Healed by Hope

by Jim Melvin

  Jord turned and stared into his blue eyes. “Will you miss me?”

  “I will.”

  Jord leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth. Torg did not jerk away, but neither did he respond. This caused her to smile wanly. “Emotions are a blessing and a curse. When I depart from this world and rejoin the Vijjaadharaa, I will forget how to love. But I will also forget sadness and loss.”

  “Perhaps you will remember more than you think.”

  “I will remember you. I will be there to guide you, when you die for the final time.”

  “Did Peta foresee this event, as well?”

  “She did not. She said only that your survival extended beyond the range of her vision.”

  “And Laylah’s survival?”

  “Do you truly wish me to answer?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “Laylah’s death was not foreseen either.”

  Something tight in Torg’s chest unclenched—and a long exhale hissed between his teeth. “We must reach Anna by tomorrow night. You are capable.”

  Jord shook her head. “I am . . . but Laylah is not. The faster I run, the more magic I expend—the kind of magic abhorred by the child within her womb. It will take at least two more days and probably part of a third.”

  Torg sighed again. “Like you say, I have to learn to trust you, as I did before. But two more days is a long time to spend in the desert without provisions.”

  “I need little sustenance,” Jord said. “Will not Cirāya suffice for you and the others?”

  “I know naught what will suffice, as far as Laylah is concerned.”

  “You will suffice,” Jord said.

  Torg left her and returned to where Laylah slept. She had rolled out from under the feathers, and now she moaned beneath the moonlight. Burly sat a stone’s throw away, watching her with glowing eyes.

  “I can sense the baby’s power, even from here,” the enchanter said. “Will you not reconsider?”

  “No,” Torg said. “And I will not discuss it again. Do you wish to challenge me? If so, do it now. I have no patience for games.”

  “I will not challenge you, Death-Knower. I am forever your ally—and friend. Very well. We’ll both see what happens when we reach Anna.”

  “Once there, I will lay my hands upon her,” Torg said. “Of that, I promise.”

  “And the demon and dragon?”

  Torg ripped the Silver Sword from the scabbard on his back. When he whipped the blade through the air, it cast flames—and caused Laylah to moan even louder. “Let them come.”

  Burly stood and waved his wand in a similar manner. “Indeed!”

  The next morning, Laylah again woke relatively refreshed, and she ate Cirāya greedily. Apparently, the baby’s physical hunger sometimes transcended its distaste for Torg and the others. They rode on Bhojja’s back through the heat of the day, traveling at a much faster pace than any normal horse or camel could have managed, yet far slower than the jade mare was capable. They stopped at dusk near a limestone ridge, and Laylah staggered beneath a rock overhang to find shelter from the moonlight, which was growing increasingly bright as the full moon approached.

  Torg left her for a time, surmounting the jagged spine and wandering alone on the lee side. Beyond the ridge lay an unbroken chain of dunes that stretched as far as he could see. In the distance, several figures were silhouetted in the moonlight. Torg rushed toward them, bounding along the crusty surface of the sand with the grace of a wolf.

  The Kalliks, four in all, didn’t notice his approach until it was too late to run. One of the desert bandits was leading a camel by an iron bridle, and he attempted to mount the beast and ride off on his own. But the camel would not tolerate him. It alone among the traveling party seemed pleased to see the wizard. Most animals adored Torg and were comforted by his presence.

  “Sannisīdati! (Halt!)” Torg ordered.

  Instantly, the four men cast aside their long knives, bows and arrows, and threw themselves face-first onto the sand. It was bad enough to run into a Tugar in the dead of night, far worse an Asēkha, and absolutely terrifying to encounter The Torgon himself. For quite some time they would do nothing but babble, but the camel nuzzled Torg playfully, coating his face with oily spittle.

  “Adāhara! (Stand!)”

  Only one managed the courage. He was five spans shorter than Torg and nowhere near as muscular, and his long white shirt hung past his bony knees.

