But Ammeline has caught me staring at her. “What do you think you are staring at?” she demands, her tone flinty.
Automatically, I duck behind the reassuring body of Jethran. “Nothing,” I tell her hastily. “Just anxious to be getting on.”
Ammeline glowers around until her gaze meets that of Doven. He is standing close by, oxen-like, gazing at her as if she were a goddess. Her eyes soften. She licks her bottom lip lightly. He literally leans in toward her. And suddenly, she is happy again. She gives a silvery laugh and touches him on the arm, tracing a fingernail along one of his muscles. “Come along Doven. We don’t want you to get lost, now do we?”
He flushes with pleasure, lowering his head like a bull in front of a red rag. “Let me go with you. I will take care of you.”
The laugh glitters out among us again. “I’m sure you will. All these lovely muscles! Such a strong man!”
I wonder if anyone else is listening, so I peer out from behind Jethran. Azrial is exchanging a look of sadness with Thurifer. Vannis has one eyebrow raised. And Furian is staring at his daughter with something like disappointment. Zivan is watching from a distance, an expression of intense scorn written all over her face. Torch is making uncomfortable keening noises. He senses tension and doesn’t like it.
Vannis tires of the whole thing. “Oh, let me through.” He pushes rudely past both Ammeline and Doven. “Or are we going to wait until this stupid rift blows?”
There is a general surge in the direction of the tunnel. I find myself being carried inside the dark shaft, just in front of Kalyka and Fimbrian and just behind Torch.
The floor of the tunnel is uneven. It is covered in long ridges heading in the same direction. The water has dug through the rock for centuries, leaving troughs and sharp rises. It is almost impossible to walk on top of these. They dig into my shoes, and some crumble under my weight. Others penetrate right through the material into my skin, making me bleed. A hand reaches out from behind. I look around gratefully. Fimbrian is trying to steady me whilst carrying Kalyka in front of him, one arm wrapped around her thin body. I smile my thanks at the old man. He motions me on. I am causing a backlog.
After a while I find I can actually manage to avoid the ridges. My feet are small. They mostly fit into the troughs. Now I can walk without tripping. I examine the walls. They are eroded in a similar way. It is like traversing the throat of some massive animal. It is unpleasant.
Torch looks back at me. He seems to be able to keep his balance easily over the terrain, but he doesn’t like it either. I can see the whites of his eyes.
I reach out one hand to him. It is ignored. Hands are more uncomfortable than tunnels for him, I realize.
It takes us some minutes to make our way along the darkened tube of rock, and then, all of a sudden, we are out into the light again. I look up and gasp.
I am looking up at the sky, past two towering walls of rock which face each other. These continue as far as you can see in either direction. The Abaloss Rift. One mountain range riven in two along nearly three thousand miles. Bisected by a fault line. The walls rear vertically up from where we are standing, framing the blue sky far above. Seeping from below are clouds of white steam, gradually rising from the rift as the pressure builds up underneath.
The other side of the mountain must be about twenty yards in front of me. The rock face is damp and almost black, worn smooth after thousands of years of eruptions. There are no handholds. There would be no way to get across the gap if it were not for a huge ebony rock which has been caught and wedged tightly between the two walls of mountain.
This is the Boulderstone, then. An enormous slice of stone ejected by the force of the water and then trapped as it fell to land again. It is dark, black, slippery and treacherous. My heart gives a sort of bump of fear and an ominous tremor goes all the way up my spine. I don’t want to have to cross this. I sense that men have fallen to their deaths trying to traverse the gap. I bite my lip.
Azrial has stepped beyond me, to the front of the line. “Be very careful where you step,” she warns, motioning to Furian to pass out the thick rope he has unwound from his torso. “Put this rope to the outward side of your passage and hold on tightly. It is the only thing between you and an endless drop into the unknown.”
