Asena Blessed, page 15
part #2 of Altaica Series
‘Not at the risk of each of you forgetting who you are. Some people fail in this. They remain merged permanently, one entity controls the other who becomes a puppet. That body fails and dies.’ The mule shook his head vigorously. Gods! I think he actually understands me. ‘Either way he’ll have failed to keep you safe. Once the merge is ceased, the bond is still there and grows stronger over time. You’ll feel a connection and be able to touch each other’s thoughts. You’ll not lose each other now and you’ll have to practise merging regularly—eventually you’ll fight merged. You must both trust me.’ Nothing. ‘Will he trust us to help you both?’
There was a lengthy pause.
‘Yes.’ Isaura’s pupils and irises contracted and their green returned. She smiled. At the edge of her mind still loomed her wary protector.
* * *
‘Now, Mistress Isa,’ Hamza said when they’d finished treating the mule’s wounds, ‘I’m right sorry Brownie got in this state. If I could find the mongrel who did this, I’d give him what for, I tell you.’
Isaura smiled. ‘We know, Hamza, and please just call me Isa. You make me feel old with the mistress bit.’
He clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Done, Isa!’ The mule’s head shot forward, knocking him away from her. ‘Hey, Brownie! I mean no harm,’ Hamza said, taken aback. ‘Isaura, I want him in the barn. It’s warmer in there and I’ll give him a special feed mix. There’s a stall near the front all readied, but I couldn’t get near the poor bugger.’ Hamza looked at the mule knowingly. ‘I’m not sure he’ll want to be locked up. You think you can get in there?’
Isaura nodded. ‘I’ll be close by?’
‘Course you will.’
He passed her a halter; Isaura stepped back shaking her head, horrified. ‘No, no … he doesn’t want it.’
‘No … I don’t suppose he does. Follow me.’
The others had long since departed to set up camp for the night. Even the Asena had vanished into the woods.
The mule warily entered the stall, hung his head over the half door and peered out the front of the barn at the campsite.
Hamza chuckled. ‘You know, I put him here so he could peek at that lot out there and get to know them a bit.’ Hamza reached out and gave him an affectionate pat. ‘Poor bastard. He’s not ever gonna trust people so easily again and he was such a gentle soul before too.’
Isaura watched while he mixed up a large bucket of feed. ‘Hamza, why weren’t you surprised to see the Asena? Everyone was shocked and the other lowlanders were afraid.’
Hamza didn’t answer directly. ‘The Stairs of the Gods weren’t always there. There’s a back way in here, from the mountains, but it’s more treacherous. The Asena were here when we settled. I reckon they never left this spot, just moved from the high plateau to here as they wanted. I thought I’d got a glimpse sometimes, but was never sure. Then my youngest, Illyria, said she’d seen them.’ He paused. ‘I like this spot and I want to stay here. It’s an oasis from the rest of the bloody rot that goes on outside. The Asena didn’t bother us, so we didn’t bother them.’
‘You called her Old Mother.’
‘When you travel as much as I do to the High Citadel in Targmur, you hear their legends. You pick things up.’ He finished mixing the feed. ‘Here, Isa, give him this. He could do with some spoiling.’ Hamza gave Isaura a queer look. ‘You’ve got the same look about you sometimes. I think you could do with some spoiling too. Come with me.’
Isaura followed Hamza into his house. At the door she paused, staring back at the barn. ‘He’ll be all right, lass. Don’t you fret. He knows where you are. You can touch each other’s mind’s now and then for reassurance.’ Raucous laughter erupted from the campsite. ‘I reckon a bit of quiet will do you both good.’
Hamza grabbed Isaura’s arm, gently tugged her through the door and directed her to a seat at the table. He moved to the chimney where a camp oven hung from a hook at the side of the fire.
‘Smells good,’ Isaura said. ‘What is it?’
‘Soup. Nice and easy. I set it going in the morning and just have to keep the fire chugging away and it’s cooked in the evening.’ Hamza ladled out soup for each of them, while Isaura cut thick slices of wholemeal bread. ‘You’ll have to excuse the bread—it’s few days old. Without the young ones here, I don’t get through it before it goes stale and I can’t cook bread to save myself.’
