Moontide 03 - Unholy War

by David Hair

  They slept the sweltering days away beside the hull, Ramita and the children on one side, the two young men on the other. There was little privacy, and Yash was even more embarrassed about breastfeeding women than Alaron, who helped Ramita where he could, passing her each child in turn, and cleaning them for her. Such women’s work appeared to beneath the young novice, which irritated Ramita, but by and large they got on. Yash proved to be an eager flier; he was keen to understand how the sails and tiller worked, and how to use the wind. Alaron or Ramita had to power the keel, but they were soon able to let Yash fly the craft alone.

  The distances would have been unthinkable on foot. Flying made the journey a simpler thing altogether: a week put the desert behind them and the land took on greener hues as they neared the vast basin of the great Imuna River. It was more than five miles wide, a sluggish brown snake basking beneath the sun and moon. Ramita stared at it avidly, her lips moving in prayer.

  This is the holiest of rivers, she told her children silently. Imuna, daughter of Baraman the Creator, will look after us. She looked back at Alaron as he turned the tiller and swung the craft southwards, taking advantage of a warm wind from the north. His hair was thick and unruly – he’d not cut it for months – and she found herself idly fantasising about taming his shaggy locks. He shouldn’t go before the vizier looking like a barbarian.

  They wound down the river, past settlements they tried to identify on Puravai’s map. Ramita discovered she knew many of the names from her life in Aruna Nagar, where goods came to market from everywhere: this town made good chillies, and that one was famed for its pomegranates.

  ‘Look at the size of these places,’ Alaron exclaimed at one point. ‘Most of them are bigger than Norostein!’

  ‘Clearly your Norostein is not a very large town,’ she replied.

  ‘It’s the capital of the whole kingdom of Noros,’ he replied, gazing down at the expanse of houses they’d identified as Ghanasheed, a minor town on the river.

  ‘But that’s only Yuros,’ she reminded him. ‘Everything is larger here.’

  ‘Except the people.’ Alaron chuckled. ‘In all ways,’ he added with a sly wink.

  Yash looked affronted, but Ramita found herself giggling. White men were certainly bigger, and her husband had been …ahem! … a tall man.

  Kazim, of course, had been the biggest boy in the neighbourhood; he was much taller and heavier even than Alaron, or most of the white men she’d ever seen. For the first time for many weeks she wondered where he was. She had not forgiven him – she doubted she ever would. You are part of my past now, she told his memory. I do not need to think of you ever again. Or you, Huriya. I do not know you any more.

  *

  A few days later, some three hours before dawn, they made out the night-lamps of a huge settlement, and the glowing white domes of many Dom-al’Ahms glowing in the dark expanse. Largest of all were the golden sandstone walls of what had to be the mughal’s palace, crouched above the city like a slumbering lion. The dome of the palace not only reflected the moonlight, but appeared to be giving out its own faint light.

  ‘Teshwallabad,’ Ramita said, savouring the word on her tongue. ‘We’ve arrived!’

  Alaron pulled the skiff into a banking descent and tried to pick out a place where they could hide their craft. He settled on a low hill well inland from the river and steered for the far side of it, concentrating on the tricky task of landing in darkness. As they drew close to the ground he threw a flare of light ahead of them, revealing a rocky expanse with a flat area that looked sandy to one side. He took them in while Ramita held the children to her and shielded them all. Before they touched down, Yash leaped out, holding the hitching rope in what was now a practised manoeuvre. He landed agilely, planted his heels and hauled, and Alaron pulled in the sails and doused the energy in the keel. The skiff sank smoothly and easily to the ground.

  Alaron looked at Ramita as one of the twins spluttered awake and began to wail. She silenced him with a wish, clutching them both tight to her bosom. ‘All okay?’

  ‘Theeka,’ she responded softly, ‘hush, darlings.’ She let all the calmness she could muster brush gently against the two tight little bundles of energy. ‘Sleep on, all is well.’ I hope. She thanked Parvasi-ji for their safe arrival.

  There was work to be done, but first they climbed to the top of the rise, partly to ensure they were not in sight of any farm buildings, but mostly just to look on Teshwallabad in the distance. The dome of the mughal still glowed in the pre-dawn light: an eerie pale gold that spoke of wealth and splendour.

