Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3)

by Andy Livingstone

  And into its midst hurtled the wagon pursuing them.

  Unable to jump in time, the men aboard pulled and tore at each other in their dread, the steersman pulling on his handles in futile desperation, though his scream spoke of his despair. They disappeared into the cloud of dust, into the destruction, helplessly hurtling to their doom.

  Silence fell but for the last movement of alarmed wildlife, before they, too, became still. The dust started to settle. Gerens and Xamira flitted into the dissipating cloud with knives drawn, but the rest of them just sat or stood, stunned by the force of the devastation. Gerens emerged, the face around his dark eyes coated with dark dust smeared by sweat. He looked at Brann and shook his head. ‘Not a one.’

  They gathered around the wreckage, staring. Then one man spotted a sack, still intact. He stepped onto the broken wood, over a twisted corpse, and lifted it. At the sight, others followed, many finding similarly undamaged sacks and others scooping handfuls of gold into whatever they could find to hold it.

  Brann looked at Matala-Kitu. ‘I thought gold was not prized by your people.’

  Eyes, still stunned, turned to him. ‘A future is. And, used wisely, this can buy them that, when they come to Chula Pexl with nothing of their lives before.’

  ‘I take it that your family are unhurt, from your presence beside me.’

  Matala-Kitu smiled. ‘Bruised, but alive. They would not have been had those men caught us in the manner they intended.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Two broken arms from hitting a tree, one broken neck from hitting the flat ground in the wrong way, and three broken or injured legs, it is hard to tell.’

  ‘Three broken arms,’ said Kunakan-Atik, joining them, his offending limb cradled against his chest.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Brann said.

  ‘Sorry?’ The man’s laugh was strained with pain, but genuine nonetheless. ‘Better a broken arm than a spear through the guts.’

  Two men approached and laid a sack each at Brann’s feet. ‘Thank you,’ they said, walking without further ado into the jungle with another sack on a shoulder.

  ‘I would take it,’ said Matala-Kitu. ‘Your friends are entitled to it as much as any of us, and it is because of you that we all have a chance now.’

  ‘Not just me,’ Brann said. ‘Your kindness in helping us, Kunakan-Atik’s skill in steering us and bravery at the end…’

  ‘Still…’ Matala-Kitu said, looking down at the gold.

  Brann grinned. ‘Fair enough. We can only take these two, though – two of us will be needed to help Marlo.’

  ‘Marlo? He is your wounded friend?’

  Brann nodded.

  ‘He is fine after the jump?’

  Brann turned in alarm and guilt. He was standing chatting and had forgotten his friend. As he rushed back to where the others had landed, however, he breathed again when he saw the boy sitting propped against a tree, Lita ensuring he stayed balanced. Grakk had tended to the broken limbs and was reaching around Kunakan-Atik, putting the finishing touches to a sling improvised from a strip torn from the clothing of a corpse.

  ‘Dead men’s tunics are becoming an essential part of every medic’s equipment,’ Brann quipped as he drew near.

  ‘It has long been so around battlefields,’ Grakk said. ‘Now we can add torture chambers and wagon wrecks to that.’ He clapped Kunakan-Atik on the sound shoulder in satisfied dismissal and moved to Marlo, tipping some herbs from a small pouch and crumbling them into his palm. He held them under Marlo’s nose and, as the boy caught the scent, he stirred and moved his head, his eyelid fluttering. ‘We have no time to fashion a stretcher from what we can cut,’ he said, indicating the jungle plants. ‘The noise from that cannot fail to have been noticed, unless the thickly growing flora of the jungle has masked the sound more than we might think. Either way, we cannot take the chance, and we will move more quickly if Marlo can walk supported.’

  Two men walked past bearing a section of a cart, around the size of a door, that held sacks of gold in various states of repair.

  ‘On the other hand…’ Konall said laconically.

  Grakk smiled. ‘Excellent, young lord. If you would be so kind…’

  Konall and Gerens quickly found a suitable section of wood, and Brann helped Grakk to gently lift the boy onto it. Grakk lifted his head and helped him to drink a few sips from a small vial. ‘For the pain,’ he said, ‘not to bring sleep. He should only sleep now when his body tells him to, not because we want him quiet.’

