“I have a broken strap on my sandal,” he complained to the air. “I do not want to walk on until I have fixed it.”
“This incompetent barbarian will have that task,” Vadin said in disgust. “Very well. Let us go on to the clearing. Hara, take the water sacks. Surata, since he is your champion, you may carry the rest of his load, the food and the tent.” He took great delight in tieing these to her shoulders.
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” Arkady told her in an undervoice. “It isn’t right that you have such a…duty for me.”
“It is nothing. After tonight, we won’t have to carry any of these things.” She was not cheerful, but her attitude was more positive than it had been that morning.
“I’ve been thinking about that, Surata,” he said, a bit more loudly. “I don’t know what we’re going to do for food and shelter once we get away from these men. We might be able to take the blankets, but they have the food, and even though they haven’t found the gold, what good is it when there is no one to buy food and supplies from, in any case?”
“Do not talk!” Vadin ordered, kicking out at the back of Arkady’s legs. “You will know the touch of the staves soon enough, you fool.”
“He wishes us to be quiet,” Surata explained unnecessarily. “We will have to wait.” She extended her hand so that it brushed his arm for an instant, then she grabbed her load, as if afraid of discovery.
“You two are not to walk together,” Hara yelled at them and forcefully stepped between them, shoving each of them roughly.
Surata and Arkady remained silent until they reached the clearing, where Mayon waited, an attitude of satisfaction about him. “There is a spring not far up the hill. We can drink something other than the swill from the water sacks tonight.”
Pleased to have the chance to rest, all three nonetheless protested that they were willing to press on until dark. Vadin finally ended their conversation and indicated to Arkady where the tent was to be pitched. “You are strong enough to do this. If you must be the cause of our stopping, then you can take care to aid us. If your shoulder and back hurt for it, so much the better.”
When Surata had relayed this to Arkady, he gave a tight half-smile. “One day soon, he will regret saying this to me. And he will regret abusing you, Surata. My word on it, more than my honor.”
“Hush, Arkady-immai. Do what they wish you do to. Then we will be able to have a little respite before we must flee.”
“It will be night when we go,” he warned her.
“For me it is always night. It makes no difference.” The bitterness was back in her voice.
“I meant that there are creatures abroad at night that are not friendly, Surata, nothing more.” He wanted to wrap his arms around her, put his face into the tresses of her hair, taste the sweet salt of her skin. He could not stand to leave her in the control of these three men for one hour longer, he decided, and he committed himself to exacting full price from Vadin, Mayon and Hara for all they had done.
When the tent was up, Hara had finished making a meal for his two companions. They sat and ate together, pointedly ignoring Arkady and Surata, who had been tied to trees on opposite sides of the clearing. Because of Arkady’s claimed injury, he was lashed around the body rather than held by his arms, and for this he was grateful. As he watched the disciples eat, he waited for his opportunity.
“We will be underway at first light. If the barbarian’s shoulder is not improved by then, he will suffer for it, and it will be more than an ache in his bones,” Vadin promised before retiring into the tent for the night.
Arkady waited for the three to fall asleep, fearing to move until he heard that regularity of breathing that would guarantee a margin of safety to him and Surata while they got away from their captors. He had not yet thought of where they might go, but that was a consideration for later, when they knew they were beyond the reach of the three men.
“Arkady-immai,” came her whisper, so softly that it was almost impossible to hear it over the sigh of the night wind.
“I know,” he answered. “Wait a little longer, in case.” He recalled one camisado he had been in when the commander of his troops had started the attack before the enemy camp was entirely asleep. Arkady’s men had been in the van of the assault, and they had been met by a company of sleepy men with lances and bad tempers. He would not make that mistake again.
A little while later, Arkady twisted in the ropes that held him until he could slip his hand between himself and the tree, to reach under his belt for the cinquedea he carried. Slowly he worked the little leaf-bladed knife out of its hiding place. By the time he had the weapon free, he had skinned his knuckles, and his back felt sore from the unnatural posture he had had to maintain, but it meant little; his thoughts were triumphant.
“What are you doing?” Surata whispered.
“Getting out,” he said, sawing at the ropes that held him. The fibers were tough and resisted the bite of the knife, but at last the bonds parted.
“Arkady-immai!” she exclaimed, hardly louder than before but with more hope than he had heard from her in days.
“Coming,” he told her as he stepped out of the ropes. He hurried across the clearing, crouching low out of habit. His cinquedea was ready by the time he got to her side. “Hold still,” he ordered her as he set to work cutting the ropes that wrapped around her wrists.
“Hurry,” she said, her breath quickening in her throat.
“God, I have missed touching you,” he said, feeling her closeness like wine in his veins. “It will not be enough to get away. I need more of you.”
“And I of you,” she said. “Don’t talk now. Get us out of here.” She was straining against the ropes, her body quivering with the effort.
He pressed harder and felt the rope give way. “I’ll get the other hand. It won’t be long.”
She fretted while he worked on her other wrist, clicking her tongue with exasperation she was trying not to express. “They are still asleep,” she said, trying to assure herself as much as to give him information.
