The Exodus

by Garry Ocean

  Nick carefully looked over the rock, estimating the best route. It was about a hundred feet, not more, and for an experienced climber it would have been easy. Besides, as he saw already many times, the Bony Ridge was made up of lime at the foundation. Over thousands of years, wind and precipitation worked their magic on it: The wall was not smooth, with lots of nooks and crevices. From below, it looked like a sponge with large holes. Of course from Nick’s angle it was hard to estimate all details, but he thought it would have wide niches where they could take a break if they needed to. It would have been a lot easier for him to climb with Whisperer on his back than to pull him by the rope, belaying him all the time and fearing that he’d break off. Besides, it would give him some peace of mind. But the old man suddenly became stubborn for no reason.

  “Let’s do this,” the Alvar as the chief climber stepped forward. “Nick is right, you can fall off the rock very easily. Over there,” Gunn-Terr pointed to the dark hole in the wall, “that must be a wide shelf. One length of the rope should be enough to get there. We’ll climb there one by one. And from there, it’s not too far to the top. I will climb up first and when I get there, I will tie the rope and drop it down to you.”

  He looked at Cleo, “Do you remember what I taught you? Push your legs from the wall and work them as if you are walking, and grab the rope with your hands. And don’t move the rope to the sides too much so it will not to break from friction over the wall!”

  *****

  They finished climbing only in the evening. The Alvar, with the folded rope around his neck, climbed to the shelf. It turned out that the hole in the wall behind that natural shelf was not too wide; only three people could fit it. Gunn-Terr spent quite some time on top, trying to tie the rope reliably. Nick understood perfectly well that it was not easy to do so on the bare rocks with no special equipment. Finally, Gunn-Terr dropped down the loose end of the rope and signaled to Cleo that she could start ascending. The girl began climbing with confidence, keeping her body in a triangle, almost like a professional mountaineer.

  Everyone was closely watching her climb. When she finally got to the end of the rope and Gunn-Terr pulled her up to the shelf, they sighed with relief. Sith was next. He also tried to climb with confidence, at first imitating Cleo’s moves, trying to walk on the wall in a straight angle, but then he gave up and just climbed with his hands only.

  Nick and Whisperer had to wait for Gunn-Terr to climb to the top of the mountain from the shelf and tie the rope up there. Then they repeated the whole climbing exercise again, with Cleo and then Sith concluding the last leg of the ascension. The second leg was not as easy as the first one: It is one thing to climb from a relatively wide platform without looking down, and another – from a small shelf suspended at about twenty meters above the cave. The Alvar had to encourage and give instructions to the beginning climbers several times.

  Nick tried again to suggest indirectly and carefully, afraid to offend him that Whisperer should ride to the top on his back. This time, the old man hesitated a little but still refused, mumbling that even though he was not a young man any more, he used to climb trees no worse than the tree climbers in the Forest. “So I think I can walk this hill somehow by myself,” he said proudly.

  Nick looked up. Cleo and Sith were merrily waiving their hands at him from the top. They were clearly proud of their achievement and in good mood. Gunn-Terr, however, understood everything and without waiting for Nick’s signal started to descend. After they delivered Whisperer to the top with great effort and using the belay all the time, they still had to climb down one more time to get their bags.

  *****

  They spent the night on top of the ridge under the open sky. Nick was lying at the fire, stretching his tired legs with obvious pleasure. Gray made himself comfortable somewhere under his arm, seemingly dozing off. Nick could only guess how he ended up here. Perhaps, he found a detour trail? But then his memory brought up the image of the little one’s mother and his old shoulder pain came back. In his ears, he heard again the clanking of Morok’s claws effortlessly climbing the granite walls of the lighthouse. Nick’s mind refused to accept that his cute little furry pup was a relative of the monster from that horrible night. Gray immediately raised his head, as if listening to Nick’s thoughts. He looked at Nick with his huge amber eyes, then gave a big and long yawn with the sound of roaring mixed with meowing, and lowered his head onto Nick’s side again.

