Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2) (2 page)

She had nothing else
but this place now.
She stared at the
clock in her hands, and realized now that it was burning, that a
portion of its mainframe, a corner of it really, had caught fire,
and was slowly starting to spread across its
structure
, almost to the
heating point of melting it
. She did not
understand how this had happened, as focused as she had been on her
anger at herself, and on her love for her husband and her
sons
.
She had just been sitting here, and suddenly the
clock had started burning? In any case, s
he had to immediately get rid of this clock before she burned
herself.

She looked up at the
far wall of her workshop, covered in clocks hanging from hooks, and
realized
the years of work and effort she
had put into all of this, all for nothing. She hurled the burning
clock at the wall, and watched for a moment as it all caught on
fire, the flames from one clock igniting the varnished wood of the
others, licking up the covers and exposing the metal gears and
innards inside
, creating a
furnace that stared to melt the clock faces.

The glass cracked in
another clock before she turned around and left the smoking
workshop behind her, oddly satisfied for a
moment
, but it was just a
moment. She would regret it later, in the dark of the night, the
loss of her refuge and mainstay. She would have to start all over
again, and that frightened her more than she could say. Could she
really rebuild from what had been destroyed, what was once her
life’s work but was now flaming wreckage?

She managed to make
it out into the stable yard just as her husband went out the inn’s
back door. “Habala!” He cried, running towards her. “Are you hurt?
What happened?” He asked, wrapping her in a hug and escorting her
away from the burning workshop.
For a moment, being held in his arms, she thought that she
could do anything,
rebuild
and start all over again, but it was a fleeting moment of comfort
and warmth in the midst of an overwhelming, raging fire that ended
quickly. They were both too cold to the touch and too hot in their
situation and temperament that they could not find a happy medium.
Could they ever be the same with each other as they once
were?

Several men from the
bar, including Hermer, Morton, and Smidge, had followed Geda, and
now they went to work trying to extinguish the workshop and lead
out the horses from the stable nearby, in case that building also
caught on fire.
Habala watched them for a
moment, stunned by what she had done. Had she caused that? What had
happened to her? The clock had caught on fire, and she could not
have done that without any flames or flint nearby, yet it had been
in her hands. Where else could the flames have come from? Not for
the first time, she wondered if something was wrong with
her.

“
I do not know.” She
told Geda. “I was just working, that’s all, I
must have left a candle burning, or something. Must have been
careless.” She muttered the last.

“
You could have been
killed.” He said. “I did not want to lose
you, too.
”

“
I’m all right,
Geda.” She said, pushing herself away from him and shaking her
head. “I’m fine.”

“
No, you’re not,” He
said, staring at her in a
grim
manner that concerned her.
“Not really.” Did he worry that she might hurt herself? She did not
feel like she could, although
he might think otherwise.

“
Geda,
I’m
…
” She sighed. “All right, I haven’t been fine for days now,
but I’m not hurt right now.” She said.

Geda hugged her and she cried again,
just as she had been doing off and on for the past week or so, but
this time it was different as the cry was dry and silent, as if the
fire had dried her tears, and the flames that had swallowed the
clocks and their sounds had swallowed hers as well.

Crouched
in the
corner between two intersecting gables on the Smiling Stallion
inn’s roof, watching the conflagration below, the Old Man shook his
head and turned away, sighing to himself as he gazed up at the
smoke rising into the early morning sky. Losing the ones you love
always hurts, and it never completely goes away. That doesn’t
change as time goes by. It goes deeper, sometimes, sinking and
lodging at the bottom of your heart and weighing you down; or it
floats away lightly, like a feather, until a half-forgotten thought
or feeling brings it back to cut you again.

It
should not have to come to this, he thought to himself, it should
never have to come to this, the loss of a c
hild for…‘the greater good’ was the best term that he
could think of at this time, but it was just too harsh and cold, as
if there was any greater good in the world than a child, especially
to their parents and relatives. It was no comfort for them,
grieving as they were, to think of the boys as making a difference.
What care had they for the world after losing what they had valued
most? Was it worth it in the end?

The Old
Man pondered that thought for a moment. He thought that it was
necessary for the boys, especially Basha, to go out and change a
few things in this world, especially as it seemed to him that they
were the only ones capable of making such changes, especially in
regards to Doomba. Was it dangerous? Was it possible that they
might not come back? Yes, it was, but he thought that it was
necessary, that
it was time
for these changes to be made in deposing Doomba, before Doomba
could do any more damage, after thousands of years of waiting for
the right opportunity to come along. He had kept watch for all of
this time, and now that the opportunity was here, he had to pounce
upon it before it was too late, before Doomba or his minions could
make a move that might end any chances he had.

Kala
certainly
had felt the same
way, he knew, in how she came all the way to Coe Baba to protect
her unborn son Basha, and died giving birth to the boy, before her
ghost came to the Old Man to tell him that Basha was the Tigora’l,
the tiger of light. She knew that Basha had a dangerous mission to
fulfill, and she tried her best to protect him for as long as she
could, yet even she acknowledged that it had to be done.

