Healed by Hope

by Jim Melvin

  Nīsa stood. And then laughed.

  Blue vapors poured from his mouth and oozed from his nostrils and ears. He raised his arms, spread his fingers wide, and loosed beams of energy far into the firmament. The cloudless sky lit up like fireworks.

  In response, the Daasa squealed and wiggled, while the humans among them spilled tears from their eyes.

  One of the crewmen cheered—and soon the others joined in.

  A Death-Knower was among them.

  And it was a sight to behold.

  LUCIUS COULDN’T DECIDE if he preferred the current version of Nīsa more than the previous one, but the newly ascended Death-Knower seemed to enthrall everyone else on the galleon. The Asēkha seemed to be on fire from within. Bluish smoke puffed from his nostrils when he breathed and gushed from his mouth when he spoke, and Lucius could swear that it occasionally oozed from his ears. The ocean winds swept away most of the smoke, but several times Lucius caught whiffs of it, and he had found it to be pleasant and intoxicating. During those moments he did like Nīsa better than before. How could he not?

  Bonny wasn’t flirty with Nīsa, but she did fawn over him, and she often asked—begged, really—to be permitted to breathe the blue smoke. The Daasa engulfed the Death-Knower wherever he went, often making it difficult for him to move about on deck. And the pirate crew bowed to him with the adoration of well-treated slaves, performing his every command with utmost enthusiasm. Lucius felt as if he were the only one not caught up in the excitement. He also felt like the only grump.

  Not until the fourth day after the Asēkha had returned from death was Lucius able to get the Death-Knower alone. It was a bright morning—and warm. Steady sea breezes filled The Daasa’s sails, and the great galleon galloped merrily. Nīsa stood on the forecastle and stared westward, his black hair blowing wildly about his extraordinary face. A dozen or so Daasa—the ones designated to point in the proper direction—were nearby. But Bonny was belowdecks, and the nearest crewmember was not within hearing distance.

  Trying to appear nonchalant, Lucius strolled up to the Death-Knower and stood beside him.

  Nīsa looked at him, but remained silent.

  Lucius cleared his throat. “Another beautiful morning.”

  “Yes.”

  “So . . . uh . . . how are you feeling?”

  “The better question, Lucius Annaeus, is how are you feeling?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Are you threatened by me?”

  “Threatened? How so?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I don’t understand why you would say such a thing.”

  “It’s obvious that since my ascension you’ve been uncomfortable. Is it because I remind you of Lord Torgon? If so, I would like to make something very clear: My transformation increased my strength greatly, but I still am nowhere near Torg’s equal. My king has been a Death-Knower for almost a thousand years, and he is the greatest of the great. If he stood before me now, I would not be his match. Against his power, mine is but a trifle.”

  Lucius grunted. Then he chuckled. “Regardless, you do remind me of Torg. Am I that obvious?”

  Nīsa also chuckled. “My Vasi masters like to say, ‘The truth hurts.’”

  Lucius let out a long sigh. “Yes . . . but you’re right, you’re not Torg. Besides, there’s not even any reason for me to dislike him, anymore. After all, he saved Bonny’s life.”

  “Wise words,” Nīsa said. Then to Lucius’s surprise the Death-Knower wrapped a powerful arm around his shoulder. “You know, the first time I saw you—at Kamupadana—I found you to be . . . well . . . disgusting.” Lucius gasped and tried to back away, but the Death-Knower’s grip was too strong. “But . . . my initial assessment was ill-founded. In truth, you are a being of greatness.”

  Nīsa stared hard into Lucius’s eyes. The blue glow was hypnotic. “You and I . . . and Bonny . . . will deliver the Daasa to their homes. After all, it is the right thing to do—and the good karma will benefit all three of us for lifetimes to come.”

  “But . . . ?” Lucius said.

  “But . . . afterward . . . I will go on.”

  “You mean, go back?”

  “No . . . I mean continue forward.”

