So you’re a god?
No. I am simply lost. Trapped. Until you stumbled into my grove and entered my wasteland I was merely rage. I’m sorry about your friend. I was crazed with hunger and loneliness. The light within your heart gave me hope. Together I believe we can help each other. I will help you free some of your people, and in turn you must help me find the third and final piece of the trinity.
What? Why some and not all?
The Divine’s grip is powerful, and I am not at my full strength. I can help you break his hold on two or three of your warriors. Any more than this, and I would render myself useless to you.
Aryan thought this over. If it was the best offer he was going to get, he would take it. Three was better than none.
What do I have to do?
9
ARYAN
There wasn’t much time. He could feel the urgency like an ache in his bones. Soon they would march on the tiny village. There would be death and mayhem, and it would serve as a distraction. He hated the idea of using a massacre as his modus of escape, but it was his only option.
He had chosen his men, it hadn’t been difficult. He had chosen his Hand—Bojan, Fen, and Cadoc. They were sworn to him and him to them. If he succeeded in freeing them, he knew they would follow him to the ends of this isle if need be. Their loyalty could not be questioned.
The problem lay in how to lure them away from the group.
One at a time.
Yes, yes, but on what pretext. Will Darius not feel it?
The connection will be severed quick and clean. Do not allow your motives to be in question. If your warrior believes in what you say, then my brother will not be alerted.
Aryan thought for a long moment, and then inspiration struck. He decided to approach Cadoc first for the simple reason that he was alone.
Aryan crouched by him, plastering a mischievous grin on his face. “Cadoc, I have some red brew left. I would happily share it with you. A drink before we march?”
Cadoc rubbed his hand together. “I’m no fool to turn down a brew.”
Aryan stood and beckoned his brother. They walked casually into the cover of trees.
Aryan unstrapped his skin from his belt and passed it to Cadoc.
Now!
As Cadoc clasped the skin Aryan wrapped his hands around Cadoc’s. A scream tore through his mind, and he was standing once again in the dark wastes where he had first heard the voice, except this time Cadoc was there beside him.
“What? Where am I?” Cadoc looked about in fear. “Aryan?”
Aryan held out his hand, placating. “You’ve been asleep, you’ve been dreaming.”
Now it’s time to wake up.
Cadoc shook his head, backing away. “What is this? What is this? Where is that voice coming from?”
“I will explain everything, brother, I promise; you must trust me.”
Drink from the pool of clarity.
Aryan glanced at the muddy pool and back to Cadoc. He could understand the man’s reluctance. It did not look appetizing.
“Cadoc, you need to trust me. If you don’t, then you will lose everything. Think of Alma, think of your son.”
Cadoc stood, hands hanging at his sides. Aryan saw the decision take shape on his face, and then he was striding toward the murky waters, kneeling and scooping up a hand full and drinking.
The scream ended. Aryan stepped back, releasing Cadoc.
Cadoc glared at him in horror. “What the Frack?”
Now for Fen and Bojan...
“I don’t know if I can do this,” Fen whispered.
“Shut up,” Bojan said.
“I don’t know, maybe you were mistaken,” Cadoc said.
“I wish that were true,” Aryan said.
They were packing up, getting ready to leave.
“You’ll see it soon enough, and when you do you must not react,” Aryan said.
The red sun had passed, the sky was darkening, and the warriors made ready. They rolled up their furs, packing up the bowls and mugs, and then all of a sudden they froze.
“Frack!” Cadoc’s voice shook.
“Hush,” Bojan said lethal soft.
The warriors were under, their eyes milky-white. They began to move into formation.
“Now,” Aryan began to back away into the gathering shadows. His Hand followed him.
They were almost obscured by darkness when the crack of a twig, as sharp and loud as a gunshot pierced the air. The warriors, now in formation, turned their heads as one, their cloudy eyes fixed to the exact spot where the warriors had been but a moment before.
“Fracking run!” Fen shouted.
Aryan and his warriors ran.
He wasn’t sure how far they ran. He lost track of time. He recognized the hut they had passed earlier as they flew by it. He barely registered the tree with the slice in it before they hit dense forest and thick tangled trees frozen solid.
Here they came to a stop. Hacking through would leave a clear trail. There was no choice but to slow down. To climb and crawl until they were within the bowels of the structure, and once there, they came upon a strange sight—a tree with a trunk as thick as four men, surrounded by nothing but dead, icy ground.
Fen took a step toward it. “What the crud?”
A voice called out from the shadows. “Don’t!”
The warriors spun around, trying to pinpoint the speaker’s location, but here in the cocoon of brambles and thorns, sound echoed and vibrated strangely.
“Show yourself!” Aryan demanded.
“Why should I?”
“Because you want to. You would not have spoken otherwise,” Cadoc said.
Aryan smiled, inclining his head in his brother’s direction.
A figure moved to their left, peeling itself from the surrounding darkness, stepping into the anaemic light of the moon.
“I know you,” Aryan said.
“Yes, your people killed my friend, and you saved my life.”
