“No, Mrymit Zose. I was only able to identify clothing, and often not even that. It was a disturbing sight. There were far more of the Gray Man’s soldiers than the Zouyim, as could be expected. I could not recognize individuals, except perhaps one I found near the gate that could have been the Grandmaster. I am not sure, though. The bodies had been set upon by multitudes of scavengers.”
“I see,” Ylleria said. The feeling changed into a strange, tingling sensation throughout her body.
“Rusha,” the sister added, “the walls and the buildings themselves…they had been destroyed, but not by fire. They looked as if struck by a rock the size of the mountain itself. I have never seen anything like it.”
“Thank you. Please go now, eat and rest. We appreciate your effort in traveling so quickly.”
The woman saluted and left the room.
The Rusha turned her attention to Ylleria. “Are preparations complete?”
“They are,” Nalia’s mother said firmly. “One hundred sisters have been selected and are awaiting orders to start marching.”
“One hundred,” the Dreya Kloos said, a thoughtful look on her face. “That is almost all of our strength.”
“Yes.”
“After what we have just heard, do you think that number sufficient?”
“The power he must have wielded to defeat the Zouyim is immense, but he has lost many of his soldiers and he himself must have been weakened. He will further weaken himself and his remaining forces as he travels back to his fortress. He is powerful, but he is still a man. He can be killed. Perhaps we can catch him while traveling.”
“That is true. But why not take all of the sisters? There are currently one hundred twenty one in the compound, with only another five elsewhere. Why not bring everyone?”
Ylleria glanced at Nalia, not wanting to say it in front of her. With a sigh, she spoke, “There must be some who remain to safeguard our home. Many of the others are not fit for this battle. Some are too young, you yourself are forced to remain to direct the order should other of the leaders fall, and some are not…suitable for the task. I believe they would be a liability.”
“Suitable?”
“Yes, some are not disciplined and cannot be relied upon to obey commands at crucial times.”
“I understand. Very well, then. You are the battle commander. I leave it in your hands. When will you depart?”
Ylleria looked to Nalia again before answering her leader, “Immediately. We will be gone within the hour.”
Regi chased the two women down as they were leaving the Rusha’s office.
“Is it true?” she asked, “Was the Zouyim temple destroyed? Are we truly going to war?”
Ylleria’s eyes flashed. The exact reason for their preparations was to be kept secret. She had only told a few of the sisters. “It is. We are leaving immediately.”
Regi’s face lit up. “Great. I’ll get my pack and my weapon and be right back.”
She turned to leave, but Ylleria put a hand on her shoulder. “Reginia, you will not be going with us.”
The young woman’s shoulders slumped and the smile slid from her face. “I was afraid that was why you hadn’t told me. It’s because I’m not good at following rules, huh? Not good at taking orders?”
“It is.”
“But, I’m the second-best fighter in the order. I just proved that a few days ago. Please, Ylleria, let me go. I’ll follow orders. I’ll be good.”
“I am sorry. I cannot trust that you will obey without question as any good soldier would. It would be risking the lives of other sisters, of myself, of my daughter. I cannot do this.”
The pain on Reginia’s face almost broke Ylleria’s heart, but she maintained her gruff façade. “When we return, you and I can discuss what we must do so that you are not left out in the future. For now, though, you will be one of the sisters left to guard the compound.”
“Aw, that’s just an excuse. The compound can be guarded by one or two people. The walls are high and thick and the gates solid. I’m not needed here. I should go with you.”
“You cannot, I am sorry.”
Nalia put her arm around her friend and gave her a one-armed hug. “I will let you try out my shrapezi when I return,” she offered. “Besides, you must be here when my father returns. Even the Gray Man could not have caught him. He would have jumped down the mountain to escape. He will return.”
Nalia tilted her masked head so that their foreheads were touching. “Will you do that for me, wait for him and greet him? He will be worried and must see your beautiful friendly face when he arrives. Promise me?”