  This amazed Lucius. “Don’t you want to return to Anna? You must be dying to . . . uh . . . you must want to rejoin the Tugars. At the least, don’t you want to share your ascension with Torg?”

  “I do . . . and I will,” Nīsa said. “But time I now have aplenty, and my desire to journey to unknown lands has never been greater. I will return to Anna—but I will approach from the east instead of the west. I plan to encircle the world. Along the way, I shall see what I shall see.”

  Lucius discovered that he no longer felt uncomfortable in the Death-Knower’s presence.

  Nīsa seemed to sense it. “And you, Lucius Annaeus? What will you do?”

  “Huh?”

  “After delivering the Daasa, will you return to Avici? With Invictus dead, you could claim the right to kingship of the Golden City.”

  Lucius snorted. “I could think of few places I would rather go than there. In fact, nothing in Avici feels like home. Where the Daasa go will be my home—and Bonny’s home, if she’ll stay with me.”

  Nīsa gave Lucius’s shoulder an extra-hard squeeze. “I do believe that your home lies before you. Perhaps it is there that you will be king.”

  “I only want to be free,” Lucius said.

  Afterward, both stood in silence. But the ocean cared not for silence, and it spoke to them all the while.

  25

  WHEN LAYLAH watched Dhītar interact with her mother, she felt little compassion for the countess’s sorrow over her father’s death. When Elu rushed over and greeted Torg and then her, she felt little excitement over their reunion. Later that night, when she and Torg lay in a luxurious bed in one of the city’s large manses, she took little pleasure in being at her beloved’s side. Her mind, it seemed, was elsewhere: The boy growing in her womb attracted her attention like a buzzing fly.

  Did Torg sense her lack of enthusiasm? She couldn’t tell. As they lay entwined on the cushiony mattress, the wizard held her with his usual gentle grace. So close were their faces, she could smell his sweet breath, which reminded her of a forest in late spring after a light rain. Or was it more like standing near a waterfall? Again, she didn’t know. And again she didn’t seem to care.

  The boy was in her womb. And it was imperative that she pay full attention to his growth.

  The next afternoon, Ukkutīka, Kithar, and six hundred other Tugars entered Senasana and joined their company. They had journeyed nonstop from Java to the merchant city, and greeting their kinsmen filled them with joy. The Asēkha’s tale seemed to fascinate Torg, and he asked numerous questions about the demise of the great serpent and also about the Pabbajja. Laylah stood by and smiled as best she could, but somehow everything they discussed felt . . . unimportant. She continually rubbed her belly, reveling in the warm yellow glow. Why should she care about anything else?

  Near dusk, Laylah found herself standing alone, away from the others. She had put herself in this position purposefully, fluttering from Torg and her Tugarian guardians like a feather in a breeze. She was in no danger. Even if fiends came upon her, she could destroy them with little effort. The sorceress had never felt more powerful—or independent. Now she relished her privacy and found Torg’s intrusions more and more annoying. Anyone or anything that demanded something of her took her mind off her real concern: the health and welfare of her baby.

  When Burly interrupted her reverie, she almost let out a shout.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you, Laylah,” the enchanter said, choosing not to use the honorific title of queen. “But I couldn’t help but notice that you were alone. Would you like some company?”

&nbs
p; Burly’s words made Laylah feel strange, as if something were awakened inside her that recently had become dormant. She smiled fondly at the tiny man, who returned her smile and then reached way up and took her hand. Inviting warmth surged up her arm and into her shoulder. In comparison, the presence in her belly felt . . . uncouth. Without knowing why, she jerked her hand away, which caused Burly to frown.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  Laylah couldn’t tell if the enchanter was her ally or enemy, but she knew he was formidable, and therefore she didn’t want to give too much away. Burly would go to Torg. Torg would rush back to her. And things would become complicated.

  “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that . . . with all that’s happened . . .”

