Walls of Wind and the Occasional Diamond Thief Boxed Set

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  Perhaps I would live all my life here, among these congenial people, as they seemed to assume we would when Koon’an left without us. I doubted they’d have been as easily accepted by our city Ghen and Bria, if they had come to us.

  That afternoon, Kur’ad awoke. His eyes were clear for the first time and I thought he recognized me as I hurried toward him. He looked around as though searching for the others, but not seeing them he cried out in despair and the nightmare he lived with returned until Meliath’s poro seeds helped him to sleep again.

  The next morning I woke to find Kur’ad staring intently at me. I smiled at him but he didn’t return my smile. He spoke in a hoarse, urgent voice, his Ghen sounds meaningless to me. If only Saft’ir were here, I thought. Then, if only our city had a common sign language like these mountain Ghen and Bria have.

  Kur’ad half raised his hands as though to make some gesture, but the effort was too much. Letting them drop again, he closed his eyes and drifted back into sleep.

  I was heartened, however, and when Meliath returned from his early morning trip to collect fresh healing leaves I signed to him, “Kur’ad is healing.” He grinned and signed his agreement.

  In the afternoon Kur’ad woke again. Meliath and I raised him into a semi-reclining position to eat the vegetables and sadu’h meat Meliath had cooked and cut into tiny pieces for him. He accepted Meliath’s administrations in a way that appeared almost guarded, looking away when Meliath tried to sign to him. For some reason, Meliath seemed disappointed. Had he expected Kur’ad to learn his sign language while drifting in and out of sleep and nightmare these past weeks?

  Kur’ad stared at me repeatedly. I wondered if my presence upset him, reminded him of our journey together and of its painful ending for him. He might have been wondering where the others were. My smiles and reassuring pats gave him little comfort but they were the best I could do until Saft’ir returned.

  When I signed to Meliath, Kur’ad looked startled but made no attempt to learn to sign himself. Meliath and I settled him down to rest. I was about to follow Meliath outside to work in our section of the garden, when Kur’ad grabbed my hand. Was he afraid to be left alone? I paused to stay with him, but the poro seeds Meliath had put into his food took hold quickly and I was able to join Meliath before he’d even reached the garden.

  ***

  In the middle of the night something small landed on my chest. I was awake at once, thinking that a rock spider had dropped onto me. Reaching quickly to swipe it aside I touched only a pebble. A minute later another one hit my shoulder.

  It was pitch black. I could barely make out the pale mound of Meliath’s body between me and the cave entrance. A third pebble plinked against the ground, falling just short of me on the other side. Pulling myself up I peered into the darkness, frightened, until I heard a hushed whisper from the place where Kur’ad slept. I dimly made out his half-raised form and crawled over to him. He was staring at me with an urgency that frightened me.

  When he touched my hands, I felt his fingers moving. It took a moment to realize that he was signing, using the stilted, primitive language of our hosts. How had he learned it? But I needed all my concentration to make out by touch what he was trying to tell me.

  “Ghen are here.”

  I hesitated.

  “Ghen are here!” Did he mean our Ghen? How would he react to hearing that they’d left without him?

  “Saft’ir and Brod’ar and Sim’en are here. Koon’an and many go city. Stillseason. Windseason. Koon’an and many return.”

  He peered about in the darkness of the cave. “Three are here.” He didn’t know the natives’ signs for our names; we’d come here after him.

  “Three here, not here,” I signed, “three with Teralish.”

  “With Teralish in cave.” His fingers trembled so I could barely make out the words. His hands were tight on mine, hurting me. I tried to wriggle my fingers. His grip loosened enough to let me sign.

  “Three with Teralish in valley. Walls valley.”

  He gasped. I felt his sudden terror, so palpable my own heart panted for air. I gripped his hands, not noticing this time that his grasp had tightened again. I signed desperately, “What? What is it?

  ”“Danger!” he signed, “Broghen! Walls! Danger! Broghen! Walls!” He punctuated each word by pulling sharply on my hands. I thought of the young Broghen sleeping soundly in their walled pen. Had he seen and been frightened by them?

  “Small Broghen sleeping,” I signed.

