Ready at last, Golden picked up the rope coil and approached the cliff's edge (as he had done, but more carefully, on his earlier, practice run.) Taking out a stake and the mallet, stooping, he drove the stake into the rocky top of the cliff. Uncoiling the rope, Golden slipped one end-loop around the cleat, tossing the rest of the rope over the bluff. Grabbing the rope firmly with both hands, Golden backed over the cliff edge and began climbing down the rope.
Nervous about how much time had passed, Golden wished he had been able to leave in the pitons he had pounded into the cliff on his first trip to the bottom. Still, he was content with his decision to remove them on his ascent. If someone had looked up the wall from the shore below -- if a ray of light had flashed from a metal stake -- he might, even now, be sliding into ambush.
At rope end, getting one foot through the bottom loop, standing on that foot, Golden hammered a second iron dowel into the rock face. The spike in, he hoisted himself a little to remove his foot from the loop, slipping the lower loop of the rope on that pin.
Looking up, Golden beckoned to the man, the man coming over the side and down the rope, the girl clinging to the man's back.
When all three were hanging onto the bottom peg, Golden undulated the rope off the piton above, the top of the rope falling past them to dangle from the second spike. Leaving the other two clinging to that peg, Golden slid down the rope again to pound a second stake into the cliff face, the others sliding down after him as before, the process repeated until all were at the bottom.
Down at last, Golden led the others over the shattered rocks below the cliff's face, the three of them trotting a distance down the narrow strip of sand that secured the cliff to the water.
Ahead, was the stolen row-boat, the boat hidden in a sandy niche in the escarpment.
Yes. Just past the bend in the cliff.
Seeing the place, Golden turned toward the bluff, the others on his heels as if he led them by an invisible tether.
And there the small boat was, just as Golden had left it, overturned, backed into a fissure, the exposed prow concealed with driftwood and what scant brush Golden could find along the shore. Under the boat were its oars.
They were almost free!
Shouts! Golden could hear distant shouts and ... running sounds in the sand! .... Behind them. Just around the bend in the cliff. Men. Coming nearer!
"Quick," John-Lyon said softly, but with command. "Under the boat!"
Golden, his fingers nimble at all times, had already untied the pack straps, Golden slinging the pack under the overturned boat.
Meanwhile, after helping the girl get beneath the up-curving side of the little boat, the man scrambled under the edge of the boat himself.
His pack safe, Golden rolled under, the three of them arranging themselves lengthwise, Golden peering out to see ..... Soldiers! A squad of them. Rounding the bend, swarming past to secure the strand.
No doubt at all, now. The escape from the pit had been discovered! Nothing to do but hide.
And so they hid, hoping the armed soldiers did not discover the camouflaged boat.
As for possibilities of escape, all Golden could think of was attempting to slip past the soldiers in the fog of down-light, somehow get off the beach, work around the cliff face and find a road to Xanthin. In the bustle of the capital, the pursuit looking for two men and a woman, they should split up ....
"Can you swim?" the man whispered from across the boat's beam, the three of them on their bellies, facing the prow, the man on the other side of the girl.
"Yes," Golden hissed.
"To the far side?"
"Yes." A necessary reply though an uncertain one. Had Golden been convinced he could swim the strait, he would not have troubled with the boat. "Swim?" It was the girl's tiny voice. "What is ... swim?" Golden could see the man turn his head to the girl.
"Paddle on the water," said John-Lyon softly, his tone telling Golden that question had surprised John-Lyon as much as it had Golden. In her way, the girl was as much a mystery as the man. "Moving your arms and legs so you go forward and don't sink in the water," the man added as an after thought.
"I ... cannot do that," replied the girl softly.
"You can't swim?"
"As a child. I remember ... But I cannot do that now. Too long ago." The man raised his head to whisper across the girl. "When repelling down the cliff, I didn't see any other boats along the coast that the soldiers could use to chase us. When the soldiers disappear into the fog at either end of their patrol, we might be able to roll the boat over and get it into the water before they see us." He paused, then added, "If the fog gets thicker."
