“But it is in that direction,” Ssu-ma Chao stated, “that we must go.” Some measure of sanity had returned to him, and he looked just as dangerous as he truly was.
“And so we do, Excellency,” said the sage, bowing in Ch’in fashion. “But we do not take that road unwarned. I say to you: Beware. Trust no one, nothing, even though it wears the semblance of your eldest brother, until we have proved the truth of it.”
“Why?” demanded Ssu-ma Chao.
“They seek weapons, perhaps that very Pasupata that Arjuna sought in the last age. They must not have found it for, if they had, we should be as dead as their victims here—or praying to all our gods or to those of our enemies for release. But they have found something almost as deadly to us—and deadlier still to these poor fools.”
“And what is that?”
“Life,” Ganesha said simply. “Life and health. Possibly spirit. These men are all drained, not just of life, but of what makes them men and not beast. I would pray peace to their souls and better aspects to their lives the next time the wheel turns, but there will be no next time for them. These men’s souls have been consumed.”
16
Under the coating of sweat and grime, even the swarthiest of the men still alive on that plain and within hearing went pale. Quintus saw Rufus battle a shudder and win— just. To have nothing left. No body to be entombed, no soul to travel across the river and face the Judgment that he had approached in dreams, yet evaded as it was not yet his time. Whatever his time was.
He had time enough to fare across a waste seemingly the size of Gaea herself. His time, indeed. When would it be his time not to suffer, not to endure, but to act—either as a Roman or this ghostly hero that Ganesha and Draupadi insisted on believing him to be?
Quintus would have been content only to sit and rest in clean air, away from these strange corpses. He would have been very well content to wrest the Eagles from the temples of those who had slain his comrades—the sign of his own Legion as well as those that had been sent to Merv. But it seemed that none of that was to be.
Why not make your life easier? came a voice. You want your gods, your freedom? They can be yours, along with sweet water flowing free over the rock in the shade at noon…. Only…
The bronze talisman over his heart twinged unnecessarily. Quintus tightened his hand on the stick he held, seeking relief from his anger.
That is excellent. Feel the anger. All that delectable rage. Let it out. Let it blaze like a fire at midnight when naphtha is tossed into it. Let it. We will reward you for your service.
The tribune’s fingers tightened on the wood. In an instant, the frail staff would snap, he feared, and his control along with it. Let it snap like a stick, a broken bone, the spine of his enemy who stymied him and held in his keeping the terms and key to freedom that Quintus desired. And why should you—of all men—be balked of your desires?
Quintus’s glance fell to what he held. It was not a staff at all, but a bow, the deadly recurved Parthian weapon that had destroyed his old, ordered life at Carrhae, complete even to its string.
“There are arrows in our supply for such bows,” said a man from Ch’in. “Unless you expect—” his hand gestured about the endless arena of grit and salt flat as if he expected arrows and quiver to materialize.
With a Legion or two of good lads, Quintus mused. The gods forbid, though, that other Romans be lured out into the desert in which he was now certain he would spend the rest of an exceedingly short and unpleasant life. He nodded thanks to the soldier.
“So,” Ganesha said. “You have found your bow. Will you not be convinced even now of who you are? I am an old man and never was a warrior; but it seems to me that when a warrior finds his weapon, then is battle near.”
Nearer than you think, old man.
The old one’s eyes focussed upon Quintus, compelling belief and more than belief. He had seen what he had seen. He had fought against belief, just as he fought now against what he feared, demanded a surrender of himself more total than even his obedience to the Legion or the way that all of the Romans had surrendered at Carrhae.
Silence him. Do it.
Be quiet, he told the voice inside his skull.
He stared at the sunlight lancing sharply downward, like the swoop of some great raptor flying West. Let it be a good omen, he prayed.
Whatever Ganesha was, he had never lied, never betrayed Quintus.
Would Lucilius laugh? Before a battle, Quintus told himself firmly, a wise leader listened to augury and to the thoughts of his own heart.
“I have heard,” he began slowly, “I have heard a voice speaking to me. Promising me…”
Ganesha held up his hand as if warning him not to reveal his secret before the entire company. The wise, weary old eyes transfixed his and grew even brighter.
“Be assured. Warrior—” the title sounded more proud than that of “prince,” “—that I shall watch and guard, and that Draupadi shall weave us such protection that only our worst enemies can pierce the veil of blindness and illusion she will cast upon the land.”
Of course, it was their worst enemies that they had to face: Nevertheless, this was better than nothing.
Ssu-ma Chao beckoned. “This one…” Then he dropped the formality. “I heard what you did not say to the old alchemist. You hear them too? The voices, promising you your most hidden desires, if only…”
Tell him you hear this. He will say you are mad and give your body to the desert so you do not poison the minds of the others. And then, we will have you, and we will eat your soul as we drank the souls from those fools scattered about you. Tell him, and learn the price for going against our will.
Quintus touched the talisman he carried, as if soothing it and his flesh at once. “Is it not said that there are dreams in the wind and the storm? These are not demands to obey that I hear, but the threats of evil men, thieves who steal life and the bandits of the waste who steal treasure.”
For the first time, he saw Ssu-ma Chao not just as a captor turned ally, but a man as harried and afraid as he.
“And it does not drive you mad? You can sleep?” Ssu-ma Chao was too fine-drawn, had been too finedrawn for too long. His face bore the expression Quintus had seen when, after heaving up his guts after his first battle, he had staggered off to wash and stared at his own face mirrored in the blessedly clean water.
Water flowing free over the rocks…
“Roman,” said the Ch’in officer, for a wonder, getting the name right, “are you and yours for hire?”
“We are not gladiators or guards,” said Quintus, even as Lucilius’s eyes brightened. Ask how much. “And we do not desire gold. You hold in your possession the treasures we would seek—the Eagle and our freedom to leave this place.”
“It is my death and my family’s if you are not brought to Su-le. But in the garrison at Kashgar I shall myself pray that you be given back your honor and this war god of your worship which has arrived there by now. Would that suffice you?”
“Suffice for what?”
“To have your swords beside ours on the trail to Kashgar.”
“You have had our word already,” Quintus said. (Behind him, Lucilius hissed in anger.) “Or do you think we march now into greater danger than any we have faced?”
Ganesha had held his gaze, compelling honesty, compelling Quintus to admit that he had been under some sort of attack. Now he borrowed the tactic to use upon the Ch’in commander. Let him respond with the truth, he wished. Please let him.
“Aye, we have endured storms before. But in the deep desert, surrounded by enemies, we may endure tempests that make what we have faced seem like grains of sand in a light breeze. Get us to the garrison at Kashgar, and I swear to you that you shall have my voice for your Eagle and your friends, even if I must cross the desert on my knees myself and make petition to the Son of Heaven.”
The bronze dancer twinged in its hiding place. Answer him. The man suffers.
“I am content,” said Quintus. He shouted for the men to prepare to march. There would be a moon tonight: no reason to waste the light in sleep when danger was so near. “Are you?” he asked in an undertone.