Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

  They slipped through the crack in the cliff and found the cavern beyond just as Kaffa had described. It was four meters high and twice as wide. The rock had been worn smooth over the centuries by running water. The tunnel beyond opened up before them, a black mouth ready to swallow them whole. Hramack shuddered at the mental image. The tunnel was slightly smaller than the cavern, but spacious enough for men to walk two abreast. Kena carried the lantern to light the way, but shielded it with his body to prevent its light from shining through the spring’s mouth and betraying their presence.

  The tunnel meandered considerably, hiding its dark secrets beyond every turn. Various hues of red, pink, buff, and gray streaked the smooth walls, created as the water cut through the different sedimentary layers that composed the area – sandstone, limestone, and shale. Crystals of all colors and sizes grew from the ceiling and walls. The light of the lantern caused the walls to glow with a life of their own. In spite of his fear of small spaces, the spectacle fascinated Hramack.

  They hiked for hours before coming upon the first opening in the ceiling. A section of the tunnel’s roof had collapsed at some time in the past. It would be difficult to reach the lip of the opening some fifteen meters above them but not impossible. Kena decided that they were still too close to the village and suggested they stay with the tunnel a while longer, just to be safe. After another four hours, they halted to eat and rest. It was early morning above. Kena lit one of the torches to save the electric lantern. By its dim, flickering orange light, they ate a quiet meal and drank sparingly from the water skins. They had been walking for nearly a day, and Hramack was exhausted. His father seemed energized by the journey, the thoughts of what lay behind them forgotten.

  “At least the tunnel is much cooler than the Burning Lands above,” Hramack said as they ate, trying to convince himself that the tunnel was a godsend. “At this rate, the water should last much longer, and we will be able to travel by day as well as night. Kaffa has saved us much time and torture with his secret way.”

  After his meal, he decided to open the book Kaffa had given him. The dim light made reading difficult. Kena asked Hramack to read aloud, as he leaned against the wall slowly chewing a piece of dried pori fruit.

  8

  Deadly Pursuit

  “Gone? What do you mean they are gone?” Chu Li screamed as Madras stood beside Chu Li’s bed. The distraught and obviously intoxicated Madras had just roused him from a restful sleep, and the unpleasant news did not improve his disposition.

  Madras’ words burst forth between gasps for breath, panting hard after his long run from the makeshift prison. “The door … is open … and they … have fled. I went to check on them … before first light.” He did not add that he had not slept but had instead spent the entire evening swilling kalquat.

  Chu Li shrugged off his sleepiness and gathered his thoughts. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed to mere slits in the feeble candlelight. “It was your cousin, Eithan,” he yelled as he threw off the covers. “He had the only key.”

  “He would not do such a thing against my wishes,” Madras protested, taking two steps backwards to avoid Chu Li and almost tripping over a nightstand.

  Chu Li sniffed the air and frowned at the smell of liquor. “I saw him speaking with Kaffa earlier last evening. I should have suspected something. The fool listened to the old man’s twisted lies.” With Kena and Hramack gone, people would question his ability to lead. He had to act quickly. “Bring Eithan to me, now.”

  Madras saw the cold, dark look in Chu Li’s eyes. “No. He is not to be hurt. He is my cousin.”

  Chu Li grabbed Madras by his cloak and pulled him closer. “Listen, you drunken fool,” he spat. “If Kena escapes, people will think he is beyond the punishment of Yarah. They will begin to question other things he has said. If I lose control of the village, you will fall with me. By Eithan’s sacrifice, Kena will become forever outcast. Then, no one will stand against us. You will have your revenge.” He looked pointedly at Madras, trembling with fright in the dim light of the candle. “Do not forget what secrets I possess. If Kena were to learn …”

  Madras blanched. “All right, but no one must know.”

  “Only you and I, and if either speaks it will mean both our deaths.”

  Madras bowed his head and said nothing.

  “And do not think to hold this thing over my head,” Chu Li warned. “The villagers will heed my word over yours. Bring him quietly back to the silo,” he cautioned. “None must see.”

