A Solitary Journey

by Tony Shillitoe

  The blue light diminished. She listened for telltale sounds, but the chamber at the tunnel’s end was silent. Whisper squirmed to be put down. Looking, the rat told her, and trotted towards the chamber while Meg waited, anticipating the rat making a mad dash back to her, but after a few moments the rat projected a clumsy image for Gone. Heart racing, Meg crept back to the chamber and peered along both side tunnels into darkness.

  They’re gone, A Ahmud Ki informed her.

  Where?

  To find Mareg.

  Do they know what’s happening?

  A Ahmud Ki projected an ironic chuckle in his reply. They don’t understand it. They are here to guard me and to let Mareg know if anything happens to me.

  What do we do now? Meg asked, her panic rising.

  You finish the job.

  But what if they come back?

  Hurry. Can you remember where you were up to?

  She gazed at the yellow light. Yes.

  Then continue, he ordered.

  She was affronted by his tone, but she put it aside as the tone of someone who’d been trapped and was seeing his escape looming. She refocussed, moving past her nascent fear of the Demon Horsemen, through the rags of the residual images of Jon and her renewed pain, until she could feel the glyph’s embracing energy—only it was no longer as strong, as all-encompassing, as when she’d started to unravel it. A Ahmud Ki’s ancient words resonated in her thoughts and she imagined how they would sound, but she instinctively felt that there was a better way to finish the task. The glyph’s energy tapped into her spine and the magical tingling that she recognised linked her inextricably to the glyph’s fabric. With a slow, deep breath, she let her mind fuse with the remaining energy until she felt that the glyph was her construction, part of her being that she understood in every facet. She drew on the rat’s unusual ability to communicate in images and realigned the glyph into an interconnected puzzle that revealed the links like chains. Then she disconnected each link, separating the images, and as each image was isolated it vanished, leaving the remaining links visible and vulnerable. Within moments she was left with a solitary image—the emaciated, bloodied pale figure of A Ahmud Ki across the back of the statue—and she was shocked into wide-eyed consciousness by the most brutal scream she’d ever heard.

  The chamber was dark. She jumped to her feet, created a light sphere and saw the shadowed silhouette of the figure on the dragon writhing violently. A shoulder ripped free of the black axe and the figure slid sideways, hanging on the ebony surface, pinned by the golden axe, screaming. Meg clambered onto the statue, slipping and struggling to get a foothold on the polished stone as she desperately reached for the golden axe handle, and when she finally got hold of it she heaved with all of her strength, but it wouldn’t budge. A Ahmud Ki screamed again and went limp. Her memory stirred. She focussed her psychic energy and imagined the axe coming free. The axe’s grip in the stone dissolved and she fell backwards, smacking heavily against the stone floor, and the axe slid down the statue and clattered on the floor beside her. She sat up. Along the left and right tunnels pale blue light was forming. The Demon Horsemen had heard the screams. She crawled to A Ahmud Ki’s side and found a multitude of bleeding wounds, especially the gaping cuts where the axes had pinned his shoulders to the dragon. Whisper, she projected.

  Here, the rat replied, emerging from behind the dragon statue, and she trotted towards Meg.

  The light in the tunnels brightened. Meg could hear metallic steps. Where do they keep their horses? she wondered, cleared her thought and focussed on the exit doorway to form a portal. As the light flashed across the space, she scooped A Ahmud Ki’s unconscious form into her arms, surprised at how fragile and light he was, let Whisper leap through the portal first and then stepped through, her final thought closing the portal in her wake.

  He was close to dying. The wounds on his shoulders, his back and his chest were deep, the kind that would have individually slain most people, but he showed uncommon resilience in the feeble ebb and flow of breath and his agonisingly slow heartbeat. His blood loss worried her most of all and the wounds were seeping their precious fluids into the straw of her shelter. Whisper watched with her head tilted as if she was interested in what was unfolding. ‘First, these leg bonds,’ she whispered. She looked at the gold wire cruelly cutting into A Ahmud Ki’s legs, binding him in an unnatural position. There was no way to cut him free so she created the spell and made the wire slip away. Blood seeped from the wire furrows. No one deserves this, she thought, as she knelt beside the ghostly pale body to straighten the legs from beneath the torso. When he was supine, she gently placed her hands across his chest, covering the wounds as she closed her eyes, and whispered, ‘I will heal you. You won’t die. I will heal you.’ A memory of Wombat flickered.

