by Melvin, Jim
Laylah permitted herself a brief smile. If the witch believed that Laylah was becoming compliant, it might work to her advantage later—when Torg came for her, as she knew he would.
Then they all heard the far-off wail of the demon.
“The Torgon has destroyed Pisaaca . . . as planned,” Jākita said, just loud enough for Laylah to hear. “Come to me, Maranavidu . . . and we’ll plaaaay together, you and I. It will be sssso much fun.”
WHEN THE DRUIDS had swarmed around Laylah, Lucius tried to force his way toward her, but one of the monsters had grabbed his shoulders and heaved him away. His friends had also been shoved aside. Ugga had put up the biggest fight, but eventually even he’d succumbed.
Then as quickly as they had come, the druids withdrew. In a matter of moments the forest was empty, including the bodies of the druids slain in the initial battle.
Now, only the carcasses of several Daasa remained, lying motionless beneath the trees. Mysteriously, they had reverted to their “nicey” selves, which made their deaths all the more difficult to bear. Elu went to each one and bowed.
When he returned, he was shaking his head, his eyes glazed. “They gave their lives for the pretty lady.”
“We’ve got to follow her,” Bard said, as he retrieved arrows from the ground near the sundered shaft of his spear.
Lucius noticed that the handsome trapper was moving more slowly and with less grace than he had when he had first met him at Kamupadana.
“Without Torg at our side, pursuit is meaningless,” Lucius said, his face flushed and swollen. Even his fingers felt thick. “The result would be the same. The wizard is her only chance now.”
“Maybe just Bard and I should go. We are the strongest,” Ugga said. “We don’t want the pretty lady to get herself killed.”
Rathburt strode forward and stood in the center of their small group. “I remember Dhutanga as a strange and dangerous place, full of darkness and evil. If any of you tried to follow, you would eventually become lost and would never find your way out. The forest would not allow it. So you should not follow. Laylah was right. The rest of you belong with the Daasa. Your fates are tied to theirs. Besides Torg, there is only one among us who should go after Laylah . . . me.”
Rathburt’s brashness seemed to stun the others.
“If ya know the way, then show us,” Bard said. “We’ve wasted too much time already.”
“Master Rathburt is right,” Bonny said to Bard. “Our place is with the Daasa. It’ll take magic to free Laylah, the kind only Rathburt and Torg possess.”
Lucius tried to protest, but Rathburt interrupted. “Go! And take the rest with you. Find Torg and tell him what happened. Find the Daasa and lead them to Jivita. The White City needs you.”
Then Rathburt strode into the thicker trees, leaving the others behind—all except Elu, who refused to abandon his friend and sneaked up behind him.
Lucius waved his good arm in frustration. “Doesn’t anyone listen to me? I thought I was in command.”
“I listen to you, sweety,” Bonny said. “But sometimes even the leader has to pay attention when wise words are spoken. Come, Lucius. Our fate lies elsewhere.”
She jogged off, followed by Ugga and Bard.
Lucius was the last of the foursome to leave the forest, though several times he glanced back, seeing nothing now but the trees.
RATHBURT HAD amazed himself with his uncharacteristic bravado. Usually, he would have been the first to argue that Laylah was doomed, and it would be foolish to follow her. But when she’d yelled at him earlier, something inside him had come to life. The truth of her words had stung his pride—and awakened his courage; at least, what little he harbored.
Plus, he knew things his companions did not. The forest of Dhutanga was like no other, which included Java and much of the woodlands surrounding the Mahaggatas. In Java you were more likely to encounter an evil monster or beast, but in Dhutanga, the trees themselves were evil, as if they had minds of their own. They were similar to the Hornbeam, feeding off ruin and despair in nearly the same way that normal trees fed off sunlight and soil.
The Badaalataa had shied from Rathburt’s power. Would the trees of Dhutanga do the same as the deadly vines? For his entire life people had bullied him, but for whatever reason, plants respected and even feared him. That’s why he had told Lucius to flee. Rathburt was the only one who could bear this dreadful place, except of course for The Torgon, who could bear anything, always.
