There were now less than twenty people left out of those who had started the journey. Wherever the path split a few of their band would take the other route. Dost was nowhere among them. Had he climbed up before her? Or had something delayed him? She almost asked Dayna but fatigue and a feeling that she wouldn’t get a straight answer made her decide to wait and see.
At last the path veered across between one of the high valleys and they entered a grove of eucalypts. Despite the altitude the trees grew in thick copses wherever the land held enough soil to take their roots. Their neat trunks headed skyward, some arrow-straight. Only the paler color of their bark distinguished them from the lower forests.
Dayna stopped. “Come. We go through a tunnel to west face.”
“What mountain is this?”
The woman said nothing, as always.
“Dayna, where is Dost?”
“Uh. He come different way. They think too much danger – you two together.” She shrugged as if to say the decision had nothing to do with her.
“Oh.”
They headed deeper into the woods, past a village, the houses built of pale rock and bustling with activity. Several people peeled away from their group to be met joyously by the villagers. Soon after that they came to an arched entrance dressed in pale pink stone.
To each side heavy iron doors were hinged open. Inside she could see that the stone floor was as level as that of any house and intricate mosaics and tapestries decorated the walls.
For the first time in days Dayna gave her back the haversack then led the way through the doorway. Krueger trailed along behind with three others. They went past intersections that were closed off by timber doors and up many flights of stairs until, at last, they came to an antechamber before two large ornate carved doors that were well more than twice Ellinca’s height. There were four benches with cushions and several tables, some of them laden with bowls of fruit and bread, and carafes of wine or water.
Standing at attention beside the doors was a spear-carrying attendant, his armor embellished by multi-colored enameling – armor that had never, judging from its pristine condition, been within sneezing distance of a battle.
“This is Salle, um, you would say, Hall of Gheists,” announced Dayna. The attendant dragged open one of the doors.
Hall of Gheists? The name was curious but her thoughts were interrupted by scratching coming from within her haversack. Her hair stood on end. There was something alive inside her pack, something bigger than a mere bug. What could it be? She had not been allowed to open the pack since the Grakkurds had rescued her from the saber cat. A rat? She recalled the strange thing that had eaten her dagger. No. Surely not. It was dead.
She nearly went to return the haversack to Dayna but her curiosity came to the fore. Instead she placed it on the floor and buckled the flap as tightly as she could. Dayna beckoned to her. Everyone else had gone through the doors.
The distant whistling and howling doubled in volume as they walked through the entrance. Inside was a vast cavern, except vast was an understatement. Ellinca’s hair whipped sideways and her skin cooled instantly by several degrees.
The air was filled with opalescent dust motes swirling inside yellow shafts of the afternoon light that speared down from somewhere high above. But it wasn’t all light, Ellinca realized as her eyes and her mind adjusted to what was before her. From one end to the other and from the floor to the unseen ceiling, the cavern was filled with ghosts.
“Why...” She breathed the words, awed by the spectacle. “Where are they from?” Ghosts were not supposed to do this. How, why, would they all have an agitare, a haunt, at the same place?
Many of the Grakks were lined up in front of her, facing the ever-moving ghosts. It was not the blustery wind that made the ghosts move for they often went against the wind, moving as they willed it. One by one the Grakks knelt and she saw that before each of them were assembled particular ghosts. Muttered prayers came to her ears.
Her eyes stung as the wind stripped away moisture.
“These are ancestors,” said Dayna. “They will not hurt you.”
“Perhaps not.” She frowned. “But they are not my ghosts. Why don’t they go on to the afterlife?” Yet another ghost, its stature smaller than those before it, was moving in.
Dayna shrugged. “This is how it is. When ready, they go to afterlife.” She pointed to some ghosts that gathered near her. “This, my grandmother, Nerna. Here, great-great uncle Sansker. They are my...my anchors. From them we draw strength, honor and – ”
Something, a movement, a wrong thing, drew Ellinca. The ghost of a young man looked at her. Her eyes met his, were transfixed. No. No. Horrified, she stared. How could this be? It looked like him. It couldn’t be Pascolli.
