Lakeo took the sticks but grabbed his elbow in a vise-like grip with her other hand. “What did you mean when you said I didn’t have a light touch?”
Yanko debated whether to answer. She might like to shove him around, but he could escape her grip if he wished. He needed her help tonight though. If he irritated her, she might forget to come, or worse, tell someone what he and Arayevo were up to.
“I sensed you using the Science in the chapel.”
Lakeo dropped her hand. “I see. Did you tell anyone?”
“No. Why do you hide it? Why wouldn’t you take advantage of one of the schools? They could help you refine your gift, and you’d—”
“They wouldn’t have me.” She pushed past him, shoved the gate open, and stalked away.
If she heard his surprised, “But why?” she didn’t give any indication of it.
Part 8
Rain drums, flutes, and xylophones played a cheerful rhythm that floated across the lake and bounced from the cavern walls. Yanko stood at the back of the gathering and tried not to panic—or hyperventilate. No less than a hundred people had come to witness the pre-wedding boat ride between the bride and the groom—or rather they had come to see a fireworks display. A gondola, complete with gondolier, waited in an alcove. A gods-cursed gondolier. It hadn’t occurred to Yanko that someone would be required to steer the bridal couple across the waters. The women would have to take care of him. He wiped his moist palms on his robe sleeves. They had a lot to take care of.
He avoided looking at the back bench in the boat, the one with a blasting stick glued to the bottom. He doubted the gondolier would start checking beneath the seats, but he sent a thread of his concentration in that direction, creating an illusion of simple wood. As long as no one patted around, no one should find it.
Rose petals had been strewn across the placid water around the gondola. They had an unnatural feel about them, and Yanko challenged himself to maintain his own illusion while plucking at the strings of what he suspected was a second. Yes, it was a different type of skill, one to change the appearance of an item rather than creating a vision from scratch, but he saw through it to the scruffy leaves someone had hastily gathered up above.
That means at least one fellow practitioner is here in this gathering…
It’s a simple illusion. Nobody terribly skilled. No reason to panic.
Uh huh. Someone might be sensing your illusion right now and wondering what it’s meant to hide.
Yanko forced himself to take deep breaths, to try and alleviate the tightness in his chest. Maybe it would be best to leave the blasting stick alone and trust no one would check under the bench. But its presence was so condemning. If someone found it, they would assume someone had intended to kill Song and Teesha. That wasn’t the plan, but he couldn’t imagine someone believing him if he had to explain his true intent.
This event needs to hurry up and start, so we can simply do this.
Of course, he wasn’t positive the women were in place yet. He peered into the dark waters at the far end of the cavern. Unlike most of the passages in the mines, this had been a natural opening, and the gray-brown walls reminded Yanko of the limestone caves near his village, though the chamber lacked the stalactites and stalagmites common there. Too bad. Such features would have given the women something to hide behind. A tunnel meandered out of the back of the cavern, though, one that eventually connected with mine passages at the far end of this level. Arayevo and Lakeo should be hiding in there, biding their time. And shivering in waist-deep water. The women had the harder job, or at least the more physical one, so Yanko shouldn’t complain about his own tasks. A big part of him wished he were back there though, where there was the possibility of escape if something went wrong…
Yes, and where would you run to? Your family is all you’ve ever known.
Maybe Arayevo would like some company on her trip to the ocean…
Sure, you two can go together to the mother who abandoned you and see if she’s hiring cabin boys.
“What are you doing?” someone asked from over his shoulder.
Yanko turned and found himself facing one of his uncle’s overseers. Hunil Mee, that was it.
“Thinking,” Yanko said, deciding that confessing to having in-depth conversations with himself might lead people to question his competence. Or maybe his sanity. “Is there a problem?”
“Controller Mishnal said you might be able to make the fireworks appear more spectacular. Some of us were concerned that we don’t have enough to impress some foreign delegate who’s used to sitting in the highest boughs.”
