Even as the moments ticked on, they did not seek to fight or kill him, just contentedly watched, waiting for something undefinable. Every eye stayed focused on his body, his face, his arm, as they moved in and out, under and over each other in a sinuous dance. As the moments ticked on and on, Cethel's heartbeat gradually slowed down again; the initial fear reaction had dissolved.
He sat in the midst of predators, unharmed. A bit of insight bloomed in his mind.
“You're the Rat Thief!” He exclaimed. “You, not Roach! You. Not old Roach, the poor thing!”
We are not thieves! came the answer. He heard it but no words were spoken. Each eye still watched him. He could have sworn he saw indignation in the narrowing of their stares. We take what is given, what is allowed. We take for hunger, and for the Hunt! We are not thieves!
Stunned, Cethel whispered low, “How am I hearing you? You are talking to me!”
We speak to you, Oldest Daughter's friend. We speak to you.
He couldn't help but stiffen and withdraw as one nose emerged from the tangled bodies and glided over to him. He held his breath in wonder and fear. What are these things? What do they want? Who is Oldest Daughter?
A dry soft nose touched his forehead. A voice proclaimed in his mind, We are the Fighters of the Forest! We are the Lurkers! She is ours and we want her back!
“Who is yours? Laylada? Tatanya? Who?”
No words responded. With a simplicity of effort and motion, the paper-soft smoothness of the nose swiveled away from his face. He understood then. The Lurker's nose pointed directly to the bracelet of blue hair, intertwined and braided, tied onto his wrist.
“Azure? Azure?” he said softly. “Azure is the Oldest Daughter?”
All at once, every eye closed. All movement stopped. The dance ended. Their amplified, united answer resounded in his mind.
YESSSS!
*
As the sky filled with vibrant pinks and oranges, the coolness of the nightfall's passing settled on the land, coating everything in dew. Alizarin's eyelashes seemed to be holding rows of diamonds, twinkling in the growing sunshine. Ilion was content in the moment. They had walked into a trap, certainly, but he did not feel any present danger at the sun's rising.
The warmth of new light peeking over the farthest mountain tops greeted him and turned the grasses and trees around him yellow, green, and orange. Oddly vibrant in the showy colors, it was as if the land was cloaked in painted hues, strung across the horizon. Whatever else happened in the course of the day, Ilion was pleased to have had this moment of reflection and gratitude. He did not wake Alizarin. After the frightening events of yesternoon, the baker needed all the sleep she could get.
Ilion had been only a little surprised when she had kissed him. He had thought of it once before but had not acted, uncertain of her mind. Apparently, they sang the same melody though. Inside the chambers of his strong, steady heart, Ilion felt a surging of new growth, of optimism and of possibility. After all, do I truly have to be alone? Could someone under the big, broad, blue skies actually understand him and like him for everything that he was? After all that he had done, he wasn't sure of that.
Watching her breathing so steadily, so simple and pure in her faith and view of the world, Ilion could not help but think he had been offered a second chance. Perhaps the betrayal and Kalina's death were not the end of his capacity to love? Everything was riled up inside of him. The dream of being buried alive had brought every secret fear of his to the surface and he could feel the rawness of his emotions even now.
Alizarin's vision of the woman at the temple was a new twist on things. He had never in all of his youth and training seen a woman at that temple, in that room. And it didn't sound like she saw the same room as him either.
Whenever he had gone to Mira-Sang to visit, to receive new instruction in gathering, or to rest after being ferociously injured, Ilion had only ever been met by one of two old men, beards tucked into the grip of their belts, hair growing out of their ears and noses as if they competed in fullness of facial hair. As a result they both seemed surrounded in a halo of white whiskers, not unlike some scrawny old cats, brittle with age, wise in the ways of mice and men. He hadn't ever seen a woman, and so couldn't help wonder what that meant about Alizarin and her very precarious near future.
