John Bowman's Cave

by Erron Adams

  He scarpered down the corridor as fast as stealth allowed, following its red path switching left and right. The final turn into the home stretch to his room took him by surprise, but there was no mistaking the door’s unique pattern. He loped to it and slipped inside, annoyed there was no bolt to secure behind him.

  The noises seemed to have followed closely; even the closed door could not muffle the now distinct voices. He turned to the interior and took a deep breath.

  Several minutes ransacking turned up nothing useful; this was a place for pampered rest, not martial preparation. He opened a small case and flung it across the room in disgust; it’s hinged lid and empty interior whirred above his own frustrated growl. It slammed into the wall on one of its metal corners, chunking off sections of flowery plaster and falling to the floor in a shower of clattering dust.

  “Looking for something?” The voice came from behind, just inside the evidently, now opened door. At first Bowman froze in fright, then he whirled face on to attack.

  ***

  Unconnu swept into the Royal Court and made a beeline for the throne. Emrel sat there, one bent hand supporting her head as she looked at the floor. Her Oracle could not divine whether the Queen had been patiently awaiting her arrival, or if she was just slunk deep in thought. She leant towards Emrel’s ear.

  “I would talk with you alone.”

  The Queen’s head detached from the palm that cupped it and drifted towards the speaker. A wispy smile played across her face. “Of course.” She said. Unconnu had been expected.

  Emrel stood straight up and strode toward the court doors with as much speed as Unconnu herself had shown on entering. The door guard leapt to attend her just in time. Once in the passage, she continued walking without letup, her head down like a hunter following sign. From Unconnu’s perspective, following swiftly in her wake, it was as if the path before Emrel had been marked for the occasion.

  The Queen abruptly turned in at a small chamber that had in distant times served as a tool room for the castle’s builders. It was quite empty now of all but the sour odour of long undisturbed air. With no window in the cramped space, she faded momentarily from Unconnu’s sight. She stopped against the far wall, turned, and beckoned the other woman to follow. When Unconnu made out Emrel’s figure in the poor light, she squeezed through the narrow aperture. She squinted in the gloom and wrinkled her nose. “Here?” she said. Emrel shrugged and pointed over the Oracle’s shoulder. “It shuts.”

  Unconnu fumbled behind her for the half closed door. She pushed it to, and what little light there had been vanished. In the pitch, she could only make out Emrel by her breathing.

  “What do you mean by choosing such a place, my Lady?”

  “You said you wanted to speak with me alone. We are alone.”

  “I meant to talk where I could see you.”

  “I see you clearly.”

  “I don’t see how. At any rate, sight, for now, is immaterial. I can do without light.”

  “Shadow may be light in Darkness, Unconnu”.

  “Enough! I don’t know what you hope for, by bringing me here, but it won’t save you.” She stepped closer.

  Emrel saw the metallic flash as Unconnu briefly opened her tunic. As the older woman finished baring the blade the Queen spoke. “Have you come to this, my Oracle? Are there no words left for you?”

  “No, nor for you,” the crone said as she drove the knife upwards to the hilt below the other woman’s ribcage. Emrel gasped and fell forward, clutching Unconnu’s shoulders for support. Her shocked face faded to a determined grimace as she steadied, and then a smile stole over it. “Fool! Shadow! I've bested you!” she said, and a faint, throaty laugh marked her slow fall to the floor.

  ***

  Keemon stepped over the prone figure and glared at Unconnu.

  “Fucking Hell, you ‘offed the Queen?”

  “You look surprised. That surprises me. I’d expected you’d be disappointed at losing your all-powerful whore, but not that you’d find my own ambitions such a shock.”

  “Don’t get cute, Unconnu. The idea was to sideline her; we’ve got the men to do that. You might’ve gone and made a martyr of her, with this.”

  “Not if we act swiftly. You forget I have seen this day coming a long time; I’ve had time to lay plans.”