  ‘Let’s hope his mother’s oranges are safe, then,’ said Konall.

  With Marlo laid on his front on the wood and tied securely, they moved quickly from the scene, Gerens and Konall carrying their friend, and Brann and Grakk each with a sack on their shoulders, while Xamira brought up the rear, eyes roving constantly for any signs of approach from any angle. The other erstwhile passengers had already scattered from the scene, and Kunakan-Atik led the way through the jungle, following animal trails that Brann found hard to even spot. The plants were of colours and shapes like nothing Brann had ever seen before, and the air was so thick with water he felt as if he was drinking as he breathed. His eyes widened as an insect of frightening proportions and appearance landed on a plant with thick flat leaves only for the leaf to fold in half, snapping shut to trap the insect within.

  ‘Whichever god designed this place had taken the dream smoke in Sagia, I think,’ he gasped. ‘Not one thing is familiar, and most are beyond imagination.’

  ‘It is more than merely the plant life, young Brann, although you should be wary not to let yourself be scratched lest it be one that carries more lethal poison than an assassin’s toolbelt,’ Grakk said seriously. ‘There are also the animals: deadly snakes that appear as twigs in your path, waiting to strike, or black cats larger than a hunting hound that lie in wait in branches above; crawling insects that bring death with a bite and their flying cousins who swarm.’

  Brann’s skittish steps betrayed the fear that swept through him. Grakk smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Do not worry, young Brann. ‘I will try to spot most of them before you wander into them.’

  They emerged onto the dockside, the unchanging expanse of the sea beyond a sudden change to eyes that had become suffused with discovered wonders of the land. Most importantly, four sets of eyes alighted on the masts of two ships with familiar flags, and four sighs of relief were heaved. They turned to their local companions, each expressing thanks.

  Matala-Kitu smiled. ‘It worked out well. It was more eventful than I had envisaged, but,’ he kicked the sack at his feet, ‘it has given us more options as we start our new life. I wish you well.’

  ‘And you,’ Brann said, embracing him. Farewells were swapped and the family disappeared into the crowd, just two more men with sacks on their shoulders and a woman leading her son.

  They hurried to the ships, spotting familiar faces on the one to the right and hurrying up the gangplank. Rodrigo’s weathered face split into a wide grin.

  ‘You return, my friends! Did you enjoy your trip to witness the delights of this land? And you bring a new friend, and one so pleasant in appearance will always be welcome on this vessel.’ He ignored her venomous glare, but his smile vanished as Brann set down his sack with a metallic clank and eased his aching shoulder. ‘Oh, you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.’

  Grakk stepped forward, his sack effortlessly balanced on his shoulder. ‘Perhaps we should discuss this further in your cabin.’ He nodded at the slab of wood bearing Marlo. ‘There is also the matter of our injured friend.’

  The captain’s eyes were anxiously sweeping across the teeming dockside, but he saw no sign of aggressive pursuers for the moment. ‘Quickly, then. You must get out of sight.’ He looked at Marlo. ‘Back injury?’ he asked, not waiting for an answer, and lifting the collar of his tunic to peer inside. His eyes narrowed and he called over two sailors, telling them to take Marlo to the ship’s surgeon. ‘Before he came to us, he had
been conscripted, shall we say, to a company of pirates and as such became skilled, amongst other things, in treating backs laid open to the bone by the lash. If anyone can help your boy, he can. Now come, and bring your accursed luggage with you.’

  As soon as the door closed on the captain’s cabin, he wheeled. ‘Do you not recall the last thing I said before you left? The locals may seem genial, and although I hear the more extremely devout of them have been called away to some gathering or pilgrimage or whatever, but – even in the case of the mildest baker or the most amiable leather-worker – if you insult their gods or show contempt for their hospitality…’ He stomped to a window overlooking the quay, anxiously scanning for suspicious movement, then over to the opposite side. ‘Your room, as before, is below this and has the same configuration of windows.’ He opened a window to the bright waters of the harbour and jerked a thumb in its direction. ‘At the first sign of any white-tunics and those big broad jungle-chopping blades they carry coming aboard, those sacks go out there,’ he growled. ‘And at the second, you follow. You understand? Any time between now and this time tomorrow, this is the only option.’ He glared around the group.

