by Rose Estes
He chose a thick, gummy paste that contained many healing properties as well as a substance that reduced bleeding. It was not used as often as some of the other medicines for it was sticky and awkward to work with. In this instance it was perfect. Braldt spread an ample amount of the gooey mess on Batta Flor’s torn skull and then carefully and gently pressed the ragged edges of the all-but severed ear into the gummy stuff. Batta Flor moaned and then whimpered, a thin, childlike noise that hurt far more than any other sound he might have made.
“Will he be all right?” Keri asked, staring at the huge, unmoving form.
“I cannot say,” Braldt replied helplessly. “There is nothing we can do now, except keep him warm and pray.”
“Pray?” said Keri. “Yes, we will pray, and if there is a god, his or ours or any other in that greater world he speaks of, he will know that this is one who deserves to live.”
25
Carn wandered through the dark tunnels without any knowledge of where they were taking him. Not that it mattered. He had no alternative but to continue on or lay down and die. The choice was clear. At times he crawled and clawed his way up steep slopes with the walls closing in on him on all sides. At other times, he all but tumbled down equally steep slopes doing further damage to his ravaged body. He lost his pack on one of those falls and, despite a desperate search, was unable to find it.
After a time, the last torch cube burned itself out. He was on his own, forced to find his way through the labyrinth of tunnels by touch alone. He could easily have tumbled into one of the many deep cracks that fissured the ground, but he probed the way forward with a sliding, shuffling step that he hoped would detect such dangers before they found him.
Much to his surprise, he found that the darkness was comforting rather than oppressive or frightening, easier on his damaged eyes than the bright flames of the torch had been. Further, he discovered that many of the passages glowed with a soft luminosity that he could only guess was obliterated by the more powerful light of the torches. It was enough to help him find his way and was a comfort to him as well for he took it to be a sign that his gods had not abandoned him to wander alone in the darkness.
Hunger and thirst battled with pain but his physical body and its limitations were no longer of interest to Carn; it was merely an impediment, an irritating stumbling block to his goal, to that which he must achieve. The spirit would triumph over the physical in the end, but until then he would be forced to keep the shell that housed his spirit alive.
He abated his thirst by lapping water from places where it seeped from the walls. He stilled the demands of his growling belly by eating the pale blind salamanders that hid beneath rocks. He pinched the poisonous claws from the curled tails of stingers, crunched their hard bodies between his teeth, and devoured their sweet flesh. He even killed a small shadow, gripping it by the tail and bashing its head against a rock, but he could not penetrate the tough scaly skin and was forced to leave it behind.
He became a growling, snarling predator, capable of killing and consuming the killers much as they had sought to kill and consume him, in order that he might stay alive. Through it all, he never lost sight of his goal, to honor and protect Mother Moon against those who sought to discredit and disavow her; everything else paled before this objective.
After a while, it seemed that the tunnels began to drop, leading him deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain. From time to time he passed deep crevasses and dark tunnels that released the hot stink of the fiery maelstrom, and he knew that despite the layers of rock that might separate them, the inferno was ever present, waiting. He had observed numerous dark openings all around the edges of the flaming pit and guessed that many of these tunnels would find their terminus there.
They drew him, those dark openings that carried the scent of Mother Moon’s earthly lair, but he knew that he could not give himself up to her until he had found the others and told them of what he had learned. The revelation. He could picture their joy, envision their gladness at the news that their god was not dead as the lying karks had said.
Once, he thought he heard their voices echoing through the maze of tunnels. He had called our their names with the odd croaking voice that sounded strange even to his ears, but they did not reply. He ran, crying for them to stop, to wait, telling them that he was alive and had not perished. But there was no answer other than the echoes of his own voice.
He had fallen then, tripping over a stone, and lay there, weeping. Only then did a snippet of reason return to his fevered brain and he realized with a rush of fear how very much he wanted to find the others, how very much he wanted not to be alone inside this dark and frightening mountain. But there was no one to hear his cries, and after a while he fell asleep, curled into a ball on the hard ground.
Consciousness returned slowly and he lay there, too exhausted to rise. For a time he thought about giving up, remaining there, allowing the shadows and stingers to find him and fight over his tormented flesh. It would be easier than going on. But then, even as he contemplated such an action, he felt the ground grow hot beneath him, searing hot, all in a single instant as though punishment for his traitorous thought. He sat up quickly, but before he could rise, the ground flung itself upward, bowling him head over heels backward, slamming him into the wall. His head was filled with pain and it took a minute for him to realize that the deep, thunderous growl was not coming from inside his head but emanating from the earth itself! Mother Moon was speaking to him! Commanding him to rise, to continue on, to serve her greatest glory!
Carn staggered on, unmindful of the shaking earth, of the rocks falling all around him, some of which struck him, drawing blood. All that he could think of was that his god had revealed herself to him, answering his flagging spirit with words of her own. Carn was filled with terror at those words and filled with awe as well. How had he dared to consider death; was that not a form of disbelief? He knew now that he would continue on until he had succeeded or until he died; nothing else would stop him.
