Gonji: Fortress of Lost Worlds Part 5

As soon as Gonji crossed the bridge over the Segre River, he experienced something of a second-if secondary-homecoming. The windswept snowy plains of Aragon were a sight that stirred familiar memories. He knew this place, knew its people, its lore and legendry, its monsters and magics.

He felt control and wariness in equal measure. Weakness here would surely usher one to madness or death or grim fates unsuitable to such rational description. But neither would it serve one to proceed with fatuous overconfidence.

Thus, when he happened upon the body of a slain Spanish lancer, the samurai bowed somberly in deference to whatever valor the man had expended in his duty, and then appropriated the lancers razor-edged halberd, to supplant the one he had lost in the harsh mountain pa.s.ses.

Gonji left behind lands of Reformation strife, where it best availed him to remain neutral in his commitment, for a country ruled by the Roman Church. Here, faith in Iasu was sometimes strong, sometimes corrupted by fervent perversity of design, and always countered by faith in the formless Dark Power, here personified in Satan.

Christian symbology was employed with uncertain power in certain circ.u.mstances. Where its power did not obtain, the warrior was left to his own resources: the might of his sword arm, the strength of his courage, the depth of his experience.

Toras hooves thumped easily across the crusted, barren plain as they departed the river road for the less traveled southwest track Gonji sought. Gaining it at mid-morn, Gonji soon encountered a small caravan of traders bound for Barcelona. These hucksters took a dim view of this singular foreign warrior with his formidable array of weaponry. Gonji doffed his eye-slitted sallet and bowed, engaging them in curt conversation. They cast many an edgy glance at his pistols, wicked halberd, and matched set of swords before considering selling him the few provisions he requested.

The tinkle of his gold and the advantage of their numbers had just about won them over when a leathery-faced old duffer pointed out the wooden crucifix tied about Toras neck.

"Sacrilege," the merchant declared.

"How do you know what my horse believes?" Gonji queried archly. The jest was lost on them. "In truth, I believe the power of Iasu this cross declares will ward off the evil ones. I can think of no simpler, more direct way of showing vampires and werewolves not to waste their time on me."

They sold him the few meager goods he asked for, charging prices that reflected their low esteem and drawing the line at the black powder he needed for his pistols.

"Whatever your business," one of them told him in parting, "mind that you steer well clear of the Valley of Barbaso."

"Hai. Domo arigato," Gonji replied, to their befuddlement. He bowed and rode on, with their gun barrels quietly leveled at him until he was nearly out of sight.

Later that same morning, a band of mounted hunters sold him a sinew bowstring for a fee that caused him to wince-the only change of expression hed shown them, though their bows had been aimed at his breast for an uneasy while.

They further offered to help him string the difficult three-man longbow for an additional charge. While Gonji had long since developed a bending method for stringing the great longbow unaided-though it was tricky-their mild jeering at his claim aroused his compet.i.tive instinct. So Gonji instead proposed a display of his skill in exchange for their free a.s.sistance.

As they scoffed and wagered among themselves the distance by which hed miss the proposed target, the samurai nocked a thirteen-fist war arrow, rotated the bow over his head and through the half-arc of a kyu-jutsu draw, and skewered the trunk of a cork oak later estimated at two hundred and seventy-five yards away.

The impressed hunters threw in a sc.r.a.p of advice along with the free stringing: "Marksman or not, swing wide of the Valley of Barbaso, amigo."

"Hai, arigato."

Gonji entered the valley that cradled the town of Barbaso a little after midday. Plenty of time, he a.s.sured himself, to reach the town before nightfall.

But as he made the gradual descent into the valley, he soon became aware of the subtle change in atmosphere, some mystical sense stirring within him, warning him to remain on his guard. The terrain became more rugged, the snow mat broken in many places by protruding roots and overgrown with brush. There were virtually no forests south of the mountains, yet the evergreen oaks grew thickly enough here to qualify as such. The lush bower blotted the suns weak rays and absorbed the wind. It was cold and still, save for the distant chirruping of an occasional bird. The snow piled higher as Gonji progressed, though the valley floor should have been spared to a greater degree. The air seemed unaccountably thick and hazy, the trail ahead obscured. Now and again the samurai sensed movement on the periphery of his vision, but when he looked nothing came into view.

Some things deceitfully operate on the edge of the senses, Gonji-san. That is the purpose of this phase of our training...