  Ramita held Nasatya to her breast while Alaron carried Dasra. He looks good, holding my child, she thought fondly, then bit her lip. Will my next husband be so gentle and kind?

  She had made harnesses for the twins, with shoulder straps that allowed them to be held against the back or the chest, leaving hands free. Alaron wore his so the child was in front, but she usually had the child behind her, not pressed against her swollen breasts. The thought reminded her that it would soon be time to wean them.

  ‘What a place!’ Alaron breathed, staring at the distant dome and palace.

  ‘Do you know how the mughal came to rule Lakh?’ Yash asked. Ramita knew, but Alaron shook his head, so Yash went on, ‘Kesh and Khotri were having another war, and the Emir of Khotri sent messengers to the Maharajah of Lakh, pleading for aid – this despite frequent war between Lakh and Khotri also. The Maharajah of all Lakh was the great Raj-Prithan, and he had ambitions to be Lord of all Ahmedhassa. So he sent a great army north, to aid Khotri and perhaps gain a foothold there.’

  Despite knowing the tale, Ramita still felt a stir of anger. The fall of Raj-Prithan was the great nightmare of her people.

  ‘It was a trap,’ the monk said grimly. ‘Kesh and Khotri had secretly forged a peace and were conspiring together to draw out Raj-Prithan and destroy his armies. There is a place northwest of Ullakesh where they say the valley is white with the bones of Lakh dead. They captured and executed Raj-Prithan, then the Khotri invaded and seized Teshwallabad. The son of the emir became Mughal of Lakh, and he and his descendants have been pushing south ever since. Everywhere they go they persecute those of the Omali faith and put their own people in lordship over the local rajas.’

  ‘When did this happen?’ Alaron asked.

  ‘1288,’ Yash replied. ‘That date is carved upon our souls at birth.’

  There are 454 years between the Yuros and Antiopian calendars,’ Alaron noted, doing the arithmetic, ‘so that’s 834 in our time – ninety-five years, not so long ago.’

  ‘Long enough,’ Yash muttered.

  Alaron looked at Ramita. ‘Why would your husband send us to an Amteh ruler?’

  ‘He is not,’ Ramita replied. ‘He’s sending us to Hanook, the vizier.’

  ‘What’s a vizier?’

  ‘The head counsellor,’ Yash replied sullenly. ‘He helps the Amteh oppress our people.’

  ‘My father always said Hanook often prevented the Amteh from doing far worse,’ Ramita replied, remembering dinner-table conversations, all the good-natured shouting between her parents and their friends about such things.

  ‘How does the mughal keep control of such a huge land?’ Alaron asked.

  ‘Fear,’ Yash replied. ‘At the merest hint of rebellion, they come with soldiers and slaughter all who resist – innocent people. They reward those who spy on their fellow Lakh.’ He was breathing heavily. ‘They killed my parents.’

  Ramita frowned. ‘You are not here to take revenge,’ she reminded the monk. ‘You are a Zain.’

  Yash made a holy sign. ‘I am a child of Zain,’ he agreed. ‘The wind passes through me. I feel neither heat nor cold.’ They were lines from the morning prayer.

  ‘My husband trusted Hanook. We must also.’

  They returned to the skiff and unloaded it, then removed the mast and covered the hull with the sail. Alaron looked at her with a smile and waggled his fingers. ‘Shall we hide the skiff?�
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  Together they engaged Earth-gnosis and then telekinesis, swiftly excavating a hole and lowering the hull into it. As a final touch Ramita added some vegetation to make the ground look undisturbed, then Alaron dusted it with Air-gnosis so that no one could see the disturbance. Yash watched with awe, though even he didn’t appreciate what he’d seen: their first in-earnest use of multiple forms of the gnosis.

  Ramita nursed the twins and laid them in the shade to sleep, after which the three travellers went to the low ridge to watch the dawn. The domes of the city appeared above the river mist and smoke, and the wailing of the Godsingers rang out, a comfort to her ears. Alaron hadn’t heard it before – they had travelled through the wilds as they crossed Dhassa. ‘It is the call to dawn worship,’ she explained. ‘The faithful pray six times a day.’

  ‘Even the Kore isn’t that demanding!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘It’s only the really, really faithful who pray so often,’ she said with a laugh. ‘We knew some Amteh in Baranasi who just shut the curtains for ten minutes and had a cup of chai.’

