Healed by Hope (14 page)

34

ON THE NINETEENTH day of their voyage across the Akasa Ocean, Lucius Annaeus stood alone—except for several dozen Daasa—on the forecastle of the long-hulled galleon. The firstborn stared westward, barely blinking. The day before, he had lurked in the shadows and spied on Bonny and Nīsa as they conversed. Though he had been too far away to understand most of what they said, he had gotten the gist of it. The newly ascended Death-Knower had attempted to warn the pirate of something.

Slowly, Lucius was beginning to understand what it might be.

Why was it that the Daasa had allowed the Duccaritan pirates to kidnap them, over and over? Certainly it wasn’t that they lacked the strength to fend off their assailants. The obvious answer was the
Mahanta pEpa
, which had controlled their minds, even from across the ocean. While the Great Evil had existed, the Daasa had lacked the ability to transform.

But why was the
Mahanta pEpa
able to exert such a widespread influence over so many? Answer that question, and the mystery was solved.

Lucius had never been telepathic. The closest he had come to it was sensing Invictus’s death—and as far as Lucius knew, the only magic he wielded was the ability to transform. Yet the Daasa were telepathic, of that he was certain. So why wasn’t he?

As if unconcerned with the wanderings of Lucius’s mind, the Daasa continued their silent vigil, only deigning to make noise if the galleon drifted off the course they had so diligently chosen. Obviously, they sensed something so encompassing that it surpassed even the magic-deadening effects of open water. Did their kin call for them on the far shore? And if so, how many?

The crazy thing was, Lucius also was starting to sense something—a chorus of voices, each different and yet similar. Now he found himself staring westward, too, and becoming anxious if the galleon strayed too far north or south. Slowly but surely he began to understand what it was that awaited them.

And what his role would be upon their arrival.

The Death-Knower also must have sensed it, at least on some level. And out of compassion, he was attempting to warn Bonny, so that she would not be caught completely off guard.

Like Lucius, Bonny contained Daasa blood. Unlike him, a part of her was human. Would that part be accepting of what was to come?

If not, Lucius would be forced to say goodbye.

35

TWO DAYS AFTER the full moon, Nīsa stood on the forecastle with an escort of Daasa and stared westward. It was the twentieth day of their voyage, which thus far had been almost without incident.

Since the previous evening, Lucius—the first-ever golden soldier born by Invictus’s magic using the body of a Daasa—had stood on the spot that Nīsa now occupied. It wasn’t until Bonny had yelled at Lucius and then stormed off before the firstborn had reluctantly relinquished his position and gone belowdecks to get food, drink, and rest. Immediately, Nīsa had taken Lucius’s place, trying to see what it was that Lucius had been seeing. The newly ascended Death-Knower believed he could guess at least some of it. He wondered how much Bonny knew. After all, she too was of the Daasa.

Crewmembers passed by him silently as ghosts, bowing when they drew near but then backing away as if afraid. Perhaps fear had little to do with it. Respect was a powerful commander.

The night was warm, and strong breezes blew conveniently westward. There was no need to tack. The steersman simply aimed the long-hulled galleon in the direction the Daasa were pointing and let her fly—with the gibbous moon at her back.

In addition to his concerns over Lucius’s mindset and well-being, Nīsa sensed something else that disturbed him, though perhaps disturbed was not quite the right word. Tantalized was more like it. Another incident was about to occur that would have a profound effect on the rest of his life. He wasn’t sure why he knew this—or how. But he did.

Nīsa found himself recounting a story
The Torgon
had told one night long ago in Anna. Though more than one hundred years had passed since he had gathered with the Asēkhas around a cook fire to listen to his king’s tale, Nīsa remembered it as if it had happened earlier that day. As the firelight reflected off his king’s glowing blue eyes, Torg described a time when he had wandered alone at the base of a dry lake bed and found the partially decayed carcass of an immense desert elephant.

“Even dried and shrunken, it was the largest
jangaladesa-hatthi
(desert elephant) I have ever seen, rivaling the great mammoths of Nirodha,” Torg said. “I studied him for a long time in an attempt to discern the manner of his death, and it became apparent to me that old age had claimed him and that he had died in relative peace. It pleased me that he had passed in such a manner.”

Though some of Tējo’s tribesmen slew desert elephants for their tusks, hide, and flesh, the Tugars revered the highly intelligent beasts and angrily punished anyone they caught hunting them. But if they found the elephants already dead, the Tugars took the tusks and hide, both of which were extremely valuable and could be put to many uses.

“I easily tore away one tusk and set it to the side,” Torg continued, “but the other was lodged against the playa’s floor and resisted my efforts to remove it. When I reached down and touched the ivory, it felt warm and alive—and I was startled and stepped away, believing for a moment that the beast still lived. Then I realized the absurdity of such a thought and returned to my studies of the tusk.

