The Hunter

by Rose Estes

  It seemed as though the two heads were independent of each other, for even though the first head was streaming with rivulets of blood, the second head did not seem to notice but appeared to be far more interested in locating the source of its pain. Even now it was snaking down on Beast, mouth opened wide, ready to snatch him from the ledge when Batta Flor, choosing his moment carefully, stepped forward and brought his blade down across both pairs of the tiny eyes, blinding it as thoroughly as Braldt had maimed the first head.

  The thing screeched aloud in double agony and flung itself backward into the water. Braldt was shaken loose from his precarious hold and hurtled into the watery maelstrom, still gripping his sword.

  The water churned violently as the beast rolled about in agony, its many limbs crashing about, flailing both air and water. The water was whipped into whitened froth and heaved about like storm-tossed waves, and those clustered on the narrow ledge were unable to catch any glimpse of Braldt who had disappeared from sight. Just as they were growing desperate, Braldt’s head broke the surface of the water and a hand groped for the edge of the rock.

  Batta Flor and Keri reached for him with glad cries and dragged him out onto the rocky walk where they all drew back and watched as the last of the creature slid beneath the water leaving behind a swirl of mucus and blood.

  They remained on the ledge for some time, too shaken by their near demise to either continue or retreat. Nor were either of their options comforting. If they retreated, there was really nowhere to go, other than back the way they had come. But to advance was to advance into the unknown. It was quite possible that they would encounter other monsters of the same sort and that the next time they would not be so lucky. Or it was possible that they would find even worse things waiting for them.

  In the end, they went on for they could not go back, too much was depending upon them. Despite the shrinking number of wax cubes left in their pouches, all three torches were lit to hold back the oppressive darkness, and they plunged ahead resolutely, walking at a swift pace, forcing themselves on along the narrow ledge, deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain, farther and farther away from the light of day.

  Eventually, the ledge grew wider and more irregular and it soon became apparent that it was now a natural formation and the ledge that had brought them so far had been carved out of the rock, enhancing the natural passage, although they did not know to whom or what it allowed access. Was it a well-traveled path, and if so, whose feet had trod it last? Was it possible that the hard ones had made it or were there still others whose presence could only be guessed at?

  It was an unsettling thought and one that for the time would remain unanswered. Then, just as they were growing too weary to continue on, the wall opened wide before them, revealing a huge hollow bulge on the mountain’s flank. The stone ledge gave way to mounds of the fine black sand that cushioned their weary limbs as they collapsed as far from the dark water as it was posssible to get.

  It was soon discovered that Carn had carried a goodly portion of their foodstuffs as well as the torch cubes and now both supplies were running dangerously low. They made a rough Camp and ate their brief meal in silence, too exhausted and dispirited to speak. They posted a guard and took turns sleeping, although whether it was night or day they could not have said, nor did it matter, for locked inside the eternal darkness of the mountain, time had become an all-but-meaningless measure.

  When the last of them had wakened from their sleep they refreshed themselves with another small meal and warm water cautiously drawn from the lake. It was Keri who discovered the tunnel. Taking the pouch of warm water and a cleaning cloth, she availed herself of the privacy offered by a veil of rock that hung from the wall at the far edge of the rocky clearing. Staking her torch into the soft sand, she was startled to discover a cleanly cut opening concealed directly behind the rock. She probed its opening with the torch and was astounded to see a series of markings painted on the wall with bright colors. There were a number of glyphs that she could not decipher and two handprints, one pointed toward the lake, the other pointing into the dark maw of the tunnel.

  “Braldt! Batta Flor!” she called their names excitedly, and fearing another attack they wasted no time in arriving at her side. Braldt studied the glyphs in puzzlement, but it was immediately apparent that Batta Flor had seen their like before for he studied them closely and his small, dark eyes glittered with excitement.

  “We have found the way,” he said, pointing to the strange marks. “It is the writing of the hard ones. It is old, strange… unlike that which I am familiar with, but I can read it.”

