Search for redemption
14
ELU STOOD ON A lonely street near the center of the fortress Nissaya, wondering where Ugga had gone and why. Suddenly a cattle dog approached, yapping in high-pitched frenzy. Then came the owner, limping slightly, face flushed. Elu leaned down and patted the blue-furred dog on its broad head. He had grown to love the tough little guy and his companions and looked forward to their spirited greetings.
Essīkka smiled at both of them. “Sir Elu! Sir Elu!” the man called as he approached. Word had circulated around the fortress of the Svakaran’s former exploits, including his temporary employ in Queen Rajinii’s personal guard.
“What is it, Sam?” Elu called back. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes . . . yes . . . I mean, no!” Sam said, halting a single pace from the Svakaran. “My dogs are on to a scent. I think they’ve found the bear!”
That was all Elu needed to hear. He and Essīkka received permission from Commander Sugati to leave the fortress, and by late afternoon—the second day of full sunshine since the lifting of the darkness—they hurried out of Nissaya with Sam and a dozen of his best dogs and headed north toward the foothills of Mahaggata. The cattle dogs led them on a merry chase, noses to the ground, tails wagging frenetically. At dusk, they had already reached the border of the trees, and they walked in the starlight until midnight before camping in a hollow near the opening of the cave that led from the catacombs beneath Nissaya.
The following morning, they continued due north, entering a rolling land of hills, hollows, and coves liberally sprinkled with hardwoods, hemlocks, and pines. The leaves of the hardwoods were ablaze with color, and Elu was reminded of late fall when in truth it still was spring. Many of the leaves had already fallen, and they crinkled beneath their feet. If Ugga was anywhere near, it would be difficult to catch him unawares.
At noon, the dogs cornered a Tyger even larger than Ugga, and Sam had to yell and whistle for half a bell to get them to withdraw. Afterward, Sam was angry at them for their uncharacteristic disobedience, and the dogs held their heads low and tucked their silky tails. Elu couldn’t help but chuckle, but he tried to do so without Sam noticing.
That night, they camped again beneath the stars. The moon was a sliver, and it set not long after midnight. In the morning, they continued on toward the base of a titanic mountain, and it was there that the dogs went wild. When they encircled the bear, they barked and yipped hysterically, but the bear paid little notice. He had found a dead tree that contained a mammoth beehive, and he was busily lapping up gobs of honey as the bees buzzed angrily around him, helpless to fend off the assault.
“Ugga!” Elu called, running heedlessly toward the massive animal. The bear paused, cocked his head, and then charged toward the Svakaran, equally excited. The pair wrestled playfully in the grass, while the cattle dogs nipped at their legs. Even Essīkka and Sam dared to join them.
But Ugga soon lost interest. He had things to do—bear things. And when he ran off, not even the dogs attempted to follow.
Elu stared after him, tears coursing down his cheeks. The Svakaran couldn’t decide whether to be happy or sad.
Then he looked at Essīkka’s lovely face and chose happiness.
15
IT TOOK THE BETTER part of three days for Ukkutīka, thirty score Tugars, and the Pabbajja to march from Avici to the northeastern border of Java. It was past midnight, and the quarter moon already had set when they decided to call a halt and make camp. Entering the forest at the height of day was dangerous enough. At night it was far worse. Regardless, they were without fear of attack while in the open, and they built a dozen cook fires by the side of the road and enjoyed hot meals. As it turned out, the Pabbajja ate the same kinds of food as the Tugars, and they were surprisingly good hunters. This night they feasted on venison, rabbit, and squirrel.
After filling his belly, Ukkutīka sat in darkness away from the fires and spoke with Kithar, one of the warriors who had played an important role in the war against the fiends.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more exhausted,” Ukkutīka said softly. “It has been quite a year. You also must be weary, Kithar.”
“Weary but relieved,” the Tugar warrior responded. “It is good that we will help the Pabbajja slay whatever monsters remain in Java, but afterward we should return to Tējo where we belong.”
“Why did you volunteer?” Ukkutīka said.
“I was with Rati when the swamp rose up and devoured the black knights and Pabbajja. I suppose I’m still feeling guilty that we were unable to save them. And you?”
“I was not at Nissaya, but I was told that the Pabbajja fought bravely against Mala—and were slaughtered for their efforts. Such unselfishness demands some kind of reward.”
Kithar nodded. “Their overlord approaches now.”
The Pabbajja waddled toward them. Ukkutīka was amazed by how quickly the Homeless People could walk, considering their extremely short legs and awkward gaits.
Bruugash came near and bowed, as was his custom.