  The cop looked incredulous a moment, then slowly shook his head and turned back to the corpse. “Fuck me. You killed the Queen! Well, all I can say is, I hope your plans cover exactly what to do now. I meant to get the others up from Melen Darit to support our own men first before we went full throttle.”

  Unconnu crooned to him. “Oh, my little soldier is worried? Never mind, it’s all under control.” Seeing Keemon’s snarl, she went on quickly, “We don’t need Melen Darit. It would take too long, and anyway, Emrel’s spies crawl all over the roads from there. Too risky.”

  “More risky than this?”

  “Yes, infinitely, trust me. I saw it as soon as the foolish woman brought me to this room. ‘The Gods have their mark on this’, I thought.

  “Arghh, don’t go weird on me again, just give me the plan.”

  “Alright.”

  ***

  Denaren looked at the wall where Bowman's flung case had smashed out a section of plaster. "What a mess. Whatever it is you're looking for must be important. Then again, things do tend to get broken wherever you go." Noting Bowman's air of wary non-response he went on.

  "Things, and people."

  "What do you want, Denaren?"

  The older man brushed past Bowman. “I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to the Queen recently?”

  “Yes, what of it?”

  “A cordial interview?”

  “That’s one word for it, I suppose.” More like obscure, he thought.

  “Didn’t end well, then?” Denaren stood in front of him now. Very close. Too close.

  “Just what the Hell are you not saying, Denaren?”

  “I’ve just seen the Queen. Not to talk to. She was dead, a knife in her chest.”

  “Whaa… well, I didn’t do it.”

  “I didn’t say you did. I didn’t say you could. But you may have had reason to stand by while someone else did. Perhaps ensured both parties were in the same place at the same time.”

  “Give it a rest. Even if I did want her dead, I couldn’t arrange that. I’m nothing around here, in case you haven't noticed.”

  Denaren lifted his chin and let out a breath. “That rings true, at least.” His rigid posture slackened and he looked away. “So, who did?”

  Bowman shrugged. “A knife? Any particular kind? The Guards all seem to carry fairly regulation stuff.”

  “No, not one of theirs. Very ordinary, really, sort of thing a peasant might keep. Which would be one consideration for anyone planning a murder in advance, and wanting to spread suspicion as wide as possible.”

  Once more, things were piling in too fast for Bowman.

  "Wait a minute. Just what the hell is going on? I only spoke with Emrel a while ago, now you're telling me she's dead? And what's with all the noise out there? And where is Oyen? Or Yalnita for that matter. Not to mention, Caylen."

  Denaren snarled and gripped Bowman's arm as he spun to the door. "We really don't have time for this. Come with me and I'll explain as we go."

  ***

  None of the noise of the initial revolt carried to Yalnita’s cell, far underground. The first inkling she had of change came in a whiff of smoke. Then things started to clang and thump, and a few voices started. The crack of light at the bottom of the door flickered shadows from rushing figures in the passage outside. A roaring grew, which seemed to comprise equal parts of fire and human excitation.

  Some of the shadows clumped together; keys rustled.

  “What about this one?”

  “No! Some damn Rory they brought in last night. Let her choke!”

  “Her? A Huntress? Hey, what’s she like?”

  “How would I know? I only hear
d. C’mon, we’ve got others here!”

  “Well….”

  “C’mon, dammit!”

  The light under the door came back.

  Yalnita paced the cell, kicking the solid rock walls as she went, looking for cracks, coming back to the door and trying to prise it open with her fingertips until the pads turned white, then red where they cut. Another shuffle of footsteps ended outside her cell door. She stepped back and put a hip forward, her fists low and a little out from her body, a galvanizing growl in her throat.

  The lock gave under a key; the door groaned open. A single figure stood silhouetted in the smoky light. From it came a hand, taking on depth and colour as it detached from the black outline. Extending fingers drew an arm, then a shoulder, last a face into the room. “Come, Yalnita, we don’t have much time,” it said.

  She edged past Oyen till her back hit the doorjamb. Why are you here? What's happening? Why has the traitor turned liberator? Where are we going? she wanted to know. But the situation was paring everything to essentials, so she just asked, “Why?”