  “What does it say?” Braldt asked impatiently. Batta Flor studied it for a moment before he replied. “‘Beware the creatures of the water.’ Good warning, too bad there was not such a warning where we entered.”

  “What does the rest of it say?” asked Braldt. “Surely there is more.”

  “Fourth level, down to minus level, that is what it says.”

  “What is minus level?” asked Keri.

  “A level that is below the control chamber,” answered Batta Flor. “It gives access to the ships when they land so that the fuel pods may be exchanged. There are also a number of work bays for maintenance and storage.”

  “Is there a way to reach the outside from these lower chambers?”

  “Yes!” cried Batta Flor, excitement growing in his voice as he stared at Braldt, immediately grasping what it was he had in mind.

  “Well, if they can be reached from the outside, why did we have to enter the mountain to get to them?” Keri demanded angrily. “Why did we have to go through all of this if we could have gotten there from the outside?”

  “No, it’s not like that.” Batta Flor turned to her. “They are small openings with heavy grates fitted over them, much too small for the Madrelli to fit through. We could not have entered that way, they are for drainage, for runoff, nothing more.”

  “But they could be used to drain away the waters that have built up inside the chamber,” muttered Braldt. “Do the chambers connect?”

  “There is access,” Batta Flor admitted, “but how would one escape the rising waters once the way was opened?”

  “That is a thing I cannot answer until I see the place,” replied Braldt. “You can tell me about it as we go. Come, my friends, the sooner we are started, the sooner we are done. Let us be gone.”

  The walls of the tunnel were smoothly carved from the surrounding rock. There was no question that this was a man-made passageway, man-made or whatever the hard ones were. But Batta Flor insisted that it had been driven by those of his own kind, and upon reflection, it seemed likely that he was right.

  They lost no more time in searching out or arguing about the origins of the tunnel but, instead, packed up their few remaining supplies and set off at a swift pace. The tunnel descended smoothly in a series of gentle switchbacks. There was a deeply channeled groove running along one side of the tunnel and this they ascertained was to bring additional water from the lake, although why it had been needed was anyone’s guess.

  There were other tunnels as well, intersecting on both sides, some rising higher and others descending at steep angles. There were few if any indications where these tunnels went or what their purpose was, for when they were marked at all, it was with cryptic signs such as a pointing hand, either up or down, designating the direction of the tunnel and followed by a series of letters and numbers such as “A 1 b4,” or “L 2 acl.”

  While most of the tunnels were smoothly cut and gently graded as was the one they were following, others were cracked and fissured with chunks of rock littering the ground. The air was most often foul in these broken passageways and remembering their frightening experience with the poisonous air, they hurried past, making no effort to enter or explore.

  After a time, they ceased to explore even those tunnels that appeared to be in perfect condition, for it seemed most likely that the main tunnel would take them where they wanted to go.r />
  It was Keri who made the next discovery, literally falling over it as she followed behind Batta Flor. Although the torches illuminated much of the way if they were held high to show the way ahead, much of the floor was left in semidarkness. As their tunnel had been spared most of the damage noted in smaller passages, this was not deemed to be a problem. And such was the case, until Keri stubbed her foot hard against solid, unmoving rock and dropped her torch, cursing colorfully and holding her toe.

  Hopping up and down, she lost her balance and sat down abruptly, which gave much humor to her companions who began to laugh, releasing some of the strain of the past few days. Their humor at her expense did nothing to assuage Keri’s anger and she cursed them as well as the rock that had caused her such discomfort.

  She groped around in the semidarkness, searching for the stone so that she might throw it at them, but instead of a rock fallen from the ceiling, her questing fingers encountered the smooth-cut angles of a long square object. Finding her torch, she brought it to bear on the object and found that it was the edge of a door that fitted flush against the wall and opened onto the tunnel. It was the leading edge of this door, which had come ajar, that her toe had met with such painful results.