‘How many children do you have?’
‘Three of them. Two boys, one seventeen, one fifteen, and a girl—eight.’ Avoiding her gaze, Hamza stared at the bowl of soup, then at the fire.
‘Jonis made four.’
He looked up, startled.
‘I … we heard. I’m sorry,’ Isaura said, taking his hand.
‘We’re not made to watch our children die—any children really.’
Isaura stiffened. ‘No,’ she replied softly. ‘We are not.’
Hamza patted her hand. ‘We recover. There are three others that need love and keeping out of trouble. Now for you, Isa,’ he continued forcibly brighter. ‘You know it’s a great honour for me to have Brownie become a guardian. I don’t know if there’s ever been a mule guardian. I always thought Umniga’s mule would be one,’ he mused. ‘They’re brothers you know, but it never happened.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, it’s a great honour, but I’m not having you, who now has a mule of impeccable breeding I might add, although I’m buggered if I know how in the name of all that’s holy he got so damn big, wearing some bloody fisherman’s worn out cast offs.’
Isaura chuckled. ‘That was very roundabout way of telling me my clothes are falling apart.’
‘Well, they are! They’re torn. Gods, what a bruise! That’s a horse bite.’
‘Toshi. It seems his day is not complete unless he has bitten me or bounced me to bits. I hate that horse.’
‘Good thing you’ve got Brownie then,’ Hamza said. Isaura frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You make a bit of face every time I say his name.’
‘I don’t think it fits him anymore.’
‘What does he think?’ Hamza asked.
‘He’s … waiting,’ Isaura said, surprised.
‘What for? A name?’ Hamza asked. Isaura shrugged. ‘Well, it’s your turn now,’ he said, disappearing into another room and returning with a bundle wrapped in an embroidered blanket. He drew a deep breath. ‘They might be a little loose in some places.’ He appraised her. ‘And maybe not in others, but I think these will fit you well enough.’
Isaura looked stricken. ‘Did these belong to your boy? I can’t.’
‘I know Maris was thinking about giving them away, but she just hadn’t found the right person. This feels right. I think she’d agree with me if she saw you.’
‘But Hamza …’
‘No buts, Isa. These were for Jonis’s coming of age. He was killed two days before it. Maris worked hard making them. See she embroidered a mule on each corner? The boar for our clan is there too.’
‘I’m not a member of any clan yet. I’ve to pass the training and prove myself.’
‘You can unpick the boar then.’ He looked at her shrewdly. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
* * *
Isaura stood next to Hamza in his kitchen. ‘I’d no idea you’d be so good with a needle and thread, Hamza.’
‘Why, because I’m a man? Girl, around here everyone pitches in. We all work our tails off. Why should this be just the woman’s work?’ he said vehemently.
Taken aback, Isaura said, ‘Sorry.’
‘Ach, don’t be, Isa. Things are different here to the rest of my clan and we like it that way.’
Isaura looked down at her clothes and turned about trying to see them from all angles.
‘You look wonderful, girl. You did a fine job on the fiddly small stitches that my calloused old hands can’t manage.’
‘I feel like I’m pretending.’
Hamza placed his hands on Isaura’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. ‘Now you listen to me. You wear no clan symbols; you don’t need to. No one can be offended. You are the Asena Blessed, that’s all you need.’
Karan walked into the room, stopped and stared at her. Remembering Hamza’s words, Isaura stood straighter as Karan walked around her, scrutinising her appearance. She was dressed in fur lined, knee length black boots, with loose dark grey woollen pants, the seat and inner leg of which were lined with soft black leather. Isaura wore a thigh-length, light grey, wraparound woollen tunic top, bordered with wide black bands at the hems. Running Asena were embroidered in light grey and blue thread into these dark bands. A black belt about two inches wide with a plain silver buckle was cinched around her waist.
Karan said nothing as he took the caped cloak she held and examined it. It was in two pieces: a shorter outer cape which would end a few inches below her shoulders, and a longer hooded cloak with a gusset at the rear to allow it to hang neatly behind the saddle and over the leg without being too voluminous. Where they fastened, two snarling blue and grey Asena had been embroidered.