“Good,” he panted. “These damned ropes must be made of iron. They’re blunting my knife.”
“The Bundhi makes his restraints with more than material power. You are cutting more than rope.” She closed her blind eyes, her face taking on the blankness he had learned to respect. “Cut slowly,” she said in a distant tone. “Cut as if you were taking meat from a roast. Long, slow, deep cuts. Think about how much you wish the Bundhi to fail at his plans.”
It sounded foolish to Arkady, but he did as she told him. To his surprise, the fibers were severed more easily. It took little time to get through the bonds. “There,” he said as he flung the ropes away from them as if they were the bodies of serpents.
Surata was rubbing her wrists, grimacing as she did. “My hands have no feeling and my arms are burning.”
“Keep rubbing them. You’ll be all right.” He looked around them, peering into the darkness. “We’d better keep on the way we were going. They will expect us to try to return to Samarkand, since we do not know the way to Gora Čimtarga.”
“And they believe we would not be foolish enough to go there, in any case. And we will not be, not until we have broken the Bundhi’s power in that other place.” Her determination was formidable, and as always, Arkady listened to her with a combination of respect and bafflement.
“Is there any way we can do that? Every time we have tried, there’s been trouble.” He did not mind the battle, but he knew enough now of the ruin the Bundhi could bring and did not want to fall victim to it. “Surata? How can we…”
“I will tell you, when we are gone from here.” Numbly she felt for his hand. “We must look for a place to cross the river. If the Bundhi is in Ajni, then he will be on this side of the canyon. We should be on the other. It will give us a little time.”
Arkady had been watching the rise of the mountains around them and he could not help but wonder where they were to find such a place. “Is there a bridge th
at you know of?”
“I have heard that there is one just above the Jannur Rapids. I do not know for certain.” Her confidence faltered, then reasserted itself. “We will find it, or another one.”
It was not as simple for Arkady to believe this as it was for her, but he put his arm around her shoulder. “We’ll find one. We’ll get across.”
“Is it steep? The road ahead?” They had slipped away from the clearing, going into the undergrowth that ran up from the riverbank. “Is there a road?”
“A narrow one,” he said. “We will not stay on it. It would be too easy for those three to come after us. Anyone passing us will remember what they see and inform Vadin that we…If they do not see us, they will have nothing to report.”
“Good,” she said, lifting her hand to fend off the little branches that whipped into her face. “It is not as pleasant, but much wiser.” She stumbled and caught herself before he turned to support her. “Keep on, Arkady-champion. Only, warn me if the way grows rougher.”
For an answer he squeezed her fingers. He knew that their climb would be arduous, but did not want to say so.
Chapter 23
They kept on through the night and most of the day that followed, permitting themselves to rest only twice, once at a rivulet that splashed down from the peaks above them, and once at the edge of a long, narrow field where the last of a stand of soft-skinned gourds were planted.
“Take a couple with you, and so will I,” Arkady recommended when they had satisfied the worst of their hunger. “With this and water, we’ll be able to keep going for a while.” He wanted to ask her where it was they were headed, but he hesitated, afraid that she would not have an acceptable answer.
“In a few more days, there will be little we can take from the fields. Winter is coming,” she said softly.
Arkady chuckled. “Well, if we can cross the desert in summer, we can climb mountains in the winter.” He tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “If we encounter snow, we’ll need heavier boots, but for now—” He patted her shoulder.
When he found a place where they could sleep that night, Arkady took the precaution of piling dried brush around the little hollow in the mountainside. “This way,” he explained, “we’ll hear anything that approaches. They’ll make enough noise to wake us and give us time to get ready for them.”
“Even three of them?” Surata asked, not in doubt but in worry.
“A dozen of them,” he said, bragging in spite of himself. “Yes, perhaps three,” he amended in a quieter tone.
“This place, where is it?” She cocked her head, listening. “There is a stream?”
“Nearby. And the river is below. We’ve been following an animal path—deer or sheep by the look of the tracks—along the mountain. The drop is steep if you start downhill. If you wake in the night, don’t try to go anywhere without me. You could get hurt.” He stopped his work and looked at her. “It’ll be night in another hour. If the Bundhi’s men haven’t found us by then we might get away from them. Tomorrow, we’ll have to travel as far as we can.” He pulled at his brigandine. “I never thought I’d miss my old one, but I do. This is heavier and it doesn’t fit me as well.”
Surata sighed. “After all that, a knife and a few pieces of gold is all that we have left to us.”
“It isn’t that bad,” Arkady protested, taking her hand and pulling her close to him. “We’re alive, we’re not too hungry and we’re free.”
The boughs he had used to line the hollow were fragrant, and though they crackled, they were nice to lie upon. “It’s going to be cold tonight,” he said as he drew her close to him.
“Then we will have to warm each other,” Surata answered. Arkady had intended to kiss her lightly, but as soon as he had her next to him, he knew he did not want that slow, tantalizing, expert awakening now. He had been without her too long for that.
“Arkady-champion,” she breathed between kisses. “You are…welcome.”