  Oyen pushed her gently into the now deserted passage, saying, “Ask again later, when you no longer need to.”

  ***

  “Where are we going? What’s happening?” Bowman asked.

  Denaren broke his concentration to speak. “We are in danger.” The Guard Captain held Bowman by the shoulder and peered around a corner. Finding the way clear, he let go the grip, stepped into the corridor and turned to speak. But Bowman got in first.

  “Who the hell is we? You’re Kasina, I’m a Rory. I came here with Yalnita, remember?”

  Denaren glanced over his shoulder. Rebels had stripped the walls of their precious hangings, and the side tables and chairs that dotted all Palace corridors were missing. But the contagion itself had fanned out to other parts; the battle was now a distant noise, as of surf beyond dunes, or a cheering crowd inside a stadium.

  He glared back at Bowman. “Damn all Outlanders,” he said, “especially you. Oyen had better be right; you’d better be worth the lives you’ve cost, and all the coming trouble.”

  Bowman blinked and looked blankly at the tall Guard a moment before he spoke. “What’s your problem? What have I ever done to you?”

  “Your ‘friend’ Keemon and the Queen’s Oracle have started an uprising. He’s on his way here, to get you.”

  “He’s no friend! And what’s with this Oracle, anyway? Is she some kind of witch or something? Everyone seems to have a healthy respect for her.’

  Denaren scowled and looked quickly either way before he spoke again. “Unconnu. I suspect it's she who murdered the Queen.”

  “God, how? Isn’t that your job, protecting Emrel?”

  Denaren’s face reddened. Bowman thought it was embarrassment. He was wrong.

  “Mind your mouth, Outlander! No one pre-empts Unconnu. She is a sorceress.”

  Bowman snorted. He couldn’t believe Denaren capable of superstition.

  “Oh, c’mon, you mean she flies and what not?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me what you believe. The fact is, only those Unconnu trusts might ever control her, and only for the time it takes her to win their trust. By then it’s too late for them.”

  Bowman frowned with the effort of digesting Denaren’s explanation. Then he nodded slowly. “You mean, like the Queen?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you? Did you trust her?”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “And being hunted by her now, by the look of you. Not such a stupid question, really.”

  Denaren scowled again. “A pointless one, though. Let’s go.” He grabbed Bowman’s shirt and pulled him along.

  Bowman knocked the man’s arm aside. “Piss off! I can walk. What do you think I’m going to do, run away? Where would I go?”

  Denaren thought a moment, then nodded. “Alright,” he said and loped off.

  Bowman followed. “But where are we going?”

  “To unleash another of your friends on Kasina Nabir. Caylen.”

  ***

  Chapter 23

  Liberation

  Bowman stood before her, jaw gaping, and stammered an idiot's greeting.

  “My god, you ... you've…” was all he got out. Nine years and a woman had replaced the girl called Caylen.

  She came up and threw her arms about him. The actuality of her warmth melted his hard shock; he softened against her. She kissed his cheek, his neck, crushing her body against his.

  Bowman panicked and pushed her back. He had to derive some perspective on what was happening to him, get his head above the emotions flooding in. Caylen’s eyes were half closed like a cat’s that blinked contentment, and she smiled a lover’s satiated smile. As he looked, her face kept changing as though he saw her through water; a slight wave motion washed over her features so that she was never the same woman two moments running.

  He walked away. He had to speak; it was either that or drown.

  “Sometimes I think I’ve lost my mind. Other times I think, ‘No, not your mind, just contact with the world you stand in’. I knew a man who went mad once, he lived in another world. You’d look at him and he was okay, y’know? But he'd gone inside. You could hear him moving about in there, see his face at a window every now and then, when he looked out and recognized something. Is that what you see?”

  She came towards him with her arms out, smiling. “I see a fool who talks and thinks too much.”

