He turned, surprised she even had to ask.
“Good,” she said, and smiled.
* * *
As they walked, Will was conscious of the burn of his breath; the crispness of the air. Beside him, Mai-Long moved quietly, making no more noise than the wind. The scaffold seemed to grow taller as they neared it. The voices of the men atop it grew louder, more frantic. Seemed those working also felt the pressure of time.
Was it his imagination, or was the sky growing light? He dropped to his belly, crawled through the frost-thick grass. All the time he heard the urgency in the voices of those above. Unsurprisingly, there were no guards preventing access from the swamp; no doubt they’d considered any raid from the water unlikely.
As they grew closer, Will saw the scaffold had been built as an elevated, slightly sloping platform; a stage, facing toward the city, with an overhang wide enough to form a shelter from casual eyes. Reaching the platform, they huddled beneath the overhang. Will motioned with his head to TeSin, I’m going to take a look. The Noyan nodded, put a finger to his lips. Very well. But be quiet.
Above, on the platform, flags hung unmoving in the still frosty air and torches burned, lighting the workers as they scurried to and fro in their preparation. No wonder no one had challenged them; all the guards were a-top the thing, working frantically as ants. Five men, stripped to loincloths, pushed a block of stone into position. It looked like an altar. Will looked away, feeling sick.
Two men dragging an enormous gong blocked his vision. One pushed the wooden frame too hard; with a clang, the instrument toppled slowly sideways. Will ducked under the overhang just as their supervisor stormed past. He berated the gong-carriers loudly, standing with his hands on hips while slowly, carefully, they picked up the gong and pushed it into place. The foreman inspected their work, nodded and moved away.
In the distance wheels rumbled. Grasping the side of the platform, Will levered himself upward. Near to the platform people were gathering, shuffling quietly out from the city in the pre-dawn darkness. Folk said little, huddling together for warmth, and some of them carried torches. Gradually a crowd formed.
Will felt N’Tombe’s mind searching. “A wagon,” she whispered. “Oxen. They carry …” She hesitated. “Will, I think it is Dana. I am very sorry.”
His heart almost stopped. She can’t be dead! She can’t! There’s still time.
She put a hand on his arm. “She is alive, Will. I can feel it.”
She pressed a finger to her forehead, frowned and squeezed her eyes tight shut. Will felt her mind brush past him, seeking, searching. She froze. Her eyes rolled back in her head; she toppled forward. TeSin grabbed her, caught her before she hit the ground. For a moment, everything fell away; the shouting workers, the screaming guards, even Will’s ever-present fear for Dana.
“N’Tombe? Lady?” He shook her arm. “Enchantress?”
She opened her eyes. For a time she said nothing, just lay panting. Will reached for her hand, held it gently.
Finally, she murmured: “I am sorry.”
N’tombe looked scared, something Will had never seen from her, ever. Always, she had her power; always, she was prepared.
“What is it?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “I do not know.” She grabbed his hand, her warm fingers squeezing his cold ones. “I am afraid, Will. Something is coming, and I do not know what it is.”
“Is it ...” he swallowed, “the Kamaye?”
“Yes, yes. Them too.”
“Where are they?” he said. “N’Tombe, when?”
Her head rolled back; her voice grew suddenly deep, as though someone else inhabited her flesh. “They are here.”
* * *
Drums pounded on the platform above and the bronze gong exploded into sound. At the front of the platform the torch-carrying crowd sprang to life, shouting excitedly.
“Hi ya, Hi ya!” called the drummers as on the platform, a dragon danced.
The guards and the stagehands had vanished. Now the only people on the platform above were performers, dancing in the torchlight. The gong rang out, its deep sound reverberating, echoing from the mountains, from the city walls. A drummer, clad only in a loincloth, hit the huge drum that hung beside the polished brass of the gong. Again, and again and again, until the echoes merged with the instruments and it seemed that all the world was made of sound.
The pounding music continued as, one by one, the torches went out. Through the wood of the scaffold, Will heard feet thudding in time with the music. The musicians were dancing, dancing. Sweat dripped from the performers, formed puddles on the dais, but they never paused.