Regi laughed and hugged Nalia to her, squeezing her for all she was worth. “I promise. Return soon, in victory.”
She turned to Ylleria. “I’m sorry that I always disappoint you. You’ve been like a mother to me all these years because of your love for my real mother and I’ve been nothing but trouble for you. Please be safe and return to us. To me.” She reached out and hugged the taller woman as tightly as she had hugged Nalia.
“Oh, Reginia,” Ylleria said softly, pushing her hair from her face, “You have not disappointed me. I am proud of you and who you are. True, things would be easier if you would follow the rules, but I love you as my own daughter and want only what is best for you. We will discuss all of this when I return. For now, I must lead our sisters to dispense justice to the Gray Man. Keep the compound and the sisters safe. We will speak when I get back.”
Nalia turned to leave. Ylleria started to do so and stopped. “Reginia,” she said tentatively. “If Nalia is correct and that indestructible husband of mine shows up, tell him I love him dearly and then scold him for scaring the wits out of me.”
Regi smiled sadly at her surrogate mother. “I definitely will.”
Ylleria could still see the tears in Regi’s face as she turned and left. She reached up and wiped at her face, surprised to find a few of her own.
Chapter 14
Rindu made his way up the mountain path he had climbed hundreds of times before. He passed the area on the mountain beyond which trees did not grow and saw familiar rock formations as he went. It was mid-morning and he had been hiking up the trail for several hours now. He was anxious to get to the temple and take a bath. The dust that blew on this part of the mountain, below the snow level this time of year, covered him. Yes, a hot bath, a warm meal, and some nice cold water to drink. That was what he wanted right now.
He sensed something wrong before he smelled it, but just barely. As he neared the flattened area near the crest, where the temple was located, a wave of nausea assaulted him. It was not only from the putrid smell of the rotting bodies that littered the landscape, but also from his recognition that the temple itself was no more.
Blackened, bloated corpses dotted the area in front of him. No snow had fallen since the death of all these people and the gray-black trampled snow was a mixture of mud, dirt, and coagulated blood. Bugs were everywhere, flying from corpse to corpse, landing and feasting, flying on again. He could see things wriggling amongst the flesh as well and averted his eyes, not wanting to look closely at them.
There were vermin, too. Oh yes, rats and other small creatures, ravens, all the scavengers that ate the rotting flesh of the dead. It was good that they were there. It would take some time, but they would clean the bones of the rotting meat and make the area clean again. In time.
The Zouy was surprised to see that the walls were completely leveled, as were all the buildings. What kind of force must have been used in order to cause this devastation? He could not even imagine it.
The bodies were too deteriorated to recognize any of them. From the bits of clothing he could see, there had been many more attackers than there had been Zouyim. They did not wear uniforms, but the style of dress and the armor was common with the Gray Man’s forces. The fiend had finally done it. He had attacked the heart of the order.
Rindu stumbled back away from the carnage, close enough to still see the t
apestry of death before him but not so near that the odor was overpowering or the vermin thick. He was even now growing accustomed to the stench of the place, his sense of smell overwhelmed, but it was still sickening.
Now that his logical mind had taken in its information and the shock had started to subside, a great growing heaviness settled onto his heart. His brothers. His sisters. All of the people he had spent the last thirty-five years of his life with, all gone.
He sat cross-legged, back straight and head up, breathing slowly and deeply through his teeth so as not to swallow insects as he breathed. He emptied his mind of everything, picturing a deep, unending blackness. It was as dark as he felt. Feeding his feelings of sorrow and anger and pain into the darkness, he released them and struggled to remain calm. He cast aside thoughts that threatened to intrude as he sat there, motionless. He paid no heed to the flies that left their meal and drifted over to land on him.
He breathed, focused on nothing, and put all his effort into losing himself in his meditation.
An insistent noise intruded in his deep trance. Wary of danger, he roused himself and slowly opened his eyes. The mid-afternoon sun hurt his eyes as he looked toward the sounds of people approaching. Judging from the position and angle of the sun, he had been meditating for more than three hours.