  When Madras left, Chu Li cursed his luck. He had placed too much faith in Eithan’s ties to Madras, and the candle maker had let him down. Chu Li threw on his sacramental robe over his sleeping clothes and picked up his dagger from the bedside table. He looked at his reflection in the polished steel of the blade by the flickering candle. All was in order.

  “By such sacrifice is order kept,” he whispered to himself as he slipped the knife into the robe’s sash. He repeated the phrase several times on his journey to the silo.

  *

  “Alarm! Alarm!” Madras cried as he stood before the open door of the silo prison for the second time that morning. “The prisoners have escaped!”

  People slowly began to rouse from their homes at his cries and crossed the bridge to the grain silos. Many gasped when they saw the body of Eithan lying before the open door in a crimson pool of blood, quickly congealing in the heat of the morning sun.

  Madras wept openly, decrying, “They have murdered my cousin. See his broken body here. Surely, Yarah will punish us if we let these murderers go free.”

  On cue, Chu Li appeared in the midst of the gathered crowd, inwardly smiling at Madras’ performance. As the golden threads of his religious robe caught the first rays of the morning sun, it looked as if on fire. He opened his arms wide to let the robe flash even more brightly.

  “My children,” he called. “Kena has doomed us all. He has murdered Eithan in order to resume his unholy quest for the old cities. We must find him and bring him to justice. Who will go after him?”

  A dozen hands went up.

  Chu Li picked seven men he thought he could trust. He chose seven because it was a holy number – the seven days of creation and the seven trials of Nuama. “Follow them,” he ordered. “Find them. Bring them back to submit to the justice of Yarah and the laws of our village. Go. Gather weapons and supplies.”

  The seven men chosen for the pursuit sped across the bridge to their homes to retrieve weapons as Chu Li attempted to disperse the crowd. “Take Eithan’s body to the Sanctuary. We must pray for his soul.”

  As the crowd picked up Eithan’s corpse and carried it across the bridge, Chu Li spotted Kaffa standing alone, watching the proceedings with interest. He went over to Kaffa.

  “See what your friend has done,” he accused, pointing to the lifeless body being borne across the bridge on the shoulders of four men.

  Kaffa continued to stare at Chu Li. The Elder’s silence angered him.

  “Your day has passed, old man,” he shouted. “No one will follow you now.”

  Kaffa spoke quietly but with the conviction of surety. “Someday the people of Ningcha will see you as I see you, Chu Li. Eithan’s life was not taken by Kena, as you well know. Beware the vengeance of Yarah on the day Kena returns.” He turned and walked away, pushing his way through the crowd.

  “He will never return,” Chu Li shouted at the Elder’s back. “They will find him, and they will slay him. He has blasphemed against Yarah, and he must pay the price. You had best watch your step, too, old man. Do not stand against me.” He realized that he was shouting at the top of his lungs. He added, more quietly, “Do not go against the will of Yarah.”

  With the village now convinced Kena was responsible for Eithan’s death, it really did not matter if they found him or not. No one would take his word if he returned claiming innocence. “Let the desert have him. Let the scavengers gnaw the flesh from his bones and those of his son.”

  Madras stoo
d by the bridge waiting for him. The man was shaking from fear and guilt. Still hung-over from the kalquat, perspiration poured from his forehead though the full brunt of the day’s heat had not yet come to the valley. Chu Li hoped the people thought he was shaking from grief and rage.

  “Madras, it is done. Forget about it.”

  “How can I forget about it? I must look into his son’s eyes each day.” Madras wrung his hands.

  Seeing this, Chu Li said, “There is no blood on your hands. The deed was mine. It was the will of Yarah that a sacrifice be made. Eithan’s death has solidified our power. It will help bring the return of the water. Just wait and see.” He added, “Eithan’s son will apprentice to the metal smith as he wished, and after a suitable amount of time has passed, you will have Kena’s fine house.”

  “If the waters fail,” Madras said smugly, “our lives will mean little anyway.”

  “Come. Have breakfast with me,” Chu Li suggested. He wanted to keep Madras from the other villagers until he had calmed down.

