This is my chance to erase my failure at the contest. When else will I ever have the chance to play something so important? This is it, Rondel. Get your act together and do it.
He took a deep breath, spun on his heels and sat on the floor just beneath the Dikira statue.
“What are you doing?” asked Andrasta.
“Getting us out of here.”
“How?”
“By making music,” he said scanning the notes on the wall again. He had already memorized them earlier, but he saw them differently this time.
When did I ever play something exactly as it was written? Even the simplest of children’s songs I put my own touch on. Why shouldn’t I do the same now?
“Are you sure?” Andrasta asked.
Rondel closed his eyes, brought the mouthpiece to his lips, and played.
As before, stone scraping on stone sounded after the first four notes. Yet, Rondel did not die on the fifth, sixth, or even the seventh. For the briefest of moments he thought about opening his eyes and seeing what the statue was doing, but that thought came and went as he lost himself in the song. His fingers danced across the flute as if he fretted the neck of his old lute. His breathing remained steady, not forceful as he inhaled and exhaled.
A part of him knew thousands of people in the world were more technically sound with a flute than he would likely ever be. However, within that moment, he also knew that not one of them could draw as much passion from each note as he could. Satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in years washed over him as he finished the song in a flurry.
I missed this so much.
Hands fell on his shoulders when he finished, one small, one large. He opened his eyes and looked up at Lela on one side and Andrasta on the other. They stared ahead, amazed.
The statue of Dikira had moved back into place over the doorway, its legs no longer barring the way. The six arms that had once carried weapons of war were empty. The angry face returned to one of peace. Water trickled from the corners of the closed eyes. A smile that had been absent when they first entered the room tugged at the corners of the statue’s lips.
“All this time I wondered if you just enjoyed boasting, if you inflated everything you had once been,” began Andrasta. Her voice was far away. “But now I realize you were being modest.”
He grinned. “Thank you.”
She looked back at the statue, and shook her head in disbelief.
Little arms wrapped around Rondel’s neck, startling him. “What’s that for?” he asked.
“It was beautiful,” she said. “It reminded me of Kunal. Thank you.”
He patted her back and smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you for pushing me.”
Andrasta cleared her throat. She began gathering their packs. “Let’s get going. We’re not done yet.”
CHAPTER 32
Mira cried hard for several minutes after returning to the carriage. She cried from sadness over Minander, frustration over Lela, helplessness over Brahma, and anger over Beladeva.
The tears of anger came the quickest and lasted the longest. She decided that she could handle everything else over the last several hours, but she would not let Beladeva get away with causing so much destruction to not only herself, but to Bashan.
I owe Father that much.
She had known the crime lord held a great deal of power. Even during her father’s reign, his name held weight among the commoners. She always wondered why her father never focused on stopping Beladeva and the other crime lords. However, once she found herself in the same position too many other matters took precedence. Beladeva became an afterthought.
He had to be planning this for years. And that’s why he’s able to adjust so quickly to these setbacks. Good thing I’m a fast learner. And unlike my brother, I can be very patient.
She would play his game as best as she could without drawing suspicion.
And carefully I will find my allies.
She thought of Brahma. No. For all I know that beating might have killed him. She dug her nails into her palms. He deserved so much better.
Brahma’s sons might be the way to go. Much younger and with many of the same values. And of course they would love nothing better than to exact revenge on the man who abused their father.
I will start with them. Carefully though, she thought. Lela’s betrayal reiterated the point that she could fully trust no one but herself. Already thoughts of how she would repay Lela, Rondel and Andrasta for their deceptions tickled the back of her mind.
But Beladeva comes first.
CHAPTER 33
Andrasta walked through the doorway beneath the statue of Dikira. She expected it to attack again at any moment. Instead, it continued to leak tears.
She had never considered herself a lover of music, but then again she had never quite heard anything like what Rondel had played. It was like he had not only exposed himself, but also emphasized hidden feelings of her own.
She didn’t like that. It made her think about her true intentions for the jewel.
What will Rondel say? All that we sacrificed and he’ll have nothing to show. She heard the faint scuffling of Lela’s feet behind her. For that matter, what will the girl say? Money from her take on the jewel is all she has left. Andrasta hoped she could find a way to tell them the truth when it was all over.
Or do I just run away? It would be the easiest thing to do.
She entered a bright room of white marble, immediately assaulted by an odor reminiscent of a stable that hasn’t been cleaned in years. Light seemed to come from everywhere, but shielding her eyes, she realized it originated from four crystal chandeliers hanging over the center of the large chamber.
A small gasp came from her left. Andrasta followed Lela’s line of sight.
On a raised marble throne sat a gray-skinned, rotund, humanoid creature. It held a mix of odd features—ears of an elephant, mouth like a hippopotamus, and the horns of a rhinoceros. Deep-black eyes that shined like polished onyx regarded them.
It took everything Andrasta had to suppress the chill running down her spine.
“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” gulped Rondel from behind. “Any day really.”
“What is it?” whispered Andrasta.
“The last guardian, I presume.”
