Land of Hope and Glory (17 page)

But as he turned to follow the trail up towards a saddle, the pain blossomed in his chest and his lungs felt thin as parchment. He observed all this distantly, like some fascinating storm seen far out at sea, but he knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t stay in the trance for much longer – it was taking too much of a toll.

He peered at the saddle rising above him. A single pointed rock jutted above the skyline, and just to the side of it he could make out the silver of the trail. At least if he kept on towards the rock he would be on the right track.

He let himself skip out of the meditation and the pain tore through his chest. For a second he was sure he would die. He shut his eyes. Was this it?

But then the pain subsided, like waves retreating across the shore, and he fought to regain his breath.

He broke into a fit of coughing and had to stop and drink some water.

‘What the hell’s wrong now?’ Sengar asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Merton’s getting away. Is that your plan?’

‘No.’

‘Then bloody get on with it.’

Jack led the way up the slope, the warmth of the sun revitalising him a little. As the heat intensified, the ground breathed dampness.

Half an hour later, as they arrived at the pointed rock, he told Sengar they would have to stop again.

‘Why?’ Sengar asked.

‘The trail. I need to check it.’

‘Why do you keep losing it?’

‘It’s difficult. The rain . . .’ He didn’t even have the energy to say more.

Sengar went silent and scanned the surroundings with his glass, gripping it so tightly his knuckles whitened.

Jack sat and meditated in the shade of the rock. The horses’ hooves crunched behind him as the cavalrymen paced in circles and he could hear Lefevre grumbling to his comrades in French.

‘He’s not well,’ Kansal said to Sengar in Rajthani. His voice was lowered, but Jack could still easily hear him. ‘Heart, I reckon. Maybe we have to think of something else.’

‘Something else?’ Sengar said. ‘You going to track Merton yourself?’

‘No, sir. I just thought—’

‘Casey has to find Merton. He has no choice.’

Jack wondered for a moment whether Kansal knew about Elizabeth and the impending execution. It didn’t sound as though he did. Jhala and Sengar had probably kept it quiet – it was their own private arrangement with Jack.

He tried to forget all these concerns, all these ripples across his mind. He felt the air passing in and out of his nostrils, then brought up the image of the yantra. Everything around him went quiet and his skin tingled and shimmered. The spot in the centre of his forehead throbbed.

Sleep opened below him. Not even sleep, but a chasm of darkness that would be more like a coma. He was tempted to let go and fall into it. It would be so easy. His limbs felt heavy and were pulling him down and down. Sengar, Kansal, the French, the trail, William, even England were slipping away from him and it was all so calm. If he let go now it would be over. Bliss. Perhaps this was what Jhala had always meant when he talked about defeating the illusion of existence.

But Jack fought off these thoughts, as if sweeping aside cobwebs. It wasn’t yet time to let go.

He pulled himself back from the darkness. He could hear the horses again and Sengar and Kansal talking and the wind buffeting his ears . . .

The yantra went perfectly still.

Energy crackled up his spine and his mind unfolded into that vast and sacred space.

He lifted his eyelids and the trail dazzled him immediately – he was sitting right on top of it. The ribbons twisted and tangled down the slope on the far side of the saddle and flowed across a plateau.

A shudder passed through his torso. Then another – stronger this time. His hands shook and his teeth chattered. He tried to stop it, but his body wouldn’t obey him any longer. The muffled, distant pain ripened in his chest and he knew the moment he left the trance it would be severe.

Blink.

He lost consciousness for a moment. He swallowed and gasped air.

Blink.

It happened again. He seemed to be vanishing completely, slipping over to the spirit realm. He struggled to draw in more sattva.

Blink.

He couldn’t hold on for much longer. He would have to leave the trance. He quickly surveyed the plateau and memorised the path the rebels had taken. He could see the trail disappearing into a patch of trees in the distance.

Blink.

He jumped out of the trance and fell forward, limp and unable even to put up his arms to protect himself. His head thumped on the ground.

He heard voices. Arms lifted him back up again.

‘Casey. Casey!’ Sengar’s voice.

He opened his eyes and everything looked watery and unstable, but he blinked until the Captain’s face came into focus. ‘I’m all right. I can get up.’

To prove the point, he dragged himself to his feet and stood swaying with his head whirling in the clouds. He staggered towards his horse and the ground rolled and bucked beneath him. He fell against the mare, the animal snorting, then grasped the saddle, got one foot in the stirrup and heaved himself up.

‘Perhaps a break, sir,’ Kansal said.

‘No,’ Sengar replied. ‘Men, back on your horses.’

Jack clung to the reins and nudged his horse down the slope. The day seemed overly bright now and everything he looked at hurt his eyes. The wound in his chest pulsed.

They reached the bottom of the incline and then set off across the plateau. He looked up repeatedly to check the position of the yew trees where the trail had disappeared; if he could just keep on towards those trees then at least he would be going in the right direction. But what then? He couldn’t go into the trance again. There was no strength left in him. None at all.

He reached the line of yews and came out on the edge of a shallow basin, where he paused, his breathing slow and harsh.

Which way would William have gone next? He studied the ground. The basin was about a mile wide – William would probably have headed straight across, rather than wasting time going around the side.