The age, the build, the wavy hair and the sadness in those eyes – each feature struck her like a blow. Repulsed, she wrenched her gaze away, and staggered back. No. Pascolli was alive. This couldn’t be him.
Dayna kept on speaking. “Wholeness? Oneness? Is hard to speak it. All other mountains have these halls. Please. I must pray.”
Even now Ellinca found her mind registering the words. Other mountains? How many was that? How many ghosts? Ammunition the Burgla’le would see this as. Ammunition, and they let her see it.
She nodded like a wooden doll, fumbled for words and said, weakly, “I feel ill. I’ll wait outside.” Head down so she couldn’t see that ghost, she bumped awkwardly against Dayna.
Dayna righted her then gently patted her shoulder. “Yus. Go. Rest.”
The ghosts swirled beyond Dayna. Stumbling, she turned. It was possible she was mistaken – outlines, fingers and even faces were at times blurred. No one here could tell her the truth. She would find out. Somehow.
Once outside in the hall, she collapsed onto a timber bench and fought back nausea. She could go on. She must. If that ghost were Pascolli, he had died. Ellinca shuddered. He was alive. He had to be.
The attendant looked at her strangely but said nothing. No one guarded her. Thoughts chased each other through her head, so many she could not catch them, judge them for their worth. They did not mean to let her go to Carstelan. This was all a fraud to get her to go quietly. Had they killed him? Did Dayna or Krueger know? She had things to do. She bowed her head, rocking, pressing her fingers against her eyeballs until she saw spots of colored light. They came away wet with tears. Stop this, girl. Time to go.
Ellinca shifted around and reached for her pack. She flinched. The pack had moved. Again. That scratching came from within accompanied by clicking, as if someone were frantically knitting. She sniffed, blinked. Carefully she unbuckled the flap and slid out the two straps then, with her foot, pushed the pack along the floor. She stood and backed away.
The attendant’s eyebrows rose at this behavior. He approached then also moved away hurriedly. Something emerged. Reddish hued, with an unusually large number of legs, it crawled from the pack, only to retreat when it saw them watching.
“What’s that?” the attendant squeaked.
“Don’t know.” Nonchalantly, yet with heart in her mouth, she asked, “Can I borrow your spear?”
“Sure!” He almost threw it at her feet. For a fleeting second she felt sorry for him. The man really needed a different occupation.
She picked the spear up and used its point to open the mouth of the haversack.
The creature re-emerged. For the first time since the dagger-eating incident she saw it clearly. Ellinca frowned, puzzled. Was this the same thing? It was...cute.
Cute in every way, except the number of legs, it looked like a rather ludicrous red puppy – little sniffing nose, fluffy hair, waddling gait and wagging tail, but it had eight legs. And the hair appeared to be the wool from a pair of gloves. Underneath, on its stomach, she was fairly sure she glimpsed the red spongy stuff that had eaten her dagger blade.
Ellinca felt like rubbing her eyes to see if the creature changed again. It occurred to her that it had somehow copied, badl
y, the appearance of a dog. On the way up the mountain she had seen several dogs belonging to the Grakks. Perhaps it too had seen them.
“Smash it!” shrieked the attendant.
In all the time it had been hiding in the pack the thing had not hurt anyone.
The creature halted a yard from the pack, wagging its tail.
“Take off your belt,” Ellinca ordered. The man hesitated but she glared at him. Hurriedly he undid the buckle and tossed it to her. From a low table she whipped off a pink satin cloth.
Like a fisherman casting a net she threw the cloth over the creature. Then, hoping the thing couldn’t bite her through the cloth, she quickly wrapped it, gathered the material into a neck and buckled the belt tight around it. The cloth bulged out in places as the thing struggled. She slung it back into the pack and cinched the buckles.
Ellinca looked about, wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, hefted the spear and gave the guard a weak smile. “Bye.” She sprinted as fast as she could down the passageway in the opposite direction in which they had arrived.
