Shadowed by Demons, Book 3 of the Death Wizard Chronicles (18 page)

“The Asēkhas and I cannot be harmed by the
undines
,” he said to Utu. “But of you, I am not certain.”

“I too am beyond such things,” the giant said, matter-of-factly.

After that deed was done, Kusala ordered the rest of the freed slaves to come ashore and help with the cleanup. The wagons were pushed together and set aflame, along with the remnants of the barrels. The corpses of the witches were also thrown into the fire, in case they were somehow capable of magically reviving their bodies. The dead wolves, Mogols, and golden soldiers were left to rot, though the freed slaves took as many weapons as they could carry.

By the time they were finished, it was the middle of the night, and Kusala was worried that more of the enemy—attracted by the fire—would soon arrive. As quickly as possible they returned to the galleys, including Utu, who continued to transform randomly between his naive and angry personas. His naive personality claimed never to have been on a boat, but he seemed to enjoy the feel of it and enthusiastically offered to wield an oar. But he pulled with too much power, making it difficult to keep the narrow-hulled ship from going in circles. The oarsmen on the port side eventually complained, and Kusala finally asked Utu to stop. The giant’s naive personality took offense. But when the chieftain explained the reason, Utu smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t spent much time around little people, and I didn’t know how weak they were.”

“Compared to you, a desert elephant is weak,” Tāseti said.

Utu seemed pleased. “I am strong, but Deva was the strongest of all—and the bravest. That’s why it’s so strange to me that he is lost. How could that be?”

Just then, Podhana appeared on deck.

“There is enough food to last several days,” the Asēkha warrior reported to Kusala. “We’re preparing a vat of vegetable soup. We also found a few crates of salt pork.”

Kusala nodded. “That’s good to hear. All this fighting has made me hungry. How about you, Utu? Do you eat soup?”

“The vegetable soup sounds tasty,” Utu said. “But snow giants do not eat ‘salt pork’ or any other kinds of flesh.”

“You would get along well with the noble ones of Dibbu-Loka,” Tāseti said. “They eat only vegetables—not even fish.”

“Fish? I love to watch them swim in the crystal waters of a mountain lake, but I would never tear one apart and chew on its flesh. Do you really eat them? Poor little fish.”

“We ‘little people’ do a lot of things you might not understand,” Tāseti said. “That doesn’t make it right. It’s just the way it is.”

“Poor little fish,” Utu repeated.

But when Podhana and his kitchen crew—which included the Senasanan countess—served the meal, Utu strode forward, grabbed enough salt pork to feed a dozen people, and devoured it in several angry bites. Grease dripped from the points of his fangs and the corners of his mouth.

“You’re right,” he said. “Fighting makes you hungry.”

Kusala shuddered.

During the journey down the western shore of Lake Ti-ratana, the galleys encountered no opposition. The next morning dawned clear and warm, and they soon passed close to another community of kabangs. The boat people remained hidden from view. The sudden appearance of the larger crafts had frightened them. To everyone’s surprise, Kusala removed his black jacket and boots, dove into the water, and swam over to the kabangs. He returned with several boat people, who greeted the Asēkhas and freed slaves enthusiastically, giggling like over-excited children. When they saw Utu, they dropped to their hands and knees at his feet, as if in the presence of a god.

“Don’t bow to me,” said Utu, his angry personality taking over. “I’m a killer, like the rest of you. Get away from me.”

The boat people were terrified and leapt into the water, disappearing into Ti-ratana’s dark depths.

“That was a little harsh, even for you,” Churikā said to the snow giant.

“Do you challenge me?” said Utu, eyes aglow.

This time it was Kusala’s turn to become angry. “If we are to become your enemies, let it be known now. You are great, but we are not helpless. Do you challenge
us
?”

In response, the naive Utu returned, the change of tone and facial expression becoming apparent to all. “I would never hurt you or your friends. I am a peaceful creature. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“Tell that to them,” Churikā said, motioning toward the kabangs.

“Of course,” Utu said cheerfully, and then he dove into the lake, rocking the galley. The Asēkhas peered over the bulwark distrustfully, some even preparing their slings. A long moment passed without any sign of the snow giant, then he burst from the water like a breaching whale, tossing a pair of boat people more than twenty cubits into the air. They somersaulted gleefully and screamed in delight before gracefully piercing the surface. Soon more than a dozen—each about the size of one of Utu’s hands—were clambering onto his shoulders, begging to be thrown. It was delightful to watch.