As though appeased by his new resolve, the earth stilled and then, echoing through the darkness, he heard the sound of voices; Batta Flor, the unbeliever, answered in turn by Braldt and Keri. He had found them. Turning toward the sound of their voices, he pressed close to the wall and nearly fell through a cracked section of rock. He staggered forward off balance, pushing through the wall itself that collapsed upon him, raining down with brutal force.
He was propelled forward by the outward thrust of the falling rock and to his surprise he discovered that he had broken through into another corridor, this one smooth and lined with a material that was unknown to him and dimly lit by lights similar to priest fire. Carn blinked, holding a hand before his eyes to shield them from the unaccustomed glare, and then he heard Braldt’s and Keri’s voices somewhere in the distance and the faint whimpers of the lupebeast. He had found them at last.
26
Batta Flor had regained consciousness, and lay staring at them without emotion. He did not speak. Keri and Braldt glanced at each other in dismay. “Can you hear me? Are you in much pain?” Braldt asked gently.
“No pain,” said Batta Flor.
“Can you move?” Keri asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Here, take my hand.” Braldt extended his hand for Batta Flor to grasp. Batta Flor merely stared into space as though he had not heard Braldt and made no effort to take his hand.
“What’s the matter? Can you tell us what’s wrong?” Keri laid a hand on his chest and leaned forward so that she could look into his yes. Batta Flor did not reply.
“Come on, you can’t lie here forever, what if the earth shakes again. This is not a safe place to be; we need to be on our way.” Still, Batta Flor made no answer to Braldt’s comment and merely closed his eyes. After a while, his chest began to rise and fall with less agitation and his breathing fell into a smooth pattern. It was apparent to them both that the Madrelli had drifted into sleep.
“Wha
t do you think is the matter with him?” Keri asked as they leaned back against the wall, resigning themselves to the fact that they would not be going anywhere for the time being. There was no thought of moving him as they might have done with one of their own race, for the Madrelli was more than twice Braldt’s weight and all of it solid muscle. He would move of his own volition or he would not move at all.
“I don’t know,” Braldt said thoughtfully as he opened the pack and removed the last of the hard cheese rounds and a handful of dry biscuits, noting the fact that the Madrelli’s supply of the sour red berries so necessary for his continued mental stability was growing dangerously short. “Perhaps he’s merely disoriented by the pain; the shock to his system must have been significant. Remember that those crystals are their nerve center. A blow like that must have been a terrible overload for his body to handle. Rest is probably the best thing. All we can do now is let him sleep and hope that his body will heal itself.”
“We can pray as well,” Keri said firmly, her eyes glittering as though daring him to argue with her. He offered no argument, merely smiled down at her and touched her on the tip of her nose with his forefinger.
Keri smiled up at him and lay back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist, thinking how strange life was. Here they were buried deep within a mountain that threatened to fall down around their ears at any moment, surrounded by monsters and other horrors, and yet she was content. After all the years of futile yearnings, Braldt finally loved her or soon would if she had anything to say about it. It would have been nice if it had happened at home surrounded by nothing more threatening than the jealous looks of her friends, but Keri had waited long years for this moment and she was willing to take it wherever it came.
Braldt was still lost in the wonder of it all, the feel of her soft skin next to his, the clean scent of her hair as well as the subtle fragrance that was hers and hers alone. Had it always been like this? How could he have failed to notice for so many years? The thought was incomprehensible. His mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts as his arms tightened around her, holding her close. He would have to tell Auslic and then Jos and the rest of the tribe. And then the priests.
But that was another matter and Braldt’s jaws clenched at the thought of them. How much of what Batta Flor and Uba Mintch had said was true? How much did the priests know about the hard ones and the masters and the myth that was their religion? How much of it was true? Braldt wished with all his heart that none of it were true, but he feared that it was.
For a time he had suspected some Madrelli scheme, some plan to defeat them from the inside by the destruction of their beliefs, but the more time he had spent with the old Madrelli and Sytha Trubal had all but convinced him that they were telling the truth, at least so far as they understood it. Batta Flor’s courage and stalwart nobility had further convinced him, for Braldt knew in his heart that one such as Batta Flor would be incapable of deception or trickery. Batta Flor had behaved with honor and saved their lives on several occasions. They would remain here by his side for as long as it took for him to recover. He was their friend and the Duroni knew the meaning of honor too.
But what to do with the time? Braldt thought about scouting ahead, seeing if he could discover where the corridor led, maybe there was something important lying just around the corner. But then Keri turned in his arms and raised her face to his and all thought of leaving vanished from his mind. The corridor had been there waiting for a long time. He could see no harm in letting it wait just a little bit longer.