  Seeing no reason to say anything to Batta Flor and Braldt who were still choking with laughter and comparing her ungraceful posture to that of a bottom-heavy infant, she opened the door to its fullest extent and peered inside, wondering what she would find for it was the first such aperture they had encountered.

  It was dark inside the door, a thick black clinging darkness that the flames of her torch did little to dispel. She blinked to clear her eyes and stepped forward. Too late she realized that there was nothing underfoot. She screamed aloud and flung out her hands to grab onto something, anything, to break her fall, but there was nothing, and with a rising sickness, she shrieked and fell into deep and utter darkness.

  22

  Carn stumbled along the sandy path, picking his way through large chunks of broken rock that had fallen from the ceiling and walls that surrounded him, lighting the way with one of the few torches he still possessed. In some places, the path disappeared completely, buried beneath massive falls of rock, and he despaired of finding the way again. The thought of ending his days entombed within the bowels of the mountain, never to breathe clean air or feel the touch of Sun the Giver upon his skin, however, gave him the strength to continue.

  He prayed aloud to Mother Moon, uttering all the prayers he knew, even those that were reserved for the high elders. Part of his mind mocked him for saying the words that Batta Flor had all but convinced him were naught but trickery on the part of the masters. Yet another part of his mind refused to acknowledge the argument. What was faith if not a belief in that which required faith itself for its very existence? Some things were beyond logic, beyond explanation, beyond cold reason, and Carn found that once he had made such a decision, his heart was eased. Somehow, the reaffirmation of his faith made him stronger and that was what was needed if he were to survive.

  The passage was filled with noises, the scamper of tiny feet, the click of claws, and the snick of teeth. There was the whisper of scales dragging over rock and shrill chitters that sounded like rats. The sound of dripping water was a constant, and in some places water could clearly be heard rushing past although there was no sign of a stream.

  Most disconcerting of all was the sound of air or gasescaping under pressure, hissing loudly, and occasionally all but squealing in a high-pitched eerie wail. The sound raised the hair on the back of his neck and all along his arms and he held his breath and hurried through these places as swiftly as he was able. He suffered no ill effects from the passage and gave thanks to Mother Moon for watching over him, vowing to honor her always.

  The way twisted and turned in all directions, first left, then right, first up, then down, snaking back on itself like a live thing, and it grew increasingly apparent that no hand of Madrelli or hard one had ever smoothed its way.

  After a time Carn became aware of another fact, the rock and, indeed, the very air he breathed was becoming hotter. It was necessary for him to open his mouth to breathe and his air came in short, animallike pants. His lips were rough and cracked and the hair inside his nostrils were stiff and crackled with each inhalation. His tongue lay heavy and dry on the floor of his mouth and he fought against the urge to drain the water pouch dry.

  He put out a hand to steady himself and quickly snatched his hand back even as the skin rose in instant blisters on his palm. The wall of the passage was burning hot! Carn fought down the panic that rose in his breast, and fought off the desire to turn and run back the way he had come, knowing that there was no hope to be had in that direction. His only hope was to continue on.

  He stumbled over an unseen rock and dropped his torch. The flame was extinguished and instantly he was engulfed in darkness. Yet it was not the total darkness that he had expected. To his amazement, he saw that the wall on his right seemed to glow with a dull golden orange light, like Sun the Giver viewed through a parchment at midday.

  Carn stared at the ominous sight with stricken eyes, wondering what it was that he was seeing, wondering what it could mean. Slowly he became aware of another sound, a sound that he had been hearing for some time. It was the sound of swift passage, as though something was flowing just beyond the glowing wall, something heavy but smooth surging along, scraping the walls with a constant murmur, bumping and thumping from time to time as though some heavier object had struck the rock.

  Sweat beaded on Carn’s forehead only to evaporate as soon as it had formed, but Carn did not notice. He stared at the glowing rock, working things out in his mind. Something flowed beyond the wall. Something hot, so hot that it was able to bring the rock itself to a red-hot glow. As he watched, wisps of steam curled away from the rock, reaching for him lazily, as though content to wait.