“My… uncle suggested this?”
Yanko wouldn’t have a problem adding a few extra explosions to the air above the lake—if anyone sensed his manipulation, it would serve as a cover for what he meant to do. But if his uncle hadn’t truly been the one to suggest it, it might draw attention to him.
“He did.” Hunil Mee nodded toward someone near the tunnel entrance.
Mishnal had walked in. He gave Yanko a nod, as if somehow knowing what he and the overseer had been discussing, though he only held eye contact for a moment, then stepped aside to let a fat brown lizard trundle in. It pulled ore carts that had been combined to create a float for the bride and groom to ride upon. Paper mâché swans perched at each of the corners, and Song and Teesha sat on a brightly painted bench with peacock feathers bursting from the back.
What a bunch of ludicrous pomp.
Teesha’s face was impossible to read, and her colorful silks—this time she wore an array of pale and emerald greens—hid her bruises. It chilled Yanko to think that Song must deliver his blows strategically, so that the bruises wouldn’t be visible to others.
The overseer cleared his throat. “I must make sure that lizard remains calm. You’ll make the fireworks impressive?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Yanko said.
As Song and Teesha left the float and walked to the gondola, musicians transitioned to a new song, one with upbeat spring-like qualities that had everyone smiling. The glasses of plum brandy being handed around doubtlessly helped promote the good cheer, though all the overseers and miners who had earned the privilege to come to this event were enjoying an evening off from work, so their jubilance probably wasn’t forced.
Yanko walked out of the crowd and over to the fireworks, a hundred rockets of various sizes and shapes poised on a bank, ready to be set alight. A reedy fellow with arms covered with ship, kraken, and anchor tattoos stood holding a lantern and an unlit brand.
“I was instructed to add pizzazz to your display,” Yanko said at the man’s inquiring look.
“My display won’t need any pizzazz.” The man’s smile lacked a few teeth. Yanko tried not to imagine Arayevo turning into a female version of this fellow after a decade or two at sea.
“I hope that’ll be true.” Yanko wiped a telltale bead of sweat away from his temple, then clasped his hands behind his back.
Song and Teesha disembarked from the float and climbed into the gondola. They sat in the middle, sharing the same bench. It was to be expected, but Yanko grimaced at how close they were. With his arm wrapped around her lower back, it would be difficult to extricate one person from the other. He hoped Arayevo had a plan.
He could only trust that the women were in place, for he had received no signal from that back tunnel.
They can’t alert you without risking alerting everyone, fool.
A miner pressed into sommelier services handed full glasses to the couple, then the gondolier pushed away from the bank with his long pole. A soft scrape sounded, and the boat floated free, inching away from its alcove.
“Begin the display,” Uncle Mishnal commanded.
Yanko tried to catch his eye, but he only glanced toward the tattooed fellow for a moment before returning his attention to a well-dressed man at his side. Some other delegate or perhaps someone sent by the regional chief to ensure all went well with the wedding?
Yanko c
losed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to the wolf god that he wasn’t condemning his family to a fate worse than the one it already endured.
A soft hiss came from a few feet away, the sound audible despite the susurrus of conversations on the nearby bank. His ears had been waiting for that hiss, the sound of a flame burning up the wick and igniting the first firecracker. The lion-headed rocket shot aloft, missing the cavern ceiling by inches as it arched over the lake. A pleased smile rode the tattooed man’s face. He must have painstakingly adjusted the trajectory of each rocket to ensure its flight wouldn’t be cut disappointingly short.
The lion rocket exploded in yellows and oranges, the sparks brilliant in the shadowy dimness of the underground lake. The sparks flew out, raining down over the water, their reflection as notable as the aerial display above. Cheers and foot stomps of approval arose from the crowd. Song smiled and pointed something out to his bride, who managed a weak smile and nod. At least she wasn’t throwing suspicion-drawing glances toward the tunnel.
