“Ozerken? That no good damn treasonous criminal.”
“With my own patience in hand...I beg of you—patience. Didn’t he tell you to think all of most everything through?”
“Ah? Yes, he did.”
“Did you dear friend?”
“Yes. He’s guilty of treason.”
“Rather does require thinking through all, Once-Other.”
“Through what? Come on. Tell me.”
“Honorable campaigner. You know that does no good. You’ll find the answer yourself but later, not now.”
“Okay. Damn. Alright. I’m at the square rock. Oh? It’s is not a rock.”
“Excellent. Look inside.”
I open a door and find a hoisting-chair attached to a pulley inside the rock. “Are we connected Jenk?” I ask.
“I’m here friend.”
They didn’t take my Nomadi! How strange! My legs collapse. I remain seated for several minutes. So he didn’t take my Nomadi. Make it five items Ozerken left for me.
Now. With nothing further worth a penny inside my head, I ask what comes. “What do you know about the contest to free climb Iron Rock Ridge?” And I labor back up to my feet.
“Welcome back. Long since been conquered Once-Other. Let’s concentrate on getting you off of the Highlands. Okay?”
“Okay,” and I smile at this mind-to-mind of ours. “I am thankful we don’t need to use verbal speech for my dry and hard as rock tongue fills my mouth. What would we do here if our technology required speaking? I would die listening to your attempts to reach me. Right?”
“Right my friend. Well now. What’s your complete physical state like?”
“I’m okay. My broken arm appears to be healing but my chest wounds are not. It could be gangrene. I’m suffering more-n-more pain from the bullet wounds and my head spins when I stand. I’m not sure of how much more I can take. Drank some water but have had nothing to eat. I’m weaker than ever before. You understand Wernt poisoned me?”
“I do. Ozerken leave you Bondo-Preserve bandages?”
“Just enough for my arm,” I reply.
And my thoughts run rampant and rapid.
How is it that Jenk knows Ozerken? Is Jenk part of their treasonous conspiracy? Damn! At this moment, I’m unable to see clearly let alone think properly. I’d best leave that until later. Perhaps Jenk is friend enough and is not sending me to certain death. “The ones wrapped around my chest are pretty much used up,” I add.
“Dear me. Well then. Let’s get down to business shall we? The faster you’re off the mountain the sooner we can get someone to you. Now—the lift is mechanical so you’ll need to work the handbrake, but in going down one working arm will do. You ready to do this?”
“I hope so,” I reply noting the uncertainty in my response.
I pause and generate as much peace and confidence for self as I can muster given circumstances. I close the door, take hold of the handle on the top and pull. The box tilts, I step aside and it drops to sand.
On careful examination, I note that the chair though covered by a layer of sand, is itself in good order. The ropes are sound and the pulley mountings do not budge when I test them. That the chair has one leg only does not appear odd to me. In my view, a chair can be designed with as many legs or as few as its creator chooses.
“All checks out good,” I mutter.
“Get into the seat and strap in,” Jenk commands.
By all appearances, this chair was made for tiny people as it swings back-n-forth each time I put weight on the seat. After several attempts and failing, I sit back, think it through and am struck by a flash of inspiration.
I’ll throw caution to the wind and lunge out into space, do a half turn in the air and land backward in the seat. In the instant of landing, I’ll grasp hold of the pulley ropes, hang on like mad and steady myself by planting my feet on the wood ledge against which the chair rests its single leg.
In good physical condition, that’s a challenge. It will be impossible with a broken arm and so I dismiss all thoughts along those lines...but wait! If this is a dream—anything should be possible. But on second thoughts, why scare Once-Other of Here-Born, even in a dream.
“Jenk?”
“Yes.”
“How can we be talking? Are we not too far apart?”
“We’re linked up Once-Other. Nomads configured a virtual pipe between our Nomadi. They set yours to Locked-on and invoked auto-answer. They charged your battery using Power over Wireless. I recommend you add PoW to your service in the future. Listen, I’m doing this with you, not Madsen. I’m closer to you than he is, is why. Are you in the seat?”