“Finally, I was able to wrench it free and lay it on the salt pan. There it hopped about like a fish stranded on the bank of a river and would only grow calm when I caressed it. I knew I had found something special, but it was not until I brought it back to Anna and fashioned it to my liking that I realized
how
special.”

“Why this particular elephant and this particular tusk?” Chieftain-Kusala had asked with characteristic bluntness. “Obhasa is like no other weapon I have ever seen. It accepts your power as if a part of
your
body.”

Torg considered Kusala’s words carefully. “There are forces beyond our awareness, beings beyond our comprehension . . . do they choose such things for us? Was I alone there for a reason?”

Nīsa had pondered those questions then, and now he did so again. As if responding to his thoughts, the sea breeze slackened, and the ocean’s surface grew still. This startled Nīsa, and he turned toward the stern with a puzzled expression. What he saw amazed him even more. Everyone aboard—at least everyone he could see from where he stood—was asleep. Even the Daasa had lain down and closed their eyes, except for the dozen or so keeping their relentless watch from the forecastle.

The sensation that something important was about to happen grew stronger. Nīsa looked all about the boat and then scanned the ocean for anything that might help him to understand. Finally, he saw it.

Off the starboard bow, a great white form floated in the still water. Nīsa walked over to the rail and deftly leaped over the side onto the squishy carcass of a white whale that was nearly as large as the galleon. Several dozen gulls perched lazily on its swollen hide, their bellies so full from feasting that they could barely fly. It felt like sacrilege to allow the birds to befoul such a wonderful creature, even if it was nature’s way. Nīsa shooed them off, though for the most part they ignored him.

There was no sign of serious injury to the parts of the whale visible above the surface of the ocean. Nīsa took a big breath, dove into the dark water, and swam underneath the beast, examining its underside. Several large sharks swam nearby, but they paid him little attention. Their bellies also were full.

Feeling about with his hands, Nīsa found evidence of the shark’s feeding, but he couldn’t determine if they had killed the whale or if they had just come upon it after it was dead. Nīsa believed the latter. Just like Torg’s desert elephant, the leviathan had died of old age. And now here it was and here he was.

The lone tusk that grew from the center of its snout was three times the size of a Tugar and many times Nīsa’s weight, yet it tore free with little resistance. He hoisted it out of the water and onto the whale’s side. Then with his great strength, he hurled it over the rail of the galleon. The moment he was back on deck, the white carcass sank like a stone. The sharks followed, but the gulls found perches on the ship, where they would rest and digest their enormous meal before taking flight toward whatever land source beckoned.

The moment the whale disappeared beneath the surface, the sea became choppy, the winds resumed, and the crew re-awakened on deck. Even the Daasa perked up, acting as if nothing unusual had occurred.

But Nīsa knew better.

The interior portion of the tusk would become his staff, and he already had a name for it:
Timingal
, which meant whale bone in the ancient tongue.

Now the newly ascended Death-Knower had his own version of Obhasa.

The world beckoned.

Would he explore it alone?

Certainly, Lucius would not follow. His place would be with the Daasa.

But would Bonny follow? That remained to be seen.

36

THINGS WERE HAPPENING very fast—and without his say-so. Suddenly Lucius found himself relishing the flavor of fish like never before. And today he was eating it raw, including scales and bones, though he hid that little development from Bonny. He also discovered that he had suddenly lost his taste for wine and ale, and when he did drink it—for Bonny’s sake—it made him feel queasy.

The galleon had been on the verge of a voyage before they commandeered it and therefore was well-stocked. In fact, the crew had been preparing to flee westward and settle for a time on the far coast, fearing that they might be forced to join Invictus’s army. Included among barrels of dried meat, fish, fruit, and vegetables were chestnuts, pecans, and hickory nuts still in their woody husks. The Daasa had eaten most of the nuts, but early that morning Lucius managed to stuff full a wool bag and store it in his chambers. He had never remembered enjoying nuts so much before, and he even gnawed on the husks.

On the twenty-first day of their voyage, Lucius lay next to Bonny on their mattress and listened to her soft breath. She smelled strange to him now—not bad strange, just strange. He still loved her, and her presence comforted him, but there was something about her that felt . . . foreign.

Or was it only that
he
was different?

Earlier that evening Bonny had coerced him into having sex. At first he had found their lovemaking almost distasteful, but Bonny had become hungrily excited—and had transformed. The moment this occurred, Lucius had responded in like fashion, and they had ended up destroying the bed’s wooden frame. Later they had dragged out the splintered wreckage and cast it overboard, expecting jeers from Nīsa and the pirate crew. But the Death-Knower was too preoccupied fashioning his staff from the whale tusk to notice, and the crew was too scared of both of them to dare any comments. At least the mattress had survived intact—and it was more comfortable without the cumbrous frame, anyway.

