Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

  „It may be dangerous to travel after dark,“ Carwan pointed out, but Grysh silenced him with a stern look.

  „Then tighten the line and move the wagons into three side-by-side columns,“ he instructed. He turned to his military commander, Chezhou-Lei Wan Atenn, who had personally delivered the news of the sighting. „You will protect us from the fierce To-gai-ru bandits, will you not?“

  The Chezhou-Lei, proud and loyal, sat up very straight on his tall horse, staring at his Yatol with a frozen and determined expression.

  „I thought so,“ Yatol Grysh said, and he closed the window’s shutter, for the sun was descending, and on the steppes, even in summertime, it was amazing to Grysh how fast the air cooled, the scorching daytime heat dissi­pating to an uncomfortable chill.

  Grysh slapped away the fanning ladies then, and motioned for them to huddle about his large form, using them as living blankets.

  He wanted to be home, true, but Yatol Grysh was a man who knew how to take his comforts as he found them. Surely the ride that night was not so unpleasant. The stories Yatol Grysh heard within the compound of Douan Cal were predictable. Bands of To-gai raiders had struck at the town repeatedly, taking their livestock, hurling curses and hurling missiles. None of the Behren settlers had been killed as yet, but several had been injured, including the sane old woman who had been hit in the head with a rock.

  What is your assessment of our enemy?“ Yatol Grysh asked Carwan ter on when they were alone - alone concerning anyone who mattered, atol Grysh did not think enough of his serving wenches to bother watching his words around them.

  oung men,“ Carwan answered after giving the question a bit of thought.

  „Teenagers, perhaps. The older To-gai-ru would have been more straight­forward and more brutal in their attacks.“

  „Because the older To-gai-ru would be righting for more than livestock,“ Yatol Grysh said, and Carwan nodded eagerly.

  „The older ones once caused trouble throughout To-gai, fighting fanati­cally,“ Carwan said. „They slaughtered entire villages without regard for the women or children.“

  „Because the older outlaws - and praise Yatol that few remain alive - -fought with the names of their gods on their lips,“ Yatol Grysh explained, „they believed that their fighting and murdering was paving their road to whatever they envision as their heaven. Men who do battle in such a man­ner are always the worst enemies, my young student.“

  „Like our own Chezhou-Lei?“ Carwan dared to remark.

  „And always the best allies,“ Yatol Grysh finished with a sly smile. „And tell me, what are we to do about these raiders? Do you believe that we will find them in the open desert?“

  Carwan leaned back and considered the problem. The outposters had be­come fairly competent at navigating this area of desert, by their own boasts, but none knew the region as did the To-gai-ru. There in Corcorca’s rugged landscape, valleys opened up unexpectedly at one’s feet and huge and tow­ering mesas formed dizzying arrays of interlocking channels. Chasing the raiders about in that, their home ground, seemed a fool’s errand indeed.

  „We’ll not catch up to them if we spend the rest of the season in pursuit,“ Yatol Grysh went on, for Carwan’s expression made his feelings on the mat­ter quite clear. „And likely, they’ll strike behind us at every opportunity, to embarrass us more than to cause any serious mischief. But in that inevitable embarrassment lies a danger, my student. Do you see it?

  „We will turn a band of young thieves into a band of legends,“ Yatol Grysh answered after only a brief pause. „And that legend will give the To-gai-ru of the region great hope that the veil of Behren will be lifted from their land.“

  „Then what are we to do, Yatol?“

  „The nomads’ latest encampment is not far from here,“ Yatol Grysh ex­plained. „We will pay them a visit on the morrow, I think, and see what we may learn.“

  Something about the manner in which he said the words had the hairs on the back of Carwan’s neck standing up. Something about the set of his ex­pression at that moment, a bit of a grin, perhaps, but more a smug and de­termined look, told Carwan that his master meant to see to this thorny problem with all efficiency.

  Whatever the cost.

  Most of the caravan remained behind at Douan Cal the next day, with Grysh’s coach the only wagon riding out. Surrounding the Yatol, though, the whole of his military escort, along with a few men from Douan Cal knew some of the nearby To-gai-ru.

