Shallows of Night - 02 (32 page)

He swung up across the saddle and gathered in the reins. The luma snorted and reared, calling, and Hynd loped up an incline heading east. Ronin pulled on the reins and his luma wheeled. He dug his heels into its flanks and took off, Moeru beside him, into the darkling east, away from the forest of bowing pines.

The land gradually fell away from them as dusk gave way to night. They galloped along a winding path, the terrain now filled with outcrops of rock against which dense scrub foliage flourished in wild abandon. Yellow blossoms studded the earth in great patches.

Abruptly, they were struggling up a steep incline and he soon realized that they were winding their way up the slopes of a mountain. The flowers disappeared as the way became increasingly precipitous. Here and there the black outline of a stately pine broke the skyline, but the farther they climbed the sparser the trees became until all flora was gone.

The night sky was filled with dense turbulent clouds with vaguely phosphorescent undersides sliding through disturbing hues. Ronin watched them pile and shape themselves as he felt the luma’s powerful musculature working under him in fluid cadence and coordination.

Through the chill darkness they swept, the animals tirelessly galloping at full speed. The luma rejoiced in their kinetic flight, perhaps drawing energy from the journey itself, for it seemed to Ronin that the farther they went the stronger the mounts became. They were guided by Hynd’s bounding body, calling to him or to each other.

It began to snow in cold driving bursts, the wind like a cruel knife, ripping at body and face, shoving them, moaning through the boulder-strewn mountain pass along which they continued to climb. The air became frigid and the snow turned to hail, pattering onto them, bouncing off the granite, the frozen earth, matting the lumas’ coats, ringing like metal off Hynd’s armor plate.

Once Ronin glanced behind him. The plain from which they had ascended was still visible and he saw the spread of fat flames streaking the velvet of the night and he heard deep rumblings that were impossible to fathom. And it seemed to him that he saw the dark shadows of moving men, marching to a deep drumbeat, and the arcane structures of a full array of the machines of war, inventions to kill and maim, mutilate and cripple. It was raining fire, the continent of man shaking with the movements of war. Breath left him and, his eyes half closed, he dug his boot heels into his steed’s flanks, following the lithe form of Hynd as he loped easily ahead. Then immense projecting rocks blotted out both sight and sound as they raced around a turning, adrift among the restless sleeting clouds.

His eyes flew open at the sound of a high shriek beside him. He drew up, calling to Hynd, who was already doubling back. He peered into the gloom, saw Moeru on the ground pinned beneath her luma.

He dismounted and went to her. The luma cried out and he saw that its left foreleg was broken. He bent down and carefully pulled her free; she seemed unhurt. He withdrew his blade and swiftly cut the luma’s throat.

Sheathing his sword, he mounted his roan and, leaning over, drew Moeru’s slim form up behind him. She wrapped her arms around him. He felt her warmth, the press of her breasts, the quickness of pulse at the back of his neck, the rhythm of her breathing.

All through the night they climbed the mountain and, as the coming sun commenced to stain the eastern horizon, they reached the summit. Ronin reined in for a moment to take in the mounting light. The mountain’s eastern slopes were spread out before them, leading far below onto a plateau of geometric fields and meadows, dotted with the deep green of several forests, which descended gradually to the sea, sparking and glistening as the red sun inched over the horizon. It lacquered the sea crimson, flat and shining like burnished metal.

Then they were making their zigzag way down the mountainside and by dusk they were on the verge of the plateau. They raced across the undulating carpet of grass. There was no trace of snow here and the sky was clear, a deep blue, dark already near the eastern horizon where the sun was first to come and first to leave.

Hynd led them a winding path as the grasslands gave way to cultivated fields, sodden and deserted rice paddies on the edges of which stood ramshackle wooden houses on stilts, roofed with paper, tiny lanterns hanging from their front doors like glossy insect eyes in the gathering darkness.

Several times Hynd guided them into the shallows of the dripping paddies, the water sloshing around them until they stood perfectly still, Ronin stroking his luma’s neck so that it would not call out, as distant rumblings became the urgent thunder of many horses’ hoofs, scattering clods of dirt and grass as they passed in long lines.

