The Hunter Read online

  Somehow, perhaps aided by his gods, he ate, slept, found water, and avoided the many dangers that lurked within the dark mountain. When he wakened, racked with the pain of burned and sloughing skin, his flesh reddened and too tender to bear even the slightest touch of his tattered robes, he did not know where he was. Somehow he had taken a wrong turn. Cool air no longer blew upon his face and the tunnel that sheltered him appeared to lead down rather than up.

  His face was bloated and swollen, his eyelids twice their normal size, allowing him only a narrow band of sight. His lips were blistered and deeply fissured, rolled back upon themselves exposing the cracked enamel of his teeth. His eyebrows were gone, as was his hair, which had shriveled and frizzed with the stink of burning feathers. His scalp and his face, having endured the worst of the heat, were a deep purple-red beneath the puckered welter of blisters. He would bear the scars of his divine vision for the rest of his life… but none of it mattered, for he alone had been chosen by the gods.

  Carn staggered to his feet, grimacing with pain, filled with the need to find his companions. Somehow he managed to light a torch cube and fitted it onto the end of his sword. He could but pray that he met no more dangers during the course of his search. His faith sustained him for he could not believe that Mother Moon would take him so far only to allow him to be killed by a shadow or one of the creeping stingers.

  He wandered through dark tunnels, eating when his body required fuel, sleeping when it demanded rest. He sang snippets of prayers and hymns sometimes, even though it hurt and his voice emerged a hoarse croak, the vocal cords forever damaged by the intense heat that had seared his throat.

  His eyes had suffered permanent injury as well, the tender flesh at the outer corners of his eyes scarring, the new skin fusing so that his lids appeared thickened and hooded, giving him a brooding, ominous air.

  The blisters on his head, face, and body broke, scabbed, and peeled, revealing a patchwork of thickened crimson flesh, twisted and distorted in places, permanent testimony to the anguish his tortured flesh had endured.

  Carn had no mirror but he was aware of the changes that had transformed him from a handsome young man to a thing of horror. Never again would a maiden look upon him with favor. Never again would the quirk of his lips invite a gentle stolen kiss. Never again would the sight of him cause hearts to beat fast beneath gentle bosoms. But such matters did not cause him despair, if he even thought of them, for he had gladly suffered his stigmata for the greater glory of his god.

  24

  “Danger! Danger!” The metallic voice continued to blare out its message as Keri and Braldt crouched back-to-back, holding their swords at the ready, searching for the bodies that went with the voice. But no one appeared even though the message was repeated over and over and over, and after a short time Braldt began to wonder if they would. Perhaps it was but one sentry who was giving the alarm but dared not attack on his own. But how did he make his voice so loud and why did the words sound exactly the same each time they were spoken? And why did they sound so strange as though they were being spoken through a brass tube? Braldt looked around him, rising from his battle stance, wondering where the enemy could be hiding.

  Following his lead, Keri rose too. To her amazement, she saw Batta Flor casually walking down the corridor, apparently unconcerned by the dire warnings. Reaching up, he opened a panel high on the wall, and after a brief examination of its contents, his nimble fingers tapped out a short sequence, the lights flickered, returned to full strength, and the metallic voice stopped in midword.

  “Canned message, a tape,” said Batta Flor, uttering the strange foreign words with a wide grin. “Scared you, huh?”

  Braldt did not reply, merely watched the Madrelli carefully as though suspecting that he might have some further mischief to perform.

  “What do you mean, ‘canned message, a tape’?” Keri asked as she lowered her sword, feeling somewhat foolish in light of Batta Flor’s nonchalant attitude.

  “Of course, no way you could know,” Batta Flor said more to himself than to his companions. “It’s a message that was prepared in anticipation of an attack and set to go off under certain circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?” Keri demanded suspiciously, wondering if Batta Flor could be making it all up. “How can a message be made in advance and where is the speaker?”