I pass the end of the rope back and turn to see that Thurifer is fastening it tightly to a spur of rock. He tests the knot and then passes the rope to Furian, who has moved up to lead us over the Boulderstone. Furian ties it firmly at his waist, first wrapping it over and around his chest. He turns to the rock, trying to judge exactly where to put his hands on the polished surface.
It is surreal to stand there observing Furian as he makes his way across the boulder. Every time his foot slips my heart lurches with him. I am aware of my own pulse beating in my throat. I am used to the domes and we know what danger is there. But this ... this sinister inky stone over a drop which plummets down through shrouds of cloud to the center of the planet ... this is something else.
It brings back thoughts of my mother. Again. I blink the tears away. This is not the time.
Kalyka whimpers.
Zivan is standing near me, carefully feeding the rope out to Furian. Behind her the rest of the men have moved into a line. They have grasped the rope, ready to help break Furian’s fall if the worst comes to the worst.
He slips. His feet scrabble impotently at the rock and I think my heart has stopped.
But no. It starts beating again though I still can’t breathe.
His toes have found a tiny ledge to stop his fall. Now he is trying to edge back toward the thin crack along the Boulderstone, the one which leads over to the other side.
He hangs there for long minutes. I see that Azrial’s face is grey. Her heart has not resumed beating yet. I feel sorry for the old woman. The folds of skin drag down and away from her eyes, leaving her looking vulnerable and really, really old. I am pretty sure that a moderate wind could vaporize what is left of her body.
Then Furian succeeds in getting his foothold back along the wider crack. We all let out a collective breath of relief. He can do this.
Zivan has made no noise. She has simply been dealing with the rope. Does she not care what happens to Furian, or has she learnt not to show any feelings? I straighten my own shoulders. I will do the same.
Then Furian reaches the far side. The men on the rope at my side put it down as Furian tugs and hauls a length over to the far cliff. He ties it tightly to an outcrop. He tests the knot and then signals to Zivan.
Zivan doesn’t need to tell Torch to follow her. He is instantly at her side. They make their surefooted way over the rock, hardly needing the added support of the rope.
Azrial finds it far more complicated, but Thurifer is there for her, helping when her weaker fingers cannot grip, when her dimmer eyes cannot see the next safe hold for her foot.
The steam is getting worse now. Big white clouds of it puff past us, smothering us in dampness and heat.
Linnith and Karith are escorted over by Jethran. Then Vannis and Ammeline, followed very closely by Doven.
That leaves Fimbrian, Kalyka, Ballen, Rannyl and myself.
Ballen is already grumbling about impossible journeys, but he hoists his not inconsiderable bulk onto the rock before Rannyl can beat him to it. The two men inch their way along the boulder. Rannyl’s eyes are closed much of the time.
Even I know that is not a good idea. Nobody is surprised when he slips and is only saved by the rope jamming up under his arms. It narrowly stops him falling to his death.
Ballen, who has been nearly dislodged himself by the jerking rope, swears at him. Rannyl’s eyes open wide, and he manages an accusing tone.
“If you hadn’t been so slow I would have been over by now. You and those skulks of yours need some exercise, is what I would say!”
“You be a taking of that back!”
“’Tis only what anyone would tell you.”
Ballen gawks. “My skulks be th
ree times as useful as your argents.” He looks across at me. “B’ain’t they, young miss?”
I grin. Zivan would never answer a leading question like that. Neither will I.
Ballen nods to himself. He doesn’t even need an answer. “See, Rannyl? You don’t know what you be talking about.”
Rannyl, who has spent the time maneuvering himself back into position on the Boulderstone, shakes his head with a martyred air. “Just keep moving, Ballen, before your skulks decide to eat one of us.”
They make it across the gap.
Ballen’s pack of skulks are the next to go. On a signal from the rotund man, they race over the smooth surface, thinking nothing of it. It takes only seconds. Ballen makes much of them on the other side. They pant and prance their delight at his pleasure.
Now it is my turn. Fimbrian and I exchange a glance and a nod. We will put Kalyka in the middle of us.