And that was another thing about the man that puzzled Golden. He did not seem to understand quite simple things. (Rather like the girl, now that Golden thought about it.) In the stranger's case, the man had just showed uncertainty about the fog. Would the vapor thicken? Of course! -- was the answer to that odd question. The mist always solidified before down-light. Still, the man did not seem to know that, the man's ignorance causing Golden to ask himself again -- just where had the foreigner come from to know so little about the most fundamental things?
"The fog will gather," Golden answered carefully, wondering whether or not he had misunderstood the stranger's comment about the fog. "But it will not aid us. By the time it is dense enough to cover the boat being pushed into the sea, we could no longer see the distant shore. Not knowing the proper direction to row, we would get lost on the sea."
"Do you still have the torch in the bag?"
"Yes."
"It will burn under water, I believe?"
"What?" What could the man be talking about?
"If you ... think it alight ... it will continue to burn under water. Isn't that the case?"
"I ... don't know," said Golden, puzzled. Burn under water? While that could be true, why would any sane man put a torch under water to find out?
"From what I've learned, it's worth a shot," said John-Lyon, pausing, as if thinking something through for the second time. "Here's the idea." Though excited, speaking rapidly now, the stranger was still remembering to keep his voice low. "Even with the fog as wispy as it is now, there's a good chance I could roll out from under the boat and crawl to the water without being seen. There's a small dune to the right that would hide me from that end of the beach. As for the other side, I don't know. But you could look that way for me, couldn't you? See where the guard is?"
Golden was completely lost. Was the man thinking of swimming away and leaving them? If so, why was he telling Golden? Then, too, Golden had come to think that the man would never desert the girl.
"If you would light the torch, I could hide it in my tunic until I was in the water, keep it beneath me as I swam. That way, not much light would show."
"I don't see ..."
"As I understand it, the trouble with the fog is that, by the time it's thick enough to get the boat into the water here, it would be too dense to see all the way over to the mainland. And without being able to see the other side, we won't know which way to row -- will drift, get lost at sea."
"Yes."
"But what if I started to swim right now, before the murk set in for real. Half way across, I switch to a back stroke, hold up the torch now and then. Though by that time, you couldn't see all the way to the other side from here, you could see half way across to the torch. At that point, you put the boat out and guide on the light. From the middle of the narrows, I could still see the other side, even if you can't. I keep swimming for the far shore, you keep following the light. And I lead you across. It'd be like halving the strait."
Swimming while holding up the torch? Insane!
Insane. ... Of course! A wave of fear rippled through Golden! More than eccentric, the big man was completely mad! That was the solution to the questions presented by the foreigner. He was insane and, because he was a lunatic ... dangerous!
"You will ... swim ... to the other side?" Golden asked carefully. The man
must be humored.
"I think I can make it. I'm feeling much better than I thought I would at this stage of the game. I seem to recover fast here in ... Stil-de-grain."
With that, the outlander stuck an eye under the upward curving gunnel of the boat, peering out down the beach, apparently looking for the soldier on that side. "In about a minute, I think my man will be as far away as he gets. Check your guard." Golden did as the maniac asked, seeing that the soldier to the left was also at some distance, marching away on his picket.
"It is close to the time."
"Quick," said the man, "get the torch and light it."
Still wishing to appear to be cooperative, Golden reached over and unfastened the pack flap. Fumbled out the torch.
It was a dangerous moment. Golden must seem to collaborate with the lunatic, psychopaths being so strong. Yet, a lighted torch might show out under the boat and attract the soldiers. "Now!" the man hissed.
With no option, Golden lit the torch, the man taking it by its base, gingerly waving the fingers of his other hand through the flames as if he feared the fire might be dangerous. Insane behavior!
