For a second they were both falling, then Totelun jammed his piton daggers into the ice, scraping past, looking for purchase. He was dropping, slicing through the ice. Then the dagger bit deep, catching and slowing him to a stop, but he knew what was coming. He turned to look and Cassandra plummeted past him, in a torrent of snow and ice. He braced, ready for when she reached the end of the rope that connected them. He held tight to both piton daggers, and willed them to hold. He could do no more. Here it comes!
The jerk, when it came, pulled his feet off their purchase, yanked one piton dagger out of the ice, and left him dangling by one hand. Cassandra hit the ice wall with some force, ripping skin on her face, arms and hands. Totelun looked down at her twisting slowly in the wind. He called out but of course she didn’t respond. Had he saved her just for her to knock herself out on the cliff? Just look up at me.
The avalanche had slowed to a trickle above. Totelun could do nothing but place one pick into the ice, and then another and then another, and climb. Each time he lifted an arm to knock the dagger into place, he had to drag the weight of himself and Cassandra’s slack body twelve feet below. He wondered if the rope would hold under this strain. He wondered if he would.
Ten minutes of heaving and he reached the edge. He was exhausted, but he could not stop now. Cassandra was depending on him. He scrabbled up, turning over, and rolling into the snow to get leverage. He sat on the cliff edge, jammed a dagger into the rock, braced his foot against it and heaved. The rope came slowly, burning his hands, but steadily he pulled Cassandra up onto level ground. He was panting and sweating despite the freezing cold and biting wind.
When she lay before him, Totelun slapped her awake. ‘Come on, wake up. Come on, Cassandra.’
She spluttered. Thank the Overlords.
‘Can you walk?’ He gestured to her legs, then pulled a leaf out of the battered pack still strapped to her, and scrawled, [Can you walk?]
Cassandra nodded, and Totelun helped her to her feet. She held snow to her bloody face to staunch it, and they slowly began to move.
[Maybe we can still make it,] he wrote.
Totelun knew how wrong he was only when they reached the ridge where he’d been about to jump across before. The Island was now thirty feet away, and he wouldn’t make the jump himself, let alone with Cassandra. He’d just proven he wasn’t prepared to leave her behind.
Cassandra slid out of his arms to the ground. There were no other Islands even close. It had been that one or nothing. One chance was all they’d had, and they’d blown it. That avalanche had blown it.
‘Am I cursed never to return home?’ he shouted into the wind. ‘First the airship, now this. To miss by that much.’ He kicked at some snow and watched it fall into oblivion. He scribbled off an angry note and threw it at Cassandra without thinking. [What use are your visions? What’s the point of them, if you can’t prevent things like this? This is your fault. If you’d been quicker, we would have been above the avalanche in time. We could have made it.]
She threw a note back at him. [Maybe you shouldn’t have saved me?] Totelun didn’t see the irony.
[Well, maybe you’re right.]
Her next note was more contemplative. [Maybe this is why I couldn’t see beyond the shadow of the mountain? You made the decision to come back for me. This is always the end of my visions on the mountain] Totelun was caught by the question, despite his impotent rage.
[Did you see yourself die on the mountain?] he wrote, not caring anymore about hurting her feelings. She had been the cause of him missing his one opportunity.
[No,] she wrote back scowling. Then another note. [Yes. It was one possibility out of many.]
Totelun scuffed a rock with his foot, then picked it up and hurled it away in frustration. Writing down your argument really dampened the rage of it; it was hard to stay angry with someone who couldn’t hear your shouts or curses.
As he looked around for another rock to throw Totelun saw a man approaching them across the snow. He was still quite far off, trudging through the thick tumbles left by the avalanche. Totelun pulled Cassandra to her feet, pointed at the man so she could see. What was another person doing up here? One thing his father and Naus had agreed on, don’t get pinned down with no escape route; he was too close to the ledge and had no room to manoeuvre. Totelun strode towards the man, and Cassandra followed. He saw her ready the staff she somehow still had.