  “Adult Broghen, walls valley,” I could hear him panting, at the edge of his strength. “Ceremony. Broghen fighting Ghen.” Pulling my left hand forward, he pounded it against his healing scars. “Adult Broghen fighting Ghen! Three Broghen fighting three!”

  I leaped to my feet as he sank back exhausted. I could hardly believe what he’d said. A ceremony in which Broghen and Ghen were pitted against one another? Why would they do such a thing? I wanted to disbelieve him, but his terrible wounds and nightmares were undeniable. And how had he learned these people’s sign language, unless he’d lived among them before he was wounded, not after, as we’d assumed?

  Teralish had ordered Saft’ir and Brod’ar and Sim’en to leave their knives behind. Breath of Wind! They were defenseless against three adult Broghen! I fell to my knees, barely able to turn the scream that rose in my throat into a smothered whimper. Nearby, Meliath murmured in his sleep.

  I held my breath, waiting for him to relax, then crawled on hands and knees across the floor, not trusting my legs to support me. Reaching under Saft’ir’s empty pallet I pulled out his knife. The strong, cold steel gave me strength and by the time I had gathered up all three knives plus my own, I was braced by the knowledge of what I must do.

  Glancing at Meliath to make sure he was still sleeping soundly, I dug into the stony earth at the back of the cave, where Saft’ir had hidden the firearm. Saft’ir had shown me how they worked, had let me hold his, but I had never used one. I doubted I’d be able to.

  But Saft’ir needed it. I lifted the leather bag containing the firearm and swept the dirt back into the hole, smoothing the ground flat. Dropping the knives into the firearm bag, I pulled the leather strap over my shoulder and across my chest. Wind’s breath, it was heavy! I was lucky it held only a youth firearm.

  By the light of the full moon I could see several white Ghen moving about the edges of the valley, guarding it while the Bria slept. Once again I was a black shadow, slipping down the steps from the cave, running silently through the deeper shadow of the rock cliff and up, away from these deceitful creatures.

  Nearing the place where I had seen one of the watches, I slowed and dropped to my knees. If I were caught carrying the weapons of my comrades, they would surely guess my intent. Much more was at stake this time than a young Bria longing for adventure.

  On hands and knees I crawled over the south ridge of the valley, flattening myself against the ground just in time as two white Ghen crossed below my path on the other side of the rise, just twenty armlengths downhill. But they were watching for white shapes, not black, and they moved on without noticing me.

  When they were gone I scrambled down and across the next slope, keeping low to the ground. With no shrubs or boulders for cover I felt completely exposed even in the dark night. Although I tried to move carefully, I couldn’t help dislodging a few pebbles in the stony ground. I was certain I’d be caught before I crossed the slope and rejoined the mountain trail beyond sight of the valley guards. When I finally crossed the hill and descended out of sight of the watch I slumped with relief.

  How far was the valley? Saft’ir and I had walked since early morning the day we discovered it. I ran, banging my feet and ankles against rocks in the darkness, walking when my legs shook and my sides ached for breath, then running again when the image of Saft’ir in hand-to-hand combat with a blood-crazed Broghen rose up greater than my pain and weariness. I began to stumble. I twisted my ankle and forced myself to rest, afraid I might inju
re myself so badly I wouldn’t be able to continue at all.

  Half a month, Shebabeth had said. Perhaps the fighting began later? Yes, for they’d brought Kur’ad back to the caves to care for his wounds. The fighting must be near the end of the ceremony. Perhaps Saft’ir and Brod’ar and Sim’en still didn’t know what was in store for them?

  I’d have to find a way to talk to them in secret. The thought of having time to do so calmed me. I felt my ankle. It was sore and beginning to swell, but it would hold me. When my breathing was even again I rose and continued, limping only a little.

  I passed the enclosure which held the infant Broghen. I considered climbing the tower to see whether they were still there, but Kur’ad had insisted the battle was against adult Broghen, and I couldn’t be sure the fighting hadn’t already begun. The thought sent me running again. The ache in my side was intense and my throat was raw from gasping after air. My legs were beyond pain, numb with exhaustion. The leather strap of the firearm bag bit into my shoulder; I’d switched it from side to side until both shoulders ached. Now I could see well enough to avoid the larger rocks, which both helped and terrified me. The creeping dawn was my enemy.

