Chapter 60 Rasha
Rasha
Langzu – on the road from Bian to Xiazen
There was a boy, fickle and sweet
Who met a foal that wanted to eat
The boy reached in his pocket and what did he find?
An apple to feed this foal of mine
The foal grew into a horse, the boy into a man
A steed and a warrior who fought and ran
The man reached into his pocket and what did he find?
An apple to feed this horse of mine
There came a battle, one that couldn’t be won
And when the dust cleared and all was done
The foe reached into the man’s pocket and what did he find?
An apple to feed this ghost of mine
I knew, no matter what I did, this battle wasn’t ending in my favor. So I ran.
I was the only one left, and by the time they finished with the other godkillers, I would be too far away. They were all hurt except Velenor, and she’d be too busy tending to the rest of them to put up a chase. Hakara’s finger still lay warm in my palm.
It was the only way Kluehnn would believe that I’d killed her.
The rain increased to a downpour, obscuring the road from view. I could still feel the bond with Hakara in the back of my head, stretching with each step I took away from her. She’d make it through this. I wasn’t sure I would.
I was going back into the den, to a god who’d nearly killed me the last time I’d failed him. I’d learned too many of his secrets, and I had no idea what Mull had told him while I’d been gone. The man was a scholar, not a hardened fighter used to enduring pain.
But Naatar, who loved Khatuya, who never wanted us to fight – he was there in the den and he didn’t deserve whatever Kluehnn was doing to him.
Every time I turned, I still expected to see my cohort with me.
Rain gathered dust, running in muddy rivulets down the hill I climbed.
The grass was damp, brushing against my knees.
I leaned against a tree at the top, taking a moment to catch my breath.
There was something comfortable about believing in Kluehnn, in letting him tell me what to do and how to live my life.
All I’d had to do was to make one choice – to take Millani’s hand after I’d been transformed – and the rest had flowed naturally from there.
There was no natural flow to what I was doing now.
My faith was broken; my cohort was broken.
I was not strong the way Hakara was, fierce and unbending.
But I was still strong and Naatar needed my help.
Somehow the bond we’d built mattered more than the one I’d built with Kluehnn.
He was always aloof, mysterious, strange.
But my cohort? We’d been through everything together and we’d come out the other side. And now Khatuya was dead.
My hand tightened around the finger as I remembered the pact Khatuya, Naatar, and I had once made, before our third trial, when we’d faced the dzhalobo. Before we’d become a cohort. A pact that was more important to me now than anything else.
I found myself humming – a tune I thought I’d forgotten.
The lullaby Hakara had once sung to me at night, the same one I’d sung to Sheuan before we’d spent the night together.
A song about a boy and his horse and a pocket of apples.
I’d thought this tune a weakness before, but the music bolstered me, strengthened my faltering heart.
We go in together. We leave together.
None of us leaves any of the other two behind.