The Race to Volturnum
Naga
By the Atman, the stench of this place is overwhelming. It is like being surrounded by filth and rubble. The huu-mans look at us with distrust, but they have learned--where our arrows fly, they are safe from the Foul.
The Akasha is strangely strong here in the depths of the Foul's land. The Constrictors believe it is because Atman watches our every move, but I believe they are wrong. I believe the Atman knew we would come here, and when we did, he allowed the Akasha to give us the strength that we would need to do Atman's bidding.
Something is forming in our minds.
The Asp do not see it--they are too busy fighting the Foul. Already, Balash has counted over fifty heads, spiking them into the pits that surround us. He relishes the task; it suits him. The others do not share his enthusiasm.
I have spoken with the Cobra, and they record our dreams while in this place. They speak of lines scrawled across white sand. They say it may be some of the huu-mans' strange writing, some lost piece of information from their Akashic mind. With the strange insertion of the Qatol's thoughts into our own, perhaps we have at last reached a communion with the Akasha of these samurai.
I do not believe them, either.
I have seen what they write, and it is not the words of the huu-mans. It is a map . . . .
--Mara