by M. L. Brown
The other man wore a tunic and trousers of coarse cloth. He held his head in his hands, so I couldn’t see his face. The hair that showed through his fingers was the color of old straw. He was trembling. At length he began to sob. The sound woke Regis, who sat up and asked, “What’s wrong, old boy?”
“My wife, my children.”
A hush fell upon our group.
“Were they captured?” I asked.
“No, they…they….”
He dissolved into tears.
Regis was at his side in an instant, rubbing his back and murmuring words of comfort. It seemed awfully cold-hearted to do nothing, so I sat next to the man and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Tsurugi didn’t move. Only his eyes changed. They were full of tears.
“Let’s get some sleep,” suggested Regis as the man finished his cry. “Introductions can wait.”
The man lay down, hiccupped twice and fell asleep.
“Poor fellow,” said Regis, wiping tears from his own eyes. “A hole has been torn in his life. I don’t think it will ever really heal.” He turned to Tsurugi. “Listen, before I say anything else, I need to thank you.”
“Forget it,” said Tsurugi. “Both of you rest. We move at dusk.” He stood, gathered the canteens and went off to find water.
“Not an affable fellow, is he?” whispered Regis.
“You’ve no idea,” I said.
We were awoken by Tsurugi late that afternoon. With groans that words cannot express, I heaved myself to my feet and stretched. Tsurugi brought forth bread and dried fruit from one of the packs. It was the first good meal I had eaten in nearly a week, and it was delicious.
“What’s your name?” asked Regis, addressing our other companion.
“Miles.”
“I’m Regis.”
“My name is Lance,” I added. “That’s Tsurugi. I’m glad to meet you.”
No one spoke for a moment, and then Regis asked, “Where did you get all these supplies, Tsurugi?”
“That’s a good question,” I said. “I recognize our packs—that one and this one here—but I’ve never seen the other two. Where did you get them, and how in blazes did you get out of the cage?”
Tsurugi didn’t answer.
“Come on,” I insisted. “I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell us.”
He put his hand in a pocket and withdrew a red feather. “This drifted into our cage. I waited for darkness and picked the lock with it.”
I took the feather from him and examined it closely. It was red, a bright, fiery red, shot with gold. “I wonder what sort of bird it came from,” I said, handing it back to him. “Where did you get the supplies?”
“The Nomen stored their plunder in a cart. I recovered our packs and filled another two with supplies.”
Tsurugi may not have been much of a conversationalist, but he was a brilliant legionary. Let us pretend, for a moment, that I possessed the cleverness to look at a feather and say, “By Jove, I can use this to pick the lock.” Let us pretend that I had the skill to pick the lock with the feather. Even then, I would have roused my companions and fled into the forest without a second thought—and then we would have perished of cold or hunger, unless the Nomen found us first.
Tsurugi may have been rude and unsociable, but he had done a thorough job of rescuing us.
“Tsurugi,” I said, “I know you don’t give a brass farthing, but thank you for getting us out of that cage.”
For a moment I thought he was going to smile. He didn’t. Reaching into a pack, he pulled out a little flask and said, “One mouthful each. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
Regis took a sip from the flask and grimaced. “Not to be ungrateful, but that’s awful stuff.”
“Then give it here,” I said, snatching it from his hands. I took two swallows. It tasted like brandy. “Are you sure you don’t want any?” I asked Regis. He shook his head, and I took another two swallows. “Good stuff,” I said, handing the flask to Miles.
He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
I was greatly tempted to take another two swallows, but stifled the urge and passed the flask to Tsurugi. “Have a drink,” I said. “You’ve earned it.”
He put away the flask.
“What now?” asked Regis. “Where are we going next?”
“Riku,” I said. “I have to get to Riku.”
“We’re going to Ventus,” said Tsurugi.
“What?” I cried.
“Winter is coming. We need supplies and hunds. We’ll travel to Riku from Ventus.”
I felt a cold hand grip my heart. Another unexpected development. I didn’t know how many unexpected developments I could take. I just wanted to go home.
