by J Gurley
“So, young one, you finally join us.” Travin’s words were bitter. He seemed unlike the man Hramack remembered. The blue eyes that once sparkled with laughter now flashed anger. “You are wrong about us, Travin,” Kena said. “We did not kill Eithan.”
“How did you then know of his death?” shot Anseer. He stood a few steps from Kena and kept his bow pointed at Kena’s heart.
“We crept within a stone’s throw of you in the tunnel and overheard,” Kena explained.
Anseer sneered. “I kept watch. You could not have gotten within a bow shot of our fire.” His words spoke of his certainty of Kena’s lies. It was a challenge to his manhood. Hramack saw doubt in Travin’s eyes.
“We must take you to Ningcha to stand for your crimes,” Travin said slowly but without his earlier anger.
“Chu Li will never allow me to speak at a trial,” Kena said. “He will see to my death as he saw to Eithan’s and Herat’s.”
“You accuse the High Priest of not one, but two murders,” Anseer challenged. He drew back the arrow. “Better I kill you here and now for the desert creatures to feast on your treacherous bones.”
Hramack started to cry out.
Travin held up his hand. “Stop! Our job is to return them, not punish them.”
After a few tense seconds, Anseer lowered his bow. Hramack breathed once more.
Travin turned to Kena. “Your word has always been true to me, yet you defy the Council’s wishes. Tell me truly, did you kill Eithan?”
Keenly aware of Anseer’s anger, Kena rose slowly to stand before Travin and look him in the eye. “In the name of my dead wife, Allana, I speak the truth. Eithan gave Kaffa the key to our cell. Kaffa released us. We had no wish or reason to harm him.”
Travin nodded. “Your words ring true, Kena. There is more here than Chu Li has said. Chu Li’s ire at your escape seemed too personal, else why would he insist on accompanying us. I pledge that you will be given the opportunity to speak.”
Anseer burst out, “They are murderers. We cannot watch them the entire journey. I say, kill them now.”
“Silence,” Travin demanded. Anseer obeyed. “Kena has been my friend for many years. His Healing talents saved the lives of my wife and my son during his birthing. I owe him. His words carry the weight of truth. We will bring them back with us to Ningcha.”
“No,” Kena called out. “We must continue our journey.”
Kena’s outburst stunned Travin. “That is impossible. I have said I will stand with you. Is this not enough?”
“Your belief in my innocence honors me, but there is much more to be considered. Ningcha is dying. Without water, we are doomed.”
Anseer spoke up. “Your blasphemies have dried the Pools of Yarah. Now that we have you, the waters will return. Perhaps they flow even now,” he challenged.
Kena shook his head. “No. If the waters were again flowing, we would hear them rushing through the river tunnel. They will not flow again until we find the source of the water and free it, if we can.”
Anseer was livid. “He seeks to trick us,” he pleaded with Travin. “Let us at least bind his mouth so he cannot cast a spell on us.”
“Fool,” Travin shot at him. “You chatter of demons and spells as if you were a child sucking at your mother’s teats. My belief is in Yarah, not Chu Li. His cold eyes harbor dark secrets.” He looked at Kena. “How can we few seek out the source of the Pools of Yarah? I have heard that you claim the source is near the old ruins of Denver Dome.”
“Denver Do …” Anseer started to protest, but Travin silenced him with a sharp wave of his hand. Anseer grumbled quietly under his breath.
“The water supply was probably automated, or it would have stopped many years ago,” Kena suggested. “Unless the path is blocked by collapse or landslide, we should be able to bring about its return.”
“It would be the will of Yarah,” Travin whispered, more to himself than the others. He cocked one eye at Kena. “Will you return to Ningcha once this thing has been accomplished or proven to be beyond our ability to accomplish?”
Hramack stared at Travin. Hope surged in his chest. Was he offering to go with them?
“Absolutely,” Kena swore.
“You can’t mean this,” Anseer cried. “We will die if we venture into the Empty Lands. None can survive there.”
