Medieval Rain

by J. D. Sonne

  She was not aware of it at first, but a slight thrumming under her feet caused her to shift her weight from one to the other. Then the thrumming became more pronounced until the boards all around her were thumping against the cliff, the supports and each other. Holding the parchments against the table, she looked up and saw dust and rock falling all around her, and indeed detritus was starting to strike her shoulders and head. Using her hands as a very ineffective shield against the stone rain, she looked left and right for somewhere to run. She saw it at once, a rock overhang that canopied one length of catwalk. Hoping that the men on her level would see it as she could do nothing but grasp the banister poles that were part of the scaffolding’s support, she walked as if drunken to relative safety.

  She gripped one of the makeshift banisters under the ledge, then when that became too vibrant, she switched to a couple of handholds in the rock face of the cliff. The unremitting shaking brought on an uncharacteristic attack of profound vertigo, and she could nothing except hang on.

  Gradually the terrifying undulation of the cliff redacted into the thrumming as at the beginning of the event, and Rane was able to sit down. She held her head in her hands to stop it from spinning—it seemed to go on forever—until, finally, she was able to draw in a few gasping breaths to clear her brain.

  She almost hated to stand up and assess her surroundings, certainly most of the structure would have collapsed in such a cataclysm, but no, it stood pretty much as she remembered, until she looked closer. There was more damage than at first apparent, but nowhere as much as expected. Some catwalks careened, dangerously angled and useless; many of the supports bolted to the cliff had come away from the rock face, compromising the entire structure.

  Her thinking still clouded, she cast about for the next step, but only for a moment: they had to get off the structure to safety of the forest floor. She knew that one explosion of shaking was never enough, more would come and quickly. She started yelling for everyone to get off the cliff, hoping that no one had already done so by falling to his death.

  Rane began her descent by her favorite route but found that so many switchbacks had gaps in their lashings that she had to go down by an entirely different way. In fact, she had to take a lateral route that had her going across the whole face of the cliff, then facing an almost vertical drop to the ground. She saw others above and below her struggling in their own journeys. But she didn’t see Landman and was just beginning to worry when she heard excited cries. She looked up, her gaze finding its way through the gesticulations and points of those above and below; her stomach chilled at seeing a figure dangling upside down from one of the upper scaffold landings. There was no doubt who it was—he was not so far away that she could not see his face, and his measured and calm assessment of his situation was evident. He was not struggling, his even senses recognizing the danger of the slightest movement. A tangled skein of rope looped around his ankle was the only check against a fifty-foot plunge, and she saw him turning his head this way and that attempting a solution.

  Rane settled herself into an amalgamation of planks and ropes that formed a twisted swing and tried to figure out what to do. She didn’t want to attempt a climb toward him as that could disturb the tenuous hold the rope had on his foot, and she didn’t see anyone else near him who could hoist him either up or down. The more she thought, her mind racing into her heart, the more hopeless his situation seemed.

  Then something caught her notice swinging over Landman’s head. A rope snaked down toward his position and was now about two troughlengths above his head. He had not seen it yet. Rane’s eyes followed the winding rope up and she realized that rat was the one lowering the lifeline. She also realized that she had to figure out a way to bring it to Landman’s attention without startling him into a sudden movement that could cost him his life.

  She and Landman had taken to hunting together recently, and they had concocted a beast call to alert each other when they spotted game. They had not wanted an ostentatious sound, so had chosen the ruffling wheeze of the archeraptor, the ferocious predatory winged reptile whose noise, unlike its disposition, was quite melodious and subdued.

  “Flrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” Rane crooned softly toward where Landman hung. “Flrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

  She saw him slowly turn his head toward her and knew he would know immediately she was the source of the call. Instead of speaking, she pointed, spearing her index finger repeatedly up toward the rope, hoping he would understand without her making any more noise. By then the rope was inching down toward his hanging hands and everyone watching—Rane noticed that many who had made it to the ground were craning their necks to watch the unfolding drama—had brought their thumbs over their first knuckle for luck, holding their breaths that Landman would grasp the lifeline before the tangle that held his foot unraveled.

