The Negator, page 9
She looked around, her hands shaking as she finished the map.
“In the forest I can tell you how to use the temple teleporter to go to the other places,” she said, pressing the parchment into my hands.
“That’s a good plan,” I said. “But how do I get out of the temple without anyone seeing me?”
Nira thought a bit and gave me detailed instructions.
I memorized the route as best I could. Then, even though I was naked as a jaybird, I stepped close and kissed her on the lips. She was warm and soft, and she smelled like flowers.
“Thank you,” I said.
She blinked up at me. “Be careful, Kane. The forests are dangerous at night.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Nira nodded and knelt to clean up the mess I’d caused when I phased through the bars and collided with her. As I started down the corridor, I heard her whisper something that might have been a prayer.
I’d need it to get out of the temple. If anyone spotted a naked man roaming around… My gut tightened, wondering if I could pull this off.
-21-
I followed Nira’s directions, padding down the corridor. The stone floor was worn smooth, maybe by countless generations of priestesses and temple servants. The walls were carved with intricate reliefs—figures in robes performing rituals and strange creatures that possibly might have been the Sea Peoples.
The first corridor led to a junction where three passages met. Nira had said to take the middle path, the one that sloped gently upward. As I turned into it, I heard footsteps echoing from somewhere behind me. I pressed myself against the wall, but the sounds faded.
The corridor began to widen as I climbed, and I started seeing doorways branching off on both sides. Most were dark, but a few had flickering light. I caught glimpses of what looked like laboratories or workshops—tables covered with glass apparatus and shelves lined with bottles and jars.
In one room were tanks filled with blue fluids. Body parts floated inside them. Not human—these were clearly from the Sea Peoples, with their fish-like appendages and scaled skin.
I kept moving. The air grew fresher, carrying hints of the purple fern forest and something else—incense, maybe, or some kind of flowers. The walls had more elaborate carvings, with precious metals worked into the designs.
The corridor opened into a larger chamber. I could see three different passages. One continued upward, one led to the left, and one curved around to the right.
Before I could decide which way to go, I heard voices behind me. They were talking in low, urgent tones.
“The prisoner has escaped,” a woman said. “High Priestess Serena wants him found before the circle convenes.”
“How could he have gotten out? The beasts secured the cell.”
“Perhaps he had help,” the first woman said. “There are those among us who question too much.”
I ducked into the left passage, following what I hoped was still part of Nira’s route. How had they learned about my escape so fast? Had Nira run to tell the chief priestess? Was she betraying me?
Then I thought about it from her angle. If she didn’t report my escape, someone else would. If she reported it, that might protect her from suspicion later.
Then it was good she’d raised the alarm, although it might make my escape from the temple more difficult. Couldn’t she have given me even a few more minutes of head start?
The passage curved gently to the right, then began climbing a series of wide stone steps. Each smooth step led past alcoves filled with strange statues, figures that looked part human, part something else.
As I went higher, I could hear voices again. I moved faster, but the stairs seemed to go on forever, winding upward through what felt like the heart of the temple.
“Check the upper levels,” someone called out from below.
I ran, taking the steps two at a time. My bare feet were silent on the polished stone, but my heart was hammering.
Finally, I reached a landing with several doorways leading off in different directions. Most were sealed with heavy wooden doors bound in metal, but one stood slightly ajar. Through the gap, I could see sunlight and smell fresh air. That had to be the door Nira mentioned.
Before I could move toward it, I heard footsteps coming from below.
I slipped through the open door and found myself on a stone platform outside the temple. The massive structure loomed behind me. The platform was maybe twenty feet square, with a low stone railing around the edges.
Ahead, broad stone steps led down from the platform toward the ground below. The steps descended in wide terraces, each one fifty feet before the next level.
“Search the outer chambers,” a woman shouted from inside the temple. “He might have tried to reach the grounds.”
I vaulted over the stone railing and dropped onto the first terrace of steps below. The drop was farther than I’d expected, maybe eight feet, and I landed hard enough to jar my teeth. But I was below the platform now, out of sight from anyone standing at the door.
I flattened myself against the stone steps.
“I see nothing,” a woman said. “Only the ceremonial steps.”
I waited for her to walk farther, check around, look down, and see me, but nothing more happened.
Now I took my first good look at the temple grounds. The steps descended in wide terraces toward what looked like cultivated gardens linked by winding gravel paths.
Beyond the formal gardens was an open area and then the fern forest.
I started down the steps, going fast. I had to reach the forest before anyone chanced to see me and raise the alarm. I hoped Nira’s prayers had worked, because I had a feeling I was going to need them.
-22-
After leaving the temple gardens, I ran past hamlets with small plots in front. If anyone—
Two women in long gowns stepped out of one of the houses. One saw me and tugged at the other’s sleeve, pointing. The second turned, saw me and screamed.
Men nearby shouted in alarm.
“A naked man is on the loose!” the second woman shouted.
