Into This Wild Abyss, page 23
part #1 of Vermilion Archives Series
“Is this them?”
The blacksmith swallowed hard and tried a few times to get his words out.
“T—Th—These are them,” he said. “As you requested.”
“Good,” said the man. “You can go.” The blacksmith and his two followers touched their foreheads in a sign to ward off evil, thanked the figure, and fled the way they had come. Po looked to his companions. The four had unconsciously backed into a tight knot. Ashara’s hand strayed to her sling.
“Don’t,” Po hissed. She flicked him a frosty glare. “Violence won’t help us,” he clarified. “Let’s see what he wants.”
“He’s just one man,” Ashara whispered. “I can take him.”
“Po’s right,” Dovo said. “Stick together. No sudden moves.” Anjan gave a squeak and Po felt fingers close around his elbow.
“Po,” Anjan hissed. “There are more behind us.” Po saw them too; not just behind but on all sides. Figures shrouded in dark cloth, tatty and rugged, approached barefoot and silent against the background noise of creaking trees and rustling leaves. The first figure drew back his hood to reveal a pockmarked, shaved head and dark sunken features.
“He’s Ba’re,” Ashara yelped.
“Hold on,” Dovo said. “Not every bald man is Ba’re.”
“Silence,” the man said. “You are surrounded. Do not touch any weapons and no harm will come to you.”
“Hear that?” Dovo said to Ashara. “Hands off.” She snorted yet held her tongue. Po brushed a hand against hers and she squeezed it in reassurance.
“What is it you want?” Po called.
“You will come with us,” the man said. “I will lead the way. Stick to the path and you will be safe.”
“And where do you take us?”
“That, you will soon know,” said the man. Po nodded. They were out of options. He hoped the others saw it the same way, and that he was not missing anything.
“Dovo?” Po asked.
“We do as he says,” the monk said. “But stay alert.”
Surrounded by shrouded figures, the four companions followed the leader. The path meandered this way and that, occasionally blocked by a fallen log, or grown over by vegetation. As they ventured deeper into the forest, a foul odor began to cling in the air.
“Pew,” Ashara said. “It smells like Pao’an.”
“More like an offal pit,” Dovo said, twitching his nose. “Rot and decay.”
“Pao’an,” Ashara said again. Their hosts remained silent. Anjan pointed out a skeleton sitting upright against a tree. Shreds of sinew remained and wet rags clung to the bone. Soon they saw another. Both were in meditation positions, their legs crossed under them and their hands in their laps. Po began to grow suspicious. Something was nagging at him but he could not put his finger on it. In the back of his mind puzzle pieces were coming together.
They broke out into a forest clearing. Around the outside were two dozen raised platforms about ten feet off the ground and just big enough for a person to comfortably sit on. On each of the platforms was a figure facing inwards, their heads bowed and their fingers working reflection beads. In the center of the clearing was an ancient gnarled tree with rusty gold leaves. On a platform beneath this tree sat a man in solemn contemplation.
“I got it,” Po exclaimed to his companions. “They're Tika Ba’re. I've read about them. I'm sure of it. This forest is their monastery. And that is an Oblivion Circle.”
“I knew they were Ba're,” Ashara said, directing her words to Dovo.
“They're not Ba’re,” Dovo insisted.
“To be fair,” Po said, feeling a rush of confidence returning. “They sort of are.” Then to Ashara he said; “The Ba’re you know are Sudo Ba’re of the Great Path. The Tika Ba’re are of the Narrow Path.”
“So they’re Ba're,” Ashara said, confirming her initial assessment.
“A similar name does not a religion make,” Dovo quipped. “We're as different as bread is to wine. Look at them.”
“I think I slept through that class,” Anjan said. “What’s an Oblivion Circle?”
“It’s their renunciation of life,” Po said. “They climb onto those platforms and never come down.
“Never?” Ashara gasped.
“Never,” Po said. Their guide turned upon them.
“Quiet!” he commanded. “We’re here. Speak when you are spoken to and do as you're told.” He walked them over to the man beneath the ancient tree. Their escorts withdrew to take up positions behind them.
