Silence answered her, but not true silence: the ringing cacophony of the jungle – full of the brushing of broad heavy leaves, the creaking of trunks, the constant keen whirring of an infinity of insects, the piercing songs of unseen birds, and the distant rush of falling water.
‘Hanu!’
She edged forward one step, then another, parted the leafed vines. The path ended at a sheer drop into darkness. Water streamed down in a thin sheen and the hanging vines swung weakly as if slowing from a disturbance. ‘Hanu!’
She waited but no answer emerged from the dark. The evening’s warm deluge now pattered down, slapping her shoulders and hair.
‘Dammit to the Dark King …’ She took hold of the vines and yanked on them to test their strength. The hand-hold seemed solid enough. ‘I’m coming!’ She swung out over the abyss, fought to entwine her legs, and began letting herself down.
She descended into darkness. Immediately, her arms began to ache, her hands to numb. Her vision adjusted until she could make out an immense cavern. What little light remained beamed down as a thin glow illuminating the centre of a heaped pile of overgrown debris. The vines she clung to hung as a curtain halfway out over the gulf. Water streamed all about, hissing as it sliced into hidden pools. Suddenly dizzy, she turned her face away from the height to press it to the waxy leaves of the vines and their sweet stink. She descended by alternately easing the grip of each hand. The woody bark cut her palms and sliced the skin of her fingers but she held on for her life.
Eventually, after the pain became more than she believed she could take, she stumbled down on to uneven rocks. She had to force her hands open to free them from the bunched tangled vine she gripped. ‘Hanu?’ she called, panting. ‘Hanu?’
Where could he … By the restless dead, girl, are you some sort of mage or not? Saeng willed herself to see. In a swirl of colours the dark took on shades of deep crimson and bright yellow. She could see, but not normally: it seemed to depend upon what areas had been in the light – these glowed the brightest – while the depths of the cavern held a deep, almost black carmine. She set out searching among the jumble of fallen rock.
She splashed through pools of standing water. The sheets of falling rain obscured her vision. A sort of slime of rotting vegetation and mud covered the rocks, making her footing treacherous. While she searched through the grotto the crashing of the many streaming waterfalls swelled into a commingled roar.
It occurred to her that the pool she splashed through was rising. She slogged her way to the cavern’s centre, where the last of the light streamed down, and gave one last yell: ‘Hanu!’
Her voice returned to her, echoing. Panic rose choking her as the thought came: We’ll drown! Somehow the thought of imminent death calmed her, perhaps because it was something she was so very familiar with. Yes, death. Just two more ghosts, he and I. And thinking of that – aren’t you a damned witch? Saeng pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. Gods, girl! Use these damned magics they showed you!
She took three slow breaths before reaching out with her awareness, trying to sense him. She came up with nothing, which she thought odd. She ought to be able to sense him. Then she remembered all the countless protections and investments she’d layered upon him the many nights he’d accompanied her into the jungle. She reordered her thoughts so that she was reaching out to her brother, Hanu himself, from before he’d been taken from them. And now she sensed him. She sloshed through the rising waters and found him lying insensate, or dead, entangled in a heap of fallen vines.
She tried shaking him. ‘Hanu. Wake up!’ She felt over his stone-like armoured body, his enclosed helm, found no obvious wound, crack, or blood. Water now thundered down from all sides. A current began to push her as the waters flowed past. She had to raise Hanu’s head to keep it out of the rush.
An outlet. There must be some sort of an outlet, an underground stream, or river.
Something bashed into her and she clutched at the vines to support herself: a branch pushed past, carried along by the current. I’m standing in the bed of an underground stream!
The flow deepened and strengthened. She fought it, one arm entwined around a handful of the hanging vines, the other under the armoured chin of her brother. But it pulled at his limp heavy body. And he was far more massive than she. As time passed the cold water drained the strength from her. She came to understand that she would have to choose: it would have to be either the vines or him. But not both.
