If I can keep him talking, perhaps our guards can… He realised now why he failed to recognise their guards, the ones Styx had personally chosen for his mission, and a curse escaped his lips. Even with Tang on his side, they had no chance of escaping this. He tried to win some extra time while he thought of a way out. “How did you convince Styx to go along with this?”
“To be honest, it was her idea. I explained the rebels’ disturbing lack of trust in my person, and she came up with this plan. Ingenious really; one stone, two birds. She’s scared of you, but couldn’t find a way to get rid of you. You’re too famous, revered even, so executing you would create a martyr. And martyrs always create more problems than they solve.”
“I’m honoured,” said Parad drily.
The corners of Teo’s lips crept upwards. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe his forehead. “If, however, you are captured while on a secret mission, people will simply think your luck’s finally run out. Styx will explain how she entrusted you with a last attempt for peace, but the treacherous rebels ended up executing an envoy, no less. Only barbarians would break our most sacred laws and custom. The people will probably end up thanking Styx.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, though, she’s promised a nice statue for you among the Twelve.”
Parad pretended to listen to Teo, while studying his options. He noticed the various positions of the guards and a plan started forming in his mind. If he and Tang darted in the precise direction of…
“No!”
A loud cry cut his thoughts short. Tang had crept towards them, overhearing the last part of the conversation. He spurred his horse and galloped towards them, drawing his sword.
Parad instinctively pulled the reins and his horse rose on its hind legs. He was trying to regain his balance when he heard a dull, yet loud thang. Tang paused to gape at his abdomen, where an arrow’s wooden shaft now quivered. He held on to the horse for a moment, then slid down. Parad jumped off his horse to catch his friend just before he crashed onto the ground.
Behind them, Teo galloped towards their guards, screaming. “I told you, no one was to be hurt.”
From the corner of his eye, Parad caught Teo drag Annoush off his horse, throwing him to the ground. The boy raised his hands to protect himself from Teo’s fury, blood dripping from his torn lip. “He would’ve—” he started to say, but that only served to further enrage Teo, who waved at the rest of the guards.
“What’re you waiting for?” he shouted and Annoush’s former companions jumped off their horses and kicked him into a bloody mess within seconds.
Parad lifted Tang’s head. “You’re a fool, Tang,” he chided him.
“No, sir, it’s something I should have done long ago. We should’ve never let her get away with it all.”
“We won’t. You have my word.”
Tang’s lips parted into a red smile. “I thought you didn’t like war anymore?”
“We make war so that others, if not us, may live in peace.”
Tang said nothing for a moment, trying to focus. “Thank you for all the strawberries, sir,” he said in the end and coughed as the blood filling his lungs spilled over through his mouth. The gurgling cough rapidly got worse, and soon his whole body went into spasm. He soiled himself as he left his final breath.
Parad lowered his head, offering a silent prayer to whatever god Tang believed in. He kissed the dead man’s forehead, then let his head gently down and rose to his feet. Fighting a sob, a wave of weariness swelled up in his soul.
Teo waited behind him, covering his nose with his handkerchief. He had wiped his hands on it, staining it with crimson streaks from Annoush’s blood, and looked at it with dismay. “I’m really sorry for this,” he said.
Parad nodded curtly. “Thank you for letting me say goodbye,” was all he replied. “Do you have to place me in irons now?”
Teo shrugged and threw the dirty cloth away. “Are you planning to escape?”
Parad pointed around them with his chin. “Where to? We’re deep in Jonian territory. It would be pointless anyway. I have nowhere to go.”
“Then we’ll come to an agreement: you don’t do anything foolish, and I’ll make sure you’re treated well.” He examined Parad for a long moment. “I’d already be planning my revenge, if I were you.” He pointed towards Annoush. “What should I do with this idiot? Want to kill him yourself?”
Parad shook his head. “Release him to me. He took the life of a great man and a true friend. Now he has to replace him.”
This surprised Annoush no less than Teo. “Why?” he blurted out.
“A violent man will die a violent death, they say, and I intend to live,” Parad said. “How else will I make Master Altman pay for his crime?”
Teo pursed his lips, but nodded his acquiescence. The guards lifted Annoush from the ground and threw him at Parad’s feet. The boy coughed blood and stayed down, waiting for Parad to speak.
When he did, however, his words were directed at Teo. “I have another request as well. Make sure Tang’s body is returned to the Capital. He should rest with his ancestors. His family should be informed that he died bravely, sword in hand.”
Teo pursed his lips. “By the time I’m done with him, they’ll erect his statue next to yours,” he promised drily, then spun around and left, motioning the guards to follow him.
Haunted Forest, The Marshes
March 15, Cyrus
“How long can we hold them off?” Cyrus asked Two-horns.
Two-horns shrugged. “Depends on how many rats this place has.”
The Fallen had arrived almost a month ago. The clansmen had tried sending out scouts on two separate occasions, hoping speed and stealth would allow them to seek reinforcements, but none had returned. No one had really been surprised. Only the three friends had sheimleks, and Two-horns refused to risk their lives on a scouting mission.
