Profane rites, p.15
Profane Rites, page 15
They camped within sight of the gentle rise, which bore the name Red Goat Hill. The area was deserted, no settlements, or even a single hut, within an hour’s walk as they approached. The hill itself was devoid of trees, the jungle overlooking the rocky terrain of the incline, choosing the more fertile ground around it. Finlay ordered his men to stop on the side of the path they had been following, their campsite not much more than a thin relief in the undergrowth under the heavy canopy. He allowed three small cookfires, built from dry material that the soldiers brought with them, which let off only a hint of smoke. The silence of the day amongst the enlisted men continued, although the soldiers allowed themselves whispered conversations and the occasional muffled laugh. Honorata sat at a fire with Yonas and two young spearmen. They were friendly enough but did not offer Honorata or Yonas anything by way of conversation. They whispered to each other on occasion, otherwise focused on heating their meals over the fire and then resting after a long day of travelling.
Honorata followed their lead; she was no stranger to extended silence amongst friends in the abbey. Yonas might as well have been alone given how little attention he paid to those around him. He seemed far more relaxed on this venture, perhaps because he knew that the watch was shared between others that he could trust, unlike the nights that he had spent in the jungle recently where his was the only sword. Honorata ate her evening meal, staring into the flames before her. The soldiers had supplied her with a small portion of fish and rice. It was bland and simple fare, but she devoured it almost before it was properly warm.
They slept around the fires with no attempt made to fashion a shelter beyond the natural cover provided by the canopy. Finlay ordered his soldiers to rotate a watch throughout the night. Honorata had argued quietly that she should be allowed to take a watch. She wanted to do her part. Finlay refused her bluntly, shaking his head and frowning at her when she attempted to argue the point. Yonas seemed content to not be bothered with watch duty and was the first one asleep, laid out alongside their fire with his head resting on a small bundle. Honorata found it far harder to chase sleep herself, and she spent half the night watching the embers of the fire expire, noting the passage of time by the turnover of soldiers on watch.
* * *
Eventually she found rest. She dreamed. She was far away from the jungle, back in the streets of Rampura. She was jostled and buffeted by the crowd as they pushed past her, ignoring her. Why were they not showing the proper respect that was due to a priestess of Devi? She had never been treated like this. She looked down to see that she was not wearing her robes, her holy symbol not fastened to her waist, that familiar reminder of her oaths and faith painfully absent. She was puzzled by this. How had she come to be here without her robes? She never wore anything but the proper garments!
The great cathedral rose up before her. Its towering stone walls. The grand stained glass circle, which adorned the face of the central hall, depicting the Bhagava at prayer, serenely surrounded by her favoured saints.
The wide stairs leading up to the Queen’s plaza, the place where Honorata had sung so many times with her sisters, the fellow acolytes with whom she had spent so many years in study and prayer. Her feet guided her to that place. Rather than pushing through the crowd, it felt like she was pulled along with the current of humanity, being drawn closer and closer to the plaza. The faces and features of the crowd around her drifted into the background, escaping her attention as her focus was drawn to the holy scene, which she had seen so many times before.
It almost felt like she was gliding as she ascended the stairs. The crowd fell away, dissipating around her, the journey to the plaza concluded alone. In that open space, the smooth stone weathered by the passage of countless feet, gathered a score of priestesses. Acolytes. Her sisters.
Their voices rose up as one. The sound was inspirational. She had always loved this hymn, a devotion to the trials of Saint Agnes, a favourite amongst the acolytes. They sang with passion and fervor, the song lifting Honorata’s soul, the sensation of the divine within reach. This is why she was so dedicated to her faith, she thought. How could one not believe in the teachings of Devi when her Song sounded like this? The power of the spectacle of Devi’s faithful in worship was undeniable.