‘Excellent. Much better. They suit you.’ Karan looked at the bedroll at her feet. ‘You’ve been well equipped.’ Bemused, he said to Hamza, ‘I’ll make sure when you’re in Targmur that you can take any supplies you need. I’ll settle with the traders.’
‘The clothes were a gift.’ Hamza folded his arms across his chest and scowled. ‘I want no recompense.’
‘Hamza, I didn’t mean to offend you.’ Karan held his hands out placatingly. ‘But I’m about to ask more of you and there are things I want you to get from Targmur for me—you should be recompensed for those.’
Hamza grumbled his assent.
Karan flicked his head at the mule in the stall. ‘She’ll have to ride him. Do you have a saddle Isa can use temporarily? We’ll be going soon.’
‘Only my breaking saddle. I’ll need that. Even that won’t fit properly and you wouldn’t get away with it for long—he’s got too many sores still healing.’
‘He’s a mountain of a beast—a hand taller than Mirza. He’s got legs like tree trunks and a chest like a barrel. What on earth did you breed to get him?’
Hamza looked affronted. ‘He’s the same breeding as Umniga’s mule, Nasir. He’s just … bigger.’
‘What about Toshi’s saddle?’ Isaura asked. The mule thundered a kick into the timber of the stall.
‘Won’t fit him. You’ll have to get one made for him later. I can use a surcingle to strap a blanket and sheepskin on him. Isa can ride bareback.’
‘He’s huge. I barely stay on Tosh with a saddle. Without one I’ll slide off.’ Damn, I’ll have to ride Tosh.
‘You can try it. But you may as well take your bedroll to Toshi and tie it to the back of the saddle while we finish up here,’ Karan ordered.
Not again. Isaura spied Toshi at the end of the line of horses tethered to the hitching posts and headed toward him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ratilal tossed violently and his arms flailed, smacking those trying to help him.
‘Hold him down!’ Malak directed Niaz and Vikram.
Once he lay still, sweat pouring off him, his breath coming in short, broken pants, his eyes grew wide and darted between his captors.
‘High Lord? High Lord? You must drink this!’ Malak said.
‘No! You are making me worse!’ He began to thrash again. Malak backed away as Vikram and Niaz struggled with him.
‘Ratilal! Be still,’ Niaz pleaded.
‘Niaz? You too? Why? Are we not friends?’
‘Yes, yes we are! But you must drink the tonic. It’s working. Your cramps have almost gone. Remember, remember earlier?’
Ratilal stopped abruptly, struggling to think. ‘Cramps?’
Niaz nodded. ‘They’re much less now. Let us help you.’ He took the mug from his mother. ‘Look,’ he sipped some of the liquid. ‘See, it’s not poison. Drink. It will help, trust me.’ Niaz nodded at Ratilal, holding the drink to his lips. ‘Good. Now rest.’
‘He’ll sleep soon,’ Malak said. ‘There’s sleepsease in that dose.’ She continued tiredly, ‘Then we need to retreat those wounds. He’s opened them up again, thrashing about.’
Hours later, Malak sat by Ratilal’s bed. Niaz and Vikram lay sprawled, asleep in chairs. Gita had left much earlier in the night. She didn’t need to stay for this. No one should have to stay for this. Malak grimaced at the lingering smell and the memories she could not banish.
Ratilal opened his eyes to see Niaz’s mother sitting beside his bed. It was the first time he had seen her looking her age. Dark circles hung under her eyes and her hair was dishevelled.
‘Lady …’ he paused thoughtfully. ‘Mistress Malak.’
‘High Lord?’
‘It appears I owe you my thanks.’ Ratilal’s voice was hoarse. He was exhausted and his bones ached to their very marrow. Malak passed him a mug of water. His hands shook so much when he tried to take it that she gently batted them away and held it up to his lips.
‘Drink,’ she commanded.
‘You really should’ve been a man. You’d make a fine general.’
‘There have been women commanders aplenty in our history.’
