by D. H. Dunn
The Sherpa girl was a larger concern. She seemed more unpredictable, Jang could see the emotion boiling just under the surface. It was a mistake to dismiss her before as he had, he had no intention of doing so again. Small or not, she was a threat. Like Shamsher, she had proven that these Sherpa people had a fire in their hearts that would not be easily doused. These were people worthy of his respect, and someone worthy of respect was worthy of fear.
Still, he could see in her eyes concern for the odd man he held hostage. She winced whenever he cried out, she balled her fists when Jang threatened him. The girl did not want to risk harm to the small man and that was staying her hand for now.
The real worry was the Western woman. There was a fire in her eyes the others lacked, and Jang watched those eyes dance from him back to her two companions. She didn’t want his hostage hurt, but she wanted other things, too. Given enough time, she might decide she wanted her other goals more. Jang needed to get the group to these Others before the she made her move.
Why his hostage had not made a move against him was a mystery Jang could not solve. He may have been smaller, but the scout was more than strong enough to break out of the hold Jang had him in. Yet since seeing the blade, the man had stayed cowed like a yak calf. It was confusing, but the behavior was consistent. More of that tempting fortune, he supposed. He didn’t dare believe in it.
Thus, he instructed the three that he’d cut the man’s throat at the first sign of resistance or the first sound of their voices. It didn’t make him less afraid to see them shuffling along, seemingly defeated and with nothing to say, but he found himself smiling all the same. It hurt his frostbitten cheeks, but it was worth it.
Fortunately, only a few minutes of sideways walking along the passage were required before they arrived at the camp of the Others. Jang had been here once before, hiding in the shadows as he studied his potential enemies and allies.
Unlike the open cavern populated by the refugees who had taken in Adley and his group, the Others kept themselves in a defensible hollow. A cave within the cave; the long tube-like approach was the only entrance and exit. Also, unlike the refugees, the Others managed to keep their guards awake. One such man stood outside the entrance to the tube, reacting as Jang and his group stepped out of the shadows.
The man approached him from the entrance of the hollow, wearing a dark cloak like these Others seemed to prefer. Inside the depths of his hood, the man’s features were hard to determine in the low light. The sharpness of his spear brandished in Jang’s direction, was not.
Jang put on his best smile. This was an interaction he was familiar with, convincing the powerful he had something they wanted, it was only in moments like these when the fear receded. These were Jang’s moments.
He put up one hand to show he held no weapon. This man was simply a guard, his power was his ability to delay Jang or injure him. The real power was inside the cave, and Jang needed access to that quickly, before one of his charges grew more confident.
At any moment, the whole situation threatened to spiral out of Jang’s control, but this, too, was something he was familiar with. The man pointed his spear at Jang but said nothing, letting his silence ask the obvious questions.
“I have something here for your master,” Jang said, keeping his voice steady as he stared into the dark recesses of the cloaked man’s hood. “The refugee camp’s scout, as well as three able bodies from beyond.”
“The scout has value,” the man said. His voice was ragged and had the sound of someone who had seen his bed too infrequently.
“Please.”
A female voice, the western woman. There was little satisfaction in being proven right that she would be the first to test him.
“This man attacked us and . . .”
Jang pressed his blade against his captive’s throat, drawing a cry that silenced the woman. Perhaps she cared more for the small man than Jang had expected, or possibly was worried about the reaction of her companions? No matter, he decided. He needed to stay decisive.
“I will trade the scout to you,” Jang said. “For protection from these three, as well as words with your masters.”
There was little delay in the reaction, that pleased Jang. This man clearly was not authorized to make decisions on his own. He gave a shrill whistle and was quickly joined by two more of the Others, each wielding the same primitive spears. There was a short discussion in voices too low to hear, allowing the sweat on Jang’s brow to build. Each second was another chance for something to go wrong.
Finally, the conference was over, and the guards produced long lengths of rope as they approached him.
“We will take you into the camp,” the man said. “You will all be bound, but we will honor our agreement. You will speak with our lord.” The man paused. Jang guessed he was being given the honor of deciding on his reply.
He was pleased, there was a protocol and structure to these Others. That would make them easier to work with.
“I agree,” Jang said. “You may tie me once my captives are bound. This one last.” He pressed the blade against the small man’s throat again while listening to the cloaks attending to Adley and the others. The small man’s whimper both satisfied and angered him. He was sure now this one had been hurt before and it had stayed with him. He had allowed the hurt to define him. Weakness.
Only after the odd man’s hands had been tied did Jang release the knife’s pressure on the man’s neck. His father’s blade, a gift to Jang on his deathbed, had saved him from his own death. He sheathed the dagger and held his own hands out to be bound, trying not to look at the dark damage frostbite had done to his fingers.
Jang found the strength to smile again as he watched Adley, the Sherpa girl, and the western woman led into the depths of the cave. Adley and the girl had thought to outsmart him back in Gorak Shep, the woman had hoped to bury him in the Icefall. Like so many, they had thought him defeated. Just like the Jang dynasty, he would continue to rise again.
The ropes binding his wrists felt like freedom.
