her head.
“I heard him!” Sayri repeated, urging her forward again. “Come on, we have to—”
“No.” The Collector’s robes had her entire face in shadow, but the voice was cold, and firm. “It’s impossible, Sayri. I can’t protect y’. There’re too many. We can’t help ‘im if w’re struggling t’ keep ourselves alive.”
“Wissa, please,” Sayri said, imploring, taking the collar of the robes in her hands. Her eyes glistened wetly. “He might die. We have to find him. Please,” she begged.
Jodhrik had misinterpreted their relationship; he had imagined that Wissa was Sayri’s protector and under her command. Certainly the smaller girl had seemed to exercise her authority with impunity until this moment, but now he saw that though there was no fear in Sayri’s eyes, she nevertheless wouldn’t contest Wissa’s authority in the matter.
Wissa shook her head, and Sayri sagged, her forehead falling to the taller woman’s chest. Jodhrik heard a single further sound from her, a sort of strangled whimper, then she straightened.
“You’re right,” she agreed with a sigh, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “So what do we do?”
“The battle’s against th’ hillside,” Wissa replied. “We make a’way t’ the beach, then along it.” She started off into the dark jungle again, her robes
vanishing immediately. “Stay quiet,” she added from the shadows.
Jodhrik did his best.
47 CONFLICT
The smoke was nearly gone; they had moved far enough around the curve of the island from its source to be free of it. In the thick jungle it seemed even darker, the greyish uniformity replaced by a deep, gloomy blackness.
Arad was crouched with Josel and about two dozen soldiers who had fought off an equal number of Lordslanders who had been lacking in leadership, allowing Josel to form their men up and drive the enemy back.
Elsano was with them as well; he had appeared out of the darkness with half the men who surrounded them now, just in time to make the difference in the fight. He had suffered a blow to his right arm, and was unable to hold a weapon in that hand. Arad had wondered why he simply didn’t switch hands, but to his surprise apparently Elsano hadn’t practiced with his left hand. Instead, he sheathed his sword and fought only with the modest steel shield he wore strapped to his left forearm. It seemed an unwise compromise to Arad, but Josel agreed that keeping himself safe to issue commands was a better option than swinging a weapon poorly.
The man had a deft skill with the small shield, Arad had to admit; he dispatched an enemy soldier with it, inflicting a stunning hit to the man’s face with it’s leading edge, and effectively held off two others while awaiting support. Arad thought he fought better with only a shield than half the men did with both implements. Just the same, he stayed near Elsano from then on in case the man got in trouble.
The warm breeze was at their backs. Not far behind him Arad could hear the waves rolling onto the beach; Josel had concluded, after a number of chaotic, pitched battles, some of which they had won and others they had fled from, that the attack had not been planned. As they had skirted the foot of the mountain moving to support Kollivar’s division, the enemy had done the same, retreating to escape, and had stumbled into their ranks. It had been sheer luck that the point in which they had merged was where the Somrian force had stretched thin, and the resulting battle had gone poorly for Arad’s side. Now, however, the numbers were coming into play as his soldiers received word and regrouped. The attackers had been repulsed back to the west, and Josel had ordered his and Elsano’s divisions to form up along the beach. So far, only their small group had made it there, so they hadn’t made a visible presence on the waterfront, just in case a larger enemy force spotted them.
Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1 Page 58