  He slipped the approach and circled her. “So? Thinking keeps me alive; I’ve talked myself out of more tight spots than I care to remember. Conversation’s a good thing, Cornerstone of Civilization and all that. You should try to develop it. Not to mention your brother, who rates a conversation by himself. Do you know he's gone over to the Kasina?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? Is that all you can say?”

  “Yes!” Her smile faded, she stopped following and crossed her arms.

  Denaren stepped between them. “This isn't the time for squabbling.”

  The Guard Captain’s uniform cut Caylen out of Bowman’s sight. The Outlander blinked and looked up at the soldier’s face.

  It was true; the fighting had circled back on them. For some reason the battle noises were coming closer to the dungeon cells again. Most chilling were the several blasts of automatic gunfire they could now hear.

  Caylen came around Denaren to Bowman. “We have to get Yalnita and Oyen, then go.”

  Denaren moved to the door and went to speak, but another burst from Keemon’s machine gun - even closer this time – cut him off. He leapt into the passage and headed away from the sound, motioning frantically for the others to follow.

  ***

  Bowman looked around. The night had turned to rain, sending the few folk who had business in such a bleak world hurrying by with eyes set on the wet-black cobblestones, as much for safety as for shelter from the slanting spears that soaked them.

  This far from the Palace, an eerie peace reigned. It was as though the populace sensed the outcome of the uprising would have little effect on them personally. Their dreary lives would continue under new masters. Or the battle-scarred old ones. Fresh faces might appear at the windows of Imperial carriages as they crashed through the crowded streets, scattering people and pigeons alike. Or they might not.

  Bowman and the other Rory hugged the side of an old bakery. In this, the last of the dangerously impoverished districts before the relative safety of the Palace-guarded docks, no one built verandahs. They were grateful for a rain like this, that would save their hides even as it drenched them. Combined with night, it was the perfect camouflage for skulking escapees.

  A few paces ahead of them Denaren turned around and called, “all clear” above the noise of the rain. One by one the figures detached from the wall and joined him.

  Caylen peered around the Guard to get a better view of the street leading towards the docks. “Where to now?”

  “I
t’s easy enough. Go to the end of this street, turn left and you’re practically there.”

  “You’ll have to use the owl call to bring Yalnita out; I made sure she kept low,” Oyen said.

  Caylen reached out and gripped her adoptive brother’s arm. She looked up at him, blinking rain away, then buried her head in his chest.

  “You’re sure you’re not coming?” said Bowman.

  The Rory set his mouth and cupped the back of Caylen’s head with his hand. He bent low to sniff her hair before he answered. “No, Denaren and I stay. We can’t let our people down. We’ll follow when we’ve found them.”

  Bowman was only just beginning to piece together the frantic events of the past twenty-four hours. It seemed life plummeted into the horizon again, with him impaled on its spear point. Oyen had asked for his trust. That was the only thing that stood out, the one straw he could clutch in the maelstrom, and hope it proved more substantial. He extended a hand to the Rory.

  “Alright Oyen, until then.”

  Oyen shook Bowman’s hand with an energy the Outlander hadn’t seen since the time they’d taken Journey Herb and ventured into the Origins together, to the Soul Gate itself. The handshake radiated warmth along both arms. Oyen looked like a man from whom the pall of illness has just lifted.

  “Count on it, John Bowman, I will be there!” he said.

  ***

  “Damn! What I wouldn’t give for my old bow now!” Oyen muttered. He’d left it, and the arrows crafted to match it, in the old wing of the Palace where the fighting had begun. He’d abandoned the weapon but a moment to help Denaren break through a door. When he turned back to retrieve the bow, a band of Keemon’s traitors burst into the room, cutting him off. Oyen and Denaren only just managed to carry their lives from the encounter.

  The battle for the palace had been evenly balanced in the early part of the day, allowing the pair to escort the ‘Precious Outlander’ - as Denaren kept calling him - and Caylen to the rendezvous with Yalnita. They found a much different state of affairs on their return: most of the palace was now in rebel hands. They regrouped with Palace Guards still loyal to the fallen Queen and began to fight back.