But riding down the short slope, his horse skidding in the mud, he started to doubt his reasoning. Maybe William had taken a different route? Maybe he’d gone to the left or right, rather than straight ahead?

Jack had failed – he was sure of it now. He would have to rest for at least a day before he was strong enough to try his power, and by then William would be long gone. He saw Elizabeth in the cell, hair in tangled clumps, greasy tears on her cheeks. He was failing his daughter.

He stopped for a moment at the bottom of the incline and noticed a rocky outcrop jutting from the edge of the slope off to the right. It would be a good place to make camp – the best place he’d seen for miles. It made him think . . .

No, what was he thinking? He was getting confused.

But then he considered it further. William and the rebels would have believed they were no longer being followed. Perhaps they would risk stopping.

It was a remote hope, he knew, but he had to try. He led the way over to the overhang.

‘Where are you going now?’ Sengar snapped.

‘Just need to take a look at something.’

‘You’d better not be wasting our time, Casey.’

They arrived at the shelf, which was large enough to form a shallow cave with the shadow thick beneath it. Jack dismounted and his feet almost gave way. He wheezed, clung to the side of the saddle, steadied himself, then walked towards the overhang. Sengar climbed down and followed him.

They had to stoop to enter the cave and it took a moment for Jack’s eyes to adjust. In front of him were the remains of a campfire, surrounded by boot prints. Off to the left, just outside the overhang, were the thicker indentations left by a group of horses. He crossed to the hoof prints, bent slowly and studied the markings. His sight was blurry at first and he had to blink several times before he could see clearly. He saw the horseshoe worn on the left side, the shoe with the missing nail, even a set of boot prints with the right foot turning slightly inward.

He almost fainted as the relief rushed over him.

He stood with difficulty and turned to Sengar. The Captain was staring at him with his moustache a crisp line.

‘It’s them.’ Jack’s voice was cracked. ‘They made camp here last night, then left this morning, after the rain. Tracks are fresh. They’re about half a day ahead of us.’

Sengar smiled, his moustache parting. ‘Must’ve thought they’d thrown us. Otherwise they never would have stopped. Well done, Casey.’

They pressed on into the afternoon, spurred by the discovery of the campsite. Jack could hear the French laughing and joking behind him, no doubt anticipating getting their hands on the infamous Ghost. Jack felt a ripple in his stomach. William didn’t deserve to be killed by French Mohammedans.

The trail was easy to follow – the prints were deep in the damp ground and the rebels had made no effort to conceal their tracks. As the day wore on, he recovered a little. The ache in his chest remained and every muscle in his body was tired, but he was getting stronger now that he no longer needed to enter the trance.

Afternoon faded to evening and the hills turned gold and then grey. As the light dimmed, he held a lantern to light the way, but his eyes were raw and the prints became too difficult to make out. There was no point continuing. He would only lose the trail in the dark and he couldn’t use his power until he’d revived further.

‘Can’t go on,’ he said eventually.

‘Very well, we’ll stop here,’ Sengar said. ‘Let’s just hope the rebels have also made camp tonight.’

Jack sat near to the fire, wrapped in a blanket. He shivered and sneezed, but at least the pain in his chest had gone and he could breathe more freely. He watched the sparks from the fire rise into the night, souls floating to heaven.

Kansal walked over to him. ‘You need to eat.’

‘I’ve eaten a little.’

‘I should be practise my English.’ Kansal spoke broken English, with a heavy accent.

‘It’s all right, sir. There’s no need.’

Kansal smiled and switched back to Arabic. ‘You’re probably right. My English is still terrible. French dialects aren’t much better.’

Rajthanan officers were required to learn only Arabic, but some made an effort over time to learn the native languages of their men.

Kansal reminded Jack of the subalterns who’d been sent to the regiment from time to time. Those young men, fresh from Rajthana, had often been enthusiastic, but usually had no experience whatsoever. As sergeant it had been Jack’s job to teach them the ways of the army, and in particular the customs of the English soldiers.

Kansal squatted next to Jack. ‘It’s quite a skill you have – the tracking, I mean. How do you do it?’

‘Born with it.’

‘A native siddha – heard about it, but never thought I’d meet one.’

‘Well, there you go, then.’

‘So, you could track from when you were a child?’

Jack sighed. He wasn’t a sergeant now and didn’t need to teach anyone. ‘I could track in the ordinary way when I was young. My father taught me. Sattva tracking I learnt in the army.’

He remembered well the day when, after six months of Jhala’s training, he’d finally been able to smelt sattva and hold the yantra still at the same time. The glowing trails had bloomed over the ground before him, and he’d immediately understood what they were and how to use them. That was the strange thing about the powers – once you got a yantra right, you automatically understood how to use the power. The information flowed into you as if you’d always known it.

Apparently it was typical for a native siddha’s power to match his skills. Jack was a tracker, therefore he had a sattva-tracking power. William had been a poacher, therefore he could use his power to cover his tracks.

‘Yes, I heard you were in the army,’ Kansal said. ‘Sergeant, wasn’t it?’

Jack looked at the ground and sneezed a couple of times.

‘Well, I should let you rest.’ Kansal stood. ‘Early start tomorrow.’

Jack thought for a moment, then grasped a clump of grass and handed it to Kansal.

Kansal’s face slackened with surprise. ‘That’s very kind. You know?’