  Alaron grinned. ‘That sounds like home. The Kore have services every day, at dawn, midday and evening, but hardly anyone goes except once a week on Sabbadai. “Only the saints go to heaven”, that’s what we say.’ He peered towards the gleaming Mughal Dome, the main dome of the mughal’s palace, now revealed in all its glory. ‘Look at the size of it!’

  ‘The mughal’s palace is the greatest in the entire world,’ Yash announced, both proud and bitter. ‘Master Puravai says it took a century to build, and contains a massive Dom-al’Ahm, an armoury and barracks, state rooms, and the private residence of the Mughal of Lakh and all his household.’ His voice was a mix of awe and disgust. ‘Mughal Tariq has fourteen wives, one for every year he has been on Urte. He is due soon to take a fifteenth, on his next birthday.’

  Alaron winced. ‘Hel, isn’t one woman enough trouble?’

  Ramita fixed him with a stare. ‘What are you trying to say, bhaiya?’

  ‘Nothing, didi. Just a joke,’ he said swiftly.

  ‘Mmm.’ She looked at Yash. ‘How will we make contact with the vizier?’

  Yash pulled a baked clay token from his pouch. He showed it to them: a disc bearing a circle of intricate Dhassan script. ‘This is the monastery’s token. I will take it to the vizier’s officials with a letter from Master Puravai and ask for audience. Beyond that, I cannot say. I do know it is not safe for either of you to enter the city openly.’

  That sounded sensible, so she and Alaron let the young monk stride purposefully away. They quickly lost him in the haze, well before he had entered the maze of half-finished stone buildings and rough lean-tos that fringed the city. ‘We should sleep,’ Alaron said at last.

  Ramita was tempted to lean against him as they once did in the hull of the skiff on their flight south, pressed close together, his heartbeat against her ear. That was entirely the wrong thing to do. She went to the far side of the skiff, wrapped herself in a thin shawl, lay on her side and shut her eyes.

  They dozed the day away, taking turns on watch, but dusk came without incident. While Alaron cooked, Ramita played with the twins, who were crawling now, and filled with curiosity. After discovering that sand wasn’t edible, they were determined to find a lizard who wanted to stay and play with them. Both had thick black hair, but their skin was paler than their mother’s. They could now stomach a little solid food, when it was washed down with breast milk. She enjoyed the way they seemed to always know where the other was. They would not gain access to the gnosis until their early teens, but it was easy to imagine that somehow the twins were inside each other’s heads, communicating wordlessly. There was a togetherness about them that was both beautiful and eerie.

  At last Ramita lay the twins aside and draped her blanket over herself, surreptitiously studying her breasts. They were swollen and tender; the only time they were comfortable now was after feeding. She had seen her mother go through weaning and knew that once she stopped feeding the twins, she would face a few weeks of discomfort as her body learned to cease making more milk. I’ll miss it, though, she thought, that feeling that I am so needed by my little ones.

  Alaron coughed discreetly, reminding her that he might just be getting an inadvertent eye-full. She covered up, and he waggled his head in a ‘that’s okay’ kind of way, a grin on his face. ‘See, I now speak Lakh,’ he laughed. ‘I can do the head-wag.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said with a smile, ‘but you do it with a strange accent.’

  *

  They’d just finished their tiny portions of lentil curry and Alaron was reflecting ruefully on how long ago it was since he’d had a nice big juicy steak when he saw a line of torches emerge in the middle distance, a trail of glowing orange lights that flickered their way towards them. He took a deep breath and tapped Ramita on the shoulder. ‘They’re coming.’

  They cleaned up hurriedly, and repacked their belongings. Then they gently lifted the sleeping infants and bundled them into their harnesses. The twins stirred as if sensing the tension in the air, forcing Alaron and Ramita to send soothing impulses urging them back into sleep. With Ramita holding Nasatya and Alaron with Dasra, they turned to face the oncoming column. Alaron thoughtfully twirled his quarterstaff, subtly limbering up in case he had to act suddenly.

  Ramita noticed. ‘Will they attempt to seize us?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘They can try,’ Alaron replied, feeling uncharacteristically eager to try out his new skills, both gnostic and martial. ‘We shouldn’t just assume they’re friendly.’