  „. rwan Pestle rode with Grysh. He tried to start a few conversations at but it became obvious to him that his master was agitated and wanted be left to his own thoughts. Carwan could guess what that foretold, for had seen Grysh in similar moods, always before issuing a most unpleas-

  e£ order. As Yatol of Dharyan, Grysh also served as principal magistrate,

  d so he was the one who ordered the executions of convicted criminals. It was not a duty that he seemed to enjoy, but neither was it one from which he ever shied.

  Soon after midday, Carwan was leaning out of the coach window, peering ahead intently, for the call had come back that the To-gai-ru encampment was iirsight. Carwan Pestle had never seen a To-gai-ru settlement, and he held a healthy curiosity toward these strange nomadic savages.

  The wagon came over a ridge, the ground falling away gradually beyond, down to a wide and shallow river that meandered across the clay, the ever-eager flora of the desert springing to life about its inevitably temporary banks. A cluster of tents was set near one bend, the thin gray smoke of cooking fires lazily snaking into the pale blue sky. No horses were tethered within the camp that Carwan could see, but there was a fair-sized herd milling about. Above all else, the To-gai-ru were famous for their ways with horses,

  d Carwan could well imagine that this seemingly wild herd was far from untamed.

  At least to the commands of a To-gai-ru rider.

  The lead riders fanned out left and right, forming a semicircle about the camp, the only open route leading right into the river. With perfect disci­pline, the second line of twenty warriors, led by Wan Atenn, kicked their mounts into a thundering run, galloping right to the edge of the camp and forming a tighter, threatening perimeter.

  Many cries of alarm came out to Carwan Pestle’s ears, and he noted that all of them were in the voices of women or young children.

  A moment later, Wan Atenn signaled that the village was secure, and the driver cracked the whip on the draft horses and Yatol Grysh’s coach ram­bled down to the encampment.

  Carwan Pestle peered intently all the way, as the small forms took on more definitive shapes, and he knew that his reasoning upon hearing the cries was correct. There seemed to be no adult men in the encampment.

  Wan Atenn rode up beside the window. „It is safe, Yatol,“ he reported.

  „No weapons shown?“

  ‘Only the young and the old and the women,“ Wan Atenn explained.

  Carwan Pestle turned a curious expression on Grysh. „Perhaps the men are out on a hunt.“

  „Indeed,“ the Yatol replied slyly. „But it is well-known that the To-gai-ru hunt early in the morning. Only early in the morning.“

  „But - “

  „So if they are indeed out on the hunt, then what, my young friend, might they be hunting?“

  Carwan sat back and stared at the Yatol. He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about all of this, his stomach turning over and over. The coach came to an abrupt stop and Carwan was quick to the door, throwing it open and leaping out, then turning about and rolling out the retracting stairs for his Yatol.

  Grysh came out slowly, allowing Wan Atenn to set his warriors in defen­sive posture about the small stairway. The Yatol paused on each step, his heavy head swiveling to take in all the sights: the many tents, the many small children peeking out from under the shadows of the folds.

  „These people breed like hares,“ he snickered, and he sighed. „Find out who is in charge of this wretched camp.“

  Wan Atenn
snapped to attention, then spun off, motioning for one of the Douan Cal men to come with him. Together, they went tent to tent, Wan Atenn saying something to the outposter, and the man translating it to the To-gai-ru.

  Always, a shake of the head came back in response, followed by a more insistent bark from Wan Atenn and a more insistent reiteration from the outposter.

  When that, too, brought no apparent acceptable response, Wan Atenn stepped forward and, with a simple and balanced twist and push move­ment, shoved the To-gai-ru to the ground, and the pair moved along.

  „They are afraid,“ Yatol Grysh explained to Carwan. „They do not an­swer because they know not what to say.“

  „Your man, Atenn, inspires fear.“

  „No,“ Yatol Grysh replied. „They know not what to answer because the truth would damn them. The fools have not properly rehearsed their lies because they did not expect that such a force would come against them. Their hesitance is telling, do you see?“

  „Yes, Yatol.“

  „Do you?“ Grysh asked again, more emphatically, turning to face Carwan. „Why are they afraid?“ he asked when Carwan gave him his full attention.