“No.”
“Get in,” he commands.
This then is not a dream so lunging out into space would not be good advice, despite being my own advice. I examine the chair in detail listing each item.
It’s suspended from four ropes. Okay. Four ropes. Hmm? Ah. They join a single rope hanging from the pulley-winch system above. Um-hmm. The brake mechanism attaches to the single rope as well. I reach over and push the brake handle aside.
I try getting in. Each time I do the chair swivels, swings backward and I almost fall. I retreat and inspect it once again but in detail. A crossover harness hangs over the top of the backrest. I reach for the harness but my knee bumps the chair and it swings away.
“I can’t get into the chair Jenk.”
“Seems your mental capacities are down and away, Once-Other. Retrieve them and look. But look with your Foundation—not as though you know everything and have seen all before.”
I look-n-look.
Some while later I am still looking.
I sense Jenk pacing back-n-forth.
I stop looking at the chair and its single leg and rest my arms on the small wood ledge against which the chair bumps. Idly I trace out with a finger a slot in the ledge that curls back on itself.
My thinking stops. My seeing stops.
All I sense is my finger sliding along the slot. It’s so strange an action that ensnares so much of my attention. I will not be able to descend Iron Rock Ridge. I can’t help thinking on how I may, though. I figure the trick is to enter the chair forwards, head first, crawl under the four ropes while turning to get seated.
It can’t be done with only one good arm.
“Are you in?” Jenk asks.
“Yes, I’m in.”
“Well! Excellent Once-Other. Now take hold of the brake.”
“No point to that.”
“Once-Other! Here-Born’s damn fine and respected campaigner. You are ordered to pay attention. Now pay attention!”
Jenk’s voice slices through my reverie. “Oh? Okay, Jenk.”
“Recover yourself one-two-three. Invoke your Moment in Time. Right now! Examine the chair. Use it. Get seated.”
“Okay,” I reply and turning, crawl away from the edge.
Standing on unsteady legs and drunk with heat, I stagger off into the desert. A distance in I kneel, scan across sand, spot some burrows, crawl to them and drink my fill.
CHAPTER 59
Of A Painful Descent
I remain seated close to the Crier burrow taking a few moments to calm and collect self.
Calmer, I invoke my Moment in Time but instead of mine Karrell’s Moment in Time appears. I’m moved to smile, once you’ve done it right a Foundation works no matter what. And my own Foundation kicks alive sparked by his success.
Hydrated by Crier-water, back at the edge of Iron Rock Ridge, heart filled with determination, I inspect the platform and hoist-chair as though I had seen neither before. It clicks together, thanks to hydrated clarity and a Foundation absent any government control and free of regulations and vested interests.
Okay! The single leg fits into the curved slot. The one I’d run my finger along. I pull the chair closer, hook its leg in place, push and shove trying to dislodge the chair but it remains firmly locked in place.
My back to the chair I slide in while keeping a watch on the cha
ir’s leg. I reach over my shoulder, grab the harness, pull the two straps over my shoulders and slip the eye loops over hourglass fasteners. And pause as my wounds express their protests at such activity.
Recovered some, I unhook the chair, grab hold of the lever, squeeze it and drop three some sand-paces leaving my heart and stomach on the platform above. They catch up and I breathe easier.
“Once-Other?” Jenk asks.
“I’m in and already around three sand-paces down, Jenk.”
“Now you’re doing excellent indeed. Gently lower the chair, friend.”
Going down gusting wind pushes me towards the cliff forcing me to kick off. Razor-edged rock spins by in slow-motion. Giddy, I yet make steady progress during which Jenk remains silent.
I ponder how we can be communicating as we are too far apart for mind-to-mind, even those closest must be some distance away. But had I not already asked him about that? No? Yes? I don’t recall.
