by Jim Melvin
“We must find a way to move faster,” Laylah said to Rathburt. “Can you hold them off at the same time that you run?”
“Maybe . . . but the ordinary laurel is too thick to run through,” Rathburt said. “Torg and Ugga can only clear it so fast.”
“You said you didn’t want to use Obhasa because we’d also be clearing a path for Mala and his army,” Laylah said to Torg. “But that’s no longer a concern. They’re closed off from us. Can’t you use your staff now?”
She started to hand Obhasa back to the wizard, but his response surprised her.
“You do it.”
“But . . . I have not your strength.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Somebody better do something,” Bard said. “Master Slump doesn’t look too good, if ya ask me. And those vines are getting braver. I saw one take a stab at Elu’s leg just a minute ago.”
“You can do it,” Lucius said, staring at Laylah with adoring eyes. “I believe in you, my queen.”
“We all believe in you,” Torg said. “If you will it, Obhasa will respond.”
“Hurry!” Rathburt said.
Arguing was useless. For whatever reason, Torg wanted her to save them. If he was testing her, she didn’t quite like it. But she didn’t think that was the case. He trusted her.
The quarter moon appeared in the darkening sky, and it made her feel uncomfortable, a sensation she had never before experienced in its presence. But she passed it off as imagination. She couldn’t allow her mind to play tricks on her. Burning the laurel was her idea, and they were depending on her to execute it. Their lives were at stake.
Laylah held the staff in both hands and aimed its head at the laurel. When she had first laid eyes on Obhasa, it was stained brown. But when Torg had used it during their flight from the wolves, the brown had burned away, revealing a milky white exterior. Now the staff thrummed in her hands. Obhasa’s power was frightening and alluring—exactly the way she felt about Torg. A part of his magic coursed through the ancient ivory. And it responded hungrily to her innate power. Blue fire, laced with sparkling white strands, leapt from the head and blew a deep path through the laurel.
“Run!” she heard Torg say.
Again and again she used the might of the staff—combined with her own magic—to blast a trail through the thorny shrubs. Such a grand use of power was intoxicating and exhausting. But thus far, she was succeeding. They ran as a group through the charred avenues, staying as close together as possible without tripping each other. Meanwhile, the vines became frenetic, snapping and creaking. The darkness seemed to embolden them, but the blue fire from Rathburt’s staff and the blue-white fire from Obhasa thwarted their rage.
Just when it appeared Laylah’s plan would succeed, Rathburt suddenly collapsed. In response, a vine leapt out of the darkness and wrapped around Ugga’s throat. Torg hacked it in two with a swipe of his sword, but other vines danced among them, closing in fast.
Torg sheathed the sword and placed both hands on Rathburt’s oaken staff. This caused a blast of thunder and a renewed shower of blue flame. The vines retreated. Then the wizard lifted Rathburt in his arms with surprising ease.
“Hold the staff,” he said to Rathburt. “I’ll join my strength to yours. Elu, guide us. Laylah, clear the way. We are so close!”
Wherever Elu pointed, Laylah used the blue-white fire to incinerate the laurel. With Torg’s strength buffeting Rathburt, the vines stayed back. A short time later, the group burst out of the thorny shrubbery and stumbled into a quiet cove, as ordinary as it was beautiful.
Now there were no deadly vines—only trees, bushes and wildflowers.
They were free.
39
All seven collapsed onto a blanket of fallen leaves. Somehow they had escaped Mala’s army and the Badaalataa. But none of them had any idea how far they were from the Chain Man and his minions. Surely the monster wouldn’t give up the chase this easily. He had been sidetracked. But for how long? Laylah wondered.
Torg was the first to speak. “We’ve gained valuable time. Even the dracools seem to have lost us. To pick up our trail, Mala will have to go far out of his way. By then, we’ll be a long way from here.” The wizard sighed deeply. “We’ve earned a brief rest. Let’s eat some of the food we were given at the inn. And I can hear the gurgles of a stream. Elu . . . lead us. There we can drink, eat and sleep for a bit before continuing our march. I plan to head northward, away from the gap. The land will be even more treacherous, but this will help to cover our tracks.”