When Utu climbed back on board, he walked directly to Churikā. “You see, these tiny creatures are beyond me. That is all I meant. I am not worthy of their adoration.”

Then Utu cast himself onto a pile of netting on the deck and fell fast asleep. But not before Kusala noted, for the first time, that the giant’s conflicting personalities were not entirely unaware of each other.

Kusala shuddered again.

EARLY THE NEXT evening, the galleys reached the southwestern tip of Lake Ti-ratana. Kusala ordered the others to abandon the crafts and come ashore, bearing as many weapons and as much food as eighteen Asēkhas, eighty-two freed slaves, and one snow giant could manage.

Once on land, Kusala gathered everyone for a brief council.

“As we know, Mala will soon begin his march on Nissaya, if he has not already. But his army is huge and will move slowly, so we have little to fear from it here. However, we are closer to Avici than any of us would prefer, and it’s possible we’ll encounter wolves, Mogols, or other enemies. If they dare to assault us, even in large numbers, they will be hard-pressed, but there are those among us who are not fighters. My warriors will do their best to protect you, but you must do as you’re told
when
you’re told. Above all else, do not panic and attempt to flee. If danger approaches, huddle together and allow us to encircle you. Does anyone have questions?”

“How far is Nissaya?” the Senasanan countess said.

“More than sixty leagues, but I hope to make it to the fortress in nine days or less,” Kusala said. “I know that must sound disheartening, considering what you’ve already been through, but I will demand it of those who accompany me, nonetheless. Are there other questions? Be quick.”

No one else spoke.

“Very well,” Kusala said. “We are weary and must recoup our strength. Though I’m anxious to continue, we’ll rest here until midnight before beginning our march. The massacre of the witches is sure to attract attention. The farther south we advance, the safer we’ll be.”

Before lying down to rest, they ate bread, cheese, and freshwater sardines. Utu, in his angry persona, devoured far more than his share of the fish. Then he walked a hundred paces from the main group, cast his huge body onto the ground, and fell into a deep sleep. Kusala was grateful that the snow giant didn’t snore.

Everyone was exhausted. Churikā took the first of a series of brief watches. After counting ninety slow breaths, she tapped Podhana on the shoulder. He woke instantly and began his count. A moment later, Churikā was asleep.

When they broke camp, the gibbous moon was well past its midpoint in the sky. Utu had assumed his naive persona, acting puzzled as to where he was and why he was there. Kusala could sense that the others were becoming more and more uncomfortable with the snow giant’s presence. Would Utu’s unpredictability eventually cause him to turn against them? If so, everyone’s life would be at risk. Even the Asēkhas might not be able to subdue him. Kusala wished that Torg still was with him. Or even Jord. Either would know better how to manage Utu’s moods.

Early on, the terrain was level, much like most of the Gray Plains. They were near the far western border of the vast prairie, which covered hundreds of thousands of hectares, extending as far north as the foothills of Mount Asubha, as far south as Dibbu-Loka, and as far east as the Salt Sea.

Kusala took them in a southwesterly direction toward the foothills of the mountains, where they would be sure to discover hiding places among the trees, caves, and tumbled boulders. Even in the dark, he felt too exposed out in the open. They would need shelter, both from their enemies and the elements, though this night was clear and warm—almost uncomfortably warm.

Kusala sent out eight Asēkha scouts. When they returned, they had little to report. The plains were empty for leagues. There was no sign of the enemy or of the Nissayans, though Kusala doubted the black knights would patrol this far north with war so close at hand. Still, he dared to hope they would stumble upon a Nissayan company, making the rest of the journey easier and safer.

By morning they had traveled six leagues from their original camp. The eastern foothills of Mahaggata were within sight, but still a good distance away. They came to an abandoned farm. Near the main house was a well with potable water. Tāseti, Churikā, and Podhana entered the house to look around—and quickly emerged.

“The exodus to Nissaya has extended well beyond its borders,” Tāseti said. “It appears the farmers gathered what valuables they could carry and left in a hurry. It’s possible they were still here as recently as yesterday eve.”