She longed to join her sisters. She opened her mouth to sing, ready to join with the familiar words. But her Song did not come. Nothing but silence from her open mouth. She longed to lend her voice to their beautiful song, for her voice to soar with her sisters, to experience the sensation of oneness with the others. But the words simply would not flow. The focus and calm, which came from allowing the Song to work, eluded her. She began to panic. Why was this happening to her? Why was the Song being denied to her? She had not lost her faith! She was as dedicated and determined to serve as any of her sisters. Why were they allowed to enter the embrace of Devi while she was rejected?
Honorata stumbled forwards, grasping at the robes of the nearest acolyte. The woman ignored her clumsy grasp and continued singing. Honorata’s last memory of the dream was the sensation of desperateness as she begged for help from the uncaring acolytes as they sang the most wondrous of songs.
* * *
One of the young spearmen woke her before dawn. She was disoriented at first, the remnants of her dream clouding her mind. In just a few moments, the details of the dream began to drift from her mind and, before she had finished collecting her belongings in the dark jungle, she had forgotten almost all about that experience but for the sensation of rejection and exclusion from her sisters. That feeling lingered and made her uneasy.
The group collected their belongings with efficiency. Honorata found the others waiting for her as she attended to her bed roll and other belongings, the imagined pressure of delaying the soldiers forcing clumsiness into her hands. Before long they were marching again, covering the last stretch of ground before exploring the area where Manjit said the ghoul may be found.
With the crest of Red Goat Hill periodically peaking through the canopy, they wound their way along a tight jungle track. Honorata and Yonas had taken up their usual positions near the back of the column. The occasional call of a jungle bird and the sound of their feet moving through the dirt and mud were the only sounds to Honorata’s ear. It was a hot day and the humidity already hung heavily in the air despite the early hour.
Honorata heard, and then felt, the first drops of rain as a shower began. The water dripped through the reach of the trees in places, funneled into heavier streams by the thick leaves above. Honorata was grateful for the water, at least for now. It felt cool and fresh on her skin. She tried not to think about the heavy chafing weight of her wet robes in the hours to come; there was nothing she could do about that, so she focused on enjoying the sensation of the rain.
Their track wound back and forth before reaching the foot of the hill. It looped around to the right and they followed the path that way, skirting the rise. On the western side of the hill, a ridgeline struck out into the jungle, making for an impassable barrier. Their path tracked along the base of that embankment for a few hundred yards before turning north again through a break in the ridge. Now the ground rose up on both sides, the rocky walls hemming them in. There was no room for the jungle trees to grow along this path, although Honorata could see a canopy looming overhead from the trees that grew along the ridgeline. The walls of the passage crawled with ants and centipedes, with the occasional earthworm rearing its head amongst the dirt.
Before long they emerged into a clearing that backed onto the northern side of the hill. They came to a halt. Finlay gathered them around and invited them all to kneel as he addressed them. Honorata found herself complying without thinking as the soldiers, and Yonas, moved as one.
“Alright, the cave is right over there. Perhaps two hundred paces across the clearing, and then into that dip. You lot,” Finlay said, pointing at the four soldiers carrying javelins. “I want you to take opposite sides of the clearing, two on each, and flank around the cave. Any sign of trouble, come running. Don’t muck around, sprint straight back here towards us.”
He turned to the others. “Spearmen, I want you in a straight line with bowmen behind. We’ll advance slowly right up the middle. If all goes well and we don’t run into any trouble, then we’ll be in position in front of the cave. Line of spears in front, bows behind and javelins from the sides. And then we’ll see what we’re looking at and figure out what to do from there. If the ghoul hits us early, then we’ll fight it where we stand. Got it?”
A series of nods went around the group. The four soldiers with javelins moved off to the sides of the clearing, two on each side as ordered, keeping low and moving quickly. They unwrapped their bundle of javelins as they went, discarding the cloth wrapping and binds on the ground. The three spearmen fanned out in a line, crouching close to the ground while they watched and waited. The bowmen fell into line behind them, each nocking an arrow from the quivers at their waists. The heavy drops of rain fell between them, the patter masking the sounds of their movement.