  Nick looked at the Alvar. Gunn-Terr did not look his best now either. He was clearly tired, sitting while leaning against a large boulder in the shape of a broken tooth of a huge pre-historic animal, and slowly chewing something like beef jerky. Despite the pre-dawn chill, the Alvar was bare-chested and did not seem to experience any discomfort because of that. Nick looked at his powerful chest again, and saw that it had several deep old scars, the type that could be left only by a cutting and stabbing weapon. But that wasn’t what attracted Nick’s attention. He focused his vision. The warrior had a tattoo on his chest – two crossed axes with long handles. Something looked really strange in that tattoo to Nick, but perhaps it was just a matter of style. He decided not to think about it too much. He’d take a better look at the tattoo some other time.

  Without talking about it, they both decided not to wake up their companions for the night watch. They did not know what kind of obstacles the next day would bring for them. Now they didn’t have to think about moving fast. They had left the beasts chasing them far behind. In any case, during his watch shift Nick did not hear any alien or weird noises. The rocks, mottled with numerous bizarre granite arches, were a superb acoustic system. No one could crouch to their night camp unheard or unnoticed. Nick praised Gunn-Terr in his thoughts again for choosing this great location as their campsite.

  “I don’t know about him,” Nick thought, “But I’ve had enough climbing for a whole year.” His palms were burning and achy with numerous scratches. His knees and feet were covered in sores, scabs, and blisters. Some of the minor scratches and cuts started to heal, itching unbearably. Nick suppressed the desire to itch all over his body. He knew that he couldn’t tear off the scabs. Very soon, a new pink skin will appear under them and the scabs will fall off by themselves.

  He suddenly heard the rocks falling somewhere faraway. The sound was immediately multiplied and amplified by a many-voices echo, violating the pre-dawn silence at the passage. Sith mumbled something while waking up, got up from his improvised sleep mat and started to turn his disheveled head around in confusion. He finally noticed Nick, nodded at the Alvar and looked at the top of the mountain where the first rays of the rising Orphius were already breaking through.

  The boy realized that they hadn’t woken him up on purpose and that he slept through his guard shift. He got up, shivering a little in the morning chill and mumbling something under his nose, and ran to the nearest boulder to pee. Half-way there, Sith stopped, slapped himself on the forehead and turned around. Then he picked up the spear that he had put on the ground next to his sleeping mat, and rushed back to the boulder.

  The dawn at the Bony Ridge was beautiful. Nick was watching with great interest the local star’s rays slowly spilling over the mountain chain on the other side from them. The dawn slowly and steadily was taking over the entire area from the emerald darkness. The fantastic predator shadows were giving up unwillingly, stretching, as if hiding in fear, into the black canyons and dark crevices.

  “One more day on this God-forsaken planet,” Nick thought. “What kind of other surprises does it have for me?”

  The clanking of pots took him out from his sad melancholic thoughts. Absorbed in watching the sunrise, Nick didn’t notice that Whisperer already woke up and was trying to cook something edible for all of them from their remaining meager food supplies.

  “Today, we’ll have to come down to the valley even if we don’t really want to,” Nick thought, stretching his sore muscles. “We can’t last much longer here without food.”

  He w
as going to discuss this issue with Whisperer, but then he heard a muffled scream from faraway. It was impossible to tell who and what was screaming. The words, repeated many times by the echo, were producing an indiscernible cacophony. Everyone froze, listening intently. The scream died at first, and then started to run along the canyon again.

  “It’s Sith,” Whisperer suddenly said.

  Everyone started to look around for the boy. Indeed, the boy was nowhere to be found. Gunn-Terr jumped to his feet, quickly climbed the boulder and waved at everyone to stop talking. Nick hardly contained his urge to shout something in response to Sith and rush to his help. But he only looked at the Alvar with a silent question, and then looked in turns at Whisperer and Cleo, who was standing to the side, shivering from cold. Everyone was silent, listening intently. Nick suddenly realized that his companions were trying to determine from where the scream was coming. The deceitful echo was bouncing among the rocks and seemed to be playing hide-and-seek with them.

