The New World

Chapter Thirty-six

27th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Kunjiqui, Anturasixan

Nirati knew not how many days had passed in the real world since she had made her decision to save Jorim. In her realm, days passed at a whim. Time could even be reversed-at least, she believed it could. She seemed to recall reliving a number of days. She grew so frustrated at the end of each that she wished they had never taken place.

In Kunjiqui, her wishes were law.

But there were some things she could not wish into existence. She’d told Takwee that they would not travel into the Underworld alone. She needed an army and set out to raise one. The task should have been easy, since Nelesquin had created his army on Anturasixan and sent it off to invade the Nine.

More important, he had left her some of his creatures. As he worked with Qiro to create lands that were conducive to breeding fierce warriors and terrifying weapons, some creations were not quite what he wanted. Nelesquin and her grandfather had simply wiped those lands away and started over, but Nirati had collected the orphaned strays, like Takwee, and made a home for them. Because it gave her so much pleasure, Nelesquin had taken to giving her larger and larger populations of creatures to house in what he called the Land of Lost Toys.

Hopeful, she had gone there, seeking to replicate the Durrani. She concentrated on the things she knew. Proto-Durrani-small, brutish men with blue skin and heavy muscles-took well to riding deer with golden horns. They used their mounts to herd other creatures, including the giant and quite docile hammer-headed rock-throwers.

A whole race of emerald-furred apes with bats’ wings flew down from the mountains. They called themselves the Nighfor. They imitated the formations Nirati put her troops through. Within four or five generations, they understood commands and had become very loyal. They couldn’t use bows, but spears suited them, and they were very good at dropping rocks on things.

Other creatures, like her long, reptilian wolves, also developed a rudimentary intelligence. They seemed to flock by instinct and sprinted quickly. They had a nasty bite and were happy to hunt as long as the day was sunny and warm.

In fact, all of her troops were happy to do whatever she required of them. She’d found shrines built in her honor, with flowers and sacrificial offerings. She became as devoted to them as they were to her. As their eldest died and were laid to rest, she would come to ease their passing and promised loved ones they would be reunited in the Underworld.

All the creatures would indeed lay siege to the Underworld at her command. The problem was, she didn’t know how to command. While she could breed creatures as well as Nelesquin, she had no clue as to what generals did. Like every other young girl of Nalenyr, she’d watched plenty of military parades and learned all about the Keru when she was younger. Parades and drills were useful for establishing discipline, but did nothing to teach creatures how to attack and use strategy or tactics. As for killing…Nirati really didn’t like the idea of killing much.

Her army was made up of innocent creatures who would do whatever she might ask- but there are just some things that should not be asked.

Nirati found herself firmly stuck between two unacceptable alternatives. She could let Jorim remain trapped in the Underworld, or she could lead inexperienced and insufficiently trained creatures into a war that she had no skill to execute. Either would be a disaster, but doing nothing would not work either.

“I need a general.” Nirati frowned as she stared out at the silver ocean into which the land’s azure river poured. A wave crashed and flowed up the beach to wash her feet. As it retreated, the sand buried her to the ankles. She twiddled her toes, laughing at the sensation, then remembered something.

Her grandfather, exhausted and quite insane, had shaped a small army of mud. He’d placed his little warriors in boats and sent them off. They were meant to free Keles from the Desei capital. He’d even shaped a leader for them, taking a single hair from Nirati’s head to complete the creation.

Nirati smiled and dropped to her knees, piling up handfuls of wet sand. Takwee and her two Nighfor bodyguards fell in and helped. They heaped wet sand into an oblong six feet in length and three high.

Nirati plucked Takwee from atop it and patted it all smooth. She began by generally outlining the shape of a tall, well-muscled man. She’d studied a little bit of sculpting in her long quest to discover her talent, but took heart in the fact that her grandfather’s mud soldiers had been quite crude. She worked on the details, right on down to individual finger-and toenails.

She saved his face for last. She sought in vain for any image of the Emperor Taichun-the man who had created the Empire. The few surviving pictures had been idealized and melded easily in her mind with images of Jorim. She knew of other generals from stories, but had no clear images of them. She could conjure up an image of Prince Araylis, but she remembered that he’d died with his head split in two and didn’t think he’d be very useful that way.

Nirati knelt and closed her eyes. She laid her hands on the empty face. Instead of trying to imagine a specific person, she concentrated on the traits a great general ought to possess. A strong jawline, certainly. High cheekbones, strong brow, and high forehead. A nose with a bump, perhaps having once been broken. And eyes, set not too deeply.

As she cut the eyebrows in with a fingernail, her entire body tingled. She focused on her need, her desire, for a warrior who would lead her army and save her brother. It had to work.

Then a huge wave hit. It caught her in the back, breaking on her. The water knocked her sprawling on top of her sand general, then the undertow plucked her away. Nirati tumbled down the beach. She clawed at the sand. It melted from between her fingers. A second wave drove her into the sand. Grit ground beneath her teeth. She sputtered, then inhaled water. She started coughing and the retreating wave sucked her into the silver waters.

She struck toward the surface, but the boiling water rolled her over and over. Hair wrapped her face and throat. Her lungs burned. She coughed. Precious air bubbled out. She thrust a hand toward the surface. She felt air, but also felt herself slowly sinking.

Then a hand closed on her wrist. Her savior dragged her from the depths and held her dangling childlike. Nirati coughed some more, sucked in air, then vomited all over herself. She gasped and struggled as he lowered her into the water, washing her off before hauling her free again.

Finally, she swept hair from her face. She recognized the man holding her aloft. His face-it had the strengths she’d sculpted, and much more. The eyes, a green of a deeper hue than Nighfor fur, glowed intensely. His gaze flicked from her face to the two charging apes.

The beasts stopped abruptly, snarled, and retreated up the beach.

He set her down, then looked at his left hand. He flexed it, studied it, and flicked his thumb against the ring on the fourth finger. He smiled, quite pleased. “I’ve lost my beard, but regained two fingers. It’s a bargain I’ll take.”

Nirati covered herself with a gown of seaweed. “Welcome to Anturasixan, Prince Pyrust.”