John Bowman's Cave

by Erron Adams

  He nosed the hair behind her ear and whispered, “I’m sorry. For all of it, the fights, the fuck-ups, and now this. I’m sorry.”

  She drew her sword.

  He took it from her.

  “Me first.” She said.

  He kissed her, long and soft, blind and deaf to what the Guards were doing. It was just the two of them, they were at a station and her train was leaving, its whistle stirring everyone but them.

  Then he placed the point of the blade under her ribs, at the entrance to the heart, and they drew breath together.

  The voice behind him was deep, soft, quiet. “Not so fast, Pack brother.”

  Bowman's eyes shot wide, he froze. The voice was unmistakable. It continued.

  “That's my sister you're about to kill, unnecessarily, as it happens.”

  The next crowded moment they were back on the platform in a sea of welcomers; a train had just pulled in. Caylen staggered past Bowman into Oyen's arms. Imperial Guards, their tattered uniforms echoing the fortunes of the Palace, milled around the pair.

  “Oyen, you're a fine sight!” Bowman managed. Oyen grunted.

  Moments later the loyalists struck Keemon's camp. The morning air filled with cries as those fortunate enough to gain their horses in time wheeled away from the rout. As the noise died down, Denaren came through the fog, sheathing his sword.

  Oyen detached from Caylen to ask, “Did you get him?”

  Denaren frowned. “No.”

  “What..how..?”

  “Unconnu, damn her! She got the two of them away!”

  ***

  Part VI

  Fall

  Chapter 26

  The Stars So Near

  Caylen, her wound bound in Blood Moss, rested in the meagre shade of a Paperbark. Bowman managed to recover most of the shafts he'd fired and came to sit beside her. Then Oyen collected Bowman and they walked to the meadow stream they’d camped next to.

  “I have to get water, come,” he said and handed Bowman a swag of empty water bladders. This was a menial task for Oyen to undertake; Bowman guessed they were about to talk.

  They were halfway to the stream and still the Rory had tendered no explanation for the trip. Bowman decided to spark the conversation. “We lost Yalnita,” he confessed. “She went into Melen Darit for supplies, but Keemon found us before she got back. We had to leave.”

  Oyen nodded. “Yes. That’s bad. She will have a hard time of it, making her way back to Grealding alone.”

  “Alone? Surely we can go get her?”

  “No. You must understand, John Bowman, she is only one warrior. The lives of all our people are at risk now that Keemon has the arms he sought, and a loyal following. Besides, Yalnita is Yalnita. Her journey home won’t be easy, but I am sure she will make it. In fact, I pity any who stand in her way!”

  Bowman smiled; Oyen was more than likely right. Then he remembered the cache of guns in Animarl.

  “But Keemon doesn’t have all the guns! He told me he left them in Animarl, for when he had enough Guards to go back and get them.”

  “Yes, so our spies tell us. Even more reason to not wait here any longer than we have to. Keemon will be heading to Animarl for those weapons, now that it’s obvious you enjoy the protection of loyalists. We have to get there before him. We’ll leave today.”

  “If Caylen can travel. You can’t leave her. At least, I can’t.”

  “She will be alright, her wound isn’t as bad as we feared.” Oyen laughed and clapped Bowman on the shoulder. “She is a Rory, and will still ride better than you my friend, wound and all.”

  “That won’t be hard! Damned horses, give me my own legs any day.”

  “Ah! Spoken like a true Rory! Horses are no use on the Dragonspine. But out here, where the distances are long and flat, they are indeed a useful animal.”

  They filled the water bladders and started back. Bowman wondered if the purpose of their excursion had been simply to announce the fact that their destination would be Animarl, not Grealding.

  He didn’t really care. Now that he had Caylen again, nothing really mattered that much, outside of them. After the rough patch they’d endured, he was allowing himself the indulgence of feeling like the young man who’d once fallen in love with a beautiful woman, in a world made for their love, a still world at the centre of all the swirling constellations. That and the spirit-saving Way of The Bow; he’d be eternally grateful for the induction to that lore. Those were the two things that mattered now.