She sighed and shifted a little, scrunching her lopsided, makeshift headrest, and settled down again. She lightly dozed, not altogether awake nor asleep. Her breathing deepened again. Even though there was so much to accomplish, so many perils around them, Ilion refused to break the fullness of the moment, and just watched her sleep.
Of its own accord, his hand reached over and started tracing words on her skin as if he were a stylus and she the paper. He doodled some, and then wrote the words he would not yet say to her, but some of what he was thinking in the moment of pinkened sunrise and the arrival of the new day.
Ilion realized in that moment as well, that they might not make it to next nightfall's forgiving rest or the sanctuary of Bira's protection. The two of them had many puissant enemies. Two people alone had little ability to survive them all. Our chances seem drastically slim.
She stirred as his finger wrote in glyphs across her upper arm, a slight smile crowning her lips. Delight at touch and joy in the new day both flamed in her eyes. She blinked and the dew on her lashes was disbursed. Rubbing her eyes with her free hand, Alizarin looked up at him, smiling. He held his finger to his mouth in an age old sign of quiet and caution.
Puzzled she looked around for the cause, and saw nothing. Very cautiously, she sat up, examining the forest clearing that had sheltered them in their weariness, seeking the cause of the warning. Still, she saw nothing.
He leaned over, lifting her face up and whispered with the barest exhalation of breath into her ear, watching a slender curl of hair move with each syllable. “We are surrounded! Not by villagers. By something else … experienced hunters, I think. When you're ready, stand slowly and we will attempt to leave this forsaken place for the safety of the mountains.”
She looked at him once, her eyes piercing in their trust and determination. Nodding her acceptance, she stood, still holding the staff with great care. There was no room for mistakes. With precision in their footing and direction, Ilion and Alizarin set out to find the lost mountain fortress of Bira.
They traveled with caution, and they traveled lightly. Still, it was alarming how many men they passed by, men who hunted the road and the trees searching for something or someone. Several times, they could do no more than stand completely still and attempt to blend into the shrubbery, afraid that the sounds they made just from breathing would give them away. It took most of the day to travel what should have taken at most half of their time.
Ilion kindly “appropriated” a pair of spare shoes for her from a sleeping traveler's side and left a couple of coins in payment. They were small for a man, but gigantic on her feet. She solved that problem by stuffing the toes with torn cloth from her already ruined oldest dress. Her feet felt better for the added protection, though it did not speed their travel all that much. Unknown hunters were everywhere, looking with great intensity for some indication of passage. The distance remaining to the base of the mountain range shortened but the way remained heavily guarded and fraught with sharp-eyed men, ever watchful.
Sometimes Alizarin felt like a ghost, flitting around, passing suspicious humans easily. Other moments felt more like walking through an archery range with a target sewn to her clothing. There were a few slight mishaps. Both Ilion and Alizarin were very careful and avoided being seen as they ascended ever higher and the foothills became the upturned earth of the actual mountains.
Finally, the two travelers lost sight of any other trails as they ascended, but looking down over the valley and foothills that receded it was clear that they were on the main artery. Its sorry state was a testament to the neglect and disuse of the path and told the history and decline of the Goddess's worship. Knowledge of her was a fading memory
only the eldest dwellers of the most remote villages held onto.
The trail switched back repeatedly as the incline became ever steeper. Often they lost track of the meager indications of the path. It seemed they climbed up a mountain with almost no guideline to direct their steps. As the two of them climbed higher and higher, holding hands, slowly gaining ground, they looked out over the lands stretched out before their view and could not help the awe that filled them. It was no wonder that people had always felt that the gods lived on the mountaintops, with humanity spread out at their feet; the sheer vastness of the earth below was staggering.
Alizarin felt a bit lightheaded. They hadn't seen any sign of hunters or villagers for most of the day as they ascended the mountain's winding, neglected goat trail. Alizarin breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of finally having outwalked their adversaries. She objected strongly to the feeling of being stalked.