The man then nodded to himself and thrust the torch under his tunic, hugging it to himself while he wrapped the cloth firmly around the torch head, closing the top of the tunic over the flames, keeping them inside next to his skin. And ... surprisingly ... that dampened the light.
Letting go his breath, puffing out his relief, Golden turned to look out from under the boat for the soldier, seeing that the guard was still marching away.
Watching until the guard was at a distance (but still a little way from his turning point) Golden signaling the man, the foreigner kicking out the camouflaging brush along that side of the boat, the big man squeezing past the gunnel and rolling out from under the boat on the far side. Squatting for a moment on hands and knees, the stranger checked the guards to left and right, then flopped to his belly to begin a zigzag wriggle down the sandy strip.
Looking past the girl, able to see all the way to the water line, Golden watched the man serpent his way to the sea edge, the stranger slithering into the gentle surf, beginning to dog paddle, then as the water deepened, to swim with powerful strokes until he was out of sight.
Golden stiffened to listen with the whole of his body. ....... No. ..... The soldiers had seen nothing, were still patrolling.
Golden was able to breathe again, taking quick, shallow gulps of air to steady himself.
Still safe under the boat, Golden could think again of some sensible way to get off the island, his problems relating to that task now simplified. The man gone, Golden could also be rid of the girl.
All that remained was for the fog to condense to a mass sufficient for Golden to sneak past one of the guards and thread his way around the escarpment. If he could reach the city -- still disguised as he was -- he might yet slip onto an outbound boat!
"Is it time?" It was the girl's childlike whisper.
"Time for what?"
"Time to get the boat into the water."
"We are not going to do that. The man was insane to suggest it. We are better off without him."
"No!" The hysterical girl had cried out loud, Golden instantly paralyzed, the hair on his neck rigid. Was she as crazed as her patron!?
"Quiet, girl," Golden hissed, reaching over to clutch the girl's shoulder, shaking her. "Listen to me. We will not follow the man. It is impossible."
"You must follow him. You must!" Though the girl was whispering once more, the innocent desperation in her voice commanded attention.
"Why?"
"Because he has ... power. If you do not follow, he will punish!"
"Keep your voice down and listen to me. He will not be able to harm you. He will drown in the sea."
"No. He is ... He has ... magic. He is a mighty Sorcerer. He is ..."
"Yes?" Her childlike belief in the big man's Wizardry made Golden's heart beat faster. "Who is he?"
The girl's voice swept Golden with the softness of a dying breath. "Pfnaravin."
The power of the name alone struck fear into Golden's heart! Pfnaravin! The greatest of the Mages! The Mage of Malachite!
Impossible! The girl was a liar! Impossible!
But ... try as he might, Golden could not avoid the truth! Had he not seen the man rip out his dungeon chains, then those of the girl? Had he not heard it from the stranger's lips that he came from a mystic world? How sightless had Golden been not to have seen that this was a man of power! Pfnaravin! Returned at last!
And another thing was clear. Pfnaravin's presence in the Palace. Like Golden, the Mage had also come to Xanthin palace for Pfnaravin's Crystal!
The only vexing part was that the king had captured Pfnaravin.
Of course! That could only mean that Pfnaravin had allowed himself to be arrested. ..... And ever since, had encouraged others to believe him ... witless. ....... The Mage was in disguise as much as Golden! Pfnaravin had deliberately cloaked himself as the muscular simpleton -- John-Lyon.
Sweating, more afraid of giving offense to the mighty Pfnaravin than of battling a thousand soldiers, Golden looked out his side of the boat.
As the girl had said, the fog was gathering. If they were to follow Pfnaravin's lead, they must move the boat into the water.
And one more thing was clear. More important than all else. When in the Mage's company, Golden must conduct himself with utmost care. Must show himself worthy to become the future king of Malachite!