“Kneel,” their guide ordered, and they knelt. Po and Ashara exchanged glances. Po mouthed a word of support to her. She frowned and mouthed something he didn’t understand.
“You kneel,” their host said, raising his voice. “Before the Venerable Votna, Patriarch of the Vuku Tika Ba’re.” Venerable Votna raised his head at the mention of his name. The man was sickly looking, but not too old. His clothes were patched from bits of dark cloth; no two pieces being the same, and his feet were bare and crossed under him. Po shuddered to think how long Votna had remained on his platform. There were stories of them surviving for years in sun and rain, served by diligent supporters day and night.
“Speak, who are you?” Votna ordered. “And where do you go?” Dovo dipped his head and spoke for them all.
“I am Brother Dovo, this is Novice Po and Novice Anjan, and that is Ashara of the Kh’areen. We are on our way to Jan’a.”
“And you are of the Sudo Ba’re?”
“That is correct,” Dovo said. “We come from Jan Moga in the Diocese of Pao’an.”
“Yet you travel in the company of a Kh’areen witch.”
“Witch?” Ashara said. “I’m not a witch.” Venerable Votna made a point of ignoring her. He instead motioned to Dovo to explain himself. Dovo shook his head.
“She is not a witch,” Dovo said. “Peculiar in her manner and customs, but not a witch. She was of assistance to our monastery and now she honors us on our journey.”
“Does she believe in Tanri?” Votna probed. “Does she believe this spirit listens to her prayers, and does she invoke his name when she needs help? Does she not then try to manipulate the world using false, heretical spiritual powers?”
“I don’t know,” Dovo said. “You would have to ask her.” Votna sneered and Ashara folded her arms. Po leaned over to Dovo.
“The Tika Ba’re won’t talk to women,” he whispered in his ear. Dovo nodded and scratched his chin.
“I cannot answer you,” Dovo continued. “For I don’t know. But I find it irrelevant. We are lawful travellers on the Emperor’s road. It’s wrong to detain us and you must set us free at once.”
“It is relevant,” Votna said. “You are accused of being false monks, taking advantage of ignorant villagers and abusing their hospitality. This is our domain, and we will protect the spiritual wellbeing of the prefecture.” Dovo bowed his head and murmured to Po for assistance.
“I’m but a cook. Po you are quicker with your tongue.” Po locked his eyes with Votna.
“With respect,” Po began. “The villages don’t belong to you. I saw no Ba’re structures, nor hands of Dasanika... but I did see shrines to the travel god Basatu and boundary markers dedicated to Nulagia. They are simple Vu’du folk who gave food to us, and in turn we helped with their basic, temporal needs. This is an ancient custom and well you know...”
“Enough,” Votna growled. “You did so under false pretenses. We were told you travelled with a witch, that you deceived the villagers as to your status as monks. And this you did in our domain, making it our problem.”
“We are monks,” Po said. “And if you call my companion a witch again this audience is over. Now let me speak. You don’t care about the villagers. They’re scared of you. They don’t understand what happens in this forest. Do they even understand you are Tika Ba’re? No. You take their offerings and the moment competing monks step on your turf, you harass us and spread vile rumors to discredit us.”
“Save me your insolence,” Votna said. “You call yourself Ba’re, yet you make bold pronouncements for a novice. A novice should be seen and not heard. What do they teach you in Pao’an? The Sudo Ba’re is the great path to nowhere, with answers to nothing. You have become weak hiding in your cities, with fresh clothes in your fine monasteries. When was the last time you fasted, or sat the Oblivion Watch? When was the last time you meditated on a rotting corpse or sat in the rain reciting the sacred Kyomo Kyara Khama Kho?”
“We take refuge in the Five Tenets,” Po said. “You miss his point if you swap his teachings for a veneer of similitude. There is nothing magical about the old language or manner of speaking.”
“It’s tradition,” Votna said. “But come, let us see what is in those bags... for what possessions does a monk have need of, or is it contraband?”