“Then return to Ningcha if you will,” Travin replied. He looked at Kena. “I will accompany Kena and Hramack on their quest. It would seem far nobler to die doing such a thing than to hasten back to Ningcha and bow before Chu Li.”
Hramack could not believe it. One moment he and Kena were prisoners; the next, they had help on their journey.
“It is surely the will of Yarah,” Kena claimed.
Travin turned to Anseer. “Do you go back or come with us?”
Anseer was almost in tears with indecision. Hramack knew the woodcarver could never survive the journey back alone. He almost felt sorry for him.
“But what of your family?” Anseer whimpered. “Your son?”
“I serve my family best by helping to save the village.”
Anseer’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Finally, barely above a whisper, he said, “I will come. I knew I was doomed the moment you chose me to accompany you.” He lowered his bow and picked
up his pack. He walked over to the fire and looked at the lizards and hare searing on the hot rock. “If we must die, at least let us go with stomachs filled.”
Travin laughed and helped Hramack to his feet. “Well, boy, do not look so pleased,” he said as he saw Hramack’s wide grin. “There will be many opportunities to die between here and our destination, wherever that may lie.”
“Perhaps,” Hramack replied, “but it will be a more pleasant journey with friends.”
“Friends,” Anseer sneered. “You take your friends to die.”
Hramack hoped Anseer’s words were merely the whining of a frightened man and not a prophecy. More problems erupted when Kena proposed to continue their journey north by using the river tunnel.
“Into the bowels of the earth again?” Anseer questioned. “I will not!”
Travin, too, appeared reluctant to return into the dark, winding passages far away from the sun he knew so well. “Is there no other way?” he asked quietly.
Kena shook his head. “If we travel above ground, we will exhaust our water supply twice as quickly, and we both know the dangers that patrol the deserts.” Travin had related the story of Artimeer and Won’s deaths.
“Very well,” Travin decided. “We travel underground.”
Anseer kicked at the sand with the toe of his boot and howled, “You will kill us all!”
Travin shot the woodcarver a withering look that made him back up a pace. Anseer shut his mouth and gathered his gear, but he did it with much slamming and grumbling to show his anger. With Kena leading the way and Travin bringing up the rear, they marched back to the opening and plunged into the earth. The descent was perilous, filled with loose rock and crumbly clay, but they safely reached the bottom. Kena lit a torch and set the pace for their march.
Hramack felt much safer in the knowledge that Travin was with them. Travin was a good hunter and knowledgeable in the ways of the desert. He and his father had often hunted together and enjoyed each other’s company. He made a welcome addition to the group. Anseer was slightly older than Hramack but still unmarried. He had apprenticed as a woodcarver and carpenter and had little practical knowledge of the desert. Hramack had overheard Travin’s explanation to Kena of his reason for choosing Anseer: his bachelorhood. Hramack knew it must have been a hard decision for Travin to make. Travin had assumed they were going to their deaths but feared for his family if he opposed Chu Li’s authority. They must wrest the High Priest from power.
The tunnel made fewer twists and turns and widened considerably. The torches cast their light farther ahead, quickening the pace. The polished stone of the walls shone like milky glass. Indeed, when Hramack observed the walls
closely, he found them to be comprised of white quartzite. No amount of water pressure or stretch of time could account for this. True, given sufficient time, water could grind stone in ways difficult to imagine. He had seen such examples before, but given the hardness of quartzite, it would have taken millennia for water to work its magic here. These tunnels had not been there for nearly as long.
The section of tunnel they were in had been made by the hand of man. He showed Kena his discovery.
“See this wall. Our ancestors must have carved it for the passage of water.” Hramack ran his hand over the almost perfect smoothness of it. “We could not do such fine work today,” he said with awe. “It is the work of Yarah,” Anseer claimed. “His hand carved the way for His water.”
Travin snickered. “Better Yarah had created the water closer to His Pools than dig this dark hole.”
“Blasphemer,” Anseer cried.
“Enough,” Kena erupted. “There are no blasphemers here. We all do the work of Yarah.”
“If Yarah used Kane to bring forth the water of the springs, could he not also have used others’ hands to provide the means?” Hramack postulated to them.
