The Place of Dead Kings

by Geoffrey Wilson

  The cries of the fallen seemed to fade and no longer troubled him. He was no longer worried about running at the Slavs. He was no longer afraid of the shot and shells and musket balls. He couldn’t even smell the powder smoke.

  He would go over the top of the trench when the time came and charge along his true path.

  Following his dharma.

  And following Jhala.

  Jack heard men talking softly. He was lying on his back on hard ground. His eyes were closed.

  He listened carefully to the voices. He didn’t understand the words, but they were clearly speaking Gaalic.

  He felt a quiver of anxiety. The savages were near to him, just a few feet away. Were they debating what to do with him? Were they planning how to kill him?

  Where was he? He couldn’t remember anything since he’d passed out in the cave. Was he still in the cave? He didn’t think so, because he felt warm. Deliciously warm, in fact. The smell of smoke was strong and the faint crackle nearby could only be a fire.

  He was warm and dry and lying beside a fire. If the savages wanted to kill him, they weren’t in a hurry.

  Should he open his eyes? Would they attack him then?

  He tried flexing his fingers. He could move them easily. He tried wriggling his toes and that posed no problem either. The pain in his chest had vanished. He felt well and strong.

  If there was going to be a fight, let it be now, when he was in good health.

  He opened his eyes, but didn’t yet move and simply stared straight up. He saw stone above him. For a second he thought he must still be in the cave after all, but then realised he was looking at a low, domed ceiling made of irregular dry-stone blocks that were blackened with soot. He was in some sort of hut or shelter.

  The voices continued.

  The savages hadn’t noticed him yet.

  He would have to move soon. He would jump up, rummage for a weapon and do what he could to defend himself – and Rao, if the Captain were still with him. He would have to be careful, though. The crude ceiling looked low and he wasn’t sure that he could even stand up straight beneath it.

  He shut his eyes and listened intently to the voices. The men sounded calm, as if they were talking idly to each other. How many were they? He concentrated for a minute and picked out four separate voices.

  Four – he could fight four men, but it would be difficult. The small space would hamper his movements. But then it would hamper those of his assailants as well.

  He began counting down from three. Nerves shot through his body and his heart thudded.

  This was it. He had to do it now.

  Then he heard movement beside him and the voices suddenly stopped. He heard a gasp and recognised a new voice – Rao’s.

  He flung open his eyes and sprang up, stooping beneath the low ceiling. He felt faint for a moment and darkness whirled around his head. A trace of pain threaded through his chest and his legs trembled. He wasn’t quite as well as he’d thought.

  But the curtains of darkness quickly receded and he saw he was in a tiny, beehive-shaped hut. A fire flickered in a central hearth, casting a ruddy glow over the uneven walls. Thick smoke wafted through the chamber, filtering only slowly out of a tiny hole in the ceiling.

  Four savages squatted beside the fire. Their hair and beards were matted and wild. They wore plain, knee-length tunics and their heavy cloaks lay piled in a corner of the room. Their spears leant against a wall and their knives were stuck in their belts, but they didn’t reach for their weapons. In fact, they weren’t preparing to attack at all and instead sat strangely still, their mouths hanging open and their eyes wide as they stared at Rao.

  Rao sat beside Jack, blinking in surprise. His turban had been removed and his hair was dishevelled and awry. His moustache bristled crazily on his top lip and his blue tunic was smeared with dirt. But he appeared well and unharmed.

  Rao glanced at Jack. ‘What on earth is going on?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Jack crouched down again.

  One of the savages said a few words and flung himself to the ground, as if in supplication to Rao. The other three crossed themselves several times and continued to stare wide-eyed at the Captain.

  ‘What are they playing at?’ Rao asked.

  Jack rubbed his chin. He wasn’t sure, but he was starting to get an idea. His eyes darted across the savages. ‘English? You speak English?’

  The men glanced at each other and muttered. Finally, one of them, a tall man with a crooked, aquiline nose, said, ‘Little bit. I go south of mountains once. Long time ago.’

  Jack grinned. Thank God at least one of them could understand some English. He pressed his hand to his chest. ‘I’m Jack.’

  The savage frowned.