We walked all night. Tsurugi insisted we travel by night. I didn’t really care. The air was bitterly cold, but walking kept us warm. Except our feet. No matter how far I walked, my feet were always cold. The stars twinkled overhead, and the moons shone like pearls.
I haven’t mentioned the moons of Gea, have I? There were two of them: one pure white, one tinged with blue. They gave me quite a shock when I looked out the window of Tamu’s house my second or third night in Gea.
If it hadn’t been for my training with Aidan, I wouldn’t have lasted two hours. We walked and walked and walked, stopping only for brief rests. As dawn drew near, Tsurugi began to stumble over the uneven ground.
“You all right?” asked Regis. “You look tired.” Tsurugi said nothing, but Regis persisted. “Didn’t you get any sleep yesterday?”
“No.”
“What?” I exclaimed.
“Someone had to look out.”
“So you’ve been two nights and a day without sleep,” said Regis. “Tsurugi, old boy, you need a good night’s rest. Well, a good day’s rest. See here, it’s almost morning. How about we stop? Here’s a nice hollow, out of the wind and everything. Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Tsurugi would probably have argued if he hadn’t been so tired. He dropped his pack, drew forth a blanket and curled up on the ground. “Sleep back to back,” he said. “It’s warmer.” A moment later he was asleep.
Miles hadn’t said a word all night. Like a man in a dream he rummaged through the packs, found a blanket and lay down next to Tsurugi. I settled next to Miles, squirming on the hard ground. Regis sat on a rock, yawning and blinking. “Why did I offer to keep watch?” he grumbled. “I’m exhausted.”
“Don’t fall asleep,” I warned. “You might be a gambler, but I’m not keen on taking chances.”
I shut my eyes and pulled my blanket up to my chin. After a night of walking, I could finally rest my tired legs and fevered mind. Alas, I could no more fall asleep than restrain the wind or grasp oil with the hand.
I sat up, startling Regis. “You gave me a turn,” he said. “Can’t sleep?”
“I wish I could. Hang it, I really wish I could.”
“Since you can’t, would you keep watch for me?”
“Fine,” I said, not cheerfully. “Only if you return the favor sometime.”
“Of course, old boy. Just give a shout if any…anything…unusual happens.” He yawned. “I’m ready to drop.”
Suiting the action to the word, he collapsed next to Miles and began to snore. I draped the blanket over him and took my place on the rock, eyes open, ready to challenge any enemy and hoping no enemy would have to be challenged.
It would be a long day.
9
LANCE ELIOT SUFFERS COLD WEATHER
I SAT FOR A while, basking in the sun like a lizard. Before long I felt bored. Sitting on a rock and gazing at the scenery is pleasant enough, but not for hours on end. Our long march had not bored me. Putting one foot in front of another in the dark took a good deal of concentration. Now I had nothing to do, and boredom was driving me slowly to the brink of insanity.
I was eventually struck by an idea. I tiptoed to our baggage, opened my pack and rummaged through it. It took all of my self-control to keep from shout
ing with happiness when I found my pipe. Further searching unearthed the igniter and a tin of tobacco. Returning to my rock, I filled my pipe and lit up.
After a week of misery, it was glorious to enjoy something as pleasant and familiar as tobacco. At least two or three ounces of the stuff had gone up in smoke by the time I put aside my pipe. What now? I returned to my pack and resumed rummaging. I found my razor, which reminded me that I desperately needed a shave; a bag of valores, which were of no use in the middle of the forest; and my weapons.
I stopped to think. What was I going to do with my shuriken? What about my staff? Aidan hadn’t taught me to use them, but with nothing else to do perhaps I could teach myself. Shuriken weren’t so different from darts, after all, and I was renowned in Oxford for my skill at dart-throwing. As for the staff, well, it was just a metal stick. Swinging a stick couldn’t possibly be so difficult, could it?