“Yarah needs no man’s hand,” Anseer insisted.
“Then Yarah indeed has a sense of humor.” Travin pointed his torch to a spot high on the wall. There, carved long ago by one of the tunnel’s builders, was a sign, the kind left for millennia by such men intent upon leaving some sign for posterity.
Hramack read the words aloud. “Crew # 3, 6-2-2879, Denver Dome.”
Denver Dome!
“This was made over six centuries ago by men like us,” Kena told them. His face was glowing with excitement.
Travin shook his head. “We have fallen far.”
Kena clasped his friend’s shoulder. “We will reach such levels again,” he promised.
“Not as long as Chu Li holds power.”
Hramack spoke up. “When we return the waters, he will be finished.”
Kena shook his head. “Chu Li will not easily relinquish power.” He glanced at Anseer, who had grown uncommonly quiet. He was running his hand over the smooth surface of the walls and mumbling to himself.
“We must continue,” Kena told them. “We must cover many more kilometers before we camp.”
Reluctantly, Anseer turned away from the wall and followed.
They stopped twice for rest and water but made good time. Hramack estimated they had covered nearly twenty-five kilometers since leaving the cactus grove. They were all exhausted, Anseer especially so. His face was drawn and pale, and the sound of his labored breathing filled the tunnel. He fell to the floor without removing his pack.
“Rest,” Kena told him. “We will make camp.”
He nodded weakly and fell asleep face down on the ground. Hramack doubted Anseer had ever walked farther than to the bottom of the canyon in his life. One more day of this and he would be too weak to continue. They would have to slow their pace or risk pushing him beyond his limits. Travin started a fire while Hramack peeled a handful of wild root vegetables he had gathered. A hot, hearty meal would revive all of them, especially Anseer. In spite of the oppressive heat, Hramack knew cooked food took fewer calories to digest, leaving more calories for the hard journey.
As the food cooked, Travin sat and carefully put a fine edge on his spear and his knife with a whetstone he carried in his pack. He appeared to focus his entire attention to the honing, but Hramack suspected his thoughts were of home. Kena, too, sat alone in thought. Hramack knew what was on his father’s mind. His father wondered if he had made the right decision about traveling underground. While it was true they could make better time away from the heat of the sun, they were pushing themselves far harder than they would have above. In the open, moving only at night, the terrain and the need to seek shelter before sunrise set the pace. In the cooler, timeless dark of the tunnel, they traveled until exhausted.
Hramack glanced at Anseer. Perhaps he should suggest they travel at a slower pace tomorrow. It would cost even more time if they were to wait on Anseer to recover or carry him. No matter what, he would not leave him behind.
The vegetable stew’s aroma roused Anseer from his sleep, but he was too exhausted to move. Hramack spoon-feed him and forced water down his throat before allowing him to succumb to sleep’s pull once again.
“He will not last long, I fear,” Travin spoke.
Hramack, overhearing, warned, “I will not leave him.”
Travin cocked his eyebrow at Hramack. “Nor I.”
“Maybe we should travel slower tomorrow to allow him to get his legs,” Hramack suggested.
Travin nodded. Kena agreed. “Perhaps you are right.” He looked at Hramack. “Perhaps Travin should understand what we are trying to accomplish. He should know the truth.”
Hramack raised his eyebrows and returned his father’s look. “You are sure?”
“Yes. Give Travin the book Kaffa gave you.”
Hramack pulled the book from his pack and handed it to Travin.
“Read this,” Kena said. “It contains the words of Arun Kane concerning the fall of Denver Dome. You should know why I am doing this.”
Travin took the book and held it in his hands for several seconds, as if afraid to open it. Finally, he moved closer to the fire and began to read. Later, after the others had gone to sleep, Hramack watched Travin. Tears glistened in the hunter’s eyes, reflecting the flickering light of the fire. Good, he thought. Travin was still reading when Hramack pulled up his covers and went to sleep.
*
The fire had died during the night. Hramack awoke to total darkness. He could feel the walls of his stone coffin closing in on him, pressing him down into the dirt. The echo of his rapid breathing drowned out all other sounds. It was as if the darkness had swallowed the others.