  Burly smiled again—and it appeared genuine. Laylah looked at him with a mixture of admiration and suspicion, and it must have shown in her face because the enchanter’s smile faded. As if in response, a voice in her ear whispered, “You can do better than this. Don’t act too suspicious. Do you want them interfering?”

  She most certainly did not want them interfering, she told her inner voice. And so she forced her demeanor to change.

  “It’s the baby,” she said with a bashful sigh. “I’m sure Torg or someone has already told you.” But against her will, the derision returned: “News of it spread through the Tugars like wildfire.” Then she caught herself again and sighed in the same bashful manner: “Anyway, it’s Invictus’s child—and worse even than that perversion, there may be some . . . problems.” She started to say more but stopped when she realized that Burly was aghast.

  “Laylah . . . no one, Torg least of all, has said anything to me about this. I’m . . . I . . . don’t know what to say. What are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The enchanter arched a bushy eyebrow. “What do I mean?”

  Now it was Laylah’s turn to appear puzzled—and then stunned. “You’re not suggesting . . .”

  Careful! the inner voice hissed.

  But she was no longer in the mood to be careful. “My son will not be harmed!” she said in a voice as cold as malice. Then she dropped to her knees and glared into Burly’s small, round eyes. “Do you understand?”

  Burly took several steps back, and he held out his wand as if to ward her off. But then he slowly relaxed. “Harmed?” he finally said. “Of course not, my queen. None of this is the boy’s fault. He should not be held to blame for his father’s misdeeds.”

  Agree with him! Smile! Apologize!

  Instead, Laylah crouched on the ground and burst into tears.

  Torg heard this and then rushed over and knelt beside her. “Laylah, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  “I . . . am . . . ill,” she said. “Everything that’s happened . . . it’s too much.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should have been watching you more closely. Let me take you to a place where you can rest.”

  Torg lifted her with ease and took her back to the luxurious bed chamber where they had slept the previous night. As the wizard carried her away, Laylah looked back at Burly. The enchanter’s expression remained perplexed. She had to resist an urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  Larger than life

  26

  LAYLAH WAS NOT handling things well, but it really wasn’t the little bitch’s fault. Vedana’s great-grandson was the true cause of the problem. Even unborn, he was proving to be compulsive. Would this trait make him less easy to control, once he was out of the womb? It was a disturbing question. But one thing was certain: There wasn’t a whole lot Vedana could do now but try to minimize whatever havoc the fetus attempted to wreak.

  If the annoying wizard or the equally annoying enchanter caught wind of what was going on, either was capable of doing things that would ruin Vedana’s schemes for good. Vedana doubted this would occur, but it was enough to make her wary. She had been thwarted too many times over the millennia to feel confident now. Until her prison was shattered and she was unleashed into the Realm of Life, she would never rest comfortably. Could anyone blame her?

  “I . . . am . . . ill,” she heard Laylah say. “Everything that’s happened . . . it’s too much.”

  “I’m so sorry,” the Death-Knower responded in his milquetoast manner. Then he carried the little bitch away.

  Vedana sighed. Another crisis averted. Now, could she finally have some time to herself? She had duties to perform.

  She watched Torg and Laylah for another moment and then sped to her next destination.

  In many regards, the Kolankold Mountains were as massive and unforgiving as the Mahaggatas. Some areas were incredibly dense and sheer. Few living beings could survive in such a hostile environment.

  But that didn’t mean that none could survive.

  In her incarnation as a gray-haired woman, Vedana strolled into a cave that descended deep into the interior of a granite mountain. The tunnel wove this way and that in total darkness, and any ordinary being would have needed a torch to find its way. But as a demon she felt right at home, walking on the craggy floor without stumbling. Eventually, the passageway opened into a cavernous chamber filled with a treasure not nearly as vast as Bhayatupa’s had been—but impressive, nonetheless. Upon the treasure lay a female dragon—the golden hue of her scales more beautiful than any jewel or nugget. Her name was Sovaōōa, and Vedana knew that she was mother of the Sampati.

