Morgan's Choice

by Greta van Der Rol

  ****

  Lakshmi wriggled in her seat. The blasted copter would have to be the most uncomfortable contraption she’d ever, ever been in. They’d been here… how long? Three hours. The men leaned up against the wall under the porch, even the pilot. If even he didn’t want to sit in here, maybe she should have realized from that. She clambered out onto the damp rock, the omnipresent mist swirling around her. That was one good reason to endure some discomfort. At least she’d stayed dry.

  Telmus shoved himself upright as she approached. “No sign of anyone, Hai Suri.” He looked damp and bedraggled. “I think we should go and meet them. We can’t be sure nothing’s happened to them, either. Maybe they’re stuck somewhere.”

  She stared between him and the gap in the warped metal door. “But if they’re on their way down, they’ll hear us.”

  “Just Wes and I will go, Hai Suri. We have the sensorpack. We’ll know they’re coming well before they see us.”

  “Fine.” She made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Get on. The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be back.”

  The two men squeezed between the doors and disappeared. The sun had slid away and half the gorge lay in darkness. The endless noise was beginning to get on her nerves. Let alone the water. She blew a pendulous drip off her nose.

  ****

  Lakshmi wrung her hands together. The sun had begun to set up there in the real world. Down here the gloom had deepened since noon, the light retreating up one wall of the chasm. Cold and damp wormed its way under her clothing. She paced, more to warm herself than anything else. When she got her hands on that bitch and her professor, she’d make them suffer for this.

  The two men under the portico rocked from foot to foot, huddled into their clothing. Huh. At least they wore combat fatigues. They’d have to be better off than she was. They both straightened, suddenly alert, their attention on the door.

  At last. Telmus squeezed out first, then Wes. Alone.

  She strode over to them, arms folded. “What’s happened? Where are they?”

  Telmus rubbed a fist over his face. “There was a fall a few klicks up the passage. Nothing could have got through there.”

  A fall. No point in asking if they were underneath the rocks. They wouldn’t know. And if they weren’t, they’d be trapped in the dark under the mountain. Wouldn’t Selwood be enjoying that?

  “That’s disappointing. I was looking forward to having a full and frank discussion with Unwyn.”

  “By your leave, Hai Suri.” Telmus bowed.

  “What?”

  “I was thinking. What if they got through before the fall? It looked very recent.”

  “You mean they’re out already?”

  He lifted his shoulders. “It’s possible. Not likely, but possible.”

  She put her hands on her hips. Already out, eh? She’d suffered all this cold and damp for nothing. Oh, somebody was going to pay. “Where would they be?”

  “We could try here,” Wes said, gazing at his sanvad. “This Riverport place. It’s just a dot on the map but it’s marked as having food and a bed.”

  “Into the copter, boys.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Morgan couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder. The skeleton was invisible but its presence weighed on her mind. There had to be a way out of here; there had to be. While Ravindra examined the surface she scanned the structure for some sort of mechanism.

  “It slides,” she said. “See the track? And there has to be some sort of door opener. Even if it’s broken.”

  He pointed at a device, set into the stonework of the entrance. “This door has been locked from the outside. If it could be opened from within, he would have opened it.”

  Of course he would. Idiot. In her mind the skeleton grinned. ‘So nice to have company.’

  “Don’t give up hope yet, Suri. This pillar looks a bit unstable. Perhaps we’ll find a weakness.”

  He was right. The left hand pillar leaned. Whereas all the joins she’d seen so far had been precise, a gap separated the top of the pillar from the arch. He shone his lantern over the ground at its base. A few tiles had split and come away, forced out by the leaning pillar.

  “Stand back.” He pulled out the gun.

  She put out a hand. “Hey. What are you going to do?”

  “Create a larger weakness. Force the pillar to fall.”

  “But… we might get trapped in here.”

  He smiled. “Suri… Morgan… we are trapped in here. Stand between the pillars in the nave.” He looked up the ceiling. “Let’s hope this doesn’t bring the entire roof down.”

