Narayan Singh
released his grip on his rumel, the consecrated killing scarf of a
Strangler. His hands had become two aching, arthritic claws. Tears
filled his eyes. He was glad the darkness hid them from the girl.
“I never took an animal before,” he whispered, drawing
away from the cooling carcass of the dog.
The Daughter of Night did not respond. She had to concentrate
hard to use her crude talents to misdirect the bats and owls
searching for them. The hunt had been on for weeks. Scores of
converts had been taken. The rest had scattered in time-honored
fashion. They would come together again after the hunters lost
interest. And the hunters did lose interest in them before long.
But this time the Witch of Taglios seemed determined to collar the
Daughter of Night and the living saint of the Deceivers.
The girl relaxed, sighed. “I think they’ve moved off
to the south.” Her whisper contained no note of triumph.
&ldsquo;This should be the last dog.” Narayan felt no sense
of accomplishment, either. He reached out, touched the girl
lightly. She didn’t shake him off. “They’ve never
used dogs before.” He was tired. Tired of running, tired of
pain.
“What’s happened, Narayan? What’s changed? Why
won’t my mother answer me? I did everything right. But I
still can’t feel her out there.”
Maybe she was not there anymore, the heretical side of Narayan
thought. “Maybe she can’t. She has enemies among the
gods as well as among men. One of those may
be . . . ”
The girl’s hand covered his mouth. He held his breath.
Some owls had hearing acute enough to catch his wheezing—should
they catch the girl off guard.
The hand withdrew. “It’s turned away. How do we
reach her, Narayan?”
“I wish I knew, child. I wish I knew. I’m worn out.
I need someone to tell me what to do. When you were little I
thought you’d be queen of the world by now. That we
would’ve passed through the Year of the Skulls and
Kina’s triumph and I would be enjoying the rewards of my
persistent faith.”
“Don’t you start, too.”
“Start?”
“Wavering. Doubting. I need you to be my rock, Narayan.
Always, when everything else turns to filth in my hands,
there’s been the granite of Papa Narayan.” For once she
seemed not to be manipulating him. They huddled, prisoners of
despair. The night, once Kina’s own, now belonged to the
Protector and her minions. Yet they were compelled to travel under
cloak of darkness. By day they were too easily recognized, she with
her pale, pale skin and he with his physical impairments. The
reward for their capture was great and the country folk were always
poor.
Their flight had led them southward, toward the uninhabited
wastelands clinging to the northern foothills of the Dandha Presh.
Peopled lands were far too dangerous right now. Every hand was
against them there. Yet there was no promise the wastelands would
be any friendlier. Out there it might be easier for the hunters to
track them.
Narayan mused, “Perhaps we should go into exile until the
Protector forgets us.” She would. Her passions were furiously
intense but never lasted.
The girl did not reply. She stared at the stars, possibly
looking for a sign. Narayan’s proposition was impossible and
they both knew it. They had been touched by the Goddess. They must
do her work. They must fulfill their destinies, however unhappy the
road. They must bring on the Year of the Skulls, however much
suffering they must endure themselves. Paradise lay beyond the pale
of affliction.
“Narayan. Look. The sky in the south.”
The old Deceiver raised his eyes. He saw what she meant
immediately. One small patch of sky, due south, very low, rippled
and shimmered. When that stopped for half a minute an alien
constellation shone through.
“The Noose,” Singh whispered. “It isn’t
possible.”
“What?”
“The constellation is called the Noose. We shouldn’t
be able to see it.” Not from this world. Narayan knew of it
only because he had been a prisoner of the Black Company at a time
when the constellation had been the subject of intense discussion.
It had some connection with the glittering plain. Beneath which
Kina lay imprisoned. “Maybe that’s our sign.” He
was ready to grasp any straw. He dragged his weary frame upright,
tucked his crutch under his arm. “South it is, then. Where we
can travel by day because there’ll be no one to spot
us.”
The girl said, “I don’t want to travel anymore,
Narayan.” But she got up, too. Travel was what they did, day
after month after year, because only by remaining in motion could
they evade the evils that would prevent them from fulfilling their
holy destinies.
An owl called from somewhere far away. Narayan ignored it. He
was, for the thousandth time, reflecting on the change of fortune
that had befallen them so swiftly, after life had gone so well for
several years. His whole life had been that way, one wild swing
after another. If he could cling to the tatters of his faith, if he
could persevere, soon enough fortune would smile on him again. He
was the living saint. His tests and trials had to be measured
accordingly.
But he was so tired. And he hurt so much.
He tried not to wonder why there was no sense whatsoever of
Kina’s presence in the world anymore. He tried to concentrate
his whole will upon covering the next painful hundred yards. With
that victory in hand he could concentrate on conquering the hundred
yards that followed.
