"For now, at least, you're safe with us."
With that pronouncement, the leader pivoted to stride off for the cave mouth, Robin shuffling close behind, the silent girl trailing.
Arriving at the cave opening, Robin brushed wispy strands of hair from his eyes, the better to observe the scene.
Inside the narrow jaws of the rock-toothed cave were the others, dimly visible in the fading light of day. The cavern was additionally half-lit by the torch, the leader now sticking the pointed torch handle into a crack in the center of the stone floor near the grotto's entrance. At cave center, was a bulky carry pouch, the mute girl passing by to squat before the bundle and unfasten the pack's straps.
Beyond the cave, fog wisps rose from the clouded valley, the cavern exiting high upon a cliff, only the denuded tops of other, stony mountains visible in the down-light distance.
John-Lyon motioned him to seat himself by the left wall, the leader then waving to the girl ... Platinia ... the short girl rummaging through the carry bag, extracting wood bowls and food, eventually bringing a food plate to Van Robin.
Cold meat.
Cold biscuits.
She brought, as well, water in a metal cup, then returned to prepare other plates.
"Zwicia, this is Mr. Robin," the leader said, interrupting Robin's concentration as Robin, after sniffing at the food, was about to eat. How dare he ...!
Calm. Calm was what was needed until Robin regained his crystal. At times, even men of magic must debase themselves to gain advantage.
As for the Weird, she only grunted as she received her bowl and cup, her eyes clear but ... wild.
Had Robin heard of this Weird, Zwicia? Could she be the Weird of Bice?
Though it had been a long time since he'd inhabited his own world, Robin still remembered much.
All served, sitting, they leaned back against the cave's walls to eat, Robin eating, at the same time glancing furtively about. Memorizing. First, names. Then details about the other four.
The old woman, seated against the left wall, her bird legs sticking out, was mumbling to herself. Even with her Weird-crystal hidden behind her ample, purple robe, Robin knew her for what she was. She must be a Weird for only one of magic could trap the mind of another as she had snared the memory of the Army Head.
The Army Head. Listening from the dark, Robin had heard the Head tell the young leader about the dead soldiers.
A strange collection. The leader ... John-Lyon ... clearly from the incomprehensible, other world. The girl, Platinia, possibly of power. The old Weird. The Malachite Army Head.
And now, Robin -- though these others did not know it, the most exotic of them all!
When finished eating, the girl taking away their empty bowls, John-Lyon spoke. "So ... fill me in."
Suddenly, Robin was aware that the leader had begun to speak in English, the women turning their heads to stare.
Ah!
Down-light had come.
At the moment, Robin (as he must continue to remember to call himself,) the Weird, and the mind-drained Head were seated along the left wall, John-Lyon sitting on the other side of the narrow cave mouth, the girl placing herself beside the leader. At the grotto entrance, the badly flaming torch kept the dread, down-light animals away.
"You said you were recently a prisoner of the Malachites?" continued the young, John-Lyon.
Hearing English from this other-worlder, Van-Robin mirrored the man's speech by answering in that barbarous tongue. "Even so."
John-Lyon paused as if knowing something strange had happened ... though failing to understand what.
He frowned.
Turning his head to look out the cavern mouth, the leader smiled, understanding that, even in the absence of day-magic, he had understood Robin. "English! You speak English!"
"Even so, sir."
"You can't know how I've longed to have somebody I can talk to at night ...!" The dark-haired leader stopped abruptly.
Smiled broadly, knowingly.
"Of course! You're the man in the cage."
How did John-Lyon know that!? What was Robin's response to be!? ......
"Yes."
"But I thought you died."
"It is my ..." What was it that the people of the other world called that internal organ? "It is my ... heart. It does not ... beat ... sometimes. But then, it does again."
"So they thought you were dead. Carried you out. Then, you woke up and wandered off."
"Yes, revered sir."
"John Lyon will do."