  “No. I must go and comfort my cousin’s son and wife.”

  “Say nothing or we will all die,” Chu Li threatened in a whisper.

  “I’ll keep my lips sealed, as you know I must, but I fear we will all die just the same.” He crossed the bridge alone and disappeared into his home.

  The man is losing touch with the reality of the situation, Chu Li thought. I must watch him carefully.

  He could not allow Kena to return to the village alive. There were those who might believe him. Kaffa was one. Madras was weak. He would surely break down if confronted by Kena. He could not leave Kena’s fate entirely in the hands of his seven pursuers. No, he would have to lead them himself, to ensure a quick end to this threat to his power. He was not keen on going into the desert after Kena and Hramack, but he could trust no other to the task. Leaving the village was a risk. A flock left unattended could scatter.

  Removing his robes of office, he smeared his face, arms, and pale upper body with sunscreen. The aromatic ointment, made from a mixture of cottonseed and hempseed oils added to zinc oxide found naturally in the Burning Lands, would protect his flesh from harmful Ultraviolet rays. Conditioned to the less harmful rays of the indirect sun in the village, he added a second layer for extra protection in the desert. Then he donned pants, tunic, and a cloak more suitable for the desert. In lieu of the wide-brimmed hat most favored by the High Priest, he wrapped his head in a simple white burnoose, letting the ends cover his shoulders. He brought only his knife and his staff of office. The others could bring food and water enough for him. The gathered trackers were surprised at his insistence on accompanying them but did not dare question his motives. He was the High Priest and the leader of the Council. None could prevent his joining them.

  Chu Li had not wasted his many years as High Priest. On the contrary, he had read every scroll and book in the old library, many available to no other but the High Priests. He knew of the tunnel behind the springs. He suspected that Kaffa also knew and had informed Kena to allow him to escape the guard posted along the upper trail.

  “Let’s go,” he called, and led the pursuers up the narrow stone path to the mouth of the springs. He stopped to offer a quick prayer to Yarah, and then herded the men inside the cavern. Men more used to the open air of the desert found the close, dark confines of the tunnel unnerving. The flickering torches did little to cast back the deep shadows. Chu Li admonished them often to keep them moving forward. Every little sound, every bend in the tunnel caused them to stop and discuss their pursuit.

  “You will follow them,” Chu Li finally shouted at them, exasperated at their constant delays. “They must be captured or killed for their crimes. Yarah demands it.”

  No man, regardless of his concerns or fears, could refuse such a demand from the High Priest. Thereafter, the pace of pursuit quickened steadily. When they came upon the first opening in the roof of the tunnel, casting a dim circle of light on the stone floor, several men demanded to climb out and travel in the open desert, away from the dark tunnel. They preferred the dangers of the Burning Lands to the eerie silence and the stale air of the river tunnel.

  “Fools,” he shouted. “It is full daylight out there. You would not last half the day before you would drop. We must use the tunnel to conserve our energy and our water.”

  One man, Orin, grew frightened at the prospect of continuing along the tunnel. He bolted from the group and began to scramble up the steep sides of the tunnel, frantic to reach the opening above.

  “Come back, you fool,” Chu Li shouted at him. “You’ll never make it.”

  Indeed, Orin had climbed no more than five meters when the loose rock crumbled beneath his feet and brought him tumbling back to the floor of the tunnel. His left leg lay twisted at an awkward angle, a long sliver of white bone protruding through the torn and bloody skin below his left knee.

  “My leg,” Orin screamed in agony. “It’s broken.”

  Chu Li quickly examined his leg. “Indeed it is. Should I now leave you here?”

  “No, you cannot,” Orin pleaded as he writhed in pain.

  Some of the others mumbled their objections at Chu Li’s suggestion.

  “Very well,” he said, giving in to their demands. “Tarim, see to his leg and help him back to the village. We must continue.”