  She retreated, her heart thundering. Let’s hope indeed. He was crazy. And yet he was right. What other choice was there? He pulled a few tiles away and fired down into the floor. Fragments sprayed and spattered, punctuating the steady hiss-zip as he kept the trigger closed. Light from the blue beam bounced off the carvings, casting weird shadows. When he stopped and bent to remove the debris from the hole, she ran out to help.

  A whisper of sound halted them both. Particles of dust drifted down from the lintel. She could swear that gap was wider. “It’s working.”

  She retreated again. He repeated the process. The pillar creaked.

  “It’s going. Come away,” she called.

  He ran. She grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a column in the nave.

  A grinding groan tore through the temple amid the patter of falling debris. Slowly at first, the stricken upright teetered, then, picking up speed, it thundered down in a roar of sound, bringing the lintel with it. Echoes crashed and boomed and banged around the chamber; rock and gravel clattered and bounced; dust spiraled and swirled in feeble daylight. The great stone door had fallen into the temple and smashed. A pile of rubble obstructed the entrance, an easy scramble out of the mountain.

  Relief flooding through her, she felt air currents on her face, breathed in dampness and earth and life. She squeezed his arm. “Good for you, Admiral. Well done.”

  He pulled her against him and kissed her, his mouth hard on hers, his fingers in her hair. His tongue pushed between her lips, probed her mouth.

  She kissed him back, pressing her body against his. They were alive and free. The kiss deepened, tongues entwined, bodies molding.

  He withdrew first. “We should get on.”

  She cleared her throat. She’d enjoyed that far too much. “Yes, we should.”

  He grinned, amber eyes glinting. “But this is a conversation we will continue, Suri. At length.”

  A warm, sexy quiver shimmied down her body and into her groin. Tart or not, she wasn’t going to be saying no.

  They slipped and scrambled their way up the rubble and slid down into a natural cave. On this side of the temple the entrance was even more impressive. The decorated arch sat on the backs of two huge felines, their jaws partly open in a snarl that showed long, canine teeth.

  Ravindra placed a hand on one of the beast’s head. “And what are these? Real or imaginary?”

  “I don’t know. Unwyn might have told us.” She stared past him for a moment, through the gap into the temple, a pang of guilt tugging at her heart. “Unwyn would have loved to study this place.”

  The look he directed at her held not a trace of compassion. “And now this place is his tomb. There are so many questions to answer. Who were they? Where did they come from and what happened to them? Or should I say, why? Was our friend sealed in there to die? Or maybe he hid and didn’t realize.”

  He smiled, looking down at her. “But I think you may be able to tell me a little.”

  “Guesses, assumptions, inferences; that’s all. But not now. My feet feel like lead.”

  The cave had been left natural except for the floor, which had been cleared and leveled. Although now leaves and droppings mingled with fallen rocks to mar its surface. The roof arched high and then lowered again, its cracks and crevices festooned with webs. Long vines and branches obscured the cave mouth. It felt like standing on
the tongue in something’s mouth.

  Ravindra pushed the overhanging branches aside. “That’s the river. We will have to climb. There used to be steps but either they were destroyed or the river washed them away.”

  More climbing. Her legs trembled in sympathy. She brushed aside a reddish-green vine and gazed at a river gorge. Water flowed fast and deep down a rocky valley fifty meters below the cave mouth. The cliffs on the other side of the river soared to one hundred and fifty meters. Trees and ferns lined both banks and to her right a muted roar promised a waterfall.

  “There used to be a landing platform at the river’s edge,” Ravindra said.

  The river swirled around solid uprights visible just below the water’s surface. Morgan could see the suggestion of steps, now half-hidden in a visual puzzle, leading down from the cave. Overhead, clouds rode a bright sky but the light had that unmistakable cast of late afternoon. “Where would the settlement be?”