She held on for as long as she could in the swelling current. Her feet were swept out from beneath her. She locked her elbow under her brother’s chin, wrapped her other arm around the vines, but the water now sometimes overtopped her, choking her. What could she possibly do? What magery could save them? She couldn’t fly! Couldn’t breathe water! One thing only occurred to her, one last possibility should she lose her grip in what was now almost utter darkness.
The time finally came when the pull of the current upon her brother’s body was simply too much for her chilled bones and flagging strength. Screaming her frustration, she let go of the vines to hug the armoured body, striving to keep it on the surface. At the same instant she summoned her powers to work upon the form to keep it afloat, even buoyant, so that she could cling to it to save herself.
The roaring churning flow swept them out from under the cavern’s opening, and glancing ahead, Saeng now realized true blackness awaited them. It sucked them in like a swallowing throat. She took one panicked breath, considered using her magery to give herself some sort of further vision, dismissed the thought as there was nothing she could do, vision or not, and relaxed to allow the swift charging flow to drag her along.
Hanu in his armour crashed into unseen obstacles, scraping in a dragging of his stone armour against rock, and Saeng hoped he wasn’t enduring too much damage, while at the same time she was grateful that he was saving her from these same jagged hazards. At times her vision returned as the flow swept them along beneath similar openings. Through the gaps she glimpsed clouds and sheets of falling rain. They passed beneath a waterfall that pounded them, briefly submerging her. Saeng emerged spluttering and hiked up Hanu’s helm where she gripped his neck. She thought she felt him spasm then, perhaps coughing, and a new fear assaulted her: what if he should truly awake? Wouldn’t his first unthinking reaction be to strike out? To free himself?
‘It’s me,’ she whispered then, next to his helmed head, ‘Saeng.’
But he did not answer; nor did he move again.
A much louder roaring was gathering ahead. It sounded exactly like what she feared it would be: the course was nearing a massive waterfall. She could see no options, no way out. They were being swept along, helpless. Yet her power remained. It seemed to be working in keeping Hanu afloat. She would use it again – somehow – to keep them alive.
Still in complete and utter dark, which was perhaps a mercy in that she could not see the true horror that awaited them, they careered along in the grip of the rushing waters until the thundering engulfed them and, falling, they were airborne for a time. In her moment of greatest panic Saeng threw all her remaining strength and energy into one last effort to protect them, holding back nothing for herself.
Whatever it was she summoned pulled everything from her and the darkness of unconsciousness took her before she knew what their fate would be.
Birdsong awoke her. High sharp calls. She opened her eyes, wincing and blinking, into bright daylight. The crash of a waterfall rumbled nearby – the same one? Probably not. This one coursed in open daylight. She was sodden, chilled, aching all over from countless bruises and bumps, but otherwise seemed whole. She lay in the fall’s shallow rocky pond, perhaps deposited by the weakening current.
In a sudden panic she pushed herself erect and peered about, her wet hair whipping.
‘He’s over there,’ a child’s voice piped.
Saeng jerked, turning: a boy sat on the rocks nearby. He wore only a cotton wrap about his waist and his head was sha
ved in the manner of only the most backward and traditional villages. He held a stick in both hands, which he brought to his mouth and blew upon, piping the high birdsong that had woken her. He motioned with the crude handmade flute, pointing.
Gritting her teeth against her exhaustion, she struggled to her feet to limp over to where the lad indicated. Some distance off lay Hanu. He was on his side, immobile. She slumped to her knees next to him and shook him, water dripping from her clothes. ‘Hanu! Wake up. Can you hear me?’
‘So there’s someone in there?’ the lad said. ‘Is that one of those living statues that are the slaves of the mages?’
‘It’s just fancy armour,’ Saeng answered dully. She was so very tired. Was he dead? How could she even tell?
‘Is it?’ the lad answered in an oddly knowing tone that brought her gaze to him, squinting. ‘I’ve called Moon,’ the boy said, and he blew another piercing blast on the flute.
Saeng blinked, studying him. She must be more worn out than she’d thought. ‘I’m sorry? Did you say you called the moon?’
The boy made a great show of his scorn. ‘Not the Moon. Old Man Moon. He’s coming. But he’s slow. Not what he used to be, is Old Man Moon.’ And he blew a jaunty little tune.