“No,” Po said. “Have you now become robbers?” There was a tug on Po’s shoulder strap and he turned to see shrouded figures pulling at their bags. “Let go,” Po shouted and pulled his bag from the nearest figure’s grip. The figure let go and Po went sprawling on the ground.
“Stop!” Anjan called. “See, look in mine.” He opened it and pulled items out one by one. “Food, a razor, a sewing kit, bandages, a bottle of botke oil for wounds…” Seeing nothing of interest, some figures turned back to Po.
“What's in there?” Votna asked. “What does a monk prize that he uses violence to protect it?”
“Just show them and we can go,” Ashara said. Po looked Ashara in the eyes, pleading silently for her to understand.
“No,” Po said, shaking his head. “I can't.”
“Come on,” she pleaded. “I just want to get out of here.”
“Stand your ground, Po,” Dovo called, himself in a contest for his own belongings. “They have no right!” A hand grabbed Po’s bag and yanked him forward. It became a tugging match between the pair. Po watched others come to assist his opponent and knew it was only a matter of time. Think, he told himself near panic. Think.
A knife flashed and his opponent released the bag, sending Po sprawling a second time. The man gushed a torrid string of unholy abuse and waved his hand around for all to see the blood. Po scrambled up, his back against Votna’s platform. Angry Tika Ba’re disciples picked up sticks and advanced on the companions. Dovo walloped one with his bag. Anjan grappled clumsily with another. Ashara howled in wild release, her knife in one hand, a loaded sling in the other. Po hesitated. He was taught non-violence, but his friends were in danger.
“Kill the witch!” Votna shrieked above him. “She defiled the Circle. Kill her. Kill her!” Po grabbed the platform’s supports and pulled himself up, hand over hand. His hands gripped the platform and he rolled himself over the edge. A foot connected with his stomach as Votna cried and raged.
“This is a sacred space,” he yelled, kicking Po with each word. “You defile it. You will all pass the gates of Oblivion today.” Po gritted his teeth and suffered the kicks. He slowly and painfully rose to his feet. Votna pushed him and Po pushed back.
“You disgrace the Ba're name,” Po said.
“Lofty words for a novice,” Votna responded, shoving Po a second time.
“Tell your followers to let us go. I mean it.” Votna scratched Po’s face and Po grappled with him. Both men grunted and groaned. They came perilously close to the edge and back again. Votna tried to trip Po with a flick of his foot, but Po sidestepped and stamped on Votna’s exposed toes. The patriarch muttered under his breath and spat in Po’s face. The pair tore apart and Po threw a feeble punch. Votna tottered and flapped his arms for balance. One foot stepped into thin air and the patriarch tumbled over the edge of the platform.
Po feared to look. He massaged his wrist. A half dozen Tika Ba’re lay at Ashara’s feet. Dovo and Anjan stood back to back defending themselves as best they could. From where he stood Po had a good view of the Oblivion Circle. Most the figures on the platforms stood watching them, unable to climb down due to their vows.
“I’m coming,” he called to his friends and swung himself one leg at a time off the platform. On the way down he spotted Venerable Votna crawling away from the fight, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle.
“Ashara, let’s go,” he shouted. “This way.” He shoved an attacker away from Anjan and returned Dovo’s bag to him. Ashara extricated herself and hurried to join them. They ran to the forest path they had walked in on, Ashara slinging stones at anyone who came too close.
Once in the forest, Ashara took the lead. They ran as best they could. Po’s sandal got stuck in the mud and had to be pulled out, tearing the strap. All three monks tripped on roots and overgrown foliage across the path. By the time they reached the fork in the road, all four were puffed and gasping for breath.
“Can we have a rest?” Anjan asked.
“No,” Dovo said. “We can’t stay here. We take the road left away from here. We can rest later when this place is far, far away.”
From the fork, the road carried on back up to the plain, and from there, after a few miles, back into cultivated country. The companions hurried by the first three villages, mere clusters of hovels around a village well, and then came to a stop at the fourth. The village was larger than the others, some twelve cottages protected by a ditch and hedgerow. Children played with a kitten and the adults paid the four companions no heed.
“Looks safe to me,” Dovo said.