It was all she could do physically to keep up her pace to match Ilion's. The effort of breathing the thin air made her feel like she was gulping each inhalation. They came around one last turn in the crooked pathway and then thankfully, they saw it: the small opening, carved with sigils across the heavy stone. Two columns supported the cracked lintel that led into the heart of the mountain. This has to be it! The doorway to Bira's lost temple!
Ilion stepped forward to examine the intricate, incised markings, certain that the clue that they had been searching for was right in front of their eyes. The two weary travelers felt a new surge of energy in their hearts at having reached their goal. They were eager to discover the reality of myths and legends, —to find the lost monument! Their attentions were focused on the entryway and the mystery of the markings; they did not see the hidden, poised, and waiting danger.
Taking only a little care as they stepped forward, and that mostly out of habit, neither saw the hunters who leaned against the rockwall, as if frozen. But these were no statues, no guardians left by artisans of the forgotten past to decay in the harshness of the elements. These were living, breathing men: stone-blooded killers. They gave no sign of life, nor any indication of their presence until Alizarin's foot kicked a pebble as her ill-fitting shoes lifted and fell within her stride.
Every eye opened slightly and watched the path of the skittering stone.
Three darts were in the air before Alizarin's side vision had even observed the minuscule movements. One struck her hair with the impact of an angry bee protecting its hive. Two others sailed within an eyelash of her cheek and hit the rockwall beyond with such force that broken bits of mountain scattered in the vicinity. Alizarin felt Ilion's hand tighten with the infliction of sudden pain, but he uttered no exclamation.
For a long, drawn-out moment, no one moved. The weary travelers could see their adversaries now, at least some of them, as they waited patiently for their prey to come to them. It was a simple but effective trap if patience was both a virtue and a skill.
There was no appropriate moment to hold out a gemstone and hope that the ruby and the power that shone from it would miraculously destroy those warriors. There was no chance that they would even be able to complete a sentence, let alone a command, without the experienced hunters piercing them numerous times with the lethal little darts. There was no option but to wait it out, wait out the trap, and hope that eventually an opening would come.
This was, of course, no problem for Ilion. Alizarin was a different story. She had not had years of training in the traditions and means of maintaining physical balance. When they failed, it would be her fault. She could only stand there, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loud, but certain she was caught.
Ilion would have to get her out of another fried-pickle fiasco. And that made her angry. Why am I always the one who walks so stupidly into the trap? It seemed that she had no warning, no training, and an enormous amount of sheer bad fortune.
The sun's light that had warmed them throughout their travel became uncomfortable and then unbearable. They could not shift even slightly, as they attempted to outwait the hidden marksmen. It seemed as if she and Ilion had stood there forever, until every muscle ached, every bit of skin itched, and no relief was forthcoming. Alizarin's back started to cramp slightly and then more so, until she felt like a poker iron taken hot from the blacksmith's fire was laid across her spine, burning, burning, burning.
There was no recourse left to her. She had to move. When she moved, she would be caught or killed. But I have to move! And it wasn't possible to confer with Ilion to devise any other plan.
Alizarin took a deep breath and moved her foot forward ever so slightly. Each step took such a long time and yet even moving slowly beat the pain of standing still. After awhile she had progressed to the lead, and he finally roused from his deep meditation. He took a few steps after her, all the while staring at the concealed predators for any hint of awareness.
Their eyes had closed several moments after the three darts failed to bring down any prey. They had relaxed back to their waiting poses, blending in with the landscape. Proceeding cautiously, the travelers crept forward, ever aware of the cost of one misstep.
A loud crashing sound slammed the wall above their heads, and then several smaller ones accompanied it as a minor avalanche fell into the area around the mountain's opening. The rough stones and chunks of mountainside fell with such force that their impact caused the ground to shudder and almost knocked Alizarin over. Only because of Ilion's hold on the staff and her arm, she was able to steady quickly.