The inscrutable ninja master had been right as always: Gonji was instinctively aware of the insidious power that took predatory note of his presence.

The trail thinned, mounded up over a scrub-tangled knoll, then dropped steeply toward a gloomy hollow. Here the barren beech and poplar trees cl.u.s.tered densely under a dwarfing stand of ice-drooping green oaks. At the entrance of the hollow stood two enormous boulders, flanking the trail, looming before him like the lifeless eyes of some granite colossus. From what source they had tumbled, no man could say.

When sorcery opens the way, worlds may tip and spill, one into another...

Gonji halted a moment and scanned the trail ahead. Nodding and squaring himself in the saddle, he clucked Tora into an easy trot, wrestling with the reins against his steeds skittishness. When they reached those ma.s.sive guardian stones, Gonji yanked back on the reins and swept his halberd out of its moorings. Catching it up smartly under the crook of his right arm, he arced its deadly edge across the top of the stone where the evil eyes had peered at him hungrily seconds before.

Tora whinnied and stamped as sparks showered over the boulder, and the huge form launched over their heads with a fearsome bellow. An incredibly round and fat demon bounded down behind them on the trail, swelled rapidly to an even greater girth, and bounced straight up into the shuddering lower boughs of an evergreen before landing again between the boulders, with a tremendous thud!

Gonji fought to control his mount as he leveled the halberd threateningly and peered with narrow-eyed disbelief at the bizarre apparition. Settling Tora and stretching up boldly on his saddle, he studied the hissing creature, which sucked great howling breaths through a mouth that seemed capable of expanding without limit.

Stubby arms and legs jutted comically from a body the size of a coach. Its head was as round as its body, jammed atop plump shoulders with economy-no s.p.a.ce wasted on a neck. The head was hairless; the ears, beet red and pointed like the leaves of a lilac; and the face was dominated by that elastic mouth, as supple as a snake. Its nose was a tiny scallop between two beady yellow eyes which Gonji could not help comparing to his own in their angularity. The creature, too, seemed to take note of the similarity when the samurai doffed his sallet and proffered a shallow bow.

"You remind me of me, funny man," the demon said in a peculiar high voice. "What land spit you from its sh.o.r.es?"

Gonji rankled but remained expressionless. "I am Sabatake Gonji-no-Sadowara, son of the daimyo Sabatake Todohiro of Dai Nihon, the Land of the G.o.ds."

The creature laughed derisively. "The Land of the G.o.ds!" it mimicked. "Well youre in my land now. Im Bulba, and these are my boulders. Thats my tree over there. And youre riding on my trail."

"Im riding on the snow," Gonji countered with mixed pique and amus.e.m.e.nt. The obese demons wheezing punctuated his words with keening whistles between the syllables.

"The snows mine, too!"

Gonji leaned forward over Toras withers. "The snow belongs to the kami of the sky. Its his carpet for-"

"Bah!" Bulba scoffed, waving a flabby arm. "Thats empty theosophical piffle! Whatever falls out of his pockets-"

A loaf of finger jerked upward out of a porky fist.

"-and lands in my territory-"

And then downwards, though barely below the horizontal.

"-becomes mine!"

Gonji replaced the sallet on his head in martial threat. "Nevertheless, my path lies through your land. Now will you remove your great bulk, or will I have to prod you out of the way?"

Bulbas ears deepened in their redness. He sucked in air until it seemed his eyes would pop and, swelling until he was nearly wedged between the great stones, he blew such a blast of wind down into the snow before him that Gonji and Tora were engulfed in a blinding squall that took a minute to settle back to earth.

Gonji brushed the snow from his beard and caked garb with firm, even strokes. Tora snorted and tossed his head, flicking his ears as he chomped at the bit. All the while the wheezing fat creature cackled in high mirth.

"Do that again, my fat landlocked flounder," Gonji warned, "and Ill burst you such that your entrails will festoon the woods for acres."

"Oh-Si?! Ill bowl you and your stupid horse so flat your sky G.o.d will think youre a new continent!"

"Ahh, so desu ka? Is that so? Take one more deep breath and Ill plant so many shafts in your blobby hide that you will-"

"Mande usted? What did you say?"

"-that you will look like a burr."

"Ill swallow your horses head!"

"And the shaft of my halberd with it."

"You puny little mortal-sniff-Ill-sniff-sniff..." Bulbas tiny nose kept wrinkling in Gonjis direction. "Sweets," he said, his yellow eyes widening. "You have sweets!"

