Into This Wild Abyss, page 34
part #1 of Vermilion Archives Series
“Tonight?” Mako echoed. “We are?”
“Speed’s of the essence. You’re to report to 5th Banner’s HQ. Departure within the hour.”
CHAPTER 23
Lukan’s eyes blazed with a quiet ferocity. His hand reached out for the bag and Po pulled it away, clutching it to his chest.
“Hand it over,” Lukan said. “This doesn't need to be unpleasant.”
Anjan’s eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. For a moment they stared at each other, comprehension slowly spreading over Anjan’s face.
“Po! Don’t give it to him.” Lukan motioned to the surrounding hillside.
“Resistance is quite useless. You’re surrounded.”
It was true. Po watched the black cloaks edge along the ridge and through the rocks. He counted eleven. One bent over and picked something from a cleft.
“Inquisitor!” the man called from above. “Look what we have here.” Lukan broke eye contact with Po for just an instant.
“Put that down. If it’s not the bag, I’m not interested.” The virtueman ran down the hill in leaps and bounds, his hands cupped about his discovery, until he skidded to a stop amidst the pine needles at Lukan’s side. Po could not see what it was in the man’s hands, but the look on Lukan’s face was one of revulsion.
“They’re worth a lot,” the man stammered. “At least a gotti in Pao’an. There could be more.”
Inquisitor Lukan brushed the man aside and drew a length of rope from his belt.
“Very well, we’ll secure them, then go looking — on your feet and hold out your hands.”
Po inched his knees up to his chin, and Anjan laid a hand on Po’s shoulder.
“We’re not getting up,” Anjan said. “You’re not taking us.”
“I’m afraid,” said Lukan. “You don’t have any choice.” There was a moment of uncertainty, then Po shrugged off his friend’s protective hand and rose, pushing his back up the tree behind him.
“Good,” Lukan said. “Now —”
A shriek rent the frosty air, rising into a deathly scream that echoed off the slopes and shook the trees, loosing the accumulated snow on their boughs. Lukan’s horse reared and bolted, kicking up clods of dirt and needles as it galloped downhill. The inquisitor spun about and grabbed for the reins, but he was too slow and fell with an oomph to the ground. Po saw his chance and, grabbing Anjan’s hand, they ran directly over the inquisitor’s prostrate body and for the rocky ridgeline. They got halfway when a blur of motion and flapping of wings stopped Po in his tracks.
It darted right for them, then swerved and changed tack. The virtueman with the little bundle in his hands screamed and threw the baby chick into the air as the adult wyvern leapt at him. Po did not wait to see what happened. He grabbed Anjan again and ran. Behind him the shrieks of the wyvern and the screams of the man intermixed in a hellish cacophony.
They reached a rock face and Po began to climb. Anjan hesitated.
“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t climb.”
“Yes you can,” Po said, his voice catching. “Quick. Follow my actions.”
Anjan took hold of a stone beneath Po’s feet, and Po looked back to the clearing where they had spent the night. The virtuemen stood in a circle, batons out, fending the angry wyvern away from their fallen leader. Inquisitor Lukan nursed his elbow and pointed at the fleeing monks.
“They’ll be after us soon,” Po said. “Don’t look back. Climb.”
Po’s hands grasped at roots and he pulled himself up onto a ledge. He offered Anjan a hand and hauled him up too. They rested a moment, panting for breath. Beneath them the wyvern had disappeared and the virtuemen ran for the rock face.
“This isn’t going to slow them down much,” Po said. “We have to keep going.”
He tested the tree clinging to the ledge and put a foot on the lowest bough. It held and using the branches Po easily completed the climb to the top of the rock face. The ground levelled off after that, and they were both once again running across needles and scattered rock.
“We slept by that all night,” Anjan managed.
“Lucky I guess we didn’t light a fire,” Po said. “Or it was saving us for breakfast.” After a few more yards Anjan stopped and held his knees.
“How — how can we be sure we’re going the right direction?”
“It’s like the painting,” Po said, rubbing his back. “This is the foot of the first Graytalons. We’ve already seen the second peak. We just have to head in that direction. You’ll see soon enough.”