“Father,” he cried into the silence. Light flared as Kena switched on one of the lanterns.
“Are you okay?” Kena asked. His face showed concern over his son’s sudden outcry.
Hramack’s heart slowed to a more normal beat. “Yes, I’m all right,” he gasped. “Just alarmed by the dark.”
“Here, I’ll light a torch.” Kena struck a match and lit two torches. He stuck one in the ground on each side of Hramack, and then extinguished the lantern to save batteries. By now, the others were awake. “Wha…?” Anseer mumbled, still half asleep.
“Nothing,” Kena reassured them. “Just starting breakfast.”
Hramack was ashamed by his outburst. He rushed to rekindle the fire for breakfast using twigs he had gathered at the cactus forest. When the flame was high enough, he placed the coffee pot over it. They would eat cold biscuits and fruit to save time, but the hot coffee would warm their bellies.
Travin was very quiet. He had been up most of the night reading the Journals of Arun Kane. Hramack noticed the tightness around the hunter’s eyes and wondered if what he had learned had shaken the taciturn hunter’s faith as much as it had his. He knew having faith in nothing meant not having faith in oneself. He hoped that somewhere along the way, he would find reason to believe once again.
Anseer awoke surly and unapologetic, complaining about everything from the coffee to the cold breakfast.
“The least we could do is have a decent breakfast,” he whined. “My muscles ache as though I had been stomped in my sleep. I need nourishment.”
Finally, Travin broke his silence. “Stop your whining and get ready. We must cover a lot of ground today.”
He handed the book back to Hramack without comment and chewed his cold fruit in silent thought. As they were packing up, he asked Kena, “Chu Li knows of these things also?”
Hramack nodded. “He must. He knew of the tunnel behind the mouth of the falls didn’t he?”
Travin hung his head and slowly shook it side to side. “He has much to answer for.”
“He won’t unless we reach our goal,” Kena commented, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
&n
bsp; 12
Hell on Earth
They were only three days into their journey, and Whitehall did not look at all well. Cathi watched him closely as they walked. His ragged breathing produced small droplets of blood that speckled his chin. She suspected that a broken rib had punctured his lung. She had done all she could. Without proper care, he could soon die. The long trek had burned up all his reserve energy, and his health deteriorated rapidly. He was feverish, and she suspected an infection by some native bacteria to which they had no immunity. Almost all the heavier pain medication was gone from the first aid kit, as were the antibiotics. All that remained were mild sedatives for minor aches and pains. If Whitehall’s fever did not abate soon, they would not be able to continue their journey, which could mean all their deaths.
She studied Anderson as he trudged along almost in a trance. He was pretty well done in as well. She couldn’t see his eyes beneath the brim of the cap pulled low over his forehead, but she felt certain they noticed little of the bleak terrain through which he marched. Life aboard the Baldry was not conducive to physical endurance. They spent much of the time at less than .8 G’s. Most Traders exercised periodically, but it was a personal choice. She forced herself to endure a strong regime of exercise each morning while aboard ship to keep in shape, and she ran for several kilometers each time they were in port, but even she now felt the need to rest more and more often. The insipid heat was sapping their energy, and at half rations, they would only grow weaker.
She envied Anderson his swarthy complexion. The extra melanin in his skin cells provided an added degree of protection against the sun’s harsh UV rays. In stark contrast, her pale skin was already beginning to show the debilitating effects of the intense sunlight. She felt flush, and the exposed areas of her body were red and tender to the touch. The one thing she needed most, a heavy UV sunscreen, was not included in the first aid kit. They had used up the small tube aboard the shuttle.
She was determined not to lose any more of her crew. Pegari was dead. They had buried her body and left the grave behind as a testament to her failure to keep Pegari safe. Whitehall’s condition was deteriorating and he was in danger of dying as well. She was a ship’s officer, and her crew needed her guidance, her leadership, and her strength. Was she marching them to their deaths? Denver Dome seemed as far away as ever, yet if they were to find help, it would most likely be there.