"Yes, John-Lyon, sir."
"Tell me about it. How you got to be in the cage."
What did this leader want? What should Robin say?
"There ... is ... another world."
"I know. And you're from there, right?"
"That is correct. Somehow ... I was ... here ...."
The young leader nodded, understanding. "When I came awake, all around me was a cage."
"That figures. They thought you were Pfnaravin -- an enemy of the current regime in Malachite. Set a trap for you."
How could this man know of the soldiers and of Pfnaravin?"
Could Robin chance a clarifying question? ..... "You are also from the other world?"
"That's right."
"May I ask how you know of this Pfnaravin, then?"
John-Lyon paused, placing his hand to mouth, thought lines creasing the man's smooth forehead, John-Lyon also hiding secrets. "Let's just say I've had some experience with the people here. Know that they sometimes make mistakes."
It was plain that John-Lyon knew more than most. Was this because he was a man of power in the other world? And, more importantly, could he, even without the other world's machines, exercise that power? Caution in dealing with the youth was increasingly advisable.
"The cage was in the tower room?" Robin bowed assent.
Suddenly, John-Lyon laughed, the noise echoing down the stony grotto. "You're from Kansas City. You got here by going under the stairs."
Again, Robin was shocked! Never would he have suspected that this man would know so much! "Also the man in the woods. Looking out at me when I drove in or out in the Mazda. Were you in the house that night to get out of the storm or to get something else to eat?"
Ha! Now it was clear! This John-Lyon was the man in Robin's house, the man coming and going, the man appearing on the stairs.
Staring through the pulsing torch-shadows at the youth, the old man could not detect hostility. Rather, the darkened face of the man-child still showed sympathy.
"I did not mean offense, kind sir. I was but ... hungry."
"That's all right." The green-eyed one signaled his forgiveness. "And let me make another guess. When you heard me stirring upstairs, you pried the nails out of the storage door and tried to crawl back under the stairs so I wouldn't find you. What a nasty surprise that must have been. To have a lightning strike vault you from there to here!"
"It was, sir. Oh, it was. And to be caught in a cage. Accused of being someone else. I have had a most terrible time."
"Not to worry. You're safe with me now."
"In exchange for your protection, I would do anything you ask, kind young sir. Carry items. I am old, but still am strong. I know nothing about this place. About these strangers who would hurt me."
"Though there's much that I don't know myself, I have had occasion to learn something about this world." The leader thought to himself for some moments. "For starters Mr. Robin, you're in a country called Stil-de-grain. As you've probably noticed, the gravity is lighter here than at home."
"Yes. Lighter."
"About your heart ...?" Asked with empathy. Good. Robin had taken a right step with that explanation!
"Only when terrified, do I ... faint. With you, I will be safe. It will never happen."
"Good. But enough talk for now. We've all had a tough day. Some sleep will put us right for tomorrow."
The piercing eyed leader frowned. "You came through the secret door
-- the Mage-hole -- after us?"
"Yes."
"Did you close it behind you?"
"I did, sir. As did you, yourself, before me."
"Good." The man was smiling, something he did often and for little reason. "That makes us safe from pursuit. We can get a good night's sleep, at least." The leader smiled again. "Before we turn in, though, let me assure you that I know a way to get us back to our own world. So don't worry about that. Give me a few days to learn what's been going on, and I'm out of here. You can come, too."
"That is very good." Imagine! To think that a person of Robin's stature -- in all the bands -- would contemplate a return to the other, magic-less world! Ignorance, alone, pleaded for the youth's life!
"My problem is over there," the leader continued, motioning at the mindless Army Head. "But I'll think of something to do with him in the morning."
"Thank you again, sir. I am most grateful. And most lucky to have found a man so knowledgeable and so kind."
"That's all right." The leader put up one hand, as if to banish praise. "You can get a blanket out of the pack." He pointed. "Though it's warm here at night, it gets damp because of the prevailing fog."