“I thought there would be a transition space like the others,” said Lela.
“I guess not,” said Rondel.
“What’s the clue to get past it?”
“‘Stay focused and think clearly, lest you die.’ So, how about you stay focused and think clearly by walking up to that thing, and cut its heart out lest we die first?”
Andrasta spun her blade. “That’s an idea I can get behind.”
“Stop,” said a deep baritone.
The single word shook Andrasta’s bowels.
“It can talk,” gasped Lela. Fear tickled her voice.
“Put your weapons away. My name is Yendoru, and I don’t wish to fight.”
Rondel snorted. “Sure you don’t.”
“Why is that so hard to believe? My bones ache, and even standing is a chore.”
“So you aren’t going to stop us?” asked Andrasta. She lowered her blade, but did not sheathe it.
“Not physically.”
“Not much of a guardian,” mumbled Lela.
The thing chuckled. “Not by your definition.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that to get past this guardian we’ll need to out think it on some level,” answered Rondel.
Andrasta slowly sheathed her sword, then with a quick jerk, drew a dagger and threw it across the room. It bounced off an invisible barrier around the throne.
Yendoru chuckled again.
“What was that for?” asked Rondel.
“Just wanted to make sure.”
“And now are you satisfied?” the creature inquired.
Andrasta said nothing, but led the way slowly toward the throne, careful where she step
ped. She thought it safe to assume that every action, no matter how small, could be a way to lose against the creature. They stopped two dozen feet away from the monstrosity.
And I thought the beetles smelled bad.
Yendoru grunted. “Cautious. That’s good. You may fare better than the only other to make it this far.”
“What other?” asked Andrasta.
Yendoru turned its head slowly toward a side wall. She followed its gaze to a body slumped on the floor. The hilts of two daggers protruded from its eyes.
“He was the last of the group. I’m sure you saw his handiwork along the way. He took his own life in the end.”
“Why?”
“I presume the guilt of his actions got the better of him. Greed is a heavy sin to bear. Fitting he died in the same manner as those he betrayed.”
“And what role did you have in him facing that guilt?” asked Rondel.
“I may have said a choice word or two.”
Rondel clicked his tongue. “Now, I get it. You don’t really stop us from going forward. You try to make us stop ourselves.”
Yendoru bobbed its head. “Very astute.”
Andrasta eyed the skeleton with daggers rammed into each of its eye sockets. She had a hard time believing anyone could be made to do that to themselves. She snorted.
“Please. Laugh. But deep down you all wish you were dead,” said Yendoru. “Every creature does if for no other reason than to escape this miserable life and leave their guilt of past mistakes behind. Don’t act like none of you have ever thought about ending it all yourselves. Even the little girl has thought such things, recently in fact.”
“How can you know that?” whispered Lela.
The creature’s eyes gleamed. “Because I can see into your soul. I can see the selfish girl who got her uncle killed by trying to juggle too many powerful people.”
Lela crumbled to the floor, folding into a ball. She began sobbing uncontrollably.
“That was far too easy,” said Yendoru.
“Leave her alone!” shouted Rondel.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be the last to die. How about you? I can see the cocky young minstrel who never showed his mother the appreciation she deserved.” The thing tsked. “Making her put up with all your wild ways, then leaving her saddled with your debt. You can’t imagine how hard it was for her to run that big farm entirely by herself. Such a good son, weren’t you?”
Rondel opened and closed his mouth. He said nothing in response, but quickly swiped at his eyes.
Though Andrasta had not heard that story before, she could tell it had merit.
“But even you are too easy. I want something challenging to start with.” It shifted in its seat toward Andrasta. “Torn between the past and the present, aren’t you?”
Her brow furrowed.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Something had changed about the creature’s voice. Each word seemed to enter Andrasta’s head and echo around her skull. “Sorcery. I’ve beaten sorcery before,” she hissed.
“Yes, you have. But you can’t fight the truth. Not once it’s been said anyway. So, should I be the one to tell your friends the truth of what you really plan to do with the jewel? Or do you want to break the news to them?”
“What is that thing talking about?” asked Rondel, voice groggy.
“Nothing. Have you figured out a way to kill it yet?”
“No. Not yet. I—”
“Oh, no,” said Yendoru, tsking again. “Trying to change the subject already? A sure sign of guilt I would say.”
Andrasta drew another dagger and threw it at the creature. It bounced off the same invisible barrier as before. “Shut up,” she growled.
It laughed. “Anger. Frustration. Your stomach must be in knots. Last chance to come clean, or I’ll do it for you.”
Andrasta seethed. She knew she should say something. The truth would sound better coming from her. Except if she was to be honest with herself, she had never really planned to tell the truth.
“Very well,” said Yendoru. “From the beginning, your partner never intended to sell the jewel. By doing so, she would be going back on a promise she made to her father to bring it to him in Juntark.”
Rondel frowned. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” said Andrasta, still staring at the creature, unable to look at her partner.
“And when were you going to tell me?”
“Presumably she wasn’t,” said Yendoru.