I place one foot on the rock. It skids and almost slides off. I grab at the rope with both hands.
We make slow progress. Kalyka has put her shoes on for the crossing, and she has to go slowly, because of the state her feet are in. It is just as well. I am having some difficulty focusing. The steamy clouds are somehow getting inside my eyes. It takes me back to my time in the dome, and I don’t like the feeling. I can see my mother’s body falling like a sack down through the spars. A dead emptiness leaves me frozen to the spot.
Kalyka pushes at me with one small hand. “What is it?” she whispers.
“What? Oh, sorry, poppet.” I blink the mists away. “Nothing. Just follow me.”
We finally reach the other side. The carricks are then pulled across by the men on cables and rings. Finally, Furian stretches past me, a knife between his fingers. In one quick movement, both the rope and the cable are cut.
I stare at him.
He shrugs. “We can’t risk the Scoriats using them.”
“But how will we get back? Will we have enough rope?”
Furian manages the ghost of a smile. He shrugs. “Are we planning on coming back?”
I haven’t even considered that. Are we going to come back? Will we ever see Astakarth again? I can feel the blood draining from my own face. Now I must look as grey as Azrial does. I stare at the stub of the rope, hewn off near the outcrop of rock. It tells me that we may be on a one-way journey. I could be joining my mother soon.
Furian ushers us along the tunnel leading out under the second rock face. It is similar to the first one, turning slightly up, guiding us out.
“Hurry up,” he tells us sternly. “We have very little time before the rift erupts.”
I could have told him that. The floor of the tunnel is shaking. Something massively big and extremely powerful is on the way. We begin to run.
We break out from under the overhang of the mountain rock just as a high-pitched whistle nearly deafens all of us. It is the outsurge. It is beginning.
We race away from the Abaloss Rift, our feet barely touching the earth. The farther we are away, the better. We do not want to be under the worst of the tons of water which will eventually drench down on the land surrounding the rift.
Thurifer calls a halt. He hands Azrial her carrick and points up at the mushroom-shaped rocks which are keeping the sun off us. They are like umbrellas made of stone, small central columns hewn by the water, larger flat slabs where the water has been unable to reach.
“All of you: Find one of the highest mushrooms and hang your carrick under it. Then get inside the carrick. The rock above should protect us from the downdrench and the carricks will be able to move with the elements. They will give us the best protection from the wind and the turbulence. Make sure they are high. The lowest ones may be flooded by the waters.” As he speaks he is climbing onto one of the highest slabs, turning back to help Azrial up behind him.
It takes me time to clamber up onto one of the larger flat rocks. My fingers are trembling. I can smell ozone in the air and everything seems to be poised. The very atoms surrounding us seem to be able to tell that the Abaloss Rift is about to outsurge.
From a neighboring rock, Furian yells across at me. “You must hurry, Remeny. The air will be sucked out of here any moment. Get that carrick hung. And tie the knots well!”
I wave back to show him that I have understood. The ropes of the carrick have twined together; I didn’t stow them correctly last time I used it. My heart is pounding. If I can’t get beneath the shelter of the slab, I will die. I scrabble frantically at the rope.
Then there is a light thump beside me. Zivan has landed on my slab. Calmly, she begins to separate the ropes. With both of us working it is easier.
I go red. I am useless. I can’t even manage the simplest of things.
“Some of us only have words,” she tells me. “I like to keep mine. Now, help me to tie the knots.” I understand. She is telling me she will not allow anything to happen to me.
Between us, we deploy the carrick under the slab, and her fingers are nimble as we secure it. She signals for me to let myself down one of the ropes and settle inside the carrick. I lose sight of her then, but the carrick jerks slightly, so I know that she is making sure it is hung exactly in the mid position of the ropes. Then I hear her footsteps run lightly along the slab above me. A shadow fleetingly crosses my limited vision of the sky. She is gone.