  “There!” the Alvar and the old man breathed out at the same time.

  Gunn-Terr quickly jumped off the tall boulder, and, holding with his left hand his sword that he seemed to be carrying even in his sleep, rushed along an inconspicuous trail. Everyone followed him without a word. The trail took a sharp turn and then started to climb up steeply. The companions had to continue moving on all fours, slipping on the little pebbles. The scream suddenly stopped, which gave them an additional reason to rush. Setting aside their caution and not paying attention to the noise they themselves were making, they started to climb up with renewed persistence.

  Gunn-Terr was the first one to get to the top, followed by Nick. Whisperer and Cleo were a little behind, but they still persisted climbing up. Nick and the Alvar looked around. They found themselves on a large high-altitude plateau, covered with large slabs of the mountain rocks and boulders. A little further ahead they saw a towering rock of an unusual shape. From its very foothill and almost to the top it had wide steps as if carved out on purpose. Nick even blinked several times to shake off the impression. Gunn-Terr was also looking at the rock with suspicion. The friends looked at each other and started to stroll toward it.

  The closer they got, the better they understood that it was probably another product of the local nature’s capriciousness and not the humans’ doing. Or the ancient builders were indeed giants. The “steps” were of different height. Some were at the waist level of an adult man, and some reached their chests.

  While they were trying to figure out how to get on the stairs, the old man and the girl caught up with them, out of breath and stumbling.

  “So where is he?” Whisperer hissed, putting his hand to the left side of his chest.

  Not knowing what to say, Nick shrugged his shoulders. At that moment, they suddenly heard the familiar voice, “Here! Climb up here!”

  At the top of the rock, waving his spear at them, Sith was standing as if he were supposed to be there, “What took you so long?”

  Everyone looked up, feeling quite silly. Only Whisperer started to climb the “stairs” with renewed enthusiasm, as if he had not been trying to catch his breath just a moment before. His companions, left behind still standing in stupor, could hear the old man saying, “You, little scabby, empty-bellied warthog! Wait; just wait till I get to you!”

  Judging by Whisperer’s determined appearance, no one had any doubts about what would happen to Sith when the old man got to him. While just a minute before everyone wanted to spank the clueless boy, now they were watching in awe and felt pity for Sith. Cleo was the first one to rush behind the old man.

  “Wait, Whisperer, don’t rush!” the girl was rolling over from one “step” to another, quickly catching up with the old man. “Please, wait up, he is not going anywhere now!”

  Sith, who just now realized what he had done, scaring them like that, suddenly started to shout even louder, “Fires, Whisperer, fires!”

  The old man suddenly stopped, grabbing Cleo by the arm and looking at the boy, “What did you say?”

  “I said fires!” joyful that they finally heard him, Sith started to wave his spear even more. “The smoke fires are on! Lots of smoke!”

  Nick and Gunn-Terr finally caught up with the girl and the old man as well and were looking in confusion in turns first at Whisperer and then at the boy, dancing on top of the rock in excitement.

  “How’s the smoke, Sith?” the Whisperer asked, alarmed.

  “Like a pillar of smoke! Lots of smoke!”

  “I am asking you what color the smoke is!” Whisperer even spat to the ground in frustration. “What color is the smoke, you slow-thinking yellowbelly!”

  “Black, Whisperer, the smoke’s black! It cannot be blacker than that!”

  The old man collapsed and dropped onto the rock like a heavy sack of potatoes.

  *****

  Numerous smokeless torches put up at every ten steps along the chamber’s perimeter provided enough light for the large round table in the center of the room. But even these torches could not break through to the stone ceiling and disperse the darkness up there. The seven were sitting around the massive table in the wide elaborately decorated high-back armchairs plated with a yellow metal. They all were wearing the same snow-white robes, with their faces buried deep under the hoods.