From the tone in his voice, one might have guessed that hed been betrayed by a friend. Gonji smiled coyly and nodded.

"Give them to me at once!"

The samurai shook his head slowly. "First remove your...considerable self from my path."

"Bah!" Bulba bounded atop the boulder on Gonjis right again-the maneuver astonis.h.i.+ng, as though his blubber were composed of air pockets-and settled his corpulence on the crest, where it sagged again like melting tallow. He made a gesture with his useless arms that approximated crossing them over his chest. There he sat sulking while Gonji fished a packet from the bag of provisions hed purchased from the traders.

"Eat hearty, buta kao-pig face." The samurai tossed the demon the packet and rode past him, through the boulder gateway.

"Taffy!" Bulba cried at his departing back. "All I ever get is taffy. Next time you pa.s.s through here you best be carrying those French confections-with the soft cen-"

His words deteriorated into a gooey mumble, and Gonji trotted on into the hollow with the matter of the wind elemental receding from his concern.

The experienced warrior learned to deal variously with the challenges in his way. Sometimes the path of least resistance to ones goal was through might of arm, sometimes through strength of spirit. Other times again...

Gonji could only stand in awe of the endless wonder of the world. And only one raised in s.h.i.+nto and disciplined to Zen seemed properly suited in spirit to marvel at its profound mystery.

He traveled without encounter for a time, negotiating the rugged track of the hollow, which narrowed after a while into little more than a foreboding ravine. But this soon widened on the left hand again, the trees thinning, and the land once more a.s.suming the forlorn face of the Spanish wilderness with which Gonji was familiar. On the right, for as far as the eye could see, a stretch of low mesa bordered the valley, curving sharply into gorges and canyons which the samurai studiously avoided. Approaching one, he was nevertheless attracted by the sound of running water, the splash of a cataract. A branching of the river must feed a minor falls, he thought, as he swung by warily for a look.

Even through cold air, he caught the harsh scent of the giant before he saw it.

Knowing that he must have been heard by now, and accepting that it had been a mistake to ride so boldly near the tableland, Gonji stoically turned into the grotto to confront the great brute.

A thrill of shock coursed Gonjis spine, and his belly turned over, to see this creature. It was clearly the most awesome giant hed ever encountered, albeit hed seen few: They were a vanis.h.i.+ng race.

The giant grunted at him from where it squatted near the icy pool formed by the cataract. It was ruddy, black-bearded, and burly. Even in its crouch its head would top three acrobats in shoulder-stand. It was clad in a patchwork of wildly mismatched hides and cloaks and plate armor-the latter, he knew only too well, torn from the crushed bodies of men whod attacked it.

But they were generally a docile race, not given to attacking men without provocation. By the look of him, this giant either had met with his share of fools or was easily provoked.

"Good day to you, Sir Giant," Gonji said, bowing elaborately from the saddle.

But the giant had noticed Gonji wincing from the stench of his enormous body. He curled his lip indignantly.

"Good day yourself, mite. Just keep your squirmy little body over there, and quit s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up your face like that. Its too d.a.m.n cold for an Anakim to bathe."

"Forgive me, por favor, but can you tell me whether Im on a proper course for Barbaso?"

The giant rose to his full breathtaking height. "Youre no Spaniard," he said in a menacing voice. "But Id judge you know d.a.m.n well theres nothing else in this valley."

The samurai did indeed, and he had asked only in an effort at small talk, to display his bravery in light of the rather uneven angle of eye contact between them.

"So what is your business here? Have you come to seek employment with the Master?"

"The Master?"

"Hah, but youre a dumb one, eh?" the giant bellowed. "This valley belongs to the Archmage Domingo Malaga y Colicos, and those who journey here are either his servants or his enemies. There can be no other."

Gonji scratched his stubbly beard pensively. "The one who calls himself Domingo Negro-Black Sunday?"

"Hah-hah-si! A name to strike terror in the hearts of all goodly church militants, eh?"

"Hai," Gonji agreed, "but why would so powerful a giant as yourself be concerned with the strife of men?"

The giant sighed deeply, his rancid breath causing Gonji to hold his own until it had pa.s.sed. "Self-preservation, little man. In this valley you choose sides or you perish."

"Im not interested in choosing allegiances right now," Gonji said. "I have my personal duty to follow. This valley is the shortest route to-"

"Then you are The Enemy!" the giant roared, catching up a huge staff carved from oak. "Give me a reason I shouldnt grind your crackly little body into the snow right now."