Rondel took three sharp steps and thrust out his arm, pointing at the guardian. “You stay out of this!”
The creature made a throaty noise, but added nothing more.
Rondel stormed over to Andrasta. “Well? When were you going to tell me?”
“I don’t know. Afterward.”
“After I risked my life helping you?” asked Rondel.
Andrasta looked at the ground.
“Say something.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The secret is out. Start by telling me the story.”
No sense in hiding it any longer. She nodded and began.
She told Rondel how she left Master Enzi to help her father. She went into every detail—how her offer was received, how she was treated, and the terms for her departure. She concluded the tale with her promise to return to Juntark with the jewel.
Andrasta hung her head during the story. With each breath, she felt more worthless and pathetic than the moment before. For the first time in years, she wondered what the world would be like if she had never been born or if she had died long ago. It reminded her of what she felt like after her mother passed away and she received her scar.
The deep baritone of Yendoru’s voice echoed in her mind. “Some friend you are. Your life is worthless. You are worthless.”
Silence hung in the air. She looked up to Rondel, not sure what to expect. His face twisted in confusion and hurt.
He hates me. The one person alive who wanted anything to do with me and I ruined it. What a fool I have been.
“What a fool indeed,” echoed Yendoru.
Rondel cleared his throat. “So, despite everything you’ve told me before about your father and what you told me just now, you are still willing to help him? To put him over our partnership? Our friendship?”
“This is where he tells you that he hates you,” said Yendoru.
She sighed. “Yes.”
“I don’t know what I hate more, the fact you lied to me or that you didn’t trust me.”
“See? And this is where he tells you that you’re the lowest piece of scum the world has ever known.”
“I mean after all we’ve been through. Especially the stuff in Erba. . . . I’d rather take a punch in the gut than know you didn’t trust me. How could you do something so low?”
Her gut tightened. Nauseous, she felt sickened by her actions. Her hand opened and closed, it began to drift toward the hilt of her dagger.
“And this is where your friendship ends. Perhaps your life as well, if he decides to save you the trouble of having to kill yourself.”
Her limbs felt weak as she let down her guard. Let him. I deserve it. Better it came from him than from someone else.
Rondel cursed. He took a shuddering breath.
Footsteps approached and she closed her eyes, waiting for the blade to enter her body.
Instead arms enveloped her.
She opened her eyes in surprise as Rondel pulled her into an embrace. Reminded of how her mother used to hold her as a girl, she found herself reciprocating the gesture.
“I forgive you,” he whispered.
The burden of guilt she carried melted away. Something wet rolled down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away as they parted.
“What?” Yendoru’s voice raged inside her head.
“You’re not angry with me?” she asked, ignoring the creature.
“Oh, I’m angry. But that’s no excuse for me to turn my back on you. However, you be
tter learn to start trusting me or so help me it will take more than a hug to resolve the situation next time.”
She smiled. “Got it.”
“What? This doesn’t make sense,” Yendoru said aloud. “You’re not really going to forgive her.”
“Of course I am,” answered Rondel.
“But the jewel! She still hasn’t said that she’s changed her mind about it.”
“She doesn’t have to. If she still wants to take it to her jerk of a father, then so be it. I never thought about it much before, but the jewel was never really about the money. It initially gave me a purpose when I had none. And now it’s about helping my friend.”
“What about afterward? Remember, I can see in your soul. You assumed that your partnership would continue after stealing the jewel. She is not so sure.”
Rondel worked his mouth a second. “I guess we’ll have to talk about that after we steal the jewel.”
Yendoru’s voice grew more frustrated. “And the girl? She was counting on the money from selling it. You’re just going to forget about her?”
“Of course not,” said Rondel. “But we can always steal something else to get her the money she needs. We are thieves after all.”
A deep scream of anger erupted from the creature. Its voice bounced around the room, vibrating even the soles of Andrasta’s boots. It died down and was replaced with Rondel’s sobs. He had fallen to his knees and was mumbling to himself, shaking his head as tears flowed from his already reddened eyes.
Andrasta wheeled on Yendoru. “What are you doing to him?”
The creature ignored her, its eyes focused on Rondel. She turned back to her partner, just as his hand was reaching for a dagger at his belt. He whispered he was sorry over and over. She tried to knock his hand away but could not. She tried to pry the blade free, but couldn’t so much as move a finger. It was like the trance had somehow imbued him with tremendous strength.
“You can’t stop him. He’s too far gone. His guilt is much greater than yours.”
“Don’t you dare do it,” she said to Rondel.
Andrasta ground her teeth, drew her sword, and sprinted at the creature. She climbed up the stone chair and brought the sword down, striking the invisible barrier protecting Yendoru. She turned her blade, and drove it with all her strength. She glanced at Rondel. He gripped his knife in white-knuckled fingers as he sobbed uncontrollably. She closed her eyes and leaned into her sword. She felt a shift and looked down. The tip of the blade had wedged itself into the barrier. She pushed harder, the muscles in her arms and shoulders straining under the pressure. The blade went deeper.
The Tower of Bashan Page 26