Rindu straightened his legs, shook his arms, and rotated his body this way and that to loosen the muscles. If those approaching were enemies, he would be ready.
Before he was able to see the strangers, however, Rindu could feel them, feel their rohw abilities. He relaxed, just now realizing that he had tensed. He recognized the energies of those approaching. They were Zouyim. Thank the universal energy; he was not the only one to survive.
He stood and waited for them to come around a turn in the trail, soft conversation reaching him ahead of the group. As they appeared, it was as he had known. The sight of the off-white robes swishing as they walked lightened the great stone that was crushing his heart. Lightened it a small bit.
There were five, all of whom he knew well. Palusa Filk was the youngest, her silver-colored hair shining in the sunlight. His good friend Eilus Tang, white-haired and moving carefully, came next. Digo Toa, a monk only in his thirty-fourth year of life, followed, his squat figure seeming to stomp up the trail but making no noise doing so. Prendan Chiras, who used to sleep in the bunk just above Rindu when they were children, was tall and thin, his dark hair long and unbound, swaying as he moved. His intense eyes had not spotted Rindu yet. Finally came Torim Jet, five years older than Rindu but still the most handsome man in a thousand miles, if the women were to be believed. His shoulder-length sand-colored hair seemed to have just been combed, though Rindu knew his brothers and sister must have been hiking hard all day long to reach the peak of the mountain.
As Rindu watched them approach, he saw their noses wrinkle at the stench and he saw Torim Jet’s eyes lock onto him. Recognizing him immediately, he called out, “Brother Rindu? What are you—” His voice broke off as the wind shifted and he caught the full force of the stink of the dead. At the same time, his bright blue eyes grew as wide as Rindu had ever seen them as he caught sight of the first of the bodies. The other monks were less than a second behind him in seeing the grisly scene.
For what seemed like minutes, all five stopped where they were, mouths open and eyes wide. Then, a shriek that was louder than anything Rindu had ever heard split the air, taking flight and screeching out to surround them all. The pure anguish of it felt like it would cleave Rindu’s heart.
He saw then, from where the sound emitted. Torim Jet was on his knees, wailing, tears streaming from his eyes. He was screeching unintelligibly, pounding his hands on the hard-packed dirt of the trail. Even now, Rindu could see bits of stone and twigs embedding themselves in the other man’s palms as he relentlessly pummeled the ground.
The pain etched into Torim’s visage was frightening. The other monks, at a loss about what to do, and obviously still in shock from seeing the devastation themselves, stood there limp, looking back and forth from the ruins of the temple to the bodies to Torim Jet, who was now using his waist and hips to lend force to his pounding of the ground. Blood was now visible on his hands and forearms.
Rindu sped to the other man, grappling his arms and slowing his thrashing. He tried to talk sense into him, tried making soothing noises. When that did not work, he realized nothing he could say would stop his friend. Releasing one of his arms long enough to free his own hand, he applied a strike to the base of Torim Jet’s neck, projecting a precisely controlled burst of rohw. The other monk slumped immediately into unconsciousness. Rindu caught him before he hit the ground and carried him off to a spot upwind from the bodies and far enough away so that they were not the only thing in view. He cleaned his friend’s battered hands and arms, bandaged them from pieces he tore off his own robes, and waited. The other monks, still silent, followed him mindlessly, trying to come to grips with what they had seen.
As Torim Jet awoke, Rindu watched him carefully. It had only been an hour, but his friend looked to have resolved the madness that had afflicted him. His eyes still held a vacant, faraway look that Rindu did not like, but he seemed coherent. In the time he was unconscious, the other monks had simply sat, saying nothing, staring back toward the temple and then out at the sky. One or two words were exchanged, but it seemed that there was an unspoken agreement to wait until they were all ready to talk before asking about what happened. It was as if they wanted to speak of it only once.
