The sun rose above the red cliffs, shining down on the young man’s face, and Kzun saw then that he was no more than fifteen years old. ‘I dropped my sword,’ said the warrior. ‘Now I am going to die.’
‘You died defending your land. The Gods of Stone and Water will welcome you.’
‘We are not cowards,’ said the dying boy. ‘But we . . . spend so much of our lives . . . running from the gajin.’
‘I know.’
‘I am frightened of the Void. If. . . I wait. . . will you walk with me into the dark?’
Kzun shivered. ‘I have been in the dark, boy. I know what fear is. Yes, you wait for me. I shall walk with you.’ The youngster gave a tired smile, then his head fell back. Kzun closed the boy’s eyes and stood. Spinning on his heel, he walked across to the far side where the warriors were still arguing. They looked up as he approached. Pushing through the circle, he stood at its centre. ‘There is a time to fight,’ he said, ‘and a time to run. Think back over your lives. Have you not run enough? And where will you go? How far must you run to avoid the Lancers? The fighters at the Shrine will become immortal. How far must you run to escape the haunting words of their song?
‘The enemy can fight only so long as they have water. This is the only deep pool. Every day that we deny them water gives our brothers a further chance of victory, and in this we become part of the Great Song. I am a man with no friends, no sword brothers. My youth was stolen from me in the Gothir mines, working in the dark, my body covered in sores. I have no wife, no sons. Kzun can make no gifts to the future. When I am dead, who will mourn for me? Not one. The blood of Kzun runs in no living creature. The Gothir put my spirit in chains, and when I slew the guards and freed my body my spirit remained, trapped in the dark. I think it is there still, living in the black filth, hiding in the dark tunnels. I could not. . . cannot. . . ever feel the sense of belonging that is at the heart of all we are. All that is left to me is a desire to see the Nadir – my people – walk straight and free. I should not have called you cowards, for you are all brave men. But your spirits too have been chained by the gajin. We are born to fear them, to run from them, to bow our heads. They are the masters of the world. We are vermin upon the steppes. Well, Kzun believes this no longer. Kzun is a lost and bitter man,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘Kzun has nothing to lose. Your comrade back there is dead. He asked me if I would walk into the dark with him; he said his spirit would wait for me. I knew then that I would die here. I am ready for that. Perhaps I will be reunited with my spirit? But I will meet him on the dark road. And we will walk together into the Void. Any man among you who is not ready to do the same should leave now. I will not send him on his way with curses. Here is where Kzun stands. Here is where he will fall. That is all I have to say.’
Kzun walked back through the circle and on up into the rocks overlooking the steppes. The wagons were no longer burning, but smoke was rising still from the charred wood. Vultures had begun to tear at the corpses. Kzun squatted down in the shadows; his hands were trembling and fear rose in him, bringing bile to his throat.
An eternity in the dark beckoned and Kzun could imagine no greater terror. He glanced up at the clear blue sky. What he had told them was true – that when he died not one living creature upon the surface of the steppes would mourn for him. He had nothing save a scarred, hairless body and rotting teeth to show for his life. In the mines there were no luxuries like friendship. Each man struggled alone. When he was free, the legacy of the years in the dark haunted him still. He could no longer abide sleeping in tents with others, but needed the clean open air and the wondrous taste of solitude. There had been one woman he had yearned for, but he had never spoken of it. By then Kzun was a warrior with many ponies, and could have bid for her. He had not, and had watched in sick despair as she wed another.