“I think I’m going to walk,” Anjan said.
They continued on, taking every chance they could to put distance between them and their pursuers. Occasionally they heard the shriek of the wyvern, but any sight of it was lost amidst the trees. It did not make it any less scary, and Po found himself chanting slowly under his breath, rallying his focus on the mountain ahead.
A mile further they came across a deep ravine. White frothy water stormed beneath over jagged rocks. They stood at the edge and looked down at the raging torrent.
“See,” Anjan said. “You can’t just walk in a straight line. We should have given this more thought.”
“When did we have the time?” Po said. “We can’t exactly follow the roads. And neither of us have a map. Now which way should we go?”
“Up?” Anjan said. “It’s worked so far. Until now.” The companions set off following the ravine higher into the mountains. Before long, Po noticed the roar of the water become louder and louder. They rounded a hillock and let out a collective groan.
“A waterfall!” Po exclaimed.
“Well that’s a dead end,” Anjan said. “Try the other way?” Po wondered how much time they had before the virtuemen caught up. He dithered.
“The pool — there’s still water before it cuts into the rock and forms the ravine. Perhaps there is some shallows there that can be crossed.”
“You keep lookout,” Anjan said, rolling up his trouser legs. “I’ll be back.”
Anjan darted for the catchment at the bottom of the falls and followed the river back towards the ravine. His toe touched the glistening surface, then his ankle went in. He tested each step until he was up to his shins. Po held his breath, wanting to call his friend back. Anjan stopped and glanced back at Po’s position, grimaced, and took one more step. He wavered and slipped, disappearing in an instant under the bubbling surface.
“Anjan,” Po yelped, running for the bank. There was no sign of his friend. A piece of wood sped past, betraying the strength of the river beneath the surface.
“Anjan!” Po called, louder this time as he desperately searched the bank. “Can you hear me?” No reply. Something breached the surface a few yards downstream. The water foamed about it like a rapid. Po raced towards the tint of human flesh and could just make out Anjan, his elbow wrapped around the root of a tree, bubbles streaming from his lips.
“Hold on,” Po cried. “I’ve got you.”
Po threw himself on his belly and thrust his arms into the ice-cold water. He felt Anjan’s body, tense and slippery at his fingertips. His hands found purchase and he pulled. Anjan’s head broke the surface, spluttering and gasping for air. In an instant he was back under and then out again.
“Stop fighting,” Po yelled. “Let me pull you. I can’t hold you much longer.” Anjan gargled and spluttered, choking out intelligible words. Po’s fingers began to slip, just as he felt the body make contact with the bank. His fingers scratched at Anjan’s skin. His friend’s head went under again.
“Hold on,” Po cried, though he knew Anjan was deaf to his plea. Soft flesh slipped from his hands and the current took Anjan in a kaleidoscope of skin, clothes and refracted light. There was nothing Po could do but bite back a scream of agony. He lay there in the sudden stillness; the strength gone from his body, the will to continue vanished. Ever so slowly Po edged from the bank and sat there, his back against a tree.
Numb with grief, Po imagined himself back at Jan Moga before everything fell apart. He remembered the candle-lit halls, the classes, and Anjan laughing at some practical joke. His friend always had something to smile about. All that was gone. All things are impermanent. This is the way of the Ba’re.
“There he is,” someone shouted. “There, under that tree.” Shadows fell over him. Po gazed up at the faces; Lukan and two virtuemen returned the stare.
“Where’s your friend?” Lukan asked. Then he glanced at the river. “Oh. What a pity. The undertow in those things can be very deceptive. I guess monks aren’t taught such things.”
“It’s the bag alright,” the man to Lukan’s right said. “See.”
“He won’t escape us again,” Lukan said. The Inquisitor knelt and slipped a noose around Po’s hand.
“There might be some climbing involved,” Lukan said. “So I’m only tying one hand. You behave, okay?” Po nodded. They helped him to his feet and prodded him in the direction they had come.
“I must congratulate you,” Lukan said. “This is the most expensive investigation the Ministry has ever engaged in. It’s nice to think it hasn’t been wasted.”