Finlay spoke to Honorata and Yonas now. “You two will stay out of trouble. I’ll join the archers and we’ll see how this thing ends up. You keep her safe,” he said, tilting his head towards Yonas.
“Of course, I will,” said Yonas. “I’ll hold back here with her, but if the monster comes my way, then I’ll do what I have to do.”
Finlay nodded before joining the line of archers. Once their formation was fully assembled, they began moving forward slowly as a group, pushing their way through the thick grass. Honorata looked up and saw the two groups of soldiers on either side of the clearing skirting the jungle and moving in unison. They were about halfway to their position.
“What do you think of this plan, Yonas?” Honorata whispered to the swordsman.
Yonas shrugged. “It’s good enough. They’ll flush the ghoul out this way and be as ready to fight as they could possibly be. But I don’t know how it’s going to play out with this beast. It’s unpredictable. There’s nothing more that can be done, but these are plans made by men used to fighting other men. Once the battle starts, anything could happen. So, stay close to me.”
Honorata did not need any encouragement to remain close by Yonas’s side. He had proven himself dependable and formidable, so she had no trouble trusting him. She should feel as safe as she had in weeks given the quality of companion she had during this expedition, but she had never quite shaken the feeling of unease from that morning. But what could go wrong? If Yonas had proven the equal of the ghoul on his own, surely he could defeat the beast with the help of Finlay and his ten soldiers. And she would use this opportunity to try the ritual again. It had worked once, but she was perplexed as to why it had failed the second time. Even if her prayers did not turn the tide of the battle this day, the Church would be fascinated by her reports of what took place, Honorata thought.
The flanking soldiers reached their position. They stayed low and Honorata could see that their position bordered a dark opening in the rock at the base of the hill. Nothing happened as they approached. If the ghoul was there, it remained hidden. The other soldiers moved forward slowly, the three spearmen holding their line at the front, the three archers behind them, bows nocked, with Honorata and Yonas trailing.
The group came within about fifty paces of the opening when Finlay barked a quiet command and the soldiers knelt, weapons at the ready. Finlay issued a few complicated hand signals to the soldiers waiting on the flank. One each from either side approached the opening from either side, javelin in hand.
“Watch this, Sister. They’re going to try and flush the thing out,” Yonas said. “They’ll ambush the beast, draw it forward and then the rest will strike as one.”
Honorata did not reply. She watched, more tense than ever, water dripping down her face.
The two soldiers crept forward, reaching the mouth of the cave. They exchanged a glance and some brief hand signals before they both ducked into the cave. They were gone from sight for only a few heartbeats, but it felt to Honorata like an eternity. They both emerged eventually, not bothering to stay low now. They walked towards Finlay, and as the other soldiers noted the ease with which they moved, they relaxed too.
The first man came to Finlay and shrugged. The sound of a large form forcing its way through the undergrowth interrupted, the soldier’s eyebrows raised quizzically as he stopped to listen. He went to open his mouth to speak when a cry went up to Honorata’s left and a massive war elephant crashed through the jungle into the clearing.
The beast was enraged. A wiry man dressed in nothing more than a white loincloth, his skin slick with the rain, rode at the elephant’s neck and he dug at it with his ankus, driving the huge animal onwards. Its head and sides were covered in thick, scaled armour, glistening in the wet. Wicked swords had been attached to its tusks, the blades giving off a deadly gleam. The elephant trumpeted and charged at Finlay and his men. Trailing behind the elephant was a group of six rebel soldiers, dressed in black uniforms.
Despite the shock of the great elephant emerging from the jungle, Finlay reacted without hesitation, barking orders at his men. “Form up. Archers fire. Javelins in position. Take out that elephant rider!”
The three spearmen swung around, reforming their line to face the elephant. The javelin-wielders lined up on their flanks, the short projectiles in hand ready to be hurled once the enemy came within range. The archers aimed and fired, their hands in constant motion as they drew arrow after arrow from their quiver and launched them into the air.