From the tall walls that both protected and imprisoned them, they watched night and day the sickly green eyes of the beasts waiting for their prey to yield. The walls were impenetrable without siege equipment, and the well in the courtyard ensured their water supply. Even with their careful rationing, however, they had finished their provisions. Unable to figure out where their host had found the ingredients for their first dinner, they dined on rat meat tonight. Again. Their horses had not eaten in days, either. They would have to fight their way out or die of hunger, for there could be no negotiating with the beasts.
“How long before we’re ready for them?”
“Everything will be in place tonight.”
“’If your enemy’s in superior strength, evade him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant. Attack him where he’s unprepared, appear where you’re not expected.’ ” Cyrus quoted.
Two-horns frowned. “What’s that?”
“Something my father used to say. It’s from an ancient book.”
“Your father’s wise.”
“You may meet him yet some day, Two-horns. In the meantime, are we agreed? We open the gates tomorrow?”
“Yes. Waiting can only make us weaker.”
“How many now?”
“We’ve counted over a score, but can’t be sure. Anyway, more may come. I hope your strategy works, Newcomer.”
Newcomer. Even after years, that’s all I am to them. At least it beats Pukey… “It will. As my father always said, when you’re weak, a good strategy’s your best friend. Have you given my request any thought?”
“We’ll do it as you say. Face them, and may your cowardice win us the day.”
He laughed at his own joke and Cyrus spun around to make the final preparations. He could not bear the thought of people considering him a coward, even in jest, and did not want their leader to see his fear; a fear completely justified, of course. It is not every day that one gets to face a pack of Fallen all on their own.
Dawn found them at their designated places. A man stood before the strong gate, the ropes hanging around him making look like a p
uppet. He looked as scared as any bait would be. The gate before him creaked and opened in a slow, jerky movement. The man crept outside and put two fingers in his mouth. The loud whistle rudely broke the dawn’s sullen silence. Fluorescent green eyes snapped open around him, one after another, and soon the sound of strong, galloping feet grew steadily louder as the Fallen surrounding their shelter rushed closer.
The first Fallen lunged at the man. He darted back and was whisked to safety a mere second before the Fallen’s jaws snapped around his leg, more beasts chasing after him. Instead of the twenty-odd beasts they had expected, there seemed to be at least three dozens, with more rushing from the thick woods to join them.
Having lost its prey, the leading Fallen glared in confusion at the flailing man. Two First rushed over to help the warrior out of the harness, as a horn echoed. The Fallen twisted its deformed head to glare at Cyrus, as he stood alone in the middle of the wide courtyard. It held its ground for a moment, waiting for its brethren to gather behind it. Then it lowered its head and rushed towards its victim, followed by the entire pack. Cyrus threw the horn to the ground before spinning around to rush towards the tower.
Seeing their prey flee filled the Fallen with deadly excitement and they hastened towards him, ignoring in their fury the freshly dug soil between them and their game. The ground shook under their feet as the entire pack rushed towards him.
Then, the ground under the first Fallen gave way and the beast yelped in its fall into the deep hole the clansmen had been digging for the past few days. They had filled it with thick, sharp spikes, placing a thin layer of soil on top. Many Fallen followed the first one into the trap, unable to stop their charge in time and shoved by those behind them. Inhuman screams filled the air as sharp spikes skewered their deformed bodies, the thrill of the chase in the beasts’ eyes giving way to panic.
Almost simultaneously, the First hiding behind the wooden palisade along the wall emerged, spears in hand, to thrust the remaining Fallen into the pit. Many beasts lost their balance before they had a chance to regroup, then the men hurried again to hide behind the wooden wall. Arrows showered the remaining Fallen, coming from the First up in the embattlement and atop the gate house, but they shook these off with an angry spasm of their thick body, panic now giving way to blind fury.
Just before they turned their wrath at the First behind the palisade, a trot echoed in the courtyard, growing steadily to a gallop. Three horses appeared from behind the house, Lehmor and Moirah on two of them, a third following them closely. They stopped long enough for Cyrus to mount it, then galloped towards the remaining Fallen, fiery sheimleks glistening in the early sun. For a moment the weapons reflected the dawn’s warm colours, then they turned bright red as they effortlessly sliced through the beasts’ thick hides.
Loud shrieks now filled the air, coming from the Fallen in the courtyard and inside the pit, combined with screams and cries. Lehmor managed a cruel strike at a huge Fallen that bumped its monstrous head against Cyrus on its way down, throwing him off balance. Cyrus fell on the ground, knocking his head. He stayed dazed on all fours for a second, long enough for another Fallen to mark him as easy prey. It rushed towards him and jumped in the air to deliver the fatal blow.
Then it flew back. Cyrus watched in disbelief as a fast-travelling ball of light hit the Fallen. Its head disappeared into an explosion of red and blue. The beast crashed inches from him, shaking the ground under its weight. David bolted behind Cyrus, hand extended.
“Behind you,” he yelled, and Cyrus turned to see the last Fallen charging at him. Another ball of light cut its thick body in half and Cyrus raised his Sheimlek to slice in two the front half still travelling towards him.