The stars blinked out, as though covered by an enormous cloud. The gong reverberated again, and across its echoes they heard the shouts of the crowd. Will, squinting into the darkness, saw four slaves carrying a white-curtained palanquin. The walls of the litter blew in and out, so it looked like something breathing.
On the scaffold, the drummer struck the skin of the drum, again and again. White powder, floating from the drum skin, drifted in the air. Behind the mountains, the sky was turning pink. The ox cart, carrying a long black box, neared the stage.
“Dawn!” Mai-Long gasped. “Lord, the dawn is nearly upon us.” She dragged at Will’s arm. “You must prepare!”
The stench of decay grew stronger, until Will was nearly retching. He slipped down the platform, until he was squatting on the ground. The smell sapped his strength. The platform appeared as black as night; a place of nothingness, a place of death.
I could just crawl away, right now, Will thought. I could vanish into the swamp, or the mountains. No one would ever know. He had an image of himself, ten years from now, with a weather-beaten face and no place to call home. He knew that image; it was Jed.
Will shook his head. No. He had been homeless once, and that was enough. He had a home now: the kingdom, his friends, N’tombe and Dana. Mostly, it was Dana. Opening his eyes, he stood and faced the darkness.
Four pillars of black ringed the platform. The drummer paused. And in that moment, Will was sure he felt the sun lift over the mountains.
Guards lifted the box from the ox cart and carried it up the steps, to the top of the platform. They put it down with a thud beside the stone altar.
The pillars moved, turning into uncanny shapes. The Kamaye! They looked like men turned into bats; wizened skull-like heads and leathery wings. As Will watched they spread their wings wide. They looked predatory; something ancient, and altogether evil.
The palanquin was placed beside the wooden casket. Guards stood to attention as the carriers pushed the curtains aside. The crowd shouted; the drum beat. A yellow-robed attendant knelt before the chariot, bending to assist the old man who emerged, quite slowly, from the vehicle. The enormous gong sounded: once, twice, a third time.
“The Emperor.” Mail-Long sank to her knees, her head bowed. “Lord.”
The crowd fell as one, face-first on the ground. TeSin stood crouched, as though unsure whether to bow or not.
The Emperor seemed frail, as though a puff of wind might blow him away. His hands, resting on a wooden cane, shook, and his head nodded as though it was too heavy to lift. His eyes glinted brightly as he surveyed the crowd. The display of old age was all a façade, Will thought, not the real truth of the man. What might that real truth be?
The guards unlocked the metal-bound box. Grunting, they unwrapped the heavy chains from about its lid, then, grasping the top with both hands, lifted it clear so the inside of the box lay open. Will could not prevent himself calling out. Inside the box lay Dana!
Chapter Twenty
The Scaffold And The Knife
His voice was drowned by the roar of the crowd.
“Be calm.” N’tombe squeezed his hand tightly. “She is still alive.”
But Dana was so pale! Her eyes were closed, and in the dim light her hair seemed almost black. She looked like she’d been laid in a coffin, ready for burial. He felt sick
.
Breathe, Will thought. Just breathe.
Closing his eyes, he thought of sparring with TeSin. The boat, the blindfold: the moving deck beneath him and the open sky above. Breathing in, he felt the earth turning. Breath out, and he felt the wind in the heavens. The stars, the moon, all in their rightful place. He could feel Dana now; a faint, faint sense of her heart beating and an impression of fire, tightly bound. Her barely controlled power.
It would not take much, he thought, to loosen these bonds, to set the fire free. And if that were to happen, what might she do? He remembered the canyon, when the Kamaye had caught them. Then, she had been beautiful and oh, so strong. She had fought, and she had won.
It had only been her fear for him that had brought her to this place. If it were not for him, she would still be free.
Will! Such a soft whisper, but it was enough. She knew he was there. Will opened his eyes.
On the platform, the black figures of the Kamaye encircled the box that held her. They opened their wings wide, touching tip to tip. Slowly at first, then faster, the black circle began to turn. They looked like a wheel spinning. It was almost hypnotic, and he couldn’t pull his eyes from the platform, from the stage, from the turning darkness with Dana at its center.
