“Then, we must fear the worst,” Mabetu said, taking a deep breath.
“Until all my people have returned, until we find evidence to the contrary, I will believe them to be alive.”
Rakam spoke up, “But that is the way of these MaShaitani. They seem bent upon utterly destroying not only the people but also any trace that they ever existed, including their villages and tools, those things a conquering tribe would be thought to desire. When they have done this, despoiled all, then they leave and let the land rot.”
Pakali gave Rakam a searching stare. He said, “Tell me, then. Tell me your tale.”
“I spent the Long Night in the Village of the Purple Fern. They live on the plains between the great mountains and the sea.”
“But those are heathen lands beyond the mountains,” said the King.
“Yes, they are heathens. They worship the sun and the sky, the land and the water. They make images and symbols and hold these as the sacred vessels of their gods,” answered Rakam. “But they are a good people. I found we share many of the same ideals, and they see as right and wrong what we see as right and wrong.”
“Many, but not all things.”
“No, that is true, but they were kind to me. I tried my best to teach them our ways and think I saw a spark of understanding within them. Their Chief was very interested in what I had to say. None of our MaKasisi have visited their lands in as long as only a few still living could remember. It was the Chief’s pride to have me as his guest and wished me to send more of our people to trade in goods and ideas.”
“It is my understanding these heathen men offer their wives and daughters to traveling men they view with such honor. They are said to do this so they may have the magic of their blood in their families. I would have thought this heathen Chief might find you some daughter or niece to marry.”
Rakam blushed, “You understand correctly, my King.”
Pakali said quickly, “Oh, and do you have a wife somewhere, and children, too, perhaps?” He shot Mabetu a wink Rakam didn’t see.
“No,” Rakam said in haste. “I did not….”
“Really?”
“No, of course not. I would never.”
“For a man who wishes to marry my daughter, a Kasisi in the service of the Almighty, such discretion and honorable behavior is to be expected.” Pakali watched the discomfort in Rakam’s face with amusement. The King chuckled and Mabetu smiled. “But, that is enough about you. I called you here to speak of the threat against my kingdom. Tell me more about these MaShaitani.”
Flustered, Rakam began slowly, “Yes, well, we spent the Long Night telling each other stories of our people, and we talked much about the legend of the Losli. I said our people thought these legends false, but the Chief assured me they were indeed true, that the Losli lived in the low mountains not too distant from his village. Their peoples had traded, though not often, and he had seen the great beasts of burden himself. He showed me an ancient tooth of one of these beasts that he kept as a most valued treasure. I had always wanted to see if the legends were true.”
“And? Are they?”
“I traveled into the mountains, and I found several villages. No, that is, I found places that once held people. The rocks and trees told me of them, how they had led good lives. Then I saw the horror of what had happened, how it was all destroyed. Their huts, their fields and herds, all gone, all burned and the ashes scattered to the winds. Even their wells and burial places were destroyed. I saw how the MaShaitani had done these things.
“Feeling there was nothing else for me to do, I started home, following the directions the Chief of the Purple Fern provided me. All along the way it was the same, places near rivers or near lakes where the land had once been tamed, places that would have made good homes, but these places were all empty as the land was empty.”
“And, this is what you have come to tell me? This is what you have seen?”
“Yes, the Village of the Lake below the Grove and the small villages between have all been destroyed.”
“Show him the helmet,” Mabetu said.
Rakam opened his satchel. He brought out the helmet that had once sat upon the Shaitani warrior’s head and held it up for the King to see. The helmet shined a dull gray in the candlelight. Hues of orange and yellow seemed to shimmer across its smooth surface, showing no defect, like it had been perfectly shaped in the single moment of its making. Pakali stretched out his hand in wonder and appreciation, and Rakam handed it over.
“I finally met with the MaShaitani upriver from the Village of the Lake. I watched as the small village there was burned, ruined as all the others had been. Though it broke my heart, I could do nothing for the villagers. Their mightiest warriors were dead. The rest of the people were all rounded up like the herds.”
“The strongest were not taken as slaves?” the King asked.
“Not that I could see.”
“That is most disturbing, for our stories say the MaShaitani would take the strongest amongst us as slaves, often times killing and eating the children and the women when they had finished with them.” As he spoke, Pakali began tracing his finger over the helmet. He studied its line, the way the face would be entirely protected, the ridges that guarded the crown and the base of the skull from injury.
Rakam said, “They all wore armor akin to that helmet, and they had sticks that cracked like thunder and struck with a mighty bolt or arrow of some kind that traveled too fast for sight.”
Hanging his head in shame, Rakam said, “I left them to die. I thought it hopeless. I could do nothing for them, so I left.”
“But he came to warn us,” Mabetu said in his defense.
Distracted, Pakali looked up and said, “Yes, of course, though your heart would not have it so, your head made the right decision. It was not your place to die along the river. By coming to the Grove and then to us, you will save more than a village of its suffering. That is, if we can find the strength to fight them.”
“My King?”