  Sovaōōa was deep in dragon-sleep and at first was unaware of Vedana’s presence. It took Vedana three days to wake the golden dragon enough so that Sovaōōa could speak lucidly. Though Vedana knew that the dragon had never liked her, the great creature was too groggy to make threats—and so listened . . . warily.

  “I will be the boy’s slave,” Sovaōōa finally managed to enunciate.

  “You will be my slave first,” Vedana said. “His second. But everyone but the two of us will be beneath you.” Vedana patted one of the dragon’s cavernous nostrils. “I suggest that you consider my offer carefully.”

  “I could leave here now and kill the sorceress before he is even born.”

  “That might prove more difficult than you think. Laylah is stronger than she looks—and the Death-Knower is with her. Besides, I would stop you, if you tried such a thing.”

  Sovaōōa snorted. “You have always overestimated your powers, Vedana.”

  “That’s what everyone says. There’ll come a time . . . soon . . . when they’ll regret saying it.”

  Sovaōōa awoke enough to lift her head. When she stretched out her long body, she extended from wall to wall in the enormous chamber. Yet she was barely two-thirds the size of what Bhayatupa the Great had been before Invictus destroyed him.

  “Come on, Sovaōōa,” Vedana said, her voice suddenly lighthearted. “We both know why you’re here. When you sensed Bhayatupa’s awakening, you fled. But dearheart, the Mahaasupanno is dead—and so is the one who slew him. You can again fly free in the skies. And even better, if you join the boy and me, you will become Mahaasupanno.”

  “Your proposal is intriguing, but it would be even more so if I trusted you.”

  “Tcchhh! Why shouldn’t you trust me? What have I to gain from betraying you? It’s obvious why I need your help. The boy will have amazing powers, but being able to fly all over Triken on his own won’t be one of them. He’ll need you to carry him places.”

  “The places you tell him to go, you mean.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  Sovaōōa pondered this last question from late afternoon until past dusk before responding. “Very well . . . when do we begin?”

  “That’s the spirit!” Vedana said. Then she added, “Sooner than you might think. He’s growing fast.”

  27

  IN HER INCARNATION as Sakuna the mountain eagle, the Faerie could see almost as well as
a great dragon. From her viewpoint in the upper heights of the deep-blue sky, the merchant city of Senasana was about the size and shape of a head of cabbage. And the tiny black specks that were Torg and Laylah were smaller than grains of sand. But she recognized their aura, nonetheless.

  In the end, who would prevail? Would it be the demon and the boy? Or the wizard and the sorceress? Without Peta around to update the forecasts, the answer remained unclear. The uncertainty had been just one of the prices that had needed to be paid to ensure the destruction of Invictus’s physical incarnation. The fact that his offspring would become powerful in an eerily similar manner could not be avoided.

  All the Faerie knew was that she would do everything she could to aid the Death-Knower. And that would include playing foil to a great dragon once again.

  Life had been appeased. Death had been appeased.

  But not yet Undeath.

  The darkness that existed where life and death did not waited hungrily for its moment.

  The Faerie continued to circle, watching and wondering.

  28

  TWELVE DAYS HAD passed since they had left Kilesa, and ten days since they had returned to the peaks of Okkanti, yet the suffering of the snow giants did not cease. Upon their arrival, Gambhira and Sampakk refused to take part in the communions and eventually wandered off, their depression as palpable as winter. Where these two had gone was a mystery to the others. But Okkanti was vast, and if a snow giant wanted to disappear, it could be done.

  This morning’s communion was particularly unrewarding. Yama-Deva sat in a circle with the five of his kind that remained together, their hands joined and knees touching. When they sat this way their thoughts melded—and they became as one in Santapadam (the Path of Peace). But Deva now saw—or believed that he saw—that Santapadam was born of naiveté. It was easy to be a pacifist when violence was nowhere to be found, but not so easy when you were forcibly immersed in it. When Deva tried to tell them this during their melding, the other snow giants did not understand.