Bojan took a step toward him. “You hid here? Why didn’t you warn the village?”
The man bowed his head. “I went to warn them . . . my village, but everyone . . . everyone is dead.”
Aryan dropped his head in defeat. He had expected the man to head to the other village. He had not once considered that he might go back to the village they had already annihilated.
The man pointed an accusing finger in his direction. “Why? Why would you do this?”
“Why can’t I touch the tree?” Fen asked.
The man blinked in surprise. His wide lips stretched even wider. “Because it’s possessed by a strong, vibrant spirit, some might call him a god. He fills the tree from tip to root. You see this ground? It belongs to him. Nothing grows where his roots stretch. They tried to trap him with brambles and thorns, but he will not be held prisoner.” He stretched out his neck, jutting out his chin. “You touch it and he will possess you.”
“Um, all right,” Fen stepped away from the tree.
There was something fundamentally off about the whole encounter, something in the tilt of the man’s head, in the flash of his eyes.
Aryan licked his lips “Did you touch the tree?”
The man’s eyes glazed over. He dropped his head. A low keening filled the air, followed by eerie sobs that reverberated throughout the clearing. He began to sway from side to side.
“Beware.”
“What’s happening?” Bojan asked in bewilderment.
Fen took a step back. A step that took him toward the tree.
“Get away from her!”
Fen jumped. Aryan stared at the man in horror. His head was up, his eyes blazing pale blue, his face contorted in an expression of pure malice, and that voice . . . it was not human.
He is possessed. The tree is his anchor. He will not let you near it willingly.
What do we do?
Distract him. You will need to drive an iron nail through the trunk. Do you have one?
An iron nail? What t
he Frack. No, it’s not something I carry.
What of your weapons? Do any of you carry iron?
His hand went to the hilt of his sword. Iron-forged. While some of the other warriors had opted for the new metal, he had been reluctant to trade his. The sword had been passed down to him by his father.
Aside from murdering innocents under the influence of The Divine, the men had not been in combat situations. They were warriors in name only. They had no signals, no code words, nothing. He would have to improvise.
The man was watching them from beneath his brows, still swaying rhythmically.
“What are you?” Aryan asked.
“Incensed, annoyed.” He threw back his head. “Liberated, free.” His head fell forward, and he grinned, showcasing all his teeth. “Hungry.”
Aryan had taken a few subtle steps to the left, bringing him in line with Bojan. “Distract him. I need to stab the tree.”
Bojan’s brow crinkled, and then he shrugged. “I’ll tell you what you are. You’re ugly, that’s what.” Bojan moved toward the man. “If you were going to choose a vessel, I would think you’d choose a worthy one.” He cocked his head and tapped his chin. “But then maybe you think that all you’re worth is an ugly skinny little runt.”
“How dare you!” A scream filled the air.
Aryan lunged toward the tree.
The creature screamed again, and flew with inhuman speed toward him. Aryan rolled, but it hit him on the rise. They rolled together, a tangle of limbs. The clearing erupted in shouts and yells and the disembodied screams of the angry spirit. It pinned Aryan easily to the ground. Its hands closed around Aryan’s neck and squeezed. Aryan didn’t want to hurt the man, but his vision was beginning to darken.
“Get the Frack off him!” Cadoc tackled the spirit, loosening his grip, allowing Aryan to break free.
Coughing and gagging, Aryan unsheathed his sword. Bojan and Cadoc were on top of the man, holding him down. Aryan ran toward the tree. A gust of wind came from nowhere pushing him back. Ducking his head he ploughed on, step by step.
“Don’t, don’t do it. I will give you riches beyond your wildest dreams. I can grant your every wish!”
Aryan shut out the voice and took the final steps to the tree. He buried the iron into the thick trunk with a crack.
The clearing echoed with a deep guttural sound that thinned into a weak wail.
Aryan flexed his arm, ready to withdraw the sword.
No, don’t. You must leave it.
What? That wasn’t part of the deal.
If you take it out you will free the spirit.
Aryan looked at the man on the ground. He’d rolled onto his side, his eyes closed. He looked peaceful. Could he condemn him to possession again just to reclaim his sword? Frack! He released the sword, stepping back and clenching his fists.
Fen moved toward the sword.
“Leave it,” Aryan said. “It needs to stay.”
The men gathered around the fallen man. His chest rose and fell evenly. He was asleep. They had all understood him, he was sure of it. Whatever the voice within him had done to him to help him communicate, he had done to the other warriors also.
“What do we do with him?” Cadoc asked.
Take him with you. He will show you the way. He will be your guide.
“We take him with us.”
Cadoc coughed. “Did, um, did he tell you that?”
For a moment Aryan faltered, he was obeying something he could not see, something intangible, just as he had obeyed The Divine.
I do not bend your will. I will not impose my will. I simply wish to aid you in exchange for your aid.
The words reminded him that this entity had saved his life and that of his men, that they shared a goal. Aryan fixed his eyes on Cadoc and nodded.
“Ask him where we’re going.”