  Finally, the rope reached him, and he carefully caught it, twining it around one wrist while knotting the end with his other hand (a clumsy endeavor) so that it would form a seat for him as Scout pulled him up. He sucked a few deep breaths then nodded at Rane who yelled, “Pull him up! NOW!”

  A few other men who had been working at the top of the scaffold at the lake’s high rim had made their way over to rat so they could help hoist Landman. This was a procedure that proved anything but easy as he had to negotiate his way over intact and broken catwalks, as well as scaffolding in various states of distress, difficult obstacles for a man trying to pull his way over them, defying the immense pull of gravity. Finally, hands from the rescue scaffold grabbed Landman’s belt and pants and pulled him to safety.

  After Rane was satisfied that he was safe, she climbed down the unwieldy route she had chosen, running out of scaffolding and lashing about fifteen feet above the ground. There was nothing to do but jump, and she was grateful for the numerous hands that reached up to her as she leapt, breaking her fall so that she only slightly sprained her ankle.

  The threat of another shaking event was very real, so Rane made the men move away from the cliff, only allowing them to approach the rocky escarpment when others needed aid in reaching the floor. Finally, Landman and his rescuers were the last of those to escape the treachery of the cliff, and after he and Rane shared an intense embrace, they, along with everyone else, dust and blood caked, found shade against the forest fringe.

  As Rane sat by Landman, listening to him and the others recount their personal stories from the harrowing cliff, she saw that rat was slumped against a tree, alone, his exhaustion precluding his joining in the conversations. She swallowed and decided that now was the time. She left Landman’s side and nonchalantly walked over to rat and sat down next to him.

  “I want to thank you for his life,” Rane said quietly, leaning slightly toward rat so as not to startle him as his eyes were closed.

  One eye, narrowed from his reverie, greeted her, and opened in surprise when he realized who was addressing him. Immediately, both eyes opened wide, and he sat up. He said nothing but stared at her. At least the abject surprise had replaced the usual hostility.

  She waited for a moment, and when he did not reply, she went on, “I thank you and just want you to know that I am sorry—for so many things.”

  Rat turned and looked at the others who seemed to be oblivious to their conversation. He swiveled back to Rane, his expression not hostile, though slightly suspicious. “If you’re worried that I will expose you for what you did to me, don’t. You are doing some good for our community here. That is worth something.”

  “That is not what I am worried about,” Rane said, and at that moment she realized his exposing her had never been a concern. Until now, she had not cared what the viruls—the men had thought of her. She went on, “I want you to know that I am beginning to see some truths, and my and the other Leads’ and Titleds’ unfair behavior toward all of you are a part of those truths. And, again, I am sorry. I am sorry for you, your brothers and in fact, the kind of life that all viruls are living on Maraquan.”

  He
sighed and looked down, and she saw a tear course down his cheek. Soon the tear was accompanied by sobs, and she found herself stealing an arm around his shoulders as he tried to get control of himself. “Thank you,” was all he could manage.

  Rane patted his back and stood up. “You’re welcome. Scout.”

  To avoid drawing attention to her and Scout, she hurried back to Landman’s side. Their conversations had ceased and now they were watching the cliff. For a long time, they sat there, wariness filling their faces as they waited for it. It did not take long.

  The rumbling did not seem as intense or lengthy, but as they were safely on the ground now, it was hard to compare it to their experience as they hung on the cliff. Rane fully expected the entire cliff to throw off its wood shackles, but amazingly, the scaffolding held, and she strained her eyes to find the locations that would need repair so she could plot out a schedule to get the construction back on track.

  When the shaking stopped, conversation started up again among the men.

  “The mountain beast must be angry that we dared to build against his cliff,” Shrono said. “I have never seen him shake like that!”