  “Further downstream, I expect. Let’s at least get down to the river.”

  Morgan’s muscles complained and strained every step of the way. She stretched out a leg for a particularly long drop and winced. At least in the tunnel the steps had been even. One last scramble with Ravindra’s arm to steady her and she stood on a relatively flat rock above the water. A movement caught her eye. A spiked green something slid smoothly into the water and disappeared, leaving hardly a ripple in its wake. She shivered. That thing looked big.

  “All right?”

  “Yes. Sore, tired. But all right.” Morgan gazed back up the slope they’d just traversed. “You wouldn’t know it was there.” The cave was hidden; just another anonymous shadow behind the undergrowth.

  “Everyone will know, soon enough. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Asbarthi had round eyes painted on and all the while the truth was there to find.” Ravindra stared at the opening, as if seeing into the temple.

  Unwyn’s tomb. She said a silent farewell to him.

  They followed the river. Maybe a track had existed once but mostly they simply found their own way, winding around bushes and trees, climbing over fallen logs and once or twice splashing across rocks in the water. She was soon too warm in her jacket. She slipped it off and tied the arms together around her waist.

  The sun had moved across the sky and shadows were lengthening when they finally came in sight of a jetty built along the river’s edge. She heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. Cold water had soothed her aching legs a little but now hunger gnawed at her belly. The drifting odor of cooked food simply set her stomach growling.

  “Let’s find some food,” Ravindra said.

  A road, little more than a track, ran parallel to the river, beneath towering trees. The calls of water birds and animals settling for the night filled the air with a kaleidoscope of sound. At last; signs of habitation. Two small boats tugged at their moorings at a jetty on the river bank. On the other side of the road a large, ramshackle building held court amongst a handful of shanties.

  A hand-carved sign announced it was the Riverport Inn. A simple establishment built of local timber, its doors were flung wide onto a stone patio. A few locals sat at tables drinking and chatting. They stopped their conversation to watch Morgan and Ravindra walk into a cool, dim barroom. A man rose from his seat behind the bar as they approached, sharp yellow eyes glinting in a face that resembled an old boot.

  “We’d like a room, please,” Ravindra said.

  The fellow inspected them, his jaw working as he chewed on something. That was hardly surprising. Ravindra looked weary and dirty and his hands were scratched; she wouldn’t look any better. “No skimmer?”

  “No. We had an accident and had to leave it up on the mountain,” Ravindra said.

  “Ah. Got caught in the quake, did ya?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  It was true enough, in a way.

  “You look kinda familiar. You been here before?” the barman asked, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

  “No.”

  The barman’s expression hadn’t cleared. “A room, eh? How long?”

  “Just for tonight. And I want food. Juice, a selection of whatever you have.”

  “No beer or wine?”

  “No. No, thank you.”

  Morgan glanced between them. The barman was doubtful about something. Maybe he recognized the Admiral. And Ravindra… what had she thought before? You couldn’t take the admiral out of the man. He had that air about him, used to command, confident.

  “Room’s at top of stairs,” the barman said. “My woman’ll bring food up shortly.”

  “Thank you.” Ravindra paid the man with the guard’s card and put an arm around Morgan’s waist. “Come on. I’ll let you wash first.”

  She trudged up the stairs beside him, her knees complaining with every step. At least they were going up.

  Cool and simple, the room had a large bed, wide windows thrown open onto a balcony to admit the evening breeze and a washroom though a door to the side. The shower was a blessing, warm water on tired muscles. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. The stain she’d used to darken her skin had held up well enough. She pulled her pants back on, wishing she had some clean clothes, while Ravindra had his turn in the washroom.

  A knock on the door announced the barman’s woman, as wrinkled and weather-beaten as her man. She set a laden tray on the small table on the balcony. Morgan thanked her and closed the door behind her.

