The Legend Of Deathwalker By David Gemmell

‘I thank you, brother,’ replied Okai formally.

‘Our tribes are at war,’ said Lin-tse, ‘and therefore we cannot be brothers. But I respect your courage.’ He bowed, then returned to his studies.

Okai lay face down on the narrow pallet bed and tried to block the hot pain that flowed from his lacerated back. ‘Our tribes are at war now,* he said, ‘but one day we will be brothers, and the Nadir will sweep down upon these gajin and wipe them from the face of the earth.’

‘May it be so,’ responded Lin-tse. ‘You have an examination tomorrow, do you not?’

‘Yes. The role of cavalry in punitive expeditions.’

‘Then I shall question you upon the subject. It will help to shield your mind from the pain you are suffering.’

Talisman awoke just before the dawn. Zhusai still slept as silently he rose and left the room. In the courtyard below the blind Nadir priest was drawing water from the well. In the half light of the pre-dawn the man looked younger, his face pale and serene. ‘I trust you slept well, Talisman ?’ he enquired as the Nadir approached.

‘Well enough.’

‘And were the dreams the same ?’

‘My dreams are my concern, old man, and should you wish to live to complete your history, you would be advised to remember my words.’

The priest laid down the bucket and sat on the lip of the well, his pale opal eyes glinting in the last of the moonlight. ‘Dreams are never secret, Talisman, no matter how hard we try to protect them. They are like regrets, always seeking the light, always shared. And they have meaning far beyond our understanding. You will see. Here in this place the circle will be complete.’

The priest carried the bucket to a nearby table and, with a copper ladle, slowly began to fill clay water pots that hung on slender ropes from the beams of the porch. Talisman walked to the table and sat. ‘What are these histories you write?’ he asked.

‘They mostly involve the Chiatze and the Nadir. But I have become fascinated by the life of Oshikai. Do you know the origin of the name Nadir?’

Talisman shrugged. ‘In the southern tongue it means the point of greatest hopelessness.’

‘In Chiatze it means the cross-roads of death,’ said the priest. ‘When Oshikai first led his people out of Chiatze lands a great army followed them, seeking to exterminate what they perceived as his rebel force. He met them on the plain of Chu-chien, and destroyed them. But two more armies were closing in upon him, and he was forced to lead his people across the Ice Mountains. Hundreds died, many more lost fingers and toes, arms and legs, to the terrible cold. As they cleared the frozen passes they emerged on to the terrible desert of salt beyond. The despair was almost total. Oshikai called a meeting of his Council. He told them that they were a people born in hardship and danger, and that they had now reached their nadir. From that moment he changed their name. Then he addressed the multitude, and told them that Shul-sen would lead them to water, and that a land full of promise would await them beyond the salt desert. He spoke of a dream, where the Nadir grew and prospered from shimmering sea to snow-topped peaks. That is when he gave them the verse all Nadir children learn as they suck their mothers’ milk:

‘Nadir we,

youth born,

axe wielders,

blood letters,

victors still.’

‘What happened to Shul-sen?’ asked Talisman. The priest smiled as, laying down his bucket once more, he sat at the table.

‘There are so many tales, most embroidered upon, some mere fancy, others crafted with such mystical symbolism that they become meaningless. The truth, I fear, is more mundane. It is my belief that she was captured by Oshikai’s enemies and slain.’

‘If that were so, then he would have found her.’

‘Who would have found her?’

‘Oshikai. His spirit has searched for her for hundreds of years, but he has never found her. How could that be?’

‘I do not know,’ admitted the priest, ‘but I will think on it. How is it you know these things?’