Never had their caresses been so fiercely gentle. All that they had done before had been in preparation for this, when they could touch each other, explore each other without awkwardness or uncertainty. There was nothing that made him doubtful, nothing that broke the spell between them. They lay together on the boughs as if they were suspended between heaven and earth, each for the other the only reality.
Arkady pulled his clothing over them so they would not be too cold when they fell asleep, and smiled when Surata murmured an objection. “You, you. You keep me warm.”
“Not after midnight, Surata.” He could not help but smile, and he ended her protests with playful kisses, sensing that she was almost ready for him.
Thighs, groins, breasts, mouths pressed together, both as caught in the other’s desire as their own. For an infinite moment they were poised apart and once again the colors blossomed around them, seeming to fuse with them, making them part of the light.
As one they moved, slipping down ways that defied the limitations of words. There was too great an unity, too deep a closeness to want speech between them. Arkady could feel Surata as he felt his breath in his lungs. His mind experienced her blindness and the frustration it brought to her. They moved as two fish circling endlessly in a clear pool.
This was what she had meant, he realized, when she talked of yin and yang: separate, yet complete only in unity.
“Not yet, Arkady my champion,” her words echoed in his mind. “It comes closer, but we do not have it yet.”
This intrusion startled him, as if he had fallen. “Surata?”
“I am here, where you are, but you are still Arkady my champion and I am still Surata. There is another place beyond this, where you and I are fused.” She paused. “When we are as we are…”
“The Divine Child?” He remembered all the times he had been told of the Divine Child, who came to redeem the world. Was this what Scripture had meant? Had his priest been wrong?
“Your teachings do not permit the Divine Child, Arkady my champion. You are told to worship it, not that you can become it.” She had a regretful note in her voice. “It is a pity that we must search for the Bundhi while we are as we are. If we had achieved full transcendence, then our strength would be without end and there would be little the Bundhi could do.”
“We are already transcendent,” he reminded her, shocked that she should be so unappreciative of what they had created between them.
“Transcendence to this other place, yes, but transcendence of self, no. When we have done that, then the Bundhi will be as easy to defeat as it is to snap a twig.”
“Then teach me,” he urged her, knowing that the longing he had awakened was hers as well as his own.
“My father studied for thirty years and never accomplished it,” she said, her thoughts becoming unhappy. Arkady was aware that he had the same sadness within him, spurred on by his need for her and for their closeness. “For you and I to do it,” she went on, “when we have had so little time—”
His thoughts broke into hers. “We have crossed hundreds of leagues together, we have nearly starved and died of thirst together, we have trusted each other when we could no longer trust ourselves, we have endured privation and loneliness and fear without turning on each other. If we can do that, then the Divine Child should not be impossible.” He said it with enthusiasm, and the lights around them brightened in response. He felt their presence in the shifting lights grow more vivid.
“Of course,” she agreed with a trace of amusement.
“And don’t humor me; I’m not jesting. You and I have come through trials together we would not have survived alone. Isn’t that what the Divine Child is meant to do?” He let his asperity color his outburst—it colored the lights surrounding, them as well, and Arkady was too entranced by what he saw to be annoyed with her reluctance. “What do we have to do, Surata? Where should we go, now that we are in this other place?”
“It is wretched to be in this other place, that can be so wonderful, and have to search f
or such as the Bundhi. I wish we could simply ride the crest together, make this other place into anything and everything that will please us best. But you’re right, there are things we must do here that are not for our joy. I hope one day it will not be this way.” Her voice was plaintive: the bright shapes trembled like leaves with a wind passing through them.
“Where do we begin? At the castle in the marsh?” He had been hoping they might go there again, for he thought of the place fondly, seeing it as a refuge.
“No,” she said slowly. “I…cannot find it anymore. It is…gone. And if we find it again, there is no certainty it would be ours still.”
“The Bundhi?” he asked, not needing to.
“Yes.” She quivered with him.
Arkady could think of nothing that would console her. “Then it must be the bamboo redoubt?” He did not want to return there. Even his recollections of the place made him shake with revulsion. There was so much of decay about it and so much malice in the staves…He forced his attention to what she was telling him.
“That could be too great a risk. The Bundhi guards himself well, and he must know by now that we have got away from his men. He will protect his fortress in this other place more rigorously than his redoubt in the daily world. As long as his redoubt in this other place stands, his redoubt on Gora Čimtarga is impregnable.” Fleeting impressions of various plans slipped through her mind, hints and echos of them appearing in Arkady’s thoughts.
“Would a fire in this other place burn his redoubt on Gora Čimtarga as well as the one in this other place?” It seemed to him to be the most direct means of destroying the redoubt.
“It might,” she said, “but it is not so easy to burn things here in this other place; they can turn to water or air before flames can harm them. But if we could make it burn, then it might be possible to stop the Bundhi both here and in the daily world.” She considered more alternatives. “Water means nothing to bamboo. It only aids it to grow. The bamboo bends with the wind and cannot be uprooted. If you bury it, it springs up again through the earth. If it is cut with metal, it grows again.”
To the High Redoubt Page 35