They met the man in a flat expanse halfway between where the island had hit and the last climb before the summit. He wore furs and a wind scarf over his mouth, goggles like the ones Totelun had given to Cassandra. He stopped some six feet from Totelun, unwound the scarf, and pushed the goggles up on his head.
‘Totelun,’ he said. He had the accent of a tribesman, so noticeable now that Totelun had not heard it for so long. Totelun recognised him, standing on the other side of Sorkhanis in his dark memory of the shamanic flames. The other side from Mengu.
‘Ribuqa?’
‘I did not expect to find you here.’ The emphasis was on you.
‘Who did you expect?’
‘Mengu,’ he said after a pause. The other shaman apprentice. The one who had tried to kill Totelun in a cell beneath Theris.
Totelun just came out with it. ‘Mengu’s dead.’ No games.
Ribuqa didn’t respond immediately, but his weight shifted. It was subtle, but not subtle enough for Totelun, who slid a dagger from his sleeve without moving. Cassandra was more obvious, dropping the pole into an overhand strike position. ‘That is a shame,’ Ribuqa said, and attacked.
He flung a knife at Totelun, then struck forward at the same moment. Totelun only just deflected it with his own, knocking it away into the snow. All that did was leave him open to Ribuqa’s running tackle. Totelun went down with a crunch, winded, but managed to roll and come up without Ribuqa on top on him. The man was twice his age, thick with muscle and strong. As they both scrambled to their feet again, each man had a dagger in hand, Totelun two. Again, he caught the first thrust, only to succumb to a punch to the temple. He blocked a third stab to the stomach on crossed blades, but was coming to understand that Ribuqa always thought a move ahead. Totelun took a punch to the jaw, spat red blood on the white snow.
He had to fight with two hands, two separate hands. On Ribuqa’s next thrust, Totelun caught it with just one blocking forearm, the other ready to cut at the inevitable punch that followed. On the third, he had the pattern in his mind, could see Ribuqa’s clenched concentration and sudden concern, as he not only cut his arm on Totelun’s ready blade, but then saw the handle-filled punch just before it caught him round the face.
Their blades met and sparked; Ribuqa’s span from his hand and disappeared into the snow drift, Totelun’s stayed solid in his hand. Before he could move to finish the job, Ribuqa was knocked to the ground with a pole to the head. Cassandra had circled them waiting for an opportunity. She stood over his body, looked at Totelun and grinned.
Ribuqa lay face down in the snow, but he wasn’t dead. He was groggy, concussed, he tried slowly to push himself up on hands and arms that would not obey. Totelun took the rope and quickly tied his hands behind his back as tightly as he could.
Cassandra pointed to the way Ribuqa had come, clear snow tracks back up the slope. They half dragged Ribuqa with them, until they found a cave at the base of the final climb. Orange light glowed from a crackling sheltered fire and Cassandra was already edging in, alert for another attacker. There were travel packs, supplies, and firewood, enough food to last two people a very long stay. Furs were laid out on the ground, and the place looked to have been lived in, or at least used regularly.
When Cassandra had searched the immediate lit areas and signalled the all clear, Totelun shoved Ribuqa down on the ground and poked at the fire to stoke it. His fingers tingled as feeling returned. He hadn’t felt a fire in three or four nights now, and the warmth was enough to bring his mind back from the brief battle. He had been attacked by another member of his t
ribe, another of Sorkhanis’ shaman apprentices. He had questions, and this time, his attacker was still alive to answer them. He had to credit Cassandra with that; if it had been him alone on the slopes he would have ended the man without a second thought.
He slapped the man round the face, brought him round, pushed his stubbly face close to the fire. ‘How do you know about me, who sent you?’
The heat of the fire woke Ribuqa quickly. ‘I’ll tell you boy. There’s no need for violence. I owe your father that much.’
‘Then why did you try to kill me.’
‘I had to try,’ he said, sweating, panicking. ‘I had to give it my best effort. But you won. Now I can freely talk. Without fear. He can’t do anything to me now.’
‘Who?’
‘Sorkhanis.’
‘Did he send you?’
Ribuqa nodded. ‘Yes! Please, Totelun, my face.’