“Stop!” the man shouted weakly. Seconds later she heard the door slam open behind her and Dayna calling her name.
She would lose them in this complex of intertwining corridors. She would find somewhere to hide and then no matter how slowly she had to go she would find a safe way down this mountain.
The few Grakks Ellinca passed walked sedately, head down as though meditating. They barely had time to look up as she flashed past.
She ran with a spring to her stride, the days of good food and climbing having strengthened her muscles. Ellinca could feel the blood sizzle through her veins. With the jar of every step she heard his name. Pascolli. Pascolli. She would find a way out of here, lose the pursuit and locate Pascolli. That could not have been him. Nothing made any sense anymore.
Her breath came in ragged gasps but at least she could be sure that those chasing her were just as tired. From far behind their footsteps echoed on the stone. That was the problem – footsteps echoed and carried sound far too well. She needed to slow down, sneak for a while.
Ellinca rounded a curve. Up ahead was a dead end with a double doorway – a trap, or maybe a way out. Hope flared. This was like the other entrance to the tunnels. If she could somehow bar it from the other side she would gain more time. She staggered up to it, drawing in great lungfuls of the cool air as she caught her breath. Deliberately she made herself relax, slowing her breathing and summoning fresh energy.
Palms to the door, with the tiniest of pushes, she quietly opened one side of the door, just enough to squint through the crack.
Nothing moved. Slanting light cast the muted shadows of late afternoon. Ellinca could hear the steady moan of the wind. A school of leaves rolled and scattered past, herded by the wind. This was a room open to the outside. In the distance were several strange contraptions of stretched canvas or animal skin on a framework of timber. Not a Grakk to be seen, nor sign nor sound of anything living.
She crouched, opened the door a little more and slipped silently through. The door hissed closed behind her as she crept forward a slow five paces. No one appeared. Maybe she could jam the spear across the door handles?
To the right a tall, stern man faced her, his torso clad in polished pieces of segmentae armor, his arm angled out to the side as if caught mid-gesture. To either side of him was a double line of warriors.
With a curt hand signal then with a loud, “Hah!” they grounded the butts of their long-handled axes.
Dost stood in their midst. Axes were good for cutting off heads. They didn’t completely trust this bludvoik after all.
Concentrate. Calm, she told herself. Act like you should be here. They might not know who she was. Yet. Her black jerkin and leggings were mostly covered by her borrowed Grakk coat. It had kept her nicely warm on the trek. Pascolli may be dead, and she was worried about being warm. Dead. She wrestled the thought away. I can’t function like this. I have to master this or I will help no one.
She spun on her heel and strolled toward the canvas contraptions – there were at least ten arranged in a neat group across a tongue of stone that stretched toward the mauve-and-orange sky. Wind-blasted torches on poles flared their flames sideways on either side of this large squared-off cavern. The last of them blazed where the platform of stone began. In the full dark there would be little to warn of the edge.
“Ellinca,” sang out Dost.
She ignored him. Sweat prickled her spine. What could she do? She needed an out, fast.
Only twenty yards to go to the edge. Could she drop over the side perhaps? She wouldn’t look back. Step by step the distance shortened. Her coat swept fluttering out to the side, letting in the chill evening air.
A long-ago memory surfaced. She knew what these contraptions were for – gliding. Her father had spoken of this to her once with awe trembling his words. In his youth he had traveled to the Whispering mountains to see the Great Gliding Ritual. Bemused, she realized that must have been before it was decided the Grakks were despicable cannibals.
But to do it from this height? They must be two or three or even four miles up.
“Halt!” shouted a man somewhere behind her.
She flinched. Scum. Someone was suspicious.
Behind her the door crashed open against the wall. “Ellinca! Come back,” yelled Dayna.
She lengthened her stride and reached the broad tongue of stone. Shucking off her coat, Ellinca looked over the edge, ready to swing down if even the slightest ledge showed promise. Her heart sank. Teetering there, she balanced with the front half of her shoes projecting into space.