“I will not trouble you with politics. Some may not wish to fight. They do not remember the wars fondly. Many of their houses lost honor at that time. They think I am the son of a lesser house, though they owe their freedom and fealty to my family. They may wish to negotiate. How many of these MaShaitani do you think there are?”
“Negotiate,” said Rakam desperately, “after what I saw? What these MaShaitani have done leaves no room for negotiation.”
“Hush now, I said to let me worry about politics. The people will know what must be done. They will know the right of it, by your word and the word of others.”
Pakali found something of interest inside the Shaitani helmet. There was a finely made strap that set into a sort of buckle with a click. Frowning, the King worked at the buckle, but could not free the strap.
Finally answering Pakali’s earlier questions, Rakam said, “I guess two hundred, though I had little time to make an accurate count.”
Pakali looked up from his examination of the helmet. “Two hundred? That’s all?”
“Yes, my King, but if you had only seen what these monsters had done, what destruction had come by their hands.”
“And we cannot rule out that there may be others,” said Mabetu. “It is likely, as I have listened to these stories and considered the matter, that there may be many more tribes of these MaShaitani--perhaps several groups, working together to purge the land of our people, perhaps massing to make an attempt upon your city.”
There was a clicking noise, and Pakali looked up with elation. The buckle had released. “Either way, say none of this to the Elders. If they can find any excuse, any reason to believe this threat is not real, they will use it against us. We must assume there are more, though we have no proof. It is an untruth we must now accept to hold amongst us, lest the MaShaitani come and destroy us all.”
Rakam and Mabetu exchanged looks and then said solemnly, “Yes, my King.”
“And then how did you come by this helm
et?”
“As I made my escape, I encountered two MaShaitani hunting in the forest. They discovered me and made chase. I was able to elude them for a time, though not easily, and a trap they meant to set upon me came out in my favor. I knocked the helmet off one and cut his throat with my spear. I wish only that I had brought his death-stick with me, but I’m afraid I lost my courage and ran away.”
Laughing, Pakali said, “Rakam, you will not judge yourself so harshly. You did well, alone as you were. Many good warriors would not have done as well when faced with so fierce an enemy, myself included.”
He held the helmet aloft and said proudly, “This is a tribute to your bravery. This should be an heirloom of your house, cherished for as long as our people live on. But may I have it for a time? I may find the secret of its making, find a way to unmake it perhaps. I may have to treat it badly, I’m afraid. Tell me to give it back, and I will.”
“No, no, do what you must.”
“Then, I will hold it for you and place its value above all of my possessions. If I must damage it, I hope only I may have the luck to knock one off the head of a Shaitani myself to replace it.”
“And I trust, as always, to your kindness and generosity.”
“Good, thank you. You honor me.” Pakali placed the helmet at his feet, held Rakam in a cold stare. “And now, what of your gift? Can you not see where the MaShaitani are? And the people of the Grove? What of them? You were said to have a special talent for the True Sight.”
“No, my King, I am sorry, but I no longer have that gift.”
Pakali was astonished. “Then, you have dishonored yourself with these heathens in some way.”
“No,” Mabetu said, “I have tested him. There is no sin and such gifts are not taken lightly by the Almighty, especially not for the failings of a young man. I have known many a bad man that is strong while the good are weak. Rakam, tell him of the Jinn.”
“When I traveled from the mountains, the land became very dry, a rocky desert with very little but thorns and scorpions. River dragons attacked me. I escaped them by climbing a rock, but was stung by a serpent. I wandered the desert, the poison burning my mind. When I at last could go no farther, the Jinn came to me.”
Intrigued, Pakali said, “And, what did it say?”
“The Jinn showed me a great light in the heavens. It was like a falling star, but as it made its course through the sky, it bloomed like a flower of the tranaba tree. The Jinn told me this was a sign of what was to come, that the white MaShaitani would spread like a plague over the world. It said I did not understand what these things were, could not possibly understand the danger we were in.”
“And, what did this Jinn have to offer you then? It had some bargain to make I should wonder.”
“Yes, it said if I would worship it, that it would save our people.”
“Even one as clever and honest as you, Rakam, could suffer nothing but ill from the bargain of a Jinn. You turned it down.”
“I turned it down.”
“Good. Have no regrets. Slaves of the MaShaitani or slaves of the Jinn, there is no difference between the two.”
Rakam nodded. “And since then my gift has left me. I do not know if it is because of the Jinn or the serpent, but it almost,” he paused, “it almost feels like that gift is still inside me, waiting. I think, when the time comes, when I have need, it will return.”
“I do not pretend to know about such things, but trust in the Almighty and trust in your own feelings. That is how I have ever conducted myself, and for good or bad, I have no regrets for doubt.” Pakali slapped his knees. “What do you think we should do?”
“Run,” said Rakam confidently. “Gather together small groups and give them food and tools. Tell them to travel as far into the world as they can, just get away and try to live a good life somewhere far away.”
“Yes, we should run if all you say is true. But where would we go? Where would there ever be safety?”
“That I don’t know. But I fear what the Jinn said was true. We do not understand these MaShaitani. They have a strength that is beyond us, and until we understand it better, we cannot hope to win out against them.”