  A jug of juice and a selection of morsels; pastries, nameless things on sticks, some bowls of wonderfully fragrant items, fruit and vegetables. Yum. She ate and drank, sitting overlooking a broad vegetable garden that separated the building from the forest, a deeper dark below the velvet black of the star-sprinkled sky.

  She was still chewing when Ravindra joined her, toweling his hair dry. He slipped into the seat opposite her and selected an item from the tray.

  He’d put on his pants but his chest was bare. She almost forgot to swallow. What a man. The tattoo on his shoulder writhed as he moved his muscles.

  That reminded her. She pulled the clasp out of her trouser pocket and put it on the table between them. “I forgot. This is yours.”

  The look he gave her was unreadable. He picked the clasp up almost reverently and ran his fingers over the coiled design. “I never expected to see this again. I am doubly indebted. Where did you find it?”

  “Asbarthi left it on a table—with your hair, of course. I don’t know why—something to show off, I expect. It was one of the reasons I realized you weren’t dead.”

  “Mmm. He said he would keep my coti as a trophy. It seems it served a better purpose.” He put the brooch down and ate a few more pieces of food.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. The man’s revolting. I don’t know what possessed me to go along with him.”

  “Why did you?”

  She chewed at her lip. How embarrassing. I thought it might help me forget about you. “Why not? What did I know about your society? Anybody can rule where I come from. I figured I’d help him and then go back to chase Yogina.” Her face felt hot. She felt stupid.

  Ravindra smiled. “Here, it seems not to work. Vesha rule disintegrates. Did he ask you to use any of your special skills?”

  “It was mentioned in passing. I got the idea taking Krystor was just a start. They think I’m like Jones, that I’d do anything for wealth. But I’m not.”

  This was all getting far too up close and personal. Time to change the subject. She picked up the clasp. “This is so beautiful. I… I noticed it when you wore it.”

  “It was made for me by an artisan on my estate. My father’s, then. It was a gift when I entered the military academy.”

  “Is it the same beast on your shoulder?”

  “It is. It’s a Vulsaur, native to the mountains near my home.”

  She gazed at his shoulder, at the flowing beast depicted in golden lines. Wings, gaping jaws, talons. A little like the mythical dragons. Many men and women in the Coalition Fleet had
tattoos but she’d rarely seen one so beautifully executed. “I think it’s magnificent. So well done.”

  He smiled, a wide grin that showed teeth. “Not too many other people do. My mother was horrified and my father disgusted. My wife was unimpressed, too. She didn’t approve at all.”

  “Why?”

  “Mirka don’t have tattoos. It is considered uncouth. But I had a close relationship with a Shuba hunter on the estate. He taught me much about hunting, survival in the mountains. For them a tattoo is a rite of passage. I had it done for him.”

  “Oh.” He’d never mentioned his wife again after that first revelation she was dead. “Did you love her? Your wife?” She blurted the words out without thinking and instantly wished she could haul them back.

  He mulled the question over as he ate. “No, but it didn’t really matter. She was of good family and we did our duty. To be honest, she didn’t approve of me at all. I flouted tradition too often.” He lifted his shoulder, signaling ‘too bad’.

  “Was your wife allowed to look you in the eye?”

  He grinned. “Yes. She was my equal, at least in that respect.”

  She looked at him from underneath half-closed eyelashes while conflicting emotions raged in her head. Yes, she wanted him; yes she respected him; yes, she despised what he was, a despotic autocrat born to his post. Though perhaps not your traditional despotic autocrat. She even liked him—okay, loved him; even more so with these new revelations about the clasp and the tattoo. As well as being an out-and-out hunk. Would he be able to smell her now?

  “Tell me, why did you leave me? Leave my bed?”

  He was serious. This meant something. Tell him the truth? Because I’m afraid you’ll break my heart? Or another, closely related, truth. “You called me a tart.”

  His expression didn’t change. “Yes.”

  “Well, where I come from, a tart is a whore who doesn’t even need to be paid. She’s anybody’s for the asking.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs, her eyes averted. “And I’m not.”