  Light crept beneath the door and through the cracks in the wall to touch her hand and wake her. She blinked, and when she became aware that she was lying across a body she sat up to gaze at the pale, emaciated form stretched before her. His chest moved shallowly. She looked for his terrible wounds, but they were healed. Her spell worked. Now it is up to you, she thought as she considered to where she could shift him from the congealed pool of blood in the straw. She looked for Whisper, but the rat was gone. She listened. Outside, some distance away, she could hear voices, birdsong and a dog barking. ‘Chi-hway,’ she murmured, and was surprised that he hadn’t come to wake her as normal—and glad because she would have had to explain A Ahmud Ki’s presence. She piled straw for A Ahmud Ki’s bed before she lifted him across to it, again surprised at his lack of weight. He needed clothing, at least a blanket for warmth. Hiding him from Chi-hway was impossible and explaining how he’d arrived made even less sense. Somehow, she had to keep Chi-hway out of her shelter.

  As she opened the door cautiously she was struck with how hungry and thirsty she was feeling. It was probably the exertion with the magic, she reasoned. It was later in the morning than she expected, almost the middle of the day. The sun darted between grey clouds and the air was very cool, warning her that it would rain. She spotted a group of Shesskar-sharel women washing clothes at the river and children playing nearby, and a red dog loping after birds. Two older men, sitting on logs and talking, looked up at her. There was no sign of Magpie or Chi-hway. Then she remembered that they were hunting. They must have left early and Chi-hway had chosen to let her sleep. Luck was on her side. She entered the house and, after eating carrots and a potato to stave her hunger, and drinking from the water bucket, she retrieved a brown smock and a blue blanket from Chi-hway’s possessions and retreated to her shelter where she covered A Ahmud Ki.

  He was still breathing faintly, but his heartbeat was steady and he was sleeping soundly. He was strange to look at—a man with a thin frame and an elegant face—and his silver braided hair fascinated her because she wondered how long it had taken him to knot all of the intricate individual braids—or who had done it for him. His eyes were unusual too, even closed, shaped like a cat’s eyes. When she examined his body for residue of the wounds she found livid purple marks of older scars that must have been earned before his imprisonment and the absence of a finger on his left hand—otherwise he was whole.

  Satisfied that he was warm and stable, she went to the kitchen to start her daily duties of preparing for meals, until she realised that she didn’t know how long Chi-hway intended to be away hunting. She headed for Ah-tee-wana-see’s hut, but halfway there she heard the women calling from the river and they were pointing at her, yelling, ‘The wild one is back! She’s there!’ Confused, she continued walking and saw Ah-tee- wana-see emerge from her hut. Meg smiled as the old woman approached, and was startled to see her looking angry.

  ‘Do you think you can come and go as you please?’ Ah-tee-wana-see asked bluntly. ‘Or did you find it too hard to run away?’

  ‘I didn’t run anywhere,’ Meg replied.

  Ah-tee-wana-see glared. ‘What nonsense is this, Sha- emen-sa-char? You have been gone thre
e days and you say you ran nowhere?’

  Meg stared, her mouth open. ‘I don’t understand,’ she muttered.

  ‘You understand perfectly well, child. My grandson goes hunting and you thought you could escape in his absence,’ the old woman accused, ‘but you found Shesskar-sharel unremitting on strangers, or you got lost and came back. You’re lucky my grandson is not returned from the hunt or you would be sorry for trying to make a fool of him.’

  ‘When is he coming back?’ Meg asked, trying to deflect the unexpected attack.

  The old woman looked as if she wanted to keep the attack going, but she shrugged, sighed and said, ‘The hunters should already be back.’

  Meg immediately thought of Magpie. ‘Then why aren’t they?’