“Master Asēkha . . . it would be our pleasure if the weary Tugars would rest tonight,” he said. “But the Pabbajja have one more task to complete before we can sleep. We must summon the rest of our people, some of whom are many leagues from here, still dwelling on the western border of the forest you call Java but that we know from ancient times as
Kala-Vana
. I tell you this only because we must leave you for a time, but we will return before morning with more of my people.”
“How many more?” Ukkutīka said.
“I am embarrassed to say that I am not sure how many still live,” Bruugash said. “But I would guess that at least one hundred score remain—enough to increase our strength.”
Ukkutīka nodded. “I am at your service, overlord. Your word is my command. The Tugars will wait here until you give the order to do otherwise.”
Bruugash bowed again. “We will enter the forest. You might hear sounds and see lights in the distance that will seem unfamiliar. Please ignore them. They will be no threat to you or your warriors.”
After the overlord and the Pabbajja departed, Ukkutīka surprised himself by falling quickly into deep slumber. In his dreams,
Kala-Vana
came to spectacular life, as if the forest had caught on magical fire. When the Asēkha finally woke, it was nearly dawn—and Bruugash and some of his Pabbajja had already returned.
By noon of that day, it became apparent that there were at least twice as many Pabbajja as before. And most of them seemed agitated, their protruding eyes wriggling like hyperactive worms.
Bruugash again approached the Asēkha. “Many have come, but more are on the way,” the overlord said. “Those who have arrived have told us much. Despite the decimation of Mala’s army, there are still monsters abroad in the interior of the forest. Of ghouls, goblins, and vampires, there are several thousand. Of trolls, Mogols, and wolves, there are several hundred. But because no Kojins remain in the world, these creatures pose little threat, other than to exhaust us as we give chase.”
Then the hair around the overlord’s mouth puffed out as he sighed. “However, one serious problem remains . . .”
“I don’t understand,” Ukkutīka said. “If there are no Kojins, what can deter us? It’s not like a great dragon can stroll among the trees.”
“A great dragon? No,” Bruugash said. “But something almost as large and dangerous. Even before the Homeless People became as we are now, there lurked within the interior of Java an evil serpent as long and thick as an old oak. For many millennia it lay dormant and hidden. But my people report that soon after Mala’s army passed through the forest, the serpent re-awakened.”
“A snake as large as a tree?” Ukkutīka said. “I find that interesting, but not overly threatening. Surely it cannot stand against Tugars and Pabbajja.”
Kithar agreed. “It is more capable of providing us with a feast than a fight.”
Bruugash’s eyes swirled frenetically. “
Kantaara Yodhas
, you don’t understand. This is not a creature of ordinary flesh and blood. It wields magic almost as powerful as a Kojin’s, and its will is likened to a druid queen’s. Until it is destroyed, the deep dark places will never be safe.”
Kithar’s expression grew serious. “If this is so, would it not be prudent to return to Tējo and inform our king of this danger?” he said to Ukkutīka. “Now that the sorcerer has been destroyed, no creature left on Triken can stand against
The Torgon
.”
Ukkutīka shook his head. “Our king has done enough. I will not ask more of him so soon. Cleansing Java of evil is our task.” He turned to the overlord. “Does this serpent have a name?”
“In the ancient tongue, he is called
Sappa-Uraga
,” Bruugash said. “We know of no other name.”
“Do not fear,” Ukkutīka said. “Together we will defeat
Sappa-Uraga
. Or perish in the attempt. Either will be an honorable conclusion to our lives.”
“Ema . . . Ema . . .”
Kithar chanted.
Ukkutīka was amused when Bruugash did the same, as if it had become natural to him.
16
ON HANDS AND knees, the little girl named Nimm crawled along a crusty blanket of fine yellow sand. She was almost as silent as a Tugarian youth of similar age.
Nimm could see that the sun was just a few long breaths from setting. Though the Simōōn was thick and violent, it also was relatively transparent, at least as far as light was concerned. Filtered by the swirling tempest, the dimming sunlight was even more beautiful within the whirlwind than without. Crimsons, golds, and blues set the sand ablaze.
The Simōōn was a league to her right. A league to her left was the outer fringe of Vimānal, the oasis within which the current version of Anna had been rebuilt. But neither of these sights held her attention. Instead, it was what lay just a stone’s throw away that consumed her curiosity.
Nimm stealthily approached a pair of magnificent boulders that had been vomited from the molten underground long before Tējo had even existed in its desert form. The twin stones, molded into jagged pillars by eons of erosion, supported a third slab between them, forming a natural archway that stood alone in a sea of sand. Gutta had told her that this precarious architectural arrangement could remain in place long into the future, or it could collapse at any instant. All things were impermanent. Such was the way of the desert—and the world.