  Carwan knew the answer, but he chewed on it for a few seconds, not even wanting to speak it aloud, fearing the consequences. „Because they are guilty,“ he said at last, and Yatol Grysh nodded slowly and deliberately, turning his head as he did, his eyes narrowing, to face the gathered To-gai-ru.

  Carwan could not deny the logic of his claim, for it seemed obvious to him that this village was at least aware of, if not in league with, the bandits. But as he looked around at the gathering, frightened women and children, and a few old men staring out from the shadows, the word „guilty“ just did not seem appropriate.

  A commotion to the side caught his attention, and he turned that way to a Behrenese warrior emerging from a tent, a young To-gai-ru man held

  fore him, arm wrapped painfully and effectively behind his back.

  „They say that their men are all out hunting, Yatol,“ Wan Atenn said at i same moment, for the Cheznou-Lei warrior and the translator had con­tinued the conversation to the side.

  „All but one, it would seem.“

  The soldier with the prisoner moved before Wan Atenn and threw the man at his leader’s feet. „A tunnel concealed within the tent,“ he explained.

  Wan Atenn nodded to a pair of soldiers and they ran off to the tent, dis­appearing within its folds without hesitation.

  „Who is this?’V¥atoTtkysh said to Wan Atenn and the interpreter, and the outposter immediately turned to the To-gai-ru woman with whom he had been speaking^and barked out a series of questions. The woman was slow to answer at first, but! the outposter began screaming at her, the same question over and over.

  She started screaming back, answering with such enthusiasm that her lie was easy for all to see, even for those who didn’t understand the To-gai-ru language.

  Then it stopped, suddenly, the outposter and the defiant woman staring hard at each other.

  „Where are the others?“ Yatol Grysh calmly asked, and his translator echoed the question in the same tone.

  „No others,“ the woman answered, and both Carwan and Grysh under­stood the simple phrase before their man turned to explain.

  „Where are the others?“ Grysh asked again, in the same calm tones, and again, it was properly translated.

  The woman responded exactly the same way, and as the outposter turned to Grysh, the Yatol held up his hand and turned to Wan Atenn.

  „No trees to hang the prisoner properly,“ he said. „Stake him.“

  Carwan’s eyes widened with shock. „Yatol…“ he started to say, but the look Grysh shot him clearly said that he was out of bounds.

  Wan Atenn began barking orders, and in short order, the prisoner had been dragged to the side of the encampment and laid out, spread-eagled, staked down by his wrists and ankles. Every time he tried to struggle, a Behrenese soldier kicked him in the ribs.

  The gathering of To-gai-ru screamed and jostled, but Grysh’s escorting contingent was more than able to hold them at bay.

  At the next moment of calm, Grysh again nodded to Wan Atenn, and the fierce warrior, no novice to these techniques, fetched a torch from the fire his companions were preparing. Another soldier dutifully ran to intercept Wan Atenn, handing him a bulging waterskin.

  A waterskin of lamp oil, Carwan knew. Carwan was at a loss, hardly able to draw breath, let alone speak a word of protest. A word that his unques­tionable master did not want to hear, in any case.

  He watched, fighting hard to hide his revulsion, as Wan Atenn stuck the torch into the ground between the man’s knees.

  „Ask her again where the others might be,“ Grysh instructed his out-poster interpreter.

  The woman, her eyes wide and unblinking, hesitated for a long, long time, then answered with the same words, though in a much more subdued tone.

  Grysh nodded to his fierce Chezhou-Lei warrior, who immediately began splashing the lamp oil all over the staked man.

  Then the Yatol turned to the woman, a wide smile on his face. „One last time,“ he said, somewhat flippantly.

  The woman looked away, and Carwan wanted to as well, but found that he could not, mesmerized by the sight of his master calmly nodding to Wan Atenn, by the sight of Wan Atenn, showing no emotion at all, as he grabbed up the torch and touched it to the oiled prisoner.