  Ah-tee-wana-see raised an eyebrow as if the question was impolite, but she held her answer while she waved to the women at the river who’d stopped their washing to watch the interchange. The women waved and returned to their task as if satisfied the matter was in control. ‘Tread warily, child. You are not the one to be asking questions, but I will answer this one. The men usually return from a hunt within two days. Sometimes it is longer if the wildcat is scarce in the mountains or if the animal they choose to hunt is smart. You have been wise to return before Chi-hway. I know my grandson and he would have hunted you down had you not come back. Don’t doubt my words, child. To become the wah ahtim, a man has to be proud and determined, not just strong and brave. Chi-hway would not brook being made a fool of and you would rue your actions for a long time.’

  ‘I understand,’ Meg said humbly. ‘I will make the house ready for Chi-hway’s return and see that he is cared for as a great man should be cared for.’

  The old woman seemed unmoved by the words of contrition, her face set sternly. ‘Your role is to serve if you want sanctuary in our village. Repay kindness with gratitude, child, and your life will improve.’ Ah-tee- wana-see headed back to her hut. The meeting was over.

  For Meg, the return walk to Chi-hway’s house was spent trying to unravel the strange truth that she confronted. A Ahmud Ki told her time stood still in Se’Treya, but he lied. Almost three days had unravelled, which explained her thirst and hunger when she returned through the portal, so why had the glyph prisoner lied? To make me stay to set him free, she reasoned. He was a cunning being then, and she would have to be wary of him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  She knew the hunters had returned because she heard cheering and shouting in the village, so she put down the fire-blackened cook pot and went to the kitchen door. The afternoon had darkened, the air was bitterly cold, and faint, misty rain drifted across the green forest and hills. She grabbed a grey hide coat hanging beside the door, put it on even though it was too large for her, and ventured out to welcome the returning men because she was keen to see Magpie and learn what he’d done.

  A host of villagers carried torches that guttered and sputtered in the damp air as they surrounded the knot of nine men and two boys who’d hunted the wildcat. Draped over the stooped shoulders of the tallest man at the front of the hunters, Chi-hway, was a tawny beast with bloodied paws and head and the villagers were pointing with curious pride at their ahtim’s trophy. Meg searched for Magpie in the crowd and found the dark-haired boy walking a step behind Chi-hway, proudly carrying his spears. She smiled at his earnest face, until she saw the rough bandaging around his leg. What had happened? She glanced at the shelter at the side of the house where A Ahmud Ki was soundly sleeping before she walked towards the gathering. Ah-tee-wana-see stood with three other white-haired women, waiting for the crowd to follow Chi-hway to the centre of the village, and the old woman looked directly at Meg before returning her attention to her grandson.

  The procession ended at the village centre where Chi-hway dramatically hoisted the wildcat overhead, his arm, back and leg muscles straining under the dead weight. ‘To my people I bring strength!’ he announced, before he dumped his prize on the ground. ‘Let the preparations begin!’ The villagers cheered and scattered, deliberately heading to places as if the event was meticulously rehearsed. When Chi-hway spied Meg he grinned and grabbed Magpie’s shoulder, spinning the boy, and with a gentle push he steered Magpie towards her while he turned to his fellow warriors.

  Magpie was grinning, limping slightly, still carrying Chi-hway’s spears. ‘What happened to you?’ Meg asked.

  His grin faded. ‘I fell over a log,’ he explained. ‘It’s nothing—a scratch. Did you see the wildcat?’

  ‘I saw it,’ she answered.

  ‘Chi-hway killed it single-handedly, Meg! He stood up when it charged and got it right here,’ he said, pointing at his chest. ‘Then he wrestled it down until the others could finish it off. He’s—he’s amazing!’

  She remembered their encounter with the wildcat in the mountains and how the animal nearly killed Wombat. It nearly killed her. ‘That is amazing,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I learned so much!’ Magpie continued. ‘He showed me how to hunt by looking for prints and droppings and even how to smell where animals leave their marks.’

  ‘So you want to become a hunter?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ the boy answered.