  The cooling air was prickling his skin as his sweat-soaked robes turned cold. Beside him Ramita shifted uneasily and it occurred to him that though she’d been in danger before, she’d never seen that danger coming. The attack that had slain her husband and the fight at the Isle of Glass had both come out of the blue.

  He touched her shoulder. ‘We’re magi. We can handle this.’

  She stuck her chin out. ‘I am frightened for the children, not myself.’

  ‘I know, but your husband said we could trust this Hanook character, didn’t he?’

  ‘What if Yash didn’t even reach him?’

  Alaron rolled his shoulders. ‘Then we’ll soon find out.’

  There were a dozen men, and all armed but for the central pair, who walked on ahead, palms empty to show peacable intent. One was a tall figure with lordly robes and a pale turban wrapped about a long, narrow face. His skin was as dark as the turban was light, and he had a grey goatee that tapered to a point. His skin was smooth and youthful; he looked too young to be so grey.

  Yash was with him, and his face was awed. Alaron tried to convey a million questions with a single glance. I should have taught him how to receive mental communication while we had the chance.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked in Rondian, and Yash nodded.

  The man in the turban fixed his eye on Ramita, then surprised them by speaking Rondian as well. ‘Do I have the honour of addressing Lady Ramita?’

  ‘I am she,’ Ramita responded firmly. Alaron could sense her gnosis gathered and ready; the slightest misstep by this man would see him thrown halfway back to the city.

  ‘I am Dareem, son of Vizier Hanook. I bid you welcome to Teshwallabad.’ Dareem touched his fingertips to his forehead with a reverent gesture. ‘Sal’Ahm, Lady. Peace be upon you.’

  ‘Namaste, Lord Dareem,’ Ramita replied, then indicated Alaron. ‘This is Al’Rhon Mercer.’

  ‘You speak Rondian very well,’ Alaron said as he and Dareem exchanged bows. Better than most folk back in Norostein. ‘But my name is Al-a-ron: I’m not a goat.’

  Dareem smiled faintly, and turned back to Ramita. ‘Will you come with me, Lady, and accept my father’s hospitality?’

  Of course they wouldn’t attack us openly. They’d try to gain our trust, and separate us, and then … Alaron looked at Ramita and saw that she was ready to accept, but she was awaiting his approval.

  What choi
ce do we have anyway? He nodded.

  Dareem bowed again. ‘I am sorry, but we do not have transport back to the city. My father is under close surveillance, so we must be discreet. But I will get you into our palace unnoticed, I promise.’

  ‘Who’s watching him?’ Alaron asked uneasily.

  ‘My father is an important man,’ Dareem replied. ‘Everyone is watching him.’

  ‘But who in particular?’

  Dareem waggled his head. ‘My father has many enemies, Al-a-ron. And you have a whole city of them.’

  That’s true! I’m probably the only Rondian ‘afreet’ to ever come here. Alaron bowed his head. ‘We’re in your hands.’ He stroked Dasra’s hair, hoping they were doing the right thing.

  Dareem’s men had brought a small palanquin. As Alaron helped Ramita climb into it, he noticed how tired she looked. It was good that she could rest. For his part, he was happy to walk with Yash and the soldiers back across the stony plain and into the ramshackle maze that was the outskirts of Teshwallabad. Once in the crowded streets he raised his hood; there were countless rough-clad people all crowded together in tiny dwellings and coughing and snuffling around smoking fires. Cooking smells filled the air. Dareem’s armoured and armed escort kept passersby at arm’s length, but Alaron noticed many a resentful glare at the armed men.

  ‘This is not a good area,’ Dareem muttered apologetically, ‘but the main roads are constantly watched.’

  Alaron was tired, but he used the gnosis to imbue himself with a little extra strength and managed to keep his feet from faltering. Eventually they came to a small square where a covered wagon waited, half-filled with supplies. Nothing seemed untoward, so they accepted Dareem’s invitation and climbed into it. Alaron settled beside Ramita on a narrow bench and whispered, ‘So far, so good.’

  Her teeth flashed white in the darkness. ‘I believe this is the right thing: it is Destiny.’

  If her crazy belief in ‘destiny’ is what’s getting her through, I can live with it. He bent forward and kissed her on the forehead, although he had no idea if that would be considered improper or not. ‘I’ll protect you, didi, no matter what.’