So when Elu appeared at his side, Rathburt was stunned.
“What do you think you’re doing, you rascal? Didn’t I tell you and the others not to follow? Have you gone deaf as well as dumb?”
“Elu did not want you to go alone. If there is fighting, he can help you.” He drew the Tugarian dagger from his boot and held it aloft. In the murky darkness its blade shone like a torch.
“Put that away!” Rathburt hissed. “Don’t let the trees see that weapon. Not even I will be able to control them if they believe you might use it on them.”
“The trees?” Elu said, obviously confused.
Rathburt knelt and whispered in his companion’s ear. “These trees are like the Hornbeam, only stronger and many times more numerous. Do not anger them.”
Elu looked around, his eyes fearful. “As you say.”
Rathburt knew from years of experience that Elu would be too stubborn to turn away. It was no use arguing with him. It would only delay him further. So he sighed deeply, turned and continued westward, with Elu in tow. The trees became even taller and denser, making it difficult to see and breathe. The few animals they encountered were small and timid: a peculiar menagerie of squirrels, mice, and birds. But eventually they saw larger things with glowing eyes and shiny white fangs that loomed in the shadows. Rathburt finally was forced to call on his staff to guide them—and when he willed it, blue streams of sparkly energy obediently rained from its head, lighting the forest and fending off the beasts that lurked nearby.
Elu stayed close, causing Rathburt to chuckle ruefully. He had never seen the little warrior so cowed. I wasn’t joking, Elu, this forest is dangerous. I wish you hadn’t followed me. Then again, I’m glad you did, my dear friend.
35
BHOJJA GALLOPED along the plain as fast as a gust of wind. But Torg’s heart beat even faster. What lay ahead?
About a mile from the edge of the forest, he came upon Lucius, Bonny, Ugga, and Bard. Torg leapt off the great mare’s back and rushed to the firstborn. “Where is she?” he shouted, causing the air to crackle.
Lucius stepped back, his legs wobbly. “They . . . they took her. The druids. And the witch. And the vampire.”
“And you allowed it?” Torg drew the Silver Sword and thrust a sharp edge near Lucius’ throat. “Kusala was right . . . you are worthless! I should have let the chieftain kill you.”
Bard gasped. Ugga started to blubber.
Bonny, however, slithered between Lucius and Torg and positioned her own neck between the firstborn and the blade. “If you wants to kill him, then you will have to kill me first. But it might be better if you listened to our story before you act like such a bully. Besides, it’s more your fault than ours. You are the one who wandered off and left her to the monsters.”
Torg saw the truth in her words, and his rage faded. “Tell me what happened—quickly.” He lowered the sword. “I must follow before their lead becomes too great.”
Meanwhile, Ugga and Bard, always quick to recover, moved up next to Bhojja, admiring her with adoring eyes. “Where did ya find such a bew-tee-ful horsey?” Ugga asked.
“I don’t have time to explain. But it appears you’re holding something that belongs to me. Or do you plan to keep it for yourself?”
Ugga’s cheeks reddened above his beard, and he handed over Obhasa. “It burned the vam-pie-er’s hand real bad, but when I picked it up, it was cool,” the crossbreed said. “So I brought it with us to give to ya.”
“I’ll have need of it soon, I’
m sure.” Then Torg turned and climbed onto Bhojja’s back. “Corral the Daasa and head for Jivita, all of you. Hopefully we will meet again there.” He left them behind without telling them what had happened with the fiends and demons. He could see that Lucius and Bonny were furious with him. But he was in no mood for apologies.
The great mare knew her way far better than her rider, and she seemed able to follow a scent as well as a mountain wolf. By midafternoon, they had plunged several leagues into the darkening forest, with Bhojja dodging branches and clumps of trees as if she knew every cubit of the terrain.
“I’m coming, my love,” Torg whispered over and over.
He knew this was yet another trap. But that made little difference. He wielded Obhasa and the Silver Sword. Nothing short of Invictus could withstand him.