Totelun pulled him back from the flames.
‘I killed Mengu,’ said Totelun. He didn’t want to reveal information to Ribuqa without getting anything in return, but he also felt that a little intimidation was warranted. If he wasn’t going to burn the apprentice shaman’s face, then at least he could introduce fear verbally. ‘He also tried to kill me. He wouldn’t stop until I was forced to kill him. He didn’t have the benefit of Cassandra here knocking him unconscious to help him see what a bad idea it was.’ He leaned in over Ribuqa. ‘I want you to tell me what’s going on. Don’t force me to kill you too.’
‘Where do I start?’
‘My parents. Do they know I’m still alive?’
Ribuqa glanced down, like he didn’t want to start there. ‘Your parents were so sad, Totelun. They mourned your death. They burned incense and your mother performed all the rites necessary to make sure your spirit did not wander or haunt the stone circles.’
Totelun shook his head. Even this much was hard to hear. He knew his family must have mourned him – it had been more than six months – but to hear it said was another matter entirely. ‘And their health?’
‘They are all alive and well if that’s what you mean. Your mother mourns you still. She is not the same woman she was. She is hollowed out, never smiles if she is seen outside the homestead.’
‘And father?’
‘He has been away much since you left. Hunting. Kept busy by the Shamana.’ Totelun was suddenly angry with his father, being away from his mother while she needed him, but he softened quickly. Altan likely did not know how to deal with his own guilt and had retreated into the world he knew best.
He glanced up and found Cassandra staring at him from across the small cave. She was watching him intently. He gestured for a leaf and she handed him one. It was battered and falling apart. [Are you lip-reading us?] he wrote.
[I’m trying.]
‘Does she not speak?’ asked Ribuqa, watching them in turn.
‘She is deaf,’ said Totelun. ‘Now the Shamana. You said Sorkhanis sent you. Do you still work for him?’
Ribuqa nodded. ‘Yes. I’m a full shaman myself now. There’s plenty to do now with Sorkhanis in charge. After the fall, he sent one of us down here to make sure you were dead.’
‘Mengu?’
‘Yes, Mengu. I was meant to meet him here.’
‘What does Sorkhanis want with me?’ Mengu never had chance to answer any of these questions. The brute had attacked so forcefully, Totelun had been forced to kill him. He had been sullen and would never have answered as candidly as Ribuqa did. Ribuqa was a survivor, pragmatic, he knew Totelun had no use for him if he didn’t talk. He wasn’t about to test the son of the tribe’s greatest huntsman.
‘He has watched you since the night he saw the Mark of the Medusi in the flames.’ Totelun remembered the tiny symbol in the smoke, like a skull over tentacles. ‘He only told us about it recently, but he has kept watch over you Totelun, convinced you were important. When you were lost below the clouds he was furious. He was so intent on confirming you had actually died, he revealed much to us that had been keep a secret, even from apprentices. He told us the surface world was real and we could reach it. He did not believe you had died, not the boy who had drawn the mark from the flames. He fears you will return with your new knowledge and destroy everything.’
‘So, Sorkhanis wants me dead,’ said Totelun, ‘because I know about the surface world now. And the Shamana know the surface world is real. You are the ones who tell us the stories of the abyss, the creation of the Islands. Why do it?’
When Ribuqa didn’t answer immediately, Cassandra tapped Totelun on the shoulder, and handed him a short note. [To maintain control,] was all it said. But control of what? There was still so much he did not yet understand. He needed to get back to the Floating Islands as soon as possible and find his family. Did he want to confront Sorkhanis? Did he have to?
‘How did you get here?’
‘I dropped from the Island maybe an hour before part of it hit and caused the avalanche. I was meant to switch with Mengu, who’s been down here for a while, but he wasn’t here. Then I saw you.’
‘You were going to stay down here? For how long?’ Totelun could see where it was going but he almost couldn’t bring himself to hope again.
‘I would stay until the Islands return.’
‘In how long?’ Totelun winced as he asked.
‘In four years.’
Totelun sighed. Deflated, he said, ‘We can’t wait that long.’
