8
DEVEN
The ripe scent of drying manure wafts from the field. Beneath my boots, the grass is trampled with wagon and horse tracks. After nearly two days of flying, stopping intermittently along the way, I am thankful my feet are on the ground.
I crouch and finger the grass; it is still damp from the rainstorm that passed through this afternoon. Although the traces left by the demon rajah’s slow-moving army are three days old, the troops’ absence does not put me at ease.
Yatin and Natesa search for signs of Brac and Opal nearer to the tree line. Dense foliage dissuades wanderers from venturing into the Morass. The jungle dominates Janardan’s territory between the sea and the empire. Brac and Opal would not duck into that tangle of trees unless they wished never to come out.
Rohan scours the grasslands behind me, sending whistling gusts through low bushes to expose any place our siblings could have hidden. Where in the gods’ names did they go? Brac left no discernible footprints or scorched vegetation to hint at his direction.
The army’s tracks tell another story. Indents in the drying mud came from heavy artillery, catapults that fire heavy bolts and large rocks. Other wagons were weighted down with rams and siege ramps to scale or pound through thick, high brick walls. All of this I can discern. These defenses are standard among the imperial army. But still no sign of Brac.
“Rohan, where did you last see them?” I ask, my attention split between him and the jungle to the east. The Morass forced even the demon rajah to go around it.
He strolls to a knoll. “They crashed here. We couldn’t circle back because the archers started shooting.” His voice cracks, as is common for boys his age, and he clears his croaky throat. “Opal was lying right here, last I saw her.”
Arrows stick out of the ground. I inspect the flattened grass and find splinters of the wreckage. The troops must have disassembled the wing flyer and hauled the parts along as firewood. At least we know Opal and Brac did not fly away from here.
“What’s nearby?” I ask Yatin, the experienced navigator in our group.
He studies the position of the sun. “The closest village is due south, a day or so on foot.”
The army is trekking northwest into Tarachand. The border is not too far ahead. South would be Brac and Opal’s wisest direction. Yatin and I would select that route, but we searched the end of the clearing and found no tracks heading to the village. Any other tracks they left were beaten into obscurity by the hundreds of men who came through.
“There’s another possibility,” Yatin says lowly.
Rohan kicks at the end of an arrow protruding from the ground. Neither of us wants to consider that our siblings were taken. I would like to think Brac would not have been captured without setting this field alight to stand as a memorial to his indignation, but circumstances could have stopped him.
“It’s likely they’ve been captured.” I put off the prospect that anything worse has happened. We will explore one possibility at a time. “The rest of you stay here and guard the wing flyer. I should return the day after tomorrow, in time for us to fly to the meeting point.”
“I’m going with you.” Rohan holds his thin body tense, anticipating my refusal, but I respect his grit. “You’ll need me to listen for my sister.”
“We should all stay together,” Natesa says, pinning me with a fierce stare to wither me into compliance. She forgets I grew up in the palace surrounded by sister warriors. They could sober a drunkard with a single glare.
Yatin stays locked in worry. He is a friend to Brac and me, but he came along only after Natesa committed to the task. I should not have agreed to let them join us.
“We cannot take the wing flyer or they’ll see us,” I explain to dissuade her. “My guess is the main body of troops are a day, maybe a day and a half, away. We’ll have to run through the night to catch up to them.”
Natesa stretches her arms over her head. “I won’t let you slow me down.”
She’s as stubborn as a ratel with a viper in its teeth. I look to Yatin to make her see reason.
“We’ll keep up, General,” he says.
I hate that title of command and what it meant to my father. If he were here, he would order Yatin, Natesa, and Rohan to follow him with no thought for their safety. I will not force them either way. “Your choice, but if you come along, I’m not your commander.”
“Understood,” Rohan replies, mustering a brave front. Still, his disappointment in not finding his sister drags his mouth down.
I asked him along. I put it in his head that we could find Opal and Brac, so I distract him from his concerns by asking him to help me drag the wing flyer into the trees for cover. Yatin and I also drop our swords there. Their size and weight will slow our pace. Yatin sulks back into the field, brooding about leaving his khanda behind.
Natesa offers him her haladie, a double-sided knife. “I still have daggers.”
“Thank you, little lotus.” Yatin bends his huge frame over her and kisses her nose.
Kali kissed my nose just two days ago. The memory pulverizes me. She made her choice, and it wasn’t me. I may need to get used to this feeling.
Our group takes turns whittling down our packs to necessities. Rohan is the smallest of us, even slighter than Natesa. As Yatin helps him tighten his straps, I slip goods from Rohan’s pack into mine and then regard the path left by the army. The flatland lies open ahead, beckoning us homeward.
I set off at a jog, and three sets of footfalls follow. My friends match my assertive pace, and we trek onward to our beloved empire of unforgiving deserts and unreachable mountains.