Without a word, they ran for the temple opening as a few more bits of debris and dirt fell around them. After all, what better concealment will we get? They did not mistake the buzzing sound that swarmed past their bodies for harmless insects, but thankfully, none of the lethal darts hit their targets.
None of the hunters followed them into the darkness. It was as if either the hidden warriors knew something of the traps of the place or they knew that only one way out existed. Fighting in the dark was always to the advantage of those who had already entered. No footstep came behind them, even though both man and woman waited, breathing shallowly.
With the sudden darkness enveloping them, Alizarin's hand captured her sapphire within her pouch and cupping her trembling fingers around its cool glow, she let a small shaft of blue light escape her grip.
By the meager cerulean light that filled the tunnel, they could see that the stone masons had been very skilled and quite talented. All along the tunnel walls were paintings and sigils, each more detailed and developed than the last. It was not a language she recognized but neither was it mere decoration. She remembered the vivid stories in Mira’s temple.
Ilion was mesmerized. He signaled for her to further enlighten the passage. Instantly, they both were engrossed by the workmanship and detailed presentation that had been so carefully depicted. Even the ceiling was covered in drawings, paintings, markings, and symbols. Bold in color, they confronted the viewer from all sides. Peering at the floor, Alizarin could make out the depiction of seaweed and fish swimming as if the ground was the actual River of Life.
Taking in the entirety of the images, trying to understand the whole of the story while she clearly stood in just one tiny part, was visually enticing as well as mentally overwhelming. While they first appeared to be chaotic in order, a composition was quickly established. The flow of the story ran on and on through the tunnel, disappearing into the dark beyond. Under his breath, Ilion started to translate the symbols that accompanied each figure and scene.
*
High above, she watched. Perched on the edge of a high ridge, she could see the whole of the valley and foothills as they faded out toward the flatlands. Her clothing seemed to have frozen to her, stiff and cold, hard as ice, a shell around her soul. She watched them come.
She saw the Glyphed Men encircle them over and over and saw their narrow escapes time and time again. The entire journey was improbable. They should have fallen long ago. Yet the two people came on, with some fierce determinat
ion that moved her.
He is marked. And the girl as well. With her farsightedness the woman could see the girl came with power. As they drew ever closer to her mountain home, she felt a strange sensation of curiosity. She had been crying for so long that the cessation of her sorrow was something of a surprise. Do they come to me? Do they come to find me? Do they know?
Throughout the coolness of nightfall's embrace, she peered through the darkness. The girl began to stagger. Pity was a foreign thing in her stone-cold heart, though she was intrigued at their willpower and determination to move forward in the midst of inhospitable lands. With a gesture of power she sent a messenger to watch them, some small beacon against the harshness of the circling predators.
She watched the flight of pure white as it winged its way through the pitch of starless nightfall. The moment it was struck, pierced with poison, she felt its cry. When the white-winged owl careened ungracefully, crashing down to its sodden death, part of her mouth whispered an echo of its dying call, sending the mourning and sorrow onward with the ever present wind.
The man knows something, that is clear. He knows enough to stand with stillness and wonder of wonders, has the patience of a tree stump!
It wasn't hard to follow their ascent as the travelers grew ever closer. They became so much more defined, their characters discernible, though their intentions were still unclear. Yet, they came on, exuding a hope that she had not thought to witness again. The Glyphed Men tried to stop them, tried to hold them back, and several times almost succeeded. When they managed to reach the top of the disreputable, abused path, the man and girl were so close to her, she could see into their hearts with little effort.
Like a hawk, perched high above it all, she sat observing, offering no aid or obstruction. But when the Glyphed Men stood on the very doorstep of the Tunneled Road and attempted to kill, the watcher's hands moved of their own accord, with their own purposes although she could not have said what or why. With an arm of stunning accuracy, she threw two stones from her perch across the tip of the farthest ridge.
Into the Raging Mountains Page 41