“All going well, Once-Other?” Jenk asks.
“Did you provide details about us talking across this distance?”
“I did,” Jenk says.
“Right. Okay. Yes. I’m descending.”
“You still sound a trifle confused—watch the harness they are tricky altogether.”
“Okay. But tell me again?”
“If you insist. We are connected over Nomadi. Please keep yours safe.”
“Oh yes. That’s right. Excellent. I will. Thank you.”
“How are those wounds holding up?” he asks.
I inspect my arm. Make a fist several times accidentally flex the wrong hand releasing the brake and plunge downwards.
Rock rushes by and as I drop faster-n-faster the blur of rock drowns my senses. Bile rises in my throat.
After a struggle, I swallow and look outwards.
Rock switches to desert and back to rock over-n-over.
My head spins faster.
My mind short-circuits, my vision blurs.
Yet deep inside I know there’s something I can do.
But what?
I rally my will and glance to the sky where appears the instrument telling me what to do. I reach up and apply the brake. The chair stops dead bouncing at the end of the rope. A series of sharp twangs and showers of sand hit my eyes with unerring accuracy.
I wipe at them only to cause greater discomfort.
I sit still holding my breath waiting for the rope to break.
My arm shakes.
The chair swings wildly.
My foot slams into the cliff.
Razor sharp blades of rock cut into my legs shredding my pants and skin. I kick off, swoop a fast loop and hit the wall with my knee. Fiery pain leaps up-n-down my leg. I kick out and my boot slams into rock.
My ankle joint explodes and catches on fire.
I force my eyes open despite the pain.
Through tears and grating sand, I find myself swaying back-n-forth.
I glance down at my leg to find my foot disjointed, hanging loose and useless. I know that ankle cannot take another such collision with rock and neither can it be walked on.
With no protective clothing, any gust of wind strong enough to slam me into the rock-face of Iron Ridge Mountain would be more than I can recover from.
I kick off with my good foot only to spin wildly. On the next swing back in I drag my injured foot down the cliff face searching for a hold. My ankle protests with pain reminiscent of Crier poison at work.
After several tries, I get a foothold on an upturned edge and steady myself. My heart pounds in my chest, hot desert air wheezes by my teeth. I swallow hard, let go of the brake lever, flex my fingers and answer Jenk’s question.
“All appears well with my arm, but my chest wounds require attention—as I’ve said.”
“Thank you Once-Other. Perhaps you should think over and through—Ozerken.”
“I’d prefer to be back on solid sand before doing that. I’m ravaged with poison despite most of it being expelled. The anti-venom saved my life—that I’ll admit. I give many thanks to Ozerken but no forgiveness. I need more and soon.”
“I understand,” he says.
I rest a moment until Jenk’s voice jerks me awake.
“You still with me Once-Other?”
“Yes. I was just resting for a few minutes.”
“Make that two hours Once-Other.”
“Oh?”
“Let’s get going shall we?”
“Okay.”
Warily, I continue my descent.
After what feels like weeks the desert floor appears some ten sand-paces below.
With impatience, I release the brake a little too fast, plunge six sand-paces and jerk to a stop. The eye loops pop free, the harness snakes up my chest. I snatch at it but miss.
A sudden gust of wind thrusts me into the cliff-face. My forehead catches a sharp edge of rock. Body and mind fuse to become whirlpools of confusion and pain.
I cling to the seat; blood pours down my face.
The desert spins wildly.
Pain rakes its claws up my arm as the chair spins faster.
My boot catches on rock. My floppy ankle pops back into place amidst blinding pain, and I lose my grip on the brake lever.
Another wild swing and my other foot slams into the cliff face.
The seat tilts like a small boat upon a rough EB sea.
Helpless, I slide out the chair feet first.
I lunge upwards, grab for the overhead rope and miss.
The chair and I part company.
