“Not only that,” Tevvy added, “how would any of this stuff still be here, if others have tried to enter the tomb? We saw the signs in the earth realm that someone had died there.”
Thal shrugged. “It is a one-way trip,” he said, “the only way out, once you enter, is with the staff.”
Blakstar pulled a small crystal vial from the crate and held it up for the others to see. “What’s this?” he asked, looking closely at the vial, then handing it to the maghi.
Thal took it, then he smiled, handing it to Klaybear. “Will this help?” he asked.
Klaybear looked at the vial, then shook his head. “Do you have any idea how much this would cost? There’s more here than I have ever seen, and if we sold it, we could all live comfortably for the rest of our lives.” He slipped the vial into one of his pockets; Tevvy was eyeing him closely.
Blakstar was watching the awemi, watching Klaybear. “If it goes missing . . . ,” the kortexi said, glaring at Tevvy, but not finishing his thought.
Tevvy jerked his eyes away, looking at the kortexi. “I had no such thought,” he noted, looking away quickly.
“Well, that will enable me to cast the protection orthek,” Klaybear said, turning the subject back to what they were about to do, “until I run out of energy.”
“There are several small bottles in here,” Blakstar said, having turned from glaring at Tevvy back to the crate. He picked up one of the small bottles and passed it to Thal.
Thal took it, his breath hissing past his teeth as he touched it. He transferred it to his other hand, using his sleeve to hold it. “It is icy cold,” he noted, seeing the others looking at him. He held it up to look at the symbols on its label. He smiled widely as he read the symbols, “potopator ghwerpuri,” he said, “a potion of heat protection; there is only one white maghi who could create such a potion today.” He looked at Blakstar. “How many are there?”
“It looks like enough for two each,” Blakstar replied.
Thal shook his head. “Another fortune,” he noted, “if we sold them.” He slipped the small bottle into his belt pouch, along with the second Blakstar handed him. The others also took their portion of the small bottles.
“How long will these last?” Klaybear asked.
“Depends on how potent each one is,” Thal replied, “an hour, maybe longer.”
“Now we just need some cloth,” Blakstar said, reaching again into the crate. He shifted things around for a moment, then pulled out a bundle of thick, white cloth. “This is the kind of material used for towels,” he noted, “it should work quite well.” He passed the bundle to Klaybear, who found, when he opened the bundle, four hoods--one of them smaller--that they could throw over their heads, with bands sewn on the inside of the hoods at neck level to hold them in place. Klaybear handed the smaller one to Tevvy, one each to Blakstar and Thal, and threw the last one over his head, tying it in place.
“Hold up the water bags,” Klaybear said, taking his staff out. Blakstar held up two bags, and Klaybear touched each with his staff and said, “kreyakwa.” Each bag suddenly filled.
Blakstar slung the two bags crosswise over his shoulders, with each bag hanging under his arms at waist level. He then held out the remaining bag, which Klaybear filled, then slung over his shoulder. The kailu touched each hood, whispered the same word, and each hood was suddenly drenched in water. He nodded to Thal.
The white maghi turned to the arch and touched the fire symbol, with a glowing finger, bringing the archway to life for the second time.
Klaybear took the small bottle of argwiwo from his belt and handed it to Thal. “Open it and hold it up for me,” he said, and waited until Thal opened the bottle. He took the small dropper out, and put one drop on each person’s head, beneath the hood, including his own. He touched the spot of argwiwo on each head, and said, “nemfagelu.”
Tevvy shivered. “That’s cold!” he exclaimed.
“It won’t be as soon as we step through that archway,” Blakstar noted.
They stepped from cool darkness into a furnace, lit with red light, the air so thick with heat that breathing was painful, walking difficult. The water dripping from their hoods hissed and turned to steam as soon as it touched the blackened stones beneath their feet. Tevvy danced from one foot to another, digging frantically in his pack for a moment before removing a pair of thick leather-soled sandals. However, he could not stand on one foot long enough to get one sandal on the other foot. The kortexi, seeing Tevvy’s plight, lifted the awemi off of the ground and held him in the air until Tevvy managed to tie on his sandals. Blakstar set him back on his feet.