  “Maranavidu,” the man said, his voice trembling. “What would you have us do?”

  “What have you to eat and drink?”

  “We are poor men and possess little but this rangy brute,” the bandit said, gesturing toward the camel. “We can barely feed ourselves.”

  “Do not lie!” Torg said in a voice swelled by magic. The man was blown onto his back amid a swirl of sand, and when he stood his entire body was shaking.

  “We have water, wine, and dried meat . . . take it all!”

  “Not all . . . half.”

  And so, Torg returned to the others with food and drink.

  Laylah managed to sleep until morning, but then she eagerly ate most of the meat and drank almost all the water.

  “A woman needs her strength,” she said to Torg, trying to sound lighthearted. Though it failed, Torg appreciated the attempt. At least a part of Laylah remained independent enough to want to please him.

  The next day’s ride was excruciating. Torg could see every grimace, hear every moan, sense every twinge of pain that Laylah suffered, and the glow from her stomach was as palpable as fire. This forced Bhojja to slow her pace even further, as the slightest increase in speed seemed to intensify Laylah’s suffering. Torg began to wonder if they would ever reach Anna.

  Now it was the evening before the full moon. They camped among boulders that a sparse field of grass surrounded. A spring was hidden within the rocks, its water clear and cool. Torg knew this place well and had stopped there many times during his frequent journeys. They were less than an ordinary two-day march from Anna, which meant that, aboard Bhojja, they would reach the Tent City by early afternoon.

  While Laylah slept, Torg, Burly, and Jord sat in the grass and shared the remainder of the wine. Even Jord took a few sips. Torg found it bittersweet that the nearer Jord came to departing the Realm of Life, the more human she became.

  Suddenly Torg leapt to his feet.

  “What is it, Torgon?” Burly said. “What do you see?”

  Torg smiled. “Tugars come.”

  An instant later, a dozen black shapes emerged from the darkness, moving forward with the silent grace of large predators. Torg met them cheerfully and grasped the forearm of each in Tugarian fashion.

  “Abhinandanena te garukaromi (I greet you with great joy)!” the king of Anna said.

  Torg introduced Burly and Jord.

  A warrior stepped forward and placed a black cloak around Jord’s thin shoulders. She smiled at him, and her eyes glowed green.

  “You carry signal drums. Do not say otherwise,” said Torg, his voice uncharacteristically impatient.

  “We do, lord. What message would you have us send to Asēkha-Aya?”

  “Let it be known that the king will return—and with him three companions—within a bell of noon.”

  “It will be done,” the Tugar said. “But, lord, how will you reach Anna so soon? It is yet many leagues distant.”

  “There are ways that surpass even us,” Torg said.

  The Tugars bowed and went about the business of constructing a small Taiko drum from materials they carried in their packs. In a short time, a detailed message was being sent. The pounding of distant drums could be heard in response. Aya soon would be alerted.

  Several other Tugars made a fire and roasted a brace of jerboas. They
also laid out goat cheese along with a vegetable paste made from the bulbs of sotol. And of course, they passed around tubular skins containing Tugarian nectar. To Torg and Burly it was a feast, but Jord ate only a little, and Laylah slept fitfully throughout the meal.

  “What illness has befallen the queen?” one of the warriors asked Torg.

  “We will not speak of it now,” the king said.

  “Yes, lord. My apologies.”

  Torg changed the subject. “Rati reported that the noble ones fare well, despite the horrors they experienced.”

  “Indeed, lord—though most of them are anxious to return to Dibbu-Loka. They are embarrassed to admit it, but they have become attached to Bakheng, the city they have long called home.”

  Torg nodded. “Perhaps they should not be so embarrassed. If all goes well, we soon will be able to accommodate them. After what they’ve been through, they deserve no less.”

  “Ema . . . Ema . . .” the Tugars chanted.

  “Rati also said that great efforts have been made to repair the damages inflicted on the Tent City,” Torg said.