It was a sheer cliff face.
A strange force seemed to press at her back, dizziness swept into her and the world lurched unpredictably, from side to side, from all the spinning directions. If she closed her eyes she knew she would fall. Pascolli...yes, he was dead. She knew this was true deep down where it mattered, just like she knew that if she closed her eyes the world would disappear.
Three spiders crawled up the cliff toward her. They ascended fast, their legs blurring. The dying sunlight glinted specks of gold from their bodies then her eyes registered the scale of them. She leapt backward and gulped air.
They weren’t spiders. They were men moving too fast for the eye to follow. She swung round and ran.
“Immolators!” Whoever stood in the way of these men would die and she wasn’t ready to do that yet. “Ware! Immolators!”
Chapter 14
Immolators
“Immolators are coming!” Ellinca ran, legs flailing madly at the ground, toward Dayna and Krueger. Not toward the other soldiers. Someone here was a target for the Immolators and she meant to keep out of the way. “Get back out the door! Immolators!”
No matter her previous doubts, Dayna and Krueger had treated her well, far better than Immolators would if she got between them and their target.
Of course, she had forgotten the Grakks were fighters by occupation. Dayna and Krueger went toward trouble, not away. Aghast she watched them draw their swords and advance to join the others. After a moment of hesitation she swerved. Safety in numbers. It could be hoped.
Immolators were the cream of the Imperator’s troops, ready to kill for him, ready to die if need be. They were near unstoppable, skin pre-marked with dozens of tattoos for quick insertion of the needle master’s gold-tipped needles – human pin cushions. Speed, power, cardiac output, super-fast blood clotting to slow down blood loss and the reflexes of a saber cat – all these took their toll. Once activated Immolators blazed through their life force in a hundred thousand heart beats.
“How many? How far away?” Dayna cried as she pelted up to Ellinca.
“Three! Not long! Thirty seconds maybe!”
Dayna snatched the spear from Ellinca and pushed her behind.
“I saw what you saw. Your friend. I am sorry.” Dayna slid a knife from a leg sheath, flipped it once, twice then placed it in Ellinca’s hand. “Here.”
She spoke quietly. “Remember, I trust you and ask you to trust me. Yus?” She gently held Ellinca’s hand between her warm palms.
Ellinca nodded, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She pushed away her sorrows. Not now. Later she could grieve. How difficult this must be for Dayna – her orders would certainly not have mentioned giving her a weapon. She gripped the knife. “Yes.”
“But don’t use, please. Stay there out of way. Three is okay. We handle. They won’t get through these doors.” She exchanged a grim glance with Krueger, who gave a curt nod and shifted his grip on his weapon.
So, she had a knife. Though what could she do to an Immolator with this puny thing? The weight of the spear had been more...reassuring. She inhaled deeply. Calm, girl, calm. Everyone else had their enormous axes and swords and far more skill. She would stay out of the way and only get involved if she had to. Ellinca hefted the knife. The balance made her guess it was meant for throwing. The last time she had tried that she had missed. The only thing she was good at was doctoring – and that didn’t seem at all likely to help here. Not at first, anyway.
Ellinca looked around, seeing everything in one swinging glance as the men and women prepared for combat.
There: an axe man opened a metal door, said a few words and slammed it shut. He stayed, guarding it. What was in there? Someone or something important?
There: four axe men had run to Dayna and Krueger, forming a rough semi-circle. Dayna tossed the spear and one of them deftly grabbed it from the air.
“Surround them if possible!” Dost yelled out in his deep voice. “They’re fast, but they still have two arms and two eyes.” The tall leader hesitated, as if weighing the value of advice from a bludvoik, then nodded. Dost was a prince. For all he knew Dost had been wet-nursed, spanked and tutored by Immolators.
“Hmph!” Dayna snorted. “Don’t forget two legs.”
“Ellinca!” Dost added.
“Yes?” Startled, she stared back.
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