"Ill give you several," Gonji responded defiantly, fighting Toras backstepping. "First, youd not find me easy to catch, if I would run. But I wouldnt. I dont fear death like some dishonorable knight youd find groveling under a bush. And man-stings are most unpleasant. They open wounds that attract demons which cause fester and swelling, sometimes fever and death. And I bear many stings. And besides, like you, Im only an outcast, with no land to call my own anymore. I would say that binds us in a sort of brotherhood. Wouldnt you agree?"

The giant grunted. "Loco, as well as squirmy and stupid. But I suppose thats one shape valor comes in. It got you this far. Listen, you wouldnt consider trading that horse for safe conduct as far as Barbaso, would you? Game grows scarce, and I havent eaten a good horse in-" He stopped when he saw Gonjis negative tensing. "Begone with you, then."

Gonji swung Tora about, but as he was about to exit the grotto, he half-turned again.

"Giant-have you seen many wonders hereabouts?"

The prodigious warriors expression segued from blankness to disbelief to uproarious mirth. He slapped his great thigh, and the echo caused snow to shower from the rock walls of the grotto.

His laughter rang to the skies as he spoke. "Any wonders! Haaaahhh! Youre the pick of the litter, tiny hombre! Just keep riding." He shook his head from side to side, sat down with a great whump, and leaned back on his tree trunk arms. "Just keep on riding."

Gonji sniffed, unsure whether he was being ridiculed. He shrugged and continued on his way, the giants booming voice pealing behind him until the mesa had shrunken to a crooked step that at last blended with the surrounding terrain.

"...he meets a son of Anak, and he asks..."

Gonji was intrigued. The giants were a discerning and aloof race, not given to dabbling in the affairs of men without good reason. And this sorcerer who called himself Black Sunday-by all accounts his reputation had always had it that he plied wizardry and white magic. And for giants to ally themselves with any form of witchcraft was rare.

He stopped and dismounted, relieved his bladder in the snow. Feeling hungry, he tarried awhile on the broad plain that must mark the center of the valley floor. Hills rose humpbacked with snow on either immediate horizon, but he could still easily make out the cloud-crowned Pyrenees to the north.

As he munched a piece of dried beef and fed Tora a few handfuls of meal, the samurai pondered again the epoch-making mystical revival in Europe, trying to make sense of it, some discernible cosmic pattern. Something was happening on this continent. The world seemed burdened by a heavy karmic legacy from times past. Multifarious forces struggled for supremacy, and Gonji had run afoul of more than his share. They seemed to take a keen interest in him. And now, it seemed he would be facing them alone...again.

And how fared Simon Sardonis these days? he wondered as he remounted.

"Cholera," he swore under his breath, implementing a favorite Polish expletive of an old comrade, descriptive of a disease that produced unsavory effects.

His mood lightened as he patted his steeds shoulder. "Do you know, Tora, what that giant had in mind for you?" Tora seemed unconcerned as they broke into a canter across the crisp plain.

It could not be far to Barbaso, and there was no losing the way, even given Gonjis sometimes poor sense of direction. Barbaso-and perhaps some answers to a few questions before he proceeded to Zaragoza.

Twilight gloom descended with the fierce north wind, and still Gonji had not seen the rooftops of Barbaso. The trees began to gather into pairs, the pairs begetting copses, and soon Gonji pulled up before yet another misplaced wood. Here he felt a dawning fear, a sense of isolation and vulnerability. A presence of things wholly unknown. Certain of the trees and scrubs were of varieties he had never seen before, and the wind seemed to swirl and howl from out of the wood, daring the adventurer with its dangerous allure.

He would find a suitable spot, he decided, gather what kindling he could, and make camp for the night. Progressing farther seemed foolish, although Barbaso might lie a scant three hundred yards beyond the wood. He was weary and in no mood to run any gauntlet fixed by haunters of the night.

He had not advanced far in his quest of a campsite when he became certain that he was being followed. The nape of his neck p.r.i.c.kled time and again as he scoured the periphery from the corners of his eyes. Once, on impulse, he wheeled and nocked an arrow in one swift movement, only to find nothing lurking with gaping jaws; no track in the failing light but his own.

But he fancied that he heard a m.u.f.fled chatter of mocking laughter. Anger roiled in his breast as he continued on his way, waxing resolved now to find Barbaso by the glimmer of its lamplights.