"Yes, sir. Thank you kindly, sir."
All the while Robin was getting his thin blanket, all the while wrapping himself in it, all the while stretching out on a flat place in preparation for sleep -- the others doing the same -- he thought about the strange, green-eyed man.
Clearly, this English speaker was from the other world. Specifically, was the new owner of Robin's house in that dreadful place. (Though Robin had watched the youth from the other world's woods, this was the first chance Robin had for a closer observation of ... John-Lyon.)
As Robin pulled the blanket tighter against the nighttime damp, he could only conclude that he must treat the young leader with exaggerated care!
What was certain was that there were mysteries about him. There was, for instance, the means by which he passed between the worlds. Of some interest was the leader's statement that the Army Head posed a problem. How could this Leet be troublesome when the Weird ... Zwicia ... had stolen the Head's mind, making the soldier vulnerable?
Questions without answers, answerless questions prompting caution.
As Robin settled down at last, secure enough in his mind to allow himself to fall asleep, he began to plan a strategy. For now, he must "gentle" the leader by courting the leader's trust. (For, as with animals, domesticated beasts were easier to slaughter than feral ones). He would begin to "tame" John-Lyon on the morrow. Arise early, perhaps, to surprise the leader with a gift.
Hmmm.
Though Robin did not understand the leader's "difficulty" with the Army Head, if Robin could find a knife -- though making good use of the soldiers' knives, fear of discovery had made him drop them in the bastion -- he would ingratiate himself with John-Lyon by presenting the newly awakened leader with the troublesome soldier's, severed head!
-15-
Was the source of John's nervousness the fact that he was carrying so many coins in his modern world pocket? Not that they made that much noise, though he'd gotten more thick gold and silver pieces than he'd expected for his "beautifully-crafted" chain. ("Beautifully-crafted" was what the owner of yesterday's large inn had called John's simple gold chain when he'd bought it.) Whatever it was that was making John edgy -- sudden flights of birds to right or left, unexplainable insect silences in the thickening scrub along the narrow trail -- John was uneasy. Now that he thought about it, he had the same sense of foreboding he'd felt when escaping through the underground passageways of Hero Castle. (And it didn't help to know that old man Robin had been shadowing him!)
John's little party had been on the path for three days now, at the beginning, sliding down steep, shale slick, goat trails that plummeted from the cave mouth to the valley below, then toiling over barren flint hills.
At first meeting solitary trappers who packed layers of animal hides on their backs, they were now encountering lone traders in long tunics and soft caps, some porting their merchandise on carry-frames, others leading ponies laden with whatever goods the trader had for sale -- cloth, metalware, food, clay pots -- the path beginning to flatten out as they worked their way out of the foothills of the Hero Mountains. The sky, yellow as long as mountain peaks foreshortened their view, had spread out to reveal its normal, rainbow pattern of concentric rings. Gold overhead, orange in the direction they were going, green behind them at the horizon.
The group John led was a strange one. Platinia dressed in a new, white tunic, walking beside the shuffling, purple clad Zwicia. Then the bent-over, bleary-eyed American, Mr. Robin -- still something of a mystery. And bringing up the rear, Leet, the Malachite Army Head, stiff-backed even in the robe that hid his military tunic, his paralyzed right arm flopping in time to the beat of his stride, the soldier still under Zwicia's "spell."
The somnambulant Head now at a safe remove from his army unit, John decided it was time to wake him up, John signaling a stop, the others coming to bunch around him.
Glad to rest, Robin and the women swung off their light packs (knapsacks, one of the first things John bought from a peddler who was selling trapper gear.)
"Zwicia, it's time to take the curse off Leet."
"Cur's?"
"It's time to give up your control of his mind."
Zwicia looked doubtful.
"He's a long way from his army buddies now. No way they could help him and no way he could do us any damage with that paralyzed arm."