Narayan Singh
released his grip on his rumel, the consecrated killing scarf of a
Strangler. His hands had become two aching, arthritic claws. Tears
filled his eyes. He was glad the darkness hid them from the girl.
“I never took an animal before,” he whispered, drawing
away from the cooling carcass of the dog.
The Daughter of Night did not respond. She had to concentrate
hard to use her crude talents to misdirect the bats and owls
searching for them. The hunt had been on for weeks. Scores of
converts had been taken. The rest had scattered in time-honored
fashion. They would come together again after the hunters lost
interest. And the hunters did lose interest in them before long.
But this time the Witch of Taglios seemed determined to collar the
Daughter of Night and the living saint of the Deceivers.
The girl relaxed, sighed. “I think they’ve moved off
to the south.” Her whisper contained no note of triumph.
&ldsquo;This should be the last dog.” Narayan felt no sense
of accomplishment, either. He reached out, touched the girl
lightly. She didn’t shake him off. “They’ve never
used dogs before.” He was tired. Tired of running, tired of
pain.
“What’s happened, Narayan? What’s changed? Why
won’t my mother answer me? I did everything right. But I
still can’t feel her out there.”
Maybe she was not there anymore, the heretical side of Narayan
thought. “Maybe she can’t. She has enemies among the
gods as well as among men. One of those may
be . . . ”
The girl’s hand covered his mouth. He held his breath.
Some owls had hearing acute enough to catch his wheezing—should
they catch the girl off guard.
The hand withdrew. “It’s turned away. How do we
reach her, Narayan?”
“I wish I knew, child. I wish I knew. I’m worn out.
I need someone to tell me what to do. When you were little I
thought you’d be queen of the world by now. That we
would’ve passed through the Year of the Skulls and
Kina’s triumph and I would be enjoying the rewards of my
persistent faith.”
“Don’t you start, too.”
“Start?”
“Wavering. Doubting. I need you to be my rock, Narayan.
Always, when everything else turns to filth in my hands,
there’s been the granite of Papa Narayan.” For once she
seemed not to be manipulating him. They huddled, prisoners of
despair. The night, once Kina’s own, now belonged to the
Protector and her minions. Yet they were compelled to travel under
cloak of darkness. By day they were too easily recognized, she with
her pale, pale skin and he with his physical impairments. The
reward for their capture was great and the country folk were always
poor.
Their flight had led them southward, toward the uninhabited
wastelands clinging to the northern foothills of the Dandha Presh.
Peopled lands were far too dangerous right now. Every hand was
against them there. Yet there was no promise the wastelands would
be any friendlier. Out there it might be easier for the hunters to
track them.
Narayan mused, “Perhaps we should go into exile until the
Protector forgets us.” She would. Her passions were furiously
intense but never lasted.
The girl did not reply. She stared at the stars, possibly
looking for a sign. Narayan’s proposition was impossible and
they both knew it. They had been touched by the Goddess. They must
do her work. They must fulfill their destinies, however unhappy the
road. They must bring on the Year of the Skulls, however much
suffering they must endure themselves. Paradise lay beyond the pale
of affliction.
“Narayan. Look. The sky in the south.”
The old Deceiver raised his eyes. He saw what she meant
immediately. One small patch of sky, due south, very low, rippled
and shimmered. When that stopped for half a minute an alien
constellation shone through.
“The Noose,” Singh whispered. “It isn’t
possible.”
“What?”
“The constellation is called the Noose. We shouldn’t
be able to see it.” Not from this world. Narayan knew of it
only because he had been a prisoner of the Black Company at a time
when the constellation had been the subject of intense discussion.
It had some connection with the glittering plain. Beneath which
Kina lay imprisoned. “Maybe that’s our sign.” He
was ready to grasp any straw. He dragged his weary frame upright,
tucked his crutch under his arm. “South it is, then. Where we
can travel by day because there’ll be no one to spot
us.”
The girl said, “I don’t want to travel anymore,
Narayan.” But she got up, too. Travel was what they did, day
after month after year, because only by remaining in motion could
they evade the evils that would prevent them from fulfilling their
holy destinies.
An owl called from somewhere far away. Narayan ignored it. He
was, for the thousandth time, reflecting on the change of fortune
that had befallen them so swiftly, after life had gone so well for
several years. His whole life had been that way, one wild swing
after another. If he could cling to the tatters of his faith, if he
could persevere, soon enough fortune would smile on him again. He
was the living saint. His tests and trials had to be measured
accordingly.
But he was so tired. And he hurt so much.
He tried not to wonder why there was no sense whatsoever of
Kina’s presence in the world anymore. He tried to concentrate
his whole will upon covering the next painful hundred yards. With
that victory in hand he could concentrate on conquering the hundred
yards that followed.