  ‘Of course,’ Grakk smiled reassuringly. ‘We will do so without hesitation.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Brann, ‘we will not.’

  The captain looked at him with incredulity turning fast to anger, and Grakk’s head swung to do likewise. He glanced at Konall, who merely looked curious, while Gerens regarded him with the same impassive expression of calm trust as ever.

  Brann perched on the edge of the desk, sitting before the rear windows in a manner that he hoped was both relaxed and disarming, one leg swinging idly. ‘If we leave before this time tomorrow, there is not the opportunity for anyone in white tunics, rainbow capes or any other form of clothing to come aboard.’

  Rodrigo stammered in confusion. ‘Before tomorrow?’

  ‘Actually, as soon after now as possible.’

  Grakk placed a hand on his arm. ‘Brann, I know you want…’

  Brann shot him a warning look and a shake of the head, and faced the captain once more. ‘Would there be a problem with that?’

  The burly shoulders shrugged. ‘Only if you are threatening me. If you are, my crew and I will have some issue with your presence on our ship at all.’

  ‘There is no threat. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

  ‘In that case,’ Rodrigo beamed beatifically, ‘there is no dispute. And no question of leaving before tomorrow. This ship’s owners have decreed the business that we must conclude here, business that cannot be completed until tomorrow.’

  Brann’s eyebrows raised and he cocked his head. ‘And if the ship were to gain a new owner?’ He gently kicked the sack at his feet with his swinging leg.

  The captain’s eyes widened. ‘You are intending to buy this ship?’

  Brann’s black-bladed dagger appeared in his hand, and the captain flinched. Brann ignored the reaction and leant to slice the top of the sack, plucking forth a rough nugget gleaming yellow. He tossed it to Rodrigo, who just managed to adjust himself in time to catch it. ‘This should cover our passage to Sagia.’ He lifted the sack and strode across the room to place it in the astonished captain’s arms. ‘And this should help the new owner with the costs of setting up his fledgling business, if he showed enough acumen to accept his first charter with the alacrity desired by the client.’

  The man stared at the sack he cradled, lamplight reflecting on the contents through the narrow slit. ‘It may cover an expense or two,’ he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, a small smile on his face. ‘The Empire’s gold stocks do not swim from here to Sagia, so there would be good work, I would think, for a captain who knows the people and the area and who is in possession of a ship that has been expensively refitted to be more secure and more defendable. And renamed, naturally.’

  Brann hit him with his most winning smile. ‘And so…?’

  Rodrigo opened a stout chest and threw out an assortment of belongings before placing the sack inside and locking it with a key on a thong around his neck. He straightened, looked around them all, and nodded several times. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Yes. Indeed. Yes.’ He stared out of the window towards the city, then looked at those around him once more. ‘If you gentlemen would excuse me, I have some arrangements to make for our imminent departure.’

  He left the door wide open when he exited, his shouts carrying clearly to them. ‘Mr Grayson, all are aboard, yes? I know the cargo is not complete, I mean the crew. Yes? Then cast off. Yes, I mean now.’

  Moments later, amid the flurry of activity that had ensued, a call came from further away. Rodrigo’s bellow came louder to them as he turned towards the stern to answer. ‘Of course they want to know why we are leaving. Tell them we have new orders to head to Sagia. They are to proceed as originally planned. They will be happier to follow their route than ours on their own, hugging the coast being safer than the open sea. And do it quickly, before we are too far.’

  As if to back up his last comment, the ship lurched as it was pushed from the quayside.

  Konall looked at Brann. ‘That was a large price you just paid to save twenty-four hours.’

  ‘He saved more than that,’ said Grakk. ‘We are going directly to Sagia without the route we would otherwise have followed.’ He looked at Brann. ‘I can understand the eagerness to be clear of the owners of that gold, but why the extreme haste, and why to Sagia?’