What happened next caused Laylah to cringe.
“Why is it that you give all the orders?” said Lucius, his conciliatory mood vanished. “If we head north, we’ll be going away from Jivita.”
“I supposes ya would rather be the one to tell us what to do,” said Ugga, whose thick neck was purplish and swollen where the vine had grabbed him. “Mayhap we should march right to where this Mala guy is waiting. Is that what ya be wanting, Master Meanie?”
Lucius stood his ground, holding the Tugarian uttara at his side. Laylah could sense the rising anger of the others. She wasn’t sure how long she could continue to shield the firstborn. Even she was growing weary of his contentiousness.
“It doesn’t make sense to surrender our gains,” Lucius said. “We should turn south immediately and cross the gap while we still have a lead. There are as many places to hide south of Gamana as north.”
“At its narrowest, the gap is ten leagues wide,” Torg said. “And as you well know, many unfriendly eyes watch it. I don’t believe we could cross without confrontation. The longer but wiser course is to stay north of the gap and pass above Arupa-Loka and Duccarita. From there we can skirt Dhutanga’s eastern border until we reach the Green Plains, or make for Cariya and find a boat that could take us downriver to Jivita. Either way gives us a better chance than crossing the gap where you suggest.”
Lucius turned to Laylah. “We could go alone, you and I,” he said, his voice pathetically hopeful. “I know Gamana well. There are more places to hide than the healer lets on. And even if we’re found, there are some among Invictus’ forces that remain loyal to me. If we follow the path he suggests, it might add weeks to the journey. As for Jivita, I’m not so sure that’s the best place for us, anyway. Within the year, Invictus will crush the White City, and we’ll have to flee again.”
“Lucius . . .” Laylah started to say, but the firstborn interrupted her.
“The healer said we would be free to go once we were safe in the mountains. Well . . . here we are, looking pretty safe to me. What do you say, healer? Does your word still stand?”
“The healer is a king,” Rathburt said. “Can you say the same? I think naught. If you wish to stay alive, you’d be wise to follow him. If not, then go. None of us will stop you.”
Ugga walked over and patted Rathburt on the back. “Master Slump, I is proud of ya.”
“Don’t get too used to it, Torgon,” Rathburt said.
Torg chuckled. “I’ll try not to.” Then he looked down at Lucius. “My word always stands,” the wizard said. “You’re free to go. Both of you. But it’s as much Laylah’s choice as yours, and rest assured I will not allow you to force her to join you.”
Torg went to Laylah and loomed over her. Despite being tall for a woman, the top of her head didn’t reach the base of his neck. “What say you, Laylah?”
“If I come with you, is Lucius still welcome?”
There were four quick no’s from the others, but Torg said yes.
“Then I choose to follow you. Will you stay with us, Lucius? I’ll beg . . . if I must.”
The firstborn bore a look of betrayal, but it had long since become obvious that where Laylah went, he would go.
“I’ll follow you till the end, my queen,” he said softly, his head downcast. “But I believe you’re making a mistake.”
In his usual competent fashion, Elu quickly found the stream. It was barely a stride in width, but its w
aters ran swift and pure. They drank as much as their stomachs could hold and then opened the leather pouches the innkeeper had provided, finding dried meats and fish, mincemeat pastries, apples and pears, and chunks of sour cheese. It was only enough to last a few days, but in early spring finding more food wouldn’t be a problem. The time it took to prepare meals in the wild would be their more immediate concern.
After eating, they slept until almost midnight before heading off again. The air was warm and the sky clear and full of stars. After Laylah woke, she lay on her back and stared at the quarter moon, which now was setting in the west. Rather than feel strength and comfort, she saw the moon as an unwelcome presence. Some of the nausea and sickness she had suffered during the days following the eclipse haunted her at night for the first time. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
Torg and Ugga were already awake, and the wizard was tending the giant’s wounds. A thin tendril of flame from Obhasa poured over the damaged flesh on Ugga’s neck. When Torg was finished, he crept over to her. She was amazed that someone so large could move so soundlessly.