At length the rice fields ceased and they flew past groves of trees hissing in the night. They were on dry land again, picking up speed, Hynd’s instincts superb.

And now they ran with the wind, due east, the land flat with only low brush to break the monotony. Hynd bounded forward as if sensing that the end of their journey was near. The luma snorted and took off after him and Ronin, drunk with the speed and the repetitive rhythmic movement of the long ride, still not recovered from his singular encounter in the forest, held on now, allowing his mount to take him, no longer contemplating the journey’s end, Moeru’s cheek a gentle weight on his shoulder, no longer caring whither he went, wishing only for it to end now or for it never to end, numb, spent.

Thus, led by the strange hybrid that was part crocodile, part rodent, and something far more, riding a sweat-streaked crimson steed, with a woman he barely knew clinging to his back, he rode into the small port town of Khiyan, exhausted and bleary-eyed, half starved, his lips puffy from thirst and his face black with travel, past startled early risers, for it was just before dawn. They pounded down the slick cobbled streets, past wooden houses with slanting roofs and stone chimneys from which thin trails of smoke were already rising into the cool salt air of morning.

Gulls wheeled in the sky, skimming low off the water, crying into the sunrise. And at last Hynd led them onto the waterfront, to a tavern with a swinging wooden sign hanging above its open double doors, its black lettering too worn by wind and rain to make out. The crescent webbing of fishing nets was strung along one wall.

At the side of the door stood a short man with white hair held back from his face by a worn leather band, a grizzled beard, and deep green eyes set wide apart on his lined tanned face. He was dressed plainly in a creased leather jerkin over which was hung a chain mail vest. He wore brown leggings and low boots of a soft leather. He came away from the door to greet them when they drew up. He had a discernible limp when he walked.

“Ah, Ronin,” said Bonneduce the Last. “How good it is to see you again.”

“The continent of man is under siege from all sides now.”

“But Kamado is the main thrust.”

“Yes. I believe that the Kai-feng will be won or lost there.”

“I have heard that word before—”

“It is the last battle of mankind.”

“But the key is the Makkon. To destroy one is to stop The Dolman from appearing on the world.” He gulped down a piece of meat, poured more wine for Moeru. “Why then did you have Hynd take me away from it?”

“Because,” Bonneduce the Last said slowly, “you cannot yet defeat the Makkon. If it had got to you in the forest, it would surely have destroyed you.”

“How do you know?”

“How did I know that it would slay G’fand in the City of Ten Thousand Paths? The Bones.”

“You knew, yet you let us go?”

“You would not have let me stop you.”

They sat in the dim interior of the tavern, near the front windows and the open doors which faced the wide wharves of Khiyan. Tall ships with square rigged sails as white as snow lay at anchor, their fittings creaking. Longboats laden with men and stores made their way across the short expanse of water from dockside to the lee of the ships. Two fishermen passed by the doorway, began to take down the nets from the side of the tavern. There was laughter. The owner of the tavern went out from behind his bar and stood talking to the fishermen.

Within the tavern, the stone hearth along one wall was spitting flames upward into the lower reaches of the blackened chimney but it was still too early for the place to have become smoky. The wood rafters, were dark with an accumulation of charcoal and cooking fat.

Bonneduce the Last had granted Ronin three hours of sleep in a small room on the second floor with leaded windows overlooking the docks and a high goose-down bed onto which he fell without a sound and not even the harsh cries of the sailors along the short embankment outside disturbed his slumber. The little man had shown Moeru to the adjoining room. She was up before Ronin, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him when she heard Bonneduce the Last’s limping step on the stairway.

“Where are they?” Ronin asked suddenly.

Bonneduce the Last reached into his leather jerkin with a thin smile and produced the seven geometric shapes, carved, so the little man had told him, of the teeth of the legendary giant crocodile. Strange glyphs were etched into every face. The Bones.

“What do they tell you?”

“The Kai-feng has commenced, Ronin. All are now committed to playing out their parts in the last struggle. Even Hynd and I.”

“Even?”

The little man’s face darkened. “By this battle will mankind stand or fall. A new age is dawning, Ronin, and no one can say what it will bring.”

“Not even the Bones.” It was not a question.

