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Chapter 22. Rescue |
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mong the Order she was sometimes called Ishalha the Aloof. That evening her composure cracked and her anxiety carved lines of concern into her narrow mahogany visage. Khunzar and Yejebe lurked out of sight behind her in the lee of a natural wall of stone, the three of them gazing down on the faint golden light spilling out of the Oracle’s cavern. During her requested visit the week before she had taken in every detail, memorizing the number of steps down into the depths, the rough shape and height of the oval chamber, and the placement of the throne. Most importantly, she knew where Vehdil and Rasdha slept between shifts and where they took meals. They waited as the sky faded from turquoise to lavender, the first stars emerging as evening fell and the distant strands of celebratory music could faintly be heard above the roar of the falls. At last Vehdil’s tall figure strode out of the cave mouth with his walking stick, his red and gold trimmed finery flaring in the torchlight as he hurried toward the festivities. They waited a few minutes longer and she nodded, amazed at how gracefully Khunzar could move given his muscular bulk. Swift and silent as a hunting cat, he made his way down toward the mouth of the cave as they had discussed. Everything now hinged upon his actions. The minutes gnawed their nerves. Yajebe had the good graces not to speak although that was often what the monk did to ease his mind when he was wary or frightened. He had said little while she and Khunzar plotted how they would sneak Zhou out of the cavern without one of his attendants raising the alarm, and without blowing their cover. She did not want the Order to immediately go looking for her. With all the new faces crowding the Chantry for the celebration, her hope was that she would not be missed. Though chided for her lack of warmth, it might work in her favor that night. She twitched when she heard a muffled shout rise up from the cavern, barely audible above the falls. Rasdha, no doubt. She hoped Khunzar was successful in surprising and subduing the man without doing him harm. Above all, she hoped Rasdha had not seen his assailant’s face. She held her breath unconsciously until it escaped from her mouth in a frightened burst. What was taking so long? It was only a matter of time before someone came back from the celebration and saw them standing there guiltily against the cliff with a climbing rope lying slack upon the rocks. When Khunzar did emerge, he staggered a little. The swathed figure in his arms was struggling feebly to escape and he was doing his best to move quickly while maintaining his grip. The big warrior gazed upon her with a mixture of annoyance and concern as he finally drew close enough for them to see Zhou clearly. Khunzar had cocooned him within a blanket and used bands of silk to bind it in place. He was still in the finery of the Oracle of Whispers with an ornate band of gold threaded silk still bound over his eyes. “Unhand me, you fool!’ Zhou rasped as the three of them stood there staring at him. “Master Bei, this is Ishalha. We have decided to take you home.” “No!” he said angrily, his teeth flashing in the darkness, “This is my duty! I must see it to the end.” “This is the end of it. Please cooperate now.” She hated to see how hollow his cheeks were now. Even as the shadows deepened, every sinew and bone protruded through his sallow skin. Khunzar was hardly strained by his weight, and though Zhou struggled to win free, it required little effort for the big warrior to hold him. Ishalha understood Zhou’s resistance; she had read the details of the geas and knew he could not abandon his post easily. He would fight them to his own detriment until it was clear he was defeated. Khunzar clutched Zhou tightly as she gagged the poor man. It was a temporary measure for which she had come prepared but had hoped to avoid. His cries must not betray them now. Khunzar set him down gently on the ground and began wrapping rope around Zhou’s upper body and thighs, making a harness by which he would now carry the man up the cliff. Ishalha and Yejebe helped to hold Zhou’s bucking form in place as they secured him against the big warrior’s breast, his cheek pressed against Khunzar’s collar. Khunzar then spat on his hands and grasped the climbing rope he had strung down the cliff earlier that day. Despite the feebly struggling burden pressed to his breast, he moved lightly up the cliff, his muscular arms hardly strained after nearly a lifetime of hefting weapons and armor in battle. The big warrior’s silhouette hugged the rough stone of the cliff, nearly silent but for the occasional scuff of his muffled feet and the chatter of dislodged pebbles. Long breathless moments passed until Khunzar disappeared over the lip of the cliff and was gone from sight. No doubt he was freeing himself from Zhou in preparation to help them up. At last the rope snapped sharply against the cliff, their signal to begin the climb. She helped Yajebe secure the line to the makeshift rope harness Khunzar had insisted each of them wear and soon the little monk was scrabbling up the cliff with help from the big warrior. Finally it was her turn and she fumbled with the rope, remembering what Khunzar had told her to do. A