  A melodic bell broke the dead silence. One of the wall niches revealed a secret low door. It opened without a sound and three men in brown robes entered the room one after another ducking through the low frame. The last one headed directly to the table, carrying a tray in front of him. Two others remained standing on each side of the door, and just as soon as it silently closed again, they pulled back their hoods.

  The man carrying the tray carefully put it in the center of the table and quickly pulled off a kerchief that was covering an object on the tray. Then he gracefully and courtersly took three steps back and, just like his companions, opened his face by pulling the hood back.

  The metal tray, which was ordinary and not sophisticated at all, had a medium-sized cube on it. The cube was of amber color and in the uneven light of the smokeless torches it looked like the warm patches of reflected sunlight were dancing on it.

  All seven people leaned forward and froze, as if at the last moment they were embarrassed at their sudden surge of curiosity. Silence fell in the room again. Only the burning torches were crackling quietly. Finally, a voice broke through, “I see it is completely full.”

  The intonation did not make it clear if it was a question or a statement. And it was hard to understand, who of the seven spoke.

  “Yes, Magister,” the man standing next to the table bowed his head. “The Heavenly Harbinger we’ve just had was surprisingly strong. All the traps have burned, but they did their job.”

  “We have all been greatly honored to witness the replenishment of the Departed’s Bowl. Praise be to us!”

  “Praise be to us!” the chamber echoed all voices.

  And then silence fell again. In the middle of the table, the cube was lying untouched, and its surface was still reflecting the dancing flames of the torches on the walls.

  “What do the hearers report?” a quiet voice broke the silence again.

  “The broadcaster turned on a little earlier than expected,” the man was looking at the floor intentionally, avoiding looking into his interlocutor’s eye.

  “Tell us, Saigon,” the voice encouraged him. “We all need the truth.”

  “This time, it was a muffled inaudible cry or prayer, a woman’s voice,” the man stumbled for a second, and then continued, “Followed by screams, horrible screams. It sounded like the victim was tortured,” he stopped.

  “Continue,” the voce was even, devoid of any emotions.

  “The connection was not stable, with too many interruptions. If you would like, I could bring in the record player.”

  “No need,” the figure in the white robe waved dismissively. “Good job, Saigon, you can leave now.”

  The one name
d Saigon bowed down, pulled the hood back on and backed up to the niche. The melodic bell sounded in the silence again and the three newcomers silently disappeared behind the secret door.

  The seven sitting at the table waited for a second, and then pulled their hoods back one after another revealing their faces. There were five men and two women, one of whom looked no older than thirty-five. The second one was a gray-haired old woman. The women exchanged quick looks and then looked at the amber cube again.

  “So the day has come,” the old woman started in a firm, strong-willed voice. “I was hoping I wouldn’t live to see it, but it seems the Departed, damn them, have decided differently.”

  “Why so pessimistic, Maga?” a heavy-set man said in the familiar voice that sounded before.

  “Like you don’t know, Dyke,” her response had clear undertones of sarcasm, “The third cube is full now, so what’s next? Are you all ready to fulfill your Original Unredeemed Debt?”

  “Original!” the youngest man at the table joined the conversation. “This is the key: Original. Everything has changed a long time ago. We all know this. Perhaps, at the time it made sense, but so much time has passed since then! It’s already more than one hundred years since the brilliant Silva the Mechanic was able to repair the receiver. And what of it?” he looked at everyone at the table one by one. “From that very time, specially trained hearers are sitting next to the receiver day and night and for what? What have we learned? A couple of times a year, some crazy mumblings come in or, like this time, screaming of a torture victim breaks through the noise and static.”

  He paused for a second and making sure that everyone was listening to him attentively, ended with great pathos, “The Debt! The Original Unredeemable Debt! It’s just a beautiful legend, not more than that!”