Before the sparks from the first rocket faded completely, the tattooed man lit three more. This time, Yanko added more light to the display, doubling the output and creating eye-catching swirls amongst the reds and oranges. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel pride in his artistic touch, but the pride turned to self-chastisement when he noticed the lack of reflection for his own sparks. He concentrated to add more realism.
This isn’t your priority here… save your strength for what matters.
Yanko paced himself, not tinkering with every rocket that went up. At one point, he felt someone’s eyes upon him and searched the crowd, wondering if the other practitioner out there had sensed his tinkering. A few sets of eyes were turned in his direction, including his uncle’s. Surely not that many miners had such gifted senses. Maybe they had simply concluded that the fireworks weren’t performing as others they had seen and assumed he had a part in it. He thought about smiling cheerily and waving back, but no. He didn’t want more people than necessary thinking he had anything to do with this. Otherwise, when things went disastrously wrong, they would look to him.
Hands still clasped behind his back, Yanko shrugged and walked back to the crowd. He took a brandy from the server’s tray and leaned against the wall, as if to say he was done tinkering.
He didn’t add illusions to any of the following rockets, but he did increase the amount of smoke hanging above the lake. It blanketed the waters as more fireworks exploded and wrapped about the gondola.
Only a dozen rockets remained on the shore. The women ought to be moving by now, using the cover of the smoke to swim up behind the boat. Lakeo would have a club or oar or something with which to smack Song, and Arayevo would be ready to yank Teesha from the boat. Yanko had a feeling he would have to yank the gondolier away with a telekinetic feat, and the idea daunted him. As if he didn’t already have enough to worry about. In addition to enhancing the smoke, his job was to light the blasting stick beneath the seat. The timing would have to be exquisite…
He noticed the brandy glass trembling in his hand. No, his hand was trembling. All of his muscles were, as if he had just finished a ten-mile run and logged his best time. He worried that he wouldn’t have the mental strength to get the gondolier out of the way. He would call upon the elements, he decided, rather than using telekinetics. That was more his forte.
Three more rockets went up. Yanko added to the haze collecting between the tunnel and the back of the gondola. Now, he urged. Now, Arayevo.
He sensed rather than saw the blasting stick beneath the seat being lit.
He lunged forward, almost dropping his glass—and all of his illusions. Blasted devil lands, who—
But smoke hazed everything. He couldn’t see a thing. He sensed… yes, the two women were in the water behind the boat. He had to trust them.
A split second before the fuse burned down, Yanko summoned a great pulse of compacted air and slammed it into the gondolier’s side. The force launched him several meters at the same time as an explosion ripped from the boat, hurling wood and smoke and flames into the air. Its boom dwarfed that of the fireworks, two of which exploded in the air at the same time.
Yanko clenched his fists, trying to see into the smoke. He dared not lower the illusion now—the girls needed time to get away—but he needed to know. Had everyone been thrown or pulled free? Even if Song was a slimy bastard, Yanko didn’t want murder on his soul.
But he couldn’t tell. Not with his eyes and not with his ears. Splashes sounded, but he couldn’t tell if they were from wood shards hitting the water or from someone—or a group of someones—hastily paddling away.
His head hurt from the effort, but he stretched out with his senses. There was the gondolier, alive and swimming toward the nearest shore. A second form floated on the water. Song? At first, he didn’t move, and Yanko thought he would have to charge out there and pull him to safety. But the man lifted his head and sputtered. Yanko sensed movement in the tunnel. Three forms? He couldn’t tell. His head ached too much, and his concentration faltered.
The natural smoke was fading, and with relief, Yanko let his illusion drop too. Blood pounded at his temples, and his eyes hurt. If not for the wall behind him, he might have collapsed. Maintaining the illusions had been difficult, but the effort required to throw a full-grown man several feet… It was all he could do to keep from crumpling into a trembling pile.
The rest of the crowd was gaping back and forth from the lake to the handful of rockets remaining on the shore, unlit.