  “You don’t understand,” Batta Flor said with a patient smile that did nothing to make Keri feel better. “There is no speaker, the message is played by a machine.” He held his hand up quickly as Keri opened her mouth. “Wait, just wait and I will show you machines. They are things made by the masters and the hard ones to carry out the masters’ orders in their absence. They do work that Madrelli and Duroni would otherwise have to do themselves. Please wait and I will show you. You have already met one such machine, the lifter.”

  Braldt and Keri exchanged a quick glance before Braldt nodded curtly to Batta Flor. The lifter had not been a pleasant experience. Braldt had faced many enemies, many dangers in his life. He knew how to fight off savage animals, how to defend himself against the slavers and members of the more primitive, violent tribes, and could even deal with such creatures as shadows and the monster of the lake. But there was something frightening about spaces that moved and voices that spoke without benefit of bodies. And machines that were not Duroni or Madrelli but something that had never enjoyed life. How did one deal with such things?

  “The tape was probably triggered by our destruction of the control chamber,” mused Batta Flor, combing his cheek fur with his long, slender fingers. “It’s probably been playing over and over ever since. It’s a good sign really. It means that some things are still operational. The lights are still on here and the ventilators are still working. Maybe there is a way to divert the water and get into the chamber after all.”

  Just then, Beast began to run back and forth in an agitated manner and throwing back his head he let loose a loud howl that reverberated within the narrow walls of the corridor until their ears rang with the eerie sound.

  Braldt reached out to Beast intending to wrap his hand around the pup’s muzzle but before he could touch it, the entire corridor seemed to shiver and the walls and floor and ceiling lurched sharply sideways, throwing all of them to the ground where they lay, stunned. The lights faded, returned briefly, and then died, and with them died the faint attendant hum that had been felt rather than heard.

  Keri cried out and Beast began to whimper. Braldt had smacked his head hard against the wall with the first movement and the darkness spun around him, lighted by numerous bursts of color behind his eyes. Just as the dizziness receded, the floor seemed to heave upward as though a giant fist had punched the ground from below. The corridor swayed, rocked by a series of fierce jolts, and Braldt could hear the clang of metal and falling objects raining down around them. Batta Flor called out once loudly and then was still.

  A deep growling noise began as though the earth itself were in pain. This was followed by a loud rumbling, so loud that Braldt pressed his hands against his ears to shut out the terrible noise. Then came a screeching, tearing sound, coupled with the thunderous growl, even louder than before. The corridor jerked violently from side to side and never had Braldt been more aware of the great mass of mountain resting above his head. He wondered if it would all come crushing down upon them.

  Braldt tried to get to his feet and the floor heaved once more and then buckled, dropping several feet, causing Braldt to fall to his knees heavily. His sword fell from his hand and he cursed, hearing it dance away from him across the still-shuddering floor.

  Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Keri was crying softly somewhere to the right and Beast was whimpering beside him. Braldt climbed to his feet hesitantly, wondering if it would begin again. Reaching out with his hands, he found that the wall tilted inward at an awkward angle. He began to move forward slowly on shuffling feet, following the sound of Keri’s crying, and banged his head a second time
against a dangling section of the ceiling. Beast pressed tightly against his legs as though fearing to be separated.

  Coils of rope made of the smooth, slick stuff that was not metal looped down from the open ceiling like the tentacles of the monster of the lake. Braldt became entangled in them, and fought down the panic that enveloped him, pushing his way free. He found that his upper body was coated with a slippery fluid that dripped from the severed ends of the coils.

  He reached Keri and put his arms around her. Then, almost as though it had delayed until he found her, Braldt was all but overwhelmed by a dizzy sickness that whirled around his head and rose up, filling his throat with the bitter taste of bile. He sank to the floor, his legs unable to support the weight of his body.

  Keri could not seem to stop crying, the sobs shaking her slender frame. As much as he wanted to comfort her, Braldt could not raise his head. It felt as though there were a heavy weight resting on the back of his skull and his ears were ringing. It was all that he could do to pat Keri on the shoulder. Keri leaned against him, her tears slowly trailing off into a hiccuping silence. After a while Braldt’s dizziness began to pass, although the coppery taste of bile was still strong and his stomach roiled uneasily.