  He pulled up just short of Oyen’s massive chest. The Rory had turned around to address him.

  “There is another reason for heading to Animarl, rather than Grealding.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m not sure how to say this, John Bowman,….”

  “Just spit it out anyhow, Oyen.”

  “Well, it’s about your gift.”

  “Oh? Really?”

  “Yes. Look, don’t make this difficult! We, Denaren and I, that is, we… we want to make use of your gift.”

  “Oh no, forget it, Oyen! I am not going back to Dyall's Ford, ever. And why would you want the arms Keemon wants? You’ll only end up like him! Or worse. No, put it out of your mind. Here I am, and here I stay. I told you that once, remember?”

  “And broke your word, as I recall.”

  “No, I didn’t! I was forced to go back. Now I have a choice. Or at least I assume I do. You don’t intend holding your sister hostage, do you?”

  “Really, Outlander, that is beneath you! Of course I wouldn’t do such a thing, and I wouldn’t force my wishes on you, either!”

  “Good! Good then. Let’s just leave it! And don’t call me an Outlander. here I live, here I’ll die, I swear it!”

  Oyen shrugged. “As you wish. Still, if we don’t arrive in Animarl before Keemon, I hate to think what will come of it!”

  Bowman looked away. “What will come, will come, Oyen,” he said quietly. “We will do our best, and God help us beyond that.”

  ***

  The loyalists made Twins Fall in four days, riding through the year's first chill; patchy snow now visible on the Dragonspine to their North.

  They rode in a silence interrupted only when some signal from Denaren caused Guards to peel away and reconnoitre the rolling country. Every sense of the remaining riders pricked up when this happened, but their fears weren’t realized. The surrounding countryside seemed empty. Of enemies, at least.

  Towards evening on the fourth day their destination began to form up ahead of them.

  The feature that gave the landscape thereabouts its name comprised two ancient calderas, worn smooth by time's wind and water, and grassed over so that in the breezes that drifted unhindered by rock or tree they looked like wide, shallow dishes surfaced with fur.

  When Bowman asked Oyen why it was called Twins Fall the Rory briefly explained the legend of two stars that were so alike they'd always bickered, until it got so bad they lost their grip on heaven and fell to earth.

  As the band of loyalists and Rory got closer the soft rims delineated themselves in the sea of wavy grass. Denaren sent scouts around, and when they came back with nothing to report he had the Guards pitch camp just down inside the leeward rim of the easternmost caldera. As the twilight grew crisp they posted guard and lit cooking fires.

  Caylen slid a half-hewn bow stave from its pouch, steadied a moment as she gripped it right, and hobbled over to Bowman. “Let’s walk while it’s not too dark,” she said. Stiff from the riding, he readily assented to the chance to stretch his legs. He picked up his stickbow and stuck some arrows in his belt. A sword was probably a more practical weapon for defence in the failing light, but Bowman had formed an attachment to the rough bow he’d crafted in his own dark hour. He wasn’t going anywhere without it, for now. Caylen took his hand and they went off.

  They made their way along the rim, their hair and words tossed by the settling evening wind. Nest-ward birds whipped by. Bowman wondered where they’d roost in th
e treeless plain. Must be ground nesters, he mused. At least they knew where home was. Lucky bastards.

  “Where do you think Keemon is right now?” he said.

  Caylen shivered. “Don’t ask.”

  “What, speak of the Devil?”

  “Uh huh! Anyway, why think of him now? Let’s relax while we can.”

  “I can’t help it, I can sense him! Denaren and Oyen seem to think he’s gone full bore for Animarl. Not me. He’s close by; I can feel it!”

  The pain of her wound was still pre-occupying Caylen. “Yes, well, he’ll show when he shows.”

  Twilight didn’t last long, being late in the year. They only managed a five-minute walk before they had to turn back. As the grey deepened to black the wind stopped altogether. A few night insects took up where it left off. The quarter moon poked over the Eastern horizon.