“Dan Shee, Formu,” Uncle Mishnal’s voice cut across the silence. “Go check on the bride and the groom. Tahsoo, get the doctor down here.” When nobody moved, he raised his voice, shouting, “Now!”
Everyone started moving at his angry command, even those who hadn’t been named. Yanko wanted to disappear into the rock wall.
“I don’t know,” someone was saying. “Not my fault. I swear.”
The fireworks man. Two overseers had stalked over to his spot and a pair of burly guards had him by the biceps. His lantern and brand lay on the ground at his feet.
“No,” Yanko whispered as the reality of another consequence he hadn’t foreseen played out. Someone had to be blamed for this. If not him…
At some whispered command from an overseer, the guards dragged the tattooed man toward Mishnal. Yanko wanted to come to his defense, but the women weren’t out of danger yet. He was supposed to guard the escape route and make sure nobody was waiting when they ran for the lift. If someone saw Teesha fleeing, the entire ruse would have been for naught.
The entire ruse, Yanko thought as he slipped through the crowd, and that man’s job in the mine, if not his life. When they didn’t find Teesha alive in the wreckage, there would have to be a scapegoat.
No, Yanko told himself as he slipped away from the crowd and ran into the tunnels. He would find a way to help the man, to arrange his escape if nothing else.
That’s assuming nobody figures out your part in this, right?
Uhm, yeah.
Part 9
Yanko jogged through the tunnels on wobbly legs, trying not to feel like he was fleeing a crime.
Except you are.
You’re not helping, he told that voice in his head, finding it more irritating than usual of late. Despite the wobbly legs, he reached the T-intersection where he was supposed to meet the women. It was empty. He thought about turning down the tunnel to intercept them, but they needed him to wait here and block anyone who might try to pass this way. He didn’t know how he intended to do that without raising suspicion—more suspicion—and hoped they would hurry. They needed to reach the lift and escape the complex before any other traffic poured out of the lake area.
Footfalls pounded up the tunnel behind him.
Yanko winced. Already?
One of the men his uncle had named came into view. Of course, the overseer sent to find the doctor.
Yanko stepped into the man’s path, his hand upraised. “H
e’s coming,” he said before the overseer could shout an order to move or—as the expression on his face suggested—plow right through.
“Who?” The man stopped, though he glanced back.
Yanko hoped that didn’t mean others were coming. “The doctor. That’s who you were sent to get, isn’t it?”
“You’ve already been up to the first floor? You can’t have run that fast. The lift—”
“I didn’t use the lift.” Yanko touched the side of his head.
Soft shuffling noises came from beyond the intersection, from the tunnel the women should be coming up.
“Return to the others and render any assistance they need,” Yanko continued. “The bride is still missing. They need more people to help dredge the lake incase she was knocked unconscious and went under. There may still be hope to save her.”
“Listen, boy, it’s my job if the doctor doesn’t show up. I don’t know what mumbo jumbo you think you used to contact him, but I’ll go check on him in person.”
Yanko spread his arms, using his robes to block the view of the intersection as well as he could—and envying the Turgonians their height. “It’ll be your job if I tell my uncle that you disrespected a moksu and did not obey his orders.” He did his best to look as pompous and arrogant as uttering those words made him feel, though the rage that reared in the man’s eyes made him want to cringe.
Stretching out with his mind again, Yanko sensed the women—three women, good—at the corner of the intersection, hesitating before crossing. Summoning a last vestige of mental energy, he created another illusion behind the miner, this one audible instead of visible, the clang of a rock being kicked.
As the miner spun to check behind him, Yanko whispered Go! into Arayevo’s mind. His telepathy was even more rudimentary than his telekinesis, and his legs nearly buckled at the effort the single word required. But it worked. The women scurried past, scarcely making a sound. By the time the miner turned back around, frowning, they were gone.
Swords and Salt - the Complete Series Page 12