30
Anseng insists that it is too dangerous to linger here any longer. The constant shuddering of the ground beneath your feet confirms this to be so. With his lantern held aloft, he begins the difficult trek through the toa and pine forest with you following close behind. Soon you emerge from the swaying trees and set off along a muddy forest road at a brisk pace, heading east. The sheeting rain and the constant thunder make it impossible for you to speak with your determined guide until you reach a small woodsman’s hut a few miles distant. Anseng points to the hut’s rickety door and you follow him inside, thankful to be out of the relentless downpour.
‘You did well to keep up with me, my Lord,’ he says, as he places his glowing lantern on the hut’s solitary table. ‘We’ll rest here for a few hours and leave at first light.’
From his leather backpack he produces some provisions: a loaf of bread, some strips of cured lamb meat, some dried fruits, and a small bottle of rice wine. Generously, he shares his meagre rations with you. While you are eating, you take the opportunity to observe your guide. He is a lean man in his early fifties, physically fit and impressively agile. He is dressed in simple peasant garb with a wide conical hat made from straw. Despite his mundane clothing, this man is clearly not a lowly peasant. He has the distinctive mien of a professional soldier, the legacy of years spent as a Captain in the Imperial Chai Guard: the warrior elite of the Chai army. A ‘kirusami’, an ornate bladed polearm is slung over his shoulder on a thin strip of leather.
When you have finished your meal, Anseng opens a wooden cupboard fixed to the interior wall and retrieves two bed rolls. He unties them and lays them out upon the floor of the hut.
‘We must get some sleep while we can. We’ve a long journey ahead. We leave at dawn.’