Since her first visit to the archway, Nimm often had come alone to this place. It both frightened and tantalized her to stand beneath the arch, and she had dared to do so for only a few moments at a time before rushing to safety. On this day she had come here alone again, but she discovered that someone else had arrived before her. Dammawansha, the High Monk of Dibbu-Loka, sat cross-legged beneath the arch. His eyes were closed and face invitingly peaceful. Nimm crept slowly forward, making no sound that her ears could hear.
The nearer she approached, the more Nimm became convinced that the monk was dead. She could discern no movement. Not even his chest seemed to rise and fall. Dammawansha was as still as the stone beneath which he sat. But she had watched the monks and nuns meditate before, and they all had looked this way. She found it strange.
About half a dozen paces from the arch, Nimm stopped, sat, and waited—all through the setting of the sun. When darkness came, the monk seemed to glow, illuminating his unthreatening features.
Finally, the little girl yawned, not out of boredom but out of sleepiness. It was time to return to her tent. Though it was no longer unusual for Nimm to wander unaccompanied, Ura eventually would become concerned. There was no safer place in the world than Anna, but bad things could happen to a child anywhere—as Nimm had learned firsthand.
She started to turn and crawl away, but the monk suddenly lifted his head and opened his eyes, as if he had known all along that she was there. The girl suppressed a yelp.
“Must you leave so soon?” said Dammawansha, his smile as gentle as the desert breeze that caressed his bare brow. “I was enjoying your company.”
Nimm stood up in a huff. “Your eyes were closed, so you couldn’t have seen me. Did you hear me?” Then she sniffed her underarms. “Or
smell
me?”
Dammawansha chuckled. The pleasant sound warmed Nimm’s heart. “I simply became aware of your presence,” the monk said.
Nimm sat back down. But she did not respond.
As if sensing that he was making her uncomfortable, Dammawansha changed the subject. “I had another vision.”
Again, curiosity overcame her, and Nimm’s eyes widened. “A good one . . . or bad one?”
“Hmmmmm . . . that is an interesting question. Depends on how you define those words. I would surmise that most would find it both good and bad. Would you like to hear it? I haven’t told anyone else.”
“Yes,” Nimm said.
Dammawansha’s eyes twinkled. “Very well. I know it’s getting late, so I’ll try to be brief. In my vision, the king of Anna will return to the Tent City—and he will bring with him a queen.”
Nimm was unable to conceal her disappointment. “You’ve already told us that. You’ve been blabbing about it for days.”
“Blabbing? Is that what I’ve been doing?”
Nimm lowered her head. “Sorry . . . I didn’t mean to say that. Please don’t tell Ura or Gutta. They’ll be mad at me.”
Dammawansha chuckled again. “I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise. But be patient with me, little Nimm. I have not yet told you the
new
part.”
Like most children, the word
new
enthralled Nimm. She sat upright and listened intently.
“The queen is with child,” the monk said.
“You’ve said that too!”
“Indeed I have. But now comes the
really
new part.”
“Yes?”
Without warning, the monk’s gentle voice became raspy—and scary. “The baby will be . . . evil.”
Nimm wanted to run, but her legs felt tingly. “Evil? You mean . . . bad?”
“Yes . . . very bad.”
“What will the king do?”
Dammawansha rubbed his hand along his bald scalp. “The baby will run. And
The Torgon
will . . . give chase.”
For reasons she could not comprehend, Nimm felt tears well in her eyes. “That’s stupid,” she said. “How can a baby run?” But the monk did not respond. Finally, she said, “Why do you tell me this?”
The monk smiled, but this time there was a great sadness to it. “To be honest, there’s a very good reason I’m telling you.” Then he crawled over on hands and knees and sat beside her. “Nimm, I am not clairvoyant. Visions are for demons and witches, not monks and nuns. But recently, I have become
bombarded
by visions—when I’m awake, asleep . . . even when I meditate. Ever since I came to Anna, I’ve puzzled over why this might be happening. But not until tonight was the true answer revealed to me.”
Now Nimm was openly crying. “I know I’m just a little girl, but I’m not
stupid
. You’re saying it’s me, aren’t you? I’m the one causing your visions. But . . . why?”
The High Monk sighed. “There are forces at work larger than you or I.” Then he gestured in the direction of Anna. “Larger than all of us. For whatever reasons, these forces are speaking through you—and I’ve been the one able to hear.”