“I saw no signs of Mogols or other evils having desecrated this place,” Churikā added. “They would have ransacked the house and befouled the well had they been here before us.”

“The sorcerer’s forces gather at Avici for the great march to Nissaya—and most of the Mogols and wolves have joined him,” Kusala said. “Will this continue to work to our advantage? I hope so. I do not desire any more fighting until
after
we reach Nissaya.”

Utu placed his huge hand on Kusala’s shoulder, startling him.

“Are you certain Mala will march on Nissaya?” the snow giant said.

Kusala looked up at his broad face. “I am certain of few things. But of that, there is no doubt.”

“I will be ready,” said Utu, his voice as dark as obsidian.

After several hours of rest, followed by a meal of carrot and cabbage soup prepared in the farmhouse kitchen, they continued toward the foothills of Mahaggata. Now it was early afternoon and as hot as a summer day, though it still was early spring. This wouldn’t have been unusual in Tējo, or even Dibbu-Loka, but it was strange this far north.

“Is the heat some devilry of Invictus?” Tāseti said. “Has he grown so great he can control the weather?”

“Nothing would surprise me,” Kusala said. “But I don’t understand how or why it would benefit his army any more than ours.”

“How can you stand such heat?” the naïve Utu said, his face almost frantic. “It burns the skin like fire.”

“Heat is our friend,” Churikā said. “It warms the heart.”

Utu smiled broadly, exposing glistening fangs. His angry-self returned. “My heart will be forever cold.”

“That has become obvious to all,” said Churikā, before sprinting off to the front of the group.

They reached the foothills before dusk and rested inside a cavernous rock shelter with a ceiling so high even Utu could stand upright without bumping his head. Drawings on the stone wall seemed to fascinate the snow giant, and he studied them ceaselessly while most of the others slept. Sensing a moment of clarity in Utu’s troubled mind, Kusala joined him.

“What do you see?” he whispered.

At first Utu appeared not to notice Kusala’s presence, but when he looked down, Kusala gasped. The expression on the snow giant’s face was unlike any he had seen before. Kusala believed he was seeing the Yama-Utu who had existed before despair had invaded his mind.

“To you, these drawings must seem very old,” Utu replied softly. “But I have lived for a long time, almost as long as the great dragons, and even longer than the dracools. And what I see here is not ancient to me.”

Utu pointed to drawings high on the wall that had remained relatively intact, despite the passing of millennia.

“Whoever made these once visited Okkanti,” the snow giant said. “Do you see over here? These are
my
mountains. And to the right are two figures. The largest is Yama-Deva, and I stand next to him. The little people bow at our feet. But Deva’s arms are upraised, encouraging them to rise. Despite his greatness, Deva was humble. And he loved to talk to the little people who came in search of us with their countless questions. Still, our answers seemed to baffle them. What snow giants have to say isn’t what others desire to hear.”

A single tear slid slowly down his broad cheek. “Why would anyone want to harm Yama-Deva? What possible gain could there be in such a blasphemy?”

Kusala was surprised to find himself repeating the teachings of Sister Tathagata. “A wise woman once told me that suffering exists for all living creatures. It is caused by desire and ignorance. Desire for love, pleasure, and wealth, all of which are impermanent. Ignorance of the true nature of things, which only those with fully developed minds can comprehend. What happened to Yama-Deva was his karma. And what drove Invictus to harm your brother was the sorcerer’s karma. Of the two, who will suffer the most? That is hard to say. But it is plain that both will suffer, as will you and I, as will all living creatures, until we are able to attain the end of suffering through enlightenment.”

At first Kusala’s words seemed to move the snow giant, but then his face twisted into a rage so vile it caused Kusala to back away.

“I also have spoken with Tathagata, you fool!” Utu shouted, startling everyone in the shelter. “She
loves
the sound of her own voice. But she never
does
anything. I have no more use for talk. Words are as worthless as air.” Then he picked up a rock the size of his own skull and pulverized it with his bare hands. “Give me Mala! I will gladly end
his
suffering.”

In a storm of rage and despair, Yama-Utu thundered out of the shelter.

