The Expedition

These hill people cannot help me leave. Not one of them will ever leave here. I guess it is enough that they smile and whisper their concerns on the wind, enough that they know the ritual and built me this fire.

The pages don’t want to leave my fingers anymore.

It is an old, old way of things, to honor the dead with prayers sent heavenward on the wings of flame. At times, in anticipation of this moment, the dying are known to write their own prayers and give them to their kin to burn. In a sense, these journals have become the prayers of kin I never knew I had, until now.

If I do not die and my leg heals, I will have to face those mountains on my own.

Here is a prayer the freewitch wrote, and one from the old man, both unknowing.

Loissa Harat, Freewitch

What my spell tore from the beast proved a glimmer, a ghost coiled and bleeding in my hands.

As I might take the spirit of a bear and impart its courage into a scepter or blade, I had grasped the soul of a creature no Mulaghal could name.

Not my fault that the beast aroused before we could finish. As if missing its inner ghost, it scattered us with a howl. When Rimmer came to my side, I forced what I could of the spirit into the margins of his upheld blade. Thereafter he rushed forward to protect me… To protect me!

Roald Emmerich, Expedition Leader

The tactics of the beast became clear when our swordsman stood to the defense. A multitude of arms encompassed his attack and seemed unconscious of his weapon’s edge. Though the sword severed many limbs and others ran freely with blood, those remaining moved all the more swiftly. The blade splintered and fell. Nor did the limbs recognize our swordsman’s strength. In their numbers they toppled the man and pulled him upwards by his feet. A warrior of 17 stone taken up like a doll; a man who could fell an ox handled so simply!

But this is not the story of our encounter with the Auran Dragon. Everything we met, alive or dead, was bigger than we were. The dragon only makes a point. Until then Emmerich believed the expedition a success, and Loissa hoped to sell her enchanted swords. Good Hilgwene dreamt of a husband, and Uzzel believed his son might one day succeed him. Some of us meant to acquire wealth, others to gain fame. A few had no choice in the journey, such as me. It was an expedition, and from the beginning the story has rested in my hands, for I was tasked to write it.

My name is Yasunari Gatewa, Yasu for short, and though I feel older now, I have barely made my majority.

Roald Emmerich, the old man, found me in Chora Kami, a university established by the Mulaghals near the city of Bethede Tai. Though Tai lies at the edge of the Conquests, where the rivers Akzeb and Agra join, the name of Emmerich was not unknown to us.

Rouse me from my blankets to gaze northward, before midmorning clouds obscure the direction entirely, and I would describe a scene of uninviting, snowcapped peaks. The stony cold brow of the world. “Beyond here wait demons,” goes the common wisdom, and “a thousand ways to die.”

As for Emmerich, he saw what a general must see when his army at last outweighs by ten thousand the lesser host before it. Victory and glory were his constant mental companions, and as for any possibility of failure, he had assurances against such in writing: a grizzled bit of parchment called a map, a long buried cartographer’s record. It laid out passes through the mountains unknown to modern man.

“Time for you to leave.”

By the time the Prior’s voice pierced my brain, he had me on my feet. I felt the loss of my cot as other men might feel the loss of a limb. And my head was greatly pained by the weight of light that fell upon it.

“Prior, forgive me,” the words stumbled out. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Yes, Yasu, but it is time for you to leave.”

He was so calm, but so strong, I did not know what to do. My thoughts were like morning oats, bubbling and splashing from too much heat.

“I didn’t take Brother Ada’s coin,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Of course, Yasu. Where are your boots?”

While the Prior held me with one hand, he began to fill my traveling bag with the other.

“Or, I did, but the girl in the market… Prior, I believe she’s a temptress. She tricked me for the coin. Made me drink a brew; I don’t know what… what it was.”

“Yes, Yasu.” Again the voice was calm. I had never seen the Prior less angry, or more determined. All I could think to do was count on the Prior’s good nature, and his possible amusement at my confession.

“Well, I mean I knew it was… Mulaghal rum. You understand, Prior, after the essays, I felt. I felt. Well, I failed to finish.”

For a moment, the Prior stopped his hurried preparations to weigh his calm blue eyes directly against mine. “Yasu, you never attended the testing. You never began the essays.”

“Yes, well, I meant to say—“

“It is time for you to leave.”

And that is how they decided to give me up to Emmerich, for in his care they saw a better place for me than behind the desks of their staid university.

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