I looked back and saw men step up from around the hamlet and point at me. Several grabbed wooden implements and started after me.
I ran harder, but the path had sharp little stones that dug into my bare feet. I had to ignore that, and hope I wasn’t leaving a trail of bloody footprints.
I turned a corner, sprinted faster, and dove behind a fallen log, lying on the itchy grass.
Soon, men ran past, following the footpath. I looked up to spy their route. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw three slower men slide to a halt, glaring at me.
I jumped up.
“Look, fellas, I’m just—”
They rushed me before I could finish explaining.
The first one came in swinging a cudgel like he was chopping wood, an overhead blow that would have caved in my skull if it had connected. I dodged to the side. The second man rushed me from the left, his own cudgel sweeping in a wide arc toward my ribs.
I’d told you before that when I was a kid my mom paid good money for me to learn martial arts when she still thought I might amount to something.
I ducked under the swishing club.
The first attacker came at me again, this time with a sidearm blow aimed at my shoulder. I ducked under it and drove my fist into his gut, doubling him over. But the second man was right there, his cudgel catching me across the back and sending me stumbling.
Pain flared between my shoulder blades like someone had set off a firecracker under my skin, but I’d taken worse hits in juvie. I spun around, caught the second man’s wrist as he tried another swing, and drove my knee up into his elbow joint. The satisfying pop told me I’d hit the weak point. He screamed and dropped the cudgel, but the first man had recovered and caught me with a glancing blow to the side of my head that made my ears ring.
I staggered, seeing stars dancing in my peripheral vision, but muscle memory from years of training kicked in. I grabbed the first attacker’s club arm, pivoted my hip like my old sensei had drilled into me a thousand times, and threw him over in a move that would have made the old bastard proud. The man hit the ground hard, gasping for breath and probably wondering what had just happened.
That left me facing the man with the knife, who finally decided to join the fight. He had a cudgel in one hand and the blade in the other, advancing with the careful steps of someone who actually knew how to use both weapons. This one was going to be trouble.
I scooped up one of the dropped clubs, testing its weight. It was heavier than I liked, carved from some kind of dense alien wood that felt like it could crack concrete.
He came at me, thrusting with the blade first. Any knife fighter worth his salt knows you should always lead with your off-hand first to set up the killing blow, using the knife as the finisher. But this guy did exactly what I hoped he would, telegraphing his attack by raising the knife first like he was in some kind of movie.
I judged the timing and smashed the club down on his knife hand, breaking bones with a sickening crack that made me wince in sympathy. As the guy cried out and the knife went flying, I followed with a solid blow to his head. He hit the ground and didn’t move.
I stood there breathing hard and checking for injuries. My back ached where I’d been clubbed, and my feet were bleeding from the rocks, but I was still functional. More importantly, I was still alive.
I took the knife. It was a decent piece of steel with a bone handle. I stripped the unconscious men of any usable garments.
They had short, stocky frames, but I managed to get some rough robes that covered my essentials. I also found some headgear that looked like a cross between a turban and a cap.
The fabric was coarse and scratchy against my skin, but it beat running around completely naked.
The sandals were hopeless—my feet were at least two sizes bigger than theirs. That meant I was still barefoot.
I needed some kind of footwear if I was going to survive, but that would have to wait.
I started walking fast. I needed time to think, to figure out what I was dealing with on this planet.
I headed for the fern forest, hoping the thick vegetation would give me cover. For a few blessed minutes, I didn’t hear any shouting.
Then I heard more shouts—many of them. They must have found the others, and these guys sounded even more seriously pissed than the first group.
This was going to be trouble.
-23-
I darted into the fern forest down a narrow path. Behind me, I could hear the mob organizing: shouting orders, calling for more men, the whole nine yards. This seemed like a full-scale manhunt.
The purple ferns towered overhead, their massive fronds blocking out most of the sunlight and casting shifting shadows everywhere. The path was barely wide enough for one person, winding between thick trunks that looked more like palm trees than anything I’d seen on Earth. The ground was soft and spongy underfoot, covered with a carpet of decomposing vegetation that muffled my footsteps.
I kept the knife I’d taken in my right hand, the bone handle slick with sweat. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The rough robes I’d stripped off the unconscious men chafed against my skin, too small and binding in all the wrong places.
The sounds of pursuit grew fainter as I put distance between myself and them, but I had a feeling they wouldn’t give up easily.
I found a spot where several ferns had fallen across each other, creating a natural shelter and crouched down to catch my breath and think. Through the canopy above, I could see the main star or sun was setting.
How long would it be for the two moons to rise? I thought about that…
My head jerked up in surprise. I must have dozed off. I was hungry and thirsty, and sore from the cudgel blows I’d taken in the three-on-one fight earlier.
I turned my head, hearing something different around me. After a short time, I realized it was an organized search.
Voices called out in measured intervals. There was the clink of metal on metal and rhythmic thumping.
They were using drums.