  ‘Jack.’ He tapped his chest a few more times, as if that would help. ‘My name is Jack.’

  ‘Ah.’ The man smiled and pointed. ‘Jack. You Jack.’

  Jack grinned wider. ‘That’s it. And this is Captain Rao.’

  The man gazed at Rao and gave a sigh, his eyes shining. ‘Cap-tain Rao.’ He sounded the words out carefully.

  The other three savages repeated the words several times, crossed themselves and bent their heads in reverence. ‘Cap-tain Rao. Cap-tain Rao.’

  Rao frowned and said to Jack, ‘What are they doing? It’s as though they think I’m their guru.’

  ‘Something like that, I reckon,’ Jack said.

  The tall savage turned to Jack again. ‘You come from under mountains too? With Great Shee, Captain Rao?’

  Jack thought quickly. Under mountains? He recalled childhood fables about magical folk who dwelt beneath the earth. Even his superstitious countrymen didn’t believe such stories any more, but these savages might still take them seriously.

  Interesting. This situation could play out well for him and Rao, but they had to be careful.

  ‘Yes,’ Jack said. ‘Both of us come from under the mountains.’

  The savage spoke to his comrades and they all gave gasps of awe and bowed their heads down again, muttering and chanting.

  ‘We are honoured that you and the great Rao are here,’ the savage said. ‘We believed for long time a shee with brown skin would come. We hoped and prayed. Now the Lord has granted our wish.’

  ‘What on earth is all this about?’ Rao asked Jack.

  ‘Listen,’ Jack said in Arabic. ‘Be careful when you speak English with this lot. That big one understands enough to know what we’re saying . . . Now, it looks as though they think you’re some kind of magical being called a shee.’

  ‘But . . .’ Rao spluttered. ‘That’s preposterous.’

  ‘Maybe, but you’ll need to play along. I reckon it’s the only reason we’re still alive. Soon as they find out we’re not from under the ground we’re finished.’

  ‘But Mahajan will see through that.’

  ‘I’m not sure these are Mahajan’s savages.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No white skulls on their chests.’

  ‘Oh, yes. That’s true.’ Rao sat back on his haunches. His eyes were wide and glistened in the firelight. ‘How can I play along, then? What do I do?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just . . . act like someone from another world.’

  Rao crinkled his face. ‘Another world?’

  ‘Just do what you can.’ Jack turned back to the tall savage. ‘You. What’s your name?’

  The man raised his head. ‘I am Cormac.’

  ‘Right then, Cormac. The great Captain Rao wants to know where we are.’

  ‘Mountain of the Spirits.’

  Jack rubbed his forehead. He was going to have to be more specific with his questions. ‘Are we anywhere near Mar?’

  Cormac grinned. ‘Aye.’ He pressed his hand to his chest. ‘We are Mar.’

  ‘You’re . . . I see. You’re from the Mar tribe.’

  ‘Aye, we are Mar.’

  ‘All right, then. Do you know a man called Mahajan?’

  The savages all drew their bre
aths in sharply, crossed themselves furiously and muttered amongst themselves.

  ‘Do not say his name,’ Cormac said. ‘It can bring curse. We call him Demon. That is what he is.’

  ‘Mahajan’s a demon?’

  ‘Aye. He rose up from hell.’

  ‘I heard he was the ruler of these lands.’

  Cormac lowered his head and his voice turned into a low growl. ‘It is true. He rules our lands. With help of the Cattans.’

  ‘Who are the Cattans?

  Cormac looked up again and there was a fire smouldering behind his eyes. ‘They wear white skull.’ He gestured to his chest. ‘They come from other side of mountains. They old enemy. We fight them for long time. But then, Demon come. He gives Cattans fire weapons and black magic. Then they take our lands.’

  ‘I see. So . . . none of you Mar follow the Demon?’

  Cormac sat a little taller and lifted his chin. ‘None will fight for Demon. Only Cattans evil.’

  ‘What is all this about?’ Rao spoke Arabic. ‘I’m losing the thread of it.’

  ‘Not sure,’ Jack said. ‘But it sounds as though Mahajan’s thrown his lot in with some local tribe called the Cattans. He’s used them to take over Mar.’