  He chose Tarim because, of the seven men with him, Tarim was a friend of Hramack’s and closest to Hramack’s age. He would surely object to the boy’s death. They left Tarim dutifully splinting Orin’s broken leg. Tarim would drag Orin on a makeshift litter made of Orin’s shirt slung between two spears. It would be a slow journey, but the two would likely reach the village before nightfall. It would be hard on both of them, but Chu Li would spare no more men. He could see in the eyes of those chosen that many considered Tarim and Orin the lucky ones.

  Chu Li was growing impatient with the delays. Kena was knowledgeable about the desert and was certainly moving quickly. “We must redouble our efforts. We must catch them, soon.” He knew the longer the pursuit, the more reticent the men would become at leaving their homes. All men wisely feared the Burning Lands. When each corner, each bend of the tunnel could hide an unknown predator or perhaps even Kena, a formidable fighter, the dangers became more pragmatic. Now there were five. Already their numbers dwindled, and they had traveled less than half a day. They broke into a quick trot.

  Chu Li felt uncomfortable with tons of rock above his head pressing down on him, but he hid his discomfort from his men. If they sensed his fears, they would refuse to go further. The old books spoke of caves such as this as places where demons dwelt. It certainly had the feel of an evil place. Chu Li knew some of the men were probably wondering how the High Priest knew of the tunnel behind the mouth of the springs. He must push them hard until such thoughts evaporated from their minds. He muttered quiet prayers to Yarah as they marched. By nightfall, the men were tired and hungry. He had driven them hard, but they had not yet caught up with Kena and his young whelp. He reluctantly halted their pursuit. His legs, too, were growing tired. He was unused to long marches, and his calves ached miserably. He had chosen his soft, comfortable moccasins over heavy leather boots, and now his blisters spoke to him in bloody whimpers.

  “We stop and rest. Make a fire and prepare a meal. We continue the march in six hours.” He could not let Kena gain too much distance on them.

  Anseer, the woodcarver, slight of build and a chronic complainer, said, “Six hours. We need more rest than that.” He was briskly massaging an ache in his thigh. He, too, was unused to long marches.

  Chu Li stared at Anseer until the young man averted his gaze. He knew he should not have brought Anseer, but he was good with a bow. “Sleep, then. Don’t waste time complaining.”

  The hearty aroma of soup cooking leaked from the worn water reclamation line on the pressure cooker sitting on the fire. Chu Li refrained from admonishing the men for breaking strict water rationing. The smell seemed to enliven them somewhat and
alleviated a portion, but not all, of their fears. The men passed around fresh bread and dried fruit. The small fire cast an eerie glow along the uneven rock walls of the tunnel, forcing the ever-present shadows back into the corners.

  Chu Li sat apart from the others, pondering his options. If they did not catch up with Kena soon, the men would press him to halt the chase and return to the comforts of the village. Could he use his power as High Priest to force them on? Perhaps, but it would not be wise to test his powers so soon. Dead or banished, Kena was no longer a threat unless he was unwise enough to return to Ningcha. On that day, Chu Li would himself end the Healer’s life. He could not let Kena hold the threat of his past over him. His silence would ensure Chu Li’s control of the village.

  Wetting a small rag, Chu Li used some of their precious water to rinse the blood from his feet. He felt more than one pair of eyes on him as he washed his feet. These men had forgone regular bathing in order to save water for their families. To see it used in such a manner disturbed them, but they said nothing. The water stung at first as he pressed the wet cloth to the broken blisters, but soon brought a small degree of comfort to soothe the pain. He pulled a small vial of ointment Kena had given him for his dry hands and rubbed it thoroughly into his feet. The ointment dulled the ache. Why did Kena, such a talented Healer, feel the need to meddle in village politics? Chu Li respected Kena’s Yarah-given knowledge of the healing arts, but still he must go. The people of Ningcha could not hope to earn Yarah’s forgiveness unless they put aside the things of man’s past and sought His guidance. Kena’s constant digging into the past was a direct challenge to Chu Li’s authority as High Priest. It would not do.

  Sleep that night came slowly to him and, by the quiet whispers in the shadows, to the others as well. The unnatural silence of the tunnel was disquieting, and once the embers of the fire had gone out, the darkness pressed down on the men like a living thing. Sleep did come eventually.

  *