"Is that wise, sir?" cheeped Robin. "Might he not slip away?" As if to emphasize something that had slipped away, the old man brushed his withered hands over what was left of his sweat plastered hair.
"He might. And that wouldn't be so bad, either. What could he do to us here?" A question that had the old man looking both upset and obsequious -- his normal look. "I know he had you in that cage. That he mistook you for Pfnaravin. And I'm not saying you have to like him. It's just that he'll be less trouble fully awake."
The explanation delivered, John signaled to Zwicia.
Following orders without complaint -- for once -- turning, the old woman began waving her spidery hands before the Army Head's eyes.
"You 'waken up. You 'waken up."
Said several times, like a chant.
A quick pass of her claw-like hands, and Leet slumped; then straightened to glance around, shocked at his surroundings. And who wouldn't be?
"You back with us?" John asked.
"What ...?" The dark-skinned, short-haired Army Head turned to face John, confused.
"We're several days beyond Hero Castle. Zwicia, on my orders, has kept you out of commission for some time." What John was saying seemed to be soaking in. "As soon as I've learned what I came here to find out, I fully intend to return you to your men. For now, don't give me any trouble or back under you go."
The Head stared at John. "I am your prisoner," he said, at least getting that much right. Pausing as if struggling with himself, Leet made a feeble salute with his left arm.
"It would help if you could think of yourself as just another traveling companion," John suggested, not too hopefully.
On the other hand, John didn't care what Leet thought. In the three days they'd been on the road, the party had visited enough inns for John to have discovered there were no Malachite troopers this deep to the "claw-ward" side of Stil-de-grain. Any action the old army officer might try against them would reveal him to be a hated Malachite. Viewed realistically, Leet was in more danger from the locals than John was from Leet.
"But ... how could ...?!" Leet's voice was rising, the Army Head just noticing Robin, the man Leet had pronounced dead.
"Things are not always what they seem," John said, dryly. "In the first place, this is Mr. Robin, not Pfnaravin." Leet continued to stare at Robin, Robin glaring back. "And in the second, he has a medical problem that sometimes makes him appear to be dead."
Since the Army Head looked l
ike he'd absorbed that explanation, it was time to move on. "From now on, the line of march will be Platinia after me, then Zwicia, Leet and Robin."
A nod of John's head and everyone -- but Leet -- shouldered a pack, the group trudged off down the loose pebbled path.
From John's point of view, the big disappointment was that John had been unable to find out any kind of overview of the war. All that the locals knew was what John had determined for himself that, so far, this part of Stil-de-grain had been spared.
What was strange was that both the merchant and the hostel owner's other patrons (who quickly heard about the chain-for-cash swap) had become afraid of John. So much so there was obvious relief when John and his group had finished their meat stew lunch and hit the road.
It was only after John undertook some tactful questioning of a barkeep at a smaller, wattle and daub inn at the end of that day's journey that John was able to piece together what had happened. It seemed there were rumors of a band of thugs operating in the countryside, criminals said to have come from "beak-ward", the robber pack thought to have raided Xanthin City, looting jewelry and other treasures from the Stil-de-grain palace. Putting two and two together, John had come to the conclusion that the innkeep at the first tavern, seeing the "excellent" quality of John's gold chain (another world's machine stamping out the chain perfectly) had concluded that John and his band were this criminal element, newly arrived from Xanthin with stolen objets d'art.
All of that, prologue, John's party continuing down the track, the trail flattening out, thickets pressing in on the path, clumps of taller trees rising in the distance, John occupying his mind by thinking again about their fellow traveler, Mr. Robin. Time well spent since there was something ... sneaky ... about the guy.
Awakening in the cave the morning after they'd left the secret passage, John had caught Robin rummaging through the pack, maybe looking for another blanket. If so, why had he stopped when John caught him at it?
All John really knew about him was that he'd been the man in the woods outside John's home, had been getting in John's house, and had been vaulted to this world.
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