  “Anna is not as it was, but it is nearer to its former glory than before. Still, there has been much talk that we should depart Vimānal.”

  “It shall be considered,” Torg said.

  “With the return of the king, much healing will occur,” the warrior said.

  Torg noticed that several of the Tugars were staring at Burly, who to this point had been too focused on eating and drinking to say much of anything. Not all of Torg’s people had ventured to Jivita, and so the sight of the Gillygaloo amazed them.

  “To our eyes, Burly might appear as a trifle, but in truth he is an enchanter of formidable power,” Torg said. “Do not underestimate him.”

  Burly looked up, chewed a few times, and swallowed. “I daresay all among this gathering are greater than I,” he said. “Unless it comes to an eating contest.”

  This prompted a raucous spate of laughter that caused Laylah to moan in her sleep. Instantly, they went quiet.

  “Sorry . . .” Burly whispered.

  Jord giggled softly. The rarity of such a sound coming from the Faerie warmed Torg’s heart.

  Then Torg yawned. “Yet again, I feel the need for rest.”

  “We will watch over you, lord.”

  Torg closed his eyes—and slept. And even his dreams were without care.

  45

  LAYLAH ALSO DREAMED. But hers were not so pleasant. She had swallowed a ball of fire, and it was burning her insides. She ran across the sands of the Great Desert and screamed for help, but all who witnessed her approach shielded their eyes and shied away, as if they too might burn if she came too near.

  Laylah continued to run and eventually reached a river as broad and feisty as the Ogha. A part of her awareness knew that no such watercourse existed anywhere within Tējo, but here it was nonetheless. She fell upon her belly and crawled to the water’s edge, where she drank and drank. But no matter how much she consumed, the fire would not abate.

  Finally, she cast herself into the roaring currents, but even that was not enough. Instead, the river went dry, and she lay at the bowed base of a wadi—and drank only dust.

  When she screamed, there was no one to hear.

  46

  IN THE GREAT DESERT, the Tugars reigned supreme, and there was little to fear from any potential adversary. Nonetheless, a single male warrior was chosen to stand guard over the others as they slept. He was large, even by Tugarian standards, and resembled Torg more than any of the others.

  Jord approached within five paces before he noticed her. At first the warrior was surprised and suspicious, but the Faerie’s smile caused him to relax.

  “Is there something I can do for you, my lady?”

  “Please call me Jord . . . and tell me your name.”

  “I am honored to meet you, Jord. My name is Pumbhāva.”

  “Of course it is.”

  The Tugar arched an eyebrow. “Can you not sleep?”

  Jord walked even closer, then dropped the cloak to the ground and swept her hair behind her shoulders, exposing her naked body to his wide blue eyes.

  “You asked if there is something you can do for me. There is.”

  Only once before in her long existence on Triken had Jord performed a sexual act: beneath the white pines with Torg the previous winter. Now she made love with a vengeance, testing the virile warrior to his limits. Afterward, she left him naked and exhausted in the sand and returned to the others. Of them all, only Burly was awake—and as she approached he smiled but did not speak. Jord lay down near Torg and stared at his broad back. She would have chosen him over all others, but the wizard belonged to someone else.

  Jord sighed, smiled, and then slept the natural sleep of a living being. Never again would she experience the bliss of intercourse. Once would have to be enough.

  47

  THE MOON ROSE full above the Gray Plains, blazing magnificently in another clear sky. Elu sat cross-legged outside his small tent while Essīkka slept inside, satiated by yet another bout of lovemaking. Thousands of Tugars were spread out around a slew of campfires, finishing the remains of roasted antelope and drinking Tugarian nectar they had ensconced in Senasana. It was past midnight.

  A Tugar approached and handed Elu a skin of nectar. He took a long drink and relaxed. Never in his life had he felt so content. In just a short time he had fallen deeply in love with the female black knight, and he intended to spend the rest of his life with her. If any of the surviving Nissayans objected, he would take her deep into Mahaggata and never look back.