I removed a shuriken from its case, took aim and sent it spinning toward a tree twenty feet off. It missed. I threw another shuriken. It missed. I threw a third shuriken. This time it struck the tree and stuck in the bark. Encouraged, I went to look for the other two. They took a long time to find. I threw another three shuriken. All three missed, and I decided to give up.
Boredom is a powerful motivator. Within ten minutes I was on my feet again, throwing, retrieving, throwing, retrieving. After an hour or so, I managed to hit the tree with every last shuriken. I paused to drink some water before selecting another target and resuming practice. It wasn’t so different from darts: a different movement of the hand, but the same flick of the wrist.
I had become quite adept at throwing shuriken by early afternoon, though I wouldn’t have trusted my aim around nervous people or small children. I put away the shuriken and took up the staff. After fitting the two pieces together, I chose a small bush and fell upon it without mercy. It broke up under my repeated blows until it was just a pile of leaves and splintered wood.
I felt ridiculous. There had to be some sort of technique to fighting with a staff, but how could I learn without a teacher? Casting the staff upon the ground, I returned to my rock and sulked.
Time passed, and then I gave a yelp of surprise as a hand touched my shoulder. “Quiet,” said Tsurugi. “The others are sleeping.”
“Drat it, Tsurugi,” I hissed. “Why do you keep grabbing my shoulder like that? You could just say something.”
“Go rest. I’ll look out.”
“I say, Tsurugi, do you know anything about staves? I want to learn to fight with a staff, but I don’t know how to start.”
He seemed reluctant.
“Come on, Tsurugi. Please teach me.”
“Fine,” he said, not looking at me. “Take apart your staff.”
I picked up the staff, took it apart and held the rods in my hands, awaiting further instructions.
“Put it together.”
I put it together.
“Take it apart.”
I took it apart.
“Put it together.”
“Tsurugi, we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. I know how to take it apart and put it together. Can’t you teach me something useful?”
He took the staff. I watched with polite interest as he held it before him, and then gaped as it came apart in a single lightning motion. Tsurugi dealt an imaginary enemy four swift blows with the rods and struck a fifth time with the staff. It was incredible. One second he held the staff; the next, the rods; the next, the staff.
“That was amazing,” I exclaimed. “How did you do that?”
He tossed me the staff. “I took it apart and put it together. That’s all. Now take it apart.”
I spent at least an hour taking apart my staff and putting it together, over and over and over, until I was able to assemble and disassemble it as easily as you tie your shoelaces.
“All right,” I said. “I’m ready for the next lesson.”
Tsurugi looked away.
“You are going to keep teaching me, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “I’ve done enough. You’d be better off with another teacher.”
“Come on,” I pleaded. “Kana said your skill was legendary. I saw you fight the Nomen. You can teach me.”
“I’m not a good teacher,” he said, and added in a voice almost too soft for me to hear, “I’m not fit to teach anyone.”
There was no hint of self-pity in his voice; he spoke with dejected conviction. Something in his tone struck a chord deep inside me. For all my life I had tried to excuse my faults by pretending I had none. When Tsurugi spoke, I saw for a blinding instant the vast, ugly landscape of my mistakes.
“I’m not a good student, and I’m not fit to learn,” I told him. “We’re a match.”
He may have smiled for a moment, but I can’t be sure. I hadn’t slept in nearly twenty hours, and I might have imagined it.
Tsurugi taught me a few basic combat stances. He was remarkably patient, demonstrating a movement over and over until I was able to imitate it.
Regis awoke as the sun disappeared behind the pines. “I feel awful,” he said, rubbing his back. “What’s for breakfast? Supper, I mean.”
Tsurugi set out three portions of coarse barley bread.
“That’s not right,” said Regis. “There should be four portions. You’re forgetting Miles.”
“No, he’s not,” I said. “Put out another portion, Tsurugi. You have to eat. Put out a portion for yourself or I’ll belt you with the staff.”
Apparently unwilling to argue, Tsurugi set out another piece of bread.
“Wake Miles,” he said.