“All this for a book?” Po asked. “Is your leader so thin-skinned?”
“Perception is everything,” Lukan said. “As a monk you’d know this. Isn’t the heart of your religion the battle between perception and reality?”
“We don’t kill,” Po said. “We don’t murder. We help and cure. We teach and care.”
“Your Abbot didn’t care much when he told us where you’d gone.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Po snapped, but from Lukan’s expression he knew it was true.
“I killed him,” Lukan said. “So don’t worry, no one else heard his betrayal.” Po had no reply. His heart had hardened like stone, and a cold chill numbed every inch of his body. His feet plodded on, but he was only aware of the motion, not the steps themselves. Slowly even the motion became irrelevant, hidden behind a veil of tears.
Inquisitor Lukan yanked on the rope, forcing Po to stop. They stood at the brink of a cliff jutting out over a wind-rippled lake. The roar of a waterfall wasn’t far off. Unbidden the image of Anjan swept over the edge sprung to mind. Po’s stomach turned and his legs wobbled.
“Infuriating isn’t it?” Lukan said. “Just when you think you’re getting somewhere. Never mind... we’ll follow this till we reach the main road.”
“No,” Po said. “I’d rather join my friend. Why not throw me and the book into the lake and end this.” Lukan looked visibly shocked. He held a hand to his chest.
“Why Po,” he said. “That isn’t how we do things. There needs to be a full debrief. Reports have to be filed. Maybe there were other conspirators. We don’t know what you know.” Po took a step to the edge. The rope tightened at his wrist. Lukan will never let me jump. As if to test the inquisitor, he took a step into thin air and felt his body pulled back from the brink.
“No,” Lukan said “I...” A familiar shriek echoed off the mountain slopes. A black shadow passed overhead.
“Damn that creature,” Lukan sneered. “You two, distract it and meet us at the crossroads by Na’ve.”
“Yes, Inquisitor!” the virtuemen said and drew their batons. The wyvern dropped between them, arching back its head and baring its teeth. The talons tapped the ground in a death rhythm. Its eyes darted from one person to the next.
“Here, Inquisitor,” one of the virtuemen said, tossing Po’s bag.
The wyvern lunged at the object, but before it could get its teeth into the canvas, the virtumen set upon it, beating it with their wooden batons. The creature shrieked and returned the attack, blurring scales and flesh. Lukan picked up the bag and gave it to Po.
“When I might have to fight,” Lukan said. “I don’t like my hands full. Carry that, will you? I know you won’t try and drop it.” Po clutched the bag to his chest, more on reflex than a conscious decision, and hurried after Lukan. They had gone only a few yards when motion blurred towards them and Anjan appeared, dripping wet and dressed only in his loincloth.
“Let my friend go,” he shouted between blue lips. Lukan wheeled about and raised his baton to protect himself.
“Stand back,” he cried. “My men will catch up soon. Better you hand yourself in now than fight.” Anjan approached, his fists clenched, and Lukan backed away, the edge of the cliff behind him.
“Let Po go,” Anjan growled.
“Anjan,” Po said. “Don’t be stupid — save yourself.” Lukan drew Po to him and touched the baton to Po’s temple.
“One more step and I’ll break your friend’s skull.” Anjan took one more step.
“I mean it,” Lukan cried. “Back away!”
“Po! Duck!” Po only had the briefest comprehension, but he slipped from Lukan’s grip and hit the ground. Anjan barreled overhead, carrying Lukan with him. Po rolled, kicked and tangled with their feet until he felt the earth give way beneath him. He fell and landed with a bone-jarring crunch. The rope snapped tight, yanking his wrist with it. The flesh around his hand felt like it would tear. Po grabbed with his other hand and pulled, relieving some of the tension. Out of immediate danger he finally looked about, comprehension slowly dawning on him. He was on a ledge just beneath the cliff top. The rope disappeared over the side. They had fallen over the edge of the cliff. Anjan never saw we were tied together, he realized.
“Help!” It was Lukan's voice.
“Hold on,” Po managed through gritted teeth. He braced his feet and hauled hand over hand, gathering up the lax rope as it came in. Curses came from over the edge.