Meanwhile, though his relationship with Bonny was growing more distant, his ties to the Daasa had never been stronger. When Lucius stood among them, he often found himself startled, as if something was purposely trying to scare him with unexpected shouts or whistles. But he eventually realized that these sounds were not audible to normal levels of hearing. Instead, it was a form of communication between psychically linked minds.

“What is it, Lucius?” Bonny said unexpectedly, causing him to jerk. “Can’t you sleep?”

“I think I drank too much wine,” Lucius said.

“Too much wine? A few days ago you were drinking it by the gallon. Tonight, you barely had a sip,” she said, rolling onto her side and facing him, so close that the tips of their noses touched. Her breath smelled funny. “I ask you again, Lucius: What’s wrong? Please tell me. I love you so much, but you are acting different with me, and it’s making me nervous.”

Lucius started to lie again, but he realized the futility of it. Bonny was many things, but stupid was not among them. She had decided that it was time to clear the air. And he agreed.

“I’m changing . . .” he said.

“I know that,” she said, attempting a chuckle. “But the question is . . . why?”

Lucius grunted. “In some ways I am like you. We both are of the Daasa. But in some ways I am not. You were born of a mother’s womb, while I was . . . created.”

“We are all created.”

“Yes . . . no . . . it’s not the same.”

“What are you trying to tell me, Lucius?”

He sat up and leaned his back against the cabin wall. “A drop of Invictus’s own blood was used to create me . . . and that is why I look like a man. But it was just a single drop. Everything else about me is born of the Daasa. Bonny . . . I am Daasa.”

“And I am not?”

“Because your father was a newborn, you contain Daasa blood. But you are half human.”

Bonny also sat up, and she stared at him with tear-filled eyes. “I’m asking a third time: What are you trying to tell me?”

Lucius took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Though he was changing, he had no desire to hurt her. Later on, when the transformation was complete, would he care so much?

“I am Daasa. And I am more. For better or worse, Invictus’s blood has made me more. Yet it has not made me evil. The Daasa recognize this. In some ways I have become the opposite of the
Mahanta pEpa
. I have the ability to control them, but with the desire to nourish, not devour.”

“Do they need help?”

Now Lucius’s eyes were filled with tears. “The Daasa desire a king. And they have chosen me.”

“How do you know?”

“I . . . know.”

“And what about us? What about our mission? I was hoping that together we could spread the gospel of the
One God
on the other side of the ocean.”

“
Our
mission?” Lucius said. Then he stood, walked to the porthole, and stared at the gibbous moon. Bonny came up beside him and hugged him from behind. Though she made little sound, he could sense she was crying. Ordinarily, this would have filled him with grief, but now he found it more interesting than sad. Regardless, he knew that he still loved her—but it was a love that was . . . spread thinner than before.

“There can still be
us
,” Lucius said. “But it can never again be like it was before. It’s your choice whether you wish to be with me or not, in this new way.”

“I do want to be with you, Lucius! I love you.”

“And I love you too, Bonny. But not like before.”

“What have I done? Am I ugly? Am I stupid? My teeth are crooked. Is that it?”

Lucius turned and forced himself to hug her. She needed comfort more than he.

“I’ll try to explain. The Daasa are not like us. They view the world, live in the world, in a different way. They are not . . . isolated . . . like we are. The Daasa live in a pack. One gigantic pack . . . of the mind. That’s why the
Mahanta pEpa
was able to control them . . .
all
of them.”

“And you are their leader?”

Lucius smiled. “I am becoming so. And it is wonderful.” Then he laughed, and the sound felt innocent and pure to him. “The Daasa are creatures of love. They love . . .
everything
. Including themselves. They use pain and anger only for protection.”

Bonny cried even harder. “I thought you and I would spend our lives together. I thought you loved me as much as I love you. I thought you were the one person in the world who would never hurt me . . .”

“It is not my intention to hurt you,” Lucius said. “In fact, if you love me as much as you say you do, then it would be wise of you to follow me on the path I have chosen. If you do, Bonny Calico, we will never be parted.”

“But what about the
One God
? Does he play a role? Do the Daasa worship
Ekadeva
?”

Lucius continued to smile. “How the Daasa worship, what they worship, or even
if
they worship, has not been fully revealed to me—and won’t be until I join them entirely. For all I know, they do worship your god. Perhaps, even, they are closer to him than you might think.”

Bonny closed her eyes. “I can’t talk about it anymore, Lucius. Please leave me alone for a while.”

Lucius did just that.