  Braldt whispered Beast’s name, placing his hand atop the pup’s head. The frightened whimpering turned to glad barks as the pup burrowed his cold, damp nose under Braldt’s arm, burying his head in his armpit while attempting to climb into Braldt’s lap, which he had never done, not even when he was a round-bellied infant.

  Batta Flor called to them and his voice echoed strangely. Braldt did not reply for the least effort brought back the awful sickness. Batta Flor called out again and as he did so the lights flickered and came back on with a subdued hum, startling them and driving back the oppressive darkness. Keri cried out with joy and Beast withdrew his head for a quick look, his eyes huge and full of fear. Braldt had never been so glad to see anything as he was to see the return of light, and he uttered a silent prayer of thanks.

  The lights were dim, glimmering here and there in the ruins of the corridor like stars in a cloudy sky, but their presence, no matter how faint, gave them the courage to continue. Batta Flor called out once more and this time Braldt croaked out a reply. Keri pulled herself up on a ceiling panel that had fallen free. Another handspan and it would have fallen upon her, crushing her beneath its weight or cutting into her flesh with its sharp edges. Braldt helped her rise and felt the weakness in his knees and the unsteadiness in his legs and wondered if he had injured himself somehow.

  “I feel awful,” Keri said as she pressed her palms against her forehead. Turning to one side, she vomited and then sagged against the wall, crying softly.

  Braldt could do nothing to comfort her but pat her gently on the shoulder. Beast whined in distress and butted her leg with his head. “I think it is a reaction to whatever it was that happened here. We are unharmed, but our bodies are distressed. I believe that it will pass in time.”

  “I hope that you are right,” Keri said as she rinsed her mouth with water and wiped it on the hem of her shirt. “My legs feel as shaky as those of an infant. What happened here, Braldt? I thought we were going to die.”

  Braldt cupped his hand under her elbow and together they began to pick their way through the debris that littered the corridor. Whole panels had fallen from the ceiling and walls, exposing the inner workings that lay behind them. Here and there, sparks were fizzing at the ends of the brightly colored coils. Braldt was careful to avoid them. Fluid dripped and oozed from other coils, clear and clean as water, and amber and oily as the substance that still clung to Braldt’s skin. The sound of hissing could be heard in the distance and Braldt worried that poisonous gas was being released into the corridor. And still there was no sign of Batta Flor. Nor did he answer when his name was called.

  “The earth moved,” Braldt said in answer to Keri’s question. “I do not know how or why. I only hope that it does not do so again.”

  “Oh, Braldt, perhaps the gods are angry with us,” Keri said earnestly. “I know what the Madrelli said and maybe they’re right about these masters and the hard ones. But could they not be wrong about the gods? How could Mother Moon not be real? Braldt, we can see her every night. She has watched over us all of our lives. What are we to worship if not Mother Moon? How can we be all alone with nothing to believe in but ourselves? Does that not frighten you? Maybe the gods have moved the earth to punish us for ceasing to have faith in them. I think it must be so.” Her voice sank to a whisper.

  She looked so frightened, so vulnerable, that Braldt folded her in his arms and hugged her gently, stroking her hair to calm her trembling. Her body felt good against him. She fitted herself to him like a glove and he felt his body stir in a way that was not proper with one’s own sister. He started to pull away and Keri clung to him even tighter. His arms tightened around her without conscious thought and she looked up at him, her eyes large and luminous in the dim light and her lips parted. He bent down, perhaps to hear what she was going to say, but there were no words. Her lips, softer than the down of fledglings, pressed gently against his own and he felt himself drawn down in a dizzy spiral, impossible to stop even had he wanted to do so. When they parted, Braldt felt as though he had forgotten to breathe and took in great gulps of air to clear his spinning head. How could he have done such a thing! Keri was his sister!

  “I’m not your little sister,” Keri whispered as though able to read his thoughts. “Oh, Braldt, I’ve loved you forever, don’t you know that? And I’m not your sister. We share no common blood and you know that is true. We are free to pledge our joining. Please say that you love me too.”

  “I am a warrior,” Braldt said huskily.