  As Elu stared at the full moon, a black speck streaked across it, no larger in his perspective than a blade of grass. Elu rubbed his eyes in disbelief and stared again, but whatever he had witnessed was already gone. He looked around to see if the Tugars had noticed anything, but none seemed to have reacted. Finally, Elu shrugged and decided it had just been his imagination. After several long sips of nectar, he plugged the skin and crawled into the tent beside Essīkka’s ebony body. She lay on her back atop a camel-hair blanket. Elu admired her full breasts and muscled belly and thighs. If he hadn’t drunk so much he would have mounted her again, so enamored was he of her beauty. Instead, he lay beside her and held her. Then he fell fast asleep.

  Soon after, he dreamt of Ugga. The crossbreed was again a huge and powerful man, with a stomach even larger than his massive chest. Ugga smiled good-naturedly, as was his wont, and clapped Elu on the shoulder.

  “Ya are not a little guy anymore,” Ugga said. “But I loves ya still.”

  Elu wrapped his arms as far around the crossbreed’s torso as they would reach. “I love you too. Essīkka and I have missed you. Where have you been? I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “I has to go somewheres,” the crossbreed said. “And I won’t be back. But I just wanted to say goodbye. Maybe we’ll meet again someday . . . in a better place than this.”

  Elu wailed. “Don’t say goodbye! Come back to us. We’re marching with the Tugars to the Tent City. Don’t you want to see Torg and Laylah again? And Jord is with them too.”

  “Sorry, little guy . . . errr, big guy . . . but it’s not da way it works.”

  Elu collapsed to his knees and sobbed.

  “Ahhh, don’t be sad,” Ugga said. “I isn’t sad!”

  Then he turned and jogged into the darkness. Elu imagined he saw another large figure beside him . . . Bard?

  Elu tried to stand and chase after them. But it was as if he were running in goo, and he found that he could not keep up. “Ugga! Bard! Don’t go . . . pleaaaaase . . .”

  Then Essīkka was shaking him. Elu sat up so fast that he caused the knight to yelp. “My god, what a nightmare you were having,” she said.

  And then Podhana was lifting the tent flap
and peering into its dark interior. “Are you all right?” the chieftain said. “You’ve woken up half the camp with all this screaming.”

  “Sorry . . . sorry . . . we’re fine,” Elu said sheepishly. “I just had a bad dream. Well, not really so bad. Call it a sad dream.”

  Podhana smiled knowingly. “Over the past few days my dreams have been sad, as well. So many . . . once precious to us . . . are no longer. I’m hoping that when I reach Anna, I will be able to sleep in peace. Perhaps the Tent City will have a similar effect on you.”

  Elu smiled back. “It will be good to see Torg again. Being around him always makes me feel better.”

  “Ema . . . Ema . . .” the chieftain said, his voice now soft. “I desire to be with my king, as well.”

  48

  THE FINAL RIDE was a race against time. Jord galloped like a thing gone mad, leaving behind a cloud of dust and sand. Torg wondered how much more pain Laylah could tolerate before she simply gave out. For such an early stage of pregnancy, her stomach had bloated to absurd proportions. If he had not known better, Torg would have guessed that she was at least eight months pregnant, not just a few weeks.

  It relieved Torg when he saw that the Simōōn had been lowered. Several thousand Tugars had gathered on the outskirts of Vimānal, lured there by the drums. As the jade mare thundered into the Tent City, a chorus of cheers, shouts, and whistles erupted.

  Torg dismounted and carried Laylah within an open-air pavilion designed to hold large numbers for banquets and other special occasions.

  The sorceress writhed in his arms, and her stomach thrummed and quivered.

  Torg set her down upon a broad table and then backed away.

  Soon after, Laylah went limp and appeared to sleep.

  Asēkha-Aya, the senior Tugar in Anna since the departure of Rati, rushed forward to greet Torg. The two huge men grasped forearms.