As they slept beside Batta Flor, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the tremors, which had never ceased completely, increased in strength and frequency. Beast, who had wedged himself firmly between them and refused to be ousted, wakened them with a litany of terrified whimpers as he tried to crawl farther under their bodies.
Braldt opened his eyes with a rude curse and was startled to find himself looking directly into Batta Flor’s eyes. The Madrelli had regained consciousness. “How are you? How do you feel? Are you hurting?”
Braldt was concerned for all their sakes for he was worried about the constant movement of the earth. He was torn between the desire to fulfill his promise to Auslic and fear of the mountain. It seemed likely that the entire thing would soon collapse around them; Braldt knew without a doubt that they should be directing all their efforts at escape. They could do no good for anyone if they were dead.
“I am feeling nothing, no pain at all,” Batta Flor said in a strange tone and his dark eyes appeared troubled. Braldt offered him a handful of the red berries, which the Madrelli scooped out of his palm and ate one by one with a distracted air.
“That’s welcome news indeed, my friend! We did the best that we knew how. Do you think that it will heal correctly? How does it feel?”
“You don’t understand,” said Batta Flor, turning his gaze upon Braldt. “I feel nothing, nothing at all. No pain, no soreness, no aches. Nothing, nothing at all.”
“How can that be!” Braldt exclaimed. “The ear was nearly separated from your head. The damage was significant. You must be feeling the shock of the wound. The medicine is good but not that good!”
“No, my friend, the medicine is not at fault. I’m sure you did your best and for that I thank you. It is something quite different. You might just as well have removed the ear while I was unconscious, or let me bleed to death for all the good it will do me now.”
“What do you mean?” Braldt asked fearfully, disturbed by the Madrelli’s calm air of resignation.
Batta Flor sighed and then spoke. “I told you once before, my friend, that we Madrelli are different from you Duroni. Our pain centers are located in our ear crystals. The crystals are fragile things, capable of being damaged and broken with the slightest blow. We are taught to protect them from our earliest days. But they are more than receptors for pain, they control all sensation, our balance and the flow of our sensuality as well.”
“I—I don’t understand,” stammered Braldt.
“It is quite simple, really. I feel no pain at all. I am no longer capable of feeling anything, the touch of Sytha Trubal’s lips upon my own, the little one’s fingers grasping mine, or a sword thrust to the heart. They will all feel one and the same to me, nothing. Nor will I be able to sire children of my own. I am worthless to Sytha Trubal, to the tribe, to myself. I would be better off dead.”
“But you have two ears and the other ear is undamaged!” cried Braldt, seizing upon the only positive aspect he could think of, deeply shocked by the ramifications of his friend’s injury.
“No, it doesn’t work that way,” relied Batta Flor, looking down at his fingers as though he had never seen them before. “It is a delicate balance of the fluids, an interchange between the two sets of crystals. If one is broken and the fluid lost, everything is lost.”
“Surely they can be mended. Someone must know how!” cried Braldt. “I cannot believe that such a thing cannot be reversed!”
“Perhaps the masters know, since we are their creations. Probably they do. But since we have blocked their entry to our world the question is moot. Nor, should they somehow manage to reappear, do I envision them as falling over themselves in an effort to help me. After all, you forget that I was one of those responsible for the destruction of the chamber. No, there is nothing to be done. I am useless.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Keri, startling both Braldt and Batta Flor for neither had realized that she was awake and listening to their conversation. She sat up and took one of Batta Flor’s immense hands in her own.
“Do you think that if Braldt were injured, even as grievously as you have been hurt, that I would cease to love him, stop wanting him for my mate? Could my people do any better than take him for chief? The answer to all those questions is no. I would love him under any circumstances, no matter how badly he was injured. It is he I love, and not his looks or how many children he can sire. Nor could a better chief be found among all the Duroni
.
“You put a cheaper price on your being than those who know and care for you,” said Keri. “You also do Sytha Trubal and your people a grave injustice by making their choice for them and not doing them the honor of knowing that they would choose you above all others. Do you think that Sytha Trubal’s love is so weak or so shallow that she could not love you in any state other than perfection? I am angry with you on her behalf! Shame!
“Braldt and I need you. Did we not follow you into this place? Have we not entrusted you with our lives? Furthermore, the life of our chief depends upon you and the future of this world as well. I’d say that was a fair amount of caring, my friend. Now, will you stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to get us out of here? If you do not, then the entire mountain will probably collapse on top of us and far more than your ear and your feelings will be destroyed!”
Batta Flor looked at Keri with his mouth open, amazed at her sharp words, for Keri had always been the epitome of gentleness and tact. But her words, pointed as they were, had been right on target and Batta Flor was unable to stifle a rueful grin. He bowed his upper body toward Keri. “Well spoken, fair lady, you are right as always.” He looked around him, seeming to notice the quaking mountain for the first time.
“It would seem that you are right about the mountain as well. It would be best to leave this place. I have hopes that this corridor will intersect with others that are better known to me and that we will be able to find a way out. Come, let us be on our way.”