11.2 Viveka
We rode for almost an hour, staying within the safety of the thicket, riding slowly and staying as quiet as possible. Several times, we heard sounds of horses and riders, distant guns booming, men yelling and arguing.
I was still shaken by my first encounter with violent death. I couldn't believe I had just taken human life...lives, actually.
Rikit seemed to understand my problem, or maybe he was just staying quiet to avoid us being caught. A couple of times I caught him staring at me curiously, and I realized this other-world half-savage was more intelligent and sensitive than I'd thought at first. I appreciated the way he had been gentle but firm with me after the fight in the clearing.
He looked away when our eyes met, but when he spoke next, his voice wasn't half as harsh as it had been when we first met, when he mistook me for a Northern spy.
"The Northerners have overrun our army," he said quietly. "Otherwise they would not have been able to pursue us this far."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means we have lost the war," he said shortly.
I wasn't sure how to react. Still disoriented from the fight in the clearing, it was taking all my energy just to stay on the horse and keep my wits about me. But I couldn't understand the peculiar politics of this alternate Bombay. If the Northerners had won, what implications did it have for me? The realization that I had just killed Northern soldiers hit me like a fist in my chest.
I stopped riding. He reined in and looked at me irritably. "We must keep moving."
"Why? What's the point of going anywhere if the North has won? Sooner or later, they'll catch us, won't they?"
"I intend to fight to the end. For honour's sake."
"Screw honour!" I said, shocked at how loudly I blurted out the words. I made an effort to control my voice. "I'm not a part of your war. I don't want to die in this godforsaken place."
He looked around sharply. "Foolish girl, we have no choice. If the Northerners take you prisoner, you will face a fate far worse than death."
I laughed. "That old cliche? There is no fate worse than death, Rikit."
His horse whinnied. Rikit sat up sharply, ignoring me. His eyes darted this way then that, nostrils flaring.
"Quickly," he hissed. "Get on your horse and--"
Before he could say another word, an arrow whistled out of nowhere and struck him with a muffled thump. He grunted, fell off his horse and lay still. His horse whinnied and flicked its ears, startled.
Suddenly, armed horsemen rode out of the trees from all sides, surrounding us. I instinctively started to reach for my crossbow, then decided against it. They were more likely to shoot me down if I was armed.
I got off my horse, raising my hands in the universal gesture of surrender. At least, I hoped that they understood it was a gesture of surrender.
In minutes, we were surrounded, disarmed, and dismounted. The Northern soldiers picked up Rikit and roughly lashed his hands behind his back, forcing him to his knees.
I could see the arrow sticking out of his shoulder and the blood wetting his garment. He was still alive and conscious, his intense eyes glaring fiercely at his enemies. Even though I had only known him a short while, we had stood and fought together, and some connection between us made me feel a pang of concern. Apparently, it was what they called a 'flesh wound' in the movies, and in this world, a soldier like he was probably used to recieving any number of such wounds and still fighting on.
The soldiers who had surrounded me took my weapons away but stopped and stared at me. My heart sank. I had seen this kind of scene dozens of times in movies before: that didn't make it any easier to be a part of it myself.
Suddenly, that old cliche Rikit had mentioned, 'a fate worse than death', really did seem worse than death after all. Too late, I wished I had reached for the crossbow. It was better to die fighting than to be ravaged by these brutes.
But none of them moved forward or touched me. After several moments, I saw even Rikit turn his head to see what was going on. He was gritting his teeth against the pain but no sound escaped his lips. He looked curiously at the soldiers standing in a ring about me, staring as if hypnotized.
Finally, one of them broke the spell by speaking in a gruff, awe-struck voice.
"Tis the princess," he said. "She has returned from the dead."
I was still shaken by my first encounter with violent death. I couldn't believe I had just taken human life...lives, actually.
Rikit seemed to understand my problem, or maybe he was just staying quiet to avoid us being caught. A couple of times I caught him staring at me curiously, and I realized this other-world half-savage was more intelligent and sensitive than I'd thought at first. I appreciated the way he had been gentle but firm with me after the fight in the clearing.
He looked away when our eyes met, but when he spoke next, his voice wasn't half as harsh as it had been when we first met, when he mistook me for a Northern spy.
"The Northerners have overrun our army," he said quietly. "Otherwise they would not have been able to pursue us this far."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means we have lost the war," he said shortly.
I wasn't sure how to react. Still disoriented from the fight in the clearing, it was taking all my energy just to stay on the horse and keep my wits about me. But I couldn't understand the peculiar politics of this alternate Bombay. If the Northerners had won, what implications did it have for me? The realization that I had just killed Northern soldiers hit me like a fist in my chest.
I stopped riding. He reined in and looked at me irritably. "We must keep moving."
"Why? What's the point of going anywhere if the North has won? Sooner or later, they'll catch us, won't they?"
"I intend to fight to the end. For honour's sake."
"Screw honour!" I said, shocked at how loudly I blurted out the words. I made an effort to control my voice. "I'm not a part of your war. I don't want to die in this godforsaken place."
He looked around sharply. "Foolish girl, we have no choice. If the Northerners take you prisoner, you will face a fate far worse than death."
I laughed. "That old cliche? There is no fate worse than death, Rikit."
His horse whinnied. Rikit sat up sharply, ignoring me. His eyes darted this way then that, nostrils flaring.
"Quickly," he hissed. "Get on your horse and--"
Before he could say another word, an arrow whistled out of nowhere and struck him with a muffled thump. He grunted, fell off his horse and lay still. His horse whinnied and flicked its ears, startled.
Suddenly, armed horsemen rode out of the trees from all sides, surrounding us. I instinctively started to reach for my crossbow, then decided against it. They were more likely to shoot me down if I was armed.
I got off my horse, raising my hands in the universal gesture of surrender. At least, I hoped that they understood it was a gesture of surrender.
In minutes, we were surrounded, disarmed, and dismounted. The Northern soldiers picked up Rikit and roughly lashed his hands behind his back, forcing him to his knees.
I could see the arrow sticking out of his shoulder and the blood wetting his garment. He was still alive and conscious, his intense eyes glaring fiercely at his enemies. Even though I had only known him a short while, we had stood and fought together, and some connection between us made me feel a pang of concern. Apparently, it was what they called a 'flesh wound' in the movies, and in this world, a soldier like he was probably used to recieving any number of such wounds and still fighting on.
The soldiers who had surrounded me took my weapons away but stopped and stared at me. My heart sank. I had seen this kind of scene dozens of times in movies before: that didn't make it any easier to be a part of it myself.
Suddenly, that old cliche Rikit had mentioned, 'a fate worse than death', really did seem worse than death after all. Too late, I wished I had reached for the crossbow. It was better to die fighting than to be ravaged by these brutes.
But none of them moved forward or touched me. After several moments, I saw even Rikit turn his head to see what was going on. He was gritting his teeth against the pain but no sound escaped his lips. He looked curiously at the soldiers standing in a ring about me, staring as if hypnotized.
Finally, one of them broke the spell by speaking in a gruff, awe-struck voice.
"Tis the princess," he said. "She has returned from the dead."
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
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