  “You are a man and I am a woman,” Keri said angrily. “That comes before being a warrior. There is no rule other than stupid male pride that says that warriors cannot join! Surely you are not so stupid! And do not tell me that you do not care for me for I will not believe you. I will not let it be so, I have loved you too long!”

  Braldt could not understand the logic in that argument, but strangely he felt no desire to argue with Keri or deny his feelings. In truth, what he wanted to do more than anything was to kiss her again, to feel her soft lips and body pressed against his. It was far more pleasant than arguing. Keri began to speak again, her hands bunched into angry fists, and Braldt grabbed her by the arms and kissed her hard, stifling her words with his lips. It felt amazingly good. What a superb way to stop her from talking, Braldt thought as her body became pliant and she slowly folded herself around him again.

  They did not speak for a time and Braldt’s mind whirled as it had when the ground shook and he felt as though he were going through some sort of personal cataclysm. Keri was right, they shared no common blood. But they had been raised as brother and sister. What would Auslic think or Jos and Otius, not to mention Carn. And what of his warrior vows? It was not unheard of for a warrior to join, but it was most unusual and frowned upon by the priests. But what of the priests? If Batta Flor was correct… Batta Flor! Braldt wrenched himself free from Keri and held her at arm’s length breathing deeply.

  “Keri, we’ve got to find Batta Flor. Something must be wrong, he’s not here and he has not spoken in some time. Come! This has waited our whole life, it can wait a little while longer.”

  Keri looked up at him and knew that he was right. Batta Flor! How could they have forgotten him? She also saw the look in Braldt’s eyes, a look that had never been there before. It was as though he were seeing her for the very first time and she knew that never would he look on her as a sister again. She picked up her sword and nodded toward the corridor. “Let us hurry,” she said with shining eyes, “one must be there for one’s friends.”

  They found Batta Flor crumpled beneath a large section of wall that had fallen, striking him on the side of his head. There was a large discolored lump of bruised flesh rising just above his left ear and dark blood streamed from the wound, pudd
ling beneath his head. The panel lay across his body, pinning him to the ground, but of more concern than the panel or the head wound was the fact that the panel had all but destroyed Batta Flor’s ear.

  The delicate shell had nearly been ripped from his skull and was hanging by mere threads of skin. The outer labyrinth— which contained the crystal tubes that controlled the Madrelli’s sense of balance and, even more importantly, his sense of pain—had been crushed. A thin, clear fluid leaking from the fragmented crystals mixed with the thicker, heavier blood and dripped upon the ground.

  Batta Flor’s breathing was hoarse and ragged and rasped in his throat. His eyelids fluttered and nothing but the whites of his eyes could be seen. His chest rose and fell in an irregular pattern, and even as they strove to lift the panel from his chest, he gasped sharply as though inhaling, but he did not breathe out and then he simply ceased to breathe at all.

  Braldt and Keri exchanged a brief, horrified glance and then Braldt fell upon Batta Flor, pushing up and down on his chest. Keri threw herself down next to Batta Flor and breathed into his mouth as one would do to an infant. There was no movement for a long moment and then they were rewarded by a quick heave of Batta Flor’s immense chest. Another followed and another and then he was breathing almost regularly and whimpering softly.

  Working together, they managed to shove the panel off of Batta Flor’s body. It was large and ungainly more than it was heavy. Batta Flor could have moved it easily with a casual flick of his fingers under normal circumstances.

  “We have to fix this ear somehow,” Braldt whispered. “How can we do that? We could bind it to his head, but the crystals are shattered beyond repair.”

  “I do not know what to do. There is so much blood. Braldt, do you think he’ll die?” Keri said in a troubled tone.

  “Not if I can help it,” Braldt replied grimly. He turned to his pack and rummaged in it, searching out the tubes and horns of healing unguents; fortunately, they were in his pack and not in Carn’s. Braldt cleaned the terrible gaping wound and the torn edges of the ear itself with a stinging antiseptic that caused Batta Flor to gasp even in the depths of his restless sleep. Braldt could only hope that he would not waken and worked swiftly in the event that he did.