“You were moaning in your sleep,” he whispered to her. “How are you feeling?”
“To be honest, I don’t feel well,” she said. “Before, the sickness was worse in the daytime. But that’s to be expected. I’ve never been comfortable in daylight, even as a child. The night has always been my favorite time. I am not Akanittha like my brother. Whatever powers I possess come from the moon, not the sun. But now the moon has a queer feel. This has never happened before.”
“Could it be that you’re exhausted from all this running? It has been less than two days since I healed you. It’s amazing you’ve done as well as you have. You’re a strong woman, especially considering everything you’ve been through.”
And then to her most pleasant surprise, he leaned toward her and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. He would have lingered longer, but as soon as their lips touched, Lucius coughed and sat up.
“It’s time we go,” Torg said hastily. “We must cover many leagues during what remains of the night. Leave nothing behind that could attract unwanted attention.”
“We aren’t children . . . or fools,” Lucius said, too loudly.
“Some of us aren’t,” Ugga said.
Laylah sighed. Lucius’ relationship with the others was getting worse. Had he seen Torg kiss her? Or was he just in a foul mood over her choice to stay with the wizard? She stood and stretched, feeling mildly dizzy.
Torg handed her Obhasa. “Take it,” he said. “It will give you strength.”
A surge of power from the ivory staff rode up her arm, and she immediately felt quite a bit better.
Elu led them through a pass between a pair of bony mountains. The snow-covered summits towered thousands of cubits above them. More mountains loomed ahead, strung together as far as the eye could see, and they shimmered eerily in the starlight. If the members of the company could have sprouted wings and flown to the northwest, Laylah knew that they eventually would have reached Nirodha, the icy wasteland where the mammoths roamed. But they still were fifty leagues south of there, and the mountains that guarded Nirodha were said to be impassable on foot.
They descended into a peculiar valley choked with leafless trees. While living with the Ropakans, Laylah had become used to valleys that were lush and green.
“This is a strange place,” she said. “It looks like a forest of tangled sticks.”
“Many things are strange in the north,” Torg said. “I’ve wandered as far as Catu, two hundred leagues from where we stand, but the valley we’re now entering made a greater impression on me than did that frozen mountain.”
“You’ve been here before?” Rathburt said.
“One time, many centuries ago. I had visited Kamupadana—during a time when the witches were not so openly hostile—and then traveled west in search of Arupa-Loka.”
“What do you remember of this valley?” Laylah said.
“When I passed through, it was much later in the spring, but even then the trees were not lush. There was not a single leaf, yet the trees thrived.”
“I don’t understand,” Rathburt said. “Are you saying these trees don’t bloom until summer?”
“I don’t believe they ever bloom—or sprout leaves . . . anymore,” Torg said. “They’re nothing but root, trunk, and branch.”
“That’s impossible,” Rathburt said.
“They’re called Pacchanna in the ancient tongue, Hornbeam in the common tongue,” said Lucius, the matter-of-factness in his voice surprising Laylah. “They’re devoid of leaves, but their roots grow deep and their wood is as hard as iron. It cannot be damaged, even by an axe.”
As they all gaped at him, he explained further. “I spent a lot of time in the libraries of Avici, where I once read about the Hornbeam. But much of what was written didn’t make sense. For instance, according to Mogol legends, if you walk among the Hornbeam at night, you’ll go mad.”
“Ridiculous,” Rathburt said. “These are just trees. I sense no madness in them.”
“The Hornbeam, as Lucius names them, are dangerous,” Torg said. “In some ways they’re as deadly as the Badaalataa. But I am greater than the trees. As long as you stay by my side, you’ll be safe.”
“There he goes again,” Rathburt said. “You know, Lucius, I take it back. The Torgon is even more annoying than you.”