Chapter 16
After their meeting, Pakali brought Rakam and Mabetu to the Council chamber so they might give testimony of what they had learned of the Shaitani invasion and all its strangeness. But as luck would have it, the Council was already in session, a closed meeting to discuss a new tax on raw ores entering the city for processing. So it was that Pakali left them to attend to the business of the court while Rakam and Mabetu were escorted to a comfortable room to await their summons.
It was such a comfortable room that they both promptly succumbed to the exhaustion of their long journey and fell asleep. When they finally awoke, they were told the Great Council of the People had finished their business and disbanded, and they should seek food and rest at Pakali’s house. They were to be personal guests of the King and lodge with him for the duration of their stay.
After a celebration of food and song and story in honor of their guests, Pakali’s household gradually retired. Rakam found the guestroom lavish beyond words, but he was unable to sleep. Too much rest waiting for the Council and nerves for the meeting to come made him restless. His body wanted exercise, and his mind wanted peace. But he could have neither. The city slept, and though he was a guest of the King, under the current circumstances, he couldn’t just go wandering around.
As interesting as the insides of his eyelids were, he could at last stand it no longer. Throwing aside the many pillows that seemed only to mock him, Rakam arose and dressed himself in the fine robes Pakali had waiting for him. Thinking to perhaps walk the corridors until he felt tired, he went to the door. Though this was one of the oldest buildings in the city, like all things under Pakali’s control, the door was in a state of good repair. It was well made and moved smoothly upon its hinges.
“Oh, what luck,” Rakam said in frustration as he spied the guard.
Four men were sleeping in the corridor beyond. Rakam closed the door as quietly as he could and was happy to find the door again cooperated with his desire for stealth. The guards were neglecting their duty, and Rakam didn’t want them to be punished on his account, as deserving of a whipping as these men were. But he didn’t have many friends within the city and once one guard was against him, they would soon all be against him.
With no real purpose, he went to the window, looking out over the darkness of the courtyard below. The sister moons were in conjunction, the beginning of the dark time was at last fully upon them. The sun was wholly gone from the horizon, beginning its mysterious journey to the other side of the world. Even for MaShaitani this must be a time of great danger, Rakam thought, flesh and blood as they were. If the MaShaitani were to survive the Long Night, they must make war upon the Marsh City or find some other place of safety. Rakam feared the former was the likelier of the two.
The sister moons gave an eerie light to the courtyard. The neat paths between the carefully cultivated flowers seemed to be made of the same weak light that the moons gave to the world, cold and white and strange in the quiet. A rumbling snore interrupted his thoughts. Recognizing the sound as one of Mabetu’s best, Rakam found himself glad that at least one of them would be rested when the Council convened once again.
Putting his hands down carefully on the window frame, Rakam leaned outward, trying to catch a glimpse into Mabetu’s room. He could see little more than the dark outline of the window. The snoring became regular. It seemed the old man was still weary from the journey. He was the lucky one.
It was then Rakam saw her, just a glimpse of her long, dark hair against a white sleeping dress. Her room was across from his, in the apartments of the royal family. Negara returned to the window, setting herself upon the ledge, combing her long hair and gazing into the moonlit sky.
Giving a whistle like the call of a bird he had known in the lands of the Purple Fern, Rakam tried to get her attent
ion. Whether she had not heard him or was uninterested in birdsong, Rakam could not tell, but the Princess seemed oblivious to his attempts to attract her interest. After trying the song a few more times, he gave up on whistling and looked around for something to throw.
The room was scrupulously clean, and where Rakam thought he might be able to find a loose or broken stone to make use of, he could not. Desperation growing, he rummaged around in his own possessions, fearing the Princess would be gone by the time he returned to the window, but it was no good, he could find nothing he could justify losing for such a frivolous reason. Everything he owned he carried for a reason, and it was foolish to throw something away he might need later.
Finally, he decided upon the bit of candle he had been given. Having no other candles in his possession, he had not used the precious thing. Instead, he stuck it in his satchel and found his way as he had always done, with his senses and luck to guide him. Thinking of Negara, he decided this thing was not so precious to him after all.
Returning to the window, Rakam found the Princess just finishing with her hair, tying it into a thick mane at the back of her head. As he watched her skillful hands, he was struck by how womanly, how unlike the person he had met in the forest, she really was. The Princess was beautiful, soft as a woman should be, but strong, too. There could be no denying her strength. As he watched Negara gather her comb and things and disappear from the window, Rakam felt a sudden longing for her and remembered the hardship and loneliness of his time in the wilderness.
Breaking off the smallest piece he could from the tip of the waxy stick, Rakam rolled the tallow into a small ball. Judging the weight of the ball and the distance of the courtyard, he gave it a throw, aiming for the Princess’s window. The ball fell short, well short, of its target.
Unperturbed, Rakam broke an even larger piece from the candle and made another throw. This time the ball flew across the courtyard, but struck the wall. Thinking he would get it right on his next try, knowing he only had enough candle for two more attempts at best, Rakam made his third throw.
Reign of the Nightmare Prince Page 14