  Teralish and the white Ghen were still sleeping when I crawled over the crest of the last hill and peered down on them. The day was just breaking and in the half-light I might have mistaken them for a drift of snow lingering at the far end of the valley. I focused on them despite their stillness, searching for a patch of gray in the blanket of white.

  The valley was white and green, rich with vegetation near the end of a full growing season. Saft’ir and Brod’ar and Sim’en were not there. All was white or green, except the high, gray walls of stone that cut into the peaceful scene.

  I was surprised not to see a watch patrolling the perimeters, but half a dozen armed and vigilant Ghen stood at the far end of the stone enclosure, a few hundred armlengths from where the others slept. What were they watching for?

  Two more guards stood in front of the wooden door, down slope from me. It hadn’t been guarded when Saft’ir and I walked here, but they guarded it now. Something was already imprisoned inside, something desperate and deadly.

  Walls. Broghen fighting Ghen. Three Broghen fighting three. In walls.

  I examined the stones as though the intensity of my stare might penetrate them. Whatever horror waited there, Saft’ir and Sim’en and Brod’ar faced it unarmed. Eight days had passed since they left with Tyrannish. Perhaps they were dead already, like the other two scouts who had been with Kur’ad? I almost embraced the idea; I wanted badly not to go inside those walls.

  But no, Saft’ir wasn’t dead. I would know if Saft’ir died. I would feel it as an emptiness inside me. No, Saft’ir was alive on the other side of two white guards and a bolted wooden door.

  To my left, halfway down to the valley, a small group of cappa bushes clung to the side of a narrow creek. Slowly I inched my way across and down toward them as sunlight broke over the mountain.

  From the protection of the bushes I watched the guards. How would I get past them? Even if it were possible, could I make myself kill them? What if I tried and failed?

  Ridiculous. Of course I couldn’t do such a thing. Only desperation made me think it. I would have to sneak by them somehow.

  The morning lengthened. The distant Ghen were awake and the two below me showed signs of impatience. From their position at the door, they couldn’t see the others. I watched them gesturing in wide, forceful signs, but I wasn’t close enough to read the words. Finally one of them turned and stomped away along the wall. He reached the corner and turned toward the Ghen camp, out of sight.

  This might be the best chance I got. I rose to a crouch, taking my knife from the pouch. I was about to burst from my cover when movement at the corner of the wall caught my eye. Two fresh guards approached. Whatever chance I might have had, I’d lost.

  I watched two more changes of guards as I waited impatiently for night. Each set was more lax than the one before, as though the likelihood of an attempted escape from within grew less and less with each passing remove. The more their attentiveness decreased, the more desperate I was to get inside.

  “Hold on, Saft’ir,” I began to whisper into the wind, willing it to carry knowledge of my nearness to him.

  The night was as cloudy as the day had been clear. I crept from the cappas and down the hill, certain that between the night and the low clouds I was invisible, even to Ghen eyes. When the land flattened out I hesitated, knowing I was very near. A single wind blowing the fog away might leave me revealed despite my black fur. Where were the guards?

  I heard the rustle of a heavy body not five handspans from me as one of the guards rose from a squatting position against the door. Silence. They must be leaning close, signing to one another. An angry grunt, followed by retreating steps. I’d guessed right; it was close to the time of a changeover and they’d grown impatient. Soon the other rose and followed the first, his white body briefly visible through the fog as he passed by me.

  I ran forward. My hands, stretched out ahead, slapped against cold stone. So little time! Was the door to my left or right? I felt to the left. No, the guards had walked that way, I wasn’t thinking clearly.

  I moved to the right, running my hand along the wall. Here!

  The wall ended and I felt rough wood under my fingers. I ran my hands rapidly up and down to find the first bolt. The beam was heavy. I struggled to raise it. Push, and again, push! How long did I have before the new guards arrived? At last the beam rose clear of the latch. I lowered it as quietly as possible to the ground. I was panting and had to stop to let my arms rest.

  The second was even harder to raise, then almost impossible to lower slowly, silently. My arms trembled with fatigue. In the distance I heard footsteps. I paused, listening. They were steady, growing louder.