Nima’s eyes darted around the dark hole the men were leading her into; a long tunnel of rock leading farther into the depths of the mountain’s interior. This was the camp of the Others, the people who had Pasang. Her brother was in here somewhere, she hoped. This was not how she had planned to reach him, but at least she was closer to seeing him again.
Merin had said these Others needed them, yet Nima still worried for their safety. Men with weapons who tied your hands were not interested in your well-being, and once they were of no use to these Others Nima was sure their safety would end.
She needed to find Pasang, but then they would need to find a way to escape. Even if the danger the Others presented was unclear, Jang was a proven killer. She thought of Ham, and how he would now never go home.
This deep into the Under she had expected it to be warmer. Instead there was a slight chill in the air and a decrease in humidity. She could feel the dryness of the air on her face coming from the camp, even the hint of wind.
The mushrooms were still present, but they were smaller and thinner. Here and there she saw odd-colored moss clinging to the walls that seemed to pulse slowly, the moss colors matched whatever vein ran through the rock behind it. The air had a faint charred smell to it, though she could see no presence of smoke.
“Be calm,” Drew whispered from behind her, though she was not sure if he was saying it to her, Wanda, or even himself. She was nervous, but she didn’t feel the need to panic. Like any objective danger she might find on a mountain, these Others needed to be studied first. Other than binding her, they had made no threatening move.
Then she realized Drew was talking to Kaditula. Before Jang, she had never seen Kaditula without a smile on his face, but now the man continued to whimper softly. Nima wondered if Jang had triggered some fear in Kaditula’s past.
At last, the long tube ended and they were brought into the Others’ main camp. Compared to the cavern Kaditula and his gr
oup lived in, it was quite small. Nima judged it to be half the size, with no more than a dozen people present.
Jang was in the lead, his head high and his strides long. Nima struggled to accept that the man was still alive, yet here he was. He had lived due to the actions of Shamsher, one of her own people. Now he moved with confidence despite his obvious injury, fatigue, and frostbite. She had seen Jang as just a petty, small man, a bully. His rants about restoring his adopted dynasty to Nepal had seemed like boasting, an excuse to puff himself up. It was obvious to her now she had been wrong.
Upon exiting the tunnel, Jang approached a stout woman who stood in the center of the cave. While she wore a cloak, as the rest did, hers carried faded orange piping on the sides of the black material. A large, round shield was attached to her back, a long blade sheathed at her belt. She had left her hood around her shoulders, revealing her face. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, her mouth pulled into a frown.
“Herlian,” she said, ignoring Jang and addressing the man standing next to him. “Explain and be brief. Our Lord returns soon.” The woman looked back at a dark area at the rear of the cave. A faint crack could be seen in the wall there, just wide enough for a person to enter.
The cloaked man next to Jang nodded quickly, his fear palpable to Nima. Fear of the woman or of this returning lord, Nima could not be sure.
“Attendant Perol,” Herlian said, “this one presented these as prisoners, gifts for our Lord. This one is known to us.” He indicated Kaditula.
Kad still wore the same worried expression and was swaying his head back and forth in an action Nima thought might be to soothe his neck. She could see the bleeding had stopped, but even the superficial wound might be bothering the man.
“The spell-queen’s scout,” Perol said. “That is of value.” She approached Jang, who smiled and bowed deeply. Nima hoped this Perol could see through Jang’s act, which had always seemed obvious to her, even if her own father had been fooled by it.
“My lady,” Jang said, still bent at the waist. “I am Jang Bahadur of the Jang Dynasty, at your service.”
“Your titles mean nothing to me, small man,” Perol said. “The scout has value to us, thus, you live. Speak quickly. What of these others, and what do you offer?”
Jang glanced nervously at the three, his gaze lingering longest on Drew. Nima searched the cave for signs of Pasang, but much of the cave were poorly lit. There were shapes here and there, but she could not be sure what they represented.
“These are highly skilled climbers from my world,” he said. “They are yours, my gift to you along with the scout. I do have more to offer, but I would prefer to discuss it . . . in private. I’m afraid these people would do much to impugn my honor.”
Nima laughed and spat on the ground. “This one has no honor! If you would just . . .”
The guard standing next to her punched the butt of his spear into Nima’s stomach, causing a fit of coughing, cutting off her speech. She felt the air forced out of her lungs as a wave nausea ran through her. She would have dropped to her knees if she were not being held up by strong hands from behind.
Through blurred vision she saw Drew and Wanda struggling to rush forward, a pair of guards holding each of them back.
“The prisoners will be silent,” Perol barked, still looking at Jang. Two more of the cloaked guards came over to flank Drew and Wanda.
“They prove my point,” Jang said. “They are able-bodied but need motivation and control. Could we discuss this further away from them, thus avoiding further outbursts?” Jang motioned back into the tube.
Perol nodded, then turned back to the guards. “Two of you, take the scout to the preparation chamber. Treat his injuries. I am sure our Lord will want to speak with him on his return. The rest of you, move the prisoners to the cell.”
Nima balled her fists as she was shoved from behind. Reluctantly moving forward, Jang’s smile was the last thing she saw before the rocky passage engulfed her in shadow.