  Carwan knew that the man was screaming, knew that the gathered To-gai-ru were screaming, but he didn’t really hear any of it. He was trapped by the vision before him, locked by horror and sheer amazement.

  „Now,“ he at last heard from the side, and realized that Yatol Grysh, who was motioning for him to follow to the coach, had likely called to him sev­eral times.

  Carwan spun away and sprinted to the stairs, guiding his master up, then retracting the stairs and leaping into the coach, eager to close the door on the gruesome scene.

  „Do as you will,“ Yatol Grysh said to Wan Atenn, then ordered his driver to be off.

  They all left then, except for the twenty warriors and their fierce Chezhou-Lei leader. For a long, long time, Carwan Pestle sat in the quiet coach, determined not to look back. Eventually, though, he did peek out.

  The encampment was not in view, lost behind the sloping ridgeline, but several lines of smoke rose into the pale air. Not thin gray smoke, as from the campfires, but evil black snaking lines.

  Carwan shuddered and fell back into his seat, trying hard not to throw up.

  chapter* 7 *

  Tymwyvenne

  B

  elli’mar Juraviel was surprised indeed when he opened his eyes to look upon a strange, almost preternatural scene. A thick fog blan­keted the ground, with dark patches of moss and muddy mounds showing sporadically. He was in a copse of trees, but they were all dead, black-armed, empty things, their crooked limbs snaking out like the last desperate limb-waving pleas of a doomed man. At first the elf saw no signs of life, but then he heard a groan, and managed with great effort to roll over.

  Brynn stood there, or at least, hung there, her arms up high above her head, tied at the wrists to a thick, dead branch. Her head lolled about her shoulders and she kept trying to stand up straight - to take the painful pressure off of her arms, Belli’mar reasoned. Her legs would not support her, though, and she kept sagging, often uttering a groan as her arms straightened.

  „Brynn,“ Juraviel whispered. „Waken, ranger.“

  She didn’t answer, so Juraviel repeated his words, more loudly and insistently.

  Still no answer.

  Not from Brynn. However, at the second call, forms rose up out of the fog. Hulking, stiff-limbed forms, rising silently and moving deliberately toward the pair.

  Shaken by the gruesome image, Juraviel tried to stand, only to find that he was strapped down tightly to his makeshift cot, another dead limb, by a series of looped cords.

  „Brynn!“ he cried out. „Wake up, girl!“

 
The zombies moved methodically about the woman. One grabbed her about the ribs, and with seemingly no effort at all, lifted her into the air. A second zombie grabbed the woman’s arms and hoisted them back up straight, lifting the loop of the rope over the peg that was holding it.

  Brynn started, suddenly awake, and her initial thrash broke her free of the zombies. But again, her legs would not support her, and she tumbled down into the mist, and as she tried to scramble away, the zombies fell over her, grabbing her, punching her.

  Belli’mar Juraviel cried out to her repeatedly and thrashed about, to no avail. A few moments later, one of the zombies lifted the limp form of the young ranger into its arms, cradling her under the knees and shoulders, and started away on its stiff legs.

  Juraviel continued to thrash, thinking that the undead creatures would come for him next. But to his surprise, they all continued away, a solemn and gruesome procession.

  Juraviel fought hard to suppress his revulsion and collect his wits. What was going on here? As he settled, he realized that there had to be a higher intelligence about other than the zombies; they seemed unthinking creatures. But why, then, had both Juraviel and Brynn been tied up? Why hadn’t the creatures simply battered them both into the realm of death?

  It made no sense to Juraviel, but how could it, after all? He had never seen an animated corpse before, had never even heard of such a thing!

  The zombies and their captive disappeared into the fog, and Juraviel heard Brynn utter a plaintive cry, helpless and hopeless.

  The elf sagged back, staring up into the dark sky. He noted only then, and curiously, that his perch had been made somewhat comfortable. A thick blanket was under him, between him and the gnarly branch. He craned his neck, trying to find some clues, but he could only see the edge of a wayward flap, nothing that offered him any information. Why had he been treated with some consideration, while Brynn had been mercilessly hung up by her wrists? And why was he still lying there, while his friend had been dragged away to some unknown horror?