‘Not now, not under my rule. I’ve no doubt of your courage and strength of will, Mistress Malak, but women in general don’t have the endurance or physical strength for war. Their presence is a distraction.’ Malak narrowed her eyes defiantly. Ratilal grinned, but fatigue outweighed his enjoyment in battling this formidable woman. ‘I’ll not debate this further.’ Silently, they watched each other. Quietly he asked, ‘How often did you have to endure this?’
Malak remained unmoving, looking through him, revisiting the past. ‘Too often. Though, I might add not always because of shadebell. No, shadebell was just the … end.’ Her eyes met his. Her regret and loss was evident in the tightness of her posture and the hardening of her eyes.
Ratilal nodded. He knew that anyone with any decency would not question her further, yet he could not leave her be. ‘He drank a great deal—he and my father both.’
‘Your father had more cause than most,’ she said without rancour.
Ratilal stared at her, desperate to be offended.
‘The loss of your mother.’ Ratilal snorted in derision. ‘The loss of your sister … He grieved deeply for both.’
‘Indeed.’ Ratilal’s expression grew pensive as he became lost in his own memories.
Good, Malak thought. You’ll drag me through the mire of my past, then so too will you think on your own.
His visage transformed as he recalled his life thus far. Ratilal’s mouth twisted in displeasure; a hardness returned to his features as he regained his focus.
Worry tugged at Malak. You’ve poked the bear. ‘Your father had strength enough though. He recovered … was recovering.’
‘Your husband did not.’
‘No,’ she said flatly.
A flicker of hesitation crossed Ratilal’s face. ‘He’d have killed you both.’
Malak drew a deep breath, her hand gripped her knees and her arms were rigidly straight as if propping her up. ‘Probably.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes,’ she reluctantly acknowledged.
‘I saved you both.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to know why?’ Ratilal asked. Malak looked puzzled. ‘I always envied Niaz his mother. You were … you are strong. Mine was weak. You were always stable, consistent, protective. Mine was not. Niaz would never tell me where he got the bruises … I thought it was just the training—we trained hard. Or that the others were picking on him, so I stayed by him. I couldn’t understand it. Your home … I never suspected. He never said. He kept his shame hidden.’
Malak’s head snapped up and she glared at him. ‘Shame! He wasn’t ashamed of his weakness! How could he be? He was a child! A child cannot defend against a full-grown man—a warrior. He loved his father … he was torn … we both were.’
‘A child cannot defend against a full-grown man? What I saw that night … You are alive because this child did defend you against a full-grown man. I defended you because you were what I wanted my mother to be. You hid us. But we saw. I saw you try, but you were not enough. You cajoled him, tried to pacify him, it did not work. You fought … it did not work. The look on Niaz’s face … I realised this had been going on for years. I was furious. You could have told my father, your clan lord. You could have done anything …’
‘He was not always thus. Only sometimes. He was …’
‘You … you were weak! You made me so angry. My mother …’ he spat the word, ‘was bad enough—utterly consumed with herself … But you … I expected so much more. I … your son deserved more,’ Ratilal said venomously. ‘I was so angry. In that moment I knew … there was no safety … nothing perfect except what you made for yourself.’
Surprise, anger, sadness cascaded across Malak’s face. ‘That’s why you killed him.’
‘Before he killed either of you … And you treated me …’ Ratilal paused.
Malak swallowed—she waited. She knew what was coming.
He scrutinised her. ‘How did you treat me old woman?’
‘Like you were a murderer.’
He nodded, falling back onto his pillows. ‘You spurned me and I saved you.’
‘I loved my husband.’
‘You were weak. Women are weak. That was my best lesson,’ Ratilal said softly, his anger all but spent for the time being.
The sound of movement drew his attention. His eyes shifted between Niaz and Vikram. Malak stiffened, suddenly reminded of their audience. She made to stand, but Ratilal’s hand shot out, drawing her back to sit on the bedside as his eyes flashed a warning at her. She looked at her son, praying for understanding, for him to defend her. Niaz’s eyes, unreadable, flicked briefly to hers before he moved to the window. With his back to her, he stared out into the coming dawn.
Predatory, calculating and smug, Ratilal observed the gulf between mother and son.
Vikram cleared his throat.
Malak tried to tug her hand free but Ratilal still bound her to him. ‘Captain?’ he said.