  Jack faced Cormac again and said in English, ‘These Cattans, did a large party go past here recently?’

  Cormac’s forehead rippled with confusion.

  ‘Uh, large party.’ Jack opened his arms to indicate size, but then stopped when he saw that was just adding to the confusion. ‘Many men. Many Cattans. Going past here.’

  ‘Ah.’ Cormac nodded. ‘Aye, many Cattans go past. Many, many.’

  ‘Four of our friends were with them. Captives.’

  Cormac looked puzzled again.

  ‘Uh, taken.’ He put his wrists together as if they were tied and mimed trying to separate them. ‘Captured.’

  ‘Cap-tured. I ken this word. No, we do not see captured. We keep away from Cattans. Dangerous.’ Cormac put his hand to his forehead, as if protecting his eyes from the sun. ‘We see them from long way away.’

  ‘I see. You didn’t get a good look. Kept your distance.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And do you know where these Cattans are going?’

  Cormac discussed this in Gaalic with his companions, then turned back to Jack. ‘We think they go Place of Dead Kings.’

  ‘Place of Dead Kings? Where’s that?’

  ‘Where Demon lives. It is bad place now. Devils and evil there.’

  ‘Right, so they’ll be taking our friends to Mah . . . the Demon.’

  ‘Not ken about friends. But Cattans go over many places. Over Mar. Other places. Then go back Place of Dead Kings. Always go back Place of Dead Kings.’

  ‘The Cattans travel around. Like war parties. Then they go back to the Demon?’

  ‘Aye, make war. Take sheep and cattle. Take land. Kill people. Then go back. Demon tells them what to do.’

  Jack glanced at Rao, whose eyes were even wider than before.

  ‘Looks like Mahajan’s set himself up as quite the little king around here,’ Jack said.

  Rao swallowed. ‘How many Cattans do you think he has? Thousands?’

  ‘It must be a lot if he could spare several hundred to attack our party. Cormac said something about fire weapons too.’

  ‘Firearms? You think the Cattans can use them?’

  ‘They didn’t have any when we met them. But they knew what muskets were, didn’t they? They knew to take them.’

  ‘Savages with muskets. Quite a daunting prospect. All the same, I still think if I can talk directly to Mahajan I can reason with him. Why wouldn’t he give us Parihar and the others and let us be on our way?’

  ‘Hope you’re right about that.’

  ‘What else can we do?’

  Jack scratched the back of his neck. ‘We don’t have a lot of choice. You’re right. We’ll have to get to Mahajan’s hideout and do our best.’ He switched back to English. ‘Cormac, can you take us to the Place of Dead Kings?’

  Cormac crossed himself and bowed his head. ‘Will take you there. In time. But we wait. Storm very bad.’

  Jack paused. Now that he listened carefully, he could hear the wind moaning outside and whining between the cracks in the stone. In the wall behind him, he noticed a rudimentary door that was made of branches bound together with rope and interwoven with dry bracken.

  ‘I’ll take a look.’ He stood and walked, hunched over, to the door. At first he pushed against the wood, but then realised that, of course, the door had no hinges and was nothing more than a covering that was unattached to the walls. He lifted the door and shifted it to the right.

  The wind screamed and blasted him with cold air. He stared out into a night alive with white flecks. Thick snow blanketed the ground and glowed faintly as it stretched off into the darkness.

  Cormac was right. They couldn’t risk going out in that. And what was more, he still felt light-headed, his legs shook and the pain in his chest was a constant throb. Rao didn’t look all that well either.

  Jack shunted the door back into place and waddled back into the warmth. Despite the crudeness of the hut, it retained the heat well. The Mar might not be particularly advanced, but they knew how to survive in this hostile land.

  He wiped the specks of snow from his face and said to Cormac. ‘All right. We’ll wait for the storm to pass. But after that, we must get to this Place of Dead Kings.’

  19

  Jack stood outside the hut and searched the hills and valleys below with the spyglass. Snow still carpeted the ground, but it was a clear day, the sun was shining and no snow had fallen for hours.

  ‘Can’t see any sign of the Cattans.’ Jack handed the glass to Rao. ‘Must be far ahead of us by now.’

  Rao gazed at the surroundings.