AT MIDNIGHT, they resumed their march, but Utu was nowhere to be seen. The freed slaves, and even the Asēkhas, seemed relieved. The giant’s unsettling presence had disturbed everyone. Though they owed him their lives, they felt much safer now that he was gone. Still, they were not completely relaxed, looking this way and that—fearful not of the enemy, but of someone who was supposed to be a friend.

Through the night and the next day, they walked without encountering Utu or anyone else who might threaten them. Asēkha scouts came and went, always returning with the same report. It was as if the surrounding lands had become barren. And there continued to be no sign of the snow giant. They began to hope that he had left them for good.

The next night the moon was almost full, glowing silver in a clear sky. The Asēkhas and freed slaves traveled faster than Kusala had expected, and they now were only a dozen leagues from the northwestern border of Java. Every few miles they came upon abandoned farms, most of which still contained crops and livestock. This unexpected boon enabled them to discard their own supplies, lightening their loads and making the march easier on everyone.

The next morning they camped in a sheltered hollow near the northern fringes of Java. The Dark Forest had a sinister reputation, but the travelers had grown so used to not being threatened that even the evil trees felt benign. However, Kusala and the Asēkhas knew better. All had spent harrowing moments near or within Java. Kojins were not the only danger. Ghouls, goblins, and vampires wandered its borders—as did the mysterious homeless people known as the Pabbajja. Kusala decided to put everyone on alert. After they had eaten breakfast, he called them together.

“We have marched more than thirty leagues in three days, and everything has gone our way thus far.”

After some back-slapping and applause, someone shouted, “And the giant is gone too.” A spate of nervous laughter followed.

Kusala held up his hands, as if to quiet them. “Nissaya is little more than thirty leagues from where we stand. If we are not harassed en route, we might be able to arrive at the fortress in three days, though your legs will be sore and your feet blistered. We are near those who can protect us, but the potential for danger still exists—especially from the forest. Until an escort of black knights comes to greet us, we will remain vulnerable. We have accomplished much, but our journey is far from finished.”

They rested until noon and then continued on, despite grumblings from some of the freed slaves. At least a dozen were limping, and their overall pace slowed considerably. To make matters worse, the terrain became lumpy and difficult. By the time dusk neared, they had managed only five leagues. The grumbling increased with every step.

Kusala called a halt and met with Tāseti.

“We have driven them too hard,” the second in command said. “They need a full night’s sleep more than anything else. We are far ahead of your schedule, chieftain. Let us make a more permanent camp and rest through the night. It will work wonders for morale.”

Kusala sighed. “I suppose you’re right, though I despise every moment that keeps me from Nissaya.”

“Then go on ahead with Churikā or Podhana,” Tāseti said. “As our Vasi masters like to say, the rest of us can take care of ourselves.”

“I have considered this,” Kusala said. “But if the giant reappears, I want to be with you. I feel responsible for Yama-Utu. If not for my decision to pursue the wagons, we never would have required his services.”

“If you wish to stay, then stay,” Tāseti said. “But relax a bit. Time is of the essence, I know, but one extra day won’t make the difference between success and failure.”

Kusala chuckled ruefully. “My senses tell me otherwise. Something peculiar is in the air. And I don’t like the feel of it.”

To their west was a series of foothills laced with quick, shallow streams. To the east was the border of Java, its trees resembling an army of crooked monsters in the deepening gloom. While the freed slaves searched for places to spread their blankets on the hard ground, Kusala sent six Asēkhas to scout the interior of the forest. It was here that their company would face the greatest danger. By this time tomorrow night, they would be at the southern borders of the forest and within a two-day march of the fortress along a well-maintained road.

Still, Kusala was restless. During his long life he had always been able to detect the presence of evil before it showed itself. To some extent every Tugar had this ability, but Kusala’s senses were superior to all but Torg’s. And now he found himself drawing his
uttara
and taking a defensive stance.

“What is it?” Tāseti said, Kusala’s sudden movement puzzling her. “What do you see?”

“It’s not what I see, but what I feel. Order the Asēkhas to encircle the company and prepare for the worst.”

The second in command had learned through experience to trust Kusala’s instincts. She sprinted off and gathered the remaining Asēkhas around the freed slaves, who huddled together, looking frightened. The twenty bravest, led by the countess, also took up swords and rose to the company’s defense.