“I’ll see if they have food to buy,” Ashara said. Po was about to accompany her, but Dovo put a hand on his shoulder.
“Anjan, take the kettle and go with her. See if you can fetch water from the well.”
“I can do that,” Po said.
“You need to think what you’ll tell them,” Dovo said in a hushed tone. “Sooner or later they’ll want to know what’s so important in that bag of yours.”
Po said nothing, but sat cross-legged on the ground, got out his sewing kit and began to fix his sandal strap. Dovo got a fire going. Before long Ashara and Anjan returned.
“They’re nice enough,” Anjan reported.
“Warm bread and bacon,” Ashara said, passing it to Dovo. “I spent some of my coins. That cheered them up.”
“Well, this is the latest breakfast I’ll ever serve,” Dovo said. “You all did well back there. Ashara, you saved our skins.”
“I — I don’t know if you’d have had the problem without me,” Ashara said. “Everyone thinks I’m a witch.”
“Nonsense,” Po blurted. “It’s not your fault. They just didn’t want other Ba’re monks in their territory.”
“You could’ve just shown them your bag,” Anjan said.
“It wouldn’t have ended there,” Po said. “I —”
“Don’t tell us you still wanted to keep it dry,” Ashara said, rolling her eyes. “What’ve you got in there? You’re awfully protective of it.”
“You’re keeping something from us, aren’t you?” Anjan added.
Po gazed into the fire and was quiet for a moment. All eyes were on him.
“There’s a bit more to going to Jan’a than I told you,” he began nervously, and from there he told Ashara and Anjan about Judge e Unuga, how they met, and about the manuscript the judge’s widow brought him. “It’s in my bag.”
⁂
Hands guided Savani to a chair and secured her wrists to the armrests. She looked about the room in confusion, a lack of sleep clouding her judgement.
“Did you sleep well?”
The speaker stood opposite Savani. She squinted up at him. He was large and fleshy, with a full head of silver hair and dressed entirely in black.
“Sleep?” she said through cracked lips. “No, I… yesterday, you…”
“Yesterday?” the man said, indicating himself. “I didn’t see you yesterday. You must be confused.”
“I —” She bit back her words. Her throat was parched and it hurt to speak.
“Would you like some water?” the man offered. Savani nodded and soon a tray was brought in and put on the table in front of her.
“You must forgive me,” said the man. “I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Inquisitor Lukan. You can have this water when you’ve answered one, simple question.” Savani looked up at him and nodded.
“Good,” Lukan said. “This manuscript we’re after — you know, the one your husband wrote containing spurious and highly inflammatory comments about our new Chief Minister — the last time we spoke, you admitted to taking it the day we raided your house. Do you remember taking it?” I must have told them.
“Well?”
“Yes,” Savani said.
“Good,” Inquisitor Lukan said. “See, now you get your water.” He poured a cup and set the porcelain to her lips. Savani gulped it down.
“Can I have another?”
“How about we clear some other things up?” He sat on the edge of the table and picked at a stray thread on his coat. He began to talk in an offhand manner as if it was only a small thing for Savani to consider.
“When you were arrested in Tavana, you didn’t have the manuscript. I guess that means you left it somewhere or with someone. It isn’t something you’d easily lose. So where is it?”
“I can’t tell you,” Savani said.
“That’s disappointing,” he said. “You can’t tell us who you gave it to?”
“No,” Savani said.
“So you did give it to someone?” Savani recognized the trap too late. She shut her eyes and drew a deep breath. The lack of sleep was getting to her.
“No,” she said clumsily, trying to cover her mistake.
“I suspect you were right the first time,” Lukan continued. “So you did give it to someone. Now, where would that someone be? I guess we’ll have to haul in your friends for questioning. Madam Kasa-Duna is of particular interest, perhaps —”
“It wasn’t her. It wasn’t one of my friends.”
“Oh?” Inquisitor Lukan looked surprised. Savani bit her lip. Focus, she told herself. These are silly mistakes. She was offered another cup of water and she drank it.
“I understand your desire to protect your friends,” Lukan said. “I really do. But without a reasonable alternative, we’re left with no choice.”