“For Heaven’s sake, pull!”
“I’m trying,” Po said, not once questioning his decision to save his pursuer. “Can you grab hold of anything?”
“I’m slipping. Faster. Kive have mercy!” Blisters stung and every muscle protested, but Po kept up the effort, drawing on his Ba're training to accept the pain. All things are impermanent and this too shall pass. Kime ki’re kima ka.
Fingers appeared over the edge, and then a hand.
“You're doing it,” Po said. “Just a little further.” Lukan groaned with effort. His fingers clawed at the rock. Po twisted his body, maintaining tension on the rope while leaning into the edge. Lukan’s eyes met his, wide with terror, the pupils straining at the edge of the iris.
“Give me your hand,” Po said. “You’re almost up.” Po reached out to the hand Lukan held wrapped around the rope.
“I’d have to let go,” Lukan cried. “I can’t.”
“You have to,” Po said. “Lift. I’ll take your wrist.” Their skin met and Po’s fingers crawled over his bunched fist. He lifted Lukan’s hand to the ledge.
“You’ll have to let go of the rope,” Po said. “Hold the rock. Then I can help you up.” Reluctantly, Lukan surrendered his lifeline and hooked his fingers around the rock. Po tugged at the inquisitor’s clothing, but he gained little purchase. Lukan groaned, his strength beyond complaint. His arms shuddered with exhaustion.
“Nearly there,” Po said. “One more pull.” Lukan’s left hand slipped, then his right broke free of the rock. Po released the cloak before he was pulled after him. Lukan fell, bounced once off the cliff face, then crashed into the rocks jutting from the white-capped water at the base. Po had no energy left to scream. The inquisitor’s body was splayed in sickly fashion next to the body of his friend. Anjan…
There were no tears left to cry. Po took the bag, coiled the rope, and climbed back the last half-dozen feet to the cliff top. Movement startled him, and Po sought refuge behind a large pine. The two virtuemen worked their way along the clifftop, scanning the lake. They had clearly seen something, but Po could not tell what. As they drew near he began to hear parts of their conversation.
“Two of them alright,” one said.
“Bloody balls of Kive,” said the other. “How’d that happen?”
“Bag must be down there as well.”
“Well I’m not getting it.”
“Come on,” said the first. “We’ve both taken a beating. If we go now we can be with the horses by lunchtime. There’ll be safety in numbers and we can report them both lost — those secrets are as safe as they’ll ever be down there.”
“Bloody oath,” said the second.
Po watched them leave. He waited until they were out of sight, then returned to the ravine. He soon found the spot where Anjan had climbed out. The rock, otherwise dry, was still wet, and Anjan’s clothes lay on the bank. A tree had fallen into the river and, braced between two rocks, had formed a sieve picking up everything larger than a pinecone that came its way. It formed a passable bridge, and the ravine there was shallower than other places and the sides had partially collapsed. Jagged rocks and tangled branches hid the crossing from view and Po moaned at the sight, upset he had not seen it earlier when he and Anjan were scouting the banks. He stood in silence fighting his anger and regret. He tried to justify himself, but in truth he thought they had probably been distracted.
With the help of Lukan’s rope, Po climbed down to the fallen tree, tied a broken branch to the end of the rope, and threw it across the river. It did not catch, but two more attempts saw it lodged firmly between a fallen boulder and the roots of the tree. Po tugged on it and the rope held firm. He tested his footing and took his first steps in crossing the river. The log beneath him groaned and Po picture himself falling into the frothing water. Hesitantly he lowered himself to all fours and, keeping a firm grip on the rope, crawled across.
On the other side, Po recoiled the rope, swung it over his shoulder and turned his sights towards Jan’a.
Evening was gathering when Po came to the gates of the monastery. A nearby village lay quiet and shuttered. Roadblocks lay abandoned, the soldiers called away. Po crossed a rickety wooden bridge and approached the double-doors set into the mountainside. A sign above the door read: JAN’A. ESTABLISHED BY VERMILION CHARTER.
Nervously, Po rang the bell. After a pause, the bolts on the other side clicked. A monk appeared, flanked by two lay members armed with spears.