lump hardened in her throat. She was getting too old for these kinds of adventures and had thus far managed to avoid climbing a cliff. Hands shaking, she tugged the rope twice and nearly called out in alarm as her body was hauled upward faster than she could gain a purchase on the rocks with her shaking feet. She wanted to close her eyes, terrified of looking down and losing her supper. Khunzar’s powerful grasp enfolded her arm and drew her trembling over the lip of the cliff and away from its precipitous edge. He guided her toward Yajebe and then busied himself with hauling up the rope to hide evidence of their passage. Zhou lay on his side amid their packs and traveling gear. She went to him, stroking his swathed shoulder apologetically as she checked to make sure he was able to breathe and had come to no harm. “This is Uncle Ibi and my cousin Bedu,” Yejebe said as she noticed two large men standing near the packs, “They have agreed to help carry our burdens and make camp for us.” Ishalha was anxious that two people she did not know had come at this critical moment in their plan. She wanted to protest, but the damage was already done. Still, Khunzar did not seem concerned as he coiled up the rope and hefted his pack. Without further ado he knelt beside Zhou and lifted him easily into his arms, shifting him slightly so that the man’s head could rest comfortably against his shoulder. “Easy now,” he told the man when it was clear he had startled him, “Fighting will not profit you and it will be many hours before anyone notices you are gone. It’s over.” Ishalha hoped Khunzar was right. They had a long night ahead of them before they dared bed down. The full moon was just rising and they planned to use its silvery light to guide them over the parched terrain that surrounded the Chantry. They would follow the fork of the Elon above the falls where it grew shallow to the north. Once they crossed, west and south then across untamed arroyos and exposed rock until they reached the more fertile region of Jahai and sought Kournan lands. She hoped Khunzar had chosen a good route, insisting as he had upon avoiding common roads and byways. She feared there were reasons these lands were untouched by humanity. Eyes adjusted to the glow of stars and moon, they walked in near silence, the low roar of the falls diminishing behind them as they followed the wide bank of the river. It was rough going. Too close to the water and the thorny scrub became difficult to traverse, but too far away and the rocky landscape caused their ankles to ache for its roughness. Khunzar seemed tireless, walking ahead despite his burden. Ishalha glanced at the moon and guessed that they must have been marching for almost three hours when the warrior guided them down a steep sandy slope to where the river widened and laughed over gravel and rocks. He began to wade across when Zhou made a muffled cry and bucked suddenly in his grasp, his flailing body nearly unbalancing the warrior as he tried to gain a purchase on the slick stones. Then, to Ishalha’s horror, three translucent blue figures emerged from the river, a strange musical speech fluting among them. In the moonlight, the ghostly forms shimmered like the trailing white water that they glided across. Each had one pair of hands that hovered at shoulder height forming mysterious mudras while the other clutched an exquisitely sharp scythe. Though the water djinns’ faces were largely concealed by a veil, their eyes blazed like stars as they towered over the startled party. “Release Bei Zhou An,” one of them said. It was identical to the others except for its harsh demeanor, “We would speak to him.” Khunzar backed away even as Zhou kicked madly in his grasp. Ishalha glanced at Yajebe and noted the little monk was shaking with fear, as were his taller relatives. One did not cross nature spirits, particularly in their own element. “Do as they ask,” Ishalha said quickly before the warrior decided upon his own way of solving their dilemma. He obediently set Zhou on the ground and the two of them released his bindings, hesitating when the leader of the djinn forbade them from removing the blindfold. “Put his feet in the Elon,” the djinn fluted as the others hissed a chant. Zhou no longer fought them, he seemed transfixed by the sounds of the djinn as Khunzar grasped him gently under his arms and guided him to a sandy patch of the river’s bank. When the water flowed over his feet once more, Zhou made a plaintive sob and dropped to his knees in a supplicating gesture. “The Elon bids you farewell,” the djinn said, her uppermost hands hovering over the man’s crown and forming a series of mudras, “Your gift is not needed here any longer and she wishes you to go free. Beware, Oracle, for Haodrim does not speak through you alone. In this place, such power was channeled for good, but now you are released, its malice will be made known and will withdraw to its true source until it is ready to strike. The Elon bids you remove this evil and by this you are truly freed in this world and beyond.” “It will be done,” Zhou said. “It will,” the djinn replied, “Though the means may cause you grief.” “I will strike true.” “Go now,” the djinn said, the harmonics of its voice softening to that of a woman, “Fly black to those who love you with the Elon’s blessing. She will cover your tracks and ward your way.” |