Cassandra must have read the words on his lips as she pushed herself up and wandered away. She kept looking back and watching them as she explored the cave.
Ribuqa peered at Totelun as the boy collapsed onto a fur-covered stool. ‘Listen Totelun, what are you going to do with me? I’ve answered your questions. I can’t go back, or at least it would be dangerous for me to go back.’
‘You can’t go back for four years.’
‘Exactly, and if I did Sorkhanis would have me killed. We are stuck here. We need to work together, trust each other, right? Get down this mountain and live our lives. With Mengu not returning, Sorkhanis might send someone sooner than I’d like.’
Totelun sighed. ‘I have to get back to the Islands sooner than that. My family could be in danger.’
Ribuqa considered it, his mind turning the question over quickly. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said after a moment. ‘What you need is a Thunwing. That’s how Mengu got down here. That’s how Sorkhanis would send another hunter.’
Totelun was impressed. That wasn’t a terrible idea. But, ‘I have never seen any on the surface world. Not one. Someone would have to know to bring one down to us. Can we get word to someone? Signal them?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ribuqa, suddenly intense, ‘but I have a better idea. I know a place. I have heard the elders talk of the Thunwing’s breeding grounds. It is here on the surface world. The Thunwing’s come up from below and breach the clouds on their fledgling flight, and that’s when we catch and train them.
‘And I will take you there.’
Chapter Twenty Four
Nausithorn
Another frontier town, another bar.
The town was called Medaquen, and the bar had the rather fantastic name, The Feed Bag. A watering hole catering mainly to the horse lords and their outriders, Medaquen’s largest establishment was a sprawling tavern, all exposed beams and cosy alcoves where those with something to hide, made deals they didn’t want observed. But with the Terracon armies so depleted, the clientele was more varied than the last time Naus had darkened these doors. There were plenty of locals, hunched at the bar or gathered in small lumps surrounding each support beam like a spreading cancer. Their surly gazes did not make a man feel welcome. A group of dusty Medusi crystal hunters gathered around two booths giving dangerous glances to any who approached. Naus suspected they were hard pressed to do their work; the Medusi in the surrounding grasslands were plentiful, but in such numbers and on open terrain they were exceptionally hard to hunt. They were hiding out, stressed and on edge.
Naus paid them no mind and ordered a drink for himself and Crescen. The bartender poured without comment.
Medaquen was a frontier town, nestled at the base of a small mountain cluster. Behind the buildings, a wild path wended its way into the hills, and eventually led to the Temple of the Order of the Medousa. The town was a dusty hard-edged mean thing, grown up as many had in the steppe, around the necessity for horse lords to have a place to change horses, drink, eat and sleep. A waystation that had spread like a virus. Its fall happened gradually over the last twenty years as Terracon’s roaming bands cleared out to join the war in the west moving towards Theris; the town became a shade of what it had been, with abandoned houses, inns and bars dotting the main street. Law was a commodity here, justice bought and sold. There was no sheriff to speak of and whatever noble house laid claim to these foothills had not visited in a decade or more, probably out of a keen sense of self preservation. In the main it was a ghost town.
As Naus scanned the tavern, he noticed another supernatural phenomenon; he and Crescen were enclosed in a magical sphere of silence. Wherever they stepped, everyone stopped talking. It wasn’t just that they were strangers. It was Crescen, he was the anomaly this time; Naus had visited this town before and had no issues. The locals stared at him a little, but they mostly stared at the Medusi pod that languished above Crescen, blue ports alerting all to what hid inside.
Naus gave the atmosphere a few minutes to boil over.
It took just one. Two locals, large men with beer guts and more than the usual two chins between them, pushed away from the bar and lumbered over to where Naus and Crescen had taken a spare table.
‘You’re not welcome here,’ said the first man. ‘I told my buddy here I don’t care, you can tell your Goddess whatever you like, but you are not welcome in this bar. We have an understanding with the Temple. You leave us alone, we leave you alone.’
Embrace of the Medusi (The Overlords Trilogy Book 2) Page 33