CHAPTER 60
Of Promises Made
The sun switches on-n-off. The Half-Day-Moon flies away a blur too fast for the eye to follow. The Star-of-Hope zigzags across a darkened sky, a sidewinder in search of relief from burning sand.
Beyond that fragmented reality, the Carousel Galaxy explodes wrapping streams of red cotton wool around the Half-Day-Moon, a suffocating embrace of fire and smoke.
Bright light burns my eyes, tears stream down my cheeks.
I close them and find some respite.
I hold still.
I listen. There is only the whisper of wind.
I doze.
Gentle touches of wind then wind enough to stir me.
I try to awake but cannot.
Much later thunder sounds from out the far distance.
I jerk awake glancing in all directions at once. My eyes are drawn towards the horizon. An obese giant dances closer growing taller with each stride it takes. Its enormous belly splits open. The halves explode and spread upwards to hide the sun.
As this menacing monster of a sand-cloud looms closer dark ovals evolve between cloud and sand. Beneath me, sand vibrates faster hurting the arm held tightly across my chest.
I cannot reckon why sand vibrates.
I wait, insanely curious.
The shapes beneath the clouds take form.
I blink several times to find billowing linen hanging on a washing line. My eyes focus further and the forms settle and evolve into large black-n-white horses. My chest and back vibrate to the beat of their hooves. In a feeble attempt to hide I press my back against the hot face-rock of Iron Rock Ridge and pull the fur coat over my face.
My mouth grows drier and my eyes scratch on sand as they move behind closed eyelids. Sand chokes and tickles my nose. Thunder ends and an eerie silence descends. Sand drifts down to gentle upon my hands and face as mist surely does.
I peep out from within the coat.
At a safe distance stand a small herd of horses. Each watches me as though they are on a tour at the zoo. After several minutes of mutual examinations, the leader throws its head high, whinnies and looks expectantly at me. I shrug, hunching my shoulders in question.
Bemused questions scurry across their faces, dive into eyes and hold, suspended in pools of black water. As one they turn to the stallion. His attention remains fixed upon me, his eyes locked on mine.
But I have nothing to say that he’d understand.
My nose itches more. I scratch and sneeze.
The stallion shakes its head. His magnificent black mane fans out around his white face and reminds me of Soonsaan. He stamps sand three times with his hoof, looks at his herd then back at me.
I struggle up and lean against the cliff face. I take a step towards them, but my bad ankle gives. I fall to my knees and try as I may, am unable to regain my feet.
The stallion bobs his head saying, “Wait here,” and pounds sand once again.
Once-Other, feeling a little silly, slams his good fist into sand three times and waves an acknowledgment just as sunset descends and all is dark and cold.
The horses shake their heads in unison and, in the sudden cold, blow vapor clouds out their nostrils. They turn and gallop in circles, marking the spot I assume.
They face the way they had come, glance over their shoulders, shake their heads in warning, and gallop off into the night the mist of their breath thick upon the cold air.
I wave them adieu and pull the fur coat close.
Night becomes morning, morning becomes day.
I soon lose count of the changes.
Staring open-eyed into the burning sunlight, my focus dissolves turning all into shapeless clouds of dust dancing through shimmering heat.
Suddenly the wind dies.
I sit up, remove the fur coat, lean against the furnace-hot face of Iron Rock Ridge, drape the coat over me like a tent, and find faint comfort from the beating sun. I awake lying flat on my back on top of the fur coat with arms spread wide.
My face burns, blistered by a baking sun. Some blisters have popped their serum already crystallized. My mouth sticks closed; too dry to open, my tongue is too solid to swallow.
I try standing but am unable to. My legs feel dead and even my good arm refuses to rise upon command. I remain on my back waiting for a something. I know not what and yes, I may never stir again. I can sense it...a body too far gone. One that has given up the struggle and is now ready to give up the ghost.
What’s to become of Karrell...? A thought as sudden and unexpected as drenching rain would be. Something I had said to him is important. But what did I say?
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