  The soft rain drifted through the fading light, but it didn’t dampen the villagers’ mood as they set up a bonfire and seats around it, and the warriors were feted by having chairs and drinks brought directly to them. Chi-hway beckoned to Magpie. ‘I have to go,’ Magpie told Meg, and he went to sit beside the man who’d become his surrogate father. Meg watched with a strange mixture of satisfaction for the boy and sadness that he could so quickly forget the world from which he’d run. But what has he left there? she asked herself silently.

  ‘You would do well to help,’ a voice said, and Ah- tee-wana-see stood beside Meg, holding a jug of warm liquid and three mugs. ‘Take this to my grandson and your boy. They will appreciate it.’

  Meg took the offering. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Ah-tee-wana-see allowed a faint smile to crease her cheeks. ‘You have spirit, Sha-emen-sa-char. That is what my grandson likes about you. He thinks also that you will learn to be more than just a serving woman.’ The old woman’s stare hardened. ‘We will see.’ She walked away.

  Meg took the jug and mugs to Chi-hway. The wah ahtim looked up at her arrival and nodded as if he was pleased that she had brought the drink. He indicated for her to serve Magpie first. ‘What is it?’ Magpie asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Meg replied. ‘It smells a little like mead.’ She gave Magpie his mug and poured a measure before she gave a mug to Chi-hway and poured.

  He met her gaze, his dark eyes sparkling in the torchlight held by people igniting the bonfire. ‘I am happy to be home,’ he said. ‘There are things that I missed.’ Startled by his candour she blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment by smiling as she straightened, while he stood and took the jug and the third mug from her. ‘This is for you, Sha-emen-sa-char. You have done enough. Sit with your son and we will celebrate together.’ He poured her a measure and handed her the mug, as he repeated, ‘Sit.’

  She sat as directed, unwilling to meet the man’s eyes and conscious that many other eyes were watching her. She wondered if Ah-tee-wana-see was also watching the unfolding event. Shyly, she buried her face over the rim of the warm drink and sipped as the flames burst to life in the bonfire, grateful for the inner and outer sources of warmth.

  The celebration began. Knowing that she understood the language but not the events, Chi-hway explained what he could, although he was integral to the ceremonies, being the one who’d killed the wildcat. ‘When we are at the turning point in the cold months—we call it I-achin—we celebrate the coming of the promised sun. The village ahtim is expected to go to the mountains to bring back a wildcat to show the strength of our people to the elements,’ he explained as villagers joined the warriors at the bonfire to eat and drink. He nodded to two young men who immediately drew their hunting knives and began gutting and skinning the wildcat, wh
ile the watchers started singing in steady rhythm.

  ‘We are the dark people, children of the Jaru, Children of the Shess chieftains, children of the Old Ones—

  To us is given the strength to overcome, The strength to survive, the strength renewed.’

  ‘What is the song about?’ Magpie asked. Meg translated his question to Chi-hway.

  Intently watching the preparation of the wildcat, he replied, ‘We sing our history and our purpose so that we know who we are and why we are here.’

  ‘Do you believe in Jarudha?’ Meg asked in Chi- hway’s tongue.

  The ahtim looked at her. ‘By this Jarudha I presume you mean a god of some kind?’ She nodded and he shook his head. ‘The Shesskar have no gods. We see the world as it is and ourselves as we are. Gods make no sense to us. Do you believe in this Jarudha you name?’

  ‘I—I don’t know,’ she replied and looked down at her feet. When she looked up to say that she had no proof of Jarudha’s existence Chi-hway was rising to join the two men who’d finished their work on the wildcat’s corpse and the tall, muscular ahtim accepted the gift of the wildcat’s pelt. Around the circle of people and in the fire-lit wall of faces Meg saw familiar light-skinned features—Glitter, Ochre—and Wombat’s face towering in the shadows behind them—and she was filled with happiness to see her companions. Glitter waved surreptitiously, as if she didn’t want to make the acknowledgement obvious, while the others were watching Chi-hway, who crossed the circle to place the pelt in the arms of an older man. The villagers applauded the action. ‘Why did he do that?’ Magpie asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Meg replied. ‘We’ll ask afterwards.’