Land of Hope and Glory (16 page)

Jack felt a trace of grim satisfaction. William had outwitted Sengar. Half a day ahead and with his tracks being washed into the river, William might well get away. But now Jack’s stomach coiled and he felt light-headed. He couldn’t let William escape. He had to find the trail again. A new resolve spread through him, as though he’d breathed in a djinn. Up until now there had been that vague thought – maybe he could let William get away and still find some other way to save Elizabeth. But there was no other way, and he’d been a fool to entertain this idea – even for a second, even hidden in the back of his mind. He would root the idea out now, destroy it and set his mind firmly on what he had to do.

Sengar’s horse skidded to its knees and then clambered quickly back up again. The Captain thrashed the animal over and over again with his riding crop, letting out small hissing sounds. When he stopped, he glared at Kansal and the cavalrymen – even they appeared shocked at their captain’s actions. Cavalrymen didn’t hit their horses. And siddhas usually showed more restraint.

‘Get on with it.’ Sengar flicked his riding crop, spraying water. ‘Keep going.’

They staggered downhill for another hour, then forced their way through the ever-rising flood. Finally, they reached the road, the crude shrine glowing white and marking the point at which they’d set off.

Now they followed the road to the south-east, giving a wide berth to the countryside they’d just tried to cross. Sengar ordered them into a gallop when the ground was even enough.

Jack’s chest ached so constantly he almost didn’t notice any more.

By late afternoon the path arced back to the west and they splashed across ground marshy from the flooding. They reached the stone bridge, which was high and wide enough to span the swollen river. A hamlet huddled on the far side, its lights winking in the gloom.

Sengar led the way across the bridge, the horses’ hooves clatter ing on the flagstones, and then followed the road back upstream. They passed farmers and shepherds herding their sickly livestock.

The rain eased back to a velvet drizzle. The light faded and night spread ink behind the clouds. Jack shivered in his damp clothes as the temperature dropped.

The road weaved through the dark hills and eventually coiled to the east. Just before ten o’clock the Stour River appeared before them. Water still smothered the bottom of the valley, but the river was more sluggish than before. There was a smudge of moonlight and Jack could just make out the black ruins of the bridge on the far riverbank. On the near side, a few feet upstream, a short stretch of smashed jetty stood just clear of the water.

‘Five-minute break,’ Sengar said. ‘Casey, pick up the trail again.’

Jack climbed down. He felt faint, and black globes circled him. He longed for sleep, but he knew he had to find the trail soon. The longer he delayed, the harder it would be to find it.

He lit a lantern and searched the ground around the jetty. The soil was a sodden pool of mud and he couldn’t make out any trail at all. He worked his way carefully up the road, but all he could see were the recent tracks of his own party. And, of course, the rebels might not even have taken the road. It was more probable they’d struck out across the countryside. But how would he find the start of the trail at night, with most of the markings washed away?

He looked at the boiling, grey and black sky. A netting of moisture fell over his face, a chill crawled up his spine and his head and throat began to throb; he was coming down with something.

He looked back at the cavalrymen, who stood next to their horses and talked quietly or chewed paan. Sengar stood to one side, hands on hips. Although Jack couldn’t make out the Captain’s face, he could tell Sengar was watching him closely.

He would have to use his power again. He’d noticed a sattva stream as they’d ridden up the road, and now he walked back, searching for it again. Finally, he passed through an invisible barrier and his skin tingled. He sniffed. It was a strong stream, strong enough for him to sense without even meditating.

He sat under a tree with a canopy wide enough to protect him from the rain, then he shut his eyes. What would happen if he used his power now? Would he survive?

He concentrated on the yantra. Twice he began to fall asleep, but he woke up again straight away.

Although he tried for fifteen minutes, he wasn’t able to prod his mind into the trance. He panted and wiped his running nose on his sleeve. His throat was thick and a tremor built up from his abdomen. The tiredness was knotted deep within his muscles, as though it were a part of him, and always had been.

He was about to give up, when the yantra suddenly went still and he slipped into the trance, almost without meaning to. Distantly, he sensed the pain tear like lightning through his chest. He closed his eyes and sat still. Would this be the end?

No. Although the pain pierced his chest, he hadn’t used his power for more than a day and he’d recovered some of his strength. For the moment he was alive.

He stood and gazed around him. The ground was speckled with the dull glow of dozens of trails, some fresh, some days or even weeks old. He saw the floating flecks left by sheep or goats; the larger, coarser streams of horses; the globular tendrils of human beings.

He put out the lantern and walked, hunched, along the side of the road. He searched the long grass and clumps of heather and gorse, and it wasn’t long before he saw the ghostly tracks of around fifty horses leading north into the darkness.

‘Over here,’ he called to the others, retrieved his horse and led the way up the valley.

He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to stay in the trance – he was weak and fading quickly. Sengar and Kansal glanced at him from time to time and he tried to sit up straight in the saddle.

The valley widened and the trail turned to the north-west, leaving the river behind.

Blink.

What had happened?

He shook his head. His consciousness had blacked out, as it had the day before. He seemed to have vanished for a moment, while his body still rode ahead like an automaton.

‘I have to stop,’ he said.

He couldn’t risk continuing now as he could pass out at any moment.

Sengar sucked on his teeth and his eyes flashed, but he nodded his assent. ‘We’ll sleep for three hours only, then press on.’

They didn’t bother to make camp or light a fire. After eating a few biscuits, Jack collapsed on his sleeping mat and pulled a damp blanket over himself. The drizzle still feathered his face, but he fell asleep so quickly he didn’t even have a chance to notice it.