LUCIUS HAD never felt so humiliated, which was saying something considering how many times he had been tormented in Avici. Yet how was he supposed to have stopped the druids from taking Laylah, especially when the Daasa had inexplicably abandoned him? Not to mention that Laylah herself had ordered him not to resist the Warlish witch. If the wizard had stayed with them, things might have turned out differently. It was the Death-Knower’s fault that Laylah had been captured.
Then again, a part of Lucius believed everything Torg had said. Lucius was worthless. It would have been better if Kusala had killed him. What good was he to anyone? He was as powerless as a child.
He also didn’t feel very well. He was hot and flushed, and when he pressed his hand against his face, his cheeks were bloated and numb. He looked at his forearm, and it too appeared thicker—with rougher and darker skin. And since when had he grown so much hair on the back of his hand?
“Are you feeling all right, Lucius?” Bonny said. “You don’t look so good. Sit down, sweety, and take a rest. Have a sip of water.”
“I . . . I . . . don’t know what’s wrong,” Lucius muttered. “I’m dizzy.”
Ugga and Bard took his arms and lowered him gently to the grass. He drank some water and soon began to feel better. When he stood up he was almost normal again, other than being extremely hungry.
“I’m all right. Whatever it was has passed. I think I was just mad at Torg. I can see why Rathburt gets so aggravated with him.”
Lucius tried to laugh it off, but Bonny seemed unconvinced, as if she knew something he did not.
“Have you ever felt this way before?” she said.
“A few times, I guess, when I get really mad. The blood must rush to my head.”
“Ya was looking kind of scary to me,” Ugga said. “Your face was da color of a beet!”
This time, Lucius did laugh. “Ugga, you have a way with words.”
Just then the first of the Daasa came into view, appearing at the top of a rise and trotting excitedly toward Lucius. Soon he was engulfed.
“Look, they’ve gone all nicey again,” Ugga said.
“They are cute, like their master,” Bonny agreed.
Bard walked over to one, reached down, and wiped its muzzle with his hand. When he held up his palm, it was bathed in sticky blood. “They might look cute, but they’ve gotten into some sort of trub-bull. Must have had a nasty tangle with something. But it doesn’t seem like many of them got killed, at least. We can be happy for that.”
“They are so many, it’s hard to tell,” Lucius said. “And I’m not about to back-track and find out what it was they butchered. We have decisions to make, the four of us. Do we obey Torg’s order and march to Jivita?”
“What other choice do we have?” Bonny said. “By now, it’s too late to follow Laylah or Torg. Like Rathburt said, we’d probably get lost in the forest.”
“True enough,” Lucius said. “But I have another concern. Suppose we go to Jivita. What happens when we get there? Without Torg as our ambassador, who’s to say the white horsemen won’t mistake us for enemies?”
Bonny smiled and reached into her jacket, pulling out a small scroll wrapped in a sheath of soft leather. “Rakkhati gave me this before he left with Torg and Laylah. Will this help?”
After reading it, Lucius handed it back to her. “Keep it safe, Bonny.” Then he turned to the others. “It’s settled, then. We will march to Jivita.”
In response, the Daasa chittered loudly. They seemed anxious to move on.
Lucius was quick to accommodate them.
THE WITCH AND vampire kept Laylah moving at a near trot. As she struggled to keep up, a druid pressed against her and thrust a dried root into her hand.
“Chewwww on it,” Jākita said. “It will give you strength.”
Laylah curled her nose and started to cast it away, but Urbana snapped at her. “Do as she says, you horrid little bitch. Do you think we’re trying to poison you? If we wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If you don’t eat it, one of the druids will have to haul you the rest of the way.”
The thought of being carried was even more disgusting than the root, so Laylah broke off a small piece and tasted it. It was surprisingly sweet, causing her mouth to flood with saliva. Soon after, she felt strength surge through her body. She saved the rest of the root in a pocket in her tunic.