“Thanks,” Tevvy whispered, his voice echoing dully.
The kortexi nodded, but refrained from speaking.
They stood on a small, round, stone area, surrounded by what looked like a cross between liquid fire and molten rock, flames dancing across the surface. The heat haze made it difficult to see very far, but a raised stone pathway extended as far as they could see. Blakstar nodded toward the pathway, and Tevvy moved down it, scanning the stones in front of him before stepping forward. The others followed.
“Now I understand,” Klaybear said to Thal.
Thal gave him a questioning look, but refrained from speaking.
“What Rokwolf meant,” Klaybear replied, “when he described traveling through the Desert of Thruplar, beyond the Skergrut Escarpment, as trying to walk through water about to boil.”
Thal smiled and nodded.
They trudged forward in silence, each withdrawn into himself. After ten minutes, the water dried from their hoods, and Blakstar took one of the water bags he carried, pouring some over Tevvy’s hood, until the water dripped, splashing to the black stones, turning instantly to steam. He did the same for Klaybear, Thal, and then himself, which virtually emptied the water bag. He slung it over his shoulder, each drank from his personal water skin, and they trudged forward again. Five minutes later, Klaybear’s orthek expired, so they stopped, and he renewed the orthek, and each drank. The path never varied, never ended, moving inexorably forward through the heat and bubbling flames. Five minutes later, they stopped and Blakstar emptied the second water bag over their heads; ten minutes after that, their hoods dried again and the orthek expired. Klaybear handed the third water bag to Blakstar, who started pouring, while Klaybear renewed his orthek. They paused for a moment when these actions were done, so that Klaybear could refill the water bags and each person’s water skin. These actions became a monotonous routine: empty a water bag, take a drink, renew the orthek, another drink, empty a second water bag, drink, orthek, third water bag, drink, refill, first bag, drink, orthek, drink, second, drink, third, orthek, drink, refill, the path never varied, going straight on, four times through this routine, the path went on, five times, stumbling forward, six times, Tevvy fell forward, burning his hands on the stones; Blakstar lifted him, helped him to drink; seven times, and Thal stumbled, helped up by Klaybear; Klaybear collapsed after refilling the bags; Blakstar and Thal helped him to his feet; Blakstar tripped, nearly stumbling off the path into the bubbling, liquid flame; eight times, and Klaybear could no longer produce water or renew the orthek.
“It’s time,” Thal croaked, “to use our first potion.”
The others nodded, and each took out one of the small bottles, which were still ice cold, and each drank eagerly. The temperature around them seemed to drop, and the environment became tolerable. Klaybear was then able to refill the water bags and skins. They moved forward again, strength renewed by the icy cold potion, the water soaking their hoods evaporated more slowly while the potion was effective, lengthening the time to fifteen minutes. After the third drenching of their hoods, and Klaybear refilling their bags and skins, the effects of the potion began to wear off, and they began again to stumble forward. They returned to their previous routine, first water bag, drink, renew orthek, drink, second water bag, drink, third, drink, orthek, refill, but this happened only twice before Klaybear was again unable to produce
more water. The path continued forward, lost in the heat haze, with no end in sight. They drank their second potion, which carried them forward again for an hour before expiring, and when it did, Klaybear no longer had the energy to refill their bags. They staggered on, Tevvy soon falling down, unable to rise, even though the stone burned his hands and face. Blakstar wearily picked the fallen awemi up and slung him over his shoulders, staggering on; Thal stumbled, falling forward into Klaybear, who turned to lift him, pulled one arm over his shoulder, and staggered on; Tevvy, limp, Thal wheezing in Klaybear’s ear, the two stronger wethem staggering forward under the added burden, wringing drops out of empty water skins, staggering, tripping, bumping into Blakstar, both falling to the stone.
The air felt suddenly cooler, although still oppressive; the stone under them did not burn. Klaybear pushed himself up and saw that they were on a large circle of stone, which explained why they felt cooler. He shook Thal, who managed to get to his hands and knees, and they both crawled forward to where Blakstar lay with Tevvy on his back, shaking him. They looked up, hearing a croaking sound.