  Brann met his eyes. ‘Because I know where Loku is going. What this is all about.’

  ‘So,’ said Konall as soon as Gerens had shut the door behind them in their own cabin. ‘Do you want to tell us what that was all about?’

  They could feel the wind fill the sails, and Brann stared from the rear window as the port already began to recede. ‘It was several things, but only as we stood in the captain’s cabin did they all come together to make sense. It was when Rodrigo was speaking about the devout extremists, and I thought of Loku’s fanatical obsession that is driving him in his scheming. It reminded me of something he said: he talked about their Annals of the Gods.’

  Grakk nodded. ‘Their holy texts. The only literature they have that uses writing as we would recognise it. In general, they use—’

  ‘Knotted cords, I know,’ Brann said. ‘But it is how he referred to them: he called them the Second Annals of the Gods.’

  Grakk hissed in a rare show of anger. ‘You were correct in considering fanatical extremists. There are those amongst these people who believe that there is secret knowledge hidden in previous wisdom handed down from their gods.’

  ‘And is there?’ Xamira asked, her curiosity piqued. Brann guessed that the intention behind her presence was to gather intelligence as much as to offer extra protection.

  ‘There has never been any evidence to even indicate it,’ Grakk said, his eyes dark. ‘But a lack of evidence has never stopped zealots from believing what it suits them to believe; on some occasions it fuels their belief.’

  ‘In any case,’ Brann continued, ‘it started me thinking about where Loku might believe the first annals could be if his people did not possess them. And another thing: you do know, don’t you, of that sacrifice?’

  ‘Matala-Kitu mentioned it,’ Gerens said. His voice was grim, though most things he said did tend to carry a dark tone.

  Brann noticed Xamira’s lack of comprehension. ‘I can tell you of it in detail another time should you wish, but suffice to say that a young man and woman were given to the god.’ He drew a slow breath. ‘But what you don’t know is that it was a ruse, a tactic by Loku.’

  Konall’s face drained to white fury. ‘You mean that was meaningless?’

  Brann hesitated, the images still fresh in his mind, as he guessed they long would be. ‘To Loku, it wasn’t. It achieved what he wanted. In failing to appease the god, he received the mandate from the people to leave, to seek, as he put it, “greater knowledge elsewhere”.’

  He looked at Grak
k. ‘So I thought of what you told me, that they believed that the five gods had crossed the sea to these people.’ Grakk nodded. ‘And their gods reside in mountains of fire. So where across the sea might mountains of fire be found?’

  All eyes turned to Grakk, who had become very still.

  ‘It is true,’ he said, ‘that these people believe that their gods originated from what is now known as the Blacklands. But I cannot understand why Loku might think he could find a fabled tome in what is widely regarded as a wasteland.’

  ‘I would have thought so, too, but for the answers Loku sought when we… when Marlo was brutalised,’ Brann said. He cleared his throat, trying to clear the shaking from it. ‘He asked three questions: who in Sagia guided and sent us; what we did with the Tribe of the Desert, and what we know of his plans.’ Grakk looked up sharply at the second question. ‘Yes, I know. In all that was happening at the time, I got confused, thinking that the Tribe was referring to the Deruul, who we travelled with across the Deadlands. But it is worse, I realise now.’ His look to Grakk was grim. ‘He knows we were with your people, your tribe: the guardians of the knowledge.’

  ‘And what,’ said Xamira from behind him, ‘answers did they receive to these questions?’

  Brann wheeled, eyes blazing. ‘You belittle what Marlo endured with that question of your own. Had they received the information, you would not have found us alive.’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ she said. ‘It is clear that your friend suffered far beyond the point when most would have told their life story twice over, and can only be admired beyond words for it, but we are all learning a lot here. It will be helpful in trying to stay alive ourselves to know what our enemy knows.’

  Brann took a breath. She was right. His mind had jumped to the conclusion, but it was only now that he was totally understanding how he had got there. He was thinking as he spoke, piecing together fragments that had been assembled in his thoughts, and was so consumed in doing so that he had forgotten the others would be building the picture in their own heads also.