14
“Mountains are not fair or unfair. They are just dangerous.”
—Reinhold Messner
Whatever problems the Others might have been prepared for, it seemed to Nima that hosting prisoners was not one of them. The cave was small enough that there was little room for separate quarters, though there was the possibility that more living space existed through the narrow passage in the back of the cave that led into darkness. There was no one guarding that passage, so she doubted prisoners would be kept there.
Herlian, the man who had accepted them from Jang, had deposited them against one of the side walls of the cave, taking a moment to bind their feet while threatening them at spear point. The Others then left them there, clearly unconcerned that they represented any threat.
Jang was now outside the narrow stone passage with Perol, as was Kad. Once the three of them had been bound, Kad had been taken through the darker passage in the back. The worried expression on his face had only increased as he was led away. He knew these people, Nima reminded herself. He knew more than she did about what they were capable of, and he feared them.
It was a simple matter to look at the remaining handful of Others who went about the cave, most of them tending to small pots she assumed held food. All were too tall to be the person she was looking for.
“I don’t see Pasang,” she whispered to Drew, who was sitting to her left. She had been listening to Drew calming his breathing while she peered through the dark into every corner of the cave, her hope dwindling. He had to be here somewhere.
“No,” Drew said quietly, the word was almost a grunt as he tested the strength of the rope binding his hands. “No Carter, either.”
“Jang! That little troll. I should have killed him,” Wanda said from Nima’s right, her voice a quiet hiss. The woman’s eyes wandered all over the chamber, studying and examining. Being near Drew made Nima feel safer, but she guessed Wanda might be more likely to figure out their escape.
“You certainly tried,” Drew said.
If Nima’s hands had been free, she’d be tempted to smack him. With a sigh, Nima began to focus on the ropes binding her feet, not wanting to listen to the same argument the pair had been having since the Icefall. The ropes seemed poorly constructed, the fibers worn and brittle. The knots were well tied, but the binding itself was not likely to hold up for long. Either the Others didn’t have good ropes, or their better ropes were being used for something else.
“Had I succeeded, we would not be here,” Wanda replied. Her tone carried the same sound of rightness that Drew’s had, as if any other view of her actions had to be wrong. Nima felt like a dirt path between two farms, each sporting a feuding flock of crows.
She shuffled her hands behind her, trying to find something to work against the ropes. Unfortunately, the cave floor was smooth, free of the helpful outcropping of rock she had been hoping for. The most she got her hands on was a mushroom, which squished uselessly in her fingers.
“Ends justifies the means, eh?” Drew asked, his words quiet and less emotional than previous exchanges. He seemed distracted.
Nima watched him as he focused his gaze on just one of the men sitting near the entrance to the narrow passage. The man sat slowly stirring his pot. Nima could not see what was holding Drew’s attention.
“These ropes,” Nima said. “They are not very strong. I cannot break them, but if we had something to work up against them, we may be able to cut them.” She paused. “If you two can stop arguing.”
Drew let out a small chuckle. “Fair enough. We do have larger issues at hand. I’ve been studying the camp.”
“As have I,” Wanda said. The pair of them reminded her of herself and Pasang, arguing as children trying to impress her father.
“The man by the entrance,” Drew continued, nodding at the man stirring the pot. “He’s sick, I’ve seen him cough several times and he’s favoring his right side. If we could get free, I don’t think he’d be one to worry about.”
“That would leave five of them, three armed with those spears,” Wanda whispered. “I don’t suppose the American Navy trained you in spear combat?”
Drew laughed. “No, but they didn’t train me in climbing either.”
Combat was not something Nima had considered, and the thought brought a fresh point of tension to her nerves. She had been in a few fights when she was younger, just scuffles with other kids. The idea of facing someone who had the means and desire to kill her, that was something else. Yet if it meant her brother’s life, not to mention the lives of Drew and Wanda, it was another threshold she would cross if needed.
“Let’s get free first, then decide who to fight,” Nima said. There was, of course, the matter of their feet as well as their hands. One step at a time, she reminded herself, just as if she were climbing. Get to the next camp, not to the summit.
Nima slid a little closer to Drew, straining her hands behind her back to reach his. As Drew did the same, Nima did her best to keep her face blank and sullen. It would do little good if the Others figured out what they were doing. The men mostly scurried around the camp, nervously preparing for their Lord to arrive.
She felt Drew’s fingers gently test her ropes behind her back, pulling and tugging. He was working slowly and methodically, pausing between each action to see if it had been noticed.
There was a little pain as he managed to pull one of the knots tighter, Nima biting the inside of her cheek to avoid calling attention to herself. Drew shook his head slightly as she worked the knot back to its previous state.
“Nothing doing, sorry,” Drew whispered. “As a sailor, I’m ashamed to admit I’m not that good with knots. Try mine again.”
She could feel the same poor construction with the ropes, but without being able to see the knots, it was difficult to tell if she was doing any good.
“I’ve got a sharp rock here,” Wanda whispered. “I can’t untie my own wrists, but if you angle toward me, Nima . . .”