  It took Rane a few moments to register what he said, and even more moments of truly silly agreement from his fellows before she had the presence of mind to rebuke their stupidity. She looked up at Landman who had his arm around her and was astonished to hear him plunging into the conversation with mild assent.

  “Yes, the beast is pretty mad!” Landman murmured, looking up.

  “It is not a beast’s cliff,” Rane began, pushing slightly away from him. “In fact, there is no beast in there! It is the movement of the land. It is not alive!”

  “Of course, it is alive,” Scout said affably, his absence of the usual scowl a signature of their truce struck a moment before. “And as the rock around it is not alive, it cannot move unless the beast makes it move!”

  She stood and gestured toward the cliff. “Have you ever seen the beast?” Rane asked. “Has he ever shown himself?”

  “I have never seen him,” Scout said, still friendly, but standing in an attempt to diminish Rane who was a little shorter than he, “but one of my mates back at my sector did—and he said the beast was immense!”

  The nodding and assent of those around her truly infuriated Rane and she launched into a lecture of the forces of the ground beneath them and, indeed, in the cliff, trying to remember everything she learned in Titled Arad’s Tectonics of Maraquan session. As she held forth, she was met with blank and disbelieving stares. Even Landman pursed his lips, trying to suppress a chuckle at her apparent misinformation about their world.

  “So, you really believe there is a beast in that cliff,” Rane said in her most disdainful tone, hands on her hips as she moved completely away from Landman. “That he is angry at our building noise and shakes himself to show his displeasure!”

  They shrugged and nodded, their faces indicating, Well of course! What else could it be?

  “You are truly the most STUPID viruls who ever lived on Maraquan!” Rane blasted, thinking again of them as uneducated and unlettered viruls, her memory never having experienced this level of frustration with them. “I tell you, there is no beast in the mountain!” And she went on to tell them exactly how ridiculous and ignorant they sounded—just like the viruls that they were. She didn’t stop there: she called into question their ability to live on their own--that without her they would never have been able to harness the water and they should all die from being so simple in the head.

  “And you!” She said to Landman. “I thought you were different from these other idiots! You seemed to be intelligent, but you’re just like the rest of them: ignorant of your surroundings, emotionally retarded and just plain stupid!”

  All she received were stony stares, and after looking at each other and especially Landman, they all rose and meandered out of the clearing into the forest to head back to the camp. Even Scout’s scowl had returned, and Landman hung back, but only for a moment, the hurt in his face only a slight prick in Rane’s gut. Seeing that reality clearly in her eyes, he gave her a baleful, backwards stare as he disappeared into one of the forest paths.

  All Rane could do was work her fists, opening-closing, opening-closing, in an attempt to stave off a cataclysmic tantrum that she felt building. The pressure started in her stomach, now had moved to her heart and was spreading up her neck into her head. The trauma from the earthquake in addition to her interaction with Scout and the viruls’ ignorance and stupidity overwhelmed her, and the only thing she could think to do is run. Run away from this place; run into the forest; run home.

  Even as her legs worked, her mind worked, too, and her thoughts ran even more furiously than her feet, synonyms for “stupid” and general name-calling filling her head. Air streamed through her burly hair as she pounded through the clearing that ran alongside of the cliff. Rane plunged into the forest, then, and the branches, leaves, twigs and trunks had all turned enemy, blocking her way, plucking at her scalp and scratching at her skin. She didn’t care, but tore through the underbrush as if it weren’t there, her arms, legs and face taking the brunt of the contest until finally she was forced down by a very large stump against which she barked her shin. She cried out in irritation, knowing she had injured herself, perhaps seriously. Sitting on the offending stump, she lifted her trousers and inspected her leg. Tearing down her shin was a livid gash, the skin around it purpled with the beginnings of mottled bruising. Putting her head on her knee to catch her breath, and squeezing her eyes shut against the ache, she forced her mind to slow down. Pressing her fists against her eyes, she felt the anger flee with sorrow taking its place. She had been too hard on them. Yes, they were stupid, but they hadn’t had access to her privilege or education. Yes, maybe they had trouble leading, and sometimes even following, but that wasn’t their fault. They were new to the idea of self-motivation—any initiative in the past had come from punishment. When have they ever had the chance to learn, their entire world consisting of being ordered around by Leads and Titleds? Sorrow became real tears at the thought of Landman’s face, its hurt and bewilderment a testament to her betrayal. A sudden love countered with fear propelled her against the forest once more. She had to tell him; she had to tell all of them that she was wrong, that she was sorry.