He woke to the sound of the Frenchmen packing their things and preparing to leave. It was still dark and the cloud hid the moon. But the rain had stopped and the air smelt fresh and the wet earth sweet. A line of pain crossed his chest, his skin crawled hot and cold, and his eyes and nose oozed mucous.

He sat up and saw Sengar drinking from a canteen by holding it above his mouth and pouring the water through the air to purify it. Kansal brushed his teeth and spat out the black paste. The Rajthanans maintained their rituals of cleanliness even when camping out in the wilds. They were a puzzling people, but the way they stuck to their habits was impressive.

Jack clambered to his feet and soon had his things packed away on his horse. Sengar rode over to him and motioned with his head for him to continue.

Jack massaged his forehead and studied the ground ahead of him. There would still be no ordinary tracks to follow – the rain would have destroyed them all – so he would have to use his power again. He hesitated. His chest smarted with each breath and he felt as though he were floating as he walked along. Was he strong enough to continue?

He drew out Katelin’s necklace for a moment, kissed it. Maybe Katelin would help him, or God. Had he been a good enough Christian for God to help him?

Wearily, he sat and closed his eyes. He tried to will the trance to come on, but in doing that he only distracted himself. Meditation was not about trying, it was about not trying.

‘The will cannot help you,’ Jhala had told him. ‘It will only hinder your progress. You have to let go of the will, otherwise you will never break through the illusion of this world.’

The illusion of the material world was a favourite topic of Jhala’s. He’d once told Jack, ‘Your soul dwells in the spirit realm and always has done. But your mind reflects your soul, and so your soul comes to be confused. It imagines it is part of the material world. But once you break through this illusion you will see that you are, have always been, free.’

A bolt of pain shot through Jack’s chest. His eyes sprang open. His ears were ringing and what was visible of the gloomy surroundings seemed to reel slowly about him. He shook his head and the world stopped turning. The pain in his chest subsided to a steady ache.

Damn it. He was right out of the meditation now.

He tried again, calming himself, trying to let go and give himself over to whatever was offered to him. He put himself in the hands of God, or karma, or the forces of the spirit realm, or whatever was in charge of this world.

And it worked. The yantra steadied and he jumped into the trance, which instantly blotted out his pain and tiredness. He opened his eyes and saw hundreds of patches of dull silver dotting the ground ahead. The bright trail of the rebels’ horses stood out clearly, and he focused solely on this, making the other trails flicker and then disappear.

He climbed on to his horse and they rode out. But he sensed his strength draining away within minutes. Soon it was as though he hadn’t slept at all. His eyes watered and he had to rub them to keep them clear enough to see the trail.

Blink.

He’d snapped unconscious again. He slumped forward in the saddle with his face just above the horse’s mane. The animal jerked nervously and let out a small whinny.

‘Casey.’ Sengar rode up beside him. ‘Pull yourself together.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Merton’s miles away now. What are you playing at?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Just remember—’

Jack nudged his horse forward so that he wouldn’t have to listen to the Captain. For a moment his only thought was that he’d like to see Sengar dead one day.

The valley opened on to a plain and the trail continued to the north-west.

He rode on for a few more minutes until he felt himself slipping away again. The ground dragged at him like a magnetic force and he grasped at the sattva around him with his mind, as if that could prevent him from falling. But it was no good – he couldn’t hold on.

He released his mental focus and was immediately flung out of the trance. The air seared the inside of his throat as he gulped it down. But at least he stayed on the horse and continued riding forward without Sengar noticing that anything had happened.

He calmed himself, and his heart rate and breathing eased. His whole body hurt when he coughed and sneezed.

The sattva trail had now vanished, but the countryside was relatively flat and the rebels had followed a straight path across it. Could he assume that William had continued in the same direction? It was hard to know. He had no idea where William was headed. But his friend was no longer weaving across the downs – he probably thought he’d thrown his pursuers at the river. So Jack decided to keep on straight and hope for the best. He had little choice as he had no strength for further meditation.

A cup of first light appeared across the hills and picked out the copses, rocks and clumps of grass. Jack glanced at Sengar, who stared straight ahead, features silvered.

The sun had risen by the time they reached the edge of the plain and again entered the hills. The cloud thinned to a blotchy splatter and a warm wind dried out most of Jack’s clothing. He felt stronger now and was breathing almost normally. When he sensed the quiver of a powerful sattva stream, he decided to try his power again.

‘Wait a moment,’ he called over to Sengar. ‘I need to check the trail.’

They all stopped and Sengar paced about on his horse while Jack meditated. Jack prayed he hadn’t made a mistake in assuming which direction William had travelled in. If the rebels had veered off, he would miss the trail and then he would have to retrace his steps and start all over again.

The stream was one of the strongest he’d been in for years. He began smelting almost the moment he shut his eyes and the sattva flowed into him without him needing to reach for it. He entered the trance quickly, with none of the previous struggle.

He opened his eyes and looked around. He saw sattva trails everywhere, but not those of the rebels. His heart sped. William must have changed direction after all. Jack had lost the tracks and wasted the whole morning.

But then he saw a glint, like a fragment of glass reflecting the sun, on a rise off to the right. He squinted and noticed another glint near to the first. Then a third. Could it be?

He climbed back on to his mare. ‘Follow me.’

They clattered over the undulating ground and Jack saw the dots of light brighten and lengthen until they blazed beneath the morning sun. Relief flooded through him; he could see the distinctive sattva marks of the almost fifty horses.