A low chuckled filled his head. It made him smile. It made him feel safe.
Our next stop will be the desert lands.
You never did tell me what I should I call you? Do you have a name?
I have had many names, but for now you may call me Hari.
10
PRIYA
Ravi and Priya stepped out of the woods onto a wide, frosted dirt road crisscrossed with huge wheel tracks. This had to be the trade route from other towns and villages. The capital was the hub of the isle, a glittering example of how the fortunate lived. If you worked hard and practiced faith in your fellow man, then one day you may find yourself in a position to live within the luxurious walls of this central city. The alternative was to visit, to trade, to simply tour, and there was much of that too, for it served to whet the appetite. They said the capital never grew overcrowded; it simply expanded to accommodate all those worthy enough to enter its walls. She wasn’t sure how that would work. Walls couldn’t simply uproot themselves and rebuild their foundations.
Her thoughts melted under Ravi’s watchful gaze. He’d been doing that a lot during their journey, watching her in an assessing manner that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. But he’d watched her differently ever since her little episode in the woods.
“I’m fine,” she said tightly.
“You don’t have to be, Priya. It’s all right to grieve.”
Priya clenched her jaw tight.
“If you need to take a little time to—”
“Stop it. Please. Let’s just . . . go.” She set off in the direction of the Capital.
She could feel Ravi behind her, his step steady and slow, allowing her to keep the lead. He was giving her a moment. Her vision blurred, and she blinked away the moisture, telling herself her tears were born of frustration and now sorrow. She’d vowed not to grieve until her task was complete, but she had broken, and now Ravi was looking at her in that cautious, soft way that made her want to cry even harder. She owed it to Ma and Papa to warn the capital. She needed to be strong, determined, and focused. Getting into the palace would be no ordinary feat.
She slowed her pace to allow Ravi to catch up, and he was soon walking abreast of her.
Long minutes went by, and she lost track of time, focused on the crunch of frost under her feet, the icy air against her cheeks, and the sound of Ravi’s steady breath beside her.
“Look!” Ravi pulled her to a stop and pointed at the ground, scraping it with his boot to reveal what lay beneath. The road was no longer made of hard-packed earth, but neat, rectangular slabs of pale-blue stone, the famous Blue Road that led to the capital.
“Look!” Ravi pointed ahead. She followed his gaze and gasped.
She could see the towers in the distance, glittering pillars that reached for the cloudless sky. From her elevated position she could see the rise upon which the palace sat, the moat that surrounded it, and the many tiny pale-yellow-, orange-, and green-painted dwellings that surrounded the moat, spreading out until they dwindled and gave way to greenery and forest, and finally the wall that enclosed it all. They said the capital was three miles in diameter; they said that every inch was filled with delights, and now she would be able to see it with her own eyes.
Priya felt a smile tug at her lips, but it was flattened beneath the guilt that followed immediately after. This is what she had wanted for so long, what she had dreamed about, but she would trade all her dreams and ambitions, all her wants and desires, if it meant getting her village back, if it meant she could hold and be held by Ma and Papa again.
The walls were as high as ten men standing atop each other, and as thick as the length of almost two. The Gates were made of wood almost as thick, and studded with steel. They were open now, admitting wheelbarrows, carts, men, women, and even children dressed in rainbow colors.
Ravi and Priya joined the train of people steadily entering the gates. As they walked through, Priya craned her neck to study the guards stationed on recesses in the wall. They carried bows held stiffly at their sides. Their eyes remained fixed ahead, their bodies perfectly still. It was disconcerting to watch—they looked like sta
tues. She wondered if they were permitted to scratch if they had an itch.
Ravi was watching her again, this time with an amused smile on his face, and then they were inside the capital.
They stopped close to the entrance where the chill was made bearable by two huge fire sconces attached to the inside wall by complicated machinery. There was also a narrow pit filled with water that ran against the inside of the wall. She wondered briefly at its purpose before being distracted by the vibrant Capital air. It was like a slap to the face.
She faltered and swayed as the scents and sounds assaulted her. Ravi’s arm went around her shoulders, holding her up. She blinked and laughed, embarrassed.
“It’s overwhelming isn’t it?” Ravi said. “Just let it wash over you bit by bit. Immerse yourself slowly like you would in a cool river at bathing time.”
She nodded, closed her eyes, and inhaled. The scent of spices—turmeric and cardamom and something sweet—hit the back of her tongue. She opened her eyes to the rainbow of colors. It was as if a prism sat in the center of it all, sucking in the light and spitting it out in all its hues. Finally, she absorbed the many sounds of the capital—the lilting call of the market vendors, the rustle of fabrics, the excited squeal of children, the high, quirky notes of a fiddle, the steady beat of a drum, and the sizzle of steam as it rose in plumes from the huge cooking pots in several stalls.
Priya realized she was grinning, a huge, toothy smile. Ravi reached for her hand, and she allowed him to take it, relishing the contact. It grounded her. It would be so easy to become hopelessly lost in all the sensations the capital had to offer. His hand in hers reminded her of her mission.
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