His heart thumped as he raised himself on trembling legs. His eyes darted around in search of any remaining foes, his sweaty hand clasping his Sheimlek. Everywhere lay the smoking carcasses of slain Fallen. Lehmor patted down an annoyed-looking Moirah, searching for any wounds. David slipped next to the pit to shoot bursts of light into it until the shrieks finally stopped and an eerie silence fell on the courtyard. A loud cheer than came from all around them, as men jumped down from the safety of the battlements to join them.
Two-horns clapped Cyrus’s shoulder. “Well fought,” he said, his face beaming with joy at the slaughter. He nodded wistfully at Cyrus’s Sheimlek. “I wish I had one of those. Then I wouldn’t feel like a helpless crone.”
“Ach, it’s not so bad: an old woman gave it to me, after all,” Cyrus said with a grin, and the older man laughed. “What will you do now that you have your victory?” Cyrus asked him next.
The man scratched his thick beard for a minute, thinking. “Torch the place. Get back to the village.”
Cyrus shook his head as he sheathed his weapon. “It’d be a shame. The foundations are strong and the walls thick. Plus, we slew the evil out of it—”
“The evil’s still here,” Two-horns interrupted him.
“Can’t the shaman cleanse the place?” David asked, shouting to be heard over the cries of joy. He had approached them, listening in to the conversation. “I’ve studied their customs; it shouldn’t be too hard,” he whispered to Cyrus.
“How about making it our base?” Cyrus asked, noticing that Two-horns appeared unconvinced. “We could use it to clear the Haunted Forest. Then all First will know of the valour of the Wind Warriors and the Fire clan.”
His words appealed to Two-horns, but Cyrus sensed the man might need some extra incentive. “And we’ll name it after you, of course. Two-horns Keep, how does that sound?”
The man’s face beamed; his name would live forever that way. After a moment’s indecision, he pressed his lips together, gazing at Cyrus. “No honour in another man’s victory. It’s your name it should have.”
“Mine and everyone else’s,” Cyrus reminded him, nodding towards the rest of the group.
“In that case, we’ll name the place in the old language,” David said. “Malekshei. Short for Mat’ahalekshei - den of the whisper slayers. And it will stand upon the carcasses of the Haunted Forest’s Fallen.”
“Malekshei,” repeated Two-horns, rolling the words in his mouth with pleasure. “A good name.” He raised his sword and grinned at the men around him. “Malekshei. The first of many victories,” he shouted.
“Malekshei,” roared the men, their voices echoing in the forest. “Malekshei!”
Asian Temple, the Capital
Marta
For the first time in years, Marta had dared feel hope that evening when her husband had walked into their house, finally freed by Styx. As soon as she heard he would leave again, that hope died, along with any lingering hope she had of happiness. Tang’s death and the news of Parad’s capture by the rebels while on a mission for peace proved more than she could take. She had not left her home since. Every morning she hated getting out of bed, dreading any news waiting for her. She got up later and later, often staying in bed until late afternoon.
Then, she received the invitation. Marta could not fathom why Tang’s family had asked her to his funeral. The dead soldier and her husband had been as close as only soldiers can be, but she had barely known the man. Still, she knew a refusal would offend the family, so she had reluctantly accepted.
They were now at the Asian Temple’s prestigious first cemetery, final resting place to many of the city’s heroes. The cemetery itself was open to all religions and denominations. Simple marble or granite slabs adorned most of the graves, which lay outwards in an expanding spiral, the Falls sitting at its centre. Some were simple stone obelisks, while others had crosses, the crescent or the star of David sculpted onto them. A few were adorned by collections of stones forming a column. In a couple of months, the cherry trees scattered around the hill would blossom, spraying them all with white petals.
Traditionally, the Wake would have taken place in Tang’s home. He had been single, however, leaving no family behind. Custom therefore forbade his parents to offer prayers to their son; tha
t would have been a duty for his children. So, his Wake had taken place in the small house behind the waterfall, the keeper of the cemetery offering prayers. He now murmured something next to the grave, a solemn expression on his drawn face, while the last relatives threw a handful of earth into the hole. Marta kept her head down, blind to the activity around her. She even ignored the justice, a few chairs to her right, surrounded by Guardians. Her own despair choked her, as if drowning; she was dying to hang on to anything, any sliver of hope, but found none.
Her unease grew as the mourners wailed around her, and she drew a deep breath, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She had been handed a white towel, which she used to wipe her forehead. The keeper finished at last, and a Themis priestess took his place. For a moment Marta did not understand; then she remembered that Tang’s mother followed Themis’s teachings.
The Falls sparkled like a shining jewel behind the black-clad woman, their waters locked in a vain, eternal battle against the methane-fed flame. The fire silhouetted two young girls, one sitting behind a harp, the other with a flute. The haunting melody of Ave Maria hung in the air as the priestess recited the traditional prayer:
Do not cry if you love me.
Wipe your tears and do not cry.
Death is nothing, just moving to the other side.
I’m still what I am and you’re still what you are.
Call me by the name you used to,
talk to me as you’ve done before.
Pray for me and smile.
Let my name be mentioned at home as before.
Life continues to mean what it always did,
and it’s still the same.
Have I become outside of your thoughts
Because I’m far from your sight?
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 21