  The fires of the camp were an easy beacon to home on. Bowman put his arm around Caylen’s shoulder and she reciprocated with her own about his waist. They gently picked their way through the knee-length tussocks.

  “John?”

  “Yes?”

  “That ring you gave me. You say this Argilan character gave it to you.”

  “That’s right, the old feller in Animarl. The same one you ran into, I suspect.”

  “Yes, it sounded like him, from what you describe. And you say he gave you the ring to ‘find your way home’, or something?”

  “That’s right. And it seems to work. It always points to Animarl, at least. Why?”

  “Since I’ve been wearing it, strange things have been happening.” She stopped and held the stave out to one side of her body as she shrugged. “I keep seeing Home whenever I think about it, and I’m not talking about Animarl! You know what I mean, don’t you!”

  He turned to tell her this was great news, that it meant the things he’d seen weren’t just happening in his mind, that the ring had a power of its own, and anyone could activate it. It was such a relief to know he wasn’t mad! He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t think what to say first. He just laughed, and she shook her head, smiling.

  Then something flowed up from the grass and plucked her away, and when he turned in its direction she’d been pinned down by a wraith. He went for his sword.

  “Don’t even think about it, Sunshine!” Keemon whispered. To substantiate the threat he placed his pistol barrel to Bowman’s temple and thumbed the hammer back. He bunched the back of Bowman’s shirt with his free hand and pushed him in the direction opposite Denaren’s camp. “Just move.”

  ***

  “They’re lovers, Oyen! And there’s no privacy for them here.” Denaren cast an eye over the Guards. “They’ll be along soon, you’ll see!”

  Oyen scowled and turned back to the wall of night. Despite her Outlander origins, Caylen was a Rory; she knew better than to take a risk like this, no matter what state her heart was in. And Bowman - also an Outlander - had proved himself no fool since his return to Animarl. Neither would have stayed out there, away from camp, this long. Something was wrong.

  He sighed. “Go back Denaren. I’ll wait for them here.”

  ***

  “Just a little something to stop you clawing.” Keemon quipped, bringing the vial's open mouth to Caylen's.

  Unconnu’s sorcery had kept the rebel camp hidden, just as it had allowed Keemon to flow through grass like the very air in search of his quarry. Now he had them both. Bowman, the key to Dyall's Ford, and Caylen, the incentive for Bowman to turn the lock. Keemon had sent word of the capture to Unconnu, who’d sent instruction straight back: secure the girl and bring the Outlander to me.

  “Hold her still!” he snapped at the Guards pinning Caylen to the tent's centre pole. She thrashed and spat, but enough of the viscous fluid trickled past. A few minutes and strength left her, she sagged against her bonds.

  He stood back, smiling, and ordered the Guards out. He liked the thought of her almost unconscious, but not quite; it was time for a little fun. He could sense the fear in her eyes. It excited him, almost as much as the thought of getting to Animarl, to the guns.

  When they were alone, he moved closer, pulling her head back by the hair, and moved his open mouth down her neck.

  She jerked away and twisted her head around to where she could see him.

  “Fool, how long do you think they'll let you live? You're an Outlander, like me!”

  He frowned, pulled back.

  “You? An Outlander? I don't think so - you're just a Rory slut. As to my longevity, that will improve when I liberate a certain cache in Animarl!”

  “A few guns won't save you from the Kasina, Keemon.”

  The smile left him. “Who said anything about guns?”

  “Idiot! You think I don't know who you are, what you've been up to? I know about the guns you smuggled through from Dyall’s Ford! They won't be enough; you'll need more.”

  She saw his eyes widen. “Yes, more! That's what interests men like you, isn't it! And I can get you that. I'm your only hope of going back to Dyall's Ford and returning here.”

  “You're bluffing, Caylen. Only that simple bastard Bowman can do that, and I've already got him where I want him.”

  “Listen to me Keemon, we don't have much time, this drug's working fast.” She drew herself up. “There is no magic in John Bowman. It's the Ring of Return that enables him to travel between Dyall’s Ford and Animarl, the ring he gave me on the trip here.” She stretched the fingers of her bound hand out to show him.

