The Thaumaturg gestured to the cave mouth. ‘Keeping his distance is not his problem, Saeng. It was all I could do to convince him to have anything to do with you. The lad’s terrified of you. He’s convinced you’re a servant of Ardata. He believes you bewitched the yakshaka. That you even summoned the locals that attacked us.’
‘Well,’ she enquired, ‘how do you know I didn’t?’
He merely smiled indulgently, as if to say: come now child, we both know how.
The conceit that he could somehow see through her troubled her more than she thought it would. She was suddenly conscious of her dirty torn skirts and shirt, the awful state of her hair. It occurred to her that she must certainly look the part of a witch. ‘No? What am I then?’ she asked, smoothing her skirts further then hugging herself, feeling very cold in the dampness of the cave.
He studied her in the darkness across the sputtering fire. ‘You are a village girl who has come into power but has no idea what to do with it. You are scared and lost and terrified of what you possess.’ He cocked his head as if struck by a new thought. ‘Come to Anditi Pura with me. We could train you. Teach you how to harness that power.’
She snorted a laugh and shivered. ‘I have had more teachers than you could imagine. Most older than your vaunted Thaumaturg Academy. Have you not considered that perhaps that is why power terrifies me?’ She adjusted her seating on the litter on the floor of the cave, peered out into the dark where Hanu’s broad armoured back was just visible in the shifting glow of the Visitor. ‘In any case, I know what to do. I must find the Great Temple — the old temple to Light.’
The Thaumaturg was quiet for a time. She glanced over to see him eyeing the fire, his mouth gently pursed. ‘And should you find this temple,’ he murmured, ‘and find there is no impending calamity … what then? What will you do? Where would you go?’
Saeng felt her eyes drooping. Gods of the Abyss, she was tired. Her leg ached abominably, her back was stiff, her buttocks numb. ‘I do not know. Hanu cannot have a life here — hunted by you and Ardata’s creatures as well. Perhaps we will leave this cursed land. Sail away. I have heard many stories of all the continents across the seas. Of beautiful fields of ice. Rich empires. Huge cities.’
‘You are cold,’ the Thaumaturg said. ‘May I strengthen the fire?’
‘Go ahead.’
The man did something, she wasn’t sure what, and the fire brightened, leaping to life. A wave of warmth enveloped her. Yet sleep would not come — not immediately — not with an enemy across from her. Through slit eyes she watched him in the flickering glow. He was staring out of the cave mouth, looking very thoughtful, showing no sign of exhaustion. She knew these Thaumaturgs could go for days without sleep and she knew that he intended to keep watch through the night.
As her eyes blinked heavier and heavier the thought came to her — just like Hanu.
In the morning the bandit lad, Thet-mun, produced root bulbs he’d collected from various plants in the jungle. He showed them how to prepare them and cook them over the fire on sticks. The entire time not once did he directly look at or address Saeng. Though, furtively, he did make warding gestures her way against hexing and evil. Pon-lor spoke for her, asking what the plants looked like, whether the time of year mattered, and such questions. It seemed the lad had learned all this esoteric natural history from his aunt.
Pon-lor then explained that Saeng was looking for a great temple, a major structure of some sort, and asked whether Thet-mun had heard of any such thing. He hadn’t. But he did admit that his aunt had told him stories of such things here in the forest of Himatan. He said he’d climb a tree and have a look around. Which he promptly ran off to do — perhaps merely to get away from Saeng.
As she sat there nibbling the hot bulb on its stick, it occurred to Saeng that they all owed this lad’s aunt a great deal.
After she finished eating, Saeng limped a short distance off to relieve herself. She found fresh rainwater trapped in broad leaves and tipped it into her mouth. She even wet a corner of her skirt to clean her face as best she could. When she returned Thet-mun was back. Spotting her, he quickly turned away, slouching, and hurried off. Pon-lor came to her.
‘The lad says he saw no tall hillock or structure standing above the canopy in any direction.’ He offered a small apologetic rise of his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. But there’s nothing here.’
‘Well. We’ll just keep going then.’
His brows crimped in frustration. ‘Saeng …’ he began, but she brushed past him, gingerly, holding her leg. She motioned to Hanu.
‘We do not need him,’ she sent to Hanu.
‘We could use the lad.’
Saeng paused. ‘True. But we’ll just have to go without.’
‘Saeng,’ the Thaumaturg repeated, a note of warning in his voice.
She turned, crossed her arms. ‘Yes?’
‘I cannot let you wander further into the jungle. We must return.’ He took a deep breath, as though saddened. ‘I’m sorry.’
She looked to Hanu. ‘We’ve been through all this already …’
‘I thought you would listen to reason.’
‘Reason?’ she snorted. ‘Your thinking is reason? Then pray tell, what is mine? Blind wilful childishness?’
He gave her that indulgent look again — the one that seemed to say: oh, come now.
She waved him away, dismissing him to the jungle and his own fate. ‘We’re going, Hanu.’
‘Hanu …’ the young master called, low but firmly. Saeng glanced back, for some reason alarmed. What was this? Some sort of new trick? The Thaumaturg continued in slow and clear command: ‘Yeosh than’al. Azgreth sethul.’
Her gaze snapped to her brother. He had stilled, seeming immobile. ‘Hanu!’ she sent, pleading. He did not respond. Then he moved in slow heavy steps towards Pon-lor. ‘Hanu!’ she fairly wailed.
The damned Thaumaturg awaited him, arms crossed, nodding his satisfaction.
Saeng’s power erupted about her, sending the litter of the jungle floor flying in a rising gyre.
‘Hold!’ Pon-lor yelled, raising an arm. ‘I control your brother now. Shall I command him to kill himself?’
Saeng held herself quivering in tensed suppressed energies. She felt as if she should explode. That she should throw herself upon the man in an ecstasy of ripping and destruction. But before she could act Hanu snapped out an arm to grab the man by his throat.
Saeng’s power dropped from her in a rush. Her shoulders slumped, her hair falling.
Pon-lor’s hands scrabbled at Hanu’s armoured gauntlet. He gurgled, his face reddening. Her brother lifted him from his feet. The man was gasping now, frantic, his face purpling.
‘Hanu …’ she called, warning.
The man’s eyes found hers. They glistened in panic.
‘Drop him,’ she urged. When her brother did not respond she sent, ‘Please do not kill him, Hanu.’
The man crashed limply to the ground. She came to stand where he lay wheezing and flailing groggily.
‘You owe me your life,’ she told him. ‘Now kindly leave us alone.’ She motioned to Hanu, and, taking his arm, limped away.
*
When Pon-lor’s vision cleared he found Thet-mun, crouched, peering down at him. He was moodily chewing on some sort of stick or stalk.
The lad was shaking his head. ‘Man. I really can pick ’em, can’t I? First Jak, now you. Fuckin’ losers.’ He shook his head again.
Pon-lor sat up and rubbed his neck. He experimentally edged his head from side to side. ‘We will follow them at a discreet distance.’