Saeng just blinked anew, her brow clenching. What was going on? Something was, she was sure. She pressed a cold hand to her ringing head. ‘Where are we?’
‘In the jungle.’
‘Thank you.’ Saeng squinted up to the canopy of high branches where the sun glared through. It looked to her as if … ‘Are we east of the mountains?’
‘East. West. What is that to those who live their lives in the shadows of the jungle?’
She bit down on her exasperation – she suspected that she wasn’t really dealing with a young boy. She ventured: ‘Does the sun set behind the mountains?’
‘Of course it does. Why shouldn’t it? For a grown-up you don’t seem to know very much.’
‘Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.’ So, they’d made it. Passed through to the other side. Entered Himatan, where, she’d always heard, one walked half in the realm of spirits. A realm ruled by the most powerful spirit of all, Ardata, its Queen.
The lad blew a quick series of notes. ‘Ah! Here’s Moon.’
An old man emerged from among the tangled undergrowth. At least, he had the skinny hunched shape of an old man, but he appeared to be covered in black fur.
‘What’s this?’ he called. ‘Strangers in the jungle?’
Walking carefully, he edged his way down to the pond, his limbs stiff and stick-thin. Closer, Saeng could make out that what resembled a thick black pelt was in fact a dense matting of inked tattoos that covered him from head to toe. He studied her, peering down with tiny black eyes under greying tangled brows and surrounded by spidery glyphs. A lively humour seemed to dance in those eyes. ‘And what is your name, child?’
‘Saeng.’
‘And who is this unfortunate?’
‘My brother Hanu. Is he – can you tell, is he alive?’
The man’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You, of anyone, ought to know who is alive and who is not. But … he is your brother and so emotion intervenes. Try to see – calm your mind. See through your fears.’
Saeng nodded at the old man’s words. Yes, of course she should be able to sense this. It was just … she so dreaded the answer … Yet she had to know, and so she closed her eyes, still nodding, and reached out.
She found a slow steady heartbeat.
A half-gasp half-laugh of relief escaped her and she covered her mouth. Thank the Ancient Cult!
‘There!’ the old man announced. ‘That wasn’t so hard. Yes, he lives. But he dreams – he has taken a blow to the head, perhaps? I will have to examine him.’
‘Examine him? How can you? He’s – do you know how to remove the armour?’
A wave dismissed the difficulty. ‘I could if I had to, I suppose. But I needn’t. Now, let’s get him back to my house.’
Saeng looked the frail old man up and down. ‘You’ll send the boy for help, I imagine.’
Another wave of a hand completely covered in a web of hieroglyphs and symbols of power – even down to the fingertips. ‘I live alone but for my young offspring.’ He clambered down to Hanu’s side. ‘Now, the sooner we start the better … I am not as swift as I used to be.’
Saeng knew two hale men couldn’t lift her brother, encased as he was in his stone armour. It would be like attempting to lift an ox. ‘You can’t possibly …’ Her objection died away as the old man picked up Hanu’s arm and hiked her brother on to his back so that his armoured limbs hung down over the skinny shoulders that jutted no more than bare bone under tattooed skin.
Bent practically double, his head no higher than his waist, the old man pronounced: ‘There! Not so bad. Follow me, yes?’
Saeng stared, astounded, then quickly shuffled backwards out of the fellow’s way. ‘Yes. Yes … of course.’
‘Ripan! Lead the way.’
‘Must I, Moon?’ the youth sighed.
‘Ripan …’
The youth rose, sullen, rolling his eyes. Kicking at the stones and spinning his flute, he wandered into the jungle. The old man followed. His pace seemed no slower than when he emerged. Saeng brought up the rear.
As they went, Saeng heard the youth, Ripan, unseen ahead through the dense leafed underbrush, begin singing: ‘Poor Old Man Moon! How he has waned! Forgot his powers and learnin’. Now he is no more than a beast of burden!’
‘Ripan …’ the old man warned once again, his voice quite unstrained beneath his enormous burden. ‘We have guests.’
