So had Master Hao in Chenrezi Monastery, in the Valley of the Sun, where they?d taken refuge last winter from blizzards and pursuers; he?d been more specific about it, too:
There is a deep inner well that the body can tap, a store of great strength, and of great speed. Most never reach it; and of those who do, most only when uttermost need breaks down the barriers. A few by long training in the inner disciplines. But you, Raven-man, you can open that gate by wishing it so; it is in your nature. Be cautious with this gift! The merciful Buddha buried this deep within us for a reason! It is the last reserve against extremity. You shorten your life a little each time you draw from it.
The problem being, of course, that having your skull dished in or six inches of steel shoved through your gut shortened life by much more than a little. He was very good with a blade, but nobody was good enough to deal with fighting many against one, unless something took him beyond himself. His skin quivered again. And you didn?t feel the fear until afterwards, some place in the mind knowing how it would be when the edged metal grated through your eye sockets and the world went black There?s a place beyond the Gate, and we return, he thought, not for the first time. But not to this life. Death is a forgetting, whether it comes in terror like a tiger hunting in the night, or as the gentle Mother whose last gift is an end to pain. I?m not through being Rudi Mackenzie yet! Yet neither were these ready, who had their own purposes and needs. Dread Lord, Keeper-of-Laws, be gentle with those torn untimely from the world of men; and me also when my hour is come.
He?d straightened when the three horsemen returned from their pursuit, and was wiping his blade on a swatch of rags torn from a body; Edain stood ready with another arrow on the string, discreetly pointed down and not drawn… yet. Garbh was glaring at his heel, tongue licking her reddened muzzle, ready for a leap to take a man out of the saddle. Epona abandoned a rear as Rudi grabbed at her hackamore with his free hand-you didn?t use a bit on her-and she prepared to tolerate the men as she did those around him when he asked it of her.
Three. They lost a man, then. All of them wounded, but none very badly.
She tossed her head and whickered a little disdainfully at the strangers? mounts; they were all shorter than her seventeen hands of sleek black height, and none had her long-limbed grace. Their harness was crude, simple pad saddles and pre-Change bridles patched and repaired with bits and pieces of this and that. The Mackenzie chieftain waited with the sword still drawn, ready to strike if the three were inclined to add him to the larder. ?Owe you one, west-men,? their leader said to Rudi, dismounting and extending a hand to them both in turn.
Ah. They can tell we?re from west across the Mississippi. From the gear, most likely. Though probably not quite how far west. ?I?m Jake sunna Jake, n? these are my bros Tuk n? Samul.? His smile revealed several missing teeth.?We runs with the Southside Freedom Fighters. I?m the big man a? Southside. Youze save our asses.?
Rudi thrust his sword into the earth and took the man?s hand, as callused as his own and very strong for his size. Probably big man meant something like chief. The native of the Wild Lands was several inches shorter than his own six-two, and failed to match Edain?s five-nine by a finger or so; he was wiry-slender, with a sparse young black beard and hair haggled off below his ears and eyes so crow-colored that the pupil disappeared in the iris.
The dark olive face was scarred and weathered, but he judged the man was about his own twenty-three years, give or take. His short pants of crudely tanned and worse-sewn rabbit skins were held up by a broad belt with a buckle of salvaged metal; his weapons were a knife and a hatchet, besides his javelins, and all but the wooden shafts of the throwing spears looked to be of pre-Change make.
His eyes were shrewd as he took in Edain?s bow, and he nodded at the peace gesture as the archer returned his arrow to the quiver. They went a little wider as he looked around and realized how many of the enemy had long gray fletched shafts in their bodies, and how far away some of them were; both were obvious as the younger Mackenzie went about the grisly but essential task of retrieving intact arrows and the heads of the broken ones. It was also obvious how easily they?d smashed through crude armor-leather studded with bits of metal, wooden shields surfaced with salvaged STOP signs and similar makeshifts for the most part, though one body wore a modern mail shirt stolen or bartered from the other shore of the Mississippi.
That hadn?t helped its wearer either, though it made it harder to get the arrow out undamaged. ?Kin I zee?? he said.?Thass new.?
Edain shook his head wordlessly as he grasped an arrow delicately with both sets of forefinger-and-thumb and pulled. He didn?t like letting strangers touch his longbow-that one had been a special gift from his father, Aylward the Archer, the old man?s personal war-bow that he?d set aside when he could no longer bend it. Rudi bent to retrieve his own and let the other man try it. Jake grunted incredulously; his arms were knotted with hard lean muscle, but they quivered and shook and he abandoned the effort before the string was halfway to his jaw. Drawing the great war-bow wasn?t just a matter of raw strength, though it needed that too. You had to have the knack, and that came from long and constant training-Mackenzies started their children at age six or so.
Edain slipped his own weapon into the carrying loops beside his quiver, cleaned his hands on a tuft of grass and pointed to the bow riding behind one of the horsemen?s saddles with a crook-fingered let me have that gesture. The rider hesitated for a moment, then handed it down. ?Fiberglass,? the young Mackenzie archer said, at the feel of the
stave.
That meant it was pre-Change, and lucky not to have aged and cracked into uselessness. The stuff the old world had confusingly called plastic mostly didn?t rot, but it lost strength and suppleness unpredictably. Then he bent it with one contemptuous finger on the string before handing it back. ?Twenty, twenty-five pounds draw. Nobbut a toy for little children, and feeble children at that, sure.?
Most warriors were proud of their gear. Rudi could see the man begin to bridle before he looked around and spat in reluctant agreement.
Jake pushed a body over on its back with his foot. ?Knifers,? he said, pointing a bare toe at two long-healed zigzag scars on the dead man?s cheek like parallel thunderbolts, evidently some tribal mark.?Shig-man?s boys, all three bunches got together fer dis. Bettuh we git outta here.?
One of the others snorted.?Runs allem till dark-dark aftah dis comin?.?
They?ll still be running at sundown tomorrow, Rudi translated mentally.
Jake shrugged.?Mays they come back. Tuk, Samul, git gowin.?
The other two Southsiders had a family resemblance to their leader, save that one was naturally dark brown of skin with tight-curled hair and broader features and the other pale blond. The ragged blankets all three had thrown over their saddle bows were probably their only other garments, and their bare feet were broad, callused enough that they likely went so always unless the weather was freezing. As the leader spoke, his companions were collecting any weapons worth having and making sure of the enemy wounded.
Rudi grimaced slightly to himself. That was sometimes needful, but never pleasant-much harder than killing in the white-hot savagery of battle. He noticed with relief that the wild-men were going about it with a rough mercy, taking care to make the final stroke as quick as possible. The sounds of agony died down into an echoing silence. ?Youze got free of our turf,? Jake went on to the Mackenzie clansmen.?Come Southside fires anytime y? want, sit down?nd put a hand in the pot like a Freedom Fighter stud.?