* * * * *
Chapter 13
Following the Mage's torch, the man, Golden, had rowed her across the sea until, through the fog, they had seen the Mage himself, as if he stood on the water with his torch held high. But he was standing on the other shore with the fog so thick it hid the land and also his feet upon the land. And they were across to the other side, the little boat grinding up on the sand of the other beach.
On the far bank at last, after getting out of the boat, the Mage had said it was the yellow light of the torch that cut through the fog. Yellow light always did that, said the Mage. But Platinia did not understand what he meant.
Down-light had almost come. So had the rain, the men talking softly in its sprinkle, standing close in the failing light, the rain dripping off their noses. It was while talking that Golden used the rain to wash the brown off his face and arms, also taking off his long gray hair. To become Golden again.
Soon, though, it was dark and the men could talk no more.
Golden asked Platinia, in Malachite, if she could speak that language. She said she could speak simple words. Golden then said in Stil-de-grain that, for some reason, the Mage did not wish to talk to them after down-light. Told her to be quiet.
Then the men, gesturing to each other, had helped Platinia to climb a big tree. They had climbed up, and lifted her to a place where she could not fall out because of two limbs. The Mage gestured to Golden to tie her! She was afraid! When other men had tied her ...! But it was only to keep her from falling in her sleep. Golden said that.
After down-light, Platinia could not understand John-Lyon-Pfnaravin when he talked. (Neither could Golden.) The Mage did not speak Stil-de-grain after dark. He sometimes said the words of the other world, but Platina did not know many of those words.
Platinia did not mind the dark but did not like the rain. The drip, drip of it. It was cool in the night and even colder to be wet. And it would rain like that -- drip, drip -- all night, Golden had told her. They would dry out in the morning, he said. After awhile, Golden no longer spoke. The men had gone to sleep.
Now that the men were asleep, Platinia tried to get free. She worked and worked to undo the knots Golden had tied to keep her from getting away. (He said, to keep her from falling out, but she was not fooled.) She tried and tried, telling herself that if she could climb down the tree and find a rock, she could smash in the men's chests -- like Melcor's chest had been smashed in -- and that this would make them die. But she could not untie the knots, falli
ng asleep instead.
In the morning, Pfnaravin (so that he would not become angry, she must remember to call him by his other name, John-Lyon) had untied her. When the fog was almost gone, they climbed down the tree.
Golden went off into the woods to find food.
Alone with the Mage, Platinia tried to see into the Mage's mind. But could not. He was not thinking of her at that time.
Then Golden returned. He had caught some small, furry animals with long ears. In a trap made of string, he said. The animals were dead but there was not much blood. Golden had also picked some berries, bringing them back in the folds of his tunic.
With a small knife, Golden cut the skins off the animals. Like the soldiers with their larger knives had cut the priests into pieces! This had killed the priests! Platinia had seen that they were dead! What she did not know was if cutting the Mage into pieces would kill him. Anyway, even if she had the strength to do that, Platinia did not have a knife. All she knew for certain was that a Mage could be killed by large stones falling on his body.
After the "skinning," Golden took the fire stones from the torch, putting the stones in a hole he dug in the ground with his small knife. First thinking the stones into heat, he cut some forked sticks from a tree. He pushed the bottom of the limbs into the ground on both sides of the heating stones, putting the bodies of the animals on another branch and that limb across the forks of the other sticks.
Platinia now huddled around the warmth of the stones with the others. They got dry at the same time the bodies of the animals were cooked. The three of them then ate.
While they were eating, the Mage had asked many questions, which he always did. When he asked questions, his strange green eyes cut into you like Golden's knife had cut into the small animals! He asked about the fire stones and about how the fire stones could both make flames to see by (but the flames were not hot) and also be waved to make heat (but not light.) Golden, fearing the Mage almost as much as Platinia feared Pfnaravin, tried to answer the questions, though Golden did not know how. Golden had said it was the magic in the light.
Under The Stairs Page 17