“Water,” the voice croaked, “please, water.”
They saw what looked like a bundle of rags, a red-skinned arm reaching toward them. They crawled toward the fallen wethi, Tevvy slipping from Blakstar’s back as they reached the fallen person.
“Help me,” the voice croaked, and the face was red, barely recognizable as a man. “Water,” he croaked again.
They looked from the fallen man, to their fallen companion, who did not move, but appeared to be in a similar state.
“Please,” the voice from the fallen man croaked, “one last drink to ease my passing,” he implored.
They looked from one to another, and Blakstar reached for the only water left, the Waters of Life. “There is only one swallow left,” he said, taking the special skin from his belt.
“You should give that to Tevvy,” Thal whispered, barely able to speak.
Blakstar shook his head. “This man’s condition is worse,” he rasped, “his need greater.”
“But he’s about to die,” Thal protested.
“We are all about to die,” Blakstar countered sharply, “and the kortexi code is clear: I must help him, although it costs me my all,” he corrected himself, “costs all our lives.”
Klaybear nodded, constrained by his own code of conduct.
The kortexi pulled out the stopper and poured the last few drops of the Waters into the wethi’s open, parched mouth. For a moment, his skin color reverted to normal, his breathing eased, his eyes cleared, and he looked straight into Blakstar’s eyes. “Thank you, lord,” he whispered. “Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded.” With a sigh, the wethi went limp, his life spent.
Wordlessly, Blakstar struggled to stand and lift the lifeless, nameless wethi. The kortexi staggered toward the nearest edge of the stone circle, lifting the body over his head and hurling it into the bubbling, flaming liquid. They heard a slap as it hit the liquid flame, heard it hissing and sizzling as the flames consumed it. Blakstar watched for a moment, then turned to his companions where they lay at the center of the circle.
“Let the heat and flames that have taken his life, cleanse and purify his remains,” Blakstar whispered, staggering closer to where the others were, but he stumbled before he reached them, fell to his knees, stretched his hand toward them, and fell on his face.
Thal groaned and slumped next to Tevvy.
Klaybear turned his head, and he saw that all of his companions were still. He cradled his head on one of his arms. “Oh, Klare, I’m sorry,” he sighed.
Rokwolf was uneasy; it was too quiet. Although he had watched over Klare through the night, making frequent sweeps around the area to be sure no one was nearby, he still felt a threat approaching, but he could not decide what it might be, or where it was coming from. He looked down at Klare, whose eyes were red and face streaked with dried tears. Her sister and mother lay beside her, unmoving for most of the night, but there were moments when her sister stirred in her sleep, as if she were struggling against something; her mouth worked, but she spoke no words, as if something prevented her from speaking. Rokwolf wanted to move from here, but Klare’s mother had not stabilized, Klare had told him, enough to be moved. Rokwolf ground his teeth and occupied the time between sweeps dragging the bodies to one of the buildings that had fallen, where they could all be burned together.
“Any change?” Rokwolf asked Klare, kneeling beside her.
Klare looked up, but did not answer right away. “No, no change,” she said after a few moments. “She is still . . . ,” Klare faltered, unable to continue.
Rokwolf put one hand gently on her shoulder. “Klaybear told me that you were the best young healer at the school,” he spoke in a gentle voice, “and I can see that you have done all that could be done: it is in the hands of the One.”
Klare looked up at her brother-in-law and smiled weakly. “Thanks,” she said, “it’s just that . . . ,” she started to say, but bowed her head and sobbed, “I never had the chance to tell her that she’s going to be a grandmother,” she finished, burying her face in her hands, her body wracked with sobs she could not control.
Rokwolf wrapped his arms around her and held her until her sobs subsided.
Klare sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Sorry,” she noted. “Anything?” she asked.
Rokwolf shook his head. “No,” he said, eyes scanning the area around them, “but there is something, some threat approaching. We cannot remain here much longer.”