  Jack stretched his back. His muscles ached all over and a twinge of pain still troubled his chest. But he felt stronger now that he’d slept for the night and eaten some of the savages’ oat porridge.

  He glanced back at the hut – it was little more than a pile of stones with turf growing on the roof. Cormac and his three companions crawled out of the low entrance and stood staring at Rao, their eyes wide. They muttered to each other in Gaalic and watched every move the Captain made.

  Rao noticed he had an audience, lowered the glass and frowned at Jack. ‘What are they doing?’

  Jack saw the savages gesturing at the glass and he asked Cormac, ‘You seen one of those before?’

  Cormac shook his head. ‘It is magic? Of the shee?’

  Jack couldn’t help smiling. He said to Rao in Arabic, ‘Tell them it’s magic. For seeing far away.’

  Rao’s brow furrowed deeper. ‘I’m not sure about all this. Is it really wise?’

  ‘Go on. You have to show them your powers.’

  Rao muttered under his breath, then offered Cormac the glass. ‘Here. Take a look.’

  Cormac recoiled and his comrades gasped.

  Rao looked at Jack for help, but Jack just grinned.

  ‘It won’t hurt you.’ Rao offered the glass again. ‘It’s good magic. It’ll help you see far away.’ He pointed into the distance. ‘Far away. You know?’

  Cormac gingerly took the glass. Rao encouraged him by miming raising the tube to his eye. Cormac grunted, lifted the glass and gave a gasp. He lowered it instantly, a look of shock on his face, then he raised it again and stared for several seconds. He spoke excitedly to his comrades and they each took a turn looking through the tube.

  Jack’s grin widened. He still remembered staring through a glass himself for the first time and being stunned to see distant objects suddenly rear up before him.

  The Rajthanans had many marvels. He couldn’t deny that, as much as he might hate the empire.

  Cormac bowed his head before Rao and handed back the glass. ‘Oh Great Shee with the brown skin. You truly have powerful magic. We have seen with our own eyes how you can see far away. Weather now is good. We must tak
e you to our village.’

  ‘Village?’ Jack stood up straighter. ‘We need to get to the Place of Dead Kings, remember?’

  ‘Village first.’ Cormac grasped the sleeve of Rao’s coat. ‘You come village, Great Shee. You see Chief. Then go Place of Dead Kings.’

  ‘Hold on, Cormac.’ Jack stepped over and stood beside Rao. ‘We thank you for your hospitality, but we have to get a move on. The Demon has our friends.’

  ‘Aye.’ Cormac tugged harder at Rao’s coat. ‘Village is on way. Village first.’

  ‘I don’t think we have much choice,’ Rao said to Jack. ‘Sounds as though this village is in the right direction anyway.’

  Jack sucked on his teeth. He didn’t like the idea of a delay, but they had to rely on the Mar to find Saleem and Parihar now. It might take him half a day or more just to locate the Cattans’ sattva trail again, if he even found it at all.

  Perhaps he could tell Rao to insist on being taken to Mahajan immediately? But he wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. For the moment the savages were in awe of Rao, but he didn’t want to push things too far.

  He nudged the snow with his boot. ‘Very well. The village first. Then the Place of Dead Kings. But we must go quickly. There’s no time to waste.’

  The Mar didn’t run, they flew, darting, gliding and bobbing as deftly as swallows. They took giant strides, their feet instinctively finding the flat and stable patches of ground. They slipped around boulders and trees, leapt over rabbit holes, and dodged gorse bushes. Their feet kicked up clouds of snow and their cloaks fluttered behind them.

  ‘Shiva.’ Rao puffed and wheezed as he jogged beside Jack. ‘How do they keep going like that?’

  The Mar were more than fifty yards ahead again – Jack and Rao had continually fallen behind during the three hours they’d been travelling.

  Rao stopped, bent over and tried to catch his breath. His face was red and perspiration speckled his forehead despite the chill in the air. ‘Can’t go on.’

  Jack paused and called to the Mar. ‘Hey! Wait!’

  The Mar turned and came loping back. Their legs slipped gracefully in and out of the snow. Jack was amazed that they wore no hose, and although their naked skin was in constant contact with the snow, the cold didn’t seem to trouble them at all.