  After pushing through the wall of forest for a few moments, she had to stop. There was a reason for paths, she thought stupidly, and she stood surrounded by huge ferns, ivy, thick shrubs and monolithic trees that towered over her, shutting out the sunlight. Finally, she found a slight opening in a curtain of ivy and hanging moss that webbed from a gangly tree and managed to press her way through, having to crawl for quite a few troughlengths. Her leg throbbed as she dragged it along, and just as she was thinking that her life might end here ridiculously and alone, her hand found dirt and a clearing. A path!

  She emerged from the forest like an eel slithering out of its seacave and lay face down on the packed loam of the path. For a moment, she uttered a prayer to her god, then struggled to her feet, picked a direction, and set off.

  Walking for a good while, she was just starting to wonder if she had chosen the wrong way and was actually putting distance between her and her destination when she heard shouts. Relief filled her and she quickened, trudging becoming a light jog, which became a full-on lope. Then she stopped. Her head became confused, light, and started spinning at the sight before her.

  “What have they done to you? Oh, the gods! We will kill all of them, Rane!”

  “Saruah! What? How?” Weakness filled Rane’s legs, and indeed, her whole body, and she fell on her face, her hands raking at the dirt in total bewilderment. As she attempted to scrabble to her feet, she fell again to her knees.

  Her friend ran to Rane and put her arms around her. “We thought you lost forever! Oh, I’m so glad I was the one to find you!” Saruah, her face grim, lifted her to her feet and looked at the wounds on her arms, her face. “I swear by Kagallen, they
will pay for what they did to you. Come,” she lifted Rane carefully to her feet. “We are rounding them up as we speak. Your mother and sister are here, as well as Titled Larad. You are safe, now.”

  The thought that Saruah interpreted Rane’s tears as those of joy only made her weep harder. Water Gods, what was she going to do?

  Chapter Sixteen

  As Saruah led her along, clucking over the scratches on her arms and face, Rane could barely walk, so filled with shock and dread at what must be going on at the camp. For the moment she was glad that Saruah misinterpreted her trauma so that she didn’t have to engage in conversation. Not that she would have been able to with a throat so parched that she couldn’t even swallow. The urge for water became so great that she attempted to ask, a guttural croak being all she could manage. Shukad seemed to understand for she immediately grabbed at the skin hanging on her belt and gave it to Rane who gulped at it like a wild woman.

  Rane was so depleted that she had to stop and rest many times at which moments Saruah would stroke Rane’s hair murmuring encouragement. Rane managed to look at Saruah once or twice and was touched that every glance found tears in her friend’s eyes. Finally, after the water had lent moisture to the tissue in her throat, she asked, “Mother is here?” She didn’t ask about her sister.

  “Yes,” Saruah said, hugging her for a moment. “Many came on the rescue, in fact, many more were turned away! You were missed! And, popular!” She added this last, laughing.

  Rane actually managed a weak laugh, and a comforting wash of memories reminded her of their friendship. She was ashamed that she thought of Saruah only a few times during her—stay?—imprisonment?—now the confusion of her old life invading her new existence clouded her perception of what was, should be, or will be—by the waters, she didn’t even know what her head was talking about! What should she be thinking, feeling or—fisting her hands, she pressed them against her forehead, willing the miasma of thought to cease. Since she didn’t know what awaited her at camp, she had to quiet her mind. Going into this situation with a havoc-filled brain wasn’t going to help at all.