  I lunged at the final beam of wood, struggling to raise it. It stuck, wedged too tight against the latch. I leaned under it, pushing upward with all my strength. Again and again I bent my knees and heaved as the footsteps in the fog drew nearer.

  “Saft’ir, Saft’ir!” I sobbed under my breath. Leaning my head against the beam of wood I pounded it with my fists.

  The whack of a hand against stone reached me as the guards groped their way through the dense fog. I pulled myself up. Leaning into the beam I heaved with one last tremendous effort. It moved.

  Slowly, resisting every inch, it rose out of its bracket until with a final gasp, I freed it. I had no strength to lower it carefully. It fell to the ground against the others with a dull clatter. One of the approaching guards cried out and I heard them break into a run.

  I bent, my hands sweeping the ground. Where was the pouch with the weapons? There, my foot knocked against it. I caught it up and pulled the door open, throwing myself through it into only Wind knew what horror.

  It was pitch black, blacker even than the foggy night. I hurried forward, arms outstretched, blind in the darkness. Three steps and I banged into the opposite wall. What was this place?

  I slid my hands to the right along the wall ahead of me. A sharp corner, three steps, another corner. Three more steps and my hands felt the wooden door again. I pulled it shut. I must be in a narrow hall that ended just beyond the door, so that I could only go left. I moved away from the door quickly, before the guards could open it again and reach in, grabbing me.

  They didn’t even try to open the door. I heard them groping cautiously against it as I hurried down the corridor, and then stifled grunts and a low scraping as the first of the beams rose and sank back into its bracket.

  I stumbled, mid-step. They were locking me in! I was trapped in this dark, disorienting tunnel of stone where monsters lurked! I ran back, on the verge of crying out that I’d changed my mind, when I heard ahead of me a low, wild snarl. I froze.

  It came again, no louder, no softer. It wasn’t as close as I’d feared; it wasn’t as fierce. Outside, the last bolt rasped home. Saft’ir was somewhe
re ahead, wounded perhaps, or dying. Unarmed. I reached into the pouch and drew out my knife. Hefting it like a single claw in my soft hands, I cautiously moved forward.

  I almost stepped on him. Already he smelled just a little, the smell of the body when Wind has claimed its breath. He must have died the first day they entered, only a short distance from the door. I pulled back sharply as my foot touched his, only after a moment making out the gray mound of his body on the fog-covered ground. I would have screamed but I was too afraid to make any sound. Bending down I touched him. The rigidity of death and the sticky residue of his wounds repelled me.

  My breath caught in sobs which I could hardly smother. Now that I was closer I could tell, even in the dark, that it was too big to be Saft’ir. Then I saw the scab of a nearly-healed wound along his left shoulder and part-way down his arm.

  It was Brod’ar. Brave Brod’ar, always grinning. Brod’ar had come here already wounded. “Leave me, I’d only slow you down. They’ll take care of us,” he’d told Koon’an. What chance had he, unarmed, against a Broghen? What chance had any creature on Wind, against a Broghen?

  I rose and walked for countless removes as the corridor twisted and turned. Each step terrified me. Again and again the passage split, forcing impossible choices upon me. Sometimes I took one fork only to find myself in a dead end, having to retrace my steps and take the other.

  I walked to the hair-raising accompaniment of a Broghen’s death cries, sometimes behind me, sometimes ahead, sometimes almost beside me, on the other side of a wall. Already I might have taken the wrong passage and be irrevocably walking away from Saft’ir. At any corner, I might come face-to-face with a Broghen. I wanted to call out to Saft’ir but was terrified of calling the wounded Broghen to me.

  Every step became harder, every turn more fearsome. Finally I could go no further. I sank to the floor, my back against the cold, relentless stone, staring wide-eyed into the dark.

  ***

  Sunlight wakened me, falling in a narrow, warm stroke across my brow like a light brush of the Creator’s fingertips. I looked up. The roof was thinly thatched with a crisscross of long grasses and thorny brambles. Sunlight filtered through to fall like slivers of glass upon the ground. But it was day-light, however filtered. I could see where I was going, at least as far as the next corner.