  Carn forced himself to think. It could not be water behind the wall, for water was often heated in clay pots over fires and never did the clay pots turn such a color. If the fire were too hot, the pot simply broke, shattering under the extreme temperature.

  No, it was not water, and with growing certainty and horror, Carn knew that what flowed beyond the wall of glowing rock was more rock, heated to the point where it melted and flowed like a flaming river of molten stone. Only the thin partition of rock separated Carn from certain death and the partition itself was all but liquid. How long had it held? How much longer would it hold? Centuries? Lifetimes? Hours or merely minutes? Those were questions to which Carn had no answers and he stared at the wall transfixed, unable to move, certain now that he was going to die.

  After a time, he slumped forward, eyes closed, unable to maintain his horrified vigil. He was filled with fear. He wanted to cry, to bury his head in his mother’s lap, but these actions would not save him. Then a vision began to form in his mind, a vision of Mother Moon red-orange, the same color as the glowing wall, rising above the red cliffs of home, rising out of the black night sky. Carn raised his head and stared at the fiery wall, wondering if it was an omen. The wall rock seemed to throb as he looked at it, always pulsing as though it were a living thing. It had the same heavy, gravid feel of Mother Moon at the peak of the Harvest Cycle.

  Mother Moon would not have brought him this far only to kill him; there had to be a reason for all that had happened, there just had to be! Either the glowing wall was an omen from Mother Moon or—or his whole life was without meaning! Carn got to his feet and staggered on, determined to succeed. If Mother Moon, may she live in brightness, sent him a sign in this his darkest hour, then he would not betray her trust!

  Others, like Braldt, might fail to honor her, might even believe the false words of animals, but those who were true believers would never be swayed from their faith so easily.

  It was up to him, Carn, to save Auslic and the tribe and his sister as well from the danger of outsiders, all outsiders, whether Madrelli or these masters. Carn was not even s
ure that he believed in the masters and the so-called hard ones, but nothing, certainly no words from the mouth of an animal, would ever succeed in swaying him from his faith again. Mother Moon had seen fit to send him a sign in his hour of darkness; he had but to believe in her, to remain firm in his faith, and she would show him the way. Fevered and impassioned, Carn rose to his feet and set off down the fiery tunnel in search of salvation and glory.

  Keri fell for what seemed to be a very long time, but in truth she fell no more than twenty feet before she landed atop a hard, unmoving object. She struck hard, but fortune was with her for she fell flat and as a result suffered no broken bones, although the breath was driven from her body. She took an experimental breath and was relieved when everything seemed to work. She wriggled her fingers and toes and then sat up gingerly, holding her head in both hands and blinking her eyes to shut out the disconcerting vision of the blinking lights.

  She heard her name called aloud and was gratified to hear the degree of concern echoed in Braldt’s voice. “Here!” she called weakly and after a moment Braldt’s torch waved in the darkness above her. “I’m down here, be careful, it’s a sheer drop!”

  Outlined against the darkness of the doorway by the flare of his torch, Keri watched carefully as Braldt circled the opening with the flaming brand, searching for a way down.

  “There!” Keri’s voice rose as she pointed toward an object that Braldt could not see. “There, to the side, no, the other way! Isn’t that a ladder?”

  Braldt held his torch to the side, against the inner wall, and there, just as Keri had said, was a slender ladder attached to the wall with gleaming spikes the color of silver, the same color as the silver insets in the Temple of the Moon and the Council chambers.

  Braldt’s sword and dagger were forged of bronze, a soft metal that was quite adequate under most circumstances and certainly better than anything possessed by any of the other tribes or the slavers, but it could not compare to the hard edge of the silver metal that belonged to the priests and the priests alone. Braldt had often wondered what it would be like to possess a blade made of such a metal. It was easy to work, malleable and obedient under heat, forming itself into whatever shape was required, but nearly as hard as stone when cooled.