I hope she hasn’t left it too late. As she leaps for the next slab, there is a crack so loud that it deafens me. The Plains of Teygar begin to tremble. A shriek of agonized force tears out of the Abaloss Rift. I am glad I am temporarily deaf because I vibrate just with the force of the sound. I clutch the sides of the carrick as it is buffeted away from the rift. Then a solid wall of something explodes out of the rift, and the air all around me is sucked into the outburst. My ears pop. I can’t breathe; there is no air around me anymore. It has been torn away from the earth by the volcano of water and steam. Dragged far up into the clouds, ripped away from the land.
The carrick is almost vertical now, straining to follow the air. I have to push against the edges to stop myself from falling out, despite the leather cover. I am terrified. If it tilts any further I will lose my grip and be sucked up into the heavens with the superheated steam which is channeling up through the rift. I scream, but even though my ears are recovering, I can’t hear myself.
It goes on, and on, and on. How much longer can it last? How much longer can I last?
My muscles are trembling from the effort. The carrick is still vertical. The outsurge seems endless. However hard I try to gasp in some air, it is almost impossible to catch any oxygen at all. My only chance of breathing is to duck under the cover. The leather has captured a small pocket of air which is just breathable. It is too thin to satisfy my heaving lungs, but better than nothing. Even so, my head is dizzy. It is impossible to keep the incipient blackness at bay.
Then, suddenly, there is absolute silence. It is over. The carrick scythes down like an avenging blade, rocking back and forth in the respite. I begin to take in great gulps of air. It makes the dizziness worse, if anything, but I can’t help myself.
I stick my head up out of the cover. Is that it? Can we get out now? Somebody is shouting. It is just a thin reed of a voice, a thread which only just reaches me, instructs me.
“Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move. Don’t move ...”
They are cut off. The laws of physics are being brought into play. The air is hissing at me angrily. Now it is being compressed back against the ground by the steam condensing into water. It rushes past me, trying to escape. Again, I find it hard to pull oxygen into my lungs.
I wedge myself back as firmly as I can into the carrick.
Then the water comes.
It starts as a few harsh splats of large drops as they hit the slab above me. Then it thunders down, beating everything into submission. Then it is a flood falling from the sky. The sound is horrific. The barrage of the wild water smashing down from above is almost worse than the outsurge itself.
>
The carrick is rocking, jumping at the end of its ties. I wonder where the skulks are. How can they have survived this? I can’t imagine how Ballen could have managed to get them into carricks too.
Now I see why we had to be hanging here like this. The water has become a flash flood. It reaches nearly up to my carrick as it rips past the column which is keeping my slab upright. Some of the lower slabs are underwater. It is absolute turmoil. The water is racing past with sucking noises as it strips pieces of rock away from the sculpted columns. It is so strong that there are whirlpools forming inside it. They are beautiful, but deadly.
I hear the distant scream of an animal and know that one, at least, of the skulks has not made it. I hope it is not the one Torch has semi-adopted.
The drops raining down on us are smaller now, not so dangerous. They are still draining off the slabs in curtains of transparent liquid which then turns a sandy color as they join the race along the Plains of Teygar. The amount of rain is less than the drainage to the south and the north; the levels are falling.
I am beginning to feel safe. Suddenly the adrenaline overloads my senses. I begin to laugh. It all seems tremendously funny. Strung up under a slab of rock, like a ham left to cure. If only my mother could see me.
That sobers me. She will see nothing of my future. I will be alone. The laughter and the adrenaline rush evaporate, leaving me exhausted.
When the all-clear sounds in Furian’s voice I slip out of my hideaway and onto the wet ground. I sink to my knees. It is hard to stand in the mud. I watch as Torch undoes the ropes to my carrick and stows them correctly inside. I manage a weak smile. He frowns. He does not want even that much contact. I feel piqued, rejected. Then that makes me smile too. Who would have thought only a couple of days ago that being rejected by one of the shunned would upset me? I realize just how much everything has changed. I am amazed how quickly we have all adapted to these new circumstances, to this new life.
Kelfor- the Orthomancers Page 9