The trees became as dense as blades of grass, and it was almost too dark to see. Though a part of her enjoyed the relief from direct sunlight, Laylah now found it difficult to breathe. Jākita walked directly in front of her, weaving this way and that. Laylah was forced to follow in the witch’s footsteps to avoid walking head-on into one of the dark trunks, some of which were forty spans thick. At times she had to turn sideways to slip between the trees, though the druids—who were twice her height and many times her weight—were able to flatten their pliable torsos and squeeze through the crevices without difficulty. Laylah could see thousands and thousands of glowing eyes, bobbing about like fireflies. Occasionally, Urbana shoved her from behind, all the while muttering obscenities that never failed to make Jākita giggle.
Laylah was tempted to turn on the vampire and kill her then and there, but it would have accomplished little. She knew she needed to bide her time. Until Torg arrived, she stood little chance of escape or retribution.
Laylah wasn’t sure how long they had been walking—she guessed five leagues, at least—when she noticed the ground had begun to ascend, slowly at first, but ever more steeply. To keep up her strength, she ate more of the root. Even so, her thighs burned, and her breath came in heavy gasps, making her feel light-headed and hallucinatory.
Somewhere in the distance, she heard, or thought she heard, a low roar, but all she could see was the witch’s glowing flesh—and beyond that, the fireflies. Everywhere, fireflies.
Then, without warning, Laylah stepped out of the trees and into light so bright it caused her to grimace. The roaring sound had not been her imagination. She looked down and almost swooned. They stood at the edge of a precipice that towered hundreds of cubits above a frothy river winding between sheer rock walls. Swarms of druids loomed ahead of her, striding across a slab of stone that had been cast across the gap. “Don’t even think about jumping,” Urbana said, “unless you never want to see your precious wizard again. Boulders are hidden just beneath the surface of the river, and some of them are razor-sharp. Even if you somehow survived the fall, you’d be battered to pieces in the currents. Not that I would care.”
Laylah was not afraid of heights, but still it terrified her to step onto the bridge, which was disturbingly narrow and slippery. The druids’ thorny toes gripped the mist-covered rock like roots, so they had no problems crossing. But Jākita slowed her pace and positioned herself in the center of the pathway. Again Laylah followed in the witch’s footsteps. Part of her did want to leap off the bridge and dare the perils of the river. That kind of death was preferable to Invictus capturing her again. But she first had to give Torg a chance to rescue her. Besides, she desired to see his face one last time.
BY THE TIME Rathburt and Elu made it to the river, it was near dusk. Rathburt leaned heavily on his staff, and even the Svakaran
seemed weary. Several times during their hurried march they had come upon fresh water, so thirst was not a problem. Hunger and exhaustion, though, more than made up for it. They were out of food and had found none along the way. The sight of the river so far below gave them both a start.
“That’s a long way down,” Rathburt said. “The last time I was here, I didn’t dare go this far into the forest. The great river, Cariya, amazes me. It’s every bit as nasty as the worst portions of the Ogha.”
“Elu doesn’t like this river. It has a mean feel.”
“Everything about Dhutanga has a mean feel,” Rathburt agreed.
“What are we going to do when we catch up to them? Do you have a plan?”
“I guess you could call it a plan. I’m going to do my best to tame the druids, sort of the way I tamed the vines. I’m hoping there’s enough of the forest in their blood to make them susceptible to me.”
Elu made a strange face.
“You think I’m crazy?” Rathburt said.
“No . . . Elu doesn’t think you’re crazy. He thinks you’re brave. Elu is proud of you.”
Rathburt smiled and patted the Svakaran on the head. “I know I’ve been tough on you all these years. But I’ve never really meant it. I’ve loved you like a son. No, that’s not right. More like a brother.”
The Svakaran hugged Rathburt’s leg. “Elu knows that. You can’t fool him. He will always be grateful.”
Rathburt’s smile broadened. “Well, now that we’re finished saying ‘nicey’ things to each other, we’d better get back to business. You asked if I had a plan. Here’s the first part of it. We cross this damnable bridge, find a place to hide, and wait for Torg to catch up. We can’t do anything without him, anyway. And my guess is he’ll be along shortly.”
Elu took the lead, stepping cautiously onto the front portion of the bridge. “It’s very slippery. But if you watch where Elu steps, you won’t fall.”