“Will!” N’tombe pulled on his hand. “Hurry!”
“The knife,” he whispered to Mai-Long. “Give me the knife.”
Mai-Long, staring at the stage and the black circle of the Kamaye, seemed not to hear. He tugged at the satchel, trying to reach the catch. She grabbed for it, ripped the small bag from his fingers and glared at him. “It’s mine.”
“Give it to me!”
“No!” Her fists tightened on the thin leather.
“Is not yours,” TeSin said. “Is old, older than you.”
Mai-Long turned her back on them. “I will keep it.” Clutching the satchel to her chest she began to crawl toward the crowd.
Will felt suddenly powerless. He couldn’t draw attention. The circling Kamaye moved faster, and faster still. The gong sounded.
Will shouted above the noise. “The knife! Give it to me!”
TeSin pulled a blade from his belt and for a moment Will thought the Noyan was about to leap for him. He ducked, braced himself for the impact, and planned a counterstrike – but instead the man ducked over to the fleeing girl. He put the blade against Mai-Long’s throat. She blinked, gaze darting left and right, first to Will, then the Noyan.
“Free bright one!” TeSin pulled the satchel from over the girl’s neck and tossed it to Will. “Go!”
With shaking hands, Will took the jade knife from the cracked leather bag. The blade gleamed gray-white: sharp as steel, delicate as bone. The handle felt soapy-smooth. Above the noise of the crowd and the heavy tread of the Kamaye, Will heard a woman wailing:
Where have they gone?
My tears flow unending.
My children.
So soon their light fades.
Mai-Long twisted out from under TeSin’s knife and kicked up, hard. TeSin scrambled for his dagger. Mai-Long kicked it away, and in another smooth movement, crashed her forehead against his, shoved a knee into his groin. TeSin fell, groaning. Eyes bright, heedless of the guards, Mai-Long faced Will. Smiling, she feinted left, right, moved toward him, reaching for the jade knife. Will grabbed her about the waist, pinned her arms to her sides. Mai-Long shrank down then, lifting her elbows to give space, shot upward. Her head hit him in the chin. He tasted blood.
He nearly lost his grip on the stone knife; it slipped through his fingers, but at the last second his hand caught it.
Mai-Long punched him in the chest, then in the head and he dropped, winded.
* * *
On the stage the Kamaye whirled. The crowd wailed. The drum pounded; powder and sweat floated in the air and formed a cloud about the stage. And Dana, still bound, still unconscious, floated up from the coffin, onto the stone altar.
* * *
Will lay, curled about himself. Mai-Long kicked at him again. But this time Will was ready.
He grabbed her foot, twisted it, and she stumbled. Quickly, awkwardly, he got to his feet. His head felt foggy. She came at him again, kicking sideways, aiming for his jaw. He ducked left, parried right; stepped under her guard. It was as though his movements described arcs in the air; he knew where she would go; and he was ready for her.
Now she will stoop low.
Now, she will lunge.
Mai-Long was graceful, but she was slow, far too slow.
He leaned backwards, presented his shoulder. Now I step under her guard. He still held the knife. The stone felt warm in his hand, and curiously alive.
Suddenly time sped up and Mai-Long was within stabbing distance. For a moment he hesitated: should he? He remembered what he had told Dana, all those months ago: The only safe enemy is a dead enemy.
He stabbed the blade up, into Mai-Long’s stomach. She clutched at his hands, eyes wide.
“How?” she whispered
Should he twist the knife, make the kill certain?
“Will!” N’tombe shouted, and pulled him away.
With a sucking sound, the knife came free from her belly. The girl sagged and would have fallen, but TeSin caught her, lowered her to the ground. She lay there, panting, eyes wide. Sweat beaded on her face and she clutched tight to her stomach. Between her fingers, blood oozed.
He did not have time to watch her die. “Boost me up,” he said to N’Tombe, put the bloody knife between his teeth, and reached for the platform.
He almost wasn’t prepared for the strength of her push; it was as though he flew into the air. He caught his balance just in time, and landed, crouching, at the back of the scaffold platform.