  “Yes, I saw that. I'll keep it as a fond memento when you're gone, my dear! But I'm curious, why would the fool give it to you?”

  “It’s beyond your feeble comprehension, trust me.” The drug was seeping into every reach; she went on quickly. “What’s important is this: get me out of here alive, get me and Bowman to Animarl, and you can have the ring. You won’t need anyone then to get what you want!”

  “Why don’t I just unburden you of it now?” Keemon said. He undid one of the bonds and snapped her hand up, gripping the ring between his thumb and forefinger. He held her arm with his other hand and started twisting the ring and pulling it towards him. It clove to the skin beneath and would not give.

  She chuckled groggily, her head lolled to one side. “Welcome to your worst nightmare, Keemon: something that can only be given, not taken by force.”

  He dropped her hand and stood back, looking at the ring with awe. Then her freed hand leapt to the cop’s throat and held it in a vice grip.

  “Now come with me a moment and I’ll show you what the ring can do!”

  Keemon grabbed her arm with both hands and thrashed. “Lethh goerth me you thukn bith.”

  But she had him and wasn’t letting go. “First you need to see something, Keemon. I’m taking you Home!”

  As soon as she spoke the word, Keemon's head drew forward into an opaque sphere, beyond which he emerged a few moments in another world, as Bowman once had done. And like Bowman, what he saw tugged at him. The known streets and easy faces, the familiar landscape he once strode high in.

  The police armoury, and its obvious key.

  She released him and he staggered back, rubbing his neck and gasping. When his breath returned he nodded slowly.

  “Alright,” he said. Her head slumped on her chest and he smiled.

  ***

  He felt no relief when Keemon freed him; the cop only ever acted in his own interests.

  “How many times is this I’ve saved your arse, Convict? Well, it’s the last.” the cop said as he cut the ties.

  “Where’s Caylen?”

  “On a horse, like we will be soon. I hope your riding’s improved.”

  Bowman thought back to his arrival in Kasina Nabir. “No, but I’ll manage.”

  “Good, coz we’ll only get an hour or so start on Unconnu. Can’t wait for stragglers.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “You’ll find out, now duck your head,” Keemon said as he pushed Bowman through the slit in th
e rear wall of the tent. Outside the night was dark with cloud.

  “This way,” said Keemon.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To our horses, dammit! Now shut up!”

  “No, I mean after that, where are we headed?”

  “Animarl! Now shut up and keep walking!”

  Two Guards appeared ahead, strolling haphazardly towards them. They were taking turns to swig from a small jar. One of them recognized Keemon. He slouched to attention and saluted.

  “Bes’ of the night t’yer, Captain!” he slurred. His companion stifled a laugh.

  Keemon walked straight up, drew his short sword and sunk it into the man’s heart. The other Guard dropped back, aghast, then leapt over the twitching body of his partner at Keemon.

  “Filthy Outlander!” he muttered, swinging the jar.

  Keemon ducked and slashed his sword as the man lurched past. The Guard glanced down at his cut stomach as he careened into Bowman. Maddened with pain and outrage, he backhanded the jar into Bowman’s jaw, sending him sprawled on his back.

  As Keemon came up the Guard dropped the jar and went to draw his sword. He had it half-unsheathed when the arc of Keemon’s blade slashed sideways at his neck. In the instant before decapitation he bellowed. The shooshing fountain of his severed arteries replaced the shriek. He wobbled a moment before his deflated body sank sideways and lay over the unconscious Bowman.

  “Fuck, fuck!” Keemon swore as he bent to shove the body off Bowman. Then he snapped up as more noise broke the night silence.

  The Guard’s bellow had alerted sentries; men were coming at a run. Worse, Caylen - slumped across one of the horses Keemon had waiting - was moaning in delirium. A few moments and they’d be found.

  “Fuck! Double fuck!” Keemon cursed again. He looked to Caylen, back to the still prone figure of Bowman, to the advancing sentries, back to Caylen.