Lucius chuckled. Laylah thanked him for it, silently.
“The Svakarans know of this place,” Elu said, “but none dare approach it at night. They say it’s haunted.”
“All I knows is, I doesn’t like these trees,” Ugga said. “They remind me of the ghosties in the woods. I’m glad Master Hah-nah is with us.”
I have no idea why they call you Master Hana, Laylah thought. But, oh yes, I’m glad you’re with us too.
Then they entered the valley.
Into the heart of the Hornbeam.
Soon the madness engulfed them.
Titans
40
As Bhayatupa lay in half-sleep, his titanic mind replayed all that had occurred since Invictus had woken him from dragon-sleep twelve years before: his conversations with the sorcerer, which had become more and more disturbing; his brief interaction with the Death-Knower, which confused but enticed him; his traitorous partnership with the female Asēkha, which resulted in monumental failure; and the fateful moment Invictus turned against him, which nearly ended his long life.
As he examined these thoughts in minute detail, he knew he was missing something. He was there the day Asubha blew itself apart—just a speck in the sky, flying in air so thin even he could barely breathe. After watching the destruction from above, he had believed the Death-Knower was dead; and the next day Mala confirmed it, bragging as if he had killed The Torgon with his bare hands. Adho Satta were such disgusting creatures. But without them to use and abuse, life would be far less amusing.
At this moment, nothing amused Bhayatupa. He had several lacerations beneath his scales that would not stop bleeding, the broken talon on his hind foot was aching, and his ribs remained sore. The Mogol servants that he kept imprisoned on the mountaintop attended to his every need, rubbing salve on his wounds and sliding chunks of ice beneath the scales that protected his ribs. But it wasn’t the physical injuries that kept him in such a foul mood. Eventually they would heal. And even now, he could fly and perform as before. Instead, it was mental anguish that tormented him. Tanhiiyati, the insatiable craving for eternal existence, ate at his sanity like a cancer. Every waking moment he obsessed over it. Even in his dreams he wallowed in it.
Bhayatupa did not fear pain. Or darkness. Or even retribution from some higher power. He simply could not bear to die. His existence was too precious. He wanted to extend his life until the world fell to ruin—and beyond. A million millennia wasn’t enough. He would not settle for anything less than eternity. And the Death-Knower who had perished on the peak of Asubha was the one being capable of teachin
g him how to achieve endless life.
How strange it was, however, that Bhayatupa had not sensed the wizard’s demise. In certain ways, all the great beings of Triken were magically linked. If Vedana, Invictus or even another dragon were to perish, Bhayatupa would know it. So why hadn’t he felt the death of The Torgon? Why did it still seem unreal?
He was missing something.
Then he remembered the shattered carcass of Dukkhatu. He had sniffed it, studied it and then eaten it. The spider had been much smaller than a great dragon, but she was similar in mass to the mammoths he devoured when he felt the urge to fly to Nirodha. Dukkhatu had been a powerful beast, almost invincible when compared to mortals. He could have easily killed her, of course—but who else was capable of such a feat? When he first discovered her remains, he assumed that the ruin of Asubha had caused her to fall. But why had she been unable to save herself? She could climb as well as he could fly. Besides, her lair had remained relatively intact. Why hadn’t she waited there until the eruptions ran their course?
Bhayatupa raised his head and opened his eyes. The Mogols gasped and fell on their faces.
What if the Death-Knower had managed to find Sōbhana—and with her, the Silver Sword?
I know something you don’t know. I know something you don’t know.
What if?
41
Of all the living beings on Triken, only a select few—the Warlish witches, the great dragons and now Invictus—were capable of seeing Vedana as she existed in the Realm of the Undead. When she entered the Realm of the Living, she assumed many forms, both human and animal. But in her own realm, she had a singular essence. Now, as she entered Bhayatupa’s lair, she chose to appear as her true self. In the past, this sometimes had unnerved the dragon, making him more pliable to her machinations. And she needed his cooperation now.