And
t
he Old Man had to do what he
did, in pushing things along and nudging people into the right
place, so that the opportunity could unfold as it was meant to do.
Was he responsible for pushing Basha and by extension his brother
Oaka into leaving Coe Baba? Yes, but it was the right thing to do,
it was meant to be this way, so why did he feel so awful about it?
Perhaps he felt guilty, now that he could see the harm that he had
caused Habala and others, and he felt some small need to justify
his actions, to make up for them in a way that said at least he had
tried to make a difference in this world, at least he had tried to
do some good in the world, before it was too late. Perhaps that was
why he felt like he needed to make peace with himself, and with
those around him. Perhaps that was why he felt the need to
challenge Doomba, and say that at least he had tried to destroy him
in his own way. Maybe Kala felt the same way.

Perhaps
he feared that he had made a mistake in sending these boys out to
their deaths at the hands of Doomba
or his minions, and nothing would come of it, no changes
would be made in this world. He was afraid that they would fail,
especially as they knew next to nothing about what they were
supposed to be doing out there, really doing, and not just
searching for Tau’s Cup.

Perhaps
he should have tried to tell them the truth, warned them of the
consequences of their actions and what they might have to face once
they were out there, what they might have to do, but they would
have laughed at him.
They
never would have believed him, especially when he had hardly
anything left to prove his story, and they would not have even
tried to enter the Wastelands, willing to prove him wrong by doing
the exact opposite of what he said. No, whatever else might happen,
they would have to learn the truth for themselves, and hopefully
they might see that this was the right thing to do, that this was
the best thing to do, and that what they had to face in the end was
nothing compared to what might happen to them, and to everyone
else, if they failed.

Chapter 2: Fato

When the day arrives, let it be
known

Throughout the world that I faced my
fate

With dignity and stamina. Let it be
known that,

In the end, I laughed in the face of
death.

--
King Wartart of the War Kings,
Arria

“
The rats, the rats
are burning,” Basha muttered, still asleep but arising from the
fog, as he tossed over to the other side of his body. Morning had
broken over the camp, light ascending and sweeping over their
surroundings, as Mila Forest stretched out all around
them
.
T
he smoke from Coe Baba
was a distant memory, though a few homesteads and encampments could
be located within a few miles from the trail that they followed,
winding along with the western fork of the River Daneuve on its way
to Coe Anji.

“
Shut up, Basha,”
Oaka, his adoptive brother, muttered from where he lied a short
distance away.

This was the third
night Basha had spent in the forest, farther away from home than he
had ever been, or since he had run away from home as a child,
learning then that he was adopted and that his birth mother
Kala
had
left him with basically nothing but his name, her name, and a
handkerchief
,
no knowledge of his birth father, or of their
lives. Basha had found the
truth
difficult to cope with at
first, especially knowing that others might think him a balnor, an
illegitimate son born without much worth, but he had managed to
survive the forest on his own until he was found, and then when he
was brought back home he went on with his life as if things were
not different, though they were.

“
Oaka?” Basha said,
opening his eyes and sitting up.

“
What?” Oaka
sighed.

“
The rats, I
was
…
” Basha started to say.

“
You always dream
about the rats,” Oaka said.

“
I do?” Basha asked,
stunned as he turned towards him.

“
You always dream
about the rats, you say so in your sleep
:
‘the rats are burning, the
rats are burning’, or something else like that. So what else is
new?” Oaka asked, sitting up as well.

“
Oaka, how do you
know
?
”

“
We’ve shared the
same bedroom and bed for many years now, Basha, I think I should
know what you mutter in your sleep.” Oaka muttered.

Basha blinked and
shook his head, thinking about going back to sleep as he tried to
recall just what had been in his dream. There had been rats, he
remembered that, they were chasing after him through the forest,
and then there was a woman
who destroyed the rats…
he blinked
as he realized the woman was Nisa, a younger version of Nisa than
the one he had met the other night at the Courtship ritual. Why
would Nisa be in his dream? And why would the dream be about
rats
?

“
Up and at ‘em,
boys!” Sir Nickleby roared, stomping about the camp as the two boys
groaned; they wouldn’t go back to sleep with the knight in such a
fuss. “This is a disaster, what
,
who doused the fire last night?”
He asked, looking down into the fire pit they had created.
“Why
,
it’s still smoldering!” He exclaimed.

“
It was Basha, sir,”
Oaka said, standing up and pointing at his brother.

“
Tattler.” Basha
muttered, and then said, “I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”
as he stood up as well.

“
You have first watch
tonight, Basha.” Sir Nickleby said.

“
Why do we have to
keep watch, sir?” Basha asked.

“
Because I said so,
and we are not camping out five miles away from home, we are
already a hundred miles away from Coe Baba.” Sir Nickleby
said.

“
A hundred miles,”
Basha said, smiling and turning to Oaka. “Can you imagine?
We
…
”

“
A hundred miles is
no laughing matter!” Sir Nickleby said, striding towards him. “We
are now outside of Coe Baba’s district borders,” He said,
face-to-face with Basha, “on the edges of Coe Anji’s district
borders. We are, in essence, in no man’s land, in the space between
districts. Here is where the bounders wait, here is where robbers
can be found, here is where any crime can be committed, and no man
can prosecute it. Here is where the boundaries disintegrate between
districts and authority, and we have to get out of this area, and
back to safety
,
or what counts as safety
,
in Coe Anji.” The knight
said, turning away and walking off.