In answer the youth blew a blast upon his flute. Then he started up once more: ‘Poor Hanu stone soldier! Banged his head. Now I wonder … is their blood red?’
‘Ripan! Manners …’
A raw piercing blast from the flute answered that. Silent throughout this exchange, Saeng found it oddly reassuring that no matter where you were, or who, or what, it seemed that family relations were the same everywhere. After a time Ripan contented himself with playing quick irreverent tunes upon the flute, as if in sly counterpoint to Moon’s ponderous progress.
They came to a small clearing and at its centre a hut on tall poles, its walls and roof built of woven leaves. A rickety ladder of lashed branches led up to the slouched dwelling. It reminded Saeng of the poorest and most wretched huts of any village she’d ever visited. It frankly wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting.
To her gathering horror Moon started up the ladder, her brother draped over his back like a great sack of rice far larger than its bearer. She rushed forward. ‘Perhaps we could remain outside …’
‘No, no. No problem at all.’ He climbed a rung. The wood creaked and bent, but held. ‘You are my guests! You must stay within.’
‘What – both of us?’
‘Most assuredly. I insist.’
Grunting, he reached the top of the ladder, and in a great heave deposited her brother inside, his arms scraping the sides of the entrance, his legs sticking out. Moon pushed him in further then crawled in behind. A tattooed arm emerged to beckon: ‘Come, come!’
Fearing the entire structure would collapse at any moment, Saeng set one tentative foot on the ladder. The lad, Ripan, now leaned with his back to a post. He sighed his boredom while studying his flute. Gritting her teeth, she climbed. Within, there was only enough room for her to sit cross-legged next to the opening. Moon knelt at Hanu’s side, studying him. Her brother lay on bedding of grass and rough woven blankets, all tattered and moth-eaten. Other than this, the hut was empty: utterly without any other feature, possession, or item. No bowl, no pots, no utensils or any other personal touch.
This fact made Saeng the most uneasy. After watching Moon hunched over her brother for a time, she opened her mouth to ask how he was but noticed something that stilled the words in her throat. The dense forest of tattooed symbols and glyphs that covered Moon’s back in band after band were actually m
oving. Each pulsed, individually, almost imperceptibly. Waxing and waning, they revolved in their separate bands while the entire panoply appeared to be edging ever so slowly across the curve of his bent back.
Like the arch of the night sky turning came the thought, unbidden.
She swallowed and steadied herself against the pole of the opening. ‘How is he?’ she managed, her voice weak.
‘He has suffered a severe blow to the head. His mind has become unmoored and wanders now in a deep fugue.’ Grunting, the old man shifted, facing her. ‘He may never awaken again.’
‘Can you – is it in your power – to heal him?’
The man’s gaze flashed again with humour. ‘It just so happens that such matters are my particular area of specialty. You are lucky to have met me.’
And what does luck have to do with anything here in Himatan? was Saeng’s first thought, but she smiled her gratitude, letting out her breath. ‘I am so very relieved. Would you … please?’
His tangled salt and pepper brows rose. ‘Ah … as to that. We must strike a bargain, you and I.’
‘I would give anything to have him healed.’
Now those brows lowered in disapproval. ‘Do not be so quick to give everything away, child. There are those in these wilds who would take advantage of such an offer.’ Then he barked, loudly, ‘Ripan!’
The ladder swayed, then the youth’s comely head appeared. ‘Yes?’ he sighed.
‘Bring food for our guests.’
Ripan eyed Saeng up and down, almost grimacing his distaste. ‘Food?’
‘Yes.’
‘Such as …?’
‘Fowl, I would suggest. Cooked over a fire on a stick.’
Disgust twisted the youth’s angelic face. ‘That’s a vile thing to do to a bird.’
‘Do so in any case.’ He waved the youth away. ‘Go on.’
Ripan rolled his eyes again and heaved a sigh. ‘If I must.’ He slid out of sight.
Moon faced Saeng. ‘Now. As to our bargain. Over many years I have struck countless such. A favour for a favour. And with each bargain I have always asked just one service in particular.’
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