Klare nodded. “I know,” she agreed, “but we should wait a little longer before we try to move mother,” she added, looking down. “I wonder how long Klaybear will be gone,” she finished, turning to look to the north. “I was a little worried when that big wave crashed into the shore and the ground shook, but now I feel he is fine.”
Rokwolf followed her gaze, also looking north. “I’m glad you think so,” he said. “I am concerned about them; they are not experienced, and that worries me. I shared my concerns with your Headmaster, suggested that I should go with them, but he told me that if I did, they would fail.”
Klare touched his arm lightly, bringing his eyes back to look at her. “I’m sure he had very good reasons. I think he was the wisest person living, except for my master,” she said, and her face became bleak, eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Avril! I’d forgotten!” she sobbed, bowing her head again.
“What did you forget?” Rokwolf asked.
“My master,” Klare replied, “he died yesterday, but it seems like long ago, or that he’s not dead.” She sniffed and shook her head. “No! I must not, mother needs me,” she went on, looking down at her charges. “I have no time for grief,” she finished, dashing the tears from her eyes.
Both looked up and to the east.
“What . . . ?” Klare started to say, but Rokwolf silenced her.
He scanned the east, trying to find the source of the sound they both had heard. He stood silently and unslung his bow, nocking an arrow. Klare reached with her right hand and grabbed her staff, which had been lying beside her on the ground; as silently and smoothly as Rokwolf, she stood and faced the east, holding her staff ready. Seeing her standing ready, Rokwolf nodded to the east, indicating he was going to investigate, then he moved swiftly and silently, eyes taking in everything. He disappeared around the corner of a fallen building, making a sweep of the area but finding nothing; he returned shaking his head but did not speak until close to Klare.
“There was something,” Rokwolf whispered, “I am sure, but I cannot find who or what it was, or any traces.” He nodded to Klare’s mother and sister. “Is there any way we can move her?” he asked. “We are too exposed here,” he added, “we have to find some cover, before whatever is out there discovers us.”
Klare looked at her mother, then looked around. “Maybe if you found something flat,” she noted, “like a wide plank; we could slide her onto it and move her, but we dare not go very far.”
/> Rokwolf looked around. “I’ll find something,” he noted. “There is space in the cellar, if we could get them in there, you could stay there with them, out of sight, and I could draw whatever is out there away from you, erasing all traces of your presence.” He stood and slung his bow over his shoulder, sliding the arrow back into his quiver. He circled the rubble, then remembered the door he and Klaybear pulled off of the cellar entrance; it was bulky, but he was sure he could drag it with Klare’s mother on it. He carried it back to where Klare waited, laying it next to Klare’s mother. He knelt beside Klare, across the cellar door from Klare’s mother.
“If we pull by the clothes she is lying on,” Klare said, “we should be able to slide her carefully onto the door.”
Rokwolf nodded, and they both took hold of her clothes. When Klare nodded, they slowly slid her mother onto the door, which caused her to wince in pain.
“Careful!” Klare said needlessly, and she moved to the end of the door, at her mother’s feet.
“What are you doing?” Rokwolf asked. “I think it is too heavy for you.”
“How do you plan on moving her?” Klare asked.
Rokwolf shrugged. “I’ll pick up one end and drag it around back.”
“You must not,” Klare replied, shaking her head. “Her condition is too fragile; one bump would kill her.”
“I don’t think you can lift it,” Rokwolf noted.
“I’ll have to try,” Klare said.
Rokwolf squatted to lift his end; Klare did the same, lifting when he nodded. He lifted his side easily, but he could tell that Klare was struggling with her side.
“Are you okay, Klare?” Rokwolf whispered.
Klare nodded. “I can’t go far,” she replied through clenched teeth.
Rokwolf started to back in the direction of the cellar, looking behind him and looking back at Klare. He could tell after a few steps that it was too much for Klare at this point: the strain of several hard days, losing her master, and now her father and brothers, and no sleep through the past night had all taken a toll on her. On a normal day, he knew that she would have no trouble, but this was not a normal day. A few more steps and he could see her fingers slipping.
The Redemption, Volume 1 Page 48