Honorata watched in horror as the missiles arced through the sky. The four bowmen continued their barrage, targeting the elephant’s head. Most arrows missed completely. Others bounced off the animal’s armour. Two arrows dug into his side, drawing blood but failing to hurt the animal in a significant way. It charged onwards, the arrows seemingly doing nothing more than enraging it further.
Yonas had drawn his sword and was standing between Honorata and the rebels. He began walking backwards, hand on Honorata’s arm, taking her with him. She did not resist, almost dumbfounded by how the events had unfolded. Why were the rebels here? How could they have known to ambush Brewer’s soldiers in this place? And an elephant? Surely it could not be chance that they had that animal ready to ambush them like this. And then it hit her—Manjit! The man had betrayed them. He had fed them information from Partho, knowing that they would take that to Brewer, and that was all they needed to bait this trap. And she had played a role in it! She had unwittingly been used as a pawn to draw Brewer’s men from their fort to be attacked by Partho’s rebels out in the open.
The elephant thundered into the range of the skirmishers. They launched their javelins as one, the sharply pointed projectiles flashing towards the beast. They all struck their target, two javelins hitting ineffectively, one glancing off the animal’s armour and the second failing to penetrate the thick hide. The remaining two dug deep—one punching into the top of the elephant’s front left leg, the other wounding the animal in the chest.
And then the elephant was among them, wreaking carnage as it went.
Yonas had pulled Honorata back to a safe distance by the time that the melee began, and the brutality of the events shocked her. The elephant was unstoppable. The spears barely bothered the animal as it lashed around, slashing with its vicious bladed tusks and kicking at any movement to its sides. The rebels on foot hung back, cautious about entering the range of the elephant’s attacks, but Finlay’s men had trouble enough just dealing with the animal alone.
One spearman was stabbed deeply through his left arm and into his torso, as the elephant violently swung its head and tusks at him. He crumpled to the ground in a bloody unmoving mess. An archer was struck with a terrible kick to the head as the elephant reared in rage. The blow was enough to send him sprawling, stumbling and eventually falling to his knees, his head in his hands. Javelins and arrows rained down on the animal, its sides now dripping with streams of blood, but if the wounds bothered the elephant, it did not show any sign of slowing.
Eventually a javelin found its mark. The elephant rider, unarmoured and vulnerable atop the rampaging animal, was pierced through by a thrown missile, which passed under his left armpit through his body. He fell from the elephant, the ankus tumbling from his hands before he thudded to the ground.
The elephant, sensing that it was free from the control of its trainer, trumpeted once more, its rage more powerful than ever. It wheeled, searching for its next victim. An unfortunate skirmisher was trampled beneath the behemoth’s feet, his screams sickeningly cut short. The remaining soldiers scattered now, knowing that the animal was out of control, and the elephant saw the rebel soldiers waiting nearby. In a blind rage, it charged at the rebels, head down and looking to impale the nearest target.
The rebels were plainly used to the unpredictable destruction of the huge animal because they dispersed expertly, slipping to the sides of the animal before it had a chance to turn, leaving its tusks slicing thin air. And then the rebels attacked themselves, falling upon Finlay’s remaining soldiers with reckless abandon.
Two rebel fighters advanced, wicked curved swords held before them. A third circled around to the left, an axe in his hands, while another crouched low, moving cautiously, a long dagger gripped in his right hand. The two remaining rebels stood back, bows at the ready. The rain continued to fall amongst them.
Finlay’s men were in disarray after the charge of the elephant. The wounded spearman who had been gored by the elephant lay prone, his life flowing from his body. The injured archer remained on his knees, unaware of the fight swirling around him, the blow to his head rendering him senseless. The trampled man’s corpse was an awful sight, a broken mess of bone and blood. Finlay urged his soldiers to form up in an organised way to repel the rebel attack, but the remaining men seemed too shocked to maintain the precision they had so expertly displayed earlier. Some wore scratches and gouges, evidence of their near-death during the assault by the elephant, and blood-soaked uniforms showed that the impact of the rebel ambush was devastating.