I felt a lump in my throat as I knelt beside Miles and shook him. “Time to get up,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheerful. He sat up, blinking in the dusk. “Have something to eat,” I urged, passing him a piece of bread. “It’s going to be a long night. You’ll need your strength.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Regis, sitting next to him.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat it anyway,” I said. “We have a hard walk ahead of us.”
“I can’t walk. Leave me here.”
Regis shook his head. “Absolutely not. You’re coming with us.”
“There’s nothing left.”
“Listen to me,” said Regis. “We know you’re in agony. You lost your family. You lost your home. You were caged with three strangers and forced to walk leagues through dark and cold to El-knows-where. We know you want to give up. You mustn’t. It’s hard, old boy, but you mustn’t give up.”
“We’ll reach Ventus in a few days,” said Tsurugi.
“There are people in Ventus,” I added. “We’ll be safe. You won’t be alone. There will be beds to sleep in and warm food to eat. It’s just a few days away.”
I didn’t know it at the time, but Miles was made of sterner stuff than I could have imagined. I wouldn’t have lasted a day in his place. He came with us that night, bravely bearing his pack and soaking his sleeves with tears. After the first half hour, Regis tore a piece from his shirt and said, “Here’s a handkerchief, old boy. Let me know when you need another.”
That was our third night of marching. The weather had turned bad. A wind—not merely a wind, but a freezing, unrelenting blast of air—tore through the pines and made them roar like a wild sea. In fact, it seemed just like a sea, an endless sea of black pines stretching on to infinity. The moons hung over us, cold and luminous.
No matter how I tried to fill my mind with pleasant thoughts, it kept coming back to the battered copy of Dante’s Inferno I kept on my shelf in Oxford. As a child, I had thought of hell as a jumble of roaring flames. Dante changed that. The poet had chosen a sea of ice, not a lake of fire, for the devil’s final torment. The more I tried not to think about it, the more I thought about it; and the more I thought about it, the more the moons above us seemed like bottomless pools of ice.
At last the wind ceased and the roar died away. The trees were fewer and farther apart, and the sky was
brightening. The forest ended at the foot of a great hill. We began to climb, stopping every few minutes to rest, and reached the summit just as the sun began to shine. I gazed with wide eyes at the land before us.
A line of gray mountains stood away to our right. Snow glinted on their peaks. The ground stretched up toward the mountains in a long slope, speckled green and brown with bracken and heather grass. A silver ribbon of water wound across the moor.
“The Arteria,” said Tsurugi.
Regis rubbed his chin. “If that’s the Arteria River, then those mountains must make up the Bow.”
“The Bow?” I asked.
“It’s a mountain range shaped like an archer’s bow. If I remember my geography, Ventus is located in a hollow between two peaks. The Arteria River flows right through the town and down the slope in a westward direction.”
“So east is that way,” I said, pointing toward the mountains. “I suppose it would have to be, since the sun is rising in that direction. That means the river is due north from here. How close is Riku?”
“Roughly north-northwest,” said Tsurugi. “Fifty or sixty leagues.”
“What now?” asked Regis.
“We travel to the river, and follow it east till we reach Ventus.”
“Can we sleep first?” I asked. “I’m exhausted.”
“Not here,” said Tsurugi.
“I can’t go on,” I groaned. “I haven’t slept in thirty hours and my stomach is empty and my legs feel like jelly.”
“I see an outcrop of rock by the river,” said Regis, shielding his eyes from the sun. “It can’t be more than a few hours away. We could set up camp and spend the day. Better still, we could spend the day and the night, and travel tomorrow morning.”
Tsurugi shook his head. “It’s dangerous to travel by day.”
“Hang it all,” I exclaimed. “The Nomen must be leagues behind us by now. I support Regis. My toes are bent from all the times I’ve stubbed them in the dark, and I would rather die than go through another night like the last.”
“I’d like to travel by day,” said Miles. We hushed immediately. It was the first thing he had said since we began our march.