Rindu had collected wood in the meantime and made a fire. When it was good and hot, he made tea with the camp pot and leaves he had in his travel pack. The other monks produced cups from their own packs and filled them. As Torim Jet stirred, Rindu passed a cup of tea to him.
“Drink, my friend.”
“Rindu?” Torim Jet said. “Rindu. My friend. My brother. What—” He took a sip of the proffered tea, cleared his throat. “What has happened?”
The other four monks turned their attention toward the two, shifted their bodies to face them.
“The Gray Man,” Rindu answered. “The forces you see arrayed out before you,” he pointed toward the piles of rotting bodies, “are the Gray Man’s soldiers.”
“But how?” It was Palusa Filk’s soft voice. “How could they have made it to the peak alive? The sentries should have seen them, sounded the alarm. Someone should have sensed them. How could they have defeated the entire Zouyim order? It is unthinkable.”
“Yet it is so,” Rindu answered.
“As I sat in meditation, just before you arrived,” he continued, “I was able to discern some rohw patterns in the air, residual energies. The Gray Man himself was here, using the rohw. I believe we have severely underestimated his power.” The monk shook his head tiredly.
Eilus Tang spoke up. “Even so, it seems impossible that any one person could have so much power.”
“You are correct, Brother Eilus. I felt something different, an energy with which I am not acquainted. I believe there was some sort of ancient artifact involved.”
“Artifact?” Digo Toa asked.
“Yes. There are ancient histories that seem to indicate that at one time there were objects that aided in magnifying the rohw. Most of them were for specific uses. It has ever been the goal of the Arzbedim, the rogue Zouyim, to find such items. The Gray Man is the successor of the Arzbedim and as such, perhaps he possesses such items. He now resides in the fortress that was their headquarters, after all.
“However, I do not know. It is merely conjecture.”
There was silence for the time it would take to breathe deeply three times.
“What is clear is that between the Gray Man, his artifacts, and the soldiers, which I estimate to be over one thousand in number, it was simply too much for our brothers and sisters to overcome. They fought valiantly, that is obvious, but in the end, they were not victorious.”
There was more silence, broken only by Palusa Filk’s half-sob and sn
iffling.
“Are there other Zouyim out on missions?” Rindu asked.
“I do not think so,” Brother Eilus answered. “Digo and I were the last sent out on a mission, with these other three sent out as predator hunters to smooth our way. Before we left, I saw the schedule and believe that after we returned, a new rotation would start, rearranging the mission and predator hunter teams. Sadly, I fear that we are the last of the Zouyim order.”
Torim Jet lifted his manic eyes to Rindu. “You stand highest among us, Brother Rindu. What would you have us do? Will we bring justice to the monster who perpetrated this horror?”
“No.” The suddenness and firmness of Rindu’s word caused Torim Jet to flinch.
“No,” Rindu repeated, more gently. “That would be a fool’s errand. We must think of the order, not of vengeance or justice. We are the last of the Zouyim. We must not die. If the order is to survive, if it is to grow again, to thrive, we must survive. We must not let the wisdom and experience of the temple die.”
The other Zouyim nodded.
“Then what will we do?” Prendan Chiras asked.
Torim Jet answered before Rindu could say anything. “We must split up, make it impossible for the Gray Man to destroy the order by killing all of us at the same time.”
Rindu nodded. “I believe that is the way, yes.”
“We can work individually to rally support,” Palusa Filk added. “We can rebuild our numbers until we are capable of defeating the Gray Man and his followers.”
“Yes,” Eilus Tang added, “and there are still the Sapsyra. Rindu will go there next, no doubt, to let them know what has happened.”
“I will. After sleeping the night here, I will set out for Marybador as the sun rises.”
“Then it is agreed?” Torim Jet asked.
Each of the others voiced an affirmation or nodded.
Torim Jet looked at the others. “So be it. We must meet together occasionally to coordinate our efforts. I propose to meet in Tramgadal, at the base of Kokitura, in four months’ time.”
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 47