“No man, no being, may know the balance of power now.” Hynd stirred at his feet. His forepaws twitched. Ronin glanced down at him. Perhaps he dreamed, as Ronin had, of grasslands flying by under his feet, racing with the Hart, transmogrified, his great treed antlers now a gleaming helm. “Thus, with all the glistening lines to the future severed, are the blind forces arrayed. Thus is the struggle for power made complex, thus is the winning worth the suffering: thus”—he reached down and stroked Hynd’s plated back—“I know no more of this battle’s ending than do you.”

Thoughts of the Kai-feng and the Hart, inexplicably intertwined, filled Ronin’s mind. Then he put these questions aside, raised his gauntleted fist.

“I have cause to thank you. Your gift has aided me often.”

Bonneduce the Last smiled. “I am pleased then.”

From somewhere, Ronin thought he heard a sonorous ticking like that he had heard in the little man’s house in the City of Ten Thousand Paths. He poured more wine.

“You must tell me how Hynd found me.”

“Yes, of course. I thought you knew. It was the root.”

“You mean eating it?”

Bonneduce the Last nodded. “Once you had possession of it, it was only a matter of time before you ate it—”

“But how could you know—”

“Circumstances.” He rubbed at his short leg. “In any event, our connection is now stronger and that is important—”

“But—”

“You did not question the Makkon gauntlet,” Bonneduce the Last said carefully. “Do not question this. It was the penultimate step in the ending of the Old Cycle.” He held up a hand as Ronin was about to voice another query. “There is no time now. Three of the Makkon are already come to the continent of man and the fourth is very near.”

“What of the scroll?”

“I was just about to tell you,” the little man said sharply. “You must sail,” he said, “for Ama-no-mori.”

There was silence for a time. Across the room the flames licked along the huge logs in the hearth and, with a soft crash, the bottom one split, eaten through. Sparks sailed upward. Outside, along the docks, the calls and songs of the sailors outfitting their ships for their sea runs seemed dim and remote. The sunlight streamed down in molten bars, warm as honey, far away.

Ronin stared at the seamed face.

“You know where the isle lies?”

The little man nodded. “I have plotted your course. The knowledge you seek, the knowledge which mankind needs, no longer exists on the continent of man.”

“The Bujun—” said Ronin.

“Yes.”

The air was warm and gentle as the air of summer should be. The aged sun seemed to burn stronger here. Yet it was not possible to forget the strife destroying the continent of man beyond the blue hazy slopes of the mountain in the west.

Ronin’s face was grim as he strode along the foreshore and out onto the docks. Bonneduce the Last and Hynd loped along. He held Moeru by the hand.

The little man pointed and, shading his eyes from the sun, Ronin followed his hand outward and saw the two-masted vessel lying off the shore. Its square sails were unfurling and men climbed its rigging, preparing to weigh anchor.

“The
Kioku
,” said Bonneduce the Last. “Your ship.”

“Mine?” Ronin stared.

“You are its captain. The crew is already picked and on board.” He put his hand on Ronin’s shoulder. “You sail on the tide. Now.”

Along the quay, a longboat had heaved to and its crew waited patiently as it rocked in the gentle swells. Ronin let go of Moeru’s hand.

“Take care of her.”

But Bonneduce the Last shook his head.

“She sails with you, Ronin.”

He looked from the little man to the woman beside him. Perhaps it was the light, but he thought that her eyes were different, not at all like the eyes of the people of Sha’angh’sei. Within them, some far-off, storm-tossed sea.

“Yes. Perhaps it is better this way.”

Bonneduce the Last glanced out to sea.

“It is the only way.”

They climbed down to the longboat and sat in the midship seats, facing the bow.

“I wish you could come,” Ronin called out.

The little man’s hand scratched at the fur along Hynd’s neck.

“We have much to do and other places to go. I trust your journey will be successful.”

“Will I see you again?” Ronin called. But the longboat had already pulled away from the dock and the wind swept the little man’s reply away into the dazzling sunlight. And they moved out from the shores of the continent of man.

The
Kioku
weighed anchor as soon as the longboat had delivered up its passengers and had been hoisted aboard. The white sails billowing in the freshening wind, the ship headed into the morning sun.