The Kamaye, their wings closed, had surrounded the altar. Their backs were toward Will. Eyes closed, Dana lay on the dark stone. Her skin was very pale. Spidery lines, a tattoo of some sort, encircled her right wrist. He could feel her attention, but it was like she was behind a pane of glass. Something had separated her mind from her body, and she could not move.
The gong ceased sounding; the drummers fell silent.
The Emperor, leaning heavily on his cane, moved into the center of the stage, and stopped beside Dana’s silent figure. He gestured, and his attendant moved to his side. Carefully she pinned back the silk of the old man’s sleeves. His forearms seemed wiry, alarmingly naked. The Kamaye seemed to be sniffing the air.
Almost abruptly, the old man dropped his cane and the pretense of frailty. Stretching his arms to the heavens, he straightened, seemed to grow. Throwing back his head, he lifted his face to the sky. As the sky glowed yellow then orange, the sun hit the mountains. The snow turned pink, then orange.
The Emperor shouted. Again and again he called, an invocation; a prayer; a curse. The people clustered about the stage fell headlong, answering each shout with a loud groan, until all the earth seemed one large cry. But when the old man thrust his arms down, the crowd fell silent.
Now!
Will ducked beneath the wings of the Kamaye. He staggered and nearly fell, but N’tombe shouted “Go!”
Taking the strength she gave him, he continued forward.
The attendant handed the Emperor a gold-embossed dagger. Its long black blade was curiously shaped, and its end was notched. The old man took the dagger, held it high, pointing toward the sun.
Will felt newly aware of the world; the freshness of the morning air, the beauty of the snow-capped mountains, the scent of the grass, the breeze that trailed across the plains. Everything in its place; everything to its season.
He heard again the wailing cry: Return, oh my son, return!
Dana’s eyelids flickered. Will felt the world take him, and bear him up. The Emperor turned; the Kamaye hissed. Below, the crowd seemed to gasp as he leaped over the altar, toward the Emperor. The old man’s eyes widened, and his face turned pale.
Will raised the jade knife. He no longer felt afraid. He was part of the wind and part of
the plain; as fast as the lightning and as cold as the snow. This place, this time was where he was supposed to be.
Faster than the eye could follow, Will stepped forward. He seized the ancient Emperor, held him in a death grip. Then, in one smooth movement, Will slashed the razor-sharp jade knife across the old man’s throat.
Dana opened her eyes as the Kamaye unfurled their wings.
Far to the west, beyond the mountains, the sun rose. The grasslands turned pink in the light of dawn.
Chapter Twenty-One
Blood On The Grass
And now it begins …
Light flooded in and I woke.
My ankles were tied together; my arms were bound. I struggled, but the leather shackles would not move. I felt cold, so cold, and my breath steamed in the air. Nearby, men shouted to one another and in the distance a crowd murmured. Beside me, a gong as large as the sun shuddered. Its resonance crept along my bones, into my brain.
Where am I? What is happening?
I saw a white-haired man in a yellow robe. A woman pinned his sleeves up, exposing curiously wiry wrists. The man’s scant hair showed much of his skull and his robe, woven of the finest silk, was embroidered in red dragons. He glanced at me with sunken eyes. The old man picked up a black knife. It had a long, keen blade, jagged at the end. He hefted it a few times, as if to feel its weight.
A deep drum sounded; regular, hollow beats. The cheers of the crowd grew louder.
Beyond the mountains the sky was turning orange, and the light grew stronger. Dawn was coming. The gong sounded, and its noise felt as loud as the world, but as its echoes died away I felt the earth turning below me, and smiled. For now I knew where I was, and what time of the day it was, and what might happen next.
Blood on the grass.
I lay on an altar, bound to the stone as a sacrifice, and the old man was the Emperor and he held a knife, and shortly, as soon as the sun lit the grass, he would slice my neck open. There would be a bowl below me, or a channel of some sort, and my blood would be collected and tipped onto the earth. A gift to the light, a placation to darkness – either way, it did not matter. All that mattered was it would be my blood, and my life that ended.
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 66