I moved deeper into the forest, following what looked like an animal trail that wound between the massive fern trunks. The drumming was getting louder, and I started to hear other sounds: the tramp of many feet moving in formation.
They were beating the forest like hunters driving game.
I’d read how the Mongols used to organize massive hunts where they’d form enormous circles, sometimes hundreds of miles across, and slowly drive all the animals toward a central killing ground. Thousands of beaters would march in formation, making noise and carrying torches, pushing everything ahead of them until there was nowhere left to run.
That was happening to me. Oh yeah, I could hear them on multiple sides now—the steady beat of drums, the clash of weapons, voices calling out to maintain the line. They must have formed a circle around this section of forest, and they no doubt intended to drive me toward whatever “killing ground” they’d chosen.
I knew what a tiger felt like, trapped in one of those great Mongol hunts with nowhere to go but forward, toward the spears and arrows of the waiting hunters.
But unlike a tiger, I could think my way out of this, maybe, if I was smart or cunning enough.
Instead of rushing forward and waiting for later when the circle would be shrinking and the men all grouped closer together, I headed toward the nearest drumming, moving as quietly as possible through the undergrowth. The forest floor was thick with fallen fronds and decaying vegetation that made every step treacherous, but it also muffled sound.
As I worked my way there, I realized the sun had set a little while ago. Now dim moonlight filtered through the ferns.
Soon, I saw the flicker of torchlight ahead. I crept closer, using the massive fern trunks as cover, until I could make out individual figures.
The beaters were spaced about forty feet apart, each one carrying a torch in one hand and either a drum or some kind of wooden clapper in the other. They had a system, moving three steps forward—beat the drum. Three more steps—beat again. It was hypnotic and effective.
Those I saw looked like farmers or tradesmen, not soldiers. I spied the soldiers further behind. They were in groups of three and spaced farther apart than the beaters.
After a little deliberation, I picked out my target, a heavyset man who was having trouble keeping up with the rhythm. His torch flickered low, and he kept stumbling over roots and fallen branches.
I slipped forward as quietly as I could through the underbrush. The drumming and shouting from the other beaters covered any small sounds I might make, and the man was focused on keeping his footing and maintaining his position in the line.
One of the reasons I’d chosen him was that he seemed farthest from any of the soldiers. That was imperative to what I planned.
I waited until he stumbled again, then rushed forward. He saw me, stopped, and opened his mouth to shout or scream.
I jumped at him and swung the knife, striking with the bone handle. I clouted him hard across the head. He went down without a sound, his torch and drum falling beside him.
I moved fast and grabbed both before the torch could ignite the forest floor. The drum was simple but effective—a wooden frame with animal hide stretched across it, with a leather strap for carrying. The torch was just a wooden handle with oil-soaked rags wrapped around the top, but it burned with a steady flame.
I dragged him under old fronds, hoping none of the soldiers chanced this way.
Then I took his position in the line and started beating the drum in the same rhythm I’d observed. Three steps forward, beat, three steps, beat. The beaters on either side of me were far enough away that they couldn’t see me clearly in the darkness, and as long as I maintained the rhythm and kept my torch burning, I’d blend right in.
I looked around, but couldn’t spy any of the soldier groups. So far, so good. I was doing it. Now, I had to see if I could get past the soldiers.
-24-
For a couple of minutes, I was part of the hunt, helping to drive the prey—me—toward whatever trap they’d set up ahead.
The line moved through the forest as the drums beat at mismatched times. I could see torches flickering through the ferns in both directions, a chain of light stretching out into the darkness.
I started dropping back. Nothing dramatic, just falling a step or two behind with each cycle, letting the line move ahead of me. The men on either side must have been focused on their own jobs and the difficult terrain, and in the darkness and confusion, it was easy to lose track of exactly where everyone was supposed to be.
After a time, I was thirty feet behind the main line, still beating the drum but no longer part of the organized formation. A few more times and I’d slip away entirely. This had been a piece of cake.
“You there!” the man said from behind. “Get back in line!”
The sudden nearness of his voice made me jump, and I turned to see two soldiers pushing through the forest toward me. They wore the same articulated armor I’d seen at the beach, carrying cutlasses and what looked like flintlock pistols. They moved with the confidence of professional fighters, and they were clearly not happy with my performance as a beater.
“Hurry up!” the first one shouted, waving his cutlass at me. “The line is getting ahead of you!”
On impulse, I limped toward him, favoring my left foot and then leaning heavily on a nearby tree.
“My foot,” I said. “I twisted it on a root.”
The soldiers looked at each other with disgust. The first one, a thinner man with a scraggly beard, approached. The second one hung back, watching the forest around us. There was something familiar about him.
“Let me see,” the first soldier said, not bothering to hide his irritation.
In the moonlight, I had to concentrate.
As the soldier leaned down to examine my supposedly injured foot, I brought the pommel of my knife up hard under his chin. The impact snapped his head back, and he toppled backward.
